The Cantabria Mansion was the classic example of what happens when an old building meets a young man with way too much money to know what to do with. Beautiful stonemasonry, a rich and fascinating history, all scarred and pock-marked with unnecessary tech convenience. The grounds and its long driveway were infected with automatic gates, heat sensing cameras, hidden microphones and enough sprinkler systems to make a golf course jealous. While the interior floor plan had been faithfully maintained, its myriad rooms were stripped out and violently re-modelled into a gadget lover's paradise, all white surfaces and sharp angles. Hyper modernism, they called it. Hyper hideous in Alter’s humble opinion. It even had a state-of-the-art panic room where its multi-millionaire ex-footballer owner could safely gorge himself on the drug mountain that had caused the heavily armed and armoured narco militia to storm the estate in the first place. Charming bloke, really. He had some brilliant voice lines if you pepper sprayed him enough.

Fortunately, Osprey Hall had not yet fallen foul of the modern world’s dirty money and ‘baking supplies’. Much like Vaulter’s home back in Crestvigil, Alter couldn’t help but feel somewhat out of place as they were shown into the well maintained and beautifully decorated entrance hall. He became suddenly aware of how muddy his boots might be and kept glancing behind him to make sure he wasn’t leaving a filthy trail. Examining the furnishings as they progressed he noted a variety of display weapons affixed to the walls and, spaced out on either side, suits of shining ceremonial armour stood in permanent alertness. This is, or was, a military building in his estimation. Waiting for them at the far end of the hall were a pair of smartly dressed women, standing to attention and garbed in the stereotypical black and white dresses and aprons of the nineteenth century maid. With an awkward mumble the man who had led them here shyly introduced them as Tabitha and Morgan, caretakers and custodians of the entire building and charged with ensuring that their needs were met.

Tabitha was certainly eye-catching, a picturesque face with summer-sky blue eyes and a shock of vibrant canary yellow hair pulled into twin ponytails large enough at the base to hide footballs in. Sunny hair for an even sunnier disposition. Alter got the feeling that he’d find himself socially exhausted after a mere five minute conversation. Morgan on the other hand was the archetypal stern, matronly worker. A hard but not unkind expression framed by straight black hair cut squarely at chin level and small, round glasses straight from the librarian section made the Paris skyline creep into the corners of Alter’s vision. All she needed was the blue and white striped jumper and a nice, fresh baguette for the look to be complete. By the time she opened her mouth to introduce herself it was much too late, in Alter’s mind she was already irreversibly French. To the point where he was mildly disappointed when her voice was not accompanied by soft accordion music. Alter attempted to study their speech and tones as they gave their welcomes to the squad in an effort to gauge their feelings towards them. While they had not yet suffered under the mercenary tagline, these ladies may not appreciate such rough individuals moving into their immaculately maintained workspace. However, Tabitha’s introductions were genuine and enthusiastic, and while Morgan was more reserved, she still gave no hostile impression.

The clerk, apparently suffering from late teenage hormones, was no longer capable of remaining in a pretty girl's presence and through a heavy stammer managed to excuse himself. The squad awkwardly watched him retreat before turning back to their new chaperones.

“Well then!” Tabitha spoke brightly, clapping her hands together “Let me show you around!” She waved them all to follow her as she took off down a side corridor.

Osprey Hall was a U-shaped building, with the primary living and working spaces situated within the front facing side. Back when it was the Cantabria Mansion, the east wing contained the bedrooms whereas the west wing had been converted into a spacious garage, a private gym, home cinema and ‘baked goods appreciation zone’. Here though, both wings were completely given over to sleeping quarters. Ten reasonably sized comfortable bedrooms plus two larger ones for senior staff per wing for a total of twenty-four beds. The centre of the U, which had been dug out in favour of a pool in Warforce, was once again given over to the sandy floor of a training ground. Wooden armoured dummies and arrow targets lined opposite ends with scattered racks of edgeless swords, spears and other members of war’s menagerie of tools. The rest of the building was rounded out with sitting rooms, a dining hall complete with attached kitchen, studies, offices and a briefing room. The final stop of the tour was a large door of reddish wood, carved with great detail to show a bird of prey standing triumphant over a defeated serpent-like creature.

“This is the one room you are not allowed to enter! Only the knight commander of the Order of the Osprey may step through the threshold! Even I don’t know what’s in there!” Tabitha told them with excitement, somehow managing to shout despite her whispering tone.

Alter stared at the door with poorly contained curiosity, mind sparking and racing at the myriad possibilities as to what could be contained within. This was fantasyland after all, magic was very much on the table. If this was the headquarters of a knightly order then perhaps a mind-bendingly fancy sword or two.

“If you aren’t allowed in then who looks after what’s in there?” Pavejack asked, seemingly spellbound by the door’s mystique.

