Kyreth wasted no time heading back downstairs, tome clutched to his chest, and found that Aleka and Cerric had finished their speech by the time he reached the foyer. Aleka was still at his desk, and Kyreth took the opportunity to skirt around the others toward him, brandishing the name book.

“Um, the Lord asked me to bring this to you,” Kyreth offered, quietly enough that the others wouldn’t hear. Aleka continued writing in a different book, not acknowledging Kyreth’s presence until he had rocked his blotter over the last word. When he finally did look up, he fixed the Tainted with a long, indecipherable look. Kyreth shrank under his gaze, and for a moment thought the man was going to refuse the offer. But he didn’t; after what felt like a silent interrogation, Aleka finally cleared a space for the tome on his desk and went back to work, apparently satisfied. Relieved, Kyreth left the desk with haste, making a mental note never to give Aleka another clerical problem ever again. He didn’t make it very far before a hand took him by the shoulder.

Lilann pulled him aside into the same tenuous seclusion they’d had before. Even unmasked, her expression was difficult to read, but in those icy eyes there were embers of concern.

“Well?” she asked, voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Kyreth whirled to find the source of the hand, but was relieved to find it was just Lilann, allowing her to pull him aside. He was a little surprised by her concern, but not unpleasantly so.

“I’m fine,” Kyreth stooped so Lilann could hear his whisper, eyes darting the room. He tapped his chest, the signet ring and letter beneath, but struggled to think of an answer. Where would he even start?

“It’s a long story, but…” he began, searching for a way to phrase the situation. “...Well, the Lord of the House tasked me with running some errands. I’ll explain more later.” In practiced Tainted fashion, he flipped the conversation on Lilann. “What about you? Did you get assigned a ‘trial’?”

If she was dissatisfied with the answer, she didn’t show it, though it was clear enough that she had more questions to ask. He beat her to the punch though, and she took a deep breath.

“We did. They have the lot of us escorting some Red Fern heiress on a delivery. Doesn’t sound particularly exciting on the face of it, but plenty of good stories have slow beginnings. And besides—” her eyes flicked across the room, to the others, and she smirked. “I won’t want for interesting company. Ten days, Cerric said—he’ll be joining us. Will you still be here, you think?”

“Ten days? Wow,” Kyreth murmured. Not that Lilann seemed unfamiliar with traveling, but it seemed like quite the trek for a trial contract. Especially in a party with their gruff new friend Ceolfric.

As for her question, Kyreth nodded. “Yeah, I’ll still be here - Selene willing,” he replied, a bit of leftover disbelief sneaking into his voice. He was still wrapping his head around this whole apprenticeship arrangement, and the thought of it lasting anything more than ten minutes still seemed far-fetched. He cleared his throat. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she said, a thoughtful look coming to her. “Gives me time to look more closely into the…stranger aspects of this place. I was going to ask Cerric more about this ghoul—the one that left the claw marks, not Ceolfric. I’m not sure I buy all that business about a demon, or a spirit or what have you, but it could still be worth checking.”

“Oh, right,” Kyreth cringed at the mention, recalling the claw marks those poor graveyard attendants were probably still trying to cover up. “I don’t know, seems wise to maybe leave well enough alone…”

Another look at Lilann’s face, however, reminded Kyreth that she probably wasn’t the type to let sleeping dogs lie. “Or, be careful, at least,” he added, eager to change the subject. “Anyway, I need to head into town soon, but… meet me back here sometime tonight, okay? I’m rooming in the House for now, and I’ll explain everything then.”

She seemed pleased by his concern, rather than annoyed, and nodded when he asked her to return later.

“Suspense, I like it,” she said, smiling. “I’ll expect a good story, Kyreth Bertasson. See you tonight—and good luck.”

---

Ceolfric had plenty of concerns about Mister Liadon's honesty, but in this matter, he doubted it would pose an issue. Why waste all that time in the woods with someone only to lie afterward? If Cerric really wanted them gone, he could just say so - he was the one evaluating them, after all. The mention of a will similarly did little to hold the bandit's interest. If he had any heirs, he wouldn't know where to even find them, and anyone else who thought they had claim to his belongings would have to pry them off his corpse like everyone else. Likewise, there was no need to spread word of his death; if he'd died so unremarkably that no one besides the House took notice, that was his own fault. If his father's Heralds spent the rest of this generation looking over their shoulder fearfully for Ceolfric's return, so be it, it would at least punish them meagerly for any posthumous defiance.

Kyreth returned to the lobby shortly after, alive and apparently unharmed from his time upstairs. Ceolfric doubted Mystraleth simply required an errand boy to bring Aleka's book back to him, but the conversation had to have ended amicably if Kyreth was being entrusted with tasks. The bandit was tempted to ask about the Lord himself, but the lanky Tainted ran straight to his kinswoman to gossip about his experience in hushed whispers. There was nothing stopping him from barging right into their midst and demanding answers - it'd serve Lilann right for her earlier antics - but preparing for the trip took first priority. He'd need food for the road; despite there being plentiful game in the forest, he doubted the caravan would settle in one place long enough to hunt for it. At best they'd get to eat whatever mystery creature had been harassing travellers in the area, and Ceolfric certainly wasn't going to go hungry until whatever it was made an appearance. If he had a week or so of free time, he'd find a deer or a boar to preserve, but with only a day to prepare, it seemed he'd have to subsist on whatever rations the local vendors stocked.

"If any of you want to pool some coin into a cask of ale for the road, I'm headed for the markets," Ceolfric offered as he made for the door. He didn't expect his idea to garner much support from this crowd, but there was always the chance that the group might be more fun than they let on. Unfortunately, he'd have to content himself on simple pleasures for the time being, or at least until he had a place to store valuables while he was gallivanting across the countryside in pursuit of fame and glory. Surely some farmer around here could be coerced (under threat of imminent bodily harm or otherwise) into letting Ceolfric use a corner of their shed for loot.

---

Kyreth had to smirk as he parted with Lilann. He definitely had one hell of a story for her, that was for sure. But that could wait; there was no time to waste if he wanted to make a good impression on his new… employer? Teacher? Whoever he was, he was going to great expense to afford a total stranger the opportunity of a lifetime, and Kyreth owed it to him to repay his show of good faith in kind.

To that end, Kyreth searched the room for a head of blonde hair, and approached the highborn eleven woman, politely clearing his throat.

“Excuse me, Miss… Eila?” he asked, “Thank you again for lending me your cloak, and… or, I’m sorry, I hate to impose, but could I— ah.” Kyreth cursed his inexperience with highborn folk as he tried to string together a polite request. His newly-freed tail curled around his leg in discomfort, much the same way a normal person might wring their hands. Goodness, was it by Selene’s grace alone that he made it through his encounter with Lord Mystralath without making this much a fool of himself, or he was that much less prepared to face this friendly rich lady than he was to face a potential execution?

At long last, he managed to force out a full sentence. “Would it be possible for me to return it to you later tonight?”

Eila gave Kyreth a polite smile as he approached her, mentally biting her tongue. She had a myriad of questions begging to be asked, but it wouldn’t do to bombard the poor thing so soon after what must have been a stressful meeting. His struggle to speak to her was a little concerning–he must have been shaking like a leaf the entire time with Lord Mystralath!--but she patiently waited for him to finish.

Letting out a polite chuckle, she waved him off. “Why not take it for yourself? The color suits you better than I,”she told him.

Kyreth’s eyebrows shot up, and he immediately shook his head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t - I mean, thank you for your generosity, but I only need it for the afternoon. The Lord asked me to run some errands for him…”

He trailed off as he noticed the look on Eila’s face, polite but clearly unimpressed. She wasn’t going to budge on this, was she?

“Okay,” he sighed. Defeated, Kyreth conceded the cloak, but still pulled at the clasp holding it closed. It was a fine piece of jewelry on its own, a little gold bird with gemstones for feathers, and it was certainly too expensive for him to let Eila part with so casually. He unpinned it with excessive care and offered it to Eila. “At least take this back, then. I can’t keep this.”

Looking down at the all-too-familiar bird, Eila held back an earned ‘tut’ on her part. The gemstones brought a subtle elegance to the cloak, though she supposed he may have thought it too girlish on his part. Even her father often opted to use clasps without gemstones. Still, Eila thought that he should keep it.

“It’ll be harder to keep the cloak close to you without the clasp,” she pointed out.

“I’ll find a way,” Kyreth insisted. “There’s a button on my old cloak I can sew on, it’s no problem. I just— I cant keep this. People will think I stole it, and the guards in Soft Haven will be all over me.” After considering his options for a second, he gently took Eila’s hand, pressing the clasp into her palm and closing her fingers around it. He gave her a pleading look. “Please.”

Sew?! Into such dense wool?! No, no, no, the button wouldn’t last a week, he would be in a constant battle of string and button and material! Eila did her best not to look alarmed, albeit a sudden flash of amber struck her eyes. She let out what she hoped as a polite laugh, her other hand patting his. She had to salvage this without further alienating the boy.

Clearing her throat, she gently took the clasp without argument–though that didn’t mean she was going to let him get away just yet. “I am afraid a button would struggle to hold things together,” she said gently. “You’ll need a clasp.” Her sentence was insistent on that point. “You mentioned errands, did you not? I am sure we can find something simple in the market that will suit your tastes.”

Kyreth was a little jarred when the woman’s eyes changed colour, but he was even more jarred when she patted his hand after finally capitulating to his offer. A brief sadness swept over him as he realized the gesture reminded him of something Berta might do, but it was gone as quickly as it came after Eila spoke.

Kyreth had to confess some shame; unconsciously, he discovered he'd been using some old manipulation tactics he learned as a child to get Eila to see things his way. The habit was hard to shake off. But she was throwing it right back! If not for her obvious good breeding, he would have wondered if she grew up in Buscon, too.

He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with her offer but also understanding that refusing wasn't really an option. With that in mind, he had an idea. He wouldn't normally want to impose, but if she was set on helping him, then he might as well make the best of it. “You really don't need to do that,” he said, “but… if you insist, then would you mind helping me a little in town? The merchants might be a little friendlier if I'm with someone… reputable.”

Perfect. The pair could shop, she could ask questions of curiosity without arousing too much suspicion, and she would save her old cloak the shame of sporting a button. Everyone would win! Eila clapped her hands together, all too pleased with Kyreth’s suggestion. She needed to navigate this as carefully as possible; Kyreth may have trembled like a leaf in the wind, but he was acutely aware of the state of things.

Of course, in the back of her mind, she hadn’t given much thought to the whole Tainted business. There were a myriad of horror stories and the occasional report on one having mugged a merchant or some other, but she supposed that Kyreth’s nature seemed to go opposite the rumor. It was like meeting a bear for the first time and finding it afraid of you instead of vice versa–wholly unexpected. It helped that he didn’t appear the same as the other Tainted she had encountered; his features were softer, kinder, more fearful than arrogant or frightening.

Putting those thoughts aside, she replied, “I am happy to be of service. We can leave right away, unless you have other business here?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Kyreth added insistently, giving Eila a chance to change her mind. It occurred to him that the air of naivete he was sensing on the woman might mean she didn’t understand the full extent of what he was asking her to do. “It can cause… issues for people like you to be seen with a Tainted. I don’t want to ruin your reputation in a new place.”

The quieter the reputation, the better it would be for her, she supposed. After a moment, however, she realized what he meant. Well, being seen with a Tainted couldn’t be the worst thing, could it?

Nonetheless, Eila waved his concerns away. “The only thing merchants care for is gold. Everything else is secondary,” She informed him. “I assure you, you have nothing to fear.”

Kyreth bit back a groan; it turned out his suspicion was correct. Dammit, what was he going to do now? The part of his brain that still lived in the Dregs told him to let her have her delusion and go with it; having her around would probably make his job a lot easier. But the honest part he was trying to cultivate told him that taking advantage of her status to her detriment was wrong and that he should break off their little excursion now, before he had the chance to taint her reputation for the worse.

And then again, just like with Berta and her fence, Eila seemed quite set on this task. It would probably upset her to take back his request now without fully understanding why he was doing it. And while he could justify upsetting her in the moment to save her the more serious damage to her reputation later, he doubted he could convince her of the problem until she saw it for herself.

Kyreth rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with his options, until he finally decided. “Fine,” he conceded, “but don’t hesitate to change your mind. I won’t be insulted, I promise.” She would just have to learn through experience; she’d probably understand what she got into the first time a shopkeep stopped him at the door, and decide better of associating with him.

Several thoughts ran through Ermes's mind. From turning around and biting Cerrics hand, to summoning skeletal hands to remove his from his hair, to simply stabbing him in the gut. None of these however would be seen too kindly, and he was certain an act of aggression, no matter how warranted, would get him swiftly removed from the guilds halls. Ermes ducked low, pulling himself from Cerrics grasp as he backed away a few paces before giving Aleka some attention, keeping sure that his boisterous counterpart was within his periphery.

They were asked to inform the guild of what to do with their belongings if they were to die, and frankly Ermes didn't know how to answer that. Ideally he wouldn't die. Finding someway to transcend it so that he'd never have to be faced with such a choice. However, if he were to be struck down mortally, he supposed he didn't have much to his name and no one to give them to. Kyreth came down the steps, holding a tome in hand that he'd handed off towards Aleka before being swiftly snatched aside by the bard. Again they held their whispered council and it simply gave Ermes an itch to want to eavesdrop. He didn't know why but there was something about those two consistently huddling together that made him wish to know more.

Ceolfric asked for handouts and Ermes ceremoniously turned his pockets inside out and gave the man a shrug before pushing them back in. "If I had the coin for a casket of Ale I wouldn't exactly be looking for work now would I?" There was an invisible dumbass tacked on to the end there. His hands were once again placed within his pockets as he was about to leave the hall when he noticed the interaction between Eila and Kyreth. The lumbering man was an idiot, but had gotten the noble's attention. He rolled his eyes at himself before sighing and making his way to the pair, holding out his hand as he concentrated his powers and created a metal clasp for the cloak. "It won't last you long. Perhaps two turns of a glass as I didn't imbue much of my energy into it. But at least you won't be fighting the cloak while attempting to shop around for the time being." He gave Kyreth a leveled look that appeared vaguely threatening though there was no real threat behind any of his words or actions. Ermes simply just wasn't good at expressing his emotions, leading to some mixed facial expressions at times. "Seems we're all heading to town. But I've got business to attend to alone." and with that he left.

---

Making the trip back to Soft Haven was a far more peaceful affair without the company, only the sounds of fauna and the distant music growing in volume the further away from the Bounty House one traveled. It wasn’t long before the forest gave way to a new road and a sharp left offered a view of the battlements surrounding the once bustling town. Faded banners hung off the walls where a few bored looking soldiers kept conversation with one another,only the occasional glance offered to the few carts trodding their way through the northern gate. The three soldiers on the ground were far more alert, and clearly greener than those above, as they scanned every cart, said hello to every regular traveler they met, but still found little and less to actually stop anyone from passing through.

Once a bustling center of commerce with an expansive open air market and numerous shops facing the market square with exotic delicacies unusual for a landlocked city, the toll a change in the primary trade route took was worn into every nook and cranny. Empty buildings with dirty, gritty windows counted more than the occupied ones, though even many of those barely boasted more than a few common wares in the windows. The market square, loud and bustling still, hid large empty patches of broken and cracked cobblestone and poor souls begging for a copper or two for their daily bread could be found anywhere someone looked. Soft Haven’s fall from grace was evident in dinged signs, peeling paint, threadbare clothes, and tired, weary eyes hidden behind bright smiles or grit teeth. Only those with strong connections to the red fern farms escape the fall and everyone else only clung to fading hope they too would be blessed.

Ceolfric kept one hand on the pommel of his sword throughout the walk to town and only removed it once he’d safely crossed the threshold of the gates. That incessant buzzing had returned, little motes of aether that encircled him ever more oppressively the deeper he ventured into the city. While not quite worrisome - he stood as a lion amongst lambs here, after all - the pervasive feeling that someone was behind him at all times posed to be more of a distraction than Ceolfric would like. The bandit powered through the streets with intent, pausing only to peer over his shoulder every so often and confirm that the sea of presences he felt were simply townsfolk going about their day and not anyone deliberately tailing him.

With an aggravated grunt that earned him a wary stare from a passerby, Ceolfric turned back to the situation at hand. At least finding a provisioner would be simpler than he thought in this hollow shell of a town. All the peddlers of pointless frivolities would’ve surely gone out of business unless the local gentry kept them afloat by eccentricity alone. Honestly, the establishment of the Bounty House was a brilliant move; not because it would revitalize the economy, but to draw in enough aetherborn to prevent the nearest enterprising warband from stealing the realm’s entire red fern supply out from under a few starving peasants’ noses.

Several small children stared at Ceolfric's sword as he passed, pausing in the game of tag they played through the market patrons' legs as the haggle and bartered for the variety of everyday foods and goods. The Soft Haven Mercantile just off to the side of the western gate, its trough and railing worn from years of travels tying their horses for a small fee on the way into town. A few older folk sat on its covered porch and chatted while they watched people meander to and fro and a couple of city guards marched out with a small lockbox.

Across from it, The Hawthorne Apothecary stood in all its crooked glory. It's first floor boasted creeping vines and flowering plants behind tall windows were lights seemed to speckle in the windows. Above it, there was only a single window with it's curtains shut tight but a box full of small sprouting herbs set beneath it. Finally, the slapdash third story seemed likely to topple onto the empty shop next door with little more than a stiff breeze despite the brick chimney poking through its roof.

Ceolfric eyed the apothecary door from across the road with something akin to disdain in his gaze. That was not the hall of a storied warrior, no matter how decrepit she may have grown. He briefly considered that he had the place confused - it wouldn’t have been a surprise to see multiple apothecaries here with how readily they had access to ingredients - but the name on the door certainly matched the woman he’d been told to look for. Lilann truly had spun him a string of nonsense.

But that was a concern for later, a frivolity he could entertain at his leisure. Turning away, he made for the other store and swallowed the tiniest bit of his pride to shift out of the way of the incoming guards as they made their exit. Their cargo caught his notice, another idle curiosity to mull over as he went about his actual business. What could a common provisioner have to offer the local guardsmen that needed to be stored in a locked container? Unless they had an extortion ring going, in which case he had to give props to their brazenness.

The bandit offered little more than a glance to the porch-dwellers as he made his way inside. Catching eyes was tolerable, turning heads was not. Unnecessary interaction with townsfolk before he’d established himself was a needless risk.

The inside of the Mercantile was not unsurprising, long and rickety shelves stuffed with all manner of supplies. A few buckets had toppled over recently and found themselves at a stop halfway across the uneven floor, tea sat in a neat pile on top of a glass case displaying smoking pipes carved out of bone, wood, and any number of common materials. The sound of pattering feet approached the front as a little boy whipped around the corner, screeching in delight as an older, portly woman huffed as she chased him. A wimple covered all but her face, where heavy laugh lines and deep crows feet highlighted her features. She wore a simple red linen gown under a brown, sleeveless tunic. She snatched up the child as they rounded the corner.

"Phillip, you're going to find yourself in trouble if you keep skittering about like a rabbit." She chastised the giggling boy, no older than 2. She turned her attention to the new-comer, cocked her head curiously. "Well, well, well. Haven't seen your face around here before. I'm Juliethe Coggins, owner of the Mercantile. What can we do you for, stranger? Need something to repair your saddle, feed for your horse, a bit of rope for your trip across the continent?"

“Not quite,” Ceolfric offered curtly. He didn’t begrudge her the question; if he were wealthy enough to own a horse, he’d be scrambling to disembark the sinking ship that was Soft Haven too. “I need food for the road. Supposed to be a ten day trip.” The bandit let his eyes wander at last, avoiding the child on principle. Last thing he needed was to spook this lady’s son and upset her, she’d probably raise prices just for the inconvenience. The entire concept of trading felt foreign to him; even on the rare occasions Ceolfric didn’t simply take what he desired and cut down anyone that tried to stop him, he certainly never attended to the bartering personally. He had lackeys for that.

"Easy enough, traveller. Salted beef and some hardback ought to keep your belly full." She nodded at the request, bustling her way around the counter to put the child down, where small wooden blocks with animals carved into them grabbed his attention momentarily, before pulling down two large wooden containers off a shelf and hauling them to the counter. She placed them next to the scale and teas and popped them both open, revealing the dried meat and hard, dense biscuits already cut into reasonably sized pieces.

"On your way to Wilree? The Wastes take a bit more than that to get to and can't think of nothing interesting close enough than that." Juliethe chatted as she weighed out the meat and biscuit, wrapping them in meal sized parcels and leaving them to the side. "These'll run you a copper a day, a little more if you're interested in some dried plum along with them."

Ceolfric’s eyes narrowed warily for a brief moment. Didn’t this woman know curiosity killed the cat? He had no idea how secretive this delivery was supposed to be, but he certainly didn’t need some blabbermouth tipping off every would-be highwayman in Soft Haven that high value cargo would be departing soon. No, no; the question was innocent, she might even have a traveller’s rumor or two to share. It couldn’t hurt to glean more information from the locals, even if he didn’t trust a soul in this town yet.

Besides, she’d learn the price of treachery very quickly when he filleted her baby like a trout.

“Mhmm,” He finally hummed in affirmation, “Don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about the beast attacks on the road?” Ceolfric humored the woman while he fished the requested copper out. It was quite the affair to retrieve, with his coinpurse being tucked away inside his jacket rather than dangling from his belt for any starveling cutpurse to salivate over. Once he’d finally wrangled his gambeson open and counted out the coin, he stuffed it pointedly back inside.

"Oh Gods, yes! Poor Rolen, got caught in a rainstorm barely a week past on his way into town from his uncle's farm. Came stumbling in through my doors like a walking corpse, babbling away in tongues." She made a brief gesture, a prayer to Lady Azaiza. "City guard came storming in behind him, wrapped him up lickity split, and vanished before I could call for Agitha." She gathered up the coin and in its place, stacks the portioned rations, leaning forward and lowering her voice.

"Official story was he died of a festering wound but I know my eyes saw the rot in that shoulder. Bet they had to put him down before he spread it." She finished stacking and put her finger to her lips. "But old Juliethe didn't say nothing, you hear?

Ceolfric paused his fiddling with his garments as the woman spoke, perplexion overcoming his face. That did not sound like a mere animal, and it certainly wouldn’t have necessitated a cover-up if it were. The question remained, to what end? What did the city have to gain from allowing horrors to prowl their woods unknown and uncontested? If they were fearful of diverting caravan traffic even further, they should simply handle the issue, not foster more rumors with suspicious disappearances.

The men of the south made less and less sense to him with each moment.

“Of course. I heard nothing,” He mumbled as he slung his pack off his back and began loading the provisions from the counter inside. Seems he’d have reason to speak with Agitha after all, if only to learn what she knew of the situation. “And thank you.”

"Be careful out there, traveler. Don't go looking for trouble now you know! Juliethe cautioned but offered him a smile as her child started pulling at her dress. "Don't be shy, come around whenever you need something. Say bye to the man, Phillip." Now in her arms, Phillip waved at Ceolfric before demanding to be put down again.

Ceolfric wasn’t looking for it, but the brigand had the strangest feeling it’d find him nevertheless. He raised a hand unenthusiastically in response to the child’s farewell, if only because the woman had provided him with more than he’d expected and it wouldn’t do to disrespect her kin after that. After hiking his pack back up onto his shoulders, he made for the door just as determinedly as he entered. With the essentials secured, Ceolfric would have ample time for investigation, though it was a bit irritating that he had no leads on anyone that definitively knew anything. He certainly couldn’t go around enthralling guardsmen until he found one authorized to know what the hell they were covering up.

Which meant he’d have to talk to the woman across the street. One didn’t inhabit a town with a power like theirs and not become privy to every dirty little secret of the populace. Unfortunately, one also learned to keep their mouth shut about said secrets, lest she be run out of town by a mob of scorned citizens.

The bandit made his way to the apothecary with a forceful stride, probably appearing to the passing onlooker that he intended to kick down Agitha’s door with sword in hand rather than ask her a few polite questions.

The apothecary was much the same inside as it was out, warm toned wooden shelves host to a myriad of plants, bottles of dried herbs, and polyjuices and ointments. A single set of wooden stairs broke the long cabinets on the right wall, leading up to a second story hidden behind a locked door and to the right of the counter at the back, a strange platform with various ropes and sandbags suspended around it was carved into a small alcove in the wall. However, the spots of light visible from the outside were not candles or mirrors but rather crystals hovering through the store, swaying in a phantom breeze. Magical items were a rarity even with so much dedicated study on aether and its secrets; even one of these would cost a fortune, much less the ten that hovered in the shop.

