They had eyed Vol as he had entered as well, and they had looked at each other, on the point of refusing him. He had stood over them like a mammoth man, and they had seen the menacing tools of his craft hanging from his belt, in his hammer and in his axe, and indeed, he had looked far more villain than the heroic leader they'd hope for standing at the head of a gold mercenary band. But he was their leader nonetheless, they could find no reason to put into words as to why they might refuse him – save for their own fear of him.
They were made to wait, on the ground floor, for a time, muttering amongst themselves, planning their next course of attack, as the guardsmen pretended not to be looking their way, keeping their spears pointed straight upwards, as they kept their posts on the perimeter of the interior stone wall.
