Dale
Darin froze for a moment, bringing his steed to a halt. Despite being more than willing to leap into battle, draw blood, and have an all in all good time, he could do basic mathematics. The fact that his camp was most likely being razed meant that the enemy probably had, *At least*, similar numbers to the regional army he had sent out. That being, more than the 21 bodyguards he had with him. He'd need a bit of backup, that was for sure.. Glancing over at the burly fellow behind him, Darin cracked a smile. "Say, I could use a guide there.. And, some extra muscle too. You have that giant menacing hook, and you seem rather fond of taking lives! How about I even pay you to do it?!" Darin exclaimed as he reached into his cloak. It was practically one of the most basic rules of nobility to always carry some decent coinage on you. Enough to pay off anyone you felt like, but not enough to make you a worthwhile target for robbers. A fragile economical balance.
Jeremy
Not realizing he would be payed, Whalren confusedly stuffed the bag of coin into his pocket. 

"Well, that's very kind of you yeah" He said looking at the rider.

Dragging the wagon in the correct the direction he darted off towards the smoke and debris before the horsemen were fully ready. He was leading them to the attacked camp, but it would be easy to misunderstand this and think he was sprinting off with the money.
Dale
Darin was quick to take off after the large sized stranger. Of course, Darin himself didn't even suspect that he'd make a run for it. Most of his guard, including the captain. Darin for one was far too occupied with psyching himself up for battle, getting his blood pumping and heart beating. He didn't even consider the fact that he might not be trying to slam an axe into someone in about 40 seconds, because honestly, he had come this entire way- The least he could expect was a good scrap while he was here. "Of course, of course, people back home call me Duke Darin the Kind!" Of course, every single time *Anyone* Had referred to him as "The kind" Had done so ironically.
Jeremy
Octavious Whylder I

East Whylder Estate

Present Day




East Master Whylder began to grow frustrated, hunching over his desk, he had already waited two minutes for his caravan representatives to appear in his office. Kharlyle looked to no god, but by lord did he pray for this war, and now that he finally had the opportunity to pounce on it, these useless fucking caravan representatives decide to take their fucking time walking up to his office. He could feel the coin slipping through his fingers with every passing second.

But alas, a streak of amber light shown through the crack of the hardwood double doors. Two men, laden in scars and scrappy armor entered in a rushed pace. They approached the desk but about ten feet before kneeled in genuflect.

Kharlyle presses his forefinger and thumb between his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Get the FUCK OFF YOUR KNEES THIS FUCKING SECOND BEFORE I HAVE YOU FUCKS SKINNED AND DRAGGED UP THE SIDE OF THE FUCKING MOUNTAIN BY A FUCKIN-" Kharlyle tone got increasingly more abrasive until a brief halt. "... Just get the fuck up gentelmen" Kharlyle readjusted himself. "We don't have time for this today"

"I'm sorry sir..." One man said, the other was too stricken to say much of anything. Both men stood back up and approached the desk, now within true speaking distance. 

These men were purebred by Kharlyle, his loyal bloodhound slavers. They were about two and half decades old and born and raised knee deep in slaver culture. They were crafted by Kharlyle to be the most inhuman brutal people he was capable of creating, and they led his caravans. Caravans were entirely slave operated to maximize profit, and while this wouldn't work under a usual buisness model, Kharlyle's was no usual model. He needed enforcers, his bloodhounds, to create a tangible film of fear among the slaves operating the caravan, they needed to make it clear that if they even thought out of line, death would be the consequence. Now convincing slaves to man their posts when they could realistically escape at any time into a foreign country where slavery was illegal was difficult, but an everyday task for these Bloodhounds.

"You know why I called you boys in here?" Kharlyle's yellow white grin shown in the dimly lit room. The two men just stood silently.

"I'm not confident we do sir" One man said through pursed lips. 

"Well there's a new war in Northwind-" Kharlyle was interrupted.

"What else is new" One man stepped in.

Kharlyle would have reprimanded the man for speaking over him, but war put him in too cheery of a mood. "Yes. And war means profit, yeah?" Kharlyle reclined in his chair. "So you two are my caravan leaders, my loyal bloodhounds, and now, my royal trade representatives of Twin Mount Industries" 

"Well, what does this entail, sir" The other man asked nervously.

"You fucks are practically on vacation" Kharlyle laughed loudly as a confused look appeared on the men's faces. "No slaves to enforce or anything, just easy travel down to the south for one of you and Irongate for the other" Kharlyle arbitrarily pointed at each man to signify where they were going.

The men were visibly elated at their new situation, though they stayed very reserved for the occasion as Kharlyle went into detail about their mission. As the men were dismissed they began to leave but Kharlyle stopped them.

"Remember boys, you two are representing Twin Mount, you are representing Whylderheld and most importantly of all you represent Master Mercurio and I... So if you fuck this, you know what will happen." The hounds didn't take these threats lightly, after all, there was a third bloodhound at one point.

~

The two carriages and their preparations were sent off after a few hours. The caravans would arrive to Zacharov and De Burgh by tomorrow. Kharlyle would have to look further into this Rhoderick character.