[Cyrus Marius]

The young legionnaire reached up and adjusted the straps that rested on his left shoulder, shifting them into a more comfortable position as he walked towards the boats. On his back hung a small rucksack with rations taken from Darkblade Fortress, spare and lean sustinence but enough to last him the journey, as experiance had taught him. Also inside the bag rested several tools and pieces of equipment he had appropriated from the Imperial storerooms, tools that would aid in his ascent up the rocky terrain of the Khardran Mountains. Over this all rested the legionnaire's Black Shield, a moderate sized steel round shield enamled black as night, and Cyrus wore it on his back with the strap across his chest. The added weight of his travelling supplies and shield meant that he couldn't cross the terrain quite as quickly as he had in his previous journey, however he would now be in mountains instead of rolling, open plains, and the need for haste would be replaced with the need for preperation and planning.

Aside from this, the soldier was garbed in two layers of the Legion's drab-gray, woolen labor clothing. The sleeves reached to his black-gloved hands, and the leggings were tucked into the tops of his thick, wool lined black boots. The emblem of the Imperial Legions was emblazoned over the heart of his tunic, but there would already be no mistaking the ten man team's affiliation or purpose in the mountains, so there was no need to sacrifice the warmth and protection of the thick shirt to hide the crest. No cloak hung from Cyrus' shoulders, for it would only hinder him in the windy heights of the mountains, but a black leather sword belt hung with comfortable and practiced ease around the young legionnaire's hips. On it, at his left hip, hung his eldritch longsword, Karvaaka, and at his right hip he wore a plain, non-discript dagger also taken from the Imperial stores. His mass of golden hair had been drawn tightly back and woven into a single braid that hung beneath his tunic.

As always, Pandora strode as silently as a shadow by her bondmate's side. Many of the men cast glances out of the corner of their eyes at the ferocious wolf beast, russet fur turning the color of blood in the rays of the rising suns, but none would question Cyrus on the beast's presence. There was something about watching the young legionnaire with his wolf that spoke of the close bond between the two, and though none knew why, none need question either.

To a man, his team of soldiers was dressed and armed much as Cyrus himself was. They had each benefited from the experiance the young legionnaire brought back with him from his prior adventure, and it would prove invaluable in the comming mission. The men each had only enough supplies to sustain their physical needs on the journey there and back, as well as the climbing tools they would need and clothing sufficient for the elements they would experiance in the foothills and mountains. They did not wear any cloaks or carry any superfluous gear aside from their longswords, and they did not wear their shields either, for that was for Cyrus alone. The young officer had spent many darkenings training with and talking with the men, his close ties with his infantry roots endearing him to the soldiers, and he had learned which among them was best suited to the mission ahead. Some had come from mountain regions and knew what to expect from the land, others had the skills and experiance gained through the violent history of the province, and had simply become very accustomed to watching the horizan for the hated Orcs. All had been chosen because of their skill and promise, but two in particular were very important to the mission.

Durin Temira, the Dracon shapeshifter, and the magi called Kirthin. As Cyrus strode up to where Eyvind stood with the Vagaran boatmen and directed the mage over his way, the young legionnaire immediately began to appraise the spellcaster. Kirthin was an Esh'lahier elf, and he appeared to be a relatively young adult, though it was often difficult to determine with the long-lived race. He was entirely bald, bereft even of eyebrows, and his elongated ears stuck up noticably on either side of his lean, drawn face. His expression was severe and his gaze held the intense, unshakable focus of the insatiable scholar, the man who was as fierce in his library as Cyrus was on his battlefield. He held tight to an ebony staff in his delicate fist, decorated with feathered charms and talismans, and topped with a crystal bauble clutched in a feminine hand. He wore thick, voluminous robes of black and purple, chastened with silver runes at the cuffs and borders, and an ornate, golden-hilted dagger was thrust through the silken cord around his waist that bound his robes together. On the whole, he was entirely unlike what one would expect of a magi in the service of the Imperial Mage Corps, and Cyrus made a mental note to question the spellcaster later in the journey.

To his amazement, Kirthin's bald head turned towards him and his amethyst-colored eyes locked onto Cyrus' single orb.

"Do not worry, Cyrus Marius. I will tell you all you wish to know."

For a moment, the young legionnaire only stared in surprise and suspicion at the magi, however a smile soon grew across his features and he nodded once in appreciation.

"My thanks, Kirthin. It is good to have you with us."

The elf mage nodded, then gathered together his robes and gingerly stepped into the waiting boat and took a seat near the back, glancing towards the grim and determined soldiers that filed in after him and took their own seats beside the Vagarans that would be navigating the river. Before climbing into the boat himself, Cyrus walked up to the Vagaran sailors in charge of each boat, and he handed each of them a copy of a map drawn the previous evening; a copy of the records kept by Ehrin Talinnar on their last journey. He then moved them all over to where Eyvind stood in his boat, and he addressed all three Vagarans at once.

"Here," he said to them all, "is a record of the Dark River, it's turns and bends, where it grows wide and narrow and where the current is strongest, and here is where we decided would be best for our teams to seperate." He concluded, pointing a long finger at the section of the Khardran foothills he and his companions had turned back from. "Up to this point, there is very little cover, so haste will have to be our priority to avoid detection. The Orcs have cut down the forests and the trees, so their scouts and riders will have ample opportunity to see us if we linger exposed. From this point Eyvind, your team can head south along the foothills or through the Great Wood, and come at the Castellum from the north or the east. My team will continue into the mountains, and we will find access to the western range. No matter what else, we must get our information back to our forces in Taralon."

Cyrus' sapphire eye rose to Eyvind's face, memories of their blood-drenched mission in Old Prime flashing across the young legionnaire's mind. The red-haired Vagaran had remained true to his principles of never leaving a man behind and had gone after the body of a slain Shield Daekin, however it had been at an increased risk to the mission, and had even almost cost their ally Kella Greeran her leg.

"No matter what, Eyvind, we must get our forces the intelligence they need to win this war. No matter what."

Cyrus knew he could trust the Vagaran however, the Daekin had always proven himself a stalwart and courageous soldier and his valor was beyond reproach. The young legionnaire softened his statement with a small, friendly smile, and he clasped Eyvind on his shoulder warmly.

"I'll see you up river, my friend."

The young soldier then turned and strode back to the boat that held his team, the Dracon Durin, and the elf mage Kirthin. He stepped lightly onto the shifting wooden planks and took a seat by the bald magi. Hopefully the details of the River that he had provided the navigators with would aid them in reaching their destination swiftly and safely, but Cyrus was ready for anything the future held in store for him and his men.