OOC: Image ref for Winters<br/><div style="padding: 3px; background-color: #FFFFFF; border: 1px solid #d8d8d8; font-size: 1em;"><div style="text-transform: uppercase; border-bottom: 1px solid #CCCCCC; margin-bottom: 3px; font-size: 0.8em; font-weight: bold; display: block;"><span onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') {  this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = ''; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;hide&lt;/a&gt;'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;show&lt;/a&gt;'; }"><b>Spoiler: </b><a href="#" onclick="return false;">show</a></span></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;">https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/k3z3NOYsTagnk4mN6dUZl1bNAtriimqesGBPZAyMH7PYv8e6haOgt25Dg-0lAEdlkofUy9ihwH3-Rvss1TXMC_wTLITSg3iVxSjFqbjK3d6ZxCJZdroDizm5SzoC2M2mAJOoiy8Yybwhid_PWS3WWnnXxUc41qhX9EXPMRCacokKzo230YZkHR6JYOs_eYSLWdktDh3J9Fp2dQUHmSSzKUlhcqOW31cEwpyENJ58SRGtj4jh_vplD8CtxNotZuAoszlJFNCzcwmbBvvX3tAFFsogsRpSPT7bG9Q5XlLvmSG5FKch9NjZp-dYVX55LiK3fFdRoA22WUYm3ob9KdZ1eW_N3M2e0cjB1Xjg7gX03UChT7K3YtGsXIOk4v0vxTmbkmg0lP85fqzx4HPanKg4SML8VEZ4DIDSSozN-42Wbyts_CEwvcQiezKaz3hD-YpGeDKwcXnW-eSxSRFxl76CZJRNb4Erv1WDtFI8lAAaC4gHhBdj0aBvVbSRAXcOiAdqdr2pSEswwD6cnbfbQ6toZZV0iZkCu7ec2tU03f47dAW4PglD3UzjAya-_XbLDijyW-8VpMmMHdS1P_hU87HoDTwA5rKrcTLb7HbZvr2S8kXOPhp_g9OD=w500-h750-no</div></div></div><br/><br/>“Don’t you girls stop on my account,” a sharp, elegant voice says, as a smart, elegant woman brushes aside the tent flap and enters. She’s tall, though some of that’s the heels, and dressed in nothing but a white bikini. A cloak that does<span style="font-style: italic">nothing</span>to cover her front dangles from her shoulders. “Conjouring-Company-Captain Winters Whitecap,” she nods, as she steps into the room, and pauses, to suck something slick and glistening from her fingertips. There’s a noticeable - and substantial - damp patch at the crotch of her bkini, “if you’d slurped her up like noodles, I’d have cum,” she says, quite casually. “I’m afraid we’re it. I’m representing myself and my creche-mates, the aquamages for our Company. Ms Xentia is our aethermage, and Snakelady Cathy is representing her Gurglemiester earth-mage worshippers. Our fire-mage hasn’t checked in yet, but hopefully we won’t require her. I’m in charge, because so long as you’re assigned to this Company, the Whitecap family is paying your wages and filling your bellies-” she pauses, and her cheeks colour just a little “-that is, providing the food to fill your bellies, not ourselves-”<br/><br/>She stops, collects herself - but no older Whitethroat of any clan would’ve made such an error. Clearly, she’s young, ambitious… and inexperienced.<br/><br/>“We’re moving out now to prepare the way for the rest of the army. Our first task will be to create a soft, damp roadbed suitable for hooves, and a hard-packed one suitable for girls, leading to the Narrowsea. There, the Whitecap family is preparing ice-barges to cross it. A plan is in-place for provisions following the crossing. Whitecoat-bloodline centauresses are enlisting with full bellies, in the main - unspoken, that the Gurglemiesters of nearby plainswomen encampments, and those travelling to enlist themselves, will have born the brunt of their depreditations - but time is still of the essence. The Whitethroat families backing this army, the Whitecaps included, anticipate being across the narrow sea in six days.” Captain Winters pauses. “The Snowsteppe Whitecoat tribe under Headmare Khulan of will be providing both transport and escort. Are you ready to move out?”