There was a measure of passion in Orsa's persuasion that Estevan found he liked. It mattered not that his men, gathered like a bachelor pack, oppressive and hostile, shared obvious apprehension about the strange, Campona born transplant - they would accept his judgement if he chose to enlist his services. His expression became shrewd, thumbnail rasping over a whisker-thick jawline as he considered the heaps of reeking bodies awaking the attentions of an already overrun charnal house. Anomymous soldiers from the enemy legions. A smouldering, sadistic ember in him flared eagerly at the thought of recognisable remains being marched at their remaining troops, the chaos it would sow, as they realised they might share a similar fate. The mental image was so comical to him that he caught himself about to bark a laugh, and managed to abort it into an amused grunt.<br/><br/>"I will make no promises to you, Battistiano. Not until you give me tangible evidence of your capabilities." He caught a soft, incredulous sound from his left, and stared the would-be protester into embarassed silence. "It will do no harm to claim some carrion from the field and create for us one of these monsters you seem so eager to pilot. But," ah, but of course there were conditions! "you will do so under the supervision I assign you. I will accept no argument in this matter. There will be a man at your door day and night. Your excursions to collect materials will be under escort, and you are restricted entirely to using the remains of our enemies. I will not have outrage amongst the common folk because you've sewn one of their relatives into one of your abominations."<br/><br/>He slouched back, pantherine and seemingly somnolent, fingers curled loosely over the wolf's head effigies at the end of the chair's arms. "Pedro, have one of your men given the task of seeing to his safety during his stay. I would be<i>very</i>disappointed if my guest were to fall victim to any unfortunate accidents."<br/><br/>A lean, neatly bearded man who'd been occupying one of the walls by a window straightened to attention, and nodded acknowledgment of the order.<br/><br/>It appeared that Orsa might not be clear of danger, even with a potential sponsor. Estevan might be issuing commands meant to prevent trouble, but it sounded suspiciously as if the vitamancer would be more prisoner than guest, restricted in his movements, in his privacy. "To produce enough of these creatures to be formiddable will be a tasking business, I have no doubt," the King went on smoothly, at last gesturing for Orsa to rise with an insouciant seeming gesture. "So I give you three days to produce this first example. We march again in a month's time, and I would see the carnage when we take to the field in the borderlands."<br/><br/>His focus had become expectant, a subtle lift to his jaw and the wing of one, thick brow that suggested he speak now if he meant to question or protest (for all the good it would do the if he chose the latter.)