Torm gave a a single bark of a laugh, crossing his sinewy arms, amused at Juliette's statement. He was no hulking brute, but it was clear he was strong and knightly in countenance. And unlike Haukenbrass and most knights one encountered, he was young, with but a few cuts and scars and he could count his military battles on one hand.

"I would like a lance, a lord, and some land, but we'll get none unless we gather some coin or favor, and we only get that if we work together." He reasoned, smiling as if thinking of a private joke. It had the look of a grinning wolf. He reached for the flagon of barley mead, downing his fill. Knights had to be mindful of health and diet, particularly if they were active like Torm, but he could allow himself some mead. He was forging an alliance, after all. He placed the flagon on the wooden table and held his hand out as if to arm wrestle, though that was clearly not the goal. 

"Do we have a deal?" 
[hr] 

Three Days Hence... 

The two moved southwest, deciding it was best to travel closer to Andred City in order to find potential patrons. North led to Nordenmark and the barren wilderness of the Marches, where many terrors lay but few people to bear witness. East was of similar status, though petty kingdoms and duchies had risen over the last few centuries, under the sway of Andred but technically not under direct rulership, meaning there was little prestige if Torm wished to be a knight of the realm. And so that meant either south to the greater kingdom, or west towards Vrettonia, Andred's ancient rival and frequent belligerent. They chose to meet a middle ground, moving towards Anderlon and the Capital of the realm. Whilst there was little upheaval and conflict save for assassinations and inner struggles, coin was far more frequent. The theory was they might get lucky, and it seemed that their idea had paid off, at least in a middling fashion. 

A day before leaving Gossenland behind and hitting a small portion of Eisenland, Torm and Juliette had cantered into a hamlet amongst the hills before the great road, snuggled within the bosom of Blakiven Forest, and as soon as Torm was helping Juliette off the horse, they had been ushered into the surprisingly spacious and well built house of the village master. 

"You see, sir. It seems Galena hath shown her mercy this day." The portly man fellow said, his neckbeard a hodgepodge of brown and grey. He wore a gambeson and a doublet, which was sensible armor for someone who could not afford iron. But it must have been dire or worrisome indeed if he just wore it day to day. "We have little coin to pay a knight of the southern realm, and we dare not ask for aid from our northern lords lest we be subject to their attention and taxes." 

"We need to eat, Master Llewyn, and the Iron Wolf of Kradismarc does not work for free, though his heart and goals are pure." Juliette declared with flair. Torm kept his mouth shut, having discussed protocol with his new minstrel. He would speak if she took a step too far, but other than that it was her job to sell him. "We would not see your folk starve, but there must be something you have for us? And what of your ills, you've spoken of it not at all." 

"Of course, of course we pay. Six silver lordlings and twelve copper commons, a-and once you slay what attacks us, you'll get a gold royal." He assured them, sweating from the day. Torm had seen Llewyn and his men, most no more than boys stacking up palisades around their town, creatively named Foresmere. "We will give you two cooked chickens to eat for your stay here." 

Torm and Juliette shared looks, Juliette opening and closing her mouth. It sounded like a bargain, but it implied if the task took longer than three nights, they would have to pay for more food. Torm shrugged, understanding. The people of Foresmere couldn't be too careful with letting a knight stay too long, lest he take advantage and squeeze them for more than his fair share. Torm spoke before his bard could agree. 

"What has happened?" Torm gazed at the man, betraying his curiosity and pity for whatever plight ailed them.

"Death, sir. It...It started as slaughtered chickens. We had thought a jackwolves had gotten to them, or foxes. But Lark Faldon's boy went missing after a few days, and then the Moldie girls were taken. We found one of the lasses a mile into the wood. We only knew it was her from her garb her ma' had sewn just a week prior. It weren't no jackwolf or proper wolf, or even a bear if I had to guess. Whatever beast killed them, it then went after one of the men, Old Flann O'harron. He barely escaped with his life, but he couldn't get a good look at it. Dark n' all when it went after him. He was badly cut. Nearly died anyway." 

"Anything else?" Torm asked, his face deathly calm. 

"Aye," the man swallowed, clearing his throat. "They say when it attacks, it laughs."