Fetzen Opening Post:

The weather was dreary as if the location had been some remote island in the middle of a harsh ocean. The sky's floodgates were wide open, unleashing huge amounts of vater in volleys set a few minutes to several hours apart from each other. Were things weeping due to the many victims a dragon's arrival could possibly claim ? Or had the gods in some strange act of compassion decided to preemptively drench the world in water to make it harder for the creature to set things on fire ? Whatever it was -- at least temperatures were above freezing. While it was cold noone had to be afraid of slipping on ice, even though it would have made the ground rock solid again.

A large horse with a dark fur pattern was struggling to pull a medium-sized cart along the worn road. Despite the slow speed its wheels were digging deeply enough into the mud to throw up chunks of it behind them, littering the rear end of the supplies loaded on it in the progress. Luckily Vyzel and his carriage driver, Gharak, had been thorough in their preparations: Everything was tightly packed in wooden crates and wool or leather in order to optimize both usage of space and protection. From top to bottom the stack of crates had been arranged in such a way that they'd not have to jump from an upper level to a lower level in order to retrieve a certain thing. The plan was to unpack crates as they became the top of the remaining stack in order to have a constant stream of those supplies whose demand could be planned ahead. Two more horses were accompanying them, none of them saddled but both seemed to be more suited for riding.

If these were reserved for Vyzel then it would be clear why there were two of them: The man who had been promoted to the rank of slayer dwarfed his companion by about two feet -- and Gharak couldn't really be called small given that he stood at about six feet himself. Vyzel wasn't a beanstalk either - a look at his relatively massive thighs and upper body could tell that he had some experience with a strict training regime. However he didn't look anywhere near being a brute: His halfway dark beard put up a contrast to his rather pale complexion which ran along his jawline in a neatly pruned manner. What little hair was sticking out beneath his hoodie appeared to be properly organized and cut short. His clothing ? Definitely of high quality. The leather did its job repelling the ubiquitous moisture and there was a layer of soft cloth below it to keep him warm. If one looked closer and was even more attentive one could also see that there was nothing loaded onto the cart that looked like any kind of huge weapon which would probably suit such a person. In fact there didn't seem to be any weapon present at all. Of course this wasn't true, but some things Vyzel usually relied upon were delicate and he certainly lacked interest in them being exposed to everyone's eyesight.

The carriage came to a halt in front of a not-so-well looking tavern. Vyzel craned his neck to get a brief look at its roof, trying to boost his confidence in there being no annoying leaks or even hidden instabilities. Not that he would have had much success with that attempt. His heavy traveling boots left almost Norn-like imprints behind and once more in his life a doorframe proved to be too small to pass through comfortably. Gharak remained outside and maneuvered the vehicle to a more appropriate location. His job was to stay with it and make sure that noone would put his hands on the cargo.

The Warped Nail had as much patina on the inside as it had on the outside. While all the wooden surfaces told that its owners did put effort in cleaning them the furniture itself was just plain old. Vyzel picked a table in one of the corners where no other guests were nearby. He didn't like the prospect of anyone being able to eavesdrop, yet the precariously groaning noise of his stool did gather quite some attention as the more than heavy man sat down.

Vyzel had had his time to inspect The Warped Nail. That included counting the leaks in the ceiling which were betraying themselves by letting water go through in large driplets here and there. The discolored wooden floor told a story about the longevity of the situation, but nontheless the slayer found himself hungry and thirsty enough to dare and try out what the tavern had to offer. After all the good thing about a warm meal was that warmth had no real quality. It either was there or it was not there.

It happened so that an impressively large plate was standing by for the man to pick the next spoon full of soup out of it. It was accompanied by a mug of beer, but Vyzel could already tell that it was a rather weak beverage of which he'd need a very large lot to impair his capability of concentrating. He had no intentions to try it out though, the situation at hand was much too grave for this. While he was sitting here and waiting, that dragon -- if it really existed -- could already be busy making the task of finding and killing him a lot more difficult than he imagined it already to be. He was suffering from a complete lack of experience with regard to this business and that made him even more tensed up because... What amount of knowledge would his future partner bring with her ? Would she know so much more about dragons that he'd completely embarrass himself even before they got underway ? Vyzel knew that she was a Sylvari -- one of the people who had the privilege of starting into their lives with a given purpose even if it was only some kind of dream. Yet the slayer caught his drifting thoughts in time for not delving too deeply into the subject and slipping away from here and now.

