When Dwan asked if there were any questions, it took all of Arien's willpower to not simply blurt out, "One question. When do we leave?" Still, he could almost feel his sister, Alloryn, lingering over his shoulder, chiding him to be patient. There were subtleties to be concerned with beyond the best route to use to breach this fort. Once Dapple spoke, her words made perfect sense... why didn't Dwan just send soldiers?

Imperiously, Talas blurted out his demand to know the leadership of the group. The knight fixed his gaze on the gladiator, but was momentarly caught up in memory of another gladiator - one with hazel eyes he had found himself lost in on more than one occasion. With her levelheadedness, Shona had usurped what Arien had felt was his calling at the time. Experience since with many of these comrades had taught Arien that, unlike a military unit, it wasn't always necessary to have a strict chain of command.

"Friend Talas," the knight spoke smoothly, "in many matters, I will serve to coordinate our actions. However, we all bring our own strengths and gifts to this group." Ah, how he missed Aloryn's magic at his back! "I do not presume any of you my lessers, or my troops to lead. In short, we are a team."

So, when do we leave?

“A leader?” Dwan looked over to Gwanele who shrugged, “Arien Thedell is a noble and educated man from a family that has lead people for generations. I would expect him to be the leader of this group, as is his duty and his calling. But as he so eloquently put it, you all have your roles to fill and you know what they are.”

Dwan looked to Dapple and chuckled, “For a lad who claims no strategic background, you ask the most tactical of questions! Why do we not send troops> There are many reasons. First and foremost is that I have the Empire to the north with legions upon legions that would rather fight here where it is warm than in the frozen tundra to the north. Thus, what troops I have I like to keep on my borders. On top of that is the General is the Commander of those legions – the one they call The Scorpion. Scorpion is, without a doubt the most powerful man in the Empire right now. He commands the men, but his has their respect as well. Furthermore, his only son is now the commander of the Imperial navy – which creates a whole new border to the Iron League. You see lad, I am stretched thin on troops.

“Do you play chess Dapple? Politics is much like chess and sometimes an opponent will expose a rook or another powerful piece in hopes to draw out his adversary. This could be such a move, and if I commit troops, then I will be attacked from some flank I haven’t been luck enough to spot. I do not have the vast resources of men that the Imperial Legions has, but I do have money – so I buy mercenaries.”

Dwan sighed heavily, “The other thing is that troops are easy to spot from afar, but a small, experienced unit like yourselves will be able to get close before you are spotted – if you are spotted at all.So I think it is wiser to go with the small unit then with a large mass of ground troops.”

“Any other questions?”

A shudder ran through Jal when Gwanele entered the room and he reluctantly let go of his conversation with Wynter as his pale eyes lifted to regard the lovely woman. Over the past year, since Jal had once again discovered Freegate and subsequently began a more structured study of magic under the tutelage of the Mage’s Guild, the spellbinder had more than once had the opportunity to be instructed by the great arch-mage herself. Her power fascinated him, of course, as had The Master’s. Unlike the Iuzian sorcerer, though, Gwanele and the others who had taken part in his schooling were gentle and paid very close attention to Jal’s education. Yes, unlike The Master, Gwanele and the rest in the Mages Guild in Freegate gathered and bent mana for good as opposed to the evil leanings that the Master’s instruction promoted… and Wynter had become exceedingly happy when her Spellbinder had finally found a mentor such as Gwanele.

Pay attention, Wynter’s voice murmured as the archmage began the incantation that called forth the illusory landscape, will you remember?
“Yes,” he muttered, slinking a bit closer to Gwanele’s projection and studying both it and her with great curiosity, “I’ll remember… I’ll remember… not to worry, dear girl.” He was intrigued by the presence of the two powerful magic signatures, of course, and, at the same time a bit unnerved by them. The last time he had left Freegate in the company of an adventuring troupe it had been to deal with a group of Ogres and, in that instance, his own magic had been sufficiently powerful enough to handle the situations that had arisen, but now, discovering that not one but two very powerful mana-mashers were present at their objective… not to mention all of the Imperial Reds and Greens…

A bit more dangerous than the last, my love, Wynter sighed.