The store had a few customers browsing, one woman pulling a small vial with indecipherable script scrawled in tiny, messy script close to her eyes as she squinted at it. Beyond them, an older halfling woman sat at the counter, white hair cut short and tipped ears hinting to some elven lingerie in her blood. A steaming cup of tea sat at her elbow while she rested her head in her palm, flipping pages of a small book at the counter. As the tiny bell above the door announced the arrival of a new customer, the woman merely glanced up, gave Ceolfric a quick up and down, and then let out a heavy sigh and tucked her book away, opting instead to pick up her tea with both hands.

Well, she certainly sized him up quickly.

Ceolfric approached the counter without even a hint of subtlety, his brow arched and expression carefully neutral. Though it pained him, he had to regard her with all the respect and wariness that he would a person of actual rank, at least until he determined whether she’d be an asset to him or not.

“Agitha Hawthorne, I presume?” He questioned, more out of politeness than curiosity. “The Bounty House bade me seek you out. I’d like to speak at your earliest convenience.” Leaving the ‘or I’ll drag you out into the street by your hair until you do’ unvoiced was probably in his best interest, especially when her shop’s floating light show might very well be weaponized at her whim.

“You look like a feral goblin and yet you speak like an educated brat.” Agitha snorted in amusement. “Fascinating trick that Mystralath pulled. Why would a noble send a groomed mutt after me?”

One of Ceolfric’s nostrils flared at the comment, though he quickly restrained himself. The only one that looked like a goblin here was this hag before him. She was either very sure of herself or too deluded by the comforts of civility to believe he could harm her. And unfortunately, he had to assume the former.

“I’m not on any errands for the lord, I’m an animas aetherborn and I’m told you’re the expert on that subject around here.” He threw a furtive glance around the room toward the other customers before continuing, “And I’d like to discuss a few rumors that may be pertinent to my next job, if you’d care to indulge me.”

“Very well, mutt. I’ll deign to indulge your curiosity for a moment.” Agitha raised her voice, smacking her hand on the counter. “You lousy lot of loiterers, get out of my shop! You can hide from your wives, children, or whatever other problems you bred into your own lives later.” Despite the harshness of her words, the few people inside dutifully put their things back and shuffled out of the shop without any protest, the tinkling of the bell announcing the last departure.

“Now before you start yapping and howling, let’s set a ground rule. You don’t try and fuck with me or my ward, I won’t destroy your fragile sense of identity and put in whatever the fuck I feel like in your head. As long as we respect that, we’ll get along swimmingly.” Agitha took a sip and propped her chin up on her hands with a cocky, sly smile. “Now what rumors could a new mutt in town be possibly interested in already?”

Ceolfric’s gaze once again trailed back to follow the group of patrons as they exited. Turning his attention back to Agitha, he rolled his eyes. If she preferred to dispense with the pleasantries, he certainly wasn’t going to protest.

“Had I any interest in burning this soon-to-be shantytown to the ground, I’d already be lighting torches. I’m not in the business of hindering my own prosperity, and given that I’m employed hardly an afternoon stroll from the gates, I think we can both agree that I don’t need to be collecting enemies in Soft Haven.” He drummed his fingers on the counter in irritation before composing himself with a huff. “That aside, my next contract entails passage through an area known as of late for strange beast attacks. Juliethe across the way spun me a tale of some unfortunate traveler who showed up with a strange injury and the guard whisked him away. I figured you might be more knowledgeable in the more arcane circumstances of the incident.”

Agitha regarded Ceolfric with equal parts surprise and disbelief before dissolving into hysterical laughter, an inelegant sound that faintly resembled the bray of a donkey and a raging fire. "You expect me to tell you…" She managed to wheeze between bouts of laughter. It took her a moment to compose herself, blotting away the tears with a handkerchief she whipped out from under the counter. "Even if I knew something, Mutt, why in Melenar's name would I tell youI, some random ass traveler who just blew into town?"

“Couldn’t hurt to ask,” Ceolfric offered in lieu of the threats he would’ve preferred to make, “If you don’t intend to tell me, I can’t very well force you to without making a liar of myself, now can I? It’ll die if it crosses my path regardless.” He wasn’t sure if she was being cagey to fuck with him or because he’d stumbled onto something serious, but he certainly wouldn’t reduce himself to begging for an answer.

"Ha! I can appreciate a cock sure attitude. Juliethe is right. Bastard got the rot in his shoulder and by the next morning, his corpse was making passes at one of the guards' faces. Wasn't a pretty sight." Agitha grimaced at the memory. "One of the higher ups is due for a promotion. A commotion like this could set him back a few years, at best. Better to hide it until the jackass is behind a desk. Cowards, all of them."

"As for the arcane technicalities, I ain't got shit. Not my specialization. The aether is all fucked up but it could be demons, a fluke, some dumbest aetherborn meddling with shit they don't understand. Whatever it is, the bastard's big with lots of teeth and those teeth pass the Rot through 'em.

The aggression left Ceolfric’s stance as he received his answer and he casually shifted his weight to one leg in consideration. There was the context he was lacking, but it left him in much the same position as he’d been before. He couldn’t let the thing bite him - not that he’d have been open to the idea before anyway - and he now knew that it certainly wasn’t a mere animal.

“That’ll suffice, the nuances would’ve probably gone over my head anyway. Thank you.” It was hard to leave any venom out of his words, but the woman had, to her credit, given him what he wanted. He found it hard to believe Aleka considered he might want to spend any extraordinary amount of time with Agitha, let alone learn from her. “I take it the Aleka doesn’t make it a habit to send wayward aetherborn your way, given my warm reception.”

"It'd be easier to say if I knew an Aleka but that's a safe bet." Agitha agreed easily, sipping again a her tea. "Pft, I was downright pleasant, brat. I'd have turned your whiney ass right out of my shop if I didn't think you were worth my time. Still debating it, honestly. Been a while since any aetherborn had the balls to cross my threshold so I thought I'd give you a chance."

"But your Aleka knew what he was talking about. In Othard and across the Suelene Isles, I am the best." Agitha looked him up and down again. "Can't say I've met many of our kind running odd jobs. The siren call of our power is hard to resist. What's the angle, mutt?"

“He’s the,” Ceolfric made a vague gesticulation, as if trying to recall some pointless tidbit of information, “Verazian secretary down at the Bounty House. He was rattling off potential mentors to someone else and pointed me in your direction.” As tempting as it was to take her suggestion and walk out the door with the information he came for, he certainly wasn’t going to look like he’d been cowed by a tiny old woman.

He wasn’t too keen on explaining his ‘angle’ to her or anyone else, for that matter, but hiding his motives would only invite suspicion and he wasn’t entirely certain if this woman could detect whether or not he was lying yet.

“My angle is that men of violence often perish prematurely when they bite off more than they can chew. I used to rob carts and pillage hamlets for a living, that doesn’t exactly open avenues for whispering in the ears of the powerful. I’ll not content myself with a band of ruffians wrapped around my little finger when I could be a king.” Brown-nosing with the Mystraleths certainly sounded more productive than hoping a warlord of substance popped up in Dranir and weaseling his way into his inner circle, in any case. “Could I not ask you the same question? Shopkeeping seems a bit beneath ‘the best’.”

Agitha cackled at the question. "I've had my fill of the world, mutt. I've traveled the breadth of Othard, sailed all the Suelene Isles, stared death and hell in the face and came out victorious. I earned my rest and I'll rest my bones wherever the hell I damn please. At the end of the day, I love alchemy and opening up shop in the biggest red fern supplier in Finnagund gives me access to all the material I could ever want." Agitha shrugged, a bitter twist to her mouth. "A century is a long time to wander, mutt. Play your games, have your fun, but find where you want to die early and set up shop when your bones give out." Agitha lapsed into a contemplative silence as she stared as Ceolfric.

"Bah, look what you've done. Turned me into some melodramatic old crone." Agitha snapped as she shook herself out of it, fixing Ceolfric with a serious look. "Careful of your Verazian. That Gods forsaken country only let out those willing to lick their superiors' boots and what's been filtering through the vines ain't nothing worth tangling with."

Ceolfric would die in an opulent palace surrounded by the mounted heads of his enemies, were it up to him. One wanders when they have a destination to seek; he wasn’t some common thrill seeker. But her half-senile words of wisdom were less important than her insight into the Verazians. Sure, Ceolfric considered the man strange at best, but never considered he’d be anything more than harmless. Was he a spy? Did he hide some ulterior motive behind that monotone veneer? Ceolfric had been so busy trying to get a read on Cerric, he hadn’t considered the danger posed to him in other directions.

The brigand’s jaw worked contemplatively as he met Agitha’s gaze, then he gave her a curt nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Ousting a foreign conspiracy would certainly curry favor with the crown, but even if Aleka had no grand ambitions, Ceolfric could at least watch his own ass. “This wasn’t the waste of time I figured it would be, you have my gratitude.”

"So glad we could see eye to eye, mutt." Agitha drawled sarcastically with a dismissive gesture. "Though if your coin purse feels a little empty, I wouldn't mind paying for one of the bastard's teeth, if you have what it takes to slay it."

“You’ll be the first to know,” Ceolfric muttered dismissively as he turned for the door. Maybe he could extort some hush money out of the guard in lieu of a bounty too, if the monster was meant to be kept under wraps. If not, there was always the option to parade the beast’s head through the streets and make sure every traveller in the city knew the Bandit Prince of Dranir saved their sorry asses. It would certainly make him look like a favorable hire.

---

Kyreth and Eila were making their way to the door when a short, shadowy presence appeared alongside them, proffering a small metal pin in his outstretched hand. Kyreth glanced quizzically between the offering and the kid himself - what was it… Ermes - not entire sure how to respond.

“Um…” he hesitated a moment before accepting the pin, the offeror of which didn’t seem happy about the whole ordeal. “Thank you..?” Kyreth murmured, but it wasn’t clear the kid heard him as he swiftly took his leave. Goodness, what was up with this town?

He examined the pin for a moment before slipping it into his pocket and shrugging, hoping it wasn’t some kind of conjured trap that was going to blow up in his face later. The kid’s concern struck him as odd - he’d worn his cloak without a closure plenty of times when he didn’t have the chance to reattach the button and it rarely gave him much issue - but it would be rude to look a gift horse in the mouth, even one that didn’t seem to be given altogether willingly.

“Well then…” he turned to Eila with a shrug and the two took their own leave, making their way down the same forest path toward Soft Haven.

It was fully day by then, and sunlight streamed with greater force between the boughs of the Snakeburrow Woods as the pair picked their way down the pathway. Kyreth was typically quiet, and Eila kept her counsel as well, although it didn’t look like it was very much… on purpose. More than once she looked very deliberately to Kyreth with that same expectant smile, as if waiting for him to start a conversation she was desperate to promulgate. Was that how the highborn operated, ladies letting men initiate conversation? Whatever it was, Kyreth didn’t bite; he felt a little bad about it, but he hadn’t the first clue what to say.

Luckily, the trip down felt a lot shorter than it had going up (of course, that was helped by the lack of a sword at his back, and somehow they hadn’t run into any of the others on the way back down the hill) and it wasn’t very long until they made it back to the walls of Soft Haven.

Well, almost. Kyreth stopped the two of them in their tracks before they cleared the tree line.

“Sorry, hang on just one second--” he excused himself, realizing with horror that he’d forgotten to conceal his tail before leaving the Bounty House. With the self-conscious haste of someone realizing they were indecently exposed, Kyreth quickly tucked his tail away under his shirt once more, and checked his hood for good measure, adjusting the cloak over his shoulders. Goodness, it was so nicely made it didn’t even need much fiddling, a stark contrast to the glorified tarp he’d been wearing before. He didn’t bother with the pin Ermes gave him; the kid said it wouldn’t last long, and he’d rather not rely on it just to have it fall apart in the middle of a transaction.

“Okay,” Kyreth took a deep breath, sweeping his gaze over the Soft Haven walls from behind the trees. The graveyard was visible, and busier than before; mourners mingled about and those brightly dressed gravetenders wandered the yard, cleaning gravestones and praying with visitors. He eyed them warily, but what garnered more attention were the jagged ruts in the grass where he and Lilann had slept the night prior, marginally cleaned up but still very much there. He grimaced at the sight of them; better to keep his distance from the graveyard lest he be recognized as a vandal.

He took another breath, steeling himself for a nerve-wracking walk to the gates, but his feet didn’t move, stubbornly planting in the earth. “Okay…”

Eila had hoped Kyreth would regale her with the tale of the meeting with Lord Mystralath, but unfortunately, she was not so lucky. Was it out of politeness? Confidentiality? Did he distrust her? Perhaps their differences had created a wide gap between them such that he may not have felt comfortable confiding in her. She would need to correct that! She was beyond trustworthy! Why wouldn’t he tell her?!

She had to mentally berate herself. Just because she was dying to know what happened didn’t mean she had to forget her manners! She quietly took in a breath to calm herself and relax her smile a touch. The easiest solution would be to ask. However, before she could, they came to a halt. Eila looked around, a little confused.

“...is…is this where Lord Mystralath has instructed you to go…?” She asked him.

Kyreth looked over at Eila’s voice in surprise, having almost forgotten she was there. At once he was embarrassed and frustrated, realizing how much of a fool he was making of himself. “Oh, no, sorry, it’s just…”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his self-consciousness evident. “Sorry,” he repeated, more intentionally this time. “No, I have to go to the market in Soft Haven. It’s just…”

He trailed off as his eyes were drawn back to the graveyard, the tenders, and the claw marks in the ground. A shiver went up his spine. “...Graveyards make me uneasy, that’s all. Let’s make a wide berth on the way to the gate, shall we?”

Eila looked from Kyreth to the graveyard, a little confused. While she wanted to question it, she figured protesting or going against it would make him less likely to open up to her. Instead, she gave him a small nod. Quietly following him as they made their alternate route, she wondered if she would benefit from some directness.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “So…Lord Mystralath must have some trust in you to send you on these errands. It must be exciting for you!”

Surprised at the directness of the question, Kyreth didn’t respond immediately, taking a few more steps in contemplative silence. Maybe she was trying to distract him from his fake fear. But she made a good point; he was just as surprised as she must have been that Lord Mystralath, however eccentric, would trust a Tainted vagrant with not only his merchandise, but his very reputation.

“It’s… definitely unexpected,” he answered lamely, forcing a weak chuckle. “But I think he’s… testing me.”

A test. But why test a lowborn with whom Lord Mystralath has no connection to? It didn’t make much sense to Eila, but she supposed it meant that Kyreth was unsure himself. It could not have been due to his status as Tainted, otherwise Lilian would have likely been assigned these things as well. Wait, didn’t he say they were simply running errands…?

Eila slowly nodded. Not in understanding, though. “Testing you, or testing this place?” She frowned. “That lady, Vivian, was certainly hostile, and she was under his roof. Though, I suppose he may want to see how you bear. I can’t imagine why, you’ve come this far, haven’t you?”

Kyreth looked at Eila, finding no sarcasm or subterfuge in her expression. She seemed genuinely interested and ignorant in equal measure. Honestly, it was kind of nice when he got past the strangeness of it - apparently he found the only seeing woman in Othard who didn’t see his Tainted-ness as his defining feature.

She brought up a good point, though. Maybe Mystralath was testing this place. Maybe this really was all some game; Kyreth could see how the Lord of the land might find it fun to pluck up naive Tainted travelers and thrust them into public life just to watch them burn. Yeah, he could probably get a real laugh out of sending someone like Kyreth into a tailor’s shop demanding a brand new wardrobe and oh by the way, I also need a bottle of your most expensive wine for the road. A familiar ember of contempt began to burn in Kyreth’s belly as the pieces fell into place, realizing that it was much, much more likely that he was sent as some big inside joke rather than being taken on as an honest-to-gods apprentice. He felt like he was back home, getting sneered at by humans all over again and hoping their purses would be lighter and their backs a bit more crooked by the time they got to the end of the street.

And how funny that she’d say he’d “come this far” - he almost grimaced at the words. Yeah, he’d come very far, very very far indeed to escape accountability for setting a man’s livelihood on fire and leaving an old woman to fend for herself. Of course this was all a trick - he was probably being punished for Straithmoor after all, and this Lord Mystralath just liked to do things a bit more creatively than most.

Kyreth was ready to cast the Lord’s letter and ring into the brush and turn back when he felt a prickling in his extremities; it wasn’t something he consciously noticed before, but in that moment, it felt as alarming as fire licking at his skin. Was that the precursor to a fiery outburst?! He gasped, and stopped in his tracks, clasping his hands together in a white-knuckled grip. He dared not breathe, fearing any new movement would set off his newly-discovered latent magic until the prickling faded away.

“Ah…” he muttered, staring with wide eyes at his hands as he felt the heat of anger give way to clarity. Maybe the Lord did have ulterior motives - in fact, it seemed foolish to think a man so eccentric wouldn’t - but at the same time, Kyreth couldn’t deny the truth of his words. Whatever the Lord’s plans, he was right about one thing; Kyreth was an Aetherborn, and he played host to a volatile and dangerous power that needed containing. It was clear he couldn’t do it on his own, and the Lord’s concern was genuine enough to believe that he really did mean to do something about it.

“Sorry, I…” Kyreth murmured, realizing that he was probably freaking out his companion. He didn’t have a good excuse, so he chose to avoid making one. “He--the Lord claims to want to take me on as an apprentice,” he explained, resuming their trek toward the Soft Haven gates. “He said he wants to introduce me to the town. I’m sure that’s not the whole of it, but… I’m putting my faith in him for now.”

Goodness, Kyreth was very wrapped up in his own mind. He must have had some troubles with nobility. That, or he wasn’t sure who or what to trust. Eila was, however, pleased that he had opened up to her somewhat, satisfying her curiosity. Well, not really; the answer to one question led to a myriad of even more questions. Ah, the never-ending pursuit of knowledge applied even beyond magic and science. ‘Twas life.

“What an honor that must be,” Eila commented cheerfully. “I can understand the nervousness. Lord MysIforgothowtospellhisnamealready is renowned for being quite…eccentric. I believe it to be a mask to hide his true intentions, but I don’t see why he would harm you in any way.” That much was the truth. If he wanted to take on a Tainted apprentice, there was certainly a reason for it. Most likely a good one. Hopefully.

“Although, did you ask him why?” She asked, hoping to satiate more of her own curiosity.

Thinking back to the Lord’s answer when he asked that same question, Kyreth furrowed his brow. “He thinks I’m different from other apprentices he’s had before,” he replied, admitting a chuckle. “I’m sure that’s true. Maybe it’s for the novelty, I don’t know. But it’s better than the alternative, and I’d be a fool to turn it down.”

The two were nearing the Soft Haven gates by then, and Kyreth noticed the guards standing watch, a few on the tops of the walls and two at the gates. He was careful not to let them catch his looking, keeping his head forward and resisting the urge to pull his hood down even farther. Sometimes a lack of pupils was convenient, but he only hoped they didn’t look too closely as they passed by.

Unusually, Kyreth was fortunate; he and Eila weren’t the only people coming through the gate this morning, and the guards were busy with cart inspections. Keeping his eyes carefully forward, Kyreth held his breath as he noticed one of the younger guards give him a long look out of the corner of his eye. But Selene was working hard today, and the guard didn’t say anything, allowing the pair to pass by without issue.

Kyreth kept walking until they were well clear of the gate, nearing the middle of the market before he finally stopped, letting himself catch his breath and get his bearings. He scanned the market, taking note of the names of each building and considering his options. “Okay…”

Eila was openly looking around at people and their surroundings, though every so often, she’d observe Kyreth from the corner of her eye. His fearful reaction to…everything was curious.She wasn’t a fool, Tainted were forever painted as sinful creatures. But Kyreth himself was not vengeful, nor devious, nor shifty. To her knowledge. It was difficult to imagine him as a thief. Liliann, perhaps. But not Kyreth.

She gave him what she hoped as a moment to collect himself before deciding to address him again. “Okay!” She clapped her hands together once again. “Where to first?”

Once more, Kyreth was surprised by the voice rising up from beside him, so used was he to traveling alone. In fact, he struggled to think of another time he’d traveled with someone else, even so briefly; it would have had to be when he was a child and the orphanage sisters made them use a buddy system, and even then the pairs usually broke up as soon as the sisters were out of sight.

Back to the task at hand, Kyreth recounted his meeting with Lord Mystralath, tracing over the mantra he’d made to remember. Red Manes were cut with daggers, Hawthorne cures gold seal with salve and powdered bones well, and the White Lion drinks Sapphire Ambrosia. He spotted the Red Mane Forge near the Hawthorne Apothecary off to his right, and the White Lion shone bright against the backdrop of dreary, underkept buildings at the end of the square. And he also needed to order clothes from the Six Spools, which sat alone on the opposite side of the square. Hmm…

His normal procedure was to start at the end of the market and work his way back to the entrance - less distance to cover fully laden with goods, more difficult to steal from. A shopper with his hands full was an easy target, and that he did not want to be. But he also anticipated he’d need to spend more time in the clothier’s than anywhere else. The Lord had hinted to him about completing the tasks in the “correct order”, but Kyreth couldn’t discern any special significance to any of them; his normal method had the best chance of getting the Lord’s merchandise safely back to him, so that was what he’d go with.

“Alright,” Kyreth finally said, turning toward the Six Spools. It was an ugly, squat little thing, looking like it was primed to melt into the ground, but it betrayed itself with a fine coat displayed in the window. “I have business with the Six Spools first. I think that will take the longest, too. Of course, uh…” he let out a shy chuckle. “I’ve never ordered anything from such a place, so I hope the letter the Lord gave me will cover everything they need…”

“Anyway,” he added quickly, looking to Eila, “shall we?”

There was no holding back the small squeal of excitement from Eila, though she quickly recovered. Oh, to have the poor boy get out of those rags was truly a blessing from the goddess herself! And maybe she liked dressing up. She did click her tongue a touch as she considered the proper response. The last thing she wanted was for him to withdraw back into his shell. Instead of taking the lead, she needed to play more of a supporting role, she felt.

“Of course, lead the way,” She encouraged him.

Eila looked like she just heard the best news of her day, eliciting a surprised look from Kyreth, but she didn’t explain. Fair enough. She seemed content to let him take the lead, so lead he did, the pair crossing the market square.

The market had a strange air to it, starkly different from Buscon. Pounded by weather and friction with people of all types crammed together, Buscon demanded a certain sturdiness of its people, a harsh and unforgiving nature suitable for pushing through shoulder-to-shoulder crowds and fending off thieves and others with ill intent at every corner. No time was wasted; everyone had to be somewhere now, and woe betide anyone who got in their way. Soft Haven, on the other hand, flowed more slowly. There were people, of course - though perhaps fewer than the town was made for, given how the grandeur of the market clashed with the comparative sparseness of the streets - but they came and went more calmly, still going somewhere, but not like the Lady was on their heels.

Kyreth wove through the thin crowd with grace, but was the first to concede his path to another; as such, they took a winding path to the doorway of the Six Spools. The rundown exterior was strangely inviting; Kyreth was much nervous to darken the threshold of the White Lion when the time came, but the Six Spools could almost fit in in the Dregs, if not for the finery in the window.

He took a breath before touching the door, straightening his new cloak and forcing himself to stand straight. If he slunk in like he was frightened, he’d look suspicious right off the bat - no, he was there on business for the Lord of this land. He had just as much right to go in as anyone else. He glanced at Eila, who was beaming with the look of a master egging on her student, and opened the door.

The door creaked on its hinges as it opened, swinging crookedly in as Kyreth ducked his head under the door frame, careful to keep his hood in place. He held the door for Eila before calling, “Um, hello?”

The faint ringing of a bell accompanied the pair as they entered. Richly colored cut fabric draped over long cords of rope affixed from the ceiling. Bolts of cloth and drawers of ribbon littered the left wall, while two long tables took up the rest of the space. A red headed young woman, with simple clothes and homely features, sat cross-legged on one and was carefully shaping cloth into a garment. An older, portly man with a light red surcoat over a black tunic paused the movement of his shears and fixed the newcomers with beady, brown eyes.

"Afternoon, afternoon!" He boomed, his voice bouncing around with all the gentleness of a landslide. "Looking for the latest Wilree fashion or just a sturdy cloak for your travels?"

Kyreth flinched at the sudden, booming voice; he’d been distracted admiring the fabric hanging all over the place. The inside of the shop looked nothing like the outside, and if not for the obvious trappings of a clothier Kyreth might have thought they’d walked into the wrong shop.

The shopkeeper welcomed them without a hint of trepidation; it was hard to tell if that was because he took no issue with a Tainted customer or because he didn’t yet know what he was dealing with, but Kyreth would take it either way.

