Thoughts of the illusion continued to haunt Valentine's mind as the team made their way through the village to the town hall and subsequent meeting with the elder council. There were a few things that puzzled him - if they had truly gone back in time three days, why weren't there still reports of missing cattle and women, but rather priests. It couldn't be a simple time traveling scenario, nor could it be a simple illusion.

"My friends," Adrian spoke quietly as they marched towards the town hall, "I fear we might be dealing with more than an illusion or simple parlor trick. It's strange really - on one hand moving back in time is likely not impossible, but it would certainly be a skill that one *begins* to study after having mastered several advanced arcane arts. One that is out of reach of all but the most powerful archmages, if even they have the power.

"If we are dealing with something or someone capable of distorting time, we might be in over our heads. There are a couple more things I have thought of..." He makes sure everyone is still paying attention, and then continues whether they are or not, "What if Dwan's information was incorrect. There were never reports of missing cattle and women? It's a far jump from cattle and missing people to priests who don't come around anymore.

"And yet another possible scenario, one that I fear is the most sinister and somehow the most likely - We are actually in an illusionary world now... Think about it - if the demons were able to destroy us and trap our souls or consciousness in some other plane of existence, then they might be able to make us think we are still alive!"
Adrian Valentine looked side to side, his now very long hair (it apparently hasn't been maintained in months) and electric grey eyes darting to and fro. His voice had gotten louder without his notice.

"Ahem, forgive me. I have been studying... some very strange things since we last adventured together. It's probably nonsense. Perhaps the elder council will be able to correct the confusion about cattle and priests." Once a loon with flawed magick, always a loon with flawed magick.... I should have left his mind untouched.
The remainder of the stroll through town passed around Valentine. He was lost in his daily upper-body ritual - arm curls with the heaviest-looking rocks he could find and carry in one hand. The Ex-Red had always been obsessive about maintaining his physical appearance and ability, but prize fighting brought Adrian's body to a new peak, something he compulsively maintained to a higher degree than even before.

He looked less like a mage and more like a street thug were it not for his Red-corps insignia on his arm. The long-healed scar etched across it seems to have been freshly reopened in the time since their last outing, as if to suggest a re-desecration of sorts. Or perhaps the fading scar tissue wasn't quite menacing enough for a seasoned "gladiator" of his stature. Adrian himself wasn't quite sure why he tore into the scar that night he buried Wind, but it wasn't really on his priority list of things to self-analyze. He had far too many new scars since becoming an Imperial traitor. They were his real character, his real personality. Not some half-wit idea done out of spite. They were real signs of battle, of seasoning. Gone was the arrogant boy that spoke ill of the Empire, replaced with an arrogant man that had suffered the consequences of treason and lived.

At the town hall a travelling minstrel had saw fit to welcome them with song. Spoke of love and thorns and other flamboyant nonsense. Probably wanted a tip.

Adrian flipped a silver piece into the flagon of ale at the bard's feet. Maybe next time he'll remember to lay out his hat, Adrian allowed himself a smirk as he took a seat near, but not at, the Elder's table.

As the party continued their journey. Arien found the once concrete concept of reality to be much more abstract than he cared for. First, the epic defeat at the hands of the demons, then, awakening in the cornfield, and now, Adrian was spouting nonsense about their current lives being an illusion. The knight had had enough.

"Perhaps you are correct, Adrian," the heir to House Thedell spoke. "Is there any way for us to know if we are under such a thrall? Is there some incantation you can recite, some augury you can read? If not, such speculation seems to be of little help. I say that we continue our course and follow our mission until some other reasonable solution presents itself. What else can we do?"

Eventually, the party found itself in the company of five greybeards - the council of Hevlorn, it would seem - plus one foppish bard. Arien took it upon himself to begin the parley.

"Hail and well met, gentlemen," he began. "I am Arien Aston Thedell the Third, and these are my companions. We come on a mission from Dwan of the Iron League, and we would seek your council."

