The misty rain seemed endless on nights like these, or so the young woman with long, fiery locks thought. The moon was full in the starry sky, it was almost beautiful. Faline took a moment to gaze up at the sky. Her dark gray, wool-hooded cloak concealed her features at the moment. It kept the light leather armor underneath dry as well as the daggers that were stashed in her boots. One couldn't be too careful when scouting potential lands. She was all the happier to scout ahead, this way she knew the information firsthand. Posing as a simple mercenary, Faline gained favors and weaved a tight web all without many of her employers not realizing that she was of the Nightingale family.

The water collected within the cobbled streets as Faline made her way to the Lock And Key Tavern within the town of Somerset, one of the trade hubs of the Ellezag Plains. Her uncle, Nikolai, had all up and disappeared a few months ago after his last letter on his supposed business trip. Faline had spent those last few months tracking his whereabouts and following a handful of clues. She had heard of rumors of the Plague out here. The royal guardsmen took anyone that showed signs of sickness to an outpost but every village she passed through acted as if they had no clue of such things. Even more, rumors had it that the Governor of the Ellezag Plains was on the brink of madness. Common folk were struggling to keep themselves alive whether it was food or shelter. Taxes were incredibly high to the point that commoners were beginning to sell their children to workhouses just so the children had consistent food and a bed to sleep on.

Faline opened the door to the tavern and the place was alive with laughter, chatter, and banter with card games. She lowered her hood and her vibrant green eyes scanned the room. She wasn't the only female mercenary here, just probably one of the few most competent if she was being honest. Faline meandered through the lively bar scene as she turned to request a drink from the bartender, only for her eyes to catch the sight of whom she assumed was the tavern owner or a man that fit his description anyway.

This young man was tall, athletic stature with light hair so fair that it resembled that of fresh snow and silver eyes to match. He was handsome with all things considered minus the patch that covered his right eye. He was also dressed in steel armor with his sword at his hip but Faline couldn't begin to think of such things right now. Sir Dorian was the fifth son of the Governor, he was neglecting his duty to turn in his adoptive father, or so it seemed. Stories told that he was planning a revolt against his adopted father and turning him into the Emperor. Faline watched for a while as he seemed to drink and play card games with others. Wasting precious money that the people of his kingdom worked so hard for.

Once the game was finished, Faline stood up from the bar and made her way over to the table. "Rumor has it that you are looking for help?"She asked as she tossed down a token that had the symbol of a bard on one side and a rogue on the other that she received from finding her uncle's pack about a week ago. The engraving was that of a blacksmith from Somerset. The young man just smirked and nodded as he took the token and led Faline to a back room.

"Once the others are here, I will explain," he said as Faline rose an eyebrow.

"Others? How big is this job?" Faline asked as she crossed her arms. "I work alone."

"I think you will find this job will need multiple hands in the fire, so to speak," Dorian replied with a knowing look in his eye as he left the room to sit back at his post. Faline rolled her eyes as she looked around the room, it wasn't anything fancy but there was a fireplace with a seating set and then a few bunkbeds on the other side of the room. She sat on the sofa in front of the fire, she put her pack on the ground by her feet as she pulled out her journal which was packed full of clues left behind from her uncle.

The cloaked figure moved effortlessly through the cobbled streets of Somerset as she surveyed the surroundings. It was yet another human town among many she had visited, watching the occupants wallow in their greed, corruption, and vice. The scent of ‘civilization’ clung thickly to the air, in stark contrast to the aromas of nature. Life in the temples prioritized cleanliness, with incense burning to safeguard against foul odours. Here, the streets were an open latrine, and signs of illness were evident. Despite talk of the grey plague wandering in these parts, no one seemed the wiser.

Thankfully, her task didn't involve trying to purge the stench from this human town. She had a crucial lead as she followed the steps of ꁲꁅꍩꁲꂠ in her journey of a thousand miles. She learned there was an envoy of the Emperor present, the enemy, who acted as an intermediary in this town. The information led her to the doors of a den of disrepute, known colloquially as a tavern, with the precipitation from the misty rain clinging to the shutters and sign, which transcribed the name with symbols of a lock and key, for those unable to read.

With her cloak wrapped tightly around her, she pushed through the door and made her way to the bar. In the guise of a weary traveller here for the markets, and with the exchange of some coin, she secured herself a suitable hidey-hole with drink and food, fitting her role as she scanned the lively crowds. She could quickly identify the locals as they greeted and called to each other, similar to those not from these parts who travelled in small groups and pairs. She noticed an individual who strutted like a peacock in his steel armour. She considered her plan of approach, perhaps cornering him when he was alone, her eyes suspiciously examining his companions as she weighed their strength. Her attention shifted as she noticed the red-haired woman seemingly gazing at the man herself, an admirer perhaps? She waited, watched, witnessing her make the first move as the game finished. The girl's hips swayed as if she were going to proposition him, and that she did as the token landed on the table. The man seemingly pocketed it before leading her through the back. Identifying the token, she moved to the diary and found a similar one with a strange symbol representing a fist and a dragon on the flip-side. She examined it and wondered, perhaps this was a token that signalled those employed by the Emperor.

