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[center][h2][color=maroon]Z O S I M O S   B L A C K C O I L[/color][/h2][/center]
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Zosimos stood off to the side of the group, carefully surveying her new travelling companions as they each in turn sized each other up. Nathanial, the court magician, irked her some with his flowery words and gestures, but she put it down to not having been around so many people and for so long for over two decades. She listened to the conversations around her, offering nothing to them. After so many years in the isolation of Torvelt’s mountains, socialising did not come easy to the scarred Tiefling. 

Zosimos wondered at the mask and robes Nathaniel wore. She, better than most, understood wanting to hide one’s appearance away from prying eyes. Still, why someone who was constantly surrounded by crowds – a royal court magician, no less – would also seek to conceal themselves so thoroughly intrigued her. Like the brusque half-elven warrior, Zosimos found herself wondering why Nathanial had been assigned to lead them on their perilous quest. She didn’t necessarily agree that the royal bodyguard should have the role instead, but she did find herself pondering on why a mere court magician had been appointed to them. [i]'Looks can be very deceiving…'[/i]

The Tiefling let her astute gaze flicker over her companions. There were those, like herself, who only observed those foolish enough to take up the King’s decree, but there were also those who Zosimos thought might one day cause the band problems. She saw how the minotaur’s lip twitched at the half-eleven warrior's words and the slight tremor in his hands as he distanced himself from her presence. It seemed like her fellow horned beast had a temper lying not so far below the surface and Zosimos wondered what it would take for it to erupt.

There were those among her companions who made Zosimos uneasy too. She had great distrust for fellow magic users; the elven sorceress and Nathanial caused her to tighten her grip on her Warlock’s staff as they spoke. [i]'Just how powerful are they?'[/i] Likewise, though he was gently spoken and took care with his words, the flames the Dragonborn could create set her heart racing. For a split second she could swear she could feel the burning, agonising heat of Hellfire against her scarred cheek before in the next breath it was gone.

The only member of the group who did not give Zosimos pause – or too much, anyway – was the half-elven huntress. Someone who lived in and respected the forests of Torvelt was someone Zosimos could potentially see herself not minding the company of.

Zosimos cleared her throat and turned her gaze back to the lavender-scented court magician. No one had inquired yet as to [i]why[/i] they were to start their quest in this Mudshit or about the magician's suspicions. [color=maroon]“Why do you think this town you are taking us to is linked to the source of the Fog?”[/color]