Skye Adel Ransom stared in contemplation at the plate of food before her, half eaten and lit by the warm light that drifted in from the window beside her. Empty seats rested around her, each worn over the years but no less sturdy for it, yet no one in the Tilted Kilt Tavern attempted to sit in them. She was a regular, and in fact favored the Tilted Kilt in spite of the misgivings its name might conjure. Most in the city of Greenleaf knew her; she was one of the most promising among the younger generation, and it wouldn’t surprise any of them if she were to go adventuring in the wider world at any time. Her skills were well known as a ranger, as well as her expansive knowledge in beast-lore, respectable herbology, and repertoire of skills useful while in the deep wood made her a very desirable companion in any team.

She was, however, by most accounts aloof and untrusting of others. Few held that as much of a demerit, considering that not all adventurers were kind nor trustworthy in the first place.

And, that aside, she already had companions of her own.

The heavy steps that thunked down the stairs briefly drew the attention of the sparse crowd for the mid morning. After a quick glance, though, the blooded rookies of the Kilt turned their attention back to their meals. It was as though they were long used to such a display; the noisome stomping and the grunt of acknowledgement he sent to the barkeep a regular scene as well.

Indeed, Gus paused in cleaning the mugs behind the bar long enough to give the man a respectful nod before calling out to the kitchen behind him, long a rote expectation for when they had The Greenhorns party in attendance.

The heavy set man stiffly walked to the table where Skye sat, wordlessly plopping himself down across from her without a word. Skye glanced at his eyes, as yet still in the state of semi-focus, and then took in the rest of his appearance. He wore simple but roughly spun clothes, the beige colored tunic and somewhat softer cotton undershirt doing little to conceal the bulge of well developed muscles. The man was the slightest bit lean, but most of his muscular mass was well trained for heavier exertion. His well cut features were able to be called handsome, the scar above his left eyebrow parallel to the brow a demerit or boon depending on who you asked.

As the barmaid set a plate of toasted bread, blackberry jam, a haunch of ham steak, and a generous helping of scrambled eggs, the man's hazel eyes lit up just slightly, almost as though the scent of food gradually awoke his mind. The second thing that she set down was a cup of water, followed by a much smaller cup of some black liquid that Skye never found herself up to drinking.

Coffee was rare, but this was less so, albeit just as effective. Tepuk, as it was called in the Eastern Federation, was much more amenable to growing in any environment.

If only it didn’t taste as bitter as Samut’s arse.

The barmaid walked away then, not holding the fact that the man had nearly no response to breakfast against him. This was their norm, and as he picked up the smaller cup and gently sniffed it, the spark of life seemed to surge into a conflagration.

“G’mornin, Skye,” Ronald Magra met his companions eyes as he sipped the fluid, somehow not grimacing at all in spite of the potency of the low-grade blend.

Skye smirked bemusedly, “Mornin’ Ronald. Sleep any better?”

He grunted, unceremoniously slathering toast with jam and a tab of butter, “Better. Hard without drinking, though.”

“Well, you’re doing better,” Skye offered, somewhat lamely, she felt.

Ronald, in spite of himself, offered a sideways smirk at that, “Thanks.”

He continued to eat, and Skye picked at more of her food, still considering her problem.

Companionable silence filled a few minutes of time between them as Ronald’s fatigue receded. Skye briefly considered asking a particular party member for a sleeping poultice, but knew that Ronald wouldn’t want to replace one vice with another. When they’d first formed the Greenhorns, it was with a sort of defiant mirth that they’d made the name.

Ronald was, afterall, just the Guard Captain’s son, useless and disappointing to most. Similarly, Skye was a half-elf far out of her element, a reputed failed druid. Combined with the other two members of her party, few thought the group would make anything of themselves.

But they’d wanted better for themselves. Thus the Greenhorns were born, and they’d change the name only when they were confident that they’d succeeded in that.

Skye noticed the pair of people coming towards the table, both with mirth in their eyes as they saw Ronald’s state. The man on the left was Dachna Vorde, dirty blonde hair that swept backwards in - much to Skye’s repressed jealousy - an effortless windswept look. His light green tunic and dark green pants were well kept, appearing much more stylish than the other man of the party. While his body was thin and lithe, it carried a kind of tension to it, and his well fitted clothes displayed his body proudly.

If one didn’t know him, they’d suspect him to be some young scion of a wealthy clan on holiday. The truth, of course, being as far from such as possible.

