Janet
*It was a rather lively night in the tavern. In comparison to the nights beforehand, the tavern bustled with new patrons. Soldiers. Their tab ran large, yet the gold was covered by the king. Most were simple pikemen, coming fresh from a small skirmish in the Greenheart. Slavers. Found trading Dragonborn slaves to a few drow from Lazaroth. The lizard-folk had freshly escaped from Dasvaz after the Chieftain gave his great speech. The soldiers themselves agreed with his sentiment but weren't huge fans of the extra work slapped onto their plate from it. Many men coated in chainmail with long, rigid spears wrought of yew and iron stood around the bar, lively and merry. They had reason to celebrate. A job well done. Though, a job they hardly had any hand in. Out of the 50 men, only one had killed any slavers. He stood near the bar, raising a flagon of ale to the wooden roof above him. His armor clanked and muffled his voice as he cheered out, an invisible smile beneath his heavy steel visor.*

"FOR GOLD AND GLORY!" *The Elk cried, the pikemen in front of him answering with their own call.* "THANKS TO YE, SOUTHERN ELK!" *Dunkan watched as the men in front of him moved to down their pints, chuckling as he handed his mug off to a man standing next to him. 'I didn't really do all that much.' He thought quietly, shrugging as he turned back to the bar, removing his signature dagger. He held the knife firmly, slamming it into the bar with a certain swift grace. He carefully played with the blade, moving it back and forth as the tip of the dagger remained firmly embedded in the wood. He sighed softly, staring down at the bar through the thin visor he still clung to.*

*He wasn't in the best of spirits. He hated returning to the Greenheart. Especially for slave hunts. Even thinking of those trees brought him back to the days of yore. When Ser Dolwyn was lost. His mind painted an infinite picture of it. Of the spear that slammed into his neck. He could still hear the thud he made when his body fell into the mud, rain pattering on the steel of his armor. He always kept it clean and shiny. Dunkan stared down at his gauntlet, his eyes inspecting the mud and blood still left on his armor. Silently, he moved to wipe it away, grimacing as his mind flooded with thoughts of his long-lost friend.*
Clarence
While countless soldiers were making merry in the Hungry Wolf, Winrae stood outside across the street. Watching with a certain irritation, the aasimar had a pretty terribly time this past week- news of the new chieftain and his promise to free slaves the only bright part of the recent days. The moon was full this night, shining high above the world, but Winrae chose to stand under the cover of a tree. Clad in her signature golden armor, the paladin was exhausted mentally and physical, drained to the point of a near delusional state. Essme, her sister, was lost to her own mind and foolish decisions. Ser Edvard had chosen to stand against a superior, a woman with a higher standing, rank and power, and Winrae had fallen far from the person she once was. The warm embrace of Kamara's guidance had completely left her, her chest empty with nothing but a pit of longing and loss. Winrae had never felt so alone. A part of her wished to join people who she thought of as companions, brothers in arms in the tavern- but she knew they'd be more scared of her than happy to see her.

Watching the light of the fireplace flicker out through the tavern's windows, Winrae felt her bones chill slightly. Looking up towards the sky, the moon barely kissed her armor through the thick tree she stood under, but still she closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. *'A sign. Please... I have given my life to you, why do you remain silent? I am lost without you, Shield Mother. Guide me through this darkness, tell me what I must do to feel your presence once more.'* After what felt like hours, Winrae still felt nothing from Kamara, the Goddess of Justice. What was Winrae without her patron? Her savior, her divine? Nothing more than a shell. She had not felt Kamara's presence in over a week, and even before then the connection was dim, like a candle that was at the end of its wick. Winrae didn't know what she was now, but she knew what she wasn't anymore-

*Kamara's Chosen.*

_ _
Perhaps the Goddess had moved on to someone that was more worthy or holy, and the more Winrae thought about it the darker her head and heart grew. No one was better than she. Winrae was the strongest warrior from Khisfire to the cold mountains of Gantrick. No man or woman dared stand against her might and greatsword, no mage, no knight, no warrior. Winrae was the Winged Stag, a force to be reckoned with that even legions of men were terrified of. The aasimar's chest began to heave in and out, the space within her lung tightening with anger, a deep fury that was fueled by a terrifying voice in the back of her head. A voice that gnawed at her mind, clawed at her fragile state of thought and begged Winrae to do nothing more than *Rip and tear.*

