Arkun stands as Rylan gets up from the table, he shoulders his pack and walks forward to the door.  As they are making their way to leave, he says to Rumble, “Okay, catch up with you, we’ll be either at the clothier or the bathhouse.  It is very nice to meet you Rumble, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”  He says this in very stilted, practiced speech, like he is remembering something written down, then forcibly looks at Rumble in the eye and smiles.  Afterwards, he turns toward the door and pushes through, stepping out into the street, looking around.  

He turns toward Rylan, saying “We can go to the bathhouse after we tend to your horse and go to this clothier place… I’m curious to see your horse, how long have you known him?”  A true smile comes to Arkun’s mouth, then he responds to Rylan’s question.  He says “That’s the real thing of it, I don’t know much about them.  I hope this Haeleeya has more information.  I feel like I’m still in the dark.”  Arkun walks alongside Rylan in silence, looking for their destinations down the street.  As they are walking, Arkun starts to make some odd motions with his hands, tracing some shapes in the air with his staff, and continuing a steady walk all the time.  He peers around for the horse, looking with anticipation.  (Arkun ritually casts speak with animals as they are walking.)

The dusty air outside clung to her cloak as Sylra made her way north, each step carrying her closer to the building Kaylessa had described. It was easy enough to find. Even among the modest structures of Red Larch, the shop stood out, framed by its riot of flowers and fragrant herbs spilling from window boxes and half-barrels at the entrance. The scent greeted her before she even reached the door, cool and refreshing against the dryness of the afternoon, and she allowed herself a quiet breath of it before she pushed inside.

The interior was as precise and inviting as the outside promised. The sharp, clean scent of mint mingled with lavender, filling the room in a way that seemed to clear her thoughts of dust and heat alike. She took in the space at a glance—the neat bolts of linen and wool stacked along one wall, the orderly board of patterns, and the glint of shears at a worktable that caught the light like water on stone. Even the mannequins seemed poised and graceful, draped in their half-finished garments as though waiting patiently for her to speak first. The closed doors at the back of the shop stood quiet but not silent; the laughter behind them, light and unrestrained, carried easily enough to her ears.

When the doors opened and the woman appeared, Sylra turned toward her without haste, regarding her with calm attention as she curtsied and introduced herself. Haeleeya’s easy grace and practiced warmth filled the room just as fully as the lavender and mint, her voice bright and musical as she offered her greeting. Sylra inclined her head respectfully, waiting until the other woman settled into her chair before speaking.

“I appreciate your welcome,” Sylra began, her voice measured but carrying a quiet warmth that suited the elegance of the room. “You may find my purpose here a touch more serious than a dress or a bath, though I can see why your establishment would be sought out for either.” She let her gaze linger briefly on the flowers pinned in Haeleeya’s hair before returning to her eyes, her expression calm and direct.

“My name is Sylra Galeheart,” she continued, her tone softening just enough to match the intimacy of the quiet shop. “I’ve been sent here by the Emerald Enclave, and your name was given to me as someone who understands how to listen when the land speaks, even when others refuse to hear. I was told you might help me understand what’s been happening here, and where I should begin.”

Her fingers brushed lightly against the strap of her pack as she stood, relaxed but purposeful, waiting for Haeleeya’s response. Though her words carried no accusation, there was no mistaking the quiet urgency beneath them. She had come for answers, and she would find them here, or find the next thread to follow.

ALDRIC:

He sighs another long breath and puts on his helm. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but I think I need a warm meal before I leave town. That tavern I passed have good food?"

After picking up his bag, he looks at the butcher and his wife one last time. "Anyone in town you think might know this Rivergard Keep?"

"As good as you'll find in all of Red Larch," Jalessa assures Aldric. Sheriff Harburk thinks a good long while. "Well, the inn or the tavern'll be your best source of information, I'm sure. As far as the locals go, we've been gettin' a lot of reports from workers 'round town of late. Mellikho's up north and Waelvur's just across the street. The Mhandyvers down south were requestin' a visit as well but I think that was somethin' more local, somethin' one o' the kids saw, not sure there's much to that one," he says.

Heading back outside to the dusty road, you head north past the town's central intersection. Exiting the Helm at Highsun as you're nearing it are a trio of curious individuals; an elf and an earth genasi flanking a human looking like nobility upon his horse.

