<em><strong>Silas, what have you gotten yourself int.</strong></em><br/><br/>The rogue asked himself that question as he and three others continued their trek to Oleg's Trading Post, the last bastion of civilization until the vast expanse of the Greenbelt revealed itself to them. In truth, he's asked himself that question many times during their journey, beginning with the moment he was handed a Charter and grouped with three adventurers with decrees much the same as his. The journey began simple enough, as many journeys do; leaving New Stetven, the group took the familiar cobbled streets that connect the cities of Brevoy southward, stopping by towns made of stone and reinforced timber before being forced to continue their journey on roads made of packed dirt. Still, it wasn't too unpleasant, although the sights started to become less civilized and more feral as time went along; the road became more haphazard, the towns turned to thatched roof villages with muddy foundations, even the trees seemed queer; gone were the orderly oaks and hedgerows of the Brevoy roadside, in were the tangled nettles and towering maple, unmolested by the woodcutter's blade for Gods know how long.<br/><br/>Eventually even the thatched roof villages failed them and Silas, along with the rest of the group, were left to forage and feast on the provisions in their packs while sleeping by a glorified hunting trail they called a road. This did not particularly concern the Brigand, as far as he was concerned beef jerky and dried fruit was opulence compared to the meals of his past; thin soups laced with greasy mystery meats and day-old bread was not something he particularly wanted to go back to.<br/><br/>The thought of food brought him back to the present, his stomach giving a faint rumble in protest at the mental torture. Silas took out a strip of jerky from one of the pouches on his person and began to chew on it, the dark red meat tasting faintly of smoked beef, salt and hickory. Appeasing his appetite for the moment, Silas took stock of the environment around them. This morning was crisp and cool, but by mid-day would more than likely be pleasantly warm. This trend started at the start of their journey, but has only become truly apparent in the recent days of the journey; the last vestiges of winter were giving way to a halcyon spring.<br/><br/>Before long Oleg's Trading Post was in view, the wooden walls and towers contrasting plainly against the sylvan backdrop. Silas gave a huff of approval at seeing the outpost, his breath a visible mist as it rapidly dissipated into the air, "<strong>Unless there are other outposts in the Greenbelt, I'd wager that's Oleg's</strong>" Silas quipped to the others, his voice as clear and crisp as the morning air. Glancing back at the rest of the party, Silas shifted the pack on his well-sculpted shoulders before walking the home stretch to the Outpost.<br/><br/>"Well-sculpted" would be an apt term to not only describe Silas's shoulders, but the rest of him. Muscular yet not musclebound, Silas's frame is tall and agile, his limbs nimble and strong. He prefers to wear (and is currently wearing) unobstructive leather armor reinforced with metal, giving a fine balance between defense and agility while having the added benefit of showing off his athletic frame. His face is attractive to some and unnerving to others; although his short blonde hair and masculine features give him an almost regal appearance, his eyes, as blue as arctic ice, have been described as being as cold as the substance they're oft compared to.<br/><br/>Silas was hit with the smell of stew even before he entered the complex, the pleasant aroma a welcome change to the smell (or rather, lack thereof) of the food they've been subsisting on for the past month, "<strong>this must be Oleg's Trading Post</strong>" Silas half-announced, half-asked as he moved further into the Outpost, taking in the buildings around him before looking at the kitsune tending her cauldron, "<strong>and you must be Oleg's wife</strong>."<br/><br/><em><strong>I've raided bigger villages</strong></em>Silas thought as he watched Oleg climbing down a ladder, clearly finishing some roof work for the guest house,<em><strong>preparing it for guests, no doubt.</strong></em>It didn't take any sort of mental gymnastics to determine who those guests were.<br/><br/>Returning his attention to the Kitsune, Silas asked, "<strong>I hope there's enough stew there for me and the others. A man grows weary of provisions when proper food's about.</strong>"