Eddie
Rolf, Tagus
Outskirts of Iron Gate

Tagus did not hesitate in following the message's directions. He was blind by the idea that whoever wrote the letter could help him and the people suffering from the wolfman disease. Rolf, on the other hand, was more down to earth and suspicious of the sender of that letter. It was a beggar that delivered it, a little beggar boy that could have very well sent them to their deaths by the request of some influential bandit or a group of ravenous, starving peasants. His prejudice had to be put aside, for the young boy had no intention in heeding the ebony man's warnings. Tagus considered the ambush, but he followed the feeling in his gut more so than the pessimistic thoughts that clouded his mind.

They left Iron Gate behind and circumvented the capital's outer ring wall. Tagus frowned at the sight of só many homeless people at the gates, some laying around while others tried to scream at the guards for one mistreatment or another. Although John de Burgh seemed to have the best responses, it ultimately fell into individual effort to treat the infected people. Not everyone was kind hearted in the guard, not everyone was like the old healer from the apothecary. People were dying, and those who didn't, thought of revolting. But they were too weak.

The roads around Iron Gate were some of the most well made and maintained in the North of Marin. Flat, polished cobble, white like ivory. The people called the main one going south to the Grey Hills was the Internal Highway. If it was official or not, it depended more on the government than hearsay. Out of Iron Gate and to the northwest was a smaller road called the Border Highway. Tagus followed it until the opening in the jagged rock to a beaten path leading up a mountain's inclination. Rolf shook his head. He was doubtful and felt uneasy. Who was this Barmayaa person and was it trustworthy?

Amaryllis, Josephine
The Gallant Pheasant

The last time Josephine was in such a state of luxury was back in the comfort of her family's mansion in Raunkastel. The Merovingian had their foundations split between the central castle and the manor attached to the eastern tower. There was where Josephine was raised, partly, and one could say she lived half her life in it and the other half accompanying her father in the castle itself. A share of her hours was made of frequent visits to the barracks, as much as she visited the tower where Clovis allowed witch and sorcerer to conduct their studies and experiments in the search for methods to counter the magical influences hidden in Marin, magic sources that could be dangerous one day.

She didn't really mind the words that her friend used. They were honest in the sense that Amaryllis did not filter out of considering her friend's reaction, more so to be genuine in her thought of what she'd do in the shoes of her noble friend. People had tendencies to think what if, especially when trying to fit in the place of someone abstract of their status. Though it didn't really matter in the end, and Josephine didn't feel things came easily for her. Nor did she like them to be. She was taught the meaning of effort and hardship by her father. The household was indeed overprotective of her, especially in her younger years, but as Josephine grew, they grew with her in peeling the barriers that divided them.

"Wouldn't you miss the freedom of the country and your flock, Ryllis?" The girl asked, teasing a little. "My father always told me about the difference between a Merovingian and the other noble families of Taemar and the other kingdoms. He said that we shouldn't let our status influence our view on the world. We all have our lives, but it is our duty to better the lives of others." She said, a bit of a ramble to be fair. "There's a lot of people that care what you are. Peasant, Knight, lord, servant... What does that all mean? And why do we have to live like that? Out there, in the world of hills and woods and mountains and rivers, nothing really cares about that."

Rolf, Tagus
A Cavern in the Mountains

The path was uneven. As the two knights ventured deeper and higher into the mountains north of Iron Gate, they found sharper rocks jutting out of the ground and making the journey slower and harder. But that did not stop them from the assignment they were given. No, Tagus pushed onward, leading the way to a destination unknown and fate uncertain. The rocky climb was over before a leveled path inward to the bowels of the mountain. It was a guttural entrance with walls layered in jagged formations of rock and the low hiss of a cold wind that infiltrated the tunnel and grazed through its extension. Tagus looked around the natural formation. He was growing anxious, his mind racing with the contradicting thoughts of his actions. Why was he there? Was it right to follow a simple letter to this dark hole in the middle of the earth and rock? Questions were silenced in his head by the sudden howl of a stronger wind that seemed to draw the knights into the center of the world. Tagus shook his head violently and stepped forward, set on taking his decision to the bitter end.

