She came over the mountain, following the scent of death on the wind.<br/><br/>Black smoke wafted over the mountain, it made the flowers wilt and the badger shiver, the doe startled and sprinted in fear.<br/><br/>She had blackened a pool for scrying. She looked for the faces of the people she once knew, but saw naught much else but fire. This was rarely a good omen, she had to see with her own eyes what was happening in the world she had left behind.<br/><br/>She packed light, and even wore her old dress. She had kept it tucked away in a tree trunk and wrapped in leaves to keep it dry. She wore it when she had to go back over the mountain on some errand. The thing was old. Once it was sapphire blue, but now had faded to sky-blue. The hem tattered about her knees, one sleeve gone. Sometimes when people came to consult 'the lady of the mountain' they left gifts and offerings, a jar of honey, food, wine, trinkets and bits of cloth. The holes in the dress were patched by some of these giving it splashes of color. Her wild hair, which she knew she'd never untangle in time, was wrapped back with a long shawl. She had a small bag with many pockets strapped across her back. Someone had left the lady of the mountain a pair of shoes. Haven never wore them, and used them to carry herbs. They dangled from the side of her pack, strung by the laces, green leaves spilling from the openings. Unshod, she set off.<br/><br/>When she passed through the first few villages, they didn't recognize her. They were charitable and offered her shelter and food, they thought her a homeless penniless wanderer (which was accurate). She spoke to no one (habit), but thanked them with small smiles and gestures. Haven could not help but notice that these people were anxious, frightened, they jumped at small noises, their crops and cattle and health were weak. They had heard stories of death, fire, plague, and a tyrant who wielded unequaled power.<br/><br/>The people didn't like to talk about it, all expression of dissent was quickly squelched, suspicion rebellion of any sort would surely bring on the ire of the tyrant to the outskirts of his country.<br/><br/>Haven did what she could for them, and moved on.<br/><br/>The people she encountered next were quite different. They shied away from her, they closed their doors and windows at the sight of her. They trusted no one in these dark times. She found evidence of the destruction herself, heard bits and pieces of history; the story of the demise of the old empire and the rise of the new one... and the<span style="font-style: italic">dead</span>...<br/><br/>She followed the smell of smoke and fear, and was surprised when she did not find herself in the old capitol. The trail of woe lead elsewhere.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Fastborg Palads</span>Haven had never been there before, only heard of it from...<br/><br/>Anthony.<br/><br/>She approached the estate quietly. Anyone who might see the strange raggedy woman would blink and glance away at some sound or distraction, then completely forget her existence.<br/><br/>When she made it to the estate itself, she decided that a direct approach would be best. She had no cause to fear anyone here... least of all Anthony.<span style="font-style: italic">If Anthony still lived there.</span><br/><br/>Uncertain of who would greet her and how she would be received, Haven shed her concealment spell and simply walked toward the main entrance of the estate.<br/><br/>What would Haven find in that place? An old friend? Or a new enemy...