<div class="floatleft">(https://db4sgowjqfwig.cloudfront.net/campaigns/14025/assets/369174/photo.JPG?1410498517)</div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Agira</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Agira ir'Marca (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=1010131)</strong><br/><strong>HP</strong> 12/12   <strong>Init</strong> +2<br/><strong>AC</strong> 19 - <strong>Touch</strong> 12 - <strong>FF</strong> 17 - <strong>CMD</strong> 16<br/><strong>Fort</strong> +4 <strong>Ref</strong> +2 <strong> Will</strong> +2<br/><strong>Perception</strong> +4<br/><strong>Stance:</strong> Scarlet Einhander</div></div><hr/>Agira paused her steady and methodical march briefly as Oleg's came into full view, seemingly taking a moment to take it all in. The trading post was a welcome sight in more ways than one. It signaled the start of something glorious and, at the same time, brought Agira's mind back to a time when she felt like she actually understood the world. In fact, that wave of nostalgia had been washing over her the entire trip; the soft metallic shuffle of her armor as she marched, the weight of her weapon at her hip, and the way her mind unconsciously strategized and visualized what was to come all reminded her of her time in the Cyre she used to know. It felt good to remember things as they used to be, even with the painful memories mixed in. The fort in the distance was the perfect capstone to Agira's trip down memory lane, and its familiarity would do well to make her feel just as home as she did in New Cyre.<br/><br/>Agira's reverie ended just as abruptly as it began, the woman eager to move forward, each step bringing her all the closer to her ultimate goal. There was just one thing standing between her and the next step in her mission now: a closed gate. Agira spent a second scanning the top of the fort's walls, more out of habit rather than from any actual expectations of danger. The sight of the blue banner of Breland that flew above the fort was a painful reminder for Agira of how displaced both she and Cyre truly were, causing the woman's eyes to swiftly shift back to the gate rather than continuing to gaze up and risk reminding herself of whose land this really was. Content with the quick inspection, Agira cupped her hands around her mouth and tilted her head back, calling out in a militaristic tone that carried a volume and forcefulness that only comes from years of shouting orders above the din of battle, "Oleg Leveton?"