((OOC: City of Bourgund, May 1, Year XXXX))

Our party: Ulor - @Oraculum, Lex - @Turbowraith, Arthera - @The Harbinger of Ferocity, Ceria - @Mistiel, Daisy - @Ermine, Yvah - @Ms Ravenwinter


A few weeks after that fateful day in Fellmire, the group found themselves in the bustling city of Bourgund. It had been a while since they had seen their benefactors, but they had received a letter requesting that they look into a matter in this city. Their contact was General Aengus Cavanaugh, the leader of the militocracy in Bourgund.

Many of you had already been to this city or perhaps had grown up in it. Being the very definition of a hub city, travelers were nearly forced to pass through Bourgund on their way to other destinations. Many had stopped, for one reason or another, setting up homes and shops within its protective walls or near the wide river that passed through the city’s center. There were all sorts of folk living here: wizards and sorcerers traveled the Mage Road from Allain, halflings and elves passed through by way of Echlin from Arbonesse, and there were even a giant or two from Trenorra. Despite this mingling of races, it was obvious that the humans held most of the power as well as most of the population of the city.

The party had arrived late at night and was ushered into an inn by the guard posted outside. The only soul awake at this late hour was a drow barmaid who shyly rented the group a pair of rooms. The beds were comfortable enough, and sleep quickly overtook the weary travelers. Morning came far too soon, however, and the party made their way to breakfast somewhat later than usual. Oddly enough, the tavern was mostly empty. An inquiry to the state of the inn revealed that today was a festival day in the city celebrating Bourgund’s liberation from the Magocracy of Allain. Parades and other attractions would be held throughout the day.

The location of the General’s barracks was also given to you by the elderly human tavernmaster. He encouraged the group to partake in the festivities, but you had a job to do. As you stepped outside of the inn, a small crowd caught your attention. As you approached, you could hear the ramblings of a copper dragonborn acolyte droning on and on about the end of days. As you were about to take your leave, some of his ramblings began to sound familiar. He mentioned the sea hag that you had fought previously, and that her alliance with some dark power would bring the cities of this world to its knees. He seemed perhaps a little crazy, but some of his information matched what you had previously heard.

Ceria Verkorcoran despised most cities and Bourgund was no exception. She also was growing tired of traveling with so many people. It seemed wherever this Daisy went, they accrued more of a following and saw an increasing amount of "action." Yet Ceria found herself not running off when she had had several chances to already. What is it about this person? she wondered silently as she sat against a wall of the inn, staring up at Daisy's sleeping face on the nearest bed. Ceria's pack was still strapped to her back. Her homemade bow with a quiver of twenty arrows lay next to her on the floor. The prospect of beds didn't appeal to her, but contemplative thought did. Somewhere along the line her recollections of their party's fight with an old sea hag and slaughtering a village of mutated fish people drifted off into the lazy swirls of her semi-conscious meditation and before she knew it, morning had arrived.

Upon exiting the inn, Ceria's attention was directed towards a large, well-muscled man shouting out apocalyptic nonsense. Pfft, only in cities would this happen. Where's a quiet brook when you want one? she thought. But alas the words "sea hag" caught her attention once more and she cocked her head back toward him with renewed interest. They really should be getting on their way towards the general's barracks since Ceria was positively itching to be out of the city, but nevertheless she stood, arms crossed and foot a'tapping, for the burly man to finish his message. As Ceria studied the man more closely, she realized he was a dragonborn and that he had scales. Well that explained why he was so tall. It was also awfully weird to see such a capable-looking individual waxing apocalyptic; just another reason why Ceria stopped to listen to the message in more detail.

This new town was nice. She'd been here before, but it still felt new to Daisy, as she'd already met so many new people. Like Yvah. Yvah was fun. There was this one time...well, that story would have to wait until someone was willing to listen. Plus, there wasn't really time for it while they were getting ready for the day, nor would they have time on their way to the meet the general. If only they had time to participate in the festivities instead, she could tell the story with Yvah. Too bad. She'd have to figure out if Ceria liked bedtime stories eventually. She could tell a few. Not all of them were clean, though, and invoked certain kinds of dreams, and even she knew some people didn't like such filth.

