It's still morning in Ivory Sands, with a fair amount of time to spend before the Merryweather is ready to take off for its next destination. By the handwritten menus hanging above the bar, it looks like seafood is the primary thing to be served here, and perhaps it's ironic that the bartender is a vegetarian Rhian. By the smell, however, it would seem that creamed porridge and bread (the latter probably courtesy of the baker down the street) is the fare of the hour.

If there's a morning rush, it hasn't happened yet. The sparse patronage this morning includes a Cervani stag in a longcoat seated at the bar, the decorations on his uniform suggesting that he's either a constable, a ship's captain, or in organized military service. The Rhian bartender hums to himself as he pours a few glasses of juice, but he looks up at the entrance as the door opens, and then glances at the mirror next to the door. Without so much as a shrug, he returns his attention to the glasses.

In a corner that is a jumble of contrasts, shining dust motes dance upon sunbeams that do battle with the stark shadows formed by the nooks in the walls and their curio occupants. The chairs about this table are occupied by a small group of persons whose dark apparel is rendered a hazy gray by the filtered sunlight. Huddling together are a once-black male Khatta (whose muzzle whiskers have grown long and gray over the years), a Korv, and a gaunt human female, all dressed in garb that suggests that they are travelers not from these parts, and by land rather than air or sea.

Another table closer by is conveniently empty, with a candle sitting in a glass jar in its center – still lit, and with a well-developed puddle of wax, suggesting that this pub may well have been open for business all hours of the night. Arranged on the wall just behind the table is a collection of shell pieces from the pub's namesake – a snark – arranged in such a way as to suggest the fish-like creature in life, leaping from an imaginary sea and arcing across the wall. Its jagged teeth warn against any notions of a casual swim in these waters, if the chill would not be enough.

"Quaint place. Luckily, I'm rather fond of the smell of garlic." A gray rat grins to her Cervani companion and shuffles off towards the empty table. "And I'd be almost willing to swallow some cloves down whole, if it means a change from airship food. Hey! Maybe if you ate a couple, then old Whitehead might leave you alone, Misty." The rat winks at her companion and she settles into her chair.

Morning-Mist looks up at the mounted remnants of the snark, and shudders involuntarily before she nods agreement and takes a seat as well. "It's worth a try, but I am not so certain that Whitehead is especially averse to offensive scents."

The Korv over in the corner suddenly makes a loud caw-laugh at something … then clears his throat, and lowers his voice to a more private level again.

"I'm joking," Willow squeaks. "If he can stand hiding in the privy for hours to get out of box duty, then he probably wouldn't flinch much at garlic smell – unless you tried plugging his eyesocket with a bulb of it to get him to shove off." The rat eyes the other people in the room and twitches her ears to try and pick up bits of conversation. Her nose twitches ever so slightly as she breathes in the scents of the room. "So what do you want for brekky? I'm sure that if meat turns your stomach, they probably have things to accommodate your tastes. Just take it easy on the ale."

A doe in a carefully pressed white and brown dress walks over to the table of Morning-Mist and Willow, setting down two glasses of water from her tray. "A fine day to you, and welcome to the Snark's Nest: finest eating establishment in all the County of Northern Shore … excepting the dining hall of the Countess Ophelia herself, that is," she adds with a giggle. The waitress looks to the rat.

Although the waitress's introduction drowns out a large patch of whatever conversation may be listened into, a few snippets can be heard. "… none other than that young Khatta fellow … ah … ah … what's his name? The one who falls out of airships? … bad luck … but … must be even worse!" The voice that can be heard best seems to belong to the old Khatta, though the Korv wins in volume with his occasional cawing laugh. The human female just sits there quietly, occasionally sipping at a steaming cup of what smells like tea.

The rat smiles a bit, trying to look as pleasant as she possibly can, despite still feeling somewhat shaken up inside from her visit with the Gypsy. "Thank you. What do you recommend? I've not been in Sylvania in awhile, so I'm a bit out of touch with the local dishes. If your town has a specialty dish, I'd be interested in sampling it if it's not too extravagant." Her ears remain pricked at the noises around her. Gossip, however minute, might be useful to hear.

The waitress smiles. "I would recommend the Journeyman's Breakfast – a stack of flatcakes, topped with cream and redberry syrup, with a side of Bromthen bacon. Four shekels, and I'll bring more flatcakes from the kitchen if that doesn't fill you. … " She then goes through a routine of listing off some of the other breakfasts, including some specifically geared toward vegetarians, others obviously for die-hard meat-eaters. It seems that more "conventional" meats here – Bromthen, Rughrat, etc. – are slightly more expensive than normal, while the few breakfast dishes that have seafood as the meat are fairly cheap, really. It must have something to do with supply and demand.

