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[right][colour=red][b][colour=gold]ꁲ ꂵ ꁲ ꋊ ꂠ ꂑ ꋊ ꈼ[/colour][/b]
[sub][sup]ꋖ ꂑ ꂵ ꈼ[/sup][/sub]
[sup][colour=white]Day 1 [Night]
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[sub][sup]꒒ ꂦ ꀯ ꁲ ꋖ ꂑ ꂦ ꋊ[/sup][/sub]
[sup][colour=white]Lock and Key [Somerset][/colour][/sup]
[sub][sup]ꌚ ꂦ ꐇ ꋊ ꂠ ꋖ ꌅ ꁲ ꀯ ꀗ[/sup][/sub]
[sup][url=https://youtu.be/AAvkqq_AuNc?si=IDm9xL5kOzLE6lsC]♫[/url][/sup][/colour][/right]
[/cell][cell][img]https://i.imgur.com/GoszZJq.png[/img][/cell][/row][/table][/center]
[colour=red]"Achoo~!"[/colour] Amandine felt a chilly breeze as she warmed herself by the fire, hands outstretched as the flames licked them. She had been having lucid dreams lately, and one of the latest involved a shapeshifter turning into a plump pheasant, roasting itself on a spit for dinner. The juices ran down its flesh, crisping in the flames. Her stomach rumbled as she thought about food, and she sighed. Why were her dreams always more flavourful than reality? One part of her chastised her fixation on food, while another encouraged her to indulge, a third nagged her to focus on the mission, and a fourth gave her a sense of déjà vu. She sighed as she connected with her sense of self, finding the pitter-patter of rain on the leaves soothing, as she came into agreement with the parts. She bit into a piece of hard tack, then dimmed down the flames with her toasty mitts. [colour=red]"It seems you all have decided that I'd better get moving."[/colour] She adorned her traveller's cloak, preparing to continue her journey.

As she walked through the dark streets, she could feel eyes gazing in her direction. Even with the modest travelling cloak, her features marked her as not being from these parts. In this area, they tended to think she was from the Sands of Regand, her swarthy complexion reminding them of the sun-kissed inhabitants of the south. Funnily, in the Sands of Regand, her paler complexion made her stand out as someone from the north. For those wiser and more travelled, she might be identified as one of the nomads from the Western Rife Mountains, a people who tended to keep to themselves. However, that would only be partially correct, as she was no nomad. In truth, she didn’t exist, and that is the way her people preferred it. Reclusive hermits of an ancient Dragonian temple, more ruins than a great city of eons past, who led a simple and monastic life, away from the eyes of the empire. Even within her temple, those who manifest traits of their bloodline like Amandine were prized amongst them, proof of their own existence. More secretive still, for those even more fortunate, they would learn of one last secret: that one true Dragonian still lives. [colour=red]“... and she is a bitch.”[/colour] Amandine smirked widely, her lips curled as she recalled the Lady Phoenix, before making a ritual sign of respect.

Despite being out of place in these parts, her journey followed the footsteps of her shifu, ꁲꁅꍩꁲꂠ. The old man is considered one of the most knowledgeable of her people, though if they spent any time with him outside the ceremonial and formal settings, they might quickly question their assumptions. Less of a Sage and more of a Lore Keeper, she had been assigned as one of his apprentices, the one deemed from them to have any merit. Her day-to-day consisted mostly of travel to the ancient temple sites to keep the flames held in ancient braziers lit. A relatively mundane task, the nomads knew better than to camp within the sacred walls. The most common nuisances were ones that called themselves ‘Adventurers,’ seeking to plunder, vandalize, and destroy anything they got their hands on, in hopes of obtaining long-lost coveted Dragonian riches and treasures. It always amused her as they always seemed to expect riches to be sat on a pedestal, waiting just for them, or treasure troves filled with golden riches about to open their doors after hundreds of years. She concedes, sure, they do have a sacred treasure on display back home, but that quest is so foolhardy they would have much more luck trying to steal from the Emperor and his elite guard.

Amandine made her way to the Lock and Key tavern, opening the door and stepping through. Inside, you couldn’t ever find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy… in the town. The absolute title goes to the Volenstul Downtown district, and the fact one of the patrons was clearly from there in the crowd playing dice said enough. She wrinkled her nose as she exhaled the scent from the man’s magic from her nostrils, scanning the room. Her irises took a slit-like appearance as she gathered what she needed before blending in. She moved towards the fattened orange tabby cat on the table, her fingers stroking through its fur, pinching the flab. [colour=red]“Well, aren’t you a plump one.”[/colour] Her eyes, however, were not focused on the feline, but on the one adorned with the best equipment in this place, Dorian. It seemed like with the gathering of armed persons in the backroom acting unfamiliar, multiple people had been lured here like a siren’s song.

When the Volenstul man began to gamble with a familiar-looking coin, her suspicions were confirmed. She watched as he was led into a back room. As the pair made their way to the door, she followed them, presenting her coin as she was challenged by Dorian, and followed through the door.

As she eyed the others who entered the room already, she unfastened her cloak and hung it up on a peg. [colour=red]“Now this feels like déjà vu.”[/colour]

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