"Sir, do forgive my... rudeness, but I feel it is completely unwise to be leaving the city with a bunch of vagabond want to be heroes." "Your concern is noted. Why do you think I'm bringing you along?" A smirk tugged at the cheek of the burly man in his white armor as he leaned slightly on his shield. They were meeting their group of recruits in the front gardens within the castle gates, still surrounded by his guards and the safety that was his home. Esmeralda insisted she was coming down, she wasn't about to let him leave without seeing his companions. And he wasn't going to make her go all the way down in to the actual city just to do that much. "Your attempt at humor never works on me, you realize this?" his blonde knight captain sighed, closing her eyes as she shook her head, tapping her own shield on the ground. "You can't blame me for trying. Look, most of the people who are going to be here are going to have an agenda to further their family names in some form another, and none of them would do that if I were to die on the way because everyone would be suspect and all assumed to be lying and Esmeralda would probably have them all killed," he said as he looked over his shoulder as said Empress made her way out of the front gates. "I won't mention to her that you just depicted her to be quite the blood thirsty monster," the blonde muttered before turning and looking at the currently open gates, waiting to see when their new "companions" would start to arrive. She had no doubt that they would have some sort of an agenda, even if they didn't realize it at first. Why else would they go in to a part of the empire that was plagued and overrun by vicious monsters? Then again they could just be crazy. "Ah good, I got here before they did. So I won't miss a thing," Esmeralda said as she stood next to Balan, crossing her arms behind her back, her white gown, dragging on the ground lightly, much to her maids dismay the blonde was sure. "Aww, it's like you're trying to match with me," Balan teased her seeing that she was wearing white and just laughed lightly at the less than amused look that both women gave him.

Thomas has always made a point of being early to places: people appreciate an eager attendee, and it gives him some quality time to plan ahead. This rule applies doubly when dealing with the titled: rarely does a Lord accept anything less than punctuality, and Thomas only assumes that this is a trait shared by his Emperor. The gates were open when Thomas approached the fortress: he must not have been as early as he had hoped. He is dressed sensibly - a worn -in pair of boots, comfortable, unassuming clothes, and borrowed suit of chain for safety, worn under his light semi-formal shirt. Unable to afford a horse, and not in the best shape of his life, Thomas is sweating and slightly out of breath as he approaches the gates. He catches his breath, dropping his pack on the ground. Thomas silently bemoans the necessity of bringing such a weight, but science is too important to be stopped by his laziness. Hopefully he'll be given a horse. Hopefully. With his breath having been caught, he picks his pack back up and proceeds through the gate after presenting his credentials. Thomas is suitably impressed by the gardens - he always means to go visit the Academy greenhouses, but always manages to get distracted before going. Oblivious to the Emperor and Empress, he finds a place to sit and produces a small book, courtesy of the Academy printers, and begins to read absentmindedly.

The smell of burning oil, of raw meats and starchy larders, of great heaping barrels of ale… Hector would long for none of it when he was gone. The Spotted Trout Tavern was a paltry watering hole and an even worse inn, and some would say the only thing worse than its reputation was its food. At least, until a year ago that is. To Hector it was many things. It was his life. It would most likely be his death. It was the place where he worked away his nights and days. It was not, however, his home. He would never call it home. There were no friends here, and nobody who cared if he was present or absent, or alive or dead. His room was little more than a bed of hay and a pile of personal effects, adjunct to the tavern’s stable, with a rank odor that never once relented in this regard. His possessions - what few he had - were diligently arranged and sorted as well as one could expect them to be, but there was nothing more here that could help him on the journey to come. The clothes were tattered and even his best outfit, which he was currently wearing, was deeply stained from long hours of toil and sweat. He had no money and no trinkets, and he could never in his life bring himself to become a thief. It wasn’t because he wanted to become a knight, no... The countless pains Hector had endured to avoid stealing up to this point were, at least to him, worth more than any amount of money in the world. A trip to the ends of the Empire, not to mention the ever-present threat of death… It just didn’t seem like a place where he, a pauper even in name, belonged, yet here he was about to risk everything he'd ever known, for what? Nothing more or less than a chance at a life worth more than the one he had now. Hector wondered aloud if there was anything to be gained from this venture. He wondered too, if there was anything for him to lose. Rumors said the Emperor would take any able-bodied man who dared to volunteer, and that's all that Hector could claim to be. Hector had always relied on his good fortune and hard work to get him through in life, and it would have to be the same for him now. He didn't know any other way to live but to work, and surely the expedition would be rife with hungry adventurers. One out of the lot of them must have brought some extra supplies, and if there was one universal truth in this world it was that good food made good company! People needed to eat, and adventurers were notorious for being mooches and traders - that is, if his experiences in the tavern were any indication. "Guess this is goodbye," Hector whispered to what was left of his old life. The door to his little shack opened into the morning light, and a few errant rays across Hector’s face spurred him to shield his eyes. The sun was still lurking behind the city’s distant walls when Hector snuck out of his own dwelling, shouldering a pack he assembled from his only worthwhile companion… a blanket. It was here he carried a few bits of leftover bread, a dirty apron, and a once torn waterskin that Hector had painstakingly restored to serviceable condition. Truthfully, Hector would have liked to head out before the dawn, but he dutifully completed his morning chores at the same old pace. Nothing good could come from leaving things messier than he had found them, and Hector felt bad enough already for leaving his job and not telling the tavern keeper. He did it more for his own safety than the old proprietor’s. The men from the orphanage would no doubt come looking for the runaway Hector, and the tavern keeper wouldn’t have batted an eye before deciding to sell the boy out to them. Well, they’d find out where he’d gone soon enough - with or without accosting the workers at the Spotted Trout. The palace? "Well, it probably meant a lot to somebody somewhere," is what Hector would tell you if you asked him. Could a fish that had never left the water understand the grandeur of the sky in the world above? He may have been poor as dirt, but Hector wasn’t a hick. He’d lived in the city as long as he could remember, and there were plenty of big buildings that were full of big things, but they were as much a part of the background as the sun and moon. That is to say, Hector saw them as things that were forever outside of his reach. The palace gardens, however, were a different story entirely. Even during festival nights in the city, where the streets ran wild with drunks and vagabonds, the atmosphere was never as lively as this. What kind of person, Hector wondered, was able to wear an expression like that at the cusp of what could be a life-ending endeavor? Even the Emperor, standing like a great ivory tower at the head of the pack, was laughing idly with his retainers and... Hector's heart, woe as he was to admit it, skipped a beat when he saw her. The Empress Esmerelda, the lady of the city, the jewel of Caradia that was the spitting image of the twin goddesses. There was not an artisan in the world, Hector suddenly felt, that could cut a jewel in such an image of perfection as had already been attained by this woman. For a moment Hector let himself be taken by a fancy, that maybe, just maybe, if he could get even a bit closer to her, that a pauper cook from the lowest end of town could catch the eye of the woman that even the most jaded nobleman regarded as a goddess. He felt envy not for the first time, but in a new way, for the Emperor in the ivory armor. These foreign feelings were a powerful new sensation for Hector, for a whelp that had never once known the touch or taste of a woman, and he was silently grateful for his smaller than average presence. If any of the other volunteers had seen the look he was giving the Empress, the flushed face of a man's first love... Well, he might die here of embarrassment before the journey even began. Hector quickly pulled away and made his way deeper into the pack, the scarlet shame still dyed deeply on his cheeks.