Char wasn’t happy. The scowl on his bearded face was just the cave leading to a far broader expanse of tunnels ridden with nasty beasts. He didn’t really care much for Magic in general, but magic that screwed with you like had just happened to them…well, the woodsman allowed it to drive a vicious desire to find whoever was responsible and “mess” with their minds to swell within him. It put him on edge, made him jumpy and anxious, and drew him into a sullen silence that Adrian’s speculations didn’t help.

Were he and his companions really just jumping through further hoops perpetrated by some all powerful being for their sick entertainment? Fuel for his fire if ever there had been. His nose crinkled up, and his lip curled as Arien made his suggestion. The woodsman had nothing to say in response to the ex-Imperial’s commentary. He didn’t know enough about magic to add anything to the speculation other than to swear under his breath and mumble quite a few things about wizards, demons, and ultimate power that was less than complimentary.

When they arrived in the town of Hevlorn, Char was in such a foul mood that he hung around the back of the others, eyeing villagers with a suspicious, narrowed gaze that he wore beneath his curtained hair even after they entered the hall. When Maximus declared his discover of a bard, Char barely glanced at the fiddler before picking out the darkest corner and making the determination to get to it before Da’Moon could. His escape from social interaction was underway before Arien had even finished with his introductions, and definitely before the bard had finished singing.

(OOC: Char will try and position himself in such a place so as to have his back to a wall where he can keep his eye on everything going on, both Kukri out of their sheathes and placed in front of him on the table where he can access them easily.)

Dapple was a shadow among the party at the best of times, a fleeting image out of the corner of one’s eye or a whisper pf breath on the back of one’s neck. Now, it seemed as if she’d retreated entirely into her cloak, staring out from the depths of her hood and speaking to no-one. While the others spoke of their shared experiences, she simply stared off, and if asked about her own battle, she responded with a flat “It wasn’t ending well.”

While Valentine and the others talked about the possibility of time travel, Dapple pondered the impossibility of battling one’s own inner demon. How could whatever they faced have reached into her heart and known what she hated the most? What she feared the most? Unless …”that wasn’t…you, was it?” she silently asked the other presence within her, the one that had been absent during the battle.

No, snorted the dead voice within her nor was it you, little monster. You’re too hideous to even be a caricature of femininity. It was a distraction, nothing more. Bigger things are afoot than your minor problems.
Dapple nibbled at bloodless lips, eyes scanning the crowd that surrounded them in Helvorn. She should have felt relieved to be among buildings again, but she was still too raw. She clasped her elbows under her cloak and chanted her mantra of nothingness.

Fat lot of good it did her as the party entered the town hall. Char seemed determined to supplant her, taking the best spot in the corner, then the big gladiator hiding her stopped suddenly, forcing Dapple to sidestep before she trod on his heels.

“Bard,” stated Maximus, and the little rogue turned her head up to peer up at him sideways through blonde curls.

“Very good, Maximus, “ she stated drily,” we’ll have you using full sentences next.”

"Hail and well met, gentlemen," Arien began. "I am Arien Aston Thedell the Third, and these are my companions. We come on a mission from Dwan of the Iron League, and we would seek your council."

The most well dressed of the elders comes towards you in mystified but cheerful disposition. “Greeting good sir. I am Relg Fistele, a member of the town council. We are honoured to have such well spoken of warriors in our humble town. Dwan Granitecrusher sent you on a mission? What is that mission for your arrival is fortuitous as we were just about to ask Caicher Flynn here, “he says with a gesture towards to softly sing bard, “about a mission of our own.”

(I’m going to assume that Arien will reveal something about the mission but not about the strange illusion or time shift yet)

The elders look at each other in hearing of your mission, “Missing cattle? And persons? Well if that were true I would be very glad to see you all here but truth be known, it is not. We haven’t sent a messenger to Dwan yet, in fact, that was going to be one of the suggestions I was going to make.” Relg says with a mystified tone.