But as they walked out the door, her mind was drawn away from the pretty elven miss by a copper dragonborn. He wasn't half-bad looking either, but she wasn't drawn in by his appearance so much as his words. Typical doomsayer for the most part, if it weren't for the information he was giving. She was no stranger to odd and meaningful dreams herself, and she knew there had to be more to what he was saying, even half-remembered.

She stepped toward him. She could catch up with the group if they went on without her. Gently placing her hand on his shoulder, and doing her best to make it look seductive, she whispered into his ear:

"Excuse me, Mister Dragonborn
But I'm here only to forewarn
This group that you see,
If you don't give me
the truth, will leave nothing to mourn."

Sometime earlier...

The night against a wooden floor did not bode well for her, how already she missed the open sky and touch of earth. Sleep came only by necessity, but it was not welcome sleep. Rather, it was the sort that came out of exhaustion and the desire to simply disconnect from reality for a time. But how she paid for it when she did at last awake, head nested upon her arm and her towering figure splayed across the floor of their quarters. In the night she had slipped out from her bed to sleep there, not by waking dream, but by the knowing desire to be just that much closer to how things felt inexplicably right, the rest of the company be damned. Owing to this, each joint in her seemed to resist when she at last sat upright, dim golden eyes visibly displeased with the very way she felt.

At least now it was still dark, quiet, tranquil. Things she needed after whatever truthfully they had witnessed but a week or two prior. Some sort of twisted, monstrous omen had overtaken an entire village and a woman only known as a hag was to blame. It had decayed the very environment, perverting it in ways that only disgusted her; if there was ever a time to call down a firestorm it would have been then. Everything in her meditation was turbulent and displeased, filled with violent thoughts or uninvited recollection. She swore that it was that she was cooped up within this inn, this building, let alone this busied city... and that she had made the error of trying to sleep in the bed, if at all.

By the time the rest had awoken, she had managed to redress her disheveled look, but remained seated by herself with her back to a wall and hood draw up, clearly in a thoughtful trance. The entire point was not to distance herself from them, but rather the world as a whole for a time; to clear her mind of thoughts and regain her inherent power. Standoffish and strange as it was, it was not a matter open for debate and they could believe or think whatever they made of it.

When they saw themselves out the door however.

Currently...

From the moment Arthera crossed the threshold of the door, really even before that, her senses were instantly offended by the presence of the lame folk, a number of who seemed to be gathered around a dragonborn. Before she could even adjust her loose sleeves or conceal her face, she knew well that they all had the same feeling about him and his gathering. In fact, as they drew closer, the scaled man's words became all too accurate to be coincidence. Now there really was something, other than him being a bit touched in the head and the subject of the elven woman, Ceria's visible scrutiny.

"Daisy", as she so assumed for herself, had already slipped between the figures of the crowd and leaned in to his ear. Whatever words she was sharing his reaction reasonably changed. In the meanwhile during this, Arthera remained on the fringes of the crowd that accompanied the metallic dragonkin, looking the man over with the other company present. Up until the added presence of the tiefling, he seemed to believe what he was saying - something that did not bode well for the primalist's feelings about the man. To be perfectly forthcoming, he if anything was a symbolic problem given the fact he was attracting a crowd at all.

"Typical." Arthera scorned, narrowing her eyes as the words left her tongue.

She glanced from one side of the gathering to the other with underlying disdain, her height aiding her in this effort. Those that seemed entranced, perhaps even honestly believing the creature worried her some. It was too familiar in a way that was eerie enough to concern her thoughts. After all, only a few weeks prior they had witnessed an entire town fall under something's sway.


@JBRam2002@Oraculum@Turbowraith@Mistiel@Ermine@Ms Ravenwinter

Light, noise, dust, clamouring throngs. Ulor had never been fond of large, bustling settlements as this one. In truth, he had not been fond of smaller ones, either, and most certainly was not now, but for vast cities he reserved a more intense distaste than he bore for any other collection of inhabited buildings. That they should exist at all did not concern him in the slightest; however, the fact that passing through them seemed to be a constant necessity was positively aggravating. Yet this was not, after all, the worst part of what his quest had brought him into. Cities could, perhaps, not be avoided, but they only had to spend a few days at a time in any of them. No, what placed an even greater strain upon his patience was the necessity of having an entire band travel alongside them, especially that vile green imp who, it seemed, was determined to visit the affliction that was her voice upon anything and everything in the environs. Pleasant as it would have been to clobber her into silence, though, he could not deny that it would have been unwise to diminish this makeshift cohort they had stumbled upon, especially considering what had transpired in Fellmire.

