[Jericho]

Jericho stood at the base of the Colossus, grateful for his sunglasses as he peered up against the bright blue sky to peer at The Vanguard where it floated listlessly at the top of the towering lighthouse. Viv whinnied softly behind him and Ninian shushed her with a gentle pat to her nose as the rest of the men continued to unload the supplies from his cart. Old Bessie and Viv both had seen him through a few unexpectedly dire situations but he wasn't about to drag them along to Acantha with him even if they could get them up the tower onto the skyboat. Sure-footed Viv might make the climb, but the cart was too wide for the narrow steps.

“They'll have to do something about this sooner or later,” he commented to no one in particular, more than a little irked that he himself would have to climb the tower just to board. “Ridiculous place to park. Honestly.” Ninian gave him a look that spoke volumes along the lines of "You're never honest", or perhaps more like "Jericho, afraid of heights?" He didn't suffer vertigo, of course, but had a faint aversion to putting himself in a position where the slightest misstep could be disastrous. “Those harpies have all the intelligence of a weevil.”

Rather than respond to his commentary, Nin patted Viv's silky nose again before stepping away from the landstrider to survey the cart and nod. “That's the last of it, Mister Jericho.” And that was something else. The Therian had taken to being formal when addressing him since their return, as if sensing that the dynamics of their relationship had changed now Rusty was gone. It both annoyed and pleased Jericho, but more than that, the Therian was setting an excellent standard for the other fellows he had hired. Ninian probably understood how important it would be for Jeri to retain his command of these men given that he would have to trust them. Theft of the supplies alone could get them killed where they were going.

“That's fine, then. Is everyone here? Let's go. Karenas, if you care to lead.” Shrugging to ease the tension across his shoulders, Jericho waited for the mercenary to ascend what the city dared to call steps. “If I fall off this thing and break my neck, I'm going to take them for all their worth.” Who he was threatening, however, was anyone's guess.

[Alistair]

Since Alistair had moved to Alexandria, it would seem he was a man with little regard for his own safety. The first real incident was with that twice-damned Therian, and her freaky falcon, and the second was yesterday, with that twice-damned petit Vampire. The vampy had been a relatively petty thief, but he packed a bit of a punch, and he'd kindly demonstrated his Judo skills to Alistair, who had found himself flat on his back after being thrown in a 360 arc. And that'd given him a massive headache, so he'd leapt up angrily, and dived toward the startled vampire with all his weight. The force of his lumbering body had broken the vampire's ankle, and Alistair had thought with a smirk that he'd bet he'd invested in regeneration.

But that didn't mean he had left untouched. Vicious yellow bruises the length of apples were present on his forearms where he'd been thrown in such a way that he swore he could see the moon. And not only that, he had blisters from running back to Espur from the Therian's estate in his good shoes. It was all quite terrible.

Currently, he was nursing his poor ankles in thick socks hidden inside his military-style boots, which kinda gave him the option to crush somebody's toes if they crossed him today. He had decided a suit teamed with the boots was a drastic fashion statement that Elysia wasn't yet ready for, so he was wearing dark jeans over the boots, a grey-knit sweater, and a khaki jacket. He may not be wearing a suit, but he could still look like the discerning Elysian he was.

As a citizen of the common rabble in Alexandria, Alistair had only visited New Alexandria a couple of times, and his pride and arrogance had fit in rather nicely. Today, he decided he'd take a brisk stroll to get his blood pumping and muscles working. Plus, he felt guilty for that delectable chocolate torte he'd devoured last night, but that was irrelevant. He set off, his strides large due to his long legs, and crossed the bridge, his head held high as if he belonged here. The 'varian took a right and started up the banks of the River Cora, sparkling in the bright rays of sunlight, his arms swinging to burn off that pastry. There, ahead, was that weird structure he'd seen from his apartment's view of the river, and it seemed pretty impressive. He decided to investigate, just as something to do really, since work was slow. As he reached the great monolith, whatever it was, he speculatively eyed up the party awaiting at the base. He wanted to climb it, and they were in the way. His mind reached out over the gaggle of Elysians, drinking in their babble of mental chatter, and one mind he yet again couldn't breach. He wasn't entirely sure who it was, he was far too inexperienced. But he was feeling confident this morning. “Got cold feet, have we? It does seem quite a daring feat to climb those stairs.” They could be a gang of villains for all he knew, but he didn't care. One more black eye just meant another battle wound.

