[h3]Artemisia de Chauret[/h3]

Artemisia led her horse through the crowd, sinking her teeth into a fresh apple. She loved it when royal missions were decreed; the briefest glance around the fields of ruins saw the entire area filled with the likes of adventurers, mercenaries, and [i]merchants[/i]. Wherever a large group of travelers with a need went, merchants and tradesmen followed, like a capitalistic analogue of an army baggage train. The fields here were no exception; there was already a small temporary market on the edge of the various encampments, catering to every need and desire of your average adventurer. 

She had made a tidy profit there; she’d bartered a set of magic gems for a satchel of good quality peppercorn from a traveling merchant who had found luxury spices to be a harder sell to adventurers than magical consumables. Patting a warm pouch on the side of the horse as she cleared the crowd, Artemisia took one last bite before feeding the steed the rest of the fruit. She had gotten some groceries too, and with a bit of pepper for some extra flavor, was rather looking forward to it. 

Unwrapping a bundle of wax paper and twine, the noble-turned-adventurer enjoyed a savory goulash. Sitting down, she had a piece of parchment in her other hand, a notice nicked from a bulletin board in a town some days away. She frowned at the paper's poor woodcut illustration of that night's events.

Artemisia had been on the road last week when it happened, although she remembered the immediate event equally for its blinding light and her horse’s reaction. She had been on the road for a year and a half now, wandering, on a pilgrimage of sorts, ever since Estiegnac fell. Even then, she still had a way to go with horses. She had spent what felt like minutes trying to avoid being thrown off her fickle steed’s back. 

Despite the distraction, it didn’t take her too long to figure out the matter was one of the arcane. Her first instinct had been to ride directly towards the source of the light.

She looked back down at the notice. By chance, it was from her country; it had somehow survived last season's war campaign. They were either still keeping up appearances, or desperate indeed, to offer 200 gold. A small fortune to an adventurer, surely, for the first who could turn in what might turn out to be a fool's errand. The location was, after all, a thoroughly excavated and barren ruin. She questioned the wisdom of her country's rulers.

Even so, she was sure that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be as simple as a fallen moon rock.

Artemisia stood, folding the parchment into a pocket. Dusting off her cloak, she glanced for Inigo, the brown warmblood steed that she had acquired at the beginning of her journey. Finding him grazing, she gave him another apple and a pat before saddling up, heading into the ruined city at a slow trot. 

It was time to see what the big hubbub was about before she missed out.