A band of armored soldiers were walking by. It was probably a parade. There was no music however. In fact, it looked like the stomping feet were getting closer and closer. No, that was not the sound of footsteps, but of hammers being driven against wood. That or a horde of wood-cutters working at what they did best, giving everyone in their vicinity a splitting headache.

Aughtineld cracked open an eyelid, taking in the blurry surroundings. He was not outside - in fact, he was far from any trees. Where he was - was in a tent. The largest one at that, among those set just outside the town of Kyla for and by his mercenaries.

The thundering continued and he realized that it was coming from the fake door that he had set up at the entrance to his tent - just a plank of wood that anyone could knock on to get his attention. Apparently, someone had been trying to get his attention for a while because the knocking did not sound happy at all. It was incessant and loud.

Trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head, the Mercenary Lord slowly pushed aside the arms and legs sprawled over him and across his massive bed. Another moment to smile remembering the night he had. The alcohol, the women - it was worth it. Then the knocking started all over again and shook him out of his musings.

Aughtineld was a quiet man, rarely voicing his opinions or moods unless he was in a negotiation, so he simply shuffled out of his bed and silently made his way towards the door, not even bothering to cover himself in anyway. Only one of his band would have the stones to knock at his door so and that too, this early in the morning - and they were used to seeing him in all states of dress or undress as the case was.

He moved the fake-door to the side, since it was attached to a rope from the top of the doorway, it was easy and unobtrusive to do so. A mountain of a woman stood on the other side looking like she was chiseled from stone - easily towering over his six-foot-four frame and had enough muscles on her that if she had desired, she could have snapped his neck using only her thumb and index finger. Most of that power and physique came from her ancestory which was mingled with ogre-blood. She was still pretty enough by many standards. Now, however, that beauty was tucked far and away as her face was radiating an unhealthy shade of crimson. She was not happy at all.

The mercenary leader simply used his bare hip to keep the door open and folded his arms across his tanned chest, showing a considerable calm despite being addressed by the 'raging inferno' as she was called within the camp - not to her face, of course, it wouldn't be wise to get on the wrong side of the mercenary leader's second-in-command - and even she had the sense to not barge inside the Lord's tent.

"Aughtineld, another fool is trying to head over to Varjo. Want us to chase them off?" Despite the summary she provided so eloquently, she held out a board with the notice (nail intact) to him as if that were an official document needing his supervision.

Aughtineld for his part simply grunted and was about to turn away till he caught sight of the notice in full. "Hold on," there was a nod to no one in particular from the man as he added, "Tell squad eight to be ready and make sure that there are no other copies of this post," he pointed towards the notice as if it wasn't obvious enough.

Not many people - especially those that worked for Aughtineld - had the audacity to question him. The select few were either incredibly foolish or high in his favor. Thus, when his second-in-command asked why, she had the full right and his response lacked any venom in turn, "This one only asked for one bodyguard rather than a band of mercenaries. Seems like this... Farah knows something we don't."

"Or she's broke," added the woman to which the lord simply smiled and turned away, letting the door swing shut behind him. A few seconds of silence passed before the sound of women screaming echoed throughout the encampment. No one paid any mind to it since it was a regular occurance, further illustrated by the throng of women that rushed out of the lord's tent, holding some piece of cloth or the other to cover their nudity.

It was day-break and business was as usual in the mercenary encampment. Almost.

   A heavy thud against her door snapped Athina back from the edge of sleep. Sitting up and rubbing her eyes with one hand, she yawned as she spoke. "Who is it?"

   Silence answered. Frowning, she stood up, taking a brief moment to straighten her dress and hair, before going over to the door. Pulling it open revealed nothing but the wall opposite her door. Sticking her head outside and glancing both ways, she found the hallway empty, the chatter from people downstairs drifting up being the only sign anyone was even within shouting distance.

   Muttering to herself and thinking she might have mistaken the sound for someone in a room next to hers, she started to close the door until a flash of silver caught her eye. Taking a quick step back and staring, her frown lifted. A dagger was stabbed into her door, holding a piece of paper smeared with blood in place.

   Tearing it down with one hand and twisting the dagger free with the other, she slammed the door shut with her foot. Folding over the paper, she slid it into one of the empty pockets of her bag along with the weapon. It could only mean one thing; After all her questions about the Varjo Spire, someone was trying to intimidate and run her off.

   A fierce grin crossed her face. She'd had things like this happen before when she was researching something. Usually when there was something big to uncover. She was honestly starting to doubt there would be anything interesting to discovering that tower, but with this she had hope that it wouldn't be just an empty, cobweb-laden structure. Which meant she really would need a bodyguard before going there. Unless the person that left the paper was just some treasure hunter idiot trying to get rid of supposed competition.

   Hanging her bag over her shoulder and making sure she had everything of value, she hurried out of the room and downstairs into the tavern. It held its usual assortment of locals and a handful of travelers. She tried talking most of them into going to the tower with her already, but most declined outright. Ignoring them, she approached the minotaur who owned the place, simply known as Warrick, as he wiped down the bar with a towel what looked like a washcloth compared to his massive hands.

   He glanced up when she was within arm's reach, which for him could easily be halfway across the room. "Good morning, Miss Hartford."

   Athina smiled at him. "Good morning to you too, Warrick. I don't suppose anyone asked for me?"

   Horns almost scraping the ceiling, he shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

   "I see." Glancing at the staircase, she thought for a moment. "Did you happen to see anyone come downstairs shortly before I did?"

   "You're the only one I've noticed in the past hour or so." He replied, turning his attention to the stairs as well. "Why? Did something happen?"

