Finally out of the mine, Magnus had managed to cool down significantly, though a lingering shade of pink remained in his cheeks on the way out. He hid himself under his cloak, pulling it over his shoulders and raising the hood in an attempt to disguise his face, but that really only made it more obvious that he was still blushing. But he wasn't ignoring Sheo, and knew what she was talking of. Cold Iron was a useful material, good for scaring off all sorts of spirits and monsters. Armour made of it would definitely be useful, though the relative physical weakness likely meant reinforcement would be needed.<br/><br/>"Oh, like alchemy, right?" Magnus asked for clarification. "My cousin's talked about it a few times. I think she's made some jewelry out of the stuff." While not an alchemist himself, he'd witnessed some rituals of the art performed. It was intruiging, seeing the innate magical properties of things being drawn out of mundane objects like ore and flowers. The physical transformation was always impressive too. A dull, greyish lump of raw ore transformed into a sleek, steely metal without much heat was interesting to watch. He could only imagine how much of the required items they'd need for the entire haul.<br/><br/>Feeling a sense of excitement, Magnus considered potential aesthetics for the suit. Plate was nice, but fully enclosing armour was too heavy for him in his current state. Cuirasses, cuisses, and faulds would be nice to have, but he was more comfortable being light and agile. Perhaps a brigandine over the body would suffice, with a nice gambeson and some chain mail to hold everything together. Plus, it would save some metal for other things. New weapons, maybe. His old sword and hammer were sturdy, but his shield had seen better days. And having a nice knife never hurt.<br/><br/>A little smile had crossed his face as he imagined himself wearing some proper gear, and not just a dinky leather vest with old, loose chain sleeves. He'd look damn good, he decided.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Returning from the stables, Magnus' father Sigurd came back to the group at the gates. "Well, horse is taken care of. Got him a spot rented out for a bit. Now then, the drake-...Oi, where'd Magnus go?" He gave the group a quick scan, and noticed a distinctly lower amount of people present. Four others, at least, had gone and vanished. "Where'd<span style="font-style: italic">everyone</span>go?"<br/><br/>His mother, Hilde, took up the effort of explaining. "He ran off to help some of his friends, you know how he gets when people are in trouble. The boy can't stay still for more than a minute," She said, leaning into the arm of her approaching husband. "But he'll be fine, I caught a glimpse of him walking off with that Oghren lady."<br/><br/>"Righto then. Excuse me, uh...You, dragon boy," Sigurd called out, intending to catch Larteis' attention. "Once we get through, take your buddy down the road to the left. Stables will get him out of that contraption." Of course, he could've let Bellant out at any time, but they did still need to move the carriage itself, and he was doing an awfully good job at doing that. It'd be a waste to undo the reins and have to drag it along by hand.<br/><br/>Before anyone else could manage to get into the city, someone else approached from within. Hilde waited for Avis to answer, and calmly walked up to take a place by her side. She'd noticed the tensity in the girl's body language, obviously putting herself on guard, and decided to offer some backup. While the older woman didn't have any weapons, she could offer a miracle or two if the need arose.<br/><br/>"Oh, we're new arrivals. Still getting the carriages put away." She smiled in friendly greeting to the newcomer, and linked her hands together in front of her. "I'm sure everyone here could use some fun, once our work is finished."<br/><br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Tarkus, still knelt outside the room, turned his head when he heard motion. Hardly anything to pay attention to in a public space, but Vasma began to speak to whoever had caused it. That was about enough for him to decide to put a word in as well. "I refuse to bite. It is unsanitary," He mumbled out, carefully adjusting his posture. Instead of kneeling, he put himself into a crossed-legged seated position. Much more casual and approachable, but it would still allow him to kick someone through a wall if needed.<br/><br/>A small wave of greeting was given, though he was still wary. Being approached by almost anybody made him so, at least until he was sure they weren't one of those assassins. He'd not encountered any since he left his home, but at the slightest sight of one of those amulets, his guard would be up and he would be ready to defend himself. The ones in his possession, taken from the bodies of his attackers, were kept carefully sealed up in a belt pouch as not to rouse the suspicions of others. People were growing paranoid, and the last thing he wanted was to get kicked out because of a misunderstanding.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Letting the poor choice in Jas' words slip, Kamon gave a simple nod to him. There was no need to argue about verbal slip-ups regarding limbs. They were here to fix his broken one, so above all else, he was just relieved to have the pain dulled. He sat where directed, slightly hunched forward at first. At his seat, he began to undo his makeshift sling-and-bandage contraption, gingerly holding the broken secondary limb with his other as his forelimbs peeled bloodstained cloth off his skin.<br/><br/>With the aid of his other hands, Kamon then sat his arm across the table, wincing at the stretch but making no other signs of pain. A bit of blood leaked from the split armour that comprised his outer layer of skin, but the bleeding had significantly reduced, and the potion that was dripped into the gash almost immediately began to work. Dull soreness and sharp pain were replaced with a warm, numb feeling, and the sudden pop drew a noise from him. Another one of those strange, quizzical throat-rumbles. Alchemy was a very good thing, he decided.<br/><br/>Finally, the limb was wrapped up, and he was given true relief. "Spirits bless you," He said to Saliiar, bowing his head and closing his eyes momentarily. "We were on a journey with one of the men from the North. One of our companions was...Very disagreeable," He explained, mandibles dipping in the closest approximation of a frown they could manage. "Our other accomplices moved on without him, and apparently, without us. We have been trying to make our way across the lands now. One of those horse-birds, what are they called? It did not like me. This happened." He motioned towards his splinted arm with a forelimb, and allowed his intact secondary arm to hide amongst his torso's ridges. "We are without a goal now, yet still journey. But the Northman's goal was noble, and I am interested in continuing it."