Part 2: The meeting of paths

Ascian stares at Ember, the wolf’s confusion somehow comforting; an affirmation that this figure really is as much of him as he is, when the wolf that is the remainder can’t tell them apart.  Stiltedly, he feels himself nod once he has Casimir’s word, and finally forces himself to look back up beseechingly to his twin. “Come back with me. I can’t leave you here.” 

Fliek frowns. "Not that I recall, but that was at least a year ago. Why do you ask?" "I would if I could," Casimir says. "But I don't know how."  Ember lets out a small, happy bark, and Casimir jumps a little, but then quickly recovers. "I guess this means that somewhere around here there's a wolf like us running around."

Katrin takes a deep breath, running a hand through her blonde hair. "There's a young girl who lives there. Her name is Ilde. She looks kind of like me, but she has bright red hair. Was she okay?" If anything has happened to her.....

“What.” Ascian’s profound disappointment is punctuated by dull wonder, and his brow furrows down at Ember.  “You mean a wolf for you? Is everything that comes here a pair.”

Fliek scratches her temple again, face scrunched up in thought. "I'm not sure," she says. "I think I saw  a dwarf like that. Nothing there that would have endangered her. Like I said, it was a while ago. Why? She your sister or something?" Casimir lets out a short laugh. "No. Maybe? I don't know. Sorry, that was a joke." Casimir scratches the wolf behind the ears. "I hope so though. I'm glad you have him."

Katrin nods to herself. Well, at least she was okay then. I hope she's okay now. "Yeah, she is. The Heartlands are recruiting soldiers for their war from villages on the fringes. I'm glad she's okay. For now. I guess I'll find out soon enough. Thank you, Fliek."  

“Oh.” Ascian blinks slowly. “You got that, I guess. I’m not funny.”  He crouches down, running a hand down Ember’s back as Casimir scratches his head. “I could bring you one. If you wanted.”

Fliek makes her farewells and the trio heads back to the Fireblades' dormitory for some much-needed rest. Most sleep well, but Akiran's rest is filled with turmoil as his dreams turn dark. "Go, Akiran," Shavel says, his face contorted with a burning wrath. "Never show your face here again." The image of Shavel and the rest of the Clan Sovine twists into a discarded shield, and dead comrades all around -- but they are not Akiran's clanmates of old -- this time, the dead bear the faces of Katrin, Ascian, Sable, and even Thezra. Looking up, Akiran sees a man bearing the crest of the Legion tearing a sword free of Lilliana's chest, the woman's ribs snapping like twigs and blood pouring from the wound. A voice from behind Akiran speaks. "What do you see here, Akiran?" "That's okay," Casimir says. "I'm not really funny either. That's the first joke I've made in...years." He scratches Ember behind the ears and looks across at his brother. "What are you going to do now?"

Akiran's head held low, knees in the dirt as he plead for forgiveness, his eyes barely daring to look up and meet Shavel's and see the disgust and wrath on his elder's face. He had relived this moment through his dreams every night, or at least those that he failed to indulge himself into oblivion. He truly should be used to this. And in the mornings he often told himself that he was, that this torment no longer held meaning, he had seen it all. But the shame, fear, and utter sense of loneliness that fills him as he relives Shavel's banishment, and sees the bodies of his fallen brothers. Exposed the lie no matter how many times he tried to tell it.  The scene shifts from Shavel to a simply made black iron shield, sturdy but roughly forged. His first creation, left behind in a field filled with the bodies of his clan, his brothers. He often tries to look away, close his eyes, covers his face anything to not have to see. But the dream has never allowed him to avoid what comes next. Except tonight his grey eyes lined with fear and then surprise as he takes in the scene in front of him, seeing his companions in place of his brothers. His uncertain and hesitant "Wh..What is this? This ..this... isn't right."    Looking around he sees a warrior bearing the crest of the Legion plunging his blade into a fallen body. And for a moment the Dragonborn feels a spark of hope. The Legion were if not friends at the very least allies, he had served with them for years. He opens his snout to call for help, but before he can speak the warrior roughly tears his blade free, snapping bones and marking the ground with a stream of blood. And as the red tide seeps out, the body comes into focus, a young woman. It takes a moment for Akiran to realizes that it's Lilli, the kid. His scales flare in a mixture of anger and fear, as he tries to shout   "She's with us! Leave her the fuck alone and find a healer!" but nothing comes out. A voice from behind Akiran speaks.  "What do you see here, Akiran?" The Dragonborn flinches, Shavel was the only one who speaks to him in these dreams. Despite himself his eyes sift through the scene in front of him, stopping on each of his dead companions and ending on Lilli. He opens his snout, looking for some type of retort, an insult, a joke, anything. But the sarcastic barbs that generally come easily get stuck in his throat. His tone defeated he says "Death. Just .....death." Pausing for a moment he adds "Why?"