   "It's not important." Spinning back to the counter, she slapped her hands down on it. "What is important, is breakfast. I'll have my usual, please."

   Warrick nodded, turning to the window that looked into the kitchen. "Miss Hartford would like her Hartburn Special again today."

   Athina sighed. "I still can't believed you actually named that after me."

   A smirk crossed the minotaur's face. "It is your recipe. Though I personally think it could stand to have a few vegetables in it."

   "You sound like everyone else commenting on what I prefer to eat. Always with the vegetables." She muttered, shaking her head. "I don't like them, and I don't care how childish that sounds."

   With a chuckle and a nod, Warrick moved down the bar to a customer that was trying to get his attention. Athina yawned, leaning onto the countertop and resting her chin in her palm. She could have waited for a while before, but that note spurred her motivation. After breakfast, she'd have to take a more active approach to finding a bodyguard. A stubborn one, if need be. One way or another, she was going to Varjo today, with help.

   Athina would halfway through her breakfast when the door to the Inn opened and everyone went quiet. She didn't bother to turn around, thinking it was another new traveler and at the moment the bacon on her plate was demanding her attention far more loudly than someone she could try and recruit. Of course, after a moment, she realized it couldn't have just been someone new. For her and the last couple of people that had turned up, the silence was usually broken by a polite welcome from Warrick. Not so this time. From the corner of her eye, she could see Warrick's expression. While it wasn't a frown, it was clear whoever had just turned up wasn't someone he cared much for.

   A man's voice greeted Warrick and Athina felt herself frown. She wasn't sure why, but something about his tone seemed unpleasant. It wasn't until the Minotaur responded that she had a better idea why. Lord. Oh joy. Anyone going around calling themselves Lord was bound to be a headache. Not her problem though. The scuffing of chairs as other patrons stood and started to leave entered the background, but the so-called Lord apparently paid it no mind, carrying on.

   She considered doing the same, but there was still part of an omelet on her plate and she had no plans to abandon it. Though at the mention of her alias, the temptation was there. If he was asking for her, he was probably someone after the bodyguard job. Then again, why would someone with the title of Lord be taking a job? No, that couldn't be it... had she been found out after all this time? Was this man really some aristocratic goon looking for Athina Rothbel to drag her back home after all this time? If so, she wasn't going to go quietly. That dagger from her door was in her bag, if it came to that. Still, she had to figure out his motivations first. Only one way to do that. Ask.

   "Wants to see you, hm?" Athina said with a mouthful of omelet. She never liked talking with her mouth full thanks to the etiquette training ground into her head by her parents, but if he was looking for the runaway Rothbel she'd try to put that idea off by being as unladylike as possible... and even if he wasn't, she'd always imagined Farah as a farm-girl anyway. Maybe if she tried imitating their speech...

   "N' why would I be in'erested in talkin' to some hoity-toity feller like you?" Athina asked, pouring it on as thick as possible and not bothering to look up from her plate. Her old speech teacher would be having a fit about her speaking in such a way, which in her opinion was just a bonus. She faintly saw Warrick glance at her, looking a bit confused at her sudden accent for a moment, before he shook his head and went into the kitchen. Presumably so he wouldn't crack up in front of the "Lord."

   Athina continued eating as he spoke, glancing up only once to get a look at the mostly-intact post and the man himself.  The way he spoke, carried himself... it reminded her of someone what would fit right in back where she came from. In the past she wouldn't have noticed or cared, but now, after seeing how common... no, normal people acted, it tended to grate on her nerves. She finished eating about the same time as the behemoth was able to get itself through the door.

   Finally turning around on her stool, she leaned back on the counter and looked over the mercenaries that Lord Aughtineld had brought with him. She wasn't impressed. One looked like a highwayman as likely to stab her in the back as protect her. Another made her think of herself shortly after leaving home, fancily dressed and smiling obliviously at the dangers on the road. The third was just... of ridiculous proportions, probably even bigger than Warrick if the thing bothered to stand upright.

   "Aughty, m' boy, if'n these fellers are yer finest, ah'd sure hate ta see yer crummiest." She said plainly to Aughtineld, before glancing at each of the mercenaries again. "No ill meant ta ya'll o' course. Jus' been mah a'perience tha' snooty folk like this'n try to take a'van'age of folks like me."

   Wondering how people manage to talk like that all the time, Athina waited to see how the Lord would react. Honestly, she was thrilled about having a choice of applicants, skilled or not, since she wanted to get going to the tower. It was just something about the man that annoyed her, and she felt the urge to try and annoy him right back. Though in the back of her mind she was critizing herself a bit. First the food, now this... you really can be childish, Athina.

---

After writing that little spiel, I feel like I should be arrested for apostrophe abuse.

"'Zat right, Aughty?" Athina asked, snagging the contract and looking it over. A couple minutes later, she thought it seemed more or less like a standard arrangement, but one thing did stand out that made her raise an eyebrow. "Ah gotta take tha place o' one of yer henchies if 'e snuffs the pig!?" She exclaimed, not too sure about the expression. She'd heard it once. but wasn't positive about the meaning. "Aughty m' boy, if'n ya think ah could be o' use ta yer little band, ya really think ah'd be lookin' ta hire som'n ta watch mah backside? Ah don't e'en carry a weap'n most o' tha time n' cert'nly don't know how ta use 'em right." She told him, stopping to take a breath and get a response.

She had to get more practice speaking like that. Her own words and trying to keep in the accent were giving her a headache. Hopefully she'd be able to just hire someone or tell this guy to buzz off before too long or she may drive herself crazy.