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Before your gaze lies a valley. The air reeks of flesh and feces and the quiet humming of mosquitoes is heard in the midst of trees and mud. A place so rotten the trees do not grow upward, but bend and slither on the ground, their leaves shrooms of varying sizes. Rocks melt to the will of this forsaken place. Sinkholes are filled with sludge darker than the blood of the wicked. The mud clings to all it touches...



In front of you, sitting on a particularly large tree, sits a man, speared to the tree with three large metal rods. His breathing is heavy, but relaxed. To his fallen gaze rests a bonfire, idly giving a warmth to the vicinity.

Just like the people heard many days ago, the sound of a large bell wrecks over the land, like a call of an old father. It is the bell that brought forth the Unkindled from their graves. The call for another gathering. The call for another linking of the Fire...

As Artyom's gaze looked over at the valley that he would soon have to enter in order to continue onwards, he couldn't help but let a sigh escape him from lungs that one could arguable didn't require air anymore. He was already trying to get into the habit of breathing through his mouth; the taste of the rotten air alone was bad enough as it were, he didn't need to sully his sense of smell as well.

Still, the warmth of the bonfire that the young Count was standing near did go a long way to focus on the here and now, taking away the dread that came with trying to cross the swamp for just a little while in order to rest his bones for a time. This focusing on the here and now brought his attention to the still living man that appeared to be impaled several times to a tree. He seemed at peace enough, but ever the empathetic person Artyom asked "Sir, would you require some assistance?" taking a moment to clearly indicate the metal rods poking through him.

The rotten air didn't bother the knight as she trudged through the swamp muck. Wasn't her first time having to breathe something unpleasant. Her travels often had brought her to some rather unsavory locations in the past, and this was no different from any other swamp or muck filled cesspool. She didn't like such places, as she'd have to end up polishing her armor later...but such trivialities weren't something she should concern herself with, she supposed.

In the distance, a bell tolled.

She turned her head towards the sound of it, resting her spear on her shoulders as she let out a quiet sigh. She was undead, wasn't she? She had died. That much she knew, even if she didn't know the details. Well, that was life, sometimes. Wouldn't be the first time she got the short end of the stick on something. Her memories briefly turned back to what was now likely ancient history in this land. Of her old Kingdom, its bustling streets, and...well...people she cared about. She shook her head. Such thoughts weren't conducive to her task at hand.

Unkindled had a task, after all, and she was honor bound to see it through...at least, in some fashion.

The silver clad knight trudged past a sludge that she didn't wish to even guess the contents of. Instead, she turned her attention to the bonfire in the distance. She had traveled...for what? A day or so now? She couldn't recall. Certainly had been on her feet for awhile, though. A rest would be very much welcome. Perhaps if she was lucky, she'd share her rest with another who wouldn't mind a bit of idle conversation.

So she walked closer, passing a large, gnarled tree that was twisting along the ground, momentarily obscuring her vision of the Bonfire. A small smile crossed her lips as she did. Much to her surprise, it looked like she was in luck.

"Sir, would you require some assistance?"

The voice was welcome to her ears. Hopefully they wouldn't be opposed to idle conversation. More importantly it sounded like he was talking to someone else. A second potential ally? Well then, the gods were smiling on her today. As she passed the gnarled tree, she laid eyes on the speaker of the voice, and the one being spoken too...a man impaled on a tree. Several times it looked like. Well, she had seen people be met with worse fates in her time, and he didn't seem particularly opposed to his situation from initial glances.

"Well met, friends." She said in a jovial, relaxed manner as she approached the two. "Mind if I join you here? My travels have been long and a brief respite would be very welcome."

The stench of rot and decay in the air was really an unpleasant thing, Ansgar decided. That would have been a rather obvious statement, should he have been traveling with anyone and spoken aloud, but he wasn't, and he didn't, so it was a rather moot point. He wasn't even terribly well dressed for this whole mess, knowing he'd spend weeks trying to wash out the stink that just being here put into his clothes. At least the armor would just need wiped down, he mused, not like the old black iron had looked terribly good to begin with. It was sturdy and serviceable, all he needed and was concerned about. He wasn't one for frills, no room for it if he remembered right, and he glanced at his halberd, resting on his shoulder, carried at ease like he had in his army days. Taught him a good few things, those lads did, and it was a damn shame he would never see any of them again.