[Jericho]

Jericho eyed the bruised Peteulanus with some concern. He wasn't sure if the injuries were a sign of the man's superior combat prowess or evidence that he had made a mistake in choosing this man as a bodyguard. However, “I don't remember hiring you.” Jericho was usually very good with faces - he had to be, given how many of them owed him money - so his lack of familiarity with the other 'Varian gave him cause to doubt his sanity for the briefest of moments.

Then he looked to Ninian. At some point, Jericho had tired of interviewing the wannabes and handed them over to his enforcer. The Therian shrugged, however, eyeing the man with generous amounts of suspicion. With a twitch of his lips that passed for a sly smile in his own universe, Jeri held out an arm to wave the man up ahead of him. “By all means, after you. Let us see your bravery as proof that you will earn your keep on our journey.” He wasn't about to pay a man to be his bodyguard - especially in that Xanth-forsaken place, and whose bright idea was it to go back there, anyway? - if he couldn't even climb a tiny, one-hundred foot tall tower?

[Alistair]

Alistair kept his tightest poker face during the ordeal, and his thoughts carefully in check. If this snappily dressed fellow thought he was his employee, then that meant money. And money, well, Alistair damn well liked money. The party was large so anyone of them could be a telepath, plus the guy with the shades looked of a 'Varian physique, and his sept wasn't yet identifiable. To occupy his mind, he set about mentally blurting out all of the words of the different languages he knew beginning with the little bit of Latin he'd learned from his sister when she was studying for her bonding ritual.

A small, devilish smile flickered across his lips as he looked up at the colossal - pun most certainly intended - monolith rising up before him, and planted one foot firmly on the precarious steps. “Right away, Boss.” The next step came, then the next, and Alistair tensed his muscles so he wouldn't flop around like a kraken out of water and fall to his death. It would have been kind if someone had bothered with a railing, but it seemed citizens of New Alexandria were fine about kicking a few unfortunate souls out of the gene pool.

There may be a day to come when Alistair regretted his cocky attitude toward the man in the shades, and wished he had been more humble, but as he took a turn and tried his best not to stumble, he was feeling good. His life was improving, he was raking in more money, and in the past few days he had sprang out of bed instead of pulling the covers back over his head (mind you, he was so tall that when he did so, his feet were thrown out into the icy morning air). But, as he emerged at the top of the Colossus, with his life still intact and the sound of French in his skull, he felt triumphant. Until he saw the boat thing. His jaw tensed to prevent itself from dropping. He wasn't sure if the cash was worth boarding that death trap. People, except 'Vari with dragons and Anyeli, and Therians with avian forms, were supposed to stay on the ground.

[Jericho]

Jeri's head tipped back so he could stare narrow-eyed at the 'Varian through his shades. “I'm not sure I like your tone.” There had been so small an emphasis on the word 'boss' that he felt the man would be great friends with Ninian. The pair could huddle in a dark corner of the skyboat and plot his demise. Jericho had never before questioned Nin's loyalty, but Rusty's death had changed something between them. Their relationship had not yet deteriorated enough for him to poke around in the Therian's skull, but the thought that he may soon be forced to was definitely there. And here was a man displaying a similar lack of respect, if not outright sarcasm. Someone Jericho himself had not agreed to hire, he was sure of that now. The likelihood of him being Ninian's partner in some shenanigan or other was increasing.