“Afternoon,” he greeted in return, reaching under his cloak for the letter in his shirt pocket. “I think I have, um, a bit more for you today--” he stumbled right out the gate, and rather than elaborate, produced the letter and offered it to the shopkeeper.

“Sorry - I’m here on behalf of my employer, Lord Mystralath,” he started over. He left the signet ring in his pocket for now; he’d bring it out if they disbelieved his letter. “He’d like to order a number of things from you - um, for me. I’m Kyreth Bertasson, by the way. Nice to meet you.” He offered the shopkeep a close-lipped smile, obviously on unfamiliar turf. “It’s all in the letter, there.”

"Darvin Evanwood, master of the Six Spools." Darvin introduced himself, taking the letter cautiously. He didn't bother hiding his suspicion at the Mystralath name; in fact, he almost made it a point to show how he eyed Kyreth's clothes. Darvin flipped the letter, inspecting the wax seal for a long moment. The girl had paused in her work, tense as she inspected his hood and his eyes. The material she had been shaping was all but abandoned as she slid onto the floor.

"You expect me to believe a Mystralath keeps a Tainted on retainer? Ha!" Darvin didn't bother opening it, the letter left unopened on the cutting table. "You'd best find another fool's eyes to pull the wool over. It'd be in your best interest to scurry away before I have Kethra call the guards on you." He turned to address Eila instead, giving her a short bow.

"Apologies for the unpleasantness, we'll have him removed shortly. Is there anything particular you need today?" Darvin spoke pleasantly, having already written Kyreth off as dealt with.

Eila was entranced by all the fabric; she had never seen so many variations in one place! Of course, she had her fair share of glitz and glam and an assortment of outfits, but there was something about seeing the fabric before it would take shape that was pleasant to look at. She was tickled pink at the sight, following Kyreth but letting her eyes wander.

Until the conversation unfolded.

The elf snapped to attention as she was addressed, pleasant smile still on her face. However, that smile never quite reached her eyes. It was safe to say she wasn’t happy with how the situation was unfolding. What was more, she wasn’t exactly trying to hide the red of her eyes.

“Removed?” She asked, her voice soft. “You would ignore Lord Mystralath’s request so candidly? I daresay that if you refuse the Lord himself that any other customer wouldn’t stand a chance, now would they? Unless you suggest that I am of a higher status than he is? What an offense to the Lord…”

Well, that may technically be true, but to anyone here, she was just another elf. As much as she wanted to dig in deeper, however, she knew this wasn’t her fight to have. Instead, she politely gestured for Kyreth to speak.

Kyreth deflated at the shopkeeper’s comment, expected as it was. His disguise never held up for long; the tips of his horns poked up under a hood if one looked for them, and there was nothing he could do about his eyes. But, in a way, it made him feel a little more solid on his feet; this way, at least he knew where he stood with the man. Still, he regretted not opening with the signet ring.

The telling-off was quite civil, all things considered, but Kyreth felt an hourglass in the back of his head counting down the seconds until guards showed up at the door. Were he on any other errand, he’d just leave. But, much like back in Straithmoor, it wasn’t just his own interests he was serving here. He had a responsibility to uphold; how could he claim to lead an honest life if he didn’t do at least that much?

Of course, he knew how Straithmoor turned out.

Kyreth tried to draw a calming breath, only to be wound up tight again when he heard Eila talking back to the shopkeeper. He had to fight to keep the grimace off his face, but quickly stepped over to Eila as she spoke, hoping she’d catch his drift and stop digging their hole even deeper. She must have gotten the memo, and gestured to him.

“Thank you, Eila, but it’s alright - Mr. Evanwood has a point,” he tried to appease her, noticing with no small amount of alarm that her eyes had changed from purple - wait, weren’t they green? - to burning red.

Knowing the man would refuse to acknowledge him, he stepped between her and the shopkeep. Mustering all the courage he had, he turned to the man, saying, “I’m sorry for the disturbance, Mr. Evanwood. And… for the misunderstanding. I’m not here for trouble, but I shouldn't have expected you to believe me without proof. My apologies.”

Opening his cloak, Kyreth made a show of the fact that he was not reaching for a weapon when he retrieved the signet ring from his breast pocket. He held it up for the shopkeeper to see, but kept a good hold of it. “Here, Lord Mystralath gave me this as proof of my employment. I… well, I’d very much like to get it back to him as soon as I can, but he’ll be expecting this order to be placed when I come back. Can I convince you to reconsider?”

Darvin had a sharp report for Eila on his tongue when Kyreth interrupted, his scowl sharpening before he stared at the signet ring held before him. He made to grab for Kyreth's hand but hovered a few inches before it as he inspected the ring. He clicked his tongue and whipped back around to the letter. "I will read the letter at the very least, Tainted." He snapped out as he tore open Mystralath's note and read intently. Whatever he read there had his eyes widening and a brow crook and a series of emotions played across his face, from disbelief and digest to shock and awe. He read it twice and thrice, as if he couldn't believe his eyes, but eventually put the letter down. His scowl settled back in place.

"Very well. Kethra, you have the rest of the day off. I may have to tolerate this but you certainly do not need to be exposed." The apprentice bundled up her project, storing it away quickly and slipped out of the back, while sending furtive glances Kyreth's way. "Remove your cloak and step to the table, Tainted. Measurements must be taken."

“And to think, we could have wasted less time had you simply accepted from the beginning! Your acceptance is appreciated and we thank you for your patience,” Eila replied with a chipper tone, though her eyes remained the same color. “Though where I am from, we address people by their names, but I suppose your tongue may fall out if you treated him with respect, so please be quick.”

Kyreth didn’t have time to appreciate the shopkeeper’s change of heart, so shocked was he by Eila’s comment. Scared and mortified in equal measure, he whirled on Eila with a look of uncommon urgency born of fright.

“Eila, please,” he hissed, voice barely a whisper but still laden with intent. Turning back around, he added to Darvin, “Please don’t mind her, Mr. Evanwood. Thank you very much for your understanding - and, um, I’m sorry if I frightened your assistant…”

He thought it best to let the point drop, though he did feel a little bad; it was clear his presence made the girl uncomfortable, and that wouldn’t be the first time. But the task at hand posed its own challenges. He wouldn’t dare anger the shopkeeper further by dawdling, but it was still a hard thing to shed his cloak in front of strangers, and with a window just behind him, no less. His cheeks darkened with embarrassment as he pulled the cloak off, revealing a head of horribly tousled white hair and a pair of short horns nested therein, curling back tightly over his head and speckled with the same glowing freckles as the rest of his face. He made a vain effort to straighten his hair with his fingers, eyes glued to the floor.

“Could you hold these for me, please?” he asked Eila, turning to her with his old and new cloaks in hand. He didn’t dare ask to hang them up or anything, being on thin enough ice as it were. Handing off his belongings, he stepped where the shopkeep directed, though his cheeks darkened further at the thought of something else that needed dealing with.

“Do you, um, should I…” he stammered, reluctant to meet the shopkeeper’s gaze. He tapped his waist, where under his shirt his tail sat coiled and twitching with unease, and gestured vaguely behind him, unable to quite get the word out. He already regretted broaching the topic. “Sorry, I mean… what about my…?”

"The Tainted are not people, just problems. This one is fortunate enough to have someone greater than itself protecting it; you have no such privilege. Hold your tongue or leave my shop, I don't care which." Darvin snapped, still not looking at her as he pulled out a measuring tool. It took him a moment, scrounging through supplies, but when he did, he startled at Eila's eye color. "What in the… Tainted sympathizer and an aetherborn? Gods, what is happening to this town?" Darvin sketched the symbol of Zunbil before pointedly turning his back to her.

As Kyreth brought attention to his tail, Darvin's scowl deepened and his nose wrinkled in distaste. "I expected you'd care for some way to allow your ta-- that thing an opportunity to stretch without tearing your clothes so let it lie natu-- however you normally do."

Eila bit her tongue but pointedly stared at the back of the shopkeeper’s head.

The shopkeeper's commentary stung, but it wasn’t anything Kyreth hadn’t heard before - just put in more refined language, perhaps. Nodding mutely, he let his tail slither out from around his waist, unfurling behind him in an involuntary stretch before it wrapped itself loosely around his leg, flexing and relaxing with nervous energy. It wasn’t really his habit to let his tail stay loose, preferring to keep it hidden in public, but he’d regret not having a hole to accommodate it when necessary. Maybe, he wondered optimistically, in his new vocation he wouldn’t have to be out in public so much anyway.

Darvin was methodical and quick, marking down measurements as he took them while he did his best not to interact with Kyreth. He kept his gaze firmly away from Eila and it was over as fast as he could complete it. "We have a few older items that we will adjust. They will be ready in a few days but the rest of the Lord's order will be ready before the end of the third moon. We do not keep as much as he has requested on hand. Send another one of his servants to retrieve them then."

Eila opened her mouth, though she caught Kyreth’s look out of the corner of her eye. To think he could cause her to hesitate! Oh, alright, she supposed the clothier had earned some graciousness. Her tight-lipped smile relaxed just a touch. Though she desperately wanted to inform him of Kyreth’s elevated status, it wouldn’t do to cause more of a scene.

“Thank you for your service. May She watch over you,” came another cheery reply. “Let us away, Kyreth.”

Kyreth nodded along with everything the clothier said, snatching his things from Eila as soon as he was able. Luckily, going as quickly as possible was to both of their preferences.

“Yes, thank you very much, Mr. Evanwood. You’ve been very gracious,” Kyreth repeated Eila’s pleasantry sincerely, hastily pulling the cloak back over his head and tucking his tail away once more. At Eila’s direction, the two promptly made their way out of the clothier’s.

Kyreth was tempted to pull Eila aside once they cleared the doorway, but the last thing he needed was for an onlooker to think he was acting aggressively. Instead, after tucking the Lord’s signet ring safely back in his shirt pocket, he gestured to the alley alongside the Six Spools. “Um, can we talk real quick?”

Taking in a breath, Eila thought it was wise to steady herself, lest she end up marching back into the clothier shop. Fortunately, Kyreth proved to distract, though she was unsure why he wanted to speak in the alley. Well, it may have had something to do with her reaction.

“Ah…yes,” she nodded, sheepishly stepping into the alleyway. “Though I must say, if this is an indication for the day, we may be in trouble.”

Stepping into the alley after Eila, Kyreth humoured the woman with a strained smile, searching for his words. “Yeah…” he conceded, rubbing the back of his neck. “About that…”

“I mean, first of all, thank you for wanting to defend me. It’s very kind of you,” he began, “buuuuut… well, as you saw, it’s not really a good idea.” He sighed. “I appreciate your concern, I do, but it’s… better for everyone if you just let me roll with the punches, you know?”

“A-and like I said, you can leave anytime you want,” he added quickly, not wanting Eila to feel stuck. “I don’t want you to get a bad rap with the people here on my account, especially if you’re going to be working here for a while. I won’t hold it against you, I promise.”

Eila’s jaw dropped in shock, her red eyes finally ceasing. He wanted her to say nothing! Had she been in the wrong? Had she made things worse? Her mouth slowly closed as she considered his words. Well, she supposed her aunt would praise her for standing up for Kyreth, but her mother would’ve urged her to take the more diplomatic route. If they were going to call Soft Haven home for some time, she supposed she likely just alienated a shopkeeper she would likely run into for the future. Oops.

Clicking her tongue in disapproval, she let out a weary sigh. “I simply don’t understand. I’ve heard stories like others, and I’m certain Tainted have picked my pockets in the past, but you’re nothing like the rumors,” She stated, crossing her arms. “I’m certain you wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Kyreth sighed once more, genuinely warmed by Eila’s compliment, even if he knew she was wrong. “That’s the last thing I want to do,” he confirmed in a way that he could say without lying. “But that doesn’t really make much difference. You know, a lot of people have been hurt by my kind, or grown up hearing horror stories about us… I can’t really blame them for being scared,” he reasoned.

“And besides, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. I can handle it,” he assured her. His face took on a look of concern. “I mean it, though; you don’t need to ruin your reputation by staying with me. You should go before more people see you.”

Was it truly that simple? Eila couldn’t tell. What she did know, however, was that this wouldn’t be the first or last time Kyreth would encounter this behavior. No, she would need to follow his lead. Standing up for him wouldn’t do if that was not his wish.

She did, however, shake her head. “Nonsense, my reputation is hardly something you need to worry about,” She confessed. “However, I do promise I will not alienate others. I will provide you support if necessary, of course, but…I suppose I should follow and not make assumptions on any rescues.”

Taking a pause, she also considered something. “...and I may very well be in the same boat, it seems. Aetherborn are not seen in a positive light, either,” She couldn’t help but note. “That was unexpected. I’ve received nothing but praise for it–after all, Aetherborn are said to be blessed by Azaiza herself. The uneducated may not know any different, but it is curious.”

“Whatever the case, there is strength in numbers,” She waved off any concern with another–this time wholly genuine–smile. “And should the need arise, I will…calmly defend you to the best of my ability.”

Oh yeah, there was that, too. Kyreth wasn’t familiar with any ill will towards the aetherborn back in Buscon - in his circles, they were usually just derided for being rich and spoiled, if they came up at all - but apparently they weren’t well-liked in Soft Haven. The fact that he’d only just found out he was one put a pit in his stomach. But while Mr. Evanwood had noticed Eila’s abnormality right away, his seemed to have escaped the man’s notice. With any luck, the townspeople wrote his gleaming freckles off as Tainted weirdness and wouldn’t peg him immediately as public enemy number one.

“I appreciate that, thank you,” Kyreth replied, glad that Eila had conceded in some capacity at least. He didn’t find her decision to stick with him wise, but it was her prerogative, and if that smile was any indication, she seemed happy. Maybe it was just fun for her to be out and about among commoners or something.

“Okay, if there’s nothing you need to do, then…” Kyreth ran over his little phrase in his head again, “...the White Lion is up next. Then we’ll work our way back toward the North gate. Okay?”

“Lead the way!”

Crossing the length of the market square, the pair went to the White Lion Inn, illuminated brightly against the dreary brown backdrop of the weathered wooden buildings flanking it. It reminded Kyreth of the government buildings in Buscon, boasting similar design and opulence. But as they approached, Kyreth’s mind buzzed with worries; should he have adjusted the order of his errands? Would it be suspicious to visit the two nicer establishments in town in a row? What if Kethra had called the guards like Mr. Evanwood threatened, and they put the town’s merchants on alert? It was a buzz he was used to, at least, and he was practiced at calming it; even if Kethra had summoned guards, it would be best to get to the White Lion before they had the chance to beat him there. And if they did, his borrowed authority from Lord Mystralath should get him out of any trouble, especially since he hadn’t done anything wrong. Of course, most towns didn’t need that much of an excuse, but if Mr. Evanwood was any indication, the Lord’s word held sway over this town. It should be fine. Right?

In either case, he pushed forward into the inn, resolving to leave his fate in Selene’s hands and let her dice fall where they may. For now, anyway.

The inside of the White Lion was just as impressive as the outside. The door opened into a wide dining hall draped generously with rugs and tapestries, and tables gave way to a long bar and a stage, belying wealthy clientele. With a deep breath, Kyreth walked up to the bar, retrieving the Lord’s signet ring as he went.

The bar wasn't busy, a well off couple chatting under their breath at the end, and the only bartender was busy cleaning the shelves under the bottles displayed behind the bar. Streaks of silver broke the blond in her shoulder length hair, the faintest presence of wrinkles at the corner of green eyes, and a sharp nose above an easy smile as she turned around. Her eyes glazed over Kyreth and she offered the tip of her head to Eila.

"Good afternoon, miss. Welcome to the White Lion. While you are more than welcome at the bar, your friend will need to stay outside or in your room while you relax." She informed Eila, pulling a glass onto the bar. "Is there anything I can get you at the moment?"

Eila shut down the initial prickle of annoyance that threatened to bubble to the surface. She had promised Kyreth that she would not needlessly cause problems. Instead, she put on the warmest smile she could, clearing her throat a touch.

“Actually, if you would be so kind as to simply hear him out, I would greatly appreciate it,” She said gently. That said, she wasn’t sure if allowing for an opportunity for denial was wise, so she purposefully looked to Kyreth, gesturing for him to speak.

The barmaid’s response was much more diplomatic than the clothier’s, but no more permissive. It was interesting to Kyreth how some people could sound so polite and yet be so non-negotiably intolerant when it came to the Tainted - a sign, to him, that their distaste was born more of habit than actual malice.

He worried about Eila when she was addressed, but she impressed him with her restraint; and now it was his turn. He gave Eila an appreciative nod before turning his attention to the barmaid, offering a close-lipped smile.

“Please don’t worry ma’am, I won’t bother you for long,” he assured her good-naturedly, producing the signet ring. “I’m just here to pick up an order for Lord Mystralath; he told me you had a bottle of Sapphire Ambrosia here for him.”

The barmaid only spared Kyreth enough attention to verify the crest, which caused her smile to thin. "Very well, miss. I will be more than happy to fetch the bottle for you." She continued to address Eila as if Kyreth hadn't just spoken. She stepped away for a moment and spoke in low tones to another employee before disappearing from view. A few of the inn employee's were staring at them, one of them giving a nasty look.

It wasn't long until she came back, a beautiful wooden box in her hands. She placed it elegantly on the table. "This is the bottle Lord Mystralath ordered. Handle it with care; the crystal bottle is quite thin." She warned as she pushed it carefully forward. "And in the future, please respect the store policy. Their kind are not permitted to loiter in the dining area. It may upset other guests."

Eila couldn’t help the small frown at the warning. She simply nodded, gesturing for Kyreth to take the bottle. “I thank you for your service,” She replied.

The barmaid’s mention of other guests made Kyreth look around the room. Sure enough, there was a couple at the end of the bar shooting him uncomfortable glances, and another barmaid staring daggers from across the room. Suddenly, he felt guilty; best to make his business quick and stop freaking people out.

“Thank you very much, ma’am. Sorry if we caused any trouble,” he replied in turn, taking the box gingerly in his hands. The barmaid pretended not to hear him, which was just as well, and the two of them quit the place before they could cause any more upset.

Kyreth carried the box with as much care as he would give a baby, ducking into the alley once again. “Sorry, one second Eila,” he excused himself, regarding the box. It was beautiful in its own right, screaming ‘whatever’s in here is expensive.’ In Kyreth’s eyes, it was a target on his back. To remedy the issue, he wrapped his old, ratty cloak around it, finding a use for Ermes’ gift to secure the fabric closed. There; now it looked more like a sack of potatoes than a potentially priceless bottle of liquor. Or whatever it was.

“Our next stop is the…” he paused to get his bearings, peering out over the breadth of the market square. “...Hawthorne Apothecary. Unless you had any errands to run…?”

Did she? Eila’s alternative intention had already been fulfilled. Still, if he was going to the Hawthorne Apothecary, it was also a chance to see the Agitha Hawthorne, and it wasn’t something she wanted to miss out on. She shook her head slowly, though she frowned a touch when she saw his cloak. Ah, it must be a measure to ensure the package stays pristine until its delivered. How thoughtful!

“The Apothecary has my interest,” That much she could confess. “Otherwise…I am not sure, I do not typically run errands myself. This is something of a first time experience.” And a terrible one at that! She never thought people could be so rude.

The crowds between the White Lion and the Apothecary were thicker than near Six Spools, most of the stalls set up barely twenty paces outside the inn's doors. The easiest route wound its way across a series of shuttered stores, only the occasional group pausing to chat cluttering the path. However, a quick glance at the glowing freckles kept them to themselves, though their curiosity was evident in the loud whispers that followed them a few paces.

It was passing an cluttered opening, rotting barrels and crates falling apart, between buildings that a startled cry followed by a heavy thump, the sound of glass shattering, and the calloused, cruel laughter of children. A few people glanced at the sound, made eye contact with each other, and shrugged even as more dull thuds and pained cries could be heard down the alley.

Kyreth clutched the box tight to his chest as the pair weaved through the market traffic, ears burning at the whispers in his wake. Better than thrown rocks, but an indictment on his disguise all the same. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered trying to hide his features, but at least he could still escape notice at a distance. It was just bad luck everything really important happened up close.

He was quick and efficient, as always, not distracted by the baubles on passing stalls and focused on his destination. However, as they passed an alley, some disturbing sounds caught Kyreth’s attention. He was no stranger to the sound of a beating down an alley - hells, they were a daily occurrence back home - and normally, he’d walk on by; no one he knew, not his problem. It was a callous way to live, one that he was trying to renege on, but even now he always found a reason not to intervene. Too dangerous; not worth getting involved in things that didn’t concern him. The last thing he needed was the blame for a crime he didn’t commit.

But despite his habits, Kyreth stopped in his tracks, peering into the darkness of the alley. Those were the shouts of children, and no amount of better judgment could convince him to keep walking.

Eila continued on a few paces, sparing hardly a glance to the alley and looking surprised when she finally realized her traveling partner was missing. Kyreth gestured for her to come back, pressing the box of Ambrosia into her hands.

“Stay here,” he instructed, making sure her hold was solid before he climbed around the debris and ducked into the alley to investigate.

Under his cloak, he touched the hilt of his knife as he peered into the darkness of the alley. In a voice he hoped sounded stern, he called, “What’s going on there?”

Beyond the broken, rotten remnants of stores past, a young man stood with an open box in hand. He'd startled at the voice and turned, revealing a human boy barely past his thirteenth summer. Wavy black hair coiled down the sides of his face and touched the back of his shoulders and green eyes were wide with the briefest second of shock. He held a small wooden chest, the symbol of the Alchemist guild of Buscon in it, filled with small glass vials.

Next to him, a girl of similar age had taken a half step behind the boy, a glass vial similar to those in the box clutched to her chest. Glass littered the left side of the alley and six stoppers- the same number of missing vials from the chest. Beyond them, a glowering Dwarven boy dressed in similarly styled clothes sneered down at the figure whose back had his boot pressed into it.

A young Tainted boy, his bright red skin and horns sticking out like a sore thumb in the alley, whimpered where he lay prone, pinned by the heavy boot on his back. His robes were scuffed and disheveled, a book lay face down and open off to his right and he'd evidently been reaching for it before the mysterious voice echoed down the alley, tears in his eyes as he tried to see whatever new torture was in store for him.

The scene that played out before Kyreth was confusing and outrageous in equal measure; a well-dressed human boy and his cohorts had somehow gotten ahold of things from the Buscon Alchemist’s Guild, circled around the pathetic image of a Tainted child beaten into the ground. The red-skinned boy was scuffed and dirty, but otherwise dressed decently enough; clearly not a street urchin, but treated like one all the same.

The scene was intimately familiar to Kyreth; he’d been in the same position as the Tainted boy more times than he cared to remember, and more recently than he’d like to admit. The tears in his eyes pulled at Kyreth’s heartstrings, and a wave of old, familiar anger washed over him - the kind he was otherwise doing his best to abandon. For once, his height was an advantage as he towered over the children, and in the dim light, his freckles and eyes glowed bright and eerie. In the alley, he made quite the imposing figure, especially with his new cloak disguising the slightness of his stature and the low light concealing his own nearly-healed bruises.

“What do you all think you’re doing?” he demanded, the stern, accusatory tone of his voice foreign even to him.

Eila was a little at a loss; admittedly she hadn’t expected the detour. She let out a tiny sigh, adjusting the weight of the box as she shuffled a little closer to the alley. It was an ill-disguised attempt at trying to see what was happening without interfering too much, but admittedly, the scene confused her some.

The girl scrambled back with a pathetic squeak but the boy holding the box only took one step, before sneering at the towering figure. "Just reminding the vermin of their place." He glared up at Kyreth, only the faintest trembling of the box belying his nerves. "What does it matter to you?"

Kyreth was impressed how much vitriol a little kid could pack into one stare, but he wasn’t fooled; he saw his fingers shaking. Kyreth took no pleasure in scaring people, but at least in some circumstances he could justify it, this being one.

“Well, if vermin belong in alleys, I see a few more here,” he reasoned, reaching into his shirt pocket. Without breaking eye contact with the boy, he produced the Lord’s signet ring once again, deciding to gamble.

“I have business with that young man,” he explained, gesturing to the Tainted boy on the ground. He held out the ring so the human boy could see, and stooped down. “Unless you want me to tell Lord Mystralath that you’re the one who made me late?”

The boy stared at the signet ring and then back up at Kyreth before laughing. Any semblance of fear vanished as he tipped the chest over, the vials all tipping out and shattering a Kyreth's feet. "You're threatening me with a Mystralath? I am James Gerrick, heir to Duke of Soft Haven, and we only answer to the Soft Steps. Everyone else, you include, are our subjects, which means I can do what I want." James crossed his arms and smirked. "So why shouldn't I call the guards and tell them you stole that?"