Gathering her belongings, she moved toward the door leading to the back. As the door pushed open, and the man walked back out, she was already there, her token between her fingers. Act like you belong. She held it out toward him while seamlessly manoeuvring behind him into the back room, wordlessly, as if this interaction had been done a hundred times before.

She examined the room, attempting to determine its function, already identifying a loose floorboard that had recently been moved. Her gaze focused on the woman seated by the fire. Her hood lowered, a smile etched on her face as it settled warmly. "Salutations, fellow traveller," her head inclined toward the other's travelling bag. "The weather is never the most pleasant this time of year." Using the moment to approach, her easy-going manner practised, she placed her bag alongside Faline's and extended her hand toward her. "You may address me as Amandine. I feel we may become closely acquainted shortly."

---

---

It had felt like an age had gone by in the blink of an eye. She still remembers her hurried rush from the campsite, whatever possessions she had left tucked away in her rucksack or clutched tightly to her chest. Her legs protested, her lungs burned, her face reddened. It was all too much...

That primal fear of being locked up within the Gallows again crept up on her so suddenly, she did not have time to think rationally about the events she had just witnessed. Her teacher, her father, gone with the wind. She rushed and she ran until she could move no further, and as she sat beneath that crooked old tree to catch her breath, Dorothea finally reasserted herself enough to take a look those meager belongings Master Deylin had left behind. The journal was incomprehensible, a smattering of scribbles, chicken scratchings and illegible symbols that meant nothing to the young mage, no matter how many memories of training and teaching lead by the old wizard she dug up from the back of her mind. On it's final page, she noted a scribble she could read. A simple title and name. "Sir Dorian". She did not recognize it, and filed the information away in her head.

And then there was the token. She almost missed it when she first picked up the journal, as it slipped out of it's protective paper fold as she grabbed the leather-bound book. Whether it was fate or some instinctual part of her psyche, Dorothea grabbed it and thought nothing more of it. She had clutched it carefully in her hands. It was...agreeable to the touch, it's black material cold against her soft fingers, yet it's name a mystery to the mage. The gold-filled engraved artwork reminded her of a number of tomes in the Gallows library, but she dared not dwell long on that memory for fear of another panic attack overtaking her.



Most peculiar of all, on it's back she found something akin to a signature. She did not recognize the name or lettering with one exception. Somerset, a town on the Plains. An expansive hub of commerce, if she recalled her studies correctly.

She now had a location and a name, but no context. For all she knew this could be a wild goose chase fueled only by a vain hope that it would lead her back to her mentor. Yet in the end, she grasped at this miniscule opportunity, and did not look back. As the rainclouds began to roll in overhead, the mage dirtied up her identifying mage robes with dirt and grime. It wouldn't escape close inspection, but from afar she'd hopefully appear as just another robed peasant. The coming rain proved to be a boon for that ruse. After all, nobody liked getting their hair wet.

By the time she found Somerset, the sun had long since dropped below the horizon. She was cold, soaked and tired, yet pressed onward regardless, for fear of a halt would make her legs give out from underneath her. A few discreet inquiries to the occasional passers-by yielded her little information, aside from directions to a local tavern. Lock and Key they called it. A strange name, though Dorothea would not voice that opinion out loud...

Finding said tavern wasn't an easy task, but eventually after an hour of fruitless searching, she stumbled inside with a relieved sigh. Regardless of if this Sir Dorian was present, she was simply happy to be out of the rain. After a few welcome moments warming herself by the fire, she began her search in earnest. Noting the appearance of the patrons as their faces and apparel faded in and out of soft shadows, her eyes landed upon the supposed barkeep, clad in steel armor of all things. Nervously noting if any others were in turn watching her, and finding nothing, Dorothea took a deep breath, smothered her fear and walked up to the man. He noticed her approach right away, eyebrow curiously raised as she presented herself before him.

"A-Are yo-you by any...um...c-chance, S-Sir Dorian?" Mentally, she admonished herself. Her voice tiredly quivered and stammered. Not a good first impression...

"Who wishes to know?" Came the curt reply back, and Dorothea almost completely forgot about the token in the folds of her robes. Quickly retrieving the piece and handing it over, the man smiled and nodded. With a wordless motion, he showed her in behind the bar, and she mutely followed. Entering a small room, she would be lying if she said she didn't jump a little when Sir Dorian closed the door behind her, or that she was not along within the chamber's confines.