“A bit, Wynter, yes,” he mumbled in reply, still enrapt in his study of Gwanele’s illusion and in absorbing the details of her report, “but the rewards will be all the greater, too, yes? Imagine the knowledge that such powerful signatures must imply…”

It was then that the archmage dispelled her illusion, ending her report and returning the floor to Dwan. Jal blinked as the image disappeared, offered a sheepish smile to Gwanele when he suddenly realized he had been skittering all about the perimeter of her projection, and then slinked back to the spot he had originally occupied in Granitecrusher’s dining hall. “Sorry,” he mumbled, this time addressing the living.

After the Dwarf Lord had completed his portion of the briefing and opened up the floor to any questions that the group may have had, Jal stood silently listening to the rest as they discussed, oddly enough, who would be leading the party… They do worry about the strangest things, don’t they?
“I suppose, Wynter,” Jal whispered.

For whatever reason, he had simply assumed that the fellow in the plate mail would be the natural choice… His name is Arien, my Spellbinder… “He looks like a leader, doesn’t he?”… or perhaps even the rangy looking chap with the strange accent… Char… “Yes, Char, my love; I know.”

The scruffy looking mage leaned on his staff and simply listened to the questions that the others posed and, occasionally, whispered something in reply to Wynter’s commentary where she made it, but offered up very little of his own. It didn’t matter to him who lead the party, only that whatever it was they did, they did well… His eyes did widen, though, when the pseudo dragon materialized on Dapple’s shoulder.

A dragon, Wynter squealed, causing Jal to flinch a little and glance in the direction of the disembodied voice.

“Mmm,” the urchin-mage nodded casting his gaze back in Dapple’s direction as the boy unwound the creature’s tail from around his neck, “a pseudo-dragon… rather small, too… Are you hungry? For some reason, I have a taste for sausages.”

Introductions went around the table, each showing his expertise... sort of. Adrian was not one to pass judgement, although it was obvious who the power in this outfit was.

The one called Arien, which Adrian could not help but notice was a very powerful-sounding name, looked to be the most fit of the group. They would see much combat together. The gruff one, Char, looked a sturdy second in terms of physical prowess. Adrian bet the two of them could teach him much in the ways of battle. He would press for a sparring match later on.

The young lad Dapple seemed to be more talk than bite, and didn't appear to have any obvious strengths. A diplomat perhaps? An entertainer?

The Gladiator would be an asset, but little more. Pit fighters typically lack the finesse and intellegence required to reach their full potential. Adrian would have to coach that out of him later.

Dwarves had earned their place among the strong and combat-wise men. Adrian had no reason to believe this one was any different.

And then there was the epitome of everything the militant wizard hated. Physically weak, mentally... unstable, and all guesses were that he hid behind magic and used it as an excuse. Bah! Adrian decided it better for the mission if he simply hung around the others and avoided this one.

When Arien claimed the leadership position, two thoughts immediately came to mind.

1) Why do we need a leader? A leader cannot make the decisions of others, and only hampers the effectiveness of the individual. Perhaps that philosophy, one which he was quite vocal about, contributed to his imperial exile.

2) What a surprise... the pit fighter wanted someone to hold his hand and lead him. *sigh* such a waste of muscle.

With that said and done, they were treated to a treat of divination. Finally, something I'm used to he thought to himself. If there could be a number placed on the various divinatory maps he had seen in his life... it would be quite large indeed.

He made mental notes as he always had, until Dapple spoke perhaps the most exciting comment of the night. "Why the hell aren’t you simply sending in the troops? Reds and Greens don’t just decide to desert together. If they are working together, someone’s ordering them."

Adrian knew the answer: Nobody could stand up to the Imperials. At least not yet. They had to weakened from the inside. Luckily, they were destroying themselves quite nicely from the inside by expelling people like himself.

