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Branwen leapt up onto the tallest rock she could, her magical belt giving her a boost. Her bare, clawed feet padded softly against the stone. She put a hand above her eyes to block the sun, and with the other on her scabbard she gazed past the tents, the pavilions, the other adventurers gathered for their own quests. The young hero gazed out at those ruins, took a deep breath, then smiled wide.

"This is going to be a good adventure!" she declared before leaping back down from the rock.

The mouse-like little woman landed softly, her ears twitching and her whiskers bouncing with excitement. She raced on over toward the throng of adventurers, eager to lend her sword to one of the many bands. It was difficult to pick a group to align herself with... There were so many! And there were many more solo adventurers, most of them keeping to themselves, which was something Branwen would never understand. Wasn't it much safer to travel with a group? And, well... wasn't it more fun? Less maddening?

So, Branwen strode out through the grass, looking for the most friendly, sociable looking bunch of travelers to associate herself with. Certainly, there were some good candidates, faces she was sure would turn friendly with just a smile and a wave. But the perfect group... the perfect group...

There they were: a dwarf in mail, a black-robed wizard, and a silver-haired priestess, all nodding to one another and just about to plunge into the Forgotten Ruins. Clearly they were experienced, but they also had honest looks to them. Happily, Branwen ran on up behind them. The weremouse cleared her throat, and they turned in unison to face her.

"Excuse me but a moment!" the young knight called in her lilting voice. She puffed her chest out and bowed. "Perchance you would care for another blade to be lent to your enterprise? I am Branwen Burrows, knight of Brel-"

Then the dwarf began to snort. The wizard began to laugh. The priestess covered her mouth. Branwen's ear twitched.

"Branwen Burrows," she repeated, nonplussed, speaking a little more nervously. "Knight of Brelan-"

"You're a knight?" the dwarf asked, cheeks turning red with amusement. "You? Really?"

Branwen frowned. "Well, not technically. At least, not yet! But I was squired to-"

"Oh, sweetie," the priestess said, smiling gently and leaning on forward. "We're- I'm sure you're quite capable, but..."

"But we don't need pretender knights to help us," the wizard said plainly. "Run along, little mouse. Find some cheese."

As the dwarf let out a hearty laugh, slapping his wizard friend on the back, Branwen stood there with a look of shock on her face. Really, they had- they had looked so friendly! But the priestess just smiled in what might have been an apologetic manner and followed after her two companions as they headed through one of the gates into the ruins.

The chubby little warrior clutched her hand tightly about her sword's scabbard, and she heaved out an angry, weary sigh. She paced, stepping away from the entryway, watching as the trio went on in by themselves. They were out of sight soon enough.

Whatever was in there... Branwen wasn't stupid. She knew she couldn't just go in alone. It wasn't smart! And she'd always worked better alongside others. Why, she was incredibly helpful! She was... she was good with a sword, and she knew tactics well enough! And, and-

With yet another sigh, the cursed littleling sat herself down on an old, broken column near the ruins. She chewed irritably on her knuckles and stared over at the ruins, thumping her bare feet against the cold stone underneath her. The young warrior needed a moment to think. She scratched at her neck. It really was unlikely that she would be able to find someone to take her with them. People tended not to think highly of littlelings in the first place. Tiny, mouse-looking people seemed to be regarded even less highly.

Branwen thought about it. There was no way around it: she would just have to go into the ruins alone herself. Maybe she would find someone else that needed help. She was sneaky, after all, and could always lend someone a hand!

There was no more mulling over such thoughts. Branwen hopped to her feet again, gripped her scabbard tightly, and put the sea of grass and tents behind her. A resolute firmness filled her cheeks as she took her first steps into the ruins.

Artemisia led her horse through the crowd, sinking her teeth into a fresh apple. She loved it when royal missions were decreed; the briefest glance around the fields of ruins saw the entire area filled with the likes of adventurers, mercenaries, and merchants. Wherever a large group of travelers with a need went, merchants and tradesmen followed, like a capitalistic analogue of an army baggage train. The fields here were no exception; there was already a small temporary market on the edge of the various encampments, catering to every need and desire of your average adventurer.

She had made a tidy profit there; she’d bartered a set of magic gems for a satchel of good quality peppercorn from a traveling merchant who had found luxury spices to be a harder sell to adventurers than magical consumables. Patting a warm pouch on the side of the horse as she cleared the crowd, Artemisia took one last bite before feeding the steed the rest of the fruit. She had gotten some groceries too, and with a bit of pepper for some extra flavor, was rather looking forward to it.

Unwrapping a bundle of wax paper and twine, the noble-turned-adventurer enjoyed a savory goulash. Sitting down, she had a piece of parchment in her other hand, a notice nicked from a bulletin board in a town some days away. She frowned at the paper's poor woodcut illustration of that night's events.

Artemisia had been on the road last week when it happened, although she remembered the immediate event equally for its blinding light and her horse’s reaction. She had been on the road for a year and a half now, wandering, on a pilgrimage of sorts, ever since Estiegnac fell. Even then, she still had a way to go with horses. She had spent what felt like minutes trying to avoid being thrown off her fickle steed’s back.

Despite the distraction, it didn’t take her too long to figure out the matter was one of the arcane. Her first instinct had been to ride directly towards the source of the light.

She looked back down at the notice. By chance, it was from her country; it had somehow survived last season's war campaign. They were either still keeping up appearances, or desperate indeed, to offer 200 gold. A small fortune to an adventurer, surely, for the first who could turn in what might turn out to be a fool's errand. The location was, after all, a thoroughly excavated and barren ruin. She questioned the wisdom of her country's rulers.

Even so, she was sure that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be as simple as a fallen moon rock.

Artemisia stood, folding the parchment into a pocket. Dusting off her cloak, she glanced for Inigo, the brown warmblood steed that she had acquired at the beginning of her journey. Finding him grazing, she gave him another apple and a pat before saddling up, heading into the ruined city at a slow trot.

It was time to see what the big hubbub was about before she missed out.

---

The foreign girl spent most of her morning meandering around the cluster of tents and micro shops that had steadily grown since the night prior. Despite her year traveling these lands she still felt an air of uncertainty of what dangers lie before her at the start of any venture. Up to now she had been able to defend herself against most monsters. Either by combat or tactical retreat. But this crumbling mass of a stone seemed a bit more domineering than open fields where most of her opponents had been found.

She heard of this quest the day before while spending time within the nearby town. She had absolutely no luck finding adventurers to aid her quest to reclaim her land in this past year. But this reward could possibly sway the odds in her favor. To have a bounty of coin in her purse large enough to buy her aid.

As she walked she considered making a request to join others parties to ascend the tower of ruin to claim its prize. But over the years her luck with strangers would be considered anything but fortuitous. So her doubts often halted her approached before beginning her search once again through the encampment.

As she walked a loud chortling caught her attention; her soft brown gaze being pulled to look towards the direction of the sound. Instantly Mae's figure became stiff and rigid, like a small statue. Her eyes wide as they stared directly at the small, furry creature seemingly being belittled by the small group of adventurers. Her mind was on red alert, alarm bells blaring to keep calm.

'oh fu... it's so cute and fluffy... we need to calm down mae.. we can't pet strangers...' She gulped nervously as she talked herself down within her own thoughts.

Realizing she hadn't taken a breath in quite some time she shakily pulled a breath into her lungs, luckily helping her calm down. She took a few more breaths as she became less rigid and regained some semblance of composure. She awkwardly cleared her throat as she brushed her exotic dress with her hands; an odd attempt to secretly relaxed the anxiety and eagerness that had risen within her. Finally given some mental freedom she processed what had happened as she noticed the small mouse creature sitting sadly on a stump of crumbled stone. Apparently the party had mocked the poor creature and abandoned it, or something of the sort.

Noticing as the small creature hopped to its feet and begin to trek towards the entrance of the ruins her feet took flight before her mind had any say in the action. Before she knew it Mae was jogging up to the creature from behind. Before she knew it she found herself matching stride at the creatures side. Looking down, but only barely as their height differences weren't that great, at the creature and giving a kind, calm smile.

"Hey there. Do you need an adventure companion?" Mae asked calmly, her voice soft and faintly touched with a foreign accent.

All the while her mind and heart pounded in a mix of excitement and anxiety.

'don't pet strangers. don't pet strangers. don't pet strangers. don't pet strangers....~' the words echoed on repeat inside her mind the entire time.

