The assembled bunch seemed aboard, which was good, and Holt was relatively quiet as he let them go around the table and introduce themselves. He didn't need to hear about their experience or their qualities--he knew exactly what each had done to be tagged in for this hunt, and however they wanted to represent themselves then so be it. As Charlotte finished her section of the introduction, he cleared his throat and set down his tankard.<br/><br/>"Glad to hear you're all aboard." He chuckled slightly. It was rare that people refused their summons, but it did happen, and it was always easier when it didn't come to that. "First off, let's get something straight--you're all of you out to kill something that warrants the attention of the best killers this sad world has to offer. The ones most at danger are you. They aren't men the way you and I are men. When you ask me if they bleed, the best I can tell you is 'maybe'. And I'll be honest, they're out to kill this thing. Bringing you home safe and sound is secondary, because whatever it is, it needs to die."<br/><br/>"I tell you this," he said pointedly, leaning in, "because what it means is that the people around this table are your best lifeline to make it back alive. Even you, Sydney." he added with a slightly raised voice. "Play the monster if it makes you feel better, but you know what's waiting for you if you act up again, and you of all people should know you can't run from it. As for the rest of you, you want to live? You start trusting each other here and now, or you won't make it." After sliding an eye around the table, focusing for a moment on Eva before slipping pas the the rest of them, he set back.<br/><br/>"As for your plan to scout the woods," he finished, motioning to Eva and Sydney, "you're more use to us alive than dead. While I'm sure you're both plenty good at hunting and hiding, things out there have been hairy enough that we're not risking going in with anything more than a full retinue. We'll need everyone rested for the morning push. On that note," he said with a dull chuckle, leaning back once more, "I suggest you do just that. Get some rest. Find a man or a woman and get to know them--with luck, you'll even get to come back to them. If you were on duty tonight on the wall, congratulations, now you're not. I'll see you all sharp at the gate come daybreak and we'll make our way in. Be ready, and pack for a trip."<br/><br/>With that, he turned back to his cup and ordered another with a wave to the bartender. He remains put for most of the evening, and is willing to talk with those that remain. Those of you who rest up that night dream of a sky filled with leaves and trees as far as the eye can see... and of the things in them.<br/><br/>----------<br/><br/>The morning is surprisingly crisp, the mist running off of the house roofs into the street as it just begins to warm. The sun on the horizon creeps onward slowly, but this is only evidenced by the lightening of the sky--it has not yet made it above the barricade, and won't for some time. The walls are high, and they are strong. Essentially just trees ripped from the forest, the wall is the only reason Needle has managed for so long. Impregnable until late, it still towers high above most of the other buildings in the town, and the gate itself is the strongest part.<br/><br/>The main gate in and out is a fortified affair some fifteen feet high or so, carved straight through the trees and laced with portculli and murderholes sufficient to prevent a much greater horde than has ever assaulted the city from gaining purchase. It is a functional thing, however--it lacks much of the flare and pomp that would be associated with a more ceremonial piece, and is instead the main way for workers and hunters to get out of the city into the forest itself. There are no dignitaries from the wilds, no officials to greet, and so it goes without ornamentation.<br/><br/>There isn't much crowd to send you off--a trio of men wait for you to arrive, though as you draw closer 'men' is a loose description for a pair of them. There is Holt, who is by no means small; from the looks of it he has spent the night drinking, but he's garbed for a trip into the woods with a solid leather jerkin and heavy gloves and boots, his crossbow strung across his back and a pair of short swords at his sides. Standing he cuts an imposing figure, his shoulders broad and his arms bulging.<br/><br/>His companions dwarf him.<br/><br/>Made no less imposing by their armor, without it they would still be massive. The pair of them are garbed in full attire of the Knights, and it leaves not an inch unprotected. The midnight plates are thick and heavy, riveted and hammered one on another and backed with mail until they are more juggernaut then man. The shorter of the two stands head and shoulders above even Rocco--the taller must be nearly seven feet. Were it not for the fact that their helmets hung under their arms, it would be a stretch to believe them men at all.<br/><br/>The shorter of the two was visibly younger. He was more pretty than handsome, his long face filled with soft features and gentle lips, with eyes of doe-brown. Dark hair fell in a slight mop around his ears, but he smiled with self-confidence and the pools of brown flashed slightly in the sunlight. His skin was quite pale, and his cheeks shorn clean. A thick, dark cloak hung over his armor, obscuring the pack behind him, but strapped over his back was a shield that would cover most men completely. At his side a sword jutted out and back quite a distance--a massive thing, it looked almost too heavy to hold, but he carried it with surprising ease.<br/><br/>Though the younger Knight smiled, his senior was cold as stone. Looking out through the gate he says little, though when he turns to greet you his face is almost expressionless. He is built more heavily than his companion, though his skin is pale and cool as though he were only moments ago pulled from a deep well. Both his beard and his hair are shorn close to his head, and his eyes are almost slate grey. The air around him is cooler than normal, and as he looks to you there is almost a hint of patriarchal compassion around his eyes--something distant but reassuring, like a hand on your shoulder.<br/><br/>The head of his long-handled mace is almost the size of a barrel.<br/><br/>They say little until you all have arrived.