In the distance, his gaze was drawn towards the tolling of a bell most familiar, and he sighed.

Ansgar knew that was his calling, go march off to answer the call of some blasted bell. He was a dead man marching, Undead, bound by fate to throw himself into a pyre for the good of the rest of the world and its Age of Fire. He really wasn't over interested in the whole nonsense, humanity had gone and did to themselves worse than most of the beasties out and about the land did. He remembered the ranks of his brothers and sisters in arms, undead and human side by side against a far greater threat. Common threats tended to form strange bedfellows, and Daemons spawned from some crazed book delvers experiments into recreating a Flame like the old gods had, well, that was good cause enough to have in common. Besides, have some flame belching daemon, have on fire, crashing down onto the ranks of a couple dozen pikemen and halberdiers, the battle line really didn't have time to concern itself if the one dragging them out of the way of one of those giant bloody axes was human or not.

The man considered walking away, ignoring the tolling of the bell, let some other sod deal with it. But what if there wasn't another sod? And what if the sod that did show up wasn't equipped for the situation? Inaction likely led to the downfall of his home to the hands of daemons, so he wasn't going to make that mistake again. Exhaling he marched onwards, the sound of feint voices, unintelligable from his distance, drawing him onwards. Hollowed madmen didn't talk, they gibbered and growled, but not intelligent conversation. Not as far as he had encountered, at any rate, so the sight of a bonfire, and a small gathering of people no less, was an oddly welcoming sight. Least he wasn't the only one getting his clothes dirty out here in this blasted swamp.

"Hail there, travelers." Ansgar spoke wearily, with the plain speak of a common soldier, as he sat down heavily by the bonfire, letting its warmth permeate his bones and take away the weariness for a bit. Looking at the man pinned to the tree, he raised an eyebrow briefly and shrugged a bit, making an off hand comment. "Looks like someone really wanted to drive a point home, or perhaps he has a stake to claim on the whole affair?" Gallows humor, as ugly as it tended to be, was a common mainstay for folks thrown into combat against typically certain death on a daily basis. And Ansgar enjoyed its bitter defiance against that which was purported to be impossible.

The man's head perched up and his empty eyes turn to the first voice. "Ah! A new face in these lands. Welcome to Ayree, Heart of the Wildlands." Raspy and rougher than sandstone is his voice. His drenched clothing gives a rustle of chains as he takes a breath. "Do not mind my bones, dear. This is the making of a comrade in arms, to my own according. I feel sanity fading my ill heart."

A bright grin fell on the man's lips as another approached. The distinct jolly voice of the knight made him chuckle.

"Well, you must be here for the Lords, then. Ah~ do not fear. They must be out to grief over a fallen one." His head perched higher towards the sky. The sound of the bell rung once more. Quick and simple blew another gonging sound of it through the swamp.

"To think they of all would be foolish enough to ring the bell. The Wolves and the Wyrms in these lands..." His voice gives out as he spits coughing and wheezing. The body of the man is a mere shade of a knight he once was. The faded sigil of the Grand Capital is on his armor. "Hear me out, Unkindled and Cursed ones. This is not the lands where the wolves can be hunted down. This is their world. Even the darkest of the Dark has not won a war here." His breathing gives out again and the man spits black bile onto himself. For a moment he seemed to gaze unto his rotting self in panic, a faint glitter of tears on the corner of his fading eyes. "This bell tolls because the wicked of Londor hunt our Lords. They want to gather men to kill those we thrust our Faith upon." His left hand, solid until this moment, opens up and drops a key. The body of the man shivers and wrecks itself in pain. "Whatever you do, do not let them through the gate at the Deep Cliff at the end of the Swamps. They might have found another way in, but this is the way my Lord and the Custodian went. If you must, gather the Lords. The Wicked won't get the Flame." With these words, the man wheezes in pain once more, only to let a raspy breath escape his lips one last time. And with that, the man was no more...

Melissa watched the whole scene, hidden behind trees. She didn't really care about these people nor did she care about the Dark or any Lords. She was however, very intersted in Flame. The Dark might not get it, but maybe I can~ she thought to herself. If I must use these people to do that, I will.