ARKUN, RUMBLE & RYLAN:

"Well if you're lookin' for somethin' more suitable than the hitchin' posts we got out front, you'll want the inn across the street," Garlen tells Rylan. "Kaylessa over there's real keen on makin' her stable masters take good care of the mounts, especially if means she'll be gettin' customers."

As you exit the inn, you take note of an imposing figure making his way in your direction; an orc in a knight's armor.

SYLRA:

Haeleeya's hands continue to weave their pattern across the fabric, but her eyes are now fully focused on Sylra as she speaks. "A friend of the Enclave is a friend of mine," she says with a smile. "You wouldn't happen to know a ranger by the name of Serelis, would you?"

"Well," she says, "My bathhouse is a steady business. Many of the older women of Red Larch visit regularly to trade gossip. I'm no member of the Enclave myself, but I'm more than happy to help trade that gossip back to your ears. Is there anything specific you're wondering after?"

Rumble quirked a brow at Arkun, yet soon after turned to partways but a bemused grin and renewed confidence in the future success of his mission. And of course by extension, that of his newfound friends own endeavors! However, he hardly makes it a few steps away when an alarm bell rings in the back of his head, prompting the hearth genasi to do a double take at an approaching figure.

Though it took some squinting and quiet "hmming" to place the features in mind, as there weren't a whole lot of orcs in the plane of earth(as far as he was aware), once it all finally clicks in mind, Rumble fully turned to face the approaching stranger with a broad smile and back straightened out in a bit more formal posture. "Well met, good sir!" He calls out to Adric, likely further drawing Arkun and Rylan's attention to the knight as well. "Begging your pardon and pray forgive my lack of due decorum in this particular instance, but are you a son of Tyr by any chance? A knight Samular on walkabout perhaps? Or maybe even a ward of Tempus? The name's of this one here is Rumble. Rumble Siltskin, novice of the Knights of Samular!"

Approaching the three in the road, Aldric tries to not make eye contact. He's got too much to do to engage people needlessly. His mind races, ignoring the heat and the sounds of the town around him — focusing only on the problem at hand. He stares at the road and points his toes at the tavern.

It would be foolhardy to try to take on this challenge alone, but will he be able to secure assistance? He was sure the sheriff would help. Wouldn't he have been willing to help if he had been asked? He hopes he would have. Perhaps he should return to Westbridge and insist Grasel join him. But would two be enough? They were able to trap those bandits, he thinks.

He frowns at his own bravado.

At least the sheriff was able to give him some names of people in town who might at least have some information. After putting something warm in his belly, he'll seek out these few and see if he can learn anything about the Keep. He regrets not asking the friendly innkeeper when he stopped in at the inn before.

Thinking back to the inn, he recalls the genasi he saw there. Again, he thinks it strange.

"Well met, good sir!" a voice says, pulling Aldric out of his reverie.

He looks up, stopping in the road and unconsciously becoming defensive. He blinks. Is this ... another genasi?

"Begging your pardon and pray forgive my lack of due decorum in this particular instance, but are you a son of Tyr by any chance? A knight Samular on walkabout perhaps? Or maybe even a ward of Tempus? The name's of this one here is Rumble. Rumble Siltskin, novice of the Knights of Samular!"

Aldric is at first clearly surprised — and then just as clearly angry.

"A novice?" he growls. "I was told Summit Hall could spare no one. 'Shorthanded', she said." He takes a step forward. "So, novice, what errand does Lady Stormbanner have you on? 'Follow the orc and report on his ravings'?"

He turns and begins walking a slow circle around the trio, gesticulating wildly with his free arm. "For nearly 30 years I have been in Westbridge — serving as the Knights' forgotten sentry in a settlement hardly more than an outhouse at the crossing of two roads. For what?!" he suddenly yells at the men before turning to continue his pacing. "Just because my father was an orc? Is that the thanks I get for years of dedicated service?"

The tall, green man stops and turns to look straight at Rumble. He steps toward him, sticking his gauntleted hand into the neck of his own mail shirt. "You ask if I am a son of Tyr," he says menacingly. After some fiddling, he pulls out a silver or nickel symbol of Tyr on the end of a chain, holding it out toward the novice.

Dropping the amulet, Aldric lifts his kite shield and shakes it. At first Rumble doesn't know why, but then he recognizes the faded image upon the shield's face as the symbol of Tyr as well.

