---

---

Dark clouds filled the sky like a gloomy afterthought. Weak rays of sunlight peaked through the breaks in the gray, filling the frozen streets of Praetor City with a much needed light. Ice clung to the numerous high towers that loomed overhead, the chilling wrath of some unseen god wrapping tightly about them. Flakes of ice crystals were carried down on the biting wind, joining the layers of white that covered every inch of the city proper. Though the constant foot traffic on the busier streets had managed to carve a rough path through the inches-deep snow, travel was still made obnoxiously difficult by winter's frost.

Despite the weather, Praetor was as active as ever. It's markets were filled to the brim with citizens wrapped in their warmest cloaks, rushing to purchase what food and goods they could to survive the early winter. Merchants still packed their wagons full of furs, winter wheat and other trade goods, planning to ride from Praetor City to the nearby villages that so desperately needed their wares. And even in the winter the local drunks and ne'er-do-wells needed to piss away what little coin they had on cheap beer, stale pastries and other, less savory forms of pleasure.

Far from the dirty and grimy masses of serfs, a near panic had set in at the king's palace. Behind it's smooth walls of glistening granite and it's towers that touched the very heavens, officials and knights were rushing about between it's golden halls to complete their own tasks. With the unexpected coming of an early winter came many a duty that needed to be fulfilled. Defenses needed to be shored up, messages needed to be sent off, the supplies needed to be checked and double-checked to make sure they would last until the coming of summer. And, most importantly, the artifact hunts needed to be arranged.

Hidden away in a tiny study stuffed full of useless trinkets and piles upon piles of scrolls, the castle steward frantically attempted to finish the final touches on his fiftieth summons of the day. Frederick Lethino's quill glided across the parchment like a ship across the sea, a trail of black ink left behind with every precise mark, jot and tittle. Lethino finished the final line, a sigh escaping his thin lips as he returned the quill to it's stand. 'At last.' He thought. Dark bags hung like men at the gallows underneath his uninteresting eyes. The words on the page were all but blending together after staring at paper after paper after paper. It was only through sheer force of will that the steward had managed to complete this final one.

Spindly, wrinkled fingers reached for the stamp sat on the desktop before him. Lethino planted the seal of the king on the scroll, finalizing it's authenticity. Now it was ready to be rolled up and sent away with one of the messenger boys. Frederick rose from his chair, his movements sluggish and slow. Even indoors, the coolness of the winter air were hell upon his bones. Taking up the scroll, the steward shuffled forth from his office. Massive windows that reached greater heights than some of the buildings in the city allowed the fleeting rays of the sun to filter into the gold-wrapped and pearly white hallways of the palace. It was a welcome difference from the low candle light that Lethino was used to working in. 'I must hurry. They await my arrival.' He reminded himself, moving faster to his destination. First he had to drop off the scroll at the messenger's office, then he could be on his way toward his real appointment. Frederick would be cutting it close; he only hoped that the hunters would behave themselves while they waited.

After several minutes, Lethino eventually reached the bottom floor of the castle. He pressed through the grandiose entrance hall, the guards allowing him to pass without hassle- that balding head and frizzled beard were all the identification they needed for the king's royal steward. He stopped before the heavy oaken doors that shielded the keep from invader and starving commoner alike. 'Alright, Lethino. You have done this many times before.' He reminded himself, as he had every time prior to this one.

Lethino couldn't help that nervous tickle in his rib cage before little things like this- that intangible worry that he would flub his delivery, or that they would be unreceptive to his words. He swallowed it down, clearing his throat as he placed his hands upon the iron handles of the gateway. Frederick threw them open, their great weight causing his meager arms to yearn for respite. The frozen wind immediately tasted his rosy cheeks, that force assisting in throwing the doors open the rest of the way.

Frederick took a single step out of the threshold, his arms thrown wide in a bombastic display. "Welcome to Praetor Keep, mighty adventurers!" Lethino shouted, a wily smile on his face as he turned to look at the host of treasure hunters and noble knights that were-

"Wait." Lethino's face fell in confusion. "W-where the devil are they?!" He spun his head about, moving further out into the courtyard. It was empty! Not a single soul stood out in the blistering wind or frozen, icy snow. "Oh, gods..." Frederick stepped back into the hall, his panicked gaze searching for the first of the guardsmen that he could find. "You there, soldier!" The royal steward called out. The guard looked quizzically over at the nobleman. "How many bells have sounded?"

He stood quietly for a moment, a metal-encased hand moving up to touch the bottom of his chin. "Uh..'bout three, I reckon."

"Three?!" Lethino screamed. He thought his heart was going to burst. "By the gods, I'm late! I was late!" He had worked right through the meeting and hadn't even heard the third bell sound. How long had it been since then? He must've left them out in the cold for so long that they all just left! The steward tied up his cloak and threw the hood over his head, rushing back out into the cold. He raced through the courtyard and shout through the raised gate, his feet sliding to a halt in the open street.

"Has anyone seen my adventurers?!"

---

---

“These walls have stood for centuries,” the young guard was saying, his eyes beaming with pride, “against our greatest enemies and the test of time itself.” He reached out and touched the light grey stone. “And as long as these walls stand firm, so will we - Dall will never fall. I promise you that, ma’am.”