She stepped out and walked towards the little party, both hands on her hips as she swayed, "Well, that sounded like a bunch of nonsense. Sounds like it might be fun, though. I'll take any opportunity to light some fires~" she sing-songed, with a mischeivous grin. "It doesn't sound like something we can just leave be anyway."

Ser Llanowaar, Hunter of Unkindled

The bell toll echoed throughout the blackened woods of the Rotten Swamps with a thunderous call, sending a flock of crows scattering into the skies above. Drawing forth the bastard sword “Requiem” from the back of its latest victim; its master swiped the blade to the side before returning it to its sheathe. Littered all around the forgotten warrior, were the bodies of his fallen enemies who put up less of a fight than a squire. His gaze bounced from one body to the next, his heart beating neither for sorrow or care. The Undead were merely pawns thrown before him to keep his abilities sharp and kept his days free of boredom. He had travelled from the farthest woodlands to this desolate swamp to do the bidding of his Lady Mistress who brought him back from death. Filled with a heart of vengeance and hope to see his family again, he swore a vow to slay her enemies to keep the Lords of Flame at bay. And after thousands of leagues of travel, he had arrived at the place where it will begin.

“Remember my Champion, the Unkindled are not mere warriors. They will not hesitate to snatch the life I have given you to appease the evils of the Flame Lords. Keep true and your steel strong, only then will you see your revenge fulfilled and your family returned to you.”

Her words continued to send ice running through his spine, but they also warmed his shattered heart at the thoughts they provoked. With every stride he took towards the “flames of bone,” his mind wandered at what challenges his foes will provide him. Perhaps they are all skilled warriors, perhaps a rouge or mage in-between them but that didn’t matter. He has fell a many of foe who thought their mettle would triumph over his ability. An ability he discovered when he nearly lost his new life to a group of Unkindled. A dark, ferocious shadow which enveloped him when his life was nearly extinguished which allowed him to slaughter them all with a flurry of swordsmanship. When he had awoken from this shadow, their bodies were shredded to pieces. From then on, he felt a little colder and more like a “hollowed” version of himself.

It wasn’t long before the familiar scent of his foes filled his nostrils, causing him to grit his teeth in struggle. His furious gaze looked upwards and down the path he was continuing to walk upon, taking notice of the rising smoke not too far from him. Reaching up to his blade’s handle, he gripped it firmly before slowly drawing forth the bastard sword. As “Requiem” sang its dreary song when fully unleashed, he twirled the weapon till it rested upon his right shoulder. Drawing his hood lower to conceal his motives with his left hand, he stopped as soon as his path opened to the bonfire of bones. To his left, a man laid impaled to the crooked tree with the smell of death as his companion. Before him, stood four others in conversation about the man who recently passed. They reeked of the scent of Unkindled, followers of the Flame Lords. His and his Lady Mistress’ sworn enemies. His grip tightened around his blade just as his eyes darted between each foe. They didn’t know it yet, but he intended to end their lives before they would start their journey from here.

Artyom turned his head in surprise at the sheer number of people that seemed to be arriving at this bonfire all at once who appeared to have their wits about them. It had felt like an eternity since he had last been in the presence of more then one person who maintained their sanity through the curse of undeath at a time... either because they were affected by the curse or just trying to prevent themselves from getting it.

Wincing a little internally about the memory of his awaking in a river of blood that was thankfully hidden under his helm, the young noble didn't respond to his new companions right away, instead focusing on the impaled man as he slowly faded away. There was no point mourning the fact that he had died... considering the nature of their affliction, he would be back soon enough; The loss of his sanity has he became nothing more then a husk of his former self however was a fate that he wouldn't wish on anyone through and Artyom respectfully bowed his head for a moment of silence and respect.

When the moment had passed, Artyom took a deep breath before turning to look at his new found companions. The first he offered a wave to was the knight that had been the first to join him, answering back "Sorry, I did not mean to be rude by ignoring you before. By all means sit and rest for a time... It isn't like this bonfire is mine to deny anyone else."

