The man gingerly separates the vegetables-- on the bare ground no less, and sprinkles powder on the piles. "Oh-- er, I'm not actually certain what they want of you. Pesc will be here shortly with whatever task the wise commanders have thrust upon him. And you, by extension. My apprentice and I will no doubt be consumed by the task, if my visions are any indication." He grabs the seasoned veggies, along with some dirt, and pushes it into a matted ball, which he deposits into a cup. "And my visions are always an indication." He throws the cup towards the entrance, over Nix's head. Just as the brew reaches its apex, a scrawny young man rushes into the tent, just barely catching the cup.
"Whoa!" Some of the contents spill on his robes, finer than the rags of the wild mage. Well, minus the new stain.
"My apprentice. As you can see, he lacks the foresight of an adept seer." He rises from the ground and slings his satchel over his shoulder. "Vernon, he was called before his curious fingers got the best of him." The apprentice bows his head in shame, and mumbles something under his breath. "No need to get upset, I'm sure these lairds will hear your excuses in time. And Jureel?"
"Right here." A lean, tall woman armed with several blades and a sharp glare strides into the tent. She takes her place at the mage's side, along with the apprentice, dwarfing them both.
"Good. And Pesc, as usual, falls behind the rest. Well, we can rest while we can. There's a long hike through rain and mud ahead of us."
The mage walks to a small table and retrieves a small pouch from his bag. Jureel stands between him and Tyr, but keeps her eyes on Rathgar. She makes no effort to hide a scowl.
Vernon keeps to himself, though he steals a glance at Kat's not-weapon between sulking fits.