After Arlana decided to join Sampson up on the wagon, things in the party seemed to quiet down, whether it was due to not knowing one another or the mood of the day, everyone seemed more intent on riding than talking. Not that this bothered Sampson of course, as the Mercenary was busy doing something many of them would be mildly surprised at:<em>thinking.</em><br/><br/>More specifically, the sight of the rolling hills and farms in the distance got Sampson to be introspective, both on his past and his future. Sampson was born on a farm much like the ones they were passing, raised on one too. It was only until after puberty that Sampson left the confines of his family to join a passing band of sellswords, and the rest was history. History might be repeating itself however, as Sampson's thoughts turned to the future;<em><strong>what was it he said</strong></em>Sampson mused as he remembered the advice of his first Mercenary Captain,<em><strong>"Sampson" he told me, "there are old sellswords, and there are bold sellswords. But you will never find an old, bold sellsword."</strong></em>Of course, Sampson knew what he meant; sooner or later Sampson will have to either retire, or realize that sooner or later he's going to be killed.<em><strong>Farm life might be simpler</strong></em>Sampson thought as he watched the golden wheat of a passing farm ripple and sway from a lazy westward breeze,<strong><em>Gods willing, if freelancing brings in enough cash I could retire with a nice plot of land... Maybe a wife, some kids, even some workers to till the land. Or I could always retire in the city if I make enough gold...</em></strong><br/><br/>Of course Sampson was thinking in the long-term. Knifework was too enjoyable as-is, and with him still in his prime such thoughts of retirement were merely thinking ahead. Still, it never hurt to have a plan. Sampson's mind had barely returned back to more recent thoughts as the clamor of battle echoed in his ears, "<strong>Just what is going on there?</strong>" Sampson exclaimed as he moved the wagon off the road, the hint of mirth in his voice practically translating his "confusion" as "<strong>I wonder if I could join in.</strong>"<br/><br/>Indeed, Ogres as far as Sampson was concerned were fare game, and after parking his wagon the Mercenary reached back to get his battleaxe, swung down off the driver's seat of the wagon, and began to move to aid the pair fighting a trio of Ogres while calling over his shoulder, "<strong>Encounter number one! I've no idea who these louts are, but I do know Ogres are fine fights.</strong>" Although Sampson was intent on engaging in combat, the natural encumbrance of his armor and the distance between him and the battle kept him from joining sooner than he hoped.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Combat Actions</div><div class="spoiler_body">Sampson moves <strong>20 feet</strong> towards the three Ogres, where he will <strong>attack</strong> one of them (earning a flanking bonus) unless otherwise noted.</div></div>