It was to be married to some boorish noble she had little interest in or find her own way—the thought was one that repeated in the mind of the noble youth, a girl named Pythia of House Heartspire. Her parents, as loving as they were had dared give her an unspoken ultimatum regarding her own future at such a young untested age; but such was the nature of noble demeanor. Originally, Pythia had planned to seek further education in the mundane and the arcane at the Imperial Academy, but that was not meant to be as they pertinently declined the request as they danced around the politics of why they did as such. She had a feeling it had to do with the arrangement her parents had suggested—the academic in charge of applications had happened to be the father of the boy she neglected to marry herself and her life away to. The irony, despite how hurtful it was, was not lost on her as she felt forced into a situation where she had to find study abroad or amongst the field. In some way one could say she was fortunate to have stumbled upon the Emperor’s decree for an investigation into the frontiers of Caradia—where certainly her gift for the magic she held affinity for could aid the poor, blighted peasants and adventurers who suffered from disease and peril of a monstrous sort. So here she was… coming forward with all of her gear at the ready at the royal grounds itself. Before her younger brother was birthed she could recall brief visits, though she never really got to interact with many at the royal feasts as she stood as such an insignificant pawn in the large crowd of trueborn noblemen and noblewomen. Even still, it was a familiarity that gave her peace—she might have been eager to go on this “adventure” of sorts, but she still was unbelievably terrified about what the days following this one would bring. She could feel her nerves shaken and her stomach uneasy as she moved forward, approaching the gates as she was. In recollection of her instructor’s suggestions before she left days before for new prospects Pythia had dressed well, but not as if she was going for tea. This would be a trudge through wide sweeping hills, dense forests, and forlorn settlements—and their enemies were physical as well as natural. Her cloak was tied strong as she moved forward when her eyes caught a man in front of her by many feet stopping for breath: was he another one of the prospective contracts like she? Regardless, she continued despite the minor distraction as she stepped forward in the most stress relieving place of the royal grounds—the gardens. “It’s so pretty.” She thought with a kind smile as for a moment any sense of dread left her thoughts entirely as she looked over the vast flora before her. She wondered if they had added any new arrangements to the gardens; it was hard to say. It was not long before she was at the presence of the highest royalty, and she showed the basic noble courtesy as she had been taught—a bow from the neck and do not speak until spoken to. She was not aware the Empress, the Queen of all of the realm would be seeing them off—but it was another little thing to put her at ease as she surely would miss the Emperor so on such a perilous task. The logistics of the situation didn’t really cross Pythia’s mind as she jumped at the opportunity to ‘help people’ regardless of the situation. She knew there was plague and some degree of monsters, but not much beyond that. It was then she noticed another of their “troupe” so to speak—a man who looked about her age and with a curious manner about him before he retreated towards the other volunteers; something she followed suit with quietly and politely. With her hands tucked behind her back she waited with a smile of kindness and wonder all while her thoughts of dismay and dread battled inside her mind. But she had been taught well about etiquette and composure, she would not let her obvious wonders and fears be easy to catch. Soon, the adventure would begin.

Thomas' interest in the tome quickly fades - a drab treatise on obtuse geometric proofs, far less significant than the author realized. He snaps the book shut and takes a cursory look around. The garden is significantly more populated than when he began reading, and a veritable hive of activity. He regards the imperial party, all white paint and shining steel, their Highnesses standing out as the gaudiest and best-groomed of the lot. They did look the part, Thomas had to admit, and framed by the flowers rather artistically, but as though gilding on a lily, far too ostentatious for his liking. He replaced his book in his sack with a greater degree of delicacy - Thomas was not nearly wealthy enough to have the pleasure of destroying possessions on a whim, especially those belonging to his academic superiors. He glanced furtively around, looking for distraction. Thomas was getting spoiled by the Academy, where new discoveries were surrounding him, asking to be searched for. Here, in the very heart of conservative nobility, he was unused to the lack of soot, scribbled-upon paper and obscure alchemical ingredients. He wished his Teacher were here, to hold forth on some anecdote of Hortier. He wished Myrna was here to crack jokes, or even Joachim for a protracted game of Barons. They were not, though, and so Thomas perfunctorily asked himself his second-favourite question. "What do you want, what do you have, and how can you use the latter to get the former". Thomas already knew his course of action, but such exercises were useful in instilling his Teacher's much-emphasized 'Optimization'. He wanted something to do. There was time to kill, and Thomas had never been a patient man. He had a poor book, a gaggle of the aristocracy, sundry flowers, and a selection of probably very interesting people to his left. Thomas considered out of academic formality observing the flowers, but beyond their scent and color they offered him very little: botany was Henry's field, not his. In any case, the dissection of a rose petal was not exactly proper in such a situation. Thomas therefore ended the banal formality and stood, making his way slowly towards his new travelling companions. His eyes landed on a young man colored a scandalous shade of scarlet, and decided to leave him to his surely scandalous thoughts. He also spotted a young girl stood apart from the crowd, perhaps too young to approached decorously, but Thomas was curious, and she seemed a nice enough sort. He remembered her passing him as he caught his breath on the way to the castle - what better time than now to fix that poor first impression. Thomas brushed himself off, straightened his necktie, and walked over to the lady, extending a hand once near enough. "Good afternoon, miss. My name is Thomas Milliner, might I make your acquaintance? I should like to get to know my new companions, you see."

A armor clad draft stomps along a path, with each step a rhythmic jingle resonates from its rather aggressive looking armor. Atop it rode the future lord of the Casteralli, a house of great authority within the empire. As such their support for the emperor is a sign of respect and stability within the realm. So when the call to arms was made they sent Vyro and a larger platoon of troops to aid the emperor's cause. A small town proceeded the gates of rather obvious castle, as if it was their intent to look up at the "Protector" of the land. As the massive horse drew near, people had already began to shrink away, but it was the armored lot that followed it up that made them flee to their homes. As streets cleared only a small group remained, a rather ornate lot that seemed to be led by a woman atop a palfrey...Vyro couldn't help but chuckle, hardly the battle ready type. The woman atop the rather majestic horse was none other than the lady of the lance, Latulla Novaros. The sound of the Casteralli's approach had already began to build a tension in her tongue. She seemed relieved when Vyro motioned for the soldiers to remain at the outskirts of the town, it was Latulla's expert opinion that they where clearly a bunch of violent ruffians who would probably be more harm than good. The Navaros soldiers fanned out around her as if to protect her from the young lordling as he approached but it was quite the contrary, one of her more seasoned followers let out a quite plea too her, "Be nice.." A request she smiled angrily at, "I will treat a dog as it deserves." but she did attempt to at least appear friendly as she nodded at Vyro in greeting. Her horse began to canter towards the gate, moments later it happened, Vyro and his massive beast that he called a horse began to parallel her casting a shadow upon her... "Stop that." She said pointedly, refusing to look over at the man. "Stop what?" Vyro said with a sigh. "That"she once again stated as if it where obvious. Vyro looks over at the woman with a rather coy smile, "I am simply riding my horse to the gate, same as you." Latulla while still refusing to look over at Vyro tells him "Your horse is far larger and faster would you just pass me." Vyro scoffed dismissively "What kind of gentleman would not adhere to the time honored tradition of ladies first." Latulla finally caved and glared at the man "Walk on the other side of me than, get your shadow off me and Mazzie!" Vyro laughed "Mazzie? What a fitting name for such a fearsome warhorse" Latulla practically gasp before firing back her own insult, "At least my horse looks like a horse, compared to your walking battering ram." As the two reached the gates their horses circled while they continued their verbal duel. "Are you suggesting that having a Horse ready for combat is a bad thing?""No, but calling your beast a horse is a insult to the rest of the species.""Because calling your little deer a horse is much better.""You cant steal my insult be a tad more original, or is parroting your superiors all you are capable of?" "My better? Girl, know your place!""This Woman knows her place, its the boy in front of her that seems to be lost. Perhaps you and your toy soldiers should go play war in your lands." "And perhaps you should be playing house! With your delicate little pony.""Just because I have class does not make me a delicate little tulip, I am a rose and trust me trying to trample me will leave you trapped in my thorns!" "Ha! Leave it to a woman to suggest something like thorns could stop a man in his path."Latulla began to draw her lance, "Fine if not my thorns my lance will be the deterrent." Vyro slid from his horse already drawing his blades. "A woman with a lance. What will you do with it, use it as a make shift rolling pin?" Latulla narrows her eyes as she too slid from her horse, her lance beginning to emit a faint red glow from its tip. "I shall show you what I will do with it."

