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A dragon. A dragon. That thing's there since the beginning? Ange shook her head. She must've getting dizzy again. Might need to ask the maid later for some treatments. For her to miss something that big was a big shame. Now, being able to see it more clearly, she started to make some estimates about its size. Decent to good, nice. Shooting down wild, untrained wyverns ended up being pretty boring. Staring at its head, Ange measured it and started to figure out how well it would look as a trophy on top of a fireplace. She heard it could fly fast too. Her thought soared into the sky as she started to figure out the best way to take down the dragon once it flew away.

Wait, it and its rider were supposed to be her allies.

Right, right. Fatigue could cause her to drift off like that. At the sound of the introductions continued, Ange attempted her best to ground herself into the meeting so she could actually listen to them. A swordfighting instructor from Archaenea, a mercenary, an apote- Ah, that should be it! Ange thought that she could ask him for some herbs to help with her condition, but that should be for later. And then, lastly was the knight of red that appeared three times slower than the rest. Nobody else introduced themselves after that, and the outlaw and Prince Jarde had left the scene a while ago, apparently to get some food.

Ange thought to talk with the others now, but she chose to be quiet for now. In a state like this where she's prone to delirium, she might embarrass herself. She couldn't afford to do that. In awkward silence, Ange watched as the outlaw had returned, and it was her cue to eat. She watched as the wyvern ravenously ravished the food present with its rider panicking to control it. The sight made her hungry. Ange settled with only bread and fruits despite the presence of meat there. She couldn't accept it. She wasn't the one that killed the source of the meat. Without the flavor her passion injected with an arrow through the flesh, the taste would be plain and soulless.

Her soaring thoughts was shot down by the appearance of a creaky old man however. Suspicious. Shoot on sight? No, no reason to. He didn't pose any threat. His voice was grim now, and Ange had a bad feeling about this man as each words slurred from his aged lips. Bad omen? Corruption? Ancient legends? That didn't seem like something she should care about. Stories always had these groups be fueled by legends moving forward, but should they really listen to every creepy old man that spout cryptic messages? The rider asked the proper question regarding his identity and why was he around the group now. Ange decided that she was lucid enough to talk too now.

"If he is actually corrupt and a bringer of bad omen, sooner or later he will sleep with an arrow cleaving his forehead. But putting that aside, he's the one gathering us here and organizing this for us, pretty much our leader now. Meanwhile...who ARE you?"

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