The next morning, after the knight awakens and re-equips his armor, sword, and shield, and dismantles his tent, he enters the eatery with his saddlebag in hand and helmet under his arm. Inside, many other Mistwalkers are having their fill of hearty breakfast before setting out. Most of them are quiet, as the danger of a gruesome death is a force they know looms over them constantly, but some do manage to stifle their fears in pleasant – albeit a bit forced – conversation. One pair of tables in particular is occupied by one such group: the pyromancer's posse. Three of the men share one table, while the currently unknown pyromancer shares her table with the last man. Compelled by no certain excuse or force other than pure curiosity, Atticus takes this opportunity to sit at a vacant table near them, with his back towards them, waiting patiently for one of the waitresses to approach him. None of the five pay him any mind and continue talking.

“It seems like pretty easy pickins for those first few miles out past the gate.” The slender man with a bald head and patch of whiskers on his chin announces; one of the three men at the first table.

“Perhaps, but the dangers will only become greater as we push forward.” A low, authoritative voice belonging to a dark-skinned man of athletic build, with black dreadlocks and a thick goatee – the second person at the first table – responds. “The ones who died closer to the gate were merely the weakest members of the Mistwalker forces. The deeper we venture into the fog, the more likely we'll come across stronger undead.”

“Yeah, but they're undead.” The slim, bald man replies. “How strong can a walkin' corpse be?” He says practically with a sneer; mocking the idea that decomposing bodies can put up a fight.

The third man at their table, a large, intimidating fellow with long, braided blonde hair and a long, bushy beard speaks up after swallowing a mouthful of the cooked pig on the plate in front of him.“Don't act so brave now, Kellar.” He sounds a bit annoyed in his low, booming voice. “On the way over here, we heard rumors of how the mist turns people into horrifying beasts as you get closer to the center, and you quaked in your boots about it.”

“Exactly. Rumors.” The slim man, Kellar, snaps back. “You know why no one knows for sure? Because no one proved that these monsters actually fuckin' exist. I don't why the hell you're so eager to find any of them.”

“That's probably because anyone who tried to fight those monsters are dead.” The large blonde man responds with an aggressive point of his finger. “The rumors are even persistent enough for headquarters to offer a bonus if someone does show proof. Is that convincing enough for you? Don't you want the challenge?”

“You're so god damn superstitious.” Kellar scornfully utters. “Even if they do exist, who said we'd be going deep enough into the mist to fight them anyway?”

“I did.” The man with dreadlocks interjects. “When I gathered up this collection of would-be adventurers, I explained to each of you that I planned on actually trying to find out the source of this mist, and that making money was merely a perk.” He glares at Kellar threateningly. “Did you think I was making a joke?”

The slim man slumps his shoulders. “No...”

“Hahaha!” The large blonde man suddenly lets out a belly laugh. “Don't worry, Kellar. Uncle Royd is here to babysit you. I'll take care of those big, bad monsters before you even have the chance to piss yourself. Haha!” He laughs again in hearty mockery, and Kellar becomes quietly steamed.

From this short exchange, Atticus can make some assumptions that might be reasonably accurate. First, the slim man, Kellar, seems to be a rogue or bandit that only joined the group on the promise of money. Second, the bulky blonde man, Royd, seems to make up the majority of the group's muscle, and might be in it for the challenge or sport. Third, the stern man with dreadlocks seems to be the group's leader, evidenced by his decision-making power among them. Finally, from what little he can gather, Atticus also assumes that their trip into the mist yesterday was merely for reconnaissance. The mage woman and fourth man who's sitting with her have yet to speak.

The black-clad knight takes this chance to turn his head to the left, towards the group, and examine them further. Kellar has two daggers at his waist. A straightsword and kite shield are propped against the leg of the table, next to the presumed leader. Royd has a large axe resting with its head on the floor, handle leaning on his thigh. Atticus slowly swings his head around to his right to get a good look at the final two. The fourth man, who is sitting facing away from the knight, has short black hair that's near-shaven on the sides and back, but wavy on the top. He has a bow and quiver of arrows on his back.

Finally, Atticus brings his gaze up to the young pyromancer, only to be surprised at her eyes looking right back at him. Once again, their gazes lock onto one another for a moment, neither of them wavering, but neither of them are trying to intimidate the other. If anything, she seems just as interested in Atticus for some reason as he is interested in her. After the tense pause that felt like minutes, the girl closes her eyes and hangs her a head, as if feigning a nap. The curious knight turns forward just in time for one of the waitresses to approach him.

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“Hello, sir. I hope you weren't waiting too long.” Says the young woman with long red hair and freckled face. “Can I get you anything?”

“Do you have any steak in the back?” Atticus asks.

