Lord Vensor hated early departures. They said that a man began to wake up earlier and earlier with age, but him? He had spent much too long fighting in the night in the last year. It had been the logical choice at the time and he could be sure that this was one too, though for different reasons. But even while he understood the decision to leave at dawn, much too early to have a bite to eat... his body did not appreciate that one bit, that was for certain. If there had to be something positive said about this, at least it was not raining. And thank the gods he had brought appropriate tinder for the fire. Wood shavings were fine and all, but sometimes it was for the better to use old linens for the job.
It had been a while since he was last camping, even though he had promised himself to stay out of view of the legion for much longer, he had caved in to the simple pleasures of somebody else preparing the meals and bed for a simple exchange in coin. Yet some discretion had remained, so he had had the sense to change his inn of choice every so often, which was how he found the jobs that kept him fed too. Now here he was, fulfilling the old promise of his in a way. But to be honest, nobody would say this counted. And neither did he.
On arrival the fire had been set up with the help of the smelly Nord fellow who seemed to be a man of good heart... or maybe he was just seeing his old compatriots in him. If nothing else, he shared some of their mannerisms, even with some of them going to the excess. This was a man he would most likely be able to trust to do what they promised. And if one went there, this Bosmer among them strangely carried a similar air of trustworthiness around herself. She had brought them the food their fire was cooking for them and what little he could hear of her speech, she sounded like a Nord all right. The superstitions and the general attitude... he couldn't be sure how, but she didn't remind him of a typical Wood Elf, that she did not. And then there was this... Breton, yes, that's what she was for certain. Her garments and well kept skin screamed her being someone of high birth. Not too dissimilar to him, but if she still took as much care of herself as she exhibited now, she had to be new in this trade. Or maybe she was simply persistent, one of those people that would tunnel through a rock and climb up a tree arse first just because someone said they couldn't. He would surely learn more about her though in due time.
Then there were the rest, those that he had not quite had the opportunity to study yet. The employer of theirs hung around this Dunmer, and without knowledge of either of their background, Lord Vensor found himself wary of approaching the two. And with the few sideways looks he had noticed through his full helm being aimed at his cloak by the fellow Imperial, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know them that much better. But then again, they might know some news from back home. One never knew. The Dunmer on the other hand... another robe wearer and a lanky one at that, to be hired in a group such as theirs they had to be a mage of some sort. Their muscles told another story though, or what little he could see of them. Hard to place a finger on that one, it was. Other than that, they didn't stand out as anything too special from the residents of the Gray Quarter he had dealt with back in the day. And the Khajiit... he had bad experiences with the Khajiit. His first encounter with one had been a highwayman attempting to cut his throat open for the few septims he had and it hadn't gone much better after that. Skooma, moon sugar and other damnable substances left and right. And now they let her into the ruin on her own. Sure, what could possibly go wrong?
He let go of the other end of the piece of meat he had in his hands and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. 'Get back to your meal, you oaf, you've only got half an hour left!' he told himself, cursing how it was hard to eat such a heavy meal as the first one of the day. He sighed to himself, but suddenly gained a distraction as the man known as the Thirsty, Skall by their name, began telling a story. So the man was, or at least had been a Stormcloak before? And spoke so openly of it? The fact about his forced resignation brought understanding to the old Imperial, who joined in his sorrow as Windhelm was brought up again. The northern lands had lost a great leader that day, and... wait, were they already changing subject? Now it was about the rest of the lot, all out of a sudden. He even addressed him in his ravings, requesting to know of his cloak. The mention would have brought a smirk to his face with an old memory rising to the surface, if he was not so dumbfounded by the man's absolute lack of any and all tact.
He stared at them an with a dumbfounded expression for the whole duration of Raelynn's response, not managing to register any of her words, but recognising that she was speaking nonetheless. When she was done, he decided to calm his nerves with another bite of his belated breakfast. After carefully chewing and swallowing, he turned back to the Nord who had asked the question and shook his head. "You remind me of a certain Stone-Fist, who asked a question much of the same kind when we first met. But before we go on, let me remind you: My name is not old man. I am Lord Vensor the fourth, and you would do well to remember that. But I guess my story has to begin somewhere, since a fellow once-stromcloak asked", he opened up, shifting slightly on the fallen tree he had chosen as his seat.
"I hail from a noble family in Cyrodiil, but after the Thalmor had their way with my beloved empire, I could not stand behind them any longer. My outspokenness was deemed a threat by the elves and they arranged to have me executed, yet as you can see they did not quite manage to do so. But for my reasons... Talos, the first emperor, was betrayed by the very people whose home they founded. I chose not to have anything to do with them." That was his story. With the telling of it out of the way, he gave the others a moment to have it sink in and returned to take a careful bite of his meal.