Needless to say Osanne's hope that some able bodied troops would show up greatly diminished at the first three recruits. A cook. A bookworm. And a child, a mage, but still a child. She took a deep breath, rubbing her forehead. Tactics were against them so far, but the Emperor, as usual was not all that concerned. He believed their skill alone would be enough to cover for them, she supposed. But before she could truly state her concern to the royals, a young girl rushed out, no older than 12, and latched on to Esmeralda's waist, giggling a bit as her nursemaid chided her from the distance the girl had put between them. Adralyn, the youngest and the most guaranteed to be spoiled since there wasn't much left for her to inherit after her two older brothers and her older sister, smiled as she looked up at her mother, who also chided her, though less severe, for giving the maid such trouble. Osanne smiled tightly, knowing she couldn't say anything about her concerns for the girl's father in front of her, else they might end up with a stow away in the supplies. She looked back towards the gates, however, as the unmistakable sounds of squabbling rolled in their direction. She looked around and nodded to a knight that was standing nearby. They moved closer to the royals while she picked up her shield and crossed the white gravel gardens, careful of the painstakingly well trimmed pushes, not wanting to hear the groundskeeper squaking over a single petal that might fall unnaturally. She walked up to the open gates and cleared her throat. "I would hate to interrupt this lovely introduction of yours, but I would for anyone else that is coming to join our ranks to be put off by the deadly lover's feud at our door. Do please hold off on killing each other when we are underway and can tell your families you were a casualty of battle and died with honor," she said before motioning to come in to the gates, "With any luck that will be soon and your squabble, which I'm sure if pointless, can resume," she said, the expression on her face feigning politeness, but there was a clear level of annoyance in her voice. "Mama, are those people the ones travelling with Papa?" Adralyn looked around the garden, spotting the three that had presented themselves, though only one of them had approached the royals so far, though it didn't make much sense to her. "It seems like it," Esmeralda smiled, smoothing out her daughter's hair, "They certainly seem interesting don't they?" she mused, looking at her husband with a look that said that interesting wasn't comforting to her. "Relax," Balan said almost immediately, motioning towards the gates, "Those two's families we know well enough to know that there's no way under the heavens that they don't have their own platoons with them," he said simply. "You were banking on something of that nature, weren't you?" she put one hand on her head, the other hand on her daughter's back. "Of course I was and you should have been, too," he pointed out simply, "You know the political game almost better than I do, after all. And aren't you cousins or something with that fellow? He looks familiar," he said. "Why didn't you just write to the families requesting aid?" "Because then it seems like I expected it. It's much more noble when no one's expecting it." Adralyn separated from her mother and walked over to Pythia, looking at Thomas since he seemed to be addressing her as well, tilting her head a bit as she looked the two of them over. Pythia didn't seem that much older than her, but she was doing something like this, "Are you frightened?" she asked, possibly directed at the both of them, tilting her head, honestly curious of how they felt about the whole thing.

Southern Zalcan looked like this, before the damned Mages destroyed it. The thought idly slipped through Logen's mind as he walked through the peaceful scenery of Caradia. Any discomfort he may have had from walking constantly in his armor had long ago faded away. Or maybe it had stopped being a problem for him along with all other discomforts like food, lack of sleep, lack of water, when the mages altered him and wiped out Zalcan. Hatred filled Logen at the thought of all the lives the mages had taken, and all the lives that could have been saved if the Zalcan queen had listened to his organization. With a sigh, he threw away that line of thought, knowing it would only lead back to the beginning. What was in the past couldn't be changed, or saved. The present, however, the present could be saved. Like this country. Fools. Trusting the mages like they were untainted. At least Zalcan was smart enough to have us, operating in the shadows. Though it wasn't enough, in the end. He shook his head at the stupidity of the faithless, and their trusting nature. There must always be those who guard against the night. Those who dirty their hands to spare the innocents. He only hoped this nation had an organization like that, otherwise the Empire would meet the same fate as Zalcan, much faster. As he began to see the walls of the town where the Emperor would be waiting, anticipation flowed through Logen, and his pace quickened. It would be good to have a direction again, to have purpose. It'd been too long since the last mission. Too long without a target to eliminate, a Mage to kill. Now though, now it seemed he had more than one target. All the mage's monsters, and then the mage or mages themselves. Logen smiled beneath his immovable helm, a sinister, bloodthirsty grin. There would be blood spilled, and the they would be made to pay for their crimes. Logen was stopped in just short of his destination by the gathered retinue of two nobles. Or at least, the looked like nobles, given their fine arms and armor, and the fact that they were surrounded by a large group of men, wearing two distinct colors and symbols. Said nobles were apparently getting ready to duel in front of the town, apparently over nothing. Sighing at the foolishness of the youth and this nation in general, he began to use his considerable size to wade through the crowd of men. He was going to try and stop them with words, never his strong point, but was prepared for violence, his hand on the hilt of his sword and ready to use his curse, his blessing, of magic against them. Fortunately for all parties involved, one of the Emperor's guards spoke to the nobles, warning the two of them to stop, annoyance radiating off of her. Logen chuckled. "Nice to see someone with sense." He spoke quietly to himself, before speaking in a louder voice to the two duelers-to-be, as he walked between them. "Yes, put away your swords and put away your.." His eyes narrowed upon the glowing tip of her lance. Could just be enchanted. I'll have to keep an eye on her though. Mages are known for treachery. "..Lance. Save it for the monsters. Though I'm sure you both were just eager to show your skills to the Emperor, and were not in any way serious about the ridiculous notion of killing yourselves in front of the man you have come to help."