"You ask if I'm a Knight of Samular." The half-orc then turns his back to Rumble, his well-worn cape swaying. As it stills, the genasi can see that the symbol is also here — also faded with age.

Aldric turns, his face still hard. In this emotional state, his orc heritage is all the more visible. "I am Sir Aldric Harthstone, Knight of Samular." He reaches around his neck and over his shoulder to draw a greatsword from its shield beneath the cloak. He lets the blade fall across his body, catching it against the wrist of his shield arm to display it to the novice. "This is the blade of Sir Dorn Harthstone, Knight of Samular, and my grandfather."

The sword is beautifully polished. He pulls it across his shield arm's gauntlet with a metal-on-metal shriek before letting the blade fall to stab into the road. "Now that you've found me, novice, why don't you scurry back to Summit Hall? I have a job to do, and I don't need you spying on me."

Aldric stands — scowling — clearly expecting Rumble to turn and start walking out of town.

Rylan thanks the barkeep for the information.

As he exits the tavern he hears Arkun ask, “I’m curious to see your horse, how long have you known him?”  Rylan's face bends in a half-smile at the phrasing of the query.

"Known her?" He responds in a half chuckle, spotting the horse looking none-too-pleased to be tethered to a post outside. "Well, one might say dear Brandy and I grew up together. Childhood playmates of a sort. I was present for her birth, was given the responsibility for weaning her, and backing her. She's been my sole mount since she was old enough to ride...We had this game, you see. I used to pretend I was a noble member of the griffon calvary and she was my steed and we'd..."

As Arkun's spell takes effect he notices the horse paying attention to Rylan's rambling story... It lets out a frustrated exhale...

As Rylan winds his story to a close, he swings close to Brandy, feeds her some oats and gives her a loving scratch along her mane. "Be back soon, Brandy, my girl, then we'll get you settled in proper accommodations."

 Just then, Rumble calls out his greeting to Aldric. The half-orc's angered response sends a jolt through Rylan's nervous system and he finds his hand quickly moving to the pommel of his sword just in case.

Under his breath, Rylan addresses Arkun (and Rumble if he's close enough to hear). "Quite a popular destination this frontier town... It troubles my heart to consider what sort of discord might be drawing so many to this place..." He stands in his spot beside Brandy, waiting to see how this situation between the two Knights of Samular plays out.

That is indeed the purpose that Arkun cast the spell.  He relies more on the horse’s telling of her relationship to Rylan than what comes out of his mouth, he’s nodding and listening to the horse, occasionally giving a wan smile at Rylan as he’s half listening to him, but more listening to the horse describe what this human is like.  When he hears about the knucklehead spilling all of their business, he starts to give a short laugh and covers his mouth with his hand, then covers it over with a smile and continues nodding at Rylan.  

“Brandy seems really nice.  I’ll enjoy talking with her.  Anything you’d like to tell her, I can .. ah.. speak in a way that she understands… I don’t know if you’ve ever been able to communicate with her like that before.”  He scratches her in a good spot behind the ears and on the neck, listening to her and adjusting the scratching to where she had an itch and couldn’t reach.  He gives her a final pat and turns to Rylan.  

“Yes, something is drawing everyone here.  Like this odd fellow, I saw him standing and contemplating when I was walking into town… I see he’s noted Rumble.  Let’s see if these knights of Samular are going to have a pissing contest.”  

Sylra’s gaze softened slightly as Haeleeya spoke, the quiet smile on her own lips a subtle acknowledgment of the warmth in the woman’s greeting. “Then I’m fortunate to have found a friend,” she replied evenly, her voice carrying the calm certainty of someone who valued such alliances. The name Serelis drew a brief pause, and her eyes narrowed slightly as though searching her memory. She gave a faint shake of her head, though her tone remained polite. “The name is familiar, but I’ve not had the chance to cross paths with them directly. Perhaps in time.”

Her attention remained fixed on Haeleeya as the woman continued, her fingers deftly working the thread while her eyes stayed focused on Sylra. The mention of gossip and its worth to the Enclave drew a faint, knowing curve to her lips, and she inclined her head in quiet agreement. “Gossip can carry more truth than most realize,” she said, her tone soft but deliberate. “People speak freely when they think no one’s listening, and the land speaks just as freely—if you know how to hear it.”

