As Jezebeth was listening in on the conversation regarding the dragon, she had put on her helmet for convenience sake, though she knew that there were a few among the elves who would like to harm her, some for petty and personal reasons, and others still for suspecting her to be some fell creature - to them, she thought that they need to grow a new pair of eyes.

The knight was in contemplation when another of the group introduced himself: "Forgive my earlier shyness. I'm an Eru'Dai. Perhaps the EverGod favors you, and sees fit to guide you in a more mysterious way than most of the lesser Gods. It's a great honor, I'd say."

Another holy man? Was Jezebeth's first impression. Settionne was a priest, Ursaren possibly another, if not just a healer, while this other member here was a warrior monk. Had there been no mention of a dragon, Jezebeth would have thought that she had been inducted into a group of pilgrims on a quest to some obscure southlander holy site.

"Perhaps," Jezebeth agreed half-heartedly, offhandedly. If it was the EverGod's way of testing her, of leading her to some ultimate destiny, it was surely the most bitter and foul of journeys yet, for her previous trials hadn't necessitated the death of a hundred servants of good, nor put her in such emotional strain that she had felt like falling on her own sword. "You are forgiven, Eru'Dai. A band of elves fighting for the forces of good is surely more trustworthy than their captive, even one so mistakenly apprehended."

Looking down at her crossbow, she saw that she was constantly readjusting her grip. Jezebeth knew she was nervous, standing around so many strangers she had never tested nor scrutinised for demonic influences and demonhood, and among elves who might want to do unsavoury things to her, but also that she had never had her nerves broken before. The knight had seen brothers and sisters trembling and babbling like infants after battles too close and too bloody before, and she had never understood them until now.

Occasionally, her left hand, which was holding tightly on her crossbow, would tremble uncontrollably, triggered by the sound of horses or the stray noise of metal grinding on metal. It would be some time before she had found herself again.

"I know nothing about divine plans, but I think it is a greater honour to meet you. Had your group not arrived, I might not have lived to tell the tale of my fellow knights' bravery, much less to avenge them in some way. Is that what you offer, Eru'Dai? A way for me to atone for my sin of failure?"

Jezebeth's gaze wavered to settle on Settionne for a second, and from what she could tell, the priest seemed to be giving her an expectant, pitiful look when the subject of horsemanship was brought up. But that would be a subject for later.

@POOHEAD189@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Banana@The Fated Fallen

The group seemed to have reached enough of an impasse that they would at least travel until the point became important to discuss. Horses were brought out. Alice like many of her peers had been raised to ride horses, though the kind she was used to were of a different breed altogether. The ones brought forth before the group were a much stronger and more graceful type than any seen in Vrettonnia, being the size and build of the Andred brute-like war horses akin to the one Jezebeth had pulled herself onto and yet they still reminder her of the magically bred royal beasts that several families were famed for in her homeland, the kind of show beasts that danced their way wherever they went. Typical of elves, however, the horses were free to a fault, they bore no riding gear which would make holding on an annoyance and riding side-straddle an impossibility.

Alice sighed, there was no reason for a lady like her halfway across the world to ride side-saddle but habit was a hard thing to weed out. Jezebeth straddled her own beast and put her helmet on, an example to all of them. Golden curls and beautiful face disappearing beneath hard steel. Her last signs of weakness disappeared with it, the shattered woman who the group had been presented with seemed a far cry from the one here and Alice felt inspired.

She wondered if she could ever have been like Jezebeth, had she been born in Andred. An emotion she hadn't felt before bloomed in her chest, like when one looks upon an idol and strives to be like them. Such thinking was merely childish fantasy, though. A second glance let her take real stock of the situation, they were cut of entirely different cloth. Jezebeth had been raised from birth on virtue and valour, that social class was to be earned and not inherited or seized. When Jezebeth came of age it was probably in glory, celebrations were likely a part of her ascension to knighthood. When Alice came of age she was cast out of her system, and travelled ever since. It was the best thing that had happened to her, she knew, but it was a key defining feature that made her realise she would never be like the apparent demi-god before her. It would be easy to become bitter about such a thing, but bitterness was what ruled the Vrettonnian courts and Alice had left all that behind years ago. Maybe she felt a bit of remorse, but she knew that would go away in time

Alice turned to Geradin, who looked distastefully at the typically human mounts. She knew he would probably prefer some form of mountain goat, gods know why. She'd ridden them before, and they were awful. For one they smelt and were extremely greasy, many dwarves thinking it a waste of time to wash themselves, let alone their mounts. Not only that, but since mountains are vertical, more often than not the rider has to grasp deep into the fur of the beast or risk falling off meaning it can take weeks of cleaning for the stench to come out. In the end she'd sold that riding outfit off to a pawnbroker, though she wished she'd bought something in it's stead now.

She gave Geradin a leg up onto his horse, knowing that without some sort of encouragement they'd be here all day waiting for him.