The dishes don't sound all that "ethnic", really, which probably says something for this town's position as something of a trade center – or what passes for it – for Sylvania. Odds are, other towns past this point probably won't have as many Rephidim influences in their cuisine … probably won't have as good of service … and probably won't have such nice-looking townhouses, either.

Foxfire rustles her hand through her pockets. "The Journeyman's sounds great, and I'll have a mug of juice along with it." Her voice lowers a bit. "Hmmm… and if a white rat with an eyepatch came in here I'd like to assure you that he's no relation of mine."

The waitress doe's ears flush. "Oh! That's quite a reli – ah, I mean – " She quickly changes the subject by looking to the doe seated at the table. "And what will you be having?"

Morning-Mist smiles. "It all sounds so good! I think I should be interested in the flatcakes as well … but minus the bacon, of course. And some juice."

The buck up at the bar sips at his drink (hot, whatever it is) and occasionally glances over at the three travelers at the far table … not bothering again with paying much attention to Willow and Morning-Mist, it seems.

Snickering to herself, Willow goes back to studying the bar patrons. The uniformed stag catches her eye for a bit as she tries to figure out the cut of his clothing; perhaps he's military, or a privateer, or just likes to wear a uniform.

Something about the cut of the uniform – the way the cuffs are formed, the style of the buttons, the angles of the collar, and the lack of chitinous armor pieces, among other things – suggests that the uniform is in line with local, or at least Sylvanian, styling, rather than this just being yet another traveler come to pass time in the pub. Something about his body language makes it evident that he's at home here … like this is a routine he goes through every morning. Right down to the bagel with the sparse but crunchy (and probably sweet) coating on the top that he takes a bite of and chews on in between sips of his drink.

His general build doesn't tell too much. He's no powerhouse, but Cervani are hardly known for producing masses of muscle. On the other hand, he certainly doesn't have the look of a quill-pusher, and he doesn't look overly well-fed enough to be a merchant. The uniform has a slight mariner's look to it, but that may be a purely decorative touch, as the cloth probably would get waterlogged easily enough if he were caught out in a storm on the seas in an outfit like that.

"… increase in paranormal activity… " can be heard in a snippet from the threesome in the corner – again, the old Khatta most probably being the source of the comment or question.

The rat decides to wait a bit before asking about the Cervani fellow. She's just arrived, after all, and it might draw a bit of suspicion if she started probing around about the patrons before even taking her first bite of breakfast. "Anyhow… looks like we'll have two Journeymen; I won't mind helping my friend here with her bacon if there's not a replacement for it." She grins sidelong at Morning-Mist, although her grin fades just a fraction as the Khatta's whisper hits her ear.

The waitress nods, and in a moment, she's off to the kitchen, and things are a bit quieter in the main room again.

The waitress comes back not long after with two plates of flatcakes … one of them sporting a double portion of Bromthen bacon, by the looks of it. Syrup and extra cream is in some small bowls on the side, with a couple of types of jam. Not bad at all, for food on the surface.

"Will there be anything else?" asks the waitress, as Morning-Mist already starts tucking into her flatcakes.

"… none of our concern… " comes a voice from the corner again, though this sounds like it may belong to the human female this time.

"Not at the moment. Although by the smell of this, we'll probably end up having some extra helpings." Willow keeps an ear angled towards the trio's conversation. "And unlike Whitehead, we do tip."

The waitress smiles all the more. "Well, I'll let you be, then. Just wave me down if you need anything!"

Morning-Mist looks past the waitress as she leaves, her eyes focusing on something across the room. "Oh! Is that a shelwhal horn? Goldenmane spoke of those before … "

Hanging on the wall in the direction that Morning-Mist is looking, amidst a clutter of other knickknacks, is a spiraling horn that looks a mite bit too small to belong to something as mythically large as a shelwhal.

The rat starts tucking into her own food ravenously… Unfortunately, despite her ability to talk good manners, her eating manners leave a lot to be desired. She peers up at the horn on the wall and licks cream from her nose-tip. "*Mhmp* I mean… nah. Although it might be small enough to be from one of the animals that run around Sylvania. The only other option would be that it's an Aeonian's horn."

"… must not confuse the workings of … with Sylvania's legacy… " murmurs the Khatta. The human female nods. "… Aeztepa."

"An Aeonian?" repeats Morning-Mist. "Whatever is that?"

Willow bristles inwardly a bit at the murmuring, but continues to choke down on her food. "An Aeonian looks a little like a Cervani, although they have a Lion-Khatta's tail and manes like a Rhian. Instead of having antlers, they have a single horn that sprouts out of their head. Supposedly their horn has healing properties."

"Really?" Morning-Mist seems to have forgotten her meal, to the point where her fork falls to her plate with a clatter. She almost jumps at the sound, her ears flicking back, and then shading pink as she realizes her distraction. "I think I shall just head over and take a closer look, if you don't mind! That sounds positively marvelous!"

