"Are you sure this isn't from-" Daelin started question, but stopped when the letter reach his eyes. While he never got to know Utu well as a person, he always suspected Utu was not one with many relatives and friends. But this letter was in no shape or form from a relative; it was serious matter. Though now the complication was how the author of this letter managed not only to locate this outfit, but accurately identify one individual out of fifty. This was bigger than Daelin, and the thought of taking it to Ashav certainly crossed his mind, but he immediately put it off. Before they let anyone else on this, Utu himself needs to choose.

"This information is grave indeed," Daelin concluded, after he read the content to Utu. He returned the paper back inside its envelope and handed it back to Utu. "We should keep this to ourselves, for now. It'll cause quite a ruckus if others to know."

"Utu, I have a lot respect for you and your work." Daelin placed his right hand on the Argonian's shoulder. He looked into Utu eyes, seeing nothing but genuine confusion. It was either Utu-ja played the role very well, or most likely, the letter was indeed unknown to the Argonian. "I would not stop you or tell anyone else about the letter. To be honest, there are merits in their arguments. This individual," Daelin halted when the name nearly came out. They could never be certain of privacy in the camp, so keeping their voice down and omitting the details will better protect against eavesdroppers. "-despite what they done, what they supposedly done, should be given a chance to explain themselves first."

"Whatever you decide on, it would be for the best if you act on it after our mission." Daelin said. The others still have not yet arrived, but then again, Utu was always quick to report to his station. This would be a good time for Utu to respond, to voice his own thoughts on the letter. Daelin's tone, volume and word choice made one point clear; keep it a secret. Receiving details like this particular one tend to make people nervous, Daelin knew, in a way. Getting antsy right now was not exactly helping, since Utu could suffer from both the slip of tongue and slip of foot. 

"Here," He took the bowl of herbal mixture from table and extended it to the Argonian. Daelin was positive Utu saw him consuming it several times before, and took hints of not only its energetic properties, but also how it cleared the mind of ambient thoughts. "-this will keep you focused, just chew before you swallow."
[hr]
On the other side of the gathering, Keegan was also fumbling with a bowl of ingredients. The caravans from earlier today had brought replacements they desperately lacked; weapons, food and even living bodies. In the week they had been placed on this hill crest, loss of personnel was slow but continuous. The earlier days were the worst, they had no idea what the Forsworn devised to inflict casualties, now, they've found out with a small stack of corpses. Then again, these unexperinced mercenaries would need to re-learn lessons some paid their lives for. As much as in pained Keegan to think, some of these new blood would need to be spilled before complete understanding is reached. 

Looking on the bright side, fresh food tasted fairly decent. 

What Keegan did right now was preparing tea, a Breton-styled mint chai so often sold in the cafes of Daggerfall. In front of him lies a campfire, with dried twigs lit aflame by magical sparks. The cast iron kettle was suspended from a wooden stick, which was in turn, was held up by one metal crutch on each side. Underneath Keegan was another piece of wood, a rickety wooden stool that had two rigid legs out of four. This was the position Keegan was in before being called to the assembly. Something around an hour earlier, he had been forced to skip the last course after ingesting a tangy hickory-smoked venison. Without surprise, the appetite was lost by the time that "useless halfwit" begun barking, it remained gone as of now. Dessert was out of the question, so liquid refreshment would have to be the filler.

Not a moment too soon, just as the rusty kettle began steaming, someone else came to join him. It was Jorwen, and he wore a tired but friendly smile. In the distance, Keegan could spot some of Jorwen's patrol-mates, the one that called himself Cleftclaw in particular was walking away. 

"No, not at all." Keegan looked up, nodded and tried his best at an equally warm smile. However, he suspected that between the poor visibility and his tired facial muscle, it didn't feel as amiable. Instead, he directed for Jorwen to sit on the ingredient box, since the stool underneath was the only one here. While Jorwen went to sit, or perhaps not, Keegan fetched kettle from its stand. 

"Got another mug in the box, if you want some." Keegan added before Jorwen could sit himself. "Brewed from the stuff that came in earlier today." He sniffed the hot vapor exerting from the kettle head, the steam was hot but its scent was crisp cool.

"Brave of you to volunteer, I almost did not." While sipping his drink, and either pouring another for Jorwen or simply setting the kettle back on the makeshift stand. "To be fair, I think I'll have a better chance getting through scouting than actual fighting."

