"Forgive us, we're new to the marches." Beren said, giving a polite bow.

"I can see that," the Master said, placing his fingers together. "By your manner of dress just as well. Are you Izyrian, or perhaps from the eastern continent?" 

"No..." Beren said slowly, thinking. "The Southlands. My father is a native there." 

The Master blinked in wonder. "Really? That is...truly something." He admitted, considering. Beren's parentage was uncommon but not unheard of, however people of such an ethnicity like he and his father almost never left the shores of the Black Delta or the continent proper. It sounded like a crocodile voluntarily traveling to the far north or through a waterless desert. He shrugged, continuing. "It;s strange times. Unfortunately, I was informed you were bringing me ill news on the caravan under the care of Captain Rohardt and Master Falkenrath." 

"We do," Beren said uneasily, glancing at Jocasta. He took a deep breath. "As our journey went, we started losing men. One I know was lost to the wolves, and another three were killed by what I think was a Bwgbher. But I never saw it." 

That drew Jocasta's attention. Bwgbher's were dangerous creatures, as silent as a lynx and nearly as big as a bear. The rumors said they were humanoid in shape, hairy with sharp claws, and unimaginably quick. If they wanted to, they could brute force their way through most men, but they preferred killing from behind, silently. Beren wasn't sure he had believed something so large could be so stealthy, but after seeing the deaths of those men, who died without having unsheathed their weapons, he started to believe. 

"That accounts for four out of forty," The Master said skeptically, raising an eyebrow. 

"Two weeks in, after another few had deserted or were killed by other things, our remaining caravan was caught in a battle. Orcs and Ogres with brands and iron masks fought the dead and weird abominations. I have some notes on them, but the point is, the caravan was destroyed." Jocasta explained, hands opened wide. "Beren here saved my life, and we escaped through the uh, hills, and found our way here." 

"And what were you just now doing north of town?" He asked curiously. 

"A date. She's really hot. Don't you think so?" Beren asked, and Jocasta placed a hand over her mouth. The Master opened and closed his mouth, and then gave a "Uh yes," as an answer.

"Sir, what is this all about?" Beren asked, more seriously. He crossed his strong arms over his chest. The Master pushed his spectacles closer to his face and sighed. 

"The Leo Mortus, these black-clad men. They came here at the cusp of winter, heading to Iskura. It had begun to snow heavily, and even in a blizzard, dread things can roam in the woods. I offered them employment and a place to stay, if they would help protect my town. It was fine for a month, until some of my men were killed by a raid of giants, and a few others died of disease on the walls. Soon the Lions had the greater numbers, and their Captain, a man named Werholt, decided to throw his weight around. I've had to deal with the situation delicately, and he believes I will accomodate him in all he wishes. I was counting on Captain Rohardt to change my fortunes, but now he and his men are apparently dead, may the trinity watch over them." 

He leaned back and rubbed his temples. Beren felt sorry for the man, but there was little they could do. Jocasta raised an eyebrow. "Do you have no more friends?" She asked. 

"A few in Iskura. Baron Marius is a close friend, but there's so much snow, and I can't spare any more men here to send him a letter." 

Beren shrugged. "Well we were planning on leaving in a day or so anyway. We can take it." He offered, and looked at Jocasta. She shrugged. The Master looked at them, and if there had been music it would have stopped. 

"Y-You would?"