<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/MOEGIa0.jpg?1)   </div>Scratching his chin in a semblance of contemplation, the half-orc merchant looks from Myra to Stoutly with a carefully masked contemplation despite his thinly-veiled determination to comply.  "Who'm I to argue with history?" he asks, shrugging.  "I'm glad to aid your noble quest, good sirrahs.  'ere."  He forks over the chest.  "Split 'em up, red and blue, and we'll make sure you've got 'em all.  I'll gladly report all the findings to the officers 'ere, jus' as sure as you send 'em.  You make sure there's a note of 'ow you finds the fings and we'll make sure the nobles and the king 'isself gets word of all the reports from tha' front."<br/><br/>It's fairly evident, now, that this offer is beyond his wildest dreams.  A chance to report to nobility-- to provide that direct delivery of relics, strange creatures, unusual flora-- to nobility?  It's beyond compare.  "An' any profits and sponsorship I gain'll go toward your quest.  Any supplies you need, I'll delivah.  Consider 'er done.  But to seal the bargain, y'know, if you want a more personable pact... my tent's right over there'ah... just sayin'."  His long maw grins in an almost comically friendly gesture as he sweeps his hand, and his assistant-- an unusually crabby-looking halfling lad-- begins sorting the stones into a velvet bag.  "It's gonna be a long trip an' all.  Not many, er,<i>beds</i>out there."  He grins like a shark.<br/><br/>The halfling looks up.  "What you need with the gold is an 'erald, dipshit."<br/><br/>"SHUT UP, YOU LOUT," the merchant answers.   Then, with resignation, he sighs and smiles sheepishly.  "Well.  An herald.  Sure. Someone to announce your findings.  I'll hire one on if you can spare the coin."<br/>*<br/><br/>(https://i.imgur.com/NErqVwt.jpg)Jaela finds the stables in excellent order, although the selection is lean.  (handle animal or something close, to improve animal selection, thus improving travel time and carry capacity).  One of the rangers has made his way there since muster, and seems comfortably at ease stroking the jaw of a particular pack-mule, murmuring to him in Sylvan.  "I know, I know.  You'll miss your mum.  But don't worry.  She's busy with her new foal, your little brotha', and won't be sad.  She'll miss you on your journey, though.  But you have to be brave, you know."<br/><br/>Looking up at Jaela's entrance, he snaps to attention, bowing slightly in deference, and backs away--bow in hand.  These rangers never lose track of a weapon, it seems.  "Officer.  Forgive my state, I was at-ease," he says, then arrives at attention until he dismisses her.<br/><br/>*<br/><br/>The rangers, it seems, are a prideful bunch.  They want nothing to prove their self-reliance.  They need not brace for the journey any more than they have, because they belong wherever they may be found apart from these walls.<br/><br/>The rangers are ready.  The first mark is leagues away, at least.  Will you march unto the wilderness without fear?