She sighed again, conscious of the fact she was doing that too often and clambered her way up onto her own allocated beasts back. A midnight black horse, as stoic in the face of company as she liked to think herself was. She took it slow, as to remain composed and feeling her inner self judge every movement against the impossible to reach bar of Jezebeth. Lacking reigns Alice interlaced her fingers with the beasts mane, which seemed the complete opposite of the mountain goats she had in mind earlier. She said in Elvish as a test, "Right," and the beast turned. It made sense that without reigns the only way to control the horse would be with words. Now if only she could remember what the word for left was...

@POOHEAD189@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Banana@Darkraven

All things considered -- it wasn't exactly going well for An-Hasst. The vote he himself had initiated had pretty much backfired onto himself. Chances that they would indeed spend a more or less considerable amount of time on investigating this dragon issue were high and the Skayleigh didn't have any plans of not following suit. The case just didn't allow for this. The only thing that was somewhat soothing his remorse was that the vote probably had shortened their stay here by breaking through the ongoing bickering. Or were it the horses which were bringing in this superb atmosphere of departure ?

It should have merely been a quick turnaround, but once more the half-elf-half-giant's view became stuck the moment Jezebeth's figure had unintentionally crossed its center. Apparently Settionne had done a good job with assembling her armor. It seemed to fit her body as perfect as a plate armor possibly could and certainly was an impressive thing to look at. However, if he was completely honest to himself, the thing even more beneificial than knowing that one wouldn't have to worry much about her in a fight was that the steel was almost completely hiding her beauty. It just was so difficult to not look at her otherwise... Something told him that the priest already was deeply trapped in that pitfall and he had on plans on doing the same thing. Definitely not! On the other hand the mere fact that an excellently armed, proficient Andred warrior had joined the team did make the Skayleigh feel both uncomfortable and agitated at the same time.

The more attentive onlooker would notice that their Skayleigh companion now and for the first time in quite a while tightened up his armored cloak. An-Hasst was using armor made out of wool, leather and wood meant to provide protection against attacks and harsh weather at the same time. A thick cloak that went down from his shoulders to a height barely above the ground. The almost black scales were in stark contrast to their user's pale skin, but in terms of protection they were only midly inferior to steel while offering an array of benefits in other areas.

Even having pulled up the hood that was part of his self-made protective equipment, the Skayleigh approached the elven commander. "I'd like to thank you for the horses. I hope we can make up some time." He even bowed a bit in front of whom could be considered his half-fellow-countryman. Then he turned his attention to the horses that had been brought in. It was the part that he became honestly worried about the fact that being light couldn't exactly be counted among those benefits of his wooden invention. It would be the task of the elvish blood flowing in his veins to save the horse from collapsing immediately. The problem was that while he was -- hopefully -- light enough for his own idea not falling back onto himself, he certainly didn't look like that. After all his body was almost closer to eight feet than it was to seven and 'bulging' was a bit of an understatement when trying to describe the amount of muscle he had been building up over the last decade or so. At least he wouldn't have to worry about any saddle being a fit too tight for his thighs. Still the horse didn't appear to be anywhere near happy with him sitting on it and neither was the Skayleigh who was faced with the prospect of his dangling feet digging through whatever kind of high grass they were going to encounter.

From his now elevated positon, An-Hasst signaled his mount to turn around using his legs. It seemed that Alice was dealing with a bit of inexperience while Settionne was nowhere near the danger of having to do the same thing since the man appeared to be at a complete loss. He would have helped him for the sake of not loosing more time, but he didn't see a way how his mount could carry another man as well. "Sett ? Why don't you go with Alice ? Or with me if you really have to."

In due course, both Jezebeth and Alice had mounted their respective horses, and the Skayleigh seemed to be on his own horse too, albeit hesitantly and haphazardly. Argon the Lizardman chose to run alongside the horses, and the Elf Calanon had his Elk to ride, which largely left Settionne himself to pick somebody to ride alongside. A glance at Jezebeth had yielded no obvious answer, but the Skayleigh did volunteer both Alice and himself as possible riding partners. How uncannily kindly, if impractical, of him. Was Settionne's charm rubbing off on the tall half-Elf? No, surely not, his very first interaction with the priest had been a rather harsh stare indicating disapproval, and one did not wipe away first impressions in the course of less than a day; more likely, it was to try and keep an eye on Sett and foil whatever ideas he might try to come up with, even if he wasn't aware that it would be to nab some of his companion's items, though his luck so far had been quite minimal in that regard. So...

'I fear your horse would collapse if I were to ride with you, friend!' he called to the Skayleigh, showing off a little bit of mirth to sate the curiosity of onlookers. 'But, since it's been suggested now, perhaps the fair Lady Alice would care to let me join her on her steed after all. What do you say, madame?' he asked the woman in question more directly, already looking for an opportunity to filch something or other from her, eyeing up her position upon her horse, and more importantly the all-important bag of magical silk containing so many valuable substances, oh yes, there it was... but, if the Wood Elves were to travel alongside them for at least a little while, they would surely notice his activities and call him out on it. Best, then, to continue biding his time, until the Elves were gone, and nobody was paying attention to him. Shame about the Elf that came part and parcel with the party, but what could you do? Make sure the most observant individuals were distracted before taking any risks, is what he could do, and may Fineki grant him those opportunities in bulk from now on.