Ascian frowns slightly, Casimir's question highlighting his own simultaneous certainty and uncertainty. "Find how bring you with me. I don't want to leave you here. There has to be a way, he sa –" He looks back over his shoulder, expecting to see elven robes, and is met instead with empty air, as if the rooftop was only big enough for one native at a time. "Oh."   Except Casimir isn't a native. Not unless you are too. Gaze swinging back around the cavern toward his brother, he notes again not only how pristine it is but also how empty.  "Can you see where I am? Be there. Like I can see here sometimes."

The voice speaks again, sounding disappointed. "No. Death is a natural part of life. What you see now is far more cruel." The scene changes, shifting to some ornately decorated meeting chamber. The same legionnaire stands with a lumpy brown sack in his hands. He tosses it on the ground in front of a raised dais at the end of the room. The shadowy figures on the dais look down as the sack spills open. Heads roll out of the burlap -- the heads of the Fireblades. The lead shadowy figure tosses a smaller sack down to the feet of the legionnaire. The familiar clink  of coins reaches Akiran's ears in the dream. The mercenary takes the coins and turns, showing face masked in shadow to Akiran. The deep glowing pinpricks of its eyes meet Akiran's, and a searing pain erupts from his chest. "I can," Casimir says. "Not like this, but sometimes I see through your eyes. You've...you've made some friends. And some enemies."

Lilli mumbled and shifted in Akiran's arms as he carried her back to the guildhall, but she did not wake... at that point in the evening, her slumber was the blessed unconsciousness that did not dream, but as she was placed into her bed and the night wore and her body began to metabolize the alcohol. It was enough where her dreams were the vivid sort of alcohol-induced dreams that seem to feed on the deepest recesses of one's mind. She was back there in darkness of the tunnels with her friends and those things.  She couldn't seem them, only the color-bleached forms of her newly minted companions and the shapes around them as her vision faded out to black, but she could feel them... the cold, clammy feel of their tentacles clinging to her calf and another to her shoulders as it curled up towards her throat. She couldn't scream, couldn't move frozen as she was in fear. She heard it's voice in her mind, that awful knowing whisper. 'I know what you are.'   The empty, rotten vessels they had slain in the meadhall above shambled into view as she was suddenly alone, frozen as the tentacles clung to her. The things grab hold of her arms and legs, lifting her bodily from the rough floor and then shove a disgusting, ichor-stained rag into her mouth as they begin to haul her off into the darkness... the tentacled demons still clinging to her legs and shoulders. The upper demon's tentacles twist around her throat to the point of pressure, but not enough to completely cut off blood and oxygen. 'Welcome home, child.' The tentacles grow and wrap her completely, binding her legs together and pinning them painfully just as the other snakes around her arms, pinning them to her torso just as she is thrown bodily to the ground with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. She coughs and gasps at burning pain in her chest as she desperately tries to regain her breath just as a single glowing green eye appears at the edge of her tunneled vision. She tries to fight, to scream, but she's too weak. She calls to her powers, but she has none. She is just a girl at the mercy of these creatures. And then she feels the familiar, heavy hand slam onto her shoulder and squeeze painfully. She turns to see a dismembered arm hanging there with the end a stump of shattered muscle and bone of the guard. 'We found you, Stargard.'  The tentacled demons says into her mind and she screams... Back in her room, Lilliana jerks awake with a scream upon her lips. "Barakles save me!" She immediately leans over the edge of her bed and empties her stomach onto the floor. 