Kyreth's heart jumped into his throat, and he thanked Selene’s divine mercy that the dim light of the alley concealed the embarrassed darkening of his cheeks at the threat. A familiar prick of indignation made him bristle at the boy’s taunting. The smug look on the brat’s face, the jeering tone… wasn't he justified in being tired of this shit?

He could feel himself reverting back to his old ways, but he chose to ignore it. So his gamble was a loss; so what? He couldn't cheat at this game, but in his experience, bluffing was always an option. Enough commitment could turn a losing hand into a win, and back home Kyreth was very good at winning.

Kyreth’s expression didn't change; he mustered his best poker face and simply quirked a brow doubtfully at the boy, drawing back up to his full height.

“Oh, good idea,” he agreed with the boy, his calm tone a stark contrast to the racing of his heart. But, surprising no one more than himself, he calmly put the ring back into his pocket and raised a hand, snapping his fingers.

“Eila?” he called over his shoulder as if to an aide, pulse thundering in his ears, “Fetch the guards for me, would you? Let them know there are some children here playing with potions and interfering with Lord Mystralath’s apprentice on Bounty House business.”

He prayed Eila would understand his angle and play along; it was easy with Lilann, but Eila was a completely different breed. Nonetheless, he had to sell it - and the chilling memory of the consequences the Lord had outlined to him would do just the trick. Summoning the same smugness he observed in the boy, he actually smirked, displaying a mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth. He even added a chuckle for good measure. “Oh, and see if they'll believe that anyone managed to steal His Lordship’s ring and live to tell the tale.”

Eila herself was, once again, surprised. As to what, she could only point to the entirety of the situation. Her ears had caught on the name of the boy’s father–and it was a name not to be trifled with, lest the rumors and whispers spell the truth. What they needed to do was to back away and leave so as not to draw any attention.

Kyreth had other plans.

The snapping was so out-of-character that Eila could only jump in place, though she made sure to grip the box. What was he thinking? Didn’t their previous two visits already show that he was the one more likely to be arrested? He put a lot of faith into the signet. Too much. Still, exposing him now would likely result in a he-said-she-said, and if it was the boy who would speak first, it wouldn’t end well.

The elf gave Kyreth a short bow. “Yessir,” she replied, turning on her heel and marching forward.

James did take a step back at the sight of pointed teeth and his friends gave each other nervous looks. "James, my father will be very upset if he heard about this," the girl whined, wringing her hands. "We can have fun with the Tainted later; he's not always around Miss Hawthorne." James scoffed at her whining but snapped his fingers.

"Let the freak go for now." James didn't look back as his friend followed riders, stomping once more on the Tainted's back before wandering out past James, the girl keeping him between Kyreth and herself. Once his friends were around the corner, James sauntered past Kyreth. "You better step carefully in my city, Tainted. Father will be out for your head after this." James disappeared around the corner, people separating as he passed.

Kyreth watched the kid - James - as he went, his gaze cold and confident. He filed the threat away for later; he had no doubt the kid would make good on his promise, but with any luck, he wouldn’t have to stay in Soft Haven for too long. To be honest, he was surprised - and ecstatic - that his bluff paid off, and that was reward enough for the time being to satisfy him.

Only for a moment, though - his confident facade only lasted until the last child was well out of sight. As quickly as it came, his old Buscon self fled him, and all his bluffed and mustered courage fled with it. As if on cue, Kyreth’s vision swam, and he grabbed the wall for support, his knees liable to give out on him. All the stress he’d been so skillfully concealing came out in one burst, and he gulped for air as if he’d just run a mile. That was so dangerous. So dangerous. And now he was making enemies. Great! All the quicker to lop off his head for the hubris of thinking he could ever make something of himself in the first place. Moon and stars above, the work he was heaping on Selene’s shoulders today!

He leaned against the alley wall for a moment to collect himself, pulling his hood down despite himself. His hair was damp and his brow was slick, and his hand trembled when he wiped it. For a moment, he forgot he had company; when he realized, he looked over with a start to the Tainted boy on the ground, eyes wide with concern. “Hey, a-are you okay?”

The Tainted shook as he pushed himself to his knees, scrubbing away the tear tracks in the dirt on his cheeks. He winced as he tenderly touched one wrist, hissing in pain, before he looked up at Kyreth dejected. "Why did you do that?" The Tainted spoke quietly, resignation heavy in his words. "It'll just be worse next time and now he's going to come for you, too." The Tainted pushed himself to his feet, picking up his book and looking at the broken glass everywhere while cradling his injured wrist. He wiped away the fresh tears, held back with a few sniffles, but he gingerly picked up the chest and made to push past Kyreth.

The sudden appearance of the children rushing past her signaled that the conflict had come to an end. She let out a small sigh, turning around and heading back to the alley. They would need to be cautious moving forward. She figured that while her own reputation was unlikely to be fettered, Kyreth was marked as an enemy. Oh, what was that boy thinking?

She returned shortly in time to hear the younger boy’s words. Frowning to herself, she realized the little thing had his own odd sense of pride as well. Was this a common theme in Tainted? It was enough for her to urge for bygones to be bygones, but she couldn’t ignore how he held his wrist.

Against her better judgment, she gingerly placed the box on the ground, hooking two fingers onto the young Tainted’s collar and stopped him from leaving. Kneeling down, she caught his injured wrist between her hands.

“A moment, if you would,” She figured he was liable to lash out if she kept him for too long. She let herself feel for his aether, winding it towards his wrist. She was certain he had other injuries, but she felt that they were on borrowed time as it was.

“I am certain the apothecary may have something for your other injuries,” Eila stated once she released him, smoothing out her dress as she stood.

"Um, thank you." He whispered after a quick glance around to make sure his tormentors were really gone. He fidgeted for a moment before picking up the box again. "Are you both headed to the apothecary?"

Kyreth endured a crushing realization when the Tainted boy spoke to him: he’d just done the very thing he just told Eila not to do. Idiot! But it was so difficult not to intervene; sure, if it was an adult he’d have kept on walking, but a kid? He was no stranger to beatings, but where he grew up, he at least knew that if any Tainted heard one of their own younglings getting ganged up on, someone would intervene. And this poor kid didn’t even have that. Why was he even here?

Guilt washed over Kyreth, and he remembered the universal truth: that there was always someone worse off than himself. His heart broke for the kid, but he could barely reply; he tried to apologize as the boy passed by, but the words wouldn’t form. It was only when Eila appeared and grabbed hold of the boy that life seemed to spring back into his body, the lanky man visibly tensing as she constrained the boy once again.

Luckily for her, he didn’t lash out at her. In fact, he spoke to them. Standing, Kyreth approached the two at the entrance of the alley, nodding. “Yeah, we have business there,” he replied, remembering the other kids’ mention of ‘Miss Hawthorne.’ He stooped down to the boy’s level, which surprisingly, wasn’t that far below him; the kid was tall for his age. Kyreth “Do you work there?”

"I'm Miss Hawthorne's apprentice." He wouldn't make eye contact with either of them, the flat white of his eyes far more interested in their shoes. "Just follow me and keep your heads down for now. James probably already has the guard on watch for you. And don't say anything until we get inside." He tucked the book into his pocket and the box under his arm. “You'll be safe as long as we're in her shop." He was quick, shrinking in on himself as he all but bolted for the shop.

Kyreth raised his eyebrows, impressed, but then the boy was gone. Now alone with Eila, he paused a moment before leading them both to the Apothecary. His cheeks darkened once more, and he fixed Eila with a mortified look.

“I am… so sorry,” he apologized profusely, looking positively ashamed of himself. “I-- listen, I mean, you know I’m not like that, but-- I mean, wow, you did great!” he added quickly, “You’d fit right in in Buscon! Thank you so much for your help. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Who knew watching her servants would come in handy like this? Unfortunately, while Kyreth’s praise had no ill-intention, she would have to be the proverbial cloud to rain on his noble cause. Crossing her arms, she shook her head.

“Father would be mortified,” She couldn’t help but utter, the comical image of her father seeing her act as a servant pop into her head briefly before she pressed on. “However, I fear for the rest of our time here. The Duchess Gerrick is notoriously overprotective of her son, should she call for our heads, well…” She might be able to save herself, now that she thought on it. But poor Kyreth! “...I fear your heroic deed would be all you would be remembered for once you are taken to the gallows.”

Grim, yes, but she feared being gentle would result in not being taken seriously. “I do hope you will give clarity on the situation as I feel it did not warrant a response, from what you said earlier.”

Kyreth grimaced at the grim tidings, and he’d admit it was a stupid move. What shit luck to stumble upon the son of the Duke of this land - and why, for that matter, was Lord Mystralath parading around as he did when he apparently held no authority here? The shopkeepers seemed to respect him, so what was the deal? Kyreth had no idea where the borders of noble territories were - hells, he didn’t even know who the Gerricks or the Soft Steps were. Mystralath wanted to instruct him on statesmanship, what a crock. He was an hour into this arrangement and already he’d made one hell of a political blunder.

He sighed. At any rate, it wasn’t the first time he was threatened with death, nor would it be the last. “With any luck, I won’t be here for much longer,” he mused aloud, hoping the Lord’s mention of clothing from Wilree meant Soft Haven wasn’t meant to be his post forever.

At Eila’s mention of “clarity,” he looked at her quizzically before groaning, pulling his hood back up firmly over his horns. “I know, I know; stupid,” he admonished himself, “normally I wouldn’t - like the kid said, it usually just makes things worse and sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong gets you killed, but-- I mean, they were children.”

He looked forlornly back at the alley, strewn with broken glass, and shook his head. He might have given more, explained how things operated back at home, but he kept it to himself. He left that life behind for a reason; he couldn’t keep running back to it for answers. The event just transpired demonstrated how easily he could slip back into his old ways if he let himself.

“Anyway, let’s get back on track,” he suggested solemnly, picking up the Ambrosia box and heading off toward the Apothecary.

The apothecary was much the same inside as it was out, warm toned wooden shelves host to a myriad of plants, bottles of dried herbs, and polyjuices and ointments. A single set of wooden stairs broke the long cabinets on the right wall, leading up to a second story hidden behind a locked door and to the right of the counter at the back, a strange platform with various ropes and sandbags suspended around it was carved into a small alcove in the wall. However, the spots of light visible from the outside were not candles or mirrors but rather crystals hovering through the store, swaying in a phantom breeze. Magical items were a rarity even with so much dedicated study on aether and its secrets; even one of these would cost a fortune, much less the ten that hovered in the shop.

The Tainted boy stood at the end of the empty shop, where he spoke softly to a stern halfling woman who sat at the counter, an empty tea up at her elbow. His eyes were still firmly fixed on the floor, his hands fidgeting in front of him and the chest left open on the counter, while her scowl deepened with every passing word. The faint chiming of a bell announced their arrival and the halfling's head whipped around to fix the pair with a steely look. The boy went quiet but offered them a quick wave.

The elf was practically floating as she looked around, her gasp audible as she looked at the magical items above. This was all amazing! She had heard tales of Agitha Hawthorne’s abilities, but she had no idea the woman had an interest in magical items as well! Once her eyes landed on the woman in question, her hand flew to her mouth. That must have been her! She noticed the young Tainted with her, a little surprised that he was there.

Assuming they were using the same strategy as before, Eila cautiously approached the woman, bright green eyes shimmering with ill-hidden excitement. “Greetings may I assume you are the Agitha Hawthorne?” She asked. “I hate to be a bother, but my companion here has a request…and I was wondering if you were the one that created these items?” She gestured above them.

Kyreth, too, looked around the store with interest, but his focus was on the shelves, not the floating crystals. He only had a passing familiarity with alchemy - namely that it existed - and the only alchemist he was familiar with back home, well… they had a certain specialization with their clientele of choice, and the shop wasn’t much more than a modest selection on the inside of a cloak.

He followed Eila inside, offering a little smile and a wave to the Tainted boy in return as Eila addressed the shopkeeper. He was surprised she could speak with such wonder in her voice under the halfling woman’s withering gaze.

“Uh, y-yes, I’m just here on business for Lord Mystralath,” Kyreth offered, producing the signet ring for the shopkeeper’s appraisal. “He asked me to pick up an order of goldenseal salve and… um… bo… bones..? Ah, shit,” he cursed under his breath, cheeks darkening for the umpteenth time on this outing as he made a fool of himself. He was still so wound up from the alley encounter he couldn’t remember the proper name of the damn thing! “I-I’m sorry, just give me a second…”

"Does anyone introduce themselves anymore? Or does everyone just barge in and start asking old crones moronic questions?" Agitha Hawthorne snapped at the pair. "You, girl. You obviously know me. Make use of whatever is between your ears and answer your own damn question. And boy. Do you have a stutter? Stand up straight and get your damn shit together! Gods help me. First, I entertain a talking mutt and then two village idiots stumble in on the heels of my apprentice."

"More importantly than whatever backwards drivel the pair of you are spouting, what happened to my apprentice? He's being cagey and I don't have the patience to drag it out of him. If you don't know, get out of my shop." Agitha demanded. Behind her, the Tainted glanced up and shook his head, silently pleading for their discretion.

Kyreth recoiled like he’d been slapped, instinctively following the woman’s direction and standing up as if the shop counter he’d been leaning on had bitten him. He looked desperately over to Eila, who had the strangest smile plastered over her face - Moon and stars, she looked happy to have been yelled at!

And now he was presented with a dilemma: betray a child to tell the truth of the boy’s endeavour, or endanger his reputation with yet another Soft Haven businessperson - potentially the only one who didn’t try to boot him out on the spot. Well, not for his race, anyway.

His eyes flicked between the woman and the boy for a moment, and finally he caved; he supposed he owed the kid after screwing him over before. “I… well, he saw me get into a bit of a spat outside, that’s all. I know, I know - against everyone’s better judgement.” He gave Eila a pointed look.

“I guess he’s too shy to point it out, but I think I got myself into some trouble,” Kyreth excused lamely, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t cause him too much grief. I’m just… I’m new here - passing through, kinda - don’t really know the way of things.” He would have been content to leave it at that, but remembered the woman’s first gripe. “Oh! Sorry. I’m Kyreth. Bertasson. I’m-- I work for Lord Mystralath. I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise.”

Eila looked at Kyreth, letting out a small, uncharacteristic giggle. Oh, Kyreth, didn’t your mother teach you that lies needed belief in order for others to fall for them? There was no way Agitha would buy that! As much as she didn’t want to make a liar out of him, this was a lesson learned sooner than later. Perhaps she can teach him the intricacies of politics and how to properly lie once they returned to the inn. Though she had to wonder if taking on Tainted apprentices was a feature of this place.

Gently clasping her hands together, she decided to come clean. “The answer is obvious, and I apologize for the tomfoolery. As an Animas Aetherborn, I have always wanted to meet your esteemed self,” She apologized–both to Agitha and the child. “Unfortunately, the cause of the…spat was an encounter with the son of Duke Gerrick, who had seen to parade the privilege without power that he possessed. Your apprentice was his target, much to the merry of the heir and his cohorts.”

Agitha's eye twitched at the differing stories and silence settled in the shop once Eila's version finished. "Bruno, sweetheart. Take this, put it back upstairs, and clean yourself. I need a moment alone with our guests." She pushed the box to Bruno, who replied with a quiet "Yes, ma'am" and scampered up the stairs, mouthing a silent "Good luck" in their direction.

Agitha let the silence continue until the door upstairs closed. "Let's make something perfectly clear. Bruno is my ward and if you think you know what is in his best interest, I recommend you look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to shut the fuck up. If I find out this," She waved her hand in Kyreth's direction, "is some strange way of corrupting him into whatever young hooligans do these days, I will tear the pathetic mind of yours to shred and puppet you around the city like a fucking meat puppet, do I make myself clear?"

"And yes, I am aware you both are aetherborn. Congratulations. You're weak and pathetic, let me give you a round of applause." She clapped sarcastically. "Girl, you have one more chance to tell me who you are before I tear it out of your airheaded skull."

She was so protective of the Tainted. And so sharp! The rumors did not do her any justice. That said, she was a little surprised that she was being addressed. Would it earn her more ire to admit she was only here to accompany Kyreth? Then again, now was as good a time as ever to make one step towards her own goals.

“I am Eila Aurelios,” She introduced herself. “I am accompanying Kyreth on his duties to Lord Mystralath. I am also looking to create an aether-meter…thus the interest.” Her eyes flickered upwards before looking back at Agitha.

Despite himself, Kyreth fixed the halfling woman with an icy glare as she dressed him down, that same old familiar indignation sparking once more. Hells, no wonder the old bitch’s shop was empty, if that was how she treated everyone who came in. Aetherborn? Who fucking cared? And what the hell made her think she was the be-all-end-all of what was “good” for a Tainted child anyway? How the hell did he know she wasn’t just some slave-driving shopkeep, like so many he knew back home, taking advantage of free labour and a helpless young worker who had no option but to stay? Even in a community of Tainted the truth was a dangerous thing - and what, he was supposed to turn-coat on his own kind just because she said so? Selene forgive him for stepping in for a vulnerable kid - he should have cut the throats out of those little bastards for good measure, but he’d shown restraint, hadn’t he? Azaiza’s icy cunt, no good deed went unpunished, did it?

It was a good thing Eila spoke first; Kyreth had nothing good to say. As he stewed on the old crone’s words, though, he felt a tingling in his fingers once again, which pulled him out of his spiteful reverie as if waking from a dream. Fearful it was the precursor to another fiery outburst, all of Kyreth’s anger fled him, leaving only guilt and fatigue in its wake.

Exasperated, Kyreth raised his available hand in surrender, the other still clutching the box. “All I want is to pick up an order for the Lord and leave,” he stated flatly.

"Oh, you do have a spine. Good. Keep it or even your masked master won't help you here." Agitha pulled out a package wrapped in fine red cloth and tied off in ribbon, sealed with the Alchemist guild symbol. "If the guard tries to give you shit on your way out, wave my name instead of the Mystralath. They'll steer clear of you." Agitha advised as well.

"As for the luminous crystals, I can refer you to the aetherborn who made them but they live in Dranir." Agitha told her, "Not sure how much help that dusty old hermit will be but it's something."

A faint creaking came from the stairs and Bruno stumbled out from the stairs, barely catching himself before he hit the floor. Agitha frowned, moving to get up but gritting her teeth almost immediately and settling back down. Bruno was holding a wrapped item, and fidgeted nervously while casting brief glances between the three of them. Agitha snorted but a fond smile was present on her face as she rested her head on her palm.

"Um, I just wanted to thank you again for helping me. I made some fresh bread this morning; it's not much of a thank you but it's better than nothing?" Bruno offered hesitantly.

Well, she changed her tune quick. Kyreth was too drained to hold his grudge; instead, he took the package at last and tucked it safely away in an inner pocket alongside the signet ring. It had been a long day, and after a long night in a graveyard and an even longer journey before that, he was very ready to finish up with his task and see if the Lord really meant it when he said he could use a room at the Bounty House.

Just as he was getting ready to make his pleasantries and leave, though, the red-skinned boy - Bruno - reappeared, this time bearing gifts. The sight of the boy alone was enough to tug at Kyreth’s heart, but the mention of fresh bread - why, that almost brought tears to his eyes. He hadn’t noticed (much) until now, but his stomach ached at the sight. He hadn’t eaten since the night prior, and subsisting on fish skins for days wasn’t much better. Fresh bread was a rare luxury, and for the kid to offer it so readily was a gesture more monumental than he probably understood.

Any remnant of his prior irritation melted away, and Kyreth sincerely smiled at the boy, accepting his gift gently. “It’s an excellent thank-you,” he corrected warmly. He wanted to go on about how Bruno shouldn’t fret over it and that it was just something good to do to stick up for other people, but he couldn’t get the words out - a lump was growing in his throat. The best he could manage was a croaked, “And - um, thank you.”

Dranir. Eila made a small noise of understanding, nodding slowly. “I thank you for the information,” She replied. At the very least it was one step forward. She wasn’t mocked for the idea, either, which was a pleasant change of pace. Was this support?! Oh, Auntie would be so proud!

She snapped to attention as the young Tainted descended once again, and with a gift! She understood why he would offer to Kyreth, but she hadn’t done anything worth praise. Still, it would be rude not to accept a gift. She watched his movements, quietly relieved that her healing seemed to have alleviated any pain the young Tainted had. Different races needed different techniques, after all.

“Thank you. Do be sure to rest easy,” She thanked the pair and quietly urged the boy.

Bruno just nodded as the bell chimed again. An old man came in with some assistance of a young woman, likely his granddaughter. "You're still breathing, you old geezer?" Agitha cackled, starting up friendly banter with the man. Brone fidgeted with his hands, twisting his fingers, before taking a deep breath.

"CanwepleasebefriendsbecauseI'venevermetanotherTainted." He spoke in one breath, gulping down air after.

If Kyreth’s heart was touched before, now it was fit to burst. It couldn't have been more clear that Bruno was telling the truth; he could never have held on to that childlike innocence if he was raised around other Tainted. Filled with compassion and awe and amusement in equal measure, Kyreth barely managed to bite back a laugh at the absolutely precious display.

Instead, he merely nodded, smiling and stooping down to Bruno’s level. “Of course we can,” he replied, offering his hand for Bruno to shake. “My name is Kyreth; it's nice to meet you, Bruno.” His smile turned a little sheepish. “I'm… sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”

"It's um, it's okay." His tail whipped back and forth. He gingerly grabbed Kyreth's hand. "I'm Bruno Hawthorne. I like your horns, they have pretty lights. Can I be friends with your animas friend, too? I want to ask her about her magic but I don't know if she'll like me."

Kyreth’s eyebrows flew up. He liked his horns? Now that was something he'd never heard before.

“Thank you,” Kyreth replied, honest and dumbfounded. “I like your tail; mine’s hidden away right now, but it's way too skinny,” he added. He had no idea what an ‘animas’ was, but he assumed it referred to Eila. “I'm sure my friend won't mind; she likes me just fine.”

On that topic, Kyreth stood back up, giving Eila a very insistent look. “You'll talk to Bruno about your magic sometime, won't you?” He asked intently. This time, it was Kyreth who left no room for a negative answer.

Oh, Kyreth, she was never going to understand him, it seemed. Well, this much was a protectiveness to his kin, that she could understand. She was surprised the little one had any interest in her, but she didn’t see the harm in humouring him.

“Of course! The pursuit of knowledge is one of much reward,” Eila replied. “I daresay my Consortium education is begging to be passed on to willing students.”

Bruno offered them both a shy smile. "Thank you very much. Oh, but I still have to finish my studies for today…" Bruno muttered to himself, thinking hard on the issue. He seemed torn between wanting to talk to his new friends or going back upstairs, and he swayed in place as he turned the issue over in his head.

Kyreth nodded with understanding. “Your studies are important; you're very lucky to have them,” he reasoned. He'd make the kid’s choice easy. “Listen, we need to get going too; we both work at the Bounty House up the hill. We might not be around all the time, but we’ll be back soon, okay?”

Looking between Eila and the kid, he felt a little bad for cutting their meeting short, even if he did want Bruno to prioritize his studies. Then, an idea came to him, and he stooped back down to Bruno, lowering his voice.

“But here, I'll let you in on a secret: there's another Tainted in town,” he whispered, “her name is Lilann, and she's a friend of mine. She's short, has blue skin, and wears a big hat. She's leaving town soon for a trip, but she'll be back; if you see her, you should say hi. She's very kind. Got that?” He grinned. “She's magic too.”

"Oh, I'd like to meet her too sometime. I'll say hi if I see her." Bruno nodded eagerly. "But I have to finish up. Be safe getting home." Bruno darted back up the stairs, the door shutting behind him. Agitha was watching the interaction closely while her customers counted out their coin, the expression on her face inscrutable.

Kyreth smiled as Bruno ran off, although the sight of Miss Hawthorne chastened him. Standing back up, he adjusted his hood and cleared his throat, looking to Eila. “One more stop,” he said, “ready?”

Eila nodded. “Thank you, Miss Hawthorne,” She bowed her head in respect.

“Yes, thank you ma’am,” Kyreth added, moving quickly to the door.

"Knock three times to break the silence, you two!" Agitha shouted after them as the door shut behind them.

Red Mane Forge was on the other side of The Treant from the Hawthorne Apothecary. The crowds around the rundown Inn were still heavy, the afternoon drawing in people for food and excessive drink . And yet, it was easy to maneuver as people seemed to just step out of their way. No one acknowledged the pair, no strange stares or poorly concealed whispers like they'd experienced for the rest of their trip.