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Fetzen@Darkraven@Banana

Ursaren had been remaining silent for the previous minute, trying to probably keep from saying anything that would jeopardize his secret. The matter of horses was brought up in the conversation as several steeds were loaned to the party, and within a few seconds the old man was mounting a bigger, darker-colored horse and rubbing it behind the ears with his hands, trying to keep it from panicking with the new rider on top of it. Ursaren had experience with horseback riding before, acting as both a jouster and a bet-winner, so the act of horseback riding just came back to him naturally. If the old man didn't look badass before, he would definitely look badass now. He turned his head to face the priest Sett and his predicament of struggling to find someone to ride with, as he was inexperienced with this and he couldn't learn right now. After he asked Alice if he could perhaps ride with her on her horse, Ursaren had spoken up with his usual jolly tone. "Settionne, if she rejects riding with you, then you're more than welcome to climb aboard with me."

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@BCTheEntity@Fetzen(Not mentioning Darkraven because confusion, please do not take offense or think I'm being rude, I'm just confused.)

Alice considered the request. Did she really want Settionne to ride with her? Did she want the human flirt-machine to be shooting his comments from the same horse as her, if not at her?

Not only that, but he was heavier than her. If they shared a mount he would need to go behind her, above the Horses' back legs. The downside to that being she would find it hard to stop errant words or hands, but she supposed the upside being if the horse bolted or reared he would straight off. A small mirth reached her lips.

Urasen made his request, but Alice took pity on Settione, she didn't know how long ago those furs had been washed, and it was hot today and Urasen didn't look like he was going to remove them so...

She turned her horse to the priest and sighed heavily, You need to stop doing that, me. she was annoying herself now. "Fine, you can ride with me. But if you say a single word or I feel so much as a hand anywhere but my shoulders you're going on Argon's back." to be fair the horse was probably going to be a lot more uncomfortable for him than the latter option, but he didn't need to know that with his lack of experience.

She dismounted and gave him a leg up, she didn't want to test his balance and risk injuring the horse. She pushed him back and mounted herself and felt a million inward sighs. She decided she's stick close to Geradin's horse, like all Dwarves he looked out for the honour of his companions as fiercely as his own. He'd also probably need some help. She trotted over and started explaining to him the various relevant words from the elvish language

@POOHEAD189@BCTheEntity@Fetzen@Darkraven@Banana@Sypherkhode822

Everyone who had not already had a horse, received one. Beren was very much not used to horses, but he enjoyed animals and made a fast friend with his borrowed steed Baradthemas, or 'Blackshadow' in northern. Geradin was allowed to ride with him, trusting Beren enough to let him ride. Argon saluted with his sword, but at Beren's request, let him put some of his equipment up on the steeds to give him less of a load when he was running.

"May Felathorwen guide you," Verya said.

Their journey was swift, the trees passing them by like green and brown blurs as the horses expertly maneuvered through the brush. Even the non-Elven steeds seemed to take their cues from the ones up front, helping them along the way. While the Southland was nothing if not one large forest, it was still clear to see they were just reaching the edge of this particular wood. The sky was now more visibly seen as they neared the end of their relatively safe (though precariously fast) ride.

The Elven horses halted ever so suddenly, taking only about a dozen feet to slow down before they lifted high and stamped down, content that this was the end of the line. Of course, those who were riding their own horses did not stop as immediately and they must have trod forward many feet before realizing they must stop and rein their steeds in. They moved so far forward in fact, among this lesser wooded and more open area, that they bumped into what could only be described as a curious looking young woman amid the thin trees and rocks, carefully stepping over roots as she traveled.

Almost being run over by the horses, she was lucky to be alive! Behind them, those that rode the Elven steeds had dismounted. Their steeds were summoned back by an ethereal elvish voice calling to them from the very dark woods behind the party. Since they were not as...preoccupied with nearly bowling over a lone woman, they could see smoke in the distance, to the Northeast just over the treeline.
@The Fated Fallen@Banana@BCTheEntity@Fetzen@Sypherkhode822

The last few days had held ups and downs for Mags.

She had managed to decipher another stanza in the love poem she had been studying. It was curious, because the poem was engraved into a lead Jocasta snuffbox from (judging by the crimping on the corners) 2nd Period Praeloria. But the language used was an unusual Old Elvish dialect. The poem itself was an ode in praise of the beauty of Elvish womanhood (woelvishhood?) If she had to guess, Mags would say that it had been intended as a gift between a human noble and an Elvish woman. Mags held a suspicion that the snuffbox once possessed an enchantment. Figuring out the entire poem might provide a clue. Mags was vaguely aware of the fact that if she took this to an auction house in the North, she could make enough money to buy rounds for an entire tavern every night for a month. As it was, the most pressing thing for Mags was to find if it held any magic that she could learn. If she found it didn't, she'd probably either store it in one of the numerous cache's she started setting up, or would pawn it off to whoever she found in exchange for some essentials.