Oh.  It clicks together neatly, and Ascian thinks again of all the times the world had gone grey; of watching rain disappear in front of his eyes or leaping for a tower and suddenly finding nothing there. At once his eyes drop to his brother's hand, his own flexing reflexively; seeing the bare fingers as his own silver ring digs into his palm. It all makes sense in a way that almost comes as a comfort; that he hasn't been entirely cut from Casimir. The line between them, like so much else, is just blurred. "Yes." He sits fully by Ember's tail, his fingers still raking through fur as he frowns at his brother. "I've done some...bad things. I thought to bad people. But I don't know any more." He looks down, his lips a pale, thin line. "I hurt someone today. Over a word. A city." He thinks again of the laughter and the screams and almost flinches, but the thought of that green eye holds him back. "It's here, maybe. I don't know. But I think it’s important to us."

Katrin had come back to their quarters to find the girl, Lilliana, already asleep on the bed she'd claimed last night. She stands in the doorway for a moment, hesitating before entering fully, crossing to the opposite side of the room. She sinks down onto the bed, her mind filled with images of Ilde, Rose, and her father. Groaning, she slips her feet out of her boots, wiggling her toes in her socks to bring feeling back into them after a day confined within the leather. She goes over her armor, ensuring the pieces are still laid out the way she likes it. Unbuckling her axe from around her waist, she hangs it on the bedpost, within reach of her hand should danger arise. She pulls back the blankets, slipping between them as she lays down, hoping sleep takes her quickly. Her eyes have barely closed when she hears a bloodcurdling scream behind her. Whipping the blankets off, she grabs her axe, looking wildly around for an intruder. Instead, she sees the girl heaving over the side of the bed, a puddle of vomit on the floor. She stands still for a long moment, willing herself to calm down, to ignore the burst of adrenaline that had just burst through her body. She wanted to be angry, being woken from her not-quite sleep. After a moment, she sets the axe behind her on the bed, and walks over, sitting lightly on the end of Lilliana's bed. "Bad dreams?"     

Akiran watches in disbelief as the heads of his companions roll from the bag, only coming too as the clink of the coins hitting the ground echoes out. Typically a cherished sound for the Dragonborn, only rivaled by the bards singing his name. But seeing the coin purse fall between the decapitated heads of his fellow Fireblades, the noise brings no joy only a deep seated fear. His snout opens to ask why the Legion would hunt him, he had served with the company and knew of if not knew of most of it's soldiers. Years fighting alongside them in battle after battle, years spent drinking, dicing and telling tall tales. Why would they turn against him? Then the bag of gold catches his eye again, and despair fills the dragonborn. For the right price most of the Legion would take his head with a smile and have the nerve to pour a drink out in his memory.  Before he can close his snout, the assassin stalks towards him. Akiran tries to peer beyond the shadows and see if he knew the man's face, but as the assassin's glowing eyes meet his gaze. His chest feels as if it ignites, dropping the Dragonborn to one knee as hand falls to his chest. Running his silvery fingers over the cursed brand that had been with him since his exile.  Anger replaces the shame, fear, and uncertainty as the brand sears into his scales. His scales flare and he attempts to turn and see the voice, in a bitter tone that starts quiet and gets louder as he speaks "Get tired of fucking with me from a distance? Wanted to come see the damn curse in action, make sure you're getting the proper amount of penance?  You know what's really crueler than death?" He spreads his arms to take in this whole scene "Having to deal with this shit every night. Now are you a flunky or the man himself?" 

Casimir gives Ascian a hard look. "I saw that. I don't...you're not responsible. I don't know what it was, but that wasn't you." Thunder cracks and rolls overhead as Akiran turns to see a battlefield. Spears with their shafts buried deep into the ground stick up from the muddy ground like a forest of death. Rain falls like a sheet across the empty field, water mixing with blood that leaks from the fallen soldiers. Their armor barely reflects the flashes of lightning, but something in the distance shines brightly. The voice says,  "This is not an indictment, Akiran, Clan Sovine. Your curse is not mine."

