[indent][i]Y[/i]ears with the Company had integrated a near second nature into gathering the particular specs and intonations of the Captain's speech, pinpointing the importance of his spoken terms and the details laden within his gruff timbre that had her crossing her short arms at her ample bust. She possessed her original skepticism, wonders, and inquires to the exact specifications of what oddities they were going to investigate, playing the role of Inquisitor was all fun and dandy, and she could champion that, but it still left her with pursed lips and drawn shoulders. She had participated on missions and jobs with far less information and details than what was currently given to them, of course, and dared not to speak aloud with her... concerns. Twenty years garnered flawless trust and execution, they would not disappoint her now, right?

Thdris slowly rocked back onto her heels, her attention severed prematurely at the mention pertaining to the intentions of his missive and the particular troupe gathered by the delivery. This was a teeming pot luck of individuality and skill, and whilst diverse in ability and time spent with the Company, she had only minor doubts to their formalities to working in unison. Thdris knew those who had been with the company nearly as long as she, sprinkling differences of years here and there, but able to surmise a basic opinion with the initial troupe easily enough. She had faith in the veteran crew, they were efficient and experienced, well oiled methods that came with many quests lining their records.  

She trusted Odran with fathomless fondness and admiration, more associated with his tact in working with The Captain for so long, her servitude only spanned to twenty years — and had it really been that [i]long[/i]? — and she doubted she could ever parallel in second command to him. Thdris’s lips gnashed together in a chortle, sealed behind a smile wreathed with mirth. Whilst the former had her respect in spades, she could testify little to the amount of trust she had in one particular scout: Kuro. It wasn’t so much his deposition, or the disturbingly haunting breadth that cloaked him entirely as an enigma, or the way he appeared to barely make a sound in every execution of his body. More so that she knew nothing of him, nothing to pin his familiarization despite working with the man on several occlusions. Be it on natural distance, or the demeanor Tormalk displayed around the human male, it left Thdris off put and nearly disappointed in the lack of camaraderie.

Thdris glanced and slid her gaze sidelong, pinning scarlet tresses with ease in the whorl of swarthy colours. The anxiety exhibited in her beasts had sprouted seeds and vines of encroaching doubt when it came to those magically inclined. Those wine coloured eyes passed elsewhere into comparison, landing on emerald oculi framed in brunette locks hacked by the edge of a blade from self-hand fluidity. Or not, Thdris thought with a crooked tilt of her mouth, angling her plane of observation and panning over the Kaerun fellow with a flicker of her gaze passing between him and Triala. Both betrayed the typical Elvish constitution, but were similarly bound and twined in the Will that pinged her companions in discomfort located on a tier they could not understand. It was only by the saving grace of one particular Vorstagian Charger that the Dwarva woman absolutely adored that wove a tapestry of kinship with the pyromancer. On that sliver of thought, she reminded herself to inquire after Blackheart’s condition, and thus fixated her attention else where.

The whelps and pups, as many of the Company had alluded to them as, she had yet to develop a sense of admiration, respect, and much less any foundation of trust. Gideon — she cannot for the life of her figure out how to pronounce it, so in her mind she calls him Geo — had proved himself on few circumstances, but was belied on the peculiar way Tormalk responded to him. In close proximity, the trustworthy hound stood erect and compacted, tail straight and head high in sheer displays of defiance, as if interacting with another canine in the midst. Thdris had reprimanded Tormalk on numerous occasions, but naught could alleviate her beast from his unease and disposition around the man — even after two years. 

The youngest of the troupe, the babes who had yet to garner their fangs and claws, Thdris could not gather evidence to how she felt about them. More taint of the Will laced them both tight, and both Durduum and Tormalk had spent little time around the two for that reason alone. Nights of witnessing the two lope back and forth along posts, tugging on leads, and expressing clear distress when banked so close to their tents. It pegged the Dwarva with a deliberate notion to avoid them, and as much as she despised her actions, the overall psychological displays of her companions was enough to cement her belief in that it just had to be done for their own, individual, sanity. 

But, none effected her, or the two beasts, as much as [i]she[/i] did. Taller than her by many heads, and wispy in muscle tone and overall appeal. She was dangerously beautiful, the serpentine lady in the midst of wolves, with fangs in the materialization of her gaze; perceptible shades of azure that reminded her of swollen thunder heads that interchanged with strikes of lightning. Defying to her appearance was the magic she felt off of her in waves, purely unrestrained power gilded in finery and grace, Thdris found her appealing in that confidence, but also left her wary of the Sorceress in close quarters.

Thdris’ focus came to from her mental exchange of opinions, barely catching the dregs of conversation and quips as her body moved on a literal auto mode until their provided observer spoke aloud, voice ringing her abundance of disfavour that caused the Dwarva to bark in her laughter. Amusement laced her tight as she vacated the tent, approaching the company members in the last clips of her chortle, a gloved hand rising to swipe at her ecru cheek feathered in fine hairs.

	[i]“Quite a mouth on that one.”[/i] She commented to none in particular, lips eternally lifted in a charming simper in the midst of bantering for those who would handle the negotiations. Her smile broadened graciously on the tones of a recommendation, and whole heartedly agreed with a firm clap against Triala’s hip as she stomped up beside her, mindful of Blackheart’s massive, velvet nose looming above her short head.

	[i]“Oh, how’s the hoof rot? Gone I suspect?”[/i] She ducked down, briefly, examining the previous site of infection and finding most of it cleared for travel. The herbal concoction was an experimental wonder when she had to treat Durduum out in the wilderness once with limited herb supply to use. It was a near miracle in the healing process of it, and applied monthly, it left the Dire Boar with hardly ever contracting the lame swelling. Her broad, thick-lipped smile seemed to ooze her pleasure as she glanced to Blackheart, keeping respect to his usual temperament and his awful penchant to attempt in snatching the bronze trinkets from the thicket of her hair.

She was ultimately prepared to embark, making note that she’d have to retrieve Tormalk for the journey and even considered borrowing a pony from the hands who managed and groomed the mounts of the Company. Thdris carefully constructed a basic plan within her mind whilst she pondered over her manner of speech to address the Guard when Odran effectively banished her calculations. Her brow furrowed, displaying her obvious disagreement with the final selection. Why send pups to perform to the will of the pack? Surely others were better suited to the task, she herself being among them. However, the slang term of [i]“too much dwarf”[/i] immediately broadcast to her frontal lobe, glaringly harsh in the reminder that some — well, most — considered Dwarva to be nothing but barbaric drunks and as thick and dense as the stone that they lived in.

Broad, rounded shoulders shrugged and slumped beneath her leathers, visibly defeated as she drawled a sigh and stomped past their replacement of a captain and waved her hand in a flag of dismissal.

	[i]“I’ll fetch Tormalk, his nose will provide helpfullness to anything amiss. This means I’ll be leaving Durduum behind, so if shit goes south, you bet I’m riding on [b]your[/b] back.”[/i] She flippantly stated, thick digits scratching through the prickle of facial hair as a sigh slid past those parted lips.

	[i]“Guess I’ll leave Durduum with the Kennel Master then. Oh Peton!”[/i] She cried, hands cupping around her exclamation to project her voice outward to the encampment in a sing—song tone. [i]“I need your wonderful assistance!”[/i]

And somewhere in the encampment, hiding behind a herd of ponies, the Kennel Master Peton hid.[/indent]