Fading Memory — Roleplayer Guild

@Neianna86

"By all means, enter!" The man sweeps back into the establishment expecting Dag'Tyr to follow. The building is well made, solid, with a foundation of stone and the ground floor being a sturdy make atop this stone base. The wooden building extends upwards to a second floor, presumably where the apothecary lives above the shop, but this ground floor is a visage of destitution and neglect.

"I am Jerald- no fancy titles, but I was taught by my father, who learned from his mother before him, so I'll gladly take your curiosity!"

((Dag'Tyr fields his questions about plague and widespread illness, and Jerald has to take some time to think on the topics))

"Plague...There hasn't been one in the Dale in a few generations. I'd never have thought the Kin could even suffer one if it wasn't happening in my life time. It sounds like the stuff of myths, eh?" The man strokes his jaw in a gesture of deep thought. "I'll tell you what; I'll go back through my grandmother's journals. She was alive at the end of the last plague the lands saw- but I don't suppose you'd mind me making a bargain out of this, eh?"

He smiles a good natured, sly, smile.

"The critical thing I'm missing is Heartroot; it grows all over the place... Or, at least, it used to. It's the main component of many basic healing compounds- including magical healing potions!- and I'm dangerously low on my stock. If you come across any, or find any reliable source of it, and promise to send it my way, I'll gladly do this research. Come back whenever you have time and I'll let you know if I found anything new in her notes. Does that sound like a good deal?"

@Guardian Angel Haruki@XxFellsingxX@karamonnom

Iris...
The smith nods once to Iris, and redoubles his efforts at his task. The pile of straightened or newly forged nails continues to grow steadily; whilst the man claimed no specialty or fame, the speed with which he completed these basic tasks was impressive. Iris turns back to the market and surveys it swiftly...

But aside from the previously described goings ons, nothing new jumps out at her; onwards to the Palace it is!

Amaryllis, Vigil

You two draw strange looks as you pass through the gate and into the city of Fenhall; the Noctem caravan outside appears to magnetically follow you two as if you were fonts of some unspoken inspiration or source of knowledge that they sought to consume with their eyes. The woman at the gate even hesitates in her finger twitches, her dark eyes following your separate, yet aligned, movements.

Once you two enter the Market Plaza properly, as it was the most direct route to your mutual goals, you earn a mix of awe and fear. Amaryllis receives some downright hostile glances and generally seems to be negatively received, with a few people smiling or saying a quiet prayer as she passes.
(Passive Perception [Amaryllis]; it is primarily youths or young adults who appear to harbor this negativity; elders are the ones who seem pleasantly surprised or partially reverent towards her)

Vigil receives looks of intimidated awe; the tales of the noble behemoths fighting off the horrors of the Lands Beyond are thoroughly entrenched in this place, and he is seen as a great creature of respect even in his unknown and unheralded state.

Soon your paths intwine, Vigil's desire to travel along with another coalescing into the duo entering the Palace Courtyard simultaneously, with Iris close behind.

Passive Perception (All):As Vigil makes his way to the courtyard, the young Behemoth cub standing abreast the young girl at the music shop notices him and breaks away from his companion to follow; he keeps his distance, and upon them approaching the castle he appears almost disappointed and slinks back to his companion..

The Palace Courtyard

"Ho there!" The red haired knight breaks off his conversation and waves a hand, his demeanor that of casual familiarity despite the circumstances. "The more the merrier! Join us, join us!" His voice and dialogue carry with a practiced weight over the courtyard, beckoning the oncoming adventurers to him. The young man at his side balks briefly, a bashful expression as his gaze moves from Amaryllis then to Vigil; the bashfulness replaced with a wonder, which only escalates to a blatant and unrepressed awe as Iris enters shortly thereafter; this young man had clearly never seen anything besides a human in his life... until this day, that is.

The Red Haired Knight continues;

"I am Ser Pyke, The Knight of the Ashen Dawn, Captain of her royal majesty's Palace Guard, and so on and so forth- but Ser Pyke will do well enough. I'm afraid we're left to wait for a little while longer, her Ladyship is preparing for the task, and I am under orders to request that we all be patient and polite."

The last word carried a certain strain to it, the word seeming to be directed at one person in particular. Who it is would remain a myste-

"I am nothing if not proper, Pyke." The aged woman chimes in; her voice held a comfortable authority, which seemed to roll over and away from Ser Pyke like water off a fowl's feathers. "I shall be behaving." This has disrupted her conversation with the moustachiod Zephyrite, who appraises those who have entered with a critical red eye. He lifts a hand and twirls it through the tuft of curled facial hair, stretching it out quite a bit before it snaps back to place above his quivering upper lip. He says nothing, yet his silence bears judgement and challenge. It is left to the woman to handle their introductions;

"I am the Lady Alison, Mistress of the House of Waltone. This is my attendant, Cynefrid- but you may all refer to him as simply 'Crimson'."

The Lady curtsies, and Crimson bows stiffly beside her. The boy steps forth next, thudding a fist upon his chest in some misbegotten and youthful pride;

"Tomas Smithson!"

And whilst the young man makes his introductions and begins incessently questioning you newcomers with basic questions such as 'where are you from' and 'why are you here' and 'are you already heroes?', the Noctem woman uses this conversational disruption as a chance to try and extricate herself before conversation reaches her; her method of choice is seemingly to try and sink deeper and deeper into a shrubbery until, after delicate movements of her body, only her eyes are left visible between the branches and leaves. If you had not seen her doing this, you would never have known she was there at all, such was her apparent skill in this act.

Pyke maintains an easygoing atmosphere and smiles as he surveys this group.

"...I think the princess has got the right folks coming in." He appraises, mostly to himself. "Let's see if anyone else shows up."
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The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird

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