Appearances Can Be Deceiving

"What, hire a Deamhan Fhole?" Mairi remarked with a laugh. Admittedly, she knew it wasn't unheard of for some of the clans, but such things were atypical of the society. Trade with the outside world was sporadic, at best. For one, the clans had little to trade worth any real kind of currency and that was before the undead issue came into play. Plus, why trade when you could take when you pleased, though even she had to grudgingly accept that some things couldn't be raided reliably or at all. She let a pensive look pass over her face, hoping to cover any momentary drop in her act. "Actually... There might be a way to do just that. It would be difficult, if not impossible, however."

She reached into the small pack beside her, more a knapsack in truth. She had no need for rations in her travels for obvious reasons. Instead, she used the space to hold extra clothing, extra tools, and the books she tended to collect along the way. Grabbing the appropriate tome, she pulled the book out and laid it on the table. She opened the creaking, leather-bound cover and flipped a few chapters inwards until she stopped at the appropriate page. The book was a curiosity she'd picked up months and months ago at a local shop in a city she barely remembered and described a number of famous mercenaries and mercenary groups in the past four or five decades.

"It's a bit of a long shot, but this book describes what could be what you're looking for," the woman tapped a slender finger against the page in question. Opposite the page of text was an illustration depicting a single warrior tearing men and animal apart, limb from limb. She slid the book across the table in case the centaur desired to read it for himself. "There was a small section given over to unusual or unknown groups or individuals that interested me enough to buy the thing when I found it in a dusty corner. This page describes a warrior with pale skin who fought with the strength of ten men and tore his foes apart with his bare hands. The battle it details was fought in the land you just returned from where the pale lords live, but that he proved he was no vampire by standing bare skinned in the daylight. After the battle, he took his pay and disappeared into the west without a word. If this man was Deamhan Fhole, it would explain a fair bit and where there's one mercenary, there might be more hidden here and there. You'd just have to find one."

Stormwall

Slender shoulders lifted and fell at his question. A pale hand reached out and snagged the book she'd been reading previously and slid the tome back into her knapsack.

"I'm heading north soon anyways. The safest route is to skirt far east or far west around those regions, but I passed through them before last time without incident," she told the truth, vague as it was. "The shortest route to the northern mountains is directly through either Deamhan Fhole territory or their cousins to the east. I'd be heading in that direction anyways, so earning a little money is a pleasant turn of events rather than spending it along the way. I assume I'm paid up front? It wouldn't make much sense to have to return on a one way trip."

"Also, if you're done with that, I'd like to put it away," she said, jabbing a finger at the leather bound book she'd slid over earlier. Her other hand reached out and a single nail flicked against the crystal wine glass. As the serving girl came and refilled her drink, Mairi raised an eyebrow at the centaur. "If I take this job? Contract? When would we leave? I'd like to be on the road rather soon, truth be told."

She took the book and tucked it away before sealing the knapsack and putting it on the bench beside her. The pay wasn't great, but it wasn't exactly meager either. Granted, the pay didn't matter to her in the end, what mattered was learning and understanding whatever she could from this well-traveled centaur.

"Sounds like a decent enough contract," she mused aloud, taking a sip of the wine in her refreshed glass. "If they offer a job, I'll hire on, then."

A number of coins found their way onto the table-top neatly arrayed in a careful stack. It was enough for the wine she'd drunk and a fair tip for the barmaid, she felt. Mortal money was sometimes confusing to the Deamhan Fhole woman. When one possesses a relatively endless lifespan, economic value becomes relatively difficult to gauge at times.

"I've no need of a horse. I'll meet you tomorrow on the main northern road where the road splits at the ancient oak. I assume you know the place," she stated, standing up and leaving her wineglass half empty. The tall woman slipped past the centaur's flank and made her way to the door. "If I don't see you by midafternoon, I'll assume your guilds decided otherwise and head north on my own."

With that, she slipped out the door and down the street. She meandered her way to the edge of the city rather than to find an inn of some kind. She didn't need sleep and, if she was to maintain her illusion, her act of a far northern noble, then she'd need to lower suspicion to an acceptable degree. Which meant she needed more than a few days before sustenance: she needed a few weeks.

She'd hunt outside the city tonight where missing people were the norm and bodies were hard to find...

She'd drank her fill, finding enough around and about the forest to quench her thirst. Of the three or four lone souls she'd found among the trees, only one would never see the sunrise again. Only those of her kin without self control killed when they fed, the rest knew the value of a renewable source of sustenance. Unfortunately, it was a bit hard to gauge life force when one had none and accidents did happen on occasion. The skinny youth she'd found in the night wouldn't be found for days, if at all, but such was the way of life, or rather unlife in such a case. Mairi had given nothing but a mildly annoyed shrug and moved on at the time, giving it no further thought.

She would be sustained for a few weeks, perhaps, which meant that they'd need to avoid delays along the way. Taking longer meant taking more risks and, as the centaur admitted he could speak to beasts in some form, hunting would be tricky if she was forced to feed again. Admittedly, she could always feed off the centaur, but the man - horse? - was more useful alive and untouched than as a food source.

As the sounds of horse hooves echoed through the trees, she stood up from the shadow of the tree she sat beneath and waited patiently, her arms crossed. Spotting the centaur, she stepped back onto the road and adjusted her gear. Her knapsack was slung over her waist and her bow across her back with its quiver. On her belt was a long knife while a bedroll and clock were rolled up and strapped to the small of her back.

"You're lucky I'm still here," she chided with a small grin as he grew closer. "Any longer and I'd have headed off without you. Are you ready to go?"

"Nothing," she stated, noting the centaur's choice for a warm jacket and hat. It was cold, but only as an afterthought for the woman. Something to note, something that could possibly be annoying, but ultimately nothing worth dealing with in the end. She left her own cold weather gear in her knapsack and her cloak remained rolled up with her bedroll. "At least, nothing of any note. My father is the lord of a small region north of the mountains. He's not getting any younger and I'm an only child, which means when he passes I'll be stuck in the North. Figured I'd wander a bit before that happened and see the world. Maybe learn a few things in the process."

She told the truth, at least in as much as it applied. Her father was, in fact, the lord or chieftain of a region, though perhaps more south of the mountains. The only real untruth was that he was nearing the end of his life span, which theoretically he might should an aspiring and ambitious warrior decide it was time for a change of leadership, but this was rare. Besides, if there was any change in leadership, it would be to place herself on the throne rather than anyone else. She shifted the bow on her back to a slightly more comfortable position and kept walking, her steps brisk and quick to keep pace with the centaur.

"What about you?" Mairi asked after a moment or two more of walking. "What brings you to this region and how did you end up working for these guilds of yours?"

"It's the same all over, it seems," Mairi said with a quiet chuckle as they walked on. "Do the job to the best of your abilities and they expect more and more from you."

Admittedly, she had little experience with such things given her rank among her clan, but she'd done such to the warriors beneath her. A reliable, skilled individual who could complete the task at hand better than anyone else was someone to be relied on frequently. She found it was often a simple balancing act to keep those individuals happy. A job well done warranted an equivalent reward. A job poorly done or left undone was met with harsh punishment. It was the way of things and within the world of the Deamhan Fhole, the worst punishments were reserved for gross failure and betrayal.

"The darkwood I've only heard about," she admitted after moment with a shrug. "I take it you've been there? Are the stories true, then?"

She'd heard rumors of undead and werefolk living in the forest, even such things as giant spider nests. For most mortals, the forest was worthless for anything besides tales to scare children, but for the Deamhan Fhole...