As he went through his morning rituals after a brief night of dim, inchoate visions, Ulor's thoughts returned to the decaying town and the dreams which had guided them there. The voices of sleep had directed them to that place, yet, at the time they had spoken of it, the creature that had cast its curious spell - it would have been worth investigating further, had there been time - over it had been no more remarkable than any other sea hag. For days, the rationale behind the voices' actions had eluded him, until, finally, he had understood. They had known that only if Ulor and the familiar entity, and presumably the others, would have reached the town, the hag would have called upon its shadowy and hidden ally, and that force would have acted in such a manner as to reveal itself. That was an inevitability, and it had to be so. It followed that this being was something the voices knew to be conducive to finding the secret. That was the sense of things, and what would happen would happen.

Squinting as he issued from the inn and into the daylight, Ulor clutched his staff in irritation as the din of the city grew louder about him. The people were clouds of dust, swirling chaotically along the street, brushing and mingling with each other, the sonorous wind blowing through them. There was a celebration of some sort, he had heard. Ululations of inane breezes in mouths of sand. He blinked a few times, his eyes growing accustomed to the luminosity, and exchanged a glance with the familiar, which was perched upon, or rather wrapped around, his shoulder. The creature residing in the form of a pale, almost spectre-like octopus responded with the hollow gaze of its vitreous orbs and a slight undulation of its bloated body. The voices had been silent for some time, and it had nothing to say. For now, at least.

As he moved to follow the rest of the party to their next destination - a temporal ruler of some sort, yet again distasteful, but necessary if he was to make any progress - his attention was drawn by the loud and rather wild words of a nearby dragonborn, whose speech verged on oddly familiar subjects. An "end of the world" was nothing new; but this one seemed to know something of the being they were seeking. How or why was circumstantial; what Ulor found most intriguing was what was the truth behind his words, and whither it could lead. This was an occasion not to be disregarded. Eager to gaze through the dragonborn's thoughts with the eye of living dreams, he began to reach for his orb of incantation, but then stopped short. No, this would not do; the wisdom he wielded was not one to be invoked in the glare of day, amidst the storm of vacuity. Another approach would have rendered itself necessary - and see, the vociferous sprite had approached the speaker, and was whispering something to him. It might have been she were rendering herself useful for once. Not enough to offset her tiresome nature, but it was something to begin with. Nonetheless, it would have been better to ensure she performed adequately.

Evoking the mouth of distorted thoughts, Ulor reached out for the tiefling's mind and spoke within it, the swirling patterns of his psychic touch manifesting to her as his usual whispering voice:

"We require the knowledge he holds. Draw it from him or lead him into a place where I may do it, and we shall all gain from it."



@Ermine

Leaves can do many things. They can be a part of a tree and never leave their home, never stopping their work. Wind can take a leaf and the leaf will fly to many places wherever the wind blows. Leaves can also be picked by an overenergetic girl and ground into morning tea. Today: the leaves became tea.

After the party had shuffled off to the breakfast table, Yvah stayed beside her bed, sipping away. During tea time, things became still for her. The familiar clatter and chatter of metropolitan life faded into distant whispers crashing against her tranquil silence. The waxy scent of poorly-wrought candles was overwhelmed by the gentle aroma of her drink. The room itself even began to fade into black... then suddenly apparate into her senses again as she jolted herself awake. Tea time made Yvah sleepy.

Her drink started to kick in soon after, her lethargy peeling off as she stowed the portable tea set away. She sprung up from her kneeling position with a lively bounce before performing some preliminary stretches. This had immediately preceded Yvah's approach to the innroom window. Before even peering out into the street below, she unlatched the wooden-lattice framed glass doors and swung them open to the outside. A smile drew across her face as she stepped onto the sill and felt the wind brush through her hair. She was revisited by the raucous city clamor and felt at ease.

