Even this early in the morning, the warm airs rising above the busy camp as one could pick out the flying form of some sort of beast, if one had sharp eyes. Such warm airs were surprisingly comfortable to fly in, certainly a pleasant change from what one might expect from maneuvering about mountain ranges, far as the flyer happened to be from such places. Weiland Voss had been making his way out towards this rumored camp, having paid good coin on leads and rumors that had finally pointed him in the right direction of this Palmyre. He knew that Altena had been wary of this path to begin with, the Desert of Death was known on an instinctive level as someplace both foreign and hostile to both of them. Yet his hunters had forced his hand, and it was a small boon that the camp was at the base of mountains, so he led the pair of them, Wyvern and Branded, in the direction of this camp.

	As Weiland's eyes scanned the camp as he approached, and guided Altena in lowering and slowing so they could land and approach on foot, as to avoid causing a stir of having a wyvern and scarred man landing in the center of camp, he considered what little he had been able to learn outside of a proper direction. Some man named Cyprus was leading this group, though some had been quick to deride this man as a monster in man's guise, and that this caravan had made the trip at least once before. Of course, it had taken a great deal more coin, and arm twisting, to get a direction, but as the wyvern's claws made contact with the soft ground and jarred him out of his thoughts, he turned his thoughts to the now. He had seen a man observing the sunrise and, likely, spotted his approach, so he made no attempt in dallying or wasting time, and with an affectionate pat on the side of Altena, the two began walking the remaining short distance to where Weiland had seen the man observing the sunrise.

	Finally Weiland laid eyes on the figure of a man he had seen during his descending approach, and could get a bit more detail. An elderly looking fellow, though age meant little in one's capabilities these days, as he certainly could likely handle himself if this was indeed Palmyre. He would come to a halt a respectful distance away, a hand coming to rest on the neck of Altena to inform her to halt as well, a subtle hint at the unspoken bond that no words need be spoken to understand intent between the two. Rather than stand about and wait to be addressed, the wyvern rider spoke up, only loud enough to be heard plainly without needless shouting. [color=598527]"Hail there, have I had the fortune to finally track down Palmyre?"[/color]

	Besides greeting, Weiland was straight to the point and minced no words about his question towards the fellow. The rider himself stood steady, his attire not unusual for a sellsword that had operated across several of the sovereign nations of the land. Though what likely stood out was the oversized eyepatch, covering up some of the damage that had occurred around the socket that had once held an eye beneath the patch, and his stance, while steady, remained wary all the same for the moment. He had not, after all, confirmed he had reached his destination yet and should this not be the case, he would have to fly hard to check the other places he could think of that had matched the descriptions he had managed to gather. All of this before the days end, as it was rumored that they were about to depart the following day, and attempting to brave the Desert alone would be a slow death indeed. One he would certainly not wish upon Altena, given her rough life so far as well.