Nevertheless, Jericho followed him up the Colossus stairs with no small amount of trepidation which he hide behind a tight-lipped blankness as he ignored the inane conversations and morale boosting at his heels. Honestly, mercenaries were a bunch of girls.

The harpies who greeted them were clearly the crew from belowdecks while they were in Acantha because they tried to turn him away. They argued first with Ninian, screeching wordlessly and waving about their wooden spears, then tried to tell Jericho he was not Jericho. “Enough!” Inclined to stamp his foot, he instead clicked his fingers right beside one of the guard's ears until she was looking him right in the eye. “My name is Mortimer Jericho. I was a member of the Vanguard to whom your god permitted entry and use of this boat. If you do not allow me and my men aboard, I shall find another means of contacting him, and trust me, I have seen what he is capable of when mildly perturbed.” She shivered, those beady black eyes rounding until he could see the reflection of his sunglasses in them, and stepped aside. She didn't go as far as bowing or scraping, but he could tell she was awfully tempted.

Stepping aside, Jeri held out an arm to the Peteulanus as the rest of the group carried supplies and cargo up the gang plank. He would not confess to delaying his own boarding simply for the fear of heights. It was not even the height that bothered him so much as the impact should he fall, and the gang plank was not particularly sturdy. He saw it bounce several times as slender Nin, who was also considerably shorter than Jericho, crossed it. “After you, my good man.” A twitch of a smile flirted with the corners of his mouth as he scooped up surface thoughts, just enough to alert the man that he was perfectly capable of discovering everything he could ever want or need to know about him. “Alistair.”

[Alistair]

To make matters worse, there was a harpy thing, in front of the sky-bound ship. Alistair swallowed, hard, wondering if he could bolt and and turn on his heels. He had a bad, bad feeling about this, a feeling that the martial arts he had tried to get into would serve him little. He wished he'd invested more time in a combat skill, and his foot almost twitched back toward the steps. Almost. It seemed that he was in it for good, having been so cocky and uppity that he had drawn attention to himself. He decided he would pipe down and be quieter.

A thin-lipped, dishonest smile spread over his face as he listened to the theatrics going on with the man in the shades, who he hadn't been able to help but notice was a fellow Pet. Which meant, if he was in charge with all of these men, that he had a far superior skill to little old Alistair himself. He frowned again as a fleeing instinct crossed his mind. This was quickly followed by fervent pride, which dominated all prerequisite feelings. He stood up straight, swallowed as his brow furrowed even more so at the mention of the Vanguard. He had been asked to do that by those weird anti-Xanthians when he was looking for work before, but he'd been out of Alexandria at the time, and he hadn't a clue what was going on. He shrugged and ensured he would listen in on anything and everything.

When the 'Varian held his arm out so smugly and welcoming, Alistair's frown turned into an easygoing smile, a genuine one this time. While he himself wasn't keen on walking onto the ship, since not only did it mean crossing a plank of wood at one hundred feet above Alexandria, but it meant having to also bypass the harpy. He did not hesitate, though, and gracefully swept past, with a warm “Thank you, Mr Jericho. You must be incredibly skilled to already know my name.” The last part held no mockery, but rather awe and admiration, in his voice. Alistair ensured he did not hesitate, and while his legs trembled as he stepped onto the plank and heard it groan under his weight, he held his head eye and in a haughty manner, 'Varian pride shining through. It wasn't as bad as he thought. He walked like he was a man with a purpose, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and focusing on a singular point. That worked, for the most part, until he felt the more sturdy wood beneath him and realised soon they would be flying. And where to? He hadn't a clue, but he slunk toward the side of the ship thingy to admire the view.

He hoped he wouldn't throw up.

[Jericho]

Jericho paused mid-step, then continued blithely. His right eyebrow twitched. "Must be skilled to already know my name," hmm? That meant Jericho really hadn't hired him. It also suggested the man didn't expect Ninian to have told him. Interesting.

