When Kyiriniae'aea activated the archway with her energies, it became horribly clear not a moment later that the elven maiden should have activated the crystal ball prior, for she felt the very energy of her being sucked into what seemed an endless void of nothingness. Her very soul was stretched like a dislocated arm, and it was only mercifully pushed back within her once the archway coalesced energies borne of her magics. To say she felt drained was an understatement, though what appeared next would be far, far worse.

The archway swirled with multicolored energy of pure chaos as the very structure itself sparked with eldritch, purple lightning every few moments that audibly cracked and sizzled. Though the air in the chamber was stilled, the sorceress could feel a strange ebb and flow of magic with her magesight, like kicked up dust from some explosion that served as a portent of doom. It was after five long seconds that the visitor appeared.

At first, one clawed foot stepped into the material plane, for he approached. Then the next laid bare upon the stone, for he approached. A staff of blacksteel crowned with a demonskull materialized before her eyes, for he approached. Scaled skin the color of stained oak mixed with dead blood showed from his entrance, for he approached. His robes were suddenly palpable and colored purple, yet shimmered as if coated with black spider silk, for he approached. It was his face she saw last. A draconic visage, lipless and sunken like skin barely clinging to a vicious skull, with two large, sloped horns framing its snout. Upon his brow were three eyes, the center clearly made of some unknown precious gemstone.

Once fully out of the portal, Kyiriniae'aea saw the thing, fully seven feet in height. If she used her magesight, she saw it was at least two long strides above her in power and knowledge, though there was no telling what it or he was. It was obvious even if she weren't so drained, she had no real chance of bewitching the thing and could likely harm it enough to make it angrier. She heard a low growl emanate from its throat, as if it were the broken engine of some Dwarven machine.

"What realm is this?" It asked aloud, though she could tell it was asking itself rather than her. It's voice was three voices, or perhaps it echoed within its throat thrice, for they sounded very deep and similar. All at once, its three eyed gaze fell upon Kyiriniae'aea, scrutinizing her as if she were a squirrel that had wandered into a living room. "A fairy..." it said, referring to the archaic forms of the Elves before they were gifted larger bodies by the Gods so long ago. "Why did you call Gekir'vash'ni'k'kashnik'ash here?"

Suddenly, the tension was broken when a wail rose up from neither of them, and both saw the form of the baby in the bag, shaking its fists and crying. The warlock, for it indeed had the energy signature of such a thing, tilted its head curiously. It's curiosity was likely the only thing from killing the sorceress at the current moment. "A child?"
@Penny

Kyiriniae'aea felt her mouth go dry as the demon, awesome in its power, stepped through the portal. She had a queasy feeling that she had come within a hair's breadth of her own soul being sucked through the portal to feed the thing. For a heartbeat she considered fleeing, but it seemed unlikely that if the thing really wanted her that she was going to be able to fly far and fast enough to avoid that fate. Instead she threw herself to the ground in obeisance scrapping her knees and spreading her arms wide.

"A tool mighty Gekir'vash'ni'k'kashnik'ash, a pawn to aid in my designs," she informed the demon thing in her most reverential tone. She fought against the cold sweat the prickled the back of her neck, forcing herself to remain calm and think rationally. The demon thing was the most powerful entity she had yet encountered, but power did no always equate to guile.

"I have called you forth to seek knowledge which only you possess," she lied glibly.

"I have prepared a sacrifice for you, two gundarogs, my most faithful servants, stand at the base of this tower, teach me of your arts o great one, and they shall be but the first souls that I lay before you taloned feet," she entreated, warming to her subject as she remained unobliterated. Carefully she risked a glance up at the creature, resolving to blink for the window if it didn't appear that this were going well.

"A pawn to aid in your designs?" It asked, and it would dawn on her that it was not slow in thought, but was unused to speaking in such a tongue. Or perhaps it was unused to even speaking, for perhaps the realm it had come from communicated in other ways. The Thousand Realms before the material world were unthinkable in its dimensions, though Elves knew that more than most, having come from their own Fey realm millennia ago.

Gekir'vash'ni'k'kashnik'ash took two steps forward, and to her horror Kyiriniae'aea would see cracks in the stone appear under his feet at each step. Either his form was so dense it was ten times heavier than he appeared, or the very stone found his presence repellent. It slowly bent its form, sucking in her stench through its enlarged, crocidilian-like nostrils. She felt the small sensation of her soul lifting from her once more, though it settled far quicker than when she had attempted to open the portal.

"You will be a pawn to aid in mine." It declared, with such finality that to her, fate itself agreed.

Lifting itself higher, it breathed out noxious fumes for but a moment. The black air lingered above her like a raised guillotine. "Gundarogs are paltry... No, I require more pure blood for my machinations." A clawed hand raised, and even her magesight could not detect what spell had enacted to allow the baby slide out of the sack and to float over to the entity's waiting grasp. Almost gently, it clutched the child that had stopped crying. It only looked at the bestial thing, eyes wide as if stricken.

"You wish to learn from me? You are but a child as this one, but I can aid you for your services. Bring me nine more children within this planet's month, or an artifact of sufficient power that I may devour. Do so, and I will grant you powers beyond what you can perform. Do it not..." He let the threat end, for he did not need to say more. His very voice carried a threat that was far worse than death. Kyiriniae'aea would not see, but she would hear a snap, and a fleshy crunch as Gekir'vash'ni'k'kashnik'ash made his exit through the portal once more. The archway flared to life in bright flash like a collapsing star, and then it went suddenly dark. The magic no longer lingered within, and Kyiriniae'aea would be safe from any more entrances from there for now.