The next to be fixed with Artyom's gaze was the man who had joked about the condition of the currently dead man. Having never really been a fan of gallows humor, he shrugged a little as he answered "The really sad thing about all of this is that when it comes to the 'answers' to the problem of the undead I've seen so far, this is actually pretty tame." The word 'Answer' was said with a small amount of condensation, the tone of an educated man that had grown tired of seeing stupid people doing the same thing over and over and expecting to get a different result.

The third member to join their party actually got a very interesting look over from Artyom and even with the plated helm covering his face, the way he held himself gave off the impression that he might have been somewhat bashful as he offered her a wave. "Truthfully, I don't really know of the lords that he spoke of... but if they are working on a way to cure the curse of undeath then there isn't any harm in going to find them to see what sort of answers they have come up with."

The fourth figure that was approaching the fire also got a wave of greeting from the young noble. "Greetings friend. Come to join us in this beautiful location that we all seem to be traveling through?" The sarcasm was strong with this one.

At first, she received no reply from the other undead. One more joined them, and the knight couldn't help but to chuckle at the dark humor that the other offered. She immediately liked him, if only because he seemed to be cut from the same cloth as she was, so to speak. A fellow knight. Again, though, she didn't get much time to speak.

Instead, the man nailed to the tree spoke. Alia would have offered a small smile to him had her voice not been hidden by her helmet, and she did not wish to remove it in this putrid air. Instead, she listened to his tale and instruction. Something about not letting the wicked through the gate in the valley. If it was her reason for being here, then that was something she was honor bound to see through to the end, though...she had given up on petty things like serving another for honor before.

She did abandon her home country, after all, after they imprisoned someone dear to her. Well, she had no reason to not see this task given to her through...she didn't get much longer to ponder, or time for any question to ask, either. The knight only offered a slight bow of her head as the man breathed his last breath, life fading from his corpse, and it looked like they can finally add a bit in the way of some small conversation.

"Sorry, I did not mean to be rude by ignoring you before. By all means sit and rest for a time... It isn't like this bonfire is mine to deny anyone else."

"Aha, it's quite alright friend." Alia replied when Artyom finally responded, though her attention quickly turned to another woman who made her presence known, and who...was dressed...quite...interestingly. Alia had to make an effort not to stare just a bit, and quickly turned her attention away from the other woman and addressed the people gathered. "I am Alianor, it's a pleasure to make all of your acquaintances." She introduced herself with a slight bow.

"I do not know of these lords myself, either, though it seems we have been given the task of finding them." she continued, echoing Artyom. She turned to the fourth gathered...who had his blade slung over his shoulders. She immediately didn't like him. Perhaps it was because of her training, or perhaps it was just instinct, but she figured this man was trouble. Her hand tightened on her spear, but she did nothing. She was suspicious, but suspicions could very well be unfounded, and she wasn't going to attack someone simply because of a gut feeling.

Instead, she offered friendly words. Hopefully nothing would come of it.

"Hail, friend." She called out to him, resting the butt of her spear against the ground. "Care to join us? It's not exactly a beautiful location, but the company doesn't seem to bad at least."

Gregor marched through the putrid swamp entirely oblivious to the stench but still carried his sword and shield at the ready. He walked aimlessly and slowly as though he was exhausted. The group talked among themselves as Gregor neared the bonfire but their presence went completely unnoticed. He walked directly into the group and finding a good place near the bonfire. He took his bastard sword and sank it deep into the damp earth then set his shield on the ground leaning on the sword. Taking a step forward he opened his palms to the fire to feel the faint warmth through the gloves of his gauntlets.

Turning his head Gregor inspects the man impaled to the tree, who may or may not have been talking, he really hadn't noticed. "Oh my" he says aloud but to himself. He then begins to ponder where he was and what he was doing, quietly muttering to himself and certainly not reaching a conclusion. Gregor pulls at his helm in frustration and sets it on the hilt of his blade still in the ground revealing the dry and rotten face of the long dead, someone who was close to losing their humanity completely.

A sound soon came from somewhere behind the newest arrival, a strange sound.

*Schlop*-*Plop*-*Schlop*-*Plop*...