Akiran tries to hold on to his anger, but the blood soaked battlefield and raging storm mix fear with his defiance. His voice takes on his usual bluster but fear and uncertainty undercut it "Just Akiran, we both know I'm clanless." Spitting out clanless as if it was the worst curse. "Don't play games we both know that ba..." Shavel face flashes in his mind, but without the disgust and rage, just his usual faded scaled snout with the stern patience of his village's elder. A man that he looked up to his whole life, and still after all of these years of pain can't insult  "..Shavel may've been the one that cursed me but he used your power." Lifting his shirt to show the symbol of Tempus branded onto the scales of his chest, the scorched marks in stark contrast to his silvery scales  "He put your damn mark on me, so cutting through the shit you and yours did this."   The Dragonborn stares defiantly, taking a deep breath   "If this isn't an indictment , why am I here?"

Lilliana’s stomach heaves itself empty, wringing itself completely dry of that awful, poisonous substance that had set her head spinning. She groaned as she spit out the remaining bile out of her mouth and groaned as a new pain joined the awful sensation of volatile vomitting; a skull-splitting, pounding headache that pushed against the inside of her skull. She lay back onto the bed, in her side and it was a few moments of heavy breathing before she was able to respond meekly to Katrin. “…yeah…” She could still taste the bile on her tongue, but that wasn’t what left the bitter taste in her mouth. She had a sudden recollection of harsh, bitter words spat into the face of the woman now sitting on the end of her bed. “My head hurts so bad, I’ll clean that up in a minute, but I want to say something, Katrin. I’m sorry for how I behaved at the tavern… that was horrible. I seemed to have lost myself for a bit. I won’t be doing that again.”  She lay back, rubbing her eyes before the acrid smell of stomach acid turned her insides once more and she leans back over the edge of the bed… gagging and groaning, but nothing else comes out. She takes the moment to cast a quick prestidigitation to clean the mess off the floor. “Thank you, for checking on me…”  her bright green eyes seek out Katrin’s in the pitch darkness of their shared room.

Ascian looks down at his hand for a long time, at the silver band adorning it as it passes through long, thick fur. It would be easy to nod, to accept that; to let his brother think the best of him, as he had let the wizard and Katrin. But it feels as wrong to lie to Casimir as it would a mirror, and the line between the two had never been clear to start. "It is," he says after a long moment of silence, his voice sounding calm and disembodied, as if it belongs to someone else. And he wishes this profession did, even as it resonates through his core.  "I didn't know it would happen. But I would have said it even if I did." The fur beneath his palm passes one last time before he forces himself to look up at his brother, gaze as listless as he feels. "I'd do bad things for answers. Maybe to good people. I don't know." It's the coldest, barest truth of him, coiled inside for as long as he can remember. He'd expected to feel relief when he'd finally voiced it, but all that comes as he watches his mirror is cool, familiar fear. "I told you. It should have been you there. And me here."

Katrin stays quiet for a moment, cintemplating Lilliana and her apology for a long moment. She stands up, crossing to a side table, lighting the lamp setting on it. The flickering light casts shadows on the wall. She turns back to the girl, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, her face impassive.  "Look," she says, a heavy sigh in her voice. "I'm willing to chalk it all up to too much alcohol. But there's a lot about us you don't know." She rubs her eyes, exhaustion evident in her posture. After another long moment, her face softens slightly. Crossing the room again, this time to a small pitcher, she pours some water in a cup nearby, then walks back to hand it to Lilliana. "Dreams come and go. Sometimes bad, sometimes good. If you want to talk about it, we'll save it for morning. Try and get some sleep." 

"It was never a curse," the voice says. "You have an opportunity to seek recompense. To humble yourself and accept who you truly are. The road will not be easy, but there is great power within you. The power to heal. The power to destroy. The power to create. This is the domain of Tempus."  Thunder rolls again, the clap nearly deafening Akiran this time. "I'm not better than you," Casimir says. "I've had to do things here...things that I'm not proud of." He frowns, looking at Ascian again. "I think your drug's wearing off."  At Casimir's words, Ascian notices that the black and white around him are darkening, and Ascian himself can feel the point of stasis slipping away as he falls deeper into actual sleep.

Reflexive panic rises that he forces himself to swallow past, tangling his hands in Ember's fur as he scrambles to hold on to lightning for ten more seconds, five, even one. "I'll come back," he promises quickly as his own face begins to darken across from him, Casimir's green eyes the only semblance of color that black soon takes. "As soon as I can. Find me here. Okay. I won't leave you."

"I know you won't," Casimir says at the edges of Ascian's perception. "Now get some sleep. You need it." The last vestiges of the stasis slips away and Ascian's mind, for the first time in nearly a month, slips into the dreamless sleep of the exhausted.