"You're a warrior, though." Keegan mused. Taking another careful sip of the hot liquid, he swirled the minty flavor in his mouth before putting it down and resuming the conversation. "You've been in battles, and whatever happened on that patrol earlier didn't seem to bother you."

"I've seen bloodshed, but still could not stomach being in one." Scratching his head and gazed nervously into the flame, Keegan sighed. Who said scouting doesn't involve fighting, maybe they were sent to fight ahead of the main force. A cold gust blew by, nearing snuffing out the fire and forcing Keegan to shiver. Why did it have to be this cold, in Mid Year, nevertheless. "Not sure how you keep on fighting, but I surely am glad for that, when we're out there." 
[hr]
Edith always walked away with a faint grin after conversing with Sevine, and this time was no exception. In a camp of battle-hardened warriors, a familiar face, someone whom she could trust was both welcoming and comforting. The constant presence of Dumhuvud and Ashav was not exactly healthy on her mood, though Daelin was more pleasant to be around. What Edith missed the most were soft beds and warm food. She was like any other Nord, in that the chill rarely bothered her. But she was also like any other living being, human, elves or beastfolks; a cozy home was always superior than a damp and wet tent. The initial excitement of a being a mercenary quickly worn off, and as much of a novelty it seemed now, Edith was beginning to ponder on her retirement. Maybe, just maybe, she'll leave after a few more contracts. Find a stable job in the city or some quiet village...

For the night ahead, Edith had a job to do. With the last piece of armor fastened, she decided to tie up her blond strands similar to how Sevine wore her scarlet ones. If she was more of a "lady", as her aunt once lectured, she would be deliberating on more elaborate hairdos with Sevine. But she's not, aunt and uncle be damned, and she thoroughly enjoyed the benefit of not spending hours on her hair. Not a fashion expert doesn't mean she won't appreciate practical ways to dress, in fact, she's quite fond of this hairstyle.

After that, she sought out several members of party and ensured they were properly equipped. She wanted to visit Jonimir first, to solicit ways for charging soul gems. Arcane arts was not her forte, so she settled on distributing her smithed goods as priority. Halfway through, she stumbled near Tennant. As always, the Imperial man did not bother to gear up with weapon or armor. Edith heard stories about this seven feet tall fighter, who supposedly killed Forsworns with his bare hands.

"As much as I respect your abilities." Edith said to Tennant, in a matter-of-fact rather than patronizing tone. "Some armor would do you no harm." 

"You know, in case danger cannot be avoided." She wasted no time offering a leather jack, or perhaps a set of steel chain mail stored in her tent. Of course, she expected the latter to be rejected. Slowing him down, Edith heard Tennant say before. A giant of a man like this one doesn't appear the speedy type, but then again, he supposedly sneaked up on a troll. Full of surprises, Tennant dwarves Edith not only in height, but in is tall tales as well.

"Surely someone else would appreciate a good set of metal," Edith mumbled to herself; how about Sadri?

Like Tennant, Sadri was no less curious. He talked like an elf of books but also bears the scar of brutal clashes. Not to mention, many would grimace in disgust after hearing the slew of "sounds" coming out of his tent. Still, in the few times Edith listened to the Dunmer, she found his tales no less amusing then Tennant's. Learning the history of fellow mercenaries was something Edith thoroughly enjoyed, and as a result, she would like to see most of them survive the upcoming fray.

"Greetings," She hailed. Putting on the air of a saleswoman that she learned from her aunt, Edith gave a knowing smirk. "Seems like you could use ten pounds of steel."
[hr]
Lastly, a troublemaker such as Dumhuvud would never pass the opportunity to roast some fresh meat. Fortunately for him and unfortunately for Roze, the right situation was just at hand. Upon seeing the newly arrived Breton, Dumhuvud made a beeline towards her like an eagle diving to snatch gophers, shoving Sevine aside while on his way.

"Well well, look what we have here." His jaw twisted into the signature sneer well-despised by all. He cracked his armored knuckles and looked down at Roze, both figuratively and literally. "Someone's little girl got lost in this part of the woods, heh?" Without giving Roze a second to breath, he took another step forward and sharply shoved her shoulder away. "What's the matter? Are you trying to swindle us? Do you think we are playing some kind of game here?"