Thankfully, his host came up with a more tactful answer. Adrian wasn't good with tact. He always cut class when it was time for charm and diplomacy lessons.

"Well," Adrian spoke up, "When do we leave? The Reds are the kind that get stronger the less they do, and by the looks of it they aren't doing much. We should go now."

That one doesn’t seem to care much for you, Wynter observed, directing Jal’s gaze to Valentine.

The urchin-mage’s ice colored eyes lingered the former Red for a long moment, studying the warrior-mage intently as he recalled the man’s introduction and self-professed anticipation of “a little unstructured violence?” Jal’s perusal of the man ended with a cursory glance at the scar that slashed angrily through the tattoo on Valentine’s arm.

“I don’t think he cares much for himself, either,” Jal replied, offering Wynter a faint shrug along with the response. His own slim fingers traced along a series of runes that were branded on his forearm as his pale eyes drifted from the ex-Red and around the table to finally settle on Dapple and the lad’s dragon-pet for another brief instant. “I don’t suppose it matters, Wynter,” he muttered. “Whether we like each other or not is of no concern, just that we are capable of working together when it matters.”

You’ve learned a lot in this past year, my Spellbinder… Wynter’s voice trailed off and Jal got the sense that she had left the room all together. Likely off to where ever it was she went when she decided he would be okay without her...

He sighed softly and, as Valentine posed the question as to when the party was to leave Freegate, Jal finally found a seat at the table amongst the others. “Sir Valentine speaks the truth,” the spellbinder said as he settled into the chair and propped his staff up against one arm of the thing, “the more time we give the Red Corps to gather mana to themselves, the greater peril we will likely face. We should leave soon…”

(OOC: Sorry... just couldn't leave it alone after Bob's post)

Talas had waited quietly as those in the room said something or said nothing as to who would lead them.
It came down to the choice of Granitecrusher as to who among them would be chosen.
With a little bit of a surprise to the ex-Gladiator, Arien
the Knight was the one so chosen as Talas would have bet on the Dwarf Kilgrim.

Talas gave the Knight a thorough once over noting his weapons and armor and the confident air surrounding him. Pointing to Arien he spoke

"He’ll do as leader, so as the Corpie says when do we leave...."

Char accepted Dwan’s answer to the question Dapple posed with a nod. It made sense, and he certainly didn’t begrudge the man his reasoning (not to mention he had no qualms about earning the extra coin). But as the meeting drew on the ranger’s attention was drawn to their new companions and the strange mutterings of Jal. It was entrancing really; like watching a bunch of wagons converge on the same spot at the bottom of a steep hill. The pure horror of the process insisted on one’s attention. Char sat quietly after he’d given his support of Dapple’s query and watched Jal flitter about speaking as though directly to someone who upheld the other end of the conversation. After a few bit of this a chill ran down the ranger’s spine causing him to shift in his seat and present Arian with a single, raised eyebrow. Oh, this one’s gonna gi’ us all dead, Char-lad.
That’s when Talas made his declaration that Arian would do as leader. Char very nearly burst out laughing at the simple statement, but deftly turned it into a cough instead. Reaching for a glass of wine the ranger wiped the corner of his eye and did his best not to look at the man. It was best that they get on their way. He was sure that if he stayed cooped up in this chamber with them much longer he’d likely offend.

Dapple watched the interplay between the men in the room and shook her head in wonder. Faced with the prospect of at least four Greens and two Reds, the most urgent questions any of them had was: Who’s the leader and When do we leave?

If being a decent, law abiding sort addles the brains that badly, you’ve made the better career choice, little monster whispered the dry voice, and Dapple had to agree. Still, if the others were prepared to rush in (what was that parable about fools and angels?) then Dapple would have to make her own preparations, and be alive to pick over the bodies when they fell. She shrugged within her cloak and ignored the taste of ash in her mouth. Saliva flooded her mouth when the taste was replaced by that of spicy sausages, and she scratched Sunset under the chin absently.

