[h3]Vigil, Gen, Regis, and U'Nunlo[/h3] Vigil's journey to the Castle Gardens is fruitful; he is beckoned forth on his anticipated path by the strumming of a lute, halted situationally with the experimental twang of the instrument being tuned slightly. By the time he properly rounds the run in the Palace Garden, he finds U'Nunlo, Regis, and Gen all sitting in a semicircle around a statue of Braedan. The statue depicts Braedan holding the Blade of the Dale, in his time depicted as a simple Longsword, skyward. Regis lays at the foot of the statue, his body wrapped around the marble human's large foot where the sun had warmed the stone. U'Nunlo sits awkwardly, cross legged in a spidery fashion, nearby to the flowers and shrubbery of a flowerbed, their long fingers splayed and pressed against their mirror digits as their hands press together. U'Nunlo's fingers wiggle and snap together as Gen plays, a pleased expression plain on their face. And Gen, cleaned up as she is now, bathed and given a haircut, is a pretty young girl- but the hard edge of the streets is impossible to wash away, and her hands are heavy with callouses, and she still goes barefoot- her feet just as rough as her hands. Those rough hands of the young girl play at the lute in a skilled manner, the music weaving into the air like a tangible story. [i]Re-Gis and Ge-en Lost and found Goin' Round and round again! Re-Gis and Ge-en! Forever will they~ Be-e-e-e Good, Good friends! Re-Gis and Ge-en!--[/i] Her voice, clear but thick with the accent of the commonfolk, was quite pleasant when accompanied by the instrument. Her playing cuts short suddenly as Regis launches to his feet at the sight of Vigil- then, without warning, Regis leaps across the grounds at Vigil, spines flaring along his shoulders- but on this day, his hide had thickened into larger, heavier, scales rather than the softer leathery appearance he had during the attack on the market. He lands a few feet in front of Vigil and roars. [b]Hello, Elder. I greet you with respect.[/b] his body language portrays this concept, his roaring quieting down as he lowers his posture and offers up a deferential positioning, his own more vulnerable and passive despite his initial boisterous greeting. "Ah. The Big One." U'Nunlo says, their shyness softening with the time here in Fenhall. "Er. Large. Big too soft. Large of presence. Large of might. Large, good word." "'Allo!" Gen calls, waving to Vigil. "Howsy day goin', cos?" [hr] [h3]Iris and The Royal Smithy[/h3] Iris' journey takes her into the heart of the Palace, her direction indicated by helpful guards from the Barracks. In short order, she arrives in an underground room, ventilated with multiple bellow shafts to the surface where they expel smoke and hot air out through shafts that lead to the interior of the castle wall, on the western side. Aglow from the fire of the forges, this place is so unlike the smithy in the town market that she witnessed before; great bellows fuel a mass forge, whose construction, while old, is magnificient for the works of the Dale Folk. It is a far cry from the Zephyrsmithies in the Cloud Kingdom and their elaborate artificery, but this great chamber would certainly produce finer works. A series of assistants muck about in the room, hydrating themselves and slaving away at the various pieces in varying stages of completion- But an air of deference and veneration hangs in the air over a slight man, wiry of frame, but heavily scarred and wearing the heavy apron and leathers of a smith. His face is bare, shaven and clean, but marred by burns and the streaks of ash. He sees the Zephyrite enter the room and nods to her, before focusing back on his task for a few moments more. With great deliberation and skill, he was working at the trim of a shield; it bore the same crest as Ser Pyke's armor, denoting it the shield of the Ashen Knight himself. Finishing up the last section he was currently focusing on he waves a heavy gloved hand and an attendant comes and relinquishes the shield from his focus, granting him the time to approach Iris. "Hail, welcome to the smithy Zephyrite. I am the Smithmaster, Dane, how may I help you?" [hr] [h3]I'Rajith, Amaryllis, Dag'Tyr, and Alison of Waltone in the Library[/h3] ((In the concept of me shaving out a chunk of admittedly needless narration, I have cut that in the interest of time and shortened it to this;)) Alison expresses a silent state of disgruntlement at the library now being filled with [i]other beings[/i]. Grumble grumble, mumble mumble, generally haughty demeanor. She's there, reading scrolls on undead and the history of Waltone Lands, if anybody feels like bothering her. The other three have ample time to do their research and collaborate; [b]The Rot and Heartroot[/b] Dag'Tyr is able to supply the basic information of Heartroot; it grows from old trees of any species, pulses and throbs like a beating heart in the rain, and