"Oh." Came her moronic response, as her gaze settled upon two visions of great feminine beauty, features blessed by Elvian ancestry, or some unknown exotic source, silenced whatever other words she tried to formulate. She felt embarrassed heat creeping across her cheeks, and thanked all the Gods in the heavens above for the low light of the room, and her decision to leave her hood on when she first entered. What had she gotten herself entangled into?

---

From the edge of the town, a lumbering jingling man covered in thick furs and with several sticks sticking out of his clothing moved into town. He traveled with one arm outstretched, holding a dimly lit censor lit his way with the smell of incense. His other hand was slowly picking various small branches and sticks from his outer clothing, tossing them aside or snapping them in slight frustration as he made his way through the streets. He disliked it, it was to that point where it was bulging with people, and too many people smelled of filth, of disease.

He lifted the censor to his face and stared at the light momentarily as the thick smoke just bellowed around his uplifted arm, some of which coated his face until his arm lowered back in front of him, and it swang. He kept moving and pulling plant life from himself until he got to a thin cord of thorns that had wrapped around his arm, and he tossed it away as quickly as he ripped it off, not caring about which way it went or where it landed.

A deep groaning yawn came from underneath a cloth hood which still had smoke seeping from its open edges as he had spotted someone who looked far too out of place to be in this filthy place; he was much slower than the graceful woman, but he figured that she was headed in the same direction as him. When he turned a corner, he saw her enter a doorway, and thus the search for where he had to go was slowly ending.

Torsten stared at the bar door and showed a thick hide over his body and a dirty greying hood over his head in the better lighting around it. He raddled with each step, metal raddling against metal; he was covered in a patchwork of armor, chainmail under his thick fur, and plate covering his chest and around his waist and legs. Cloth and fur covered almost all of it, but it was more or less just another layer over it, new things keeping the raddling to a minimum. He opened the door and moved into the building seeing the denizens of the bar and finding that there were several places inside the bar.

Smoke poured around him as he forwarded his movement following the misplaced individual, and slowly moving a small bar on the censor as it closed its light to the world, he shifted the fur forward some to open up access to a belt that had an old metal helmet, and he hooked the censor just beside it.

Striding, no, lumbering like a walking rack of silverware through as he likely annoyed several on his way through to the tender of the bar as he slowly pulled a coin out from his cloth and placed it down. It was a darkly colored coin, tarnished a bit, but it had a silvery winged helm over a shield.

"I am here," the large man said as he slid it across the table. The man across met the woods priest's gaze, and a silent understanding was reached between the two men.

With that, the lumbering man was allowed back, entering the room; he expected the one who had entered before him to move further. But he just looked down at the woman and stood still, looking up at what the hood was aimed at; he looked at the other two, then back down. A finger rose and tapped the woman's shoulder. Blue eyes bore into the back of her hood, the smell of incense and rolling off the man, and a twig falling from his beard.

"I do not wish to be rude." the man said in a deep tone. "But... standing in doorways is not always..." There was another short pause in the man's speech, " the proper, thing to do."

High above the crowded room, hidden in the rafters, a white mouse scurried to and fro. The faint light from the candles and lanterns of the tavern barely reached the logs where the mouse moved, leaving it obscured in the shadows. The mouse seemed very interested in the comings and goings of the people below it, following them with its beady little eyes, sniffing the air for their scents. One man in particular drew the attention of the little white mouse, wearing heavy armor and an eye patch. The mouse watched as a series of strangers approached the man, each handing him a small token. They were then led aside to an adjoining room, much to the excitement of the mouse. It could feel, in its tiny little heart, that it was onto something.

Deciding to investigate, the mouse ran along the rafters until it reached the fastenings of a large wall hanging, using it to safely climb to the floor below. Once there, it scurried inside the room where the strangers had been led, finding them gathered there. It had to run past two of them - a young woman and a large man - on the way in, as they were blocking the entrance, but it managed just fine. The mouse found a nice dark corner to hide in, but it wouldn't stay hidden for long. With a strange stretching sound, the mouse began to change. It grew in size at a rapid pace, its limbs contracting and elongating. It grew a face and shed its fur, and before long it was not a mouse at all, but an elvian.

Simbel drew herself upright, stretching her back and taking a sharp breath. Her arms and legs popped as she moved them, clenching and unclenching her fists. With a final crack of her neck, she turned towards the room. She looked at the strangers one after the other, studying them. Simbel had not met many people outside of the coven, and even fewer like these people. She felt slightly intimidated by them, but curious too. A token of her own was produced from somewhere in her clothing and held up for the strangers to see. It was engraved with a ghastly picture of a humanoid goat, male and female at once, a symbol of the Wilder.

"What is this?" Simbel asked, her voice calm and monotone, "And what does it have to do with Mother?"

