Theresa
**Berwyn Cadoc**
**City of Erba port, now in a ship and departing for Alderport in the Southern Isles.**

Eventually, though, Berwyn managed to find a ship captain who would take him and his horse to the Southern Isles, and they were actually about depart - so he paid the ship captain the agreed upon fare, Berwyn having been able to cover the surprisingly low cost with little issue as he had saved up some money over the years while working as a mercenary.

He led his horse onto the ship that would take the two to the Southern Isles, Alderport particularly, and made sure his horse would be alright. The horse, whom was a male horse named Pluton, was rather nervous - it didn't enjoy traveling by sea - but Berwyn managed to calm Pluton down.

And so the ship took off, and Berwyn settled himself down next to where Pluton was situated, taking this time to rest before they would eventually arrive in the city of Alderport.
Scott
**Melkaire Amarth**
**City of Erillia, Aredia**

For months, the lone warrior traveled south from the Middlelands. Making his way across the land. In his wake, tales of his exploits were spoken by the travelers that crossed his path, ranging from merchant caravans to traveling families. They spoke of a mountain of man, brandishing only a blade as he engaged in combat with bandits and beasts alike- all in the name of defense of another. They regarded him as a barbarian, a berserker who seemingly became enthralled by the call of battle, a far cry from the stoic facade he presented during times without conflict. In spite of this, many of those who encountered Melkaire was grateful for his intervention. Those who weren't were likely those that met their end by his hands.

A cool, soothing breeze greeted Melkaire as he drew closer to the city of Erillia. Graying clouds loomed overhead, nearly blotting out the sun. The temperature in the air was soothing for the man of sculpted brawn, finding himself accustomed to it by the span of years spent during his childhood in the highlands of Ibethiel. Long strands of hair in a dark, chestnut hue flowed in the breeze as it caressed the warrior's grizzled features like a lover's touch. Stern features laid adorned by the length of a full beard, with its strands reaching nearly down to his collarbone. Layers of fur and hide were woven into clothing dressed his figure, concealing the definition of sculpture beneath his vestments. Cerulean eyes scanned the sights of the city upon his entry, the sounds of rapping from the soles of leather boots pressing against the cobblestone path resonated during his trek.

.
It wasn't long before the wanderer had come across a rather curious sight. There was a small commotion- a group of citizens ranging from various walks of life, gathering around a town crier. The clamoring voices made their words indiscernible individually. Overlapping one another in waves of emotions and ego. While some expressed their concern about what was to happen, others boasted that they were capable of heeding the call to arms. While closing distance, Melkaire happened to notice the exchange of fliers amongst the crowd and the attentive focus many held as they read that which was written upon them. His right hand lifted upward to his chest, taking hold of the thick, leather band that encircled his torso from over his shoulder, holding the sheathed blade that slept soundly at his back.

As he encroached upon the gathering of people, his stature and build were enough to merit a small distraction from many that were gathered. Their faces turned to the man, regarding him in a myriad of different expressions. It was easy enough for Melkaire to make his way through the crowd, as many were moving on their own, clearing a path that laid directly to the town crier. Their whispers carried through the wind touched his ears, many with inquiries regarding to who he was while others spoke of his appearance, regarding him to be little more than a savage. Wordlessly, Melkaire drew closer upon the town crier, coming to a stop just before the young man. An easing tilting of his head was drawn to his right while unblinking eyes merely stared at the crier's face. Keeping to his silence, Melkaire raised his left hand out towards the town crier with palm facing upward and fingers splayed out, a muted request to see one of the fliers that were being passed out and around. With parchment in hand, Melkaire turned about, easing his way out of the crowd, ignorant of the passing glances and gawking that was afforded into his direction.

.
The warrior came to a stop, just several feet away from the edge of the crowd, Narrowing eyelids brought his sights to focus upon the flier, reading over it. The parchment he held spoke of a bandit clan that was wreaking havoc across the land and quickly amassing itself into a larger threat the more time had carried on. The indenture in the material form with the pressure of his grasp tightening at its edge, and the warrior's rugged features twisted into a look of contemplation. 

