Mazarien had all his belongings straped to his back, which has been the usual on the last few months, although enjoying the celebration, he did so in a more reserved way, which one could be unsure if because of his different culture, or due to the fact of being completely out of place in the west, maybe a bit of both, but even that didn't stop him from displaying a smile or two while lifting mugs of ale with his newfound companions and the rest of the "brothers".

Come the morning of their journey, Mazarien was up early and ready to depart after tidying up the place he was offered to sleep, having no bond to say goodbye to, he stood next to one of the wagons, wearing his brass-colored chainmail and with his polearms straped to his back, standing in attention and waiting for the others, greeting them with a quick nod as they approach, almost militarly.