Of course, a simple glance would reveal the source to be some poor fool walking right through the nastiest muddy muck of this rank and rotten swamp that hosted such an interesting gathering, the fetid mess that others would have avoided like the plague, for it may very well contain exactly that. Yet they continued to trudge through the knee deep muck, repeatedly and with noticeable effort extricating their leg from it, only to bury it back within only a single step farther, yet they somehow managed to make good progress despite it's thickness... perhaps it was the wetness that seemed to be leaking off of them into the muck and softening it up for them.

*Schlop*-*Plop*-*Schlop*-*Plop*... *thnk*

Finally something that wasn't mud seemed to meet the mud covered boots and they glanced down, or seemed like it, the strange eye-like helmet made it difficult to tell, then let up a cheer in a most delighted tone "Huzzah!" They rose up at last, perhaps standing upon a submerged root, and then began to trudge along it until finally passing the surface of the muck entirely, where-upon they leapt up, grabbed one of the branches of the very same gnarled tree, and swung 'just' far enough to land on more solid ground. At which point the wettened muck on their boots began to ooze away and get left behind as the newest stranger approached the bonfire gathering.

Without a hint of hesitation he wandered on into the group, smelling strongly of excessive sweating and BO, which was most likely nothing compared to the ever present stench of the swamp, and walked right up to the bonfire itself before stopping and... well, stopping, he almost seemed to not even be breathing under that unusual out-fit, the wetness even ceased... Then suddenly he spoke at last "Goodness, but I feel like I've walked into a gathering that I'm late for! What could bring such a fascinating assortment of strangers together in this most unusual, and unclean, of places?"

Ansgar cocked an eyebrow as the impaled man spoke of, well, not so much seeking the lords as stopping those that sought them. That...wasn't part of the way things had been spelled out for him. Well, to be fair, NONE of this had ever been laid out for him in any form of understandable explanation. Not like he had ever needed one, or had time for one to be honest, so he couldn't readily have expected anything after death. So, stop these Londor folk from getting the Flame, sounded deceptively simple. Especially if all they had to do was hold a gate. But the impaled man finally keeled over dead, and Ansgar stood with a grunt, walking over and kneeling in front of the dead man, hand moving over his face and closing the dead man's eyes, muttering an old prayer soldiers gave the departed back in his kingdom. It held no real power, not like the healer or war Clerics of old, but it was comforting, and that was enough for the dead. Finishing, he rose and cracked his neck, leaning on his halberd as he spoke louder, to be heard. "...And whatever gods are left have mercy on your soul, you poor bastard..."

Ansgar noted the key that had fallen out of the dead man's hands, and picked it up, examining it for a moment before pocketing it. Probably would be useful later, or maybe not. Either way, this dead man had no use for it. The sigil on the armor, he committed it to memory as well. Might come in handy recognizing it later. The noble and silver knightess spoke back and forth, the woman in silver introducing herself before, well, one of the most underdressed people he had seen in years came strolling in. Ansgar knew better than to stare, a pretty face often belied a deadly contenance. Hell, an ugly face could do the same. Case in point, never trust the face or the words. Always watch the eyes. he'd figured out, they spoke truer than any words or expression. "I'd say its a pleasure, Alianor, normally would be, but it seems we're all but knee deep in shit. Hardly your fault, just not the best place to be making acquaintances. Ansgar Staudinger, if we're to be making introductions in Ayree, the latrines of the Wildlands."

The last bit was open mockery of the so called Heart of the Wildlands, and it was readily apparent that Ansgar kept his mind intact with mockery, humor, and a sarcastic, if bluntly honest, outlook on life. If this was indeed the heart, the Wildlands had to be a wicked creature indeed. Not many bore this much venom and corruption in their hearts, if he were to take the grand old way of looking at figuratives as literals. The man after the apparent fire starter gave off not a bad vibe, but one of a man with intent, and that worried him more. The grip of his hand, darting eyes, all made his gut scream a man with nothing to lose. Ansgar leaned on his halberd more, looking more lax, but in fact was more ready for trouble. Momentum and leverage were keys of using the halberd in his style, and with the flick of his armored boot, would throw him right into a rather effective, if classic, stance. The armored, nigh on hollow man and the one that almost gave this shithole a run for its money on stench were just icing on the cake. "Not missing overmuch, stinky, just the tolling of the bells dragging poor sods along for whatever nightmares these Londor folks likely have in store. Don't they sound like a right cheerful bunch? Londor, sounds like all sunshine, rainbows, and good intentions, doesn't it?" To say that his assessment of Londor was oozing with sarcasm would be like calling that swamp just a little muddy. A vast understatement.