Torielle nodded absently, letting out a quiet hum in response. She was barely listening to the guard as he escorted her around the castle grounds, explaining the history and significance of every pillar and courtyard; no, her attention was instead focussed on the frozen flecks falling from the sky, covering everything in a blanket of pure white. She walked slowly, contemplating the crunch under her boots, and looking over her shoulder more than once to marvel at the footprints they left behind.

“What is this called?” she asked softly, gloved hand outstretched and head tilted toward the sky. The thick scarf wrapped around her head and face was dotted by those same frozen flecks; she used her free hand to shift the scarf away, allowing the flecks to fall freely on her face. They stung her skin; she quickly replaced the scarf.

“What’s that? Oh, you mean the snow?” The guard glanced at her, confused by the question. “It’s, euh… snow, ma’am. It’s cold out, so it’s snowing.”

Snow it is, then. She crouched down and gathered some in her free hand. A thin smile crossed her hidden face, and a small chuckle escaped her. Within a moment she was back on her feet and following the confused guard again.

“Have you never seen snow before?”

Torielle only laughed in response.

“Well, anyway…”

The young guard had found her wandering around outside the castle not an hour before. Initially hostile at the strange foreigner carrying a bow, his disposition immediately shifted when she outstretched her right palm, put down the bow and, without making eye-contact, provided the letter that had summoned her here. Sorry to keep you waiting, he’d said. We’ve been very busy today, I’m sure you understand. Here, let me show you around in the meantime…

While Torielle had little interest in the history of this place, it was fascinating to see the young man speak with excited patriotism about the castle and the surrounding area. Despite the momentary confusion about her question, he continued his tour without skipping a beat, taking her next to an empty courtyard used primarily for practicing archery. “I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot of you out here,” he joked.

Her mind was wandering again, this time wondering how cold it was that water was freezing as it fell from the sky. She considered asking again about it, but decided not to, figuring it would be impolite to interrupt a second time to ask about the same thing.

“Well, that’s the long-and-short of the outside,” her companion was saying. “I’m sure you’ll get a thorough tour of the inside as well… but I need to get back to work. Allow me to escort you back.”

Torielle glanced at him, received a bow from her quiver, and quickly shot at the nearest target. Bullseye. ”I follow you.”

---

Aeria stood atop one of the oak tables of the small tavern, a half filled pint swishing in her hand as she moved around; casually kicking the few empty pints she had left on the table from earlier.

"♪I CAME IN LIKE A WRECKING BAAALLLLL♪" Aeria belted the ancient song of old into the dingy tavern. Her voice rather beautiful despite the faint slur on small occasions. "♪I NEVER HIT SO HARD IN LOOOOVEE! ALL I WANTED WAS TO BREAK YOUR WAA~~♪" Her singing cut short into a yelp as she miss stepped on the table and lost her footing. Falling onto the floor with a heavy thud she groaned audibly, giving out a quiet "Ouch.."

Somehow miraculously Aeria didn't spill a drop of her ale. She slowly fumbled to her feet and pounded the last of her ale. With a wobble she found herself back at the bar, practically slamming her forearms onto the counter to catch her weight. "Another ale plEASe" She requested, sliding her empty mug across the counter; her voice fluctuating oddly with the request.

The barkeep shook his head in annoyance "Sorry, Ma'am. Think ye had enough." He insisted, taking the empty mug and throwing it into the washing trough. "Oh come now!" Aeria protested. "I'm barely ~hiccup~ drunk!" She didn't make her case. Aeria gave a whining groan before resting her face on the cool wood of the counter, slouched in defeat.

In truth Aeriabella wasn't that drunk at all, barely tipsy if she was honest. Though she had every intention of making the whole tavern believe herself to be some terrible drunk who couldn't hold her liquor nor her tongue. A simple tactic she liked to employ whenever joining a new band of 'adventurers'. Often made those joining her leave her to her own business, not wanting to get caught up in Aeria's bad image; leaving Aeria free to do as she pleases.

Departing my detachment in the Empire was not the daring escape that I had prepared for in my mind; so lowly regarded was I that the guards at the main gate would have surely allowed me to simply walk right out if I had had the courage to attempt it. In fact, the man who came to sneak me out had carried on a rather pleasant conversation with them as I boarded his covered wagon, unnecessarily concealed in my hooded cloak, and did not entertain so much as a casual inquiry as to his purpose at one of the Empire’s military posts. I am left to believe that most of my fear of leaving was related to the fact that it has been the only real purpose in my life until now, even though it was if I had never existed the moment I left. Colonel Aldric Durand was the only thing holding that organization together. Under his successor, I expect that it shall collapse under the dissention and corruption that is now bred there. I have never seen so much of the Empire as I have since embarking on the journey for the Kingdom of Dall, and the more that I do, the more that I believe I have made the right decision. The fear of what waits for me at the end of this road is beginning to pale in comparison to the thought of what might become of me if I stayed. Over the past several years I allowed myself to forget that I was indentured into servitude to the Empire. It was never a fate that I would have chosen for myself. I do not know what good it will do to answer a call to adventure from a foreign king. Yet even if I should meet a terrible end before I ever reach the kingdom’s borders, at least I will do so as the result of having taken my destiny into my own hands for the first time in my life.

- D.S.

