It’s said that nothing is more memorable than a smell. That the act of smelling something, anything really, was remarkably like the act of thinking. As Tegan galloped towards the distant plume of twisting smoke alongside her young compatriots, a rogue, faint wisp of it rode the winds towards her. When it reached her nose, she could feel her mind going to work, sending the odor around from place to place, polling one part of her brain after another for signs of recognition, for old memories and old connection. It was almost immediate; she knew that smell. It was a smell that still clung to the back of her throat for more than a decade despite her feeble attempts to wash it away with time and alcohol. She smelt burning flesh. 

Tegan clenched her reins a little tighter, fighting off the memories bought to the forefront of her mind. She couldn’t help but to feel like she’d been snapped back into the war against Malfear, if only for a split second, with huge pyres of her dead comrades and torched undead toddling all around her. She shook her head slightly to center herself again and glanced at Alaric and Kotori. They didn’t seem to have realized what she had yet, but perhaps that was just their youth or own inexperience. But she watched their faces as they approached the little village and became aware of the entirety of the situation, and took some small comfort in their shows of humanity; it was very grounding for her. In contrast, Tegan had schooled herself into a pointed stoicism upon seeing members of the Rose, unwilling to allow any emotion to escape lest she want to barrel down on her partner’s murderers in a blind rage. 

She nodded to her fellow Guardian as Kotori began to dismount her horse, indicating her consent to the plan as well as expressing an unspoken message that the young warrior be careful and that Tegan would care for Alaric as her own charge even in Kotori’s short absence. Indeed, she immediately moved her dabbled gelding closer to the mage and put herself and the horse’s bulk between Alaric and the Order of the Rose. She kept one ear on her charge as he spoke to the old man, and both eyes on the thronging mass of angry people in front of them. 

Tegan did not want to shed blood here. Not only would the three of them not be able to hold out against an entire town and Rose warriors, but the fight would only solidify the lies the Order was spreading about the Tower in the eyes of the villagers. These people were not evil, or even bad, the Order was just manipulating their fear of the unknown to perpetuate their agenda. If anything, Tegan would be more than happy to lure off the members of the Order and then dispatch them so they could no longer hunt down and endanger the brethren she had sworn to protect.

As the crowd continued being lathered into a rage by the Order of the Rose members standing at their head, Tegan adjusted her seat to ensure that both her leather armor allowed proper movement for a fight and that she had easy access to her blade. They couldn’t afford to linger in the town much longer, and she doubted they’d get away unscathed as it was. Already some of the villagers on the fringes of the mob had turned to look at the two horsemen in their midst, though she and Alaric didn’t seem to have been made yet. 

Tegan pulled straight back on her reins, causing her mount to back up several steps towards Alaric so that she could speak without their words being overheard. “We need to hurry,” she urged the young mage as her horse began to dance beneath her, “If you’re up to the challenge, we can lead the Order away from these villagers and fight them on the hoof.” Fighting on horseback at a gallop was incredibly dangerous at best for her, but for mages who need to concentrate on their spells she imagined it far worse. However, doing so would allow them to spare the villagers, reduce their enemy’s number advantage by spreading them thin, and let Kotori ride up on their flank and attack from the rear.

But, before any of that there was something very pressing that Tegan needed to know from the old man which would alter any plans she had in mind. “Grandfather,” she started, addressing him in a common honorific for an unknown elder, “Are there any more people in this village that are in danger of being killed? We could take them to safety.” As much as she itched to do battle, she would gladly suppress the urge and attempt to run if it meant saving innocents.