---

The walk was a terse affair, much to Ceolfric's consternation. Judging by how on edge the Tainted siblings were, he was confident he'd established himself as dominant in their tenuous engagement, that they were holding their tongues not out of guilt but of simple wariness. It brought him a small measure of peace that he was unlikely to be walking into a gang of horned highwaymen working in tandem with the duo, but such relief was overshadowed by the frustrating realization that he'd receive no answers from their lips.

How he yearned to unravel all their little secrets with but a snap of his fingers, but he'd surely face retaliation from the Tainted not enthralled while he was still sorting through the thoughts of his target. Freckles, to his credit, gave an answer, but not to the question Ceolfric had asked. Even with the inn out of the question, who would choose to sleep among the dead when given a better option? The crannies beneath the walls' battlements would surely provide ample cover to rest under, should the forest itself be too untamed for their liking. It seemed he misunderstood just about everything Ceolfric said, with his dismissal of nebulous 'entities'; perhaps pegging him for a demon hunter speaking in technical terms instead of a curious and slightly irritated traveller.

"You already have. Twice. You slept next to one," Ceolfric elaborated with a loose gesture toward the girl, "I'm not idly musing about wraiths and forest spirits; your essences stand out like bonfires in a sea of candleflames, it's what led me to your camp in search of the creature."

The sister was little better; whatever smug assurance she felt she had over Ceolfric that had animated her tongue earlier apparently laid dead back in the graveyard before the bandit even had a chance to kill it. Not that he could really blame her, it sounded as if a bard on the road ahead had struck up a tune, yet he seemed to play in every direction at once. Of course, that was under the assumption that they heard it too and he hadn't fallen victim to sensory altering magic cooked up by one of Freckles' imagined spectral entities. Or Freckles himself, for that matter. Ceolfric could only hope he'd have sensed it when it was casted if it truly did come from one of the Tainted.

Thankfully, the music was broken by a passing cart, and the murmurs of a distant woman's conversation seemed to spook the girl enough to attempt to mask her face. Ceolfric himself rested a hand on the pommel of his sword, though he refrained from bursting out onto the road with Goredrinker already swinging like he wanted to. When he broke the treeline, he almost regretted it. Some behemoth of a creature stood before them, a beast that looked like an orc but loomed like a giant. For a moment, it seemed he had found the one who had disturbed his slumber, yet he saw no claws that could rend the earth asunder and felt no aetheric pressure that would accompany a glamoured demon. No, she was but a woman, but one more fitting in the tall tales of a Dranirian traveller than casually walking down a path in Soft Haven.

The two with her, though shining as brightly as the Tainted siblings, appeared equally free of guilt. The presence he'd thought to chase earlier scintillated along the edge of his awareness again, emanating from a waifish boy that barely warranted a second glance if not for the odd way his hair waved in the nonexistent breeze. It would seem Ceolfric was not unique or even rare among those seeking the Bounty House, and that aether gathered plentifully in those that were drawn to Soft Haven. All the more reason to be on his best behavior, tedious as it was. Gods only knew what bizarre characters awaited him once he was actually inside.

"This way to the Bounty House, I take it," Ceolfric greeted the group casually as he passed, more concerned with announcing his presence than actually getting directions. He was tempted to halt and try to pry information from the trio about the mystery creature, given his lack of success with the Tainted, but his would-be travelling companions seemed to be in quite the hurry and he figured it would be more productive to start his inquiries at a proper institution that would reasonably be contracted to deal with such matters over the hearsay of oversized wanderers, lost elven maidens, and sickly teenagers.

---

@McMolly@Obscene Symphony@Hero@Trainerblue192

Eila hadn't quite answered any of Ermes' questions. Though he couldn't all together blame her as the gargantuan went before them broke all conversation. His eyes followed hers, trying to guess at what she was doing, clearly sizing them up but in what way, he wanted to know. His pose changed, shifting his weight to his other foot once the intensity seemed to drain from the orcish woman's face. His shoulders slumped in subtle defeat as he was called little once again. Annoyance filling him ever so slightly. More so after she mistakenly believed that they were lost and searching for the town. Did he look like he couldn't handle the Bounty House?
Sizing her up he began to wonder, though he doubted that everyone there would be as enormous and strong as this woman was.

Ermes took in a breath, about to reply to the orc when another figure emerged from the treeline. They were oddly cloaked, wearing a mask and hat that covered their features on a bright morning day. Not far behind was a stocky man…boy…it was difficult to gauge his age. But he seemed rather Unassuming in comparison to his company, aside from the large sword holstered to his side. Based on his question, he too was searching for the Bounty House. Great. Ermes was quickly beginning to feel like he might have to fight for some of the better jobs, or that perhaps the others might move the better paying jobs just out of his reach on the board. This one certainly looked like he'd be the kind to do so.