(some comments, questions, at this point)

“Allow me to tell you what has been happening. The priests that tend the temple by the ruins of the castle have not been seen from in a long time, at least a month. Usually a group will come to town for supplies on a weekly basis and yet we have not seen any of them for so long now. Furthermore, at night, we see no lights from the temple, nor do we see signs of fires from their chimneys. We had decided it was time to gather a group to go up and check on them, but with the history of the castle and the great evil there, we have been hesitant to do so. There are some who were warriors once in Hevlorn, but most have given up their swords for plows many years ago.” Relg explains.

(Questions, Comments)

Relg looks to the other council members who have keep to their own so far, and then turns back to you, addressing the knight specifically, “Since you are here and charged to our well being by Dwan, perhaps you would be willing to go to the temple for us? I know that Flynn here would probably welcome the chance to join you in this…what do you people call it? This quest?”

Slipping into the chair, shrouded by the darkness that matched his mood, Char couldn’t help but feel a little bad about stealing Da’Moon’s usual haunt. But for the moment he felt like a caged bear, wary with nowhere to escape to. That…dream, or time travel spell, or whatever it was; still had the hackles on the back of his neck standing on edge, and the warm smell of ale, food, and human beings did nothing to settle his mood. Where some sought solace from the evils of the world in the light, Char had learned that the darkness held certain relief, much the same as what the ranger imagined Da’ Moon experienced when she slid into the shadows. From the shadows you could watch and learn. From the shadows you had the upper hand. So it was that the woodsman remained gently embraced in what shadows the room provided while Arien did what he did best: acted as the face of the company.

The ranger waved off any drink, sitting reclined in the chair with his left arm resting on the table, his bow spinning slowly about between the dirty fingers of his left hand. The quiver had been removed from his back upon sitting, and now sat leaning against his right thigh, the pheasant feather fletching catching the firelight with soft reflection. As the council answered Arien’s opening, the ranger scanned the room over. He didn’t know what he was looking for specifically, but he was looking nonetheless.

A woodsman learns to look for sign in the earth, within the branches of the trees, among the stones. Each scratch marking a piece of rock, cutting through the moss; each broken stem of grass, bend branch, leaves knocked to the ground…they all told a story, and Char was looking for similar signs throughout the tavern.

Dwan’s intelligence wrong? Char was fully aware that intel could be skewed, twisted, even falsified to set a military campaign off on the wrong track should the scout be turned. But why would someone want to bring representatives of the Iron League here under false pretense? Would they know who Dwan would send? Logically speaking they had just marked themselves in the public eye by completing Dwan’s previous mission. Anyone who had anything against the Ruler of the Iron League would be able to guess at which group of “heroes” the dwarf would call upon should there be another issue to tend. Aside from the crew they’d just dealt with, the mountain man didn’t know of anyone who had anything against them specifically…well, so much as anyone had let on. Char couldn’t think of anyone who had anything against him at least.

As the others raised their questions, Char continued to ponder their reason for being there. If his friends wanted to proceed with this mission by taking on the council’s new mission, then the ranger was along for the ride. However, he wasn’t going to go in blind. There were few that he trusted in this world, and these who he’d spent the past weeks with were listed among them. But aside from them, the rest of the world was nothing but dangerous, and the mangy woodsman wasn’t going anywhere blind.

With her usual place taken by Char, Dapple found a corner that was well away from the elders and the bard, and settled her shoulders against the walls. If she had to be in plain sight, she preferred to have her back covered. Making such a deliberate and open action stopped her from pacing, which is what she really wanted to do. Pulling out one of her smaller knives to clean her nails siphoned off a little nervous energy, but not enough.

The elder that spoke the most had the best clothing, and the best jewelry, according to Dapple’s experienced eye. She amused herself by trying to estimate his likely net worth (adjusting for being a big fish in a small pond, of course) as he expressed surprise at Arien’s explanation of their presence. His provincial attitude became clear when he broadly hinted that they check on their priests for them.

