Close was right, it seems Wottmans camp was a scant few minutes walk from the end of our conversation. I say camp lightly, it looks more like a little town within this city, albeit a town of tents. It seem rather odd that our capital would allow such a large, and technically unaffiliated military force within our walls, but no one seems that bothered. It's hard to judge just how large this camp is, especially with the sun leaving to make way for the night.

Most of the tents seem to be made out of a thick, sturdy fabric. Most are a sort of tan color but a few every now and then are other shades, as well as having varying symbols on the differently colored ones. They all sit fairly close together, but there seem to be just enough space for a path through every few tents or so. Heh, almost like it was coordinated or something. There also seem to be a few larger, open tents designated for various task, like a kind of eating area, or a sort of stables, things like that.

Wottman seems to be fairly, no very well known around here. The people who notice him seem to straighten up, start talking softer, nod in acknowledgement, or straight up bow when they do. They hardly even blink at the blood staining his entire front.

In contrast Wottman seems to be thinking hard about something, and i would've thought he didn’t even notice we entered this tent town, if it weren't for the fact he's made some precision turns i wouldn't have even noticed if i were not following. I’m actually struggling a bit to keep up, i think he has forgotten he had a pod fish sticking to him.

“Captain Wottman! Excuse me… er… sir?”

A young man comes running at us from the left somewhere. He looks to be about my age maybe a little older, also a bit taller than me, the bastard. Soft round features on his face, and an average, if muscular build, brown hair down to the middle of his neck and tied back, and green eyes under lazy, or maybe tired eyelids. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt and lighter tan pants and leather boots, on his shoulder looks to be one of the symbols thats on a few of the tents. Actually looking around i notice most of the people here are wearing a smaller version of one of the symbols, or another.

“Hmm? Ahh… what is it?”

“Uhh, s-sir Miss Ferem was concerned as to your whereabouts w-when it was discovered you were not in camp. Umm, sir!”

Ooh, i should watch carefully, this guy has nervous as hell down quite well, though i doubt it’s an act.

“*sigh* The little Miss aint my boss, nor i hers. s’cuse me, i have business.”

Wottman makes a small gesture to me, and the young man's eyes follow briefly. Wottman turns to leave

“B-b-b-but c-captain sir, what should i tell the miss where you’ve been?”

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He looks back

“I don’t care; out maybe. Or make something up, mercenaries are good at lying to their bosses right?”

He starts walking, and has a smirk like he just said something really funny, the other guy looks completely distraught, almost feel bad for the kid, then i remember all the shit i’ve been through and now i want to smirk along with the big guy here. I don’t even know why

“ I couldn’t po-”

“Dismissed.”

That conversation being thoroughly killed with the finality of Wottmans statement and him walking away, we continue our trek out of sight of the befuddled looking kid.

I’m actually getting pretty tired now my feet are pretty sore, what with no shoes and all, and i don’t usually stay up past sundown, unless I’m running from someone, and let me tell you i hate running as is, and triply so for running down rocky pitch black alleys.

“Okay k-Crey, we’re getting close” Thank Resiv ”I’m going to have a talk with the leader i don’t know if you’ll be allowed in to listen but be quiet and try not to do anything stu- no don’t do anything, that’s better, if you get asked somethin’ be to the point with yer answers. You can at least act respectful right?” He said that last part with a small smile

I nod

“Be vocal, ‘yes sir, no sir’ right?”

I nod and say “Yes sir!” standing straight and slapping my heels together, it blasting hurt, but i think i pull it off, as he gives another smile and continues walking.

I think he likes me, i don't know if that's a good thing anymore…

Soon we see a tent larger than the rest and colored with diagonal red and purple lines. It has a large crest on the front, probably the coat of arms of these mercenaries; a red shield with a purple V and a scorpion as the focus, and a few other minor details filling in the rest. I don’t think i’ve ever heard of someone using a scorpion to symbolize their lineage, but im sure theres a reason, most nobility would mock an insect if someone chose it to symbolize their family, they would favor something more majestic like an eagle, griffon, i’ve even seen a deer, never an insect though. Probably just eccentricity.

There are also a pair of armed and armored guards in front of the tent Wottman mentions to them that he would like to bring me in with him, i notice he asks rather than just says, and the guards look at me, then each other and shrug mentioning they need to search me for weapons and contraband before i'm allowed in. i was nervous the guard searching me would pocket the coin but after a silent conversation with Wottman he hands it back to me and lets us both in.

A large rectangular table sits in the middle of the room, along with a pair of smaller ones in the corners of the room, and another pair of shelves lining the ‘walls.’ There are no people in here so Wottman leads me into another room of the tent.

Cozy in here. Not well lit, just a few candles here and there, almost burnt to nubs, and a fireplace with just embers now, typically i’d be coughing my lungs out and everyone who has been in here for any significant length of time would either be passed out or dead because of the smoke but there seems to be some sort of filtration device in the form of a metal rod stuck into the ground next to the fireplace with a stone on top and markings up and down both the rod and the stone. Two older gentlemen, each in an armchair next to the embers seem to have dozed off. Wottman walks up to the one closer to the ‘wall’ and gives him a light pat on the shoulder.

“Sir, Sorry to wake ye. May i have a word?”