Welcome to Gaia! ::

Twyla hadn't quite known what to expect of Rokva, but she hadn't thought that it could be so big. There were more people by the main gate than there were in her entire village. Just the sound of them all nearly sent her reeling. Thankfully a man in armor who she assumed to be a soldier was able to direct her to the king's recruitment table. Otherwise she would be well and truly lost.

The temptation of the market nearly drew her in, but Twyla circled far around it knowing that if she started looking at the unfamiliar wares she would be distracted by them for hours. And at any rate, there would be more thieves than she could keep away from her mule. She hadn't hauled all this medicine here just to have it stolen. As it was, she'd had to fend off quite a few wandering hands. Once she got her directions, Twyla headed straight for the table.

The line was fairly short when she arrived and she had a very clear view of the odd group of people that had gathered near it. She couldn't quite tell what their roles were to be, but it was easy to see that none were prepared to treat the the aftermaths of the battles they hoped to fight. She truly hoped she wasn't the only healer. She wasn't equipped to heal them all. When her turn came, she noticed that nearly everyone had a second name. If her parents had ever had one, they hadn't seen fit to tell her before they died. She signed simply "Twyla" and the name of her village, "Daine".

This was... well it should've been anticipated, Fyrin figured, but somehow he'd missed that that might be a problem. Back home covering the face was assumed, lest you discover the sand had removed all the skin from your nose. That had always made the mark easy to hide.

"...Skin?" Fyrin suggested, then shook his head, anticipating the response. "Right, right." He unbandaged his face, revealing the branded X, the red raised scar standing out against pale skin. He wished a bit that he'd shaved, but really, what good would that have done him? Fyrin considered just explaining what it meant. Perhaps the man knew already. Still, it didn't make sense to tell too much. It wouldn't reveal the depth of his crime, but then he'd never been branded for that.

Fyrin considered the question carefully. It'd not been easy getting here. He'd pretty much given up everything he'd spent years gathering and nearly killed himself walking. All for what, precisely? It was an amorphous concept, difficult to express, harder to justify. Still, it could be summed up.

"Penance," Fyrin responded, standing nearly motionless, eyes meeting the ascetic's. He thought there might be something to add to it, something to further what he meant, but it simply wasn't there, so he stopped. Who was this man, he wondered, who had authority to do this? Did he have this authority? Who was actually in charge? More importantly, why hadn't he asked himself this earlier? The Prince, bold and young as he might be, was already surrounded by advisors. So was this the man who really ran the empire? Was it the knight? Did Trimley actually hold dominion? He'd have to start watching that, too. To what end, he didn't know; it just needed to be seen.

Erick gazed over the quill and parchment cautiously. He had hoped to avoid this situation, but his impatience got the better of him. He set his shield and spear upon the table to liberate his left hand for steadying the page and took a quill. He stared for a moment at the page with a perplexed look, recalling his writing lessons. After a short delay he scrawled "Erick" in barely legible penmanship. Pausing again he scratched in "William's son" and "Dornshir, Laud."

As he returned the quill to an inkwell and retrieved his gear, he had to look twice to process what he was seeing: the young lady, Twyla, who had arrived during his duel with the pen.
"Y'can't be thinkin' of joining!" He gasped without thinking, examining her petite frame and apparent lack of armament.

Otter's smile returned as the boy copied his name, misspelled it. Though that's how it was on the title so the mistake was more his own fault than the prince's. Still is was a slight amusement, and great relief, to see the boy calm so easily. By the time Trimley looked up from the paper to ask for a shorter name the pirate was back to grinning and tipped a nod for the question, "Course, mainlanders is always stumblin over tha dialect. Jus call me Otter if it better fits yer tongue," he left out the usual 'fat' adjective he gave most other tongues having ruffled the royal feathers enough for one meeting.

When Dullahan questioned the new come girl Otter turned to give a glance at her then her copious baggage. He arched an eyebrow as he studied the packs listening to the exchange between her and the others. Then he laughed at her answer and flashed the general a wry grin, "I got a ship up harbor she can pack her gear inta ifin yer gonna turn a healer down her herbs."

Twyla grinned happily at the man who looked very much like a pirate. She wouldn't normally trust someone who looked so much like a ruffian, but if he'd signed onto the venture, his hide would be as much at risk as the rest of them if he sold her goods. "That would be lovely! I'll need to keep some things on hand, o' course. Yarrow, lavender oil, and bandages at the least, but them I can keep on me back with no problems at all."

She turned back to the armored man. "Assumin' all's right with you and yours, sir."

Erick's expression suddenly shifted from shock to intrigue as he examined the girl and her possessions more thoroughly. He heard the others among them speaking, but did not react. His attention was wholly captivated by the prospects of what he could learn through this campaign.
"So you're a healer? But if you got all these herbs and such, don't that make you a doctor? Didja go to the college of magic?" He inquired eagerly on the way to the ship, hovering somewhat obtrusively around the small girl and waving his free hand about energetically. He could probably have answered some of his questions himself, but his curiosity overtook his thoughts.

Twyla's eyes grew wide at the sight of the king. She didn't know his face, but the description fit. She realized then that she had no idea how to address a king. Sometimes hedge knights and minor lordlings passed through Daine and they would give you a smack on the ear if you didn't say their titles right, so she knew them, but royalty was an entirely different matter. "Thank you, Your Majesty, M-M'lord, sir, 'tis an honor to help."

The sailors unpacking her supplies was a relief. She wasn't quite sure how she would have gotten them onto the ship otherwise. Likely similar to the way she'd gotten them onto the animals in the first place. Twyla followed the sailors as she was told, leaving her horse and mule where they were. Somebody would find a good use for them.

She grinned at Erik - if she'd read his name properly - and walked alongside him. "I learned to use both magic and the herbs 'cause you can run out of energy or the right kind of flower just when you need it. All the coin in me village wouldn't've been enough to send me to the college, but there's a woman - we call her Old Sallis - who's been and she's the one who taught me. Why do you ask?"