[center] [@Drinky] [@PooHead189][/center]

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	Scribbling down his name in a flowery hand the young Breton left the Estalian to deal with the growing crowd of likeminded mercenary aspirants. He dallied in the common room sipping wine and observing his new company with curious reservation. Their speech was oft to accented and swift to understand in full, and the Breton only managed to catch a word or two of the conversations as he picked at his dinner. Eventually the Estalian man Severo called their attention outlining their first task and starting time, much to Frans Vou’s delight. It seemed no time would be wasted, with a prompt assemblage the next morning. Deciding to retire for the evening early, Frans Vou ascended the tavern’s wooden stair, meeting his page Adrian on the second floor landing. The boy handed over a heavy cast iron key, giving his knight a respectful bow.

	“Zee second room on zee left is made up for you sir. Zee best in zee inn as zee monsieur requested.”

	Accepting both key and directions Frans Vou left young Adrian with instructions to have the horse and mules ready by five o’clock tomorrow morning, before entering his quarters. The rooms here were dingy, not befitting Bretonnian nobility, but at least it beat a tent and cloak. Unbuckling his sword belt Frans Vou laid it gently down at the foot of his bed, resting upon his knees on the moldy wooden floor, head bowed in silent veneration. For a full two minutes he remained this way, his thoughts and prayers directed towards the Lady of the Lake in this short moment of reverence.

	Rising Frans Vou took up his sword and set it upon the nightstand before reclining upon the bed. Blowing out the bedside lantern and kicking off his boots Frans Vou slipped away, the muffled sounds from the bar thrumming in his ears.

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	The next morning Frans Vou awoke early, washing and dressing before taking an early breakfast in the kitchen. His actions were those of routine, and before long he met Adrian and Moreu in the stables, taking the bridle of his steed from the page. Leading both horse and servants from the stables Frans Vou’s blue eyes alighted upon the gathering party on the path outside the Limping Nag. Raising his hand in greeting Frans Vou made his way over to them, his companions staying at a respectful distance, awaiting any further instructions.

	“A fair day indeed monsieur nains. Monsieur Severo, monsieur… Vlad was it?” Striding to a halt the young Breton cast a reserved downward glance at Balgrim and Drimbold. Even dismounted the top of the dwarves heads just barely exceeded Frans Vou’s waist, and their stubby unproportioned legs did not grant the knight much confidence. He’d heard tales of course, which described the short bearded men as much more then what met the eye. But Frans Vou could not keep the note of contempt completely from his voice as he addressed, what seemed to him an obvious concern. “Pardon moi asking monsieur nains, but I see no beast of burden to carry zee. Ou do zou intend to keep pace? I suspect our journey will be long and tiring, and time will be of zee essence, no? Surely zou does not intend to run zee entire way.”