The meeting with Daldwin went about as one would expect. The man was the epitome of formality, almost oppressively so. After a brief exchange of pleasantries he explained in more detail the marching orders for the Roses and their escort. It would be a two week trip through the trading backroads that skirted through Thalns boarders, with a brief rest at the town of Nev, which boasted a modest, albeit long disused, fortress with Illithin's forces moving into Thaln territory about three days behind them. 

The idea of replacing the civilians was brought forth but politely declined, Daldwin and other nobles hoping that the settlement the refugees would settle in Velt would help rebolster trade in the region which had lagged somewhat in the last decade. 

For those who did not attend the meeting, they were greeted in the refugee camp with open arms, and a gracious amount of food, simply happy to have such esteemed men and women as their temporary guardians. Of the villagers, there were three of note. An elderly man by the name of Gambl who was acting as leader to the displaced people was less than thrilled to being escorted in such a dangerous time part took little in the festivities, instead opting for cool stares from the edge of the camp.  The second was the young Priest of Reon Magold and his daughter Gwyndoline. Magold was the principle benifactor of the reception and seemed rather eager to meet with the captain, though time simply did not permit the event. However, he was none the less a welcoming host, tending to the knights needs as much as possible when not prying his daughter away from her incessant attempts to play knight with the troops. Meanwhile, Klaus won a...frankly disturbing amount of victories during her time in the ring. A few hundi present attempted to ask her hand then and there, though most were shoo'd away by the rest of the competitors. 


The first week of travel had left the party relatively unmolested, save for an errant carriage wheel or two, and they now passed through what was colloquially called the Dragonback. Marble white stone  plateaus dotted lush green fields. The road was old and cut through a few such edifices, access granted through the rock by eons of rain wearing its way through. One such example lay just on the horizon, the last gate they would need to pass before finally reaching Nev.

Gill, mounted and following closely beside a carriage seemed to be rather pleased with the surroundings. “Probably good hunting around here...” He mumbles, trying to start some sort of conversation to ease the doldrums of travel. Gambl scoffed from his seat in the carriage. “If you say so.” He says, crossing his arms and looking at the landscape with no small amount of scorn. “No good for farmin' though. All this shite stone. 's only good for raise sheep if ye ask me....”