It was then that her thoughts outpaced actual time as a man approached her—the academic? She assumed so based on what he had been reading as it was hardly one for the idle mind. She turned with awareness, a little out of surprise as she had not expected to get approached so soon. He spoke well, and she felt he had a nice “feel” to him as words left his mouth, introducing himself as one Thomas Milliner as he requested to make her acquaintance. Pythia’s response was admittedly a bit programmed as she did a courtesy bow with a gentle smile. “You may, ser—mine would be Pythia, of house Heartspire.” It had been long since she needed to introduce herself, and perhaps that was a bit too regal and inauthentic? She found herself doubting the introduction given Thomas had introduced himself so matter of factly without care for purple etiquette. Thomas was not surprised; she had the bearing and manners of a noble, though he had never heard of Heartspire. Genealogies were never Thomas' specialty, the various trysts and marriages of the noble classes at best not interesting him in the slightest, and at worst tacitly mocking his lack of romantic success. “You do your house credit, Pythia of Heartspire. You wear nobility like a glove. Though, that does not quite explain why one so young is setting out on our shared venture. What are your impressions so far? Is it living up to your expectations?” Pythia herself wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the inquiry—to explain her position would be a tricky affair considering the circumstances. It was then she remembered that the best way to answer this question was to engage it in half-truths. Her hesitation was probably an easy sign to observe, however, and Thomas would likely know the story was more complex than what her reply would state. “My private instructor told me that the best teacher is not one that can be hired or bought, but experienced outside the towering walls we lock ourselves away within. So I suppose the short answer is I want to experience and learn from that experience?” Thomas' expression did not change. He was used to being lied to, and wondered the odds of this little girl having an ulterior motive that would directly involve him. It was too early to say, but it seemed unlikely. Her explanation was fair, and if she were older and more likely to be experienced Thomas might have bought it, despite the poor delivery. He did not, however. Her bearing spoke of fear, fear unfit for a volunteer adventurer on such a quest. He wondered if her earlier formality was an attempt to maintain normalcy in her trepidation, and remembered to himself to compare her behavior now to that in the future to resolve the quandary. He thought of what he knew: a nervous young female possibly-inexperienced mage with no to little history in adventuring lied to a stranger about why she was here. Family politics were the best explanation, obviously: perhaps she is a black sheep, sent to find death or glory. Perhaps she is some bargaining tool or hostage of the Empress. Thomas would guess with moderate certainty that her desire to learn is real, which when coupled with the magic made him wonder why she was not at an academy, or under instruction competent enough not to let her be sent into a very dangerous situation. Thomas' initial guess is economical concerns on the part of her family: he had no good way of guessing her family's wealth without assistance, but no matter the case such things were pointless to speculate on. He filed away his thoughts for later pondering. “You're a woman after my own heart; I have always respected those that seek to learn, and those willing to risk person or property to do so. However, your teacher must have more confidence in his surely excellent abilities: a great teacher can make the theoretical fantastical, and can guide a student's learning through the annals of time and through the minds of great men, from which we spectating minds can learn a great deal more from than our own flawed perception of experiences.” Thomas caught himself for a second, cursing internally. He was rambling. Hastily, he added to his point. “Though, do not let me discourage you— my enjoyment of our adventure would be severely hampered by your departure or loss of enthusiasm. I can tell already you are both a formidable mind and a sound conversationalist.” Thomas wondered if he was layering the praise on too heavily: there was no way for him to know either of those things, and he doubted she would not realize such. Thomas had to content himself that he would do better next time, and rely on that ever-present flaw of nobility, "weakness to flattery". “My instructor was a woman, actually.” Pythia began her reply with, as if she meant to interject before; but such interjection would’ve been rude in polite conversation as if to correct and undermine. She did find herself surprised by Thomas’ dialogue as she had not had spoken to anyone intellectual sans her teacher in such subjects for some time. Her parents had always distanced her away from it as it might have collided with the fact of her magical nature. It was weird growing up as she did—mages in Caradia were not feared or hated, yet they were treated with such subtly that it felt like they were still controversial. She never questioned mother or father though, and her instructor had only given answers that drove her spirit into the ground. She shook herself of this thought pattern though, as it was counterproductive towards their conversation. “I thank you for that… though, I would be lying if I claimed it was simple as I said, but I do not know if it is appropriate to say. But there is truth in that I seek to experience and explore the world before me. Had this urgent mission not came to be I might be in Lumoise inquiring about studying abroad.” Thomas was honestly surprised by her admission. Nobility were taught to guard secrets as well as they would guard currency, and only trade them for favors of equivalent value. This Pythia just told him not only that she had lied, or at least hidden the truth from him [he made a mental note to highly prefer the 'shame of the family' hypothesis], but she also confirmed that she was here against her will, with a preference towards study in establishments of learning. He wondered if she was trying to manipulate him, preface a new lie with an admittance of truth to reinforce its credibility [seems unlikely]. He wondered if she was trying to ingratiate herself with him towards some unknown goal, trying to make him trust her or care for her enough to do her favors, or worse for him, trick him to letting his guard down around her. Neither of these possibilities seemed likely, and he dismissed them and many others as too unlikely to be considered presently. He would have to believe her to be genuine. Thomas did not believe that she was motivated by the urgency of the mission: it would be evident to anyone that their cause was less important than claimed, simply due to the volunteer recruitment system replacing what should have been a company of hard men and learned scholars. The fact she mentioned Lumiose as her desired point of education seemed odd - the nobility would have instilled in themselves at least, if not in her, the distrust of a nation of magi, and would likely not send a daughter there, when there was education options here, with the added possibility of using her as a piece in politics. There were too many variables again to consider, and Thomas had to halt himself before he carried on into listing the dozens of possibilities passing through his head. This mystery would have to be solved slowly, and there is no time like now to start. “I have never been one for holding to decorum; feel free to speak to me as candidly as you desire, and I will only think better of you for it. I wonder though, why would you go to Lumiose? It seems odd for a woman of intellect and magical means to not want to attend our own Academy. Do you have friends or connections in Lumiose? I have never been myself, but it seems a rather interesting place, worth of inquiry at the very least.” That should get him somewhere. He was finding himself more and more interested in this girl's predicament, and could feel his unconscious need to solve the puzzle before him. He did not like the feeling, and wanted to be done with it before it cloud his decision making. Pythia had never really had the chance to speak candidly, so the opportunity was an awkward one but a relief nonetheless. A wider smile came to the girl’s face as he spoke those words which was a reflection of said relief. Her response was not obtuse at all, certainly. “Thank the Goddesses.” She continued to add on to the statement as she took a light breath, “The politics of speech are ones that only make conversation difficult. As for why I would go to Lumiose—my instructor is from there and has connections to the academia present. I wanted to study under our mundane and magical theorists here in Caradia, of course, but politics has barred my application from procession.” What was she doing?! She was admitting something deeply political (without naming names, sure, but still) that could have a cost if the wrong person overheard her. If it got back to her parents that she had become privy to relenting gossip what would they do? Even with the candid option of conversation it still seemed dangerous even if she was possibly daring to throw her life to the winds on this adventure of theirs. Her smile didn’t drop as she thought these things, but she did take a physical step back in consideration. She had never been in a room alone, she had always had guidance from her parents or her betters or her instructor who served as her mentor. Perhaps it showed her inexperience in social situations with others on her own, but it was easy to manipulate the flow of her conversation as well. “…which is again, why, I am considering my options. I do care about this quest of our liege’s, though.” However, before more conversation could be made—Adralyn, the daughter of Caradia and the Princess of all of the realm, decided to take notice of Pythia’s failing composure and approached the two with a question. Were they frightened? Of course Pythia was indeed frightened, but she had thought she had composed herself well enough where her dread or internal fears of going beyond the safe walls of this great city she had lived in for many years—the dangers and fringe terrors out in the frontier always put her in a state of duality within fear and curiosity. How could she not? As a noble’s daughter, adopted or not, she wasn’t to be expected to need to leave this city in her lifetime but… here she was. But what could be an honest, but proper answer? Pythia bit her lip before she looked at Adralyn with contemplation before she set out an answer. “I am not sure. I am wary and anxious for certain, but frightened?” She paused for a second, “Your highness, it may sound strange but I feel like I cannot be afraid of which I do not know.” It was kind of the opposite of what many people would think about the ‘unknown’, but Pythia thought fear should only be a product of experience. This was of course due to her former instructors teachings of the witch hunts in foreign lands that were based on swaths of ignorance-bought fear. People died because other people feared what they did not know or understand—good people and bad people alike, and to change that from happening here or anywhere she had to be not afraid of what she did not know or understand; perhaps a reason why she was driven to self-experience. It was kind of the opposite of what many people would think about the ‘unknown’, but Pythia thought fear should only be a product of experience. This was of course due to her former instructors teachings of the witch hunts in foreign lands that were based on swaths of ignorance-bought fear. People died because other people feared what they did not know or understand—good people and bad people alike, and to change that from happening here or anywhere she had to be not afraid of what she did not know or understand; perhaps a reason why she was driven to self-experience. Pythia dreaded the “what if” more than anything right now but in a sense of good composure and thought decided she needed to quell that dread and think optimistically. A somewhat confident smile ended her reply to the Princess.

Thomas is impressed by his choice of company: unflappable in tense social situations, an ease of bearing in the presence of hierarchical betters, excellent manners, and most importantly an intriguing puzzle waiting to be solved. That last is a rare quality, especially within the corridors of nobility, with the aristocracy guarding their secrets without remorse, or being too foolish to have anything worth analyzing. Unfortunately, before he could continue making his young new friend's acquaintance, he was forced to cut himself off as royalty approached, bouncing towards them in an unexpectedly age-appropriate gate. Thomas chided himself for expecting royal children to be fundamentally different from more plebeian stock, and made a mental note to remember this lesson for later. Answering the princess' question was not difficult, and he gave his new-found companion slight credit for her answer. Thomas bows formally, before descending to one knee to address the princess on slightly-below-eye level. "Good afternoon, your highness. To answer your question, of course I am afraid. I am going blindly into danger, and the fear is only exacerbated by my ignorance, causing my imagination to create all manner of horrors to insist on being just around the next bend in the road. However, my fear is of little consequence. Rationally I know that the human mind has a tendency to scare itself, and in all my evaluations our safety is rather likely. It has always been my policy to observe my fear only as more data to be collected, and relying instead on what I can verify." Thomas, being vaguely pleased with his long-winded response, stands back up smiling. He always liked children, and regardless of lineage this particular example is just as charming as the rest. Thomas makes a note of remembering this moment when his pupils at the Academy are being difficult - such joys of teaching are often overshadowed by present discontent. Thomas briefly finds it odd that a princess of royal blood is being so carelessly guarded. Ostensibly, Thomas, if he were so inclined, could do serious harm to the princess, quick as silver, and not be stopped. There was not even particularly diligent security upon entering: he simply stated his purpose and status, and was let in. Any second-rate cutthroat with a falsified piece of identification could be in Thomas' very position, and chaos would be inevitable. Perhaps the Empress thought her daughter's arrival at the garden was too unlikely to be able to be planned for, but bribery of a nursemaid or some other casual scheme could produce reliable results. Thomas did not think the Empress, or especially the Emperor, a fool, and concluded that there must be some invisible security - perhaps a means of verification of identity, or some manner of physical prevention around the castle or on the body of the princess. Thomas noted this down for future study: any scenario would be interesting, though Thomas silently hoped it was the latter of his woefully uninformed guesses, both for increased security of governmental figures, but also from a purely academic interest. Thomas wondered who among his contacts could get him access to the rune arrays that would power such devices, if they even exist, and decided to tuck such quandaries away for later; he needed to be on his guard for political machinations or possible breaches in decorum to avoid.