Following Alistair aboard with no small amount of distaste for the unreliable gangplank, Jericho lifted his right shoulder in the slightest hint of a shrug. Of course he was skilled. He was more than sixteen hundred years old and had spent the better part of his adult life putting those skills to good use. He had learned that pain was a better way to get what he wanted than sugar or vinegar, threats or praise. And once his reputation began to precede him, he found that just knowing what he could do made so many more pockets forthcoming. He had not especially chosen the path his life had taken, had not waken up one morning to decree that he would become an usurer and all that would ultimately entail. But nor was he dissatisfied with his life, and he had to confess the man's flattery did have some affect on the twitch of his lips.

A harpy he assumed to be in charge of the crew shrieked at him as he led the way onto the bridge where the ship's wheel took centre stage. Jeri arched an eyebrow and sighed. As if their so-called speech wasn't hard enough on his ears, they refused to even try learning Elysian so communication resorted to wild gesticulating - or telepathy. The headache he had suffered in Acantha lasted for long, hard days after he got home and he was not looking forward to a repeat. Instead of explaining himself, he gestured for the harpy to step aside as he approached the wheel. Remembering the last time he had hold of it, when he very deliberately tried to crash their god's ship, the harpy stood firm and shrieked again. She flapped her wings at him until he was forced back, his forearms bruised by the thick feathers.

“All right, woman! Enough! Ninian, deal with her already.” The Therian looked skyward - easy enough to do at this height, Jericho should think - but stepped forward and tried to grab her. She gave a piercing, hawk-like cry right into the smaller man's ear so that he fell back cupping a hand over the shell and yelping at her. Jericho buried his shaded eyes against a hand, his other fisted on his hip, and sighed again. “Someone deal with her, for Xanth's sake. Or you're all fired.”

[Alistair]

Not for the first time today, the fleeing instinct crossed Alistair's mind. He uncertainly considered vaulting over the side of the ship back toward the Colossus, but that would perhaps involve his certain death if his legs failed him and he didn't make it. Or, he might repeat that incident when a certain nice pair of grey trousers had split down the crotch when he'd slipped on ice and unwillingly fell into the splits. He thought wrecking one's clothes should be considered criminal.

He wasn't entirely sure of the impression he was making, but he didn't know if he looked the part of brawn, or mercenary material at all. His sure attitude faded a little, not because he wasn't excited or at least a tiny bit certain that he could be of some use, but because he was a little, er, scared. Of the unknown, and the ship. And a tiny, tiny little bit of his fellow, superior Pet.

The appalling squawking which assaulted Alistair's eardrums obviously stemmed from the harpy gesticulating wildly at Jericho, and he winced a little. It became apparent that it was up to him to intervene, almost as if, if Xanth existed, she was punishing him for his charade and throwing him into a situation he couldn't handle. Nobody else seemed keen on silencing the harpy, so as she squawked some more at the great brute and Jericho, he approached from behind as silently as possible, and reached to grab her by the wrists and secure her wrists behind her back, as if arresting her. The claws he kept a distance from, especially since they were on-level with his thighs and he didn't want to risk castration. A firm push aside was accompanied with a few steps taken back, and a “Learn your place, woman, Mr Jericho is favoured by your, er, God.” What he said confused him, especially the god part, since he thought Xanth was their god. And then it struck him. Was he part of some heresy? He was going to be lynched by Xanthians, wasn't he? Or sliced open by a harpy. Something really bad, probably, and Xanth wasn't going to help him since he'd shown no belief in her. But if there was one... god... then surely Xanth must exist. Unless Xanth was the god who had permitted this.

Well, whatever, he just hoped the harpy wasn't going to gut him.

[Jericho]

It probably wasn't the words that got through to her . The harpy paused, stared at them one to the other, assessing. She flicked beady black eyes to the harpy next to her and they screeched at each other a couple of times. Then, that impenetrable stare fixed right back on Alistair before another short hop to Jeri. She stepped aside.