The man appeared to have been looking at him, but it appeared to be nothing more than a passing glance. Ermes supposed it was better than someone getting down to eye level with him. Eila however, had seemingly decided she would be the voice of their little party. Choosing to ignore the woman and make her way towards the Bounty House. His gaze shifted from every individual in view before settling back on Eila. "You're not the least bit curious as to why she's tramping around in the bushes? Ei, I gotta say it's a bit rude." Ermes turned his attention towards the orc, having had Eila already give out his name to those present. "Sorry about her. She doesn't introduce well. Names Ermes, hope to see you around and maybe learn more about what you're doing right now…but it seems someone is eager to see The House so it's probably best I follow." Ermes looked towards the two that had emerged from the treeline, wondering if they were the glowing beings he saw back the night before. "You two coming?"

If the armed stranger disbelieved the lie, he didn’t argue it, instead correcting his comment on “aetheric entities.” Kyreth couldn’t help but frown. Their “essences” stood out to this man? That was the talk of fortune telling swindlers, not a rugged hedgeman who looked like he’d never walked the streets of a city in his life. Kyreth had to wonder what on earth the man was trying to sell them, but he spoke earnestly enough to satisfy the Tainted boy that he was telling the truth. Or his own understanding of the truth, anyway.

Kyreth’s already-frayed nerves were piqued further as the plucking of an instrument reached his ears from all around, just loud enough to be heard over the rustling of the underbrush. For a moment he wondered where Lilann suddenly found the confidence to start playing her little lyre, remembering how it plucked itself the night before. But far as he could tell, its strings laid still on her hip, and the sound came from no discernible direction. It made Kyreth uneasy – or uneasier – but it was soon drowned out by the clomping and creaking of a cart approaching on the adjacent road.

Kyreth gasped when Lilann suddenly halted, but she was only scoping out the road, donning a painted mask before she broke the tree line. A clever disguise, it hid her eyes well enough to mistake her for a tall halfling – or a short human – but he wondered if the mask itself had ever gotten her into trouble. People were distrustful of those who covered their faces, after all. But evidently, it worked well enough to get her this far.

While the other two broke out onto the road, Kyreth stayed behind, lingering just a few feet back from the tree line. Securing his hood with one hand, he watched the exchange on the road; they’d come across a strange trio indeed, though he supposed the same could be said about his little party. Most notably, there was a frightening green-skinned woman towering above the rest, speaking with a deep voice the likes of which Kyreth had never seen nor heard before. She was talking to a blonde, elvish woman who looked very much out of place, her looks and posture speaking of high breeding and clothed in some of the finest traveling garb Kyreth had ever seen. An official from Soft Haven, perhaps? Maybe checking on the Bounty House? That might have explained her presence, but her companion was her opposite in every way – skinny and sunken-faced, he looked like he’d fit in well in Urchin’s Run if not for the swirling mass of black shadows clinging to his head. Now that looked more like an “aetheric entity”.

Contrasting Lilann’s caution, the stranger – as yet unnamed, not that Kyreth cared to get to know him after having been on the business end of his sword – walked out onto the road with all the confidence of a normal traveler, asking for directions. If the scrawny kid’s comment was anything to go by, it seemed they were all headed to the same place. It occurred to Kyreth that this was his chance to turn around and leave this tense hostage march behind. A year ago he would have taken it, turning tail without a second thought. But to his surprise, his feet stayed planted; he wouldn’t leave Lilann alone with their dubiously sane ‘companion’ after all the kindness she’d afforded him.

Hey, maybe that was progress.

Nerves still positively buzzing, Kyreth forced a deep breath and mustered the courage to step out of the trees, pulling his hood down over his eyes as best he could. “Yeah, we're on our way there too,” he answered the teen in passing, barely loud enough to be heard as he shot an apologetic glance to Lilann for making her wait.

Katya evaluated the newcomers and dismissed whatever concerns she’d harbored again, though she took a little longer as her eyes lingered on the masked Tainted. Her concerns were alleviated apparently because she simply laughed off Ermes’ apology with a wave. “Don’t you worry your little head ‘bout that. Since y’all are all on your way anyways, let Aleka know I’m pickin’ up our order after a few tankards. Can’t wait to see y’all there.” Katya took a few steps towards Soft Haven and paused, turning to address the group. “Oh, and ‘fore I forget, don’t y’all think about wakin’ up poor Jenson, that’s the gate guard just down the road, or he’ll keep ya there for hours ‘til he’s satisfied you ain’t a horse. Don’ go asking questions, I ain’t got any answers but I learned real quick it typically involves lot a poking with the bad end of a spear so if he’s still sleepin’, keep him that way. Good luck!” She gave them a cheery wave and headed towards town, humming to herself.





The walk to the Bounty House saw the clouds thin away to the horizon, leaving clear blue and warm sunlight. Small game could be heard rustling through the underbrush, birds flitted from tree to tree, and the morning chill gave way as the sun warmed the Snakeburrow Woods. Those with some sense of direction would tell that despite the various twists and curves of the path, they were slowly drifting further east, almost in line with the Soft Haven graveyard by the time they approached their destination.

