Adrian, Victor and Maellinn
The Road to Eamonvale

The sun hung high over the plains of Eamonvale, illuminating vast rolling meadows of yellow-green grass that rippled constantly with the buffeting wind. It had been a fairly peaceful ride out of Bradle’s Worth, partially due to the time; at that hour, many village folk had taken to the fields to tend to their crops. Judging by the stumpy shadows on the boulders peppering the landscape, it was now approaching mid-day.

The rustling and movement coming from within the wagon notified Maellinn and Victor that Adrian had woken up from her nap. Moments later, a head with a crop of ginger hair and a couple of blinking green eyes popped out from under the canvas flap, situating itself smack between the two drivers, idly munching on what appeared to be a wild carrot.

“So what is this, a baker journeying north to become a master?” Victor directed his question at Maellinn while focusing his attention at the newly risen Adrian, reaching out to pat her ginger tuft of hair.

“No, not quite,” Maellin answered, her eyes bouncing back and forth from the road to her two new companions.

“I’m looking for something, I think it is up north,” She continued, “besides that, I’m just enjoying the journey.”

“So an adventurous soul type thing? I understand pretty well, it’s how I started.” Victor nodded.

“That’s fun,” Maellinn smiled, keeping her eyes on John, “and how did Adrian get wrapped up in all this?”

“I stayed in a forest,” Adrian explained - or at least, attempted to explain. “It was-...safe there. Safer than home. Once I was able to, I left to find my people. But it wasn't snowing anymore, and I did not know where I was. I asked Victor to help.”

“Well that sounds lovely, the forest I mean, but I don’t think I understand,” Maellinn bounced her eyes towards Adrian briefly, “what were you doing in a forest?”

“I don't know,” Adrian replied blandly. “I went inside a long time ago.”

“She’s a bit of a mystery. I’ve had to help lost children before but… not -this- lost.” Victor interjected, looking at Adrian apologetically. Adrian muttered something about not being a kid anymore as she squirmed back into the covered wagon. “You ever encounter any trouble before? On your journeys.” He turned back to Maellinn.

Maellinn stared at John for a second or two before replying, “just once, but I seem to get along just fine. I may even be lucky!”

“How about you, many troubles? I can’t imagine life as a famous adventurer to be calm and peaceful,” Maellinn happily redirected the questions back at Victor.

“I’m not that famous, thankfully. Helps me focus on actually doing my job…” he trailed off before adding: “But no. Aside from being on the hunt I don’t encounter much trouble. Maybe if I’m working in a city or I’m stopped by highwaymen. I try to get by peacefully most of the time, less of a chance of winding up hurt or worse.” He explained, leaning back into his seat and casually watching their surroundings change.

“That makes sense,” Maellinn focused on driving, an ambient smile on her face, “where are you from?”

“Way up in the north. Small town in the heart of the northern alliance. Been a few years since I was up there.” he hesitated, eyes fixing themselves onto the road. “You?”.

“A small town tucked away in Urland, just enough people passing through to keep an independent store running,” Maellinn nodded, “but not much else. John was born there though, so that’s something.”

Victor’s eyes wandered onto the rump of the wandering ox, then shot a side glance at Maellinn in a confused manner without further comment. “Are you good at your profession? Baking.” he asked.

Meallinn glanced at Victor, a hurt expression in her eyes, “I like to think so, been doing it my whole life.”

Victor nodded, he had no prior interaction with a baker so he was unsure of how to carry out their conversation. “...what’s your favourite thing to bake?” he asked again with uncertainty, his stare intensifying.

“Pies,” Maellinn answered with absolute certainty, “You can really put whatever you want in them. What’s your favourite thing to hunt?”

“Ghosts and spirits. They’re one of the few ‘monsters’ you don’t need to kill to stop.” he said, shifting his gaze over their shoulder at the back of the wagon Adrian had vanished off into. “Adrian? You’re being awfully quiet.” Adrian’s head popped out again, a mouthful of leaves disappearing under her palm as she struggled to eat them all in one go.

“Hmmhph-...ghofts?” Adrian asked, looking confused.

“Yes, you know: Spectres, Wraiths, Banshees.” Victor leaned aside, providing more space for Adrian if she decided to crawl out. Adrian gladly took the opportunity, squeezing between Maellinn and Victor and peering out across the countryside, then down at John.

“What is wrong with your bison,” Adrian peered at it uncertainly. “It has no hair…”

Maellinn was just about to add to Victor’s list when Adrian question stumped her silent. Growing a polite smile she looked towards Adrian, “Oh, John isn’t a bison, he is an oxen! A big ol’ bull bred to be strong and tough, to do all sorts of things..”

“John is special though,” Maellinn let go of her driving branch and placed it across her lap, “biggest and strongest ox I ever met. Smart as a whip, too. Ain’t that right, John?”

The ox snorted as it continued it’s slow and steady pull.

Vathalar's gray eyes squinted as he looked up highly into the sky. He was stretching out his palm almost towards the zenith in order to shield his view from the sun, meaning that time had reached midday. His pupils seemed to ache as he looked back down onto the road ahead again, but the small sigh was actually by something else. One could easily think that traveling alone was guaranteed to be exciting, sometimes even frightening, but at least interesting. What the young male truly felt these hours however was quite the opposite: excessive boredom.

If more coins had been available to him Vathalar probably would have succumbed to his newborn urge to distract himself from irritating memories and unwanted transformations with pleasure, but the only thing his hand could find in his pockets was rather worn-out, not so clean cloth. What he had left would be needed for the most essential tasks: Keeping his stomach halfway filled, getting fresh water and maybe even grant his horse something better to eat than what grew at the side of the road. The tired animal had started to groan under his weight in full spite of the fact that the latter was average for his size at most.

He started to dig below his thigh, into one of the saddlebags where he had stored some meat. Disgust was written on his face as he pulled out the portion. What was this ? The broken half of a deer's leg ? And those ludicrously large bite marks on it! Well he was perfectly aware of where they came from and eating those leftover pieces first had become a rule -- not only to prevent them from rotting, but also to prevent any onlookers from becoming suspicious.

Vathalar pulled a few strands of messed up hair out of his face, then took the first bite. Had pure, uncooked flesh always tasted so well for him ? His old life had ended so long ago that those memories had started to fade, too. Another bite and, deep inside him, it felt almost as if more than one conscience was satisfied. Soon the entire piece was consumed and his otherwise flat belly was bulging slightly.

The road had been going on and on and on for hours. Vathalar had gone around Bradle's Worth, but still he had not seen anyone traveling alone here. Frankly speaking he hardly had an idea about where precisely this path was going anyway, as long as it was headed roughly towards Eamonvale he'd be fine. Now however there was a change... A faint scent, a mighty beast sweating as it was doing work. A draft horse ? No... he had learned to distinguish between those and this wasn't any kind of match at all. It was more like... an oxen. A peasant's cart maybe ? Wouldn't be unplausible given that they were working all around him in the fields.

Anyway. At his present speed he'd either catch up to it or not reach it at all. He couldn't afford to go much faster without paying for it sooner or later. A quarter of an hour later and much to his delight it turned out that he was in luck: Wheel tracks! A subtle smile rushed over his face, the first in days. Now Vathalar couldn't resist to gently pull at the reigns. How nice it would be to have a seat, even if it was one of bare wood! And the possibility to talk to other people, maybe even profit from their warmth both physically and metaphorically. And what if there were bandits on the road ? On his own the choices for self-defense were rather terrible...

It took him another while, but ultimately he was approaching the cart in question from behind. From his position he couldn't see who was in there, but a little bit of waving and shouting wouldn't hurt.

"Hey! Stop, please!"

Adrian, who had not done much except for eating, dozing off and staring, had suddenly jolted upright with enough intensity to give the two flanking her a bit of a fright. Her head whipped around, smacking Victor with ginger tresses as she glared at the back of the cart, nostrils flaring.

“Easy there.” he looked at her with furrowed brows before following her gaze to the back of the wagon, unable to spot anything. “You notice something?” Victor asked.

“Bad man,” Adrian muttered bracingly. “Someone bad is coming.”

“Calm down, it’s probably just a-...”

“‘Hey! Stop, please!”

Victor paused as he heard the stranger from behind their wagon voice out at them. He shot up a glance at Maellinn, letting her decide what to do. “We should see what he wants?” he asked.

Maellinn pursed her lips with uncertainty, “it's no secret that strange men trying to stop you on the road is usually bad news,” she thought out loud, “but…”

“Whoa,” Maellinn commanded John, and suddenly the slow moving wagon creaked to a halt. She looked at Victor, “they may need our help-- besides they did say please.”

Adrian shook her head. “Bad men do not need help,” she warned Maellinn, but had no say in the stopping of the wagon.

At first it seemed as if no reaction had been triggered, but after a couple of seconds the carriage finally was commanded to a grinding halt. Vathalar eased his horse along the side of it carefully before bringing his exhausted mount to a full stop as well. He was honestly trying to look friendly, but as he did his facial expression was already betraying the fact that he was not adept at dealing with complete strangers. "Erm... Hello!" it came out of his mouth somewhat low and hesitantly. "Would you mind another passenger for a while ? It seems you are heading the same way I intend to go..." At this point his nose had not yet noticed how freakingly close he had come to someone of his own kind.

“Uh,” Maellinn shifted in her seat, “well, no… But also no-- what I mean to say is, I can't... Or well, I can! But-- he!”

She pointed at John, her voice resting into a polite smile “it'll be too much for ol’ John.”

Vathalar looked at the ox that the woman pointed to. It seemed very strong, and he himself ? He looked down along the outline of his own body. Well... that meal still made his belly bulge a little, but he knew that excessive fat was nowhere to be found -- just the same as with
excessive muscle. He wasn't heavy! However he didn't dare to contradict her, but instead hoped that someone else would do so.

Victor was silently staring Vathalar down, seemingly trying to make a quick study of the stranger. He interrupted their conversation: “Where are you headed?”

“Erm…” Vathalar took a brief, but noticeable moment in order to figure out his answer. “Roughly the direction of Eamonvale, but I’m in no particular hurry.”

Victor nodded slowly, still seemingly unsatisfied with the strangers true intentions. “Your horse, is it ill?” he shifted his gaze down to Vathalars mount.

“It’s tired.” Vathalar replied, this time less hesitantly. It was the truth after all. “I’ve already traveled a long way.”

Victor looked back up at Vathalar: “And what do we call you?”

“Vathalar. Just that, Vathalar. May I ask about your name ?”

