Rylen breathed in deeply, and out deeply. The mists of the valley they were in was somehow soothing despite still being one of the more off putting things about this strange new land he found himself in. The sky was beautiful he had to admit, with stars streaming across his entire field of vision. They blanketed the night in soft lights, and he was so enamored that he did not hear his friend Meldarion approaching. 

"What did they do with the prisoner?" the Half breed asked, his dark eyes scanning the valley from the battlements, standing next to a startled Rylen. The crusader gave a smile at his jumpiness, and let out a breath. "The Lord is questioning him now, I believe. What information they could gather I wouldn't know. I didn't realize there was a bigger plan than simply 'advance' until we have conquered." 

Meldarion said nothing at that. Rylen didn't expect him to either. They'd known each other for some years, and if you asked anyone back when they had met who was the older one, they would have said Meldarion. But the bastard Dragonslayer had a way about him where he seemed to keep his youth. Both of them now looked a few years short of thirty. Of course that and their uniforms were where the similarities ended. Rylen was a clear western man, with brown hair and blue eyes and thick facial hair (when he didn't shave). Meldarion was black haired and dark eyed, only needing to shave occasionally if at all, with Khaki colored skin. 

"There is something about this night." Rylen said suddenly, his voice sounding much too loud when speaking through the calm of the evening. "I feel restless." Meldarion nodded. "Aye, I do as well. I feel like a ride." Rylen snorted at that. "Don't be daft, I'm not going out alone on horseback. Where would we go?" 

His friend looked at him. "You don't need to come." he said, and simply walked away. The full blooded Westerner opened his mouth to speak, and then groaned and began to follow. Mel had never been one for many words. He probably used up most of his focus on his skills. It showed after all. It was why the Lords and Bishops had tolerated a half-heathen in their ranks, being the deadliest sword of Andred.