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Armistice - The Dungeons - 500 HP

---

For a while, he just gazed at his muddled reflection in the dirty water. Though the suds were beginning to dissipate, the sheer amount of grime still did an admirable job of keeping the watery mirror from clearly reflecting anything. It was probably better this way or at least that's what he thought. He was afraid that seeing himself in the water would somehow confirm the reality of the situation not being a dream. Marcus Roman had indeed been pardoned by the ICC and subsequently ordered to undertake some kind of quest for them--effectively a new death sentence in his mind. What they were asking for was simply too unreasonable; he was to travel with a group of other volunteers to find the answer to a question that had held no such answer for almost a millennium. This was the literal definition of stupidity, but in the end it did not matter much to Marcus.

How long had he been in that cell? Two years now? Maybe a short while to the average man working day in and day out to provide a living for his family, but not one who had been forced to endure the company of rats and whips. Of course, it was never the sentence that bothered Marcus. The way he had been caught was brought about by his own actions, but the fact that those actions had affected someone else's life--one whom he cared deeply for--was the thing he could not live with. This immense feeling of regret was the only sentiment he would cling to during his life in prison. It was the driving force behind his will to survive his brutal tenure. When the guards came that fateful day and delivered the news that he had been pardoned, a brief glimmer of hope sparked within before being unceremoniously blown out with the next few paragraphs. And so he had been given chambermaids with orders to prepare the man for his release from prison and the journey ahead which would be started as soon as possible. The bath--a luxury he found he very much appreciated after two years--was part of these preparations.

Marcus did not notice that his back was done being scrubbed when the voice of a chambermaid roused him from his daydream. He looked up and remembered that he was in a more luxurious room than he'd ever been in probably in the entirety of his life. Brightly colored walls, silk red curtains, large and expensive looking paintings, and an ornate fireplace surrounded him. Even the basin housing his dirty water was made of finished mahogany with ebony handles affixed to each side. He stepped out of the basin and onto the marble floor much to the dismay of the maid who had been trying to place a towel there first. It had been a long while since Marcus was stark naked in front of a woman, let alone a few women at the same time, but he took no pleasure in the situation. The full length mirror in front of him was his current fascination.

It had been two years since the retired knight had seen himself at all. The old scars and battle wounds that littered his torso and limbs were still there along with newly set scars courtesy of the fine prison staff. Two years of forced manual labor had kept his musculature mostly intact, but he felt a bit lighter than before probably due to the lack proper nourishment. Death row inmates were not really entitled to any sort of basic human rights in the dungeons, but the ICC had been adamant about keeping Marcus in proper shape for some reason or another. His face had taken on the greatest change in his opinion. His eyes were still green and the expression he had molded in his knighthood was as strong as ever, but he appeared to be aged. It was then that he remembered his birthday had passed--twice. He was once again roused to reality by another voice.

"Your clothes and equipment have been washed, pressed, and cleaned to military standards. We have been instructed to leave you to dress and another will take you to your destination." The chambermaids quickly exited, one taking a final glance behind her before shutting the door and leaving Marcus to be naked by himself. He stepped over to a waist high table and let out a long exhale. It was all there of course. His navy blue garments and gold plates that composed his armor and the blade and bow that had made him somewhat famous in the criminal underworld. They were also reminders--reminders of the true reason Marcus had not fought against this new direction the government was sending him in. He decided he was done wasting time reminiscing and getting lost in thought. Now was the time for action and he would only have this one chance to amend his greatest failure.

Marcus dressed quickly and did not even return to the mirror to examine himself. The weight of his blade, quiver, and bow was a lot heavier on his back than he remembered, but he figured he would grow used to the extra heft over time. He exited the room to find two royal knights waiting to escort him. He nodded to them and the trio made the trip passed the other dungeon cells, up stairs, through corridors, and eventually out of the dungeon compound itself. The world outside was at least the same as Marcus remembered. Armistice was huge and the citizens were going about business as if the state of the world outside the city walls did not exist. Marcus was escorted down a cobbled path and he could see the eastern gate looming in the distance. He could also see several other figures and what looked to be a representative of the ICC waiting near that gate.

This was it. There was the group and there was the gate.

Armistice-East Gate-1000 HP

He had ridden for three days straight to be here. His horse, despite it's own strength and savage nature, nearly expired from the sprint and was only now able to rest with its giant rider stood next to it. The Giant in question was pulling soething from his saddle bags, grumbling about his horse as he did. From the leather bag, the giant produced a thick sack, opening it to produce a large piece of meat. He held it under the horse's mouth and the beast tore it from his hands, tearing at it and placing it under hoof to better tear pieces off. The armored Giant returned the sack t the saddled bags and turned to observe his new 'allies'. Erickson was tired, in a similar vain to his horse, but not nearly as tired for he was the rider. He observed the man coming down the road from within Armistice, flanked by guards, some kind of prisoner he imagined. He wore light armor, nowhere near as protective as the God Eaters full plate, but this hardly mattered to Erickson.

He ws not here to judge his allies, he hadn't ridden for three days to make allies or to care about the reason behind this mission. He was here for the express reason a God Eater did much of anything, to consume. To grow stronger, and this expedition may be his chance. They may confront one, a god in its own right, a man who magic does not harm. And Erickson would devour him, and take tht power for himself, he would be the first God Eater to do so. When he had hear of this expedition by the ICC he could not have ridden there faster, for his dream was within reach.

The giant turned back to his horse, no reason to bother his comrades now. A giant, in a foreign land, the God Eater's sigil on the cloak at his back, he knew not how many of his companions believed in his order, and how many thought they were little more than bedtime stories to scare the young or the tales oof drunk Knights to liven up a taern. He smiled beneath his helmet, as his horse finished its small feast, soon they would all know the truth... all those bedtime stories? They were all true.

Armistice - Eastern Gate - 500 HP

---

An Aspirant of the Burning Light was a common thing to find within the walls of Armistice, and indeed, Fiona imagined she was among the least remarkable of the assembled group.

They were often seen on Armistice's streets, young men and women in white robes and varying degrees of armor. They took a great deal off the city watch's shoulders, by resolving disputes and keeping order before any official magistrate had to lift a finger. They were trusted with their power by the people, for the most part, and those that thought of abusing that power were swiftly reprimanded. Such thoughts had never crossed Fiona's mind, something she was quite proud of.