“I’m Victor, hitched a ride on the wagon from Bradlesworth. You’ll have to argue about hitching a ride with the boss here. It’s her transport.” he explained, leaning back as he opted out of involving himself with the final decision. Instead he turned to look at Maellinn, his brows briefly furrowing.

Adrian had not taken her eyes off Vathalar since he trotted into view. This was not one of her usual stares - it was cold and impersonal, her eyes narrowed into little green pinpricks as she watched him with an intensity that could scrape the rust off steel.

Maellinn looked at all of her companions then back at Vathalar, her face flushed with indecision and held together with a weak smile.

“I-- er, well,” She sputtered.

“Maybe?” She looked cross, “I mean four bodies and a wagon is a lot for John… but I could walk aside I suppose. I don't know, we need to stop soon ourselves, John's been tugging all day.”

“Alright. You heard her.” Victor interjected again. “Take my spot. I’ll be on my own horse. He’ll be rested by now.” he directed at Vathalar and before anyone could butt in he had stood up to hop off the wagon and move towards his own horse that was tied to the wagon before their departure.

Maellinn shifted uncomfortably in her spot as Victor shot off the wagon. The finality of her decision weighed on her slightly, “oh, I can walk it's fine, Victor.” She called after the man, “been sitting all day and we don't have much longer before we all need to rest anyways.”

“Don’t be stupid.” he stated, already hoisting himself onto his horse and trotting it besides the wagon parked on the road. “We can’t be too far from the nearest settlement anyway”, he remained adamant. “Adrian, behave.” he warned the girl still sat beside Maellinn on the front of the wagon.

Meanwhile, Adrian was still reeling from Victor's split second decision, staring at him dumbfounded. She made a half incredulous snort then wheeled onto Vathalar with a voice as severe as her glaring; “Go away.”

“Hey- hey!” Victor quipped at Adrian. “What did I say?”

Adrian’s face contorted into a snarl as she jabbed a finger accusingly at Victor. “You did not listen! You never listen! I warn you both! And now he-...He go to--gnnrh!” Adrian groaned with frustration and abruptly cut off into a different language, one that sounded familiar to the Common tongue but was spoken too quickly and with too heavy a dialect to understand. Although the little rant took no longer than half a minute, it had a fluidity and a sense of power that could not be appropriately translated into Common. It was also accompanied with various angry gestures towards various people around her, at one point seemingly yelling at poor John.

Then the rant abruptly cut off and Adrian folded her arms, twisted back around, and stared stonily at John’s rump in a picture perfect display of sulkiness. “I warned you,” she grumbled. “Your fault now.”

Victor, incredibly out of his element when faced with what was a sour child, could do nothing but shoot her a glare and bark back “Then sit in the back!” Adrian made an angry noise and started climbing over the bench, disappearing into the murky gloom of the covered wagon. You could hear her stomping.

Vathalar's mood had slowly, but surely turned into anxiety as he had been waiting for anything that could be interpreted as a clear 'Yes' -- or at least an equally clear 'No' to get things over with. However neither thing happened. Instead that one girl who he didn't even know the name of darted glances at him that were like cold needles cruelly put into his heart. What had he done to provoke such thing ? Usual prejudices were pretty much out of question since neither she looked like a snob nor he looked like the very poorest of peasants ? He couldn't help but silently interpret her worry about overburdening the ox as nothing but a haphazard pretense.

Then the other woman who had previously been called 'boss' raised her voice, rising his hopes again as she gave a clear word. To Vathalar she appeared rather confused however, if not intimidated by the obvious hostility against him presented by Adrian. After all Victor seemed to the most neutral and most friendly one of the three, even going as far as offering his seat for him to take. He nodded friendly towards the tall male. Vathalar really would have liked to express his gratitude with more than that, but Adrian's outburst managed to keep his mouth shut. What the hell was going on with her ? She didn't look that much like a hopelessly underaged priss either...

Vathalar dismounted, grabbed the free end of the reigns and heaved himself into the empty spot which was still warm from Victor's presence. His own horse would just trot next to the wagon, loosely guided by him. Vathalar took another innocent breath -- and then it hit him. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he picked up a faint, but certain scent that could only mean one thing... It could probably explain a lot, but still Vathalar would have given a goddamn, bloody worthy thing if it just had not been there. Another werebeast, another wolf-ish werebeast to be precise.

Halfway unconsciously, Vathalar's body shifted on the seat. A few, but noticeable inches more now separated him from Adrian, the one person he suddenly was very careful about. Bad mood and beast, an uncomfortable combination that made him try and gain as much pre-warning time about her as possible. He couldn't help but turn his eyes towards her several times, observing her.

Maellinn watched with worry as Adrian crawled away in anger. Worried, Maellinn turned to John, “get ye up, John! Get ye up.”

The ox started it's slow walk again, the wagon creaking forward once more. Maellinn turned to Vathalar and handed him the riding branch with an apologetic smile, and then quickly ducked into the back of the wagon after Adrian.

She slunk through the gloomy atmosphere of the interior and plopped onto one of the benches, her shoulder against the clay oven, “Adrian, are you okay?” Adrian shot a glance over at Maellinn, waving her hand dismissively.

“Fine. Keep bad man in sights,” Adrian prodded a finger at Vathalar’s rigid back. She was not half as nervous as Vathalar looked - cold, but firm in her distaste for the other man.

A couple of hours passed, tilting the midday sun and setting the sky into a deep and rich blue through the boughs of the trees and across the rolling hills of Eamonvale. Conversation had practically died the moment Vathalar had gotten into the seat. Adrian’s eyes could just about be seen in the back of the wagon - not once has she stopped glaring daggers into his back, barely moving a muscle. They had not stopped once since dawn, save to pick up the hitchhiker.

Maellinn sat tense at the driver's seat by Vathalar. One could tell by the look of her face that she wanted to say something, but whatever that might be was unclear. Her eyes darted from John to Vathalar back to John, the words of Adrian still ringing in her head.

“I killed a man,” she finally blurted out loudly, “well-- I didn't-- it was because of me, but--” she shook her head and looked at Vathalar, “if-- if you're hiding something or are just plain bad…”

She sucked up a nervous breath, unused to confrontation, “you best just tell us all now.”

Victor raised a hand and began rubbing his temple at Maellinns comment, trotting his mount along the driver's seat as they made their way through the countryside. “It’s fine, Maellinn. I was just suspicious of the man because…” victor paused, redirecting the rest of his explanation to Vathalar who was sat on the far end of the driver's seat bench: “- because frankly you looked and sounded like an escaped convict. What with the tired horse and all…” he finished by motioning at the slightly recovered horse on Vathalars side.

“Not listening Victor,” Adrian snapped peevishly. “You are not listening. He is a bad man. I can-...I can feel it.” She hesitated, shifting her weight and briefly looking away. One hand went up to scratch at her hair frustratedly.

Victor snapped back at Adrian: “Adrian- you’re being rude.”

“Rude?” Adrian glared at where she presumed Victor would be. “Stupid, stinky Victor!” She fished out some sort of root from her rapidly dwindling bag of edible plants and lobbed it towards him. Of course, the caravan’s canvas roof blocked the impact, so it made a dull thump and rolled despondently onto the trail through one of the gaps between the wooden framework and the canvas sheet. “You should know. You should know. You aren’t watching hard enough.”

To say that Vathalar felt uncomfortable would have been one hell of an understatement. Often it could be observed that humans seemed to have an instinct about noticing when they were stared at, however in his case he just knew it. It really didn't require much mental effort to calculate what Adrian most likely was doing back there. A small, but noticeable part of him was very tempted to just start yelling and tell her to shut up or he'd reveal the truth about BOTH of them, but the reaction to this was rather unpredictable.

"So, why am I bad ? If you are so sure about it why don't you tell why you think I am ? You know... I can perfectly understand Victor's explanation, but I haven't heard anything like it from you for the past few hours." Yes, she could tell the truth, but right now he was already fully dependent on the others not taking her accusations for complete reality. They were in Kron-Nesis. They could report him to the next guard and he'd be in enough trouble. Nothing would change about that when she'd tell what she felt. Additionally him not reacting to those accusations at all would probably also make him much more suspicious.

There was a loud clatter of pots and assorted monster-hunting equipment as Adrian lurched forward, both hands gripping the back of the bench as she thrust her head out right next to Vathalar. “Do you want me to? Do you want to try that?!” she barked, sneering at him. “You know nothing about us.”

John snorted loudly, and Maellinn seemed to sink back into her tense purgatory, her mind buzzing with thoughts and things to say.

“Adrian,” Maellinn finally managed, her eyes staring at John and her voice low, “why is the stranger bad?”

Vathalar's body twitched as Adrian suddenly approached him from behind. Yes, she was a very aggressive woman, but anyway he tried to give his voice a bit more of a cold sound. At least the best he could. "All I ask is that you stop claiming that I'd be bad in some way. I can assure you I am not. Not more than YOU are!" The latter was meant as a hint that probably only she could understand truly. The others would probably, and hopefully, interpret it a bit differently. More... harmless...

“Please leave,” Maellinn said shakily, her voice nervous from the sudden outburst from the stranger sitting next to her, “these- these are my clients, and my wagon.”

Victors eyes narrowed on Adrian, the cogs in his head turning as certain characteristics of the young girls behaviour began clicking together. He lumbered in silence as their argument went on before his face turned serious. “I think you should leave.” he said in agreement to Maellinn. “This will not work.” he added in a more aware tone.

Vathalar sighed. “Alright then…” he muttered sadly. “It appears that it’s pretty pointless to continue the debate. Now would you do me a favor and stop the cart so I can get on my horse again ?”

“Of- of course,” Maellinn lifted her chin, feigning confidence.

“Woah, John,” she called out to the ox, who promptly stopped. The wagon creaked to a halt. Adrian glared daggers at Vathalar as he mounted his horse and slowly trotted away, at which point she seemed to relax almost instantaneously. She slumped against the backboard of the bench and exhaled. “I am sorry, Maellinn. Bad man.”

“No, its okay,” Maellinn sighed. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath. Her posture slouched from her previous panicked position and she shook her head, “I trust your judgement, Adrian.”

“Get ye up!” The wagon began to move again, but this time with a lot less tension. Adrian wiggled on to the front bench and twisted around to peer at the retreating figure with a lot less intensity than she had before then turned to face Maellinn. “Who did you kill?”

Maellinn froze once more and started shaking her head as she thawed, “oh!”

“No-- no one,” she pointed the driving branch at John, “he did though.”

Maellinn paused, “it was a bad, bad man. I didn’t want to-- well with that hitchhiker-- what I mean to say is… I couldn’t imagine going through anything like that again, and, say he was a bad man, like the one John gored… it would be my fault he was here.”