***'₭₳ⱠłɎ₳Ⱨ- ₮ⱧɆɎ Ⱨ₳VɆ ₩ⱤØ₦₲ɆĐ ɎØɄ. ₭₳₥₳Ɽ₳ Ⱨ₳₴ ₩ⱤØ₦₲ɆĐ ɎØɄ. ₮ⱧɆɎ ₳ⱠⱠ ĐɆ₴ɆⱤVɆ ₦Ø₮Ⱨł₦₲, ₦Ø₮Ⱨł₦₲ ₥ØⱤɆ ₮Ⱨ₳₦ ɎØɄⱤ ฿Ⱡ₳ĐɆ ₳₵ⱤØ₴₴ ₮ⱧɆłⱤ-'***

Sucking in a deep breath, Winrae moved forwards towards the tavern. Stomping towards the doors, the paladin soon pushed them open and immediately noticed the quick glances her way. Those who saw her quickly grew silent, those who did not continued to drink and be merry until someone else bumped them, whispering to them that the Winged Stag had arrived. As she stood int he doorway, she heard the tail end of the cheering and noticed a man standing out from the others, the man who must have been called the 'Southern Elk'. Eyeing him curiously, Winrae turned towards the other end of the bar and took a seat when she arrived, the bartender cautiously approaching her. Before he could ask what she wanted, the aasimar spoke coldly.

"Absinthe."
Janet
*The Elk didn't bat an eye as Winrae entered. He stared softly into the steel band keeping his mug in place, watching as her golden armor reflected off the dull grey. If it wasn't Winrae Kaliyah. Psh. He sighed carefully, temporarily raising his visor to take a small sip of his ale before slamming the iron back down, returning to the knife. He didn't have much time to deal with someone like Winrae. He had heard all the stories. Even as a child, his mother would tell him about her. A magnificent golden beast who descended upon the battlefield to bring only destruction and pain to the enemies of Alynthi. To a child, she was a hero. To a man, she was nothing. He picked his gaze over to Winrae, watching as she inspected him. She carried herself with intense disdain. The knight sighed once more, wiping the thought of the Golden Stag from his mind.*

*He, once again, thought back to Ser Dolwyn. He could never escape that day. That wretched day. The pure pain he felt when Ser Dolwyn shook his last breath from his bloodied lungs. The pure rage he felt when he descended on his enemies. It wasn't only Dolwyn, but all of his friends. The entire company. Lost in a single battle. He couldn't help but blame himself for it. Though, none had ever told him to do otherwise. He watched as the others celebrated around him, chuckling with a somber tone. None of them knew. Not a single one of them knew what he had gone through. That was fine. For the better, maybe. Who knows. It wasn't him. He laughed softly, shaking his head. He often got caught up in his own thoughts. His ears pricked up as he heard a man behind him speak, raising a flagon towards Winrae.*

"Oi oi, say what you will about 'er, but all I's saying is, when you compare the two, The Elk looks more like a fawn when he sits next to the Golden Stag. All I's is saying!" *The man called out, immediately facing cries of disagreement from his compatriots. Dunkan swiveled over to face the man, standing from his stool at the bar. He approached the man in pure silence, watching as a look of nervousness came over the pikeman. Slowly, Dunkan moved to grab a mug from the table he was standing near, staring the man in the eye for a few moments. The tavern fell quiet for a few agonizing seconds, each and every soul watching The Elk.*

*Then, in an instant, Dunkan swiftly crashed his mug against the man's own flagon, smiling and launching his fist in the air.* "To the Golden Stag!" *He cried, laughing as the men around him burst into cheers and mimicked cries. He took a step back, allowing the man who had insulted him to sit down. Peeking over towards Winrae, he subtly raised his mug towards her, offering a small, silent hello. His own opinions aside, there was no need to sow distrust or hate amongst the ranks. It was all for the greater good.*