[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/hSbxgyH.png[/img]
[sup][@Pyromania99][@Rune_Alchemist][/sup][/center]
Their commander was so young?

Isidore locked gazes with Fiacre. Talented then, or nepotistic. Considering the conditions they were in and the low moral of the men, however, it sounded like the former. Talented but unpopular, sent on a mission that was unfavorable to damage his reputation. Such complex politics only popped up later on in Isidore’s life, but it was easy enough to imagine.

[b]“Not the storm,”[/b] he said, gazing back the way they came. [b]“We were attacked by the Dirithen soon after coming upon them.”[/b] A twist of the dwarvish polearm told what happened afterwards. Simplified, convenient truths. Never a need to speak more than necessary. [b]“Call me Isidore. My companion Augusta.”[/b]

More snippets of information. The beast, a missing captain, and the dwarven gates. Internal strife or external threat. Firebeard’s machinations, and the faction he lead. A pass blocked off by an avalanche. He internalized all this, then rubbed his shoulder. Despite Augusta’s healing the night before, it was still sore. Phantom scars, perhaps.

[b]“Tell me about Rheane, the beast, and Railey.”[/b] A pause. [b]“I’ll keep an eye out as we go further out.”[/b]

With luck, their rations would last until they came across the mushrooms of the Urutha. But if not, a contingency was good. His gaze swept the rest of camp while Fiacre spoke.

Hm.

None with the same breathtaking fairness of Augusta or the budding beauty of Leuca. Was his companion going to be outed on the merit of her heartpiercing allure alone? Isidore shifted his stance casually, interposing himself in front of the long-eared woman more. Maybe a mask would be helpful.