“You say he is bad, he’s bad,” Maellinn nodded, “no one is going to be forced to be around those they don’t want to be on my baker’s wagon.”

“John is-...naked bison. Very gentle. But very angry. I understand,” Adrian nodded sympathetically, even going so far as to flash a brief smile to the driver.

“He is just defensive of his herd, that’s all,” Maellinn smiled back at Adrian, except her’s was much longer.

Victor grunted, kicking his horse to catch up to the wagon. “I think we should get to the nearest village and-...get our bearings,” he grumbled, giving Adrian a quick glance. “Animals need the rest. Maybe we’ll find work.”

Adrian nodded in agreement. She looked down at John’s back curiously and mumbled something about his distinct lack of hair before drawing her knees up and sitting cross-legged, watching the countryside slip past.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good plan,” Maellinn smiled contentedly, leaning back and letting her eyes follow the slipping horizon.

After the not so favorable outcome with the men and women on the cart, Vathalar had continued his journey on his own, but not derived from the road. It appeared to be the easiest route to get around, and preferably out of Kron-Nesis since it was widely known that this kingdom was by far one of the most restrictive in terms of policing and general law enforcement.

Fortunately he had neither encountered any militia, soldiers or even the occasional wild beast or bandit so far, but as his horse was completing its climb onto the crest of the next hill something very different came into Vathalar’s sight. ‘Roadblock’ would have been an euphemism for it, oddity a bit less so, and the reality made him feel his throat cord up.

The young male jumped off the saddle and had a hard time deciding what to look at first. The presence of a dead tree whose broken end still touched one side of the road allowed for speculation if this had been some kind of ambush. A purely speculative scenario was setting up in his mind: The road could have been blocked once completely by the tree having been put there deliberately. Then an innocent trader with his carriage arrived and couldn’t go on, thereby becoming an easy target for a group of bandits of the cut-throat kind. Violence against living beings must have been present since there were stains of blood. However bandits usually didn’t… well… let rocks fall from the sky or suddenly burst out of the plain earth? And they usually also didn’t bother about completely destroying the carriage once they had unloaded its cargo. Vathalar forgot about this initial speculation. Something else must have happened, something he couldn’t explain but that made the hairs on his skin erect themselves. Part of him wanted to get away as quickly as possible, part of him wanted to stay here and investigate, and the last part wanted to go wild. He had to resist the urge…

As he turned his gaze towards the wreckage of the wagon, looking for anything amongst the remains that might momentarily distract him from his dilemna, his eyes were drawn to the wanted poster hanging right above them, nailed to the tree. A hard, low gaze rendered from ink met his own. Looking past it, there appeared to be a clearing of some kind - filled with collapsed trees, and a pit in the earth at its center. Possibly also work of these strange bandits that had unsettled the earth.

There did not seem to be anything immediately worthwhile in the wreckage - from the scent of the stains, whatever had transpired here had happened weeks ago - but there was something else there. Another scent, intermingling with the faint, rancid stench of rot and decay. Something alive.

The side walls of Vathalar's nostrils were trembling as he was inhaling more deeply to pick up the scent in more detail. However, due to the fluid nature of air, those were difficult to track back to their origin in general if the conditions weren't good. His eyes turned towards what looked like an impact crater of some kind. Had there indeed been stones falling from somewhere ? At least one could say that there was way too much destruction for a simple, primitive pack of bandits around. He really wasn't all too familiar with magic, but he guessed the skill required for this to be quite considerable.

Being guided purely by instinct, Vathalar directed his next steps towards the clearing. He wanted to look into that pit to see if there was another stalagmite in there. Maybe even crushed bodies or so. Or the source of the scent. Looking over the lip of the hole, he could see that the open swelled - it was not just a pit, but a sink-hole. The corpses of sundered and splintered trees littered its interior, and a net of shade formed by a broken ceiling of twisted branches covered both Valathar and the opening from above. Just barely visible underneath the mass of shattered wood and faded leaves was a single skeletal arm, wreathed in tattered chainmail and clutching at a rusted shortsword. The faded scent of decay came from below, weakened by time and weather doubtlessly. If he were to descend, Valathar would not be able to leave the dark pit again easily. So from where had he sensed...?

He heard branches snapping and the sway of underbrush in the distance as something, unseen, retreated further into the woods.

Vathalar turned his head towards the noise so abruptly that it almost hurt in his neck. He tried to focus his eyes in onto the source, but it was just too dark and whatever had been there had already gone away. A wild animal perhaps ?

"Hey! Is there anyone ?" he shouted as loud as he could, which, given his limited human strength, wasn't all too loud at all. It was worth a try even though he didn't expect much of a response. He started walking towards where he had heard the noise to inspect more closely. Maybe the scent would get stronger.

It did. Although Valathar received no reply and whatever had been here was now long gone, its scent - vibrant, alive, and readily identifiable - was still busily sinking into the surroundings and would not be leaving anytime soon. The smell of sebum, dirtied cloth, cooked meat, were all-too-recognizable. There had been a human here, looking over the scene, possibly even watching him come up the road.

Vathalar was honestly asking himself if it was such a good idea to try and go into pursuit. The woods were dark and he was completely unarmed. On the other hand however he really wanted to know what was going on since this was so unusual. This was no wild animal like a wolf trying to have a feast of the dead remainders, so he started running, soon the fastest he could. Very much unlike that wild thing hidden inside him he was quite agile and able to move around and over the wooden debris lying around rather swiftly. But did he know where he was going ? If his eyes wouldn't pick up any real trace soon he'd likely have to abort.

Thankully, he found his quarry sooner than could have been hoped. A mere fifty-meters later of scrabbling through brush, and up and over small hilly regions of the forest, and he came across another smaller clearing - and a meager campsite, consisting of a fire with a spit. There, a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, was hurriedly tying up a bedroll, as though eager to leave.

Vathalar's boots were partially slipping over the ground as he forced himself to a sudden stop. This was something he truly had not expected, let alone in such vicinity to what had happened on the road. He couldn't help but look a bit askantly at the stranger who seemed to be even a tiny bit younger than himself. "Who are you ?" it burst out of him, his mind already coming to the conclusion that this might have not been the most friendly approach barely after the words had left his mouth.

The other man seemed to leap three meters into the air at Valathar's surprise intrusion, his whole body shuddering as his body turned violently to lock onto the source of the inquiry. The man possessed an unordinary build and physique, that of a serf and a working man rather than a soldier or professional warrior. His dark hair was short and ragged, his face somewhat thin with a faintly rounded contour and set with deep green eyes.

"Mercy's sake, man, don't creep up on people like that! Especially not out in the middle of nowhere!" He exclaimed, still startled but immediately beginning to calm as he saw what to him was just another man of no particular distinction. "I'm Feldis, and let's leave it at that. I was not expecting anybody. Who are you and why are you creeping up on people in the forest?" He demanded.

"My name is Vathalar, and honestly I would like to ask the same question. Or wasn't that you who was checking what I was doing over there? Someone has observed me." Feldis didn't seen to be of the very quiet sort, but he couldn't help but defend against this kind of one-sided accusations -- even though, admittingly, they were correct. "So I wasn't expecting anybody as well. I guess we both have some right to feel disturbed and crept up on, haven't we?"

While waiting for the reaction, Vathalar stepped a little closer into the small camp. Feldis must have been here for a while, and he had to be some sort of long-term traveler just like him. Otherwise that kind of camping equipment wouldn't make sense.

"Well if you were just passing by, I'll not hinder you." Feldis replied tersely as he continued to bundle up his roll - albeit more methodically, as he kept his gaze turned towards Valathar.

Theoretically Feldis argument was perfectly valid, but Vathalar had no intend of letting him escape this easily: "I would have done that and never crossed your way if there were not certain things on the road that struck my attention. Have you seen those huge sinkholes, the smashed cart and the strange stones? Along with the corpses, I mean?"

"What, you mean the ambush?" Feldis replied cautiously. "Place sort of speaks for itself. Obviously some nob was passing through and got his life right and proper ruined by Andromache and her crew. The stones and hole would be her Earthern magic, assuming the rumors about that are true." His voice was low and even - steady, but wary, as though he were conversing with a coiled snake.

It appeared as if he had struck gold, though very unexpectedly. "You say... you know what has happened and who is responsible for this ? How ?" Vathalar's stomach slowly started to turn. What if this man was actually very dangerous? If he had connections to people who could and would pull such a carnage off...

"You foreign?" Feldis' gaze narrowed considerably, and he began to shift and turn his body so he could continue packing his belongings while fulling facing Valathar. "Everybody in these parts knows and has been hearing about Andromache for years now, and that wanted poster out by the scene was probably right put there by the local militia. Don't take a magister to know the score, friend."

"Well you pretty much already answered your question yourself I think. Yes, I am foreign. And I usually don't spend too much time onto the local miltia's business if I just want to get through. I'm trying to get out of this area. And you ? It appears relocation is in quite a high demand for you as well. Where are you going ? I mean.. it also doesn't take a magister to become very curious in your case..." Vathalar picked up one of the items still laying around, offering it towards Feldis. Maybe that would cheer up him and his mood a little. This all was so odd that he really wanted to know more.

"Put that down, and don't touch nothin' that ain't yours." Feldis snapped. "And I'm nobody, minding my own business, on my way to places that do not concern you. If you really are new here, you should learn to keep your nose out of other peoples' business. Try being this nosy with a guardsman or soldier they'll right cut it off for you."

Vathalar dropped the item, resulting in it impacting the dirt with a small splash. "Sorry. I just wanted to help you, but apparently you want to do everything yourself. Pretty much matches my own behaviour -- and I know that I'm rather afraid of strangers since they could theoretically dig up some dirt about me, be that real dirt or just lies and rumors. So you're sure you don't want my help?"

"Sure as certain." Feldis replied flatly. Then, for a moment, he hesitated. "Although it be none of my business, which way were you heading down the road...?"

"I'm trying to reach Eamonvale. That's where I originally come from. My horse's still on the road." Vathalar replied. At least some non-negative reaction. Maybe Feldis' glacier would thaw at some point...

"No you didn't. Your accent is all wrong, you aren't native there - and you don't much look it either. For one thing, most people in the Aemonvale knowabout Andromache and her reign of terror as well. Did you just get done with a stint in prison or something?" Fledis had suddenly shifted to examining Valathar with some faint interest, giving him a brief up-and-down appraisal.

Feldis inspecting him made Vathalar a bit uncomfortable, but what really annoyed him was the misunderstanding going on. "Do you know Barnak ? That's a small village full of peasant's to the southeast corner of Eamonvale. Quite hilly terrain and very fertile soil. That's where I come from, no matter my accent. And no, I have never seen a prison from inside. The outside appearance is horrying for me enough! And you?"