It was not long until the group could see a lake quieted away in the depths of the Snakeburrow woods. The trail skirted its shores, the foliage and trees denser the closer one got to the lake. Oddly enough, it was still on the lakeside. No creatures buzzed in the woods around it, no birds sang, no foliage rustled, nothing sat at its edge and drank.

However, it may have had something to do with the atrocious snoring coming from the end of the trail. In front of a decorative wrought iron gate, a man slept slumped in his chair, an empty bottle tipped over beside him. His hair had mostly grayed and fallen out, drool smeared across the deep wrinkles in his face, and the stench of alcohol wafted off him. His armor was of good quality, noticeable even beyond the dirt that marred its metal and leather, and a spear was clutched by white knuckles.

While only a gate in name, the wrought iron arch barely reached a few paces left or right before it gave way to the natural density of the foliage. Beyond it, a stone bridge wide enough for two side by side and flanked by lamp posts stretched out a hundred paces to an island in the center of the lake. A tall building sat in the center, composed of mostly stone, that would have been called quaint had it not been three stories tall and equally wide. Strange vines grew up the outside, clearly guided and patterned, as they avoided the large windows that flanked the double doored entrance. A raised porch circled the right side of the building, supported with elegant columns, and more windows peppered the second and third stories all the way around. Smoke curled out of several chimneys that were quietly tucked between sloping roofs and carved eave trim, though the fine details were impossible to discern at this distance.

---

It wasn’t quite a crowd, but Lilann felt comfortable as their group nearly doubled in size. She shouldn’t have, of course; for Tainted, more people usually meant more trouble, and emerging from the brush in a mask had likely not done much to settle the others. But that was by design. Mystique was its own form of natural protection, not unlike the bright colors of poisonous creatures, warning off potential predators. ‘Observe, it said. ‘admire, but think twice before you do something we may both regret.’

It was hardly true, of course, but that was beside the point.

As they made their way through Snakeburrow, she relaxed. She still kept close to Kyreth—he was the closest thing she had right now to an ally, and she figured the same went for him. He didn’t seem like muscle, in fact she wasn’t entirely sure what he could do, but that was fine. He was aetherborn, and that too was a sort of mystique. One they seemed to share with others.

She eyed the boy with shadowy hair, who she had heard named as ‘Ermes,’ and who she assumed was his companion, the elf, ‘Ei.’ It seemed Lord Mystralath’s business was attracting a rather interesting clientele, or perhaps it was more apt to call them would-be employees. Well, whatever their cause, she doubted they could be as bad as the hedgeman.

When they finally reached the secluded lake, she halted on her way to the bridge. The man asleep at the gate was likely Jenson, who the orcish woman had warned them not to disturb. Something about answers and spears—not a mystery she was eager to solve, and not one she was particularly worried about. Passing him by shouldn’t pose a problem for most of them. She was slight, as was Ermes, Kyreth was sneaky enough and Ei…well, she was an elf. Elves were quiet and nimble, right? They were in the stories anyway. That only left their brutish swordsman.

She turned to him, voice hushed but pointed. “I don’t suppose you do subtle, do you?”

---

Ceolfric would never admit it, but he was almost thankful for the motley crew that had assembled itself around him. With every strange phenomenon he passed, safety in numbers seemed a prudent choice for travel in the Snakeburrow Woods. Not that any one of them were the visage of a reliable warrior, but their aether didn't lie; they had to be capable of something, especially if they thought themselves fearsome enough to take up a career in mercenary work. Plus, it'd give him an easy opportunity to question the two newcomers on what the hell was wrong with this place later. 'Ermes' had to know something, proximate as he was to Ceolfric when he awoke, and he would've assumed the elf had been beside him the whole time if not for the fact that she looked far too clean to have spent the night in the woods.

Perhaps she was the summoner, then.

He had little time to dwell on it with the Bounty House coming into view in the distance, and it would be pointless to accost her in the middle of the road when he could simply wait until she was inside and entrapped herself without infinite directions in which to escape. He wasn't liable to get any support from the rest of the group either, with the Tainted siblings likely still sour from their own confrontation and the strange-haired boy clearly engaged in some prior rapport with her. Besides, the snoring on the wind told him that they were fast approaching whatever variety of creature the orc woman had warned them about, and that meant he had to bite his tongue.

Once they arrived, however, Ceolfric was unimpressed. The thing that threatened to block their passage was just a man, and Ceolfric was not in the habit of fearing mere men. The bandit arched a brow at the masked girl as she posited her question, unsure whether it was meant to be inflammatory or a simple jest. The corners of his mouth quirked upward in dry amusement regardless - an argument would likely wake the gate guard up prematurely anyway, and the point would be moot - and Ceolfric turned his attention to the path before them. Did he do subtle? Not particularly, no. A geriatric doorkeeper was no slumbering bear to sneak past, nor was there any risk to him raising an alarm. Pestering questions and pointy sticks were no more threat to Ceolfric than any of his other would-be traveling companions, and he could have this 'Jenson' dancing a jig to whatever tune he wished if he needed to.