The Dragonborn flinches as the sound of deafening thunder clap booms around him. Holding his head down in a mix of fear & respect, Akiran's mind scrambles. He'd dealt with powerful people before, smart play is to just nod along say whatever they need to hear and get the hell out as soon as you can. He opens his snout preparing to spin his best story and shuts it rapidly with an audible clack as his teeth come together. This wasn't some 2 bit general or crooked guard captain. The bastard's probably reading his mind right now..... Fuuuck!! His brain continues to spin looking for any plan, but comes up short. Continuing to look away from the glowing light he says his voice resigned and free of his usual bravado  "You say I'm powerful, I say you need you need something. Whether it's a curse or chance to make it right I don't care. I...I just need it to be done. So what do you want, what's your price?"

The voice booms again. "Asking for a price means that you are not ready," it says, and the thunder rolls again over the battlefield. "I need nothing. You  have a need that must be met. What do you  think the price for your soul is?"

Shrinking back as the thunder claps again with his hands held out in front of him in a futile motion to defend himself. As the storm's roar fades, Akiran slowly lowers his arms and honestly answers "I...I don't know." his voice full of doubt and uncertainty. Timidly lifting his head to look at the glow  "I just want rest,  I can't spend the rest of my life like this. I f you need me to fight for you I will, if you want me to craft tools for the poor I can, if I have  to spread your words I will. I don't know what my soul's price is, but I will pay it if you tell me."

The voice rolls again. "I have no need of such things," it says. "You do. You set the price of your own soul. Fight for what you think is right." The rain begins to let up, and the clouds recede revealing a darkened sky. " Do  what you think is right." The vision begins to fade from sight.

As the rain begins to slow Akiran nods and eagerly says "Of course, I will... I will." Though the nagging thought that echoes in the back of his mind as the vision fades. Is that he doesn't know what this being wants, "Do what you think is right". Get a group of people together and it's a small miracle if they all agree on what's right. And the odds are worse if Akiran is part of said group. But.. he had to try.

Lilliana accepts the glass of water with a small smile and nod of thanks. She takes trepidatious sips from the glass before responding to Katrin in a small, quiet voice. "I know. We all have our pasts. I have been on my own for so long, I think I forgot what it's like to be a part of something. It's different than just being around people; it's harder, but I will be better, you have my promise." She takes another, larger drink this time as her stomach has seemed to have settled, then eagerly drinks down the rest to help wash the bitter taste out of her mouth. She carefully gets up to get herself another drink, still feeling the effects of the alcohol in her imbalance and the slight swaying to her walk, but it seems that worst of it has passed. She drinks more of the water and turns back to Katrin. "I'm sorry I woke you. We both need our rest of today's events."

Katrin just nods, then wordlessly turns back to her own bed. She hangs her axe back on the bedpost, and climbs beneath the blankets. Sleep was what they all needed. And tomorrow, she hoped, would bring a little bit more light to the shadow that had fallen over them today. 

The morning comes in the form of a gentle magical chime to indicate sunrise. The Fireblades rise, some more groggily than others -- some more rested than they've been in months. The main event planned for the day is a trip outside of town to collect mushrooms for Anastasia, but with the morning comes some errands.  Sable stops off at the Arcane Minded and purchases the ink and paper to scribe four spells into his spellbook. Ascian and Katirn send some money along with Akiran to purchase materials to forge some armor for Ember. With metal purchased, Akiran rejoins Sable and Thezra to head toward Fort Catrae to receive payment for rooting out a demon cult. The guards motion them to Quartermaster Dredan's office. The human man hadn't taken to Akiran's charms as well as the general had, and he looks up at the trio through heavy lidded eyes as they enter. "Cause quite a kerfuffle at the Amber Meadhall yesterday. My mages confirmed it. A demon cult underneath the city...tell me everything you know. Leave nothing out." Katrin, on the other hand, heads into the market to find a tailor that will be able to make an underlay for Ember -- certainly a special order that might raise a few eyebrows. The first few tailors she speaks to scoff at the idea of making something as unfashionable as a tunic for a wolf. One even laughs, and asks if the baker around the block put Katrin up to what she called, "a joke in the poorest of tastes."  Prepared to give up soon, Katrin discovers a tailor off the Amber Market that seems viable -- quality products hanging out front, but without the elitist air that the others had. As she enters, a small bell hanging above the door chimes. "Be with you in a moment!" A voice calls out through a door behind an elaborate workshop-area, complete with a loom and several other pieces of interesting machinery.  Eventually, an elderly human woman ambles out from the door and peers across the workshop's table at Katrin through thick spectacles. "What can I do for you, young lady?" Ascian and Ember return to the alleyway near the Temple of Pelor, but the man who introduced himself as Barnes is nowhere to be seen. After looking around for several minutes, a voice from the alley triggers a half-startled growl from Ember. "Looking for me?" Barnes says. Lilliana finds herself in the Wayfarer's mess hall, in search of something to nurse her hangover. Several adventurers are spread out across the mess, sitting in pairs or by themselves -- many also nursing hangovers. As she approaches the counter, the gnomish cook looks up at her. "Ye look awful, lass, if ye don't mind me saying. Here," he says, handing her a small glass of something. "Try this."

