The streets of the city were bustling as ever, come hell or high rain. It was a pitiful instinct, a misguided attempt at survival. Humans flocked to cities and tall walls made in eras whose knowledge had been struck from all of their books. Humans wanted hope, they wanted safety, and like moths to a flame, they would gather here, at Southhaven. The city would never cease to be bustling, not even when a calamity borne of the skies, an once myth made flesh, a dragon, was dangling its threats over the rest of creation. But for what reason? A beast knew of no glory. No fortune. Had not the cravings for human flesh, or else they would have sacrificed more maidens to placate his anger. Some sort of spite? Perhaps. The mantled knight, clad in a worn coat ragged at the ends to preserve his incognito, flipped the shining coin to the bard. He had been there for a while, after paying the courier for his services upon being delivered the news. He had arrived earlier, for he had been born in the ruling family of Southaven, and knew shortcuts many people never suspected of. The heart wanted to escape his chest, and the thrumming of it hurt his eyes. He had never felt so angry before. Prim was one wild princess, but she had been her sister, and the one beloved sibling of his. Unlike Gerald, whom he usually met strong opposition, to the point that both their parents had to take measures in the situation. No, it would not do to show an angry face. And so he decided to feel the cobblestones beneath his feet for a short while. Hear the voices of people. Commoners, nobles, merchants and bards. The people... the word in the street so to speak. Unrest was certain, according to the bard who thankfully did not notice how High-birthed the knight talking before him was. His eyes darted to the gates, where he had spotted the insufferable poise of Sir Patronus, whose prowess with the ram had been the tales of drunk knights. A couple of people with...unique attires had been shuffled inside the castle. That was his cue. For they looked outcasts, and whom other than the desperate and the madmen would take the insane edict of his father, the King? With somber strides he closed the distance, without announcing himself. He even made sure, when they decided to look at his face, to gesture them silence about his presence, as he passed in, the ragged incognito cloak hiding his features. He did not wanted to start with the official paraphernalia, not just yet. Two folks from Fellmore, it semeed. One whose armor was vaguely familiar, but could not recall. Plus someone which, according to rumours, fitted the description of a mage-knight. Darvus thought to himself it could have been worse, as he waited patiently for his cue to identify himself or be addressed by the Castle retainers, or his Highness.