The sorceress smirked a bit. She noticed many of them having problems looking at her straight. She giggled a bit, then smiled at everyone in turn, "Good to know that even in death I still have my charms about me. I'll take it as a compliment... I'm Melissa Maris, a Desert Sorceress. Nice to meet ya.... Anyone need a light?" she asked as she stepped closer to the bonfire. Smiling at her own joke, considering it was probably a bad idea to burn anything in this swamp, the smell would be even worse. Plus, there was a bonfire right there. Shame.

Melissa took a ladylike seat by the bonfire, allowing them all a better look at her features, truly a feast for the eyes, it seemed. "In any case, it's not like we have any other options. All of us just seemed to be walking aimlessly with no real objective in mind. Pretty amazing we all met here. Too much of a coincedence I'd say. Perhaps it's fate that we all met. We all need a purpose. I guess this is ours."

As the group gathered, the bell tolled once more. The sound of the bell burst through the air like a beat of a mace against the towering shield of a soldier, banging through the ears and the body. This was no ordinary toll. The bell was smashed by something. The sound was met with a small shiver of the ground and some of the sinkholes in the swamp bubbled up. There was woods cracking in the distance. For a quiet moment, there was nothing. Even the stench, as if touched by this instant, was gone, before the bellowing gust of a wyvern's wings rushed over the area, a massive beast in size flying close to the ground towards the inner lands.

The group continues to converse while Gregor is still oblivious to them, he rearranges his gear and draws his sword from the ground. He produces a simple whet stone and idly began to run it along the blade making a rhythmic sound of steel on stone. Someone entered the area and spoke, muck and slime still dripping from his boots, even the attractive Melissa Maris did not manage to draw Gregor's attention. He kept taking the stone across the blade and began murmuring to himself or laughing quietly. "To the north... the.. uh, demons. no. dead, the undead. uhm.. the the undead from the south, Or.. or was it the east.. i don't know. heh heh heh" As he laughed his fist tightened around the hilt of his sword as if where going to be in a fight, even while he laughed.

The Bell tolled, shaking the earth beneath his feet and managed to penetrate his hollowed delirium. His head lifted looking around himself as if he where suddenly aware of the half dozen people gathered around the bonfire. Gregor still seemed unconcerned by their presence. He did however begin to stare at Ansgar Staudinger, nonthreatening but intently. His gaze still went unbroken as the Wyvern flew overhead. As the gust of air of its passing washes over them Gregor stood and spoke in a deep rumble, eyes fixed on Ansgar, "Captain, Wyvern sighted, What are your orders?"

Ser Llanowaar, Hunter of Unkindled

Llanowaar listened intently to his foes, taking in their thoughts as the words escaped their lips. With each word that spewed, his inner struggle ravaged intensely as he tried to maintain his composure. Swinging his weapon from his shoulder, he firmly slammed the blade into the moist undergrowth between his feet. Placing both hands atop of the pommel of “Requiem,” the warrior lowered his head as he began faint whispers to himself. Incantations did not echo off of his tongue since he didn’t believe in sorcery-use, but simple words to calm himself did. It mattered not if his enemies overheard his words, they too would become whispers of the past soon enough. His ears took in the sounds of new members entering the area they all currently occupied. Heavy and light armor, mushing around in the muck they all found themselves in gave him an idea of who to strike against first.

Then, the smell of the air changed as suddenly as the air pressure around them; causing his empty-filled eyes to reopen. Something was approaching, something that was quite large and quite fast; a draconian monster perhaps? Then, the sound of a final bell toll echoed through the land with a deafening crash followed closely with the sounds of woodlands crackling. The very ground seemed to shake uncontrollably, which would cause a lesser man to stumble. Looking up into the skies above, the shadow of their newest foe flew directly over them. As one of the others asked for orders, Llanowaar took “Requiem” in-hand and placed it back onto his shoulder; beginning his stride towards the flying creature. He has learned over time, the bonfire will keep most at bay who seek to harm its occupiers but this beast wasn’t just “most.” The Unkindled may be his sworn enemies, but the Wyvern would make his mission more difficult if it wasn’t addressed first.