---

---

Sun glazed over the width of a head tilted sideways and resting on a coalition of sticks, a head whose hazel orbs were trapped behind closed lids. Many days ago when the skies rang with light--the guiding light of Imare, she was sure--the Bright One of the I'wali set off, the stars and rise of the sun and its position her sole aid. She'd stayed away from the main roads to avoid the trife of banditry and peddlers. In the green, she kept good time and was able to better cover her tracks with every mile made.

It had been close to a week before she arrived at the Forgotten Ruins. After she had, she'd made no provisions for herself except sleep. Sleep clipped by the gathering and bartering as people began to wake and exorcise themselves from makeshift encampments. There was smoke and steam all too familiar: bread, soup, ale. It all invaded her senses and she shot up. Everything was so distinct that it was unintelligible. Many feet shuffled, but then there was a change, a clicking. It sounded like hooves. A beast was a companion, indeed; hopefully the owner was of good temperament. Atua was sure she would find out soon enough. It was but a moment before once more the voices and stenches and merriment coalesced.

All interest pointed toward the ruined city, and what time was there to waste? There would be less raucous once inside; she made pace and observed one of several gates obstructing entrance. Such constraint always made her suspicious, far as she could tell there were no guards, either. Hmmmmm! She slung the quiver around her back and tightened the grip on her bow. She bowed her head and supplicated,

”Himwari i hiril aba.”

Then she stood staring at one of the cracks in the ruined walls. Could she fit? She angled herself in the best way she thought would allow her to pass through one of the larger partitions in the wall and tried to slither her way through.

The freedom of an adventurer’s life offered many choices, one of which being that, even without a king’s decree, one could choose to track down a falling star, just because it was a falling star. After all, how awesome would it be to have a weapon made of ores cast down from the heavens? How cool it would be to be the first to lay hands upon something wholly unique? It was the spirit of rebellion that drew Cecilia out of her home, but it was the spirit of exploration that kept her out of it. Ever since that star had fallen north of Palagria, the spellblade adventurer had been on the road, chatting up farmers and merchants as she hitched rides off their wagons.

That falling star was a spear from the heavens, sent to remind the non-believers of Palagria of the might of the Gods.

That falling star was a goddess of incomparable beauty, in search of a mortal lover who had passed centuries ago.

That falling star was the precursor of a world-ending ritual, the first meteor of a swarm to fall upon these lands.

Everyone had stories, from the most eloquent of minstrels to the most tongue-tied toddler, and Cecilia enjoyed them all, her own expectations building up as she proliferated all the rumors and guesses she had gathered along the way down towards the epicenter of the starfall. It may be terrifying, or it may be nothing at all, but every night, Cecilia would find a tree to climb up upon, and would look outwards, southwards.

The star was still there, the faintest hue of green lighting up the darkness like the northern auroras. She dreamed of fantasies, of treasures and horrors, of the beginning of a myth, of knowledge even sages did not possess. And in the morning, Cecilia would wake up, make a soup out of dinner’s leftovers, and head off again, a song under her breath, a skip in her step.

A week passed like this, and though she was sick of crackers and rabbits, the brightness in her grin did not fade. Indeed, it only increased as she approached the Forgotten Ruins. Others had been drawn to this place too, haven’t they? The din of adventurers prepping their gear, the shouts of merchants selling sundries and tools, the strumming of bards’ tales, and the aroma of a hundred different meals, prepared for the tastes of a dozen different cultures. Just by the noise alone, she guessed there may have been a hundred, maybe two hundred people crowded around the ruins.

And by the Gods, Cecilia sure loved a big competition!

Brandishing her Ensorcelled Spear, the lilac-haired spellblade willed her mana through her veins, arcane energies shooting from her heart into her extremities. Others may have gotten the jump on her in actually arriving, but she’d make up for lost searching time easy!

“Accelerate!”

Like lightning, Cecilia ran for one of the sturdier walls, ramming her spear into the dirt as she got near. As the haft began to bend, she kicked off the ground and vaulted upwards. She planted her feet against the side of the wall first, and jumped. Once using the side of the wall, and then again in the air, each propelling her higher and higher, until she could plant her hand against the top of the wall and hurl herself over it.

She tossed in a somersault for flair, rolled to disperse the impact of the fall, and was off like an arrow once more, shooting through long abandoned avenues in search of her shooting star.

Ciel

Ciel roused slowly from sleep as the sound of adventurers got louder, crawling out groggily from underneath his makeshift shelter of a stick and a sackcloth against the ruin walls. Ciel squeezed his eyes and with a tired squint, surveyed the growing cluster of tents toward the plains. He had propped up his sack against one of the outer ruined walls, partially because he only had one branch and needed the second support, but also to stay away from the influx of eager adventurers that seemed to grow ever time he looked at them. Safety in numbers, sure - but Ciel was much more wary of the inverse.

Ciel took inventory of his few belongings. Daggers. A couple day's rations. Some rope tied to a harpoon's hook. Stick and sack. Oh, and the bounty note. Ciel scanned the notice again, tracing the number of coin that was offered. He didn't have to count the number of zeroes, but Ciel knew that it was far beyond his specs. He was only here for a supporting role, not the ruins itself.

Ciel had just finished his last days on the farm, herding animals and harvesting crop to learn coin enough to sustain him until he found another job. He was in the store stalking the notice boards for new jobs when he found a note emboldened by the adventurer's guild. They were looking for scouts who knew the plains, as they were looking to beat their competition to the Ruins. Ciel barely had much experience with the plains - but when he offered to work for free in exchange for a couple week's lodgings, he was in.

And now here he was. Dropped off by the guild party, who gave Ciel rations and money as a reward for a job well done (and perhaps in compensation for that one knight who liked to pat him on the head one too many times). As he fumbled to reorganize the sack to head back to the towns, he looked back towards the stoic walls of the ruins, then down at the bounty note left on the dusty ground.

That was a lot of zeroes.

...

Ciel cautiously picked up the bounty note and scanned the cracks along the walls, hand holds, crawl-throughs. Okay. Just a day in, day out. He would still have more than enough with the extra supplies from the guild party.

Ciel stuffed the note in the sack, and tying it to the branch, remade his bindle to sling over his shoulder. When he approached the wall, Ciel saw a tall woman (huntress?) trying to fit through one of the cracks. Ciel silently stared with his characteristically dead eyes, barely moving as he blankly awaited his turn.

---

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"Hey there," a feminine voice said from behind Branwen in a calm and kindly tone. "Do you need an adventure companion?"

The little weremouse turned to see who it was that had spoken. Though normally incredibly alert, she had been so focused on making her heroic stride into the ruins that she hadn't noticed the woman walking beside her. Branwen came to a quick halt to inspect her properly.

The first thing Branwen noticed was that, well, the voice's owner was mostly legs. More specifically, the owner was mostly bare and muscular legs. But looking up a little more, the weremouse saw a foreign-looking woman in loose, simple clothing with a lean figure and a welcoming face. The woman smelled of wild flowers and wore warm-colored clothes. There was a sort of bridled excitement in her expression, and something about the way she spoke made her seem very earnest.

Branwen was immediately put at ease, and she smiled on back up at the stranger.

"I surely shan't deny your aid, traveler!" the little mouse answered, her eyes half-closing as she spoke. "A sister-in-arms and a friendly face would be most welcome. My name is Branwen Burrows of Brelania, pleased to make your acquaintance!" The weremouse curtsied politely, lifting up her skirt with her pinkie fingers raised.

'Be still my heart....' Mae pathetically begged inside her mind in thought.

Mae remained calm as best she could, at least upon the surface of her expression. Her soft, kind smile ever persistent, then returned the gesture in her own manner. Crossing her right forearm horizontally across her stomach and her left forearm across her back, Mae proceeded to dip her head in a courteous bow.

"My name is Mae Li Fong. But you can simply call me Mae. The pleasure is entirely mine, Branwen Burrows." Which, in truth, was entirely true. Adventuring with a cute creature had always been a dream of young Mae.

"May I ask your class? I was too far away to here much of your conversation from earlier." She mostly lied. If she had not been stunned by the sight of the cute creature she could have probably listened in full.

"I am a Martial Artist. But I believe your land calls them 'brawlers', if I am not mistaken." She chimed in her soft accent, her soft brown gaze seeming to trail off in thought, trying to remember if that was what she heard it called previously.

"Verily, Miss Fong!" the diminutive warrior said. She seemed quite happy to have someone to talk to, and demonstrably hopped backward a few feet and drew forth her short sword in a clean motion! The chubby critter held it aloft, the blade pointed skywards, light glinting off its edge.