Rolf was surprised by his companion's initiative. The boy had always been a follower, always chose to stick by his other colleague's decisions at the exception of the less savory Hausel. Their rivalry, if one could call it that, was determined the moment the boy stepped into the intimate ranks of the castle, and of the manor. The ebony skinned man did the following at present time, but not without the constant feeling of unease. They were in a region far from their home and deep in the womb of wilderness unleashed. Soon after going into the cave, the dark path was illuminated by the eery green glow of mushrooms sprouting from walls, ground and ceiling. Vines and covers of moss surrounded the mushrooms and entangled with each other until the tunnel widened and-

Dead end. Tagus arched his brows, Rolf squinted his eyes. One was confused, the other suspected the worst. However, none expected to see what awaited them when they turned around.

An old crone sat in a wooden chair, its frame lined in different sticks of wood connected with the top oaken shaft and the bottom that was attached to a flat surface, standing over four legs. The old woman was hunched on the chair and her grey white hairs were so long they cascaded down to the cold and rough soil of the cavern. She raised a wrinkled hand from under the lush white of her hairs and pulled strands to the side to reveal a dark brown eye and a wizened face. She looked drained, with a heavy bag under her eye. However, she couldn't help but smile.

"Welcome, fair knights. Welcome." Hers was a raspy voice, weathered by countless seasons and struggles.
Frankie
Amaryllis, Josephine
The Gallant Pheasant

Amaryllis smiled a bit at her friend's joke. Freedom was a very relative term. Sure, she wasn't a slave to anyone, and for that she could be grateful. Many in Northwind didn't even have the freedom that she enjoyed... But at the same time, she was enslaved by the position that she had been born into. Or at least it had always seemed like she was. She got lucky the day she met Josephine.

Still, she couldn't help but think that Josephine was a bit naive. What could Josephine and her family really do for the low-born classes? And as much as the young woman might dream of a world where class differences no longer mattered, it would never change.

She paused for a moment, pondering that before she said, "When I'm in the hills... You're right, it doesn't matter anymore. I'm alone, and I don't have to worry about someone looking down at me for... What I am. But when I come down from the hills, I'm constantly reminded at every turn, and I am treated accordingly." There was another long pause before she said, "But I was tired of being alone too. Sheep don't speak. They don't offer comfort or companionship like another human... I guess... Nothing will change, I suppose. I got lucky when I met you, but even now, I know that... That this won't last forever, if that makes sense. And I can't rise very high, no matter what happens. My wings were clipped the day I was born."
Eddie
There was a blatant silence in the dead end cavern. Glowing mushrooms sprouted on the ground around the old woman and illuminated their world turned comfortable and radiated in warmth.

The floor was planked oak, the walls, far from humid and with crude, rough form. Plain and white like ivory, they made the inside of a welcoming lodge at the bottom of the hole. Tagus gulped quite dryly and stepped back once a foot, last the second. He bit his lower lip in anxiety and took a deep breath with widened eyes at the *Witch*. Rolf followed in reaction, but not the same, prone to bear the hilt of the sword on his waist's left side. He frowned, frightened, but cautious and valiant. His legs shifted to prepare a stance. The woman laughed. It was a deafening cackle. She continued to hold her hair as he watched Rolf with one eye, the right, the same as before, as ever, usually. It was greyed out, nearly a husk of its former self. But attentive. Jutting tendrils of red held them tightly in place, wired to the brain. A very powerful weapon, just like the soul.

The knights were oblivious to the possibilities in a scenario that changed abruptly. In this, they were both lost and confused, for what was happening never did to any of them. Rolf wanted to cut the witch down, but he waited. Why? She could use her magic-

But they needed the flower. This was the purpose of the journey, thus they needed to talk with her. No, they couldn't take it from her. By standard and not wanting to have suicidal thoughts. The witch in particular seemed crazy, yet very powerful. She changed the area around them. Twisted reality.

"You came here for a flower, but you seem to be enjoying my hearth and home."