Faline didn't have to wait long for one of these 'others' that Sir Dorian said would be joining her. Before the fiery redhead knew it, a petite figure walked into the room and lowered her hood to reveal she was a young lady. The girl had long blonde hair that was so light, it was practically white. A stark contrast to her flaming red locks. Faline blinked as the girl greeted her and talked to her about the weather.

Faline couldn't help but laugh lightly. "Greetings to you as well, Amandine. You aren't from around here, are you? Friendly advice, most mercenaries do not talk about the weather with small talk with other mercenaries," she explained as she stood up and walked over to Amandine. "My name is Faline. I normally work alone, however, it seems that our host has different ideas," she added as two more people walked in.

The first person was another rather young-looking woman dressed in dirtied robes. Faline was close enough that she could see the more intricate designs on the girl's robes. She recognized an escaped mage anywhere. Faline and her family, personally, didn't agree with the state that the Gallows let mages live in. The Nightingale family tried donating many good-quality items for the mages but they knew that the guards took what they wanted without repercussions. The second person was confirmed to be a man when he spoke to the girl in front of him. It seemed like this man had traversed through the forest with various woodland pieces falling out of him.

"Hi," Faline gave a wave and then pointed her thumb at Amandine. "This is Amandine, I'm Faline. You two are-...Ah!" She began to explain as she jumped in surprise when another figure appeared from the dark corner where a mouse had scurried. The Elvian woman startled Faline enough to curse automatically in Elvian.

Awestruck as she was, Dorothea never even registered the sound of the door opening up behind her again, so shortly after she had arrived. The rumble of the voice behind her made her all but jump out of her skin. With a short "Eeep!" she hurriedly scrambled off to the side, muttering a few stuttered apologies to the bear of a man patiently standing behind her as she went.

Her poor struggling heart, already beating away like there was no tomorrow, skipped a vital beat as the small mouse she had barely registered in the corner of the room shifted and changed. Gods above, was this place going to be the death of her?!

She clamped a clutching hand to her chest, and tried her best to steady her breathing again. She didn't even register the words of the ethereal Elvian...

Amandine simply smiled as Faline was being helpful in correcting talk about the weather, shaking the woman’s hand firmly in return. However, she couldn't help but become distracted by the arrival of more people in the room, responding dryly, “Yes, we mercenaries must discuss our questionable ethical choices of engaging in acts of violence for material gain by recounting tales.”

She examined the pair that entered, making mental notes on each of them. The first appeared to be reclusive and sheltered, and she seemed to be blushing under the hood. It was clear she was no social butterfly and was easily startled. The man who followed behind appeared to be pleasant and polite at a glance. Her nostrils flared as she caught the scent of incense. He was perhaps someone who knew about the stench of sickness, a healer of some kind.

Her gaze shifted to the side as the one known as Faline spoke on her behalf. It was evident that this was the girl who sought to be the leader of this gathering. Displaying that lone wolf tendency, superior attitude, and willingness to put herself forward. Amandine smiled inwardly, thinking, 'Yes, talk for me. Allow me to hide in plain sight.'

Her eyes then caught the attention of a field mouse, locking onto their prey like a predator. It was rather plump-looking. Perhaps it would become a tasty snack for later. Her eyes widened with curiosity as it shape-shifted into an even more delicious-looking Elvian. Her tongue discretely licked over her lips.

She allowed her gaze focus on the Elvian girl as she asked her questions, “While I cannot speak for your mother, from appearances, it seems that we have either volunteered to join an eclectic bordello, or something greater has brought diverse individuals together at the same time."

---

---

Simbel looks from the Elvian with the red hair to the jittery woman with the dirtied robes with unblinking eyes, her face as if carved from ivory. She understands that they're experiencing fright, but cannot fathom why. Her actions, to her mind, have not been dangerous or otherwise threatening. But then again, civilized people were strange, and had strange customs. Perhaps it was right in their world to react with fear to questions from strangers. She could see the sense in that, in a way, although the idea seemed foreign to her. Just like the city dwellers often had trouble understanding the language and customs of the forest dwellers, she imagined the reverse could also be true. Perhaps they were intimidated by her gaze - yes, that could be it. Many animals were threatened by eye contact. She decided to avert her eyes, lest not to scare them further.

Looking in stead down, slightly relaxing her posture, she turned towards the woman who had not reacted in fear. She was different, in more ways than one. She could not smell it now, her nose not adequate to the task, but as a mouse she had picked up an... unusual scent from this one. She looked like the other women, or at least similar to them, but she was not human, or Elvian for that matter. She had the scent of a predator on her. Simbel could relate to that.

I do not know the words you speak, she said, But it is imperative that I find Mother. You had one of these, earlier, she continued, holding out her token to the strange woman with the almond skin. I think she left it for me to find, as a clue to her whereabouts. I do not know what it is. Do you?