"Make sure they don't clear our plates off. I think I'm going to rest a moment while my stomach remembers what real food tastes like." The rat scoops up her mug and wanders over to stand next to Stag at the bar, making a point of putting herself on the side closer to the three. "Um… hello. I hope I'm not intruding on you, but you look like a fellow traveler and I thought I'd pay you my respects," she squeaks.

Morning-Mist heads doggedly off to the "Aeonian horn", while the stag turns to regard the Skreek. For just a moment, that look of "Oh – a SKREEK… " registers in his eyes, but he quickly hides it. "Good morning." His accent is not as heavy as that of a Chronotopian, but it has just a hint of that Sylvanian accent that places him as a local – or a good pretender. "I am Sheriff Turin, in the service of Countess Ophelia, long may she grace us with her presence."

The rat consciously sweeps her hair back with her free hand. "Countess Ophelia? Well, she has a lovely town. At the very least, I've not been to a cleaner pub in a great long while." One ear flicks back to the three whisperers.

The whisperers get noticeably more quiet as Morning-Mist wanders past on her way to inspect the horn. Just then, the old Khatta raps his cup on the table. "Barmaid! See here, barmaid! My cup of tea is nearly – " He glances at the splatter he's made on the wood from rapping his cup. " – completely empty, and I'll go hoarse if I haven't something to wet my parched mouth. Be a good girl and fetch me another, would you? Oh, thank you kindly!"

Morning-Mist looks quite bewildered, as she finds herself walking the opposite direction, three empty cups in her hands, headed for the bar. "Uhm … certainly… "

Willow flattens her ears and takes a seat just a stool away from the Sheriff and slightly closer to the three whisperers. "What kind of trading goes on in this town? Mostly fish?" She takes a sip from her mug as she tries to bury her look of slight frustration.

Morning-Mist's ears are beet red, as she takes the cups up to the bar, and gives them to the waitress. "Uhm … more drinks for them … please."

The buck's eyes follow Morning-Mist for a moment, and then he answers, "A fair amount of fish, yes, and other goods from the sea, but this is one of the major ports for what's left of Sylvania. Most of the inland has simply Star-awful weather for any regular trade by air, and plenty of distractions for trade by land. Countess Ophelia has kept Northern Shore stable for several centuries."

"Several centuries? The only person I've heard about that's several centuries old is the Emperor Potentate." Foxfire takes another sip from her mug, fighting back the urge to scowl at the rude treatment of her companion.

"Here, please, don't trouble yourself," says the waitress, whose own ears are a good shade of pink by now, too. She heads over to the table of the three travelers with a tray holding cups of steaming herbal tea.

Morning-Mist timidly walks over back to her original objective … almost using the waitress as a moving shield between herself and the strangers.

"Countess Ophelia is one of the Faerie," answers Sheriff Turin. "She is an immortal. An Aeonian. With a constant ruler for so long, our land has enjoyed much stability despite the troubles that have plagued Sylvania at large."

The rat's ears shoot back behind her head as she hears her friend returning. Fearing something more than a polite brush off from the trio this time, she glances over her shoulder and squeaks to Morning-Mist, "Hey Misty… try looking at it from the table. I hear that looking at an Aeonian's horn while you're standing in sunlight helps you to see the purity of it better."

Her head snaps back to Sheriff Turin. "She's an Aeonian as well? Er… I hope that the horn up there's not real. I might be somewhat offended to be countess of a town that had a Skreek's tail hanging in its pub after all."

"I assure you, it belongs neither to the countess, nor any of her kind," says the sheriff, though in a low enough tone that it may not necessarily get picked up by Morning-Mist's ears. He seems to view her interest with mild amusement. "It is the horn of a snark bull. But it is an oft-made mistake."

Morning-Mist, meanwhile, stands at a respectful distance, conspicuously stepping up on the tips of her hooves as she tries to look at the horn from slightly different angles for some unspecified visual effect.

( Hopefully they'll start whispering again once things cool a bit… ) The rat clears her throat a little. "Ahhhh. Impressive to have in one's pub anyway. Who pegged the beast?"

"Fargot, a venerable sea-Khatta … since retired. Few tales told of the sea are taller than his," says the sheriff with a smirk. He seems to be warming up a fair deal over his initial impression of the Skreek.

The front door arrives, letting in an old lioness in noble-looking dress, and an overcoat that is definitely not the style of these parts. She is followed by a couple of sturdy-looking Rhians, a foppish-looking fox, and a finely-dressed young black Khatta.

The buck momentarily pauses to look at the new arrivals, but doesn't look to be terribly interested, as he returns his attention to the Skreek – casting a glance every once in a while at the three travelers at the far table.

The rat glances back as well, sizing up the five new arrivals. "This place seems popular with the travelers. Now I know how they get away with having flapjacks so cheap."

The sheriff nods. "It picks up now and then. Some find the weather here agreeable in the summer. The pub all but closes down in the winter, however."