Unfortunately, a few nights ago a Rodent of Unusual Size had stolen all of her food while she slept. Since then, she hadn't had much luck with scavenging anything. She was worried. How was she supposed to uncover the ancient civilization if she couldn't even last long enough to find the dragon? At least she didn't have to worry about being eaten by a dragon, she was so skinny that she would make a horrible snack for anyone. Not that that had stopped the mosquitoes from trying. Her stomach had stopped growling, and now just sat, frustrated, dragging Mags onward. She hadn't been able to sleep the night before, so she had been digging into her Jocasta stash hard to keep her upright. It kept her moving, but whenever it started to wear off, she became incredibly aware of how ravenous she was, which made her chew more in an attempt to quell the pangs, which worked for a while.

She had finally hit what appeared to be the rough edge of the current forest. Mags was being driven crazy by the thought of finding some jackalopes in the brush for dinner. She plucked her way across the thinning woods, her hardened feet scrabbling over roots and rocks. She was so absorbed in the thought of eating an entire horse that she failed to hear the sounds of nearly a dozen horses tramping its through her.

When the first horse cantered past her, Mags let out a low yelp, springing away from the hooves. As the rest of the horses streamed past her, Mags hunkered down, casting Dunexan's Gentle Protector, stopping the spray of loose pebbles and twigs being flung up by the horses.

Stumbling to her feet, Mags fumbled with drawing her dagger, nearly dropping it on her foot as she dizzily brandished it.

She couldn't focus enough to remember which hand went first when casting Excellent Prismatic Spray, so she decided to try diplomacy.

"Woah! I, uh, I.. Don't hurt me please!"

Oh, yes. Excellent. My eloquence will save the day. Best make peace with the Gods now.

@The Fated Fallen @Banana @BCTheEntity @Fetzen @POOHEAD189

Damn it! Due to his half-elvish part he probably should have known better, but the capability and will of those elvish steeds to stop so ferociously caught An-Hasst by surprise. The violent move almost threw him off the animal's back, but the Skayleigh managed to maintain some amount of grace as he jumped by himself before it became uncontrollable. He stomped onto the ground facing towards the forest they had just left behind -- or merely the conspicuously sharp gradient in the local vegetation's density they had just encountered one should say. What did his half-countrymen think ? Why did they allow them to only go that far on their steeds ? It was a bit of a disappointment, honestly.

Still even he could see that there was no point in rambling about that, so what the half-giant did was to turn around. One of the last things on his list of expectations was yet another woman who just happened to be there. Instantly and probably lacking any noticeable amount of decency, the Skayleigh started inspecting her. A human as it appeared. Marguerite's rather hungry looking figure consumed several seconds of An-Hasst's attention before he finally noticed that she was wielding a dagger.

The Skayleigh approached her, but kept out of what he suspected to be her immediate range with that weapon. "If you don't want to be hurt then I suggest that you stop trying to generate the impression that you want to do the same thing. None of us has drawn any weapon so far, but you have." In a more or less subtle effort of not allowing the priest Settionne to make first contact again, An-Hasst quickly continued with asking questions. "So... who are you and what are you doing here, if I may ask ?" Well... out of his mouth those last four words didn't sound like a perfectly polite request.

@The Fated Fallen@Banana@BCTheEntity@Sypherkhode822@POOHEAD189

Sett thanked Alice for boosting him on to the horse, rather pleased with how events had turned out as she mounted it again herself. And it was nice to be sitting in close proximity to a reasonably attractive woman, mind you. It just happened that he would be far more focused on the contents of her Elven sack...

Or so he'd thought at the time. As it happened, many factors prevented him from even making a pass toward the damn thing: Alice's continuing proximity to the Dwarf Geradin, the fact that good heaving Gods these horses were just awful on the hindquarters at a gallop, and the realisation maybe a quarter way through the journey that, yes, if the Elves were keeping an eye on their creatures, they'd sure as anything espy him if he made so much as an attempt to filch something from his trusting ally.

In the end, he simply kept his hands on her shoulders and held on for dear life until the creatures slowed to a halt. The initial dramatic slowdown simply had him fall forward into Alice's back, preventing him from falling forward. And on the other hand, the subsequent rising of their steed to a frankly obnoxious angle was more than enough to throw the inexperienced priest off, and only just avoiding pulling Alice off with him. Sett landed hard on his back, the wind being knocked out of him for a rather substantial time period, and by the time he'd managed to get his breathing under control and rise back up, the horses were gone once more. And what a pity, for how useful they'd be over the less dense woodland before them...

Oh look, somebody new. This woman was... well, young, for a hermit, as opposed to Ursaren's great age. And the inexperience showed, for she was thinner than Settionne himself, without the lean muscle to back it up nor the clothing to protect her from harm or indecent scrutiny. But, judging by the circle of displaced rocks and twigs surrounding her, she definitely had something for that purpose. Magic, mayhaps? Who could say? Her, most likely, and it seemed the Scalie... wait, no, the Skaylay was going to talk to her first. That was fine, really. Let him interrogate her, make himself out to be the bad guard at first light, and he could swoop in after the half-Giant was done to be the good guard who gently encouraged her to spill her guts, rather than threatening to spill her actual guts.