"Yeah, I've seen a map before stranger, sure as you have." Feldis snorted. "But whatever. I was just telling you to mind your own business and here I am not minding mine. Keep your mysteries. Suppose you must have just jumped out of a hole in the ground somewhere."

"Well let's say I've been traveling for a while. And honestly I've grown a little sick of traveling alone. Why don't we do it together for a while ? It's not like we'd have to chat with each other all the time..."

Feldis stared at Valathar, gaze agog, for nearly five seven whole seconds before replying. "You really don't know, do you?" He mused aloud.

"What ?" Vathalar snapped back. "What do I don't know ? Apparently I truly don't do!"

"You don't know that the Grand Army of Kron-Nesis is about to storm through the Aemonvale and border-guards have the roads locked down like a drum?" Feldis suggested with a somewhat mocking tone. "Sorry friend, but the only thing you're going to get going home is some impressment. And I'm not talkin' about being amazed by amusing parlor tricks."

If Feldis looked closely he would be able to see Vathalar's eyes opening widely for a brief moment as he heard those words. "Is that true ?" he asked for confirmation, momentarily not believing his words. "These bastards are going to march through my homeland ?" That truly did change a few things, however it also only boosted Vathalar's desire to get back. If this was true he'd have to try and get to his parents in time, that was, if they were still alive.

"Not just march. The heralds and the like will tell you otherwise, but there isn't nobody that doesn't know the Grand Army is going to roll up and annex the vale right and proper so they can mount extra pressure on the dwarves. And surprise surprise, they aren't letting anybody out of Kron-Nesis heading in that direction where they can help it." Feldis looked faintly amused as he delivered the pronouncement to Valathar. "If you want to avoid trouble you won't be heading that way for a year or two. Nothing about what's going to happen there is going to be pretty. There's not going to be much of a fight, but there will be plenty of bodies all the same."

"So they are already building up troops close to the border ? How great... And which way would you advise me to go ?"

"Anywhere but there, unless you have a deathwish." Feldis replied sardonically.

"Hmm.. So..." Vathalar continued, sarcasm virtually dripping from his words. "I guess that reduces the probability that we will be going different ways, doesn't it ? You seem to know the area and local politics much better than I do."

"Almost like I live here or something, stranger." Feldis quipped. "But to what end? You just said you have a horse. You could ride right on down the way and cause trouble for somebody else without my help. What do you want, foreigner?" The last inquiry came out with a degree of feigned exasperation - but there was a hint of disguised interest there. An underlying tone that Valathar might have missed if not for his enhanced senses.

"Want to hear my honest answer? Well.. just like a minute ago all I wanted is to get out of here and back to Eamonvale. Right now however I'd like to save my family there -- if that's possible." Vathalar answered. Then, before Feldis could answer, he continued: "I know, I know... the border's been locked down. However I'll have a very hard time not trying to get around that. And what do you want? Why have you set up camp so close to such a terrible site? If I'm honest you gave a bit of an impression of someone running away from something. Or at least of someone who doesn't seem to have much of a regular home."

"Kind of like you give off the impression of somebody who's never been to or lived in Aemonvale, stranger. Maybe looks can be deceiving. You want to go off and get yourself get killed going after your family..." Feldis rolled his eyes at the word. "Be my guest. No concern of mine. Go off and get corpsed, I'm not headed that way in any case. And I'll remind you that site is right on a public road. People pass by it every day, and only a fool camps out overnight right on the roadside. There's probably other bands and caravans of people camping out in these woods, you really going to give me grief for being the one you found?"

"I don't want to give grief to anyone at the moment. However I have a certain gut feeling that you are more interested in my than your words pretend. Is that right ? And your argument about a public road would be perfectly valid if it hadn't been ruined by that certain carnage right here and nowhere else. You could have chosen a site a mile further down the road. Why here?"

"Maybe that's when and where the sun set for me on the road, stranger. And the reason I'm interested in you - if at all -" Feldis tone was markedly flat and unamused. "It's as to how a git like you came to be, who ain't from the Aemonvale or Kron-Nesis, in the middle of the country, with no notion of the news of locale. It's like you sprang out of thin air. You a fairy or something?"

Vathalar knew perfectly that Feldis was much closer to his true nature than the young man was probably aware of, even though a fairy was a rather poor description of it. "If I were a fairy I'd not mess around here but do other things instead. I look quite human, don't I ? So take a second guess... It's just not like I'd spent much time on digging my nose into every local stuff. If I'd do that I'd be much slower and would have taken far longer to come here from where I started. Which is Ithell, by the way."

"Ha! Knew it!" Feldis exclaimed. "You probably arrived by port then. That's my curiosity sated friend, and nevermind why you're lying about being from the Vale. Be on your way, I'll not hinder you." He then dismissively turned away from Valathar and returned to assembling his meager belongings.

"I'm not lying about my origins. Have you never traveled far away from home ?" Vathalar let go of a sigh. "Anyway... I guess you won't believe me anyway so let's forget about it. Not relevant. But let's ask where you actually come from? Precisely?"

"Nowhere you'd know about, foreigner." Feldis said absent-mindedly in the same dismissive tone. Valathar obviously wasn't going to get any further by asking him personal questions.

"Well then... I kinda get the feeling that you don't want to tell me anything else. Still... Now that you have abundantly insisted on getting back to Eamonvale being extremely unwise would you still mind about me accompanying you for a short while ? I'm just fed up with going alone all the time."

"You have a horse, I don't, and I'm not riding with you. What would you do about that, friend?" Feldis inquired distractedly.

"Nothing." Vathalar answered while shrugging his shoulders. "Unless you weigh less than you look like we'd be too much for my horse anyway. But walking hasn't hurt anybody for a while."

"And just abandon the horse? That's worth good money or meat, that is. Gods, you really are clueless, aren't you?" Feldis turned back towards Valathar with evident frustration on his face. "Fine. At this point it's pretty clear you're such a babe that abandoning you here in the wilds would be right immoral. You'd die of exposure or starvation, or maybe crack your head tripping on a stiff breeze. Go and get your horse, you can walk with me to the Southern Jewel."

"Abandoning my horse ? Are you stupid ? I'm talking about walking alongside it..." At this point Vathalar had come to the conclusion that Feldis must have been in some minor state of confusion at least. Still he started to trot away, back to the road. "I'll get it. And on the way I'll teach you that I'm not a 'babe'!"

Sirro chuckled to himself. This girl was kinda clueless wasn't she? A Beastkin in Kron-Nesis for one, with a collar, in the capital. What else could it be but a slave? Her reaction to finally figuring it out was...amusing. He had expected her to either be more outspoken in protest, like most from Ithell. What they did not understand was that slaves made everything so much easier. While not cheap to procure, it was so worth it to have someone do all the menial tasks around. Left so much more time for doing things that really mattered in the world. Why would anyone of stature want to clean, or cook, or go to a cold bed for that matter? Sirro's mind was wandering as he listened to Hecuba introduce herself. Had the old codger already bedded her? He had heard that the woman had very particular skills, and lack of in many ways which made many question her suitability as the High Astronomers assistant.

"Suit yourself," he said as his eyes turned purple for a moment and he looked her over. Sirro tapped his chin while thinking. Perhaps this girl was what he needed? She had not been repulsed by the slave. She had a somewhat quick head on her shoulders. Well spoken. Seemingly interested in his little experiment about mind-control. Perhaps a scholar through and through. He wondered how far down the path of knowledge she was willing to go. Did she have morals? Or just an incurable thirst for knowledge? All in due time, he chided himself.

Sirro waved off her remarks about the old codger. It wasn't like it really made any difference. It would either be now, or later. Later was actually better now that he had sent this interesting girl to his room. "For all I care she could be walking around naked. Not like it matters. She IS a slave after all. If I wanted to I could alter the collar slightly so that she quite enjoys walking around naked in public. Hmm...perhaps I should..? I did turn off any sense of shame and modesty after all."

When she got out her tools Sirro got even more interested in the girl. She seemed like a good match after all. Was this perhaps included in the offer? Gaining a proper assistant that could perhaps match his lust for knowledge? One who did not seem to care about slaves and the experiment upon their person? The possibilities started running rampant inside of Sirro's mind as the clear tune rang out. "Oh, the enchantment is pretty much perfected. I just didn't feel like pouring too much magic into the makings of the spell in case it didn't work the way I wanted it to." He didn't really care that the girl spoke out of turn. In fact it made it better. He had not seen this kind of drive in a long time.

"Yes, I've tested it before. Last time though I poured too much magic into it and had a slightly different setting. She became way too obsessed with me. Would not leave my side for a moment. Hung on every word that I said like I was her god. Practically drooling to hop between the sheets. Had to put her down though when she nearly killed another slave out of jealousy after the collar had worn off. A pity too, she was really good in bed, and around the house in general." Sirro looked at his current possession and smirked. "That's why I needed those scrolls from the Archives. Finding the perfect material as a container is a hassle. That collar won't stop working no matter what. Even if you should had unravelled the enchantment it would had kicked right back in. Same if you destroyed the collar. It would reform itself after a few moments." He changed posture slightly as Hecuba went onto the main topic.

Ishtar silently cursed herself as she found that once again, her gauntlet had unintentionally curled into a fist. Just listening to the words of the court wizard often summoned up such sophomoric emotions within her. Ishtar often found herself in the opposite scenario, feeling too little in her deadened heart, but the back and forth conversation between Sirro and his newfound colleague about such concepts of mind control had Ishtar inwardly perturbed to say the least. The archivist couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Sirro’s original intentions. Of course he’d gotten a new slave. Had it been because a dead mind such as hers was impenetrable to his experimentation? Ishtar would assume so regardless of the wizard’s true intentions. No matter what situation the two of them would be involved in, Ishtar was sure that as long as their relationship continued, she would never lose her grasp on at least one of her emotions: hatred.

His face turned into another dark smirk. "Dear, I don't really care about politics. I care about knowledge. The pursuit of knowledge is my main goal in life. That and enjoying myself while I do live. I know how they got their grubby hands on the way to work the material. It was sort of gifted to them by a being of power, or so legends tell." Sirro looked smug for a moment. The kind of smug where you know a big secret and the other doesn't. "But yes, I am willing to help the old codger in his work. It is quite interesting after all." Gone is Sirro's erratic and lecherous normal and instead a cold and calculating persona, with a clear superiority complex.

"The spell's purpose is quite a simple one really." He raised a finger. "I want a portal to Ithell's archives."