Accompanied by the fear, the Elven woman had performed many spells that day. Though her repitoire was not yet expended, she felt almost intoxicated with the magic she had pulled to use for her spells. That coupled with her encounter of that other-wordly thing, made her feel both buzzed yet anxious. And yet there was little time to waste if she wished to perform her duties...or find a way to keep Gekir'vash'ni'k'kashnik'ash banished for good.

@Penny

Civilization at last. Mari felt extremely lucky that her first encounter with another person in the Blackwood had been so positive, and the tollkeeper served as a stark reminder that it wouldn't always be that way. She took in the town, one building after the next, as Ithaca introduced them. The people didn't seem to find her arrival noteworthy; no doubt plenty of well-armed strangers made their way through this outpost. She made certain to remember Po Harthwyn's name and face, as he seemed like someone she ought to try speaking with later.

There wasn't any hurry, as Mari didn't need to complete her journey on any particular timetable. Completing it alive was the important part, and that meant not venturing back out into the woods until she was rested, restocked, and armed with at least something resembling a lead. The town seemed to have everything she needed, though her funds were limited, and would be restricted to the necessities.

For the moment Mari simply dismounted the horse, far less painfully than she had the last time. "If you're here tonight, can I buy you an ale later?" She grinned a little at Ithaca. "Seems I have five Lordlings more than I should thanks to you."

Regardless, her first stop was the Grandhaven behind her, for a room, a hot meal so she didn't need to deplete her rations further, and a bath. Necessities, all.

Well Kyiriniae'aea thought as she finished picking up books and sliding them back onto the battered shelf, as far as deals with a demon went it could have been worse. While she could think of several ways to acquire the souls the demon wanted, there as a theological objection to be considered. Volduressë considered a fair trade to be weakness, even if it meant that her worshiper gained in power. Ergo her first concern had to be finding a way to turn the current situation to her advantage. That was harder than stealing babies from humans who, if her minions were to believed, had villages nearby. Such places were doubtlessly lousy with their mewling spawn who would provide appropriate tribute if it came to that. Still she had a month to work with.

This tower was the place where the demon had been summoned, so it stood to reason that it held knowledge that she might employ against it. She knew now to use the crystal before employing the gateway but she felt chastened enough that her first act was to begin searching the library for any information on the binding of demons, or the use of the arch.

The piles of books were so high and varied that it would take days if not weeks to comb through all of them alone, even whilst she was skimming the spines to see if anything could aid her. Luckily, she had all the time in the world save for her empty stomach, which led her to promptly order her Gundarogs to go out and hunt something to bring back and cook for her, which they hurried to do so with gusto. It gave her alone time to sort through the piled tomes, and she found three of interest. The Eldernomicon, The Tome of Perpetual Horrors, and the 2nd edition of Dirge of Dragons.

Through the hours, she did not find much on how to orchestrate the dimensional archway. However, she did find out much needed information on Gekir'vash'ni'k'kashnik'ash, or at least on what exactly he was, for it became clear he was not a demon. Or at least, not originally. It seemed the Warlock was one of the Lost Ones; a member of the Drogator species that split from its ancient people and never settled in the material plane of existence, or what some called Mannaheimm or Stridheim. The story goes, long ago the Gods found they had failed in their contract with the great Dragons and created an offshoot race known as the Drogator, only the Dragons at their height of their inter-planetary empire flung the newly made Drogator into the Thousand Realms to die and be lost into the nether forever.

The race did not die as the Dragons had thought, but fought an endless war against fey and eldritch denizens for thousands upon thousands of years, until just over a millennia ago they had reached Maroleth once more and invaded it, thinking this planet not their lost home but a new home to preemptively conquer. Thus it led to the brief but bloody Forsaken Wars, and the establishment of the Drogator's people on their reclaimed homeplanet. However, a faction of the Drogator had branched off in the nether, content to find homes among the lost realms of the void. These 'Lost Ones' have been missing for over ten thousand years, gaining knowledge and perhaps Daemonhood. Gekir'vash'ni'k'kashnik'ash is such a being.

After she had a brief dinner of cooked boar courtesy of the Gundarogs (one having taken a nasty goring, and would have died were it not for its armor), she went back to her studies. Within the first two times, the Elf did find a few chalk and sulphuric circles to temporarily bind demons or eldritch things, but only for a limited time. She would need something more...

The crystal ball every pulled her towards its swirling form, and after lighting what candles she could in her sanctum, the sorceress went to activate the ball with a weave of a calling spell, drawing forth what energies she had regained over her rest. Thankfully, it only required a brief charge to flare it to life. Within, the clouds of murk sudden dissipated and the image within was flung across the sky, northward perhaps or westward, it was hard to tell. It seemed to grow dark again, though the energy was still very much alive...working...

More than a minute came and went, and the archway awakened once more. Not in such chaos as before, but gradually and almost mechanically, functioning as one would wish it to. The gateway held the picture not of twirling chaos, but a soft iridescence until someone stepped through. Someone taller than Kyiriniae'aea but undoubtedly not the demon that had come through before.

