[h3][color=fdc68a]Galia Guardstrike[/color][/h3]

	Galia had nodded at everyone one at a time. They looked experienced. A bowman, a cleric, a spearman, and a masked man. They all looked capable enough. However, the fact of the matter is that no one here has had any real combat experience for the last ten years, and appearances could be decieving. They could all be wormfood within the next few days for all she knew. But Galia wasn't going to die, she was going to win. There was no other option other than coming out of that forest alive. Perhaps the others here had nothing to lose or everything to gain, but Galia had everything on the line. If she failed...she couldn't fail.

	[color=fdc68a]"My name's Galia Guardstrike,"[/color] she said, voice low and hard, glaring at the North Road. [color=fdc68a]"My goal is to kill the Beast, and collect the reward. I'm not leaving the North Road until I do."[/color] Galia held the handle of the sheathed sword at her hip. Her fingers impatiently tapping the wood in a wave pattern, the steel pommel glowing dimly in the light of evening sun. Galia didn't mind repeating herself for whoever else came. Her name would ring of it's given nature, not one chosen by parents or by oneself, but one earned through combat. A title of mercenary making.

	There wasn't much else to say, not yet, anyway. She did recognize some of them. Mort, the hunter. Zahir, the guard, with that funny little mask of his. She had seen him, as Eleanor had dragged the Practicioners around Feros Province, and that little town he protected spoke fondly of him. The others she didn't recognize, but Feros Province was a bigger place than one might imagine. She had come to see it has home. Infact, Galia hoped to spend the rest of her life here, once this was all over. Feros Province wasn't the problem. The North Road was.