A band of seven figures lurked at the edge of the Republic's territory. They were equipped with heavy travelling cloaks which masked their arms and armor and protected them from White Wolf Mountain's chilly, whipping wind.
The lead of the small force clucked thoughtfully as the grounds filled up with parade formations and actively increased patrols along the walls. He noted ships sailing in from the distance, no clear markings on their sails.
Beside him, a lithe and savage looking woman stretched and yawned, crudely sharpened teeth and animal skins trailing from under her traveler's cloak reminding the man of how foreign these politics must have seemed to her. To her other side, another woman leaned lazily on a travelling mage's staff, clearly relishing the momentary halt in their patrol.
To his right, four others remained: a large man who could barely contain his boisterous anger at having to leave his axe behind and who resigned himself to muttering about how cheap Burthopian women were anyway; a woman who silently watched the slothful mage opposite of her with eyes both enticing and judging; another man whose youth betrayed his haunting ambitions; and a final man who whispered amongst the others in a posh Kandar accent.
The distant howl of some wolf-like beast sounded on the western slopes of the mountain. It was their signal to withdraw and report back. To anybody who saw this pack of travellers, they appeared as little more than that: travellers dismayed that they were walking into a heavily fortified Republic on the edge of wartime. They turned back and left.
The leader thought to himself as they moved unopposed by the wolves who had learned to give these travellers distance,
"My apologies, Lord Jekyll of Burthope. Your avarice and your overbearing hubris have sentenced you. It's just good business, of course."
20-Jul-2016 18:09:49