Her thoughts, her dreams, were beyond the walls. Very few Aspirants went anywhere in the Order without leaving the city and making their mark on the outside, where the real threats were. Their training was ultimately not for catching petty thieves or keeping the peace between disgruntled neighbors. It was for slaying the worst threats the world had to offer, to protect the people, or dying in the attempt. In this regard, Fiona had on more than one occasion been told that her bright red head was up in the clouds.

Temper yourself, girl, Remus often said. You're no good to this Order if you're always playing the hero. Damn what the others say. If you're lucky, you'll find a quick death, and if not, you'll end up stuck here in the Temple, teaching young brats until you wither away. The thought brought a smile to her lips. As much as her indestructible optimism had vexed the old Preceptor, she knew it endeared her to him just as equally. And now it had led her here. On a fool's errand, as the other Aspirants had told her. A sure way to a quick death, without a single deed to her name. But Fiona, as ever, was optimistic.

There seemed to be an impressive group assembled here, for one. The giant of a man that had recently arrived was perhaps the most imposing of them all... though she was a bit put off when his horse scarfed down meat. Fiona did not have the resources to own her own mount, but she'd always been fond of horses. Not that one, though. She tugged lightly on the edges of her white hood, removing the sight from her peripherals. The rest of her attire was typical for an Aspirant: white robe, easy to move in, light armor underneath, good traveling boots and leather leggings, and a finely crafted longsword belted at her hip. She rested her hands upon the hilt, and leaned back against the wall beside the gate.

She thought she'd seen a Decanus nearby, but perhaps she was just passing through. Probably best not to make herself known, in any case. The scorn of her fellow Aspirants was enough to deal with as is.

---

Mikhail did not pack lightly for the ICC's mission, and his knapsack was overflowing with semi-useless trinkets. But his back was strong, albeit crooked. His first time out of Scion Prime and Mikhail was already bewildered at the wondrous architecture of Armistice. As he paced forward, Mikhail saw the outline of a several men and women gathering under the Eastern Gate. Among them were volunteers, knights, ICC representatives, and an elderly man...in robes of the same color as his. Each step brought him closer and closer to the faded dark-green robes. Only a few feet away now and the robes became more dark, not vibrant.

("Oh...shit.") he began to drag his feet, dreading each step. Maybe he could still turn back? This was going to be awkward.

"Greetings, deserter." It wasn't exactly a friendly introduction by the elder man, who stood hunched over and supported himself with an ebony walking-stick.

"Magister Mammonodes. Umm...greetings. The honor is mine." Mikhail avoided eye contact, and the two took a few steps away from the group so they could speak more privately.
"What insanity drove thou to leave the embrace of The Enclave, I shall never know. But a chance to redeem thyself has come before thee, deserter. Elder Plianus has considered excommunicating thy...study partner? What was his name again? Vlad, was it?" the Magister was clearly toying with him.
"My sincerest apologies, Magister, but I was too weak. Does The Enclave now seek to punish the innocent? My departure from the order had NOTHING to do with him; leave him be to conduct his studies."
"His tenure at The Enclave is partially contingent on your cooperation during this mission. You are to follow any orders the ICC gives."

"So...how will you use that massive brain of yours to benefit the mission?"
"Me? Why I shall stay here at Armistice, advising the ICC on how to minimize the extreme financial burden this mission is placing on the capitol."
"So basically, you've become a glorified accountant?" Mikhail had not meant to disrespect the Magister, rather he was acting on impulse.
"Stifle your tongue, peon. Thou WILL cooperate. And drink some tea before the mission departure, you look utterly exhausted." Magister Mammonodes still presumed to give him (unwelcome) commands.

Mikhail subconsciously rubbed his shoulders. The sweat on his palms stung when he touched the raised welts obscured by his robes. He was flogged for a full day and night before he was allowed to leave The Enclave, so that any hesitation about leaving the order was thoroughly beaten out of him.

"Very well." Mikhail said, turning his back on the Magister to rejoin the main group. What had gotten into him? Mikhail was not normally so defiant, perhaps he had missed The Enclave more than he was willing to admit.

While Mikhail watched the rest of the retinue assemble under the Eastern Gate, he studied each volunteer carefully. He noticed there were more women than men; Mikhail had not spoken to a woman for more than 2 decades and had likely forgotten how to befriend them while not offending their sensibilities. One of the men appeared haggard and solemn. Another, armored in plate, dismounted a beast of a horse. Mikhail could not wait to study the horse -- perhaps even collect samples of its blood. The effects of a meat-based diet on a domesticated herbivore like a horse would undoubtedly yield interesting results. Mikhail tugged his satchel lightly and heard the glass vials clinking around inside - some full, others empty and begging to be filled.

Mikhail sparked some flint and brewed a strong pot of tea, right there on the cobble street. An energizing, herbal scent permeated the air near the Eastern Gate and calmed Mikhail's nerves. Hopefully the others found it calming too.
"Anyone care for a cup of tea while we wait?" he filled tiny pewter cups as a gesture of good faith.

---

The young mercenary stepped out of the inn and into sunlight. The sky was overcast with dark grey clouds and a fierce gusts of wind tore at them, threatening the mortals below with rain and thunder, but every now and then a hole would open up and let a godray pass through, and inexplicably, one of them shone on Nicholas right now.
He smiled. It was the most sincere smile his face had seen in a long time, perhaps for the first time since he left Sorei. This was it. Today, his life would change, one way or another. Either his dreams would come true or he would not return. At heart, he was a man who liked a safe bet, a conservative fighter with his shield and plate who avoided unnecessarily stupid maneuvers, but the persona he showed the world most of the time - the arrogant joker - well, he was a gambling man and he liked those odds.
And it wasn't like he had anything left to lose. Nicholas had thrown away everything he ever had and none of it would return if this turned out to be a success. But perhaps this would be enough to start over.

"Your horse, sir", one of the hands of the inn said, approaching him with a brown mare.

How stupid of me, he thought to himself as he thanked the boy and handed him a small coin, I haven't lost Nina. The animal had been with him since before he left Sorei, a loyal creature he was awarded with for 'a job well done', or so one of the 'officers' had called the raid. She leaned her head trustingly into his hand as he caressed it.

"Maybe this is our last journey", he mused. "I hope it is our last journey."
Instead of getting on her back, he led her by the reins towards the near Eastern Gate. It was where the ICC had told them to gather, and as soon as he stepped through it, he could tell why they didn't want them in the city: A giant of a man in an armor that made Nicholas' look paperthin was in the process of feeding his horse a slab of meat; a haggard guy and another who looked like a monk or priest of some sort had passed the gate before him, along with a girl of the Burning Light Order - he had only been here a day, to see one last good meal and nice bath before they went off on this crazy errand and yet he'd already run into at least a dozen women like her - and they all began settling in closeby, waiting for others to come and join them.