Leaning forward, Yvah passed through the window steadily. She drew in a long breath as her body eased forward, then released as she plummeted downward. The thud of her landing was muted as she caught herself gracefully on her feet. Her feline ears twitched to attention from one direction to the other. The streets pulsed with civilians, the life of a bustling city, with a prophet of doom gathering a clot on the wayside. But what caught Yvah's attention wasn't the talk of the end times, something she'd learned to ignore long ago, but the sound of a large celebration. "Today is festival day!"

Paying no heed to the current actions of her party members, Yvah took a jaunt toward the festivities. Strolling through the throngs, she turned the corner and before her was the source of the sound. It was a parade. A war parade by the looks of it. The crowd gathered at the edges of the street to watch a military march. At the center of the march were a group of armored horses bearing the city's ruling class. At the front of this rode the General themself, leading the march of their people. Yvah wanted to join in the fun, but she realized that perhaps her companions might want to know of the current whereabouts of the person they were charged with speaking to. So she made some haste in returning to them with word of this.

”Woe betide those who ignore my warnings! The old Witch of the Sea casts her lofty gaze upon us mere denizens below! Her dark patron, whose name shall ne’er be uttered, shall bring the cities of this world crashing down! Stone shall not sit upon stone! Fields shall be salted!”

The dragonborn droned on for a few minutes before being stopped by the tiefling. Her mannerisms were, to an untrained eye, those of a lover or at least a love interest, but the look on the dragonborn’s face was far from subtle as he stopped his message and turned towards her. “Listen, lady, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’m working here,” he whispered hoarsely, sending an unconvincing grin and a nod back towards the crowd.

With a harrumph and a clearing of his throat, the dragonborn raised his voice again. “Lo, the sea witch has sent her messenger even now! I must attend to other duties. Beware the enemies of the world who seek to bring Bourgund to her knees!” The crowd began to disperse as the dragonborn stepped down from the wooden crate that had elevated him slightly and turned to face those who remained.

“Fine. You all owe me big time for this,” he growled, his voice holding none of the lilting sounds of his apocalyptic message. “The name’s Jakaar. I’m just passing on a message like I was told. I’ll give you five minutes before I set up again. Any more, and I lose out on my five gold today.”

Ceria thought it slightly amusing that the man tried to pass off Daisy as that old witch of the sea's messenger. Daisy looked nothing like the sea. If anything, she reminded the elf of things that lay in a more upward direction. A star seemed a most apt analogy for the tiefling, in Ceria's eyes at least. As she observed her charismatic companion get socially shot down like a deer with a crossbow, the elf gazed around her at the crowd that was only just beginning to disperse after the message was heard. Ceria wondered what the crowd's initial reaction was to the message; how much they actually believed.

As she looked around, there were a few people who listened intently. The majority seemed to be treating this as part of the festivities, laughing at the dragonborn. You hear some people saying things like "Yeah right, this city could never fall. Our military is too strong." Of those that were listening carefully, they seem to look perturbed at the interruption, but the crowd on the whole looked like they wanted to get on with their daily life. That was something Ceria figured it was about time her party did. "Come on guys! Best not to keep the general waiting," ]she said in Common, looking back at her comrades briefly.

The events that had previously transpired only served to further anger the paladin. Whatever magics the Hag had called upon were unlike most things he'd seen before, leaving him in and even deeper state of contemplation than usual. The party's arrival at Bourgund was not exactly welcome either, since massive cities like these are prone to stall the party's pursuit even more.

The comforts of a good night's sleep in an otherwise passable inn were lost on Lex. He slept as always. Uneasily, with his armor on and his massive battlehammer ready. Even though Lex's dreams were indistinct and hazy, and most of them were forgotten upon waking up, he could not shake off the feeling of them becoming progressively bleaker. It was as if some nebulous influence slowly enveloped him. He opened his eyes at dawn's first light, his mail rattling loudly as he roused himself from a sitting position that had remained unchanged throughout the night.

Lumbering out of the room, the man grabbed hold of a rather sizable fur cloak, and draped it over his shoulders with one swift motion. Upon reaching the tavern's main room, his movements changed, shifting from normal to deliberately slow and cautious. The establishment was strangely empty, especially for this time of day. An ill omen indeed. The ensuing talk with the tavernmaster, however, seemingly liberated Lex of his suspicions soon enough, as he shared a few simple but useful enough information with him, and apparently the group as a whole.