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“Well …” Tabitha paused before pouting. “Fine, Morgan is allowed in there, but she’s not going to tell you what’s inside!” She waggled a firm finger at him.

“It is nothing exciting, I assure you.” A purring voice came from behind them.

Alter jumped at the sound and the sudden realisation that Morgan was standing half an arm span away having made absolutely no noise during her approach. Her passive mask cracked into a smile at his surprise and Alter found himself mirroring the expression. These two were already proving quite the double act, things would certainly be interesting with them around.

“Then why won’t you let me take a peek!” Tabitha turned to her compatriot, shaking her fists in mock rage.

“Enough, Tabitha. Don’t you have work to do?” Morgan asked a leading question.

Tabitha’s eyes widened as she inhaled sharply “Oh! Right, I nearly forgot!” She took off at impressive speed, her hair streaming out behind her like flags in a gale.

“Now then, I’m sure you have questions. I cannot answer everything, but please feel free to ask away.” Morgan bowed, her face settling back into professional stoniness.

“If this is the home of the Osprey Knights, why are their rooms being given to us? What happened to them?” Alter asked.

“The order was disbanded a year ago, its members reassigned across the lands controlled by the Masserlind family.” Morgan replied after taking a moment to consider her answer. The maid knew more than she let on, but Alter was not going to start pressing her for more details. Given the situation that Oliver found himself in, a valuable asset suddenly disappearing was not a huge surprise.

“As for why the rooms have been given to you, I do not know.” Morgan continued. “But Master Oliver clearly holds great faith in you if he has granted you the hall’s use.”

“Do you agree with his judgement?” Boozehound followed up.

Morgan was again silent for a telling moment. “I trust his judgement.” She put it simply.

“Is it just the two of you that work here?” Riptide asked, keen to change the subject.

“For now, yes. Though more staff may be assigned here in the coming days, should it prove necessary.”

“That’s a lot of floor space for just the pair of you.” Walross mused.

“Well, there was no one living here up until now. But rest assured, we are very good at our jobs. Of course, you won’t start making a mess of the place, will you?” The question was loaded with enough weight to crack the hall’s foundations.

“Of course we won’t.” Walross answered quickly as he averted his eyes from Morgan’s stare.

After establishing that there were no further questions to be offered, the maid excused herself cooly and disappeared towards one of the gently spiralling staircases located in the squared corners of the U. Alter looked at his friends and shepherded them over to the east wing in order to establish sleeping arrangements. There were too many of them to keep to a single floor, so the squad was split in half up and down, with Alter and Riptide taking the two larger rooms. There was a little good-natured grumbling at their pulling rank but once Alter reminded them of who would be bearing the blame for any future mistakes they quickly dropped the subject. He had selected the top floor, as was his right as leader. If he was going to go to bed then there would be stairs involved somewhere, it felt unnatural otherwise. The room had windows looking out over three sides of the wing, although two of them quickly turned into the detail lacking grey of the city walls. A good sized double bed took up most of the right-hand wall, with a pair of sofas separated by a low table, a proper table and four chairs, and a large free-standing wardrobe filling space through the middle of the room. An unlit but well supplied fireplace took up the left-hand wall, with a pair of comfortable armchairs sat ready to bask in its warmth. Alter sank into one of them with a sigh, taking a moment to revel in the comfort of luxury upholstery before closing his eyes and taking stock of their situation.

Now that they had a semi-permanent base of operations, Alter was not about to keep lugging his pack and rifle around with him everywhere. An armoury would be needed, one secure enough to be left unattended for extended periods of time. Much like when they were staying at the Riverfield, he feared a curious and greedy character pocketing something dangerous. Getting access to such a facility would take time, effort and more than a little social finesse. For now, each bedroom featured a large reinforced trunk with a keyed lock. Those would have to suffice as weapons storage until something better could be arranged. He’d also like a more secluded area for weapons practice, but given the fact that their knowledge of firearms handling had been seemingly hardwired into the brains when they arrived then their skills could well be permanent. One thing he was certainly interested in training the squad in was melee combat. There could well be a moment where they didn’t have guns to hand, and if he was going to be forced to pick up a sword then he was going to know how to use it. He’d have to ask Oliver to find them a tutor, someone who wouldn’t laugh at them and keep their mouth shut. Horse riding was also on the agenda. Unless all the horses in Jestriff were like Pinecone, the equine lord of torture. Alter shuddered at the thought.

His mental check-listing and mounting dread were interrupted by the tinkling of a bell coming from somewhere in the corridor. He opened the door to see no one, but as he stuck his head out the glorious smell of cooking tickled his nostrils. With a content sigh he made sure his gear was safely locked up before making his way down to the dining room, determined to put his concerns aside for now.

Food. Food would help.