Now that he looked at the guy in green, he could recognize him as somebody from the Enclave, a men's club dedicated to the preservation of knowledge, and got the feeling that speaking to him would be interesting, if he wasn't one of those who were so caught-up in their own world they didn't realize the gravtity of the situation. Sure enough, the men was making tea and offering it to the people around him as if they were meeting for an academic discussion and not for a perilous journey. Either he was endearingly naive or he had a great sense of irony. Whichever it was, Nicholas immediately took a liking to him, strangely out of a place as he looked right then, and, leading his horse along, he sat down next to him, making himself as comfortable as a man in armor could possibly make himself sitting on a cobble road, and took him up on his offer.

"Thank you", he said cheerfully and tried the tiny cup's contents. It was steaming but not blistering hot and had a curious aroma. "It's good. Definitely better than the last one I had - I think the guy might have just been picking random flowers and cooking them up."

Nicholas smiled his winning smile, his swords and shield sitting next to him, his mare looking for an appetizing patch of grass.
"Are you going along on this strange errand?" The green man's weapon caught his eye and his smile widened. "Spreading your knowledge one mace at a time?"

Armistice ♦ Eastern Gate ♦ 500 HP
_________________________________________________________________________________________________

They were gathering. Quinn stood off to one side, hoping to be away from their immediate attention. The diminutive woman was, to be entirely honest, completely overwhelmed. She knew that by responding to the call she'd be meeting with people greater than her, folks with more importance, more training than some gutter-rat, barely-standing-on-her-own-two-feet-probably-would've-been-better-off-a-bar-wench woman. She knew there'd be some mighty shoes walking alongside her and she had thought she was ready for that. She had been wrong. So very, very wrong. Her steely eyes were wide and her teeth worried incessantly at her lower lip. She could taste the coppery heat of a bead of blood being coaxed from them.

Squatting, Quinn set her elbows on her knees and her brows in her fingers, taking deep breaths. There was a giant. And he was feeding his horse meat. And everyone had such lovely armour and the women were all taller and more elegant, and... She shoved a hand through her hair, belatedly realizing it had been tied back and she had now made a tangle of things. Hastily, she unbound the curls and retied them into a loose and messy bun. Squaring her shoulders, she rose and, clacking her spear butt against the ground, began to walk toward the group. A broad grin, impish and crooked, took her lips and she offered a wink to any that met her gaze.

"Funny looking dog you got there." Quinn gave the giant's insignia the side-eye. Who did he think he was, playing at being a storytime boogeyman?

She paused at the man serving tea and took up a small cup. "Kind of you." The swarthy woman lifted the cup as a mild salute before sipping the contents.

She took a step to the side, with the group, but not really in anyone's space. Sipping her tea, her eyes passed over one and then another and then another of those gathered. She began to chew at her lip again as she waited. Her fingers plucked at her armour and she rocked back on her heels. Idly, she wondered what her family were up to and how much they'd yell at her if they knew where she was right now. No dessert for me.

Armistice-East Gate-1000 HP

The Enclave... wonderful Erickson thought, the order had made their opinions on the God Eaters well known in the form of a letter berrating them. The weak little scholars deserved no respect, they were not even strong enough to wield magic, let alone a proper weapon. And then he made tea? If Erickson didn't have his helmet on he would have spit, tea was for weakling's, those who were not strong enough to drink real nourishment. He had even stopped with some other member of his order before that, the green robed bastartds were eveywhere! He had half a mind to batter the scholar senseless, but decided against it. He also noticed the Priestess, from the ORder of Burning Light, fire priests. He smirked beneath his helmet, she would be strong, he felt it. The burning priests were magic users, and good fighters to boot, Erickson had even eaten one... he had tasted a bit smoky. Regardless, he knew most of their magic was used to heal others, useful and powerful thought he, before being broken from his thoughts by another woman.

She commented on his, 'Funny looking dog', which made made Erickson raise an eyebrow. He turned back to his horse, the massive beast still had blood on its lips from his meat. He supposed she had never seen a horse eat meat before, he doubted many of them had at all. He smiled, and in spite of his hate for the scholar, walked to join the quickly forming little group, turning to the jesting woman, "Not a dog, though he eats meat he is most certainly a horse. He is simply taken from a... conditioned stock. The Ravenous council first force fed meat to their horses, and now their descendants will not even eat the grass. they are bigger, stronger, and more aggressive than other horses. Most importantly, they are hungrier, my order has made sure of that. I imagine you've not heard of such horses, except perhaps in the stories of my order, for we seem to have mmany amongst the common folk.", he chuckled, deep, gravelly noise bellying his great size, "Though sometimes it is hard to accept someone uses you to scare they're children in line, or liven up a tavern. It is entertaining however to listen sometimes, funny how accurate some are.", he was honestly just making conversation, not realizing he may come off trying to intimidate the others.

He was curious now about the jester, "Where do you hail from joker? Armistice? Sorei?", he was never very good with accents. He wasn't certain about the other members of the expedition, but this seemed as good a way as any to become more aquainted. After all, they were about to be together for quite a long while.

Jessabelle

Armistice - Near the Eastern Gate - 250 HP

---

She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be in a large city. She'd gotten used to being alone or with small groups of people, travelling between villages too small to be given a proper name. She'd taken for granted the quiet dirt roads, space to stretch out your arms without fear of smacking someone in the face, being able to walk around without the fear that someone was going to pickpocket you. Jessabelle didn't miss being in a large city, not in the slightest. The blonde haired woman weaved through the crowd gracefully, dodging people carrying loads so large that they completely covered their heads, and small children running away from their mothers, squealing happily as if they hadn't a worry in the world. It was so... different. Lively enough to put a small smile on the face of the otherwise expressionless woman.

She'd been in the city for a short time, gathering information from here and there, though nothing leading to any answers. She had begun to think the trip here was all for nothing. Though there was little she could do about it at present. She'd gotten wrapped up in some business with the ICC and long story short, she was headed to the East Gate to meet some other individuals. Despite being one who preferred to work alone, Jessabelle was very much aware that in the current state of the world, travelling alone wasn't going to work out in her favor. She just hoped at least she'd be sent out with people who weren't utterly useless. Jessabelle had no intention of carrying anyone's weight but her own, and she was more than capable of doing so.