In the meantime, he espied some smoke over the treeline. Oh, good. Another unavoidable fight, most likely. Sett took a step, stumbled over his aching legs, then hobbled the rest of the way towards Alice, patting her on the shoulder and pointing at the smoke once her attention was garnered. 'Now, Madame, you are a highly educated woman, if you don't mind my saying so,' he said to her quite jovially, subtly downplaying his own reasonable teaching - he was a priest, after all, and he was fairly certain he'd been informed more thoroughly than the average peasant. 'By your estimate, would you say that that smoke beyond yonder horizon is of the right quality to have been generated by, say... dragonfire?'

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Banana@Fetzen@Sypherkhode822

The ride was pleasant enough, as far as things could go. The lack of saddle left Alice's haunches burning, and she couldn't imagine what it was like for the other less experienced riders. Geradin was complaining about it greatly until she corked out some of her stashed ale which he promptly complained was watered down human stuff. After his initial grumble he promptly became more amicable and although the horses were travelling at more than leisurely pace they still managed to have a good long conversation, it never failed to amaze her how much experience the dwarf had gained over his many centuries of living, and the Dwarven tinge of 'Ragnarok this,' and 'my honour that' only brought it's own charm to the stories. Sett remained quiet throughout, and thankfully inactive. He instead preferred to hold her shoulders and jostle, suffering in silence.

The wind swept her hair as they swept across the greens, making it beyond messy but in that pleasant and freeing way. Why hadn't they set off with horses to begin with? Suddenly the horses came to a sudden halt, and Alice knew what was coming next. She quickly wrapped herself around the beasts neck and hung over one side (so if she did fall she'd have some control to roll out of the way of stamping hooves). Sett however did not have the same chance to react, however, and as the beast reared her promptly fell off the back of it with a loud rustle and 'oof!'. She heard Geradin off behind her somewhere curse out as he made the same tumble, this time punctuated with the chink of armour.

Her next step was to leap off the side, and try to calm the beast before it started careening, but when she started petting it's side she noticed it's eyes were far from wild. It simply regarded her calmly and promptly ran off. They were trained to do that?!? "Thrice cursed elves and their lack of saddles!" she shouted after it in Vrettonnian, she never would understand why they decided to do that. No doubt her legs would be killing her promptly, but for now the adrenaline of swift action still suppressed such pains. She turned to Sett in a composed manner to help him up, looking past him to see Geradin hefting himself up on the handle of his hammer and An-Hasst...

... Staring down an imposter. She could have sworn the beasts were not driven to flight, but she quickly drew her hand back from her wheezing countryman and reached to her Fan-wand. The confrontation didn't seem hostile, though the woman had drawn her weapon. At least Alice thought it was a woman, thought she looked fairly small and androgynous. Alice's and Geradin's first thoughts considered an ambush, and he cast his eyes about in front of her, one hand on weapon and one hand clutching at his pendant in a pre-battle prayer. But the woman looked like a very strange bandit, and if there was an ambush Alice would likely be sporting several arrows in her midsection by now, which she felt was a look that wouldn't suit her very well.

Settionne took this opportunity to take his own stock of the situation, standing up and sticking his hand on her shoulder. He started as he always did, with honeyed words. "Now, Madame, you are a highly educated woman, if you don't mind my saying so," she would have rolled her eyes had she not been trying to survey the situation, so instead she twisted the corner of her lips into a subtle grimace. He continued "By your estimate, would you say that that smoke beyond yonder horizon is of the right quality to have been generated by, say... dragonfire?" he pointed behind her, and she considered the question. After about ten seconds she didn't know why she had taken so long looking for any identifying features, there was no way to tell if it was dragon fire from the smoke alone. She couldn't even tell if it was a lot of smoke because of 'yonder horizon' in the way. While dragon fire itself was slightly easy to identify, mainly in the respect it was coming from a dragon, anything set on fire by the dragon would be using the burning feature as fuel and wouldn't take on the same qualities. She replied to the priest "A fire is a fire, Settionne. I have no idea, but I wouldn't rule a dragon out of the question." at least she wouldn't in their certain circumstances. She noticed Geradin head over to the new woman, but she brushed off Settionne's hand and fixed him with a stare. "I don't know whether you can pry to any gods that could help us in endeavours of subtlety, but I would suggest asking. We're going to go scout ahead." likely they would be in the safest place doing so, and the party would need to make friends very quickly if it was as Settionne had suspected.

She turned to the Lizardman with them, but he'd already started heading off towards the smoke, having not been held up by the fickle steeds, and probably having smelt the flame a ways off. She started after him

Ursaren almost flew off the horse that he was riding when the horses had suddenly halted. Once the old man had climbed off the horse from the sudden halt, he took in the new situation the crew was in, standing in front of a younger woman who had almost been trampled by the group of people. The woman didn't really seem like she was a threat, as the poor girl couldn't even hold a dagger properly, and she looked like she would have some sort of magical aptitude from the various items and artifacts that she had on her. While Ursaren would normally concern himself with people like this woman, he was instead interested in the smell of smoke and how Alice and the reptilian man had absconded from the group in pursuit of the smoke's origin, with it possibly involving the dragon that they had heard about from the elves. Ursaren turned to Beren and spoke out to him with his hearty voice. "Hey Beren. I'm gonna follow behind Alice and go help her tackle that fire nonsense,. Telling you now!"

