[center][h2][color=skyblue]Marque de Bourdeaux[/color][/h2][/center]
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Words passed by Marque like a gentle breeze, and he paid as much mind to them. Whether it be the irritable gruff of defense by Lorenzo, the pragmatic decree of the good squire, or helpful volunteering taken by the good doctor, such words failed to register beyond Marque's ears, for all focus had been placed on what horrors certainly befell their good Hermit companion. To be slain in battle was one matter, a matter which would have its own traumas, but to know that the only reason the Hermit now had been drawn to his demise solely because Marque had changed positions... This was a matter most horrible in his heart of hearts. Nary a soul should have been harmed in his quest to investigate these woods for his mentor. Instead demonic hellhounds preyed upon them, because Marque had convinced each of their assistance. Foolish. And now the responsibility was his to bare.

[color=skyblue]"Did you say something?"[/color] Marque inquired, perking up for the first time, experiencing the scent of fresh air rather than fresh soil. His eyes took the scene in, and he drew the most apparent conclusion. The doctor remained at watch as others rested. Rising slowly to his feet, the usual dance and pomp had disintegrated from Marque's gait as he shuffled to Bastian, and took nearby seating. Rest was a luxury, afforded to those who could protect them. Not something he felt deserving of at this time. [color=skyblue]"I pray you find my company agreeable. My eyes can focus on our other flank, and ease some of the burden."[/color]

[hider=Gear][list][*]cases of makeup
[*]Couple masks
[*]Two sets of clothes
[*]A wig
[*]Bag of coins
[*]"Proof" of affiliation to House Bryce
[*]Backpack
[*]1 days trail rations
[*]Outdoor blanket
[*]Flask of water
[*]Crippling self loathing and survivor's guilt[/list][/hider]