Outsiders could give one look at her and tell she was a fighter. Be it the lithe way she seemed to move, or the daggers and bow strapped proudly on her person, one could tell that she certainly was not one to be messed with, lest they wanted to be injured. Though it was mostly against her will, Jessabelle had been conditioned to be a fighter ever since she was capable of carrying a blade. Due to the fact she had always had minimal strength, she was divided into the branch in which the military trained assassins rather than front line fighters. Now years later, after being conditioned to fit the military's standard, she carried herself with purpose as most other warriors do.

As she was somewhat carried away with her thoughts, she didn't notice a small child running towards her until she was headbutted in the abdomen by the child who wasn't looking where they were going. She didn't flinch, and the small child fell back onto their butt. Looking down, Jessabelle's heart nearly stopped when she saw the long, messy blonde hair of the child, and instinctively knelt down.

The little girl looked up when Jessabelle placed a hand on her shoulder, her pale green eyes meeting Jess's ice blue ones. The light in her own faded as she realized it wasn't who she thought it was.

"I-I'm sorry ma'am." the little girl said.

With a strained sigh, Jessabelle grabbed the girl by the collar of her tattered shirt and lifted her to her feet as she stood herself. Once they were both up, she let her go and looked at her sternly.

"You better be more careful next time. You won't always run into someone who'll let you go."

The little girl nodded and Jessabelle reached out to smooth her hair down.

A few moments later a woman approached them and knelt before the girl.

"Analia, what have I told you about running off like that? Something could have happened to you."

"I'm sorry momma." the girl said, lowering her head.

Jessabelle looked at the woman for a long moment, expressionless, studying her clothing and noticing how it looked considerably better than her supposed daughter's. She seemed to be wearing clothes that were quite new where as the little girl was wearing nothing short of year old rags. She was carrying a few things with her, one being a sack of coins that hung at the woman's side.

"You need not worry ma'am. I've already scolded her for bumping into me." Jessabelle said as she knelt next to the woman, giving a small smile. "I think it best you remind her how dangerous these streets can be." she said, reaching slowly for the small dagger at her waist.

The sound of an uproar to the left of them brought the woman and the daughter's heads turning away from her, as it seemed a man was kicked out of a place for who knows what. Jessabelle took the time to quickly slash the bottom of the money pouch the woman had at her waist, letting the coins fall out and into her hand, the noise of the city drowning out whatever sound they would have made as they fell. Soon as the pouch was empty, Jessabelle sheathed her blade and stood, placing the loot in her own pouch at her side. Without saying a word, she vanished into the crowd and continued on her way towards the meeting place.

When she arrived, she paid no mind to anyone there after she gave the group a once over. She walked past a few of them who seemed to be enjoying a drink, giving a sideways glance as she did. She didn't say a word in greeting to anyone, just arrived and went to stand with them as some talked amongst themselves. The attire of a few individuals stood out to her as some organizations she was familiar with, but not enough to strike up a conversation. She didn't particularly care for talk. They were all here for their own reasons, as she was, and she had no plans to meddle in their business. However, one man in particular looked a bit familiar. As she thought about it, she figured she probably saw the man once since she'd been in the city, and thought about it no more after that.

If anything, she was more inclined to ask the horses what in the world they were doing there.

Armistice - Eastern Gate - 250 HP

---

It has been years since she's been home. The busy cobbled streets of the market city were now so foreign to her, despite how much they had -not- changed over the years. Even the remnants of her childhood home. Isolated and abandoned, charred wood and warped metal littered the shambled ruins. The smoke obviously had lifted, but the memories were still there. It stood, broken and battered, forgotten, and so far removed from the happenings of town, it was as if its story had been swept under the rug. She couldn't help but chuckle, drawing a parallel to her own situation. 'The life of a house' - so stationary, so uninvolved and predictable. A wry smile tugged at her lips, as that was all about to change.

25 years was a long time. And while other jobs had put her in the vicinity of her former abode, she made it a point never to linger for too long, and there was never the need nor the care to make such an effort. The past was the past, and nostalgia just wasn't worth it. This was different though. Whichever way it ended, she knew this would be her last chance to take that lonely trip down memory lane. If she was truly honest with herself, she might have admitted that the whole ordeal was a suicide mission. Then again, some would view death as a release, not a punishment. She had come so close so many times, danced the line and lived. It wasn't just the thrill of dying that captivated her, but the possibility of success, and coming out of this alive. Besides, it was too late. her i's were already dotted, her t's were already crossed. And anything not directly handled by the guild was a welcomed change. It begged the thought though, how much worse would the ICC be?

It wasn't a very long journey to the gates of Armistice. She made sure had enough time to visit her home town and still arrive before everyone else. Being in the business of information was quite helpful in this instance, some were harder to dig up the down and dirty while others, she had mountains of intel on. Different orders were represented here, The Enclave, the Burning Light ... but none had disturbed her as much as the hulking giant she spied amongst the group. The 'God Eaters'. She'd faced many brutes in her time, her many secret escapades and endeavors signed in blood. The 'God Eaters' were legend though, and not one to be trifled with. It was very rare that she let someone rattle her so much. But this someone shook her to the core. There were also more women in their group than men. This also didn't sit very well with her. An image crossed her mind, corpses of her comrades litter the field, not from a battle with the enemy, but with each other.

She stood, propped up against the city wall, her arms folded over her chest, hood tugged over her head, merely observing the day unfold before her. "Funny looking dog you got there.", someone prattled off to the beast. A snicker snaked its way from her mouth. Brazen, if not stupid, she thought. She could very well come to like this one. It would be nice to have someone's back for a change, and even nicer for someone to have her back. Looking around at the others, there were a few that had piqued her interest, whether just by their look or demeanor, the information on them she had gathered, or by the fragments of their personality they had shared within that brief interaction. But her line of work had never afforded her friendships. It would be foolish to think she would have that luxury now. It was a nice dream, even if for a moment. One that was interrupted when the giant returned the comment with a few of his own, engaging the woman in friendly conversation. Her body stiffened with awkwardness. As standoffish as she may have seemed, it was never her intention. Merely to stay out of the way, to stay out of view and just observe. She was never good with groups, rather, she just wasn't good with people. Forming attachments often got people killed. And at this point, their main goal was to stay alive through this mission.

A gloved hand reached inside her duster and pulled out a small silver flask. She uncorked it, never taking her eyes off the group of people before her. Their interactions seemed so natural, despite the oddities and awkward stares. She tipped her head back slightly, sipping from the flask. "Gods help us", she muttered softly, returning her flask to its rightful hiding place.