“Chess is a noble’s game, “she responded flatly to Dwan,” so dicing is more to my taste. But, “ she shrugged visibly this time, “ send out the Knight so that the other pieces are in reserve, I can understand that. Greens, too, we’ve faced, but Reds are another matter. Any advice, Gwanelle? “ She turned so that her hood looked toward one of the new party members.

“Valentine? What can we non-magical types do to bring down a Red?”

OOC: Sorry if it seems like I am dragging things out unnecessarily, but this player NEVER takes the DM’s outline at face value. It’s what we don’t know that will bite us in the butt later, lol

Adrian had read the group fairly well. They would succeed. Probably lose a few in the process, but they would win the attrition war. The corps were not that powerful, and the greens were too arrogant for their own good.

Then the diplomat asked another great question that Adrian immediately knew the answer to. This time though, he was the one to answer.

“Valentine? What can we non-magical types do to bring down a Red?”

heh... stay out of the magical-types way.
But then his sense of compnaionship got the better of him.

"Get close to them, and get in their face. The Reds are lazy, weak and overall a group of pushovers once you take away their advantage of range.

Oh, and make sure the Green's aren't nearby when you do close in. They like fighting in your face."

Char was once again reminded of how it was that Dapple had stayed alive thus far in such a cruel world where one of her persuasion was likely to be crapped upon, knocked over, and ground into dust. He'd learned quickly enough that though she was a sarcastic, smart-mouthed, hard-headed thing, she had the right to be so, especially when so many of them were eager to follow the rest of mankind into the frey without so much as considering the consequences. Having grown up in the camps following mercenaries across Furyondy, Char was only too aware of the tactical disasters that a failure for proper planning could result in and he mentally chastised himself for even thinking of rushing out into battle like some bull-headed gladiator to please the crowd. Been in da ci'y fer too lon' Char'lad. Goin' sof' in da 'ead.
He listened to Valentine's simple explanation for seeking an end to a conflict with Reds and wondered at the ease with which it was delivered. It sounded easy enough, but...

"Da trick be t' git close enough," the ranger offered with a hard smile. "Da' Moon 'ere, an' I be decen' enough fer such a ting, bu' da res' o' ya are likely t' draw some few eyes yer way les' ya be able wit da magics dat can cloak da eyes."

He looked to the obvious spellcasters and peered down his nose at them, not so much in an attempt to look imperious, but more so that his hair would fall out of his eyes. Nevertheless some few strands clung to his scruffy facial hair leaving the desired effect incomplete.

"Well, now I guess be da time t' say such tings. Wha' ya likely t' bring t' da table, lads?"

As he waited for an answer his eyes flickered to Sunset. Yer gettin' me t' be 'un-gary, li'l beau'y... I wan' some o' dat sausage too.

Gwanele thought a moment over Dapple’s question, letting Adrian throw his own opinions out first. “The empire doesn’t give people with magic skills a choice. They are part of the red corp. or the face death.” Her eyes looked to Adrian briefly, “Or worse. Although given ranks of commanders, they are often no more than slaves – taken from birth to be a tool and nothing more. That may be an advantage unto itself, if you can use it as such. The ones you face may long for freedom if the others do not.” A slight smile flashed across her face and vanished, “Or they could be complete insane and addicted to magic, which can also be used to your advantage.”

Abruptly Sunset took flight and landed upon the bookshelf close to Jal’s shoulder. He had been speaking to Sunset quietly, asking about sausages. The small dragon leaned his head to one side of Jal, looking intensely, and then leaned the other way, again with a searching look. It then looked at Jal, cocked its head and flew again, this time to land on the armrest of a chair between Char and Dapple.