It was a human. A younger male human at that, with a thick mane of dark hair and bronzed skin. He had a somewhat plain look to him, though he wasn't unhandsome in his way. His nose was perfectly sized, with nice lips and his eyes were bright and intelligent. He wore the pragmatic trappings of a traveling wizard or scholar. In his left hand was a wand of elm, and in his right was a long knife, though when he saw Kyiriniae'aea he relaxed a bit at the sight of a High Elf.

"Forgive me," He said, looking around. He cleared his throat, having clearly been caught off guard by her presence. "I am Alcander. High one, did you... activate this?"

Clearly he was a mage, and though he was nowhere near the Lost One in power, he was very much on par with Kyiriniae'aea and likely less tired. Her bewitchment he would likely sense, but good old body language and a subtler magic like dazzle might work if she wished to sway him in some form or fashion, though that could of course wait.

"Where are we?"
@Penny

The practised theatrics of Sylvaine de Vermeille were impressive, and would not have looked out of place on a theatre stage, but it quickly became clear that beneath the grey skies, with the howling wind all around, the woman did not have a willing audience. The crowd of peasants and refugees were a bleak group, and their numbers had swelled as Cillian and Sylvaine had travelled through Flontane Forest, joining the steady trudge that travellers knew all too well, driven forward by a dozen different causes, but all with the same goal. For whatever reason, it was to Greybridge that this crowd was drawn, and Sylvaine's theatrics were now standing between the crowd and their goal, and that is always a dangerous place to be. Cillian's head turned at the first cry, trying to make out the crier in the mass of drab clothing, but as more voices joined the first, it quickly became clear that he was woefully outnumbered. Someone knocked against Cillian's shoulder from behind, but Cillian did not stagger, his feet already squared in the black mud, and by the time he turned to look back at the crowd, he was met with blank faces and wary glances. Not wanting to risk the situation turning any more ugly, Cillian took another step away from the crowd, and turned back to the plumed hat in time to hear him hiss at Sylvaine, clearly also wary of the crowd trying to take matters into their own hands. Deciding to seize the initiative, rather than risk Sylvaine attempting to negotiate even further, Cillian quickly closed the gap, reaching into his coin purse with his most charming smile, and pressing ten Lordlings into the plumed hat's hand.

"Thank you, friend."

As the unusual travelling companions were ushered through the gates, Cillian allowed himself a smile as he stepped into the city. Closing his eyes for the briefest of moments, he let the noise of it swell around him, and he could swear that he could hear the city's heart beating beneath the hubbub, a steady rhythm beneath the chaotic noise. Sensing that Sylvaine had joined him again, Cillian opened his eyes and turned to look at the woman as he stepped further into the city.

"That was a good story. A shame that your audience did not seem to appreciate it."

In truth, Cillian was only half-listening to his companion's reply, the tether doing what it could to tie him to reality, but he was entranced the the city around him. Cillian's own hometown may have seemed like a hovel compared to the scale in which he now stood, but he was far from a naive farm-boy. He had walked along the streets of the grand cities of Andred and Vrettonia but there was something about the dark buildings that loomed all around him, the grotesque gargoyles that seemed to leer from every rooftop like monsters lurking in the shadows, that was beautiful to Cillian's eyes. The throng of men, women and children that filled the streets seemed to wash over the pair like waves, but they seemed to part around them, although whether that was from a wariness of the armoured, pale-haired man and the wiry, midnight-haired woman that had just stepped through the gates, or simply the natural flow of the city, Cillian did not know. Feeling the gentle tug of the tether calling for his attention, Cillian glanced across at Sylvaine as his mind raced to catch up with what she had just said. Finally back to the present, Cillian found himself laughing at her words. It seems that her theatrics were not too far-fetched, but that it had been against the city that her father had fought, not for it.

"It is perhaps wise then that you were not rewarded too greatly!"

From what time he had spent with the Vrettonian, he was hardly surprised when her next suggestion was calling for a drink, but it still caused Cillian to frown slightly. A quick glance upwards, hunting for the sky through the looming buildings that rose all around them, and Cillian could see that despite the grey clouds, it was still daylight that struggled to reach the streets below. The longhouses of his homeland were no stranger to mead and ale, but from what Cillian had seen, anything that Sylvaine did, she did to excess, and if they did find their way into a tavern, he doubted he would be able to get much discussion of their onward journey done until at least the next day. He considered his next step for a moment, before tentatively attempting to steer Sylvaine elsewhere...

"It is perhaps a little early to..."

The darkly clad woman waved away Cillian's concerns as she cut him off, and Cillian decided that some fights were not worth fighting. Despite her unassuming frame, Sylvaine had a heart of a wildcat, and besides, it was an increasingly difficult proposition to argue against. They had been on the road for days, and a proper drink would certainly not go amiss. Besides, where there was drink, there tended to be food, and Cillian's stomach growled at the mere thought of it. Resigning himself to the idea, Cillian looked around their immediate area, searching the market and the surrounding houses for sign of a tavern, or at least someone who might be able to point them in the right direction.

Although a discount wasn't what Sylvaine'd had in mind, Cillian had paid the notary before she could argue further. Annoying though it was, she supposed it couldn't be helped what with the rabble behind them becoming more frustrated by the minute. Besides, she hadn't yet spent a copper, even though she suspected that the bard would want to be compensated later. That, at least, she could work with. She flashed her friendliest smile at the soldiers as she passed, gracing them with a nod and a "Much obliged, gentlemen!"

