[center][h2][color=teal]Auric Sturmsbled[/color][/h2][/center]
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	The young warrior felt his age sitting here in this carriage as the miles slipped past. He knew this country well, had been witness to events as for the last few years the country had slowly slipped into a dour mood. He had been to villages suffering under the strain of demands from the capitol. Though so far he had not yet observed the source of those demands. The hours near these strangers had thus far dampened any curiosity that the mercenary had felt towards the journey.
	
	As the carriage approached the city however Auric was beginning to understand the tragedy growing here and to see how it had poured over into the surrounding country. An eerie mist seemed to shroud the walls of the capital city. The gloom seemed to Auric to be overbearing, however, it was more than just the fog, a palpable weight seemed to fall upon them as they entered the gates. Were his spear not packed on the upper luggage racks of the carriage he would have adjusted his grip on it subconsciously. Instead, his fingers drummed on the pommel of the sword sheathed against his right calf, the long handle bringing the pommel several inches above his knee.

	It was clear the young man felt uncomfortable with the atmosphere of the city. Though, he bore a thick coat of grime on every surface of his skin you could see.  You might be forgiven had you mistaken him for an outcast, a savage living out of the wilds, except, that every single piece of his gear, even his armor was cleaned, polished for metal fittings and fixtures, and otherwise in exquisite shape. As his mood grew heavier a thin shimmer began to gather in his eyes as his magic tried to feed off his mood. It wasn't that the young warrior was trying to cast or had particularly failed in some way at managing his emotions, instead, it illustrated the toll this atmosphere could take on unguarded emotions. 

	As the power began to gather an audible exhale could have been heard in the carriage, the only severe sound in the otherwise silent ride. It served to mark the warrior centering himself and grounding his mood, a somber look settling on his face. It was well that he had done so during the ride to the lord's manor too, for the death of the peasant to a sword in the back could have caused that power to snap unexpectedly. Instead, however, Auric looked on resigned to the fate of the man as they rolled through the gates. 

	Departing the carriage last, Auric retrieved the metal spear from the roof of the carriage. He then turned and took one long look back at the threshold of the manse, a sense of instinctive foreboding settling into his bones along with the well-known feeling of being watched. His eyes shifted, but from his vantage, he could find no one watching him. With a sharp turn that caused the armored leather coat to whip around him and his hood to fall away revealing his snow-white locks of hair he pushed off his back heel and hurried after the others entering only a moment behind him.
	
	Entering the mansion did not lighten the mood or the atmosphere. Instead, as Lord Locheborne greeted them it seemed that at least some clarity might finally be within reach. That hope was soon dashed, however, as the lord seemingly frantic hurried off to some new crisis. So the guests were ushered into a dining room outfitted for the conference to come. Auric noted the curtain had been drawn, as had all the other curtains, as though their host felt at all times the uneasy sense of being watched. It gave the hunter in him pause, a moment to worry about the almost caged existence of his oft times employer.

	Once they arrived in the dining room, Auric moved to a corner propping up his spear safely out of the way. It was poor manners in his experience to hold in ones hand bared steel at such a gathering. So with the spear set aside, he examined his compatriots as introductions were provided. The first of them to speak was an elder woman, an elf marked first by her size and build, but then as well by her ears, she named herself Aemma. The second to speak appeared to be a dwarf, though he would serve as the first that Auric had ever met. Another who you might call experienced in life, he provided his name as Thadurim. Turning his gaze on the last of their number, another woman, her jet black hair, and heavy tan assured him that she was from further afield. She had called herself Javiyah, and the way she spoke and commented on what might be expected of nobility might yet mark her either as one learned, or perhaps instead experienced in dealing with them.

	Auric found a seat close to the corner where he had left his spear. He pulled the chair from the table and settled into it not waiting for the others. Instead, he appeared to sink into it as a lounging predator might, seemingly relaxed, but giving off the impression that he might spring like a trap at any moment. Into the long pause after the others finished speaking he decided to share his name, now that he was settled and more at his ease. [color=teal]"I am called Auric,"[/color] a simple statement with no elaboration is all that he provided by way of introduction as he leaned back into the chair to await what was to come.