---

"Be not alarmed, young magician; I am only in jest." the prominent figure muttered out, looking at the others, "But it looks as if we have a diverse cast in the greater game of life."

His hands lifted to slowly move from person to person, leaving the hand momentarily before moving to the next. " Trails of life have met in one spot, with commonality in the loss. Fate has brought us together under the guise of our host. We shall learn his wishes soon, but let us first calm this one down for now."

His hand slowly moved to the tiny woman before him as she was at his side, patting her head gently as he moved past poor Dorothea, "She likely has not left her studies in some time and is new to the world. It will be toughest for her, but..."

Torsten's eyes moved to lock onto the woman with red hair. His face went almost to like stone, and in a much more severe and lower tone, "I heard some of your words before I entered... my hearing is much better than my eyesight Lady Faline, there are many young here, most of those here are inexperienced. By your shock at the mouse lady's appearance in our presence, you may be as well... But, we are here together now... We are here for a reason, and we will likely have many trials and tribulations in front of us. Our fates are here tied together; I hope that what is in front of us is something we can survive."

The man's face brightened as he slowly made his way to any form of the seat, and likely the largest form of a comfortable seat in the room, sitting himself down with a thump. "But while we wait, we should enjoy ourselves and get to know each other, and again, calm down the poor mage; she looks like she is going to have a heart attack, and while I can save her from that fate, I don't think you all can carry me to wherever we are going."

Amandine moved her hand to take hold of the Elvian's own, pulling it closer to inspect the girl's token. “Pretty goats,” she commented as she examined both sides before releasing the hand with a wink. She brought a finger to her lips as she considered her answer. “I have absolutely no idea what it means.” She looked around at the others in the room, especially casting a suspicious glance at the enigmatic response from the healer poet. “I suppose we will find out when Sir Dorian graces us with his presence, then.” She moved with a bounce in her step as she approached Dorothea, walking around her as she observed the girl up and down, as if taking mental notes. She then did the same with Torsten, nodding with some approval before returning to stand alongside Faline once again.

---

---

Faline raised an eyebrow at the tall man who wandered his way over and sat in the oversized chair. "The title of lady is not mine to hold, at least, not yet anyway. Nor do I plan to possess a lofty duty. As to Mousey over here, it isn't very often I meet half of my lineage that also have the ability to shift in animal forms. As for my words out there, it is the truth, I've worked alone up until this point," she explained as she looked at the coin from the gray-complexed Elvian woman held out.

"That is a curious symbol. I remember it from somewhere but I can't quite place it," Faline said as she was trying to think of all the symbols that her uncle had scribbled in his journal as if his life depended on it. Her train of thought was interrupted as the door opened again. Sir Dorian walked through the doorway, turned, and locked the door behind him. He moved over to a large table with many chairs around it. He was completely unphased by the fact that Simbelmyne was in the room without seeing her current appearance walk through the front door of the tavern.

Dorian smiled at Dorothea. "Be at ease, all of you, please. This is a safe space for all walks of life," he started as he gestured for everyone to take a seat if they wished. Faline didn't budge at first. She took her time to study their host again before she cautiously took a seat.

"I am Sir Dorian. I organize what is known as the Oath of the Concealed. The Oath of the Concealed is a secret mercenary guild that works to end many of Vradia's problems before the general public knows about them. I was alerted about all of your appearances tonight by your predecessors," he began to explain as he placed each token from Faline, Dorothea, Amandine, and Torsten on the table. Dorian smiled and held out his hand at Simbelmyne for hers as well.

Faline's green eyes widened with slight fear with Dorian's last word. "Our predecessors? Does that mean-," she started as the white-haired man smiled before cutting the half-Elvian woman off.

"Easy now, there's no need for rush conclusions. Your predecessors were working to solve a mystery that has been affecting the Ellezag Plains. A lot of the leads separated them. There is a need for all of you to step in for them in the area while they follow their quests to end those leads," Dorian explained.

Simbel let the curious woman touch her as she examined the token. The other Elvian seemed to study it, too. She was a bit disappointed that none of them could, or perhaps would, tell her more as to what the object was, or what connection it had to her Mother. It dawned on Simbel that maybe they were as ignorant of this strange business as herself, and had come here looking for answers just as she had. The thought was equally comforting as it was frustrating; she had hoped to learn new information by coming here, risking a lot by revealing herself, but it felt good to know she was not alone in her struggle. Her eyes wandered over the assembled individuals, so different and strange to her. What winding paths could have led them here, and where would that path take her, should she choose to tread it? The Elvian, at least, seemed to recognize the symbol of her Patron. That is the symbol of my Master, she said, It is the Old Goat. She searched her face for any signs of recognition.