All three of the dark-clothed travelers take sips from their tea. The bearded Khatta looks thoughtful for a moment, then leans over to whisper something to the others. "… you sense it? The imbalance increased with the arrival… "

The human female shakes her head at something, and rises from her seat. "… much to do. I will see you… "

Willow's ears perk a little more. "I hate to ask, but do you have many pirates coming through here? Back in my younger days, I used to have all sorts of trouble with a ship called the Bleeding Shekel or something like that."

The doe waitress walks over to the table with the newest arrivals, as the human female heads for the exit. The Korv seems to be making his farewells as well. The buck watches this, then shakes his head. "If we do, they've been amazingly civilized. Countess Ophelia tolerates nothing in the way of such shenanigans." He closely watches the two departing travelers as they pass through the front door.

"I agree with you completely," the Skreek whispers. Although by the sound of her tone she's more agreeing with the buck's serious glare than his assessment of the city policing.

Over at the table of the new arrivals, mention of "… Rephidim for a visit… " can be heard, as the black Khatta – evidently a young noble, though without a Sylvanian accent – pauses to sip at a cup of water.

The buck tsks under his breath. "Petty hedge wizards. They come from all over. Seeking lost artifacts, forbidden tomes … nothing but trouble, waking up what should be left sleeping." He frowns severely as he lets his thoughts trail off.

The foppish fox suddenly blurts out, "I'll have EVERY – " And then, he catches what looks like a glare from the grandmotherly lioness, and slumps down in his seat. "Uhm … I'll have what Jynx is having." His high-pitched, whiny voice carries a lot better than the whispers around here.

"Been much trouble with them lately?" Willow whispers as she fishes a shekel out of her pocket. She shows it to the sheriff as though she were speaking to him about some ancient treasure coin from far away. "Sounded like they were up to something."

The sheriff smirks. "Been asking a lot of questions. And talking in that … vague, mystical, know-it-all way that upsets the locals. And I don't like it when the locals get upset. It makes my job that much harder." He takes a bite out of his long-neglected bagel, and washes it down with another sip of tea.

The rat's head snaps back to study the new arrivals a bit closer and then glances across the remaining member of the trio – the older black Khatta – to see how he's regarding the new arrivals as well. Her voice falls back into a whisper. "If you don't mind me asking, questions about what? I'd rather not fall afoul of their trouble while I'm here either."

The sheriff frowns. "We don't get much of that sort of trouble here … not in Ivory Sands … but there have been some disturbances to the south with … well, you might not believe in such things, but let's just say monsters. And these people are asking a lot of questions about these incidents that are scaring people – I've been hearing no end of a frightened mother pleading with me to make sure that her children are safe from bogeymen, and that sort of thing."

The sheriff sniffs at the air, and then wrinkles his nose.

Quirking an eyebrow, the rat does likewise. Some strange scent in the air?

The only 'strange' scent in the air right now would be … an inordinate amount of garlic.

The young black Khatta at the table with the new arrivals now openly stares at the lone bearded Khatta. His attention is not rewarded with any response from the latter, however.

Willow frowns a bit; she smells something all right… something that smells an awful lot like a setup. She digs in her pocket and fishes out another tenner piece. "A pleasure meeting you, Sheriff. I hope your town remains as trouble-free and beautiful as it is now." She hops from her stool and places the coin back on the table. "Misty, I need to get some air real quick… I think my stomach is used to hardtack still. Could you keep my plate company until I get back?"

Morning-Mist nods. "Oh! My flatcakes are getting cold!" She heads back to the table, and promptly starts downing the remnants of her own breakfast.

Just then, the young black Khatta gets up from his table. He starts heading over to the table with the bearded, older Khatta – who still doesn't look in the former's direction to so much as acknowledge his approach.

"Back in a tailsha – " the Skreek's voice trails off and instead of outright exiting she shuffles towards the door… close enough to stick her foot out should someone try to make a bolt for it. She glances outside, trying to locate the Korv and the human.

Just outside, the Korv is sitting on a bench, looking as if he's taking a nap … or as if he's deep in some sort of trance. Next to him is the female human, who is seated on the ground, amidst a circle of colored pebbles. A few passing villagers keep well clear of them.

( Oh scrud. Oh scruddy scrud scrud. ) Willow's hand instinctively falls to her pouch where some of her throwing knives rest. She tries to calmly walk back to the table and whispers in Morning-Mist's ear, "Listen to me very carefully. I want you to get up and calmly walk back to the ship. Don't act like anything is wrong. When you get there tell Burr to get his spotted butt here as fast as his legs can take him. Don't nod or say another word. Just calmly go."

Morning-Mist, her mouth still full, nods slowly and gets up … then flicks her ears as she must realize that she just nodded like she wasn't supposed to. She turns about and heads for the door, dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief.