Armistice ♦ Eastern Gate ♦ 500 HP
______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Oh no. The giant had followed her. She grinned wide as he approached and raised her cup to her lips to allow the grin to falter. By the gods he towered over her. She felt like a child next to him. How tall was he? Taller than the world...Oh..he was talking. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep up with what had been said. And what he said was, well, ridiculous. She couldn't help the snort that pulled tea up into her nasal passages and caused her to cough and choke. Tears sprung to her eyes as the man explained his carniverous horse's appetite. For half a moment, one might think she was scared, but the moment passed and she was all but guffawing. The blatant laughter may well have been in the large man's face were she not so short next to him. She held her side, nearly spilling what was left of her tea.

"Oh, you poor thing. You don't have to try so hard to be intimidating. You're a bloody mountain. No one is going to mess with you." Quinn reached over to pat the man on the back, but their height difference left her hand far from his shoulder and in a more intimate range in the region of ass and small of back. Her hand paused mid-air and she hastily dropped it, sipping her tea as cover. She glanced sidelong and upward at her chatty companion, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth once more.

He'd asked where she was from. She began to chew at her lip. And then she bought more time by finishing off the last of the tea and gently placing the cup back down, smiling warmly at the man in green who had first offered the drink. Finally, she addressed the question."I'm uh, I'm from Rian. Markovia." Her voice dropped to almost inaudible tones. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and silently thanked the brief distraction of another couple elegant women joining the party. She turned her attention back to the man. "And what about you, Cedar-on-legs?"

---

Senua didn't exactly have a long-term goal in mind. She'd been living day-by-day, wandering around, seeing the world ever since her father died back in her hometown of Sorei. But that was quite a while ago, back in her normal days. She was anything but free now. The young lass found herself in Armistice, sitting in a dirty and dingy cell, surrounded by cells of other criminals and degenerates. While she had lost track of the date and time, Senua had not lost her sense of hope and spirit. The result of a job gone wrong, a case where she had been caught between the violent squabbles of two wealthy and influential merchants going against each other, and Senua eventually ending up as the scapegoat for the whole debacle. It seems that when enough money get thrown around, things got settled quickly, as the case closed with her unjust imprisonment. Money does apparently makes the world go around. Her salvation come one day, although she was not so sure if that was for the better.

Guards had came that morning, or was it night? She had no way to tell for there were no windows anywhere in her cell. It was there that she was also told that she would be pardoned only on the condition if she takes up this particular quest the ICC has planned. Senua instantly agreed without hesitation, like a thirsty man at the sight of water. Her reasoning was that no matter how bad the quest was, it couldn't be bad as this dark and humid cell, could it?She had no idea what the ICC saw in her, but she wasn't going to look the gift horse in the mouth. Perhaps all the other previous successful jobs in town had come to fruition after all? Nah, it couldn't be.

Following the guards out of the cell in the dungeons, Senua was brought to a clean, posh-looking room that her dirty and foul-smelling self was terribly out-of-place of. After waiting around for what must have been ten-fifteen minutes, trying her best not to stink up the air as much as she was doing already, she saw a well-dressed man enter with two fingers pinched on his nose. "My goodness, you stink up a horrible stench!" Senua replied rather sheepishly,"Yeah, that happens, when you're unjustly imprisonment without any bath for ages."

The man of whom she did not know the name of then went on to brief her more on what exactly was going on, and what she was required to do from now. Basically, she was to go onto this group which had been assembled by them,(the ICC) to find something about the secrets of magic immortality or some other hogwash. Once the quest has been completed, Senua would regain her freedom. With a quick clap of his hands, he summoned a pair of maids that seemed to come from nowhere to whisk her dirty self for a bath. Oh, the young lass relished the bath indeed. The last time anyone had given her a bath, was a father when she was but still a wee child. And now, there was two!Senua seemed horribly out of place among the opulent and lavish decor and furniture, sitting in the porcelain bathtub that housed the blackened water she was in, as the maids frantically scrub the dirt off her skin and hair. Soon enough, they were done with bathing, and gestured towards a set of neatly washed and pressed clothes that sat next to something incredibly familiar. Still butt-naked, she ran forwards to the recognisable sight to see her armour and her beloved weapons, the only physical keepsakes she had left of her father. She thought them gone, lost for good when she was imprisoned. Reuniting with them felt like a part of her felt whole again.

When her reunion was complete, Senua got dressed quickly and left the room to find two Royal Knights and the same snobby man she had met earlier who informed her that she would be escorted to the city walls, near the gate where the group had been arranged to meet. She followed the trio as they moved and turned, and moved and turned, in the maze they were. Eventually, they broke into open sky, and she realised that it was day after all, and with a lovely sun to boot. Senua raised up a hand, shielding her eyes from the rays of the sun that the lass had not seen for god knows how long. Eventually, they arrived at their destination, as she saw a wide variety of people gathered around in the vicinity, even a rather giant looking guy clad from head-to-toe in plate armour. She also saw the snobby man talking to another of the ICC representative, with several gestures and glances pointed towards her directly. Senua caught the glances the pair gave towards her while they were talking. When the snobby guy was finished, he gave his colleague a firm handshake, before leaving the area entirely.

Ezheia followed the paths of Armistice's streets, the furs of her robe dancing with the wind. She could walk unchallenged in this space; the aura of a Decanus was a mighty thing for the commoners around her to behold. Especially so, that it should be Ezheia in particular: the "Black Denacus," as some had taken to whispering. Ezheia's methods were not without their share of scalpel-precise brutality; all the better to keep dissidents in line and make her job easier. If anything, the lingering traces of the Cataclysm were the real threat to society, and a thief here or cutthroat there was a waste of her efforts. Better to let the Aspirants and Initiates deal with humanity's cesspool. No, Ezheia had much bigger things on her mind today.
The Decanus reckoned she would miss the operational freedom of her rank, once she became a Venator. It wouldn't be long now, that she knew, and it had been hinted at by her superiors, although never mentioned directly. While the title was welcome, the rank also meant she would be at the Archon's beck and call; no longer could she pursue her own agendas. This venture was one of the last she'd make as Decanus, and she'd elected to see it through, with the last shreds of the autonomy she had. Doubtless, not many within the Order would approve. The Archon and most of the senior leadership had it in their minds that magical poisoning was an inevitable affliction. In nearly two thousand years, a cure had not been found, so that meant it was futile. Yet, Ezheia had witnessed more fellow Aspirants die to the affliction than she cared to recall. If her hunch proved correct, then this expedition could offer a glimmer of hope for the Order. In the off-chance that the poisoning could be negated, and with the opportunity to hunt Cataclysmic horrors across the world, Ezheia could put down two birds with one stone.
As Ezheia emerged from the corner of the marketplace, her eyes met the East Gate, and a throng of individuals that didn't look like they belonged in the same room. She recognized the armor of a God Eater, adorned by a giant of a man, and to her surprise, an Aspirant clad in the standard-issue robes of the Order. She'd never have thought to see another member here, with the stigma associated with the trip's purpose. She bit her lip as she approached the group. Would having another from the Order help or harm her work? The others gathered around were less noteworthy to the eye; probably folks with nothing to lose, who aimed to turn around their luck. For both her and their sake, Ezheia hoped they knew how to defend themselves.
"Sister," Ezheia beckoned, nearing the Aspirant. "Why are you here?"