I do not care for this name, Mousey, she continued, I am Simbelmynë, servant of the Wilder-o'-the-Woods. You may adress me as such. Neither her voice nor face betrayed her feelings, but she was offended at the slur. She held the gaze of the Elvian for a moment before Sir Dorian entered the room and interrupted her. She listened to him intently, and stared at his hand as he held it out to her. Slowly, reluctantly, she extended her hand and placed the token in his. It was her only lead to finding Mother, but perhaps this sacrifice could open new paths for her. It could always be retrieved later, if need be. She did however refuse to sit. Chairs seemed odd and unnatural to her, and the few she had tried had been uncomfortable, too. Simbel could stand on her own two legs.

Dorians revelation startled her somewhat. Her Mother in league with outsiders, with... Mercenaries? Unthinkable! But she could detect no lie in Dorians words. Apparently, she had been expected. It was all a bit much, but Simbel gathered herself. If Mother would aid you in this, she said, Then so shall I. What is this mystery you speak of?

Amandine attempted to patiently wait for Dorian to arrive, but a mischievous smile crossed her lips as the two Elvians had their conversation. “Don’t pay Feline too much mind; nicknames are a sign of companionship and friendship,” she noted. Her attention turned to Faline, “As for her shapeshifting ability: Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's Simbelmynë.” She shrugged her shoulders, leaving the answer unspoken.

Her eyes watched Dorian as he entered, placing items on the table in front of them. She peered over each one, studying the pattern on each, gleaning insights from them. Thankfully, her own token was faced up with the open fist symbol.

The Oath of the Concealed, a most curious collection of individuals, each from different backgrounds and specialities. She analysed the information and began to make deductions about the individuals and the roles they might play. Her own role seemed to align with that of a scout and historian.

The discussion of predecessors brought forth interesting points. Mousey's concern for her mother was understandable. As for herself, she could imagine that her Shifu, ꁲꁅꍩꁲꂠ, would be classified as a kind of father figure. Feline referred to herself as a lone wolf, perhaps due to her singular purpose in searching for someone dear to her. Her eyes glanced over Bear and Rabbit, unable to make any deductions beyond the observation that Rabbit was clearly far from her comfort zone.

It was curious how the Elvian shapeshifter was the first to sign up for the task at hand. Amandine had reckoned her to be the most sceptical among them, considering her people's indifference to the Empire's rules. And the other three? Well, they were human, which spoke for itself. This only meant one thing: she had to play along with this charade for now. She had been planning to remain quiet until a thought entered her mind, prompting her to ask, “Is this related to Duskrot?”

---

---

---

Two blue hues laid upon Dorian, watching as he entered, and he just stared at what was on the table, shifting his hands over each other in his lap for a moment. Moving a hand through his beard for a moment, his eyes lowered to his hand as a small stick went through and fell upon the ground. "So we are meant to end another problem before it begins... I assume something happened because, for the most part, we should all have some form of knowledge about these happenings as well. We have been with our mentors for some time and working closely with them; now that they are together and their pupils have met... we should have a compilation of knowledge over what we are going against... what our task is already, but... I assume you will give us the bindings of that knowledge to solve before we are sent out into the world again."

A resting flat line across his lips showed a bit of his mood, but it turned into a smile, "So, my question is... is this a test, or has our lives prior been the test? To see if everything we have done before this moment is worthy, to send us out to complete some trial, to investigate another arm of conspiracy while our predecessors continue down their own rabbit hole. If so, where do we start?"

The thick fur/hair that coated his head was brushed aside a bit, and at one point in time, he might have been considered regal, but now he looked as if he had lived in the woods forever. He likely smelled like the woods, pines, and sage, and the last of that burning incense came from him. He closed his blue hues as he just contemplated he would be vocal; he has been vocal, but at that moment, once his eyes closed. He looked like a serene statue in death, still as can be as he waited for Sir Dorian to continue with what they were meant to do.

Despite herself, Dorothea managed to muster a small returning smile as the great bear of a man grinned. Though her heart still rapidly beat in her chest, she could not help but feel he was sincere in his reassurances. As noted by the tiny whisper in the back of her mind, he did not look like a Protector, or one overly concerned with their mandate. The pounding in her chest slowly gave way.

And then Sir Dorian returned, and for the briefest of moments she was on alert once again. As their erstwhile recruiter however began to speak, other emotions quickly rose to the surface. Shock, sadness, a flash of anger. Master Deylin was not taken as she had feared. He was safe!

...And yet he had abandoned her...

For reasons she could perhaps understand, but the betrayal of her trust still stung deeply in her core. Why did he not trust her with this? Had she not made her distain for their jailors and their allies? And yet...

Again, that small smile threatened to spill forth again. He was safe. Deylin was safe, and he believed in her, enough to set her upon this path in his stead. The resentment was pushed back to it's dark corner, and Dorothea smiled.