Still, no reason to agitate more people than necessary without something to gain from it, and he doubted casting a spell on an employee made him appear particularly upstanding in the eyes of the House brokers.

"I've been party to enough ambushes to avoid waking a doddering old man, if that's your concern," He mumbled in response, "Besides, if that monster of an orcess can make her way past without incident, I'd imagine I could stomp my way inside if I wanted to."

---

@McMolly@Obscene Symphony@Hero@Trainerblue192

As Ermes went to turn his back towards the group, another voice sounded out that was neither the masked figure nor the brute. He looked over his shoulder towards the new sound and made note of yet another cloaked figure. He was beginning to wonder if he had missed some sort of memo about adventurers having to dress in cloaks or other obscuring fashions. "Oh. Sorry. Didn't see you there" he said, slowly shifting his position so that his back was towards the three new strangers as his sentence finished. His voice still dead with emotion showing no real hint that he was apologetic for missing the third wheel. He said his goodbyes towards the orcish woman, following behind Eila with a quick jaunt to catch up before matching her pace again.

Normally Ermes didn't make it a habit to keep so many people behind him. But if he was to be honest, none of them seemed particularly dangerous save for one character. But even then his clothes looked as well loved as his own, meaning they likely weren't in the best conditions so he was either bad at his job as a mercenary, or brand new to it. There was plenty of time to think to himself as no one spoke the whole walk there. Listening to the ambient sounds of the forest trail, or perhaps too nervous to strike up any conversation that might give something away to the strangers around them, whatever the reason the others had stayed silent, Ermes had found it rather dull. So he decided to fantasize stories for each of those around him.

The masked woman was clearly disfigured underneath it all. Having fallen prey to her own Magiks as she accidentally lit her house on fire one morning and now is scarred from that night as a reminder. The cloaked one seemed too shy and docile to be of any real note. Perhaps a life debt owed to the boisterous man who's mouth made tabs larger than he could pay. He looked well enough, maybe ex-guardsmen who was discharged from his services after botching an important job. Now a drunkard and mercenary with no way to go in life. Eila was clearly from money, and had already given him ample to go off of. He hardly had to imagine much for her. By the time Ermes had grown tired of the stories he was weaving, they'd reached a pair of iron gates with a sleeping drunk ahead of them.

Now more than ever he didn't want to wake Jenson. It was bad luck to wake a sleeping drunk. Or at least that was what he'd heard growing up. He turned his head slightly, listening in to the conversation behind him between the burn victim and drunk. The confidence in his tone was surprising, as if he truly believed he could simply sneak past the guard. He fully turned to look at the man, cocking an eyebrow up in amusement before replying in hushed tones. "Alright then. Prove it." Ermes made his way past Jenson quietly, slipping through the gate and waiting a quarter of the way down the bridge out of eyesight of the guard.

Kyreth was thankful for the distraction the newcomers seemed to provide the swordsman in their midst, following the group along the path without a word. He kept his eyes peeled for trouble, of course, and stuck close to Lilann, but all he saw was beautiful scenery; lush foliage, singing birds, sunlight filtering down through green leaves, a pristine lake and a beautiful building sitting in the middle of it. He’d never seen anything like it in the Dregs or on his travels, all stately stone and creeping vines jutting high into the sky. He’d probably seen crooked wooden buildings taller than it, but with no other urban clutter pressing in on the sides, the Bounty House looked like a monument rising to the heavens.

Even the gate guarding the bridge was decadent by Kyreth’s standards, an iron arch clearly worked with a skilled hand and more extravagant than anything he’d have seen back in Buscon. The sleeping guard, on the other hand, was a familiar sight; anyone in uniform in the Dregs was usually either bleeding in a gutter or blackout drunk in a bawdy house, unless they came in groups to drag someone kicking and screaming never to be seen again.

As the rest of the group discussed the sleeping man in hushed tones, Kyreth stood by, shifting anxiously from foot to foot and scanning his surroundings. He thought his nerves would calm as they neared the Bounty House, but he felt the opposite; his fingers were close to shaking, his skin practically crawling with agitation he couldn’t quite place. It couldn’t just be the swordsman, his attention was more divided than ever and Kyreth had been in much tighter spots before and kept his cool. No, something else was going on, and he didn’t want to stick around to find out.

Growing antsier and antsier as the group delayed, Kyreth eventually got tired of waiting and swept forward, his steps quick and silent as he took Lilann by the arm and slipped the two of them past Jenson with barely a sound. Moving with stealth born of experience, he sidestepped the shadow-headed boy and kept going, making it a few paces down the bridge with Lilann in tow before stooping over to explain.

