[i][h3]Another Meeting - From Store to Inn[/h3][/i]
It took time for the young man to finish shopping, what with the amount of times he had to go back and forth to actually acquire everything on his mental list. The repercussions of his lack of foresight and planning bled into how he ended up struggling to carry it all to the counter without dropping anything. The transaction took only a few moments, coins passing hands before he left with a single nod, the items placed into the bags he already carried.

From there, he had nothing to do besides wait, so to the inn he went. It was a very short walk, so he didn't even bother to remount his horse, simply leading it along by the reins before he handed them off to one of the waiting stable hands. Inside he ignored almost everyone, having eyes only for the innkeeper so that he could take care of the business of not just paying for a room, but ordering food as well.

As the young man continued through his business, Drosil had certainly added in a unique element of chaos into the equation that was the table of Lora, Ayano, and Diane. As the Sentinels' eyes bulged in horror as the Jasian descended further into a drug-induced stupor, and then her horror escalated into a borderline heart attack as the ferret jumped from Ayano, and to her food. Her hands twitched, as if she didn't know whether or not she wanted to grab the ferret, or throttle Drosil.

However, the Princess of Barcea didn't mind the ferret at all. Even if it did initially startle her when it suddenly jumped on her it was small, fluffy, cute, and very, very white. What did bother Ayano though was the overwhelming, in both number and intensity, smells that came from the Jasians and the robes. It was enough to make her turn green below her bandages, which only worsened her condition. The ferret could have her food; she no longer had any desire to eat.

More and more players were added to the scene. The Sentinels that had gone out to gather supplies were returning one by one, Gortul with seemingly the most to carry, as he entered bogged down with furs. Alasa carried miscellaneous bags, while the food purveyor Sampson had gathered the best food fit for travelling for the next part of their journey. From upstairs, the Prince returned, having regained his full composure after the conversation with Vesta. Though he had descended with the objective of gathering together enough tables for the full party, he was more than just a little derailed by the sight of Drosil, blinking in surprise as he quickly approached.

[b]"What in the Hell-?"

"Cyril, do something with this idiotic addict before Ayano gets sick-!"[/b]

From where he sat at a table alone, the young man with grey hair just ground both of his palms into his eyes. Those Sentinels that had gone out hadn't entered alone, each bringing in at least three villagers who had clamored to help or suggest better purchases earlier, and had continue to follow in order to (successfully) catch at least a glimpse of the Prince, and the Princess as a bonus. The young man, who knew very little of Barcean politics and cared even less for them, did not recognize them for who they were and only thought about how loud they were being. It wasn't helped by the fact that though Cyril hadn't been able to ask for tables to be put together (as he instead had gone to grab Drosil and sit him upright, in order to see those strange irises), the Sentinels took care of it themselves.

Such was the situation in the inn, one of loud merrymaking mixed with chaos, thanks to Drosil...

And then, up above, the Wanderer sat up from his corner sharply, gripping his blade. From down below, just outside the inn, he felt a sudden presence, one that was massive, imposing, and overwhelming. To one with senses like him, it was like a mountain had suddenly exploded into existence right in front of him. He gasped with alarm, saying, [b]"What in the name of the Divines-"[/b]

Down below, the door to the inn suddenly slammed open, and everything went quiet instantly. Gazes turned to the open door, where in it stood a massive, dark figure. His features were shrouded, only the circle glasses on his face and the strange symbol around his neck gleaming with light as they reflected that which came from the inn. The one who showed the least amount of alarm was the young man, who nonchalantly looked up from his meat and potatoes, chewing away; after all, it was his tall robed companion from before. The man appeared as much the same, though now stains that were darker than even his robes were blotted over his attire here and there, along with plenty of tears. In his hand he also carried a large sack that was also stained dark, and within several round objects, around the size of melons, were gathered within.

It was abundantly clear though, thanks to the smell of iron that filled the air, he was not carrying a fresh harvest of fruit.

