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As the others discussed among themselves and addressed the Queen, a Bastard contemplated the offer laid at their feet.

[i]New Kaimeria?[/i] Artur had been there, done that - he harbored little desire to rush back into the arms of the Kaimerians, but all the same - it wasn't impossible. The treacherous whoresons that had counted themselves among the Captains of the Bastardborn had seen fit to leave him in that pitiless place, yet all the same he'd clawed his way out with a renewed vigour. And, in a sense, he understood why anyone would be reluctant to march an army into that realm, given how the last war had turned out. A smaller group, however? It could be done, perhaps.

[i]The Sorrowfields?[/i] A deeper, bitter pang run at the pit of Artur's stomach - old memories of a time when he could barely consider himself a man, of lost raiding parties and routed armies that had been forced to detour across that vast stretch between the great cities and the northern coast. Still, he had 

[i]As for the Desolation?[/i] In all his days as a boy, then a man grown, Artur had known the rivers, coasts and ocean like the back of his own hand. He had sailed from the shores of New Kaimeria all the way to that frigid, hardy asylum from slavery for which its people had named it Hope. The Desolation harboured naught but ash and skulls, skeletal ruins visible from afar as the ship he was upon cautiously traversed the rocky shallows at the coast. Even then, without the stories, it had made him uneasy.

That truly gave him pause. Artur remembered that phrase oft spoke among the free companies. [i]There were old soldiers - and there were bold soldiers, but there were no old, bold soldiers.[/i] An old saying - ancient, most like to stretch back to a time before Deadwood had earned its name, a thousand years and more.

Yet, what else was there? Artur knew he was not a young man - not anymore. His Bastardborn - both the son and the collective rabble he'd hammered into soldiers - were out in the world somewhere, unknowingly waiting for him. His [i]birthright[/i] rest out there, waiting for him. [i]Swords and spears. Then, the crown.[/i]

[color=9ecff9]"Part payment upfront, contract and all - those are the terms I'll agree to, aye."[/color] Artur was perhaps playing it bold, to haggle with a Queen - a [i]Witch-Queen[/i] of all things - but considering what was being asked of them, there had to be some measure of guarantee that there would be a payment for them. The others had their own motivations. The half-giantess - her child had been taken by slavers. Artur, for all that he had done in his life, felt a pang of sympathy for her plight - perhaps a semblance of guilt that he was not immediately present to ensure that his own son was being raised properly. Slavery, he found, was a poisonous coin. He had treated with slavers before - even worked for them, but he found the trade an unpleasant business if for nothing else then because it had its own price. 

Perhaps, in that case, the giantess' favour - if not loyalty - could be acquired. It was something to consider, eventually. Briefly glancing towards Fourteen, he continued to address Tabitha with a certain courtesy not unlike a bristled courtier. [color=9ecff9]"Unless you mean to give the stone-one wings, a ship to take us upriver would serve well. Surely, your magics can provision this?"[/color]