For the first time since stepping inside the shop, her posture shifted slightly, the quiet urgency she had carried with her rising just enough to shade her calm presence. “That’s why I’ve come here,” she continued, her voice now carrying more weight. “The signs are subtle—subtle enough most here wouldn’t think twice. But to those of us who know the land, they speak plainly. Thunder rolling through cloudless skies. Winds turning against their own course without warning. Rain coming in furious bursts after droughts stretch far too long. The balance here is shifting, and not of its own accord.”

Her fingers brushed lightly against the strap of her pack, as though to center herself before meeting Haeleeya’s eyes once more. “I’ve been sent to learn what I can, and to act before the damage deepens. Kaylessa told me there have already been strange sightings and growing fear among the people. If what you’ve heard can help me understand where to begin—what hills, what roads, what names—then I’d ask you to share it.”

She stood still then, waiting patiently, her expression as composed as ever but her focus unmistakable. The faint scent of mint and lavender around her seemed to mingle with the faint smell of rain that still clung to her cloak, as though the weather itself followed her into the room. She had come here for answers, and Haeleeya’s next words might very well point her toward them.

To his credit, Rumble not only managed to keep from shrinking away from Aldric, but even as the orc's ranting began picking up steam with almost ever point presented and question fired, the genasi held his tongue, least a word spoken too soon -- even one meant with good intentions -- stoked the flames of ire. Though truthfully, while likely missed during the opening tirade, Rumble appeared more bemused than anything judging the slight canting of the head. Having said that, when Aldric first drew his blade, even Rumble couldn't help but flinch, half-expecting to either be punished for imagined insolence or need to bring his own weapon to bear in a crude attempt at deflecting an attack.

Yet neither imagining bear fruit. Rather, he soon found himself regarding the blade in awe as its presented, before then being taken aback at it being so summarily left stabbed in the dirt. But though left further confused by the act, Rumble was above all a patient fellow. Though yet still lacking in self-discipline in many areas, by his very nature it took a fair amount to truly get a rise out of the fellow anyhow.

So, once eventually able to break his gaze away from the ill-treated blade, warm brown pools of calm met the scowling veneer of the orc. And in seeing Aldric spent, if but for the moment, Rumble took his greataxe and adjusted the grip so that he held it where haft met the head just before his chest and slightly bowed his head to Aldric. "It an honor and pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Sir Aldric Harthstone, Knight of Samular. But while it behooves me to heed to seniority, I am afraid my mission has little to do with any spying, good sir. In fact, I'd even go so far as to solemnly swear by Tyr that I genuinely am far too simple of mind for the practice; as would be evident in bungling such a mission from the start, had that been the case." He said with a bit of mirth to his voice, before relaxing from the bow.

"Truth be told, I was similarly informed of the order being shorthanded. But when I... o-overheard of the disappearance of homesteaders with giant feathers being left in the wake of such, I volunteered to take up the investigation. In fact, I was s'pose to find a fella by the name of Imdaar, a priest of Tempus, and, well I half-figured maybe you might be'm? If not know'em as a local Knight of Samular that, uh, I might've been informed was here as well, but I plum forgot about on the way." He admits and looks away sheepishly. "Oh! Th-though I did discover another promising lead through my meeting of dem fine fellows over here!" He gestures over to Rylan and Arkun. "We were even figuring we could maybe each other out -- a-after sorting out a few other errant business." 

SYLRA:

"When I was younger, my family lived in Westbridge, north of here. One day I got the bright idea to explore the Kryptgarden Forest, and got quite lost. I wandered for days. Once there was nothing but trees around me, I didn't know which way was out," Haeleeya explains, but her eyes glimmer with more mirth than fear. "Serelis found me and escorted me back. After I was done bawling my eyes out, he told me about what he did for the Enclave. I've been a friend to them ever since, though I'm not officially with them. I can forward messages and the like, though. If you're looking for a more fortified presence than little old me, the closest thing would be Goldenfields. It's a couple days' trip to Womford down the Cairn Road, and another day or two downriver from there. But as for what you're asking..."

"Aye, the weather's got some jumpy. It's a touch warm for this time of year but I think most nerves were settled with the recent rain. Still, it seems like folks are on edge more than usual. The quarry workers are wont to be the most worried, though. If the warmth sticks, they're in for a rough summer," Haeleeya answers. "There are two quarries in town, Mellikho's up north and Dornen's to the south. One of my regulars is married to a Mellikho worker, and says he's been spooked lately, but that's less to do with the weather you're asking about. Aside from that...Minny Mhandyvver from the poultry shop down south said yesterday her granddaughter stumbled on something that scared her something fierce, but wouldn't say what, and I didn't pry."

