As Amon made his way back through the town he noticed more and more locals going around in different levels of drunken delirium. The majority of the towns folk seemed to have participated in some drinking competition much to Amon's displeasure.

Amon didn't like drunk people, they were always too stupid to be worth talking to, either too dimwitted to understand him or too far gone in a haze of intoxicating alcohol. He pressed on trying not to run into any of the revellers, as he made his way through he noticed a figure who seemed to be apart from the rest of the crowd. She certainly hadn't been drinking Amon could tell by the way she was walking for one thing, but also the way she carried herself suggested that she was typically above such behaviour.

He made a mental note, doesn't fit in that one... she seemed to be carrying some herbs and the like which wasn't to out of the ordinary. There was something though, he couldn't put his finger on anything in particular but he made note of the women anyway. He was always making little mental notes like that, though usually they didn't amount to much, but a couple of times they'd paid off in the past so he continued the habit.

Amon continued his walk towards the castle, as he drew closer to the hill he saw how exhausting the climb was going to be, and wiping his brow set about climbing the hill. He considered using his powers to aid his weary muscles but decided against it, he remembered one of his old mantras.

[i]'People fear that which they do not understand, that which they fear is subject of inquest or wrath'[/i]

Both of those things he could ill afford at the present time, and so he set about climbing the hill. Eventually amid a fair bit of panting he reached a point in the hill where he could see two figures talking. One figure was on a horse and wore armour that glinted with light, but it struck Amon that it wasn't merely the light of the setting sun which was almost gone from the skies... no there was something else.

His left hand almost unconsciously reached down towards his scrying glass, the case warm to the touch even through the case and the leather of his glove. As he walked ever closer he became certain these were the two figures he had seen, the lady and rider. He wondered what quirk of fate had led him to them? The rider by the look of him was knight... but the armour it was ancient... an old design many centuries old in fact and yet it glinted as though it were freshly forged.

The lady too was dressed just like in his vision, he could see even as he closed the distance that she was beautiful. She seemed to have some innate elegance about her and yet she seemed solemn, withdrawn even, quite at odds with her pleasant aesthetic that seemed to radiate grace.

As he wondered closer he lowered his hood and as he drew closer still he called out to the figures. 'Good evening Sir Knight, Good Lady. Might I inquire as to who is the lord of this castle?'