---

The church had not been the intended destination. However, Skirving, the man who called himself a merchant but who had proven to be involved in much seedier activities during their journey, had insisted that it would not be in his best interests to simply ride right up to the palace gates. He had also insisted that a twenty percent increase in the agreed upon payment for his services was in order, due to his claim that the weather conditions would delay his departure from Praetor City. The crooked, gapped smile on his face as he held out his hand indicated that he knew how flimsy an excuse it was to extort the extra coin and that the woman who had hired him was in no position to take issue with it. Purse in hand, he and his shady little band of ‘merchants’ had faded into the bustling district to attend to whatever business they had in the kingdom’s capital.

Daphne Saintmarie stood before the steps leading to the church doors, pulling her heavy cloak tightly around her as the cold wind swirled though the city streets. Not wanting to be left in the middle of town with nowhere to go, this had been the next thing that had come to her mind. She gazed at the impressive structure and smiled as fond memories from the church she had grown up in flashed though her mind. It had been many years since Daphne had set foot in such place.

The snow crunched beneath her plated boots as she finally walked up the steps and entered the church. It was a relief to be out of the cold. Daphne drew back her hood and pulled her long blonde hair over one shoulder as she slowly made her way into the sanctuary. Sconces on the walls were ablaze, gently lighting the big room and adding warmth to the atmosphere. The stone floor was split down the middle by a heavy carpet, creating an isle between the rows of pews that ended at an alter. A couple other visitors sat near the front of the sanctuary; Daphne chose a spot in the back to rest and gather her thoughts.

An unknown amount of time passed during her reflections; Daphne had needed a certain degree of decompression after everything she had been through that ultimately led her to the Kingdom of Dall. At length, feeling sufficiently calmer and more collected, she left her seat and walked down the carpeted isle to the foot of the alter, her cloak flowing behind her. She knelt before it and said a silent prayer to the Goddess to guide her on her journey; it was time to present herself to the King of Dall.

Daphne rose to her feet and turned to leave the church. She had no idea how to reach the palace gates, however she was aware that places existed where locals and travelers gathered that might be willing to part with that information. The snowy winds greeted her once more as Daphne walked out into the city, and her hand instinctively wandered to the ornate hilt of her longsword. She was accustomed to how the Delphian culture treated those who dared to wander into unfamiliar territory, and she had to be prepared for a similar greeting should the denizens of Praetor City take a particular disliking to a defector from the Empire.

Geoff

After wandering for some time Geoff found himself in the outskirts of Dall near a old ruined church. Since the Leader of the nation failed to show at the designated time. Geoff found himself lacking in what to do now, should he stay in the city and wait for another missive, find a new employer or head back home to his tribe since it had been many long years since he'd seen his family.

Walking inside the dilapidated church, Geoff found something that brought a small smile to his face. In the center of the church was a very old altar. Geoff now knew how he would get his answer on what to do. Walking back outside, he looked around in the distance he saw a small herd of goats. "One of those will do just fine." He whispered to himself. Geoff didn't know if they belonged to one of the local farmers but he didn't care. One goat wouldn't hurt said farmer in the long run.

After walking a short distance Geoff found one of the goats near him a kid by the looks of it. Picking up the goat, Geoff started walking back to the old church. Geoff always disliked taking the life of animal when it wasn't for food. But the old ways demanded a live sacrifice and a substantial one at that. The Old Gods were something to be feared, his old tribe's Shaman showed that after being blessed by them. Being able to conjure flames and water from nothing. Terrifying.

Finding himself back in the church Geoff grabbed some rope from his supplies. He binded the goats legs despite the goats protests and loud bleating. If Geoff could he would kill the goat before his sacrifice but it wouldn't please the Old Gods and would only bring their ire on him. "I'm sorry little one but I must know what to do. Your death will not be in vain." He said to the goat while petting it. Once Geoff was sure the goat was properly secure on the crumbling altar, he pulled out the knife that his father gave him before the journey.

Now that everything was ready Geoff started the ritual. Moving to the bound animal he pressed the knife against its neck. Drawing in a breath, he pressed the knife hard against the animals throat and cut deep into it making sure that the animal would bleed quickly. Once the blood started to flow, he placed the knife the altar and using the first two fingers on each hand placed them in the warm liquid then from each corner of his eyes dragged the bloodied fingers down till the reached the end of his neck. If one were to see him now the blood trails would almost make it look like he was crying. Once his markings were done he took a few steps back on got on his knees and closed his eyes. "Alföðr, please hear my plea. Grant this one a glimmer of your knowledge for I am unsure of how to proceed. Alföðr, this one knows he is unworthy of your time and was never trained in the practice of shamanism. Should this one continue with his current life or should he return home to his people?" His words quietly echoing in the ruined church.

The only sounds in the church were his prayers and the quieting rattle of the dying goat. Opening his eyes he noticed the way the blood had flowed. Quickly getting to his feet he once again approached the altar. Standing above the altar Geoff looked at the patterns of blood. The Alföðr had answered his prayers! He started to read the patterns. "That almost looks like a castle." He said pointing at it. The largest of the patterns was rectangular near the base and circular near the top. "and that one there looks like a group of people." he said moving his finger to the second pattern. The second one was a common pattern seen in all sacrifices. Three dots. Geoff knew this represented people. "This one almost looks like a crown." Now pointing at the second largest pattern which was round with a few points at the top of it. "This last one though I'm unsure of it. Pear shaped. I know I've seen this before." He said moving his finger to the last pattern. The last and perhaps the most obscure was the pear shaped pattern. Curious as to what that one meant, he started to think about the meaning behind it. Then it clicked, he looked at his sword, at the top of the grip there was a wolf's head. "Looks like I won't be heading home or looking for new work then. The Alföðr had spoken and I shall answer his call. Thank you little one for this. Without you I'd be lost. He said giving the now deceased goat a few pets. With that now done Geoff started to gather his belongings and from there he would make his way back into the city and hopefully found out what this missive was all about.