The young black Khatta, meanwhile, can be heard talking to the older Khatta. "Uhm, excuse me, sir … I couldn't help but notice your attention was toward our table earlier. May we help you?"

The old Khatta looks back, and says something about "… living specimen!"

The rat drops a few more shekels on the tabletop and backs out towards the doorway, palming a knife in her hand and hoping she won't have to use it. "You know," she squeaks loud enough to be heard by pretty much everyone, "I'm sure that the owners of this establishment wouldn't take kindly to someone doing magic in front of it."

The sheriff spews a mouthful of his drink, and drops his bagel as he hurries toward the entrance of the pub. The Korv's eyes snap open, and he glares balefully at the Skreek.

The human female, however, appears to be exceedingly calm as she looks at the Skreek. Detached. Aloof. Untouchable.

"I've heard of Dagh," blurts out the young Khatta, "but never of Tyrne Dagh … " He turns, looking toward the entrance, and the gray Skreek there. "What's he going on about?"

Willow glares right back, "What are you hoping to do? Curse this place? Maybe make their flapjacks go even flatter?" Her icy eyes look to the human. "You must be pretty brave to be doing a circle spell right here in front of a whole paranoid town. That usually means that you're up to something desperate or brave. So what is it you're up to?"

The old Khatta rises from his chair, saying something far more quietly to the younger Khatta as he sets some shekels down on the table.

The sheriff frowns severely when he sees the spectacle out in the street. "That is it. You will be leaving now." He glares intently at the Korv … but he flinches when he looks at the human. Nonetheless, his frown remains. "We have laws against this sort of conduct."

The rat looks back into the shop at the younger Khatta. "I think these fine people out here were intending to perform some sort of hex on you; that is, if you're the unlucky fellow who falls out of airships."

Right as the rat says this, the younger Khatta follows the older one to the door. "Chosen of Dagh?" the younger Khatta says, looking quite perplexed.

The older Khatta tips his hat to the sheriff. "My pardon. We'll be moving along now."

The sheriff frowns at the older Khatta. "Yes. You will."

Jynx furrows his brow at the Skreek, "Going to perform a hex? What the… How do you… Who are you people?!" The feline looks at the Skreek in puzzlement.

The Korv and the human female pick up their supplies, the latter casting a glance at the younger Khatta, and smirking slightly.

Willow sniffs the air sharply and eyes the younger black Khatta. She may not know what a charmed person looks like… but she hopes that seeing enough drugged people in her time might help her tell of the younger one's going along willingly or not. "I'm Willow-The-Wisp of the trader ship Merryweather, and I couldn't help but notice that these three gentlemen were talking about you before you ever arrived. That is, if you have a reputation for falling from airships."

The look in the younger Khatta's eyes seems to be more of bewilderment than of any sort of drug-induced stupor. He seems a fair deal more excitable, at least.

Behind the Khattas can be seen a lioness standing in the doorway, flanked by two Rhians. She gazes severely at the bearded Khatta.

The Khatta's mouth drops as he looks at the circles. He shudders visibly. "I – well… Yes, I have fallen out before… " Jynx looks back in the tavern at his table, then back to the Skreek. "Who are those people?"

The older Khatta adjusts his hat, as he walks over to join his two companions. "A good day to you."

"Don't trust anyone standing in a magic circle with a grin on their face I always say." Willow glares at the human. "Are you unable to talk? What were you doing?"

The human rudely ignores Willow, walking along with her two companions, down the road away from the shore.

Jynx frowns as the trio makes their way off, and steps outside to join the rat. "Yes, what where you doing?"

The sheriff shakes his head. "Good riddance. But if they come back, they'll be in stocks for sure."

The black Khatta watches the three leave down the road, and another chill runs over his body. "That was indeed… strange." He shakes his head, and turns to the rat. "My name is Feli Kurai, and I guess I owe you one."

The Skreek lashes its tail a bit and seems pulled between following the trio and remaining at the pub. "Think nothing of it. I don't like magic slingers who zap folks. Pardon me for asking… but what was that I overheard about a Tyrne Dagh?"

"I wish I knew. The old cat just asked me if I had ever heard the story of Tyrne Dagh, which I haven't, then said that I was 'one of the chosen of Dagh.'" Jynx shrugs, looking back to Martinette. "I've never seen those people before in my life."

Willow's nose wrinkles sharply. "I hope you're not the chosen of Dagh. The last one I met sucked the life out of people and turned into a pile of bugs." She walks over to the bench outside and appears to be searching for something.

The old lioness shudders, pulling her overcoat closer about her. "Dagh cultists, probably. Your… " She looks away from the younger Khatta, over to the Skreek, then back to the Khatta again. "Your grandfather ran into some of their type long ago. They seem to be intent in seeking out 'portents' of their dark leader's 'return'. Bad luck, good luck … it's all a 'sign' to them of something or another."