“Yes, sir. We offer cuts anywhere between four and thirty-two ounces.”

“Then I'll take a sixteen-ouncer; medium rare.” He reaches into the saddlebag he lugged into the eatery with him and pulls out the sack he was given the day before. “And can you fill this with three apples and three peaches?”

“Of course, sir.” The girl replies while accepting the sack. “Okay. That'll be two silver and six copper, sir.” Atticus grabs his small coin purse and pays the asked amount. She continues, “Thank you. Your meal will be ready shortly.” Then she's gone as quickly as she came.

Tarvus wasn't kidding when he said their meat was a bit more expensive than usual. Two silver coins for one sixteen-ounce steak was definitely a higher price than the knight had seen in other places. Thankfully, he's not a particularly large eater, and that steak will keep his stomach full until well into the afternoon. A much bigger issue is satisfying Annaliese's hunger, as he doesn't know if the plants on the other side of the wall are safe for horses to consume.

Food aside, he begins to think back to the previous moment where he locked eyes with the young mage woman. Does she assume he's spying on her? If so, why didn't she say anything to her posse? Does she have no suspicions of the knight at all? Frankly, Atticus has no idea why she's become such a person of interest to him to begin with. Maybe it's simply because he's seen so few mages since coming to Yhordran? All he knows is that once he caught a glimpse of her face yesterday evening, he felt compelled to know more about her.

However, considering what happened a minute ago, the feeling could be mutual. There's also the question of how she's related to the men she's with. Did they just recruit her normally? Is she family with one of them? Usually, mages are associated with the upper class due to the heavy tuition costs the university imposes on students. It's probably safe to say she isn't in desperate need of money, so maybe she's here for sport like the large blonde man? Maybe she's here for a sincere attempt to save Yhordran? But what if that bracelet she's wearing isn't her's? What if she's a rogue using a stolen arcane bracelet? Atticus knows it's foolish to make so many rapid-fire questions based on such little information, but he can't help himself.

“Here's your fruits, sir.” The red-headed waitress returns with the knight's sack now full of apples and peaches and hands it to him.

“Thank you.” He accepts, but remembers something else he needs done. “Oh, could I bother you to also fill this glass with water, as well?” Atticus pulls the now-empty milk bottle he purchased from Tarvus yesterday.

“Of course. That'll be one additional copper.” The young woman obliges, accepting the bottle. Atticus takes out one last coin from his small coin sack and hands that over, too. “Thank you, sir. I'll return in a moment.” Once again, she hastily leaves to fulfill her duties.

As the knight waits for his water, the mage's group starts up another conversation.

“So what are we going to do once we run out of food that we purchased from this place? Can we get more from one of the Legion checkpoints?” Kellar asks.

“Yes.” The man with dreadlocks man replies. “Apparently all of the checkpoints receive regular food deliveries as well. They're obligated to share some with any Mistwalkers that reach them, but I would presume that the checkpoints further in probably have less to offer.”

“You hear that, oaf? Don't gorge yourself too much.” Kellar's barbed words are obviously aimed at the massive blonde man.

“Maybe eating a bit more would actually put some muscle on your bones, Kellar.” The large man bites back. “Perhaps after a steak or two, you'll be able to lift more than just those dinky knives you have on you.”

“Enough.” The supposed leader interrupts them before it gets too personal – or worse, a fight breaks out. “Don't start jumping up each other's asses the very morning we start our mission proper.”

The conflicting men both heave sighs, and Kellar resumes the previous topic. “Anyway, Tarvus told us that the northern-most checkpoint was still only half-way to the mist's center. How are we going to get food once we pass that point?”

“I've asked around,” replies the presumed leader of the group with a rub of his goatee, “and supposedly the water from streams is still safe to drink, at the very least.”

“No kiddin'?” The rogue responds in understandable surprise. “Coulda fooled me. I figured the mist contaminated everything it touched.”

“Apparently not. We'll find out on our own, soon enough.” The dreadlocked man pauses to look around the two tables occupied by his group. “Is everyone finished with their meals?”

“Aye.” Royd responds.

“Plate's all clean.” Then Kellar.

“Yes, sir.” The fourth man – the archer – finally speaks, and in a smooth, sophisticated tone. Of course, the mage doesn't respond at all, letting her blank dish do the talking.

“Alright. Let's fetch our horses and head out.” The leader stands, with the others following suit. “Royd, grab the food on the list and meet us at the gate.”

“Aye, sir.” The massive blonde man obliges.

Everyone picks up their weapons and four of them head to the exit, with Royd approaching Tarvus's counter. As the posse passes Atticus, once again not paying him any mind, the mage girl quietly turns her head and flashes another glance at him before they all leave. The knight stays stone-faced, but wonders if her interest in him only exists because his interest in her became apparent first.