Beside the blonde human was a woman of unusually short stature, however considering her species as a gnome, her height was actually quite tall. The red haired mane on her head was tied up in a messy bun, a style that complimented the roughened linen leathers she wore even in the early morning. She wasn’t as well muscled as the rest of her party, but hard hiking and adventuring had toned her body to fitness. Mithel Tordentach’s bright green eyes flickered with hunger as she looked at the food already on the table before plopping down beside Ronald. Mithel was small and trim, natural for an early teen of her species, something that Mithel was eager to eventually grow out of. Her adventuring attire predominantly consisted of a lot of belts and buckles to carry her alchemical supplies. Nimble fingers darted over, pausing only briefly in front of Ronalds face to judge his response.

With a bemused grunt, she swept a piece of toast off of his plate, smearing a slab of butter and jam on it, before nearly devouring it whole. Skye once more couldn’t help but blink bewilderedly at the sight of the gnome's sharp teeth flashing as the snack vanished.

“Ron, are you still drinking that…” Dachna began his words only to pause, helplessly gesturing at the black liquid while trying to find some kindly way to describe the tepuk there.

“Swill?” Skye offered innocently, ignoring the flat stare Ronald sent his way.

Dachna blinked slowly, “I was going for something a little more diplomatic, but swill works.”

“Har, har,” Ronald flicked Mithel’s hand as she reached for more of his food and ignored the slight yelp that came from her. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“I’m sure,” Mithel stated dryly with a faux-glare leveled at the big man, only for the look to melt into one of damn near adoration as she caught sight of the barmaid as she set a pair of plates on the table.

Mar, the barmaid, laughed and patted Mithel on the shoulder, “Extra helpings, Chef’s treat.”

“Oh, I love you both,” Mithel let out a content sigh, “did your Pappy try the recipe I gave him?”

She laughed at that, as she started away, “Yeah, but he says that most humans can’t handle that level of spice. Also, put him on the can for an hour, but he still loved it.”

Mithel cackled, “Ah, you’re missing out!”

The barmaid chuckled and waved over her shoulder as she returned to attending the dwindling tables.

“Spice?” Dachna sat forward, the roguishly charming man suddenly very interested, “What’ve you concocted now?”

Skye herself hid a smirk behind her hand, trying not to alert her companion to the danger therein. Ronald himself was curious, but not enough to actually try it.

“Why, I’m so glad you asked,” Mithel dramatically stated before shoving a mouthful of food into her gob. Simultaneously, she fished out a small, clear flask that was full of red-orange fluid, the stopper of which was colored a bright red with a comical, sweating face sketched on it, matching the side of the flask.

“That is?...” Dachna’s countenance slightly fell, realizing he’d just stepped into the alchemist's trap.

“It’s hot sauce! I’m just modifying the recipe a bit; the capsaicin amount normally used is a little… weak, while I prefer my mixes a bit more… potent. Oh, but don’t worry, that’s not this batch!” she flourished her hands dramatically as she began putting a few drops on a bit of the eggs on Dachna’s plate.

He grimaced at the sight, but paused and looked back to her, face alight with expectations. The last time he’d tested something of hers, it… hadn’t turned out well. His face had gone numb, and he was afflicted with the chills for hours.

“You promise this isn’t like last time?” Dachna asked a suddenly affronted Mithel.

“That was a fluke! How was I supposed to know you were allergic?” She snorted, “In the first place, I made something else to help if that ever happens again, so you’ll be fine either way.”

“That is so very comforting,” Dachna flatly stated before taking a deep breath. The blue eyed man stared at the food, reddish-orange sauce sitting atop of it, and then gulped with apprehension. “Well… nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

He scooped up the egg with the wooden spoon, putting it in his mouth and braced for whatever it was he’d experience next. Skye herself had only heard from Chef that the mixture he’d been given had been nothing short of… an experience of sorts.

Yet, contrary to expectation, Dachna’s eyes lit up as he chewed and savored the sensation. He said nothing, finishing his mouthful before exhaling low, fanning his mouth slightly.

“Wow, that’s… unique? It kinda sneaks up on you, doesn’t it? Like, hot, but… not hot?” Dachna ate more, “what’d you call it? Capsa…whatsit?”

Mithel beamed, “That’s just the chemical component, don’t mind it. Just call it hot sauce.”

“Can… I try some?” Ronald asked, curiosity overtaking him.

“Sure!”

The next moment, each of them were trying Mithel’s hot sauce, and surprisingly they all found they rather liked it. “This is quite good, what’d you make it out of?” Skye blinked, trying to make a note to gather more of it.

Mithel happily explained what went into it, surprising them that it was a fairly common plant in Greenleaf’s surrounding forest. They made small talk, enjoying the mixture and, inadvertently, helped Skye finish her meal in its entirety in spite of the troubles on her mind.

Troubles that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Ronald.

“What’s got under your skin?” Ronald asked straight, “Somebody giving you trouble?”

