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Lucas was not so full of anticipation that he couldn't enjoy the interplay between his comrades.  The cocky back'n'forths, wagers placed, colourful displays of magic and harsh reprimands.  Such a vibrant cast of personalities reminded him of his family.  It was nice.  Just as Lucas was reflecting on this, Alodia fell off her horse with a cry, turning her spell of dopiness into a sweet flip and landing on her feet.  The young man's smirk turned into a full grin.

Yeah, it was nice indeed.

Then came more orders from the captain and that grin disappeared.  "...Once you have returned, we shall advance and split into three groups to encircle the camp. Archers and magi will remain behind and offer support to those in front," she continued, "Do not loose arrow or spell wildly into the encampment. They have prisoners, and we cannot injure any innocents who may be out in the open."

While Lucas tried to burn the captain's words into his mind, his feet followed the knight next to him, Fleuri, to the front of the left flank.  He had no idea the pros and cons of this position, only that there was plenty of space in front of him... space that would likely be taken up by people trying to kill him.  With a clear view ahead as they advanced, Lucas' eyes darted around at every swaying branch, rustling bush and moving shadow.  The exposure made him second-guess the protective capability of his armour.  Sure it looked cool.  But a well-placed arrow would mean his end.  And then there was his skills.  Gerard had told him not try and copy the older knight's aggressive fighting style.  That he should find a style that better played to his strengths.  But Lucas hadn't listened.  In the few months he'd spent training with a sword in his hand, he'd done nothing but practice what he saw Gerard doing.  He was determined to be like the older knight.  And he was naïve enough to think he could come even close to catching up on a swordsman who'd been forged in five years of battlefield fire.  But here at the front of the line - the darkness ahead promising malice - he was starting to wonder if any of his time on the yard would help.

[color=6ecff6][i]Follow orders.  Don't die.[/i][/color]

Those two seemingly simple objectives were maybe a little more complicated than they sounded.

When the overturned cart came into view, Lucas realised that not all reminders of his past life would good ones.  Fanilly called for aid and Lucas craned about to get sight of the situation.  Lucas' circus troupe had been forced to stop on the roads in Velt for similar looking sight.  Old man Biff had told them not to stop - not even slow down - but they couldn't just leave an dying man in the road.  And then the slavers sprung.  From the tree line, seemingly up out of the ground, they'd surrounded the troupe and killed everyone who resisted being taken away in chains.  And now here he was again.  On the edge of a bandit camp, seeing the same sight.

Everyone knew it too.  Everyone except the captain, it seemed.  What kind of a captain was this? Sure she was young, but so was Serenity, and Serenity was already on point with the scenario before them.  As disturbing as it might've been, it was merely a thought running way in the back of Lucas' mind.  The more pressing concern right now, was that a fight was about to break out at any time.

Knuckles of his sword-hand white, he fell into a fighting stance, his head on a swivel as he waited for the trap to spring.