Jynx frowns. "Sucked the life out of people? I'll have to make sure I stay clear of them." He shudders, listening to his grandmother. "How did he deal with – Hey, what are you looking for over there?" The Khatta looks over Willow's shoulder.

"Turn it back, stepping by four… " the rat mutters, sniffing at the bench. "Stupid gypsy."

The black Khatta backs away from the Skreek, still watching her intently. "You're not a mage too, are you?

Willow holds up a hand which has a few traces of black powder on it. She takes a lick at a trace of it to try and place what it is. "A mage? Me? Goodness no. I stay as far away from magic as I can, I assure you. I was tempted to sit this thing out, actually, but you didn't look like you'd done anything, and I don't like people who conglomerate and whisper to each other."

Jynx smirks. "Lucky for me you decided to intervene then. What are you doing there, tasting the dirt?" Skreeks are weird…

The sheriff shakes his head. "If you'll pardon me … I think I shall follow them and see them safely out of town." The stag strides past the rat and cat, headed in the direction of the departing strangers.

An old Jupani walks up to the lioness. "Lady Martinette, we are ready to depart." He bows his head respectfully.

Martinette frowns, then looks to Jynx. "Well, Feli, it seems I must say farewell again. Mustn't keep the dearies waiting on me." She ruffles Jynx's cheek-ruff. "Stay out of trouble, and don't go meddling with Dagh cultists, you hear me?"

Willow frowns up to the Khatta. "I've got a good nose, and I smelled something that I've scented once before." The rat frowns deeply at something and then wipes the remainder of the powder off on her shirt. "They might do something to the sheriff. He was pleasant to me, so I'd rather they not stick him on a pole or something… In other words, I'm going to follow him. You can join me if you want." She stands up the rest of the way and cups a hand over her mouth. "BURR!!! Where the blazes are you?!?"

The large muscle-bound cheetah jumps from where he was hiding around the corner of the building. His face is marked with an X-shaped scar, and the cowl about his head does little good to hide it from anyone looking straight on.

Jynx smiles, nodding to his grandmother as he gives her one final hug. "Just be careful when you're with the 'dearies', and send me some info now and then." He turns from his family departure, and grimaces at the Skreek. "Well, I guess I shall, since we had better get to the bottom of this." He waves a final farewell to Martinette, and joins the rat.

The lioness leaves, taking her two Rhian lackeys with her, following the old Jupani. There's no sign of the foppish-looking fox who was with the group just a bit ago.

The rat shakes her head at the cheetah, "Glad to see you were there. I didn't want to think you had a reputation of vanishing whenever a mage decided to blast me into smithereens. Now c'mon." She nods to Jynx, "So where are you from? You don't sound Sylvanian."

The town is still just as pretty as the small party makes its way down the street. It seems that there is just one major road passing through this way, with this town being located right at the end of the journey. The sea, after all, is on the other side.

"No, I just moved here recently," says Jynx, following along with the rat, "I'm originally from Rephidim. I inherited some holdings from a deceased family member, and decided that this was just as good a place as any to live."

The large Savanite walks behind the Skreek, looking quite cowed, despite his especially large bulk – large for a Savanite, that is, and on par with Martinette's Rhians … though not quite so big as that spotted Rhian of Madame Xanadu's.

Willow sniffs at the air. "Ah… Rephidim's pretty nice, but too many blasted people there. Hey… could you do me a favor? If I end up getting cold-cocked somehow, could you make sure that someone drags me back to my ship? It's leaving later today and I'd rather not miss it." Her tone suggests this has happened before.

The Savanite's head lowers just a few degrees.

Jynx just blinks in puzzlement at the rat. "Well… sure, I suppose." He nods dumbly at the odd request, then looks up in the direction of the trio. "Where do you suppose they're headed?"

As the group heads further along, the trees get bigger and more thick … as the town gives way to the forests that give Sylvania its name. There's no sign yet of the sheriff or of those strange travelers. The shift from open sunny morning sky to shadowy boughs is almost dramatic.

Just up ahead, the distinctive outline of a Cervani in a longcoat can be seen, in the middle of the path, walking cautiously.

"Now stop that! You lower your head any lower and you'll probably miss someone throwing something at it. You'd think all the dirty socks and leftovers I've chunked at you would have learned you by now," the rat chitters to the cheetah before glancing back at the Khatta. "To the edge of town, and hopefully out of our hair. C'mon… we'd better pick up the pace; they look to be a good deal ahead of us already."

The black Khatta grimaces at the cheetah's treatment. "I see she's a kind one," he signs to Burr, "My name is Unlucky-One; I'll talk to you more later… " Jynx doubles his movement as per the Skreek's instruction, keeping an eye out for the mages.

"And I understand handsign too," Willow squeaks.

