The appearance of the headman's son, climbing atop an unused crate to address the crowd, is certainly a surprising turn of events. When he starts talking, several in the crowd snicker to one another, with one elven boy calling out in a halting, shy voice,<strong>“Still a little short. Try another boxes!”</strong>perhaps after some prompting from an older family member. Erin's words however soon find many a sympathetic ear amongst the market goers and stall keepers. The blessing of his father for this endeavour helps, but the half-elf is also known as a lad who can get things done himself, and has his own experience clashing with bandits on his numerous stints travelling alongside a caravan. His short appeal wins the crowd over, and puts a stop to any true considerations of an independent expedition to go after the bandits beyond idle fantasy. With that done, the half-elf departs to speak with Captain Rowan.<br/><br/>Perhaps though, to say<em>"all such thought"</em>is an overstatement. The truly young and truly talented members of the village are not so easily swayed. But their plans for grandeur and wealth have hit a snag. They can go along with Erin and his posse of the town's militia, and split the reward and put up with possibly being treated like baggage or attack dogs, but enjoy some safety and equipment. Or they can throw caution to the wind and leave early, hoping to move faster than the other group, and sort everything out before they even show up with their wits and skill alone, claiming the noble's share of the silver. They have some time to mull their choice over yet, but will need to make a decision within the day.<br/><br/>Erin meanwhile approaches the single story, flat-roofed building that serves as Yelmed's barracks. Able to accommodate 36 with a bit of cramping, the area in front has been scoured of grass by countless stamping boots and hammered tent pegs from the few days each year where all guards, active and reserve, assemble for as many hours as Captain Rowan's intimidating manner can compel them to stay. They adopt formation, double file, triple file, lock shields into a wall, lowering spears, raise spears, and more, invariable to the entertainment of a curious village or three. Rowan is out of uniform, enjoying a fine lunch of aged goats cheese and pear with some cold nettle broth. Everyone calls him Captain Rowan, a reference to his previous rank serving the human nobility of House Tithrani, rather than any official from Yelmed. “Goodday Erin,” he nods over his bowl, “Heard about those bandits no doubt, thinking a few men could take them out. Mixed of the trained and reserves, give them some experience fighting together, against a real enemy. I agree, but who to lead them?”