She pauses to let the information digest. "I certainly hope that's of some help to you," she says.

ALDRIC, ARKUN, RUMBLE & RYLAN:

OOC: Continuing to let the RP play out! 

As Rumble clearly and humbly explains his presence in Red Larch, Aldric slowly rises to his full height — now only slightly round shouldered. His face is still a mask of frustration, but he is apparently listening and somewhat cooling.

When the genasi is finished, the half-orc looks at Arkun and Rylan and back at the novice. Scowling again — this time for good measure — the knight lifts and twirls the mighty sword above his head, deftly sliding it into its sheath almost artfully. "Have any of you heard of Rivergard Keep? My deputy and I captured some bandits about a tenday ago who said they were receiving orders from someone named Grimjaw, who is operating out of a place called Rivergard Keep. I came to Red Larch to request the aid of the sheriff, but he is unable to help." The knight regards the three men again. "You'll do."

He turns and begins walking toward the Inn. "I need to eat something."

He calls over his shoulder, not bothering to stop or turn to face Rumble, "Novice, find Mellikho, Waelvur, and the Mhandyvers. Ask them if they've heard of Rivergard Keep. Report back when you're done."

Into the inn Aldric steps, removing his helm and looking for a seat.

"...We'll do what?" Rylan asks the half-orc knight as Arldric steps into the inn,  either ignoring or not hearing the question.

He looks to Rumble, seeming a bit ruffled. "What does he mean? H-h-have we just been deputized? Apologies, I know I'm unfamiliar with the customs around these parts, but I don't think the Knights of Samular possess the authority to conscript us all into service without consent..."

He looks to Arkun, doubting his own words as he says them. "...do they?"

All the while Brandy watches the back and forth with cautious indifference, enjoying her oats.

Sylra listened quietly as Haeleeya spoke, her gray eyes steady and attentive, taking in each detail without interruption. The story of Serelis brought a faint, softened expression to her otherwise composed demeanor, the quiet mirth in Haeleeya’s tone a welcome reminder that even in the wildest places, there were those willing to lend their hands. The mention of Goldenfields she tucked away for later, a potential place to call on if her work here uncovered something larger than Red Larch could bear. But it was the more immediate names and observations that held her focus. A quarry worker too spooked to hide it from his wife, and a child so frightened by something she wouldn’t even name—small details perhaps, but the kind Sylra knew better than to dismiss. Such tremors in a community often hinted at deeper fractures beneath the surface, even if no one yet dared to name them.

When Haeleeya finished and let her words settle into the quiet air of the shop, Sylra straightened, her shoulders squaring slightly as she inclined her head in a gesture of quiet respect. Her voice, when it came, was as calm and even as ever, though it carried a note of understated gratitude. “It’s more than enough,” she said, her gaze meeting Haeleeya’s with quiet certainty. “You’ve given me more than most would even think to notice, and I thank you for that. I’ll see what can be learned from the quarry worker and the child at the poultry shop, and I’ll follow the trail wherever it leads.” There was a faint softening of her expression then, just enough to carry the weight of sincerity behind her next words. “You’ve already been of great help to the Enclave, whether you carry the name or not. Should you learn anything else in the days ahead, you’ll know how to reach me.”

Adjusting the strap of her pack over her shoulder, she gave Haeleeya one last nod of acknowledgment before turning toward the door. The faint scent of mint and lavender clung to her cloak as she stepped outside, the dry warmth of the afternoon air meeting her as the door shut quietly behind her. She paused just beyond the threshold, letting her senses adjust to the light and sound of the street.

The familiar hum of Red Larch’s midday rhythm surrounded her—the creak of wagon wheels somewhere up the road, the muted ring of a hammer striking stone, voices rising and falling on the breeze as people went about their errands. Standing there for a moment, Sylra let her eyes and her senses sweep across the street in front of her, taking in the quiet undercurrents beneath the busyness of the town. There would be time enough to choose which lead to pursue first, but she did not rush. For now, she simply stood, measuring the air and the feel of the place with the quiet patience of someone who had learned to listen for the first subtle signs of the storm she already knew was gathering.

