The forest was rather wierd. Like it was some mockery of verdant life, complete with this faint light which illuminated the place. Spores? Bioluminescent spores? Knowing this place, they are most likely harmful to them. And if they are, it's far too late to do anything about it. And as they exited the valley, Maldron saw glimpses of giant statues. Humanoid giant statues. Which made the idea that this place is hell rather unlikely. But a land without death, a land without a proper sun - it's definitely not the world Maldron came from. Or is it? Neither Maldron, nor ANYONE he met remembers how they got here. All the grouped lacked was a wise old hermit sage who would explain them everything - just like in the fairy tales. At least the ones not meant for children. Unfortunately, that said sage would be just as clueless here as everyone else. 

It was rather maddening really, not having answers, nor having the ability to gain them. The Assassin valued information and knowledge just as much as a sharp blade. In this hellish land, he only has the latter. And even then, that little dagger will not slay those monstrosities. Maldron is no hero of legend, he's no dashing prince with a time-rewinding dagger. Odd, really those fairy tales. The Assassin has no recollection of hearing them, but they are still in his head, surfacing from the depths of his mind like divers gasping for air. The heroes of those tales are always thrust into the greatest of dangers, facing untold threats, surviving and prevailing by a combination cooperation, trust, bravery, wisdom and luck. Always a happy ending. Was theirs such a tale? Whether the case, the part where they face their trials is coming up. If there is a happy ending, if there is a "happily ever after", Maldron will do anything to help his group achieve it. The assassin understood the irony of this. A killer fighting tooth and nail to help near strangers. But given the circumstances, going solo will accomplish absolutely nothing, and the Black Knight was the testament to that.

The well-dressed man, probably some sort of bratty prince was suffering from some sort of emotional breakdown. So weak were the so called nobles, in both body and mind. So used they are to being above everyone else, that the world their subjects live in crushes them. A man who does not fight by their rules, who doesn't abide by their so called Chivalry can destroy them so easily. The fact that the assassin slew a king and his royal guard was further proof of that. To be fair, this land was a bit more scary and unforgiving than some shitty village full of smelly peasants. For all the things they've witnessed, such a reaction is justified, especially on the more feeble minds.

The woman was having trouble dealing it as well. Considering she lasted THIS long it was actually rather impressive. Maldron considered women inherently weaker in some areas, and stronger in others. Men are stronger, bigger (well, except Maldron it seems), while women are more graceful, and have the uncanny ability to read people's emotions. Of course, that's human sexual dimorphism for you. The thoughts emerging from the deep dark oceans of Maldron's mind unsettled him. Human? Was there something else other than human? The strange, pale, wounded lady he reveres so? Who is she? What is she? Only corpses are that pale, nor could any human actually live with such a wound - a ripped out heart. Nor do human females have razor sharp claws and predatory fangs. And yet, she was his master. His sun, his everything. Even so far away from her, if she still exists, the very memory of her calms Maldron. 

The clown was a strange one. He looked like someone straight out of an expedition where he faced eldritch horrors, and as a result, his mind was snapped. Or it was a ruse, a mental mask he wears to hide what he truly is. Either way, he looked capable enough, and proved himself both rational and reasonable - can't get anything better than that. 

There was a small stream nearby, though it's stench signaled that's no water you want to drink. Maldron found a small stick on the ground and submerged into the stream. The results were quite nasty, as the acidic stream destroyed the submerged part of the stick. Disappointed, Maldron reached into his pouch and ate the remaining bitter berries. As bitter as they were, they were also quite juicy. And while it did increase the feeling of thirst, it did somewhat quench it. And the assassin was no stranger to neither hunger nor thirst. 

[b]""So, now that we have this opportunity to rest and recover, why not we take this time to, y'know, actually introduce each other? We all have names, right?""[/b] the Jester said loudly. Throwing away the wilted little experiment stick, Maldron went to join them.