“Should I fear the shadows?” Laila’s eyes flicked from the watery ale she had been staring into to watch a man in his mid-fifties plop down in the seat across from her, interrupting her internal musings as she sat tucked away in her little corner table. By her smile, however, it was clear that it was a welcome distraction and by the glass of wine she pushed at him it seemed to be an expected one too. “There are Ghosts in the shadows,” she replied, reciting their countersign quietly enough so as to not let her voice carry over to the nearest table, “and let the tyrants tremble in their beds, for the shadows are ever watchful.” “Indeed,” he spymaster said and took an experimental drink of the offered wine. If her own watered down swill was any indication, Laila suspected that the wine would fare no better; at his slight wince she knew she was right. He sighed and pushed it aside, crossing his arms and looking his pupil over. “You’ll be going as an army veteran turned merc, then?” “You know what they say, Hafiden, the best lies are truths with a couple omissions thrown in.” She wore earthen colored breeches and a tunic overlaid with well maintained, if not worn, leather armor, a fraying cloak of the imperial scouts, soft soled boots, and a slim sword and dagger hung off her belt. The clothes were loose enough to allow her to properly hide a multitude of throwing daggers too, and a bit of dirt on her face and oil raked through her mousy hair gave her the compelling look of a mercenary come fresh from the road to the capital city from a long trip. It wasn’t like she could run across the rooftops dressed in the shadowy garb of a Nightfighter, cape billowing out behind her in broad daylight and knives glittering dangerously in hand. Hardly inconspicuous, that’d be, especially when Ghosts weren't supposed to exist. “Aye,” he nodded, having been the one to teach her that lesson. He procured a few sealed letters from inside his shirt and held them out to her and she immediately tucked them away. “You can use those to contact local Ghost circles when you come across the larger towns. It will be useful to have a few extra sets of trained eyes to keep watch in the highly populated areas. The one in the back is for the circle closest to the… scene of the incident. They’ll know more than anyone the current situation once you get there. Use them.” Laila grunted her assent and stood from the table, her leader a moment behind her in the movement, and the two clasped arms in farewell like the mercenaries they were pretending to be. “I’ll send back word when I can.” She slung the bag that had been sitting at her feet, a crossbow and quarrel of bolts lashed to opposite sides of it, over one shoulder and turned to make for the door. “Lass,” Hafiden called and she threw him a half glance over her back, “Take care of him.” The corner of her mouth twitched up into a crooked grin and she pushed her way out of the crowded tavern and into the more heavily crowded streets. A mere ten minute walk at a brisk pace would bring her to the foot of the Empire’s seat of power and she would start on her next mission with vigor. She hadn’t asked Hafiden if the Emperor would be aware that one of his Ghosts would be present in the ranks of his party, but she suspected that their liege would at least not be surprised at the prospect. Hell, he might have even been told by one of her betters. Either way it was of little concern to her, she supposed for although her orders were bordering on the impossible, they were of simple enough wording: Protect the Emperor, figure out what in the hell this monstrous plague was, and stop it. Simple. When the whitewashed gates of the imperial palace finally stood before her, Laila couldn’t help but let her eyes go wide to take in the splendor of it. The farmer’s daughter in her was awed by the size and architecture of it, and the Ghost daunted by its convoluted system of hallways and passages and the hidden dangers she was sure lurked behind every tastefully decorated corner. But still she settled both her glee and dread with a roll of her shoulders as she walked through the gate’s threshold and into the stately gardens, adopting a state of carefully bored observation instead. Already people had gathered before and near the royal family. To nobles from some of the oldest bloodlines of the empire to a boy who looked of the streets, the Emperor’s call had attracted all kinds. Keen eyes the color of thunderclouds rolled over each and every person present. Being well learned in the peoples of the Empire as a Ghost would be expected, Laila recognized each one of the three gathered nobles immediately, as well as recognizing the Emperor’s ever present Knight Commander and a scholar of the academy’s stock. The young, weaponless lad was somewhat of an unexpected surprise as was the man cocooned in armor the Laila was positive didn’t originate from Caradia. The last she did not trust immediately. There was something… off… about him, something more than the painstaking obviousness of his appearance. She couldn’t quite place it, however, and she didn’t like that one bit. She’d keep an extra eye on him, Laila decided, and finally let her gaze slide away from him. There were more important things than his personal puzzle at the moment, unless he should prove involved in the strange happenings of late somehow. She’d have plenty of time to mull over curiosities later, and she supposed that now was the time to introduce herself. Maintaining a proper distance and awareness of keeping hands away from even her hidden arsenal of weaponry, lest the Emperor’s overzealous guardian think Laila would be better off with a sword sticking though her chest, the woman approached the royal family with not the silent glide of the spy she was, but the confident step of the soldier she appeared to be. The women bent low at the waist. “Your Royal Majesties, I am at your service.”

Hector felt like he was standing out no matter how hard he tried to appear small. Why would people who had never been interested in paupers in their life now pass him one of those dull appraising looks? Was it because he stood out too much in the garden in his ratty shirt and pants? Even his shoes that he had proudly patched together brought him no comfort. Was this journey going to be possible if they kept giving him those guarded looks of disappointment? The dawning of realization in Hector's body had a more significant impact on him than the one on his mind. It was as if a massive chain had been draped around his shoulders, squeezing the air out of his lungs. The distance between him and the other volunteers all at once seemed like an impossible gap to bridge. As if he were about to collapse from the strain his mind pulled straws left and right, desperately searching for some semblance of value that he could hold on to. Hector gave his thumb a quick, sharp bite. Immediately the pain flooded out the irrational thoughts and brought him back to a more alert state. "That's right," Hector mentally firmed his resolve, "I already left everything behind. It's too late to go back now. I just gotta work twice as hard to make up for the difference. Introductions... Introductions are important." Hector cooled his head and quickly scanned the gardens for an opportunity to make himself known, but the scene had become altogether more chaotic than the one he remembered from moments ago. The garden's numbers had swelled, at least in comparison to the previous lot. Four armored combatants, two of them even astride horses, stood circled near the entrance of the garden. Ah... One of them was another beautiful woman. Hector had just inoculated himself to the foreign feelings from earlier, partly by keeping his line of sight to the Empress as far from direct as possible, but he would be lying if he said there wasn't another thump in his chest. If the Empress was a jewel then this woman was probably... a flower? Daisy. She was definitely a daisy. It was as if his mind had adamantly omitted the gilded armor and the smoldering lance that seemed to threaten the imminent skewering of anyone who dared cross her. Nope. In Hector's mind he perfectly pictured the woman as a flower and the other three as... a bumble bee. The one just to the right of the daisy was definitely like a brightly colored bee, obstinately buzzing around the flower and making a racket. The woman in front was was with the Emperor earlier, that was a woman wasn't it? She certainly didn't give off the air of a flower. That one was more like a little kitchen spider, busily spinning her web and catching any stray flies that wandered in. Hector had always liked spiders, they kept to themselves and ate the more annoying bugs. It was the last one that sent a chill up Hector's spine. Snake. There was no other word for the paralyzing gaze that hid itself behind the man's face mask. The peaceful garden scene felt overcast by the presence of a great, steely-eyed serpent, and Hector quickly decided he wanted nothing more to do with the events in that direction. That was definitely not a place where his current self could stand. On the other hand, there was yet another small group forming. Hector's mental image of the garden breached the surface of his mind with renewed vigor at this seemingly more peaceful scene. This group didn't really seem all that different than the one before, but it had a significantly tamer aura. What Hector saw was a pair of daffodils, pretty yellow flowers swaying in a gentle breeze, and around them was coiled a long, greasy caterpillar. The older of the two girls was probably around his age, maybe a bit younger? It was really difficult to tell with girls, since he hadn't seen too many of them that weren't children. The little one looked like she was someone important given the caterpillar's reaction to her, but that just made Hector all the more uncomfortable. In truth it was mostly the caterpillar that bothered him. Hector was never very good with the dandy, book carrying type that hung around certain parts of the city. Unlike the nobles who simply didn't care or didn't know about the affairs of the poor, these ones always regarded him as some kind of naturally occurring city-dwelling fungus. It sent a shiver up his spine in a totally different sense. "No good over there either huh..." he gave off the clear vibe of a young man deep in thought, and despite his best efforts, ended up standing by himself again. The gap had literally become wider.