The other two straightened at that, a sharp look entering Dachna’s eye while obstinate outrage brimmed from Mithel. Skye felt a bit of warmth at that, but shook her head decisively, “No, no, nothing like that.”

“But there is something?” Mithel pressed, letting her hackles rest there. If Skye had trouble, she’d say it, that was what their party was founded on, afterall.

“It’s…” she paused, glancing around the tavern and noting that there weren’t any people in the seats around them.

Taking the hint, the other three leaned in, coming closer to let Skye whisper what she wanted to say.

“Well, you know how we’re considering the last big accomplishment to kick off our departure?” Skye leaned in, heart pounding in her chest as she hoped that she hadn’t somehow made a grave error in trusting these three. For two years they’d been together, and in that time, they’d nearly died to rookie mistakes, but had pulled through for each other in spite of that.

Skye admonished herself then. If she couldn’t trust these three, who could she trust?

“You have something in mind?” Ronald leaned in even more, his frame looming with excitement. She met Mithel’s and Dachna’s eyes, seeing a hungry determination in both of them. They wanted to rise beyond Greenleaf, and to become well known, if only for the glory.

Each had their own story, each wanted to become more than they were. Some were for simple reasons; Skye just wanted to be powerful enough to be free regardless of what her family tried to push off on her. The others had their own dreams, and none, in spite of being simple, would inherently be easy.

And so, they needed something big.

“This can’t leave our circle.” Skye spoke aloud, knowing that it was a given, but having to say it anyways.

The other three exchanged glances, “Upstairs?”

Skye nodded.

The four cramped into their shared room, Mithel taking a moment to consider things. “Skye, how big is this?”

“Big. Very, very big.” Skye stated without hesitation, leaving the other three with pounding hearts.

Mithel nodded, and, in spite of the bleeding heart it gave her, pulled out a flask that flickered with silver flecks. It was an expensive concoction, one that she only had a few of, but if this was truly big, then it’d be better to be safe. She poured the fluid slowly and evenly, circling the room once before going again. She ringed the room thrice before it was out, considerable overkill for most any rookie team - afterall, what secret could be worth the money she just poured out on the ground for such a low level team?

Skye was touched, while Ronald and Dachna’s countenances stiffened with alarm. None were fools in the group, they were quite well aware that their alchemist was able to punch several levels above her weight when it came to her craft.

“Thank you,” Skye stated warmly, before taking a deep breath and sorting her thoughts. The others sat heavily on their furniture, wondering what could have gotten their half-elf in such a tizzy.

“I found a wild Phorus.” She bit her lips, studying the others' response to that statement to begin.

And was not disappointed in the sheer shock in their eyes.

“Sweet Mohr’s hands,” Ronald stated, bringing the god of warmth, hearth, and fortune’s name to his lips on reflex, “You’re serious?”

“Yes, he’s a young one too, I think.” Skye stated, “but that’s not all.”

The others leaned in at that. They agreed, while a Phorus was golden news and would definitely catapult their reputations if they caught it, there was something more about how Skye seemed to be addressing it.

“I think it’s at a tameable age, and… and it’s definitely an aberration.”

This time the silence was deafening. Truth told, Skye wasn’t sure she should mention the last part, but they’d discover it themselves the moment they saw him. Coloration like what he’d had was an easy tell for an aberration.

They exchanged glances, trepidation, greed, and excitement in their eyes. “If it’s an aberrant, we’re going to have to be very careful with wooing it,” Ronald began, eyes set in deep contemplation, the first to recover of the three.

“Damned straight.” Dachna couldn’t help but stand up, energy suffusing his body subconsciously, “How big is this!? Oh, man, the Kingdom would practically beg us to ally with them.”

The others nodded excitedly. They all loved the Arnost Kingdom, not the least because it was the easiest on its citizenry. Adventurer’s especially enjoyed a great deal of freedom; they weren’t even required to come to the Kingdom’s defense in war, save for under very acute circumstances. Unless you were allied to them, which came with swathes of benefits on its own.

A Phorus was another case entirely. Having tamed one, instant fame and glory could be expected, considering that the Kingdom’s emblem was a griffon. Phorus were a divergent path of redhawk, the latter of which could eventually be groomed into becoming griffons. Yet, there was a reason why Phorus were prized.

Their latter evolutions were devastatingly powerful on the battlefield. While some could argue the ability to fly was exceedingly valuable, who could resist the head on charge of a Phorus phalanx?

Regrettably, they were rare. The entirety of the Arnost Kingdom reportedly only had a few hundred, and far, far fewer of the higher evolutions. Any single one was an elite.

And, it was a fact that not a single adventurer had a Phorus as a tame in their generation. Every single one that had in the past were destined to be big names.

