[i]While the Comet Chaser and Shield Lord set foot within the hidden village, the girl-turned-horror revelates herself in a rush of blood[/i]

[center][b][h3]Foothills Forest near Woodstop[/h3][/b]
[@TheFake] [@Lord Zee][/center]

An odd glance flew Revenmar's way following his near-slipup; resolved though it was, the split second mistake on the knight's part suggested some form of duplicity in Randall's eyes.  All the same, the ridiculous-looking made said nothing.  Mistakes happened, after all, and taking issue with one tiny error would cause needless strife now that the two newcomers were to be introduced to the town.  If the  pair's equipment was anything to go by, these warriors had grown rich thanks to what must certainly be great fighting ability—skill that could benefit the village beyond compare.  All three of these hunters reasoned as much, but nevertheless they didn't take the chance to fawn over the duo or try to convince them.  They either knew that such attempts at persuasion might cause more harm than good, that the best relationships formed naturally, or that they simply didn't care too much about the fate of wherever the five were headed.  It could easily have been that they just didn't enjoy talking.  Though pleasant enough, not one man of the three seemed overly social.

The forest continued to thicken as the party trekked on, and after a short time they came upon a veritable wall of trees.  Effin made a left turn, leading the group, and they trudged through the thigh-high plants -to Oswalt's vocal displeasure- until they reached a giant, gray-brown boulder wedged in between the trunks.  Without any sort of explanation nor a hint of hesitation, Effin walked straight into it, and instead of slamming into a solid surface he disappeared inside it.  [i]An illusion,[/i] Emile mused.  [i]No wonder there's a mage out in the middle of nowhere with normal people.[/i]  The others followed suit, with Emile and Revanmar bringing up the rear.

Before he proceeded inside the magicked obstacle, the strigiforme turned to address his companion.  [color=5D8AA8]”Did you hear what he said about your armor?  The stuff we've got on is way high-class for this area.  So here's the deal: let's say we're wealthy mercenaries from, uh, the north.  Good life, but we got bored and decided to travel far and wide to find adventure.  I dunno if you're, um, curious 'bout this world or anythin', but if you find someone who looks like a talker, don't be afraid to ask questions.  We gotta know where we ended up.  And since we're supposed to be friends, just call me 'Emile'.  That's my real name.”[/color]  By now, Emile understood this fellow as not a fellow player, but an NPC like the Lena woman he'd spoken to last night, for whom everything -including the lofty status of the players- was absolute reality.  He felt that though this might present difficulties, it might be better in the long run than another person.  Players were unpredictable, after all, and now that they had the power to back up their whims they presented a true danger.

With that out of the way, Emile and Revenmar entered the hidden valley.

A few minutes later, and several meters down into the wide, bowl-shaped depression, Emile spotted a walled-in cluster of wooden buildings in the shadows of the towering trees, which were far older here than elsewhere in the forest.  Effin glanced over his shoulder and noted the interest with which the strigiforme looked from structure to structure.  “Welcome, mah friends, to Woodstop.”  

They passed through the main gate, sparing a glance to the guards stationed both outside the open doors and on top of the walls.  They regarded the newcomers with a guarded curiosity, and once inside Revenmar and Emile were treated to the less-restrained stares of the village's inhabitants all the way to the place's center.  Along the way, they passed numerous workshops and uniform, multi-floored houses, all designed with very little regard to aesthetics.  Indeed, the entire place had a no-nonsense atmosphere of almost frenetic industry, and even the people who watched the well-dressed foreigner and the opulent knight as they passed hurried off afterward rather than sticking around to learn more.  Oswalt split off from the group almost immediately, giving a muttered farewell as he headed toward what appeared to be a bar, and soonafter Randy took a bow and excused himself, citing the need to present a report to the Corps.  Before long the three people left stood before a squat central tower, one of the few edifices in Woodstop to be made of stone.  “C'mon in with me.  I reckon milords Ingvar n' Niklas might wanna greet ye two personal.”

