The Silver Hawk Camp. [Closed.]

Averin smiles at Alastair as he reappears. The man's words confirm the young knights initial assessment and provide additional information. Career soldier, principled individual, self conscious about own status, and capable of leading and organizing people. The man would prove to add some much needed experience and level headed thought to the band. Of the 22 mercenaries he employed only three were out of their twenties. Hell most weren't even out of their teens.

"No worries about intruding. The tent flaps were open when you got here, so long as they are I am accepting visitors. I try and run a tight ship, but I don't get too hung up on formalities. Now in regards to your employment... You sound like exactly the kid of man my group sorely lacks in. I would be honored to welcome you aboard. Do you have any skills beyond knowing how to swing a sword and managing large groups?"

A young woman rides up to the camp, sitting on a fancy white horse. She hums a popular tune as she rides, something that should be familiar to anybody who regularly attends the opera. As she approaches the site, she dismounts smoothly and walks up to the mercenaries. She gives an elegant wave, obviously used to being the center of attention.

"Hello, there! Is this the expedition to Alban? I've come to join up."

She pats her horse on the nose and ties it to a tree, still smiling. If there were any opera fans about, they might recognize her as Eliza Opal, a famous Gaulish soprano known as the "windowbreaker".

Without sparing even a momentary glance towards the other who seeked to join the expedition, Damtion began to make his way into the camp. The knight moved with a purpose, metal armor clanking as he made his way through the camp. He moved directly to the command tent, as if he knew beforehand where it was.

As the hulking armored figure approached the tent, he would lower his great-sword from it's spot on his shoulder so he could duck into the tent. Once inside the tent, Damtion would wait silently behind Alastair who seemed to have already been conversing with Sir Averin Drake. The knight would stand with his great-sword in front of him, tip resting on the ground as he clasped both of his hands on it's cross-guard. In this position he would remain, as still as a statue until he was called forward, or addressed in any matter.

Cairex nodded to his new commander and grabbed the paper much more gently than anyone with claws that big should have been able too.

"Thank you sir, I shan't disappoint you." He saluted Sir Averin, nodded to the two pirates, and left the tent. He nimbly sidestepped the newcomers and headed towards the quartermaster's tent. The surly looking man was easy to spot, but his demeanor would not deter the young werewolf. After all, it's not like his face was particularly friendly looking either. He entered the quartermaster's tent, and saluted before speaking.

"Quartermaster sir? Sir Averin sent me here, with this note to get myself equipped, provisioned, and establish pay." He extended his paw with the note held deftly between his claws.

(Command Tent.)

Averin glances at the two new potential... recruits? The woman seems a bit airhead. She doesn't even know what Alban is like and is looking to go there. That showed a lack of fore thought and impulsiveness. The other one certainly looked like a warrior. Large, strong, and well equipped. Still he hadn't said anything, probably just being polite then. He nods at them both acknowledging them. Then turns back to Alastair, man was humble. Anyone who lead seven hundred refugees had some skill at leadership. Saying he didn't showed a lack of confidence which may be holding him back. That or his role was smaller than Averin had assumed. He pulls out a slip of paper and scribbles on it.

"I'll get to you in just a moment. Just allow me to finish with Sir Alastair."

He extends the paper to the new hire.

"Take this to the quartermaster. Do you remember the instructions I gave Cairex? Or do you need me to repeat them?"

Averin would wait for Alastair's response. Once he knew one way or the other he would turn his attention to Eliza and Damiton.

"I am Averin Drake the leader of this expedition. You can call me Captain, Sir, or Averin. I do not hold by formalities when not on the field. To answer your question in a word miss Alban is dangerous. All reports indicate that the their only one remaining human settlement. That settlement is under constant threat from extremely hostile native life. If you two wish to join I am going to need names and a list of skill you bring to the table."

(Quartermasters Tent.)

Quartermaster Sterges is a dour angry looking man. He glares at the werewolf as he enters. He was a native of Medan before the coup and had seen wildings before. This guy didn't look the same but he didn't look different enough to do more than give the old man a start. He takes the offered piece of paper and reads over it quickly. Once he is done he pulls up a box and opens it. Inside are neatly organized papers. He pulls out two one is a contract the other is a form.

