Camp of the Reavers, Winterfell.

[LillyanaKabal]

Elis Hawk
Captain of the Reavers, and skilled archer amongst her men. Few actual battles under her belt, but many smaller missions of recon and pathfinding, currently looking for work, and the betrayers.
Traits: Battle (+3)
Logictician (+3)
Pathfinder (+3)

Currently hired by the Crown
Small guild

Numbers;
900 Longbowmen
1,000 Archers
200 Light Infantry
300 outriders
300 Night Watchmen
Additions;
Map Room [+1 to Field/Naval battles]

[Pericles of Athens]

Lord Stark arrives at the head of Winterfell's professional forces. Mercenaries had never been welcome in the North, he wasn't about to allow a band of lunatics to march all about the lands of his forefathers.

[LillyanaKabal]

Elis saw the arrival of Lord Stark, and dispite the glares from the Reavers in her room, went out to meet him. If the Lord of Winterfell was an enemy, then they were pretty much screwed either way. She struck a strange figure, beauty and kempt hair meshed with her armour and the sword by her side. Her darkly clad men watched subtly from the window, a presence that would have been hard to detect if nobody pointed it out.

"Greetings, Lord Stark. What brings you to my Camp?" She asked. A tang of so many accents displaying her far-traveled nature, but The North was most predominant amongst them. Weither it was just her Polygoltic nature trying to win companionship, or she was an actual native of The North, however, was up for debate.

[Pericles of Athens]

My lady, I hope the summer months are treating you well. Stark replied, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Ice was slung upon his back, fur poked out from the seems and joint points on his armor. Now tell me, what are you doing on Northern land? He had an angular face, rather than the usual long face of Stark men. His deep gray eyes peered out at Elis.

[LillyanaKabal]

Elis shrugged slightly at the comment of the summer months treating her well.
"It is more comfortable in the North, my Lord. I can't handle the Southern climate very well. Perspiring is way up with getting stabbed and eating olives in my list of things I dislike" She then turned slightly somber at the request of what she was doing on Northern lands. "I...well. My father recently died, and he always held the North in his heart, even when he was off in the south, fighting against Maelys and the Golden Company. So when he passed away I brought him here to be buried in the embrace of the Old Gods. And while here, I thought I'd spend a few weeks just being here. I'll go south if there is Dragons in it, but currently there are no Dragons for me in the South, so I'm here instead"

[Pericles of Athens]

Mercenaries are not welcome in the lands of my forefathers. He replied. Anyone who would sell their sword for a dragon is no man at all. He let his hands come to rest at his waist. Your father can be buried, to rest among the ancestors in the shadow of the gods. But I cannot allow you to stay here, not in Winterfell and not in the North.

[LillyanaKabal]

Elis flicked her eyebrows as he called her a man. Maybe it was just a term, and he was not used to dealing with women other than the bedroom, like most of the snot-nosed bratling Lords were.
"Well, unless age is making your eyesight fail, I am no man to begin with. And would you prefer that we all went bandit and brigand instead? Because that is usually the only two choices avalible to anyone who would join a Mercenary Company like mine. Stealing, looting, pillaging, taking what we wanted and then some, rather than offering a service like any other" She looked to continute, but then just smiled. "In fact, you've inspired me. Why am I wasting my time selling my bow to lords who just think of me as cattle. I could just take my men and steal everything, with no lord to follow. Thank you Lord Stark, you have truly inspired a change of heart in me" She said, turning her back and heading into the camp. It was unclear how serious she was, but a dark cloud had decended across the whole camp. Quivers were attached where no quiver was before, swords strapped on, and shields subtly picked up. Nobody was making an attack yet, but they were more...preparing for a reaction.

[The Mad Skylord]

A man arrives to the camp. He wants to see the Captain.

[LillyanaKabal]

The man was led to a large tent, where he was greeted by an obvious veteran of war. A scar down his right face showed one eye cloudy and useless, and the sleeveless shirt revealed a half-dozen old blade cuts across his arms. He looked every bit what one would expect a Mercenary Captain to look.
"Garrick Saal. Now, I assume you are not in this camp just for the sights. What can I do for you?"

[The Mad Skylord]

The man smiled mirthlessly. "I have a job for you. There's a lord I need dead. Lorys Estermont. He rules Hadlow Keep. I'd like you to ambush his retinue and him, kill them all and make it look like a bandit attack. We are willing to offer you 17'000 Dragons for this job."

[LillyanaKabal]

Garrick nodded at the request. And the suddeness of it, no formality, no introduction, no...anything.

