Around the town center fire

A shapely woman, human, with pale skin, long black hair and baby blue eyes approaches the fire , examining the folks seated and nearby. Her attire is a chain mail bra and separate short skirt. It might be clear that she is perfectly clean and her chainmail all polished to perfection. on each hip, she carries two small weapons. In spite of her metal attire, she moves very quietly.
She seems to have something clearly on her mind as she peers at each person near.
Any who would greet her might notice that she could have been attractive physically , yet her demeanor is very matter of fact, and her speech devoid of compassion.
If none would speak to her first, she would speak, saying : " are there any here who understand and take seriously the idea of commitment?"

Only briefly did a tall, imposing female stand by the fire to use its natural light, checking her straps and the gear they connected and secured into place. Her expression was stoic, but darkened by ashen skin and molten onyx eyes. Some might recognize her as Lur, if they ever had the opportunity to obtain a rare introduction from her.

At the sight of the black-haired woman in skimpy, meager attire, the genasi gave her a scrutinizing once-over. By comparison, the only skin visible on the towering female was of her face, as Lur was suited shoulder to toe in the finest of heavy plate, a massive hammer hanging off one side of her belt. After the human's question, a snort followed.

"Perhaps you should first take armor seriously, and commit to proper attire before you inquire about such things."

The woman's face returns an emotionless look, which soon turns to a smirk , perhaps revealing a high self confidence and possibly an air of superiority.
" Really? ", she muses, eyeing up and down. " Outward appearances... Oh, do forgive me , perhaps I should have said 'Fashion' ... That is your perception depth of the qualities of a person denoting aspects such as loyalty... Honor... Dedication... Faith... And truth ... The things that make up the very fabrick of 'commitment'?".

Dannyl sits, perched on his usual haunt; one of the benches around the fire. He smokes, a blue haze hanging in a cloudy wreath around his head.

When the newcomer approaches, he looks up, a curious glint in his eye. As the two women begin to speak, he shifts his attention to them; casually eavesdropping as his pipe rests in his long, bony fingers.

"No," she answered flatly.

"One is not taken seriously when they wear shiny under-wear as armor, especially if they have intentions of talking about significant topics."

Clueless and not knowing what she is about to stumble upon, Sister Laura walks up to the fire and sets down on the bench with a set of knitting needles. She begins clicking away, just giving the others a smile. She does do a double take towards the chain attire, she isn't used to such...freedom. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she focuses on her knitting, not wanting to be rude.

She clicks along, keeping her head down for now.

"If this chain doth offend thee , I can always just peel it off ...", she answers , half joking. "But seriously, " * looking to the others gathered as well * " I find it rare in these lands that the spoken word... The Oath ... is considered a commitment to be honored. Seriously honored. Am I alone here in this way of belief?".
She looks around for response.

Laura looked up as she felt eyes upon her. She looked from one to the other, a bit lost and taking a moment to catch up on the conversation.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you are discussing. Which Oath?"

The black haired woman steps closer to the fire , the light now revealing a muscular , taught frame beneath the chain.
" Before a single stone was laid upon the ground , before a name had been given, out across the green vale , a promise was given. Not all ears that it fell upon cared for its worth , but , for some , it was the breath of new life. It was as sweet as fresh hope itself.
Those who gathered to it, answered with oaths of our own. And so it was born. Upon nothing more than spoken word, which was everything to those who hold words sacred, it was the forging of a culture, a clan, a life with purpose and a dream to be treasured.
And so, commitment was created out of the loneliness of silence. Now, the lost, broken, reviled and suffering were given a new dawn.
This was the Oath. "
She looks up at the sky a moment , with a gleam in her eyes, with hand over her heart.

Dannyl puffs on his pipe, wisps of smoke curling from the corners of his mouth as he sighs softly. For a moment; it looks as though he might speak up, but he catches himself and waits silently for one of the women to reply.

Laura listened to the woman, her lips parted with a long stare. She was trying to latch onto the familiar in her speech, she didn't know what oaths she was talking about. However, it seemed important. Laura licked her lips and set the knitting needles in her lap.

"Oh..." She replied quietly. "Well..um. I have a few...you see. I'm not certain which would be The Oath to you." She glanced around the fire to the others, her eyes gently asking for help, a clue, or a hint as to what she was missing.

Though Dannyl's eyes remain impassive, a tiny, wry smile tugs at the corner of his lips as Laura momentarily flounders. He still says nothing; just watching.