Nicholas simply could not fucking wait, he was summoned for a reason - obviously, the tales of him have traveled across the continent. Simply he was a star, a jester but he was a merc now - simple as that. Nicholas made his way to the castle, it looked many castles before but this one was Dall's. He chuckled as he walked up to the gate, the directions appeared to be correct but there would be the only way for him to find out. He approached the gate where he was stopped by two heavily armed guards, he smiled as he ran his hands through his hair - looking up to the towers that were the guards.

"Hey gentlemen, you know who I am... I'm here for the quest, from the king." He snorts, chuckling a bit. The guards look back at each other for a second before looking back at Nicholas. "Yea bruvvie no one knows what you're on about..." Says one of the guards who sounds like a complete weirdo. Nicholas scoffs, puffing up his chest. "Nice joke guy, listen I got a letter telling me to come here." He searches his person before - well shit he forgot the letter. "Yea it's in the castle man, I'll go get it." Nicholas starts to walk by the guards but it quickly stopped by divine physical intervention.

The Guards floor him and restrain him while he yelps in pain "Hey what the fuck! Help, help!" He cries out as they restrain him and drag him into the castle courtyard. "Ya rioght bruv you ain't gonna do shite to the king ya 'er..." The snake tongued guard says rudely, his compatriot echoes this with a loud neanderthalic grunt. The old gods were not looking out for young Nick on this day, his feet dragging and his rags becoming even ragger the merc found himself quickly inside the castle. Things just never seemed to turn out good, he was more of a night guy anyway.

"Blasted gods."

AVA

Sleep eluded Ava, her eyes peeled open as she glared across the cell to her still lightly sobbing cell mate, his horribly broken finger now a deep shade of purple. As a few rays of the morning sun made their way through the barred windows, Ava forced herself up and off the freezing floor, rubbing at her hips and shoulders. With little idea as to the hour of the day, or even when she was to be summoned, she paced her cell, trying to force warmth and the tingling sensation from her limbs.

What seemed like hours passed as Ava paced, finally, the familiar clink of armour sounded down the hall, steadily growing louder before coming to a stop in front of her cell door. Metal creaked as it swung open, two grizzled guards blocking any escape route. In each of their hands sat a set of rusted metal shackles, “Step forward! Wrists out, legs together!” Barked the taller of the two, motioning at the girl. With little possibilities for resistance, Ava did as told, feeling the freezing bindings clamp down on her limbs uncomfortably tight. Without a word the guards half dragged her out of her cell and into the hallway, each guard placing a firm grip on her upper arms as they marched, her feet barely able to keep up. Ava didn't resist, letting the guards lug her from hall to hall as they moved about the castle. As they never said she couldn't talk, her questions started, spitting them rapid fire between the two.

“Where are we going? What exactly am I doing for the king? Am I getting paid for this? Do I have a team or am I being sent to my death? How much do they pay you to drag girls places? Can I have my stuff back? How are you going to be sure I don't just fuck off as soon as you unshackle me? Who recommended me to the king? Are you mad they're letting me do a thing for him? Does he seriously think I'm not going to just take things for myself? He seems kind stupid, is he stupid?” Their fingers burned into her biceps, nails cutting flesh as they shot disapproving glances her way and the occasional smack to the back of her head, never once responding to her queries. She didn't know much about this adventure she was volunteered for, other than someone recommended her and it involved delving into old world ruins. When presented with the missive, it was the easiest decision she had ever made, jail time and losing more digits she couldn't afford not to have being the other options.

Several minutes passed as the trio finally exited into the courtyard of the castle, the wind whipping her short hair into her eyes as it bit her skin. “Stand here, don't move.” The tall guard barked again, prodding her to stand off to the side of the gathered crowd in case she try to slip away, “On second thought, don't talk either.” Rolling her eyes at him, Ava craned her neck to the side, scanning the gathered crowd. A nervous shiver went down her spine as she looked over them, she knew that the magical type would likely respond to the king's call, but she didn't quite anticipate how many. Flowing robes, ornate embroidery and unnecessary frills adorned a large chunk of the crowd, each of them standing tall, their noses pointed skyward in their presumed superiority, or at least Ava thought. 'Fucking hell, look how many there are. I'm going to die, this is what is happening. Start some grand adventure and then keel over from some misplaced spell being flung at me instead. Fuck.' Her thoughts bubbled over into her facial expression as her eyes glared and lips frowned across the gathered mages.

