[h3][color=44833C][b]STUR[/b][/color][/h3]
__________

The weathered mercenary pushed open the doors and emerged into the soon-to-be cramped sitting room. Internally, he winced at the thought of that huge bull-beast crushing him against the walls. The less said about the growing strangeness of their little band, the better. He had neither seen nor heard of whatever species this Gentle belonged to, he who looked like he could knock down a small building or two if presented with the slightest inconvenience. The others didn't exactly put him at ease, either. Though, there was something to be said about that full-blooded elf. Sorceress though she may be, she was the only one of the group that had professed to wanting to find a cure for the Fog. Stur had resolved to keep a closer watch over her than the others - someone with the guts and the brains to try to tackle that particular problem stood to help everyone in the entire country if they were successful, and they couldn't afford to be lose her by way of running some fool king's rescue mission.

That first half-elf was propped up against the stones right next to the doorway, looking everyone over with a studious eye. Stur returned her gesture in kind, carefully breaking down just what about her set off those faint alarums in his mind. The way she held herself seemed almost effortless, like every little motion was a part of some dance. He reckoned she was fast with those blades of hers. Too fast. Maybe five years back, he would have been able to match her blow for blow, but nowadays, if it came down to it, he figured he'd need to keep her at a distance, using his longer reach until he could wear her down and knock her on her back. Let her get in close, and he'd be dead before he hit the ground. 

He didn't trust her one bit, neither her haughty expression nor her pair of sinuous swords.

Stur's train of thought was soundly interrupted by the introduction of the man in the strange mask, this Nathaniel. The mercenary grunted sourly; he knew of nobody that hid their face unless there was killing or stealing to be done. This one reeked of dishonesty, but then who that he had met today didn't? Lowlander hexers like this one were no small amount of trouble, though, it was true. He'd had to rough up one or two in his time; one of them had tried to turn him into a pigeon.

Things took a turn for the worse when that same haughty half-elf stepped right up and challenged their supposed guide. Stur rolled his eyes; so, the she-bitch was going to let her ego get in the way of the job now, too? By her words in the king's presence, she seemed like she was directly involved in his affairs before this. Had she somehow gone and gotten His Royal Backside lost in the first place, then? He had half a mind to say something before the situation got worse, but his job had taught him when to hold his tongue and when to-

The bull-man had stepped forward. Stur's eyes widened slightly as he proceeded, in his rumbling, implacable voice, to give the both of them the dressing-down they deserved. He listened in rapt silence until the words [i]titanic cock[/i] reached his ears; his mouth twitched, and it was all he could do to stay silent until the talk had almost died down before the steely composure that he had been holding so valiantly abruptly cracked. The man doubled over, raucous laughter pouring out and bouncing off the stone walls. 

He gasped a long breath, reaching up to wipe a moistened eye. "Ohh, ah, gods without," he managed, "he's got you both, there."