Greybridge was bustling with activity, the throng of people giving rise to a wave of scents, sounds and impressions. Sylvaine was in no way a stranger to big cities or heaving mobs, having travelled far and wide with her fathers company, but the loneliness of the wilderness had rendered her slightly unprepared for the experience. She felt dizzy, but made sure not to show it, doing her best to proceed through the masses in her usual swagger. She heard Cillian speak to her, complimenting her on her feat at the gate. "Huh" she snorted, "The best lies have a grain of truth in them. While it is true that my father fought for the city, it was rather in the sense that he tried to capture it for his employer than defend it from an attack."

Cillian laughed at that. A charming sort he was, and agreeable. Gave her an idea. She leaned in close, a knowing smile on her face. "I don't know about you, but I could use a drink right about now" she said, raising her eyebrows, "See any taverns?" Cillian frowned and was about to argue, but she cut him off. "It's never too early to do the right thing, my friend" she said, "And I'm telling you; the right thing for us, right now, is a proper drink."

Mari had nearly a quarter of the day to bathe and take a nap, which she did so gladly. The soreness and aching of her limbs was eased, and the dirt and grime of the road washed away. The room for the night cost 2 Lordlings, or 40 Commons, whichever she wanted to spend. With no extra charge, she was given her own time in a hot bath and new clothes she could pick out to wear, courtesy of Ithaca vouching for her.

That night, the bugs sang loudly outside of her open window before she slid it closed and made her way down the stairs, passing by an older couple and a strange elf wearing ornate armor passing by her without so much as glancing her way. He seemed focused completely on whatever was on his mind.

Her boots gave a clack on the wooden planks as she stepped onto the barroom, drawing a few gazes her way. The room was large and spacious, with at least sixteen large circular tables, all of them filled by hard men in mercenary leathers, weary and celebratory travelers, and merchants wanting to relax or sell their wares. She recognized a few faces in the crowd, as well. Mrs. Richardson wearing an apron, serving various cakes. Po Harthwyn was at the far left of the room, speaking alone to a sagely Dwarf as if they were old friends, though whatever it was they were talking about, it was business or news.

Ithaca said at the right of the room, her rump firmly planted on a barstool as she spoke to some large creature, it looked. An armored Draconic humanoid, red scaled and wearing ornate plate armor of strange material. It was fully eight feet tall, and it stood rather than sat as if it was not planning on staying long. Luckily there was a seat beside Ithaca that had yet to be taken. If Mari turned her gaze, she would also see an older man and a younger man at the center of the room, taking up and entire table. Judging by their darkly colored robes and well-mannered speech, they were mages of a sort.

Where would she go would be her decisions, or perhaps she would try and find one of the few empty booths left and order herself something?
@Luminosity

The baroque architecture loomed around every corner, but it wasn't overly frightening during the daytime, particularly when the streets had people from all different walks of life marching to and fro. The men had a penchant for well tailored cloaks whilst the women wore corsets or bodices, save for those working at shops or wearing expensive dresses, surrounded by toughs that likely would shove either Silvaine or Cillian out of the way were they to wander straight into their path.

Luckily, they had good instincts and found a mid-tier tavern at the southern edge of town, riverside just by the bridge, with the name 'Iron Star.' Inside, it had the look of your average tavern, superficially. The floorboards were wooden, a bar counter was set up near the back left for those who chose to only drink, and barrels of different drinks were at the ready to be popped open. Aside from that, the richly dressed or colorful patrons and elaborately carved busts of heroes upon the walls, as well as the intricate overhanging lamps gave it a much higher quality atmosphere than most taverns. Not to mention the food and the security, were ones worried over such aspects.

The patrons were varied, though there were a few of notes. A beautiful elven maiden wearing the attire of a mercenary; a succesfull and well-paid mercenary in riding leathers sat across from what appeared to be a Gnome in plain clothes and a sporting goatee. Cillian and Silvaine would also spot a woman wearing a less than modest gown speaking to a thick limbed rich man, looking positively bored whilst two other men in the corner softly spoke over their drinks, wearing robes of acolytes. Finally, a solitary Dwarf looking positively disheveled sat alone at the bar, drinking what looked to be his third drink of many to come.

The two heard bootsteps behind them, and they would both part for a very tall woman; a Skayleigh warrior maiden actually, bring invited over to sit with the Elven woman and the Gnome, who both waved over happily. The Gnome looked a little too happy which caused the elf to kick his shins. He cursed and eyed her with a temper, but didn't say anything. The Skayleigh went to join them, laughing at the exchange.

Cillian and Sylvaine could try and speak to any of them or go to the bar and order drinks and food, or simply wait at one of the empty tables or stalls.
@Romero@Duck

Something that Emilio probably knew nothing about, but that Wēlanandaz had been told tales of since his beard was barely stubble, was that the Dwarven race had quite literally been born under the earth and carved from solid rock; to this end everything they did was deliberate, not slow and pondering as some may have believed, but all was taken with an energetic graduality that was a core characteristic of his folk and one which he now put into practice.

After stepping back onto terra firma with an inward sigh of relief, allowing no expression to mar his face without, he waited for the human to cease his fussing over 'their' cart animal - the only type of animal that Wēlanandaz could nevertheless endure, seeing then as hard working and somewhat kindred spirits - and waved a hand at Emilio as he gestured toward the cart.

