[center][color=#ff8c00][h2]Cadmon Demet[/h2][/color][/center]
[hr][@Psyker Landshark][@HereComesTheSnow][@Eisenhorn]
[hr]

He'd been in agreement with her, up to the end; they had the same opinion of how likely it was she would get used, and what use they might [i]get[/i] out of her skills. At her last words, though, the young noble stiffened perceptibly, his eyes narrowing towards her.

[color=ff8c00][i]"Sir Shilage[/i] keeps his own counsel in such matters. He comes when I send for him, but if not, he's perfectly free to do as he wishes. It is my hope that he meets us at Lady Velvetica's pavilion."[/color] As much as some in the camp might wish to levy insults against his own face, Cadmon was just as content to let them come and shrug them off; to speak in such a way about the man who'd become just as close family to him as his own parents had been, however, was something he refused to let pass without [i]some[/i] comment or correction.

Neverminding that István likely wouldn't care one bit himself.

[color=ff8c00]"Hopefully between the three of us we can convince her to set you loose. I'm not feeling like a pitched battle today—sick opponents are always easier to subdue, and I'm sure you know all [i]sorts[/i] of ways to leave them feeling quite ill."[/color] Truth be told, he was surprised how quickly he'd grown accustomed to battle, otherwise the thought of one rapidly approaching might well have left [i]him[/i] feeling sick to his stomach, not that he'd ever admitted to it.

Luckily enough, as he picked his path back through to the center of the camp, he quickly caught sight of István a short ways away, alongside one of the mercenaries who'd joined on with the Lions. At least the presence of others should help forestall any actual argument brewing between himself and the assassin at his side. [color=ff8c00]"Well. It appears my man has made a friend. Shilage!"[/color]