As she continued peering about, four people stood out to her in the crowd. The first, a lithe, beautiful woman with flowing black hair and piercing eyes; Ava knew this one was deadly, the words “Murder Girl” flashing in her mind as she looked her up and down. While this woman wouldn't recognize her, Ava had stumbled across her and her trail of destruction. Near her stood another, Ki she knew her as, with hair like fire. Ava had spent some longer nights with her after encountering each other in a ruin, deciding to work together rather than fight over what they found. Another woman stood off on the side, a scowl forming on Ava's face as she recognized the tainted woman, or necromancer as she claimed instead. As her gaze continued, her scowl transformed into a wide grin as she spotted a vicious looking person. A hulking specimen of what man's form can be stood out to her like a beacon; leather, chains and studs strapped against bulging muscles, something she had become decently familiar with. 'Shame it's so cold out, his shirts on.'

“Sully! This is g-gkkk” A quick elbow to the gut stopped Ava in her tracks, her shackled arms dropping back down instead of continuing her attempt at a wave to her friend, Blackwall.

“What did I say, girl?” One of her captors growled, “We wait, silently, until the steward arrives.” His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. Ava turned her head back towards Blackwall, rolling her eyes at him before being yanked by her bicep, the same guard glaring at her so hard a vein had started to bulge in his forehead.

“Fuck, fine, ow!” Ava grumbled, turning her head back towards the gargantuan doors, finally giving into the guards and just standing and shutting up. Minutes seemed to drag on as no one appeared, irritated grumbling and questions flying around the group behind her. Even the guards seemed unsure, looking back and forth between each other and the others standing watch around the courtyard. “Something isn't right. Return her to her cell, we can send for her later.” A curt nod between the two and Ava was jerked back the way she came.

“WHAT! NO! Let me stay here! Come on!” This time Ava resisted, pulling against the guard, her shackles clinking as she stretched the other way, “No! I did so good at not killing that pervert! Don't tempt me! It's best if I stay here!” Her voice raising to a frantic shout as she protested. The guard simply marched where he was told, dragging Ava quite easily as she stumbled across the cobblestone, too tired and weak to put any real effort into it. The last of Ava's protests quickly being drowned out as a door slammed behind them, disappearing back into the castle.

The city was engulfed in flames.

Daniel sat with bent knee in the middle of the courtyard, head bowed while the snow drifted around him. He could feel the biting cold and snow lashing his frail body with stinging pains, and yet he could smell the smoke. He dared not look up as the screams and sounds of battle rose up around him every piercing his ears. The flames licked the courtyard, guards rapidly succumbing to each and every blast of hell fire coming from some enemy just beyond the entrance. Daniel forced himself upward, ready to help in any way he could.

And then there was nothing. Daniel stumbled backwards as his tormented mind shifted and warped the reality around him. Tripping over a stone he fell onto the ground, steadying himself with a hand. Looking around he remembered the current timeline. Something about a quest to some ruins or something. Clutching his pendant Daniel stuttered to his feet, lost in his own mind. He tried and failed to focus on the group, and was soon enough lost in his own thoughts again. Quietly stood there in the courtyard, staring into the distance as the resonant tick of his time piece set a never ending march forward into the unknown.

Waving curtly at Ava as she was dragged off, the beastly man called Blackwall reached into his jacket pocket for a thick cigar. After a productive snort, he bit a small amount of wrapping from the end, spat on the ground, struck a match, and began puffing idly on his vice. Within a few short moments, he was grinning as the smoke flooded his lungs, then began flowing from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth.

After being requested (demanded, more like) to assemble with some of the other oddballs, Blackwall had figured that there might be something interesting happening to occupy his mind for a few hours. However, it seemed that someone had dropped the ball somewhere, and he immediately felt the urge to voice his displeasure. But that would mean potentially losing out on a payoff, and he wasn't quite secure in his savings at present.

"Hey. When your people get their shit together, let me know." He rumbled at the nearest guardsman - jabbing the smaller man in the center of the chest with his thick, calloused finger. The guard stumbled back a bit at the unexpected strength behind the poke.

It was only through sheer force of will that Blackwall avoided slapping the man across the face for a laugh. He was not an adherent to the adage "Don't kill the messenger" on the best of days, and this inconvenience had him wanting to blow off some steam.

Biting the end of his cigar and savoring the flavor and warmth as he turned and walked away, he wondered whether or not he could get away with a scuffle under such interest from the powers that be.

Maybe I'll go do a job real quick. Or maybe I'll snag a drink." He thought, making his way towards the nearest bar.

It had been many years since Daphne had been inside a real tavern. There had been a few inconspicuous spots that her entourage visited occasionally to discuss matter of import, but nothing as lively as the one in Praetor City. She was very nervous entering the establishment, though she could not deny the accompanying feeling of excitement. She suspected that this was what it felt like to truly be on her own in her journey.

However she could not completely ignore her instinct to play it safe, and while she drew her hood back Daphne was careful to otherwise remain as concealed as possible under her cloak. There were many other patrons scattered around the tables in the place, some enjoying enthusiastic conversations and some simply lurking in the darker corners.

After allowing herself several moments to take it all in, Daphne reminded herself that she was there for a reason. With no real idea of where to begin, her first thought was the barkeep. She found him behind the counter cleaning a mug with a rag and keeping a vigilant eye on the activities in the tavern. There was one other guest at the counter, a woman who seemed to have had her fill of whatever she had been drinking, sitting on one of the stools with her face firmly planted on the countertop.

Daphne stifled a grin at the sight of it and made her way to a seat several places down from the woman. The bar seemed to be the safest place to be at the moment, even though she did not herself imbibe. Having that conversation had become second nature over the many years of politely refusing to drink with the soldiers in the Empire, whose intentions could not have been any more painfully obvious. She hoped that the barkeep could offer more in the way of giving directions than in serving her a mug.