The door was opened, someone was coming in. Vyzel had never had a chance to see Eliza La Chev beforehand, but several aspects about her told him immediately that she had to be it: She was a Sylvari. Her equipment appeared to be of extraordinary quality (though... what did he know about necromancy ?) and she appeared to know whom she was looking for herself since she didn't hesitate much to find her way into his rather lonely corner. She sat down so silently that Vyzel had to smile. His chair continued to protest against a load way beyond its original design limits with every move he made and so did now as he was offering her his open hand.

"Welcome to Muria. I'm Vyzel, Order of Whispers." As if to underline the name of his employer, Vyzel spoke out things very lowly. What they were about to discuss was of no concern to anyone else around here. So he leaned forwards and let the table support his massive elbows while looking at his soup. It wasn't disinterest. It was a facade meant to distract the other he hoped she'd immediately recognize as such. However... it did also move himself a bit out of the way of her cold breath. It was spooky for him despite the fact that he'd been given an advance warning about her being a necromancer. Sitting right next to one, especially such a powerful one, was a story of its own. "I've got enough supplies with me that it should suffice for both of us, just in case your journey was too long to bring many things along from your own homeland. Also there's a spare horse you can use if you want. So... where do we start ?" It was a question deliberately kept vague. He wouldn't admit it, but perhaps Eliza would reveal how much she knew about dragons by herself this way.

Vyzel had tracked the Sylvari as she left the building, his head slowly turning away from his table and his eyes going for the outermost corner they could reach. She probably had not been able to see it with her back facing towards him, but the Slayer's facial expressing had become more and more grim with each of her extremely fleet-footed steps. It appeared to the assassin that his companion had not yet exactly got the point when it came to staying below the attention level. The weather was a wet and horrible, the tavern's main hall dilapidated but still comfortable, she had just received her ordered meal and then... she went outside to eat it there ?

The man started calculating: From the point of view of group dynamics it would have been advisable to accompany her immediately, however from the aspect of not triggering even more eyes to greedily follow their tracks such a decision would have been catastrophic. Vyzel decided to stay and to continue eating as long as there was some of his own soup left. Normally the eight-foot man would have ordered another plate and possibly even another one after that, but in attempt to salvage whatever benign parts of the first impression he'd made on Eliza were left he overruled the needs of his body and heaved himself off the chair.

Vyzel didn't look around much. He approached the barman behind the counter and flicked some coins in his direction, then turned around and bowed beneath the doorframe in order to get through. The heavens still tried to drown the world, but at least he had his hood. It would have been possible to try and track her down by using the parameters he had been able to gather in the short time available. People wore different shoes (if any), made differently sized steps, had differetnly large feet and were of different weight. Depending on the properties of the ground below all of this could be used to distinguish between different footprints, but the mere fact that she had just told him where to find her spoiled the idea completely.

As Vyzel walked the few meters around the building towards the stables his mind became more and more engaged in thoughts about how superior she could be compared to him in many, if not most aspects. It would make the journey even more difficult, especially since coming into conflict was not much of an option given the nature of their objective. The huge man ducked below the crossbeam that supported the shabby roof and didn't notice the spiders Eliza had put there. After all -- for the ordinary eye -- the little animals remained quite passively while they were giving her an advance warning. On the plus side it had not been his intention to surprise her anyway.

"So here you are. Are you ready ? I'll prepare the horses." Vyzel had brought two horses with him, both being very large beasts marked by strength. Given her stature he estimated that she could ride all day on one of them, but he would have to try and manage a sparse resource called stamina. The slayer didn't just stand around while waiting for an answer. He got to work immediately and started to guide the two steeds out into the rain. Saddles were available and the driver of his wagon was quick to respond to him clapping his hands and waving. Better to start with many supplies than with few. They'd be on their own soon enough he thought.