Helener Tudor yawned as she lay her poleaxe to one side for a second and stretched in the dull light of the foredawn.

The typically uneventful early morning shift was today being enlivened by the group of fancy-dan adventurers meeting at the West Gate prior to setting out. From her vantage point in the tower, Helener had a box seat to watch the preparations. They were all there now, although Helener noticed it was a different looking collection to previous expeditions into the wild. Seemingly they were all waiting for something, and she took interest in the way they all prepared.

The dwarf could not help but look different in his new armour, although if he looked uncomfortable or disappointed that his old dwarven made set had been consigned to the scrap heap he didn't show it, and as was as focused and jovial as ever.

The young, foppish lad, Tradden, had clearly been watching the guards' various routines in his time in Blackengorge, although she acknowledged that he had probably picked a few bits up from the dwarf Khalin, who was clearly martially trained, as almost all dwarves were. He now ran through his mantra, which included such actions as checking and rechecking his armour and fastenings. Helener thoroughly approved — better to find a weakness now than have it break in the heat of combat. He then went through some basic martial maneuvers, though nothing that would impress a drill sergeant or an old hand like Valino.

Previously there had been one or two ladies to see off Zero, which was not the case now — this time there were three or four. Helener gave them looks of pity.

To Helener, perhaps Kireth was the one who had changed the least — still a nasty looking bastard who you wouldn't mess with.

In time, a surprise strode up — Beltak, wearing an impressive looking set of chainmail armour. A shield was strapped to his back, and he was taking practice swings with a chunky mace. This was not, but clearly was, the clerical looking man which she had grown accustomed to. It appeared he was a replacement for the other cleric, she forgot the name, who was conspicuous by her absence.

He was met firstly by Tradden. ‘Welcome, Beltak!’ he slapped the scribe on the back, just a little too hard, jarring him and causing him to stumble forward. ‘Good to have you on board — not to worry, young fella, we will see you right!’

Beltak was about to respond to this — he was some years senior to Tradden after all, and his training was far more than scribing, despite that being where he felt comfortable. ‘All hail Pelor,’ he said weakly, still smarting from Tradden's “attacks”.

‘Yes, quite! That's the spirit!’ replied Tradden, stalking away to carry on with his preparations.

The guard watched with interest as the foppish lad wandered to the gate and turned to face his group, drawing his sword and holding it aloft. ‘All set? Then onwards!’

The dawn light flashed on Tradden's blade, spilling golden shafts onto the area at large. The young fighter thought it was a nice effect. Helener thought he looked a prat.

The group set forth.