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

Despite the gentle nature of how Terven Dashn was coaxed awake, his heart pounded and his hands darted to one of the blades he keeps on his person at all times. He caught himself before he fully unsheathed his weapon. No shouting, no fires, no clashing of metal, his long time friend still asleep a few feet away; everything seemed in order. Damn dreams would be the death of him.

Seeing the sturdy man who woke him was part of the reason he calmed himself so quickly. Wottman, ever the marble pillar of his little conglomerate. Loyal and reliable, if a bit unsociable, good man. If only he would reciprocate Ferem’s daughters advances, she might be able to fill some of the man's flaws. It was hardly his place to point fingers though.

Starting in a whisper he spoke to the intruder “What is it Wottman? Did that damnable official actually start throwing refuse in camp? It smells like an hour after Jessev eats Ashraan cuisine.”

Cracking a wry smile, and continuing in the same tone he replied, “Fortunately, we haven't seen that quil scratcher since he first shown hi’ self. No, both the cause of the stench and my intrusion ‘s this lad here.”

Wottman shifted his large frame and revealed… a sorry sight.

More boy than man, practically wearing strings, posture fitting for something that walks on all fours, scrawny as a pole, bruised, cut and caked in filth; the newest layer of which notably, was the same shade red covering Wottman.

Terven gave a questioning glance and Wottman continued, “I feel this could be important, sir.”

“Alright, lets move to the next room then.” still in barely more than a whisper in consideration of the napping man next to them

Wottman is a good man, but no bleeding heart. It’d be odd behavior for him to pick up a charity case like this without reason, on top of that he didn’t even bother stopping by the baths first, the boy looked horrid, and Wottman is hardly one to be considered overly clean, however he has always taken great pride in appearing sharp as a butcher's cleaver when possible. Whatever news he bears, it is likely worth hearing him out without too much gruff.

Settling in another chair in the next room over Terven gives Wottman a pointed look and waits for him to start.

“W-well sir, i was in town running some overdue business a-.”

“Hunting prey Wott, you were hunting.”

“Ahem. yes sir i was hunting in town, and while i ‘s tracking down the whereabouts of my prey, i crossed paths with this little actor here. Gave some spot on info, even lead me right to th- my hunting grounds.”

“And i’m sure you rewarded him squarely, now why’d you have to go and bring him stinking up your bosses tent?”

“Well, sir, he's got a name, a family name.”

“Vagabond like him, eh? Unusual but you’ll have to do better to avoid covering an instructor position for the next month.”

If worry flashed in his heart, it didnt show. Wottman leads well when he needs to, and has the respect of his men, but again, hardly the sociable sort. Threatening to have him direct a few greenhorns in a personal setting for a month was usually a go to kick in the pants on the rare occasions he needed it.

“Boys name is Crey Pestion, sir.”

“... and? Never heard that name before, what's it to us?” he starts preparing a pipe to smoke

“Sir, the Pestion family was purged during that conflict. Supposedly there were no surviving members o’ that household, i was sure all the bodies were accounted for, it was among the first residences we were tasked with…” he glanced at the boy, “... with.”

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Silence settled and grief briefly animated all in the room as the eldest puffed his pipe.

“So… the family’s dead, you said. No survivors. A boy alone in the world hears of the murdered families and takes a liking to a name and keeps it, one of hundreds of possible explanations, hell commoners mimic noble names all the time. Besides while it's unfortunate so many were killed in the games of thrones and succession, you still haven't offered explanation why this boy is in my tent. Wottman, you must be feeling brave tonight, testing my patience at every point.”

Wise the older man is actually far from anger, Wottman allows himself a small grin and continues.

“I haven't questioned the boy yet, sir, and truthfully it's mostly my gut telling me he’s of the Pestion house, but sir, if he's the real deal we can use him in regards to that one high end acquaintance of yours. Y’know they did mention they’d need support going forward and you said we could only provide arms if they did go forward, but with a unaffiliated noble like him, he could open new avenues to us; give us credibility it’d take decades to build, and we could give them proper backing if need be. Simply put, if this works out it’d be a great opportunity for us, sir.”

“Aye, having a noble backing us fully in this country would be a boon… and that balking bastard has done me a lot of favores over the years, it would put my mind at ease to be able to properly help him if need be.” giving an amused stare at the boy. “I wouldn't even need to kiss-ass to some nose-in-the-air, self-righteous, wig-wearing dunce, would i?”

Looking slightly flustered at being called out the boy takes a second, but quickly straightens and replies, “Ah, no sir, old guys can stay away from my ass, i do not like people looking up my nose, I am a bit self-righteous, but i think wigs are itchy. Sir.”

“Ha ha that's good. However it's still a stretch. Falsely claiming to be a noble is grounds for execution in most countries. You have any proof to your claim?” Terven said this harshly and with sharp eyes, however he knew if he wanted to be certain of the claim to nobility all he needed to do was call a magician or chronicler that had experience in blood magick. No, he too noticed what likely lead to Wottmans ‘gut feeling’. When he straightened the boy had impeccable posture, and he spoke in a seemingly methodical manner if a bit colorful, rather common with the nobles of this country. He had the same feeling Wottman likely had, of speaking to someone of high pedigree.

Seemingly unconcerned with the threat of execution the boy replied. “I do not believe i claimed peerage. I am simply a homeless orphan, shameless informant, and prospecting marcenary.”

“Hmph, right then. Well, you’re here for the night either way so we need to keep the streams of complaints about rotting animals out of my reports. We’ll get you a bath and a bed at least, why don’t you step outside and send in Jeb, i’ll have him show you where you need to be.”

The boys grin lights up the tent at mention of bed and bath and he straightens once more and with a too-loud ‘yes,sir’ leaves the tent. A moment later one of the guards steps in, recieves his orders to show the boy to the baths and a bed in the recruits area and watch over him until Wottman relieves him, and is dismissed.

Terven motions for Wottman to take one of the seats that have been vacant the entire time and takes a few more puffs before continuing.

“It wouldn’t mean much but you didn’t even bother asking if he was a noble?”

Wottman grins and shrugs.

“Brat. You can't keep those bad habits forever…

Well, low risk- high reward, and even if it dont work out with him being a noble there could be potential as a soldier, or at least a camp follower.”

“Y’know kids can get pretty damn tough living alone on the street, but how many grown men even do ye know outside veterans who’ll stare down a couple men getting their throats cut? No, I’m sure that kid ain’t unfamiliar with Shimorti’s presence, and this area has only seen one conflict in over a hundred years. Sure if we were in a town 30 miles in another direction it’d be more likely he’s just some commoners kid, but not here. When they purged the nobility that supported the old king they made certain to interfere as little as possible with the commoners, needed the commoners support after all. Only a noble kid that survived, and saw his family slaughtered could be cold like that, at least here.”

“Alright i get it, you’re the reason he’s nervous about old guys near his ass. Still though if we want him recognized as nobility, then it has to be done officially and legitimately. Tomorrow we’ll ask him a few questions, and send for an official and a good mage. We’ll make sure everything's above board going forward. It was a good hunch Wottman, lets see if it plays out. In the meantime go get yourself cleaned up, some good rest; you’re gonna need it if you’re gonna be instructing tenderfoots tomorrow.”

Sniggering at Wottmans downcast look Terven emptied his pipe and prepared to escort his still unconscious friend to his home in town. If the boy is a noble it truly would be fortuitous, if he would be willing to help him and his mercenaries that is. At the very least he seems pleasant enough to be around aside from the watering eyes and wilting plants.

Besides staying in the Capital City Welton wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The sunsets are rather striking.