“Hang on there, Fistele,” Dapple spoke up from her corner. She spoke without heat or rancor, but firmly. “Dwan paid us to check into your situation, and we’ve done so. The fact that you’re ok and all don’t mean we’re charged with anything more than turning around and kicking some messenger’s arse for getting his messages wrong. Arien will hem and haw and try to be noble about it, but if you want us to visit some priests in the back end of beyond, it’s on your tab. And we don’t take sightseers.”

As the two stealthier members of the group made their way to a chair or a shadow Maximus, Adrian, Kilgrim and Arien found themselves left out in the Inn by themselves. Shrugging his big shoulders he gained the nearest semi vacant table and with a quiet stare and no words convinced those already seated to find somewhere else to sit. Waving over the other three he began to look around for a waitress as first Arien then Dapple made their comments on the present state of affairs.

Though he remained quiet he had to agree with Dapple that doing something for no gain was pointless. Maybe before Jal’s death he might have leaned towards Arien’s sense of nobleness in the knight’s goody two shoes way but no longer. If they wanted this former arena warrior to check out some damn tower the price would need to be worth it.

Catching the eye of a server he ordered a round of beer for each at the table. Knowing that there was a good chance Arien would not drink his brought a smile to the ex-gladiators face, for if he did not this would give Maximus two mugs and no waiting time to order.

Arien was filled with a sense of duty mingled with excitement as the councilman spoke of their troubles. True enough, there was no damsel in distress, nor were there some ancient artifact that needed recovering, but these good people quite clearly needed the party's assistance... and they offered the services of a bard to help chronicle their adventures! Even the most practical of the party would surely agree that it would make sense to investigate the temple.

Humbly, the knight bowed his head. "It is clear to me that Heironneus has guided our path so that we would meet with you," he stated. "Truly, it seems that it would be wise to check with the priests, but your dire news makes me fear the worst. Unless one of my comrades objects, I say that we make for the temple directly to investigate what may have happened there. Hopefully, this knowledge will aid us in our larger mission."

Assuming there is no objection...
"Honored elder, we will gladly accept your quest." Arien then turned his gaze to the bard. "What say you, good Flynn? Will you accompany us?"

Valentine needed a library where he could do some research. This place didn't look like it would have the kind of arcane books he would need, but maybe the temple would have enough to at least get his mind pointed in the right direction.

The elders were going to send a messenger to Dwan? This was not adding up at all.

"Sir," Adrian spoke up from his seat, "May I have a word with my teammates in private before we go any further?"

Assuming nobody objects, Adrian will pull everyone that wants to come to his table and speak with a hushed voice.
"I think I have an idea what's going on..." he starts shakily.

"We left home 5 days ago. At our pace it took us 5 days to get here," Adrian sort of drew something in the air with his finger to help him spit it out.

"Something with the times don't add up. Let's call today day 0. If the council decides to send a messenger, let's assume a seasoned one can make it to Dwan in 3 days, and then another day to call us together, and then we set out the next morning, the morning of the Mordon 4th. Let's call that day 5...

"We arrive 5 days later - day 10 - to find the town being attacked, and the refugees all claimed the attack started the night prior - day 9. The thing none of them understood was that the priests didn't come to help. Then we wake up in a field of corn and it's back to Mordon 4th. Only now, the council hasn't sent a messenger at all."

Valentine takes a drink to get through it.

"It's almost like the first five days didn't even happen, but yet we still made it here. Either way we have to figure out what happened to the priests. They are the key to keeping not only Hevlorn intact but might be our only way to defeat the demon brothers that so happily slaughtered us before."

Adrian's face turns a very somber tone as the realization strikes him.

"It wasn't an illusion, it was some powerful spell to alter time itself. I don't know who cast it or why or even when, but if I'm right, we only have four days before they attack and destroy the town."