“Finally.” Jericho glowered at them all, the harpy for getting in his way, the others for not dealing with it "fast enough". The effect was probably dampened behind his sunglasses. “Let's get this show on the road, shall we?”

“Don't you mean in the air?” Ninian shrugged when he received a second glare. The Therian was too accustomed to his boss's moods to be intimidated anymore.

“Just for that, you can make sure the men are fully briefed.” He had agreed to drop off supplies at the barricade still being erected around the Chandric-Acanthan portal (for a fee, of course), and that would be the last chance any of these men got to bail before they were in Acantha. Once through the portal, he had no intention of returning until he was satisfied and his business complete, and it was a very, very long walk back.

Ninian growled low and soft in the back of his throat, a sign of his displeasure. Nevertheless, he held up and rotated a finger, a gesture for the mercenaries to follow him. “I'll take them onto the open deck. It's roomier out there. Free of birds, too.” His sneer at the troublesome harpy was returned swiftly with an ear-bending shriek. “Come on, you lot. Bring your equipment, too, I'll get you all stowed away in your quarters.”

OOC: We could skip time to the portal and RP the unloading of supplies if you want to visit the barricade, or further ahead to their arrival in Vynett if you want to RP with the Mystriders instead. Or if Alistair follows Nin on to the open deck, I can NPC him explaining what they've actually been hired for. (Many will already know, but it's always worth making sure everyone's up to speed before an expedition like this - and it will catch Alistair up on what he can expect on the other side. ) Or if Alistair stays with Jeri, maybe he tries to feel out the likelihood of gaining a mentor, or something?

[Alistair]

Well, at least that was over with. Alistair shrugged in response to the freaky gaze fixed on him by the disgruntled harpy, turning away; he didn't see why they had to make so much noise. They were pretty interesting to look at, with those freaky talons and claws, and if they didn't shriek and scream all the time it would be a little better. How did harpies even man a ship anyway? He hoped they weren't in charge of ropes or anything, because that would further exaggerate his fear of the air ship thing. Seriously, ships weren't meant to fly. They might drop out of the sky.

He glanced at Jericho as the large man headed off, then decided to leave Mr Jericho to his bad mood, shrugging once more as he followed his fellow men to the open deck. It seemed to be forever before they were moving, but they did, and Alistair quietly kept to himself as he watched the scenery in awe. His home slipped away from them, and then the open flatlands of Daire, which changed to the mountains, and then forests he didn't recognise. He'd seen maps and he assumed it might be the Fae, but as they travelled on, the forest turned more... morbid. Or something. He did't know what it was, but something creeped him out.

And then they stopped. Alistair stood to his full height, wondering he was going to be thrown overboard. He had overheard talk of stopping to unload cargo, but he wasn't entirely sure where. And why here? The forest sent little shivers of nervousness down his spine. He huddled further into his jacket and jammed his hands under his armpits, feeling a little chilly, probably from the gusts from flying. Or maybe he was just a scaredy little hatchling. As the men sprang to life again, unloading Xanth knows what, Alistair leaned casually against the side of the deck as he watched them carefully, keeping his distance. He wasn't getting off here, that was for sure.

[Jericho]

The journey took them just two days, but that was still plenty of time to get a measure of the man Jericho hadn't recognised at the so-called "dock". When he finally got a chance to query Ninian in private, the Therian also couldn't recognise him. Astounded that a complete stranger would join their expedition with no promise of payment, Jericho wasn't quite sure how to deal with the man. He was wary of poking into Alistair's mind, unsure just how strong the other Peteulanus was, but watched him carefully.

When he wasn't correcting the harpies who were steering the ship, that was. They had no idea where they were going, and for some reason believed the portal due south of their location. If they had their way, the Vanguard would have found itself squarely in Dardanos!