When his admittedly unappealing breakfast of beans, bread and pork was done, Lex followed the rest to their supposed destination. Even before properly leaving the establishment, the cries of what sounded similar to a preacher, or a doomspeaker were heard, and muffled as they were, scraped at the back of his head. Him mentioning the Sea Hag made Lex's grip on his weapon infinitely tighter. As he approached the scene, he squinted at the sight of the dragonborn dismissing whatever poor fools were listening to his drivel. With the musically inclined tiefling and Ulor of all people standing nearby, this was no coincidence indeed.

No sooner than the dragonborn revealed his true allegiances, Lex sprung into action. He completely ignored his elven companion's call, moved closer towards the conman, well within an audible range, and ceased his advance as abruptly as it had began. Momentarily loosening his hand, he let the hammer's head slam against the ground, producing a somewhat loud, yet still conspicuous to most clang, and spoke.

"And who was the one who paid you for this, dragonborn?"

Arthera's hands rested behind her back, hidden in the crevices of her open sleeves as she watched the dragon-man so carefully deflect the tiefling's efforts so not to spoil his display before the public. The crowd, as though commanded in mind by him up until his prophecies of woe ended, broke apart and went on again with their lives, leaving the odd woman present. She observed the addition of the hammer wielding man, who set himself on a mission in action just as he carried himself with in motion; he had tarried a bit, but now that he seemed to have some of his momentum, he was on and inquiring further still.

"Come on guys! Best not to keep the general waiting."

Feigning to be paying no mind, her tall figure neared the elven woman's side as she spoke to her quietly, noting the situation at hand. The feline had already disappeared into the crowd and the men were at work investigating the dragon's doomspeak with the help of Daisy, of whom, despite her best efforts, likely had not reached the reaction she had been looking for - whatever that was to have been. If anything, it worried Arthera more that one had gone astray and that they might miss the person they sought in the first place.

"As much as I do not want us to divide, I have not seen Yvah. This concerns me in this... place."

The woman spoke to the other plainly, knowing she would understand exactly what it was she meant; this dense, active town full of strange and mundane sorts. Her golden eyes looked over Ceria closely for a moment, searching for an answer in part to the threat they faced. Rather, just the chaos of the unusual activity more than anything. The reply she received, from her own thought, was to explain what she had in mind as it was.


Arthera blinked softly in reply, her message under way before she again spoke with her companion in a subdued tone.

"Walk with me."

The booming sound of wardrums began to fade into the distance, masked by the all-encompassing city chatter. With a bounce to her step, Yvah moved toward the innhouse where she believed her party was still present. As the gathering across the street from her destination dispersed, Yvah noticed some familiar faces. "Hey!" she called through the streets, "General man's having a party down the street, just follow the drums!" After she gave her message, she immediately turned heel back around to face the parade she just returned from and started her own unique little skipping march toward their objective.

Taking a deep breath upon Lex's distraction of the dragonborn, Daisy took a moment to refocus her mind, picking up a look of almost insane glee. Her patron granted her many gifts, not least of which was something most would attribute to study or mental acuity, maybe even magical blood. Not everyone had her nearly divine repertoire. And it would be just subtle enough if she didn't really enjoy the trickster's thoughts intertwining with her own sometimes.


After another deep breath, her face returned to a simple friendly look. "I'm sure you're a relatively reasonable person. You could find more respectable work. Work that doesn't involve scaring an impressionable person or two and losing your dignity to the rest. I could put in a good word for you, even. All it takes is answering his question honestly. More money in the future doesn't help you now, but connections and friends are far more valuable than money if you're in need." With Yvah's return, Daisy added, "And we have other business to attend. We can both go on our way. Get in good with me now if you want the opportunity I'm providing for you."

((OOC: DM post))

Jakaar was slightly taken aback by the abrupt interruption from the paladin, although that seemed more due to the abrasive nature of his demands than any attempt to elicit fear. With half of his assailants turning away from him, the dragonborn smiled and stepped back onto his box, but was interrupted again by the damned tiefling. Worse, she did bring up some good points.