"I am a Knight!" Branwen declared with heroic enthusiasm, her whiskers dancing with pride. "In training," she added much more hastily, skipping past those words. "Specifically, I trained to be a Captain of Brelania, though mayhaps you might call those of my calling 'Tacticians.' 'Tis our duty to lead by example, and ne'er to retreat for want of courage! You and I shall be fighting side by side!"

Mae's eyes grew much larger as she watched in sheer bliss at the small creature's display. She could feel the sledge hammer crashing against her walls of faked maturity. She didn't know how much more of this she could take before resorting to her carnal, snuggle-wuggling desires.

Mae's smile grew slightly, strain and agony hidden just beneath it's surface.

"I must confess. I had some concerns about venturing into this... well, ominous place. But your companionship gives me much ease." She spoke truthfully. How could Mae possibly be worried when all of her focus was directed now at not committing a violation of Branwen's personal space. Let alone what'd happen once that personal bubble was breached.

But Mae kept up her persona. She would remain steadfast and firm. She would not break. No matter how heart-wrenchingly adorable this little weremouse was.

Branwen sheathed her sword with a happy nod, looking absolutely pleased with those words.

"I must declare likewise!" said the little knight-in-training, smiling toothily up at the much taller adventurer. "And I shall endeavor to prove myself worthy of the trust you place in me, Miss Fong. Or shall I call you Mae?" Branwen quirked an eyebrow on high.

"My friends call me Mae. So you should call me Mae." She spoke sweetly, with a smile to match.

The weremouse's peridot eyes practically sparkled. She felt quite honored with the seemingly calm, collected, and respectable martial artist's declaration. Her chest swelled with pride, a bit of fur puffing over the top of her gambeson. She'd made a friend!

"I quite appreciate the sentiment, Mae!" said the captain, her speech lilting and rising in pitch. "My friends call me Branwen... or Bran!"

"Branwen it is!"

The little knight marched toward into ruins with a cheery grin, though perhaps it would be better described as hopping. Perhaps it was a little of both? Mae beamed as she followed towards the ruins at Branwen's side, easily keeping stride with her short companion.

"I believe, my friend," Branwen mused, "that I shall thoroughly enjoy your company!"

Thus did the adventurous pair make their way into the quiet, ominous ruins, paying little heed to the speeding spearwoman racing ahead. The two had a lot to talk about on the way, and paid as much attention to their conversation as they did to their surroundings.

Attracting wayward glances, Locke's arrival was showered with attention compared to anyone else's. His golden clothes weren't that of a noble; they were more eccentric than that. Frankly, Locke didn't care about so many eyes on him. Not currently, anyways. He was much more interested in whatever caused that blinding light. If it was a magical being, he could attempt to contract them. The fairy king was more whimsical than possessive. Interesting things easily satiated his patron's demands. If it was some meaningless treasure, it would at least be worth some gold. A lesser mint, but one that most of the lower nations accepted. Unless he was stabbed, the trip would be a waste of time at worst. He was in the area already, of course.

Though he was on a timer. The entire place was a powder keg waiting to blow up. Considering how there was organized military on one side, morally questionable mercenaries on another, and a roving pack of thieves and pillagers (also known as adventurers), one could easily make the assumption that shit was going to go down once everyone began to delve in. If whatever the comet brought a treasure, there would be a mess over its ownership. The only saving grace was that the treasure (whatever it could have been) wasn't actually found yet.

He was pretty much always ready to dive into a dungeon. The water fairy he controlled could create potable water (though he still boiled it), he carried enough dried food for two weeks and could forage, and he had most of the supplies any adventurer would need for an expedition. His cursory inspection of the other adventurers was as expected. Some adventurers tried to get through holes in the wall, their large bodies making it difficult. Others tried to scale it for an advantage, not realizing that they would have to climb back down. A single one leapt the wall in a single bound, which was actually pretty impressive. The majority went through the gates, however.

Unlike the weirdos who decided to enter via hole or pole, Locke entered through the main gate like most. It was better to save his energy and time instead of doing something dumb. If shit did kick off, he'd rather be fully ready to escape rather than burnt out fighting a wall. Sure, the entrance and most paths had been visually picked clean with ocular patdowns, but people tended to scatter. So long as he moved ahead, he'd naturally reach untraveled paths.

He ignored most of the people already inside. Traveling in a group was safer for certain, but that also meant you had to share any rewards. Plus, if you didn't scatter, you were essentially covering the same ground. Why not just go alone if you were going to scatter anyways? No real point. Though technically, he wasn't alone either. With a wave of his finger and flick of his wrist, a blue-haired fairy with a dress coloured like the sky quickly appeared as it flipped out of thin air.

"Search for it," he commanded the fairy with a whisper. With a nod, the fairy dove into the sky for an aerial view, circling around like some sort of bird. Would she find it? Maybe. Sometimes fairies were assholes and mucked about instead of doing their jobs. Despite this unreliability, having a bonus bird's-eye view that didn't need to be paid was powerful.

He passed a woman who brought in a horse, some foreigner and a large rat as he delved deeper, ignoring the them all as they weren't really important to his goal. No real point in making friends with someone you'd never see again.

Those who had entered through the main cardinal gates and chosen the main streets in hopes of an easy trek to the center of the ancient, ruined city, would soon find themselves sorely disappointed. Row upon row of coallapsed archways, pillars and columns littered the main avenues, with debris from crumbling stone buildings and pot holes as big and deep as large buckets blanketing the paths. Those who chose to make their way though the narrow alleyways and backstreets would fair no better though, with ruined walls and piles of brick and stone making impromptu dead-ends and sudden blockages overly prevalent.

Those who fancied themselves clever and intended to use the city's old sewers and subtarranean aqueducts would be halted by the fact that most of these underground passageways had simply caved in, or were blocked by pools of deep, dank, stagnant and gods-know-how-deep water that had accumulated over centuries of rain, hail and snow. Finally, those who with the capacity to scale walls and roofs would be in for a precarious ordeal, as the rain-battered buildings' rooves were about as sturdy and solid as gravel held together by wood glue. Not to mention the walls and edges of the buildings had been worn down by weather over the centuries, making the stone slanted, slick and crumbly.

Needless to say, there were no easy or direct paths, no clear line straight to their goal. To get to the center of the city would require one to navigate a maze of rubble and hindrances. The complete lack of any other creatures besides the adventurers and mercenaries who had come didn't exactly improve the mood of those climbing about in the stony mess. Grumpy, tense and harsh words and eyes were thrown about like a swarm of bees. Each trying to make their own way and be the first to take a certain route, only to bump inot another team or person. It was easy to see that the whole ordeal was chipping away at the patience and moods of everyone gathered, some more than others.

One group, led by a shaggy-looking man in his mid-twenties, yelled at the noblewoman who was trying to ride her horse through the ruins.

"Are ya daft, girl`? Think ya can fit that old sack-o'-bones mare through these ruins when we can barely squeeze through ourselves!? Get that lice-laiden cretin outta here and make space for the rest of us! Have some common courtesy!"

Meanwhile, a large pack of different people had formed along the path where the foreign girl and tiny were-creature were going, completely blocking the path ahead on the main road. A lot of shoving, elbowing, pushing and cursing was going on, and it seemed very unlikely that the pair would be getting through here anyime soon.

The ranger who had squeezed through the crack in one of the outer walls, followed by the paladin who had partially destroyed said wall, would find themselves navigating narrow, dark alleys, where the more unsavory and less morally upright adventurers who had come to the ruins were now skulking about. Many of them, icey eyed or wicked grinned, cast hungry glances at either of these two who passed them by, dark thoughts and vicious plans no doubt swirling in their dastardly minds.

The girl who had used magic to propel herself over the outer walls and then ahead, would be forced to come to abrupt halt - or rather, she was made to come to an abrupt halt. Someone, somewhere, had aparently paid heed to her little stunt and slight advantage in mobility, and had as such cast some for of dispelling magic upon her, instantly causing her burst of speed to wither way like a charred leaf turning to ash.

Any others, like the young boy who was formerly a bandit, or the uppity summoner who held all around him in disdain, would be lost in the masses or proverbial traffic-jams of other travellers, trying to get ahead. It was all a rather sordid mess, and all the voices and noise just kept getting louder and louder, angrier and angrier... Until finally, at a certain cross-section within the old ruins, something happened.