Did this man not realise that he could walk for miles without rest? That unless the cart picked up speed he could not lose it on his feet alone?

Wēlanandaz did two things as they walked, firstly plucking his pipe from his belt and popping the teeth-marked stem between his lips - fully intent on lighting it when they next halted their movement - and secondly taking as much interest in the path ahead and around them as his ganglier compatriot.

It was only when Emilio next spoke that the Dwarf responded, even going as far as to allow the ghost of a smile to pass by and vanish beneath his great beard, the tone in the man's voice and his sarcasm-laced words giving some hidden mirth to the blacksmith even as he propped at a passing shrub with his axe haft.

"You know, Emi," he began in an airy way, rolling his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other, "I often wonder how it is that you and all the other manlings do not simply float off into the sky, you are all filled with so much hot air and trapped wind."

Verbal patter was a game that most Dwarves enjoyed to one extent or another, and Wēlanandaz was an old Dwarf, which meant he enjoyed it all that much more.

When he next spoke though it was with furrowed brow, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked both inside and out at the same time to study their current trail as well as his own memories, and his free hand first adjusting the shield on his back and then giving his beard a stroke.

"I was thinking of an old time, a better time, a time when I was still welcome with my own people..." there was a slight pause before he went on, his voice more serious and quieter than it had previously been, thought no less like two granite chunks rubbing together, "tales my uncle used to tell me, of old wars within the Blackwood, evil kingdoms and wraiths... but more importantly of two Virki - you would call them strongholds or castles - of my people, somewhere in the west of the woods. They rose long ago, but nothing has been heard of them for some time. I fear for them."

Momentarily lapsing back into silence, Wēlanandaz spoke up once more, his tone back to being partially mocking.

"And so? What did you learn manling, as you tried to seduce that gruff man's young son with your honeyed words and fancy airs. Where by Runar are we going?"

@Tony Pajamas@POOHEAD189

Sylvaine took a deep breath and held it. The smells of drink and drunkenness, of joy and despair, and of hopes; both building and dashed, filled her lungs and made her nostrils tingle. Made her think of her father in his closing days. How he had lost command first of his company, then of his senses, and lastly of his body itself. Still, they'd had their share of love and laughs over the years. Until he started stealing from her to buy spirits, and tell her she was a cold cunt when she caught her, then finally forget about her altogether and mistook her for a prostitute. Happy days.

Selling this poison to the populace in the guise of providing social arenas and means of liquid courage, and probably at a massive profit as well, was nothing short of genious. "Ah!" she exclaimed, flashing her companion with her friendliest smile and sweeping the room with an outstretched arm, "Civilization!".

She surveyed the room and its inhabitants. The robed men looked boring to her, not worthy of her attention. The rich man could have been a target, but he was already being worked on and Sylvaine didn't feel like competition at the moment. The trio of happy adventurers were of course intriguing, but happy often meant content, and content was hard to work with. The loner at the bar, on the other hand, seemed more her mark. Despairing, perhaps desperate, and probably drunk in the bargain. Despair meant want, desperation meant carelessness and drunk could mean all matter of things, but Sylvaine had a knack for turning it into conformity. She would start there.

Cillian looked right at home, foreign features or no. Sylvaine imagined he'd probably seen at least as many taverns as her in his day, and had likely been booted out of less than half that she'd been. She could almost picture him, striding into the center of attention, striking up a tune or a song to enthrall the audience. Maybe if she got some drink in him he'd do it. That would certainly be worth a little silver. It was settled then. She turned once more to her companion. "You go ahead and find us a seat, darling, and I'll see about some food and ale" she said, and added, with a wink, "My treat, of course.". She then went for the bar and made her order, turning towards the dwarf and looking her best to look friendly and sympathetic.



"Well met, friend" she said, giving the dwarf a searching but warm look, a sad smile on her face, "One of those days, is it?"

Cillian let the flow of the city take him, the bustle of the crowd guiding his feet along the rain-slick cobbles until he found himself standing before a tavern. Or at least a building that bore a striking resemblance to a tavern. They were close to the river here, and the roar of it was clear, even above the hubbub of the city all around them. The bridge which lent Greybridge it's name was close, and across it, the Blackwood itself, but now that he was standing in front of a tavern, he could understand Sylvaine's suggestion. Despite the pangs from his stomach, growing stronger as they had drawn closer to this 'Iron Star', Cillian had still kept a curious eye on the men and women that brushed past them. Stepping through the gates had been akin to stepping between ethereal realms, and Cillian had almost forgotten the contrast that existed between those that carved out a life within a cities towering walls, and those that struggled beyond them. It had been rags that had clothed the refugees that had joined them on the road, but on the city streets it was well-tailored cloaks and fashionable corsets. Against the well-dressed women of Greybridge, Sylvaine de Vermeille stuck out like a sore thumb, her weathered leather and wool clothing a world away from the satin dresses, but Cillian was all too aware that she was not the only one who looked out of place. Cillian's mail armour was finely crafted, and in all his travels he had found few blacksmiths that could match his father's skill, but in this city, he felt like a relic from a bygone era. Behind these walls, people could forget the hardships of the world, and apart from the handful of hired thugs that followed around the more affluent men and women that passed the unusual pair, casting wary glances in their direction, the people of Greybridge looked soft. Sylvaine taking the lead and stepping into the tavern itself brought Cillian back to reality, and he followed after his travelling companion,