The following only Char and Dapple feel through Sunset – Your mind flashes with pain, dreadful pain like someone is peeling the skin off your back. Then there is a girl, a young girl, first in a field close to a waterwheel of a mill. Her eyes are blue and her hair is the colours of wheat ripen on the stalk. Then being burned to death with mage’s fire, slowly, deliberately tortured. The images pop into your head, and vanish quickly but the sheer power of them almost overwhelms you. If it wasn’t for you being used to Sunset’s telepathy, you might have cried out in pain.
Dwan cleared his throat, “Well then. We will meet at first light tomorrow and leave from the west gate. Supplies promised will be given to you then, and Terrin will give you the money we promised up front.” As he spoke Terrin was finishing handing the bags of coins out, in a deliberate pattern to serve Dapple last.

After a few drinks and introductory conversation, you all leave to pack up your gear and attend to your own business – be it to get a good night sleep, polish the armour or go out for a night of the town. Dapple was the first to leave – you realize only when the absence of Sunset is mentioned. After that, you all find reasons to make your exit into the night.

OOC: if you wish to post in answer to the question of what you bring to the table, please feel free to backpost. I just don’t want to spend a lot of time in town if unneeded.

A man stood still in the darken alley, watching the people leaving the Iron League’s tower. He had been there all night waiting – but he was a patient one. He saw his quarry leave and waited until the man was well on his way to start following him, slowly clinging to the shadows and darkened doorways. So there he is, And I didn’t think that Dodger was telling the truth. He’s not what I expected but nothing I can’t handle. Well…maybe. I should get a few more men to help me. Rather be safe than sorry and with the money I’ll make, I can afford a few good men. Especially if he's travelling with those others, that will be a caution mark my words.

Valentine had been answering the youth’s query of how to handle the Red Corps and Dwanele, too, had offered some advice. Char, though, seemed to have more immediately pressing concerns.

“Well, now I guess be da time t’ say such things. Wha’ ye likely t’ bring t’ da table, lads?”

Jal turned a curious eye in Char’s direction when the ranger posed the question. Of course, a majority of this party’s members were already familiar with the capabilities and skills of the others they had traveled with before, and just as likely, they were all curious as to what might be expected of those that were new to the group but…

“…Is it a display you wish to see, ranger,” Jal asked cocking his head to one side as he regarded the man, “a demonstration of power?” He could feel Gwanele’s eyes on him and could sense the cautionary sentiment behind her glance. “Mana was neither intended to be bent for the entertainment of others, sir, nor to simply prove the existence of power or the degree of skill with which that power might be wielded. There is always a price to be paid for tapping into the arcane energies that flow across our world and I would much prefer to pay that price out of necessity.

Suffice it to say,” the spellbinder offered, “that I have honed my own skills, of late, under the tutelage of Lady Gwanele and her associates in Freegate’s own Mage’s Guild. Prior to that, I was instructed by…”

Carefully, my Spelbinder, Wynter’s voice whispered from a distance even as he shuddered at the memories of his ‘initiation into magic’ at the hands of The Master, very carefully.
“…by various others of considerable power.” His pale eyes ticked to Gwanele and then Dwan before sweeping the assemblage of adventurers again. “Be assured that, when the time comes, the spells I have bound will serve you well enough.”

Very good, my love. No need in associating your skills now with what once was…
Hoping that his reply to Char’s query wasn’t construed as rude or haughty, Jal fell once more into silence, leaving his answer as it was with no further validation. He did, however, continue listening to the conversation as it was volleyed back and forth about the table and, at the same time, became somewhat engrossed in his own conversation with the pseudodragon that was perched on Dapple’s arm. He had been asking the creature about sausages when, to his surprise, the thing had launched itself across the table and found a new perch on a bookshelf not far from his shoulder. He smiled gently at the little beast, resisting the urge to reach out a hand and stroke the thing’s neck, as it seemed to examine him and the air about him very closely. After a moment, Sunset launched herself across the room again and came to light between Char and Dapple.

As Dwan drew the gathering to a close and Terrin distributed the advance portion of their promised pay, Jal found himself curious as to what the little wyrmling might have suddenly found so interesting about him. It wasn’t long after Dapple had excused himself from the dining hall that Jal followed… perhaps hoping to catch up with the roguish lad on the streets and, maybe, speak a bit more with Sunset.