"Listen, I don't just do this for the coin, although that's certainly a boon. Our leader has claimed to have met this witch himself, and passed this information on firsthand." Jakaar fumbled through his robes as if he were looking for something, and after a few seconds, withdrew a piece of parchment from an inner pocket. "Here. This is where you can find us. I was sent to find recruits for our circle, but... perhaps you can be good recruits and also a friend in the future, no?"

The top of the parchment boasted a sigil followed by an address to a cathedral in one of the southern districts of the city. The bottom of the page held the current date and an invitation to participate in "a ceremony you will never forget."

The dragonborn smoothed his robes and glanced over the now dispersed crowds. "If you'll excuse me, I must return to 'losing my dignity,' as you so bluntly put it. Perhaps I shall see you tonight. Woe betide those who ignore my call!" Jakaar resumed barking his message, apparently ignoring the group for now.

Ceria had already started walking away down the street, but she held up and returned back to the group when her pointed ears caught the mention of "Here..." and a rustle of parchment being handed over. Unfortunately for her, the petite huntress couldn't see the map over everyone else's shoulders. Instead, she stood tapping a leather-booted foot, arms crossed and returning Arthera's scrutiny. What the heck was she staring at? Ceria thought to herself. She pulled the hood of her light traveling cloak up, despite the weather being fairly mild. Ugh, cities were the worst!

After retrieving the address, the party decided that continuing on their main goal was a good idea. The walk towards the parade was fairly short, and with Yvah and the approaching cacophony of military pomp guiding the way, it was impossible to get lost.

The parade was a grand spectacle. Citizens of every shape lined the streets, cheering on the paraders. Marching through the streets were hundreds of soldiers on a myriad of displays: cavalry rode upon regal steeds; archers twirled artows like batons as some shot blunted arrows with parchment rolled about the shafts into the crowd; the fife and drum played a lively marching tune; swordsmen whipped their blades in a frenzy to show off their skill; mages shot harmless sparks in the air; and clerics cast holy orisons on those they passed.

At the head of the parade was the group's quarry: General Aengus Cavanagh, perched upon a white stallion gilded with gold and violet trappings, and an obviously powerful lance at his side carrying a banner of a white wolf on an azure field, the sigil of Bourgund. Leading the stallion was a male gnome who appeared tickled pink to be in the midst of the festivities, and waved to everyone with an enthusiasm that felt contagious. By contrast, the general simply smiled and nodded at those he passed, sometimes lifting his hand an inch off the reins in a light wave.

It was obvious that there was little the group could do but wait for the parade to pass and to follow behind to catch up with the general later. Of course, they were not the only ones with that idea, and the party soon found themselves swept along in a crowd of followers. Most of the party (those with a Passive Perception of 10 or higher) were able to see one of the papers that the archers haf shot into the crowd. The top of the paper proclaimed in broad capital letters: WELCOME TO THE 258TH ANNUAL CELEBRATION OF BOURGUND INDEPENDENCE FROM THE MAGOCRACY OF ALLAIN! The bottom half contained what appeared to be a coupon to a local merchant: 1 gp off a purchase of 10 gp or more from Pilly's Parlor of Splendid Sundries. The address for the merchant seemed fairly close by.

About an hour passed with the group being pushed along in the excitement of the crowd. The parade came to a close, and the majority of the crowd dispersed, a handful of people pressing forward to try to talk to the General, but being held back by a line of city watchmen. Aengus could be seen in the distance dismounting from his steed and handing his banner to his gnome compatriot who struggled to hold it aloft. The general entered a building and the gnome followed with a handful of soldiers as the remnants of the crowd finally dispersed. It seems that now would be an opportune time to talk to the General, assuming the City Watch allows you past.

"So... this is a parade..." Arthera spoke softly to her companion just beside her, the lithe figure of Ceria clearly being disgruntled still.

The entire ordeal, packed with so many eager bodies before her, more than she had ever seen, almost made her flesh crawl in the same way it seemed to make the elf uncomfortable. The people were loud, excited and lively with celebration and infectious spirit, the majority of which they all seemed to share regardless of their kind; as though they for a time broke whatever social standards they would otherwise have. In even her life before all of this, Arthera had never so much as attended an event that had more than a couple dozen participants and only on a holy day no less. This? This was new, in ways both overwhelmingly positive and those negative too. People paid her and her companions seemingly no mind, certainly not at the moment, as was an interesting change, but what exactly was all this for?

