My Second Life Is A Heroic Power Fantasy 132 Preparing For Departure Part 8

When he'd first returned, Farien, Urien, and Abigail all gave Jack cryptic glances as they appraised his new armor and other gear, but said nothing of it when they spoke to him. Only Farlo seemed to acknowledge the changes.

"You prepared?" He asked under his breath as he sidled up next to Jack.

"As well as I can be." Jack said, watching one of the smiths at work. "Your advice about my axe was useful. Thank you."
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"Good. Within the hour, we're having a gathering of all of those who will be coming so we can go over final plans. They all know you're responsible for this attack being possible, so more than a few of them want to meet you." Farlo said.

"I'll do my best to impress." Jack said calmly, casting his glance sidewards to the old man.

The old man smirked and raised an eyebrow at his response, but said nothing.

Jack surveyed the clearing. Including him and Rose, all members of The Green Company, and the various adventurers who would be joining them, their numbers sat close to 50 strong, if he was counting everyone correctly. That was far more than he could have dreamed of, even earlier today. He couldn't help but be grateful for the help, even if they were, as Farlo and Urien had said, weren't really doing it for the same reason as him.

As the evening gathered, Farlo and Urien gathered everyone, and began making introductions. Every guild requested sent some of or all of their members, including the full roster of The Stout Brothers, who seemed to be a guild made entirely of burly, bearded men. The names and faces went by too quickly for Jack to catch most of them on the first pa.s.s. The only couple who were instantly unforgettable were the duo from the Circle of Seven. The woman in the pair was well over seven feet tall and built of layers of corded muscle beneath ruddy, olive green skin and coa.r.s.ely-st.i.tched layers of leather. Her intense gaze was all the more so because of her bright yellow eyes, and two tusks stood out from her lower set of teeth, giving her face the look of a permanent snarl. An orc, he guessed. Or, at least a half-orc. She wasn't nearly monstrous enough to be a pure-blood by any metric for orcs he was familiar with. Her hands and forearms were wrapped in knotted rope to form makeshift fighting wraps, telling everyone who saw her that her hands were most definitely the weapons she was taking into combat. Jack couldn't help but feel grateful to be on the same side as a woman that fearsome. The thought of staring her down as an enemy sent a shiver down his spine.

Perched on her shoulder sat the other part of this strange pair. He was a short, waifish creature, maybe three or three and a half feet tall, with utterly flawless skin the color of lavender, abnormally large, jewel-colored eyes, and a shock of bright orange hair cut in a mowhawk that stood up seemingly on its own. A gnome, Jack speculated. Apparently all of the fantasy races he was aware of existed here as well. The gnome wore a multi-colored outfit that looked built as much for aesthetic purposes as it was for functionality. Sitting in both of the gnome's small arms was a large crossbow, and across his back slung an equally large quiver of bolts.