(OOC: Juuust playing along… If Jal doesn’t catch up with Dapple and the wee beasty, no big deal, he’ll likely visit a few shops and supplement his material spell components, then return to his own rooms (in the Mage’s Guild, I’m assuming) to prepare himself for the morning…unless our evil DM has other plans…)

Char’s face remained impassive as Gwanele answered Dapple’s question and though his jaw tightened when Jal Spellbinder began his discourse, the ranger remained utterly still. He really wanted to sneer at the man’s conceited nature, insinuating that Char wished for a magical display was like referring to the seasoned mountain man as a child eager for an illusionist’s show. He desperately wanted to take that expression of the wizard’s face, but for the sake of the mission he refrained. He even went so far as to feel momentarily betrayed when Sunset took flight to land near the man, but it was quickly suppressed. Sunset had proven to be a rather independent creature. That’s not to say that the ranger wasn’t pleased when Sunset returned to land between he and Dapple, though that feeling quickly changed with the imagery the little dragon presented him.

What could have instigated such vivid and horrible imagery? Had it been something she’d “seen” when she’d investigated Jal? Was this some deep, dark secret of something he’d done in his past, or perhaps something that he was considering…? This line of thinking soured the ranger’s consideration of the wizard even further, though he admonished himself that he couldn’t really jump to such conclusions without further evidence. In all fairness to Jal, Sunset had just been by him, her impressions may have come from someone else in the room. Char’s icy blue eyes traveled across the faces of each of the newcomers, trying to see through their exteriors to what lay beneath.

He’d been on many an adventure in his lifetime; traveled with many a new face. For some reason, this particular mission and these new faces didn’t sit well with him. There’d be a time and place to discuss this with the others he’d come to trust, but now certainly wasn’t it.

Char didn’t realize Dapple had gone, so intent was he on trying to decipher the intentions of the newcomers, until it occurred to him that he no longer craved sausages. That was one thing that Sunset had instilled within him: a love for spiced sausage. Peering about the chamber, the ranger shifted in his seat and considered the young woman and her penchant for secrecy. Their trip to the keep had done little by way of building a comfortable trust between them—admittedly, Char had spent the majority of it teasing Da’ Moon, and when he’d discovered her little secret, he’d been a bit more verbose in his calling her out. Still, they’d faced dangers together most people never consider and they’d both been forced to save the other’s life so he’d hoped that she’d developed a sense of humor. While in the city they’d seen precious little of each other and it appeared to him by her desire to slip out unnoticed that his hope for a little dent in her armor had been misplaced.

Char waited as Jal made his farewells and departed, then the ranger stood and motioned at Kilgrim and Arian. “”ey lads,” he said while scratching his scruffy beard. “Wha’ say ya t’ a beer an’ somet’ng t’ fill da belly?”

In truth, he wanted a chance to voice his concerns about their companions and what Sunset had shared with him away from Dwan’s. Turning to their dwarven host, Char gave him a roguish half smile and a slight nod—the best he’d come to a full bow.

“Thank ye fer da trus’, Lor’ Dwan,” he offered. “Won’ le’ ya down. I swear on me mudder’s grave.”

That said, and should Arian and Kilgrim choose to follow him outside, Char will lead them to a small tavern he’d been frequenting that offered dark corners and an earthen air about it. There, over beer and beef stew, he’ll proceed to relay to them the vision Sunset had shared with him and his suspicions as they currently stand.


Note - Jal and Valentine are two different mages. Jal was the one who asked about wanting a demo. Valentine is the ex-red mage (carries a bastard sword). I fixed the post.