In a corner of the tavern, a group of wizards had established themselves and oblivious or more likely feeling smugly superior to the other patrons, they were holding court, expounding on the nature of existence, debating on the most useful school of magic, sharing the most recent arcane gossip and mostly arguing about who had the biggest staff...standard wizard stuff really. Tegan sat among them, having somehow acquired a looming leather chair, colored a deep shade of black, that was somehow made all the more ominous by the white staff of polished bone that she had leaned against it.

Tegan's ownership of the chair and in fact her place among the other wizards, had been a point of great contention, at least until the first drinks arrived, at which point everyone decided it would be easier if they just pretended the necromancer practiced a less taboo form of magic.

Unlike her arcane brethren she was not draped in a robe of questionable embroidery or worse the classic sign of an academic, a muted robe of grey, black, or brown. No, that would not do, not for Tegan, not when she was the last hope for finally bringing necromancy into the light and out from the dark, death-filled crypts were it traditionally resided. Instead, she wore a long flowing dress, resplendent in color, dancing hues of red and black, the work of a master dressmaker, it was a great indulgence, but for Tegan it was an important one, her last chance to enjoy both color and fashion before she ventured once more into the wilds on what promised to be yet another wonderfully heroic quest.

She had been lost in her thoughts, idly wondering and mostly hoping that the her current situation had little or preferably nothing to do with her recent temporary resurrection of the long dead Queen Joanna, she'd had an important bet to settle, surely the King would understand?

However, once more, important wizardly matters demanded her attention, and with a bemused raise of her eyebrow she turned her gaze towards her compatriots, poorly dressed and cowardly as they were.

"And that is why the Great Magus Matthias suggested that..."

"The Great Magus was a fool and it says a lot about your mastery of the arcane arts that you would even mention his name as some sort of reference for-"

"We could ask him," Tegan cheerfully interrupted, slamming her now empty goblet of wine loudly onto a nearby table.

"What?"

"I said, we could ask him, Matthias, the Magus, the Great dude, whatever, you know?" Tegan replied, nodding in the direction of the first wizard.

Tegan noted the involuntary shudders of the gathered wizard and the angry glares they shot in her direction, but felt little inclination to police her tongue, not when faced with such fearful ignorance at the very least. They were letting the knowledge of the past vanish, right before them, and they did nothing! It was a heinous crime, a terrible crime, and one that she could not let silently pass by. More importantly, she had gotten very bored and she'd heard from a reliable source that boredom could kill...and she wasn't quite ready to embark upon the next stage of her investigations, at least not yet, not for a couple of decades.

"Ignoring the offensive suggestion of our so-called colleague-"

"The only thing offensive here is your lack of pragmatism...and taste," Tegan retorted, shaking her head at the clearly ridiculous robe the other wizard wore, the clashing colors and the awful, just awful trim which traveled across the edges of his robe hurt her, almost as much as the terrible stigma that afflicted the necromatic arts and its well-intentioned practitioners.

"Look, girl, why don't you go steal another corpse for your research and leave the heroics to proper wizards, like us?"

"Oh, Thomas, what an ugly thing to say. You know that I abhor ugliness...if I wasn't in a such a generous mood, well, I might see that as a very rude comment, and I just don't think I could bear it if I thought you were being impolite," the necromancer said with a grin, mostly in jest, probably in jest, at least partly in jest, but with a devious enough smile that the aged pyromancer could not be certain.

The wizard known only as Thomas shrank back in his far less impressive chair, gripping an oaken staff in one hand and pointing the finger of his other at Tegan, very rudely in her opinion, as his voice rose to a shrill shout, "Barkeep! Remove this vile necromancer from the premises, before I do what the King should have done long ago and turn her into a pile of smoking ash!"

---

---

The frozen breath of the wild brushed against Lethino's rosy cheeks as he stood in the courtyard, his boots soaked from marching across snow-caked cobblestone. "Gods be damned." The royal steward cursed, flinging his head about frantically. There was no one to be seen! He couldn't believe it- he was late. Terribly, horribly, awfully late. Frederick couldn't blame the adventurers for leaving; who would want to stand out in the cold for so long?! Lethino's failure was truly, unequivocally outrageous. So monumental was his floundering that the steward was sure the king would have his head.

Perhaps not his head. That was a little drastic, especially for King Astius II (long may he reign). But he'd certainly lose his position as head steward if he didn't find a way to remedy the horrors of this situation post-haste. "The first expedition of winter, ruined! What an ill omen this is!" He lamented.

If Lethino wanted to preserve his position in the royal court, his first course of action was finding those he had summoned to Praetor City. That was easier said than done, of course- they could've gone anywhere! Literally anywhere! The capital was far too large for the steward to search alone, which meant recruiting the help of others to his cause. Frederick spun about on his heel, rushing back toward the keep. He threw open the heavy oaken doors, raising his voice until it echoed like thunder. "GUARDS!" He cried. "I require your assistance immediately! This is of the utmost importance!" His voice drew the annoyed attention of several men who's duty it was to stand around the keep looking intimidating. They were drawn to him, like moths to a flame, though their slothfulness was less than appreciated.