Armistice - Eastern Gate - 500 HP

---

Fiona studied each of her companions in turn. The Enclave brother, with his own brand of robes, and a heavy mace, though his first action was to offer everyone tea. Fiona politely accepted and drank, but did not join in on the conversation. The young woman from Markovia provoking the giant man was enough to keep her away from that. She wasn't at all certain what to make of him, and truth be told he did make her a little nervous. Only a fool would regard him with carelessness. If nothing else, she was glad he would be on her side, and not opposing her on the road somewhere.

Several of them were mercenary-looking types, lightly armored, with other melee weapons or bows, and Fiona imagined that most of them were here for the money, or the idea of the reward that awaited them upon their successful return. Great riches had of course been promised, but it struck Fiona as a bit of a foolish reason to embark on such a dangerous journey. Coin was of little use to a corpse, after all. No, surely they had other reasons for being present. Perhaps it was just Fiona's optimism that led her to think so.

Then the member of her Order that she thought she'd seen a few moments earlier approached her, and Fiona felt a jolt of nervousness course through her upon recognizing the woman. Sister Ezheia was not known the world-over yet, but most Aspirants in Armistice had certainly heard of her, and the swelling tales of her skill and efficiency, as well as her rather unique style. The black armor she wore was normally something that wouldn't be looked on kindly in an Order member that wasn't yet a Venator... but everyone knew that Ezheia would become one soon enough, when the Archon felt her age and experience matched her clearly demonstrated skill. The Black Decanus, in the meantime, was a well-respected name, one that was known to intimidate some of the Order's lesser members.

Not Fiona, of course. The redheaded girl was actually a bit elated to be approached by Ezheia, even as she felt a flutter of uncertainty. It was entirely possible she was about to get chewed out by a well-known Decanus, for her decision to join up with the group, but Fiona was just excited to talk to her. "Sister Ezheia," she said, taking a step away from the wall and removing her hood. "It's an honor to meet you." She bowed briefly, her expression clearly betraying both anxiety and excitement. "I'm Fiona. An Aspirant. That's... probably obvious." She bit her lip for a moment, suddenly remembering what Ezheia had asked.

"I'm... here to join up with the caravan, Sister. I've already gained some experience within the walls. It's time for me to set out. And it's a good cause." The last statement was undoubtedly a controversial one, but Fiona expected the last thing the Black Decanus wanted to see in her was weakness, and trying to hide her reasoning for joining up was a sure way to show it. She was resolved to at least show certainty in her decision, even if it earned her Ezheia's disapproval.

Armistice - Eastern Gate - 500 HP

---

The lack of an audible clanging of metal invited as uneasy quiet for the still adjusting Marcus as he slowly made his way towards the eastern gate. Almost comfortably sandwiched between his armored escorts, the now ex-dungeon resident could not settle his mind on one concrete matter or another, his gaze peering at two feet moving free of shackles and genuinely curious as to why his wrists felt light in spite of the plate around them. The slurred sounds of words trying to reach his ears brought green eyes up and once more focused on the collection of bodies willingly gathered to give their lives in exchange for absolutely nothing from the ICC. Indeed, this was the reality Marcus now faced.

The royal guard stopped short seeming to signal that this was as far as they were going to approach. Their escort stood straight and stretched his back a bit before taking the first solo steps he could remember reaching back two years. This joyful moment was complimented with a lazily energetic middle finger that forsook the company of a quick glance; Marcus did not care to see the blank reaction of an armored face to a daring, profane gesture. Even if it was delusion, this was his moment of freedom and he would be damned if anyone was going to make him do anything in the open air and crowded streets of the city--hell, he was not going to be made to do anything anywhere ever again. This rush of false hope and prospect was abruptly aborted however as the ex-knight laid his weary pupils on a clearly marked ICC representative. One could always tell them apart from the common folk because the members of the ICC were forever adorned in jeweled necklaces of ornate design and a platinum ring with a specific insignia. This particular one was unmistakable though because it was a man Marcus was plenty familiar with.

A deep sigh of exasperation lamented the sight of the ICC so soon after finally tasting freedom, but it was an inevitable annoyance. Marcus sauntered through the group and took his place on a wall partly being occupied by a somewhat odd looking woman dressed equally as strange--metallic loops, leather, bodily markings, and sipping tea to boot. A stifled expression muttered something unintelligible before the larger man cautiously claimed his own piece of the wall with adequate space between himself and his unknown neighbor. He folded his arms and thought about pulling his hood before promptly changing his mind. The government knew he was here with the rest of them considering he was being forced to accept this quest so it would have been rather stupid to pretend to hide--though the hood could have done wonders against any stealthy gazes from the woman nearby. Even presented with this rather serious option, Marcus still decided against it and wrinkled his face in disapproval at the speaker who finally came to address the now complete traveling party.

"Ahem," The speaker looked over each and every one of his volunteers as he cleared his throat. He was unimpressed. "I am Representative Aldaran and I embody the interests of the Intercontinental Coalition. The choice you have made today will be etched into the hearts and minds of those the world over and all shall remember your names as you go forth and venture into the mouth of evil itself to bring back humanity's salvation! You are the warriors who will defeat the scourge of this disease of magic and allow future generations to prosper as they never have before! Though your journey will be long and difficult and some of you will undoubtedly fall in service to your country, rest assured your families will be taken care of and rewarded handsomely for these unequivocal deeds! I have come to personally see you off myself and provide you with transportation, rations, and a map which will aid you on your journey to the ruins of the Temple." Aldaran cleared his throat once more and made his through the gate.

