Crossing the palisade’s threshold Adrick soon found himself emerging into the bustle of an army camp. Strong men, weak men, men with weapons and men with armies mingled among the tents wishing to find direction and the ultimatum, war. Adrick himself had no idea where to start looking for Culvien, and could only hope to stumble upon the knight walking up and down the rows of tents. A frustrating task no doubt, but one he was willing to accomplish for the promised hundred denars. 

	He was about to press on when a deep feminine voice hailed him, causing Adick to turn in the saddle. At first his eyes glazed over in confusion not recognizing the tall, pale women but in a flash he remembered, willingly dismounting from his horse and saluting Ragula with a raised hand.

	“M’lady, haha if it in’nt Madame blood chiller. How long has it been since we’ve seen eye to eye, I cannot recall?” He took Ragula’s hand in his own, shaking it warmly. He spoke to her in his usual grating way, but his voice was tinged in respect for the widow before him.
	
	“Behaving myself,” he snorted waving off the phrase as if it was a passing breeze. “Never, no I have been up to as much foul decadence that I can accomplish without being thrown into a castle cell. Today being the exception of course, delivering a knight’s bloody mail. But as I always say, nothing is beneath me when it comes to easy denars. Perhaps ye've heard of a sir Culvien and could direct me towards his tent, then we could sit down for a drink and catch up on olden times with my reward money. Ye would pay of course.”