[indent][i]T[/i]here was one luxury that Thdris Tholyr would never grow weary or out of love for: the aroma of the Realm. 

It was plethora of scents and particular perfumes of foliage, soil, that was interwoven with a tang conceived on the rituals of villages and towns, each heralding their own traditions that bathed their streets in conceptual colognes. It was a particular fondness that was incapable of being thoroughly explained, unless one held a fancy and notion to explore the depths of her consciousness. A simper laced with amusement towards her brief self-reflection carved eager dimples through the finest hairs shadowing the strong ridge of her jaw, lifting up towards the edges of her perpetual smirk cradling the constant presence of her bitter oakwood pipe. Smoke of pallid indulgence hazed in front of wine eyes fringed in bruised skin and creases barely forming into the ecru of her complexion, the whiff of the herb laden in the pocket of her pipe inducing a cloud of spice that nearly stung the occulus if not cautious. Thdris knew very well the notions to keep such from occurring, but it did nothing against the fluttering in the back of her throat that eventually swelled to a burn, she coughed — one, twice — clacked her pipe against the polished armour of her mount and sealed it off with another hacking of her smoke—pattered lungs much to the distressful whine of one gargantuan canine. His beady eyes of polished marble spoke legions to Thdris as they trudged along, only some odd—leagues ahead of the main contingent of the Company. 

	[i]“No worries Tormalk, just enjoying this delicious herb from the Imperial City.”[/i] She quipped, unlacing the depths of her fond, greedily endowed pouch and proffering the contents to her four-legged companion to take a gander at. The ebonette dog eagerly thrust his snout into the sack, only to let out a sharp yelp and immediately retreat, his irritated nose twitching madly with sneezes and huffing rebuttal that caused the Dwarva woman to bark in a round of boisterous laughter.

	[i]“Good, in’it? Can’t find this outside the Imperial pomposity. What did that she-wolf call it, Drakeweed?”[/i] She spoke aloud, her voice eclipsing over Tormalk’s continuous sneezing as he loped at her side, always to her right and two paces behind Durduum. 

It was a commonality that the trio of woman and beasts trailed ahead, often scouting out the roads intersecting through the plains and forestry and relaying missives of information usually bound in the quick succession of barks from Tormalk’s lolling tongue. It was a code of quick interchanges to one, or two bays that equated to: “clear” and “unsafe.” Of course, a quick eye to the spanning of wood revealed that another was making sure to examine the country side, and she did nothing to deter his scouting. Thdris long knew better than to disturb the man and Tormalk’s unease around him was enough testimony for the two to keep their distances. Durduum seemed unfazed by such, but often he was ignorant of most of the Company, utterly endorsed in Thdris’ fondness and spoiling inclination on a daily basis. She tended to deny being persuaded by the Dire Boar’s.. charm, but who could perceive the exact routine of a Ranger and her mount’s relationship.

Thdris smiled fondly and leaned to with her leather-bound fingers parting through course hair and scraping against tough flesh laced with scars and looped with copper rings. Durduum squealed in delight as a jealous yip piped up at her hip, earning an affectionate grace of her opposite hand to appease Tormalk. She glanced up, hands upon the crowns of her companions, and eyed sparse of greenery plagued with remains of destruction and chaos. Such visionary stations were familiar to her, by origins and years sworn into the Company, but the representation of raids since past still swathed Thdris in a cocoon of silence and respect for the dead pocketing the soil as macabre fertilizer.

Tormalk let out a loose peel of whines, each accentuated with his displeasure from the odor of rot and decay that assaulted his leathery snout. The Dwarva’s glamour faltered just, a brief glimpse to the quiet sadness that enveloped her countenance in privacy before masking over into a facade of stone — unmovable and chiseled with a purposeful tilt of her mouth. Further across the smell that violated the previous aromas she had been appreciating was the familiar bank of the river and cradled by the waters was Orvston. She had been in the city once before, moons ago, and not much had altered by the fringe of the wall, aside from the woe located just beyond such in these fields. Thdris glanced over the fur blanketed over her shoulder, knowing that the rest of the Company would soon crest over the hill by the vibrations carried through the soil. She churned one thick leg, digging her heel into Durduum’s heaving flank to encourage the Dire Boar to turn about and join the numbers at the ready.

Heavy trudges signaled Thdris’ return accompanied by Tormalk’s gaping jowls as he panted, still visibly bothered by the stench of death. She gave her war—hound an apologetic glance as the mercenary troupe traveled ahead just a bit farther before inducing the functions of setting up the encampment. Thdris’ dismounted, landing with a quiet [i]‘oof’[/i] with knees bent and giving full comparison to her standing beside both Dire Boar and hound — the differences were staggering, but not much a surprise. She barely crested four feet, much to the constant amusement of her pack mates that earned a thick hand against their back sides or a cleverly placed herb in their bedrolls. The latter was much easier to peg on some of the younger whelps, much to Thdris’ following amusement — no regrets. Although she often made up for her whimsical indulgences, it still garnered exasperated sighs or barely—there chortles of equal hilarity.

[i]Ah well. . .[/i]

Thdris carefully escorted Durduum between those dismounting from their own charges, mindful of his tusk range and whistled for Tormalk to follow suit before he could indulge in his own antics and ease through knapsacks and saddle bags. She often pitched up her own tent far enough for the sake of both Durduum and Tormalk’s peculiar habits of.. Roaming. The Dire Boar was nearly impossible to pen and the war—hound was just as difficult to contain. At least, she claimed such, the reality was that anxiety cored the two animals thick when in the presence of the Elves wreathed in the taint of the Will. It was only by Thdris’ often persuasion to keep them corralled long enough through the night until the next sun before their traditional morning scouting; to shake off the peculiar waves she received from the magically inclined. Pitching up the tent next was a chore enough, utilizing both of her companions’ strengths and heights to loop rope around their battle adornments whilst she guided them and pulled taut on the materials until satisfied.

It was in the final processes of shedding Durduum’s battle gear and armour that a familiar face peeked around, eyes immediately falling on Tormalk who barked, immediately bounding up to the orphan child and sniffing around her eagerly. She was silent through his greeting, well familiar with the gargantuan dog and Thdris’ could glimpse the smallest of smiles etched there, making one of much larger proportions to eclipse across her face. 

	[i]“Hello deary, got something for me?”[/i] The Dwarf inquired, stomping up close and nearly meeting the orphan on eye-level. Tormalk quieted and reclined to his hocks, the hammer of his tail eagerly thumping the ground as small hands passed over the missive and immediately occupied themselves by clasping over the black hound’s head, returning affections.

The words were of a cryptic intention, pulling an arched brow from Thdris as her leather twined hand smoothed over the prickle of facial hair before sweeping into a thick fringe tangled from the journey. It was ominous, that was for certain, but comforting in that lack of explanation — she expected none else from the Captain, and that consistency was a balm and comfort to the Dwarva.

	[i]“Well, I’ll be off. Keep them company will you? Tormalk loves company — apples in the packs.”[/i] Thdris supplied, leaving the runner to her companions and immediately making head to the Captain’s tent per the summoning. Her arrival was announced by her footfalls, heavy and akin to a stomp, much to the disparity of those of silence and shadow, but Thdris minded not as she slipped inside, finding that most had already gathered. Figuring herself to be the final arrival, she crossed thick arms at her breast and notched her chin up, indicating to the entire lot of them.

	[i]“What’s all this then, ey, Captain?”[/i][/indent]