The Free Company in Italy - Vae Victis: Book III

[Rictus]

Earlier, in the Officers Tent

"Oh its all well and good to use skirmishing tactics with light cavalry, but knights and heavy cavalry just can't pick up that element of surprise to make it worthwhile" Edward explained. His Italian counterpart shook his head.

"If used properly, heavy cavalry could be the very heart and soul of such a skirmishing force." Gian countered. Both men were using a strange mixture of English, Italian and the occasional word in French. It made for slow, but fairly coherant conversation as they had a choice of words to express themselves.

"I do not profress to be a cavalry command, Niccolo - Gian. I've always lead on foot and probably will always do so, but it is not the job of the heavy cavalry to do the skulking."

"I've commanded my lancers in such a fashion, Seraphim, and I've done it well."

"Undoubtedly. Gian, I'm not saying anything against your ability, but you might be confusing your own troops with the hotheaded knights of Northern Europe. Those men do not take well to being ordered to retreat, skirmish and fall back. There's no honour there."

Gian smiled, it reminded Edward of the stories he'd heard about tigers and wlaks. "Possibly so, but your earlier suggestion about simply attacking from the front was how...what was the name?...Crecy and Agincourt were fought, and look what happened there."

"Ha! You have me there. Well thought and well fought, Gian." Edward smiled, indicating no harm meant and the agreement was over.

"Another drink, Seraphim?"

"Sorry, Sir Gian, I don't drink - alcohol anyway - I don't like the lack of control it results in." Gian/Niccolo shrugged after a moment. "Or the hangovers" Edward added with a grin.

"Each to their own I suppose." Gian said, pouring himself a generous measure.

 

[Lord Durham]

Totally OOC: Sorry I haven't been around here lately. I will admit to some severe writer/idea block. I'm hoping to get back on track soon, though.

Another very important reason for being here is because I've just reached post # 2000. I had to keep up the tradition set by so many others by posting it here, don't you know...

 

[unmerged(6777)]

2,000!

I've done it. Now, back to my bourbon

 

[Rictus]

Morning

Seraphim grunted with the effort of pushing Lochlan off. The thin man had a wiry strength that belied his size. Despite his subtle energy, Edward was marginally stronger, probably through being only an inch shorter but as much as four or five inches wider.

Lochlan took a few orderly steps back and regained his balance easily. Edward shrugged his shoulders against the lingering pain there.

"Enough for today." The Lieutenant said, shrugging again.

"We'll call it a draw. Do you know where the water around here is?"

"I heard some of the Italians say there was a stream or something just north of here. Should be good enough."

"Fine, thanks."

"Oh, Lochlan, the Sfroza bunch are doing a drill this morning. I want everyone to check them out, see how good they are."

"Yes sir." Lochlan trudged north.

________

OOC: Just a little installment. Lest we forget the FC altogether

 

[Deaghaidh]

Morning

"God, I'm bored" Richard said as he poked the breakfast in the small pot over the campfire.

"Why were we in such a rush to get here? No work for us in these parts I can see. And a right lot of trouble we had to go through to come here and sit." Rory said, as their hulking companion Seamus munched contentedly. All three still had cuts and scars from their African misadventure.

"If they'll not be needing us, then why don't we just go on home?" Rory muttered, only slightly under his breath. He didn't want to desert his comrades-at-arms in a tight spot, but every day away from home gnawed at him, and it'd been years now. Lord only knew what had changed, and that thought terrified him.

They munched their rations in silence as the day drew on.

 

[Lord Durham]

OOC: Agreed, MrT.

--------------------------------------------

January 18, 1423 - Morning

The two camps lay sprawled along the banks of the Arno River. The morning air was crisp, and the early risers huddled around warming fires, eagerly awaiting whatever food was slowly cooking in iron pots. Rocking gently, several feet offshore, lay the Glory. Two men patrolled the upper decks.

Captain stepped from his tent and stretched. In the near distance he saw Seraphim and Lochlan sparring. It was a ritual now, and often men would spend their waking hours watching the two go at it.

Nearby, the three Irishmen sat around a blazing fire, sticking to themselves and grumbling. At least Seamus appeared to be in some fine mood after a night of fiddling. He actually had had a chance to play several tunes before de Bloomfielde came stumbling through squeezing that damned bagpipe like some long-lost lover. Finally, gratefully, the Lieutenant had been chased away with clods of dirt.