The noise of merriment spilled out through the tavern's doors before Cillian even reached them, and as he stepped through, he saw that Sylvaine had paused for a moment, apparently to soak in the atmosphere. Cillian took the oppurtunity to glance around the surprisingly well-lit tavern itself, and found that the men and women that had found their way here at this time of the day were similar to the ones that walked the streets outside, with a few notable exceptions. The elven maiden and the gnome were an even stranger pair that Cillian and Sylvaine, while the well-dressed man and his scantily dressed companion were a more conventional sight for a tavern such as this. The robed men, speaking softly over their drinks, looked like the type that Cillian seemed to encounter whenever he strayed too far into civilisation, and while he tended to enjoy their stories for a while, he always found them... unimaginative before too long. Sylvaine was clearly happy with what she saw, smiling warmly towards Cillian, and the man from the Caelic Isles smiled in return.

"A nice place."

Before they could talk more, Cillian heard the door open behind them again, and he stepped to one side as a towering woman stepped past him and into the tavern. She was clearly a warrior, and as she was beckoned over by the elf and the gnome, Cillian couldn't help but raise his eyebrow slightly. The unusual paring just grew even stranger, and the warmth that they greeted each other with certainly suggested that they were more than mere acquaintances. Cillian could feel that all too familiar scratching of curiosity at the back of his mind, but he ignored it for now. They were here for a drink, and for now, it was a drink that they would have. Almost as if she had been reading his mind, Sylvaine was quick to suggest the very same thing, and he didn't miss the theatrical wink that accompanied her offer to pay. Before he could respond, she was gone, moving towards the bar counter near the back of the tavern, and a patron of the 'Iron Star' that Cillian hadn't even noticed at first. The dwarf was dishevelled, cradling a drink that certainly wasn't his first as he sat alone at the bar, and there was something haunting about someone so clearly down on their luck. With no better idea, Cillian decided to follow Sylvaine's advice, and he made his way over to one of the empty tables, making sure he chose a seat that gave him a good view of the tavern, and of the door through which they had entered.

Perhaps he had simply been on the road for longer than he had realised, but Cillian was surprised by how good it felt to finally sit down, stretching his legs out as he sighed. While he waited for Sylvaine to return, he glanced around the tavern again, passing the time by watching the others that had been drawn here by the promise of copious drinks, hot food and hopefully good company. He had seen countless taverns in his years wandering, and if nothing else, they were normally good for a few coins in exchange for a song or a story. The dwarf at the tavern had the look of someone that was sinking, and didn't want to be saved, although he saw that Sylvaine was attempting to strike up a conversation regardless, but he didn't look like someone who would appreciate a song. The robed men were more interested in whatever hushed conversation they were already having, and the provocatively dressed women was clearly part-way through a grand tale of her own. The unusual trio still intrigued Cillian, but they also seemed to be content talking among themselves. Thankfully there were plenty of other people within the tavern, and judging by some of the fine clothing he could see as he glanced around, he was confident that he could make some coin, if he needed to. The rich were always the most foolish with their money after all. Yet before he could think too much about it, Cillian felt another sharp pang from his stomach, and he decided that it could wait until after he had had something to eat. Truth be told, everything could wait until he had had something to eat!

The merchant listened with intent to the Dwarf's words. It didn't feel often he spoke in comparison and certainly he spoke as if he had a thousand years of knowledge swirling around his mind. Any remarks were certainly worthwhile and they caught Emilio's ears as he seemed to consider them as well as his response.

"Well there is much to start off from his words no? We know where we are headed and the protectors of the local area. Some dangers and warnings of where to not pass." He'd chime as he reclined back against the wood of the cart. "Olderin's Refuge, with the Knights of the Skull being some local mercenaries or glory hounds by the sounds of it. Else it sounds like we might find some luck should your 'clan' still hold land in this place. Certainly the way you speak it your talents would be of great use to them." A hand would stroke his chin in thought at that. Numbers and schemes already running about in his mind.

"That or maybe these Knight folks could use some new blades. Either way, we should be able to catch some more of whats going on once we are in town. Much to your disdain of our endless ramblings it is the self same thing that shall find us riches and perhaps your people. There is much townsfolk love to gossip of, especially over a mug of fine drink. Something I feel you at least could partially agree with eh Wēlanandaz?" A smile would cross his face as he'd tilt his head to look over with his final words. Cocky and confident, as the man nearly always seemed to be.

The two conversed as they began, pushing the cart uphill to help the donkey until they were set on the proper path. Once there, even the two chatty fellows would find the foliage growing more and more foreboding, almost pressing silence upon them regardless of their curiosities or efforts to keep a casual air about their travel. The donkey seemed somewhat glum (even for a donkey) but it didn't look overly agitated or fearful, which at least likely meant there was no problems with beasts so far.

A large gulley lay on their right, and on their left a steep upwards incline into the swell of a hill. It rose like a wave and where it began to dip, as it was hard to tell with the trees in the way. Across the gulley and past the creek within its bed was just further trees, hiding all manner of Gods-know-what. To a couple of entrepreneurial chaps such as these, it might look like a lot of untapped resources. But the terrain was far too hilly to capitalize on it without a vast team of hired hands and a guard to keep them safe and protected if any of the stories of the Blackwood were to be believed.

