[center][h2][b]Lady Grim[/b][/h2][/center]

She stretched, her back cricking several times as she pushed her chest out and brought her arms up behind her back, arching slightly, sighing in relief as the cramps of the voyage worked themselves out of her spine. She had never enjoyed sea travel. The sea, yes. Travelling on it, not so much. Something about not being in control of her own motion rebelled against her intense need to rule her surroundings wherever possible. 

Around her bustled the Grim Company, unloading crates, horses, weapons, food and more from the dozens of bluff bowed, square sailed Seikastsu trade ships that had carried them across the sea. The water that lapped at their wooden hulls and at the stone quays was a dirty brown, bits of wood, other garbage and even a few dead dogs bumped gently against the hulls. The Town they had reached was one of the larger in the Kingdom of Glarmion and, prosperous as it was, it would never truly be free of the foul smell that seemed to rise from all harbours. 

She glanced around at the Townsfolk who had come to stare, kept at bay by polite but firm Samurai of the Bambu Company, all of them armed with some sort of polearm and their infamous longbow. Despite being of Formarothian descent, she had never actually been to the continent and the stone buildings, with their slate grey roof tiles, seemed ugly and blocky to her. Here at least however, there were women the mirrored her appearance. For nearly thirty years she had lived amongst the Seikastsu people and their women, and even their men, were notably shorter than she and more petite in size. The female companions she had made often voiced their amazement at her height, the size of her breasts, and the stunning colour of her hair.   

Her eye was drawn to a man who was furiously arguing with two of the Bambu Samurai, his temper only increasing as they continued to politely, but firmly, refuse him entry to the quay. Rhaetia was keenly aware of how highly the Seikastsu regarded proper manners and knew that it would only take a few uncouth words for the Formarothian man to find himself facing Seikastsu steel. His dress suggested he was a high ranking man, in fact he even wore some Seikastsu silk suggested he was wealthy, probably the local lord. This idea was supported by the dozen men-at-arms who stood as his back looking uncertain of what to do. It was true they out numbered the two Bambu Samurai but the steady stream of heavily armed soldiers from the boats had grown from a few to hundreds, and more were arriving every moment. Rhaetia finally took pity on the man as he stamped his foot like a child and threw his hands up in the air.

She seemingly glided towards him across the cobblestone quay. Every step was precise, planned and executed as if she were dancing. Her lithe movement, height, and stunning looks soon drew the look of every man watching, save for her own. The tamper tantrum wielding lord did his best to look regal but like every other man there, he was awestruck by her appearance. None of the clumsy movements considered normal in Formaroth marred her body language. She moved as if she were in fluid motion, graceful in her gestures and deliberate in her words.

"My lord?" She made the words a question as she approached the nobleman. It was plain from the coat of arms that hung from a chain around his neck that he was a man of some rank. Rhaetias' speech was pleasant to the ear, gentle, convincing, polite, but her eyes. They said so much more. They betrayed the true fury of her soul, her ability to do great violence, and above all, her absolute command of the situation. They bore down on the man, taking in the strong shoulders, sturdy jaw, neatly sculpted moustache, full head of brown hair, and deep brown eyes that regarded with her with something between awe and, maybe, fear.

"The Lady Grim I presume." He stated after a moments silence, his own shrewd gaze studying her in return. What did he see? The woman before him was tall, taller even than him, with the corded arms of a soldier, strong chin, beautiful red hair, and eyes that seemed to never be still. This was the woman of whom he had heard so much and he found that he was not disappointed, in fact, he was impressed. Her every movement, every gesture, even the quick flick of a finger to calm her soldiers seemed practiced and poised. This woman was amazing.

"I am the Count Lanistark, Cousin to our King and I have come to welcome you to Glarmion." He was suddenly very aware of how she smelt. The scent was faint, as if she had bathed in it, and he found it very pleasant. Even her soldiers, he noticed, did not bear the hallmark reek of sweat he associated with his men-at-arms, and, indeed, even with his own family. 

"I am instructed to provide you whatever aid I can in getting you and your men ashore. You are wanted within a fortnight to report to Lord Manshrew himself."

Rhaetia nodded and offered the man a small incline of her head. A single strand of red hair detached itself from behind her ear and fell to gently to brush her cheek. Perfect. 

"My lord Lanistark, thank you for your gracious welcome. Though I am sure the women in my Company would be insulted you did not consider them in your welcome. I have selected a campsite for my soldiers for the evening. You will of course dine with us tonight. The food will be simple Seikastsu fare but I assure you, it is most palatable. Now, if you will excuse me, I have much to do. If you require my attentions, simply ask one of my soldiers to send for me." She did not smile, she never smiled, but it did not seem to matter as she turned left the Count speechless. Every man and woman who had laid eyes upon her and heard her voice was smiling.

"Now that is a woman..." Breathed the Count as he watched her go. He knew little about her, only that the Grim Company was the finest mercenary army in the world, or so many said. The Steel Fist might have more in common with the soldiers of Glarmion but not a man or woman amongst them could hold a candle to the beauty he had just witnessed. He turned himself, walking like a man in a daze towards his horse, realizing only belatedly that he had been intending to invite her to supper, not the other way around.

The activity on the docks only increased as the Count Lanistark, Cousin to the King of Glarmion, rode into the town. Some twenty minutes after he had left the first detachment of Grim Cavalry thundered through the cobbled streets to take possession of a high and broad hilltop not far from the Counts own castle. A fury of activity continued until almost dusk and the population watched in amazement as a small three story fortress sprang up, surrounded by a wall of hollow but intensely sharp wood called bamboo. The entire structure appeared to have been pre-packaged for just such an occasion. A second structure, a single story this time, was quickly assembled, revealing itself to be a bath house complete with four large copper tubs that could be filled with boiling water drawn from a nearby stream. 

By night fall the entirety of the Grim Company was ashore settled into their camp. Rows of neat tents, each colour coded to their particular company, spread in ever increasing circles down from the fortress on the hill. Fires blazed before every fifth tent and pickets guarded the approaches so ruthlessly that several teenage boys, trying to get a view of the Lady Grim, were nearly shot as they attempted to slither through the high grass. They were rounded up and sent firmly on their way by unsmiling Samurai. 

As darkness settled and the moon began to rise, bathing the whole scene in a brilliant silver light, a blue/black tiger banner broke out on the top of the small fort. The Grim Company had landed.