<em>"Yer new ta the whole 'teamwork' thin', ain'tcha?"<br/><br/>"It never ends well.  I can take care of myself well enough."<br/><br/>"Aye, I've noticed.  But what about everyone else willin' or just plain crazy enough ta stand at yer side?"<br/><br/>"Which are you?  Willing, or just plain crazy?"<br/><br/>"I'm beginnin' ta wonder that meself.  Answer the question."<br/><br/>"You're not paying me to be a bodyguard."</em><br/><br/><em>"I'm not</em>paying<em>ye anythin'."</em><br/><em><br/>"Well maybe you should.  Look, I'm here ain't I?  What more do you want from me."<br/><br/>"Well preferably, I'd like us all to end the day alive and without any missin' limbs."<br/><br/>"That's in the hands of the gods, not mine."<br/><br/>"Ye keep tellin' yerself that when yer the only one left standing in a field o' corpses.  Aye, I know about that."<br/><br/>"You know less than you think."</em><br/><em><br/>"How often do ye find yerself alone, Ceol?  Ye gonna keep livin' that way?  Ye gonna</em>die<em> that way."</em><br/><br/>Ceoluulf splashed a handful of water against his face, scattering stray unwelcome thoughts like the flecks of water now dripping from his brow.  The man stared at himself in the mirror above the wooden basin, a hairline fracture in the glass subtly splitting his reflection in two.  It was a hard face with a strange gray pallor, and not one predisposed towards kindness or mirth.  There was a traditional sort of handsomeness in that wide jaw and strong chin, and in the close-cropped head of bright tawny hair, and perhaps on any other man it would have set all the tavern wenches to swooning.  But there was no charm in it, and the only subtleties were in the dark shadows that pooled beneath stern green eyes, the whitened tracery of minor scars, and the almost imperceptible kink in the bridge of his nose where it had undoubtedly been broken.<br/><br/>His body was still bare from the night before, the sheets from the bed strewn about the floor and forgotten.  His chest and shoulders were broad and fiercely defined, his skin giving the muscle the quality of hewn granite.  It was a body forged of feral strength, an Old World frame persisting into a more modern age where civilization sought to tame the land.  And the land had certainly left its mark upon him, for old wounds from blades and claws alike marked him as one that had survived much and come out the better for it.<br/><br/>The light streaming in from the window reflected off the silver in the ring he wore from a chain around his neck, flashing brilliantly in the mirror for the briefest of instants before a cloud swept in to snuff it out.<br/><br/>"The times, they are a-changin'," he muttered, clearing the morning phlegm from his throat and spitting into the corner.<br/><br/>How he'd come to be traveling with a band of adventurers was beyond him to guess at.  One moment he had been traveling an old path, and the next he found himself in the company of another following the same route--he'd forgotten which of them it was--and in time still others came upon them, a temporary agreement of partnership was settled upon, and they had all wound up in the center of Archenbridge amidst crowds of merchants hawking wares from nearby lands, great temples proclaiming the majesty of the gods, and luxurious houses settled in up and away from the common rabble.  It was, in so many words, exactly the last place he wanted to be.<br/><br/>Ceoluulf dressed quickly, pulling wool-lined breeches up over his hips and binding them in place with bits of old bandages and a belt heavy with pouches and bags that tinkled faintly with jostled.  His shirt had clearly seen better days, its white fabric having long since attained a rather unhealthy brown tinge and dark spots around frayed edges, and it strained obviously against his chest and upper arms.  Over it was a thin leather vest festooned with three decorative buckles up the front that were probably newer than the vest itself, faded and marred with small hastily stitched-up holes as it was.<br/><br/>The man paused near the entryway, glancing back at his gear.  Deciding he'd rather not have to return again to retrieve it, he buckled the assortment of weapons and sheathes to his vest and belt, draped his cloak over his neck, and lifted the heavy pack over one shoulder before leaving the room behind him.<br/><br/>The sounds of cheerful patrons drifted up from below, and he allowed himself the most meager of smirks so as to keep up appearances.  The biggest offenders seemed to be the group of dirty miners in one corner and the gaggle of tale-telling halflings in the other, neither of which held particular interest for him.  The former toiled away at a single job for all their lives, find fulfillment in stones and seeing little of the world.  The latter were irritating little creatures best trod underfoot or ignored outright.  Perhaps storytelling just wasn't his strong suit.<br/><br/>Despite the late hour it appeared that he was the first to wake.  It had been a long and exhausting journey, and he had slept the sleep of the dead without taking drink.  If they were to set off again by nightfall he had no intent of having to weather a hangover.  But his mouth was dry and his gut was empty, and there seemed little point in depriving himself of a good stiff drink when there was no telling how long it would be before his next.  Ceol sat himself in front of the bartender, Darius, and a gold coin clattered to the bar top.<br/><br/>"I'll take a pint of Goblin Ichor, and perhaps some directions if you'd oblige me.  Would you know the way to the Silvanus shrine hereabouts?"