It all had to have some meaning, particularly in the way the men among the formation displayed their talent be it mundane or magical.

Yet, that was not what caught her eye, rather that when the men loosed a few bolts of parchment into the crowd, the people cheered somehow louder than before and skirmished, politely if one could use such a word, to take up the pieces of paper as the fluttered about. Desiring answers, as was her want, Arthera opted to lay claim to one to hopefully discover what this ordeal and gathering was truly about; what made it so important as for the people to act this way.

With a gesture, outstretching a hand, she leveled her relaxed fingers upon a piece that drifted before the many feet alongside the parade and beckoned it too her. As though caught in a gentle breeze, the paper fluttered slightly and moved itself the distance to her awaiting grasp, where then she took it. Turning over her wrist, her hungry gaze fell upon it and set about reading its contents, of which were marked most in bold upon the header, that which read;

WELCOME TO THE 258TH ANNUAL CELEBRATION OF BOURGUND INDEPENDENCE FROM THE MAGOCRACY OF ALLAIN!

"The Magocracy of Allain..." Her lips mouthed wordlessly.

Memory struck her, those beyond even her own understanding, as though her utterance drew them up from the dark depths of the unconscious where they had laid seemingly dormant. The words themselves were none too familiar to the primalist, but her mind said otherwise. She knew more than she understood about them and took a moment to reflect on their importance...

As the party walked along, Ceria found herself pressed shoulder to shoulder with not only her companions at times, but also random people in the crowd. A boisterous dwarf nearly whacked her in the face when he raised his mug high; the frothy liquid in it splashing a few drops on her light leather armor. Thankfully the material made most of the liquid roll right off, but a bit of it trickled down her bosom creating a most unpleasant sensation. She distracted herself by listening to the extremely cheesy musical accompaniment that issued from the parade. Pfft...they call themselves soldiers.... she thought with disdain.

Having reached the forefront of the onlooking crowd near the parade, Ceria spied archers shooting what appeared to be blunted arrows with pamphlets into the crowd. The arrows didn't appear to be moving that fast, so the elf reached upward as if she were stretching languidly, and caught an arrow by the middle of the shaft neatly. Bringing the arrow down to eye level in one fluid motion, she noticed the flier. Realizing Arthera had quietly spoken to her, she looked over at her companion, arrow in hand, hood tilted back a wee bit from her catch. "Yeah," she replied simply. "I've never been to a parade, but if it's anything like a carnival, it's just as noisy." She switched the arrow between hands, brushing her now empty right hand off on her pants and wincing as a splinter dug further into her palm. I just love shoddy fletching.... she thought, bemused. This town most certainly would not garner her business, at least in arrows.

It was indeed noisy. The sounds and smells of so many people celebrating with wild abandon was starting to overload the poor elf's senses. Ceria spied a figure in the parade that must be the general dismounting his horse and entering a nearby building, a very cheerful-looking gnome on his heels. "You s'pose now is as good a time as any to get his attention?" Ceria murmured in Arthera's direction, idly wondering if she had said that loud enough to be heard over the tumultuous masses.

It was here, in this city, that the Magocracy of Allain found itself in the throes of brutal rebellion by its largely mundane masses. Not just a rebellion, but a massacre. That was what this celebration found itself dedicated to, one that people now danced about in rampant joy and drunkenness to. Allain was never an innocent state, never by any measure or regards and certainly not in that time, but the revelations that flowed through the primal as she relived elements of the past as psychic fragments born of the event told her just who these people of Bourgund really were. The retaliation and siege that followed in retribution for the men and women slain held this city at risk for weeks, driving them to the point of near starvation, were broken only by an outsider - a druid.

"Kassidy..." Arthera paused in both tongue and thought, blinking to reflect upon the knowledge she gained and had breathed out in whisper.

With the interlude between recall, she noticed Ceria looking her over whilst handling one of the arrows and removing some of the splinters from her palm. It seems she had been successful in capturing one mid flight, adding in word thereafter that the parade shared similarities to a carnival. Arthera could not say one way or another if that were true, but she would trust the elf's word on that matter. It would not surprise her that the common folk would behave this way as they did. She replied after with but a soft nod, thinking back over the mysterious name and what importance it had to her.

