"Greenskin invasion!?" Sir Brenly ejaculated, reaching for what was a nonexistent sword at his side. When he found no blade, he became even grumpier. "The riders never told us that! They just said you might seen some." 

"Oh aye, they're no strangers tae the land." Laird McDougal replied, crossing his hairy arms. "We've had Orcs and wee gobbos fer generations in the southern ends o' the isle. But sometimes they explode in number and ferocity, and even intelligence every few decades. I remember my gran told me aboot such a time back in their dey." 

"Give me some good steel and a steed to ride and I'll fight the bastards." the Elder boasted, trying to raise himself up. Perhaps he was tall once, but age had shrunken him down considerably. "I am a Knight!" 

"Night? But its dey," one of the Woad Raider interjected. 

As the elder began to lecture the Albion-man on the ranking of Knight, Amal and Emmaline began to speak earnestly with Douglas and Laird McDougal. Apparently this clan had more contact than most with the Empire, and all of the other clans were even more primitive, lead by leaders called Chiefs rather than Lairds. He was still technically a chief himself, but insisted on Laird to better trade with the land across the channel. After a fair conversation where the Laird told them he would take them to the Truthsayer the next day, Emmaline pointed out that she was still barely wearing anything and she and Amal were very cold. McDougal gave them entry into one of two normal looking wooden cottages where southern merchants or mercenaries stayed when they arrived as guests.   

Emmaline went over to start a fire in the fireplace with a quick spark of her magic, and once she finished she would see Amal hugging the wall of timber, glancing out into the village suspiciously. He even had an Albion-style dirk in his hand, though where he got it, it was impossible to say. He looked very much like how he was when she first met him, sly and dangerous to everyone around the woman except Emmaline herself. If anyone burst through the door just now, they would be dead within a moment through sheer muscle memory, borne of years on the harsh city streets of Al-Hiekk.

"Glad for the warmth, but I feel like I'm in one of those ships again." He breathed in Arabyan, knocking one hand on the wooden wall. He decided to turn it into a joke though, grinning at her. "Here's hoping we don't crash yes?"  
[@Penny]