"Hmm..." Growled Melkaire softly to himself.
Douglas
Lady Vivian Agate
City of Erillia, Araedia 

Sleek dusky hair floated within the gentle sway of the breeze, the pungent smell of crisp air and dirt flooded Vivian's senses. The young lady has been on the back of a stallion for a handful of days, traveling from her home town in Astoria. Her stallion making a few grunts as he trotted down a minor slope, Vivian's heart swelled with Anxiety as she neared the busy city Erillia. 

Never before was the youthful lady allowed to travel, let alone by her lonesome, her father would not have allowed it. Recently conquering his invalid system, she has proven to her unpleasant father that she could travel without aid. Vivian tilted her head up towards the overcast sky, admiring the stretched out clouds that hung above her.

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Vivian slowly removed herself from her companion at a nearby inn that contained horses, making her way into the center of the city. Many stares and unwanted eyes lingered on her petite form as she strutted towards near a large group of citizens. Many young men who were gloating and roaring about,'New found opportunity,' as she circled them. Vivian clutched her thick leathered hands, keeping her heart rate at an even pace before making her way through the roudy crowd. Her nose filling up on pungent hormones and foul smelling breath, she let out a small grunt when finding her way to the front. A young man stood screeching his lungs out, his words fumbling into a wordy mess. The people had started to pass around thin sheets of paper, torn and tatted as they reached her. She took one and made her way around the crowd once more before letting her emerald eyes scan what layed upon the sheet she received.

Her paper had mentioned of a bandit group, a clan, that has gained terror. She lightly shook her head, strains of locks outlined her pale face, it flushed from her previous battle with the assemble just a couple feet from her. She let her hand caress the top of the paper, where layed the words, a cry for help to stop the people and demolish their standing camps. She let her plump lips form a sinister smirk, a soft chuckle escaped as she made her way to a small tavern.
James
Marshal Otwin
Crireton Fortress.

He hadn't expected people to be moving this quickly. A watchman called him from the wide turret looking out upon the designated camping field. There were maybe three or four active fires and a good thirty men spread about in small groups with their tarped wagons and glinting weapons. His eyes trained upon their faces and he could tell that this was going to be something serious. Both battle-heartened warriors and young, confused boys that probably got here without their poor father's awareness. He sighed and set both of his hands upon the stone railing and leaned into it to peer a ways further. 

Upon the horizon rode a shadowy mass of maybe five or six more people with *Several* Wagons. Traders. Those were the ones that always sniffed out the hungry and milked them for everything they had on them. It was going to be an eventful day. That much was for sure. He turned from the field and made his way through the keep and down into the courtyard where several free-agent knights that managed to get their hands on the flier had set up camp. He hadn't even *Heard* Of free-agent knights until earlier today when three of them rolled up to the fortress gatehouse and demanded they speak with Otwin.

"Good evening, you... Three." Otwin said to them as he approached. The three all unanimously turned their heads in one motion away from their wagon. The three were dark-skinned with bulged honey-colored eyes and stubbled faces. Hard to believe this lot was supposedly nobles besides their clothes. One stepped forwards and he assumed that was their elected leader, walking up to Otwin and extending a large, meaty hand. The three were strong-looking and had obviously seen a battle or two. Otwin grasped his hand and politely shook it. Up-down-up-down.

"You do realize the scale of people that are coming?" The leader asked in a hushed voice.

"I suppose so. Say... One-hundred able bodies?" Otwin asked, almost nervously.

"No. Try three-hundred. *Or* More." His voice was melodic and rang like a brass bell in his head. That was good to know. His scouts had said something about two or three hundred making up the raider group they were going to be attacking later on today. It would be a perfectly pitted match. *The two men talked for a while on matters in the realm and about the old fortress itself before another one of the exotic nobles stepped up and pitched in. While they talked, more men slowly began to show up and fill the impromptu campgrounds.*