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The verdant foliage of the swamp brought back memories of fighting that jadeblood, especially as their path forward grew spikier and spikier. Alifax's eyes narrowed as they approached. He almost preferred the desert, and had been a little annoyed that their group had been assigned to search in a direction that brought them away from it. Still, though, he had to admit that at least his throat wasn't parched. It was ******** humid.

But on top of that, the little device that the military had given them was flashing. Which meant they'd been one of the groups that'd set off in the right direction. Great.

He had no idea where the life signs that the device detected might be, though. "Hey," he said, using his normal voice, and glancing over at the three of them. "********. I forgot your characters' names."

For an admin of the fledgling NFL, Alifax sure was great at roleplaying.

Stryke kept his hood from his cloak drawn tightly over his head, the rest of the fabric was kept wrapped around his frame. It gave him a false sense of security. The swamp was extremely wet, it felt like he was breathing water. Bugs of all kinds floated about like gas clouds as they pleased. A few earning a good swat as he traversed the gooey terrain. His boots sloshed and sunk a bit into the muddy wet ground, with each step the ground would occasionally suck at them greedily. As he came to a halt, panting softly he took a moment to catch his breath.

His grey eyes glanced around the dense marshland, eyes traveling to the different trees and foliage around him. Licking his lips, he thought he saw the shape of a few trolls that looked familiar. Cautiously, he moved forward listening to the sound of the voices. He picked up Byakko's voice, and Zeffer's amidst the sound of the troll boys he'd seen earlier talking, and namely being held by them both. It reminded him of the way Vremea had treated him as a younger boy..and yet it was more than that, It was special even.

Regardless of their relationships, relief washed over the yellowbloods face before sighing quietly. Doing his best not to startle them he raised his hands up to show he meant no harm as he made his presence known.

"it's nice to see familiar faces. i thought i'd gotten myself lossst." He wiped his brow, not removing his hood but peering from the recessed shadows at the group of three. Pursing his lips, an idea occurred to him. "if neither of you mind, i'd like to lend my assistance in any way i can." Stryke smiled wryly before adding the last bit , addressing the lot with a small bow of his hooded head.

[+] Kursha Vidari

If Kursha felt any apprehension at the brightmare landscape before him, he did not show it. Slogging through the marsh water at a steady pace, he kept his eyes ahead and only stopped to disentangle the occasional vine from around his ankle. Once or twice he glanced up to check the position of the moon. With the thick nettles overhead however, even the starlight was turning scarce. In the shadows of the thorny brambles, the swamp was dark.

Kursha yanked a foot out of the mud, scowling as it squelched around his new boots. His boots were not the only things that were new; he also wore a pair of grey trousers, and a long-sleeved, camouflage jacket. Thankfully they proved more practical than his usual attire would have for braving the swamp environment; an unexpected bonus. His wardrobe change had been more for vanity than practicality. Even sealed and dressed, his wounds from the battle at the Phoenix Initiative headquarters still stung. While the morphine kept him on his feet, it did nothing for his dignity. The scars that marked him were a terrible reminder of his failure—a reminder that he intended to share with no one.

Pulling the jacket tighter around himself, Kursha tried hard not to shiver. Despite the humid air, an occasional chill ran through him. It would do no good for the others to mistake it for fear though. There was no way he was afraid.

As Alifax spoke up, Kursha's mouth twitched. “Captain is fine,” he muttered after a moment, pushing aside a protruding branch. It was as close to a refusal to play along as he could get. “Do you think the rebels have character names too?” he added. Admittedly, his mood was less than ideal.