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"We are going to have to return in the morning," the ferryman said as they docked in the small fishing village, "Fog's making it impossible to see where we are going. in the dark it would be a disaster. Sorry sir, we will have to get your companions when this mist burns off." he shrugged an apology.

	Keshiashian didn't bother looking over at the ferryman as he spoke. He scanned the misty night before them and inhaled the feitted stink of the place. He could see how somewhere like this could pull the eyes of things inhuman to it. It reminded him of home, home so far away. The rotting smell of fish here was the perfect mirror to the unending miasma of compost and grain that permiated every memory he had of his lost home. "It can not be helped." he said just loud enough to be heard in his automaton's cadence. He withdrew the cost for the ride from his purse and dropped it into the man's hand. The Order had been kind enough to provide them with funds to cover their expenses, and, given that there were a good few of them here, it would not go to waste. "Tell my companions that my party will be waiting for them and acquiring lodging." his Czech was not well practiced, but, passable. He knew many people here spoke both Czech and German, but, he didn't know any German aside from a few curses. Czech had been more important. He had known a few Czech mercenaries in his time and found their language somewhat easier to learn than some others. Of course, he still wasn't close to fluent. As long as people weren't trying to explain something complicated or started using local terms he supposed he would do fine. 

	Without another word he plucked his tricorne from the small ledge of the ferry's rail and placed it on his head to ward against the damp night air. He hefted his cane and began to walk down the ramp, beckoning for Vivian and Katya to follow. His hard boots sloshed in the muddied and rain softened ground as he stepped from ramp to terra firma. He could see the lamps of the roads shining their welcoming lights ringed by halos of mist, will-o'-the-wisps promising safe passage through the moors. As so many travelers had done in the past, Keshishian followed the ghost lights deep into the bowels of the town. He was searching. He scanned the world around him, shrouded in darkened fog, for signs of anything that might spark greater memory in his dulled heart. It was as if glimpsing a family etching through the stained glass of a cathedral. Everything was familiar and alien all the same. Each street was just as he remembered it, only, he remembered nothing from this land he had never trod upon until tonight. Nevertheless, his way was guided and soon the pair of them stood before the door of an in and tavern, a strange song of yellow and signs drifting out from the cracks in the building. Mortal structures were not made to contain the essence of the beyond after all. You could make no wall or pot that could contain truth without truth. The former cultist pushed the door open with his mind floating in suspended in the shell of his skull, his old scars and brands itching like fresh wounds just beginning to knit. 

	The gloom of the outside world had been temporarily banished as the trio passed through the threshold and into the room filled with merriment. The whole situation seemed hollow though, as if the spirits of the dreary air outside were able to infect even those unwilling to give in to their possessions. Keshishian ignored the song that rang far too familiar to his ears and stepped up to the innkeeper. He sat heavily on a stool at the bar and removed his hat, dusting it and setting it on the bar. 

	"What will you have, sir?" the innkeeper asked casually. He did not bother with small talk either due to his own lack of desire for meaningless words or due to the distant and yet focused look that exuded from the thickly clothed man who now sat at his bar. 

	"I need room enough for seven and something to eat and drink," he said simply, barely looking at the man who had asked him. Instead he looked over at the young women who accompanied him. He gave them a silent questioning glance, wondering if they had anything to add or ask for. He knew others often liked to talk with people of all kinds, though, did not know if his comrades spoke the language. He would translate as best he could. He seriously hoped they didn't need him to though. He disliked talking with strangers as it was and being the mouthpiece for their mission here would be irritating.