The sheriff spins about on his hoof, sword at the ready … but he lowers it when he sees the rat, cat and bigger cat approaching. "My apologies!" He wipes his brow. "They are dark sorcerers, for sure. They melted into the shadows when I made the fool mistake of stepping on a dead twig."

Jynx's eyes go wide, and he gives a sheepish frown. "Oh, I… s-see… "

The sheriff looks about the trees. "They can't have gotten far. Illusions or not … " He turns this way, then that, his ears perked for any noises from the branches.

"Great, more mages." The black Khatta sighs. "I've had enough of them for nine lifetimes. Do they visit this place often?" A small bit of sarcasm enters the feline's voice.

"I'm a fine master, aren't I, Burr?" Without waiting for a reply, the rat closes its eyes and sniffs sharply at the air, hoping to catch a whiff of more of that powder.

Burr enthusiastically nods his head, while the sheriff answers to the Khatta, "No, not often at all. I had hoped it would stay that way."

The light coming through the thick branches becomes more scarce, as if clouds are rolling in. The skies looked fairly clear – by Sylvanian standards – back in the town, though.

"Necromancy!!!" The rat's eyes shoot open and a dagger appears in each hand. "Bad magic is being cast… very very bad magic."

The sheriff casts a questioning glance at Willow, but a glance at the sky is perhaps enough to convince him that something a bit out of the ordinary is going on – that, of course, and the obvious happenings earlier.

Jynx perks his ears, trying to make out the mages as well. "From my dealings with their type, the forest is a bad place to try and deal with them – necromancy?" The Khatta's own paw goes to his dagger as well.

A lone humanoid figure strolls down the path, coming toward the group from deeper into the forest. It's the raven-haired, pale-skinned human. As she approaches, she has that same calm, cold, detached expression on her face, in those cold gray eyes.

The shiver once again runs down Jynx's spine, and his fur bristles. Just to be safe, he draws his dagger, keeping it at the ready.

"What I wouldn't give for some silver right now… " The rat's eyes narrow. "Burr, I smell the puppy. The one from the night the tent burned."

Burr's ears flatten back in alarm at the mention of the "puppy".

The woman looks at Jynx … then scans across the group, utterly ignoring the cheetah and the Cervani … until her eyes rest on the Skreek. "It's so clear now," she says in a voice that is almost weak in its calm quietness … but the forest is so quiet that her voice still carries. "You are each touched."

Jynx's tail thrashes back and forth in nervousness. "All that touches me are my clothes. Who are you and what do you want?"

"You smell like Dagh's servant," the rat hisses.

"I am Wyrd," answers the human. She smiles. "And, yes, I am given over to Dagh. I am at peace with my destruction… " She pulls a slender, wickedly twisted dagger from a scabbard amidst her robes. "In my destruction, comes power. Power that serves Dagh's bidding, so that his greater servants may continue on their quest unhindered." She raises the dagger upward.

"No you DON'T! BURR!" Willow lets each dagger in her hand fall and rushes for the human, leaping to stop that hand before it stabs the knife into her.

Burr catches the Skreek's cue, and dashes toward the human as well. Being a cheetah, he sprints all the faster, bowling into the human a fraction of a moment before the Skreek is upon her as well…

The dagger cuts into Burr's arm, however, in the quick scuffle, and his left arm is quickly stained with a ribbon of crimson. The woman collapses.

The black Khatta backs away, raising his own dagger into a defensive position. "Weird? Good choice of name… " He stops, and does a double take at the rat and Savanite. "What are you two fools doing?!"

The sheriff spins about, holding his sword at the ready. "Don't forget – there are two more of them!"

The rat grabs the dagger and inspects it closely for any poisons. "I have a thing about letting people sacrifice themselves to dark gods."

The dagger glistens with something that isn't water or blood.

Jynx looks about for the others, staying on his guard. "Dagh-nabbit, why do these freaks always show up where I go?"

The sheriff raises his eyebrows. "They do?"

The Khatta looks back to the sheriff. "Not them exactly, but people like them! Murderers, slavers, vampires … always when I try to relax!"

The sheriff nods nervously. "I … see."

The rat clutches the knife and grabs the Savanite's arm. Without any hesitation, she puts her mouth on the wound, sucks some of the blood into her mouth, and then spits it out. She hurries through the process while fumbling through her herb pouch for a temporary cure.

The big cheetah's ears flatten back in alarm at the spectacle, but he stays where he is, pinning down the prone human woman.

Noticing the cheetah's predicament, Jynx rushes over, fishing through his pouches. "Here, give him some of this." He hands the Skreek a vial of a milky white fluid.

Willow rips off a section of her shirt and ties it tightly around the Savanite's arm. "What's that? It doesn't look like a cure for horrib venom to me." She wipes her face off and starts pulling out vials and powders from a pouch on her side.

The sheriff continues to scan the surroundings … though no further attackers present themselves yet.

The smell of sulfur is strong.

