The Lad casually lit up one of the cigars he had appropriated from Mr. Kettle, striking the match on a groove on his belt and cupping his hands around the growing flame. He waved it out, tossing it over his shoulder before taking a deep draw on the cigar, letting out the sudden intake in a satisfied puff of smoke.<br/><br/>The boy was already down, beaten to a bloody pulp and left behind in an inn. Percy had been an odd sort - the Lad had often found himself wondering why Mr. Kettle had bothered to include him. Maybe he had been a side-bet? Perhaps he thought it was funny. Thinking on it, the Lad couldn't help but chuckle slightly. Maybe Mr. Kettle wasn't so different after all.<br/><br/>He pulled the sword at his side slightly forward, edging it out of his scabbard. Dried blood flicked the handle, which the Lad tutted at before licking his finger and ebbing it out. He regretted killing the woman, if only because he didn't have the time to seduce her and perhaps give her the more classy send off he felt she deserved. Being hacked haphazardly to death in an alleyway was no way to go for a lady, and the Lad sighed at the memory. At the very least, they had managed to acquire the necessary garments that would be needed to fool the savages into thinking they were the envoys of some Kingdom or another.<br/><br/>Even Jack had been measured up and forced into some ill-fitting suit, and the Lad found himself wandering slightly to his left on the road occasionally to adjust the man's attire. Lionsteed knows he couldn't do it himself, and he wouldn't be eaten purely because the drunkard didn't know how to. It took him a solid twenty minutes to get the man to even go near the clothes that he needed, most of it at gunpoint.<br/><br/>He didn't trust the man to dress himself, and - as evidenced by the rope tied both around the man's horse and the fool himself - the Lad certainly did not trust him to make any of his own decisions. He half-smiled as he heard the idiot's protests to the sudden jerk of the rope, yelling at him.<br/><br/>He made to make some biting sarcastic remark that he was rather sure would go straight over Jack's head, but ended up simply stopping. They had arrived at a wreck - a desolate, destitute, piece of refuse in the middle of an otherwise equally unremarkable wood. "I do so enjoy the quaint little villages." He said, moving the cigar with his lips over to the side of his mouth as he leaned back in his saddle.<br/><br/>Nole took it upon himself to dismount first and wander into the ruins without the Lad's explicit orders, but he simply took it upon himself to ignore the transgression. Nole was one of those boring mysterious types. The Lad much preferred to think he had free reign for now. He could always shoot him if he got too much in the way, but he thought he would make a fantastic proxy if Ranataal ever decided to come back.<br/><br/>After a few moments, he dismounted his horse and sauntered in, still rather ignoring Jack's protests. The Lad had bound him in an old knot he'd picked up, and its practical applications were rapidly becoming apparent to be almost as useful as it was in the bedroom.<br/><br/>His finely-laced boot tapped the familiar dusty dryness of a human skull. He stopped a moment, ensuring his hands were quite properly gloved before picking it up and looking with mild curiousity into the soulless holes that were once its eyes. "Well now." Giving it a mild toss forward, where it sank readily into the mud. "I do believe that these fine people have seen better days." He tossed the stub of his cigar straight after it, brushing some dust off of his shoulderboards.  "I have am inkling that we are going in the right direction."<br/><br/>Barely had the words left his lips before an arrow screamed past him, landing solidly in a thick door next to him. Before he could even shout that they were being attacked, many more similar missiles sank into the scenery around him. Either they were trying to send a warning, or they were tremendously poncy shots. The Lad assumed the former, but secretly hoped for the latter.<br/><br/>As he made his way a few short steps back out to the entrance of the settlement, he was met with a group of cold, unfeeling eyes. They said absolutely nothing for several moments, while the Lad simply beamed his white-toothed smile - with his hand leaning on his pistol holster the entire time. He heard nothing except Jack's constant shouts of protest, struggling against the rope. "Be quiet, Jack." The Lad said, his smile not breaking and his gaze refusing to be torn away from the Elves. Suddenly, the rather large fellow at the forefront of them waved them off, then signalled them to follow.<br/><br/>The Lad mounted his horse again, not allowing the unease to show upon his face. He was playing the role of a diplomat, after all, and there were no dour diplomats.<br/><br/>A sickly-sweet melody suddenly began to filter in through the trees. The Lad had never heard anything quite like it, and it set him off uneasily - even as he unconsciously began to hum to it. He found himself quite grateful as the Elves let loose a sharp whistle, the sound around them dissipating almost instantly. The Lad really did hate magic.