"Ah." Hecuba replied, nodding eagerly as she glanced around the room almost absent-mindedly - but her tone was plaintive, perhaps understandably so. The creation of portals, much like teleportation, was considered Mythic-grade magic, only known of in old legends. Mages across Telduria had been trying and failing to create and recreate magical portals for millenia without success.

"Well I suppose there is no reason the attempt cannot be made..." Hecuba cautiously ventured. "Although the purpose of our experiment is to test the functional, practical aspects of a Black Blood ritual matrix. If the experiment ultimately fails then its core purpose is void, so..." She peered at Sirroc inquisitively. "I imagine you must have discovered a viable portal method? Perhaps one that would not have been possible previously without an appropriately powerful ritual matrix?"

Sirro chuckled and placed one leg over the other, putting his palms against each other. "What would you say if I said yes?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Truly, the problem lays in the cost, rather than the actual spell matrix. If you break down the spell it's quite simple really."

Even in the silent and unmoving state of the undead, Ishtar could have sworn she felt her heart actually pump for a beat at the mention of Sirro’s true motives for working with his new friend. He wanted a portal… The archivist’s mind raced with ideas, calculations, and thoughts of power. She thirsted to hear more. Just one jaunt through such a mythic power source could offer her a place back into her Forbidden Archives. Ishtar had toyed with the idea herself for a number of months, but she was never able to garner the necessary resources and manpower to undertake such an endeavor. If she were able to get Sirro to undertake such a task, though, the results would greatly differ…

For a moment Hecuba's face looked somewhat blank, but after a moment she smiled lightly. "Oh? That is interesting to hear. Rediscovered portal techniques have historically tended to be some of the most esoteric processes known to magical theory. But if this technique is relatively simple, as you say, there must be a reason you have not already attempted to create one - why wait to work with us? Surely as the Court Wizard of the Grand Kingdom, cost would be no object to you. Portal magic would have profound strategic implications in quashing the rebellion." She looked around the study as she spoke before turning to the beast-women. "Fetch me a seat." She stated clearly and firmly. 

He waved his hand. "Yes, those old mages did have a few decent ideas, but nothing really substantional in the arts of portal making. At least not for how the world is now. Did you know that after the Harvester was sealed, a lot of magic was sealed with it? Perhaps you've delved deeply into the Archives, perhaps you haven't. But magic in the times before rarely works in the times of now." Sirro smiled slightly before smirking. "Take a seat. There is a perfect one next to you." He indicated towards the Beastkin whom quickly gets down on all fours behind Hecuba.

"...How..." Hecuba was still smiling faintly - perhaps politely - but her gaze was evasive as she glanced between Sirroc and the kneeling beastwomen. "...quaint!?" She eventually decided on after a lengthy verbal pause. She turned slightly and appeared to size up the beastkin's knelt form, as if trying to puzzle together the logistics of actually sitting down on her back. For a brief moment it looked as though she was actually about to sit down - she began to shift the straps for her traveler's bag down off her shoulders, but then she stopped. "It would be irresponsible for me to use such an unstable foundation for a seat considering the delicate items I am carrying with me, and I have been instructed not to let them off my person. Perhaps I should just stand if there are no proper seats available." She reshouldered the straps for her bag before perching one arm atop the other as she looked back at Sirroc. "But in any case - I suppose you are saying the Crucible Barrier is similar in some aspects to Hyperion's Interdict, before it was disjoined?"

Sirro laughed at Hecuba's diplomatic rejection of the seat. "That was a nice reply, even if slightly disappointing." He waved again and the girl ran out to collect a proper chair for Hecuba. "But as for your previous question; yes, monetary cost is not a problem, but it's not that cost that IS the actual problem. It's the raw power needed. And I guess your dissmissal of your chair means that blood magic is out of the question. So that leaves using another catalyst, like the Black Blood of the Earth. Even if you were onboard to sacrifice the amount of people it would take to take to cast the ritual, it is quite....how do you kids say it....uncool?" He chuckled to himself before continuing. "As for the second question, yes, the sealing magic is quite...annoying. Records exist of portals existing as a means of travel. The summoning of foreign beings to aid or destroy. Heh...the Harvester itself is a proof of that. To make sure that such an occurance never possible again the mages of old sealed away such magic from the world along with the being itself." He smirked again with clear superiority. "However I won't go into details, not unless you become my apprentice. A wizard has his secrets after all."

When the beastkin slave came scurrying out through the door, the silent Ishtar regarded her with one of her typical vile glares. She was unsure as to the nature of Sirro’s extent of control and sensory abilities in regards to the slave, but it didn’t much matter to her. As much as she hated his lecherous practices in wresting the minds of others from their control, Ishtar didn’t have much moral wiggle room. She just happened to work on a more soul-based level, finding her thralls in the dead. She presumed that was a part of why Sirro kept her around. Morality was so grey in the pursuit of ultimate truth, whether arcane or esoteric in nature. They were two sides of the same coin.

"I see." Hecuba's reply was clipped, as though she were eager to discuss something else. "Well, as long as you are willing to provide your assurance the method's premise is functional, a Black Blood matrix will certainly allow us to channel the power necessary for a portal. As you are aware, transubstantiated Black Blood is useless for our purposes, so we need a tap and foundry. Have you identified a suitable location in the countryside for us to draw the requiste materials from the earth?"

Sirro rubbed his chin with a slight smirk still on his lips at the evasive nature of the girl in front of him. Perhaps he had been wrong about her. Perhaps there was something else going on. It didn't matter too much though. He was about to reply when a soft knock came from the door. "Come on in," he said and the slave quickly made her entrance again, providng a proper chair for Hecuba to sit on. "As for location, yes, I do know of one. A pretty little place in the middle of the mountains. Unfortionatly it's currently in the possession of the Darakeene Rebels. The good news though is that they've already got most of the equipment needed for the process. So..are you prepared to spill some blood for your ambitions, little one?"

As Sirroc spoke, Hecuba slowly and carefully unshouldered her bag, setting it into her lap as she took a seat in the proferred chair. She crossed her legs demurely as she did so, and wrapped her arms almost protectively around the bag with a momentary sigh as she finally leaned back and relaxed her feet. "Well, Court Wizard, I would like to say that these are not my ambititions. They are yours, and to a faint and indirect extent, those of the High Astronomer who is deferring to your preference. I will say both of the High Astronomer as well as myself that while we are open-minded academicians who have no true objections to either the Grand Kingdom's political ambitions nor to, hypothetically, the uses of dark and proscribed magic..." Hecuba paused briefly, giving Sirroc a cool and knowing look. "Bear in mind, the High Astronomer's personnage is subject to close scrutiny back in the lands of the Court of Stars. Please forgive me any apparent...reticence on my part. As the High Astronomer's personal assistant, there are limits to what decisions I can make in his stead." She paused again as she looked on at him thoughtfully.

As the two academics toyed with the concepts of blood magic and their front of ethical observation in regards to the dark arts, Ishtar was hit with a slew of old memories from years of study. Perhaps she could leverage herself higher in this situation. Ishtar was, after all, about as far from being morally constrained by the use of the dark arts as possible. It was almost on queue after that when Sirro seemed to finally note Ishtar’s presence. After enough time working with the crazy man, she had become used to his abilities. As such, Ishtar was merely waiting to be announced. It was her own invented way of intruding on his meetings with the intention of being invited in, in all honesty. Much to Ishtar’s surprise, it usually worked.

"That said, I can say with some certainty that the High Astronomer would not object to the parameters of the experiment, given they have been set by the senior researcher at hand. But I doubt this sort of excursion is one that would be supported by the Grand Kingdom itself, surely - in the sense that I doubt they would divert their armies for the sake of mere experimentation alone. How do you intend we secure the site?"

"Oh, these ambitions are not of the Kingdom, but of my own, and by extention yours. You want to see if it works, I've got the knowledge and the resources. Besides, if things goes like I want them to, and the portal is formed, I think this venture would benefit you more than I. Unadulterated access to my knowledge and backing, in return for the ability to read in the Archives in my spare time." He smiled kindly. "And yes, while I could easily request forces to be diverted, I don't know if that's the best thing to do. Think it might be better to send you, our little eavesdropper, and perhaps a few mercenaries or a smaller squad to get the job done. I could of course just wander in and do it myself; but where is the fun in that?" Sirro smiled and glanced towards the door before looking back at Hecuba. "Unless you don't think you're up for the task? Should I send a messege spell to the old codger and ask for his opinion perhaps?"

"Actually that will be fine. Chances are when the High Astronomer arrives here at the palace in a few days, he can have his audience with the King while I am out with this...band I suppose?" She turned her head inquisitvely to peer at the door. "Is there someone at the door? I think you had better come in."

When it came to Sirro’s companion recognizing her presence, Ishtar finally stepped up and pushed through the already cracked open door as innocently as an expressionless husk could. She took a few the page she had discreetly secured for herself before completely switching gears. “I’d love to assist, Sirro. The mythic concept of jaunting through space has interested me for quite a long while— in recent days most of all.” Her blood-red eyes would have been expected to flick towards her superior as she spoke, but instead Ishtar’s zombified gaze seemed solely focused on its unmoving position.

“While I’d be discourteous to deny the assistance of some living food sources, a small supply of corpses and reagents would be preferred if you could spare such. I know you keep a tight budget, wizard.” Her final words came out with as much of a sense of sarcasm as a completely monotone and lifeless creature could carry. Finally, Ishtar shifted slightly in her taut and dystrophied muscles. She directed herself towards the astronomer. “I suppose I’m meant to guard this one, though?”

Sirro chuckled at his assistants words. "Only for you child. Its not cheap to buy slaves, tomes and items of wonder you know. My measly budget can't afford to splurge. But yes, that would be preferable. The experience along with the ingredients you could gather, and the end goal would work well with your ambitions and wishes; would it not?" Sirro leaned back in his chair. "Now though, we would need to find you some companions to work with. Unless you're quite confident in your skills to take on a garrison by yourselves?" He tapped his chin. "I could always ask the marshal to redirect some forces. The princess is going to be going to battle after all. Might put his mind at ease with such a task instead of the front lines."

Ishtar responded in quite the opposing manner when compared to her superior. She could barely fake a laugh if she tried, but in this instance, she had no intentions for humor. "Mm... Yes, I see how it is. I'll find my companions along the way then." Ishtar managed to force her shoulders up into a lazy shrug. As Sirro brought up the possibility of reinforcements, her voice was almost audibly carrying a sense of disdain. "I believe you'd know my answer to that. I'm sure our fearless leader wouldn't be too happy if his precious daughter fell victim to some rampant undead menace out there just because it was hungry. I'll go it alo— well, we'll go it alone, I suppose..."