The woman does a sweeping appraisal of the group and smirks a moment to herself.
" I dont expect those who take offense at the body to be able to grasp this issue, and from what i see, no one else has a clue either. So, let me share a bit more with those who have half a mind that is awake.
There once were many who were wandering lost, fallen, broken. hurting, hated and circling ever further down into darkness. And a great many took pleasure in this. But there was one, who did not. There was one who shared our pains and had a chance to give purpose where there was none, to offer shelter, and clan where such things were taken away by fate. A promise was made that we came to depend upon, rally around, believe in, trust.
A leader who guides has a responsibility. A leader who serves has given a life for others. To betray that promise, is unthinkable, as it betrays many at once. To cast us all out into the cold with no warning, to reject us, is far more damaging and painful than if a stranger , or entire city does it. It is a betrayal of every one of the clan, and the clan must react accordingly to such a crime, for we have been shattered and all promises have fallen.
I am here on behalf of all who were betrayed. Does this make any sense to any here? "

A golden armored figure passes the fire stopping momentarily to listen to the scantly clad woman.
He steps forth. his golden armor glistening against the fire and his deep blue eyes gaze firmly at the woman's face

"Pardon mine interruption m'lady thou lament of hope forelorn and betrayal by he who should hath been trustworthy. mayhap i could help thee in some manner?"

She wasn't certain, but Laura had the feeling she was just insulted. She shifted her weight on the bench and frowned lightly. She didn't like not understanding this woman, she was beginning to feel stupid. She continued along, trying her best to follow along.

"Well, it's nice to meet you." She said softly. She was about to say more but she saw Elric walk up. A wave of relief smoothed over her eyes, he would be able to help her. She smiled at him.

(( wrong place . ))

"Well, what an interesting gathering we have here. High fine noble looking man in gold, to ( looks at the huntsman ) hmm , to this. A fine display of the mild and meek ( glances to Laura ), to the overly brazen and bold ( glances around to all the others ).
I have to admit, the culture that is normal to me may seem radical to others. I come from a clan where merit of the individual determines social position, not just born of certain parents. Rewards for all actions are doled out by any an all clan members, whether is advancement for success or punishment for foolery.
Some have expressed to me that i have no right to be judge of betrayal, that some silly trial is due, but i tell you, that i rightly stand as a member of the betrayed clan to dispense what is due, and i will. I seek any who is interested in gold to join my cause, for i am placing a righteous bounty on the criminal. I do not come here for approval nor disapproval , for the crime has already been done.
Are there any , who understand honor and oath, who would accept?"

At the woman's mention of offering gold, Dannyl's tiny smirk slides off his face.

"And here I thought she was going to be asking us for gold..." he mutters to himself, barely above a whisper.

He leans forward, the light from the fire creeping under his hood to illuminate sharp, curious features.

"A bounty?" As he asks, he tilts his head, examining the woman closely. "On who?"

"Tell me of this criminal and what he has done to thee and thine people. I will nay take thine coin but i shall aid thee if it is verily justice thou seek."

...the huntsman sighs under his thick hood, takes another sip of his spirits...

"You judge meek quickly,"

...he shifts in his seat as if favoring a leg,

"......I may look like a woodsman, but my trade, woman... my... expertise? Is perhaps exactly what you seek."

...with a slightly tired, perhaps bored expression and tone, he continues as if speaking to himself, maybe just a little sadly, uninterested in anyone's reaction as if what he says next is him laying down a fact without question of its merit...his voice is quiet and calm...

"I am. A hunts-man. And from what i've seen among these hills and valleys of late, perhaps the Huntsman. None other has shown in my... seasoned eyes... to deserve more than I the epithet."

...he pauses a little while, his voice never haughty or malicious, in fact his tone is quite soothing and respectful both to the group near the campfire and when spoken about himself.
He takes another long drink, wiping his chin politely with his sleeve, and continues....

sighing "...so tell me woman. Who.. shall I hunt? hm?"

"I think she was referring to me as the meek one." She said to the huntsman quietly, barely over a whisper as to not interrupt the others. She then fell silent and did not speak up about this bounty. Laura instead looked concerned. She did not like the idea of bounties, or calling people criminals, or having prices upon anyone. It made her feel unsettled and she shifted in her seat.

She kept herself busy in the conversation by tugging on her gloves and leaning over and fixing the hems of her skirts. Her hands delicately tugging at her robes, wrapping her cloak around her more tightly.

...with a low respectful nod, the huntsman grins nicely to Laura, the only noticeable part of his face under his hood being his mouth and chin...

"I hope you do not take that label in vain miss... they say... ye may... inherit the Earth..."

...he takes a quick swig of his bottle, wincing at its potency smirking slightly at his own wit. Finishing the bottle and placing it up over his head to drop with a clunk into the wagon. Clearing his throat quietly, he fishes through his shoulder bag a moment... producing a bottle that to those in the know may notice is an expensive vintage not found anywhere near Shadowdale, one would not assume just any common drunkard would either know of or spend the time or gold to aquire for a common drink. Tapping the bottom of the bottle, over a long time the cork suspiciously eases its way out enough for him to grip with his front teeth... popping out the cork, he sits it on his lap carefully, mumbles some very quiet words to himself, chuckling as he does...

He lifts the bottle up just a little towards the campfire...

"To your... .......health."

Eying the brew with a raised brow, Dannyl offers his smoldering pipe in a returned salute to the woodsman.

He keeps quiet, waiting for the odd woman to continue speaking, but he watches Tham speculatively out of the corner of his eye.