The journey into The Lowlands was not one that was particularly difficult. Once they found their way back to the sign that guided them to the farm, all they needed to do was follow the signage that pointed in the opposite direction. A long dirt path with healthy green fields either side of it wound and curved its way through Sunbright Plains until it reached steps that descended steeply between a set of hills. A wooden sign at the top of these steps read Lowlands, not that Mythril thought it was necessary to be there.

Mythril checked his map and saw that his party were still in the same general area, all gathered nearby the inn The Goblin’s Harp. He couldn’t imagine they had been waiting for him for this long, and presumed they must have left and returned.

Audreg took her first step towards the stone stairs, and Mythril wavered unsteadily atop her. He suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable sat upon this bird who moved far too fast down the stairs given her unsteady gait. He wondered if it were possible to fall off a mount or if he would only be cast down if they were attacked or he chose to be, like in other games he was familiar with. He swayed to the left, his body feeling far too close to the edge of the stairs and the great height of the mountain causing his stomach to turn. He pulled on Audreg’s reins.

“Okay, no,” he said and jumped down from her back. “You’re a good ostrich, but just no.”

The steps looked no easier from this vantage point but at least he was now trusting his own legs and not those of a passive-aggressive ostrich, who, at this point, was taking each step as he did. Mythril tried not to think she was doing it purposely, intent on tripping him up, but there was always a shady look in Audreg’s eye that left him uncertain of her motives.

He approached each step with trepidation. His heart only started to return to a more average heart rate when he saw the stairs no longer angled as steeply as before and they were now beginning to become wider and level off towards ground level. He had been about to remount Audreg when a galloping sounded from behind him.

He spun to see a horse, it’s body black, saddle a deep red, and rider masked. He stumbled out of the way, almost toppling over as it sped past him. The rider glanced back over its shoulder but did not slow down, only continued onwards until Mythril could no longer see them.

“I guess there’s little risk of falling off your mount then,” he said with a pat on Audreg’s back.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Mythril soon saw the difference between the Sunbright Plains and the Lowlands. Where the grass had been bright and rich and green across the plains here it was difficult to see what was ahead. Between the mountaintops that rose up around them a mist settled upon the ground for as far as he could see. He could hear the earth crunch beneath Audreg’s feet and he could feel that they were on a similar ground. The sun here was somehow duller than it had been above, casting a grey film over everything around them, an almost icy feeling chilled him as a drizzling rain began to fall upon his head. He glanced up to the grey clouds and watched as they drifted lazily over the Sun, blocking it from view. His lack of vision leaving him unsure of what might be lurking in the mist, he felt unsettled and suddenly wary of where they were heading, not wanting to take a wrong step and fall off a cliff.

“Slow down, Audreg,” he said, pulling on her reins after he had struggled to rootle through his satchel for his scroll. Pulling it free it now floated in front of him as he kept one hand on Audreg’s reins. He swiped to LEGACY, to SOULBOUND and tapped on Selrah. His dot was not far from hers, only he had to be sure that they would veer in the right direction at a sharp turn.

From nearby, came the sound of voices, which as he continued, soon turned into shouting.

“Okay, Audreg, now you can move faster,” he panted as she picked up the pace and ran further down the road. The pounding of footsteps now fading into the distance. Mythril remembered Selrah’s words, with four of them they could take on the Lowlands. She was speaking as someone who understood her powers. He might have felt powerful attacking the Crow Mother’s children, but he wasn’t yet prepared to see how he would fare against the tribes and creatures of the Lowlands.

He watched as his dot came to a fork in the road. A sign sprouted upwards in front of him, as though grown from the mist. Three arrows pointed off from it, the right, he noted with relief, read The Goblin’s Harp.

“This way, Audreg,” he said, giving a slight tug on the right of her reins to lead her onwards. She still hissed at the gesture, and Mythril felt as though he should apologize before she swung her head round and bit him. “Sorry, but if we end up falling off a cliff it won’t be good for either of us.”

She ran on without, he noticed, another sound.

