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Rook resumes his place at the caravan and has a small block of cheese and a hardboiled egg to get his strength back. He continues watching. Always.

Justinian very calmly resumes the village square, and waits for the village headman or mayor in the all-but-throne to notice him, Homer still in tow this whole time. "Our caravan will be leaving momentarily. Please pardon the intrusion. But they are my friends. So please make it known if the pr...

"The mouthy one and a cohort attempted to set fire to a portion of the caravan with a casque of lamp oil. I followed them and stopped them from being able to do it but I was not able to apprehend them. I was going to ask questions. But I'm beginning to think we might be best served simply movin...

"I think the Townies already favorably await our departure. I have work to do beforehand."
The Rook sheathes his greatsword, and leads Homer back toward the village square to have a little chat with the village headman

He steps in the way of the one that throws the cask and hacks his torso from his legs. I don't remember what my attack bonuses are. He directs the caravan guards swarming out to "GET the bastard!" pointing at the one running. "They were going to burn us!! Drag his ass back here!!"...

Rook casually pulls his greatsword, follows them until they're too committed to turn back, then bellows,

"TO ARMS! TO ARMS! THIEVES!! THE CARAVAN IS UNDER ATTACK!!"

And very calmly cuts off their escape. "I knew you'd be here. Eventually."

The Rook has no problem keeping his distance. But he keeps tailing these men and boys, curious to see who they're meeting, curious also what they will do when they inevitably discover him following them. As of now he trails them and waits for his moment. It'll come.

Seeing Navi has dismounted the mule, Justinian sets his jaw and leads Homer around the crowd to follow after the two companions of the bandaged man, popping the snap on the scabbard of his greatsword. Time to Operate.

Though silent, Rook's eyes dare the three familiar faces to try something, his whole posture promising to do more than slash them. The other thing he watches is Ferric, who can take care of himself for sure, but might attract more dissidents.
Anything can happen.
It better fucking not.

Rook leads Homer by the rope and looks big and grim. "Anything can happen. But it better not."

"Hey..." Rook says to Navi. "You look really light. You should ride Homer. It'll give you a better vantage point if you have to shoot."

"He's my mule, his name is Homer, and he's worth more than you're paying me," he murmurs, distracted. "There you go, Homer. You don't gotta carry me yet. Let's go pretend we're inspecting stuff."

"Never could resist a good shield wall, Sarge, even made of one soul. But I'm not sure Homer is ready to work yet. Huh Homer? Get the poor thing something to eat first." Throughout the rest of the day, Justinian keeps hand on Homer's rope, never leaving the creature, finding things to feed...

"It's okay Homer. Strong boy." Rook lets the Priestess tend the mule. Homer. Is it even the poor creature's name? Or was it the owner's? Or the leatherworker that made the bridle? Somehow it didn't matter. A name like that showing up while he was ruminating about the concept of 'home' was ...

Legion gear being the best, Rook begins to make a tally. Armor. Weapons. Provisions. Ammunition. Wages. Shoes. Teeth. Some mystic would want their hair. There was a time he might have been darkened by picking over a field of dead. Like the first time he woke up alive on a battle that had gone like t...