The day was gray. Clouds covered the sky and the sun, draping a world of half-shadows and low contrast, and, as if infected by that dreariness, shops opened up later than usual, many remaining closed still after the bell tower rang for morning. But the plaza cared not for the weather, the motley crew that made up of the Silver Moon Army showed up regardless of what injuries and fatigue lingered from the day before. Some crowded the bounty board of the Recruiting Office, arguing over which famed monster to go for, over who’d get the right to hunt down the creature to begin with. It had been a week after the combined forces of the Imperial and Silver Moon Army had successfully took control of Thradin Fort, but with most of the Dragonscar Tribe still at large, the price for orc heads had gone up quite high in the mountainous region the Fort was situated in. Tithemal Dragonscar’s bounty was especially high, the souls he reaped amongst the soldiers’ backline boosting him past most other bounties to platinum territory, and many higher-level parties were now at each other’s necks, debating over who’d get exclusive rights to chase after that dual-wielding orc.

Still, it wasn’t all arguments. Priests held their personal rituals, hexagrams of light shining against their forehead as they offered opening prayers to Alri-Qua. Warriors ate hearty breakfasts of meat and more meat with their party, while the more focused amongst them sharpened swords of strange length, smouldering eyes hidden in the shadow of their visors. Mages checked their magical regents again, caressing spiritual existences that only they could see. Thieves stretched their limbs, cracked their digits, did a couple of backflips for the enjoyment of the towns’ beauties, while Rangers pulled out their personal maps, chewing on a charcoal pencil. It was as busy as always, frenetic as always…at least if you were part of a party.

For Ettamri, prideful and powerful, no such party was willing to put up with her attitude for long, and even those with plans of hunting down Tithemal didn’t want to deal with the knight for the entire duration of the journey to the mountain range.

For Gwyn, soft-hearted and righteous, her own appearance caught the eyes of many, but her reputation stood on the opposite end of what most soldiers wanted. Too kind, too nice, too pure. When most monsters were stronger than men, to seal off ambushes, fire, smoke, and poison as possible tactics was too limiting for the unscrupulous headhunters that most soldiers were.

They, among the handful of other party-less soldiers, stood out distinctly, much more competent-looking than the rest of the degenerates that made up the bottom-feeding soloist category.
[@GreenGoat][@Pie Flavor]