It took no time at all to reach the Red Mane Forge. The door propped open with a barrel, the inside was a simple set up: various tools, wagon parts, and the occasional weapon and armor piece littered tables, hung from walls, and, in the case of a spear with a strange green tinted metal tip, displayed on a stand. Coming back in from the back of the shop, wiping sweat off his forehead, a short, burly dwarf with a shock of red hair and a full beard braided in complex patterns tossed a hammer on a workbench that seemed to double as a desk as he slumped in a chair behind him and gulped down water out of a water skin.

Eila was still floating on a cloud as they left, practically humming to herself as they left. She couldn’t believe she had met the Agitha Hawthorne! Should she have stayed to chat and sent Kyreth ahead? No, there would be other chances to socialize. She hoped helping Bruno would warm her up to them, but even so she still seemed quite irritable. No bother, speaking with difficult people was par for the course!

As they entered, Eila sorely wished they were back at the apothecary. However, it was only then that Agitha’s last words struck her. She suddenly brandished an arm to stop Kyreth from progressing, reaching over and knocking on the barrel three times.

“I suppose she disliked my chattiness,” She said, apologetic. “Be sure to do the same.”

Kyreth peered quizzically at Eila as she stopped him, quirking a brow. “Um, okay..?” he replied, hesitantly knocking on the barrel as well. Was this a local custom he didn’t understand?

His curiosity wasn’t long-lived as they pushed inside the forge, again the only two customers in the building. It wasn’t as ramshackle on the inside as the outside, but it certainly looked well-used, a much more familiar setting for Kyreth than the upscale places they’d frequented so far.

“Good afternoon,” he called, only then spying the dwarven man behind the workbench. He blended in with the woodwork, all reddish hues and fine details. Realizing his hands were full, he passed Bruno’s package of bread to Eila so he could fish out the signet ring. “I’m here to pick up an order for Lord Mystralath. A dagger.”

The Dwarven man looked up as Kyreth addressed him, nodding at his request. "Aye, it's been sittin' 'round for so long, I thought he'd forgotten about it. Glad he finally sent for it-- pricey piece he paid for." He stood, stretched and groaned as his back popped loudly. He pulled off a set of keys from where it was secured around his waist and fiddled with a safe behind the workbench before placing a carefully bundled blade on the bench. "Aye, take a moment to inspect 'fore I pass it off. Don't want his Lordship claiming I sent him faulty craftsmanship."

The dwarf gave the pair a long look before holding out his hand for the pair to shake. "The name's Talibar, but my friends call me Tal. Haven't seen ya 'round Soft Haven before so welcome to town."

Taken aback by such a warm greeting, Kyreth exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Eila as he tucked the ring back safely in his pocket. “Oh, thank you,” he replied quietly, blinking a few times before he finally came to his senses.

“We’re… we’re here with the Bounty House,” he explained, looking over the wrapped blade. He was nervous to touch it, his hand hovering over the piece for a moment, before he finally nudged the cloth aside. He was nervous to touch the blade itself, looking timid as he moved the cloth, and truth be told, he had no idea what he was looking for. His own blade was a glorified shank; he wouldn’t know quality if it slit his throat.

Still, despite his limited knowledge, the blade looked impressive. The blade was a strange green tone, similar to the spear he noticed on display, and embedded in the hilt was a glimmering red gem, probably a ruby. Expensive indeed; Kyreth didn’t know the price of quality blacksmithing, but the gem alone would be more than worth stealing for. He was glad his plan happened to save this shop for last.

“Oh, sorry - I’m Kyreth,” he finally remembered his manners, withdrawing his hand and glancing sheepishly at Tal. “I’m… I was just recently hired,” he explained, “I haven’t been in Soft Haven for very long.”

Eila was delighted to learn that there were indeed unbiased people in Soft Haven. He was the exception to the rule, but it was refreshing not to be met with hostility that wasn’t earned. She took his hand professionally, a hum of approval on her lips. Smithery wasn’t a topic she knew much of, but she wouldn’t say it wasn’t interesting. Or rather, she knew jewelry-making, but she wouldn’t know the first thing about crafting anything larger. There was no hiding her curiosity as she looked at the dagger the Lord had commissioned.

She placed her hand on Kyreth’s arm, not unlike a mother trying to calm her child. “I am Eila, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” She said cheerfully. “Do you typically take commissions from the town?”

"Enough to make a living, I suppose. In a town like this, it's mostly repairs and horseshoes. Felt good working high quality ore again!" Tal laughed, wrapping the dagger back up. "If the Lord has anything he needs forged or y'all are just looking for somewhere to put your feet up, I always like a bit of conversation so feel free to drop by. Though if you don't mind me sayin', you two don't look like most of the folk seeking the rough and tumble of that Bounty House life. Y'all be careful, okay?"

The handshake was a little embarrassing; Kyreth hadn’t even noticed the blacksmith’s proffered hand, taken up as he was with the strangeness of his welcome. Luckily, Eila covered for him, as smoothly as if she’d been doing it all her life - and she probably had been.

“It’s beautiful,” Kyreth commented, collecting the dagger. Even wrapped, it looked suspiciously expensive, so he tucked it into the bundle with the Ambrosia, making sure it was secure. He wouldn’t rely on Ermes’ pin to hold the package together, but at least it helped keep the canvas from flapping all over the place.

“I… thank you for the concern, but don’t worry,” he told Tal appreciatively, “I’m just taking an apprenticeship at the House. Eila’s the one doing the rough-and-tumble things.” He gave his elven companion a cheeky look.

“Oh, no, no, your concern is appreciated, but I am but a humble bowswoman. And healer,” She shook her head quickly. “I’ve some experience with a dagger, as most of the women in my family do, however–oh,” She caught Kyreth’s look. He was joking! “I…Well, my inexperience is merely a stopgap in the pursuit of knowledge.” She finished cheerfully.

“I just thatch roofs and mend fences,” Kyreth added lightheartedly.

Hm. The transaction was quick, but Kyreth didn’t really want to leave yet; aside from Bruno, this was the first friendly face he’d met all day. “Oh, actually,” he remembered, “um, Tal, you don’t happen to make cloak pins, do you? I don’t have the coin for it today, but after a few pays…” He tipped his head at the empty spot on his shoulder, where a pin would otherwise be.

"Glad I can count on y'all to take care of yourselves. It'd be a shame to hear something nasty happened to y'all when we just got acquainted!" Tal considered Kyreth's request. "Those are a little finer than what I normally do but it wouldn't be too hard, I suppose. You needin' one now or were you looking for one as a commission?"

“Oh,” Kyreth replied, a little unprepared. He really wasn’t used to dealing with shopkeepers the way normal people did. “Well-- I mean, I can’t pay for it today, but I only need something very simple… Ah,” embarrassed, Kyreth shook his head, waving the thought away. “Sorry, forget I said anything. I’ll come back when I have the money.”

"If you're needing one immediately, I have an old one I don't use much anymore. Wouldn't be any skin off my back for someone else to use it. Gimme a moment to head upstairs." Tal reassured Kyreth, patting him gently on the arm. He headed out back once more, the sound of heavy tromping up a set of stairs easily discernible.

"Aighty, here be an old pin of mine." Tal stated as he returned, holding a simple cloak pin in his hand. It was little more than a brass ring and pin but it would certainly do the trick. It had been well cared for, still polished and neat despite its age. "And I didn't want you to feel left out so Eila, tale a few coils of bow string. Never hurts to have extra in an emergency." He held out two coils of bow string for Eila. "Consider this a welcome to town gift. Don't have much fancier to offer but at least they're functional!"

Kyreth’s eyes were wide as he watched Tal disappear into the back, not allowing any room for refusal. And sure enough, he came back with pin in hand, and a gift for Eila for good measure.

As he cradled the pin in his free hand, it might as well have been solid gold. Tal’s generosity to a total stranger dumbfounded him; with Bruno, at least he could say he'd done something to deserve some kind of thanks (even if he didn't believe it), but they were total strangers to Tal. Strangers, and a Tainted at that. What could possibly compel the man to give them anything?

“A-are you sure?” Kyreth asked insistently, looking between Tal and the pin. “I- I mean, I can pay for it, I'll just have to come back…”

Eila was surprised–again! Tal was by far the most amicable person they had met yet. She was secretly grateful that he was the last met; Goddess knew it was nice to end on a positive note despite the abysmal start they had. Kyreth was completely baffled by it, which did amuse her to no end. Though she accepted the gift with as much grace possible, she couldn’t help but giggle a touch at the Tainted.

“Come now, it’s poor manners to refuse a gift,” She gently chided him. “What we must do is remember this kindness should Tal ever need anything.”

"Aye, Eila's got the right of it. I have no doubt you've seen more unkindness than most but in my village, everyone supports each other. Didn't matter the color of your skin or the shape of your ears or the length of your tail. We did our best to help where we could if we had extra. Take the pin." Tal insisted, taking Kyreth's hand and placing the pin in his palm.

Kyreth looked on sheepishly as Eila chastised him, and accepted the pin mutely with a dumbfounded nod. Briefly putting his package down, he fastened the pin over his left shoulder, finally offering Tal a grateful smile.

“Thank you. Very much,” he said, a little stunned. He'd have to find a way to make it up to the blacksmith, even if he insisted it wasn't needed.

“That sounds like what Aleka said,” he added to Eila. To Tal, he explained, “The bookman at the Bounty House comes from somewhere like that. Apparently there, they even call the Tainted by a different name.”

Eila beamed in delight, clapping her hands together. “Then, let us away and leave on good terms,” She suggested.

"Aye, not everyone in the world has their heads buried in ancient history. The world's got to move on sometime, just has to do it in tiny, people sized bits." Tal replied to Kyreth. "Now you two best be off but don’t be no strangers, ya hear? I like the friendlier faces coming back 'round just to chat."

Smiling gratefully, Kyreth nodded. “Yeah, it’s best I be getting back. But thank you again; I hope I’ll be back here soon.”

On much more pleasant terms than most of their visits that day, the pair left the Red Mane Forge and, after Kyreth made sure there was no other business Eila wanted to attend to, finally made to leave Soft Haven altogether. As it happened, either the Gerrick kid was full of it, or he hadn’t yet scurried home to his father, because they managed to get out of Soft Haven unmolested by guards or civilians alike, and were soon headed back up the hill through the forest.

“I really am sorry for talking to you like an errand girl,” Kyreth insisted to Eila as they walked. “I’ll make it up to you when you get back from your trial job, I promise.”

While she had felt confusion in the moment, Eila supposed being treated as a servant was a touch insulting. But as people confuse the inner flow of aether to one’s innate abilities, it was not the worst thing. Still, this was a good opportunity to reflect on the situation as a whole.

Eila frowned. “It was sharp thinking on your part. And you did help out Miss Hawthorne’s assistant,” She tried to be kind about it. “However, it pays to heed to people around you. Were I clumsier, I may have made things worse.”

“You don’t strike me as clumsy,” Kyreth replied simply, smiling. “You caught on great. But I get it; it was risky,” he admitted. “But, thank Selene, it worked out. She is certainly smiling on me today.”

He looked wistfully up for a moment before adjusting his packages in his arms, freeing one hand to retrieve Bruno’s package. As if on queue, his stomach ached at the very idea. “Speaking of which,” he said, offering it to her, “we should take care of this before it gets stale.”

Luck is what happened when preparation met opportunity, but Eila supposed they would simply have to handle the consequences whence they came. Perhaps she could (reluctantly) consult with Aleka on the matter. It worked out–for now. And who knew when the other shoe would fall.

The mention of Bruno’s reward brought her back into the conversation fully. “I believe you should indulge yourself. It’s meant primarily for you,” She replied.

Kyreth frowned, and stopped walking, gently laying his goods on the ground at his feet. “Hm. Okay,” he conceded, unwrapping the bread. It was about a third of a loaf, and Kyreth gently tore it in two, the golden crust crackling tantalizingly under his fingers and the fluffy white inside pulling apart easily. It was truly a thing of beauty, and he held out one of the halves to Eila.

“Consider this me ‘making it up to you,’ then,” he replied cheekily. With that, he bit greedily into his half, leaving no room for discussion.

The elf sighed, but she wasn’t one to deny the Tainted. For some reason. She accepted the bread and waited, expecting some jam or perhaps butter to spread. Once Kyreth immediately chomped down, however, she realized that it would be just the bread. She found the grain so plain as it was, but he seemed to enjoy it. She took a slow bite, assuming that perhaps the bread was meant to be eaten alone, much like the garlic-bread her Auntie gave her once. But no, it was just plain bread.

Kyreth, on the other hand, tore through his portion, pointed teeth making short work of the soft bread. It looked as if he was worried that if he didn’t eat quickly, it might get taken away - which, in his experience, was often the case. But as ferociously as he ate, he still closed his eyes as he chewed, thanking Selene for her generosity and committing each bite to memory. Compared to the dried meat and salt fish he usually subsisted on, a chunk of fresh bread was a rare and profound blessing.

He finished his half before Eila had even pecked at hers, and fetched his waterskin from his hip, gulping down half its contents in one go. Only when he came up for air did he noticed that Eila seemed hesitant, even disappointed.

He frowned, confused. “Are you thirsty?” he asked, offering his waterskin to her.

Eila looked over at Kyreth, slowly chewing. She needed to think of something. “...No, I…had eaten before this,” She lied. “It’s a little much…I should have let you have it after all.”

Oh, was that it? She had an odd look on her face, but Kyreth supposed that made sense. Still, he shook his head, smiling as he put away his waterskin. “Don’t worry about it; it’ll still be good later.”

Picking up his things, the two set off once more, Kyreth much the happier for the meal. Of course, rather than sating him, it only whet his appetite; he regretted not stopping at a stall to replenish his supply of food, but realized with a strange relief that he might not have to worry about it. The Bounty House had a tavern of its own, maybe there was something there twelve copper could buy him. Or, hells, maybe the Lord made some other provision, seeing as he was letting him room at the House. Kyreth felt presumptuous even wondering, but the whole situation was so far-fetched as it was, he had no idea what to expect.

They returned and crossed the bridge back to the Bounty House in relative silence, which allowed dread to seep back in when the high of Kyreth’s fortunate snack wore off. Damn, he’d have to explain the situation with that kid to the Lord soon. He tried not to dwell on it, but the feeling persisted, even as he pushed it away.

At the Bounty House doors, Kyreth turned to Eila one last time. “Thank you again for accompanying me,” he said sincerely. “If there’s ever something you need, let me know, okay?”

“I appreciate the thought. This was…an enlightening experience,” Eila admitted. “I daresay we’ve learned plenty of Soft Haven and its people, haven’t we?”

Kyreth nodded. “Seems like it,” he replied, a little sheepishly. “Good luck with your trial mission tomorrow; hopefully it all goes well and you’ll be sticking around a little longer.”

---

The people of Soft Haven bustled around their crumbling hopes and dreams, dutifully ignoring the state of affairs and determined that it would somehow all get better. Few and far between were spared the troubles of a crumbling economy, only held afloat by harvest season, that did not pay enough to maintain their glory days. But some knew how to find opportunity in these darkening days, tapping into a market dark and dreadful.

The Treant never saw better days, always a slipshod affair with spaces in the walls and bent and broken nails barely holding the place together. Inside wasn't any better, a poorly laid chimney providing some warmth in the winter months to a tavern that always seemed on its last legs. It's tables and chairs had been broken and patched over and over until everything had more scratches and dents than wood and all boasted a strange sideways slant if you sat down too hard.

It's employees were much the same, a grizzled old gnome polishing tarnished flagons and a human barmaid who didn't have enough food on the regular but clearly snuck a few drinks behind the bar. Some vagabonds rolled dice in the corner and one woman already half asleep with the bottle still tightly clutched in her hand, only the occasional hiccup or snore breaking her reprieve.

Ermes studied each individual carefully in passing. Each and every one of them could've been the one he was looking for, but in the end he'd settled for trying his hand at the gnomish figure polishing flagons behind the counter. He sat down on a stool in front of him, tapping his finger against the counter a few times before finally speaking. "Too many fishermen over in Wilree. Most all you could get was Sea Bream. I was hoping to get some bigger fish here in Soft Haven. Know a good spot?"

The gnome peered at the boy sitting at his bar, staring intently at the mop of shadows Ermes considered hair before snorting at him. "And I'm the God's damned Duke, I am." The gnome retorted, putting down his cup and rag, skepticism in his stare. "Fish 'round these parts'll eat you 'fore they eat yer bait, boy. You wanna try your hand, we gots a rod out back in the second barrel. Leeches are our choice of bait round here."

It appeared his senses hadn't dulled with his time away from Wilree. He gave the gnome a pleasant smile as he sat up a bit more straight. "I appreciate the warning. But I think I can handle it." There was only one piece Ermes hadn't understood. Perhaps it was some form of Soft Haven slang he didn't know. But he was sure he'd find out soon enough once he followed the man's directions. Ermes turned around in his stool, slipping off the seat before making his way out the front doors again.

Ermes turned the corner, making his way towards the back of the establishment. The whole time keeping tabs at his periphery making sure no one was following him or capable of seeing him as he made his way over. Once he rounded the corner again he saw the barrels the gnome had mentioned. Looking over them for a bit before heading towards the second one, searching for something to help him move forward.

Behind the Treant, several large and damaged kegs were stacked haphazardly out back. Each one still had their taps in various conditions, tarnished and broken and bent, with a single exception: the second barrel to the left had a nearly pristine tap. Pulling on it causes the face of the keg to swing up and reveal a set of stairs leading beneath the tavern, ending in a heavy door with a metal slider set at eye level. There was no handle for someone to open it from the outside.

There was a satisfied smile sitting on Ermes's lips as he squatted down and found the pristine tap was a handle leading down. He lifted it up, peering down the dark corridor before heading in and slowly making his way down the stairs. All that remained was a heavy door, the slider sitting above his head. He huffed in annoyance before using his magic to conjure up a small wooden step stool. Taking the first two steps in order to get eye level with the peephole as he knocked on the door, waiting for a response.

After a few moments, the tunnel was plunged into darkness until the slider slid left with a brief screech. A single, large brown eye could be seen beyond and a deep grunt of displeasure at the interruption. "What'd ya want?" The person beyond spoke, the voice deep and low.

Ermes stared right back at the singular brown eye. He'd thought back to what the gnome had told him before speaking. "Leeches." It was a strange password, but it fit the bill and worked well into the conversation he'd had earlier. Hopefully he'd gotten it all right up until now and wasn't walking into some form of trap or haze.

The large eye stared. And stared. And stared. Until the slider closed and a number of locks were undone. It seemed to go on for much longer than necessary, the sound of clicking and fiddling and muttered curses until finally a sharp snap had the door opening. A towering half orc, hunched in a short room, scowled at…

He blinked and looked around before looking down. Ermes' construct had vanished in the time the bouncer had been fiddling with the locks and he now stood at his normal height. The bouncer gave Ermes a look of disbelief but otherwise stepped aside.

Smaller than the tavern above them, the room boasted a few tables built into alcoves along the wall and curtains that could be drawn for privacy. More were haphazardly scattered through the space and a smaller bar with various libations sat on the left side. The room was smokey, the few torches around the room spitting smoke and shadows in equal measure, though there were few to care about the conditions.

In one corner, a sallow skinned man with yellowed, gapping teeth and strangle bulging eyes sipped at a bottle and muttered crazed to himself. He looked like he hadn't bathed in weeks, his clothes disheveled and torn, and tipped precariously towards the floor as he rocked back and forth. An elven woman sat at the bar, black hair tied in a tight bun and her white dress embroidered with fall leaves spiraling from shoulder to toe, where she sat pouring over a heavy book.. A human pair, a male and a woman who were splitting images of each other, picked from a simple meal of fruits, cheese, and bread and sat in weary silence.

Ermes stood there, waiting for the large brute behind the door to finish unlocking it. He stepped down from his construct before it dissipated, knowing full well he didn't put much Aether into it to keep it stable for long, deciding that inspecting his nails was far more entertaining than waiting for the other man to finish what he was doing. He tried not to smile as the half-orc looked around him with disbelief before stepping aside for him to come in.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he saw the homeless looking man. Even in their line of work he had to have been making enough to bathe and eat. He quickly averted his gaze and noticed the elven woman, clearly someone who took on higher work given how well put together she was, then there were the human twins. Ermes made his way over to the bar, making sure to inspect the room as he did. Searching for any job boards that may be posted around, or at the very least a barkeep to help him navigate this new town's ways.

"Imgriad, what have I told you about letting children in here." The woman didn't glance up from her work as Ermes approached but her voice carried across the room nonetheless. The twins glanced up in curiosity but shrugged at the scene and continued to eat quietly. The woman continued to scan the pages in front of her.

"Is there something you need, boy?" She demanded.

Ermes's head lazily turned to meet the woman who was speaking. Given the attention she'd garnered in such a short amount of time, coupled with how no one spoke back to her, he decided she may have been the Shadow. He pulled up the chair one space away from her, scooting himself onto the stool as his legs dangled above the ground, swinging ever so slightly. "Work. Recent developments have brought me over towards this town and away from Wilree. I was hoping to get some assignments while I'm here."

There was a short pause as he glanced behind the counter then back towards the woman. "Also…a drink would be nice. I've had a long night and morning and could use something to drink."

She spared him a flat look at his choice of seating and then rolled her eyes as he offered more than just a single worded response. "Maybe had you had the decency to introduce yourself before asking for handouts, I'd oblige but you'll have to earn the drink now." She replied, sounding bored. "And your prior experience? Anything beyond urchin?"

A look of shock shot across his face before it quickly settled back down to an unamused look. He hadn't expected a handout for the beverage, fully intending to have paid for it. But if he could work for a free drink, he wouldn't mind. "Ermes De Luca. Unfortunately I haven't gotten much past urchin, I was hoping that I could push past that here. Prove my worth."

She frowned at him as she considered his response. "Well, I suppose there is something I've been curious about. Rumor has it that every new moon, a strange phantom slips out the southern gate and onto the woods but never returns. It's been happening for 14 years so we've had plenty of eye witnesses but anytime someone tries to follow them, the guards suddenly appear just after the figure passes the southern gate. Figure out who it is and what they’re doing and I'll consider you for jobs. Fail and I'll run you out of town." She offered.

In all honesty the proposal sounded like a wild goose chase. As if she was more content with running him out than actually giving him a chance. A fourteen year old rumor barred by the town's guards If anything it sounded more like a folk tale or urban legend. Ermes hopped off his seat, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. "That won't happen for another two weeks then. Does it happen for more than one night? Or is it simply on the first day's cycle of that moon?"

"It sounds like you have two weeks to discover that for yourself. Ask around, put your ear to the ground, and whatever other tricks you think you may have up those filthy sleeves of yours." She scrunched her nose in distaste. "I don't want to see you here again until you have an answer for me." The swallow skinned man let out a hysterical cackle, clearly listening to the conversation.

He hadn't bothered saying another word to her. Turning around so that his back was facing her and then rolling his eyes as he walked away. He stopped just before the large door, sizing the orc up as he waited for them to open the door once more before finally stepping through. Once it shut he'd let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he wondered what shithole of a town this Shadow was running.

A strange tale spinning in a gossip mill would best be milled in the largest public form of any town: the market. It was a place strangers were expected and a shrewd one could gather as many rumors as they wished without concern. Soft Haven's market was an uninspired affair, with large gaps of uneven cobblestone visible in between stalls that spoke of better times gone by. Still, it was busy and that meant people.

As Ermes rounded the corner of The Treant, leaving behind the dimly lit atmosphere and trading it out for the sunny skies of Soft Haven. He squinted his eyes at the light, placing one hand above his brow in an attempt to block it out as he began to make his way towards the front of the tavern. Leaning against the frame of the building he began to go through the motions, scanning the crowd, the buildings, thinking of where he'd need to go next.

Typically the best place to gather intel would be at the bar. But the horrible disposition that the barkeep had led him to believe that even the drunkards wouldn't wish to spill some secrets to that crotchety old bastard. His gaze finally landed across the street towards a building just a little ways down. The town's apothecary seemed as good a place as any, who better to trust with your woes than the healer themselves. Ermes propped himself off of the wall of the tavern and began making his way over, catching the glimpse of an old woman inside. Perfect, older people were always the nosiest.

The apothecary was what one would expect, warm toned wooden shelves host to a myriad of plants, bottles of dried herbs, and polyjuices and ointments. A single set of wooden stairs broke the long cabinets on the right wall, leading up to a second story hidden behind a locked door and to the right of the counter at the back, a strange platform with various ropes and sandbags suspended around it was carved into a small alcove in the wall. However, the spots of light visible from the outside were not candles or mirrors but rather crystals hovering through the store, swaying in a phantom breeze. Magical items were a rarity even with so much dedicated study on aether and its secrets; even one of these would cost a fortune, much less the ten that hovered in the shop.

