Thomas
General Derringer Hecate
Vineyard District, Rikolto, Akno

Derringer was impressed by the younger man's physique, mixed with his height it made for quite the sight.  Derringer found he had to crane his neck slightly to make eye contact at a distance.

"You will face me, boy."  Derringer said, bowing to Aurelian.  Derringer then bent his knees slightly as he drew his broken, holding the sword in front of him with a two handed grip.

Leric of Tazmaltur
Sensu District, Rikolto, Akno

The fires of the forge flared to life briefly when the door to his shop swung open.  Leric didn't look right away, but he called out to the newcomers.

"Just a moment!"  A long hiss immediately followed his remark, steaming filling the room with the occasional lick of flame across the hot metal he was handling.  After the third submerging he left the blade in the vat of oil, and pulled his goggles from over his eyes, grabbing a rag to wipe the sweat and soot from his forehead.

"Ah, Ivovius, I should have known Mafalda would bring you to my door again.  Blessings."  He listened to introductions with wide eyes.  "A white Guard eh?  I've never worked for one of them before.  What are you in the market for today, my friend?"

Leric was glad to have the work.  As the last Southern Pantheon Blacksmith in Rikolto, things had gotten tough since the Pilgrims took over.
Karen
A Hooded Rider
The Keep Sempiternal, The Grey Hills

The rain soaked through her cloak. She sat hunched in the saddle of her horse, a blonde colored steed with a braided mane. Hunching down to make herself smaller wasn't keeping any rain off, though. She was attended by two armored men, although they bore no sigils but a circle of Saris upon their breast. None of them were Pantheists, or even Marinese, but that damnable circle had kept them from being molested on the road. 

One of the men groaned and shifted in his sodden saddle. "My ass is sore..." He groaned. 

"Boff uff our asses are sore, soreass," The other replied. They had been quipping this whole trip. 

"Soreass yourself," He spat back. "Cannae just take off me helm for a—"

"No!" She snapped around to face them. From beneath the darkness of her hood, she stopped them both from squabbling. 

But only for a moment.

"But this raaaaaiiin," The man continued to complain. His name was Godwin, and he was not made for long distances on horseback. "It taps upon me 'ead, milady, like a little drum. My achin'..." He sighed, and went right back to groaning. 

"Why couldn't we get a carriage?" The other asked her, not for the first time. She did not respond. His name was Mathis, and he was a moron.

It had been raining since before they departed from the Sun Gate, and the ground was a sodden mess of rich black soil. It had kept the travelers and smallfolk inside. The last leg of their journey had been easier for it. There would be no mishaps or body burryings today. 

When she had shot up to look at them, she realized that they were in the middle of a town. _The_ town, presumably. The castle carved into the mountain above them matched the description well enough. Not that it could be called a proper castle, though. To her, it looked more like a haphazard collection of towers and battlements that loomed over everything like a mad God. As they grew closer, the light from the sweeping stained windows grew more and more colorful. It did little to improve their moods. It looked as if no men walked the battlements. The entire town was a empty. 

The rain had left it deserted, save for the warm glow of hearthfire in the windows. There was still some wheat left in the fields, she noticed. The freezing rain had stopped the last part of the harvest and now the dead grey stalks stuck out of the muddy ground like the bristles on an old brush. Whatever was left belonged to the rain now. Even the crows were not out in this weather. They would come eventually, though. She was sure of that.

"I'm takin' it off..." Godwin said finally, accompanied by the sound of two latches clicking, then unclicking, then clicking again. His gauntlets were too thick to remove his helm. 

"Hah!" Mathis let out a bark of cruel laughter. The two were friends, but she had learned that their friendship consisted mostly of enjoying the other's suffering. 

"Mm," Godwin continued to struggle, his movements growing more and more frantic, until finally he was slamming an armored fist against his breastplate and he was shaking in anger. 

"FUCK!" He screamed, and placed a hand against the front of his helm to lift his visor. "I could— I could— fucking _strangle—_" He was fiddling with his gauntlets when she spotted movement behind the battlements. 

The three of them stopped their horses and stood before the moat, which was really more of a river that came down from the mountains above them. In the rain, it was a torrent of white capped waves. 

Mathis removed the horn from his hip and blew into it twice. Sure enough, a man rose up from behind the crenellations. When he moved to address them, Mathis blew the horn a third time. When he was finished, the guard finally addressed them, annoyed and wet.

"Halt!" He cried, "Who goes there?" 

"Good luck," Godwin murmured to her, and with both hands she removed her sodden hood, tossing it onto her back with a wet _plap._

"I am Ilona Maith," She lied. "And I've come for dinner!"
William
**Jeaques Renart l' Hivert | The Keep Sempiternal**

The guard had trouble hearing the shouts amidst the raging storm.
"Who goes?" He asked.
But then another silver helmet popped up from the sunken battlements to whisper something in the watchman's ear.

"My bad," He replied. "The lord's been expecting you."

The brazen doors opened slowly to reveal a candlelit interior and a slender figure standing below the treshold: the castle's seneschal.
He was dressed all in black, wore a monocle, and had a thin moustache that unfurled past his cheekbones.

"Welcome to the Keep Sempiternal, lady Maith. I shall be your guide."