An hour passed by, and the donkey was guiding up yet another hill. It grunted irritably, but did its job without going lax as some stubborn donkeys were liable to do. The three just crested the hill when they found themselves on a straight path without the perils of twisting over uneven ground. The trees here were thicker, however, but that was not the most noticeable aspect.

In front of them stood two large men; Knights, in fact. They were black and grey, with a marking of a skull at the center of their torso. Emilio and Wēlanandaz would see they were heavily armored in gambesons, chainmail, and bits of plate in the form of pauldrons and greaves. Their faces were hidden behind great helms given the visages of skulls at the front, and two steel horns plumed with feathers fanned out above their helmets. They held large swords, perhaps greatswords even, their blades on the ground with both hands on the hilts made of bone. Silently they stood there, saying nothing as the two fellows and their donkey came into their field of vision.

Were it not for the slight tremor of their bodies from breathing, and the fact they were standing upright, it would have been difficult to tell if they were awake or even alive.
@Tony Pajamas@Jb

Mari found Rittenvos to be new and exciting and yet somehow quite familiar. It was the mood of the people, she decided, that was similar to the Sea of Swords. Lots of travelers and mercenaries and merchants, people in general not tied down to any location, simply passing through in search of adventure, fortune, or their own goals. For once Mari was one of them rather than simply a local.

By the time she made it to the barroom her purse was two lordlings lighter. She felt lighter too, given the layer of sweat, dirt, and grime she'd washed off, though perhaps that was also because she'd left her plate, shield, and pack in her room. Considering how many other sellswords there were here wearing armor and weapons, Mari simply changed into a fresh white tunic and dark brown leggings, and cleaned her leathers as best she could before donning them again. On her belt were her sword, daggers, coin pouch, and necklaces of Rán.

She'd managed to get a decent meal to fill her belly before turning in to her room, so it was ale she sought after now, and when she had two pints in her hands she made her way over to the right side of the room, trying to catch Ithaca's attention as she approached. She seemed to be conversing with the... man? Next to her, though Mari had to admit she'd never seen any of their race before. The plate armor was certainly fine, far better than what Mari could afford.

"Hope I'm not intruding," she greeted, offering the pint. "I promised the Road Warden here an ale. If not for her I'd probably be wyvern food by now."

Torsten reflected on some of the men he fought alongside these past seven years. ‘There was Sten, Bjørn, Ødger, Harald, Ulf, Njal, Arn, Toke and of course Vanhel to name a few. Sten and Bjørn were killed by Vrettonian cavalry less than a year ago. Their memories still haunted him. Ødger died of blood poisoning from a wound he suffered six months ago and Harald lost a leg; returning home. Ulf and Njal could be anywhere by now. They could even be on this path into the Blackwood. Arn and Toke were of course working a job south of the Corsair Straits. I wished them well. Then there was Vanhel. He had been walking with him along this trail, then *poof!* he disappeared into nowhere. Well, maybe not nowhere. He was taken in by that woman. I can’t even remember her name. She was bad as far as I could tell. Not worth the time, but Vanhel felt compelled to assist her. Maybe it was me who left him. Anyway, I am on my own now.’

As he meandered along the trail his hands moved over his possessions. He checked the coin purse at his waist, felt its heft and let it drop into place. He palmed over his knife, axe, sword, bow, quiver and the straps of the small pack on his back containing some food stuff. He felt secure in the contents. He avoided most of the Andredian villages with the thought in mind, it was at those locations he had the highest risk of losing something.

After passing a small valley or more acutely a draw, Torsten saw two large dark trees only ten meters apart. They reminded him of the trees of home in Norgardia. He noted the trees generally grew smaller the further he walked away from home. The forest appeared to rise up in front of him; a veritable fortress of green and wood. But the two trees guarding his path beckoned him forward almost inviting him to enter. He wanted more than anything to enter as he felt he would encounter riches beyond his desires inside these woods.

The closer he moved towards the two trees, he realized a large beast stood in his path. It was enormous. He had learned a lot about animals of the forest during his youth and was aware of this creature. He worried not it was a creature which would eat him, but it was one that would charge if felt threatened. Its aggression would be felt, even if Torsten attempted to approach it.

‘Megarinokeros’, Torsten thought to himself. ‘The beast must be eleven or twelve feet in height and a good eight or nine tons in mass. I could just go around him, cut through the walls of the forest. If he sees me, he might charge. They are pretty aggressive, even if they are vegetarian. An excellent meal he would make, but it would be such a waste since I couldn’t carry much of him. To attack him, it would require almost all of my arrows, then I would have to switch to my sword and even then, I just might not get him. It would be wiser to skirt through the brush to avoid him.’



Just as Torsten was deciding it would be safer to avoid the Megarinokeros, or Megaboar as was commonly referred, the beast decided maybe he would not let Torsten enter the forest untested. The beast turned its hulking mass in his direction, lowered it five foot horn and trotted towards him. When it was thirty meters away, the beast increased its speed. Torsten didn’t even bother drawing a weapon. He intended to dodge the beast. He knew the creature was too heavy to maneuver and relied on his prey remaining directly in front of him. Torsten had no intention of remaining in its path. When the creature was too close for comfort and accelerating, Torsten ran to the left to evade the beast. The Megaboar attempted to turn with Torsten, but could not.