With someone being alerted, Ursaren followed Alice into the forest, with his spear and shield drawn to his side. He was ready to fight whatever was ahead, and, more importantly, he was ready to show off his true power to the group. Ok... maybe not the group, but to at least one of them, who would hopefully help defend him when everyone else would panic about what Ursaren really was.

As the altercation with the ever moving and suddenly halting horses occurred, Argon the Lizardman tirelessly pumped his powerful legs in pursuit. Without his heavier armor, and with the rest he'd gotten at the Elven glade, he moved swiftly. Still, it wasn't as fast as the steeds and it took him until the initial interactions with this new mage girl until he stamped out of the treeline with a hissing breath. "I have not run like that in many years!" he announced. "Or was it days? Time has little meaning to ussss."

Beren dismounted his horse, and helped Geradin get off. The Dwarf was heavy, even for the muscled Warrior Monk. His muscles were bulging and prominent as he did his best to keep Geradin hitting the ground like a cannon ball being dropped. Argon volunteered to help, and the Mixed breed human, along with the towering Lizardman, helped the Dwarf to the ground relatively easy. "I'm alright! I'm alright!" the Dwarf protested until his feet touched the ground, then he sighed and dusted himself off. "Beasts," he muttered, eyeing the horse until it galloped away.

Beren stretched, popping his back. His next words were a groan. "Man," he said, before he opened his eyes to see Alice and Ursaren heading into the woods toward the smoke. "Uh..." He blinked, looking back at Argon and Geradin. "Hey, Geradin. Rest your legs and see if this new girl is alright. Argon, wanna g-"
"Friend Alice!" The Lizardman cried, slithering towards where the two were running with little heed to anything else. Beren sighed and had to run to keep up with the Lizardman. "Guess this is my life, now."
Geradin called after them, but realized the lad had the right idea, and he stomped over to the new girl. "Oi! What's yer name lass? Be ye fey, or friend?"

---

Soon, Alice, Ursaren, Beren, and Argon the Lizardman would make to the end of the treeline and see a devastated townscape, though it looked more from it being a raid than any Dragon attack. Among the rubble, they would find a young Darkslayer by the name of Gaderon Fleurin who had just come upon the scene, having only just gotten there himself.


@The Fated Fallen@Banana@BCTheEntity@Fetzen@Sypherkhode822@Ink Blood

Gaderon definitely felt the difference of the climate he found himself in compared to his homeland. It wasn’t scorching, but he been forced to drape his long coat over the back of his saddle and take to wearing a shirt made of thinner material with shorter sleeves. Despite the heat, he still wore his leather and chainmail chest piece. He would rather suffer discomfort from the heat than a sword through his chest. He took a swig from one of his waterskins as Cinder carried him along, feeling the change in climate himself no doubt. Gaderon patted the horse in an attempt to comfort him. At least they had found some shade along their path to offer some respite, however little. Hanging his waterskin back on the side of his saddle, Gaderon pulled Cinder to a stop and dismounted. When his feet hit the ground, he pulled the waterskin back off the saddle and gave the horse a few drinks of water as thanks. Cinder replied by rubbing his muzzle against his owner’s hand.

Gaderon allowed his gaze to travel over the landscape, taking in what he could. The smell of smoke drifted along the soft breeze and met his nostrils. It didn’t smell like a campfire or a wood stove found in a cottage. The smell was much more pungent and held an undertone to it he couldn’t quite figure out. Despite this, smoke definitely meant fire. Perhaps this would lead him to his quary: the dragon that was rumored to be around this area. He had never encountered a dragon before and was determined enough to get close enough to catch a glimpse of it and help the people suffering if he could, but wasn’t foolish enough to think he could kill the beast.

With his horse pleased by the small break and drink, Gaderon pushed himself back onto the saddle and nudged Cinder into a faster pace toward the smell of smoke. As they neared the source, a pillar of smoke could be seen over a small hill. As the pair crested the hill, though, Gaderon laid eyes on a village in ruins. Even at a distance, he could tell this wasn’t the work of a dragon. He dismounted when they came to the edge of the scene. As the smell hit his nostrils, he quickly figured out what the undertone of the smoke had been. The bodies scattered around weren’t burnt. Upon closer inspection, Gaderon saw the wounds were caused by swords, clubs, axes, weapons of Man, not the claws or fangs of a beast. This troubled him more than if the dragon had killed the people scattered around him. He mumbled a prayer to Bael for the poor souls as he stepped past each body.

The only sounds heard around him were the soft breeze knocking a sign against the side of a building and the carrion circling overhead like messengers of death. The scene only got more gruesome the further he walked into the village. Men hung from sign posts by their necks, women were bound by their hands to the same posts, and children lay facedown in puddles of what must have been their own blood. As he came to the center of the village where a well sat, he bent and scooped up a simple doll sewed by hand; a little girl’s doll, partially scorched and spatterd in blood. He could only guess at what they endured before death took them away from their suffering. The beasts he dedicated his life to hunting and destroying at least killed for the purpose of feeding. The creatures responsible for the ungodly scene around him did this with no purpose other than pleasure and greed. At this thought, hard look came over his scarred face as he held the tarnished doll.