At the South-West Crossroads, Forggoten Ruins:

Two groups had stopped, now facing one another and staring each other down. One group, to the south, looked like a mismatched blanket of patchwork make, with a large variety of men and women of different height, race, class and gear. To the west, stood a more uniform and organized group. These were clad in suits of light plate or scale armor, with red and yellow tabards draped over their torsos. Some held spears, other sword and shields, and some in the far back had both bows and crossbows. Their helmets varied slightly, though most wore what looked like the typical bucket-helms of knights, with a 'T'-shaped slit to allow them to see and speak unhindered.

One of these more well-dressed individuals, with a plume of red feathers atop his helm, stepped forward into the crossroads. From his belt, he withdrew a scroll of parchment, which he unfurled and held up infront of himself with oen arm, facing it so the southern group could all see the scribbles and wax seal that had been pressed upon it.

"BY ORDER OF HIS MOST ESTEEMED EXCELLENCY, EMPEROR THANAMAN VAL DHURAYN, THESE LANDS ARE HENCEFORTH THE DOMINION OF THE GALANON EMPIRE, AND AS SUCH THE TERRITORY OF HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY!" The shouted in a loud, commanding voice, with a hint of arrogant superiority and tinge of condescending bite. "You are all unlawfuly trespassing on territory that belongs to the glorious Empire! Turn around and leave at once, less you be branded as criminals and enemies of the state!" The man added, in a slightly less loud, but still fairly pompous, tone.

At this delcaration, one of the many men on the southern part of the crossroads stepped forward. A tough-looking fellow in perhaps his mid or early forties, receding brown hairline, thick mutton-chops and a goatee. He wore a set of studded leather armor with a single pauldron, for whatever reason. He also had a very large two-handed axe slung across his back, held in place by a leather strap that went daigonally across his torso. He had a cocky grin on his face as she approached the officer of the Imperial army.

"That right?" He asked, making a sudden long, dragged-out snorting noise, before letting a glob of snot-mized spit fly from his mouth and land at the feet of the feather-helmed soldier. "Well, you listen up, Bucket-head. We ain't citizens of your precious Empire, and we ain't obliged to follow none of your Emperor's orders." He sneered. "These lands ain't been claimed, and they ain't ever been held - so why don't you lot go marching your stick-up-the-arse selves back to your own borders, aye?"

"Uncouth swine!" The commanding officer replied, lowering the parchment and stepping forward. "You dare speak to an Imperial Officer like that? Don't you know who I am? I'm Virtos di Marakanth, Captain of the 72nd Imperial Battlion and Royal Knight of his Imperial Majesty's court!"

"That right? Well, see... The thing is, Mr. Captain..."

Shlink! Whoosh! Crunch!

"... I don't really give a rat's ass about any of that." The goatee-sporting man said.

And, much to everyone elses astonishment, the scene before them was rather bizarre. There stood the Imperial Commander, with an axe blade now embedded in his chest. He staggered backwards, let out a gurgled cough that sent globs of blood flying infront of him, before he buckled under the weight of his own body and armor, falling over sideways onto the ground. With spasmic, irregular convulsions, he let out more gargled hacks and coughs. After a brief moment of time-frozen stupification, the ball of time and realization once again began to roll. Two of the front-most Imperial soldiers rushed to their fallen leader's side, shouting his name as they knelt down to give what aid they could.

The second in command of the Imperial forces, a woman with blue feathers, though less numerous than those of her red-feathered superior, raised one arm to the sky and then pointed at the southerners, drawing her blade with the other hand.

"They've attacked the Commander! Archers, slay these barbarians!" She howled with a rage-filled voice.

The sneering adventurer who had been so brazen moments earlier, now looked in shock and horror, as a sudden volley of numerous arrows fell from the above, striking not only himself, but several of those who had been closest to him as well. With a bellowing, unceremonious cry he fell backwards, arrows lodged in his chest and shoulder, falling to the ruined cobblestone street with a wet thump, his axe skidding across the street in the opposite direction. Though as he, and several others who had done nothing fell, a pair of sorcerers in the south suddenly took action. Together they chanted a spell and each unleashed a fiery ball of considerable flame, that surged forward.

With a loud, echoing boom, the fireballs struck the front lines of the Imperial forces, but the mages had misjudged the potency of their spells, and so even members of their own pack were caught in the blast, charred and incinerated to blackened, smoldering corpses that went flying like ragdolls from the force of the blast. And so, the pandemonium began.

Imperial soldiers and mercenaries from Galanon engaged any and all foreigners, while the groups, teams and even individuals from Palagria and elsewhere began to fight against both the Empire, and themselves. Spells, bolts, swords and what else have you soon sung their songs of death throughout the street. The chaos spread like wildfire and even those who tried to retreat or make their way out of the city were either ambushed or unwillingly caught up in the mess, forced to either defend themselves or be mercilessly struck down.

Meanwhile, just to the south of the Forgotten Ruins...

"It seems a battle has broken out."
"So it does."
"Should we intervene?"
"And risk engaging the Empire and perhaps other nations' forces as well? I think not, Corporal."
"Then why are we here, Captain?"
"Simple, to make sure none of these raiders and bandits bring trouble back into Palagria."
"Bandits...? But sir, aren't these all mercenaries and adventurers hired by the state to investigate the ruins on the kingdom's behalf?"
"The moment those fools drew blood from another nation, they seized to be adventurers, son."

A small force of Palagrian soldiers were stationed on one of the hills just south of the Forgotten Ruins, a force consisting mostly of light cavalry and marksmen. They stoically and calmly held their position, watching the ruined city from a fair distance. Their white and blue banners sluggishly billowing in the soft breeze. Their commander, a tan-skinned man with black hair and a scar across his cheek, surveyed the situation with cold, indifferent eyes. His aide, a younger man barely in his twneties, with shoulder-length blonde hair, looked on with a more concerned expression.

"Sir, what about the merchants? It looks like they're packing up their wares and preparing to leave."
"You mean the smugglers, boy."
"Excuse me?"
"Honest merchants don't sell their goods to raider and bandit-scum." The captain said, cold as stone. "If any of those criminals try to cross back into palagrai, we have orders to dispatch them."
"But, sir!"
"Listen kid." The older man turned to his subordinate and placed a gauntlet-clad hand on the boy's shoulder. "Sometimes, to protect the kingdom, we have to do things like this. We can't afford provoking Galanon, or the other nations, over something we don't even know has any worth. For all we know, that thing that fell could be a piece of useless monster-dung, or a stone that shattered into dust. You think we should risk going to war over that, just because some iditos couldn't keep their swords in their scabbards?"
"N-No, of course not... But, can't we just-"
"-Let them slip by and say we didn't see them? Emperor Dhurayn isn't the kinda guy who lets insults and injustices slide, boy. Unless we show the Empire that we don't have any affiliation with these sods, he'll take it as an admission of guilt."
"But the EMpire isn't even-"
"-Isn't even here?, you say? Look over there then." The old warrior pointed.

The younger squinted, putting a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. As he peered off into the distance, he could slowly make something out. Eventually, his eyes grew wide and his mouth fell agape.

"Those are... Imperial banners!?"
"Unlike our dear king, Dhurayn ain't afraid to parade around his military. Why should he? It's one of the largest on the continent." The elderly man said, spitting as he did so. "He can afford to send a detachment or two to investigate something like this. And if we did the same, we'd weaken our borders and be accused of provocation." The captain sighed.

The young officer looked at his commander, then back towards the Imperial troops far tot he north-west, then finally back at the ruins and the small carts slowly making their way southwards.

"So, Captain..." The boy asked, swallowing something and steeling his gaze and grip. "What're your orders?"
"... Listen up, men." The captain turned to look at his soldiers. "As of now, we're to prevent any smugglers, bandits, raiders or other criminals from escaping back into Palagria's borders to seek shelter. Anyone who tries to head south from that pile of rubble is an enemy!" The man half-shouted. "Cavalry! Chase down any stragglers or other mounted scum coming our way! Archers! Put down any groups or bunches of morons trying to run back this way!"

The soldiers merely looked at each other, shrugged, and then got into position. The archers stepped forward, raised their bows, and loosed their arrows. Within moments, the screams of the retreating merchants could be barely heard across the grassy fields, as they were beset by volley upon volley of raining arrows. Those that abandoned their carts and wagons, trying to escape to either the east or west, found themselves soon chased down by the swift light cavalry, and cut down in their flgiht.

Truly, the entire situation could only be described as hellish.

