[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220428/2b5eb9e5c5d519db318ece6092d697bf.png[/img]
[sub][color=7b5d92]✧     Location: Soft Haven - Road to Bounty House  ✧     Purse: 20 copper     ✧  Interactions:    ✧[/color][/sub][/center]

As Ermes went to turn his back towards the group, another voice sounded out that was neither the masked figure nor the brute. He looked over his shoulder towards the new sound and made note of yet another cloaked figure. He was beginning to wonder if he had missed some sort of memo about adventurers having to dress in cloaks or other obscuring fashions. [Color=7b5d92]"Oh. Sorry. Didn't see you there"[/color] he said, slowly shifting his position so that his back was towards the three new strangers as his sentence finished. His voice still dead with emotion showing no real hint that he was apologetic for missing the third wheel. He said his goodbyes towards the orcish woman, following behind Eila with a quick jaunt to catch up before matching her pace again. 

Normally Ermes didn't make it a habit to keep so many people behind him. But if he was to be honest, none of them seemed particularly dangerous save for one character. But even then his clothes looked as well loved as his own, meaning they likely weren't in the best conditions so he was either bad at his job as a mercenary, or brand new to it. There was plenty of time to think to himself as no one spoke the whole walk there. Listening to the ambient sounds of the forest trail, or perhaps too nervous to strike up any conversation that might give something away to the strangers around them, whatever the reason the others had stayed silent, Ermes had found it rather dull. So he decided to fantasize stories for each of those around him. 

The masked woman was clearly disfigured underneath it all. Having fallen prey to her own Magiks as she accidentally lit her house on fire one morning and now is scarred from that night as a reminder. The cloaked one seemed too shy and docile to be of any real note. Perhaps a life debt owed to the boisterous man who's mouth made tabs larger than he could pay. He looked well enough, maybe ex-guardsmen who was discharged from his services after botching an important job. Now a drunkard and mercenary with no way to go in life. Eila was clearly from money, and had already given him ample to go off of. He hardly had to imagine much for her. By the time Ermes had grown tired of the stories he was weaving, they'd reached a pair of iron gates with a sleeping drunk ahead of them.

Now more than ever he didn't want to wake Jenson. It was bad luck to wake a sleeping drunk. Or at least that was what he'd heard growing up. He turned his head slightly, listening in to the conversation behind him between the burn victim and drunk. The confidence in his tone was surprising, as if he truly believed he could simply sneak past the guard. He fully turned to look at the man, cocking an eyebrow up in amusement before replying in hushed tones. [Color=7b5d92]"Alright then. Prove it."[/color] Ermes made his way past Jenson quietly, slipping through the gate and waiting a quarter of the way down the bridge out of eyesight of the guard.