The old lady shrieks a laugh and closes the curtain of her grey hair. Both hands laid on the armrest of the oaken chair while she leaned back and stretched her back. It popped a few times and she giggled.

"Excuse us. We'd like to speak about the Winter's Fire." Tagus said, focused on the mission, Josephine's mission. It was sure strange to be in this situation, so he oughta be polite to the witch, or whatever the woman in front of him was. 

"Indeed, so I've told." She laughed. "Tell me, jester. Would you like for me to read your palm?"

"Jester?" Tagus was visibly confused. Rolf eased the grip on his sword. He shook his head in utter disbelief.

"Please, the flower will save many in Iron Gate! " Rolf tried to appeal to a sense of selflessness.

"*You* Don't care about those lives, knight." She bit bitterly, swiftly. "But tell me, do you want me to read your palm?"

Rolf grimaced. She was not wrong. Rolf was there because the lady commanded it. He was fine with it, until meeting the witch. Finding out she had a few screws loose made it harder to be successful. 

"Who wants me to read their palm?" 

Tagus grit his teeth a slight and took a step forward.
Bobby
Sir Col Jude
The Gallant Pheasant

Training lasted the entire winter. It was brutal, perhaps the most challenging thing he'd ever faced for far. On the other side of it was spring, experience, and mental fortitude. Training exploited his every weakness, his fear of horses, his seeming inability to connect with other people. He was made aware of them so he could conquer them, and because of that he could now call himself a Knight.

He was taken on by Lord Solomere in North Wind. He was fair, but he worked his Knights hard night and day. Col thought he was finished with midnight rides, but since he proved himself a good rider that became his role with the Solomeres along with guarding one of his daughters.

He'd worked for them for months when he was given leave to enter a tournament in the horn hills. It was a lengthy journey, but one he was prepared for. He was also excited to make the journey. It wasn't exactly The Southern Isles, but it was an escape from North Wind. 

He spend a few weeks training before he ventured off to the tournament in the Witherlands.

He traveled for a few days before stopping at an inn. He only planned on spending one night there before he continued on. He stopped during the day, got a bite to eat before he headed up to his room to rest. 

His boots were heavy against the floor, he never learned to walk quietly. The hallways were narrow, he could hear conversations from the occupied rooms as well as the dining hall downstairs. He fumbled with the key, the lock was old and rusted over.

Little had changed about him over the past few months. He still wore black, his hair was still on his shoulders, he was of course still tall.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford and Josephine
The Gallant Pheasant

The two young women had left the door open for whenever Tagus returned and to keep the air from stagnating. Amaryllis preferred it this way. It made her feel less cooped up, and she enjoyed watching the guests walk by her room. It was so interesting to see all the different people come through here, especially since the majority of them were much higher-class than she. It was fascinating to see how the other half lived! 

She had just finished her conversation with Josephine when she heard the clomping of boots down the hall. It was that sound that caught her attention and caused her to open her eyes, peering at the door to see who was walking by. Those sounded like heavy boots, work boots, and that piqued her curiosity. The majority of the people here at the inn wore slippers or riding boots or anything but something so heavy. Another knight? Perhaps Tagus had returned!

She perked up even more at this thought, but the figure that entered her field of vision through the rather small door was not Tagus. It was, however, a figure she recognized. Her eyes widened in shock and she gawked at him openly, her mind racing as she tried to determine whether that very same mind was playing tricks on her. She hadn't seen him in months! Not since the shifter attack.

He was apparently in the room right across from her, for he turned and slid his key in the lock of the room right across the way, giving Amaryllis a good view of his profile. She'd remember that long hair and sharp features- as well as those dark clothes and wraith-like height- absolutely anywhere! It was so strange, seeing him again, and she debated whether she should call out to him or not. What if she was wrong? That would be embarrassing... But still, she found that she was willing to risk it. She wanted to speak to the man that had saved her life again; to thank him for all that he had done and perhaps repay him in some small way, if she could! 

"Col!" She called out, though her voice was so weak that she feared he wouldn't hear her and would go right into his room without noticing her. "Col!" She called again, louder this time. "It's me, Amaryllis! The girl you saved from the shifter!"