[center][hr][hr][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLmVhNzk0My5TMlZ6ZEhKbGJDQlRiV2wwYUEsLC4wAAAAAAAA/pwfluidhand.medium.png[/img][hr][hr][/center]
Greg was irritable, and it made Kestrel nervous. It wasn't often that the old horse appeared spooked by anything, so to hear his labored breaths, his cries of displeasure and roaming eyes, made the young woman all the more wary. Even though she had him quiet, she knew too well just how terrified he was really feeling, his pulse beating away at a breakneck pace. The smell of fire and death faded the more she was exposed to them, yet by no means left her nose nor her mind. At one particular glimpse, that of a young girl desecrated, she had to hold back her stomach. 

Too little too late, after the image burnt into her mind like the flames she was putting out with her breakfast. 

An unfortunate time to meet with another human being, to be sure, but she couldn't lift herself up in her moment of weakness. It disgusted her, but admitted to her faults, and listened even as the man spoke, following her moment of sickness with a mere 'I'm fine'. She understood well why he spoke in such a condescending tone: a young woman such as herself, barely out of her youth, vomiting beside her horse on someone's grave? She understood it perfectly well, the ignorance of it all, the innocence. But she still didn't like it. 

Once her stomach had finally emptied their contents, she took a moment to calm her breathing, now leading Greg by the reigns. The tavern wasn't far at all, and she could make it out well enough. 

Or what was left of it. Broken sign and all.

The charred remains of the building matched that of most of the inhabitants, however she found that upon entry (having tied Greg outside to a stray post), there were a small collection of people, mostly men. In fact there was only one other woman in the establishment, and she didn't exactly look as Robin did. Once again, her search had been put to a pause as her lead came to a dead end. At the very least, it meant that Robin wasn't in the direct vicinity, most likely, and was somewhere beyond Six Corners. Now she could only speculate her location. 

An older man bowed to her upon entry, and she offered a kind yet reserved smile and said nothing more. Nervous to be around such peculiar company, Kestrel took a stance towards a corner of the room, further from the other inhabitants. From this angle, she studied the people within. 

A Gnoll. The one who made the biggest impression was most certainly him. He looked to be more like a bandit than an adventurer, from the... [i]heads[/i] he was wearing. Although, he didn't appear completely terrible. She had read about such creatures before in stories Allouette had managed to drag up from mother's study: big, brutish creatures told to scare the naughty children into being good. Allouette herself could be a bit of a prat at times, and only found the book to see if her mother was telling the truth.

Needless to say, Allouette was a much nicer girl after that particular truth unfolded. 

The old man. He was kind enough to offer her a bow, even when she knew she scarcely deserved such formalities. He looked half-haggard, something similar to her father, beard unkempt and hair equally so and of the grey variety. However, he was by far better built than her father, his frame enough to dwarf all but the Gnoll. Height was won by the the pair of elves within their party, but barely, and Kestrel had to admit to never seeing any before. Dark skin, tall, pointed ears - she wasn't sure if there were any other characteristics to being an elf, and understood there would be a lot she could learn from the two of them if the stories were accurate. There was also the cloaked man. 

She was a bit scared of the cloaked man, and hoped he wouldn't talk to her much. 

From the crowd, though, Mulad eventually made his presence known. She didn't expect the makeshift bartender of the establishment to be their leader, but perhaps that just meant she had a lot of learning to do. She was perhaps the most attentive member, having known that her knowledge was severely lacking and she'd need just about every detail she could to make herself at least feasibly useful, in her mind. There was only so much a smith's apprentice could do, after all. Though she had a sharp sword, after all, and knew how to use it. Robin was the smart one, she was the strong one. 

[i][b]"My friends, it seems we find ourselves under a cultist assault."[/b][/i]

Oh no. 

Kestrel's hand rest at her sword, as her eyes scanned feverishly. Movement; she took several steps forward and twisted round, as the body near her feet began to twitch to un-life. As the corpse began to wake, Mulad informed the group of how to deal with the undead, knowledge Kestrel believed would never have ever been applicable to her, at least, until now. Hand twitching like the dead before her, her hilt rattled slightly against her armour, before conviction took hold and she drew steel. Her blade, elegant in its refinement, glimmered a steady glow from the light which stole through a hole in the wall. The light trailed down the blade, tip angled upon her target. 

Her silver was stained with red, and so too was her heart. "I'm sorry..." She could barely mutter, as the once-human's head rolled upon the floor, reanimated corpse now lifeless completely. She would never have wanted to disrupt the soul of one at rest. But from the warning given by Mulad, it was clear enough that what would have to be done would be done. Had she not vomited earlier, she would do so again. 

Gregory's whinny snapped her from her macabre thoughts, and, like the gust of a man before her, she followed to the outside. Two particular corpses were too close to her horse, however they were still in the process of waking up, still slow and stagnating. Eliminating them were not an issue, and, like the creature before in the bar, they too lay dead again without their heads. Mulad's knowledge worked in her favour, and she was glad to have listened. But that momentary glee was offset by the immeasurable number of rising corpses all around the bazaar, the true weight of how many died finally setting in. 

She quickly untied her horse and mounted. She wasn't sure what she was going to do, however others seemed to have a plan figured out. The old man, most particularly. His skill was noted as he proceeded to cleave a head from another of the revived brethren, a voice booming of certainty as he asked them not to stray far. With that knowledge, Kestrel saw her opening. 

"I'll s-see if Greg and I can help clear the area!" She announced, horse darting forth with a firm kick to get him going. Most of those about them in the bazaar had mostly risen by now, and so she made sure to take into account for those that seemed more nimble than others, starting with the easy ones. Said 'easy' undead seemed to originate from the south, and so she closed in on her first of the lot, calming her nerves with a steady breath. 

With a certain degree of force, her blade thrust through the wind, impaled between the eyes for one of the unfortunate. Greg's speed dragged the blade out without much resistance, resulting in another fallen corpse. The next in line lay without a head after a clean sweep decapitated spine from scalp, though the rough angle meant she almost lost her sword if it were lodged any further deep. Now, Kestrel understood, that she had to be careful, for this was truly a fight to the death, among the death...