“Sorry,” he whispered, glancing behind them but not releasing his grip on Lilann. “Something feels off here, I can’t tell what but I’d rather get to the Bounty House before I find out and I didn’t want to leave you alone with that guy.”

The bridge was constructed of gray stone and the larger sections of the waist high parapet wall that supported the lamp posts created false balconies along the edge, a fact the designer clearly took advantage of. A diamond pattern snaked along the edges of the bridge, offering a small glimpse into the lake beyond for the shorter folk. Wrought iron lamp posts flanked the bridge at ten pace intervals. These tall, slender rods ended in a glass bubble typical of the Wilree street lamps but seemed empty, entirely devoid of wick, candle, or other contraption on which to hold a flame. If someone looked closely, they may even notice the glass seemed to grow out of the iron as if someone had simply blended the two materials together like a painter blending colors.

The water of the lake was still and murky. A faint few shadows of fish could be made out beneath the surface but not much more, except strange colors that seemed to dot the shallower waters barely six paces off the shore. Brief poppings of red and yellow and blue and green shimmered dully beneath the surface before they faded, repeating across the visible portions of the lake. The brief displays revealed a strange branching pattern, much like a small bush, the color followed before it dissipated.

Jenson’s snoring came to an abrupt halt. He jerked forward, bottle forgotten and spear clutched as it swung wildly in front of him. His eyes barely cracked open as he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Fuckin’ horses” and then slouched back in his chair, snoring resuming.

---

Ceolfric's eyes followed Ermes along the path, half-lidded with dry annoyance. The boy hardly looked old enough to be conscripted into a throwaway peasant levy, let alone be hired as a professional mercenary, and yet he was already goading his competition. At least Freckles' sister was nursing a prior dislike for him before she started making comments. He almost woke the gatekeeper up on purpose just to spite them, but there were easier ways to handle a teenager and a masked jester that wouldn't end up a hinderance to Ceolfric himself.

Not that the old man would have any way of stopping him from just walking right past anyway.

His scarred brow shot up as Jenson jerked in his sleep, only reaching for Goredrinker's hilt when the tip of the guardsman's spear swung a bit too close to his arm for comfort. Only once the fit of equine paranoia passed and Jenson was sleeping comfortably again did Ceolfric's stance straighten out and his hand stray from his weapon. Good thing, too; dropping his severed head in the middle of the Bounty House floor would certainly be one way to make a memorable introduction, but not quite the one Ceolfric wanted to make. Maybe the senile senior citizen had sharper senses than Ceolfric had given him credit for, if he was startled by Freckles' ghostlike passage. Or maybe it was sheer coincidence. Either way, he wasn't going to dawdle and be forced to make good on his threats.

The bandit placed a steadying hand on his scabbard to ensure it wouldn't sway against his leg and generate unnecessary noise, then crept confidently past in deliberate, measured strides. Once past the gate, Ceolfric nearly stumbled at the sudden tingle of aether that loomed before him, barely having the courtesy to stand still while he collected himself rather than selfishly barrel ahead. There was a demon in there. There had to be. It didn't feel like the other demons he'd encountered, but it certainly couldn't have been a mortal. Even that thrice-damned rock mover wasn't this intense. What was wrong with this forest? Either it was a lodestone for every aether-rich creature in Othard, this was the norm and Dranir was remarkably dull compared to the rest of the continent, or there was something fishy going on. And honest, Ceolfric didn't particularly care to be patient any longer.

Once he felt he'd put enough distance between himself and Jensen to let his present company pass without blaming him for anymore of the codger's episodes, he broke into a determined march for the door past the Tainted siblings with hardly a glance their way. They'd served their purpose, now he wanted answers from the source - or at least to meet whatever creature was saturating the very air around the House with its aether.

---

@McMolly@Obscene Symphony@Hero@Trainerblue192

---

As the shadowy boy quipped at the hedgeman and stalked off onto the bridge, Lilann was glad for her mask. Something told her he wasn’t fond of being grinned at, and as fun as it could be to tug someone’s strings, she wasn’t exactly eager to provoke him. It came as no surprise that he was familiar with—and the word he’d used was—ambushes, but the wild theories began to bloom nonetheless.

What did surprise her was Kyreth snagging her by the arm and marching them right past Jenson. It had taken restraint not to yank herself away, but even radiating anxiety she still didn’t get the sense that she should be afraid of him. He moved with all the clamor of a mouse across cotton, and though she was no stranger to soft-stepping, she felt like a stumbling oaf in his wake. How fascinating, was this some sort of mystical talent? Or was it simply practice? When it seemed they were far enough for his comfort, he hunched low—something that, once, she would have taken for a slight—and explained himself. He was worried, rightfully, but also concerned for her. Sweet boy.