The commander stretched again, inhaling deeply, filling his lungs. He heard footsteps to his side, and a hand dropped to the miniature crossbow that had become part of his life. He needn't have bothered. "Morning, Francesco," he said, quietly.

"Morning," the younger man responded. He stepped close. "I just had a messenger from Giovanni di Medici."

Captain raised an eyebrow.

"He asks that we return to Florence immediately."

"Oh?"

"Apparently they are on the verge of war with Siena."

"Oh."

Sforza glanced about to see if anyone was listening. "If that's the case, di Medici has few men at his disposal. He'll want us to do the bulk of the campaigning for him."

"I see. There's still the matter of a signed agreement."

"Yes. On our arrival I believe you will find that Giovanni di Medici will attend to the matter rather swiftly,."

"I see. Then I suppose we had better rally our camps. Florence is about 3 days march, correct?"

"Yes."

"Where does he expect 8,000 men, plus the women and horses to camp?"

Sfroza smiled. "Don't underestimate the man, Captain. He'll have everything ready."

"Well, then, let's not keep the man waiting."

By noon they were packed, and with the condottieri taking the lead, the march to Florence commenced.

 

[unmerged(7996)]

January 18, 1423 - Afternoon

Jacob sat on the teamster's plank bench beside Karl as the supply wagon lurched down the rutted road towards Florence. He stomped his feet and blew into his hands in an attempt to warm them. Karl cracked a whip over the oxen to drive them on. It wasn't all that cold but a wet mist hung in the air. What little chill there was seemed to cut right through to his bones. He was happy they were on the move again though. A chuckle rippled across his face as Karl worked his way through another one of his deep thoughts...

"So Jacob...If you were a poor Indian with no weapons, and a bunch of conquistadors came up to you and asked where the gold was, I don't think it would be a good idea to say, "I swallowed it. So sue me." "

The two men traded tales, one liners, and general...along with some very graphically specific....comments on females back and forth for a few hours to pass the time.

After a while Jacob fished out the Company book and reviewed their current supplies....

He thought to himself, "Still have a 25 barrels of ale. That's good. Hmmm...it looks like we're starting to run low on salted beef rations...and...what's this...we're down to the last bottle of wine...."

OOC: LD, thanks for moving us on.
I know, I know...they don't know about Indians yet...but...I thought it was appropriate for an EUII forum.

 

[unmerged(9046)]

OOC:

Stroph shock his head. Something felt weird. Time had seemed to be stopped forever and now it was moving again.

Stroph stood up. It was time to adventure again.

LD - Great that we are moving again!!

 

[Sharur]

"Freidrich! Wake up! We're moving again!"

"Huh?" Scherer sat up slowly, rubbing his head. "Ooh, I think I have a headache. How long was I asleep?"

Lochlan paused, thinking. "I'm not sure, about 3 days, maybe?"

Scherer jumped to his feet, then nearly tumbled over again. "Good Lord! We need to get moving! Ooh, I feel dizzy..."

Lochlan chuckled as he helped his friend regain his bearings. "Well, we're off to Florence. Apparently they're at war with Siena, and we're to help them out."

"Sounds good." Scherer rubbed his eyes, shook his head vigorously, and loudly proclaimed, "Alright! Let's get 'em!"

With that, Scherer boldly strode forward and tumbled to the ground face first. Laughing, Lochlan helped him up once more.

"You know, Freidrich, there is such a thing as too much sleep."

"Yeah, so I've been told..."

 

[unmerged(6528)]

Lochlan chuckled thinking of Friedrich's various attempts to wake up throughout the march. It was interesting to watch someone walk half asleep, and even moreso to give orders in the same fashion. But it worked, more or less.

He flicked a finger, and the rest of the squad moved up, quickly and surely.

"It's good to stay sharp." He had told his men when they questioned why they were being diligent. "And because I told you to." He had added, setting of a chorus of groans.

Since the Conditierri were in the lead, Lochlan and his men weren't going to try and take their honor by taking the Van, instead, the scouts were ranged out on the sides, and along the backtrail of the company, moving quickly through the unfamiliar terrain.

Occasionally Lochlan would meet up with some of the horse scouts of their Italian allies, they were beginning to develop a working relationship...