Lilliana shambled through the halls of the Wayfarer's guild, her head still pounding and throbbing from the night before as the monster in her skull attempted to break free, and eventually found her way to the mess hall. She thanked the blessed quietness of the hall as she comes up to the counter, looking over the food choices. A gnome speaks frankly, if gently, to her and she produces a small smile... wondering what an awful mess she must look right now; she'd at least had the thoughtfulness to fix her hair from the god's awful rat's nest. Thankfully her magic had taken care of that  particular problem and she used enough concealer to cover up her marks on her forehead and neck, but the emptiness of her stomach forced her out sooner than she would normally have liked. "I feel awful, friend."  He hands her over a small glass, frowning at it skeptically, she takes it, but looks him over. "What is it?"

It's a strange thing, to feel something close to rested; stranger still to have woken on a rooftop with the faintest stirrings of something almost like excitement  running through his veins. Yet as he stared up at the ceiling of the cavern, just as he stares at the alleyway now, it's the only word Ascian has for it. Casimir is alive. Or, at least, nearly as alive as Ascian himself is. He can speak to him. There, in a world of half-color and full-truths, he can sit between his twin and his wolf and understand for the briefest of seconds what it's like to be whole. Until he has to wake up again. Which is exactly where Barnes comes in. "Yes." A calming hand on Ember's head, Ascian turns toward the half-elf. "I didn't think it would work. I didn't think anything could."

Zachary H. said: Eventually, an elderly human woman ambles out from the door and peers across the workshop's table at Katrin through thick spectacles. "What can I do for you, young lady?" Katrin glances down at the wrinkled piece of paper in her hand, measurements she'd taken from Ember earlier that morning scrawled in black ink. She had been preparing herself for yet another lofty asshole, an irritating remark already on the tip of her tongue. She stops when she sees the old woman, the first kind face she'd run into thus far. The irritation brewing in her eyes vanishes. "Hello. I was wondering if you could make an underlay for me." She holds up the piece of paper. "It's a rather...unusual request."

  "I feel awful, friend."  He hands her over a small glass, frowning at it skeptically, she takes it, but looks him over. "What is it?" The gnome smiles. "Bone broth, ginger, and hot sauce. It'll make yer nose run, but the drumline poundin' in yer head'll fuck right off." He laughs. "I make no guarantees aboot the taste, though." "Yes." A calming hand on Ember's head, Ascian turns toward the half-elf. "I didn't think it would work. I didn't think anything could." "So," Barnes muses, shrugging his shoulders in his deep coat, despite the warming summer air, "A good night's sleep was had, then? You'd like to make a purchase?" "Hello. I was wondering if you could make an underlay for me." She holds up the piece of paper. "It's a rather...unusual request." The elderly woman leans over the table and takes the piece of paper, squinting at the measurements. "My my," she muses. "Your friend is quite deformed. I haven't seen a chest-to-spine ration like this since that man from Peak Farm with the extra vertebrae..."

"No, no, no, he's not...he's not a man. He's a wolf. Myself and another smith are working on some barding for him. Every other tailor in town has laughed in my face." She shrugs, somewhat helplessly. "Please. I'm doing this for a very dear friend of mine."