"Uh..." Hecuba tentatively raised a finger to interject. "Actually we should probably enlist a few others. While I am certain reanimated workers could perform most of the necessary labor under my supervision, please remember the destination of the portal. Assuming we are successful, the passage will be traversable in both directions. We will be receiving inquiries from the other side, and I have my Master's repute to consider. If a member of the Grand Archives comes through and sees me directing undead laborers it would be..." Hecuba shook her hand waveringly in the air. "...problematic. Not just for me, but for you, Court Wizard." She indicated to Sirroc as she crossed both her arms and looked to him. "You are the senior researcher. The Archives might ban you indefinitely for utilizing proscribed magical arts without prior consultation and leave. Or they might seal the portal from their end." 

"Problematic..." Ishtar echoed the words, tightening the expression barely visible on her gaunt skin. She didn't assume herself offended, but how she reveled in any laymen's remarks of the undead. To others, they were problematic. Ishtar, unfortunately, lived those problems. The wight cast a hand off in a flick to her side as a gesture of disregard. "Right. Right. Do what you will. Wouldn't want to harm the reputation of our allies." Ishtar momentarily paced to the side, sending a glance towards the door. She then directed her body towards Sirro. "Anything to escape your presence for a while, dearest friend."

Sirro chuckled to himself at the comments before opening his mouth to speak. "Go down to the war camp with this letter." he pulled out a letter from a drawer and handed it over to Hecuba. "This should grant you requisition of a squad for the task at hand. Go now, contact me through this crystal in dire circumstances or when you're finished." he continued and handed over a crystal to Ishtar.

"Alright. I will have to write to the High Astronomer later, but I am glad our research can now begin in earnest." Hecuba said jovially, clasping her hands behind her back and rocking on her heels excitedly. She turned to Ishtar with a contrmplative look. "I am Hecuba Amaranth, personal assistant to High Astronomer Ormoneric of the Grand Observatory of Ithell." She once again made the same curious gesture of greeting she had presented to Sirroc earlier - touching the lower portion of her chin with her left hand, while raising her right and making the arcane gesture of the starcaller. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady. Might I have the privilege of your name? I will follow where you lead - you know the way, and have markedly more authority here than myself. My talents are yours, should you need them. I am trained and educated in the art of celetial and cosmic evocation as practiced by the Astronomers of Ithell, but I am also capable of a wide breadth of essential mage-craft. The High Astronomer's research and needs are diverse."

Ishtar let her gauntlet's sharp fingertips curl greedily around the crystal. Just a moment later, the stone was hidden away beneath her robes. "When we are finished, then." There was a certain cockiness to her tone as she spoke, then turning to observe her newfound ally. Hecuba's strange gesture perplexed Ishtar, but she nonetheless responded in kind by closing her fist and bringing an arm across her chest, following such with a nearly undetectable bow. "Hecuba Amaranth... I am Ishtar Astarte Resheph. Archivist of Kron-Nesis and expert on culling dark threats. I wield old magicks forgotten by most. You shall see them come in handy on our journey. I advise you not to jump to conclusions about my skills, however."

After finishing her words, Ishtar shot a glance towards Sirro. She relaxed her expression as much as her gaunt exterior would allow. It certainly made her look less zombie-like. Alongside that, she threw her hood up over her head, shadowing her visage. Any precautions used to keep the peoples' eyes off of her were oft employed. She then offered a final remark. "It can't be productive to idle any longer. Shall we?"

"Of course. By all means." Hecuba gestured for Ishtar to lead them forward out of Sirroc's office.

The cart wobbled to a stop before the carnage. Adrian gaped at the scene before them. As the ox-drawn cart turned a bend in the road, the copse that had been obstructing the path ahead from view finally gave way and revealed what must have very clearly been the site of an ambush - likely picked specifically because of how the road turned and the manner in which the trees obstructed a traveler's view of anything around it.

There were no bodies or bones - either somebody had gone out of their way to have cleared them, or else the wildlife had already gotten to them. But scattered off across the side of the road against the verge of trees like so much sweeped-up rubbish were the broken and shattered remnants of what must have been a wagon at some point. Broken planks of wood, a severed axle, and the splintered remnants of a wheel, some lengths of rope, and a twisted length of cast-iron all lay in a heap. One of the larger intact segments of wooden paneling had a dark, splatter-pattern stain across it. The length of a fallen tree which had probably been obstructing the road previously was missing its limbs, and had been haphazardly dragged partially off the road so as to make room for passage by caravan - though the remains of its stump still crested the lip of the road.

There were two additional unusual sights accompanying the grim scene. On the clear opposite side of the road, right at its boundary, the packed earth had been split open right next to the dirt and verdant soil. A massive stalagmite, twice as thick around as a heavyset man and taller than the cart itself, sprouted from the ground in casual defiance of what basic, natural principles of geological formation. The apex of its spire was a cruelly jagged spear rather than a smooth and rounded tip as might be expected of a natural stalagmite, and was also graced about its crown by another off-color darkened stain.

A ways off the actual side of the road and past the first line of trees was also something of an unnaturally formed clearing. There was a massive sink-hole in the ground, impossibly spherical beneath its lip like some kind of opened drawstring bag set into the ground. The upheaved and sundered bodies of more than a dozen trees surrounded the hole, some having fallen altogether into the open into the shade below, a few forming an impromptu leafy roof over the pit. Below, just visible beneath the heap of branches and leaves, was a single skeletal arm adorned in tattered and worn chain-mail and clasping at a pitted and rusted short-sword.

Conspicuously pinned to the tree over the remnants of the other wagon with a nail was a Wanted Poster. The scene of the ambush was doubtlessly weeks or more old, but the sign itself look relatively new.

Maellinn looked at the curious geological formations with the interest of a tourist, and it wasn’t until she caught a glimpse of the hidden skeleton did she pale.

“I think we should hurry through here, John,” Maellinn goaded the oxen, who snorted in reply.

“Big hole,” Adrian observed the wreckage. She climbed off the wagon with the intention of investigating further but caught sight of the wanted poster. Tearing it off from the trunk, she squinted at it critically for a while before finally declaring “can't read. Victor?”

Victor who had seated himself back amongst the duo snatched it out of her hands and scanned it’s contents with a scowl. “Hrm, just a bounty. Pretty hefty stuff this lady’s pulled off…” he began mumbling the series of crimes being pinned onto her name. “We better be careful, report it in the next town over. I don’t want anything to do with whoever can pull -that- off.” he motioned at the destruction they began passing. He rolled up the parchment for keepsake and passed it onto Adrian, telling her to pack it away in the back of their wagon.

Adrian scurried off and leapt into the cart, her head poking out behind the front bench. The ruined treeline, great swathes of earth torn out of their rightful place...and a faint feeling of unease, with the thick spikes and shattered remnants of a wagon not too unlike their own. Her gaze flickered back and forth from one point to another. “Is John okay?” She asked, motioning to the stationary beast. “He has been walking for many hours. But we must not stay here.”

“He wants to nap I'm sure,” Maellinn answered, her eyes pasted to the scene before her, “let's-- let's keep going then.”

Victor added a meek grunt of approval to Maellinns words. “Let’s.”

_____

Dusk was beginning to creep in on the horizon when Maellinn, Victor and Adrian finally trundled towards Redbrook, a fairly sleepy village nestled against a clay bank river. It was the picture of rural perfection; thatched rooftops, a creaking waterwheel and a sturdy bridge lit by sputtering lanterns. However, the further the sun slipped back towards the horizon, the more doors appeared to lock. Villagers were hurrying to the buildings. Even the tavern was starting to bar the doors as they rolled in.

“I always thought villages were open and welcoming” Victor commented at the behaviour of the villagers as Maellinn lead them into Redbrook. Adrian watched from her perch, tilting her head. The cart had slowed to an amiable pace, so she hopped out and jogged across the street. Her head turned this way and that before she pointed to her left.

“It is… odd,” Maellinn remarked. She looked at Adrian and called out, “see any stables?”

“Yes!” She called out. “The inn is here!”

Maellinn let out a sigh, “perfect.”

Once at the stables, Maellinn quickly jumped from the wagon to unbridle John. The ox stamped his hoof as the leather straps of the yolk peeled off of his hide, leaving raw imprints from all the pulling. Maellinn gave him a quick pet, “you did good.”

“He’s good at his job, no wonder you cherish him.” Victor said as he began with the process of unloading his hunting gear, deciding against keeping them in the wagon over night he slung them over his shoulders.

“Stinky John,” murmured Adrian softly as she came tottering out from behind the wagon, arms full of monster hunting gear.

“He is very good at his job,” Maellinn flashed a smile that quickly faded, “I just realized how hungry I am.”

Without any warning Maellinn dove into the wagon and began rooting through her things. A shirt went flying, as well as a few socks before she stopped and yanked free a burlap pouch from her laundry. Juggling it in one hand she gauged its weight, grimacing. She tugged the tie that kept it closed and peeked inside, her grimace turning into a frown, pulling out only a small scattering of coins, “running a wee bit low.”

“We’ll resupply tomorrow. Maybe see why everyone's acting like there’s a bandit raid about to happen.” Victor says, tilting his head in the general direction of the by now long dead quiet village homes. Adrian made an impatient noise, arms trembling from their heavy load. At this Victor motioned for the trio to enter the tavern.

The Dirty Duck was a much smaller establishment than the inn in Bradle's Worth. It still retained some of its coziness but the fire had been laid low into a reddish, dim glow that suffused the seating area in semi-darkness. This was staved off somewhat by the multitude of candles on the tables, but it still felt ominous - tense almost. Like the rest of Redbrook, this building was also doing its damnedest to appear abandoned.

“Close that bloody door, will you?” The elderly innkeeper cried out. He meant it not out of malice, but out of fear for his own safety. Once the adventurers had shuffled inside his shoulders slumped with resignation. “You picked a terrible time to show up,” he sighed. “It'd be a sin to kick you out of doors, so if you're here for a meal I'd ask you stay for the night - even if it is down here by the bar.”

At the mention of food, Adrian tugged at Victor's sleeve. “Hungry, Victor…” she tentatively asked.

Maellinn dumped the small scattering of coins from her burlap purse onto the counter, “what’s this get us?”

The innkeeper studied the coins, plucking the largest one from the counter. He scratched his chin and looked at Maellinn, “these aren’t minted for this kingdom, miss.”

Maellinn lowered her eyes but the man grunted, a small hospitable smile turning his lips, “I’ll accept it anyway, you all look gaunt as it is.”