Kassidy, "The Wolf of Bourgund", was a druid who found herself in the city when the uprising began. The same of whom was responsible for feeding the masses and negotiating the peace between the two... and one in the same with the banner they so display. The silence within her own thoughts drown out the noise beyond through concentration, leading the vicious looking woman to be in a place of calm reverie.

It broke only when Ceria spoke directly to her.

"You s'pose now is as good a time as any to get his attention?"

Looking over the parchment once more before so much as a word came in reply, Arthera rolled the sheet and placed it within the inside of her robes, nestled in a pocket that rest against her chest. She examined from there the situation that seemed to play out, where the guardsmen prevented the crowd from drawing too near and up while they dispersed. This was a matter for subtlety and honeyed, but honest words. Things Arthera was not an expert in - not with her abrasive demeanor, towering physique and unusual appearance. Not unless the rest of their band had no better idea.

"... let us see what the songstress and the others have in mind. I would rather not invite myself in by demonstration." She said, looking down to the huntress.

As soon as she had finished her dealings with the dragonborn, Daisy had enough of her own joy without needing that of her patron, and spent a moment refocusing her energy. "Thank you for your cooperation." She hadn't said it so much to the dragonborn as to herself, mumbled almost inaudibly. She rejoined Ceria in a near skip as she sang along with the song the marchers played. She tried not to let on that the "words" she sang were total gibberish, but she didn't really care if anyone picked up on it as long as it sounded good.

She watched as the elf girl who watched her sleep caught one of the arrows with her hands. Wasn't the brightest idea, but she was impressed it was as easy as she made it seem. She didn't say anything to her about it, of course, mainly because she kind of hoped it would be obvious with her expression that she was impressed. Plus, why interrupt a perfectly good song? She focused more on her song as they walked, ignoring most of the talking of the group around her, at least until the music stopped and she was indirectly addressed.

"We have no reason not to see him. Let's go!" She marched on ahead of the group, trying to look as impressive as possible. (Specifically to Ceria, because why flirt when you can sexy-walk? @Mistiel)

The festival was joyous this year. Cheers erupted from the crowd as volleys of sparks and arrows soared over them. Feasting food was passed around by streetside merchant carts, coating the otherwise odorous crowded city atmosphere with pleasant scents. It didn't rid the festivities of the 'people smell' that Yvah was currently growing accustomed to again, but she felt that the blend gave an added charm. Seeing the event with such rose-tinted spectacles made her wonder, looking back at her new friends, why so few of them were enjoying themselves. Some were even downright dour about the whole affair. The exception was Daisy, of course, trotting along with nearly the same enthusiasm as the feline. Though she was probably more enthusiastic about her own tune than the marching trumpets.

Seeing the druidic folk in her company pluck arrows from the sky, Yvah decided that perhaps a show was needed to cheer them on. She looked ahead for the next archer to knock their ammunition, poising herself for a standing pounce. Once the arrow was loosed, her feet lifted from the floor with a sudden dart of movement. Just above the grasping reach of the crowd, Yvah snatched the arrow at the base of the blunted head between two fingers. She spun it between her fingers as the momentum slowly died. She repeated this for the next arrow with her still open hand, though spinning it with less of a dazzling speed than the first.

The next archer prepped for fire and Yvah prepped for her little finale. She dashed forward to duck underneath the arrow's fall and just as it brushed past the grasping fingers of the townspeople, the tip of her tail swung upward and caught the center of the wooden shaft. The arrow deflected upward and Yvah's back arched as she swooped her body upward to catch the arrow in her jaws. But, she was a split second late and she felt wood bounce across her nose. Trying to balance it on her face, it slipped and fumbled to the side. The arrow in her hand flicked upward to knock the falling piece in the air just to be knocked again by the other to counter the speed of its spin. Then she, as gracefully as she could manage at this point, finally bit the wayward arrow into submission.

After the gratuitous display, Yvah turned to her party and shared a wide, toothy smile in a moment of pride. When the spectacle of her performance faded, she handed the remaining party members that were currently without coupon arrows the ones that she currently held. The final one was handed to Daisy for being the only one present that seemed to be enjoying herself.