Alas she saw the lights beneath the murky water and, like a light beam in a room full of mirrors, her attention bounced again before she could manage a thank-you. Letting slip a little gasp, she scooched over to the jut of one of the bridge’s balconies

“Something off indeed! Look here, Kyreth, do you know what those are?” she asked, of course, rhetorically. “Wander’s Warning. Pretty things, but you’d be hard-pressed to find an omen so ill as these. Heralds of death. Vows of vengeance so furious they transcend the realms of the real and the ab-real.”

Lilann stared down, but for as much vigor as she put into her words, she couldn’t find it equaled within her. If Wander’s Warnings really were the cries of the dead, she figured there’d be far too many angry Tainted spirits for it to have remained a sailor’s tale. By design, Lilann didn’t think much of the ‘after’—by all accounts her kind didn’t really get much of one. Her mind tended more towards the present, and the union between the two: legacy.

Nonetheless, she turned back to Kyreth as the crotchety gateman briefly, albeit loudly, awoke from his slumber. When that was done, their just-as-grumpy companion marched right on by them. She exhaled, relieved; with any luck their little journey together was over, and they could put enough distance between them that it wouldn’t matter what he told the officials.

They. She caught herself, amused.

“Perhaps he was right to be so on-edge. Perhaps you’re both right,” she said softly, looking back to the grim boy and the elf. “At your lead, Kyreth. Safety in numbers and all that. Though…” and she gently took her arm back, giggling beneath the mask. “I believe we’re safe enough from the brute, now. Thank you, for looking out.”

---

_{@Obscene Symphony, Everyone.}

Ermes stood there, arms crossed looking around the gate towards those remaining. His eyes widened slightly, as if finally beginning to wake up, when the lanky man that had been previously hidden behind the tree's had grabbed the masked individuals hand and pulled them nimbly past the guard and then him. His gaze followed the pair as they stopped a ways down from him on the bridge, only turning back to face the gate when the swordsman began to make his move. The old guard sputtered awake, swinging his spear wide and nearly snagging the arm of the swordsman before falling back into his slumber. Ermes placed a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh so as to not wake the guard.

Though his tone quickly shifted as the man made his way past them all, focused as ever to get towards the Bounty Hall's door. Ermes hadn't expected him to get upset over the little challenge, but then he began to realize that the swordsman wasn't the only one acting odd. The two from before were speaking in hushed tones, one of which was wearing a mask so both emotion and lips were hard to read. The other was a bit easier. He couldn't quite place what they were saying, but it was clear one of them was on edge. Nothing truly of note had happened so far however, save for the marks Ermes had found this morning, so why were they now so suddenly on edge?

Ermes decided for a more direct approach. Making his way towards the pair and stopping just a few feet away from them so they didn't feel cornered in an already stressed space. "Hey, what're you two whispering about over here? The three of you seem to be a bit shaken up, but as far as I can tell it's the calmest spot I've ever been in. So what gives?" His tone was flat, both in nature but also because he was trying to sound as neutral as possible. If he wanted to intimidate them then he'd used vastly different methods.

Kyreth noted in passing the… well, passing of the hedgeman, pushing past himself and Lilann on his newly determined way to the Bounty House at the end of the bridge. It should have given Kyreth some comfort that the armed stranger had apparently lost interest in his Tainted hostages, but it didn’t - his nerves still buzzed like a head full of wasps in this strange, too-still place, leaving him again wondering if it was his own timid inexperience with the world at large working him up, or if something else entirely was at work.

He didn’t have to wait long for his answer, as no sooner did the hedgeman pass than Lilann hitched herself to the railing, pulling Kyreth’s eye down from the finely worked stone of the building and bridge to the still, murky waters below.

Kyreth didn’t need Lilann’s explanation to realize immediately that his nerves were indeed justified. Although she put it in flowery, esoteric terms he almost didn’t understand, any child of Buscon knew the legends of Wander’s Warning, even if he’d been lucky enough never to see them himself.

Well. Until today.

Gods above, he thought, he really was well and truly cursed. Either that, or Selene had taken pity on him and deigned to send a clear and present warning to her new and clumsy child; sailors did say the lights would sometimes bloom on ships as harbingers of coming storms. They were also said to be the souls of dead sailors trying to steer their kind away from doom, the lights pulsing like blood through the veins of panicked, dying men. Still other tales said they were the vibrant, pulsing warnings of spiteful spirits telling anything near to keep away and promising vengeance on intruders. In any case, the message was clear: “Here is death; go no further.”

Kyreth’s hand found the iron charm on his chest before he even had the chance to remember it, his lips moving of their own accord with a nearly-silent prayer as his eyes latched on to those dread lights in the lake. But for all her own eloquent warnings, Lilann didn’t seem nearly as scared as Kyreth thought she should be, something that seemed to come as habit to her in the short time he’d known her. She acknowledged his fears as legitimate, but despite her words, the giggle that followed as she gently pried his hand from her bicep betrayed little caution.