Torsten ran behind the beast and headed toward the woods. The creature turned about, lowered its horn and began the charge a second time. Torsten made it to the wood line, saw a low hanging branch and jumped for it, in an attempt to climb out of its path. He jumped as he drew close. His hands hit the branch, slapped it more accurately and the less than six foot frame flew past the tree, into the brush beyond. His body hit the ground and rolled away. The Megarinokeros glanced off the large oak tree and continued attempting to slow itself.

Torsten felt pain in his ribs on the right side of his body where he hit a rock during his fall. He continued to roll away from the path to evade the monster. He crawled into leaves concealing his location. The large wooly boar snorted at the ground. Its massive hooves pawed at the soil turning it over which each stomp. Torsten waited. Eventually, the beast grew impatient and walked away from the two trees in the trail.

Torsten Maier felt it was as good a time as any to stand and check himself out. When he moved up onto his knees he detected a pain on his right side. It was sharp, breath-halting and would make the next few weeks a bit harder than he anticipated. He checked his belongs, made sure everything was still there. He looked back at where the boar was and slowly continued on his journey into the Blackwood. He thanked Ulfric for allowing him to live this day and continued forward.
@POOHEAD189

Kyiriniae'aea sagged with relief as the human mage stepped through the portal. She didn't much like humans, they could be powerful but their short roach like lives made them unpredictable and grasping. Still, given her other companions were literal cannibals, she supposed she could tolerate the arrival of so useful a pawn.

"I did," she admitted, smiling winsomely and stepping forward, holding out her hand like a human noble so that the mage could take it and kiss it in the proscribed fashion. She made a gesture that encompassed room.

"We are in a place called the Blackwood," she explained, taking a step back and gesturing to one of the chairs by the table in her newly cleaned study. The chaos had been put to right and she even had taken the time to properly set up the alchemical equipment in the corner. The tower still didn't quite look lived in, but it no longer resembled the ruin it had when she had first come in.

"I'm afraid it was something of a desperation move," she confessed, her lip quivering ever so slightly to convey fear and vulnerability as she took her own seat. She badly wished she had some wine, but that would have to wait, instead she offered the human some of the roasted boar that her servants had brought her.

"I am Kyiriniae'aea, though you may call me Kyra," she introduced herself. She chewed on the end of one of her long blonde locks for a moment before continuing.

"I am afraid I have been cursed by a Warlock," she admitted, "and if you were willing to aid me, I would be forever in your debt."

Today was a reminder of why Emilio did not have a particular love of hilly countries. Truly it was an omen of bad business if the man had to get out of his cart and push it himself. Though perhaps it also spoke of necessity for other goods, as the stubborn would persist or unprepared fools would be in need of wares or in want of luxury. Those thoughts kept running through his mind repetition as he assessed the land idly for its goods and what needs he could meet. That was at least until they would finally be able to peer above the 'final' hill and see human form again after their hours of journey.

The Dre Costan would work quickly to dust himself off. There was no time to change into more formal wear but he would be presentable for sure. Fixing his hair back and putting on a confident smile. By their way of dress it would have to be impossible to mistake them as anything other than the Knights of the Skull. A hand would pat his ass's head as he'd stride ahead. Cutting the sizable distance slowly as he spoke with a voice that would certainly reach the men.

"Gentlemen, what a sight for our weary eyes! Straight from Varian's Crossing we've come here searching for Olderin's Refuge. I believe none could mistake you as anything other than its protectors." There was a certainty to his words. Strange one might think for being new travelers of Blackwood.

"Any warnings, expectations, news you would wish to impart?" He'd ask as he kept his approach slow and closing the gap, cart behind.

@Jb@POOHEAD189

Ithaca blinked, turning to look behind her when the Draconic thing halted speaking, grunting in acknowledgment. Mari suddenly realized he was a Drogator, rumored to be a dying people. Other than a few stories of their ferocity in combat and some vague legends of them being from another world, she wouldn't know much. It was likely just surprising to see one in person. Unnverving likely. So much like a Dragon of legend, and yet somewhat similar to a man in a very eerie fashion.

"Ah, you kept your word!" Ithaca said, clearly joking about being surprised. "I'm glad to see you up and about, and less smelly."

She almost looked like she was going to pinch the bridge of her nose playfully, but decided to take a sip of the drink Mari got her instead. She had her priorities straight. It was clear she had already had a few, hence her stoic demeanor giving way to cutting loose a bit.

"Allow me to introduce you. Kane, I would like you to meet Mari." She said, turning around on the stool to present them both to one another. "A very brave woman I met just today on the road. Mari, this is Kane. One of the most honorable fellows I've ever met. He seems tough, but throw a chicken breast and he'll chase after it like a dog."

Mari heard a very threatening growl from the Drogator. It actually vibrated the wood beneath their feet. However, a moment to reflect would reveal it was actually chuckling. A few of the patrons, including a commoner couple clearly on a date gave small yelps of surprise. Comically, the girl looked at the guy she was with when she realized his voice sounded just like hers and he nearly fell out of his chair. One might not blame him but in the Blackwood, bravery was a virtue.

"It is an honor to meet you." Kane said, bowing how he could in such armor. "What brings you to such a place?"

"I was going to ask her that myself." Ithaca remarked, her chest facing the crowd and her elbows behind her, resting on the wood of the bar.
@Luminosity