Patiently waiting for the others to finish speaking, the young mage squeezed herself into the empty space left behind with her own words. "I...I would request the ability to speak with my...m-my mentor at the earliest opportunity. B-But for now, I am r-ready and willing to join this endeavor. I do have a question o-of my own. Master Deylin's work; does A-Amandine speak true o-on it-it's relation to the Rot?" That vision of exotic beauty was onto something with that line of questioning. The Plague was ravaging the Empire. A cure would not only save countless lives, but if developed by an unchained mage might lead to future freedoms for the inhabitants of the Gallows. Was this an incidental thing, or was Master Deylin weaving his own plot in this...this conspiracy?

As her mind raced and whirred with the possibilities, her gaze drifted to the early arrivals. Amandine and Faline, her memory helpfully provided. Their combined presence seemed to allow Dorothea to comfortably exist in the background, all but unnoticed. It was a state of affairs that suited her fine. With an unsure smile she attempted her best to wordlessly convey her thanks, though she could not sustain that smile for long under their returning gazes. In the depths of her mind, she cursed her social anxiety!

Dorian smiled softly as Simbel was among the first to speak that she would join the Order followed by the others. He looked at Faline, who had been expressionless while Dorothea asked her questions. She gave a silent nod of acceptance of the position. "Amandine is correct. Your mentors are out in search of a cure for the Duskrot. Some may call the disease by different names, however, everyone agrees with how devastating its effects are," the host spoke as he circled a village nearby on the map that lay on the table before him.

"This current outbreak is traveling faster than previous times. Usually, the Emperor has been able to order guards to quarantine sick people. It has grown so quickly that this village on the map has a border built around it. No one, except secret personnel, is allowed in. This is where your mentors will meet you all, hopefully with a cure. We've already received reports of outbreaks happening within cities, which means-," Dorian began to speak but was quickly interrupted by the redheaded half-Elvian.

"Someone is deliberating releasing diseased people within the city," Faline finished as she stood up from her chair and stretched, then crossed her arms as she looked at Dorian as if she already knew this information. Dorian raised an eyebrow at Faline. "My uncle was receiving mysterious reports in a code from the city guard in Volenstul, asking what they should do in the meantime. It's a good thing you escaped the Gallows, Dorothea. They removed the mages and relocated them to a makeshift camp near the Docks. Not by my uncle's recommendations, by the Emperor's," Faline explained.

"Thank you, Faline, for being brash as ever," Dorian said with an annoyed tone while Faline rolled her eyes. "For your first quest as a group, you will travel to the woods to retrieve an artifact. Legends surrounding this piece have been rather intriguing. The Emperor believes that the artifact could help halt the Duskrot outbreak," he said as he laid a book with the legendary artifact on the table.

Faline took a look at what this possible goose chase was supposed to lead them to. The artifact was the product of a war chief who had fought the First Emperor when the First Emperor was staking claim to the land. Before the First Emperor, Vradia was divided among war tribes. Now, many of these customs and cultures of said tribes were left to myths and tales.

"The Amulet of Selene is just an old tale of the Hiemaquas Dragonian tribe. All that is in here is the general whereabouts of what could possibly be the battlefield where the First Emperor fought them," Faline said as she bit her lip in nervousness. This old tale wasn't a lot to go on, especially without talking to the mentors directly about what they thought of it.

Amandine’s eyes narrowed as she was almost bowled over in disbelief. Within seconds, the conversation shifted from discussing how to handle a Duskrot epidemic to planning a raid on the nearest Dragonian temple ruin, with the intention of plundering it for riches and valuables.

She felt her heart racing and her blood pumping, a pounding sensation behind her eyes and along her temples. The proposed sacrilege these people were considering was quickly pushing her to her limits, and she found herself getting lost in the heat of the moment.

In response, Amandine entered a meditative state, focusing on her teachings and initiating a pattern of breathing exercises. She inhaled deeply, paused, exhaled slowly, paused, and then repeated the process. She rode the waves of her emotions, attempting to regain her focus on the task at hand, resolving that the rest could be dealt with later. After all, she was present for a reason; she was a Dragonian Scholar in both senses of those words.

She opened her eyes and surveyed the room before speaking, “In Dragonian society, Dragons were not mere creatures or animals; they were the manifestation of the Gods made flesh. Imagine a religion where you could directly interact with your patron God.” Her gaze flickered toward the resident Paladin. “Selene was the God of the Moon, and it is said that in times past, they were responsible for bringing water and winter to the region. Vradia was a barren landscape, as their ice carved rivers and waterways into the region.”

“You might be wondering how this potentially relates to Duskrot. After all, isn’t Winter often associated with death?” She posed the question from a human perspective. “In Dragonian belief, Winter is seen as a time of rejuvenation, when the land heals itself to prepare for the birth of new life. Therefore, the God of the Moon is strongly associated with healing.”