Kyreth had half a mind to turn tail right there; from the claw marks to the hedgeman and now these horrible lights in the lake, the gods or fate or whatever pulled the strings around here was practically shouting at him to run. If he pressed on now, well, he’d probably deserve whatever gruesome end awaited him, having been fool enough to defy the countless warnings the powers that be so generously gave. Foolhardiness wasn’t like him; quite the opposite. A lifetime in Buscon taught you to run and run fast, run quiet and run agile through choking, twisting streets and dark, smoky taverns full of sleeping beasts. You only fought if you were really good at it or had your friends behind you, and Kyreth was neither strong nor popular back home. More than anything, you did not, did not go looking for trouble; it’d find you plenty well on its own, there was no need to tempt fate any more than that.

So once more, just like back in the woods, Kyreth thought of running.

But once more, just like before, he didn’t. And the reason was the same, too: he didn’t want to leave Lilann, who’d shown him so much kindness, who was so confident in the face of danger but just so small, to face the danger of this place alone. Of course, despite his many efforts over the past months he wasn’t an entirely changed man; he still didn’t much like the idea of delivering himself into the maw of whatever made the lake and forest and the animals here hold their breath. So he struck a bargain with himself: he’d see Lilann delivered safely to the Bounty House and then leave, divesting himself of the silly notion that finding an honest life would be just as easy as walking up to an establishment and asking for a job. At the very least he could do that, he thought.

Of course, for all his meagre mustered courage, Kyreth still just about jumped out of his skin when a voice much louder and much less gentle than Lilann’s sounded from mere feet behind him. He whirled around to find the shadowy-haired boy staring incredulously up at him, asking questions.

Kyreth consciously exhaled, letting his shoulders fall as some unconscious part of him noticed just how much shorter than him the strange-looking boy really was. By all accounts, he really could have grown up in the depths of Buscon; he was as skinny and sunken-eyed as any child in Urchin’s Run, with a familiarly wary look about him, pale like those kids who ran errands for the bawdy girls and never got much sun. Maybe he came from another big city somewhere else; hell, he might have come from Buscon if not for the fact that Kyreth was decently sure any kid there with inky shadows in place of hair would have been thrown in the ocean as a bad omen, or else kept in a dark and private place as a display piece. For a second, just barely a second, Kyreth’s nerves took a backseat to a sudden curiosity about this weird kid, and his brow knit together in bemusement.

But that second passed quickly, and at last remembering himself, he forced a personable smile. “Just… saw something in the water,” he excused lamely, rubbing the back of his neck under his cloak. He could feel the fabric tug on his horns, and raised his other hand to steady the hem of his hood. “Forgive us. We’re just a little nervous, is all. Far from home; you understand.” He inclined his head to the elvish woman trailing behind, not wanting to offend her if she was indeed this boy’s guardian, as it seemed she was.

Clearing his throat, he offered no more explanation, instead glancing to Lilann with a nod before setting off once more down the bridge to the Bounty House. “At your lead,” she’d told him. And if he kept his hand close to his knife under his cloak and his eyes always scanning as he did so, well, that was his business.

It was a short trip from the edge of the bridge to the front door of the Bounty House, up a barely noticeable slope and a few short steps. With the new angle, one could see that the House was built far more forward that appeared from the shore, leaving a sizable amount of land further beyond. A section along the left side of the House had been cleared and beaten down into nothing more than dirt. The ground was heavy distrubed and there were several indents where something heavy had hit the ground hard. A glance to the right would reveal a well manicured garden running the length of the patio that wrapped around the building, flowers still in bloom as they entered the end of their season.

The doors of the Bounty House continued the same diamond pattern present on the bridge, four interlocking diamonds carved into the rich, dark wood. The doors were unlocked and pressing past them would reveal what seemed like an entirely different building. While the stairs and the large fireplace on the right were still the original stone; stone bled into wood in much the same manner as the lanterns along the bridge, creating a strange display of aetheric construction. The right side of the main floor held scattered couches and chairs around tables, plush rugs scattered for comfort as the nights grew cooler, and a piano, currently belting out a jaunty tune at the fingers of what appeared to be a blue skinned elf in similar colored finery, at the far end of the room next to a door that presumably led out onto the porch. Heavy tapestries interspersed the windows that looked out over the sprawling garden.

The left side of the room boasted fewer windows and furniture, only a handful of desks that were mostly unoccupied at this hour. Further towards the back, a stairwell headed beneath the main level and another door beyond that along the back of the House. One man did occupy a desk, quill scratching quick notes across one of the various pages of parchment as he consulted a ledger book. Older with heavy set wrinkles in the forehead and eyes, the half elf regarded the interruption of his morning work with a simple glance over the half rims of his glasses, pulled out a long piece of leather, placed it in the ledgerbook before closing it gently and carefully sliding it into the desk he worked at. In its place, another, larger book came out, opening with a heavy thud.