He pulls a piece of parchment, quill and inkwell from his coat and begins furiously writing. There is a chance you do not yet know, but we are in great danger. There is a chance we have traveled through a gate or encountered some powerful magic to distort time and reality. On the eve of Mordon the 7th, Hevlorn will be destroyed and we will all be killed, I believe by a pair of demons. Please spend the next few days in research and supply me with any information we can use to prevent this. -Adrian Valentine, Mordon 4.
"We need to find those priests. They will at least know our next move."

After anyone has anything to add in private
"How quickly can the council get a message to Freegate?"

Assuming an available messenger that can make it in less than 4 days
"Take this then, and have your messenger depart immediately while we investigate the temple." Adrian seals the letter and writes on the front: Gwanele: Urgent
"Tell your messenger it is only to be delivered to Gwanele or Dwan Granitecrusher if she cannot be located."

Adrian takes one last swig before standing up. They were quite literally racing against time.

Caicher played and sang and watched and listened as the Heroes of Freegate, rather gloomily, he thought, found their respective ways to seat and shadow. Not great fans of music, it would seem, he mused, eyeing the troupe and making assessments of their demeanors as individuals and a group, Curious, that. Most of their ilk tend to enjoy a song or two… perhaps when the subject is of a more familiar sort, hm?
The bard grinned as the once and former Red swept passed him with scarcely a glance, and grinned even brighter when Valentine, in that supercilious way of his, flipped a coin into the flagon of ale at Caicher’s feet. At least some minor appreciation for a tune well-played, then, the troubadour chuckled inwardly as he touched his fiddle-bow to the brim of his hat in appreciation and resumed playing without having missed a note, there’s a bit more of the vivacity I might have expected from such a lot.
"Hail and well met, gentlemen," the knight’s voice drew Flynn’s attentions away from the mage, then, "I am Arien Aston Thedell the Third, and these are my companions. We come on a mission from Dwan of the Iron League, and we would seek your council."

Relg Fistele, as it was his station to do, returned Sir Thedell’s greeting and made his introductions. “We are honoured to have such well spoken of warriors in our humble town,” the elder smiled at Arien and his company, “Dwan Granitecrusher sent you on a mission? What is that mission, for your arrival is fortuitous as we were just about to ask Caicher Flynn here, about a mission of our own.”

Flynn’s tune reached its end in a strange harmony with Relg’s salutation and its last notes dissipated in the air of the hall as the knight began to recount the particulars of the mission with which the Lord of the Iron League had tasked them. Like the elders, Flynn’s expression went a bit quizzical at the details Sir Thedell related – he hadn’t been a resident of Helvorn for long, himself, but long enough to know that no cattle had gone missing any time in recent memory and certainly not any of the fine people that called this town home – and he, too, exchanged perplexed glances with the elders.

“Missing cattle? And persons? Well if that were true I would be very glad to see you all here but truth be known, it is not. We haven’t sent a messenger to Dwan yet, in fact, that was going to be one of the suggestions I was going to make.” Relg said with a mystified tone before continuing on to explain the nature of the mission the Town Council truly had in mind.

“Since you are here and charged to our well being by Dwan,” Fistele concluded, “perhaps you would be willing to go to the temple for us? I know that Flynn here would probably welcome the chance to join you in this…what do you people call it? This quest?”

Caicher nodded, the bewildered expression replaced again by an amicable smile. He took a moment to set his battered fiddle aside (with more care than the instrument appeared to have ever received) and retrieve his cup before regarding the company again. It had been his intention to offer his own input after a quick swallow of the ale but, upon having slaked the dryness of tongue brought on by singing, the bard had scarcely opened his mouth when the young thief interjected…

“Hang on there, Fistele,” Dapple spoke up from her corner. She spoke without heat or rancor, but firmly. “Dwan paid us to check into your situation, and we’ve done so. The fact that you’re ok and all don’t mean we’re charged with anything more than turning around and kicking some messenger’s arse for getting his messages wrong. Arien will hem and haw and try to be noble about it, but if you want us to visit some priests in the back end of beyond, it’s on your tab. And we don’t take sightseers.”

