[h2]Varian Sigmund - Outside the gates of Dalenham, Ethora[/h2]

Varian couldn't help but muster a small, momentary smirk at his group's skepticism and caution. These were questions Varian was likely to ask himself, if he didn't already believe the fat merchant knew anything about the tower that could help. He was likely a prestigious merchant here in Ethora who had never stepped foot into one of the old forts of Ethora. They were far too dangerous and likely to collapse. Of course, maybe he would be surprised and the merchant may know more.

"I..." The hooded stout man began. He cleared his throat and examined the map again as if it had the answers he were searching for. "Well, I am unsure of their choices of weaponry... erhm, swords and axes and the like, I imagine? As I said, they are simple brigands from the area, so I wouldn't expect anything too spectacular. As for the fortress itself... I am no expert, but I suppose it should have a main entrance and exit? A side door or...?" He gestured with his arms on the side. "I am unsure, I apologize."

Varian sighed and stood up. He supposed he expected too much of the man. "That's all right," He began and stretched his shoulder. "We'll take it from here. You can go. And we'll keep the first half of the payment, and meet you for the rest," Varian shot the orc a quick 'what-the-hell-are-you-thinking' look before the merchant began to rise to (try and) meet the Highman's gaze and beamed.

“Excellent! I cannot thank you enough, Sirs, and mad'am. Here.” He said, handing the marked map to Varian. “I’ve taken the liberty to mark another area on the map, on the outskirts of Curilan. When the job is complete, proceed to the inn there, known as the ‘Strutting Stag’. I will be awaiting your arrival with the remainder of the payment, in full.” The merchant gave the group a bow of his head. “Good luck, and may the Nine watch over you.” Varian nodded his head, and watched as the merchant strode over to his horse, struggling a bit from his weight to mount it, before finally succeeding. He gave the mercenaries a slight bow of his head, and rode off to the north. Varian put the map away into his bag, and gazed upon his group, checking to see if they were all ready to go. He didn’t want to say anything in front of the merchant, mostly because he didn’t want the man to go back on his word after realizing the ludicrousness of his sum he offered. But at the very least, he knew (and any of these other mercenaries that have been long enough in the business) that if what the merchant said was true, they were about to receive comically high payment for minimal work. 

"All right, now we can talk," Varian laid out the map again just as the merchant was out of sight and spoke up. "I recognize the area and the forts in that area. From what I saw and heard, they're all designed similarly. They're fucked." He emphasized. "Bad walls, shabby conditions. Those idiots are as likely to kill anyone that comes in there as the walls would come down over their heads. The forts tunnel down underground into narrower pathways, where numbers won't matter. My guess is they aren't protecting themselves with the fort, they're hiding in it. My guess is they won't have any archers outside. If they do," He motioned with his head toward Edon. "A few quick arrows will take care of them," Varian stood up, grabbing the map with him and adjusting his baldric to ensure it was fully tightened. "It's a week's march to the fort. You fall behind, you're left behind. Let's go."