grows upwards out of the ground and is recognizable by its beet-root red coloration. His basic information will allow the others to get more specific related information from their time researching in the library; Heartroot is a mystical growth from the blessings of the Everbloom and its presences across all of Aesithas; the fact that the trees of the Heartland are rotting and decaying and the root is being made scarce is not a good sign. This guides their research on the Rot, leading back to old scrolls and tomes that are so aged that the pages threaten to tear as turned and their vellum is cracked and flaking. The language is more difficult in these older Dale Tomes, but it's clear that they reference the invasion of the Shadow Lord; [i]Harken ye, the root of all Aesithas growes sicke uponne the shadows ov eville. The Lusterre ov the Blayd of the Dayl waynnes, the Lands of the Dayl growwe weiry, and illnes threttens those who dwel in thisse playce...[/i] It tells of old Wooden Ones decaying and dying suddenly, painfully, over time; Heartroot Scarcity; and the schism that the root madness brought between the Dale Folk and the Wooden Ones in this ancient time. The perceived hostilities drove the Dale Folk back into their homes, abandoning their union with the natural world, and leaving the Wooden Ones to defend themselves from the unseen and secret attacks of the Shadow Lord. Very similar to what is happening today!- except the business with the Shadow Lord. Nobody's heard of that fellow in one thousand years. Surely this is just coincidence and any other theories are baseless fearmongering. Surely. [b]Dag'Tyr's contribution to this research is simple but very significant; he harkens to an old Kin rhyme he learned as a young child from Nursery Fables, which adds more context to the circumstances of the Heartlands; [i]Though root faces rot and streams flow not though spring held still and heartland lakes refuse to fill though shadows grow- There lurks the foe!- Pure water and seed is all the good earth needs.[/i][/b] [b]Bandits In The Realms[/b] There simply isn't much to be found; banditry and piracy have always been an issue, in increasing or decreasing amounts, over the ages. River pirates are the most common, the many tributaries and diverging streams of the River Dale having countless places to hide small vessels of raiding intent, and many villages isolated and forgotten along its routes. The recent, alleged, bandit unifications and discipline are unheard of. The Dale Folk have, historically, always been united- with a few specific exceptions hinted at in these particular research paths. That makes what is happening now in the Southlands an anomaly. It is unclear what it could mean, but there are several isolated noble houses in the south that have long been detached and silent from Fenhall; the most significant thing of note is that apparently a small family of rebuffed and wounded refugess claimed that they saw smoke looming over the ancestral home of the Family Gostling, the Castle Lancre. No followup on that claim has been possible thus far. [b]On Wizards for I'Rajith[/b] Wizards are few and far between in the lands of Aesithas, most of them hermits in secret towers hidden away in places of power; none have been heard from in hundreds of years, and the dominant study of the Arcan has largely been left to the Noctem to keep alive and share in their collective memories. New and enterprising young arcanists spring up naturally from time to time, documenting their studies, but there is no large and collective place of study to reference. Of recent note, the people of Fenhall received word of a Witch settling in the east, her services apparently benefiting the coastal province. No name was mentioned, just talk of 'a witch'. [b]Just How Do We Reach The Zephyrites[/b] To be brief on this one; nobody is certain how without their help or consent. Ever since the Cloud Kingdom moved over the Oceans to the East, the only devised method has been to rediscover the method told in the Tale of Prospero; search the coastlands for the ancient Flying Machines of the Zephyrites, or hope that a band of them are willing to take you up there. There are plentiful ancient discussions and notes on the description and make of the Flying Machines; To avoid dense and difficult descriptive language, they are described as gyro-copters that seat three, with one seat being a pilot, and their construction largely being based on canny applications of the Air Rune; propulsion, lift, and aerial control operated by a complex 'keyboard' of runes... But the Dale Folk records aren't complete or comprehensive on this, and harken primarily back to the Legendary Tale; these mythological threads point towards the coast, claiming there's a secret alcove carved into a sea-facing cliff face. The best hope anyone has of searching for that is in the far north, where the Shield Mountains reach the Sea.