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Madelgarde stood among the gathering, taking in the information the others offered. She would remember at least some of it, though she figured there was no need to memorize everyone's skills now. Once assigned to her smaller group, she would be able to get to know a smaller set of people. She felt confident having the other Swords around - while Madelgarde did not consider the civilian volunteers fully useless, she was a bit wary of their inclusion. Just as long as they did not have to rescue their own rescue party.

Resting one hand on the head of her hammer that hung at her belt, the firewoman dangled her helm from two fingers of her other hand and just listened for now. She had her doubts about being home in only a week, just because the Blackwood was, by its nature, unpredictable, but there looked to be enough Swords relative to civilians that Madelgarde was not particularly worried. No more worried than anyone would be, venturing into the forest. She had grown up outside the walls, and, much as her dear husband spoiled her, the woman liked to think that she had lost none of her hardness.

Becoming a Sword, and one who rushed into fires, had proved that, certainly.

Ulrich watched one by one as people began to list their professions and how they might be useful to their yet to be assigned groups. Dammit. He wasn't a hunter or a tracker or any kind of a healer, and he probably couldn't use a sword better than he might wield a stick, but the young man had come to the assembly with a need for money and that was what was driving him onward. Noting that he was standing near the stuttering Skyla he simply waited for her to finish before speaking on what he assumed was his turn.

"Ulrich Krupke, Messenger. I can't provide any skills other than the fact that I can run, but I'm used to being out in even the roughest weather and that won't slow me down. Make use of me however you deem fit." Short and to the point, Ulrich assumed he might become a scout of some sort or perhaps carry messages between the smaller parties. The fact that hunters were missing wasn't his main priority today but perhaps he could learn something new. Not all of the rumors of evil lurking in the woods could be true.

Ariadne's perpetually grim expression deepened slightly, briefly, after her superiors finished speaking. They would be subdivided into groups (how large these groups were to be hadn't been specified...), and each one would be led by a Sword. Only, aside from Locke and Rosalie, they were all just a bunch of Red Cloaks fresh out of (a rather rushed) basic training. Ariadne knew she sure as frost didn't feel capable of leading anyone. A stab of guilt reminded her that she had no right to second guess the commands of her superiors.

But, by the old gods, they were heading into the Blackwood! She thought about the offerings she had left to thank (and, perhaps, appease) the spirits. Lovely things, rich food, poorly but earnestly made stick-dolls... but nothing that could convince her that the nicer spirits would be inclined to protect her, especially since the nastier ones had nabbed such a startling number lately. Surely they would think nothing of snapping a trespasser like herself in two?

Ariadne cursed herself for a coward. She couldn't turn tail now; she wouldn't turn tail now! She rubbed her thumb over the hilt of her sword and tried to calm the ringing of excited blood in her ears.

As each of the civilians stepped up and chimed in, Rosalie nodded sharply, the movement distant and detached so as not to give her opinions away. In reality, she was a bit disgusted by the idea that they would be taking civilians with them, herself -- but the number of recruits willing to go into the woods had been small, and the number of volunteers had been more than equal in number. It was for the best. More people meant more ground covered.

All the same, some of them made her want to roll her eyes, and as she categorized each in her mind, no small few were given the rather cruel tag of 'useless'. She'd just have to pair those up with ones that seemed more confident, more capable; hunters....

"Fine. Now you all know each other. You know what you're capable of. Here's what's happening next --"

She gestured, sharply, for her red cloaks to take a step forward and eased out among them, tapping them on the shoulders into pairs as she moved.

"We will be forming up into five rescue groups. Each group will be lead by two swords."

The first two were drawn forward by a sharp, two-fingered gesture and introduced pointedly by name. "Bodie Metzer and Ariadne Snowshorne. You will be leading the first group, joined by, mm. Three civilians: Kita Bloodmyth and Kodi Feathergun, along with her brother Tristan."

Another quick movement, and she tapped the next two. "Florian Drechsler and Mechthild Schweinsteiger. You will be leading the first group, joined by two civilians: Ever Ambrodiel and Zachariah Bantok."

Confidently, she gestured for the next pair to move out of their line. "Widburg Adelheiss and Saxan Delaine, you will take three as well, -- Ayle Danforth, Aoife Reid and, assuming she shows up in time, before we leave, Solveig Putzer."

The fourth made her hesitate and then square her jaw. She had, in fact, been put in charge here. Nevermind that he outranked her, "Thomas Locke -- sir -- I'd appreciate it if you took Madelgarde Hoyeman in the fourth group and led two civilians: Skyla Hawthorne and Ritmos Riverwohen."

Finally she drew to a halt, clearing her throat, beside the only Sword remaining -- likely feeling like the schoolyard fool, left chosen for last. He'd just have to get over it, if so. Rosalie was unapologetic. "Devlin Tavor, you and I will be taking the last two civilians, Lytka Gottschalk and Ulrich Krupke."

There was room, now, for them to form into their groups -- and she waited, hands behind her back, for them to do so, fighting the urge to fidget. And the urge to look up at Locke for support or approval. She didn't need it, even if she wanted it.

"There is a map for each group. You will stick to your marked area and comb it carefully for signs of the missing. Under no conditions will you move outside of your district. We leave in an hour." She cleared her throat, eyes skimming over the milling strangers, likely beginning to feel the anticipation, now.

"This is your last chance to ask questions before we leave. So speak now."

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OOC: Last call for questions/concerns IC, or for your characters to say 'goodbye' to those in other groups. You have until Sunday to get questions out there. Though some 'wind up' time may be allowed after that, the next stage will start Sunday night...

Aoife did recognize a few of the faces and names. Mostly customers from one time or another. Her group seemed ... solid. They had decent sounding trades that could help for this endeavor. She fell into line and went to stand with those in her group.

Lytka snorted when she heard the group that Ever had gotten himself landed in and gave him a quick thump on the shoulder as she left to join her own foursome. "Good luck with that one," she laughed to the white-haired hunter before making her way off through the dispersing crowd.

As she neared Rosalie, the huntress appraised her 'leader', glad at least that she hadn't been put underneath one of those blundering new Swords who seemed more show than sense. This woman seemed strong, tough, capable. Although Lytka wasn't exactly one to take orders well, it would certainly help if the one issuing orders was competent and worthy of respect. Lyt nodded to the purple-cloaked Sword in acknowledgement of this as she joined the group.

The other two members of her assigned party, however, looked a bit less promising. The messenger might be able to deal with the weather, but probably not so well with the wild creatures they were like to encounter in the forest. And the other sword...well, he seemed hostile at best. The look of scorn and displeasure on his face was rather telling. Hopefully he wouldn't say or do anything too antagonistic or stupid.

Florian almost twitched when the other sword spoke -- most of his attention had been focused on Zach, trying to figure out who he was, and why he seemed familiar. Then it all made sense, abruptly: he was a Bantok. His father was Lord Bantok, who -- .. well, at least in the Dreschler household, Lord Bantok was generally thought of as a too-loud, too-opinionated, and thought a little too highly of himself. Somehow this knowledge put Florian a bit more at ease. He'd nod to each of the civilians in turn, "Hopefully no one will get killed. At least not in this group." And maybe not in some of the others, but -- "...you can never be too sure. I'm Florian." A minute pause, "Drechsler."

He'd offer his hand out to Mette. "It's nice to meet you. Are you prepared?" One side of his mouth quirked up -- he dimpled, nicely, but the look was a touch too nervous to be genuine.