A weary march home

[Deleted]

On the sixteenth of Alturiak four thin, ragged men dressed in filthy scraps walk into Waymoot. The men chatter among themselves for a few moments, before going their separate ways, each of them eagerly rushing toward their homes.

The men hit the bar before long, and soon the rumour mill is filled with the talk of a group of brave druids who delved deep into the King's Forest, and discovered the seeds of corruption and evil, saving the men, and removing the source of the taint. The men tell tales of their missing companions dragged away in the darkness by hulking monstrosities of flesh, only to return to rip away more, of men in silver masks who came out of nowhere and stole their lives away, and of relief at finally being home again, and not having to witness any further horrors. Who organized these kidnappings is speculated, but unknown.

[Fenix]

A time much later into the afternoon, a lone man garbed in plain black and white clothing would make his way into the inn. He would chew on a lone slice of Fruitbread in his entry, gazing about at the ragged faces with a hint of a smile touched upon his lips. He would then inevitably settle at the table in the corner of the room, the fruit bread lain on a small plate and a glass containing only ice set out before him. He pours the contents of a oaken flask into the empty glass, taking a sip from the liquid within. The bitterly strong scent wafts into the air lone, an overpoweringly strong delight to the nostrils to any whom come near.

An exorbitant sum of roughly two thousand golden lions is given to Hannita as she would pass his table, and a few words murmured to her as it was passed along. The man would sit quietly at his table, offering a smile or a few words to any whom came near, but otherwise seemingly fixated on his drink, his fruitbread, and the tome before him in which a steady hand would spend great lengths to sketch various images within. The glint of a silver mask would be seen from his pack, settled against the foot of his chair.

[grivel]

A large eagle rides the air currents above Waymoot, watching as the rag tag group enters safely through the gates. As the last man enters, a screech is heard and the eagle flys off towards Dhedluk.