It was tradition for the troupe to celebrate a performer's departure, temporary or not, with a big sendoff ceremony. There would be festivities left and right, topped off with nonstop singing and dancing, and it would last until the wee hours of the night, or until everyone passed out—of course, it was usually the latter. During the night of hers, Juliette went all out in her performance, her last for some time. It was no surprise that she was the first to fall, but even when she missed most of the celebration, she slept well knowing it was one of the best they've had. Juliette awoke hours later under the cool shade of a wide oak tree and with a pile of freshly laundered clothes as a pillow. The expanse of green that surrounded her surprised her out of her drowsy haze. Oh, right. They had taken a detour from their route to drop her off at the city, and they set up their encampment in the forestland bordering the city walls. Papa Bear was not going to be happy with her. As she rose, she realized that she was surrounded by the rest of the troupe, some draped over each other, snoring away and looking exactly like they enjoyed the festivities a little too much. The sight should have made her smile; instead it made her heart ache. She had been with her troupe for fifteen years, three months, and nineteen days. This was the first time she would be away from them for more than a day, and just the thought made her reconsider. Perhaps she had been too hasty with her decision after all. Surely, she can control herself around Renner; after all, she had done so for a decade now. What's the worst a few more years could do? All she had to do was keep her feelings to herself and not sabotage their friendship. Easy peasy! But then the person in question approached her, dazzling blue eyes locking with hers and the morning sun's soft glow lighting up his face, and shit. Juliette could feel herself swooning at the spot. "Do you really have to go?" he asked, looking down at her with that lopsided smile she had more than once dreamed of kissing. "No," she blurted out before catching herself. "Yes." "Why?" Because if you keep smiling like that I'm going to have to tell you I love you, but you're in love with someone else so we'll be awkward and then you'll never speak to me again and that will break my heart. Juliette chewed on her lower lip. "Just something I have to do." "Just come back soon, okay? I'm going to miss you." "Promise." She walked away before she wavered any more than she had and looked for the only person who wouldn't make leaving any harder. He was the last person she had to bid farewell. Juliette found him in his tent, huddled in his seat, blowing his nose on a handkerchief. He was uncharacteristically unkempt: eyes bloodshot from sleep deprivation, dried out tear stains leaving streaks in his powdered face. Talberon spent the first two hours of each day primping and preening, but here he was, still dressed in his clothes from the night before and hair looking worse than a bird's nest. One would think it flattering to have affected someone so drastically. But one would be wrong. When she had passionately announced that she would be taking time off to answer the call of the emperor, Talberon had been none too pleased. He sulked for days, reverted into a petulant child that pointedly ignored her to make her feel guilty. She tried many times to make her case, but he refused to listen. Even now, days after, he still made a show of his disapproval. Just as she entered his quarters, Talberon looked over the schedule of performances he had mapped out on a parchment and scratched his pen angrily where her name was written. "My perfect lineup," he cried out, throwing his hands in the air theatrically. "Ruined!" The flaxen troupe master continued to mumble to himself, about silly children and foolish decisions, without once acknowledging her presence. He was a man who devoted his life to this troupe, to the artistry involved in his people's performances, and he was infamously neurotic in his ways. Her temporary absence left a rift in his perfectly balanced programme, and reordering the acts drove him mad. He spent the last few days ignoring her, but Juliette liked to think it was his way of saying he'll miss her. "Take care, Papa Bear," she laughed. He refused to speak to her still, but he finally looked her way. "Try not to get too crazy while I'm gone." After her farewells, she washed up in the nearby riverbank and dressed in her travel wear: baggy trousers caught in at the ankle, its sheer fabric faintly outlining her legs, and a lace-trimmed one piece blouse that fit exactly. It didn't make for the most modest of attires, but it allowed for easier movements and that was most important. Her agility was her best asset, and it would do the emperor no service if it were hindered in anyway. The imperial city was but a few minutes' walk from their encampment; even in the woods, she could glimpse the towering castle in the horizon. As Juliette took the first steps out of the forest, she already felt lighter, but that could have as well been the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach. She forced herself not to look back, or temptation would sow its seeds and trap her, and all but rushed toward the city gates. It wasn't long before she reached the castle gardens, where the royal guards paraded about the emperor in his blinding ivory armor and his lovely wife, looking not so pleased with the turnout. She wondered why, but a quick glance at the small groups that gathered near them was answer enough. From what she gleaned as she walked through the gates, diversity was not an issue. There were nobles, a mercenary, a scholar, and… whatever that armored man was. She hadn't gotten a proper look, but she did give him props for withstanding the morning sun under all that armor. In any case, age had seemed varied, as well, and she spied at least three young ones in the garden. Her gaze zeroed in on the brown haired boy standing alone and looking quite lost in his own thoughts. She approached him, for no other reason than to make him look less lonely. Maybe he wasn't sure what to do? His guarded, almost anxious stance reminded her of one of the newer performers in the troupe. People like that needed a little nudge. "Oh, you're even younger than me," Juliette said without preface, as soon as realization dawned upon her. She looked the boy up and down, then flicked her gaze toward the armored noble who was once sitting comfortably atop his steed. He definitely looked out of place—even among the decidedly motley recruits, herself included. "You're pretty ballsy," she grinned, giving him a casual pat on the back. "So have you greeted the Emperor yet? I think you're supposed to say hi. Come with me." Without waiting for his assent, Juliette dragged him along toward the royal couple, past a couple of guards and a female mercenary. She nudged the boy gently as a signal before she bowed, unconsciously twirling her hand in flourish as she had become accustomed to during performances. Juliette had been prepared to mimic the mercenary's introduction, to at least look somewhat professional, but the sight of the beautiful Empress distracted her. "Wow! You're even prettier up close," she said instead.

Latulla glared at Vyro as everyone seemed to label her the same as that idiot. Her lance lost its glow and she took a far more relaxed posture. Vyro laughed at her, "Remember you started it." too which Latulla sighed, she was not going to fall for another bait. Rather than react to him she makes her way through the gates in hopes she can correct this situation. Vyro made no such attempt, he and his horse turned to the newcomer had the audacity to speak to a Casteralli. The man clad in some ridiculous armor, clearly more show than go. "I don't draw my blades for show, and I must insist you know your place. If your betters are in disagreement your low opinions are unwelcome."He makes certain that his voice raises enough so that the Bladefury could hear him. Latulla had reached the adorable group and found herself fighting the urge to say "awwww". She bowed in greeting, but she didn't force herself into the current conversation. Rather she took a moment to place her lance back in its ornate housing that hung from her horses side...Or she would have but it seemed to have wandered to eat some particularly ornate bushes, or are they shrubs, in the royal garden. "If this could get anymore embarrassing...You know I am not going to finish that as it would invite fate." she said with a hushed tone as her cheeks grew to a color similar to her hair. She wondered what the conversation they had been having was about, but she notes the boy dressed in patchwork clothes seems rather worried but his friend seems to be the spine that he lacks, a strangely dressed girl who seemed to rival Vyro in boldness. She couldn't make out much of the conversation but the little blonde girl seemed to be talking of fear, or in her case the lack of it.....Yes absolutely adorable. She leans on her lance and sighs rather audibly.

"Indeed, you should know when to listen to your betters seeing as you are better than no one here," Osanne said cooly in response to Vryo's comment, more than used to dumb pricks like him whose ego was more than big enough to be a country all its own- of course with a religion that worshipped him. She turned and started back towards Balan seeing as the quarrel had settled. She sighed seeing Adralyn had wandered over to a group, but knew her shadow was close at hand. She looked at the group standing in front of the royals, taking her place on the other side of Esmeralda, who smiled lightly at the compliment, thanking her. She, of course, had not meant her concern to be an insult to anyone in the garden, but she always worried whenever Balan charged off without at least more of his trained guard with him than what he already had- even if he was taking a platoon, she'd insist he needed at least one more platoon to go with it. "Welcome," Balan almost seemed to grunt, "The more the merrier it seems, but all the help we can get is appreciated," he said, adding on the last part quicker than he originally was going to when he got a sideways glare from Esmeralda, "This is your chance to make sure you're not lacking in equipment and to mentally prepare yourself for the journey we're going to make. If you feel you should get acquainted with your peers, it would seem there are plenty gathering over there," he motioned towards the group that Adralyn was speaking to. A thin female in a nursemaid's outfit had silently made her way from the far side of the garden over to said group, coming up behind Adralyn and putting her hands on the princesses shoulders as she smiled in delight at the two actually answering her questions. She looked up at the woman and pouted, "Awwww." "Thank you for entertaining her inquiries, but I believe it is time for the princess to return inside and resume her studies," she said with an icy smile before turning said girl around, almost forcing the movement since Adralyn had no care to return to her studies. Esmeralda nodded her thanks to the woman, who after a moment of Adralyn insisting she'd finished her studies swung the young princess over her shoulder and carried her inside. Though Balan's attention had been seemingly focused on what was directly around him, he was observing the group that had answered his call. How did they interact with each other, what kind of ways did they introduce themselves, were they going to be the kind of person to try and battle for power, or were the kind that was going to do what was told when told to do so? The foreign armor had his attention the second he saw it, and he was wondering what the story behind that was considering his reaction to the ladies lance. If he had a problem with hers, Balan smirked a little wondering how he was going to react when he saw his. "I suppose we should bring the horses out and figure out what they can ride and if we need some sort of carriage for those who just can't ride horses," he said and looked towards the other end of the garden. He made a hand motion to a man standing over there. Of course, this made the groundskeeper that was fussing at Mazzie for eating his bush upset because that meant the Emperor's own horse was about to be brought out, and that monstrous hoof print always ruined everything it ended up on. Balan then turned to the group that was standing off to the side, the one Adralyn had been abducted from, "You there. Come on over," he motioned with his hand, though that many people being close to him made Osanne a little wary, her eyes narrowing a bit. Esmeralda leaned her head back to look around her, watching a few guards came out with various steeds of size and colors (I'm letting you figure out what kind of horse you want to ride), lining them up along the path. The last guard came out, leading a monumental horse. Balan groaned a little as he saw his horse as the mane had been quite thoroughly braided. His horse, however, did not seem to mind in the slightest. He was brought over to Balan and he took the reigns before addressing those in front of him, "For those of you with some riding experience, find you a steed you think you can ride. If you need to mount a few to find a comfortable ride, feel free to," he said, motioning for them to go to the horses, "Don't worry. Last I checked, none of those bite."

