[center][h2][color=tomato]Galahad Quaid[/color]
The Moving - Szazah's Tent[/h2][/center]

[color=tomato]"Ah, Duren I always do wonder how you manage to function so well for the amounts that you drink."[/color] Galahad commented offhandedly as he plopped down familiarly next to the ever-drinking dwarf. Galahad could hold his own when it came to drinks, but he'd never once proclaim himself anywhere near capable of drinking like Duren. The two of them had a fun relationship- consisting mostly of jabs and quips at one another before drinking themselves into an unconscious stupor- or rather drinking Galahad into an unconscious stupor. He had been laying off the heavy drinking for the past month- as Aliyah, had offhandedly commented that she hated dealing with drunks, but the two still regularly drank together. Well, at least he knew he'd find some source of company in whatever they were being sent off to do. 

Of the others that were in the tent with them, Phinuphus was the only one he'd ever spoken to, and not about anything of enough importance to spring to mind in recent memory. The rest of the bunch were relatively run of the mill- at least to The Moving's standards. Being in the moving had introduced Galahad to more individuals of different races than he'd ever dream of meeting- back in Feyerlun, most people were human- with a few elves and dwarves to add some spice to the city. But Galahad had only met one drow back home, and had never seen beastkin until he visited the mainland.

Finally they were all there, and Szazah opened his mouth to speak. He spoke of snow elves- or the Shadowwald, mythical creatures that were supposedly real, and that they were to venture off into the wilderness, find them, and recruit them to their cause before the Apotheosis did. Galahad shot Duren a look before glancing at the faces of the others- almost sure that he was the poor victim of an extremely elaborate practical joke. It was a good thing he didn't open his mouth to make a snide remark, because it appeared that Szazah was rather serious, and also rather drunk. 

Looking around- Galahad didn't really see anyone that looked anything like a diplomat, ambassador or a negotiator- someone of status qualified to forge alliances- aside from Szazah himself, though he wondered how well any court would take the drunk old warlord if he retained his current drunkenness. Galahad took Duren's tankard and helped himself to a stiff bit of drink. 

[center][h2]Galahad's Tent[/h2][/center]

Galahad returned to his tent shortly after the meeting with Szazah- to pack his few meager belongings and prepare for his journey before he said his goodbyes. Not that he had that many people to say goodbye to. His tent was sparsely decorated- having to move regularly as part of the moving meant that putting too much time into making his tent 'his own' was a wasted effort, as it would have to be torn down and reset every little while, and moving decorations was even more work that he didn't want to be bothered with. 

Galahad had a small rucksack for himself- more of a satchel than anything. It was a relatively nicely made leather pack, and was light- containing only necessities for travel- a bit of clean cloth, dried travel rations, whetstones and small waterskin. Most of Galahad's belongings would be placed into the much larger, much heftier saddlebags of his horse, Galahad was never fond of carrying too much weight on his own shoulders. 

His saddlebags carried much bulkier bits of travel necessity, or stuff that he wouldn't regularly need. An extra pair of waterskins, cooking implements, armor care materials, some spirits for cleaning wounds and some wine for his own personal use along with a spare set of clothes, lantern and spare clothes. He'd have to stop by one of the quartermasters tents to stock up on more foodstuffs and supplies for his journey though. With some disdain, he hefted the heavy saddlebags and proceeded outside to where his horse waited for him, before laying the burden on his horse. As he secured the straps on his horse, Galahad heard footsteps stomping through the mud, and the light, high pitched voice of a young girl.

[color=moccasin]"Sir Galahad! Sir Galahad!"[/color] Looking up, Galahad saw Amelia, the young child from earlier that day trotting up happily, her older sister Aliyah in tow. Quickly straightening himself and dusting himself off, he threw on his most charming smile and waved.

[color=tomato]"Ah! Amelia, Aliyah- out of her medical tent, what a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe this journey from the sick tents?"[/color] he said with a slight flourish. The younger sister giggled, while the older one rolled her eyes. 