“Bit of a sight, isn't it?” Jericho, hands in his pockets, stepped up to the glass canopy to stand beside Alistair as the men bustled around them, offloading the cargo. Below them, beneath the trees, he could just about see patches of the barricade and camp circling the portal. Despite the urgency, it was almost impossible to get the different governments and organisations to agree on anything or make proper decisions, so it was still only half finished and the guards were but a small contingency of different groups working at cross purposes. Apparently, a small squadron of Mystrider scouts had made it through without difficulty, so Jericho had to wonder what the point was of even building a barricade in the first place.

Though, if they had listened to he and the other members of the vanguard, they probably didn't fear the Mystriders. If anything, the friendly dragon riders presented a wealth of economic opportunity. That was his hope, and the whole reason for this little jaunt, after all.

“If they hope to defend against those ugly vlareon Malaki, those fences need to be a heck of a lot taller and much sturdier. You do as well staying here with me. So far as we know, only the one tribe knew about us and we defeated them before they could spread the word, but with this boat and the Mystriders flying back and forth across their territory, they're bound to investigate again sooner or later.” Hopefully, they didn't come through in greater numbers. Routing just the hunting party had been hard enough.

“Never did like this forest,” Jericho allowed, scowling at the darker tree tops. Even this high, something shadowy seemed to pervade the surrounding wood. Compared to the Fae, this place seemed sinister and hungry. “But we'll be moving on soon. If you have to pee or catch some air or something, now's the best time to do it. You won't want to step outside when we hit the Badlands, trust me.”

[Alistair]

Alistair had listened carefully to the conversations around him for the duration of the journey, also probing lightly at the minds of those without telepathic ability so that he could grasp a better understanding of what was going on. What he valued most was that there was some cash in this job, and, once he got back, if he got back, some cash in knowing about Jericho's affiliation with this Vanguard. While he wasn't going to place Jericho in danger, since he was too powerful of a man, he was still hoping to make a little bit of profit from the information. He was unsure of what would be asked of him, but he realised he would not be allowed to balk at anything he was told to do, otherwise they might feed him to the harpies or something.

But honestly, Alistair was worried about his role here, and what he was here for. He couldn't provide anything, really, except for usage as a decent meat shield probably. He was good at reading expressions, which when teamed with his telepathic abilities provided him with a bit of an ability to predict the actions of those around him. Like, even though he couldn't read Jericho's mind, it was easy to see he was irritated by the shortcomings of his men, as demonstrated when they first boarded. And he seemed a bit surly. But who was Alistair to talk? He was a tall, brooding type also. Had he been from Earth, he would have been injured to have been compared to say, Heathcliff.

Hearing Jericho's voice, he murmured an agreement as his eyes drifted to the makeshift barricades and camps. Which made him wonder, if a barricade was necessary around that portal, why were they going into it? Any sane person would take that as a warning. People didn't make barricades to have their motives questioned. He wasn't scared as such, he just had no idea what to expect in Acantha. Xanth was forgiving and loving of her people, but any god who created those damn harpies didn't seem loving at all. Xanth had made Anyeli and Nymphs and whatnot, and all Alistair could see was that the harpies weren't exemplar work of a good deity. Which probably meant the deity of Acantha was a bit like a Taroch's ass.

But in any case, he barely listened to Jericho, so absorbed in his own musings. He caught 'Mystriders', 'tribe', 'Malaki' and 'territory', all of which sent alarm bells ringing in Alistair's head. He glanced at Jericho, standing so cool and collected, swallowed hard and excused himself to stretch his legs on sturdy ground. Quickly, he deboarded the ship, and walked off at a fast pace. Alistair rounded around a tree and pressed his back to the trunk, running a hand through his hair and taking deep breaths. Thinking fast, he whipped out his COM and sent a speedy message to Serana detailing a trip he was taking, a holiday he called it. He said he would send word when he could, and then signed it with his love. He adored his older sister so much, he was worried that this display of antics was selfish, really. But he had comitted now, and it would look suspicious, and weak, if he ran off now. So, with that in mind, he headed back to the ship with a prideful gait and a hardened look, and boarded once more.