Kaze had observed the groups of adventurers, bandits, unsavory, holy, and normal from atop the wrecked wall near one of the ruins main entrances. It was an ancient city, probably a few centuries old, and crumbling like any ruin does. No one worked together except with their little groups, but it was understandable given a two hundred and fifty gold coin profit for finding...something. But there was no real organization either, everyone was getting in everyone elses way and tempers were flaring up.

Why did countries do big scale things like this? Didn't they have some sort of little scouting parties? Swift movers? The hell kind of operation was this? Of course sitting and thinking didn't get anyone anywhere when it came to things like this. Whatever, he slid down the wall before moving deeper in. The 'labyrinth' that was the city was like a trip home. He casually hopped over fallen columns, clambered over wrecked buildings. His sure grip and footing saw him through what most other people were struggling with.

They amused him honestly, adventurers were supposed to be ready for all obstacles. But they floundered at basic obstacles, whether it was their equipment or just lack of experience, it didn't matter. It was part of the reason why he wasn't clad in full plate armor, he could move freely but he had enough defense to stay safe.

While he had moved a sudden ruckus started up. Some Imperial bastards got uppity, trying to claim this was their land when even Kaze knew it had been abandoned for time unknown for reasons no one knew. Of course someone with more brawn than brain took action, and now a fight was broken out. "Of for fucks sake..." He muttered and decided to skirt around that bullshit.

That major cluster-fuck was bad news, especially since he saw magic going off that was causing what was potentially friendly fire. Yeah, not happening. But despite skirting around it, the fighting was more wide-spread. It seemed the Imperial's had more than one group in a single cluster. Smaller batches of units were engaging other adventurer's. Was he seriously going to get dragged into this because he wasn't wearing a uniform?

The answer was yes as an arrow pinged off his pauldron. Growling he scurried down with inhuman agility and barreled into a cluster of Imperial's, four of them. He batted aside a swipe from a sword with the metal of his gauntlets before driving his fist, as a straight punch, into the smaller mans chest. The thin steel plate caved in as he flew backwards away from the lizardman. The others paled but attacked as one, the archer firing, the other two swordsmen struck at him with a thrust and overhead slash.

The arrow sunk into Kaze's pectoral, but only the iron head went in. The thrust was brushed aside like the first slash, the overhead strike was caught in the metal palm. Kaze twisted and did a round-house kick to the thrusting swordsman's side, sending him skipping down the street. His light plate armor making it so he went further than a normal person would. The sword in his hand was bend with a twist of his wrist, leaving that soldier unarmed. That archer though, just got a glare before his companion was tossed into him. Snapping the bow he had held into splintered pieces.

"Cheap rubbish, cheap soldiers... He muttered before darting off, such rank and file soldiers weren't really worth it. He tried to make his way without getting into more skirmishes, but it would be doubtful he'd get to the center of the city without engaging another group.

Well that someone certainly didn’t have a sense of fun, or any sense at all. Cecilia didn’t come to a halt, after all, not when her legs were still pumping easily through the ruinous terrain, and as she wondered why someone would be picking on someone as innocent and faultless as herself, the Spellblade simply allowed mana to flow back into her body once more, and with a lilting “Accelerate~!” she shot down the streets with enhanced speed again.

Needless to say, the second Dispel Magic didn’t land, not when she was diving into the labyrinth-like streets of the Forgotten Ruins, easily out of sight of any lecherous, magic-cancelling mages.

She vaulted over piles of rubble, kicked through dilapidated walls, slide down slopes of gravel, raced upon crumbling walls. Occasionally, she scaled a particularly tall building to gain a general idea of which routes were most congested, before the building broke underneath her feet and Cecilia hopped off, continuing through the multitude of paths before her. This was what she enjoyed the most, in the end. The euphoria of a race, and the steady thrumming of her heart. The challenge of terrain, fortune and misfortune dogging her as she trusted instinct and experience to see her through the demands of the Forgotten Ruins.

Everything was great, really.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

She had seen, of course, the tents of the Galanon Military as she travelled southwards towards the Forgotten Ruins, but she certainly hadn’t expected them to start a whole goddamn war here. The moment an explosion of flame rocked the ground, followed by warcries bursting out everywhere, Cecilia grit her teeth and doubled her pace. Wind gathered around her now, vespers of mana pounding through her veins as she sped through the Forgotten Ruins.

“Zephyrus Aria!”

An imperceptible barrier materialized around her, the Spellblade barreling through the dozens of small battlefields that had popped up all around the Ruins. Thank the Gods she avoided the congested areas, really…but that just meant that others who specialized in mobility would be pursuing the same narrow paths she did. Imperial skirmishers clashed with roguish adventurers, blades flashing and arrows flying. Cecilia dodged what she could, fully focused on evasion and escape as she ducked and wove. Her Aria diverted what projectiles slipped through her guard, but her Mana, great as it was, wasn’t going to last if she kept it up.

For a moment, panic began to settle in. Purely in terms of combat, Cecilia was middle of the road amongst adventurers, and didn’t have a group to rely on as well. If it came to a fight, she wouldn’t come out on top, not when literally everyone else was grouped up, either with parties or with military squads. And even then, one needed luck, rather than skill, to survive a large-scale battle like this. Luck to not get struck by magical collateral. Luck not to be pierced by an attack that wasn’t even meant for you. So much luck, when every day, her luck was used up more and more.

Her speed flagged. Why was she even still going to the center? Because she could buy her own safety if she recovered this star-gift first?

No.

Nothing changed.

She still wanted to be the first to witness something new.

Quashing down her terror, Cecilia gripped her spear until her knuckles turned white. The shortest path was the straightest path! The third spell laced through her veins, electrifying and exhilarating. Determination blazing as brightly as desperation, the lilac-haired lancer drew in a breath encompassing all her oaths.

“Storm’s Bo-”

But in that moment, someone else appeared from the corner of the alleyway.

WHAM!

Well. Leave it to those bottom dwellers to absolutely screw everything up. What could have been a nice, orderly search (with Locke getting there first, of course) turned into a shrieking bloodbath the moment anarchistic adventurers met orderly king-slaves. That wasn't to say that it was unexpected; having a full scale battle was going to happen at some point. For it to happen almost the second Locke entered the ruins...

That exceeded all expectations.

Fights broke out. Soldiers fought mercenaries. Mercenaries fought adventurers. Adventurers fought adventurers. Locke knew that he needed to escape the mess of carnage. Get to somewhere less chaotic than the entrance. Leaving was most definitely not an option. The sound of knocked arrows and screams could only mean there was a massacre. What a sad series of events and needless lost of life, was what someone who actually cared would think. Frankly, the only thing Locke thought about in that moment was how bothersome.

For now, he needed to escape. With a near inaudible whistle, the blue fairy that once surveyed the sky returned. While it had not spotted what the falling star was, it at a general approximation of where it was. With finger outstretched, it pointed to where he needed to go. Breaking into a sprint, Locke followed his fairy's directions as he avoided whatever conflict he could. His gaudy outfit lost much of its provocation as nearby splatters of blood and dirt quickly clung to it. It helped that most people were more focused on staying alive or murdering each other.

As he charged through the crowded fight, a nearby adventurer—bandit, more like—noticed him. With sword in hand, he charged at Locke. The attacking man's taunt sounded more like an unintelligible snarl. No, less than that. Even beasts had some sort of beauty and understanding in their posturing. Without a second thought, Locke prepared a magic.

"Izh icha sa izh."

Two black coils formed within his palms, connected together by a thin string. He threw his arms forward, the black coils unwinding as they flew towards two brawling men on opposite sides of the unclear path. As the black coils struck, they coiled around their legs. The thin string thickened as was absorbed into an ever growing black rope. The charging adventurer-bandit, unaware that the rope had formed, tripped on it. His face met with the ground as the running Locke ran over his body, not caring enough to actually fight. Approaching the collapsed end of the street, he spoke to his fairy once again.

"Send me over," he calmly been barked out.

The fairy quickly flew ahead of him, a cyclone of wind forming between its hands. It collected as Locke drew closer. When he finally arrived to the wall, the summoner leapt at the fairy. With a great blast of air, he was sent towards the sky. He could clear the ruins in a single bound.

But man was not meant to fly like this. As soon as he cleared the rubble separating the main road with side roads with rubble, he plummeted back towards the ground. His innate, mountain man physique came in handy as his feet slammed into the ground, carrying forth his body with a painful roll. Nothing was broken, but it was certain he would feel that for the coming weeks. In his pained daze, he pushed onwards to where the fairy was pointing. He was still cognizant of those hiding in the shadows. Someone hiding could be a death sentence. He moved from alley to alley, careful to not attract the ire of anyone.

