[center][color=FF4500][h1][b]Mirza[/b][/h1][/color][/center][hr]
Bow string tied between two grounded stakes at the entrance of his tent and his blade by his sleeping bag weren't enough to ensure the best night's sleep, yet Mirza wrestled with whether or not a more elaborate trap or snare would have made the difference. While taking down his makeshift attempt at insurance that morning, he had to admit to himself that he probably wasn't as concerned with security as he could have been. For instance, he actually slept inside said sleeping bag instead of making a decoy out of it, wanting at least some reprieve from the freezing coastal winds that only had a mildly harder time of piercing through his tent than it did any exposed part of him. So in facing the first full breeze out in the open, the quint essential misfit of this band had dawned his black cloak, his arms grasping its ends closed over the warmest materials he had on hand.

The chill that nipped at his face had forced him to his feet sooner than he'd like, well before Nuniel's emissaries would meet with the Captain and Lieutenant, a conference that he had no misgivings in not attending. If anyone actually wanted him to be present, he highly doubted it'd be for his strategic insight. War wasn't normally his business, let alone his area of expertise. If anything, the more time he spends around soldiers, the more likely one of them is to start getting nostalgic, or perhaps feel the urge to show him the tallies they've carved onto their equipment, if he's lucky.

Instead, Mirza departed from the camp to make himself useful, going about his routine and essentially seeing to his final preparations. Truthfully, he really wanted to visit Flemont before the incursion began, but was in no position to make the journey on foot by himself. The port will be largely remembered as a major intersection of trade in the region, an excellent place to come across all manner of things, likely even two years into Nuniel's encroachment. Only one way to know for sure, as far as he was concerned.

As a start to generally wake himself up he'd head for a mildly wooded area and spend around two hours in total to help replenish the camp's reserve of fire wood, mostly relegating himself to collecting all the suitable fallen branches and any other potential kindling he could carry. Given that he only had to account for a camp of a little more than a dozen individuals for perhaps that night alone, felling an entire tree didn't really feel necessary, not that he was at all eager to handle the task himself anyway.

He made two runs like this, but before returning from his second trip, he'd take the opportunity to brush up on his swordplay and throwing accuracy, honing his form, the motions that had seen him through many of his scuffles as of late before continuously embedding his throwing daggers into a large tree from ten to fourteen feet away. With a fair amount of tentative concentration, he managed to get the second and third blade to land less than an inch from the first one. The fourth one however spun off-center and smacked against the hilt of the second, sending both tumbling to the ground. Mirza still had his arm raised from the throw, his fingers slowly curling back into a fist that trembled and bobbed slightly under his tense breathing. Swallowing as he lowered his arm, he'd walk over to the tree and collect his knives, not a second thought given before he took up the last of the wood he'd gathered and carried on back to the camp.

The meeting was well underway by the time the Zuiterran mercenary sought to occupy himself with another task, taking up a hunting bow from one of the racks and a quiver of arrows. The company wasn't in dire want of food as far as he knew, but hunting on his own behalf meant he wouldn't be a burden on the company, something he touted while negotiating for his life a little more than a year ago. And if he came back with more food than he could eat himself then all the better for [i]him[/i]. The thief hadn't seen to his tent since he'd risen, but decided that one final meal before his debut into his first theater of war would be more important than sorting his equipment. He could use the distraction.