The store had a few customers browsing and an older man was being assisted away from the counter by his daughter. An older halfling woman sat at the counter, white hair cut short and tipped ears hinting to some elven lineage in her blood, gawfing loudly at whatever parting the old man had given her. A heavy book sat nearby, accompanied with ink and quill, and an empty tea cup was shoved into a corner. The woman squinted at Ermes' as he entered, the gentle chiming of the bell announcing his arrival, and she let out a weary sigh.

"Another damn aetherborn? I thought cursed quit in threes." She grumbled loud enough for the entire store to hear. The few customers turned to take Ermes in and each one stared openly at his hair before busying themselves again with their items.

Ermes froze for a moment as the halfling woman called him out. A string of curses running through his mind as his original plan was foiled before it had even begun. The cute kid route was out, he needed something that wouldn't aggravate or annoy her any further than his previous colleagues had already done. He put on his best apologetic and sympathetic smile as he approached her counter to talk. "I hadn't meant to add to your troubles today. I'm sorry. I only wished to ask about some ghost stories I'd heard while entering town today." He'd hoped the bait was enticing enough for her to bite and not just cast back the line before kicking him out.

"Ghost stories, huh?" Agitha leaned forward, brow cocked and a suspicious look in her eye. She motioned for him to approach her counter."Tell me, what are the lousy blabber mouths of my town telling random kids?"

Ermes had an internal grin as Agitha responded. He moved closer to her counter, debating if he was allowed to lean on it or not before decidedly not doing so. "They say a shadowed specter lurks in the darkness of the New Moon. Seemingly vanishing without a trace. I'm actually quite fond of the paranormal and things that go bump in the night. So I was hoping to catch a glimpse of this being when the next cycle happens."

Agitha frowned as she considered the story. There was a moment’s pause then her eyes grew wide and she covered her mouth, not fast enough to hide the manic grin stretching across her face. She shook with aborted laughter but eventually it was too much, cackling wildly while slapping the counter top. I-I I can’t…” She wheezed, the tea cup rattling dangerously as she made a scene. It took her a while to calm down, dabbing her tears away and fanning the red out of her cheeks.

“Whoo, just what I needed, boy! What a hoot!” Agitha took a deep breath and fixed him with a crooked, sly grin. “Sure, I’ll tell ya all about it but whatever you find, I’m the first one who gets to know, got it?”

Ermes hadn't expected to elicit such a reaction. When the frown had started he at first thought perhaps he had said something wrong. But as her demeanor changed and she broke out into laughter, he was able to relax some, his shoulders lowering as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he let out a small chuckle. "No problem at all. As soon as I know I'll come running straight here. Or at least once morning breaks I will."

"I'll hold you to that, ghost boy. But here's what I know. Sure, people talk about this thing that skulks through the streets, disappears through the south gate, guards suddenly appear behind it once it does, yadda yadda yadda. But," She gestured for Ermes to come closer. "A maid of one of the Duke's friends was feeling a little feverish and took a step outside to get some air one night and she claims, swears by Azaiza and all, that she saw the Duke himself skulking around during the new moon before he seemed to disappear into thin air."

"Of course, no one's been able to confirm this. No one wants to get close to anything moderately related to the Duke so you have all the wiggle room you want. Minus the guards of course." She smirked at him.

Ermes leaned in as she gestured for him to come closer, eyes going wide with partially feigned excitement as she began to go into the heavier details. For a brief moment his expression faltered, disappointment taking place as it sounded like it was just some Duke out for a night's stroll. But his eyes shot up once more as she finished telling him the Duke vanished into thin air. "Why's no one want to get close to the Duke? Who was the maid that saw?" His voice was hushed but full of wonder and excitement like a kid wanting to hear more of a tale.

“Why would anyone want to? The Duke believes himself King and acts like everyone below him is horse shit on his boot. Poking your nose in something may be the Duke’s business is a shit decision.” Agitha shook her head, a disbelieving look leveled his way. “And I’m not in the business of givin’ away people to newcomers. Why should I tell you names? You could be one of the Duke’s little ploys again.”

Ermes wrinkled his nose at both the accusation and her description of the Duke. "Doesn't exactly sound like a nice guy if you ask me. I'm not in the business of licking boots, especially to people like that." he gave Agitha a shrug before continuing. "As to why you should tell me, I just wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth if I could. Much easier than having to figure out which maid it is by myself, especially if poking my nose in his business could be a bad thing." He let out a small sigh and a disheartened look.

Agitha’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re already potentially in the Duke’s business, ghost boy. The wrong guard hears you sniffing about this and…” She drew her thumb across her neck. “No more ghost boy in town. I’ve given you plenty to set up your little watch so you can trail him and fail like everyone else. Don’t go getting people in trouble by sniffin’ around people who can’t defend themselves. And if you do and I find out, well, there aren’t a lot of places you can hide from, Ermes.”

Ermes shoved his hands into his pockets as he offered the old woman a lazy and innocent smile. The shadows of his hair moving, dancing across his face and helping to accentuate the dark circles underneath his eyes. "I'm not here to cause any trouble, don't worry. If you ask me to steer clear of them and track it myself, well I'll be more than happy to do so. I've done my fair share of stakeouts, waiting for a glimpse of the paranormal, so I can do so again readily when the time is right. Although hopefully I won't fail like those before me. I'd love to have an excuse to come back and talk to you some more. After all, I promised I would, should I figure it out."

His smile faded as he cocked an eyebrow at the old woman. Warning bells ringing in the back of his mind as he debated on if he needed to place his hand on his sword. For now he kept his hands firmly within his pockets as he gave her a leveled look. "I don't recall giving you my name. Not that I'd meant to hide it, but…who are you?" His usual apathetic tone came back, now laced with a hint of concern.

“Maybe if you weren't as rude as your acquaintances earlier, I'd tell you." She smirked, sitting back and crossing her arms. "However, since you think you're some sort of investigator, you're more than welcome to figure it out. Was there anything else you needed because I might start charging."

Ermes's polite smile had come back. "I seem to find myself apologizing to you a lot today within our first encounter. I wasn't raised to be rude, and doubt my parents would appreciate knowing I had been even if unintentional. Thank you for your time." he said as he took a few steps back before turning around so that he was facing the exit. His face relaxing back down towards a neutral state as his cheeks hurt from smiling more than he was used to. He raised his left hand into the air as he waved goodbye to the old crone. "I'll see you in two weeks time, Agitha Hawthorne."

---

Lilann watched as Ceolfric and Ermes departed, and Kyreth buddied up with the odd woman who had leant him her cloak. It seemed she meant to let him keep it, which was almost as baffling as his agreeing to it. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled worriedly, but she managed to keep herself from grimacing. Of course, she didn’t trust Eila one bit; expressed or not, there was surely some cost or scheme behind her kindness. She only hoped Kyreth would leverage it well.

Enough dallying, she thought. You’re burning daylight.

So, she gathered herself and made for the blue-skinned elf. A part of her wished she still had her mask on, this being their first conversation, but they were past that now. Besides, he’d been the one to first assure her there was no need for it—a sentiment almost comically broken by the lady Silventria’s appearance shortly thereafter. Donning it now, for him, would have been an offense. A subtle one to be sure, but something told her Cerric had a penchant for subtly despite his…overt introduction.

“Mr. Liadon,” she said, bowing pleasantly as she came to him. “Might I bother you a moment?”

Cerric had but a moment ago decided procrastinating any longer on his duties would likely grate on the Lord's nerves but at the sound of his name in someone else's mouth, he found himself obliged to engage. "A creature as lovely as you could never be a bother." Cerric beamed at the question before offering a sweeping bow. Had he a hat, it would have likely swept the floor. "What do I have the pleasure of assisting you with this wonderful day?"

Lilann met his smile with one of her own. “Nothing major,” she said. “Just, with the rest of the day open, I was planning to look into this local ghoul of yours—the one that might have been leaving those claw marks. I believe you called it: ‘The Rancor of Morn Og’? I must admit, I was unfamiliar with the tale before today. Would you happen to have anything else to share about it, or perhaps a direction you’d point to, should someone be interested in learning more?”

"Our local ghosty caught your fancy, hm? According to the locals, The Rancor isn't something to be trifled with. Some claim it stands nine feet tall, twists its heads in grotesque ways, and tempts good gods fearing men with mirage of carnal pleasure before revealing the horrors behind the masquerade. But if you are truly interested…" Cerric considered his answer carefully, tapping a finger against his chin as he leveled an expressionless gaze at Lilann. It took only a moment for his mind to be made and he broke out a sly, curled grin.

"Oh very well. I certainly put no stock in this tale but perhaps you'll find something to spin prettier than the rumors skulking in the shadows. The husband of our foreman while the construction was happening vanished one night on his way back from Soft Haven. He came back days later, disoriented and confused and with a touch of frostbite on his fingers. He claimed there was a monster that dragged him away, somewhere color feared and warmth fled. He mentioned an abandoned mansion in the woods, surrounded by fallen Finnagund soldiers, but when we investigated, we couldn't find anything." Cerric offered with a shrug. "I guarantee he got lost in the woods, crossed a bear, and managed to get away with his life but if you think it's worth the story, follow the path back out towards town and take a right halfway to the main road. Head due north until you find a crumbling stone arch then head west another hour. That's supposedly where he encounter The Rancor."

Lilann listened intently, and as Cerric continued to speak, she retrieved a small journal from her satchel as well as a leaded stylus, and began to jot down the most important details. She hoped it didn’t appear rude, perhaps he’d understand.

Speaking to the foreman’s husband would have been ideal, but tracking him down would surely eat up most of of her day, and besides, there was no guarantee he’d talk to her anyway. Despite the general hospitality of the Bounty House, Lilann knew there were more Aeowyn’s in Soft Haven than there were Eila’s. No, she had hearsay to work off of, and directions to follow—which was more than she often got. It would do.

Smiling, Lilann stuffed the journal back into her bag. “Then with fortune’s favor, it’s where I’ll encounter it as well. Thank you greatly, Mr. Liadon, you have been exceptionally helpful. Hopefully I can repay your kindness with a good story.”

"I eagerly await your tale. Though, do be careful wandering about! These woods are full of far more mundane dangers." Cerric bade her farewell with another extravagant bow and spun on his heel to climb the stairs, humming a tune reminiscent of the strange music of the Snakeburrow woods.

The path from House to forest was more serene than entering, the colorful cast already departed during Cerric's brief conversation. The music of bird and insect resumed as the House and its strange, still waters vanished behind the curtains of foliage and the quiet harpsong lingered even softer still. Following Cerric's instructions was easier still, axe marks in the surrounding trees of a poorly cleared path deeper into the woods suggesting someone carved their way in on the same path. It meandered towards the heart of the woods, bushes and shrubs having yet grown back but plenty still underfoot to trip an unwary traveler, and soon enough a weathered and vine covered stone arch came into view, framed by dappled sunlight but missing it's keystone and the few remnants of a larger structure poked out from amongst the surrounding bushes, stones here and there worn away by decades.

The air here was cooler than the rest of the woods and the music, once subtle and soft, again near impossible to hear.

But Lilann heard it still. Whether on the word or the wind, she had an ear for subtlety, and a mind keen enough to recall that she’d heard music just like this earlier, on her way to the Bounty House. Then, she’d failed to find its source, but now…

Orienting herself west, as Cerric had instructed, Lilann continued onward. She had half a mind to lay her hand on her sword, and walk with whatever comfort that afforded her. But if there was someone else out here, Rancor or not, she’d have better liked to meet them peacefully. She didn’t have the height or, likely, the experience that Ceolfric had to introduce herself sword-first. But she certainly had her own sort of boldness.

Lilann took the lyre from her belt and gingerly tested its strings. She hummed them to tune, and listened still, intently, to the music that was as mist in the air. With practiced effort, she infused the little instrument with aether, and as she had learned to do, sectioned off a portion of thought to mind after plucking its strings. She let go, and the lyre remained in the air, hovering at her side while she walked.

A soft, gentle melody was left in her wake–an impromptu harmonization with the mysterious music around her.

Rivalry is droll, she thought, as though she were facing the musician right there. You learn so much more from a duet.

The path from the arch grew more treacherous by the hour, gnarled roots and grasping, throne vines reaching out to snag unaware travelers. Few had reason to wander so deeply this late in the year and so impromptu paths and guide marks had retreated under the forest's advance. The air grew cooler and cooler in the depths of the woods, almost unnaturally so for the amount of sunlight that filtered through the trees.

Of course, that was the smallest problem as the forest turned to ash.

One moment, the woods was full of greens, oranges, reds, and yellows and then next, everything was gray. Evidence of fire presented itself in charred bark, a soot covered floor, broken branches still shouldering. And yet, no color touched the embers, simply a plain wite glow in various shades of gray and black. Long drag marks sullied the soot's blanket, trailing footprints that a large dog could lay in. It was difficult to tell what manner of creature left such strange footprints bit by the size, it was either giant or troll.

The sound of snarling and tearing came from further ahead, hidden behind the still dense dead wood. The fetid stench of death and decay filled the air and the music that once played along aide the lyre had fallen silent.

It seemed the show as over, then.

Lilann plucked her lyre from the air and clipped it back to her belt. She wouldn’t have been able to keep her thoughts split to play it anyway–not with how the woods had changed around her. The further she tread into the colorless, immolated ruin, the slower her steps became, and the more her fingers twitched for her sword. She felt like a signal fire on a moonless night, a blue smear of paint on a black-and-white canvas.

Blessedly, it wasn’t difficult to make herself smaller. She hunched low, nearly eclipsed by her hat, and crept through the monochromatic wood. Though, calling it a wood any longer was folly. It was now at best the immolated corpse of a wood; most of its trees were ash beneath her feet, and it stank like true death. If people had lived here, they did not live any longer.

White embers danced by her like the first flakes of a snowstorm, and now and then one would graze her cheek to remind her of the difference between snow and fire. She drew closer to the horrid sounds, at once both deeply afraid, and unstoppably curious.

Beyond the immediate tree line, all life vanished. Only barren dirt remained and the shattered remains of a stone monument that clawed at the monochrome sky. Bits and pieces of armor lay scattered about stone, the occasional Soft Step and Finnagund crest visible in the larger chunks. Bones poked out from among the armor, large bite marks in each of them. The stench was strongest here, almost tangible in its strength.

In plain view stood a towering monster gouging on the flesh of a dead stag. It easily stood ten feet, heavy, sinuous muscle bulging under scarred and tattered flesh. It crouched on two legs but had four arms, each ending in three razor sharp claws. It's head was melded with its shoulders and it seemed to lack eyes, instead four large openings set above a mouth as long as Lilann's arm full of rows of razor sharp teeth. It paused its feast, the holes in its head flaring as it scented something new in its domain.

Well, Lilann thought. Shit.

She all but dove behind a broken pillar of stone, pulling in the sides of her hat to make herself slimmer. Heart racing, she briefly tried to rationalize that, no, the thing chewing through a stag like it was an ear of corn couldn’t possibly be a monster. The Rancor was a drunken cover story, there wasn’t meant to be anything out here but…well, drunks, she supposed. Then again, drunks didn’t carve those claw marks in the graveyard.

And drunks hadn’t killed all these soldiers.

Inching around her cover, Lilann tried to angle herself to see around the corner.

The Rancor of Morn Org had dropped its meal, crouched with its lower to arms helping support it. Its mound-like head turned left and right, the holes flaring. It paused for a moment and then leapt with astonishing speed, closing the gap between it and Lilann by half and then charging at the statue as it ran with all six limbs, leaving great gouges in the dirt as it let out a deafening roar.

Lilann threw herself away with a shriek, but almost on reflex, a hand went to her sword. She wrapped her fingers around the hilt and poured aether into it, drawing it cleanly up–and then promptly tossing it away.

Heavy thing, and the beast already had speed and size on her. A good look at its hideous face made it appear blind, but clearly it had located her somehow.

This isn’t a study, it’s trying to kill you.

Distancing herself from the pillar, she pulled her eyes from the Rancor just long enough to scan the charred ground.

Ash, dirt, and useless hunks of metal and stone surrounded Lilann, nothing of much use against the monster that was nearly upon her. The stone pillar was torn from the earth and tossed with the ease of a child throwing a doll, earth and stone erupting at the impact. The beast towered behind her, a clawed hand nearly at her nape.

At the corner of her vision, a flicker of color. A silhouette bright against the monochrome world flickered in and out of view, like the world around it was trying to kill it. One word entered her mind:

Listen.

Distantly, the sound of harp music wound its way through the trees.

She could take a hint.

Whirling, Lilann broke into a sprint for the smoldering tree line. She tried not to think about the beast behind her, at least not enough to let the unimaginable terror bubbling up within her to stay her feet. Instead, she only spared a glance over her shoulder, where her sword lay. She could feel it, or rather, she could feel her aether–like she’d left behind a piece of herself. And, really, it was rude to leave her things just lying around.

With a motion as practiced as her spell with the lyre, Lilann flung her arm out, let out a sharp whistle, and then closed her fist and yanked her hand back in. As if on a string, her sword launched from the dirt in a puff of ash, and with a turning of her palm, reoriented itself point-first as it flew at the Rancor’s back. Perhaps it would land, perhaps it would miss. Perhaps it would strike the thing’s immense hide and shatter into pieces. At the very least, she hoped, it would buy her precious moments to follow whatever mysterious voice had beckoned to her.

The Rancor let out an inhuman shriek as the sword buried itself in its hide, the monster whirling around with an open claw to rip at whatever struck it. When it found nothing, it tore the weapon out of its back, brought it to its face, and then let out an earth shaking roar as it realized it'd been tricked. It launched itself again towards it's fleeing prey, all the more intent on devouring the trespasser.

The flickering silhouette grew sharper and more defined the further from the ruins it got. It fled to a point nearly over the horizon, wings of white sharp against the endless dark. The silhouette stopped and held out its hand, straining to help someone far beyond its reach as the familiar harpsong of the Snakeburrow Woods poured out around it.

Delayed as it was, Lilann knew the Rancor would be back on her soon, and she couldn’t outrun something that big and that fast forever. Hiding, she guessed, would be worse; if the creature truly was blind she was certain it would find her one way or another.

The music was loud, the luminous figure clearer. It reached out, perhaps urging her on.

“I’m trying!” she hissed, leaping crumbled stone and broken, ashen earth as best she could. One hand had dedicated itself to keeping her hat secured firmly to her head. “You’re welcome to come down and lend a hand!”

The Rancor was gaining and gaining fast, the earth trembling with its weight as it leapt through the dead forest. It did not care as it crashed through tree nor branch, it did not care about the nicks and cuts adorning it, it did not care about the quickly closing wound Lilann's blade had inflicted. It could smell the fear and frustration of its prey and it could taste its blood on its tongue, fresh and warm and delicious.

The luminous figure did not move nor react, it stayed steady at its spot with one hand reaching for Lilann. The Rancor slammed into the ground right behind Lilann, three claws catching at her back and another set swinging for her head…

Lilann reached the figure and like a snake, it snatched her away from the beast and exploded, filling the world with light and song and warmth and relief.

Instead of the bland, monochrome world, the luminous figure had vanished, replace by a large wooden harp with vines and flowers carved into the edges. The strings plucked themselves and the familiar melody of the Snakeburrow Woods filled the garden. Rows and rows of herbs, vegetables, and flowering bushes filled the space, meticulously labeled and separated, clearly well maintained. Beyond that, a towering tree dominated the horizon with a headstone marking a grave beneath its boughs.

Lilann blinked, heaving down breaths and clutching the great harp like it were a buoy in a maelstrom. She looked around wildly, blinded more by the sudden explosion of color than the light, but the Rancor was nowhere to be found, nor was her spectral savior. Slowly, achingly, she climbed back to her feet and let go of the harp. Only then did she realize it was playing of its own accord, and though she’d made her own lyre perform countless times before, something about this seemed…odd.

“Shit,” she thought aloud, shoulders slumping. “Oh shit. Am I dead?”

The sound of her own voice was jarring, and she reined her thoughts back into silence. No, not dead, couldn’t be. This place was borderline pleasant, if a bit eerie, and she very much doubted that the afterlife would be anywhere near so calm for a Tainted. Besides, she could still feel where the beast had caught her in the back. Surely she wouldn’t have carried her wounds with her into the great beyond.

Garden. Lush, thriving, tended. This place belonged to someone. Her savior, perhaps? Rolling her shoulders with a wince, she started hesitantly onward, towards the great tree and its little gravestone. Not dead, she thought, half-expecting to find her own name carved upon it anyway.



Lilann exhaled with relief. She wasn’t dead—or at least, no one had buried her if she was. She crouched down before the headstone, tracing her fingers gently first across the name, and then the epitaph.

“Hannah Hawthorne…” she muttered, brow furrowed.

Hawthorne as in…Soft Haven’s Hawthorne? Agitha Hawthorne? Surely it had to be, else she was somewhere very far away from where she ought to have been. But how? She’d walked that broken path all the way to the ruins, how could she possibly be—

Lilann shot up, looking around again. Where was she, exactly? Was this Soft Haven? The outskirts? It wasn’t the cemetery, so was she on Lady Hawthorne’s property? Gods, she hoped not—if a quarter of the stories about that woman were true, the absolute last thing Lilann wanted to do was offend her.

Backing away from the shady grave, she retreated into the garden, searching for some sign of an exit, or a building, or perhaps a trace of her light-borne ‘friend’.

Beyond the edge of the clearing, forest stretched in every direction. A well-trodden path did make itself known, meandering away from the grave past the rows of plants and the harp and out into the forest. It was like a wagon trail, two thin strips of dirt with grass between them, though the wheels were much closer together than any sort of normal cart. The garden was warm and inviting, pleasant with a faint breeze and calm music but there was no one else present.

No pitchforks, it seemed. Another sigh of relief. With her exit spotted, and her life no longer immediately in danger, Lilann returned to the harp. She placed a hand upon it curiously. If there really was no one else around, then what was this thing?

She reached out tentatively with her own aether, probing the strange instrument for arcane currents. She wasn’t exactly well-versed in such things, but perhaps there was something to be gleaned from an aetheric touch.

It was blinding in its radiance. Visions of places near and far consumed her mind, dancing leaves and blooming flowers, vast oceans and frigid depths, a mortal's last breath and a child's first all racing into her from just the briefest touch of aether. The harp magic never stopped or stilled but something akin to concern filled the clearing.

Lilann gasped, stumbling backwards and onto the ground. She gripped her hand, feeling it for burns, or cuts, or something to evidence the fact that whatever she had just touched, it was not a simple harp. Something like worry reached her, and it took a moment for her to realize the feeling was alien. Something else was worried, and Lilann looked around again to confirm that, no, no one was here with her.

“What is this place?” she mumbled to the air, getting back to her feet. No longer worried about being found by some disgruntled tender, she raised her voice. “Hello? Are…are you still here?”

The concern faded away, amusement taking its place, but no one answered her. A few birds called out in the distance and the plants rustled as the breeze picked up. A rabbit hopped from around the tree and paused when it noticed the person in the clearing, nose twitching with curiosity.

Lilann cocked a brow down at the little thing. “Ah, sorry to intrude. Don’t suppose you know what’s going on here, do you?” she mused, and turned her attention to the sudden, jovial shift in the air. Something about it eased her own nerves, too. If whatever had pulled her from the Rancor’s clutches could bring itself to relax, then perhaps she really was safe.

“I take it that was you I heard this morning,” she said to the air. “It’s a lovely song. I suppose I ought to be thanking you for saving my life—or maybe apologizing for imposing a rescue upon you. You have my thanks, regardless.”

Her eyes flicked back towards the gravestone, and her lips pursed. A silly thought came to her, but then again, until minutes ago the Rancor had been just a silly thought as well.

“Are you…Hannah?” she asked. When there was no reply, she only shrugged. No answer didn’t mean ‘no’ per se, but when it didn’t, the line of questioning was likely unappreciated regardless. “Well, not like I’ve much right to pry–just can’t help it sometimes. Part of the job. I came out here looking for that wretched beastie, if you can believe it. Didn’t think I’d find anything, mind you, just after a good story, something to pass the time for…hah, look at me, jawing the ear off a spirit. If that’s what you are–I’m not particularly well-versed in these sorts of things. More of a speculative…curious compulsion.”

Her attention returned to the harp, and for a moment her heart beat as rapidly as a rabbit’s. “This, for instance,” she said, making her way back to it, and placing a single, careful hand upon its arch. “I find this particularly compelling.”

