Tristan smiled when he was greeted by people he had known. Survivors were a sight for sore eyes, in this desolate and cold wasteland. He had no doubt that they're were other survivors out there, but if they had wandered into the wilderness the probabiltiy of surviving is close to none.
Seven were now sitting by the fire. Five of them he had known, and by the looks of it a colonial mage, and a young man of currently unknown affiliation. He had smiled when Garret greeted him for Tristan had often made it habit to mingle among the common soldiers, and on more than one occasion join in the revelry.
Growing up on the stories of Joen’s Rouges it was an absolute honor to finally meet the great Orian. He didn't get giddy however for he was still sombre from the recent event. Soon after the great strategist had arrived Alexis, a knight belonging to the same order as Tristan, walked in with a man who was worse for wear leaning against her.
As the people had congregated to the campsite, the Ragpicker rummaged through her goods to whip up some food. She had found a large pot, along with some sausages, potatoes, vegetables, and a few loaves of bread. "Any of ye hobknockers going to help an old lady cook. Ack! Ack! We have plenty for some good stew."
Tristan gave a single fleeting smile at this, until he had heard Lord Russvik and Val bickering. They were both Inquisitors, but probably from different sects. Tristan didn't bother to understand the hierarchy that had created itself within the Church, for he didn't care much for the Inquisition. He stood up, not being able to stand the squabbling any longer.
"Both of you stand down", being a relative to the king had it's perks, "In the past eve I have seen enough death to last me a thousand lifetimes, so by the Gods sheath your weapons. There need not be any reason for any more death this morning."
The snow was falling gently but heavily, each snowflake evaporating once they hit the campfire. The road down south would be treacherous, even with a party of six Imperials. Still standing he stared out into the gray horizon, as if he had just sprang an epiphany.
"I've decided. We're taking these surviving colonials in as 'prisoners of war'. Traveling down south is a three day journey through thick winter and Gob territory, so we'll need all the help we can", Tristan continued although he had thought that maybe his idea was unwise, "We will treat them with utmost hospitality for I, a true Knight of the Lion, can not leave them here to fend for themselves. Furthermore, we will part ways at the first town we reach; free to destroy one another some other day."
The Ragpicker gave an assuring nod, since she obviously wasn't the type to let pride get in the way of survival, "There be a house a day down the road. A young lady lives there. She's is usually by herself and lonesome, but she'll give ye lot of motley misfits shelter, that I can be sure of.
The plan was coming together, and the first thing that Tristan had thought of was the golden city and all of its splendor. His mother kissing him on the cheek as he set out on another average day. He thought about home, and how badly he wished to be back. "Liaman, Val, please heal all of the wounded. We'll be leaving in the next hour."