The man stepped forwards into the light, the various details from his short blonde hair to the scar on his weathered cheek appearing as he did so. Without any real regard for anyone else he walked through the inn, people quickly moving out of his way as each step heavily thudded thanks to his boots. Upon reaching the counter and the innkeeper, he stood in front of the rather intimidated man for a moment, silent.

Suddenly, he brought the sack up and then down heavily onto the counter. [b]"The problem has been dealt with. A meal is all that this toiler needs."[/b] With nothing more the man turned, leaving the sack behind for the innkeeper to desperately catch and keep its contents from spilling out. The man, meanwhile, calmly made his way back through the room of the inn, only to sit in front of the young man, who made sure to finish munching before speaking.

[b]"How'd it go?"

"Easily enough."[/b]

Though his imposing presence may have still been there, the suffocating silence began to fade as the people began to murmur together. The man, apparently, was recognized, and had many titles:

[b]"The Penitent Soldier..."

"The Rightful Executioner..."

"The Chosen Cutthroat..."[/b]

It was the Prince that said his most well-known, and perhaps official title. As he pulled away from Drosil, letting the man drop back to the table gracelessly, Cyril's gaze was focused completely on the man as he quietly said, [b]"The Divine Paladin."[/b]

The Divine Paladin, Damon Dubois. A man who was revered as a saint, and feared like a boogeyman. Tales of his exploits were those that were whispered from person to person, often in at night, and never to the very young. In the name of the Divines, always appearing wherever he was needed to correct some sort of problem, and always with terrific amounts of violence. He was known in all three countries of the east, with similar levels of respect in each... and often similar amounts of fear.

As Diane pushed away Drosil with her staff, Alasa watched Cyril's expression carefully. He could see the gears turning in his head, could see that glint that he had seen so often before in his eyes... And the Sentinel could only sigh as Cyril moved from the group, towards the table. The Paladin watched his approach calmly, and the young man who sat with him only realized Cyril was approaching as he came into view from the side. Before the Prince could speak, however, Dubois gestured towards the table.

[b]"Have a seat, Prince. Let's talk business."[/b]

The Prince gave a nod, quickly pulling up a chair to sit down. What was said next could not be heard by those at the table the Sentinels sat at, and though at least Alasa watched the conversation carefully and still failed to read lips, the others were struggling to keep Drosil at least somewhat up. While Diane actually physically moved Ayano away from the Jasian, Gortul had gone behind him to try and find some way to pin him upright, while Sampson very cautiously (and somewhat fearfully) tried to clear away those objects that were sent floating around by the Jasian.

The conversation lasted a few minutes, and when it ended the young man threw his hands up into the air, as if to properly punctuate it. Together, the three at the table rose, and walked towards the gathered tables that had the party. As they came to a stop the Prince held out his hand, gesturing towards both the Paladin and the young man, the latter of the two having carried his plate with him.

[b]"Everyone, this is the Divine Paladin Damon Dubois, and his apprentice Christopher Nocte. They'll be joining us for this journey."

"It is the will of the Divines."[/b] The Paladin brought his fist up to his chest, placing it over the silver symbol as he bowed his head, slightly. In contrast, the young man, whose name was apparently Christopher, just kept taking a bite from his plate every so often, and only said, [b]"Sup."[/b]

Cyril was clearly pleased about getting the Paladin to come along, but as he looked to Drosil a sort of frustrated expression came over his face. [b]“Do we have any idea what is wrong with him?”[/b]

Meanwhile, the Wanderer had already quickly left the room that he and Chikako had entered, making his way down the stairs quickly and back into the main room. He stopped at the top of the stairs, tensed as he looked about, but for whatever reason at the sight of the Paladin he actually relaxed, straightening and moving his hand from his blade. The Paladin returned his gaze out of the corner of his eye, giving an ever slight nod before he looked to Drosil as well. As he began to speak, the Wanderer turned to begin heading back up the steps.

[b]“Clearly, he has decided to partake in less than pleasant substances. I hope ye are carrying coffins with ye.”[/b]