Please don’t let me regret this too much.

As she had before, Lilann pushed just a bit of her aether into the harp, only this time she braced herself, both with a sturdy footing, and a steeled mind. She hoped that would be enough.

This time, for the briefest of moments, a young elven woman sat at the harp, deft and practiced fingers dancing across the strings. With wild hair and features a mismatched pattern of animals, she laughed with the sound of hurricanes and tidal waves before a final flick of her fingers found the garden vanish, replaced instead with the familiar arch of the Bounty House gate.

“Huh?” she blinked, the fading image of the woman still burned into her eyelids. She looked around madly, confused, then lost, then confused once again. “Huh?”

She’d been moved again, this time much farther than she would have thought–though, she supposed she still didn’t know exactly where the garden had been. As her eyes settled on the Bounty House, she felt her heart sink.

“No,” she muttered, turning skyward. “No no no. Dammit! Hey! I’m sorry! I didn’t–well, I shouldn’t–” Lilann pinched the bridge of her nose, sighed.

Serves you right, touching other people’s things.

Almost automatically, she moved for the Bounty House, though she was entirely unsure of what she would do. How long had she been gone? It was still light out, at least, though in the back of her mind she feared it might not be the same day. But before she could spiral too far down that rabbit hole, she pushed the doors open and made her way inside.

Aleka sat on one of the couches, perusing a track of documents with the help of a Dwarven man in Mystralath finery. At the sound of the door opening, Aleka looked away from his work. "Is everything alright, Ms. Storyborn? You seem stressed."

“Ah! Mister Doneka–” she halted, noticing the Dwarf, and remembered herself. She felt suddenly quite exposed without her mask, but once again wasn’t in much a position to don it. Instead, she bowed her head obligingly. “My apologies for the rude interruption. If you’ll forgive just one inch more, would you mind…do you have any idea how long I’ve been gone?”

Aleka glanced outside briefly. "Hm, the sun is soon to set, so a healthy handful of hours." He looked her up and down. "Is everything alright, Ms. Storyborn? Would you care to take a seat and gather yourself a moment?"

A handful of hours? That didn’t line up, either. She made her way to a chair nearby the table, but only leaned against it. If she sat down, she feared, she may lose the will to get back up again.

“Thank you for your concern, Mister Doneka, you’re too kind.” She ran a hand through her hair, thinking. How was she possibly meant to explain herself? Lying about fantastical things was easy enough, but convincing someone of something that was exactly as real as it was strange was quite outside of her wheelhouse. “I’m quite alright,” she said at last. “I went for a walk on Cerric’s advice and managed to get myself turned around, is all. Say, you’re a well-informed man; would you happen to know a woman by the name of Hannah Hawthorne?”

Aleka considered the question a moment, though the only indication was the brief pause and his unfocused eyes. His expressionless face remained neutral. "No, I don't recall anyone by that name. Only Miss Agitha Hawthorne and her apprentice, Bruno. A relative perhaps?"

"If it's quite alright, I know of the woman." The dwarf chimed in. "She passed some 30 odd years ago, the adventurous sort who sought trouble like her life depended on it, my mother always said. Back then, they were having some nasty bear attacks and Hannah went to deal with it. Agitha didn't want her to go, threw a right fit that got real nasty at the end, but Hannah was the only one Agitha couldn't keep under her thumb. Turns out Agitha was right. They say Agitha buried her heart that day along with her wife. I was barely 10 so I don't remember much but the older folk like to chat about the old days."

Lilann frowned. She had expected sad news, but that didn’t make it any easier. Of course, this didn’t necessarily mean Hannah was connected to the thing that had saved her, but at the mention of ‘bear attacks’, the hair on the back of her neck prickled up. Just how common were bear attacks in a place like Soft Haven?

“I should go,” she said, rising. “Thank you both, sincerely.”

And with a final, polite bow, she left the Bounty House, hurrying across the bridge back towards Soft Haven, to Agitha’s apothecary. She tried to put out of her mind the fact that she was about to impose upon a widow, though it was hard. Grief didn’t always weaken with time.

The setting sun cast long shadows over the town, quickly packing up in the reddish sunset on the horizon. Only those traveling merchants who claimed home near the town walls lingered in the deepening dark. The market was mostly empty and abandoned, the last children called home to their parents and the unfortunate and downtrodden wandering away in search of generous souls or shelter for the evening. The Hawthorne Apothecary's lights were still on downstairs but light had been lit upstairs as well, signaling it was nearly time to close for all those without an urgent request. A young Tainted, curled in on himself and silent, opened the door and started sweeping out the store.

That was a surprise, though she supposed even in Soft Haven people could find jobs they’d rather hand off to their kind.

“Ah, ‘lo there,” she said, casually. “Is Lady Hawthorne in?”

Bruno startled and dropped the broom, taking a healthy step back. It seemed he’d been deep in thought and he trembled, barely able to bring himself to peak up at the person addressing him. He caught her eye, looked back down, his tail whipping back and forth wildly, fidgeted with his hands as his mouth moved silently, and looked back up at her. He still didn’t quite make eye contact but instead looked at her hat. “Short, blue, big hat.” He murmured quietly to himself more than once, like he was double and triple checking. “Um, di-did Kyreth send you?”

Lilann recoiled. “Did–no, no he didn’t. Was he by here? Did he behave?” she shook her head. “Sorry, nearly started rambling there. I’m not here on any business, just…wanted to speak with Agitha, if that’s alright. You can tell her it’s about…ah, her garden. Could you do that, please?”

Bruno stared at Lilann. He looked left and right, making sure no one was particularly paying attention to them and flipped the little hand carved sign in the window from open to closed. “Come inside, quickly.” The shy stuttering had turned into something sharper, more intense as he all but hauled Lilann inside and shut the door quickly, softly, behind her and locked it. “Um, sorry but you can’t talk about the garden in public, okay? Yo-you shouldn’t have ev-even gotten there. Oh, she’s going to be so upset.” He started pacing, wringing his hands.

The apothecary was what one would expect, warm toned wooden shelves host to a myriad of plants, bottles of dried herbs, and polyjuices and ointments. A single set of wooden stairs broke the long cabinets on the right wall, leading up to a second story where a door sat open and to the right of the counter at the back, a strange platform with various ropes and sandbags suspended around it was carved into a small alcove in the wall. However, the spots of light visible from the outside were not candles or mirrors but rather crystals hovering through the store, swaying in a phantom breeze. Magical items were a rarity even with so much dedicated study on aether and its secrets; even one of these would cost a fortune, much less the ten that hovered in the shop.

“Bruno? Aren’t you a little old to be hiding dirt under the rugs?” A croaking voice called down the open door. “Today was a little rough for you but that’s the last chore you have to do so do it properly!” Bruno made a distressed sound, not loud enough to carry upstairs but still something was rolling across the floor upstairs. He turned to Lilann, panicked behind wide eyes.

Lilann hadn’t resisted, and she felt just a bit silly for having mentioned the garden in public, despite not knowing any better. She was glad she’d at least held her tongue back at the Bounty House.

She nodded appreciatively at the quaint little shop, before exchanging looks with the boy–Bruno, it seemed. She knew that look well enough, and no matter what her urgency she wasn’t keen on putting the heat on him.

“Lady Hawthorne?” she called back up. “Apologies for the late visit, and for distracting the boy! My name is Lilann Storyborn. I was hoping we could talk? I believe I…ah…found something of yours. I promise to be as brief as I can!”

She looked back to Bruno, as if to ask: Was that okay?

Bruno buried his face in his hands in response as indecipherable grumbling drifted down the stairs. “Bah, fine! You’ll join us for supper.” Agitha called downstairs. “If you’re insistent on bothering us, you may as well make yourself useful. I have plates and no hands to move‘em so hurry up!” More grumbling carried down the stairs and the sound of rolling drifted further away from the open door.

Bruno peeked up the stairs, mouth agape. “She didn’t make you leave.” He whispered reverently. “Uh… good luck.” He scrambled to snatch the broom and returned to his sweeping, vigorously sweeping the dirt and dust of the day out the door.

Lilann couldn’t help the little smile that inched onto her face as she watched Bruno scurry back to work. At least part of it was the offer to stay for dinner; she expected that hospitality to wither away once Agitha got a look at who exactly she’d invited to her table. But for now, she went along.

“Thanks, kid.” she said to Bruno, before making her way upstairs.

The second floor of the Hawthorne Apothecary was a cozy affair, the door spilling into a moderately sized space that housed a comfortable couch and a well-loved coffee table across from two bookshelves filled to bursting with heavy, leather bound manuals, interspersed with hand-drawn pictures of varying skill: some seemed like something a child would draw and others were well detail technical drawings of various plants and animals. The one most prominently displayed was a younger version of the tainted downstairs, tongue poked out where he ground something in a simplistic mortar and pestle.

To its right, another set of stairs, rickety and shoddy looking, wrapped up and around and further right was a door facing the living room area. Left of the bookshelves, the room transitioned into a cooking area where a small dining table sat with a few chairs scattered around it. The aroma of foreign spices filled the air, bubbling from a pot over the cooking fire at the end of the room. In front of a low table, where herbs hung drying and various vegetables and unwanted meat cuts sat in a lonely pile on the side, a woman sat in a wheeled chair. Agitha Hawthorne spared the newcomer a brief glance, a brief roll of wrinkled eyes and a sigh, before she gestured at the plates, bowls, and cutlery on her other side.

“I don’t have the energy to lay into you properly but don’t upset Bruno or I’ll find the energy.” Agitha grumbled as a greeting.

Lilann appraised her as briefly, though not for a lack of interest. Rather, her interest was pulled sharply and fixedly upon the portrait of young Bruno. She drew close to it, brow heavy on her eyes. Suddenly she was very confused, and as her gaze peeled away from it, and back to Agitha Hawthorne, that feeling only deepened.

All of the stories she had taunted Ceolfric with about this woman came back to her then, the ones she’d mentioned, and the ones she hadn’t. All of them, in her mind, were exaggerated to some degree. She had prepared herself to meet a jaded, wilting hero in the twilight of her life, mourning its dawn. Heroism, after all, aged bitterly and begrudgingly. And she was, to some extent. She was curt, and had the demeanor of someone who would not have appreciated her stories, were they to have met in a tavern. But she also seemed pointedly defensive of the boy.

This was…odd.

“He’s nice,” she found herself saying. “Skittish as they come, but nice. I would hope I didn’t upset him. Has he worked for you long?”

"His apprenticeship has only been official for two years but the boy grew up here. Adopted him the day after I found him wandering the shitty alley next to The Treant. That was…" Agitha frowned as she portioned out bowls of soup and handed them to Lilann. "Eight years ago, nine years ago? Bah, they all blur together after a while."

Lilann balked. “You adopted him? Just like that?”

“Stop standing there with your mouth wide open like the village simpleton. Get this to the table, now! I didn’t offer you dinner as charity.” Agitha snapped, waving a hand at her in exasperation. She reached under the table and brought out a wide glass bottle with amber liquid rolling with flecks of red and purple. “You take a proper drink with your supper or you still drinking milk?”

Almost instinctively, Lilann snapped back to attention. She took the bowls from Agitha and brought them to the table, just like she used to do back in Dranir.

“Ah–hm? Oh, right. A proper drink will do just fine. Whatever you can spare, I’m not picky.” She took a moment to inspect the soup, and though she wasn’t much of a cook herself, it smelled about as good as anything she’d had since she left the mountains behind. “And you’re…sure you want me to stay for supper?”

Agitha gave her a disapproving look as she pulled out two short glasses from under the counter. “I get it, persecution complex and all that. Shut your trap, sit down, enjoy a drink, and then you can tell me why I could hear Bruno figuring out how he was going to shield you from my temper.” Agitha’s tone left no room for discussion as she poured the alcohol into glasses and wheeled herself over to the table, placing them down and fetching a glass of milk for Bruno.

The sound of quiet footsteps echoed up the stairs as the light dimmed from downstairs. Bruno hesitantly poked his head around the corner and, upon finding everyone alive and healthy, closed the door behind him. His nose twitched as he took in the smell and he darted for the table. Agitha whipped around, fixed him with an unimpressed stare.

“Wash up first. Gods above, just because it’s your favorite doesn’t mean you can forget your manners.” Bruno instead beelined for the small basin in the corner, scrubbing as quickly as he could get away with. Agitha snorted and shook her head before wheeling herself into the empty spot.

Lilann hesitated. Snappy for an old woman, wasn’t she? But that was fine–good, even. A sense of humor might help with..whatever their conversation would become. As Bruno joined them, she found herself smiling again, and nodded.

“I fear I’ve never been good at keeping my trap shut,” she said, sitting down. “Though I’ll gladly accept the drink before you decide whether or not I deserve that temper.”

She took one of the glasses, tipping it gratefully towards Agitha, before taking a sip. She wasn’t much of a drinker, in truth, despite having all but grown up in a variety of taverns. Slurred words could ruin even the best stories, and so she decided to drink slow and tempered.

“I understand a friend of mine stopped by, earlier. Tall fellow by the name of Kyreth. I hope he didn’t cause you any trouble?”

“Kyreth is the one who told me about you.” Bruno spoke softly, clearly nervous again with the new person at the table. He settled in the chair next to Agitha. “He’s the first other Tainted I’ve met. He told me to say hi to you if I saw you around and that’d you’d be my friend too.”

“I owe him and the girl, Eila, a favor. Got Bruno out of some trouble he didn’t deserve.” Agitha admitted, sipping at the soup. “Still, the boy needs a spine. Do him a favor and give him some. They’re going to eat him alive here, otherwise.”

Lilann smiled again. “Well, you can never have too many friends, and Kyreth’s good folk.” She didn’t mention Eila, cautious as she still was about the woman. “Granted, he and I are only recently acquainted, but, you remind me of him, just a bit. I’d say that’s a good thing.”

She took another drink, just a bit more than she ought to have, but it felt warranted going forward. “As for a spine, well, she’s right. A little courage does you good–but too much does you worse. Nearly cost me my own spine today, which, actually, is what I came here to talk about.” She took the hat from her head, set it down beside her chair, and shook the hair out around her horns. It soaked in the lamplight, growing just a bit more blue than before.

“Lady Hawthorne, have you ever heard of the Rancor of Morn Og?”

Bruno gasped, eyes wide as he looked at the glowing hair. He reached out to touch it but caught himself. “It’s so pretty.” Awe was in his tone and stars were in his eyes. “Can I have a piece of it? Can we use it? It reminds me of Fire Flores from Za’hira. Could we use it as a substitute?” He wondered, food forgotten for the moment.

“Bruno, you can’t just ask people if we can use their hair. That’s rude. Focus on your food.” Agitha sighed, putting her socially awkward child to the side for now to focus on Lilann’s question. “Yes, I know the ghost story. Big, bad orc was angry he got beat so he made a big, bag ghost that haunts the woods. It’s a children’s story, meant to keep them from playing too deep in the woods.”

Lilann nearly cracked another grin at Bruno’s question, and she turned to him. “It’s alright, I have quite a lot of it, don’t I? Well, you’re sharing your favorite meal with me, so it seems only fair I share in return. You can take a lock, if you like,” she said, and winked, tone turning conspiratorial. “And you promise you won’t cut me.”

With that she turned back to Agitha, and nodded. “I heard as much from Cerric Liadon this morning, at the Bounty House. I tell stories for a living, you see, and if I’m being honest, I woke up just today beside claw marks that had me…less skeptical than I would have been, otherwise. So I went looking. I followed a path out of town, north for a ways and then west. I came upon ruins eventually, and…” she trailed; was she really about to tell this woman she’d seen a monster? But there really wasn’t much of a choice. Taking another drink, she pushed past that unfamiliar urge not to keep talking. “I found it. I found the Rancor, and it was less happy about it than I was. I…don’t suppose you believe me thus far?”

Bruno beamed at Lilann’s permission, happily digging back into his meal after he promised he’d be extra careful for her. Agitha fixed Lilann with an unimpressed stare. “Of course, I don’t. Why in the world would I believe a world of that nonsense. What ruins? Nothing like that exists in these woods.” Agitha dismissed irritably. “Did you come just to spin tales and interrupt our meal?”

“No,” Lilann said, setting her drink down. “Though I hope you’ll forgive me if I can’t help doing the former—professional habit. To be frank with you, Lady Hawthorne, I’m…not really sure yet what I came here to do, I just felt I needed to. Hair aside, I know I’m not much to like at, and certainly not much to fear. If I’d have fought the beast, I’d be dead—and I did try, before I ran. But it’s faster than it is ugly, which, if you saw it, would be even harder to believe. But I digress—

“I came to you because I was saved. Yes, I think…I think that’s the word for it. I was saved by a creature even more incredible than the Rancor. It was light, and wings. And music.” She paused, and wondered if she might hear it now, if she strained hard enough. “Right as the beast was upon me, it took my hand and whisked me away somewhere I…don’t believe I ought to have been. A place I now think belongs to you. A garden, with a harp that plays itself, and a headstone beneath a tree, engraved for a woman named Hannah.”

The room went still, with the exception of one last slurp from Bruno who very gently put the spoon down. “May I be excused with my food?” He asked Agitha meekly. The woman’s face was inscrutable as she stared at Lilann. She only offered Bruno a curt nod, who didn’t hesitate to scramble from his chair, almost stumbling over where his tail was still tangled around a chair leg, and slipped into the door at the far end with bowl in hand, shutting it as quietly as possible.

There was a tension in the room, heavy and boiling all the same. “That is not a place you should have trespassed. You had no business defiling my wife’s resting place.” Agitha ground out through clenched teeth. Everything in the old woman trembled with barely contained rage. “The next part of your story better be an explanation of everything you touched, anything you stole, and an oath on the Gods you haven’t exaggerated or lied about any damn detail because if I find out you are, I will tear your soul from you body and burn it for the whole town to celebrate.”

Strangely, Lilann felt herself ease beneath Agitha’s barely-bridled fury. It was decidedly more natural than hospitality, and the feigned niceties of entertaining an unwanted guest. She wasn’t used to be welcomed into people’s homes to converse like friends, or even acquaintances. But she was used to threats, and indignancy, and especially anger.

She took a breath, met Agitha’s burning eyes with cold blues, and a level voice. “I touched the stone, I touched the harp. I took nothing. If I believed I had wronged you, Lady Hawthorne, I would not be here. Quite plainly, you frighten me, and I don’t make a habit of putting myself at the mercy of frightening people. I didn’t come for forgiveness, though I’ll ask it if you like. But the presence there saw fit to save my life, before it returned me to Soft Haven. Am I right to think you know what I’m speaking of?”

“Of course I know, you insolent child! I have been protecting that presence for decades and for you to stumble across it, potentially expose it to that thing that prowls the forest, all in pursuit of a damned story to turn some coin is utterly irresponsible!” Agitha fumed, pointing her finger furiously at Lilann. “But that I can forgive. I can fix that. I can strip you of every memory leading up to that, take every thought, every wonder, every drop of fear and uncertainty, and replace it with your favorite dream, whatever illusion would best persuade you nothing was wrong. What I cannot forgive is you barging in here and bringing my son into this.” She spoke in a furious whisper.

“I have kept him out of this because the burden of that secret is too much for you, let alone a child. I swore an oath before the Gods themselves not to use my abilities on him and now, I have to lie instead. I have to weave you, someone he’s so excited to meet, into some deranged lunatic who believes in ghost stories and somehow managed to slip into my garden without being torn to shreds by the hundreds of layers of aetheric wards I’ve wrapped the place in. You absolute-” She caught herself, took a calming breath and released it. “We won’t have any constructive conversation here.” She grumbled. Agitha chewed her lip for a moment.

“Dream.” Agitha commanded and the walls of the house fell away, warm summer light filtering into the space, grass grew up from the floor and the table turned into water and seeped into the earth. The faint strumming of a harp came from behind Lilann and Agitha now sat next to Hannah’s headstone. The garden Lilann trespassed upon was around them, the house they were once in gone.

“We can speak more freely here. I’ve put you to sleep and projected my mind into yours.” Agitha explained gruffly. “What was the point of coming to me, girl? You brought up my dead wife, you trespassed on sacred ground, and involved my child without understanding the burden this place bears upon the soul. You already admitted I frighten you so I cannot believe you are fool enough to think you can take this from me. So spit it out. What do you want?”

Lilann’s stony façade quickly crumbled, and while Agitha’s anger had slipped easily off of her in the house, here, in the dream, she found it hard to ignore her. It was like the woman’s voice was inside her head—which, all told, seemed like a fair enough guess.

She looked down at Agitha, but then her attention turned to the stone. Hannah Hawthorne. Adventurer. Dead to bears, they said. She tried to hear the harpsong again, but if it was playing, her thoughts were too much of a flurry to hear them. It took some time for them to still.

My dream, is it? she mused, glancing around at the rest of the garden. Were it they could all be like this.

“I took nothing,” she said at last, firm but not cruel. “I was given my life. Perhaps there are some who would take that mercy for granted, but I have not forgotten its worth. You frighten me Agitha, yes, and I fully believe that you can do everything you threaten me with, and more. The Empress herself may blush at the machinations of your fury. I believe it. Understand then, that you do not frighten me more than ignorance, or ungratefulness.”

She could feel herself getting worked up, and honest as she spoke, she still did not wish to provoke the woman to prove it. So she took another breath, tried to look at her evenly.

“Your ‘presence’ saved me, and asked for nothing. What I want is to say ‘thank you’. And to know why.”

“Damn. You’re plucky, I’ll give you that.” Agitha clicked her tongue, her shoulders still holding the tension from earlier but the rage faded away. “Bah, I suppose I’ll give you something. Not many have the courage to stare me in the face in their own mind, let alone the real world. Bah, fine.” She pursed her lips, tracing the name on the headstone.

“The presence of which I spoke and the one who saved you are two separate existences. Although they are tied together, one is far greater and the other is a kind soul who would rob you blind after saving your life. Extortion, technically. But I’ve always had a soft spot for trouble makers.” Agitha softened as she spoke, clearly seeing days far past. “Hannah was a wild sort, a creature of wind and storm alike. She couldn’t ever settle down and when I found a reason to stay put, she still flew as high as the sky. It was difficult at times but we found a balance. She’d travel a month, stay home a month, and then set out again. Sometimes a month would turn into more but I couldn't blame her for the restlessness under her skin. Her freedom made her radiant and I couldn’t bring myself to tarnish that light.”

“She was always in someone else’s business, jumping in when someone was down on their luck. That isn’t to say it was always on their behalf but she was kind when it counted, blunted when she had to be, and exactly the person she wanted to be.” She patted the headstone before giving her attention fully to Lilannn. “I cannot tell you why she saved you. Only that she did. I’d count all your coin when you wake up though. She never did break that habit.”

Lilann listened carefully to story of the woman who had saved her life. There were parts that sounded familiar, parts that she had told herself in stories of many kinds of heroes. Gold-hearted thieves, gentle rascals. Most, she knew, were much crueler than they ever let on, and in her heart she knew that, had Hannah been alive today, Lilann would not have believed her motives anywhere near as pure as they sounded.

But she wasn’t alive. She had no glory to covet, no riches to hoard—harmless trickery or not—and no thralldom to impose upon her. Agitha had no answer for her, but in a way, Lilann was alright with that. She was confused, but it had been a long time since people had confused her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, bowing her head. She had meant it to Hannah, but she had said it to them both. “I believe I’ve intruded enough. I’d…like to keep these memories, but they’re yours. If you choose to take them back, then all I ask is you leave the feelings behind. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to respect someone for their character. Unless you plan to kill me.”

She looked back down to Agitha, shrugging. “In which case, I suppose Bruno can have all the hair he wants.”

Agitha snorted, amused. “Has anyone told you something’s wrong with your head? Don’t go offering your hair to people you just met, child or not.” Agitha scolded half heartedly. She let out a tired sigh and fixed Lilann with a solemn look.

“Of all the aetherborn who have visited me today, you’re the only one I give a damn about. Bruno may have attached to the other two but bah, spineless and airheaded. One is too terrified of the word to do anything about it, the other has aspirations but no real thought into how to achieve it. And the mutt and the ghost boy? They’ll soon find the power they pursue will kill them before it aids them.” Agitha waved dismissively. “But despite the mask you put on, you know where you stand in the world and you know how to change it, you only need the tools to do it. It’s been too long since I’ve seen that in an aetherborn. Most of them are too wrapped up in their little fantasies of ruling the world, shaping reality to their will or whatever drivel they spout at the academies these days.”

