Noble Preparations

It took a further two days for the party to prepare for the trip. Having to make sure that Gunnir was absolutely fine whilst waiting on their "noble reinforcements." At first, they were unconvinced by the given task to repay the caused issues. Especially Sol, who had grown somber the past days. Not the same somberness from before, rather far more humane. Hellas specifically was there for Sol as they began to converse about various topics that one would only share with a close friend. Their relationship has taken a noticeable change since the drinking game.

"Is this truly something we should be doing?" Sol asks the pink haired ranger, looking as if in deeply in thought. The beautiful emerald eyes, looking at a faraway distant. "This is not what I wanted when I came here."

"Well, what did you want?" Hellas asks, meanwhile making sure his bow and arrows are properly taken care off. Luckily, the council saw no issue granting him more arrows for this task. Ammunition a burden only mana less archers truly know the issue. He still remembers times that "Mercy's blessing" as they would proudly call themselves continued to skip any town where he could possibly resupply, making him nearly completely inadequate in combat.

"That's the problem, I don't truly know… Well, I know vaguely. Just not how or where and if it's even possible. At the very least I don't want to continue being a mindless monster." Sol replies, holding himself back from actively cursing himself. His right hand held over his beating heart, as he continues to question what even the point is. Why did he even leave Appolyian? Perhaps it would've been better to stay there.

"My father used to say that a man's actions speak only truly when given a chose and Fia told me that it was never too late to forgive and to change. Fitting, isn't it? Just look at us. Cristal's faith was used against her, Tika used to get brutally beaten in hopes to master her magical capabilities and Gunnir was a mercenary who would do anything for coin. Yet, Cristal is still a model paladin even if she retracted herself from the order. Tika grew distrustful of magic but still uses it for our sake and I have no doubt that Gunnir will never sell us out for any amount of coin." Hellas explains, actively using the party as an example. Even going as far as pointing at them, causing Cristal in specific to look at them with a suspicious look. "I've also come to believe in you. Something that I never thought would happen considering what happened. A man with blood-filled hands claiming to be an asset, to rise to the upper ranks of the adventuring guild. A powerful mage, that could prove our end whom we didn't truly think to accept. Now before me speaking of what troubles him, showing me and the others that there is more than meets the eye. If that isn't something humane, then what is?" Hellas responds speaking as if it was a given. Making it even hard for Sol, a shade demon not to believe in his human side.

"What if I was a monster?"

"Every mage other than Tika I've heard of has been a monster. Even crueler than the beasts up north. At least orcs and goblins don't try to hide the fact that they enjoy killing." Hellas looks to Sol, noticing him still staring away far in the distance. "If you're asking that question then not all hope is lost. That's all I can truly promise at the end." He simply says as he notices that whilst his words seemed to have calmed some nerves, it has not done so entirely. The boyish fear something strange from someone who claims to be older than he looks.

"Everyone ready?" Cristal asks, having approached the two discussing men who recently pointed at her and the others.

"Are our helpers there, yet?" Cristal simply points the palace gate at Hellas's questions. Multiple figures approaching, a mixture of color and styles, nearly all on horseback. Wearing the sigil of their respective smaller noble houses wherever they can and decorated beyond the practical point of view. Colored feathers of exotic birds and other accessories such as gold dust on top of their sigils on the more lavish of "The Titled Legion." A distant curse of Tika is luckily dispersed by the cold wind before it reaches these 20ish "knights."

The young guard's captain of the council walks out to greet them. Wearing his own more decorative armor yet still quite tame compared to this "Titled legion."

"We adhere to your call, sir Thomen Firestrong. It's an honor to be called to duty by the descendant of Korden Firestrong." The most extravagant decorated and oldest of the 20 knights says loudly, the wildly different colored feathers on his helmet resembling that of a peacock. "Are we to join the front?" He asks, clearly having harbored that wish for quite some while.

"You will not. However, there is a task as important. There are slavers raiding our own coasts, we cannot allow such as thing to stand!" The young guard's captain yells with his own fervor. One either brought by his young age or by the fact that his idea might actually come to fruition. "You are the return of "The Titled legion!" Proud! Noble! Glorious!" The yelled compliments were met by cheers from the 20ish knights. Who all raise their weapons as if soldiers preparing for the winning charge. "They disbanded you long ago! But no longer! Show the world what they're missing!" The young guard's captain, named Thomen Firestrong yells drawing his own blade in the air. The cheers only halted when another figure approached, the copper-skinned elf's figure met with the frowns of the noble knights. "This is a matter of justice of righteousness! Who better to lead this than our own headmaster of justice!" The other attempt to rally the 20-ish knights met with a notably less enthusiastic response. About half keep quiet including the most extravagant ones.

"This is a matter I will attend personally. For I just as you share a duty to the grand duke. Don't see this as following my command. See this as a test, to show that "The Titled Legion" will not repeat its past mistakes." Hedara An'Yis says not even trying to rally the troops. Instead, opting for the full truth which is met by agreeable nods. A cold wind breeze passes by before the most extravagant knight begins to clap, a slow respectable clap. The others follow, non-verbally giving their agreement.