“Sightseers?” Caicher couldn’t help but laugh, then. “I’ve been called gypsy, tramp, fop, point-ear, and worse,” he chortled, “but never can I recall be labeled sightseer, lad. Interesting choice of words, I think.” He laughed again and followed it with another draught from his flagon; this drink bringing the silver coin tossed into the vessels contents by Valentine to the bard’s lips. He caught the coin between his teeth as the mug left his lips and, after swallowing the mouthful of warming brew, released the silver and let it fall into his palm. “I’m sure you’ll find me to be much more than a simple tagalong balladeer, Dapple Moon,” he smiled, giving the coin a cursory appraisal before relegating it to his own purse, “I’m as handy with my blade as I am with my fiddle, I can assure you…”

"It is clear to me that Heironneus has guided our path so that we would meet with you," Sir Thedell made his own reply to Fistele’s proposal, then; "Truly, it seems that it would be wise to check with the priests, but your dire news makes me fear the worst. Unless one of my comrades objects, I say that we make for the temple directly to investigate what may have happened there. Hopefully, this knowledge will aid us in our larger mission.

What say you, good Flynn? Will you accompany us?"

Flynn’s smile remained affixed to his lips and shone, too, in his emerald eyes as he directed his gaze from the scowling thief to the more exuberant knight. “Twould be my distinct pleasure, m’lord,” he beamed, at last removing his hat as he sketched a bow, “and a true honor to adventure with the renowned Heroes of Freegate… mayhaps I’ll even be able to add a tale or a tune of my own to add to your legends, hmm?”

When the Knight Arien seemingly accepted the quest to the priest’s tower without first discussing the matter with the rest of the group, Maximus would be silent no more. He would be damned if he allowed Arien to volunteer them without guaranteed compensation. However before the huge warrior could speak he was beaten to it by Adrian.

"We need to find those priests. They will at least know our next move."
Once he the ex-Red circle mage was done even Maximus had to admit he had a point. If what he said about ’time travel’ was possible then it was in all’s best interest, reward aside, to find a way to beat the demons this next meeting.

Then in the course of the next few minutes it seemed decided that the group would go to this tower, a messenger would sent to Dwan and even the addition of the tavern’s bard to the group was set. Chugging down the second beer, for Arien had as he had hoped not touched it, Maximus stood and joined Adrian at the ready to depart..........

Char remained watchful, sullen, and ready to put arrow to string at a moment’s notice should things go weird again. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get the hackles on his neck to relax. When Adrian called the group over to consult, he grudgingly rose from his seat, gripped his bow, and slowly made his way towards the table. The ex-Red Circle Mage began to go on about inconsistencies with time, and the perils that they could possibly be facing. Truth be told, Char was a simple man with less an interest in magic than in politics. So, as the wizard continued his discourse, the ranger found himself furrowing his brow and trying to remain focused. At the end of it, the man’s suggestion was what Arian had already volunteered the lot of them for, so the woodsman didn’t feel the need to offer up anything more, and as Adrian scribbled out the note to be delivered to Gwanele, the ranger returned to his seat.

For some reason, his skin still had goosebumps.