As the Emperor called out to him—them? Pythia straightened up, though she had not lazed too much given the appearance of the Princess only moments prior. It seemed his majesty was ready to get this troupe of theirs organized and ready for the long adventure that was ahead of them, which was completely understandable given the importance of it all. Thomas stiffened when he was addressed by the Emperor. No matter one's political opinions, it was hard to ignore the command in the voice. The idea of so much power addressing him was off-putting: Thomas was not used to moving in such circles, and was for a second gripped with worry that he would make a fool of himself and ruin his chances of going on this expedition. Thomas took a few deep breaths and steadied himself, running through the dozens of reasons he had to not be anxious as he strode over with an air of nonchalant confidence to the pack of horses, sizing them up before he took one stride. He furtively glanced to one side as he set off, looking to see if his new companion would be joining him. It would not surprise Thomas in the slightest that Pythia had indeed been amongst the crowd who took the approach, especially considering the importance of the task at hand. It seemed like she had some previous experience with horses as she seemed to look over the bunch before quickly deciding upon herself on which one she would prefer if she dared request one. There was a small non-demanding mare in the back that caught her attention, which was easy to tell as she took to it quickly. It did concern her that she had not the foresight to plan equipment and mount beforehand—something that she should have done, but she did find word of the expedition rather late as it had only been the previous night ago. She caught Thomas’ glimpse before nodding as a sort of reply, standing beside the mare. Thomas watched his companion select her mount, and wondered what he should choose. There were horses of all sorts, big and small, young and old mounts of disparate breeds. He was not a great rider, and would surely be very uncomfortable on one of the large, expensive destriers, but that comfort would be exchanged for ostensible benefits. For one, he was unsure whether or not he would be allowed to keep the horses, and he expected that he could do more good with the value of one of the finer specimens than some of his other companions [brief ideas of small research expeditions funded by this animal flashed through his head]. In addition, if this farce does become too dangerous, a destrier would be his best bet on escaping a sticky situation. It was then that he looked around at the rag tag assortment accompanying the Emperor, and chided himself for thinking this expedition had even the slightest amount of danger. He would not be faced with much more than saddle sore and poorly-cooked trail food, and this black stallion would not save him from those. He also somehow doubted that he would be allowed to keep such a beast without some sort of exceptional service, to which he was uniquely uninclined. He patted the tall black beast in front of him on the nose, and turned to a smaller mount, much more fitting his capabilities. Pythia took a light breath as she finally affirmed herself, though she saw Thomas’ own indecision as he fluctuated between a horse or three and wondered how familiar he was with the animal in question. It would be rude of her to inquire about his decision, especially in front of such crowds—though he did say to speak candidly, but in front of royalty she wasn’t completely sure if she wanted to. Instead she decided to take the advice of her liege, and mounted the humble mare she had decided upon with no difficulties in doing so as she had made sure the animal had become familiar with her beforehand and it did not seem the difficult type at all. There was still the typical reaction as horses tended to have. “Be calm… good, good.” She whispered with confidence. Pythia’s eyes looked over to the Emperor, as she scattered her thoughts to attempt to address him. She had never directly come in contact before, of course that came with being an adopted child of a small house of nobility like Heartspire. “Your majesty, does this mare have a name? It is most precious.”

Logen sighed. Why is it, when it comes to children, that girls are often more sensible than boys? He mused to himself for a moment. Before he opened his mouth, he considered how badly the child might react. It wouldn't do to hurt or possibly kill a native noble of the Empire, even if the arrogant child started the fight. He gave a grim smile behind his helm. I suppose it won't do to actually hurt him. I just won't draw my blade then. It was always better to not draw blood. Gave the victim a far better chance of surviving the experience. Not to mention, it made his own chances of survival better. He was confident he could beat this annoying brat, especially with his curse. But he wasn't so confident he could beat all of the people gathered here. Natives tend to get angry when you kill other natives. Whether they were annoying or not mattered little. But what did he care? He was trapped in his armor, cursed with magic, immortal, and his country was destroyed by mages. He had nothing left to lose. "Better? I see a hot-headed, arrogant, kid trying to play at being a man. I see a child who hasn't realized when to draw and when to sheathe his blades, and finds irritating his supposed comrades amusing. I see a fool who treats the idea of going into battle against monsters who could rip him apart as a game. I'm not even certain you're my peer, much less my better. Put away your blades, boy. I might decide your worthy of respect by the time this adventure is over. Or I may just decide you're nothing more than what you originally appeared to be." With that, he walked past Vyro, his long strides rapidly taking him away from the boy he had just insulted. An enemy had just been made, Logen was certain. Well, if he wants to kill me, he's more than welcome too. Approaching, he examined the others he would be accompanying. The girl with the Lance he already knew. She seemed sensible. He only hoped she could use her lance as well as she thought. Upon seeing the other five, however, he became considerably more concerned. The boy was clearly no fighter. He will die quickly. If he's lucky. The girl he didn't trust. There was something...magelike about her. Or you could just be going paranoid with age. He chided himself. Still, he would keep an eye on her. It was never a good idea to mistrust first impressions. There was a scholar, who might be more useful off the battlefield. If he has useful talents, I'll try to keep him alive. If not...I respect his bravery. There was yet another person who looked ill-suited to combat, talking to the Empress. She looked, at best, like a peasant girl trying to claim fortune and fame in her baggy, simple, clothes. Another for the monsters to claim. The final one he felt better about. She had the look of a soldier about her, with her worn armor and weaponry. Me, the Emperor, his bodyguards, the two would-be duelists, their bodyguards, and the female soldier. We might be able to keep the rest of them alive. As the horses were brought out, Logen couldn't help but compare them to the horses the Mage-Hunters had been provided. Stocky and surefooted, they could run after a mage for weeks if necessary, and nothing in the world would cause them to shy or panic. He was not so sure of the reliability of any of these mounts. He shrugged, once again accepting the fact that all of the benefits he had once known were gone with Zalcan. Before he could go select one however, he needed to introduce himself to the Emperor. A few more strides and he was a respectable, nonthreatening, distance away. "Emperor," He said, dipping his head in greeting. "I am Logen, and I'm here to hopefully help you with your monster problem. Or die trying."

Vyro watched the foreigner with a raised eyebrow, to speak to him in such a way. Then the she-male had the audacity to speak in such a manner, she had best check her status. Vyro noticed he had once more half one of his blades. A sigh escapes him as slides it back within its leather straps, best to not act on impulse lest we have another repeat of the last gathering of lords. Vyro has seen to his horse before entering the gates, but he had left his rather sizeable blades with his steed choosing to bring only to hand an ornate short sword from his belt. Vyro looked about nodding, even he had to admit it. "Not bad, not bad." It would seem the emperor was already being to generous allowing them a horse from his stables. something that the young lord couldn't help but sneer at. Looking at the group that had gathered around the animals he couldn't fathom how these where now to be sharing in the glory of the upcoming battle. With the exception of the armored foreigner the other men looked like the had never lifted a sword let alone killed something with one. The singular lady that was present looked more like a solider so at least she may be able to less of a hindrance than the others. "wait..." He spied the two more lighthearted girls, a small blonde and a rather horridly dressed one. Vyro looked at them intently then furrowed his brow. Does the emperor enjoy a handicap?! What will they do provide distraction while running away? If the emperors call was serious about the upcoming danger how can he possibly see a use in bringing children. As Vyro approached Latulla rolled her eyes, she knew he would likely be judging everyone there, hell he probably sizing up the emperor. She watched them all pick their mounts, once more she couldn't help but smile as some of them seemed hesitant or even enamored with the animals. Her brow would furrow as she thinks about the prospect of such people surviving in combat, and while she knows better than most not to judge a book by its cover, she couldn't help but fear that several of these people would not be returning.