“Thank you!” Maellinn beamed, but the man was quick to slap a finger to his own lips and shush her, “just, keep it down, yeah?”

Victor quietly settled by a table as Maellinn took care of bartering. His mind raced to the bartenders behaviour, not at his kindness but at his apparent fear. Resting his equipment besides his seat he scanned the rest of inn and made note of the dimmed lights, not that it was hard to ignore (it gave the place a very atmospheric feeling), and waited for his companions in contemplation.

Maellinn arrived at Victor’s table, a wooden plate in each hand, with a soggy biscuit and mashed potatoes on each. Her steps were careful and quiet, her face focused on avoiding the squeakier floorboards. After a few more well placed steps she finally arrived and placed one of the plates in front of Victor, settling on the opposite side of the table for herself.

“You didn’t have to… you know.” Victor pointed his chin and the plates of food.

“Oh!” Maellinn looked surprised, then grimaced as she turned to meet the glare of the innkeeper. Turning back to Victor she all but whispered, “well-- I know. I just… well we’ve been on the road for a whole day, I thought you’d be hungry.”

Adrian had absolutely no reservations towards eating food that somebody else paid for. She reached out for a bowl and prodded at the mash inquisitively with a spoon before scooping some into her mouth. “What am I eating?” She decided to ask once she was around a quarter of the way through.

Victor faintly smiled at Adrian’s eagerness to eat: “Aren’t you forgetting something, Adrian?”

Adrian looked at Victor. Her spoon hesitated mid-air. Her features crumpled up in the intense effort required to remember something that might have been vague and insignificant when taught, but was absolutely essential in this moment. She glanced pleadingly at Victor for the hints that weren’t coming her way. “Every gift given has a price?” she offered with uncertainty.

“... What? What does that even- no! I mean to say ‘thank you’.” Victor scowled at her.

“It’s one of the oldest rules,” Adrian responded blandly. “Everything has a price. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Eventually.”

“Which reminds me,” Maellinn looked to Victor, “we need to find a job to do and quick.”

“I got a feeling there’s something stirring here as it is. Everyone's on edge.” Victor pointed out. “You two eat, i’ll chat to the owner.” he nodded at Maellinn before slowly standing.

“And ask him if there are any mills around, I'm out of flour,” Maellinn quickly added.

Victor rolled his eyes to himself as he approached the innkeeper who was silently standing by his countertop with a worrisome look plastered on his wrinkled old face. He offered Victor a nod of acknowledgment as he approached him. With a lowered voice their conversation began.

Maellinn watched as Victor walked off. Shrugging she stabbed a spoon into her mashed potatoes and began eating. After a few full bites she nodded at Adrian, “how long have you and Victor been together?”

“Some weeks,” Adrian replied, peering down at the meal confusedly and taking slow, nervous bites. “I am happy that he has helped me for free. He taught me many things. Like coins.”

“I would have never guessed, you two are almost like siblings,” Maellinn smiled, keeping her voice hush, “how old are you anyway?”

Adrian looked down at herself. “I do not know.”,

“Oh,” Maellinn gave her a sympathetic frown, “I suppose in the wild woods you don’t really need an age, huh?”

She paused and then offered a warm smile, “well, you’re out of the woods now. How old would you like to be?”

Adrian looked enthusiastic about the idea of choosing her own age. She mused over the concept whilst experimenting with her mashed potatoes. “I like the number seven,” she offered, “but I already was seven before I hid.”

Maellinn thought between bites of mash, “ Mm... Mm... yeah, can’t be the same number twice.”

She picked up her biscuit and took a bite. Immediately her face twisted into a scowl, an unusual look for her usually friendly face. She plopped it back down onto her plate and whispered, “whoever baked this biscuit should be ashamed.”

Maellinn took a few seconds, and then her usual cheery face reappeared, “why were you hiding, anyways? If we can pin why, maybe we can pin how long and add it to seven.”

Adrian gingerly pushed her plate away and gripped her hands. “My village was-...it was attacked. By monsters.”

“Like the kind Victor defeats?” Maellinn scooped up the last of her mash and was holding it in front of her face, studying it.

“I do not know. He has not taken any work since I arrived.” Adrian paused to stuff her face. “I was very young, they looked worse than they might have been.” She peered up at Maellinn. “But that is why it is best that I remain with Victor. He promised.”

“I guess that’s why it is best we both do,” Maellinn let her spoon fall back onto her plate with a dull wooden thud, “I’m scared of monsters, too.”

As Maellinn and Adrian were amidst their conversation, Victor had managed to wrap up his quiet mumbling with the bartender, finalising their silently struck deal with a thankful nod Victor lumbered back to the two girls and sat himself amongst them again in silence, a serious expression on his face to indicate the severity of the situation before he said anything else.

Adrian attempted to alleviate the situation by generously offering her plate of half-ruined mashed potatoes and the soggy remnants of the biscuit. Amused by Adrian’s attempt, Maellinn followed suit and pushed her plate towards the man as well.

“Well, there’s good news and bad news.” he told the two, reaching out for their respective plates to start picking at the remaining scraps to fill himself with. “Which one first?” he raised his brows at Maellinn.

“Good first, good always comes first,” Maellinn smiled.

Victor nodded, chewing on some mash for a long time before swallowing and responding: “Place has been haunted for a week now. And yes, by the sounds of it it’s not just the residents going mad.”

“How is that good news?” Maellinn looked horrified.

“Well, there hasn’t been anyone contracted for it yet. So our timing is impeccable.” Victor reached for another mouthful of food, nodding along. “I came to a mutual agreement with the owner here. They don't have much coin, but they’re willing to give us supplies worth of several weeks for us three in return for fixing their problem. How’s that sound?”

Maellinn perked up, “perfect! Although-- what about flour?” She questioned meekly.

“I’m sure we can add that to our list of supplies. Not sure if their standards going to meet yours though.” Victor added, finishing up the remainder of the plate.

“Flour is flour, I’ll take anything at this point,” Maellinn shrugged, “so what’s our first move?”

Victor took a moment to contemplate. “First we need to find out more. Spirits and such… not really comparable to animals. There’s a reason it’s targeting this place. Find out a who, why, and when. It’ll bring us one step closer to getting rid of it.” he explained to the two.

“Hm, okay,” Maellinn tucked a hand under her chin and leaned on the table, “how do we figure that out?”

“We watch it,” Adrian responded. “Maybe we talk to people. People lie, or get angry. We watch-...thingie. See what happens.”

Maellinn closed her eyes, her head resting on her hands, “oh.”

Victor nodded at Adrians words, “Something like that, we have to get a bit investigative.” he paused and shot a brief glance at where the innkeeper was previously standing. “I asked the innkeeper but he couldn’t tell me much. Just mentioned the person who was first attacked.” he turned back to the two and continued: “Everyone's turned into a shut-in since it’s first appearance though. No more community gatherings, kids don’t go out to play. There’s not been any deaths though.” he stopped, letting the information settle amongst his companions as he began to further ponder the situation.

“How do you eat it?” Adrian asked solemnly.

Victor furrowed his brows at the girl, “You… you don’t, Adrian. I don’t even think you -can-”.

“How else are you meant to destroy it?” Adrian continued, looking just as perplexed as Victor. “It will come back if you do not destroy it. The only way I know that works is eating.” To demonstrate, Adrian took a mouthful of biscuit, chewed and swallowed. “Gone forever.”

Victor furrowed his brows at Adrian, “No, that doesn’t work. Besides it’s not really forever gone, it’s just in there.” he pointed at her stomach.

“It's mine now. I changed it and now it is mine.” Adrian spoke with the patient certainty of a maddened idiot. “How do you destroy something you can not eat?” She repeated.

There was a loud thud as Maellinn’s head slipped off her hands and fell to the table. The tired woman jolted up, her eyes popping open, “huh!?”

She blunk twice at Victor, “I’m so so sorry, what were you saying on how to deal with spirit wisps and what’sits?”

Victor looked at her in seriousness and replied, “By being well rested. Something we should get on to doing.”

“Not sleepy though,” Adrian protested.

Victors head snapped at Adrian with a scowl, “We’re not having you wander around the night, besides last thing we want is to cause a ruckus at night. You sleep.”

Adrian grumbled into the scraps of mash she endeavoured to scrape out of the bowl, with such a precision that you'd think she was trying to clean it for the innkeeper. “Where is room?”

“Just down the hallway.” Victor pointed in its general direction. “It’s smaller than I expected here.”

The tavern's rooms were standard affair - a double bed, a small seating area with armchairs and a low lying coffee table, and some shelving units to put away the essentials. Adrian had brought in some of the equipment - a sufficient quantity to be able to excuse herself early and devote herself to dissecting the room in its entirety. She looked in, under and behind the bed. Every drawer was opened. The wide edges of every floorboard were fumbled with pasty, bony fingers. She couldn't find fault in anything save for a loose board, which she began to pull out of the floor but was rudely interrupted by Victor's boot on the board and a short lecture on property damage. Reluctantly abandoning the faulty floorboard, Adrian sat cross legged on the rug and stared at Maellinn for a while to cheer herself up.

Maellinn looked about and smiled sleepily, “looks like you all got a good spot for the night.”

“Be good,” she winked at Adrian before turning, “I’ll be with John in the stables.”

Nar & Lothar - A Collab Post

Nar raised his eyebrows, and his sooty hands. His first impression of this man was already low enough, but this took the cake. Nar had never even heard of this man, and although he wasn't exactly well versed in politics, he knew of the people worth knowing. "Oh, my apologies. My intention was never to cause you offense.", he lowers his hands again, wrapping them around his tankard. "Trust me, at this stage of life it's my last intention to be hanged. You only start losing your ego and realising how far you have to come when you get as old as I am. To waste that would be... disappointing.", he says, gaining a slightly wistful look. His thoughts turned to Teth, and how arrogance had turned out for him. What a place the world would be if man's ego was put aside for the benefit of others. "Here, let me make amends. Let me buy you a drink, Sir.... Lord? What do I call you?"

He leaned back in his chair, and took another sip. A mighty fine Lager, this one was. Not that Nar was any expert on the matter, but he knew a good drink from a bad one, and this one was excellent.

Lothar shook his head and replied "It is fine. Just a stern reminder that some people have a bit of temper and would cause issues for a lot less... especially if they have undeserved power and authority. You personally have not caused any problems and so I have no qualm with you. I must also decline your kind gesture. I am one who does not like to have my mind clouded by the elixir of god as some poets and people put it. Especially not before a major campaign about to begin and where one of my bannermen was assaulted by bandits in this city. How far things have deteriorated in this city... seems less like a Jewel and more of a tinted glass."

