(Let's roll)<br/><br/>The inside of Syvatlo's lone tavern was many things to many people. It was a place to relax, a place to keep out of the elements and a place to do business of many kinds. But most of all, at least today, it was a place for a large group of mercenaries to get uproariously drunk. Which they seemed to be doing admirably.<br/><br/>Ysira Kadanko sat at one of the many rough hewn oak tables that the tavern's current population seemed to be mostly gathered around, when they weren't hounding the barman for more drink or fondling one of the serving girls in a corner. Nursing a pint mug of ale that didn't deserve the name, she was squeezed uncomfortably between a large man she knew as Hoarmouth and the captain of their little ragtag company, a man by the name of Livinko.<br/><br/>She had been hired on to this 'expedition', for lack of a better word that wasn't completely negative or derogatory, to act as a disciplinarian. In other words, she was being asked to keep order amongst a large group of men who all knew how to fight and didn't take kindly to being told what to do, especially by a woman. It would take a true genius or a true fool to do this job properly, and while Ysira was far from being a fool, she wasn't quite a genius either.<br/><br/>Once again the crowd shifted like some kind of weird animal, this time allowing a small, scarred man to approach and place himself on the bench opposite. Leaning over the table, he began speaking directly to Livinko.<br/><br/>"I saw another group of likely looking blades come into the market just now, Captain. Three women, two men, armed well enough. Their gear looked a bit mismatched though, so I'd wager they're looking of a bit of silver to rub together." He sat back and took a swig from his mug before leaning over again to continue.<br/><br/>"With the way I left them chattering, I'd say they're rightly considering it." Livinko nodded, jotting down a couple of notes on the roll of writing paper in front of him. Ysira finally piped up, slipping out of her cold and disinterested demeanour for a moment.<br/><br/>"When will they be coming in, Stanislav? Are you sure?" The light mockery in her tone was apparent to all who weren't already drunk, who were mercifully few. She continued in the same vein.<br/><br/>"First rule of being a mercenary Stan, what is it? Don't take anything for granted. We'll see whether or not they turn up and if they do, then you'll get your commission. Not before." The scarred man shrugged, before putting all of his concentration into divining the secret of life in the depths of his mug. Ysira herself couldn't care less about this bunch of newcomers, if they even existed. And she'd believe that when she saw it.