"You won't like this, Burr… but it'll help. Just stay here and hold Dagh's girlfriend down. You should still be able to do that." The rat holds a vial out to the cheetah.

The cheetah's ears flatten back as he catches a whiff of the concoction, but he obediently opens his mouth while holding down the cultist.

"It's a revival potion; it'll cure him completely!" protests Jynx. "It works!"

"Magical?" Willow narrows an eye.

The cheetah's ears flatten back all the more upon hearing the word "magical".

"Just trust me," continues Jynx. "It saved me once big time!"

The look the Savanite gives Jynx could be described, at best, dubious.

"IS IT MAGIC?!?" Willow growls, her voice louder. She presses her own vial towards the cheetah.

"I am a friend of the Priest-Queen, I swear by the Star it won't harm you!" signs Jynx.

"Yes!" Jynx hisses back. "But not of the dark sort!"

The Savanite's eyes go wide. He leans toward Willow's vial, grabs the mouth in his teeth, and jerks his head back, chugging it down.

Jynx frowns, and puts his own vial back. "Fine, have it your way." He stands back up, and keeps his dagger out.

The vial drops out of the cheetah's mouth, and he starts making gagging noises, looking most definitely discomfited about something.

"Burr would rather die than take a magic potion." The rat grabs the poisoned dagger and sniffs the air again. "Come on out, puppies. I can smell you… "

As if in response … the air seems to clear of the sulfuric smell just a tad bit … and the darkness relents, as the sun begins shining through the overhanging boughs of the trees once more.

The black Khatta looks up at the sky and the sudden light. "All right, that was strange. I take it that means they're gone?"

The sheriff says, "Let us hope so … but let us take no chances."

The cheetah starts coughing, and he motions to Jynx, then points at the human that he's holding down.

"Well, all except that one, I guess." Jynx walks over to the cheetah. "What do you want me to do?"

"I believe you have a prisoner for your cells, Sheriff Turin." The rat's expression falls. "Burr, don't fight the coughing. It'll pass. Better cough than have your heart stop."

The cheetah gives up on pantomiming … and rushes over to the bushes. He makes some unpleasant noises.

Jynx grimaces, and takes the cheetah's place in keeping the woman restrained. "Do you think they'll come back for her?"

The sheriff pulls out some leather bindings and sets down his sword long enough to start securing the woman's wrists. He pats her down, pulling out a few other wicked-looking instruments. "We shall see."

"Doubt it," the rat squeaks, her brow creasing. "Burr, stop moving around so much! It'll just make the poison go through faster."

Willow eyes the human's belongings, looking for any traces of more of that odd black powder.

The Khatta steps back, and looks over to the Skreek. "Well, whether they do or not, looks like we're in the same boat. She said you were one of those 'chosen' too. I wonder what they mean?"

Sure enough, there are a few pouches that have traces of that same, smelly powder, and several other suspicious components as well. Those may well be as dangerous as daggers to leave in the possession of the cultist.

The cheetah comes back, looking woozy … but conscious and on his own two feet, at least.

"It means Dagh's mad at me because I killed one of his more powerful pets once," the rat answers, rubbing her nose and poking through the items for any familiar smelling herbs or poisons. "Burr, sit down and relax. You're not walking another step until I tell you, understand?"

Burr nods and promptly sits on his tail, beside the road.

The steady clip-clop of Dromodon hooves can be heard, as a wagon makes its way up the road, coming from the forest. A Rhian driver sits at the fore.

Jynx furrows his brow. "Why are they after me then? I've never gone after one of his minions … er, none that I'm aware of, anyway."

The rat looks at her torn shirt. "I'm running out of clothing very quickly. Thankfully, Misty can sew."

The black feline flattens his ears as he looks around the forest. "Well, the sooner we're back in town, the sooner she can do that, whoever she is. It's probably not a good idea to linger here."

The sheriff waves down the wagon driver. "Hullo there! Have you seen two strangers – a Korv and an old Khatta… ?" He heads over, and proceeds to question the wagon driver, though he's rewarded by several negative head shakes for his trouble. At last, though, the Rhian nods, and the sheriff turns to the others. "We can fetch a ride here back to town."

"As for why they're after you – I don't know. Could just be because you're you." The rat shrugs and waves at the approaching cart.

"Perhaps the same could be said of you." The Khatta keeps his ears flattened in annoyance, and walks over to the cart.

"Maybe he's after you because you were snide to him once. You seem to be that way to just about everyone." Willow wraps the cheetah's arms in some bandages and puts his unscratched arm around her shoulders, although she'd probably crumple into a flat little heap if Burr decided to put his full weight on her. "Maybe next time I'll reconsider when I decide to stick my neck out for strangers if all it earns me are grumpy glares and flattened ears."

Jynx frowns, and hefts his way up into the cart. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black," he mutters to the sheriff. "Oh, by the way, thank you." He sighs, and takes a seat in the vehicle.