[color=khaki]“I don't think so.”[/color] Galahad replied coolly as he returned from the front desk- having just caught the tail end of the conversation on bunking and Bete's comments, a quartet of keys hanging off a loop on his finger. [color=khaki]“If its all the same to the rest of you, I'd rather not wake up to the smell of vomit.”[/color] He added, tossing a key at Bete and a few others with casual mist-powered flicks. 

The Cloudgazer, witnessing its first bit of business in weeks probably, opened up most of the floor for them- a quartet of two bed flats, all next door to each other, though the Barghest squad had set up most of their kit in the empty parking lot, with a small portable fire pit, a gas grill and a collection of collapsible stools, beer cases of varying fullness, and the nearby steps for seating areas. The truck sat nearby, its trailer unhitched, doors open and engine idling as music spilled out of the radio inside and over their makeshift camp. There was the smell of charcoal and lighter fluid as Ray started the grill, and the bright afternoon sun had given way to the gold and purple of the evening sky and a cool, early autumn breeze that wasn't quite biting but just enough to warrant a jacket or sweater. 

As the WARDENs of varying drunkeness relaxed and laughed and joked with one another, it wasn't hard to notice a figure stepping up to their little tailgate. For almost all of them it was almost impossible to miss- their training and situational awareness long since drilled into them made them well aware of the crunch of combat boots on gravel from about twenty meters away. Silhouetted in the evening light was a fellow in a wide-brimmed hat, but otherwise uniformed like a Rassvet army regular. The uniform was flat khaki rather than camouflage, and on his left breast there were the Rassvet sword and runes, but on a shield. Marshalls. 

[color=gray]"Evenin' there! Just stopped by to check up on you young travelers, make sure alls well!"[/color] came the voice of the Marshall, an old, gravelly baritone of a voice with a slight drawl. His hand rested casually on his hip- no more than an inch away from a holstered handgun. 

[color=khaki]“Marshall.”[/color] Galahad called back as a way of greeting, [color=khaki]“All's well over here. Anything we can do for you?”[/color] Galahad's eyes flitted from the badge to the pistol, but took another sip of his drink casually. 

[color=gray]"Well, there's a war on out here, and orders have it that it's my job to check up on anything unusual. So a bunch of young folks like you looking like you just left the Citadel..."[/color] he shrugged, [color=gray]"Well, you know."[/color] The man was bold- Galahad gave him that, deserters were heavily persecuted by Rassvet, but if the Marshall thought they were deserters, he was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to approach them on his own. Still, the man looked like he could handle his own well enough- maybe not against a cadre of WARDENs, but well enough against whatever this backwood might throw at him.

Galahad stood up, [color=khaki]"You'll want to check our papers then?"[/color]

[color=gray]"Yeah, sure do. Just one of you will do, I don't see the point of running all y'all if it checks out."[/color]

Galahad nodded as he got up, gesturing to the others that he'd take care of it as he did. As Galahad began walking over to the Marshall he caught the glimpse of of a scope glass- Marshall wasn't alone, and wasn't stupid either. Now aware of the rifleman, Galahad was slow to reach into his pocket, not out of any particular fear, moreso out of a desire to ensure that nothing escalated. It [i]was [/i]wartime after all, and there was a heightened security tension. Deliberately pulling out his wallet and ID, Galahad passed them over to the Marshall who quickly flipped through it.

[color=gray]"Says here Third Class, correct? So what's a bunch of WARDEN types doing out here?"[/color] In Rassvet, a police state, they were expected to show ID, papers, and endure a check at any given moment. This fellow, out in the boonies a bit, was at least a little more common sense and friendly in his approach. Around Orestia, these guys acted like they were on the front lines already, and that everyone was a spy.

[color=khaki]"Graduation. That and the peace talks give short leave before we head out. One last tour of the place we're dying for before we go die."[/color]

The Marshall nodded and read off the ID number on Galahad's papers, along with a photo ID and description, got some sort of response in the earpiece, and then handed papers back, [color=gray]"No problem, young man. You check out. Sorry about that, but we're not a big detachment and we gotta be careful in these parts."[/color]

[color=gray]"Actually, come to think of it we could use a hand,"[/color] the Marshall said after a moment, and somewhat sheepishly. [color=gray]"There's a Gryphon been harassing what's left of this town's business for a bit now, if y'all could you know... take care of it. I'm sure I could [i]"lose"[/i] a bit of collected funds and whatnot from the lockup. Hell, could throw it on the grill too, take a few trophies... you get the picture."[/color]

Galahad smirked and gave a short laugh before taking back his stuff and returning to the group. [color=khaki]"According to the Marshall there's a gryphon causing havoc around this sleepy little town. Anyone up for some big game hunting? Bete- I know you've been itching for a fight. Asa? Ray?"[/color]