"Yes. How much." Even if he were capable of being coy about it, Ascian sees no need to be. "And I want to know what's in it. Nothing else has worked on me like that."

Thezra sizes the man up as she enters the room. It wasn’t lost on her the oddness of her situation. Here she was, an orc of tribe Grum’rusch, standing in the halls of human power. Some months ago if she’d been told such a day would come, she’d have expected to be as some part of an invading party. But fate had found her here a friend, not foe, and she does her best to smile at the quartermaster. ”Well met human, I am Thezra. I will assume Akiran explained what led to this yesterday, so let’s start from there.” She folds her arms over her chest and starts rattling off the crazy series of events from the day before. “We had it on good authority a traitorous orc by the name of Duar’ken had met someone below the Meadhall. When we investigated, we discovered the bartender and cook were actually corpses puppeted about by some manner of strange, tentacled demon.”  As if to demonstrate, she wags an arm about like one of the creatures had.  “Quite disgusting, truthfully.”  She proceeds to run the man through their journey into the sewers, describing the chamber they found and the cultists within, calmly stressing that all they faced - including once again Duar’ken - were efficiently killed. Everyone save for the Watcher.  “He threw money at us. Claimed he was pleased we’d killed all his people. Tried to lie that the demons had nothing to do with his group and hid cowardly all the while behind his magic. A real smug dukhal .”  Her lower lip curls up into a snarl as his face hangs in her mind.  Which leads to the question I have for you - have you heard of a group called “The Watchers”?”

"No, no, no, he's not...he's not a man. He's a wolf. Myself and another smith are working on some barding for him. Every other tailor in town has laughed in my face." She shrugs, somewhat helplessly. "Please. I'm doing this for a very dear friend of mine." The woman looks again at the piece of paper, squinting through her eyeglasses. "A wolf? That makes much  more sense." She looks back at Katrin. "So you want me to make a tunic for a wolf, so it can wear armor? Not the strangest thing I've ever made...it won't be cheap if you want it to be durable. 20 gold. Half up front, half on completion." "Yes. How much." Even if he were capable of being coy about it, Ascian sees no need to be. "And I want to know what's in it. Nothing else has worked on me like that." Barnes smiles, his grin accompanied by a small shrug. "Like I said, I have no idea what's in it. That's not my department. And let's be honest. It worked. Do you really care?" His eyes are like small brown searchlights, scanning Ascian with interest. "At any rate, it's ten gold pieces per dose. It's not easy to make, this stuff."  Her lower lip curls up into a snarl as his face hangs in her mind.  Which leads to the question I have for you - have you heard of a group called “The Watchers”?” The quartermaster listens intently, making notes here and there on a piece of parchment. When Thezra finishes her story and asks her question, he shakes his head. "It doesn't ring a bell, no," he says slowly, scratching the stubble on his chin. "This 'watcher,' he just...disappeared? Magiced himself away?"

"He stepped through a vortex of swirling energy," Sable explains, with a stretch and a suppressed yawn, still a touch drowsy from the night before. "Presumably a portal of some kind. Unusual, to say the least. Planar travel is hardly easy and accessible magic and these Watchers were able to call upon demons ." The wizard emphasises the last sentence, as though to impress upon the quartermaster that this was no conjurer of cheap tricks.

Ascian hesitates. Part of him did care, for all the wrong reasons - but not enough to push. "Okay." He looks down at Ember, thinking of the gold he'd set Akiran off with that morning. But there was more to come, wasn't there? He could afford this. Surely. "Six. Doses."

"Strange,"  Dredan says. "Well, we'll keep an eye out. At any rate, your work here is done. Here." He rummages in his desk and pulls out two heavy sacks, dropping them on the edge of the wood with a heavy clink.   "500 gold pieces, as you were promised." Barnes's smile remains unchanged as he pulls a small leather case out of his cloak, checks the contents, adds one more vial of the dark liquid to it, and closes it. He passes the case to Ascian. "Six doses," he says. His hand remains outstretched. "Sold, for sixty gold to the adventurer without dark circles under his eyes." The auctioneer's affectation doesn't change his voice at all --  a seemingly halfhearted attempt at a joke.