 

[unmerged(9046)]

OOC - sorry about my inactivity, but I have been in the process of moving. It will still be a few days untill I get my computer back up at home.

Occasionally Lochlan would meet up with some of the horse scouts of their Italian allies, they were beginning to develop a working relationship. Lochlan was impressed with the skill of the horsemanship of the Italians and the Italians, in turn, were impressed with the Free Company scouts' ability to move through the terrain and leave no trail that others could find to prove the Free Company souts had been there.

Sgt. G. left the Scouts in the vanguard and drifted back to the FC Scout. Nodding in greeting, he offered the man a piece of some sweet delicacy that came from his homeland. The two began to discuss tactics, beginning with the organization of the the two groups in the event they encountered something on the march...

OOC - couldn't let the vaunted FC drop to page two while we are in our "slow" period of posts!

 

[unmerged(2540)]

Alvin sat alone, unsure of what to make of these newcomers. More tinies! Why couldn't there be more like him, more normal sized people? He would have to extra vigilant to ensure that none found out the truth about him, that he was not some big dumb ox, but a large, smart bull.

He watched as men walked by, giving each the cursory nod of a big dumb giant, keeping his facade in place. With so many tinies, well, it would be like a wagon on an anthill. He would have to be careful he did not step on people, or fall on them, or accidentally hit them with his axe. It was going to be one of those days...

 

[Sharur]

Don Diego sighed. Scherer was at it again.

"Lochlan? Could you come over and give me a hand? Scherer fallen asleep again."

Lochlan gave a dead-on impression of Diego's sigh and jogged over. "Yeah... yeah, sure thing."

OOC: Well, I hope you guys get this thing back in gear soon, but as for me, I will be gone for the next 5 weeks starting tomorrow, so I won't be here to help Don't do anything stupid

 

[Deaghaidh]

"This is all yer fault, ye know that." Richard said to Rory as they huffed under the weight of their gear and halbreds.

"Me!"

"Aye. Ye went and yakked about going home, and sure don't a war break out so we have to stay! Ye've got to learn about temptin fate like that man." Richard puffed.

"Oh no, ye were all 'Waah, I'm bored, somethin' happen.' and now somethin is happenin, and its 'Rory, it's all yer fault.' Make sure next time for you go making a wish!"


OOC: I wasn't bitching about the pace (Glass house and all) but rather trying to capture the boredom of soldiers who don't know why they had to hurry up and wait.

 

[The_Hawk]

(OOC: Before I start, yes, I did clear it with LD that I move the Company along to Florence ahead of time. Not like we were getting anything done along the banks of the Arno, anyway... )

January 20th, early evening

The past three days had not been kind to the Cyprian. He was pleased to see his employer hadn't been exterminated by the unidentified condotteri, but answers as to the identity of these visitors were not readily forthcoming. What was worse, he had been loath to actually go inquire of Captain what the situation was. Though the Arno had reputedly been recently dredged, he remained nervous during the trip, and spent most of it at the helm. The curiosity amongst his crew had reached a fever pitch, with Grimaldi egging the speculation on, and traveling up a narrow channel with a distracted crew was even more harrowing.

Add to that today. The Free Company had reached Florence in the middle of the afternoon, and ever since then the Cyprian had been trying to track Captain down. He was at a tavern, looking for new recruits. No -- he put the word out, and just left. He was looking to secure provisions. No, someone had made arrangements already; he was nowhere to be found in the markets. He was down by the docks, looking for the Cyprian; he just left. Jonasz eventually got fed up and, with Grimaldi and van Sant in tow, made for Captain's tent on the theory that he eventually had to return there.

The Company, and their new friends, had camped outside one of the city's main gates for the night, and mercenaries were streaming into the marketplace just inside the walls. The Cyprian nearly stumbled into a young woman --

-- olive skin --

-- colorless eyes --

-- he stopped short, and it was several steps before van Sant and Grimaldi realized the older man was no longer with them. The woman, oblivious, brushed by the trio and disappeared into the crowd.

"What is it, sir?"

"That girl, Roddy; did you see her?"

"Aye, sir. I've seen her before. I think I heard a story about her -- one of those would-be slaves the mercenaries rescued near that Berber fortress."

Grimaldi nodded in agreement. "Yes, I'a saw the lady on one of the other galleys you captured on the way back. She, ah, liked to look at the sea, I recall. She'sa very beautiful, no?"

van Sant cracked a grin. "That she is, my friend. Perhaps a woman has finally cracked the stony black pirate heart of the Cyp..."