Dapple listened to Valentine’s response with outward politeness, and even nodded at it’s wisdom. Inwardly, she bristled with impatience. Did you really expect him to tell you everything? the acid voice mocked. Should he also turn around and bare the tender spot beneath the shoulder blades for your knife? Any weakness of the Reds is his own, and he’ll hardly reveal that to a stranger. Watch him to reveal his faults, then you will know what to do.
Char spared her from having to respond aloud, and for once, she was grateful to hide behind the ranger’s conversation. She watched as the two mages reacted to the question, but the mad one (as she’d already named him in her mind) was first to respond.

Having spent much of the evening muttering to himself and appearing to address a hidden member of the company, Jal became lucid enough to sound every bit as haughty and full of himself as Alloryn or Gwanelle had ever been. Dapple’s eyes narrowed as she wondered which was the act: the madness or the lucidity.

Of course, you are the very model of sanity… began the inner voice, before Dapple told it rudely to shut up. It was at that moment that Sunset shared her little revelation, and Dapple’s hands clenched within her cloak, knives flickering unbidden to her hands before she just as quickly put them away. She couldn’t look at Jal, certain that pure murder would be apparent in her eyes. Sunset’s sending so soon after being next to the mad one couldn’t be coincidence.

Like to hurt girls, do you? thought Dapple grimly. Wait ‘til you run into one that fights back, you sick bastard. Got my eyes on you.

Terrin interrupted her thoughts to hand her the promised bag of coin, and she could tell by its weight that the sum was accurate. She gave Terrin a snake’s grin, all cold venom and fangs, and tucked the bag away within the folds of her clothing. As Dwan spoke of meeting in the morning, Dapple slipped out of the room.

In the clear cold dark of night, Dapple breathed deeply and let the tension seep from her shoulders. To be in a room with limited exits for so long, with strangers and others she’d barely begun to tolerate near her was nerve wracking. And such strangers Dwan had assembled! Dapple was sure that Arien (and likely Kilgim) would accept anyone as worthy based on Dwan’s word, but Dapple herself was proof that Dwan could be fooled.

“Make yourself invisible, little one, “she murmured to Sunset, who’d insisted on coming with her.” I’ve a bad informant to rat out, and some digging of my own to do before morning.”

She slipped into the nearest shadow like an otter into water, and just as deftly made her way into the bad part of town.

OOC: Dapple will head over to Fast Toes’ place, to find out anything she can about her new companions and to get another perspective on how to fight mages on their own turf. I saw the post on Jal trying to catch Dapple, but I’ll let the DM roll your chances there

Arien had gritted his teeth at the pronouncement by the gladiator that he "would do" as a leader. The young knight was not one to rub station into people's faces, but this Talas seemed to almost delight in his very lack of it, let alone respect Arien's. So different than his beloved Shona, who had shown that gentleness and decency could reside in the heart of someone who's body had been forced to withstand the pain and rigors of the arena! Nevertheless, Dwan must have seen something good in him, so out of respect for the dwarf, the heir to House Thedell held his tongue - for now.

The knight was not at all surprised by Jal's unwillingness to demonstrate arcane power. These same sort of requests had been a pet peeve of Ally's; mages seemed to like their secrecy, he supposed, and it was true that casting spells took more out of them than was seemly for a simple pissing contest. Therefore, it didn't really both Arien that Jal had refused; if he said he had useful spells, and Dwan believed it to be so, it was good enough for him. The fact that the man talked to himself was a tad unsettling, however...

Adrian's answer about the Reds made a lot of sense. Mages were mages. You hit them, they had a hard time managing to cast spells. What was there to know? Char was right, of course - the trick was in getting close enough to do just that. A study of the plans - and of the actual location of these mages - would help to determine the best course of getting party members near enough.

The ranger seemed annoyed or upset; not that either were particularly unusual with the woodsman... while eminently reliable in battle, Char was never the happiest fellow. His offer of beer and food at a nearby tavern seemed like a wonderful solution to Arien.

"Indeed, friend Char, I would be happy to join you," the knight stated in reply. Assuming there is no further need for conversation, Arien intends to join Char and Kilgim for drinks and food, then retire to his room to polish his armor and double check his equipment before an early start the next morning.