<br/>Jack suddenly resumed his ranting and raving, right up until the larger Elf waved his hand down with purpose to those around him. Within only moments, Jack's arrow-riddled corpse remained precariously balanced on the back of his horse. The Lad unfortunately found he had to rule out his theory on the feral creatures being pathetic shots.<br/><br/>The Lad moved forward, once again dismounting from his horse as he approached the clearing the Elves had made for this meeting. As he did so, bowstrings went taught all around him, forcing him to stop halfway between both parties. In the dead silence, he took off his jacket. "I hope you don't mind - the wood's a little bit humid." They stared at him in unflinching unison as he took his buttoned jacket off, folding it neatly over his arm. "Don't worry about that the dead one. He's yours. You can have that one for free." The Elves didn't look like they were understanding what he was saying, but he ploughed on anyway. Everyone surely knew that if someone didn't understand you all you had to do was raise your voice a bit and talk a little bit more clearly, but maybe that wouldn't QUITE get across so well in these circumstances.<br/><br/>One of them came forward, scowling slightly. He pointed at the bleeding form of Jack, and then began making some form of high pitched noise, mimicking an owl. When the Lad looked at him, puzzled at the savage's antics, the Elf raised his bow and repeated the noise. After the third time, the Lad caught on. "Who... you want to know who he is." He nodded wordlessly, awaiting his response. What could he say? This is the man that I met in a pub one day with a girl he was stalking, who was a useful tool but simply that - a complete tool. If not used correctly or left unattended, he would ruin any plan the Lad set down through drunken idiocy or impressive amounts of copious ignorance. He was also immortal. He thought simply then and there that actually telling them the truth would make them think him mad, so he went for a rather more simplistic approach.<br/><br/>He looked at Jack a moment, then made the miming act of cradling a baby, before throwing it away with a curl of his lip. The Elves watched the action, thoroughly confused. The Lad followed their eyes, before nodding encouragingly with a knowing smile. He pointed up towards the woodland treetops, where small rays of light were filtering down. The Elves, still puzzled, continued to watch him nonetheless. He kicked dirt to the side to ensure his knees would not get muddy, and then went down on all fours, before mimicking having a pair of breasts. He stood up, dusting himself off. "His name is Jack, by the way."<br/><br/>Moments passed as the majority of them stared at him as though he was completely mad, their bowstrings still drawn back completely tight and no doubt ready to sail across the clearing and straight through one of the Lad's numerous rather important organs. The leader snapped his fingers suddenly, the others almost taking it as a signal to fire before he held his hand out, nodding slowly to himself as if he had just made some grand discovery. He murmured the word, his odd accent twisting even such a simple, one-syllable thing. The Lad waved his hand in circular motion, encouraging him. "Yes?<br/>"Jack is..." He bit his lip, and then cast his eyes in each of the directions the Lad had directed their attention to, as if recalling each action.<br/>"Go on."<br/>He seemed to have cracked it. "Jack is bastard son of bitch?" The Lad grinned.<br/>"I do believe we have reached our first diplomatic point of agreement. Now then." He said, presenting both hands in the direction of Povundra. "We bring... many.... gifts..." He punctuated each word, as if making the action of wrapping and carrying something, all the while pointing to Povundra and the pouches upon its person. Jack was the gift that he originally thought to bring, but he would have to think of something more afterwards - he didn't think they would quite appreciate him as he was. He pointed to the large Elf. "We want to... take them to... your leader." He looked at the size difference, raising his hand even taller than the Elf at the forefront to signify leadership. He looked like he vaguely understood - at least to the Lad - and began walking onward.<br/><br/>The Lad had dealt with Hu'lanian tribesmen, but those were far more cultured and civilised than these. They used rifles, for a start. Had the common decency to take the piss out of you rather than make threats, just to see how far you bite back. It was with a twinge of annoyance that the Lad felt himself recalling Hena. She would have to wait for another day, he thought as he scowled. Mr. Kettle wouldn't be able to protect her a few years down the line, and he wouldn't even let her brothers deny him his satisfaction. He didn't think he'd kill her - embarrass her, probably. She would be quite useful to have, he found himself admitting. If only he could just stop fantasizing about blowing her brains out with a shot from his pistol.<br/><br/>He felt a hand prod him onward from his thought - one of the Elves harshly poked him between the shoulder blades, forcing him to walk on forwards besides his horse. He looked to the others to follow, before unfolding his jacket and donning it once more. After all - he wanted to be dressed as best as he could be for his meeting with the shit-smelling cannibalistic leader of the savages.