[Jericho]

They finally arrived at their destination two days later, having taken a circuitous route across the Badlands to Vynett so as to avoid Malaki suspicion. It was one thing to set up a trade route between Elysia and the Mystriders who had helped he and his band of merry morons during their last 'visit', but it was quite another to throw them into the path of an oncoming raid just because he lacked caution. More than that, if the Malaki suspected the skyboat didn't belong to Danae or the Ohani who had built it, they may grow curious about who was actually aboard and where they had come from. So far as Jericho could tell, there was nothing north of the Badlands worth a visit, so they would eventually decide to investigate the portal - and that way lay ruin for his own world. He didn't particularly care about other Elysians, but if they were all dead and roasting over an open fire to become Malaki lunch, who would he shake down for his money?

Getting off the damn boat proved to be more of a challenge than expected. Chinyelu trees were far taller than even the giants of the Fae, so the harpies had to park in what served as a clearing in these parts (which was merely an area of jungle where smaller trees grew and not an actual clearing) and rig up a series of gangplank 'bridges' connecting the skyboat to the sturdiest of the upper branches.

“This is a freaking death trap, is what it is,” complained one of the men attempting to knee his way across while carrying a sack of the flour Jericho hoped to sell. Mystrider cuisine had been shockingly lacking in bread and pastry the last time he was here.

“What are you whining about, Billy? It's just a bridge.”

“All right for you, Nin, but you can turn into a freaking monkey.”

“Not while I'm lugging this lot about, now can I? Grow a pair, already.”

Jericho put an end to the complaints quickly. “If you're having difficulties, I could just push you off. You'll get down faster that way. Or you can stay aboard and forsake your share of the proceeds?” He smiled; "Billy" gulped and scurried across as if he had suddenly grown wings or the 'bridge' was a mere foot above the ground.

Turning to watch the rest of the men carry their cargo off the boat, Jericho eyed Alistair. The other Peteulanus seemed similar to Jericho in taste and style, so they had been able to discuss inane things on the journey, such as their favourite tailors. Jeri had nudged around the outer edges of the man's mind a few times, but either he was a straight-up go-with-the-flow kind of guy, had exceptional mental shields, or just hadn't been thinking of anything nefarious while Jericho was poking. Of course, it was difficult to get to the goods without tipping his hand, and he still wasn't sure who the man even was. Rather than spear in and give himself away, he tried to sneak and peek. The process was slow and frustrating, but it wasn't like Alistair was going anywhere.

“Mister Beaumont. Shall I give you the tour?” Jeri straightened his sunglasses (for once, he actually needed them. The sun was almost as harsh up here above the canopy as it had been in the Badlands) and his tie. It was damnably hot and humid to be wearing such formal gear, but he was here as a businessman and he needed to correct the dirtied, exhausted impression the Mystriders had of him from their last encounter. “Now, the Mystriders are an odd bunch but so far have proven the friendlier of the locals. If all goes well here, we'll be meeting a lot more of them; I'm hoping that, in addition to setting up regular trade with these Vynett...ians that they put us in touch with other villages. Ah, take that sack across with you, would you?”

[Alistair]

Alistair was glad that the morning they had set off, he had abandoned the tie and dress shoes for a nice coat and comfortable military boots. He could probably scale a mountain in them, they had lots of grip and if he needed to flee he could definitely 'burn rubber', if by rubber you meant the soles of his boots. He watched Jericho bark orders at the two men, his face expressionless but attentively watchful, especially to how he used the concept of money to get his own way. Now that they were further into the journey, Alistair was more excited, and worried, about the idea of the adventure itself than the profit he would, or would not, make from it.

