“Whether a divine blessing or malignant curse, the Mazul populated the forests of Krevthra after the King communed with the Fallen. A mysterious and reclusive folk, they hide from foreigners for good reason…”

~ The Anthropology of the Scarred Lands, Chapter Six: Mazul by J. Bennet

Without wasting a moment, the two men made their way to the enchanter’s shop. Evidently, this eye was much more dangerous than Andrei first thought. The more he interacted with it - or rather it interacting with him - the more he came to understand how Jean might’ve succumbed to its temptations. And he was determined to not be its next victim. He walked briskly throughout Hawthorn Square, occasionally bumping past the finely dressed citizens, who expressed their annoyance through glares or occasional grumbles and vocalizations. Andrei believed some people dressed that way to blend in and hopefully gain status by proxy. As he walked around with Emil, he continued to get more side-eyed glances and vaguely concerned looks from most of the people there. He cursed his appearance again, but pressed on with his friend close behind him.

 Andrei and Emil walked down one of the side streets, walking past an extravagant jewelry store, an artisanal perfumery, and a gift shop. Emil became enthralled by the perfumery, drawn in by the intoxicating symphony scents, mostly hinting of sweet and floral contrasting with a certain tone of exotic woods from rare forests. As he noted Emil’s absence, he walked back and grabbed Emil by the collar, a sad look of longing adorning Emil’s face as they delved further into the side paths.

 “But… I want to smell nice too!” Emil said in protest, his voice sounding nearly heartbroken while being dragged away from the shop, his eyes locked on the elegant bottles past the windows.. 

 Andrei rolled his eyes. “You already smell-” Andrei stopped in his tracks, letting go of Emil and closed his eyes, holding his fingers on the bridge of his nose. A wave of realization rushed over him.

 He opened his eyes again to see Emil staring at him with a devilish grin, leaning in slightly with his hands behind his back. A grin he wanted to smack off his face, though he couldn’t help but admire how quickly he seemed to come up with this little trap. “What was that, Andrei?” He asked, his voice was soft and mischievous, “I don’t think I caught it.”

 Andrei chuckled softly, “you’re crafty, I’ll give you that.” He looked at Emil with admiration for perhaps a second longer than he intended, before frowning and continuing the walk to the shop. Emil close behind him. “Though I expected something less… weird from you.”

 Emil gasped in shock, “I am offended you found that to be weird!” He exclaimed, truly offended, “I would never ask or trick you into saying something ‘weird.’ That is a gentleman’s promise.” 

 Ignoring the comment, he pressed on to the end of the street to the Whispering Rune. Though looking like another unassuming shop, the very wood and stone that made up its structure seemed to be imbued with magical energy. The air seemed somewhat electrified around the shop and it smelled of the lingering traces of consumed potions enhancing the user’s capabilities. Through the sole glass window, Andrei could make out a group of three people. Two of which were getting quite heated over something. Intrigued and a little weary, the two stepped inside.

 A wave of magical power wafted over him as Andrei opened the door. It wouldn’t seem out of place if the building itself was enchanted as well. Pre-enchanted equipment lined the shelves, mostly comprising various pieces of armor and a few weapons, an unsurprising but still somewhat peculiar sight. The only raw materials that appeared to be for sale were the gems that appeared to be filled with a magical liquid that floated about on the inside like oil mixing with water. Three people stood in the middle of the room, two women and an obscured third man in black and purple robes. Immediately, Andrei noticed that the obscured man was in chains, much to one of the women’s dismay.

 “You can’t do this! He did nothing wrong!” A woman in a purple lavender dress yelled at a very stern and angry looking woman dressed in full armor. The protester’s red hair draped in front of her, partially obscuring her brownish-green eyes.

 “On the contrary, ma’am, you were hiding him from me.” The armored woman said with a hateful glare. “To be frank, I should arrest you along with him.” Her black hair tied in a bun with several stray hairs lying to the side in defiance of the order she expressed.

 Something about that woman seemed off. The armor she was wearing looked familiar, yet something was… wrong about it. Her armor was a set of silver and steel, and a familiar tabard draped over the chest piece. One hand firmly on her captive’s lower arms. The armor appeared unpolished and worn from use and the faded symbol of a flaming fist held high decorated the tabard. The bottom of the tabard appeared meticulously sewn back together, showing a faint line across the bottom. He’d seen countless paladins wear this set, and yet none have appeared as worn as hers. Yet despite her worn armor, the blade on her side seemed equally worn. A short sword that appeared to be designed similarly to typical paladin swords, but with a few distinct differences. The metal seemed silver, but the way the light shimmered off the blade betrays it as something more than meager silver. Along the face of the blade were curious, runic symbols that invoked an otherworldly feeling. Yes, something was certainly off about this woman.

 “Please then, arrest me instead! It’s my fault!” The other woman cried out, tears running down her face. She wiped them away and grabbed hold of the woman’s armor. “can’t you look away? Just this once?!”

 The obscured man sighed, “leave it, Gabby. It’s my fault, I got… reckless.” His voice was gritty, like an animal that had learned to speak by mimicking its owner. “You should just… go.”

Steel handcuffs were around his fur covered hands, each finger ending with a hoof-like fingernail. The handcuffs crackled lightly with magical energy, warding away any magical effects the wearer may be under. As Andrei examined the man’s face, he noted white fur covering it, with a tuft under his chin like a goat. His pupils were normal, circular, and black, but his iris was an off yellowish brown. Underneath his robes, one could make out fine noble clothes, but the style was foreign and unrecognizable. Though the style of clothes was unknown to him, he knew the man as a Mazul, an elusive race of goat-folk that don’t take kindly to being called “Bleater.” It’s no wonder the man lived in secrecy, given their race’s sordid past.

 Andrei cleared his throat, and both women turned to face him. The paladin looked at him with a cold, analytical gaze. “Stay out of this, citizen!” She ordered, “official business ordered by the High Priest of Aslana.”

 Andrei tilted his head slightly at the mention of the nation, quickly becoming more suspicious and confused by the second. “You’re a long way from home, Paladin,” he said, with some mild accusation in his voice. “What brings you all the way to Vendral?”

 The woman’s cold stare cut through Andrei, and he could tell by the fiery passion behind her eyes, a passion that he was familiar with himself, “official business. And as I said, stay out of this.”

 Andrei turned to Emil and nodded. The mercenary stepped forward and cleared his throat, “ladies, please. I’m sure we can come to some sort of… agreement.” He chuckled softly, “Surely, we can all forget this even happened in exchange for a much more… pleasant memory?”

 Gabby’s eyes lit up immediately. “Yes! Surely there’s something we can do!” Andrei couldn’t tell if she had fallen for him or if she was just using the opportunity to plead more.

 In either case, the paladin rolled her eyes and groaned in disgust. “Listen, I have my orders, and if I have to, I will-” she reached down to grab her sword, her face red with anger. Just as she touched the hilt, the sword itself glowed dully. Her hateful gaze soon turned to one of intrigue, then to a confused realization. It was as if watching a person go through the process of understanding an abstract concept for the first time.

“Wait a moment… I know you…” the paladin said, not in suspicion but a tone that indicated… excitement? “You are Andrei Beaulieu and Emil Ildefons… correct?”

Andrei hesitantly nodded, unsure what to make of the situation. This woman was just about to cut them down in this shop and now she was excited? A wave of dread washed over Andrei. If a Paladin knew who he was, that probably meant he was in big trouble, but he forced down his fears and asked a question of his own, “do I know you?”