The idle but steadily increasing banter among the group turned sharply upon the mention of dragons, of which was a wise time to die down in petty speech. It was at this point the wilderman grew more distrusting of the turn of events, as what good were this dysfunctional collective against dragons - a foe, that if chosen, would take ample time and preparation to even attempt to defeat, if they were the enemy at all - in place of demons? There were evil, true, unabashed, corrupting forces determined to level this ruin of a city of mortal peoples and the notion of dragons, of which were legendary for their fierce independence and suspicion of everyone to include other dragons no less, failed to meet the expectations.

To his fortune, the born agent of the wild needed not to utter a single word; the rest of the group as apprehensive as they should be about what seemed to be an apparent lie about the nature of their gathering. This would not deter "The Red" from his objective; with or without them he would face these sinful aberrations.

[i]"Dragon quest. You want in? You and your partner?"[/i]

The man dressed in lion-garb interjected with the obvious from his short distance outside the collective; the reactionary gap he needed should these people turn hostile like others of the past.

"The nature of our enemy is not that of the dragon. Our common foe is evil incarnate..." He trailed off, shaking his head, "If you are willing to wish your own days to waste upon the notion of chasing dragons then do so without us. We have more present enemies to contend with."

Tawny mane-like hair swaying gently from beneath the fanged cowl with its fierce muzzle still curved in a snarl, "The Red" sighed audibly. There was no question to his frustration - it was visible, from the way he stood in his hide and leather, to the way he spoke, every ounce of his person denoted his disdain for this situation. Yet things were somehow to turn to from bad from worse, as there was no less than the authority of men to be involved; the military arm of a society.

Even at this dawning hour, with the sun just now providing morning's light, it was the iconic clink of chain armor that betrayed the arrival; a lone man, just a head shorter than "The Red" of mixed elven decent arrived and bolstered himself with an outwardly proclaimed statement which interrupted whatever chatter remained. A proudly displayed tabard of Waeldeshore upon his breast and a bright, fine helmet of the guard on his head.

[i]"By order of the guard state your intentions."[/i]

"The Red" had dealt with men like this one before... but now was not the time to make more enemies. Feigning, he proved to remain far enough away for comfort, but took not a single action, let alone so much as look.

[@Jon Y][@IcePezz][@KazeXDZ][@The Fated Fallen][@Dragoknighte]