Rumble showed no signs of recognizing the name of the keep; but nevertheless, he stayed attentive and standing at full attention throughout the explanation, only really faltering in maintain the posture at the order. So taken aback is he, in fact, that were it not for Rylan speaking up, the genasi might've very well stood there staring at the building Aldric disappeared into for a solid minute before fully regaining his composure.

"... W-w-welll, uhh, sorta?" He turns to regard Arkun and Rylan both with a sheepish half-grin. "I'm but a novice to the order, so some of the more intricate details are yet, uhh, I hate to say mystery, but... they tend to escape me, to say the least. But as I've come to understand things, members of the order are free to, ehh, an extent to enlist the aid of outside forces when dealing with trouble within at least the Desrin Valley region. But by what degrees does vary a bit between ranks as I've understood, among other things." He carefully tried to explain.

"That said, if he's enlisting you fellas, and by extension myself, from the perspective of a deputy of Whiterun or whatever that settlement was, then that's a bit different -- I-I wouldn't worry overly much about it just yet. Just, uhm, stick to previous plans and we can see about getting this whole thing sorted out after, yeah?" He asked with that sort of nervous tint to the voice akin to that of a employee trying to clean up the awkward mess a boss left them to deal with. "Though, if you, uh, h-hear anything 'bout them three he mentioned, or a Rivergard Keep, I'd appreciate greatly if you, uhm, pass that along next we meet. But, uhm, till then" Following a humble bow of the head, Rumble once more turned to quickly part ways from the pair to head to the shrine least another distraction delayed the mission!

... But, he makes it maybe only as far as the front door of the shrine (or at least what he thought to be one..) before a scent on the wind gives him pause. So faint was it that he nearly mistook it to be but a trick of the mind. Yet as he stood there with a hand outstretched for the door, the bushels of moss that acted as his eyebrows almost knit together from pondering the scent. A flowery scent, but not quite the same as fragrance from the flowers he caught on his way into town.

This was somehow new, calming, and carried an undercurrent that bothered him to no end. By all accounts it should've been impossible to notice at distance between the scents of fresh baked goods and the more pungent odor of tanned and oil leather. Yet all the same by its very distinctness it strangely stood out, eventually prompting the curious genasi to briefly abandon any plan of entering the shrine to look about the immediate area, sniffing at the air hither and yon before his gaze finally settles on not on any passing local or building, but on Sylra standing across the way. And he just... stood there staring at her, squinting and head cocking slightly to the side as if trying to recognize something that 'felt' familiar even at a distance. Of course if ever should their eyes meet, as she too appeared to be taking in the sights, rather than boldly calling out as he did with Aldric, a startled Rumble awkwardly yet sharply held up his greataxe in greeting, before then subsequently scurrying inside the shrine.

Rylan starts to address Arkun when Rumble's flustered activity draws his attention. He looks past the rock man to see the etherial visage of Sylra...

"Joybringer's blessing, what manner of being is that?" He asks to no one in particular, adjusting his posture waiting to see if she's heading in their direction.

ALDRIC:

"Well lookie who's back. Good to see you again," Kaylessa Irkell says with a smile when Aldric walks through the doors of the Swinging Sword. There are a few less occupied tables this time of day, later in the afternoon. "We got plenty of fine rooms still available for the evenin', or you can sleep cheap if you don't mind bunkin' together with some folk. If you're here for a meal or a drink, grab yourself a seat and Ghileeda'll be by to get your order in a jiffy," she says.

RUMBLE:

The doors to the shrine just south of the inn stand wide open, painted with the symbols of several different deities. Inside, the shrine is small but well-tended. An altar sits opposite the entrance, with two smaller doors closed on either side of it. Three rows of pews flank the central aisle. There are two others inside of the structure with Rumble. One, a large, burly human man, a few inches over six feet tall with a bald head and a thick, black goatee, is wiping the altar down with a cloth. The other, a human woman hunched with age, with grey hair and deep wrinkles, adjusts a flower in a vase, trying to get its appearance just right. She smiles when Rumble enters. "Welcome, welcome," she bows. "Don't mind us. The Allfaiths shrine is used by many faiths and owned by none. Whoever you choose to pay tribute to, you are welcome here."

