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[center][h2][color=92278f]Harun Fakim Al-Kashir[/color][/h2]
[color=92278f][b]DATE:[/b][/color] Year 7,432 of the 3rd Era. 3rd Month, 15th Day
[color=92278f][b]LOCATION:[/b][/color] The Sprawling Plains of Bervenia, Heart of Bervenia
[color=92278f][b]INTERACTING WITH:[/b][/color] Morgan[@Lyla], Nimue[@Crusader Lord] 
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	The thief-king rose, maintaining his composure as he looked at this… strange child. Of course, he certainly couldn’t judge based on appearances. Knowing how things work, she was likely several centuries old, just to fuck about with common preconceptions. Still, her manner of speaking was a little carefree for his tastes. Shifting his form for the sake of comfort, his traveler’s clothes were replaced with the silks and jewelry he had taken at Castle Fraweth, freely wearing his ill-gotten goods. Part of him wondered if the two heroes of that place would notice, though their queen had not in her own hall. 

	Not that it mattered. Quietly, Xil was translating. More than he had said in a few days, that was for sure. He could understand Royce fine, but Nimue was different. Still, as he listened to their words, his smile faded. Monsters and demons and spirits, he had dealt with them previously. But these abominations from the East were apparently something new, different. The spirits told him that much, but their perspectives were always… off. The truly worrying part was that all of them had been concerned. The wind, the trees, even the very ground they walked on all spoke of these creatures with dread. Nothing Harun had ever heard of was that bad. Nothing.
	
	The thief noticed Morgan being notably quiet. She glanced between her two companions, seemingly sulking in the corner. Harun was slightly surprised, she tended to be rather… outspoken. He supposed being the patron saint of a nation would do that. Still, he sure as hell didn’t mind. The sooner he got the information he needed, the sooner they could all part ways.

	[color=92278f] “Xil, I trust you’ll give me a hand here? I’ll try my best to avoid flowery language.”[/color]

	[color=gold]“I definitely believe that.”[/color]

	[color=92278f]“I’m taking that as a yes.”[/color] The bastard cleared his throat, arms crossed as he glanced towards the mage. [color=92278f]“With all due respect, Felspeaker, if I may interject, there are more pressing matters than Lady Royce’s ancestry.”[/color]

	His smile faded, brows knitting together in concern as he stood over the rest of the group. [color=92278f]“We need information. You either speak with the souls of the land or use divination magic, and the spirits haven’t told me of you so I’m assuming the second. How many of these abominations are there? Are they as strong as a bear, a dragon, a man? Are they land-bound? Are they intelligent? Can you see them? How do they spawn? The moon was not always dark, have we no idea why it has become so? Do we have our own armies, naval forces? Do the other nations work with us? How do our forces stand, how many men do we have? What ‘others?’ Are they as strong as us? Where are they? And most importantly, why exactly would Vis resurrect us? We are strong, but are there no great heroes in this age? Have men grown so weak?”[/color]

	He let the deluge of questions hang in the air for a moment, taking a breath. It was much to consider, but he was not going to die fighting a fool’s quest. Preparation was ninety percent of any victory. Still, there was one word that stuck out from Nimue’s statements, and he could feel a grin pulling at the edge of his mouth. [color=92278f]“Finally, and my apologies for being behind the times, but did someone say ‘airship?’”[/color]