Passing his icy gaze about the room once more, his eyes fell upon the bard where they lingered for a bit as he considered the man. Caicher had been friendly enough with Arian in their back-n’forth, and seemed like he’d be a lively addition to the company. Char’s stomach was usually a fair sign of whether or not an individual could be trusted—like a wild animal, he was skittish around those he mistrusted. He didn’t get that vibe from Caicher. Instead, the man seemed to be genuine and full of good will. ’e don’ be gettin’ jum’ ‘bou’ tru time by demo’s ben’ o’ killin’ ‘m ye’. Give ‘im a few ‘ours wit’ da par’y an’ ‘e’ll like be changin’ ‘is tune.
Char was ready to follow his friends into the thick of it. If Adrian said they were likely jumping through time and had caught a vision of their demise at the demons’ hands, then the burly woodsman had no reason to doubt him. If Adrian said they would likely find answers in the priests’ keep that would keep them from ending up as they’d seen in their vision…well, who was Char to argue? The mage had to know more about the magic that they were dealing with than some ex-military scout from the Wild Coast. Only Da’Moon seemed to have held onto some semblance of her normal self after the fiasco they’d experienced on their approach, asking for payment, but being summarily ignored by the noble Arian. Was the young woman really that used to situations this dark that it didn’t even phase her? Da’Moon be a ‘ard egg…
Glancing at the dwarf, he wondered briefly if Kilgim was thinking about the possibility of meeting his god, or if he was trusting in Clanggedin to see them through this. For his part, Char began to pray silently to both Elhonna and Celestian. Elhonna to protect his spirit from the evil they were going to face, and Celestian to guide them to victory in their wanderings. He had no doubt that the gods played an important role in their lives, and wasn’t too proud to call on them for aid.

“Don’t worry yourself about payment Dapple.” Kilgim spoke up, “My cousin Dwan will make sure we are well compensated for our efforts if on nothing but my say so.”

But Dapple wasn’t listening to Kilgim or Arien at that point. On her shoulder, Dapple felt Sunset stiffen and become alert. It was often a sign of danger, for the little dragon was far more sensitive to magic than most. Sunset, seemed to be listening to something, almost straining to hear.

“Well good to have you here to help then,” Relg replied and he smiled at his companions with some relief, “How about some lunch then? Can you join us for lunch or do you want to leave as soon as possible? I know that I have a remarkable craving for spicy sausage.”

Sunset left Dapples shoulder and flew the short distance to Char’s shoulder. The ranger was startled because Sunset didn’t fly well and rarely would make a leap like that in front of strangers. The council are all in awe of the little beast when it again, tenses itself on Char’s shoulder as if listening. Then it leap off Char and landed upon Arien’s helm, but instead of the dopey expression it usually took when perched upon the knight’s head, it again seem agitated and straining to listen.

“Is there something wrong with your familiar?” Relg asked.

Then Sunset leapt again and moved back to dapple, moving back into the hidden place of the rogue’s hood. Dapple touches the pseudo-dragon to calm it down, and in her touch she gets a brief telepathic impression. Something like guarding, warding and protecting, like somehow Sunset feels like she is protecting all of you, or was … hard to say as the dragonet does not perceive time like you do.

It had apparently all come together rather succinctly…even Da’Moon’s concern about compensation was covered. The only question seemed to be what course to take, and that was usually left up to the tacticians in the party, so Char remained in his seat still gripping his bow, arrow at hand. He very nearly smiled when Relg indicated he wanted spicy sausage, but the events of late and the challenges they were about to face had put the dour ranger in an even more serious mood.

And then Sunset flew over and alighted on Char’s shoulder. The woodsman stiffened in surprise, his eyes wide, not because of the talons suddenly gripping his shoulder through his cloak and armor, but because the little dragon rarely opted for flight. The damage caused in that horrible place had been enough to not only effect her mind, but her confidence and ability in flight as well especially in front of people she was unfamiliar with. He could feel the little reptile’s muscles tensed, the concern radiating from it (OOC: Animal Lore if necessary to determine anything further about her behavior).

As soon as Sunset leapt from his shoulder to Arien’s helm, the ranger was on his feet, an arrow nocked, bow at ready. Stepping around the edge of the table, Char cast his eyes about the room searching for any immediate sign of danger before moving to the window. Placing his left shoulder against the wood of the wall, he cautiously peered outside through the stringy curtain of hair that framed his deeply tanned face.

“Is there something wrong with your familiar?” Relg asked.

Char spared the councilman a glance before returning his attention to the outside. He had already experienced death at the hands of the demonic brothers once before, and he’d be damned if he was going to let it happen again.