Susan
He could have taken then easier route. Terrance had received word that his prey had been active in the city of Miller Dale even before he set out from Cretaine, and while the journey by ship required a voyage that circled more than half of the central continent, it certainly would have been both faster and easier, for it lacked the obstacles that were so plentiful on the land route.

His client was in no rush, however, and he wanted to insert himself into the culture of the his target's new climate, something that simply stepping off a newly-arrived ship would be difficult to provide.

Thus, Terrance took the land route, trudging across the expansive Ostian plains to the southern foothills of the Dragonclaw Mountains into the dank swamps of the Dark Ire. All of this were territories technically under Ostian influence if not control. The Dark Ire was generally an ecocosm unto itself. Once he'd found his way to the place known only as The Post, buried deep in the marshes, he found himself a job on a merchant caravan's mercenary team headed through the Southern Mountains to Miller Dale.

It was grueling work, and Terrance more than once had to control his urge to kill some of his new comrades in that role. The goblins inhabiting the Southern Mountains seemed more plentiful than he had ever heard, and they were beset many times, but several weeks later, the caravan rolled down out of the mountains into the stable yard of the Horseshoe Guild. 

Dirty, haggard, and unkempt, Terrance the Jack collected the silver payment that was his due before following with the other mercenaries to the guildhouse. In that shadowed enclave within, the guildhouse offered a tavern that served to steal away at least a portion of that hard-earned coin from the mercenaries who frequented the place, and what funds that the establishment did not take, their relatively poor gaming skills would soon wreak havoc upon. 

The Jack was of the more serious variety, and he was content to find himself a position at the bar, sipping the rum on offer while he subtly observed the crowd. There would be more work to be found in the morning, and if not before then, eventually he would find the woman he had been paid to find— and bring back to Cretaine alive... Willing or not.
Maria
||Character involved :Dina - 

For multiple times now, Dina came back to Miller Dale, heading for the Horseshoe's inn. Since she found them, the former general took the quests that needed her to go the further she could. She needed to move constantly, and this seemed to be a good way to earn some money... It was exhausting, for sure, because she was hardly taking any time off, but better be tired than dead or worse: back under Ostia's jurisdiction. She also took some jobs that led her near the frontiers, trying to blur the doubts among the other mercenaries about what she could be running from...
She was the one you cross paths at the inn one night, and never see for weeks. Terrance, here, might have been lucky this day...

Her silhouette passed the door. Her eyes could tell anyone about the quality of her sleep. She could vehicle confidence and neutral mood despise the fatigue. Of course, for observing eyes, painful legs and heavy shoulders were an obvious thing. But, in a place like this one, people come and go. Usually, she sits in a corner, giving her back to face the room, and folks let her be while she enjoys a drink and a meal.

The blonde woman approached with something under her arm, in a brown bag woven with small stitches. She put it on the counter, noticing that the one behind it was entitled to receive the object. The man leaned in, apparently asking something. Dina raised her hands, like you would do to suggest innocence or to leave the responsibility of something to another person.

**"Didn't open it, don't care."** She threw at him. He grinned, and nodded, apparently happy enough. **"May I have a beer, please."**

She put the coins on the counter where the bag wasn't anymore, and again, instead of the money, a pint came. She thanked him with a brief sign of the head, and went to find her usual quiet corner.
** **

She was handsomely paid for this trip: two jobs for one go. She escorted someone north, near the Rouguemount Castle; she wasn't invited in to see the beauty of dwarves work, but instead, found herself in the tavern of Bracklewhyte's village. For the occasion, she was wearing a brown cape that the guild sold to her, to face the cold mountainous place she was going to and someone recognize the cloth and probably spotted the little embroidered crest that holds the cape on the chest. That person, a redhead dwarf lady, offered her the job to bring this little chest to the Horseshoe, hidden in a bag. As the guild's reputation goes: she didn't ask any question, only a nickname to give to the guild so they know what they're dealing with... And that's it.

As the face of this lady was wearing off in her mind, Dina approached the table... Only to find another pair of cheeks sitting at her place. An annoyed groan was heard as she took place on the sit next to the person; a bit stubborn, considering that if she was willing to agree to sit with someone, there would probably be chairs among people she already knows at least a little, in this inn.
Susan
There was little doubting the identity of the woman who approached and sat next to him, and her direct approach initially instilled in him a mild alarm that she had somehow discerned who he was, or worse, what he had come for, but as she sat down and gave him little more than a silent glance, he allowed himself some measure of reassurance. 

He knew much of the woman's history; she had been a general, daughter of a lord in a family with station much higher than his own had ever been. While he had gained his own measure of fame in Cretaine, he had not been in the employ of the crown, but the Church, and in Cretaine, those were very different circles indeed. 

Playing by the rules of engagement that she started, he gave her a simple nod of greeting that was courtesy among the mercenary types and took another liberal sip from his mug of rum. At the table beside them, two drunken mercs rose at once, sweeping away what was on their table and the chairs surrounding it as they faced off over their table, and a third member started calling out for bets. The Jack scoffed. Arm wrestling was a bestial form of proving who was more dominant in a world where such dominance was only for hire and little more, and yet...

He gave an uptick of his head with another glance at the blonde woman beside him. "Ten copper on the shorter one," He told her with an almost indifferent interest.