Moments later the duo stood on the tower's third floor landing, face-to-face with two rugged-looking men in crisp noblemen's clothing beneath green armor.  Both sported black hair and short beards, but one kept his slicked back while the other allowed it to cascade around his head.  The latter remained behind his desk, sifting through papers, while the former came forward with a hand held up in greeting.  “Still in one piece after your fox hunt, Effin?  I could use some good news today.”  He glanced at the furry tail tied at the side of the old man's belt, ignoring the newcomers for the time being.  “...One tail?  It was a hasty report, but I believe two were spotted fleeing through the Mirage.”

Effin grimaced.  “Er, well, milord, Oswalt put an arrow in 'em, and we thought we'd take care of 'is friend then go back-!”

The man of authority waved his hand dismissively, and Effin fell silent.  “Ah, I suppose we'll deal with that later.  Shame.  Who have you brought here?”  He looked the new arrivals up and down, taking in every detail their appearances had to offer.

“Emile n' Revenmar, milord.  Mercenaries from far away.”

“Not adventurers?  My guess was off, then.”  The Count extended a hand to both.  “I am Sir Niklas Asgierr, commander of this town alongside my brother over there, Ingvar.  Say hello, brother.”  The seated nobleman gave a polite nod of his head before returning to his documents.  “Gentlemen, you are a sight for sore eyes in this trying time.  I can only pray that your services are up for hire, and not too impatient when it comes to receiving your wages.  We are soon, I fear, to be in dire straits.”  He expelled a short laugh.  “Of course, I am being too forward.  You have only just arrived.  Perhaps I could have an answer by sundown?  If there's anything we can offer, do not hesitate to let us know.”

[center]-=-=-[/center]

In the brisk span of seconds, two of the foxmen lay dead, one cleft in twain with the other become as desiccated a corpse as one left to dry in desert heat for months.  The shocking suddenness of their companions' demise awoke some of the remaining beastmen from their bloodlust, and despite wielding an advantageous weapon against cavalry one of the spear-wielding foxmen turned tail to sprint away.  Another one, with an eyepatch, headband, and twin daggers, sped away in the opposite direction.  Chances were any single pursuer couldn't get them both.  That left four, three still compelled to attack but halted for the moment at a 'safe' distance and the rather more hesitant archer farther away, currently backing off one step at a time.  None of this concerned Lenore in particular, who gawked at Kallahar as though octopi were squirming out of her plate mail.

[color=E2725B]“What?  A-are you nuts?  You're a player, right?  What's this ravin' like a game character about 'true natures' and goddesses?  Hh...have you even looked at me?”[/color]  Lenore reached with her right hand to push up the leathery, crownlike coif that adorned her head, revealing her sunken eyes.  They festered a pinkish red, like freshly-congealed blood, and they featured neither pupil nor iris.  Looking within was equivocal to peering inside a kaleidoscope stuffed inside a cadaver.  [color=E2725B]“Anyone who t-thinks I'm hideous is right...”[/color]  With a small sob, Lenore crossed her arms across her chest and glanced toward the remaining foxmen.

While she spoke -unbeknownst to her- a trio of flesh tendrils extended from beneath the hem of her 'dress' and snaked across the ground toward the nearest fox body, moving with ravenous intent.  They clasped around the corpse, using the teeth protruding from their outsides to help snag the bloody limbs, and began to pull it back.  Distraught, Lenore only noticed when the tendrils yanked the body beneath her living vestment, but by then it was too late.  She could only tremble in terrified revulsion as she inadvertently consumed the dead meat, a process as autonomous as blinking her eyes, and added the biomass to herself.

For a moment, there was complete silence.  The foxes stood stock-still, flash-frozen by the horrific sight, before dropping their weapons as one and scattering in different directions.  Abject terror gave them wings, making them run faster than might otherwise be possible, but if so inclined Kallahar could run them down before the paralysis of their panic initially wore off.

Lenore, meanwhile, sank down to the ground.  Her dress spread out around her, and with her head in her hands she leaned forward until her head touched the ground.  [color=E2725B]“This isn't me, this isn't me, this isn't me...”[/color] she whispered over and over, trying in vain to convince herself.  Though the ghastly act of devouring a corpse had stunned her, it hadn't been nearly so bad as the nightmarish sensation of liking it.