Looking at the man again reminded Marcus of how much he hated him. Aldaran was an older man, obviously of noble birth by the way he walked and supremely confident in his actions by the way he bellowed. His face was long and thin, beset by deep wrinkles, though his eyes seemed too sharp for a mere politician underneath meticulously combed back grey hair. He wore long robes of white, gold, and violet and wore shoes that most knights could not even dream to afford. He pulled his hands behind his back as he regally strolled through the tall and wide stone pillars that formed the gate and took a place next to the thing he now presented with an outstretched hand--two, dual horse drawn wagons stood side by side on the dirt road. "These carriages have specific instructions to take you to the Temple ruins by the fastest, and safest, route possible. Once you arrive, the carriages and rations will be your own responsibility as well as any further travel. Your government thanks you for your service once more and we wish you a safe and victorious return." With that said, Aldaran quickly shuffled back through the gates.

Azra - Public Roads - 500 HP

---

Marcus sipped the last of his ale and twisted the cap tight on his flask. He remembered watching the sun rise, fall, and rise again and the wagons still seemed to roll down an endless road with nothing but meadows and tree line on both sides. There were mountains in the far distance and Armistice was much smaller than it used to be to the rear, but the fidgety man was bored to death sitting in place. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back against the side of the wagon and looked upon his new comrades. He would need to get to know them sooner or later anyways since they would be traveling together. "So... What the hell made you want to die so badly, eh?" He asked to anyone in his cart. He secretly hoped the weird woman from the wall would ignore his inquiry. The air around here felt strange to the criminal for some reason.

"I'm... here to join up with the caravan, Sister. I've already gained some experience within the walls. It's time for me to set out. And it's a good cause."
Ezheia was taken aback by the Aspirant's reply. Here was a fresh-faced sister of the Order, who had evidently not been blindly adherent to the leadership's stances. While it wasn't clear to Ezheia whether a "good cause" was parallel to her own beliefs, it relieved her to think she was not alone. However, she was also mildly distressed. The way Fiona had answered made it sound like she'd never been outside of the walls. If that were true, Ezheia might find herself keeping the girl out of harm's way. She hesitated, unsure of how to respond; would her honesty be misplaced if she told Fiona she aimed to save the lives of Aspirants just like her?
"You honor me with your words, Sister. It is a brave thing to do - thrusting yourself into the unknown for something you believe in. Tell me, Fiona; what do you know of the world outside of this city?"
The Decanus decided it best to play up her appearance; it would be queer to gush her own sympathies to an Aspirant and betray her reputation. A lone sister of her stature needed leadership, and Ezheia resolved to be just that. Before she could say any more, Representative Aldaran's voice broke the conversations among the group and discussed matters of the journey, overlaid with formalities. When he'd finished, he left as promptly as he'd arrived, and the party shuffled through the gates.
Ezheia brought herself close to the Aspirant's ear and hushed, "Promise me this, Fiona. You and I are the Order's sole representatives on this journey. I aim to serve as an exemplar of what it means to serve in its ranks, and implore you do the same." When Ezheia pulled back, she regarded the Aspirant with a hint of an unusually soft expression, before her features returned to their dour normality.

---

The last day and a half had not been the most comfortable for Nicholas. Of course, that was only partially due to the sickening swaying of the carriages that tainted what little sleep he got with nightmares filled with puke; after all, whenever he had enough, he could just go and sit on his horse for a while until his behind was sore enough for him to consider the vomit waggon the lesser of two evils.

No, what had really made these days a pain was who recognized him right after the ICC sent them on their merry way: Jessabelle.
Of all the people he could have met here, it had to be somebody from way back home. To say that their encounter had been awkward was a massive understatement - after their initial shock had passed and he tried to find the right words, she had threatened the physical integrity of his man parts before walking away, leaving some of the others to look upon them with curiosity, confusion, gleeful anticipation or all of the above. He had recovered relatively quickly and played it off with a shrug and awkward grin but some of his retreats on horseback had served as a means of escaping and having some time to think.

Should he just ignore her? It had been a long time but nothing had changed, really. If anything, he had spent half a decade on the road and nothing to show for it. Nicholas wondered why Jessabelle was here to begin with, why she would leave her sisters... but he couldn't just strike up a conversation like nothing happened. Therefore, he avoided her as best he could.

As it happened, he was in same the car as Marcus when he asked for their motivation. A few jokes aside, he hadn't really talked at all since they left Armistice. He took the opportunity to banish the past from his thoughts and put on a smile.
"Oh, nothing in particular. Only the prospect of fame, fortune and omnipotence. Not to mention the hundreds of women. You?"

Azra - on the road - 250 HP

---

More had joined their cause, a few other oddities to add to the mix. Her eyes glanced upon one ... a prisoner? A brow raised, through all her research, all her poking and prodding in places that were none of her business, she had been caught unawares by this one. Was this part of his sentence, or had he chosen this road for himself?, she wondered quietly.

Their moment had come. And it seemed to have been marked by the timely introduction of one man. Representative Aldaran. The very sight of him made her want to vomit in a corner somewhere and nearly had her regretting her decision. It wasn't 'him' per say, but what he represented, his look, his demeanor, his authority, and the fact that they probably had no care in the world for each one of these poor souls that joined Annalynne on this day. Something within the man’s speech made her flinch … “...your families will be taken care of and rewarded handsomely …” her brother came to mind. He would’ve been a few winters short of 40 … if he was even still alive, her head hung low and her jaw clenched. Though she couldn’t tell if it was hatred or sadness that possessed every muscle in her body to tense. If he was even still alive … that bastard, she could kill him herself. She had no family. She needed no family. She just needed the knowledge and power the ICC was after. “Your government thanks you for your service.”, his words were received as little more than a joke.

Beneath her hood, her eyes darted around the wide open space, looking over the others of her convoy. She loosed a breath, releasing the aggravated tension that had overcome her, and followed along into one of the carriages. Normally, she would’ve paid attention to who she had allowed to accompany her, but there were a few things that had shoved themselves to the front of her thoughts. Dropping her hood to her shoulders, her gaze lingered on the gates of Armistice as they finally drove away. She had done so much over the years, however it all paled in comparison to this moment and what she had just committed herself to.

They had been in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, a voice had spoken up and broke the monotony of their journey thus far. "So... What the hell made you want to die so badly, eh?" She chuckled softly at the question, to be honest, she couldn’t give a clear answer to that as she was still asking herself that very question. Another voice spoke up. She had spent so much time of her life in silence, alone on solo missions, she had forgotten what ‘idol conversation’ was like. A grin tugged at her lips as the man answered. "Oh, nothing in particular. Only the prospect of fame, fortune and omnipotence. Not to mention the hundreds of women. You?"