That was why he wanted money in the first place, so he could say a cheerful goodbye to the undignified job of bounty hunting, and become an adventurer, an explorer. Sometimes, he wished he had someone to share in his adventures and profits, a nice girl who wouldn't belittle him, like his sister did, or be awful to him. It was a long shot to wish for that, but in the past he hadn't exactly picked nice girls, and they'd always ended up as unkind or unfaithful. Such was Alistair's luck.

As he followed Jericho, he raised an eyebrow when he was asked to unload the sack, but slung it over his shoulder regardless, following. The problem with being a 'Varian was that one's sept was instantly known because of the eye colour, and Alistair's ocean blue eyes weren't the most discreet. That being said, although they knew his sept, what they didn't know was that he was training (failingly) to obtain some basic skill in the martial arts. What a surprise that would be when he attempted to karate chop them in the face!

But, enough digression on Alistair's part, he thought as he zoned back into reality and followed Jericho. He hadn't really been listening, he thought as he placed the sack on top of a sturdy looking barrel, and thought it high time he ought to say something. “Will they be willing to set up regular trades with us?” he asked, genuinely thoughtful this time. “And even if they are, what do they have to trade that's worth taking back to Elysia?” In his head, he pictures shinies and gems and jewelery. Mmm, shinies.

[Jericho]

Jericho eyed Alistair with a speck more respect. The Peteulanus was considering things that many Elysians didn't, things Jeri thought of almost by instinct now. Perhaps it was their hoarding instinct that made them look for the profit above all else. Either way, he could see potential in the man as an ally where he generally found others just irritated him.

“I haven't found anything concrete, yet,” he answered the last question first. “When we were here before, they used something to treat very severe injuries that would have caused long-term problems even for our own potions, so that was one of the things I wanted to bargain for.” He didn't think he was giving away too much with that. If Alistair was here to steal business from him, the man would have to first find a way to see the spines in action. Mystriders were friendly, but Jeri already had an established relationship with them so he was banking on that putting him ahead of anyone else. “And I am quite certain they can be... convinced.” Convincing was part of his job, after all.

They had spiralled down the tree on to a platform where a small group of Mystriders were waiting to greet them. Mostly children, by the looks of it, though even they were accompanied by dragons. The youngest, a boy of maybe ten or eleven, was practically wearing a juvenile dragon who was curled around his legs and fluffing at his long hair with a turquoise tongue.

Jericho still couldn't understand the language but a couple of the younger adults had apparently begun to learn theirs, probably from the Adventurers or cartographers who had managed to survive their expeditions. They greeted Jericho's men in broken Elysian, all welcoming smiles and cheerful grins, their dragons flashing friendly colours. Then a familiar face popped up from a walkway that spiralled down from the platform they were on. “Alistair Beaumont, this is Aifric Ramsey, the cartographer who had accompanied us on our previous, shall we say, expedition? I hadn't realised you had returned, Aifric.”

The cartographer grinned and shook Jeri's hand, then held it out for Ninian and Alistair. “Oh, aye. Figured I'd continue efforts to bridge the communication gap. I've been mapping the jungle with their help.” He jerked his head at a couple of grown Riders whose dragons were curled around the thick branches overhead. “They showed me a couple of vantage points, helps you see stretches of the mountains for miles around. Still can't see what's in the trees, but they pointed out a couple of neighbouring villages, so I'll be heading there next. So what's up? After Rusty... Well, didn't think you'd be back, that's for sure.”

“Money,” Jericho announced, as if it would answer any and all questions related to his return. Aifric's head tilted back and his mouth formed a small "O" of understanding before he turned to Alistair with a nudge-wink of a smile.

“He's not got you running about the jungle looking for those spikes, has he? Trian?” Jericho gritted his teeth but said nothing, hoping his annoyance would not be obvious. He didn't want anyone realising how badly he wanted to corner the market on that stuff. “You know that stuff's dangerous, Jericho. They've been telling me about some of the side effects. Personally, I think death would be the better option.”