As the scouting party approached the fire several things became clear. For one the source was a village, though you wouldn't be able to hear it from the deathly silence. The second was that this was unlikely to be a dragon attack as there was less fire than one would expect of such an event. A single look down the main road showed the scene Alice wished she had not seen coming. Seen coming, but couldn't have prepared for. A voice spoke somewhere in her head, though it took her a few moments to comprehend it. Bodies lay strewn and tossed aside all around, so many... She'd rarely seen a battle so devastating, and never against such hapless combatants. A dog lay in two pieces over there, a child leaned up against the wall with their father shot down in front of them, the grey eyes staring blankly at the fallen guardian, at least where they weren't being picked at by flies. She became aware of the fact she was shaking her head, her eyes surveying the scene but her neck and head moving to try and reject the it all in a primitive gesture.

She got a hold of herself, closing her eyes and clasping her hands out in front of her. They shook greatly, though as she gripped she slowly felt the blood return along with her true senses. She had been trained for this, she had been dazed by all this. Many spells had the same effect, and she was glad she had her training to latch onto. She became aware of the ringing in her ears and the pressure built up in them and her temples, but slowly that subsided too, or at least suppressed. She re-opened her eyes, and this time treated the scene with the melancholy needed. A sweet scent lingered upon the air, she noted and connected it mechanically to the bodies left out. She took a step forward and swayed, feeling bile rise. She may have disconnected her mind from body, but her body was far from connected from the world. She once again steadied herself and proceeded forward slower this time, staying alert.

This place had been raided by some sort of humanoid force, dragon's claws were much larger than the gashes and gouges left upon the unfortunates (which she did not look upon too closely still, her stomach making sure it was felt in her chest at every eye movement). There was no doubt that this raid was for more than just riches though, for one there would be survivors otherwise. For two, these bodies were displayed. Alice began to theorise this might be the work of Dark Elves, who delighted in such acts as these, but these weapons didn't fit her knowledge of the people. She conceded her knowledge was limited though, and there was no doubt that attacks like this would become commonplace whether orchestrated by Elves or not should the party fail in their quest.

Onwards through this terrible place she drove, not looking back for her companions but instead dead ahead, exerting no small amount of willpower to maintain even a small level of composure. She was sweating, she knew that, and the pressure was rising back into her head again. The back part of her head starting mumbling prayers to Ragnarok to receive these souls, working away like an itch and unwilling to fall in line with the rest of her unfazed mind. Then she spotted someone, a scavenger? Certainly not a raider, she knew that much. They would have moved on by now, and be travelling in a pack. She called out to find her throat hoarse, but audible. "Hello?" she swallowed and proceeded, "Friend or foe?" though she likely knew which. Neither. She noticed the pressure had disappeared again and she had full feeling, her body snapping to attention in the face of a situation

@POOHEAD189@Banana@BCTheEntity@Fetzen@Sypherkhode822@Ink Blood

Ursaren couldn't help but lose his jolly facade as he wandered into the ruined village. There were dead lining the streets, blood strewn everywhere, and children decapitated, their heads in one place while their body was in another, barreled over into a pile of slumping silence. Never had the old man seen this before, and never had he felt so... so off-put by the stench of the deceased.

The eyes of the old man wandered the various streets of the village, stopping when he saw the slow and steady motion of a canine breathing. As Alice had been under the spell of dizziness, Ursaren quickly limped to the canine, and sadly found it lying in a pool of it's own blood, it's organs spilled out into a pile beside it. The sight made the old man lurch with disgust, but he regained a sense of composure as he tried to bring his hands over the dying dog in order to try and keep it from passing to the other side. Alas, the dog was surrounded by a golden glow of light, but it remained the complete same. The damage was irreversible at this point, and the dog was suffering so much. With a heavy sigh, the old man that tried to save it stood up and aimed his weapon at the dog's head, and with one clean stab, the canine died with a loud whimper.

When Ursaren returned to the scouting group, they could easily see that he had just shed a few tears while he put the dog down, and it was even more evident with the trident above him trickling blood down the rest of the points. It was clear that he was not in a good mood, and he desperately wanted to avenge these lost souls by bringing justice down upon whoever was responsible for this. This was also reflected in his reaction to the scavenger that was crouching over a small girl's body. After Alice asked him if the scavenger was a friend or a foe, the old man spoke up in a very grizzly voice to the man, drawing his trident and shield while he did. "I hope you weren't the one who did this!"

...technically, Sett could pray to a god for subtlety. He nodded to Alice, and as the group of people wandered off toward the village, Sett got down on one knee and began muttering to himself, clasping his hands and praying to Fineki under his breath to grant the scouting group a bit of stealth against those who might wish them harm. Half in jest, because so far as he was aware, Fineki rarely if ever granted favours that were selfless in nature, and making it partially joking could convince him otherwise. Or something. Really, it didn't matter either way. And in fact, even if he was called out now, he could use Alice's asking as an alibi for it, since his current guise was as a priest of the gods, plural. Perfect cover.