She just couldn’t help herself ”Only a fool would wish for such things”, she smirked, glancing a moment at the man. ”Then again, you are a man, are you not?”.... Shit, she had drawn attention to herself. The smirk slowly faded and her gaze returned to where it once was. A soft chuckle glossed over any awkwardness. Such a comment was odd, coming from her, but there was a part of her that wanted so badly to engage in her company. She had played the part times before. But it felt strange this time, as this was one situation that called for no masks, no games, no deceptions. Who the hell was she supposed to be if not a character of distorted truth or veiled allure. 30 years old and she had lost herself in her many disguises. She was a mess, that is who she was. Her small form sulked back in her seat, disappointed with her realization.

Jessabelle

Armistice - Near the Eastern Gate - 250 HP

---

Jessabelle remained silent during the time a few others were getting to know each other, casually listening to some of their conversations, but not interested enough to give her two cents. After some time had passed it seemed as though everyone arrived, the last being a man who looked like he'd been through hell and back, accompanied by what looked like guards who backed off once he joined the group. Her interest was short lived as she figured the man was simply another one of them, volunteering for his own stupid reasons just like the rest of them. Jessabelle paid no more mind to him once the speaker began to talk.

She registered his words, agreed with some and not with others, overall caring little about what the man had said. She didn't expect him to keep the promise of protecting her family should something happen to her. The only one capable of protecting her sisters was her, and even that was up in the air as of late. Despite it, she assumed his words were to encourage those with uneasy hearts, but Jessabelle knew her heart was firm in her resolve. She wasn't planning on dying just yet, not when she still had so much to do in this life. As the man finished speaking and left, Jessabelle made no hesitation heading towards one of the wagons and climbing aboard. As she took a seat, she removed her bow and quiver from across her back, propping them up against her leg to make the ride more comfortable. She didn't care who came in to sit after her, so long as they didn't pester her. As she waited for the others to join her, she allowed herself to be lost in her thoughts.

This mission was only the first of many things Jessabelle had planned to do. Finding her sisters was only at the top of the long list of things she needed to achieve... people she needed to find and have her back. Afterall, this was not what she was going down in history for. This was just going to be the stepping stone, the leverage to get her one step closer to her final goal.

The ones who had made her life a living hell, the ones who had made all the people in Sorei live in constant fear, she was going to take away what power they thought they had and use it to end them. To bring peace to the City again.

And by the time they figure out what I've done, it'll be far too late. she thought, a small smirk flashing upon her face.



Azra - Public Roads - 250 HP

---

For fuck's sake... the Gods must hate me.

If the others could feel the air around her, it was sure to be ice cold as she sat silently, expressionless except for the deadliest glare she was currently aiming at the passing scenery. She had one leg crossed over the other, a hand trapped between them just in case she had the urge to hit a certain someone, and her other arm twirling a small coin between her fingers; a gesture that those who knew her meant she was agitated.

Of all people to bump into, the Gods had happened to drop the one man she never wanted to see right before her. Even though he was sitting just across from her, the years apart were still between them and it made for a very bittersweet reunion. He was familiar and different and she really just wanted to hit him. Once and she would be satisfied... for the time being. But alas, she had to play nice. She just hoped her murderous intent wasn't being picked up by anyone else in the cart.

Along the way, there had been small conversations in the past day or so, none of which she took part in. Her silence probably made the others uncomfortable, but it wasn't like she cared about that. One man spoke up again as they rode along, casually hinting his curiosity as to why everyone was there.

"So... What the hell made you want to die so badly, eh?"

Nicholas was the first to speak, and her brown eyes flicked over to him as he did.

"Oh, nothing in particular. Only the prospect of fame, fortune and omnipotence. Not to mention the hundreds of women. You?"

She sighed softly. He hadn't changed. Jess didn't know how to feel about that. Another woman then, who was sitting right next to her, spoke up.

”Only a fool would wish for such things. Then again, you are a man, are you not?”

Jessabelle couldn't help but smirk at that, and the smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She leaned in closer to the woman's ear but spoke at a normal tone so those in the wagon could hear as well.

"A fool, yes. A man? Well, that's up in the air right now." she'd say to her, Jessabelle's tone sounding more lighthearted than threatening for once. When she leaned away, her smile faded and her tone returned to a more serious one.

"I for one, don't plan on dying anytime soon." she said, looking back towards the scenery. "There are some people I need to protect. I don't get the luxury of death." she said as her eyes scanned the passing fields, wondering if her sisters were out there, safe.

The second ICC representative that she saw at the gate soon revealed himself to the group as as Representative Aldaran. In terms of dressing, both of the Coalition's representatives had both been luxurious and reeked of opulence. Gold, they had to have gold in their outfits, be it in colour or something else made it appear as though it was made of such. Adlaran was far older than the younger man who had led her out of her cell in the dungeons to present the terms of the quest. Senua watched as he gestured towards two horse-drawn carriages that would act as the group's transport for the duration of the quest. That was good, at least they wouldn't be on foot for the entirety of the time, giving them to rest their travel-weary feet which would be absolutely important in the later parts of their journey. As the group climbed onto their respective wagons, the journey began.

The groups on both the wagons remained silent, and there was no sound except for the sound of the wagon's wheels rolling over the ground. The silence was soon broken by a man who spoke. The man sported a shaved head with barely any hair on it, and his muscular physique reminded herself of a warrior or a blacksmith. This man reminded Senua of her late father, who's shoulder were just as broad, and body as well-built as his. His facial features were oddly similar, making the resemblance uncanny. The only difference was that her beloved father had a full head of hair, in a shade much lighter than the man that just spoken. Although he seemed to be only directly speaking to the people in his side of the cart, the wagons rode close enough for her to wear what was said.

"So... What the hell made you want to die so badly, eh?"

Senua waited to see who would be the first to reply, and her answer to that question came soon enough. Another man, one with hair that was reaching out for his shoulders spoke, answering the first's question. "Oh, nothing in particular. Only the prospect of fame, fortune and omnipotence. Not to mention the hundreds of women. You?" It was not much later than one of the woman on their cart spoke, joining in the conversation. ”Only a fool would wish for such things”, she smirked, glancing a moment at the man. "Then again, you are a man, are you not?" The other woman then spoke. "A fool, yes. A man? Well, that's up in the air right now." Despite being on the other wagon, Senua was interested in being part of the conversation. Slightly raising her voice so that the trio on the other cart could hear. "I don't know about you two, but he looks man enough to me. Not as man as him-," she briefly paused, her finger gesturing towards the well-built man with the shaved head"-but man enough."