[b][center][h3][color=white] MELANIE [/color][/h3][/center][/b]
[hr]
[b][color=orange]Location:[/color][/b] Hraesleg Base Camp
[b][color=orange]Interactions:[/color][/b] [@Crimson Paladin]
[hr]

	[b]"...Wlyner's latest work, in spite of all these criticisms, has responded comprehensibly to the weaknesses of his previous publications, but in such a characterization I am wary that I run the risk of implying that his bibliography had any meaningful merit above the entertainment of idle philistines..."[/b] A messily written sentence snarled up against the page it rested upon, nestled closely with a combination of unfinished notes and rough drafts of the surrounding landscape. The occasional breeze fluttered the pages of the small leather-bound notebook before being pushed back and straightened out by an ink-blotched hand.

	[b]"And I thought the breeze would do me some good."[/b] Melanie murmured, lifting her head to regard the tent she had used as a support. Beside her, a large paper sculpture of a soldier stood next to her, frozen in its dazed pose and slouching under its own weight. It was as if someone had drawn a rough sketch of what a 'soldier' was supposed to look like, and built a facsimile with bound paper by memory alone. Its featureless face stared incuriously toward the rest of the military camp. With a flick of Melanie's wrist, the sculpture animated momentarily, lumbered and adjusting its posture until its body came to loom over the elven writer, then froze once more. Simply insufficient. Melanie snapped the notebook shut and annoyed, waved her hand once again. This time, the sculpture shuddered as its structure unraveled from complicated interlocking patterns and stacks into pages, pages into strips, and finally folding unto itself into nothing. 

	Where was she? That was a question that Melanie seemed to ask herself frequently, both of her curiosities and of her person. She fumbled back into her memories as she gained a visual purchase of her situation once again. It was the Hraesleg camp, on the verge of readying themselves for war. War? War. Melanie retracted her choice of words. The conflict had not yet escalated into open skirmish, but she had seen how both sides had geared themselves for such a confrontation well before she had arrived in Velt. And now she had placed herself betwixt the rising hostility, riding on her paper golems alongside the march of the Veltian banner. She briefly proffered a consideration that she may have made this particular expedition a degree too deep, but swiftly cut that line of inquiry. No, no. If there was anywhere a witness had to be, this was such a place - whether or not Melanie had to make good on the promise of providing 'arcane support' where-ever possible.

	Before her, the camp was lively with the camp's preparations. Oh, and was that a gryphon she spied in the distance? And a lamia warrior too! Quite the eclectic bunch! Melanie had known the Steel Princess had been quite indiscriminate in her recruitment process (in fact, it was perhaps for this very grace that the elven historian dressed in academic robes could remain here), but both were quite the rare sight indeed. Gryphons, gryphons? Griffins, was the more common pronunciation. Melanie stared at Shortclaw with a ferocious fascination as she dug through her notebook. Male, one of the western breed yes, well-kept... The griffin's bonded and the lamia warrior were exchanging intelligence it seemed, and Melanie knew to not interfere. Not yet. But the first chance she got, she was certainly going to ask after him.