[color=palegreen]"Amelia told me you were heading off north with Szazah."[/color] Aliyah said plainly, surprising him. 

[color=tomato]"Well yes, I am accompanying him north. But how did-"[/color]

[color=palegreen]"Phinuphus told me."[/color] Aliyah snapped, answering for him. [color=palegreen]"I can't believe you're going along with them. I know you're not the brightest apple, but even you can see Szazah isn't well."[/color] Her voice was scolding, though try as she might to hide it, Galahad could still sense concern in her tone.

Galahad offered her a half-hearted shrug in return. [color=tomato]"Aye, perhaps not everything is right with the man- he's been through a lot if the rumors are to be believed. Truth be told, I don't even think Szazah wanted us- its more of what scant few soldiers the warleaders decided to give the man to appease him. Call it a stroke of bad luck, but I am a soldier of The Moving- this is what we do, don't really have a choice in the matter, do I?[/color]

Aliyah's pretty face scrunched in a rueful grimace. [color=palegreen]"You make a pretty poor excuse for a soldier."[/color] she commented softly. She paused for a moment, debating whether or not to say more. Finally, somewhat awkwardly, she pulled off the small kerchief that she used to keep her hair out of her face and offered it to him- it was a light green cloth, slightly faded from being washed multiple times, with small blotches of sweat and blood from working in the medical tents faded but never truly washing off.

[color=palegreen]"You're a bit of a dolt, and your head would be up your own arse if wasn't attached to your neck.. But I wouldn't want you or Phinuphus to die on this pointless errand... and wipe that stupid look off your face."[/color] she said, half-shoving half-throwing the cloth at him. Galahad was grinning the broadest, most beaming grin he'd ever smiled. 

[color=tomato]"Worry not dear doctor, a dolt I may be, but as long as I have this,"[/color] he said, taking the kerchief in his hands, before tying it around the scabbard of his sword. [color=tomato]"and my Evreluce,"[/color] he added, placing a confident hand on the pommel of his sword. [color=tomato]"I'll find my way."[/color]

With that, he deftly stepped onto one stirrup of his horse before throwing his other leg and the rest of his weight over and onto the saddle. Riding off to towards the Quartermaster's tent Galahad tried his best not to look back, but he snuck a glance as he looked over to greet a passing soldier. The two sisters still stood outside his tent, Amelia jumping and waving excitedly, Aliyah just standing, watching. 

[center][h2]The Moving Camp North Gate[/h2][/center]

Saddlebags fully stocked and provisioned, Galahad walked towards the gate they were to meet at, one hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword, the other guiding his horse by the reins. There was already a group gathering by the gates- three groups to be precise. One were a bunch of bald headed Sons of Blood, a group of soldiers within The Moving- soldiers just like the rest of them, but not the nicest of folks. They were fine fighters sure, but like Galahad they weren't particularly taken with the ideals of The Moving- mercenaries essentially, fighting for the sake of fighting. The second was Reed- along with some of the beastkin from Szazah's tent. Somehow, Galahad wasn't surprised Reed was getting himself into a spat with the Sons of Blood.

The last group was a group of Guards- Duren noticeable among them due to his shorter stature. The guards and Duren called for the fighting to cease- though from Galahad's eyes, a fight looked inevitable. He walked next to Duren and stopped there, upon which he assumed a casual, lazy stance, releasing his horse's reins. With a shrug of his shoulders, Galahad planted both of his hands on the pommel of his sword, putting his weight to that one leg. He leaned down to Duren's level. He spoke in a low voice, not a whisper, but low enough that only Duren would clearly hear, others if they strained their ears.

[color=tomato]"Some things never change do they old friend? I don't suppose you'll need a hand if and when things start to fall apart."[/color]

[hr]

Summary: Galahad doesn't like to carry heavy things by himself so he has a horse. Aliyah gives him a handkerchief, increasing their social link by one level. Notices that in the 3 way argument that appears to be happening, the guards seem to be short a man or two compared to the others.