What he wasn't cognizant of was someone with the audacity to charge through the alleys at maximum speed.

As he cleared the corner of another alley, he felt another collision. This time from the side, it launched him across the road he had once tried to enter, his body sliding across the ground. His clothes ripped as the rough dirt-rock road dug deep. The sheer amount of layers he wore managed to protect his skin. For only mere moments, Locke lay groaning on the ground. His small fairy did its best to lift him by his hair. Picking himself up to catch the identity of the carriage that rammed into him, he saw a woman and only that. It was almost as if it were a scene straight out of a shlocky romance novel that ever-so-cleverly disguised itself as a philosophy book.

Certainly she didn't have the visage of a freakish adventurer who was ready to murder him. Rather, she looked like a noble compared to the average adventurer. Though, that wasn't difficult. Any modicum of self-care would turn a pauper to a princess in comparisons. Appearances could always be deceiving, however. The fairy that pointed him towards the center could have just as easily wanted to see Locke eat shit. The fact of the matter was that she was standing with spear in hand. Locke was on the ground, dazed and battered.

Unlike his earlier approach of being a solo act, his approach had changed. He needed someone who he could trust to not stab him in the back. At least, not until he could escape. Wealth alone had been replaced with preservation with others. The apes who resided on the flatlands were strong together. He would begrudgingly follow that wisdom.

"Say, you seem to have your wits about you," he told the woman who just crashed into him, wheezing between words. For someone who had the wind knocked out of him twice, he was doing quite well. "People call me Locke, to whom do I have the pleasure of running into this... battle."

That's what the books about introductions said, right? Making a good impression, introducing yourself, and adding some "humour" to lighten the mood. Impression was a definite check, as he was launched a considerable distance. He introduced himself with a pun. Surely that humour would be enough, he thought. His tone was, unsurprisingly, cold. Little emotion penetrated his words, besides pain from all the wheezing.

Artemisia, of course, didn’t lack the self-awareness to know that riding into the ruins on horseback was an impracticality near short of a folly. Nearby adventurers didn’t hesitate to call her out on it either, but she knew that leaving her horse behind to graze on the fields was tantamount to letting it be stolen. Bringing it into the cramped but still sufficient ruins was manageable, although at the acceptable expense of the comfort of her fellow adventurers. To her, it was just like riding through the throngs of a very crowded city boulevard. Perhaps, in the ancient past, there were similar scenes in this city.

She had been making slow, but steady enough progress towards the center of the city when things began to develop.

Of course, she had been aware of the generally precarious balance that existed here. The Imperial Army was here, and so were elements of the Palagrian military, among those of several other countries. The presence of that many unaffiliated militaries, together with the fickle nature of the mercenaries and adventurers that were also present, meant that the ruins right now were a downright powder keg. She had not, however, ever imagined that the situation would deteriorate to the point where things developed into an outright melee.

As a noblewoman, for a moment, she was outraged to witness the Imperial Commander cut down in such a manner, but those emotions had quickly been replaced by an urgency to leave the second the second she saw the imperial response and the subsequent chaos and bloodbath.

“Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war,” she muttered under her breath, watching the imperial advance. She tugged on her horse’s reigns to turn and leave.

However, being mounted on a horse in the middle of a crowd that was quickly turning unruly meant that it was difficult to leave, and it could even turn her into a natural target for both sides. As she tried to clear her way of the surging adventurers, she ran through the scenarios of how she could come out of this situation in one piece.

She still dressed like a noble, and carried herself like one. As a member of the aristocracy, there were certain proprieties of war that she could rely on. For example, on the battlefield, it was considered distasteful to outright kill an officer of war –an atrocity of which she had just witnessed, in fact—as it was to end the life of a man with noble blood. If she could bank on her appearance to get captured instead of slaughtered, she knew the magic words that herself and many of her peers had memorized for times of war; for her, it went something along the lines of ‘I am the Marquess of Estiegnac. Spare my life and there will be a handsome ransom.’

But how much magic could those words work on this battlefield? It could only be reliably used if she wasn’t struck down to begin with, and only if captured by an actual military, and not the murdering adventurers she had just witnessed. Even if it was a military, it would likely be the empire in this case, and as a powerless noble of an equally powerless kingdom, she didn’t place much confidence in them valuing her life much, either. If she wasn’t ransomed, the best she could probably ask for was the noble privilege of a formal execution by beheading rather than being strung up like a common criminal. For once in her life, there was a type of magic that Artemisia did not place much confidence on relying upon.

No, the only obvious solution was to somehow fight her way out to a safer area. Drawing her sword, she casted the most powerful shielding spell she could manage. In a battle as large as this, a stray spell, slash, or explosion would end her life in an instant, and if her horse went down beneath her, she could expect a similar result but in a longer and more agonizing path. The stronger the barrier between her and that eventuality the better. Spurring her steed into a gallop, she charged through the crowd of adventurers, looking for any possible avenue of escape. Just as Artemisia feared she’d lose her momentum, her eyes locked onto what appeared to be an open alleyway that had enough room to fit a mounted person. She made a beeline towards it...

And found that two others had the same thought. Artemisia looked down at the two from up above. She would have thought the two were together had it not appeared the two had just collided with each other; they both wore clothes that gave them an appearance of a higher upbringing. If they were adventurers, it looked like they would, at the very least, be more reliable than the murderous mob just outside. More reliable in getting out of this place alive than if she were to try to continue doing it alone, at least.

She butted into their conversation. “You two seem... reliable. I’d like to assume the both of you are interested in getting out of here alive? Because I certainly would be.”

---

Mae and Branwen made eased pace through the corridors. Neither seeming overly rushed to get through the obstacles; mostly due to Mae's concern of Branwen's capability of getting through more dense area's. But it wasn't a bother to Mae, she wasn't alone in this madness now and so the slower pace was acceptable.

Suddenly their avoidance of obstacles hit a wall, literally. Well, almost literally. A large wall of fallen rubble had blocked their path. At the top of the pile there was a small crawl-way that they could fit through, but the other side was not a guarantee. After quick conversation they agreed Mae would go first to check it out.

With a careful climb up the tower of rubble Mae finally found herself at the entrance of the hole. Peering through she found light at the end, a promising sight. Mae pulled herself into the narrow crawl space and pulled and crawled her way through as carefully as she could; trying not to cut herself on any sharp edges. After a short time she made it to the other side and with a aerobatic flip off the side of the rubble pile she cleared the distance and landed on some flat ground.

She checked her surroundings quickly to make sure this was a pursuable route and not another dead end. From initial assessment it looked like a solid path, at least given the situation. She turned back towards the rubble and was about to call back to Branwen to come through. But a sudden, distant rumble that shook the hallway corridor. And while the shaking wasn't too aggressive it was enough to make the loose rocks above the block to break more rubble and completely seal the crawl way. After the small explosion came the distant sound of war cries.

"BRANWEN! SOMETHINGS HAPPENING! BE SAFE, WE'LL FIND EACH OTHER WHEN WE CAN!" Mae yelled at the pile of rubble, hoping that Branwen heard her.

Taking action Mae sneakily glided down the corridor towards the T, coming to the end she peered down both halls. One was blocked with fallen rubble and the other lead towards the sounds of battle. She had little choice. She might have been able to crawl through some spots in the rubble but if she was caught in the wall, she would have no defendable position. So towards battle it was, and hopefully she could use the chaos as a cloak.

Making her way down the new path as quietly as she could she finally found the big room, filled with chaos and bloodshed. Her teeth gritted with thoughts of home. These skirmishes were familiar, though not mercenaries and adventurers but common folk versus the military. She shook the memory from her mind, she needed to be present and aware. Peering around quickly for a route to take she found a large lizardman and arm clad elf seeming clearing a path of their own. And a path like that would definitely something Mae could take advantage of.

Quickly Mae burst into a full sprint, skirting around the edge of the large room away from the chaos and towards the pair. If any took note and tried to confront her, seeing a small foreigner made her an easy target, but they under estimated her. With quick strikes she disoriented her attacker as quickly as she could before moving on; not taking the time to put them down but give her a window to move past.

Ciel

Ciel separated from the main crowd as soon as possible, quickly diverging through the crumbled alleyways and weaving through people to keep distance before he got migraines from the sheer number of people. The walls were decayed and mossy from the age, but stable enough for Ciel to scale a fallen building along the main inroad. From on top of the walls, Ciel slowed down to watch the procession of people meandering through the gates. Most of them looked like adventurers from the plains, much like those he had escorted. But mixed in were still more from foreign countries with exotic clothes and strange looking get-ups, even with someone trying to wrestle a horse through the packed crowd.