Jonasz cut his first mate off with a stony glare. "Roddy, a favor for me. Find the girl, and bring her to the ship. Do what you have to short of manhandling her."

"What am I supposed to say you want?"

"Nothing."

"I'm to say you want nothing, or to say nothing about what you..."

"Look, just get her there, alright?"

The younger man nodded. "I'll do what I can, Captain." He turned and pressed his way into the crowd.

Grimaldi and Jonasz exited the gate, and stumbled almost immediately into the middle of a madhouse. Everywhere, mercenaries were in action; setting up tents, starting fires, honing their skills, hauling water, cooking, and too many other sundry activities to name. Jonasz stared in awe at the activity; he had seen it of course, before, but with six times the number of men and in the middle of things, the experience was altogether different.

He locked his gaze on one group he vaguely recognized as Company men, and drew in a deep breath. "Will somebody show me where I can find Captain?" he bellowed.

 

[Lord Durham]

January 20 - Early Evening

Jonasz locked his gaze on one group he vaguely recognized as Company men, and drew in a deep breath. "Will somebody show me where I can find Captain?" he bellowed.

Several dozen sets of eyes turned toward the two men, then calmly swung back to whatever they were doing.

One of the Company men, van Rijn, one of the three heroes of Tunisia, mumbled, "Beats me. He's the fifteenth person that's been looking for our Commander... pass me that stake..."

* * *

Captain and Sforza were lead by a delegation from Giovanni di Medici through the tangled streets of Florence. For Captain, it had been several years since he had last seen the city, and many of the sights were strangely familiar.

Sforza leaned in and commented, "They certainly didn't waste any time rounding us up."

"No. Things must be worse then they let on. I've heard the men talk of war. Amazing how word leaks out and becomes twisted in the retelling."

As the conversation continued in hushed tones, the two were led up the steps of a large palace, ushered through the front doors, and down along a series of confusing corridors. Eventually they were led into a large hall filled with people dressed in elaborate clothes. They were announced.

Whatever talk was in progress halted immediately, and one man in particular broke from the crowd of advisors. He hurried over beaming from ear to ear.

Sforza whispered, "Hail the prodigal son, Captain." He raised his voice. "Wet met, sire. Captain, I give you Giovanni di Medici."

After introductions and refreshments, Medici grew serious. "I understand you are here by invitation, Captain. However, it happens that I require your services... immediately."

Captain put on his poker face. "How so?"

Sforza jumped in, "Your messenger said something about war with Siena. If that's all it is, then my men are at your disposal." He looked from Medici to Captain, and back.

Captain noticed the man pause. Finally he ventured, "There's something else, isn't there?"

Giovanni di Medici sighed. "Indeed. It's not quite as simple as a conflict with Siena. You see, two days past Modena declared war. As allies we were honour bound to adhere to the terms of the treaty, as did the Duchy of Athens."

Sforza raised his eyebrows, "And, my Lord?"

"They declared war on the Papal States, who are allied with Helvetia, Genoa, and Siena."

The conflict had became greater than they had thought.

Silently the two men looked at each other. One part of the news in particular had stunned them. Finally Captain said, "I will agree to this, on one condition, and it will be written into the contract."

Medici was immediately suspicious. "And that is?"

"I will only fight Siena."

The leader of Florence regarded the two men for long minutes, his eyes coldly calculating. "Very well. Siena only. However, this is my counter condition. If Firenze is invaded you will come to my aid, regardless of the enemy."

Captain stroked his chin. "How many men can you raise?"

Medici shrugged, "Maybe 10 - 14,000, immediately."

"Very well. I agree. Now, about terms of payment..."

 

[unmerged(6528)]

January 20th Early Evening

"Will somebody show me where I can find Captain?" The Cyprian bellowed, and was heard clear across the camp. For a second it looked as if it might have some sort of effect, but then activity returned to normal.

Lochlan had just finished discussing the watch rounds with Lieutenant Seraphim, and the ranger was wandering aimlessly, trying to decide what he should do with himself. He was tempted to go over to the Italians camp, and see what they were up too, but he was still a bit wary of the men.

He nodded to a pair of guards who were changing their post, one was Rory the other was, well Lochlan couldn't remember his name, the two could have been brothers though.