”This beast must fall from the heavens…” Llanowaar muttered to himself.

Receiving no answer from the hooded man, only made Alia more suspicious. She narrowed her eyes at him from under her helmet. Still, he hadn't done anything yet and he didn't seem intent on making trouble, at least not yet so she said nothing, and replied to Ansgar.

"Better to make acquaintances now, rather than wait until we're being attacked by a lizard who wants to use our bones as toothpicks." She chuckled, shaking her head slightly. A small concern, at least, and she didn't expect everyone to be as friendly seeming as she was. She shot one last quick glance to the hooded man, but for the most part she turned her attention to two others who made themselves known. A rather...comical fellow and a rather...unpleasant fellow. She laughed a bit at Ansgar's reply to the man.

"Indeed. I'm expecting a warm welcome party any second now." She replied. "They woke all of us up with the loudest bell they could possibly find, so it'd be rude to not greet us." It was then, the sorceress' turn to introduce herself. Melissa Maris, who proceeded to sit at the Bonfire and a fairly...provocative manner. If the sorceress kept this up, she might just have to request she wear something else.

"Fate does indeed do strange things at times." She replied, though she sounded a little skeptical of that. Fate wasn't something she believed in all that much. Not since she left her homeland, at least. "Though-"

Before she could even start on her second sentence, the bell tolled again, but it seemed someone finally got tired of its constant ringing. It was smashed, followed by silence as sinkholes opened around the gathered group. Moments later, a Wyvern made its appearance. Massive wings spread wide, flying right towards the Swamp.

"Speaking of welcoming parties and lizards..." She gripped her spear, holding it at the ready.

Goodness, how sudden they were interrupted by rather an impressive beasty! "How terribly rude to interrupt such pleasant, and interesting, interactions and introductions!... heehee, that's a lot of inters." It almost seemed as if he'd been completely oblivious to everyone else's words, or he'd forgotten them the moment the big dragony thing showed up and blasted past the group... speaking of which, he quickly charged a couple of steps out of the cluster of strangers and skidded to a stop, showing a bit less of 'the loon' in how smoothly he pulled the obscenely large bow from his back, slammed it's pointed lower end into the ground with one foot against it, whipped out a boney thing that looked like a miniature lance, and proceeded to draw the net-work of strings back while taking aim towards the flying beast...

Only to stop this a moment later and relax the strings "Aww poo, too far already. Why do big things always get to be 'fast' too? Dragon's and wannabe dragon's are so unfair!" He replaced the 'arrow' somewhere within his odd white stuff and toddled on back to the edge of the group before proceeding to clap his hands together once, nice and loud. "Right then! Introductions! You all can call me 'Asta', and I shall be you're friendly comic relief at 'least' until one of you tries to stab me!" What a segue... of course, he probably wouldn't be the first anyone had heard of who tried to cope with being undead through laughter. "Now, not to be the voice of reason or anything, but does anyone else think the big flying lizard had a problem with that bell? or what it was 'doing'?... Oh, wouldn't it be exciting if it got in the way of those lords you mentioned going to look for?! I bet it'll stay close enough for me to shoot it 'then'."

Melissa quite enjoyed the break from the stench and the wind that followed from the dragon. It was a nice change from the swamp. Shame it didn't last long. She watched it as it flew above them. That's...certainly now something you see every day. Here, especially. Beautiful~ I wonder if I could tame it. A pet dragon would be fun! Problem is....should we be following it to fight it or heading the direction of that bell? We don't....exactly know where we're going do we? Only our objective. Granted, I guess it'd be silly to let a dragon run amok.

She stood, allowing her hands to ignite at her sides, and looked around at her companions, "One of you should probably take the lead. I'm not exactly the best choice for close combat."

Everything around the group began to stir alive. From the mud of the swamp, bubbles rose and Hollowed crawled out. The earthquake must have woken them and their senses were to hunt anew. The arms and heads stuck out of the mud now and then, bubbling out a growl that was suffocated from their extensive time under the swampy soil. They were after flesh and souls. The nourishment of anything gone too deep into the insane curse of Undeath.