Once all was said and done, and he'd stood back up again, the people left behind were Geradin the Dwarf, What's-His-Name the Skayleigh, and this newcomer, the skinny human hermit lady. And his acceptably-embroidered self, of course. With that in mind, he wandered over to the new lady, hoping that any charms Fineki had placed upon him were still present whilst he spoke. And in fact, since Geradin and Skayleigh both seemed to be belligerent, he could convince her he was the firendlier of the group...

'Greetings and hello, my good lady!' he began with a cocked grin, strolling up next to the other two people as he locked gazes with the poor woman. 'My, my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? If my companions to either side of me are being somewhat needlessly threatening-' He gestured to Geradin and the Skayleigh. '-I apologise for their behaviour in their stead; we've been travelling for a while, and I think everybody is just a little touchy as a result. I'm Settionne, a priest of the gods, and might I ask what your name is?' He held out a hand for her to shake, the thought only occurring to him afterwards that maybe she could use that opportunity to inject some form of deadly poison into his veins, maybe even magic something into his hand directly, but it was too late to withdraw the hand now, that'd just be impolite.

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Banana@Fetzen@Sypherkhode822@Ink Blood

Gaderon turned from the doll at the sound of a voice, quickly followed by footsteps approaching him. As two figures came into view, he stood, the doll still held in his hand. The woman at the head of the pair was dressed in garb too fanciful for simple villagers but not as fanciful as that of a noble but held herself like one of noble birth, and her companion was of the strangest sort, a lizardman. Gaderon had never seen one in person before, but he had heard tales. When she spoke, Gaderon recognized the accent instantly; she was of Vrettonian birth.

"Friend or foe?"

Gaderon stared at the woman and her strange companion for a moment. He opened his mouth to answer when a gruff voice came from behind the pair before him.

"I hope you weren't the one who did this!"

The old man stood next to the woman, a trident and shield drawn. The trident dripped blood from the tips, yet he was the one accusing Gaderon of wreaking such havoc. The South was proving to be more interesting day by day. The hard look had been receding, but it now returned, bringing his scars back into fiercer focus. He let the doll fall to the cobblestone underfoot and lie with the other bodies around him and then drew his estoc from his belt. He took no fighting stance, yet, but held the tip of the silver-laced blade level with the man yelling accusations through the graveyard they had all stumbled upon.

”I happened upon this catastrophe much like you, old man, but my weapon isn’t the one dripping blood upon the ground,” Gaderon’s accent came out similar to that of other Banians, but his mother’s lessons throughout childhood kept him from rolling his r’s so much. He kept his piercing blue eyes on the old man, waiting to see how he would respond.

Ursaren was appalled at this man. He was seen scavenging off the corpse of a little girl, and even though the old man had his trident stained with blood, the cloaked figure was in the wrong. Even if he was wrong, Ursaren lowered his trident to the feet of the man in front of the group, still keeping his shield up.

"It's bloodied from mercy. If you don't want to believe me, check the alleys behind us. You'll find a dog with it's intestines spilled out in front of it." The same gruff voice came from the old man, and it took him a second but he recognized the Banian accent from the cloaked figure. Despite the slight sense of trust from the accent, the elder did not lower his shield at all. He wasn't going to let his guard down in the slightest, but his voice did ease up from being so rugged. "You've spent a lot of time in Bania... I have too. What did you do there...?" This was the next question posed to the cloaked figure from Ursaren. He had been in Bania for a bit more than a decade, and he wondered if this man was ever in Bania when Ursaren was.

Beren covered his nose from the smoke of the half-burning settlement, dark brown eyes full of a solemn air as he gazed upon the dead. The Warrior Monk slipped the top of his shirt over his mouth, and continued to walk forward through the debris. He knew they should not linger. The smell of bodies would drift in the woodlands, and the nameless creatures of the Southland would come to feed when they caught wind of it.

Argon seemed to be one of those creatures. He stuck closely to Alice, the hulking humanoid Lizard sniffing the air with his tongue. His eyes would often linger on rotting bodies, and he would step towards them, only to have Beren give him a shake of the head. Argon grumbled, but kept his sharp teeth off the bodies.

The yelp of the dog drew Beren's attention, and he sped over to the noise. Only, as he skidded into the alleyway, Ursaren was already leaving it, and the Dog's entrails were spilled along the side of the street. He didn't even seem to care for the newcomer at first as he approached the old man. The muscled Monk grabbed Ursaren by the shoulder and looked him in the eye when he tugged his body to face him. "If you're going to mercy kill someone, be more thorough." Beren said, his voice powerful and forthright. He obviously cared quite a bit about the dog.

It looked like the people had been butchered by curved blades, and blades that were notched. Suggesting a barbarous people. Perhaps human barbarians, perhaps Gnolls, or Orcs. Or perhaps beings trying to appear in such a fashion.

---

@Banana@Ink Blood@The Fated Fallen