ARKUN, RYLAN & SYLRA:

The elf, human, and horse are quite visible in the midst of the road, walking toward the inn's stables, when the air genasi commands their attention.

Arkun smiles nods and smiles at Brandy, speaking in some unrecognizable words, standing beside Rylan. 

 He tilts his head, looking at this helmed orc, this Knight of Samular apparently order him to tasks in town.. while he goes to eat?  He holds his tongue for a minute until he walks away and turns to walk closer to Rumble, also involving Rylan.  "What.. was that?  Just to be clear, I'm no Knight.  Or Deputy.  I don't take any orders from the likes of him.  If we can help each other, that would be best, but I'm not going to be his errand boy, runner or whateveryoucallit.  That's not how I work..."

He notes Rumble walk away, he starts rubbing his chin.  Standing there with Rylan, he notes the air Genasi start to walk towards them, he says "She looks... different.  Odd.  The air Genasi there in chainmail.  Like she's walking with a purpose, that's odd enough that it doesn't seem random.  I wonder...."  He stands and observes, looks on her shield, her armor, her clothing for any clues, any sign of a fellow member of the Emerald Enclave...and he starts to sniff the air, detecting something.

Sylra had already marked the two figures as she stepped into the road, her gaze steady and deliberate as she closed the distance between them. They stood out even among the quiet rhythms of Red Larch—the elf sharp-eyed and watchful, the human solid and steady at his side, both giving off the faintest air of wariness that spoke louder than words. She felt their attention shift to her as she approached, and she caught the subtle way the elf studied her, eyes darting over the details of her armor and shield, even the faint, restless motion of her hair in the dry afternoon breeze.

The smell of horse and dust mingled in the street, but she caught another faint impression—a watchfulness, almost a question hanging in the air between them, as though they were already measuring her before she even spoke. That was just as well. It saved her the trouble of wasting words.

She stopped a few paces from them, her boots quiet against the packed dirt, and inclined her head slightly in a gesture that was not quite formal but carried weight all the same. Her gray eyes swept over them both, calm and focused, before she let her gaze settle on the elf and met it evenly.

“You have the look of men not here by accident,” she said, her tone measured but carrying clearly enough to leave no doubt she meant to be heard. “That suits me well, because neither am I.” Her fingers brushed briefly against the edge of her shield, as though reminding them—and herself—of what she carried and why she had come. “The name is Sylra Galeheart. I walk with the Emerald Enclave, and I’ve come to this valley because the land itself called for help long before anyone else did.”

She let the words hang there for a breath, her eyes searching theirs, before continuing in the same calm, quiet rhythm. “I’ve been told there are others here who see the signs. That the weather has shifted, and the people grow uneasy for reasons they can’t yet name. If you’re here to see the same done—if you’ve come to restore what’s been unbalanced—then it seems to me we may as well speak plainly now.”

Her gaze moved between them, reading what she could in their expressions, before she added one final thought, her voice softening slightly but still clear. “If you’re not here for that, then say so, and I won’t waste your time. But if you are—then you’ve already heard the same storm I have, and it’s time we stopped pretending otherwise.”

She stood quietly after that, her posture straight, her presence steady, the faint scent of rain clinging to her in spite of the dry wind as she waited for their answer.

"Mmn, much obliged, mam." Rumble returned the bow. "Though, much as I'm inclined and perhaps even aught to see to just that, I've been tasked with finding someone going by the name of, uhh, Imda... no, Iver... Naw, that ain't right either -- uh, h-hold on!" Rumble fishes around in his pockets until able to produce a scrap of paper. After squinting at the near illegiable writting on it his expression brightens before he regards the duo once more. "Imdarr Relvaunder! That's it. Uhh, either you happen to know'em by any chance? They're a priest of, uhh, Tempus as I understood it. Uhh, my name is Rumble Siltskin, Novice of the Knights of Samular. But, perhaps not for long if I'm successful in my mission." He said with a bit of mirth to his voice and chuckled soon after.

RUMBLE:

"That would be me," the imposing bald man says in a thick Damaran accent, standing to his full height and approaching Rumble. "It is pleasure to meet you. A Knight of Samular, eh? Order of the Gauntlet as well? It grows hard to tell the difference. Not every Knight of Samular is part of the Order, and not all of the Order are Knights of Samular and all, but there are many who are both, no?"

ARKUN, RYLAN & SYLRA:

OOC: Letting the RP continue here!