"We can do that. But first I need some insurance. See, we aren't stupid, around here. We pull this off, you point your finger at us, we all get executed for murdering a Lord, you get to keep your Dragons and your rival is dead in a ditch somewhere. We aren't going to as much as string a bow until we get something that can garantee your continuted silence in this matter. If you would take a suggestion, you could write us a letter of command in our Cipher. A few captains ago, we all go drunk and he got a brilliant idea for a cipher, so our letters are practically incomprehensible to anyone who doesn't have the key"

[The Mad Skylord]

"Nothing written, not in code or anything. There can be no link to who I am or who I work for. Rather, I'll pay you half upfront and remain at this camp under guard until you perform the task, when I will give you the second half of the cash."

[LillyanaKabal]

Garrick stared for a moment, but before he could say anything else, a beautiful woman walked into the tent. Camp Follower, from the looks of her. Maybe a seemstress, or someone who washed the clothes.
"Who's this?" She asked, frowning softly at the new man.
"He wants us to kill someone. Lord Lorys Estermont, apparently. Refuses to take a ciphered letter as protection against the blow-back of murdering a Lord" Garrick replied, in a polite tone. The woman smiled, friendly at him, and then returned to Garrick. "Has he been offered tea?" she asked. The original idea of a seemstress was losing ground. Maybe a personal assistant from the way she spoke.
"No, he was all business. Never got around to the asking. So, Mister Ghost, care to have some tea? We Reavers can not trust any man who will not share our tea"

[The Mad Skylord]

"I've always preferred the coffee of Essos, but I'll take some, thank you.

Understand that I cannot give my name, this is a risky move for myself and my house, I can stay here as a guarantee, and I can pay you upfront, but I cannot tie this mission to my House, not even through a ciphered letter. My Family has children to think of, and we are not exactly high on the list of people to know in the Stormlands at the current moment in time. We cannot risk another blow to prestige."

[LillyanaKabal]

Garrick smirked at the man as he spoke.
"And yet you tell me you are from the Stormlands, and your family has children, and you are not a prestigious household, one that has in recent to semi-recent years done something that has lost esteem in the eyes of others. With all this, you might as well give me your name, for the infomation you have provided me with. If you wish to be a true ghost, you should speak of nothing. You have no family, you have no home of origin, you have nothing. You, Mister Ghost, do not exist in this world. Physical presence not withstanding. You are a shite ghost. But I shall drink with you none the less. There may be some coffee in the carts. Mercenaries though we may be, we are not begrudged to a bit of trading while we travel" he nodded to the woman, who left to prepare the brew.

"If this was a dance, you would be on your arse right now. So, will you carry on trying to tote your cloak of anonmity, even though it has more holes than that strange Riverland Cheese. Or will you put cards on the table?"

[The Mad Skylord]

The "Ghost" spoke dryly. "My cloak of anonymity may have holes, but you are in no place to expand upon them. Many houses in the Stormlands have children, have lost prestige and have done something to damage their esteem. You could name any one of them and, in reality, it would be easily denied. You have hearsay, however if I actually tell you my name you will have proof. But for the benefit of the game we shall say my name is Ser Cole."

[LillyanaKabal]

"It's easy to claim that when I have no real knowledge of the Stormlands. Like I can claim every Northen Lord eats the hearts of his enemies, and their ladies give birth in the snow-covered fields so their children grow up acclimatized to the snow" The beautiful girl came back into the tent, with two cups. One a deep black, with a strong aroma hiding the invisible, lethal addition, and the other a light brown. She handed the coffee to the man, and the tea to Garrick, who raised it to his ghost friend.
"We drink! And then we will further discuss this Lord. The more we know of his habits, the easier it shall be to send him to the Great Lord of Death!"

[The Mad Skylord]

Ser Cole quaffed his coffee, before describing all he knew of Lord Lorys. "Hadlow Keep is a hereditary position. Lord Lorys is the Warden of the Stormroad, it is his duty to keep is free of bandits and brigands. I know little of the man himself, save he is the brother of Baelor Estermont and that he is unmarried."

[LillyanaKabal]

Seconds after he drunk his coffee, the atmopshere changed within the tent.
"Ass. Well, he's not our problem anymore. I'm going to go see Donnel about this. Pretty sure trying to hire mercenaries to kill off your rivals is illegal. Otherwise he wouldn't be so shadowy about it. Anyone tries to get into the camp, send them off. If they push the point or sneak in later, shoot them" she ordered, before turning to leave the tent. "And enjoy the tea. I hope it's brewed proper"