[center][h3][color=E4D00A]Hugh – Westroad[/color][/h3][/center]

With each new bit of input, Hugh endeavored to guarantee his attention to its provider.  He made a mental checklist of requests, details, and other tidbits, though couldn't help but be tickled when the monk addressed him as 'my lord.'  “That's a good idea, sir.  Consider the healers' places swapped.  But please, don't call me a lord.  I want to become more than a captain to you all; I want to become a friend.  And that can't be done with social disparities.  If you must, just use the standard knightly prefix: Sir.  Though given how little I look like a knight, I won't even insist on that.”

Hugh cast a suddenly weary look at Jeanne and Lilith.  They seemed to be under the impression that any sort of deliberation, however thoughtful and respectful, constituted a meaningless and childish squabble.  He did, however, give her major props for her alliteration, so his tone wasn't so bitter when he replied, “Once we're victorious, we'll make sure that the villagers get their property back, but if the thieves have loot from a previous raid, we're not going to traipse around the countryside to return it, so we'll add it to the convoy.”

The advisement of Nickolas mirrored a sentiment that Hugh felt most keenly himself: the call to action.  In truth, the lancer wanted to get started just as much as the dark mage, if not more.  Had two hours really gone by since the Reclaimers had arrived?  It nearly hurt Hugh's heart to think of all the advantages that time was rotting away.  He hoped to Naga that the bandits' degree of intelligence and power of observation correlated to the relatively pitiful standard that he'd come to expect from lowlife brigands.

His worries evaporated briefly as his attention was then seized by Syrena—her glowing eyes and tome, to be specific, and with those anomalies in his view he found himself obligated to listen well to her words.  Her unencumbered voice described an affliction most serious and frightening, even to a knight.  Fortunately, Nick, a man more well versed in the arcane arts than he, was on hand to provide reassurance.  Hugh did his best to follow it up, “Never fear, young one.  Your target, according to Kel, is outlying, which means the chance of spread is less.  Though we've been together a short time, and you speak of a curse most dire, I feel somehow as if I can trust you completely.  The human spirit is stronger than any curse in the long run.  You have my confidence.”  She soonafter received both Jakobe's and Habeen's votes of confidence as well, and Hugh hoped that Syrena found them as moving as he did.

The meeting concluded with Gaius's approach and apology.  Hugh's scarred face broke out into a grin.  “No worries, soldier.  The beauty of beginners is that they're allowed to make mistakes.”  He picked up his voice so that all could hear.  “It is far past time that we get started.  Remember your instructions and assume your positions.  Our roles as Reclaimers begin with us reclaiming this village.”

Another couple of minutes passed as last-minute preparations were made and tactical locations attained.  Thanks to Kuur's discreet scouting, a single sentry facing in their general direction had been found: a burly yet refined-looking man with long, dark hair tied in a ponytail.  Bearing no visible weapon, this was clearly one of the two important figures that Kel had momentarily laid eyes on before.  Furthermore, the man was looking skyward, which meant that anyone sent to deal with him might still get the element of surprise.  With this new intel in mind, Hugh planned for himself, Jakobe, and Nick to swarm the man before heading into the village to flush the archers.

When all was ready, Hugh gave the signal, and the Reclaimers attacked.