“Welcome to the Soft Haven Bounty House. I am Aleka Doneka, facilitator for this establishment on behalf of Veraz Althma and Lord Malcer Mystralath.” He introduced himself, offering a half bow. Aleka wore a heavy black cloak over a simple but well made gray and white tunic and breeches. He was incredibly monotone, his voice flat and entirely devoid of emotion as he spoke. “If you are looking for work, there are a number of documents you must complete. If you are not literate, I can assist you in this.”

There was one major oddity that stood out from everything else. At the base of the stairs that led into the second and third floors, a large stone circle, large enough for two or three people standing shoulder to shoulder to fit, sat flush with the floor but rimmed with gold. Strange markings, slightly faded, were connected by lines and circles and the stone was clearly of different origin than the outside of the House. It was a chaotic addition to an otherwise warm and inviting interior.

Ermes turned his head slightly giving Ei an unamused look as she chimed into their conversation that he was interrupting. A small smile perked up on his lips however as Kyreth jumped a little at his immediate presence. He moved past the pair, leaning against the parapet of the bridge, his forearms pressed against it as he looked over the edge towards the water. He watched as the lights pulsed and branched underneath the surface of the water. Each a different color, starting from one spot as it arched into a multitude of branches before vanishing once again. The display itself was captivating, but Ermes quickly lost his smile as he stared at the water a bit too long. For a moment he thought he could hear his parents before he launched himself back, off of the parapet and turned to face the others.

He shoved his hands into his jacket clearly bothered by something now as well. "Tch. I'm sure it's nothing, but hey I get it. Being away from home can make someone nervous, unsure, or even anxious. But there's nothing to worry about-" Ermes cut himself off as he noticed the signs of someone wanting to exit a conversation. Nodding back in return as he watched them start to make their way. "You're studied right? Think you could tell me about the lights in the water? Is it some kind of geneolosis magic or something? Or maybe a portal to another plane?" He gestured towards the lights by jerking his head slightly in its direction. His back still facing them as he didn't want to look back towards the water.

---

Ceolfric was used to a number of different reactions whenever he burst into a building unannounced - brave fools rushing him with the nearest sharp object, wide-eyed glances from those frozen in fear, dagger-like glares from the resident 'tough customers', the shrill whining of some idiotic farmwife who thinks, for some reason, that the best way to keep her head attached to her shoulders is to stand between the interloping marauders and her valuables - but a monotone greeting from a stately elf as he threw open the doors to the Bounty House was definitely new to him. Nor did the gentleman's bored confidence come from a place of power; he looked barely a match for the pianist, let alone whatever stronger entity was residing further within.

It was so utterly unexpected that the bandit found himself baffled into silence. He'd expected to demand answers from a wary secretary, not... be offered paperwork. Though he supposed an office that trafficked in mercenaries would be used to such antics; the Bounty House couldn't be all snooty knights-errant and glory-seeking noblemen. Besides, it wouldn't do to make a scene quite yet - the House had an undeniable air of danger beneath the veneer of civility. The pianist was likely placed strategically to eliminate any incoming threats, with Jenson being a simple red herring to give intruders false confidence. The arcane symbolism etched into the floor by the stairs was either a summoning circle for a being so integral to the inhabitants that it was made a permanent facet of the architecture, or the locus of some kind of large-scale protective magic, neither of which boded well for anyone that caused trouble. And that was to say nothing of the entities further within - his mystery demon had split into thirds upon closer inspection, and Ceolfric wasn't sure if that was preferable or worse.

He looked dumbly toward Aleka and acquiesced, approaching the desk. Impatient as he was, he had still come to play at the politics of the civilized world, not play witchhunter to every ominous building in the woods; answers could wait.

"Erm. Yes. I'm Ceolfric." He wasn't sure if tacking a colorful list of monikers to his name would make him a more appealing hire or just land him in the local jail, so he omitted such titles as 'Bandit Prince of Dranir', 'Favored of Umbraxakar', 'Kin to Demons', et cetera. His gaze turned to the hefty tome Aleka had produced with a confused furrow in his brow and wary curiosity in his eyes. Exactly how much of that was he expected to fill? Maybe he should've let the siblings go first and follow their lead. "What information exactly do you need?"

---

Interacting with: @Scribe of Thoth

“In addition to your given name, I require your surname, prior and/or current occupation, village or city and country of origin, the same information for your next of kin, a brief description of your skills, and assuming that I do not need to summon the grave keeper, what classification gave you that tongue.” Aleka listed after giving him a long look after his introduction.

As Aleka finished, so did the music. It was jarring and sudden as the pianist abandoned his song to turn in his seat, child-like excitement written plainly across his face. The blue skinned elf wore a white shirt with a high collared shirt with a cascade of ruffles falling down the front of the shirt and framed by the royal blue vest and paired with a pair of dark hose that ended in boots with far more buckles than necessary. He didn’t move to get up but he was tapping the tips of all twelve of his fingers together in excitement.