He then looked at the man closely. Lothar could sense something from the man, which bothered him a bit. Like a flame, carefully contained by a fireplace. It was some sort of energy that was clearly being controlled at the moment, but it seemed to threaten to burst suddenly and erratically. It reminded him of the time that he had been sent to deal with enraged fire spirits by the Order of the Radiant Sun. "Say Traveler, may I inquire about the business that you're conducting in the Southern Jewel? You look like any other wanderer, but... clearly. We both know that is not true."

Nar laughed when the man he was talking to mentioned that others would cause issues for a lot less. "Too true you are, my friend! And trust me, when you see the things I've seen today, the "Elixir of gods" will seem like... well... to be frank, a godsend.", crows feet creased the skin around his eyes, "Oh yes, but an ugly stained glass, not one of those beauteous ones you see in the churches. One of those ones that weep.". This young chap had the right attitude, despite Nar's initial judgement. At times like these he appreciated wisdom such as "Judge, judge fairly, and be ready to show mercy.". Granted, that particular piece was from a children's book he read a lot when he was younger, but it still held true.

However, Nar's face lost all trace of a smile when he saw the glint in this man's eye. His smile was replaced by a combination of grief, surprise, and respect. This man had seen it, where most people don't. He looked down into his drink, to stare a moment at his wizened reflection, before looking up again and grinning. This time, it wasn't the full hearted grin of amusement, but the forlorn grimace of loss. "Family business.", Nar darkly said. He walked over to the bar, and left some coins for the barkeep. "And yes, you're right. I'm no ordinary traveler, but then, who is?", he paused, "After all, we all have things that make us special. But you mean less ordinary still, don't you?". He looks this keen young man in the eye, and let the full vision of his power reach out through that tiny strand of consciousnesses that was connecting them at that moment.

"I'm not one for fame, so I think that maybe you can keep a secret about what you saw. But we should talk. I'm interested in what makes you special, now. Oh, and call me Nar."

Lothar casually nodded and said "Perhaps, we should go for a small walk. It would provide us with some anonymity... at least more than in a cozy tavern with nosy veterans." as he indicated that they should leave. It wasn't much of a question as it was clear that Lothar had no intention of spending any more time here. Once, they had left the tavern, Lothar would continue to speak "Nar, I am Lord Wolff of Attolia, a former Knight of the Radiant Sun." as he pulled out his amulet which bore the sigil of the Order. He then continued to speak:

"I suppose just like you, I am here on so called 'family business'. Except, since I am a Lord, I think you fully understand my predicament given the war preparations. Look I will be straightforward. I am missing one of my valiant Knights in this coming campaign. Such a tragedy reflects poorly upon me and my family. If you have already attended to your family business, then I am sure that you possess some skills that would be as... effective or even more effective than that of my maimed Knight. Your pay would be his share of the spoils that he would have received, a substantial sum. More than what most could even dream to earn in a decade. War is horrible, but for the victor... it can be profitable. Thus, I ask you, Nar. Would you serve the Kingdom under my banner? It can be just for one campaign or even longer if you desire, but if I am correct and you are who you think you are, then you could make a substantial difference in this war and save a lot of lives. And if you are interested in things like glory, honor, and prestige... I am about to go see the Grand Marshal himself to see if he has a special task for me and or my men. You will have the opportunity to meet many people if that is something that is of interest to you. They could potentially help your with your own... family business."

Nar looked long and hard at Lothar as he thought about this proposition. He opened his mouth, furrowed his brow, then closed his mouth again. They walked in silence for several minutes before Nar replied. "Your offer is generous, that much is certain. I accept, but I reserve the right to leave if I must. Oh, and leave the glory out of it please. As you can see from my clothing,", he glances down at the somewhat dirty travel clothes he is currently wearing, "I'm a touch ascetic when it comes to these things. Others can take the glory, but all it does is inflate the ego.", he says. He considers for a while longer, right hand pulling at the skin around his adam's apple. "I've been studying something particularly peculiar lately. May I also ask that I have your support in questioning certain people, if I feel I'd learn something?"

Lothar nodded. "As long as you inform me of your intention to depart with due regard. Then very well. I will trust you to not randomly vanish on the eve of a battle. As for questioning... as long as long as it doesn't break any laws or codes of conduct during wartime, then you may do as you wish. I will not promise anything that I know nothing about, but if you need help and explain to me with good reason, I will do what I can to assist you." Lothar then reached into a pouch and pulled out a few gold coins. "By accepting this as your initial payment, you will officially be a part of my retinue. Spend it on whatever equipment you will need to go on a campaign. I don't know if you've been in a war, but I highly recommend obtaining a pair of quality boots... they'll serve you better than any sword or shield ever could." Lothar said as he offered the coins for Nar to accept. "But first matter of business will, of course, be to see the Grand Marshal and see what we can do to help."

Nar accepted the payment and thanked Lothar. With the addition of a mage to his retinue, Lothar confidently led the group off to meet with the Grand Marshal.

Zakhul’s senses were slightly overwhelmed as he ran along the road. After being unused for centuries it was quite a shock to be passing by so many sights and smells. The pair of Aldon and Zakhul had been making their way down the coast of the peninsula for the past few hours. With night falling a few hours ago they were close to reaching their destination. In the distance, Zakhul could hear a mass of noises steadily drawing nearer. Wanting to take a look he propelled himself up into the branches of the trees. Climbing higher while maintaining pace it wasn’t long until he reached the top of the trees. Skipping along the top of the trees he could see the bright lights of the city ahead of him. Looking to Aldon he pointed ahead of them, “I believe we are nearing our destination.”

“It would seem so Zakhul,” he said calmly as he looked at the large city which could be seen for miles even to a normal humans eyes. “We should start traveling as mortals again and try to keep a low profile from here on.” after saying that he dropped from the top of the tree he had been balancing on, landing on his feet as his features began to look more human. His fangs disappeared and his eyes turned back to their icy blue color but they still held a sharpness to them that threatened one to challenge him. He waited for a moment before he heard Zakhul drop behind him before he started to make his way to the city. “With any luck, we'll be able to get what we want.”

“With luck.” Zakhul began to layer more illusion magic over the layers already laid upon him to disguises his eyes. Now they were a calm hazel instead of a piercing red. As they walked along the road Zakhul was noticing the steady flow of young men heading towards the city. “It seems as if the humans are gathering most of their fighters. This could be a fairly large army.” While these men kept their faces blank, Zakhul can smell their fear. Each and every one of them had it in varying degrees, some to a larger extent than others. Many of these men will have never seen war before, but they have probably all heard the stories. “Many will die.”

“As they always do in conflicts such as these.” Like Zakhul, Aldon had been paying attention to the people he saw gathering near the city. His sharp eyes began scanning them over trying to see what kind of people they would find within the walls. Most seemed like normal peasants if not slightly better off, but every now and then he would see someone who was clearly a true fighter. “We should be able to blend in rather well with all the warriors hear but we should still be careful not doing thing out of ordinary.” he paused as he could see the gates of the city nearing. “I think it's best if you let me do the talking until you get used to the ways things have changed in your sleep.”

When both he and Zakhul made it to the gates he could see a small line as people were being checked by guards as they entered the city. After a short wait, they had finally made it to the front where a guard sat in front of a small wood desk with a skater of papers and a small lantern on it that provided the guard some light to read the papers. “What's your business here.” the guard said in a tired voice clearly not in his best mindset.

“My friend and I here are hoping to look around your lovely city if that would be ok. We also are lo...”
“Yeah yeah, whatever. You're free to enter,” he said not bother to hear the rest of Aldons explanation as he waved towards the gate.

Zakhul had forgotten how impressive Tarantis was since the last time he had seen it. It’s shining lights were meant to amaze the peasants and foreign emissaries alike, much like a military parade. The streets were crowded to the point of suffocation and personal space was a memory of the past. Unable to stand being smashed in with so many lesser creatures Zakhul stepped into an alleyway. As soon as he got free of the crowd he stealthily leaped up onto the top of a nearby building. He began to calmly walk at his own pace, jumping over streets and alleys as they came. Taking this chance to survey the city he could see the castle off into the distance. “Why don’t we just go kill the king?” Zakhul was speaking to no one in particular.

“Because that wouldn't be near as much fun now would it?” Not long after saying this a bat came hovering next to Zakhul as it continued to talk to him. “And what part of staying under the radar did you think meant jumping up onto a roof?”

“I am fairly certain everyone in that alleyway was either dead, drunk, or high so I believe I am fairly safe.” Continuing along in the same direction Zakhul kept on the lookout for humans who could see them. “It is not as if I have the luxury of turning into a little bat and flying around. By the way, where are we going, because I am completely lost?”

“Well, I suppose we could head to the Castle and see what's around there and maybe sign up for the army.” After Aldon had said that both he and Zakhul made their ways back down off the roofs into an alley before joining the people in the streets again as they began walking towards the castle. The streets were still rather busy but it seemed as though people were far too busy to be paying attention to anything that was happening around them which was nice for him. As they continued he could see what looked like the remains of a house that had recently been burnt down or collapsed in on itself. Once he got closer he began to examine the sight more closely trying to see what had happened or if anyone seemed to care about the city. As he looked he could see to figures standing by the house inspecting it that bore the sign of justice on their armor. As he looked one of them, a female it seemed, appeared to notice him he thought before he quickly turned his head hiding his face behind his hat. “Shit”

“What’s wrong?” Zakhul hadn’t even bothered to notice the figures or the house, thinking of them as insignificant as mice. He scanned their surroundings looking for something he considers a threat but saw nothing. “Where are they?”

Aldon made sure both of them continued to walk as they left the house and the to figures behind them. “The two people by that burned house. They’re members of the justice of order. And I think the one noticed me.” He paused for a second as they kept walking. He wasn't scared of them by themselves in the slightest. He was fairly certain he could take them on with ease, but the idea that one had taken note of him made him uneasy if they decided to investigate leading to way more attention than he needed at this moment. “They're very keen on finding things out and enforcing laws, But l,ike all humans their just ais blownr corrupt group looking for power.”

“So what if they are adept at finding things out? They are merely humans, we can just wait a few years and they will be dead.” Zakhul barely glanced in the direction of the house as he continued on his way. “Maybe we should go join the army, though I am uncomfortable about fighting around such weak beings. What if I accidentally kill a bunch of them. BOOM!!! Cover blown. We should find a more elite group to attach ourselves to.”

“Because I have waited a long time and I would rather our cover not be blown. In case you forgot to talk about us would not stop in a couple of years. But I suppose that we could try and join a more elite group.” he stopped for a moment as he could see the castle just before them. “Well, let's hope this goes well.”