She turned her gaze toward the Book of Artefacts; her expression almost derisive, for she knew that some of these items were greater than the trinkets that were simply being considered as. More than the mere possessions for greedy hands, they are valued as. “So, if the Amulet of Selene truly exists, it could be regarded as an artefact with significant healing potential. I assume the Emperor foolishly believes it might serve as a cure for Duskrot.” Her eyes locked onto Dorian, and her tone was firm. “I say 'foolish' because the Dragonian cure for Duskrot did not involve healing.”

She shifted her attention to Faline, her expression thoughtful. “There’s a reason the Dragonians are extinct, and their temples lie in ruins. The first Emperor rounded up the unarmed followers of Selene and massacred them with swords. As for their ‘War Chief’…” Amandine couldn’t suppress a snort of mirth, “… if they survived, time would have caught up with them by now.”

She noticed the atmosphere in the room, especially after her speech. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Legends claim that the Hiemaquas Dragonian tribe secretly endures, having evaded this great Empire over the ages. At this point, perhaps if we approach them politely and convey the nobility of our purpose, they might hand over the amulet. And who knows, maybe as a sign of gratitude, they’ll give us dragon mounts and let us frolic in the hatchery with the adorable little dragon whelps.” Her tone was jovial but dripping with sarcasm, an attempt to lighten the mood of the endeavour.

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"Many things hide in winter, not just death. Humans are a vibrant thing, a diverse thing, to some, winter is death, but some winter is just another moment in time." he pulled out a small blueberry from his pouch and popped it into his mouth, "Many things grow in winter, even under snow." There were a few different things he could have pulled out, but he smiled a bit, "Winter is a beautiful time, full of life; just as much as winter, things thrive and enjoy their lives in the snow, in the ice, and the frozen wastes and tundras. Same as the desolation of sands, or mountains, life finds a way to live and to thrive. Growing from just small creatures to giants. It is all a matter of how things live, not where."

He slowly relaxed back into chair as he looked back at the man in front of him, "But what you say with venom can have merit, what if they survived, why could they not, to exterminate is nearly impossible. It is doable, but typically something goes through the fingers of lady fate in the works. The ruins may look desolate and abandoned but those from long ago may endure today. We will just have to judge and see. I also assume that should that be the case, there is a tradition to how things are done." his eyes raised in an inquisitive way towards Doran.

"If so... what is it? Should we find those who have endured what is the priority, what is to be done with them, I know many here walk from all walks of life, should personal interest take into affect, or should duty to something higher?"

Simbels eyes wandered from Dorian, to Faline, and Amandine. Together, they were weaving a tale which sounded both ominous and intriguing to the with-o'-the-woods. A strange blight, plagueing the land. An old relic, thought long lost. The twists and turns of the annals of history. It was a lot to take in for one who were used to communing with beasts. They lived simpler lives and had simpler needs that were a lot more relatable than this epic business that Simbel found herself caught up in right now. Why did civilized people always have to complicate things so? To what end? The list of pointless rituals and hidden meanings had no end, and no beginning. Although her frustration was growing, Simbels face was as calm as a cold winter lake on a windless day.

She did feel bad for Amandine, however, when she spoke of the dragons of yore. The feeling of being able to communicate with ones deity directly - she understood that intimately. The idea of losing that, of losing her connection to the Wilder... It didn't bear thinking too much about. She felt as though she should say something. I understand this feeling, she said, And I am sorry for your loss. Yours, and that of all your kind. She looked Amandine in the eyes for a short moment before letting her continue her story.

Simbel had never before heard of this tribe of Dragonians, the Hiemaquas. She knew little enough of the Dragonian people as a whole, granted, but of these ones she had heard nothing. Her thoughts drifted to her Mother, and what her part in this story was. How had she become involved, and why? Why had she left the token for Simbel to find? Had she planned on Simbel meeting with these people? Had her Mother counted on her to work for the Emperor? Simbel found it hard to believe that was the will of the Horned One. Then again, she was not yet fully initiated into the inner circle of the coven. There were secrets she was still ignorant of. Perhaps this was one of them.

As Amandine finished her speech, Simbel had a hard time interpreting her words. There was a bell ringing in the back of her mind, trying to tell her something, but she couldn't quite grasp what it was. There was something off about how the Dragonian was saying the words coming out of its mouth; it was like it was lying, but it wasn't lying. Simbel couldn't remember the word for it, but it made her nervous. She was fairly certain they would not be offered dragon mounts and hatchery-time by the tribe, and she wondered why Amandine would say that they could. Deciding against calling her out on it, Simbel walked the middle path. I need no mount, she said, And infant reptiles seldom have anything interesting to say.