Lochlan could hear the harsh swearing of a Sergeant in Scherers regiment, who was berating some recruits about not getting their tent up fast enough.

He saw the giant, Alvin, and his friend Khan, as they made their way through camp, intent on reaching the food near the central fires. He passed by where Misha was procuring food for himself, and he nodded to the squire. No words were exchanged though, Lochlan had always felt vaguely uncomfortable around the young man since Buckeye's death several years ago, but that was the way the world worked. People died, and you dealt with it.

He had stopped to watch the commotion of the camp, when Clerk, who was absently reading something nearly stumbled into him. "Excuse me." The young man said absently, then looked up. "Oh its you." He said in a different tone. "Sorry Lochlan." He finished, seeming only somewhat apologetic.

The scout sergeant looked down at him, and cocked his head. Hesitantly, he spoke. "Clerk, I have." He stopped, and decided to try again. "I treated you unfairly back in Tunisia." He said, his tone apologetic, Clerks eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. "I've noticed you've started carrying a sword, I'll teach you if you like."

"Lochlan." Clerk stopped. "Ill need time to think about that." He said diffidently.

"Sure." The scout master said easily, then he nodded to the young man, turned and lost himself in the bustle looking for Scherer, Diego, any of his old friends. He needed a drink, and some company. By God he needed to talk to someone about Annette.

 

[driftwood]

January 20th, Early Evening

At that very moment, Annette was trying not to think of anyone or anything. She had been unceremoniously condemned to mending clothing. Her normally graceful hands could not seem to obey her wishes, though, and finally she jabbed the rusty and jagged needle into her thumb, hard.

She let out a loud curse strong enough to make some of the camp women blush, at least when they weren't hurling it at deadbeats. Dropping the cloth on the ground, she stomped it twice and stormed out in a rage.

Jeanne was laying on her pallette, idly studying the backs of her hands, trying to decide if they looked identical or not. She was basically stuck, as Bloomfielde had insisted on an after-dinner dalliance, and now his snoring rotundness was pinning her down. When she heard the colorful cursing outside, though, she decided it was worth the effort of escaping Edmund's grasp.

A look of comprehension came upon her face when she saw Annette standing off to the side of her tent, her hands curled tightly into fists and her arms trembling. Jeanne strode over purposefully.

"Lass, come wit' me," she ordered.

The surprised Annette followed, wondering what the camp madam could have to say to her.

"Ah've 'ad just about enuff of all this then," Jeanne said coolly.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking---"

Quick as a mouse, Jeanne's hand darted out and grabbed Annette by the ear. "Eh, don't talk back! Wot, ye th'nk ye can make all th' world mis'rable just a-cuz ye are?"

Annette tried to summon up her familiar rage, but it refused to appear. "B-But you don't know wha---"

"Thin' ah don't? Work f'r the pleashire o' these men f'r 10 years, see how offin the same be happenin' t' ye again an' again." She lowered her eyes. "Ah've seen worse. Not alot, but some."

"W-What do... how do they deal with..."

Jeanne shrugged. Now she was the one who felt slightly uncomfortable. "Put it behin' ye. Ain't no one goin' t' come make ye feel better."

Annette felt cold inside. "That's sounds like a pretty raw deal."

Jeanne shrugged again. "Life's a pretty raw deal. 's no excuse t' make it worse f'r others too." With that she turned and left the unhappy girl.

Annette realized she was trembling. She wandered off in a daze to do some thinking.

driftwood

 

[unmerged(7269)]

Florence, January 20

Strange thoughts pass through the minds of desperate men. One fine morning in Florence, Alasdair Ruadh MacRaith caught himself thinking of pawning his sgian dhu in order to pay for his next meal.

That, he decided, wouldn’t do at all.

MacRaith had been a hand on his uncle’s ship since he was twelve, and after twenty years he had risen to be first mate. When Uncle Eoghain had accepted a consignment of Spanish wine bound for Rome, the whole crew had been pleased – all the Italian ports had fine reputations for good wine, warm weather, and friendly women.

But the Mediterranean was not the Eilean Sgitheanach’s home waters, and the Algerian pirates who intercepted them off Corsica had proven more than a match for her small crew. Once he’d seen Eoghain cut down by the corsair’s cutlasses, he’d known the ship was lost; he and three other survivors from the crew managed to fight their way to a longboat and cast off. The Algerians hadn’t bothered chasing after them. But it might have been kinder if they had, because suddenly the four men were adrift in the middle of a strange sea without provisions.