Frederick was in a hurry! He had no time for dillying or dallying! The steward swiftly explained his predicament to the gathered host, before unleashing upon them orders most divine to seek out any who carried an official summons bearing the mark of the king. Anyone with that letter was to be brought back to the keep- inside this time.

One of the royal warriors raised his hand. He was a brutish looking fellow with an ugly birthmark on his cheek and several missing teeth. "Oi, there was some bleedin' moron come 'round here shoutin' about a quest from the king. Said he lost his summons, so we's threw him in the dungeon."

There was a pause from the balding steward, a look of disbelief plastered on his expression as he tried to find some words to explain how utterly ridiculous that was. "Just..." Lethino began, shaking his head. "Retrieve him." Even if the fellow was full of it, one more body on the mission couldn't hurt. Especially if the entire party had bailed on them, of no real fault of their own. "I will remain here, since...mine being somewhere else sort of caused this whole mess in the first place. But you all must hurry! Quickly, now! Find my adventurers!"

---

Garbed in coats of thick fur over their chain and gambesons, the keep's loyal defenders, six in total, set out into the streets with purpose in their step.

They came upon the first potential adventurers almost immediately. A man of a strange complexion and a questionable mental state was standing ramrod straight in the corner of the courtyard, covered in ice and snow and staring into the distance like an utter loon. A few mutters were shared between the soldiers as they tried to decide who was the unfortunate one among them that would have to go speak to the crazy man.

It was decided that the smallest and most junior of the crew had to go. With a huff, the young soldier started forward, hand resting on the hilt of his sword on the off chance the snow dweller was violent. "'Scuse me, sir," the guardsman started, waving to get his attention. "You wouldn't happen to know where all thems adventure types went off to? The ones here to see the king?" It was a bit of a long shot, but the crazy fellow looked like he'd been standing around here for a good while. He might've seen where some of them went off to, or over heard some crucial chatter. If the man could suppress his urge to stare into the distance long enough to recall, he might actually prove helpful.

The others, meanwhile, continued onward, sharing a quiet snicker at the misfortune of the new recruit. They moved out toward the gatehouse, where they once again encountered a few figures. Two, to be precise. One was an rickety old peasant paid pennies to clear the entryway of snow, who looked like he was having a hell of a time with that broom of his. The other was a woman, if her slight build and height were anything to go off of. It was difficult to tell with the strange attire she wore. The group of five stopped and again discussed their course of action in low voices. It was decided that one of them would address the foreigner while another picked the brain of the servant. Surely they would be able to ascertain the location of their quarry with the help of three separate witnesses!

A man of aging years with many a harsh line upon his face and sunken shoulders stepped up toward the seated foreign woman. He was the eldest of the guardsmen present, and his senior rank afforded him slightly better winter clothing that wasn't so rugged. A polite smile on his lips, the guard deigned to lower his hood despite the weather out of a sign of respect. "Good day, madame." The veteran warrior greeted, nodding his head. "Would I be incorrect in assuming you're here on business with the king? I apologize for the wait; there was an error made on the steward's part. If you'd like to come inside, we can see about getting you something warm to drink."

---

It took a bit of effort, but eventually the royal guardsmen were able to determine- thanks to their witnesses- the location of the rest of the summoned treasure hunters. Now but five in number, the eldest choosing to stay behind and assist the steward in treating their found guests, they set off toward the nearby inn. Though the 'Lame Mule Inn' was near to the keep, it wasn't quite as popular as one might think. The owner was a lecherous old scoundrel that often attempted to bed his female guests. And his employees. And, at one point, a young stable boy he mistook for a woman. Most people didn't like the man very much, but he had been acquitted of any wrongdoing thanks to a few legal loopholes found by his Guild-provided lawyer.

The group of guardsmen entered the inn, throwing open the questionably stable doorway to move inside. It was surprisingly warm within, thanks to the roaring fire that looked like it might be a little too large for the fireplace it was in. They shrugged off the hoods of their coats, striding further inside through the hustle and bustle of activity within. Their impromptu leader, a bald headed and rough looking man who was actually quite fond of quilting, approached the barkeep. There were several people within that looked like they belonged to the crowd the soldiers sought. More than one wizard was present, and there was one particular giant of a man that looked like he could crush a Broken's skull between his thighs.

"Barkeep." The bald warrior called, tapping the surface of the counter. The keeper's eyes went wide with fear when he spotted the King's golden crest on the royal guard's tabard. That was the sort of look one gave when they owed someone money, the bald warrior figured. But he wasn't going to comment- the collectors could handle such petty crimes as tax evasion. "I'd like to buy a round. Colton's Whiskey." A surprised look was sent his way by his three friends, but no one argued at the prospect of free alcohol. He turned, his gaze tracing the occupants of the inn.

"One of you, head back outside. There may be more of them that need to be found." A groan came from the man at the back of the foursome. He knew neither of the other two would be willing to pass up on free whiskey, and his wife had recently ordered him to cut alcohol altogether. Begrudgingly he left, a grumble on his lips as he hit the snow-covered roads in search of more wandering adventurers.

"Attention!" He called out in a booming voice. "I come for those summoned by order of the king!" The warrior explained. "...And I wish to apologize to you all by buying you a drink. Come forward, produce your summons, and let's share a round!"

