The young king-in-the-making Devaguea<em>(he wasn't fool enough to use his REAL name in public)</em>was still a bit confused on how he had gotten the flier advertising the kingdom in the making, as well as the pouch of gold. Not every day one met a soothsayer who screamed, 'Your destiny is at hand!' before throwing the pouch with attached flier at him, and then ran away cackling.<br/><br/>A couple inquiries to guards that hadn't run screaming at the talking 'lizard,' and therefore gotten an irritated huff of flame after them for calling him a lizard, had led him to the inn where adventurers were gathering, an inn on the way to Oleg's Trading Post. He talked with the various mercenaries and adventurers for hire, before sleeping on the decision. Once awake the next morning, he went hunting, and a couple stupid rabbits later, he was full enough to face the day. While he did have a small pack with a couple waterskins and a significant quantity of rations, supplies making up a significant portion of his possessions at the moment, he did have some coin to his name already. The idea of spending part of his hoard was almost physically painful, but he managed to soothe the feeling by pointing out that it would increase his hoard in the long run, and the most useful party needed slightly more than he had gotten.<br/><br/>Upon winning the debate with himself, he went back into the inn, and hired the fighter, rogue, druid, and kineticist, telling them they were leaving tomorrow at dawn, while he would be registering their group with the local authorities. He expected them to use the extra money to get themselves outfitted, but didn't mention it. They were (<em>hopefully</em>) all professionals, so this would be relatively painless. The druid would keep people alive, not lost, and fed, the rogue would open locks and disable traps, and the fighter, kineticist, and himself would take care of most hostiles. The important thing was not dying, as he wasn't lugging bodies back to civilization. But what he wanted from the local authorities was a map of known problem areas, as well as any friendly outposts. Not that he was expecting much, this area was 'undeveloped' which translated to 'ripe for the taking.'