None from Praxim.

Tch. It was a shame. Ciel had no qualms with the Praxim people, but he had seen a hint of the accursed black and red uniforms of the Crown... No. Ciel had lagged behind, and with the number of adventurers and merchants alike, it was probably adventageous for him to pull ahead. But as Ciel turned to scout out another route without people, he saw a pair of explosions ring out from the distance, towards the interior of the ruins. Like a muscle spasm, panic jolted through the procession and erupted into chaos. Within seconds, the air was saturated with bolts and spells mingling with screams.

The Naravinan acted quickly, being familiar with city riots. He had heard far too many confused cries as people unwittingly got caught up in battle, seen too many panicked spells rip through buildings without reason. Ciel reflexively cast his camoflaging spell, all but disappearing from view. He didn't care if anyone was targetting him, as he knew no-one DID care if anyone was targetting anyone. It didn't matter who or what caused the whole panic, or even if there was any point or sense of it all; the only thing that mattered was that Ciel had to keep calm and get himself out of this vortex of insanity.

Ciel ducked under a fireball that spat embers at him as it crashed into a nearby limestone wall as he tried to navigate his way past the battlefield, adrenaline pumping as he squinted to see the source. Ciel couldn't spot them from the smoky debris before he had to scamper away from another firebolt, which instead hit an Imperial guard behind him. Arrows were pouring in from the outer walls, and as much as Ciel would like to get away from the ruins, he doubted that his camoflague will be enough to keep him from being pin-cushioned by saturation fire. So there was only way out - in. As Ciel narrowly dodged flak from the ground and paused to retie his bindle, he spotted a set of adventurers taking refuge in an alleyway. Oh, and there was even the horse lady with them. They looked strangely calm compared to the others, one even trying to get through self-introductions through the din of battle right next to them.

Ciel dropped down from the safety of the second levels and crept up close to the group. They clearly managed to hold onto reason, at least more than those who were blindly kneecapping anyone who came near (or was trying to introduce oneself in the midst of a riot a sign of insanity? Ciel would have to debate that later). Perhaps they were the instigators, or perhaps they knew more about how to get out of here than he did. Either way, Ciel leant into the opposing wall to eavesdrop their conversation.

Locke may have felt as if he was sidelined by a battering ram, but all Cecilia felt was a light ‘pomf’ against her knee as she rammed it into his ribs. A cushion of air protected her from the impact, and though she may be half-wizard, her other half was that of a warrior. Thus, the fairy summoner went rolling, and Cecilia kept running too, intent on just hopping over him and continuing on, when he…

...wanted her name? Wasn’t the first time a stranger’s approached her, but in this case, they were strangers on a chaotic battlefield, and they’ve literally met by crashing into each other with such violent force that this ‘Locke’ fellow flew a good ten meters back from the impact. Cecilia considered that for a moment, then grinned. “Cecilia Tonitrus, Fashionista Spellblade Extraordinaire.” From behind, a third well-dressed individual emerged, as if all the highborn adventurers in the Ruins had been ordained by Fate to rendezvous upon this particular alleyway.

“Dunno ‘bout getting out alive, but I’m definitely still raring for that fallen star. Who’re you anyhow?”

“Hmm.” Artemisia didn’t get attacked outright on greeting, so that felt like a success. As she approached, she managed to catch the girl’s name, falling silent for a moment as she wracked her brain as to where she had heard of it before. Her face brightened into a mild expression of recognition, recalling a particular dukedom in the kingdom of Illiserev. Fashionista, though?

Well, if she was so forthcoming, then she would be, too. “Artemisia de Chauret. Marquise of Estiegnac, or what’s left of it, anyway.” Seeing nobody hostile, she dismounted for the moment.

“How do you plan to get to it? I’m as interested as you are, but I would hardly call myself suicidal.”

With a great exhalation of relief, Locke was safe for the time being. It was lucky he collided with a woman that had at least half a brain. Had he collided with one of those horrid, brainless morons, he would have needed to scramble for his own safety. To Locke, Artemisia was of similar ilk. Their rationales, at least. Safety was in numbers. As much as he wanted to just leave, the storm of arrows and magic outside would have made such an early escape nigh impossible. Heading to the center would be safer. How much safer? Not much, but it was something. Collecting himself, he stood up from his grounded position.

“Going above is always an option,” Locke interjected. The woman from before who hopped the outer walls did bear a resemblance to Cecilia. “Seeing your horse, however, I don’t quite see that as an option for you. This little runt still pulling on my hair is capable when she wants to be. A labyrinth is much easier to navigate when one can lead from above, because leading from above is such a difficult task that can only be completed by such an incredible fairy.”

He put a lot of emphasis on the last line. Though it was filled with disinterest and sarcasm, the fairy paid no heed to such human mannerisms. With a puff of breath, a twinkle in her eyes, and a great smile, the fairy had been goaded into flying above, looking for any path to the center.

“So I see,” she agreed, also glad that everybody seemed to be on the same page. “I would prefer to find an option to keep it with me, yes. There’s a reason that I brought the horse into the walls, and it’s not because I’m sentimental, either.”

She stopped short of saying that she had valuables in its bags, but the statement was implicit. Regardless, as long as her life wasn’t directly threatened, she would try to keep the horse.

“I don’t suppose we could wait out the brunt of the melee here and hold this alley if we can?”

“Eh…you certainly can,” Cecilia said, leaning back onto the heels of her feet. “I’m here to actually get a shot at the treasure from the heavens, y’know? Feel like once the fighting dies down, there’ll be way more people actually heading to the center rather than not, so that’s sorta like…”

She motioned towards the site of the first explosion.

“...basically going to result in another melee? I’m just going to go run towards the center while everyone else is trynna kill each other myself. If you bunch don’t, well...nice to have a chat, but this really isn’t the time to stay still.”

Artemisia rubbed her chin, taking her time to answer. “That’s fair. I can’t say I’m not still interested in what wonder has fallen to the center of these ruins. But if it turns out to be a ‘simple’ meteorite, which I think likely, I hardly think that would be worthy of our time.”

She looked between the three of them. If it was simply a moon rock, the prize would surely be great, but to her, not worth risking their lives over. But if it wasn’t? That thought ate away at her. It certainly didn’t look like a damn rock when she saw it over the skies.

She made her decision, and shot Cecilia with her best coy smile. “But if you intend to clear a path to the center, I’ll surely back you up with magic.”

“And if you got whatever the treasure is, then what?” Locke had asked, the sky-haired fairy coming back to him with a look of disappointment on her face.

“Those armies aren’t going to let you go with whatever it is. Adventurers as a whole aren’t the most savoury type of people. They’d be willing to kill you and then cannibalize themselves. The armies are the same, though they’d actually work together. Speed may be a virtue, but it’s impossible to run through a legion.”

The fairy nodded along to what he had to say, it being in agreement. In a display of his talents, he decided to use a touch of his magic. Nothing large or extraordinary, but something that may be relevant.

“Sek omoz.”

A billowing plume of an almost impenetrable black fog rose from his right palm before he snatched what smoke was created, removing it from the world.

“Besides, I’m no longer interested in whatever wealth that treasure may bring. My own life is the only thing I wish to keep from here. We go together and it’s still all yours.”

He was actually entirely honest. The wealth that such a treasure could provide wouldn’t serve him in death. Getting the force that knocked him off on his ass would be a great boon to his survival, provided she didn’t stab him in the back. The noble Artemisia was likely some form of mage. If the two of them were to work together, they would certainly lack a frontline. Helpful, but not ideal.

There were some hella mixed signals she was getting out of Locke, but hey, if he wanted to go to the center but NOT get what he came here for, that was his problem, not Cecilia's. Tapping her feet against the flattened dirt, the Spellblade shrugged and declared, "Alright, let's do a spearhead-y sorta deal then, aight? Locke, guide from the back, Arte do your magic from the middle, and I'll just go about as fast as usual. Sound good?"

Artemisia arched an eyebrow at the particularly casual rendering of her name, but shrugged again. “Okay. Let’s give it a go.”

“That means she’s going ahead still.”

“Yeah, it does.” Cecilia winked. “Try to keep up, eh?”

And with that, she was off again, a lilac gale through the alleyways.

Outside the Forgotten Ruins, just outside the waste gate.