Laila’s eyes swept over the garden as the Emperor started to gather their party and prepare to begin the mission. A seemingly motley group, they were. As a sell-sword she was probably the least conspicuous person of the group, even more so than the young cook with sharp eyes if only because her kind were expected at this sort of venture. That was just fine for her. Doing her job was always easiest when people wrote her off and then ignored her. And who knew, perhaps the diversity would work to their advantage as they worked to figure out the mysteries of the plague. Getting their without killing each other first, however, might prove a bit difficult. They hadn’t even done anything yet and already the young knights and man cocooned in foreign armor had their hackles raised like back alley dogs. She sighed and shook her head slightly, moving to where a line of holsters held the leads to several fine mounts. If there was one thing Laila knew, it was horses. She had been raised on a horse farm, and then served many years as a scout practically living off the back of one. None of those she had previously, however, were of as fine a quality as those brought from the Emperor’s stables. She headed straight for a blue roan towards the back of the line. The gelding was a fine looking courser. A more sleekly built horse than the descriers that the Emperor and many of his knights preferred to ride, but perfect for the Ghost who liked to approach problems from the side. They were bred for use by scouts and messengers but were also great for skirmishes too. After offering her hand to the horse for a good sniff, Laila gave him a firm pat on the neck and ran her hands along his body, down his legs, and making sure his shoes were in good order. She doubted there would be any deficiencies with mounts from the Emperor’s own stables, but her training since childhood compelled her to check every inch of the horse over. Satisfied, she unslung her bag so she could distribute it across the horse and ready herself for travel. Her crossbow was unlashed and set gently on the ground next to her, and she strapped a small harness on over her leather armor. Made for mounted crossbowmen, the small hook on the front allowed her to re-cock her small crossbow while riding. It didn’t mean that she could reload and fire quickly, just made it possible for her to use multiple times. That weapon she slung on her back and tied the quiver down to the saddle so that it’d be in front of her left knee. Her bag she tied down behind her own seat, not willing to take some of the things hidden within the confines of it out in order place them in the provided saddle bags. Namely her Nightfighter garb and a variety of poisons. Nothing would make her less happy than having to explain her possession of those things away. With no way to ready herself more, Laila hopped into the saddle with one fluid motion to await their departure, nodding her thanks to the holster who had brought out the horse. She guided her new mount away from the line of steeds with just a little pressure from her knees, happy at the gelding’s responsiveness to her slight commands. A fine horse. She gave him a rough scratch at the base of his mane to let him know. “You know,” she said turning her attention to the recklessly open young woman and the poor boy she decided to drag along behind her. The girl she knew to be a performer from a famous troupe, having seen the show a few times herself during her travels. And the boy, well, he smelled of cooking meat and was covered in grease. On top of that he had a body that looked used to lifting heavy sacks of grain and flour, all of which led Laila to believe he had worked in a kitchen. “You may want to ask for a proper weapon while you have the chance. It’ll be good to have one and even if you don’t know how to use it, it’s not so difficult to be taught the basics. Unless, that is, you plan to kill brigands with handstands and camp stew?” She smiled crookedly, her voice light in good-natured, teasing manner. Still, her suggestion had a note of seriousness to it.

To put it bluntly, it felt awkward. Hector wasn't the type to rebuff a young woman for grabbing onto him, probably because it had never before happened in his short, sad life. Grown women were an uncommon lot in Hector's tiny world, though he had had all but raised three young girls before this. Teo, Sophie, and Grace. He wished briefly that he could have done more for them. Hector shook the sudden surge of melancholy from his thoughts and finally took notice of the bizarrely firm grip and seemingly explosive vigor the young woman possessed. "Weren't women supposed to be weak in the arms?" he mused. True, she may have been strong, but some part of Hector was still confident that he could hold his ground if he tried. He wasn't just getting dragged along at somebody else's pace, was he? "Hua - What?" he blurted out quietly. Hector didn't have the luxury to think through what he was going to say next, and the thought paralyzed his tongue with indecision. It was not an unusual feeling for the day, and the circumstances were quickly working to change it to his default demeanor. He was going to introduce himself to the emperor? The massive man and his - wife - that Hector would have felt far more comfortable not getting to know better at this point. He almost dug his feet into the ground, but something like common sense told him that would have simply made matters worse. Rather, it was no action that was the poignant choice if he wanted to save face. This woman was just trying to help him, that's all. That's all. "G'davening yer majesty, n-name's Hector. C-cook..." Hector muttered through the corner of his mouth, bowing with a back as straight as a board and hands nervously tucked into his pockets. It would have been barely audible even if the mysterious girl hadn't popped forward and spoken up on her own, but in this case he was certain that the emperor hadn't heard him. He was more grateful for it than not. "G'davening!? G'davening!?" What in the world was that supposed to mean? His tongue had gotten tied. He had literally gotten night and day mixed up! Rather... he had mixed them together? Hector felt like he was going to go as red as a pot of beet stew, but the Emperor had already dismissed him with a nonchalant greeting. At once the feeling dispersed and Hector felt a weight slip off his shoulders. That's right. He was a poor person. There was no need for the emperor to bother with a poor person. There wasn't one reason Hector could think of for anyone who was anyone to pay attention to him. It was the way of the world that he already knew too well, and it brought him back to his tiny shack far away from adventures and knights and palace gardens... Finally. There was nothing like the stinging blade of prejudice to make him feel at ease. He only wished his pride could have survived the trip. Oh right, there was the woman? lady? girl? that had forced him over here in the first place. He might not have remembered his place if not for her help. Looking at her prodded his feelings of gratitude to the point of mild thanks, and Hector set out to immediately repay his debt. That was to say, he would give her a pull in return for her push. He grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her from behind, his mouth opening instinctively as the memories from his years of childcare came flooding back to him, "It's not good to point out other people's appearances," he said, "you'll embarrass them." The words came out of his mouth as a firm yet sincere admonishment. At no point did any of those red-colored feelings cloud his thoughts. It seemed as if they were completely overpowered by his instinct to lecture. Hector hadn't gone but a few feet with the words just barely passing his lips before the emperor's royal pipes called from behind him. The sound of the man's voice made him stop in his tracks, and his heart buzzed a little with excitement. It was a nice feeling. Was this what they called charisma? And then the horses came. Oh boy... Horses. Hector had a strange relationship with the beasts of burden that carried the weight of mankind on their sturdy shoulders. If you were to say, introduce the young cook to a skilled stable master, he would praise him as a savant. It was as if he could understand what they wanted, how they thought and felt, and they trusted him like they would their oldest companions. He wasn't skilled, but he was talented, and it wasn't limited to just horses. There were too many times when Hector had to resist eating the occasional stray that came to him seeking a new friend. Simply put, he was good with animals. The only problem was that Hector had never actually ridden before. He'd never had the chance, and even if he had he wouldn't have been able to. The very thought of it terrified him. Entrusting his body to another... even an animal. It was something that made his insides squirm without relent. Hector was very much the type destined to keep his feet firmly on the ground. "I'm walking... I'm definitely walking..." Hector thought to himself, his face painted with a sour expression as the horses approached. The arrival of the beasts came with a frenzy of activity as the others picked out their mounts for the journey ahead. It seemed like the daffodil and the caterpillar could both ride. That was a bit disheartening... Wait, what was that? Someone was talking to him. A women he had let go completely unnoticed until now. Definitely a first for him. Hector was proud of his body, his eyes included, and he had trained himself to be wary of strangers. Something immediately set off an alarm in in his head, a flash of discomfort showed in his eyes, and then it was gone. It was as if the woman was just - normal. Well, as normal as any soldier or mercenary anyways. This was definitely the type he was used to seeing in the Spotted Trout. "You think... I should ask for a weapon?" Hector repeated carefully. He thought, "Maybe in exchange for leaving the horse..." Already the woman's chosen mount, the big grayish one, was bumping him with its snout. It was, to say the least, uncharacteristic behavior for a trained warhorse. Not that Hector could tell that it was trained for anything other than being a horse. Of course, by this point Hector had completely forgotten that he was still holding onto the arm of the young woman, and his hand was slowly growing warmer.