Taking a deep drag on his cigar before letting loose a tremendous cloud of smoke (his lungs, much like the rest of his body, were tremendous in size), Blackwall rose to his feet and swaggered between tables to stand before the guardsman.

"You folks got your shit back together, I see." He said in his deep tones. "Let me know if the one responsible for the mix-up needs a bit of corporal punishment."

With a lazy flourish, Blackwall produced his summons and offered it to the guardsman. If someone wanted to steal it off him, he wouldn't have minded all that much - especially since they were offering free alcohol to get at it.

"Name's Blackwall. Who am I drinking with today?" He added, holding up and shaking his flask at the barman as he looked over the guards - idly wondering which one he could take down first.

Rising out of her throne-like chair with a remarkable and alarming alacrity Tegan grabbed a hold of Stein's arm and dragged the in her eyes always heroic wizard to the bar with a not so well whispered shout of glee, "Stein! Looks like you don't have to pay! Finally, this heroism stuff is paying off!"

Resting her staff against the bar counter and finally releasing her vice like grip on Stein's arm, Tegan practically threw her summons at the guardsman, loudly and very excitedly speaking in the direction of the barkeep, "I'm Tegan, also a hero, also hired by King Whatshisname! Barkeep! A bottle of your finest wine!"

Pausing as she waited for the irritated looking barkeeper to fetch her precious alcohol, she looked over the large, rather smokey fellow standing next to the bar, he was pretty big she noted, the ideal size for adequately sized bone golem, and she wondered idly if she could convince him to donate his skeleton to the necromatic sciences. Not that she assumed he would die anytime soon, but you never knew, quests were serious business, and it would be a shame to waste good material.

Gesturing towards Stein, the cheerful necromancer addressed the guardsman seriously, "This is Stein, he's an even more heroic wizard, he deserves at least two bottles of wine, maybe even three."

The guards came down to Nick's cell, boy were they fucking pissed... Simply pissed. They opened the cell and barked at him in their twisted tongue. "Boi.. Come 'ere now.. yer free." He says as Nick cautiously walks over to the man as he opens the cell door, he unlocks the shackles that were on his wrist. He rubs his wrists scoffing "Heh.. Told you guys that I was here for the king's quest." They didn't really want to hear what he had to say and they quickly escorted him to the grand hall you could say. No one was there, maybe over time people would show up if... Maybe he was in the wrong castle.

---

It took Torielle a moment longer than it should have to realise she was the one being addressed. The young guard was still rambling to her about Dall's history, even as he returned to his post not far from where she was sitting, and she'd tuned it out to focus on the frozen water falling from the sky, still fascinated by the strange phenomenon. Her gloved hand was once again extended to catch a few snowflakes, and she brought them close to her face, trying to examine them but failing to see how they were formed. She lowered her hand and looked up at the veteran guard.

"It is fine." She quickly produced the summons as she stood up. "Something warm would be lovely. Perhaps a cup of tea."

She followed the guard as he led her away. The young man who had been escorting her earlier called after them, asking if she might like to meet at a local inn a bit later for a drink. Barely turning, she called back, "I am married," before continuing to ignore anything more he said.

Torielle looked to the veteran guard. "Where is this inn?" she asked softly, head tilted. Although still unsure about it, she thought perhaps it would be nice to have a drink.

AVA

The now familiar scrape of the dungeon door echoed across the stone walls. With a languid stretch, Ava positioned her limbs where they needed to be as shackles clamped back in familiar places. A pair of youthful and unfamiliar guards nodded at her once the chains were set, stepping back and motioning for her to follow. Taking a tentative stride forward, Ava sighed in relief as the guards allowed her to walk herself from her cell and into the hallway, her bruised arms safe for now.

“Are you two new?” She piped, walking as quickly as the shackles would let her as the guards led her from the dungeon, “Normally there's a lot more dragging, shoving, angry glares... I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm into trying new things but...”

“We were told to escort you for a meeting, not to the gallows.” A hint of a chuckle under his breath, the guard continued his brisk pace.

“Your babysitting job would probably pass quicker if I could walk properly,” A delibertate harder step caused the irons to clatter against the stone path, “Get you back to more important duties, hey?”

“No,” His reply came swift and curt, the whisper of playfulness gone from his voice, “They'll be removed once the Steward releases you, no sooner. We've been warned about last time.”

Ava's mouth opened to object but nothing came out, her head nodding lightly a few moments later as she continued to follow the pair through various hallways. Turning around the last bend, a set of wooden doors opened as they arrived, the guards each nodding in turn to a pair stationed here. A quick scan of the room proved fruitless, Ava imagining crickets chirping as her eyes landed on a smattering of furniture and a handful of people, mostly other on duty guards. Instead of a group of rag tag adventurers, some friends included, the only person that looked not paid to be there leaned against a wall. Ava's pair of escorts broke in half, one leading her towards a furniture barren area as she eyed up the unknown man. He didn't seem like the old world plundering type, but Ava knew she shouldn't judge him by appearances, with her luck he's probably one of the wizards.

“Right, we wait here until this meeting is adjourned, then you can take your leave with the group if the steward deems so.” He motioned towards the wall, “Stand there.”

“Hey stranger,” Ava grinned, attempting a wave as her shackles clank against each other. Without acknowledging the guard, she did as told, her eyes never leaving the new face, “Are you one of the lucky few to work for the king? Did it mention how much it pays by chance?”