Hence, the Greenhorns couldn’t help but feel their blood rushing at the fact that it was not only at a tameable age, but also a Venris damned aberrant!

“It… is tameable as an aberrant, right?” Mithel stiffened, a horrible feeling of vertigo creeping on her at the thought that this might not be a good thing.

“It still is,” Skye quickly assured her, “but it’s different. Historically, a Phorus that’s defeated in fair combat will be willing to enter into a tame contract. But with an aberrant, the rules will be different… or they might be the same.”

“What does that mean?” Dachna frowned, “What makes it different?”

“If it wants to follow you, it’ll follow you. Most aberrants are highly intelligent and have their own drives, but that doesn’t mean they’re necessarily anathema to the sapient races.”

Ronald grimaced at that, “Considering how many aberrants become hazards, I have to admit I’m not sure how to feel about this.”

Skye nodded, “Understandable. But, I have reason to believe that this one isn’t insane, and doesn’t have a reason to hate people.” At that, she pulled up her mattress, revealing an ironback badger's hide to the others.

Their eyes lit up as they felt the essence fluctuations coming from it. It was a perfect hide, fully saturated with the essence pattern of the badger that it came from. For reference, even one that was one-fifth capable of exercising a pattern was worth large silvers, and could be brought up to considerable power in an expert craftsman's hands.

The problem was that essence dispersed quickly, and often chaotically. Channeling essence was impossible for most people, but beasts were often able to do it better. They did so subconsciously, and in various lairs, an adventurer might get lucky and find something of good quality.

Perfect quality, regardless of the fact that this was from a lesser essence beast, would be fit for the elite, even royalty, considering auxiliary patterns could push its prowess far beyond the beast that it had belonged to at this grade.

“It threw this at my face after I touched it,” a slight tint of red came to Skye’s cheeks at that admission, “But, also, it had two more that I think were a grade lower, but still, that’s more than anything we’ve ever even seen anywhere.”

Dachna’s blood froze as he glanced at the silver lines that enclosed the room, finding Mithel doing the same thing as their eyes met. This news was just too terrifying. What would the bigger groups spare if they found an aberrant with that ability and that could even potentially be tamed?

“Point being, I was in it’s nest,” Skye emphasized as the others realized the second implication.

“It didn’t murder you,” Mithel responded somewhat dispiritedly, “At the very least, it’s closer in temperament to a regular Phorus, then, right?”

“At the very least.” Skye nodded, “though, I’m sure it wasn’t happy that I touched its stuff. I don’t know for sure, but that could just be because I wasn’t worthy in its eyes.” A chagrined expression appeared on her face. Truly, if she wanted to prove herself to it, she had no idea how she’d manage to do that. But with the four of them? Maybe they could figure something out.

Hell, it might not even want to fight. It was an aberrant after all, maybe they could find something else it wanted?

“Alright, let's get ready then. We’re going to need supplies, lots and lots of them. Maybe toys too.” Ronald said that last part with a straight face, yet, none of the others batted an eye.

They truly were willing to try anything to get this to work.

Outside, unbeknownst to them, another group was readying for an expedition deep into the forest.

A cart with a pair of stocky mules pulled ahead, the cart itself surprisingly robust, covered and filled with supplies. A party of twenty-six surrounded it, eight of which were wearing black-plated leather with some sparse collections of metal plating over vital areas. These eight exuded an air of competence, while the remaining eighteen men were all clearly workmen. They each wore a collar, or a bracer, that decreed their identity as Oath-Bound, individuals who, in spite of the controversial nature of their enforced work ethic, were universally known to be hardy and competent in their tasks.

Not to be confused with slavery, these Oath-Bound were somewhere between temporary workers and indentured servants. They were guaranteed rights and were paid handsomely to offer their services for a period of a year at a time, where they would be released or could sign on for additional time. They were used most often with the Kingdom, given that an Oath-Bound’s work would always be done with their best intent and could even be tasked with working on projects of a sensitive nature without fear of information leaking or a sub-par job being done.

Which was why the few among the crowd were exceedingly curious as to why they were out here. Yet, the only answer they got was that they were proudly about to set out to look for potential locations for a new settlement deeper in the woods, or perhaps the mountains.

As they departed, though, one among the Oath-Bound couldn’t help but feel his intuition telling him that something was very, very wrong with the situation…

But, he pressed on in spite of that, knowing that if he abandoned the job without viable reason, he may as well have torn up his grand objective of joining the Kingdom’s elite as an engineer with a specialty for menagerie building. He was so very close after three years, so he decided that if he was cautious, he should be able to pull through whatever was coming his way.

What Dane didn’t know was that he was far, far out of his depth, and hadn’t noticed the cold way the leader of the group glanced at the Oath-Bound as they stepped into the forest…