The Big Questions

When the time for meal break was called, Tarmen was expecting similar stuff to whatever it was they had on the ship. If the Drunken Hare was anything to go off of, it was safe to be pessimistic.
What instead greeted his senses was a rather hearty meal and his stomach nearly sung at the sight of actual meat. As soon as he sat down he began using the bread as a utensil, bringing each proportioned bite to his mouth with delicacy. He had tasted better for sure, but that was before several months of... "hard tack" and the odd rat.
A small group of fellow mercenaries gathered around him, though his more chatty friend did the real work in bringing them there. After a few bites and hearing some of their tales however, he began regaling his own stories. He still seemed to be the only one from Kru'll, but after a few years most mercenary begin to speak the same language of risks and adventure. For all he cared, he was reminiscing with old friends.
Alexis, Tarmen had heard her name called earlier, whispered low to him. He felt like blowing her off. He knew he couldn't work with her based on her honor issues, so forming any connection would be tense at best. Still, she just wanted his opinion of the information given. Couldn't hurt.
"Plannin' somethin', that's for sure. Can't tell if they're defendin' or attackin', though frankly, don't care. I wanna know what happens to the groups that leave. Don't matter where it is, someone has to have survived. Scoutin' parties? Fine, they drop like flies, but expeditions? Unless these are organized by an absolute buffoon, you gotta have somethin' to show. Some trace of what happened. Either that, or we aren't gettin' told the whole truth."
It actually hadn't really been on his mind, more like something he had kept in the back for later. Now that she had gotten him thinking however, he couldn't let it go. He knew the risks, he had several groups never come back, even from well travelled ruins. No matter the experience, people died, accidents happened........ but there had always been something to show. A new pathway that was cleared, signs of a fire, a hidden, scraped bone from a long past dinner. Something.
If there was simply no trace at all, then it wasn't natural, not from what he knew.