MacRaith had vowed that no one would ever know how he had managed to survive the long, slow drift across the Ligurian Sea to Italy. But the boat held only one man by the time it washed up on the Tuscan shore.

For months, he had worked odd jobs, making a few coins at a time, usually just enough for his next meal. He had slowly drifted from town to town until he had found himself in the city of Florence. Here, work had suddenly dried up, and he had no money and no food. So he found himself weighing his long dirk in his hand, wondering how many meals he would get if he sold it.

But then he cursed, and shoved it back into the belt of his kilt. There were some things that just couldn’t be done, and to a Highland Scot, selling his only weapon was one of them.

But what, then, was MacRaith to do?

He’d just have to find work, he decided. He was a large man, well over six feet, with a strong back and an experienced sword-arm. That, combined with his fiery red hair and beard, intimidated the hell out of the Italians. Surely there would be some merchant in this town in need of a guard, he thought, especially a guard who happened to be an exotic-looking flame-haired giant from a race with a reputation for ferocity.

So he began making the rounds of the Florentine taverns, inquiring about men looking for work; and sure enough, before long he heard news of a foreign mercenary company looking for experienced swordsmen. A rumor held that they were English, and a contradictory one claimed they were, in fact, Burgundian. MacRaith found he didn’t care which rumor, if either, was true; he spoke both English and French passably well and was too hungry to care about politics. He’d take the work if he could get it.

But the Captain of this "Freedman's Company" (as best MacRaith's tenuous grasp of Italian could translate the name) was difficult to find. MacRaith spent the better part of the day searching the city for him, but always seemed to be one step behind him. Finally, late in the evening, he decided to just head for the Company’s encampment outside the city gates and hope for the best.


[OOC: You guys were just having too much fun without me. I figure it's about time I joined in on this.]

 

[Storey]

Alberic, Stroph and Ivan all leaned forward and looked down at the problem. First one and then the other would poke or prod at the misshapen mass while grunting something under their breath. Part of the hushed tones was because the smell was so bad they couldn’t take a full breath and part because they didn’t know what to make of it. Finally Ivan asked.

"What happened to this one?"

Alberic replied.

"I think I lost that one in France two years ago."

"What happen to this one?"

"Part of it is somewhere in North Africa, maybe. I lost track of it."

Stroph who had just been wondering by and had stopped when he had first seen the curiosity that would have done a circus proud asked.

"Do they still work? I mean they really don’t seem able to do anything anymore."

"I know they aren’t much to look at but they still function, just not as well as they use to, which is why I came to Ivan."

Finally shaking his head Ivan looked up and said.

"Well it could be worst. At least you still have eight toes or most of eight toes. Okay, there’s good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

"Give me the bad news."

"You’ve got flat feet."

"Flat feet? What do you mean flat feet?"

"I mean your feet are flat. You know what flat is don’t you?"

""Yea but what does that have to do with my feet? Everyone’s feet are flat."

"Not like your feet. Yours are flat flat. You know, flat as a board."

From the puzzled expression of Alberic face Ivan felt he wasn’t getting through to him.

"Flat as slate. Flat as the earth. Flat as a, a…"

Ivan scratched his head.

"Look your feet are as flat as that flat chested whore you’ve been sleeping with this past month."

Alberic’s face lit up and he nodded his head.

"Oh flat. I understand. Hell why didn’t you just say so? What can I do about it?

"Join the Calvary."

"And have my ass balloon on me like Bloomfieldes? Not a chance."

"Well then you’ll have to live with it."

Alberic got up from the cot and pulled his boots back on and went to leave but stopped.

"You said there was also good news?

Ivan smiled

"I lied."

"Great, thanks."

Alberic limped and Stroph walked away from Ivan’s tent and heard a commotion from the guards. In the distance he saw a rather large man with fiery red hair. It was either the hair or the kilt that made Alberic realize that another Scot was about to join the Company.

"Oh sweet mother of God another Scot." Alberic muttered. Stroph smiled and said.

"Let go over and find out what he wants."

"Haven’t you ever heard that curiosity killed the cat."

And so the two went to see what this new man wanted.