“I may be old but I haven’t lost my touch. I know potential when I see it. I cannot let you keep what you have learned but as a sign of my respect, I can offer you a path to what you need to reach a future only you can realize. Would that suffice?” Agitha asked.

Lilann frowned, and something tugged within, like nostalgia for a memory she’d only just made. But perhaps it was enough to have had it at all. She nodded to Agitha.

“A future for the past?” she said, managing a smile. “How could I refuse?”

The dream shifted, Agitha and Lilann sitting at the table. Darkness crept into the edges, dissolving the scene and moving further and further back through the day. Lilann appearing in front of the Bounty House, the brief flash of a woman at the harp, the sense of connection with all living and dying things, Hannah’s headstone. The garden disappeared from her memory, leaving a vague emptiness after her encounter with the luminous being in a world unknown, being chased by a monstrosity she thought only a story.

In its place, she dreamed of golden sands and verdant grasses, of people at play with no regard for race. Of towering structures unknown to mortals and winged creatures to beauty and horror. Of boundless water and endless imagination and wonder eternal, truth and fiction became one in the same.

Beyond the wonder and the awe, three beasts stalked their prey. Violent and vicious and hungry. Jealousy and loathing and despair made manifest and dangerous. They cared not for form or shape, only dread and death.

Golden sands turn red, verdant grasses wither. Death and decay come for people and towering structures topple. Fire flashed and ice erupted and then there was nothing.

A flash of light, a luminous silhouette, winged and small, gave way to verdant plans once more but far below. Instead, Lilann found herself on a platform of marble high above the rolling hills and the scent of daffodils filled the air. Looping golden circles lay embedded in the stone and for a moment, the only sound was the gentle wind in the plush grasses.

“Remember, we are the change we want to see. That is where our power lies.”

The voice, lacking vitriol, was familiar but distant and hazy. A fondness ran through it and the comfort of time spent together made it all the better. Footsteps echoed on the marble, the brief flash of a snow white dress and daffodils in her hair. A dainty hand outstretched, waiting for Lilann to take it.

A broken mask worn on a face on fire. The word trembled before her but with one single thought, it went white once more. A blank canvas, a new world to paint, a new power to tap.

The next dawn dawned cold and dreary, weak, watery sunlight filtering over the horizon. Rain seemed imminent later in the day but still, the sounds of the city rousing slowly filled the air. The smell of fresh baked bread just barely reached the northern gate and the shouting of early risers started to fill the town. The midnight guard was a tired lot, mostly leaning with heavy heads and heavier eyelids, as they waited for their relief to arrive. Few people used the northern gate at this hour and so the road was mostly empty, save for two speaking in hushed tones twenty paces outside the gate.

Cerric stood next to a large covered wagon, dressed far less elegantly than at the house. He opted for a simple set of canvas pants, a high collared long sleeve shirt tied up at the neck, and a hooded, heavy woolen traveling cloak all in sensible dark greens and browns. He carried two heavy water skins, hanging off a rope tied at the belt on each hip. Despite his bubbly and animated gestures he made as he conversed, it was clear the early hour took its toll, sluggishness evident in his movements and the downward droop of his mouth matched the droop in his shoulders.

His conversation partner, a young woman who barely reached his shoulders, was an entirely different matter. Brown hair tied back in a neat braid that fell to the middle other back, she laughed cheerily in response to Cerric’s commentary. Dressed in similar attire for the trip ahead, she stood a head shorter than Cerric and was filled with an energy misplaced in the dreary morning hours. Her foot tapped with a restless energy in front of the covered wagon, piled high with red fern bundled in oil cloth, attached to a large brown horse.

“Honestly, Master Cerric. Each tale more outlandish than the last.” The woman shook her head with a giggle before gesturing at the water skins. “You certain you don’t wanna throw those in the wagon? Got a little space if we shuffle some supplies around. Won’t take but a second.”

“Very gracious of you, Esvelee but I’ll decline once again. These are the tools of my trade and no self respecting tradesman would dare part with his tools, even for a minute!” Cerric denied dramatically, turning his nose up at the very notion.

---

Ceolfric lurked the streets with little of the determined haste he'd possessed the day before, fur-lined cloak drawn about him as though he trudged through a Draniran blizzard rather than a misty autumn morning. The buzz of aether around him still laid relatively dormant, with most yet to stir from their homes. He doubted the respite would continue for very long, but he also supposed it wouldn't be his problem for much longer either. Good riddance. This town certainly emphasized the Soft in Soft Haven, but at least he learned Finnagund could barely afford to keep its roads safe. If this job fell through, he might have a career in these lands yet.

The north gate came into sight, and beyond it, a cart he assumed held the red fern shipment. Filled to the brim with product and only a single horse; he'd have stolen such a prize with ease had he a mind to do it. Of course, that assumed the guards were mundane men. He could only hope any threats they encountered along the road would make the same fatal assumption. Cerric had arrived on the scene already, conversing with one Ceolfric could only assume was their client. It was confirmed when he caught a name on the approach - Esvelee - the Buckman girl Aleka mentioned. The Verazian had also made it sound like this was her first time managing the shipment. Whether she'd accompanied a trip before or not, Ceolfric didn't trust her judgement as far as he could spit, which also meant he'd have to be more vigilant than usual.

"I might take you up on that offer, Miss Buckman, if you'd permit me," Ceolfric chimed in as he approached, the usual bite in his voice dulled by the morning hour. He certainly wasn't going to haul anything he didn't need to with a cart right within arm's reach, especially when some Misophaes-blessed horror skulked around their projected path. "Ceolfric of Dranir," He introduced himself with a dip of his head, "Let me know which direction you'd like me to cover, though I fear the weather might be our first opponent." Though unpleasant, the bandit wouldn't be cowed by a bit of rain, but it'd be a different story if the cart ended up lodged in the mud. Had he intended to pillage the shipment in the rain, Ceolfric certainly would've picked the swampiest length of road to stage an ambush from, and he doubted he was the most uniquely creative brigand in the land. He'd probably find himself pointing out potential ambush spots quite a bit, if this girl was as green as she seemed.

---

---

---

That was the first night since rooming with Berta in Straithmoor that Kyreth could remember sleeping under a roof, and the first time he could ever remember going to bed with a full belly. More than that, he was blessed with a warm bed and above all, security. It should have been the best night of sleep he’d ever had.

But it wasn’t. Quite the contrary, in fact. His sleep, if he could call it that, was fitful and sparse, diced up by worries and wonders alike; his awe at all the blessings he’d received battled with his fear of what the morning would bring, a deep, primordial dread filling him that something would go awry to put his fellow travelers’ blood on his hands. On top of that, anytime he started to drift off, he remembered the stories of the monster that harried Lilann, the very same spectre that left the claw marks on their sleeping spots the night before, lurking somewhere off in the distance of the forest. The thought alone was enough to make a man think twice about ever leaving the safety of his shelter again; he was grateful to be sleeping inside some walls that night, even if he wasn’t really ‘sleeping’ at all.

Eventually, a long and harried night gave way to a dreary morning, and despite his reservations, Kyreth was happy at least to put the tossing and turning behind him. He was even lucky enough to catch the second floor kitchen open at such an early hour, and true to the Lord’s word, they gave him a hearty breakfast with no expectation of pay. He’d downed it just as politely as the bread with Eila - which was to say, not very - and profusely thanked the cook before making off for their meeting place.

Defying his restless night (not to mention the less-than-comfortable walk down through the woods), Kyreth wasn’t much the worse for wear when he arrived at the north gate; he was accustomed to fitful sleep as it was, and having a full belly more than compensated for any lack of rest. He looked substantially the same as the day before, except that his clothes were clean and he carried his pack underneath Eila’s gifted cloak, giving him the silhouette of a particularly tall and lanky hunchback.

Cerric got there before him, as did the brigand - or maybe he should start calling him Ceolfric, if they were going to be working together - who was already talking with a woman Kyreth didn’t recognize. The heiress they were escorting, he inferred. She looked younger than he expected, but ready for travel, and chatted amicably with Cerric. Nevertheless, Kyreth made a wide berth, wary that her demeanor would change the moment she realized he wasn’t the traveling Drow he was pretending to be.

“Good morning,” he greeted quietly, as if not to disturb the morning mist. He had hoped Lilann would beat him there, but no such luck; he felt oddly exposed without her. Hopefully the lady wouldn’t question the extra tagalong and nobody at this hour would be feeling too chatty.

Morning light broke through the window, bands of gold hitting Ermes in the eyes. He didn't care to open them, simply shifting his arm down from where it rested on his forehead now to over his eyes. A small sigh escaped him as he lay there motionless for a moment, taking the time to wake up before finally sitting up atop the bed. Shifting himself until he no longer felt the warmth of the sun in his face. His eyes opened to see that his roommate was still sound asleep, much like how he'd found him the night before when he entered the room.

Ermes quickly gathered his belongings, checking to make sure none of his items were disturbed or stolen. He didn't have much, but nothing was seemingly missing to his surprise as he placed the last of his items back into his bag before quietly heading out. He quickly scanned the morning atmosphere of the Treant, noticing a lack of food out for grabs, no doubt due to their clientele. He only had four copper to his name now, and he wasn't about to waste it on something he might be able to get for free. He spied the scent of freshly baked bread coming from a near-by shop, deciding to employ an old tactic in a new city.

Once that was all well and settled he'd begun to make his way out of town, towards the Bounty House where they were to meet their client and go off on this trial. The morning weather was beautiful in its own right, making the walk there more pleasant than he'd expected. He could see four vague shapes off into the distance, coming clearer into vision as he noticed it was Cerric, Kyreth, Ceolfric, and who he could only assume was the escort mentioned. He found it odd that Eila hadn't shown up yet, having pegged her as an early riser as well as one to meet anywhere earlier than previously discussed. Unless she was the learned type that constantly arrived late, waving their titles as excuses for having poor manners.

In any case, Ermes pulled up right beside Kyreth, not looking towards the man but in the same direction he was facing. "Where's your friend? I thought you two were a package deal." He spoke in between bites of a large baguette. The bread was still warm to the touch, and extremely pillow-y inside. He took every bite with care, knowing full well the next ten days wouldn't have anything near as good as this. Another bite. Then he looked up towards Kyreth, locking into his eyes before tilting the bread towards him as if to offer a piece.

---

Lilann was no stranger to nightmares, but she had never been plagued by a pleasant dream before. Yet, that night, the warmth of those unreal sands, and the awe of its towers, even the fear of their destruction—all of it set her to waking again, and again, only for her to return to it when she drifted once more.

She stood on that marble platform, reaching for a hand outstretched but never feeling their fingers touch.

She woke feeling terribly alone, and sought to remedy that at once.

The air in Soft Haven was bitter and damp. She’d spent so long under the gloomy skies of Dranir that, even though she’d seen more snow than rain in her life, she had a feeling the day wouldn’t stay as meagerly dry as it was now. Oh well, a good wash never hurt anyone—and if she was going to be sharing a convoy with the hedgeman, she’d likely be thankful for a little cleansing rain.

Donning her mask once again, she proceeded out of town to meet with their employer. She found Cerric alongside an unfamiliar woman—the client, likely. Esvelee, if memory served. Ceolfric had shown up, as well as the impish boy. And, ah, there was Kyreth. The thought of him coming along, especially after what she’d seen, still didn’t sit right with her. But she’d resolved to trust him, and if ever there was a time to stick together, it was now.

“Good morning!” she announced, voice projecting easily from beneath her mask. She nodded pleasantly to Cerric, and bowed theatrically to Esvelee, head dipping low enough that her hat nearly eclipsed her whole body. “Lady Buckman,” she greeted. “Lilann Storyborn, at your call.”

With that she went on to join Kyreth and Ermes, striking up on the former’s unoccupied side. “Good to see you. And—oh, look what the night coughed up,” she said teasingly, waggling her fingers at the shadowy boy. “Hello, Ermes. Ready for a nice trip?”

“Well, well! Seems like everyone is up and at them. Guess it’s a good thing I’m not a gambling man; I’d have lost half my pouch with this many showing up!” Cerric joked before Esvelee had a chance to respond, quickly doing a headcount. “Only one down. Not bad, not bad at all. We have a bit to talk about and then we’ll be on our way. Our wayward friend may yet still have a chance.” He stepped back, a half bow to Esvelee to offer her the floor.

“Uh, alright then.” She started hesitantly, bewilderment plain on her face as she stared at Liliann’s hat. “Well, if y’all need a place to store some stuff, I got some space for a pack or two in the cart. Job’s easy enough. Papa wants the stuff safe and sound in the Wilree markets so we, uh, hired some people. You, I mean. We hired…” She frowned as she counted. “Why did we hire so many people? I’m expecting some ‘gressive wolves, maybe a bear. You’re bringin’ enough to fell a forest or somethin’. How paranoid is my pa?”

“Technically, you just hired me. These ones are apprentices, in a vaguely similar sort of way. Don’t worry; you aren’t paying any extra.” Cerric reassured her. She fixed him with a suspicious look and, apparently satisfied with whatever his half smile conveyed, shrugged and let the matter drop.

“Now, we just gotta make it to the main Wilree road and meet up with the Hanrish caravan and then y’all are good to go. Don’t suppose it’ll go too awful if we got so many bodies for the trip.” Esvelee shrugged.

“But that’s not the mindset to have when you’re being evaluated for your ability to get the job done!” Cerric interjected with a clap of his hands. “No, no, no. Even though this is just a simple escort, you have to take the job seriously and focus on reducing the threat to our poor, helpless employer. So to that end, I’ll will be gladly taking the seat next to Esvelee while you all put your strengths and skills together to ensure Ms. Buckman makes her way safely to the caravan! ”

“Okay. Well, Ceolfric and whoever else has a pack to stash, come ‘round to the back real quick and we’ll get you set up.” She waved them to the back, pushing a few small boxes around and repositioning the oil cloth wrapped plants so there was some room without crushing the product. Cerric swung up on the seat of the wagon and crooked a finger at Liliann.

“Now, did your search last night satisfy your curiosity?” Cerric asked, curiosity and something else in his eyes as his exhaustion seemed to melt off his face. “By the time I was freed up, you and Kyreth scuttered away to his room.”

As soon as Cerric was occupied with his own conversation, Esvelee raised an eyebrow at Ceolfric. “Y’all sure there ain’t anything that dangerous? There some nasty rumors whirlin’ around these parts and six people ‘stead of one showing up seems like there is a problem.”

---

So, they'd lost the elf and gained the timid Tainted. No real loss there, they'd both be equally useless the moment a highwayman locked eyes on their cart. Though, Ceolfric couldn't help but be a bit curious as to what changed Freckles' mind. Had Lilann convinced him to come along with grandiose tales of chivalry and adventure, or did Soft Haven simply have no need for Tainted laborers?

The girl's composure predictably cracked the moment everyone's eyes laid upon her, though Cerric tried to keep up a strange facade of professionalism and nonchalance despite that. There was no way Ceolfric could dig up the source of the caravaneers' woes in under a day while the House's moneykeeper himself was blissfully unaware of the state of the roads. Either he wanted to see how the group handled surprises as part of the evaluation, or he didn't want to alarm the poor girl. If she was that fragile, she'd probably turn the whole caravan over to him the moment he took a knife to one of her guards' necks. It would be so easy to operate down here. It was almost sad.

On Esvelee's invitation to join her behind the wagon, Ceolfric meandered toward the unexpected member of their travelling band as he followed. "Have a fence to mend in Wilree, do you?" He questioned humorlessly, not even pausing to await a response. Demanding answers while their client was waiting for him would probably reflect poorly on them, and while he no longer cared about the Buckman girl's opinion in the slightest, Cerric would most certainly take her satisfaction into account for the evaluation. Upon rejoining the girl, Ceolfric leveled a flat stare in her direction, though his eyes maintained a hint of mischief. She must've heard something as well. The real question was whether she should be told, or if an accurate appraisal of the risks of this trip would only lead to her whining her way down the road and jumping at every wayward shadow.

Actually, the real question was whether or not Ceolfric cared. Cerric seemed intent on keeping the danger from her - or them, maybe - but given that he seemed keen on lounging for the entire journey while they did all the work, the brigand wasn't exactly inclined to follow his plan. It's not like he could be punished for doing his research.

"I think the numbers are simply a result of you getting lucky, not a precautionary measure," Ceolfric explained in a bored monotone as he slung his pack off and hoisted it into the cart, slinging his shield across his back in its place, "But yes, there is something harrying the roads and it isn't a hungry bear. While I'm sure Cerric is up to the task himself, you should consider yourself fortunate for the extra security. Assuming we even encounter the creature." While it would be far more convenient not to, the bandit couldn't say he wasn't a little eager to slay the beast and drop its head on that hag's rug just to shut her up. "Just listen to what we say and you'll be fine. And don't let it bite you, its venom is fatal."

---

@Obscene Symphony

Fortunately, Kyreth wasn’t left to stand silently by himself for long; not long after he arrived, the sullen boy from the day before made his appearance, sporting a loaf of fine bread Kyreth was just about certain he couldn’t afford. To Kyreth’s surprise, Ermes walked right up to him, starting up a conversation with a question that was either sincere and poorly delivered or a poorly-veiled jab.

Kyreth eyed the bread with something akin to disgust, but rather than comment, looked around for his new traveling partner. Had she gotten cold feet? After yesterday’s endeavours, he certainly couldn’t blame her, but he shifted on his feet just the same. “Oh, um, she’s…”

Having been surprised Lilann hadn’t beaten him there in the first place, Kyreth wasn’t surprised to see a top-heavy silhouette materialize in the morning mist right on cue. “Right there!” he finished more confidently than he started, motioning to Lilann’s figure emerging from the fog.

“Good morning,” he returned her greeting kindly, noticing she’d gone back to her mask. Smart. He wished he could get away with that, but he didn’t have the performer’s air Lilann had to pull it off - if he donned a mask he’d be pegged as some kind of criminal before anyone even had the chance to find out he was Tainted and consider themselves sure.

It wasn’t long after Lilann arrived that Cerric launched into another introductory spiel, helpfully repeating their patron’s name so Kyreth could commit it to memory. Judging by their patron’s demeanour, Ms. Buckman either wasn’t bothered by the presence of two Tainted among her ragtag guard, or hadn’t noticed - either one worked for Kyreth, and he dared not hope for any more than that. Whichever one it was, he made a mental note to steer clear of the front of the carriage on their trek - no need to take any chances.

Kyreth reflected Ms. Buckman’s concern about their numbers, though - especially when Cerric approached the topic of Lilann’s “search” after his announcement. Cerric’s excuse weakened considerably when an eldritch horror in the woods was factored into the equation, and Kyreth was left to wonder once more if Cerric truly believed the woods would be empty, or if he was just that powerful that whatever that thing was didn’t concern him. Which it was, he couldn’t tell; behind the near-ominous curiosity on his face, the man was intriguingly hard to read.

And speaking of people who were difficult to read, Ceolfric shot a comment as he passed, earning little more than a quizzical look from Kyreth. If only the bandit knew his real reason for tagging along made even less sense; mending fences was certainly more within his wheelhouse than aetherically mapping the road out of Soft Haven as a walking firebomb. On that topic, Kyreth made a mental note to suss out the aether around the North Gate before they set off.

But that could wait a moment. In the meantime, Cerric had the bulk of his attention. “Ah, right, sorry about that,” he apologized less-than-sincerely, crossing his arms. He leveled the blue-skinned man with a searching stare, unsure whether to broach the topic, but eventually decided to follow Lilann’s lead; it was her story to tell, and he wouldn’t tramp on her right to tell it as she saw fit. Besides, he wasn’t fond of accusing Cerric of malfeasance on day one, especially when their ten-day foray promised a lot of close dealing with the man - more if he needed to put out any fires.

Ermes noted Kyreths look, slinking his bread back down closer to him as he ripped off another piece and plopped it into his mouth. He'd never met anyone who didn't like fresh bread before, but when he thought about it he began to wonder if perhaps tainted had different tastes. He doubted the idea that they ate human flesh held any merit otherwise he doubted the Bounty House would allow them in, but perhaps they were strictly carnivores. Preferring to eat raw meat over other more human foods.

Kyreths nervousness seemed to kick back in as his words spilled out with no confidence to them. To Ermes's surprise, he suddenly motioned behind him, to what he could only assume was an approaching Lilan. He didn't bother turning to look, instead opting to give Kyreth a deapanned stare as he believed the tainted to be trying to pull some sort of wool over his eyes. If Kyreth wanted to step away from the conversation, then he very well could have, he didn't need to concoct a whole charade. Unfortunately a familiar voice called out from behind, making Ermes's eyes widen slightly in a startled surprise. He turned to face the masked woman, offering the best smile he could manage.

"Oh. You're masked again." His smile turned crooked in a bit of confusion before going back to its apathetic state. "Don't know how nice it'll be. They keep talking about rain, hopefully it won't muddy the roads too much to get the cart stuck. But I'm certainly ready for the trip." He noticed Cerric calling her over for something, nodding towards his direction before trying for another half smile. "Probably best you go talk to him. We can catch up after if you want, I still need to introduce myself to our client." Exhaustion lacing his voice more so than usual. Ermes made his way over towards Esvelee, noting that she and Ceolfric were currently in a conversation. "Sorry to interrupt, I don't exactly need to stow anything but I wanted to introduce myself before we get going and while we still have time to wait for the last of us to arrive. My name's Ermes."

---

Lilann fixed Ermes with a tilt of the head and an odd look that was hidden to the world. For a moment she was at a loss—normally she was so good at reading people, but suddenly she couldn’t make heads of tails of the impish boy’s attitude. He didn’t seem as aggressively suspicious as yesterday, nor had he risen to her bait. Only a little startle, and a peculiar, off-kilter smile.

Kids.

As he went off to make his introductions, she heeded his advice, and approached Cerric at his seat. He was quite a bit higher up than she was, but even with her head craned all the way up at him, the hat stayed firmly in place. His face was as indecipherable to her as Ermes’, and she hoped that was simply because she was still on edge, and not just losing her touch. Either way, though she couldn’t pin his intentions, she knew a dishonest question when she heard one.

Goddammit, she thought. Did I somehow make an enemy of him without knowing it? Usually people are much more forward about wanting me dead.

Doing her best not to wilt under that strange gaze, she nodded. Her voice was quiet, but, she hoped, not fearful. “Mr. Liadon if I in some way offended you the other day, I do sincerely apologize,” she said, lifting her hat just enough to tip it. “Otherwise, I think I’ve come to understand why some things should remain mysteries. Doubt it’ll dissuade me from making the same mistake in the future, but regardless. If you were to pit this crew of ours against that fabled Rancor, just, say, for the sake of a story, how would you favor the odds?”

Esvelee, meanwhile, chewed her lip nervously as she arranged the red fern more neatly around the pack. “Well, I suppose that’s fair enough. I guess I should just be thankful I had the Gods lookin’ out fer me then.” She laughed, nodding at Ceolfirc’s instructions. “Alright then. I’m trusting you lot.” She finished fiddling with the cargo and turned when another voice joined the conversation, she crooked her head as he introduced herself. Her eyebrows rose at the sight of his hair. “Uh, yeah, nice to meet you, Ermes.” She spoke slowly, the strangeness of the hair on his head clearly having her attention.

“Soured investments and broken contracts are the only things that offend me. I’m not certain how you’ve taken the impression that I dislike you; rather, I find you quite a fascinating prospect!” Cerric chuckled, waving away Liliann’s concerns. “And since I have no doubt you’ll be a regular fixture at the Bounty House alongside our newest addition to our little family, please take my apologies for worrying you. I did not mean any undue stress. But as for-”

Both Cerric and Esvelee looked at the newcomer as Eila struggled to catch her breath. Esvelee looked mildly concerned as Eila struggled to catch her breath, hand halfway to a water skin, but Cerric tutted loudly as he dropped off the carriage and closed the distance in a few long strides, stern disappointment written on his face. “I would recommend not. Depending on the job, this could have been the moment your transport was robbed, your ward caught an arrow to the neck, or any other number of nasty ways to fail a contract. And when you’re working as a team, your failure is their failure as well. Ms. Buckman is a kind client and technically, I’m the only one supposed to be here, but there are those who are sticklers for the rules and when the rules are broken, it means discounts and I don’t tolerate those.” He gave a reassuring pat on the head. “But, you have five days to prove you aren’t an absolute failure so please work hard! I’m looking forward to it.” He spun on his heel and marched back to the wagon.

“Now that the whole group has arrived, we should depart quickly. We’re burning daylight every second we’re standing still. Take your positions, whatever you decide what those may be, and let’s get going.” Cerric ordered as he climbed back up on the wagon.

“Last call for the wagon, lest you want to shlep your shit til sundown!” Esvelee called to the group.