Abbas rose from his bed inside of his tent and made a long stretch. Ain was asleep on the other side of the room, clutching her pillow underneath her head as if holding onto something for dear life. Abbas smiled at his daughter and gently kissed her head as he continued to get ready. Though most would find it offensive for a daughter to sleep in the same tent as her father, he was not about to let the pretty little thing out of his sight.

Abbas was about fully dressed when he could feel eyes upon him. Abbas simply smiled, "Good Morning, Raiden," said Abbas without turning around.

Raiden, as usual, had made a silent entrance. Abbas had become accustomed to Raiden that he could almost feel him whenever he was nearby. The tall former native was quite the impressive man. Standing at six foot tall, and his long black hair with just a small hint of grey in it, was all that showed his somewhat advanced age. But if you watched him fight, you would never guess that he was much older than 20. That is if you got a clear look at him at all.

"There is someone approaching the camp, it looks like a prospective customer for Gregor Tibus," Abbas dare not question Raiden's instincts. Though Raiden was no merchant, Raiden had learned how to read people. He had learned that there was a certain way people moved that showed their intentions.

"How quaint," Abbas said as he brought his goatee out from his satchel that he kept at the side of his bed and placed it carefully on his face. The mask that he had grown so accustomed to fit him like a glove. He could fool his own brother with this get up sometimes. The facial hair seemed to add something to the thief's arrogance as he placed on himself. It made him look more like the pompous Thiasans that he seemed to resemble so much.

Show our guest to the main tent. Tell him I will be there shortly," Abbas instructed as he decided to change his clothes for the properness of the occasion. Choosing a black jacket with a green Venetian shirt with his black trousers. He examined himself in the mirror and smiled.

The main tent, or reception's tent, had nothing of value in it until Abbas' servants were instructed to bring items in. Abbas wondered what this client might be wanting.

Bernard eyes darted about uneasily as he strode swiftly along the Oran River toward the tent of Gregor Tibus. He had heard this merchant carried weapon, and though he was not likely to be able to afford them, he was determined to obtain some. He had plans to make, sweet vengeance to obtain, people to murder; all required weapons. He was almost giddy at the thought of it, then consumed with rage.

He savagely bound forward, his madness growing with his impatience, but his weariness began to rapidly grow and overcome him, this also inflamed his rage. He had not slept and ate very little since he had seen his daughter. The Sergeant defending her had tripled the affect on him. He had become a fountain of insanity after this offense, wearing himself out with anger. He would not easily be able to get his daughter now, not under the Sergeant's protection.

“Can’t even beat my own daughter!” He growled to himself, striking his leg with a knife out of anger. He had often resorted to self-infliction to expel his anger; he had no daughter to beat, anymore. He staggered for a moment, but continued as if unaffected; his anger fighting his weariness, his pain driving him forward. Strength began to return, this injury was her fault as well, and she would suffer for it.

When arrived at the camp, and was shown into the main tent where waited impatiently, pacing back and forth. His leg was slightly bloody from the wound, and his clothes were discolored from it, and slightly wet, but it could be mistaken for an old stain. He looked around disapprovingly with resentment. He wanted very much to see the fool, get the weapons, and leave so he could continue his plot.