[center][color=cyan][h2]Gerard Biserus[/h2][/color][/center]

[color=cyan]"Well, where's the fun in that?"[/color] Gerard snarked as he reluctantly posted himself back up at the truck, casually sipping his beer. He'd temporarily suspending the setup of their camp for the moment. While the use of mist and magic wasn't exactly illegal, it was extremely uncommon amongst the lay-people. Most people that showed any aptitude for mist manipulation were press-ganged into the WARDEN program, or were otherwise State certified- and State monitored individuals. In the cities you might see some handful of folk with the ability to manipulate mist. Out here in the boonies, it was no better than a boogieman's tale. [color=cyan]"Tell them to shoot you again, I like that one."[/color]

Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard caught the glint of glass. Glancing subtly in the direction, Gerard spotted what must've taken the Marshals so long to come out to play. Up on the town's single combination radio-cell tower, a man had climbed up. Backlit by the sun, it was hard to make out exact details, but Gerard reckoned the man didn't climb up there to drink a beer. In fact, the party favor he brought seemed a little bit like one that had to be held in two hands, and braced on the shoulder. 

[color=cyan]"Long gun, 2 O'clock high."[/color] Gerard murmured into the squad's communication spell, his face never losing its casual, easy grin- like a college kid with too much time and alcohol.

The WARDEN's heard the men long before their faces came into view. For almost all of them it was almost impossible to miss- their training and situational awareness long since drilled into them made them well aware of the crunch of combat boots on gravel from about twenty meters away. Silhouetted in the afternoon light was a fellow in a wide-brimmed hat, but otherwise uniformed like a Rassvet army regular. The uniform was flat khaki rather than camouflage, and on his left breast there were the Rassvet sword and runes, but on a shield. 

[color=khaki]"Afternoon folks. Just stopped by to check up on you young travelers, make sure alls' well!"[/color] came the voice of the lead Marshall, an old, gravelly baritone of a voice with a slight drawl. Well on past his physical prime, the man had a something of a beer gut, and his shoulders had slumped a bit in age. A bushy, more-salt-than-pepper beard covered most of his face, but his eyes held the faint gleam of one a bit faster on the draw than his age might suggest. His hand rested casually on his hip- though no more than an inch away from a holstered handgun. [color=khaki]"Heard a bit of a ruckus over at the general'."[/color]

[color=cyan]“Marshall.”[/color] Gerard called back as a way of greeting, ignoring Justice's command to let her do the talking, his voice mimicking the country drawl. [color=cyan]“All's well over here. Anything we can do for you?”[/color] Gerard's eyes flitted from the badge to the pistol, but took no initiative other than to take another casual sip of his drink. 

[color=khaki]"Well, there's a war goin' on out there, and orders have it that it's my job to check up on anything [i]unusual[/i]. So a bunch of... young folks like you lookin' like you just left the Citadel..."[/color] he shrugged, [color=khaki]"Well, you know."[/color] The man was bold, Gerard gave him that. Deserters were heavily persecuted in Rassvet, but if the Marshall thought they were deserters, he was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to approach them with such scant backup. Still, the man looked like he could handle his own well enough- maybe not against a cadre of WARDENs, but well enough against whatever this backwood might throw at him.

[color=khaki]"Now I hate to interrupt your afternoon, but I'm gonna need to see some papers, alright? Just one'uv ya'll do, don't see the point in runnin' em' all if it checks out."[/color] The old timer said rather pleasantly, current circumstances considered, as he held his hand out expectantly. In Rassvet, a police state, citizens were expected to show ID, papers, and endure a check at any given moment. This fellow, out in the boonies by a bit, was at least a little more common sense and friendly in his approach. Around Orestia, these guys acted like they were on the front lines already, and that everyone was a spy. Now that he was a bit closer, the old timer cocked a glance at Justice's tank top, and the WARDEN insignia stenciled across the front.

[color=khaki]"Hopefully I'm not offendin' ya'll when I say this, but what's a bunch of WARDEN types doing out here?"[/color]