A man, dressed in what could only be described as needlessly opulent and gaudy armor, wearing a helmet crowned by golden yellow plumage and sitting atop a spotless, pristine white horse, surveyed the mess of sounds, smells and motion ahead of him. His face, and jawline, seemed to have been cut from actual stone, hard and stern, set with deep and rough features. His eyes, grey as steel, stared uncaringly and unblinkingly at the sights before him, his mouth drawn into a disapporing scowl. At his side, and on foot, stood a much younger man with a far more meagre ensemble of gaudy gear, with a blue-plumed helm, who also looked upon the chaotic theatre ahead - though with much more concern and discomfort upon his face and in his eyes.

"Jarvys." The man atop the horse said, not turning his head to look at the boy next to him. The youngster perked up, as if snapped from a daze and turned his head to look up at the superior officer.
"Y-Yes, General?" He stuttered, nervous.
"How's the situation?"
"It's... Well... It's not going so well, sir... The enemy forces are less numerous, but their wide range of skill and power makes it difficult to engage them. The terrain's also proving to be a problem a-"
"So what you're saying, Jarvys, is that we haven't found the fallen piece of sky yet?" The man rumbled with a deep, disapproving voice. The boy gulped.
"N-No, sir... In addition to a large variety of foreign agents, we've also run into military belonging to our neighbours, who refuse to accept his Majesty's imperial decree of claiming this region an-"
"And why are we not dealing with them if that's the case, Jarvys?" The man now shot a glance at the boy from the corner of his eye.
"B-But General! Engaging foreign forces openly could cause a war! His Majesty's orders were only to retrieve the sky-fallen prize, not to-"
"Not to, what? Start a conflict with our dear neighbours? Fool boy, look at this!" The man growled, pointing a very heavily embellished glove at the numerous fresh imperial soldiers jogging into the western gate, and the several ones htat were either limping their way out, or being carried by their fellow brothers-in-arms. "I think we're well past those concerns, Jarvys." The man snarled.
"I... Yes... Of course. My apologies, General."
"For goodness sake, what the Emperor thinking, sending me to lead this flock of unproven lambs? You lot haven't even seen a single campaign, yet you've been sent to receive something that every petty king and noble with coins in their poeckets would contest?" The older man sighed, as if he couldn't comprehend his own bad luck.

The General, or Radegar vi Nomoronth, was a seasoned officer within the Galanon Empire's army. Born a commoner, he had joined the army at the age of 10, and steadily worked his way up the ranks, proving himself in battle and eventually earning himself boht a knighthood and a title of nobility. A self-made man who had lived a hard life, and had only himself to thank for everything he had. His entire life spent fighting and studying the art of war... And now here he was, commanding a force of snot-nosed, unproven, unprepared and clueless bunch of reserves, who had been dispatched to secure the sky-fallen treasure simply because they were the closest unit available in the region. The General himself had been on vacation at his modest estate, when messengers from the Imperial Court had arrived and issued him orders to take command of this unit and recover whatever piece of heaven had fallen to earth. And so, here he was, watching the gaggle of headless chickens mill about. He gnashed his teeth in frustration.

"Jarvys!" He roared suddenly.
"Yes, General!?" The boy stood at attention, tense like a strung bowstring.
"Have our forces begin sweeping along the outer walls. Clear the way to the north and south gates, once those are secure, continue to the eastern one. Once all gates are in our hands, begin moving inwards. Slay anyone and everyone who doesn't fly the colors of the EMpire."
"Sir? We have reports that a small detachment of Palagrian forces are stationed to the south of the ruins, and they-"
"They won't do anything." The man sneered, a glint of malicious glee in his otherwise cold eyes. "That kingdom of cowards would never dare openly oppose our Emperor or his might. They're just here to keep any stragglers from seeking asylum within their borders, just like a good little watch dog should." The man almost laughed as he spoke, but only almost.

With this, the young Jarvys nodded and ran off towards a tent, where a gathering of other red and blue-plumed helmet-wearing officers of the Empire stod. Once he relayed the instructions, there was a bit of back-and-forth before the shouting of commands began. Soon, the Imperial army would become less prevalent in the inner parts of the ruins, but instead, their focus would be on clearing out and seizing the outer ring of the old city... And once they held all roads out, they would only need to begin moving inwards from all directions, denying anyone the ability to leave..."

Meanwhile, inside the more central areas of the Ruins...

The lizardman and the elf would find themselves a potent combination. Few were the men who were brave enough to stand up to a giant, bipedal lizard, let alone one who looked as if he had been lifting boulders since the day he'd hatched. This coupled with the sight of an angry elven man, wearing fancy army and wielding a shield that crackled with lightning, was enough to keep most of the rabble or somewhat intelligent at bay. Naturally there were still those who braved to take on the combo, but these brazen fools soon found themselves either slammed into the broken cobble streets, or being flung like empty bottles through the air, only to crash down painfully somewhere else.

The foreign girl who chased after the dudering duo would mostly avoid any issues, though at times some conniving rogue would leap from an alley or dark corner, only to suffer a face-full-of-fist, or straight kick to the groin, thus thwarting any attempts at ambushing or stopping the female. She would soon catch up to her two targets, and as others saw her head for them, the three were soon implicated to be a team - regardless of their own personal feelings on the matter. It goes without saying though that, if you're a group of skilled individuals among a crowd of cannibal ants, you tend to stand out and draw attention.. For these three, they were now approaching what looked to be an old temple or church of some sort, as well as a path that split. It was clear they were coming up on the center of the ruins, but where to go next?

Push forth and head through the ruined holy place and deal with whoever or whatever may lurk in there? Or choose one of the two roads, east or west, to try and keep their momentum going? There were Imperial soldiers to the west, and mercenaries to the east, and adventurers on their heels and rear... What would they do next?

On the other hand, the group that had just recently forged a bond, consisting of two noblewomen and a summoner from the mountains, would find that they had a bit more trouble. Every step they took seemed to be a hurdle, with either groups of run-of-the-mill soldiers trying to block or arrest them, lonesome cocky adventurers or teams of cutthroat mercenaries trying to fleece them. It may have been because they all looked so... Prim, and well-dressed... And wealthy... And one of them had a horse. They would encounter many challenges and many enemies along their path.

Still, they had the advantage of being closer to the eastern parts of the ruins, where the Imperial forces were the fewest and weakest, and as they kept away from the main road and apths, the enemies they encountered were never among the strongest or most skilled. If they kept to the side-paths, alleys and backstreets, they could - with some troublesome interference - perhaps worm their way past all the major fights and get to the center of the ruins with nothing but nuisances and irritation along the way.

Mean-meanwhile, at the center of the Forgotten Ruins...

The old palace, once a symbol of power and influence, now lay in ruins. Its walls crumbled, its towers collapsed, its roof caved in and the windows and doorways bare and dry like sand. Not even the gardens or rows of trees that had encricled and framed the mighty structure remained, uprooted, cut down or burnt long ago, leaving only cracked, lifeless dirt behind. The stone tiles that were laid on the ground were different and more exquisite than the rough cobble that belonged to the outer parts of the city, yet even these were cracked and broken, worn by weather and chipped, dented or scratched beyond repair.

The center of the ruins were where the rich had lived, the nobies and wealthy merchants. Remains of their lavish mansions and grand homes now looked like nothing more than husks of stone and gloom, empty and cold. Yet, there was something strange about the entire central area, something that set it apart from the grey, monotone ruins that lingered throughout the rest of the collapsed and fallen cityscape. And it, whatever it was, was something truly spectacular.

Small, green and pink crystals had sprouted from walls and the streets, some in small clusters and others entirely alone. They emitted a strange, soft liiight - which wasn't overly easy to see during the daytime. However, while these strange minerals dotted the area around the district, they became more and more prevalent and numerous as one got closer to the palace, until they nearly covered the entirety of the north-eastern tower. The tower itself looked somewhat like a broken fang with a cavity along its southern wall... But it was from this cavity, this indent in the msaonry, that the green and pink crystals were most numerous and most densely populated.

Unfortunately, the crevace was well above ground, and with the palace in its dilipidated and ruined state, relying on things like stairwells or ladders would be wishing for too much. Anyone who wished to reach the glowing source of thes mystery crystals would have to somehow climb the side of the crumpled, ruined tower and make it inside, without falling down and breaking their neck. Ironically, those sensitive to magic could feel that these strange crystalline structures emitted magical energy, but should one so much as touch or graze them, they would shatter like brittle glass and dissolve into not but dust...