The dragonborn moves through the morning as if he was asleep, his usual charm and presence nearly absent. "Do what you think is right" continuing to  echo through Akiran's head, overtaking thoughts of anything else. As the Quartermaster dismisses the group, it takes him a moment to even realize what happened. Throwing on his imitation of human smile, Akiran stands a bit straighter  trying to summon up the confidence that for once in his life he didn't truly feel "Let's not be hasty." Spreading his arms, and taking on the flowery speaking pattern he used for nobles and & higher ups  "In one day we not only vanquished a demonic nest in the heart of the Crossroads, we uncovered the beginnings of a plot led by the Watchers to disrupt the Heartlands and beyond. This is serious my friend, men with powerful magic, demonic allies, and the hearts and swords of men within your kingdom all belong to this group." Leaning in and taking on a more somber but matter of fact tone  "I fear this is a matter that should be brought to the general herself."

"I looked like this even before."  Ascian quickly takes the case before either of them can change their mind and pulls out a small black leather bag, carefully counting out sixty pieces in interims of ten and pouring them into Barnes' hand. The bag is nearly empty now, and he knows he won't be able to afford all the arrows he'd planned to buy, but it's worth it, isn't it? What is a quiver of arrows to a night's rest, to keeping his brother company, to learning what he is, to leaving neither of them alone. Handing over the last few pieces of gold, he glances down at Ember and then back, blinking slowly. "Is it safe for wolves."

Dredan glares at Akiran. "The general is quite busy. Most civilians  don't get even this much access to this fort." After a moment of holding his gaze, he gestures at one of the door guards and the soldier leaves the room. Within a few minutes, General Trask enters the room.  "You needed something?" Trask asks, her manner not standoffish, but hurried in a way that suggests she may not have much time. Barnes looks at Ascian curiously. "I don't really know," he says. "I'm no alchemist. I can find out for you, but it'll take some time."

"Okay. I want to know." He takes a step back in the alley, the case held preciously close. "Are you always here. For when I need to find you."

Zachary H. said: The woman looks again at the piece of paper, squinting through her eyeglasses. "A wolf? That makes much  more sense." She looks back at Katrin. "So you want me to make a tunic for a wolf, so it can wear armor? Not the strangest thing I've ever made...it won't be cheap if you want it to be durable. 20 gold. Half up front, half on completion." Katrin digs in her bag, pulling out a coin pouch. "As durable as you make it. When can you have it ready?"  She counts out 10 gold, setting them on the table, pushing them forward slightly.  

Thezra blinks at Akiran's words.  "Wait, is this human not the one in charge?"  She looks to Akiran, confusion plastered over her face,  "Why have they wasted our time with this one. Now I have to run through that all again," she groans. As the actual General enters, she looks back to the Quartermaster and frowns, befuddled as she was by this turn of events, and turns to the new human. "Let me explain." She pauses. "No, there is too much, let me sum up. We routed the cult below the meadhall, but uncovered something bigger. A group calling themselves 'The Watchers'. Powerful mages and summoners of the demons we fought. Their goal is unclear but they see the current world as wanting and demons are just a small part of their plan to remake it. So," she lets a deep breath roll from her lungs, trying her hardest to not let the previous day's events - the anger she'd felt - take hold of her once more, even as the act of explaining it all dregs all those feelings back. "We want to know whatever you may know of them. And if you know nothing, you really ought to work on changing that, because they know about you, your people, and your city. And they're coming."

Barnes says, "Somewhere in the Amber Market, certainly. Check here first, then feel free to search around the perimeter  of the market. I'll find out about your...wolf question." The old woman takes the coin and the paper. "Give me a few days. Maybe three. Shouldn't be longer than that." Trask's face is an unreadable mask as Thezra speaks. Her final statement causes the mask to break into a slightly bemused smile. "I'll let that slide, since you've clearly got some strong feelings about this situation.  Unfortunately, we haven't heard anything about these 'Watchers.'  We will, of course, investigate this and find out what we can." She pauses, looking directly at Thezra, her bemused expression fading to a hardened one. "Is that sufficient explanation?"

"Apologies, general," Sable interjects, stepping in between Thezra and Trask. "This is Thezra's first time in the big city. We just wanted to impress the ability of these Watchers upon you. They are no ordinary mages. If we can be of any further assistance, don't hesitate to let us know."