"You are being hired on as a specialist. You get the base bay of five silver per day, plus and additional three for your unique..."

He eyes the werewolf up and down. Skill is the wrong word.

"Attributes."

The quartermaster finally finishes.

"Contract is all to that effect. Just indicating that you have signed on and agree to your rate of pay. Also a section to declare your next of kin. That way any held of pending pay can go to them in the event of your demise. I can read it to you if you are unable to read it yourself. Second form is for requisitions. Any equipment or supplies you require to perform your duties should be written on it before you leave. I will see to it you receive what you request before we leave for Alban. As a specialist we will cover up to ten gold of gear. Any thing in excess of that will be garnished from your salary until paid for. Any questions?"

The older man waits to here wait Cairex has to say.

Damtion would incline his head slightly in greeting, but otherwise did not move. From behind his great-helm a voice rattled as he replied. The voice was most definitely male, and sounded old and worn and very raspy as if from disuse. 

"I am Damtion, my skills are in fighting," the knight stated simply. The darkness in the holes of the knight's great-helm seemed to be staring at Sir Averin then, as if sizing him up. 

During the journey from Isra, Oliver had spent the majority of the time telling Silas about his adventures since they had parted. Until reciting the whole story Oliver had not realized how crazy of a tale it was. He had traveled with a talking bear and learned much about the forest and languages of animals from her. In a dream a sentient forest had spoken to both of them. The bear and child followed the woods calling and made there way to it's boarder where Oliver had met some strange masked man. Upon entering the forest he was quickly lost from the others.

In the woods strange visions appeared. They confused him. The visions, or perhaps they were real, had taught him about himself, then showed that what they had taught him was wrong. The place was full of strange dualities. That was about as close as Oliver could explain it. Yet when he left the boy found he could sense a new spark of power within himself and that the world seemed to make just a little more sense.

Lost in the wilderness, the wiccans had brought Oliver in. They taught him more about the land and even fostered along his magical abilities. When the time came Oliver had fought along side them. His knowledge of modernized battle from growing up in Medan had been invaluable to wiccan forces and they had honored him with a high rank within their tribal armies, despite his young age.  Yet things had gone terribly wrong.  Unbeknownst to Oliver the wiccans had worshiped an evil god.  They had attempted to summon a spirit aid them on the battle field, but a demon had come instead. It was during this horrific first battle that Silas had found him, and saved his life.

There was no exact point where it happened, but some time during the journey Oliver had lost his boyhood.  He had grown into a man.  It could be seen in the broadness of his shoulders, slimmer face, and his courage in battle.  These were superficial however.  Where the change had truly taken place was in the mind. Innocence had been lost.

"Where did you hear about this mercenary band, again?" Oliver asked Silas as the camp came into view. 

(Camp Entrace.)

The watchmen observed the three new comers. Another batch of potential recruits, at least these ones made that clear up front. The silver hawks was attracting its share of both mundane and odd ones. The odd ones were a new element to the band. The more mundane people would help keep things grounded, or so the watchmen hoped. He nods in greeting and points to the command tent.

"Applicants report to the command tent. Sir Averin is currently processing two right now. You can go straight he will get to you when he is done."

(Quartermasters Tent.)

"You didn't put too much research into this decision did you?"

Sterges sighs in irritation rubbing his face to ease the stress. Who signs up for an expedition to a foreign land without a bit of research. Could be a bloody desert, or a rainforest, and without preparation either environment could kill you. That doesn't even cover the danger the local population could represent. Maybe they think people with green eyes are the devil. Then poor old squire boy Jim sets off a war.

"You're some kind of werewolf right? Well in Alban there is a race of people known as Wildlings. They are a bit like you except they don't have a human form. Just animal and more animal. Having someone that kinda looks like one could be invaluable. However! The humans are rightly terrified of them. So well we are in Avelius I suggest you keep human form. Unless you like setting off a riot."

"I think I remember the name Alban from school back in Medan." Oliver was not informed on the details of his home land. "I don't remember anything though. I never did well in history."

As the two walked up the hill to the command tent Oliver surveyed the camp. He was pleased at it's order. The wiccans had little concept of military discipline. Trying to organize his archers had been a mess.