He could see the inn when it was just ahead of them, coming out of the mist like a spectral building he gasped at its appearance.

A long building its roof had the look of a Viking warship, both ends curving upwards into stone chimneys. Then, noticing that between the chimneys there were long threads of rope, hanging from them an assortment of banners that he didn’t yet know, he realised that it did, in fact have the appearance of a harp.

He slowed Audreg upon his approach, aware of Selrah’s dot that just as it had been since he first checked was still seated inside the inn. Swiping out of there and onto party he saw that Bestie was somewhere nearby, but Jumin was supposedly on top of him.

He looked over his shoulders and towards the back of him, when he heard the sound of Audreg scratching at the ground. He turned back towards the inn to see a raven perched upon Audreg’s head. He sucked in a lungful of air, first in thinking that it was Crow Mother come for her revenge upon him, and the remembering Jumin’s spell thought just how unhappy about this Audreg was going to be. She scratched again at the ground, and then without warning lifted her wings up wide, causing Mythril to wobble upon her back. A low whooping sound came from her throat.

The raven took off and flew a little into the distance. Not long after its departure Mythril saw the welcome sight of Jumin, in his panther form, sprinting towards him. Soon, it was the noxiri himself stood in front of him.

“Mythril, finally,” Jumin said. “Where the hell have you been, I’ve cast out [Raven’s Sight] so often it nearly drained me of my wisdom. Do you know how much wisdom I have? Do you know how little that spell costs?” Jumin waved his hand in the air, then brought it to his brow. “It doesn’t matter, what matters is what is happening inside the inn.”

Mythril dismounted Audreg and walked her towards the stable beside the inn. Already inside it, standing lazily within a stall, Mythril recognized the black horse with a red saddle that had galloped past him while they were making their way into the Lowlands.

“Mythril,” Jumin said again, dipping his head down to bring it to Mythril’s height. “Are you okay? You have an emergency in there.”

“An emergency?”

“Finally,” Jumin sighed. “Yes, an emergency. Your guild is here. I’ve been on lock down because they think I’m a spy for the Noxiri Knights.”

“But you have a tabard for Love Yew More,” Mythril pointed at the lilac tabard that hung around Jumin’s hips.

“I know!” he all but exclaimed, as though finally thankful that somebody was seeing sense. “Your guild leader is the most paranoid man I have ever met. He thinks I was purposely planted in Love Yew More, to then purposely end up at the Adventurer Hall, to meet you and Selrah and lead you into danger. “And, because he supposedly has friends in my guild, he’s threatened to get me kicked out,” the tone with which he said this Mythril was certain that if he could see Jumin’s eyes he would have been rolling them. “It’s a complete mess. For one of Elder Moors top guilds, you are heading into ruin if you attempt to battle an Elder tomorrow.”

“Battle an Elder?” Mythril repeated the words, dumbstruck himself. He had heard them mentioned over and over but still wasn’t entirely sure what they were, and now he was supposed to fight against them. “How were you even held here?” Mythril asked, before Jumin could comment on his confusion. “They can’t hurt you, we’re not in Deadlands are we?”

“No,” Jumin said. “But before I realized what an imbecile your guild leader is I fancied being helpful while under suspicion would be a way into your guild,” at Mythril’s expression he held up his hand. “Don’t judge me. I like loot as much as the next guy. But, at this point I’m sticking around for Selrah’s sake. She is not happy.”

Jumin gave Mythril such a look that it was now his turn to hold up his hand.

“Don’t you judge me either. I got lost and not one of you turned back for me.”

“Because two of us were being held in an inn and the third wheel, so to speak, is an idiot!”

The two of them stood and stared each other down. Mythril had seen Bestie hovering around the map, and well, given that he had met him and seen what an idiot the troll could be for himself, he knew that he was the one being described as the third wheel.

They both panted, Jumin holding his long fleshless fingers against his head, Mythril looking away from him and towards the inn.

“So, what do we do?” he asked the noxiri.

Jumin moved his hands away from his face. “You go inside there and show that you aren’t being held captive somewhere. Let Sindre see that all the Noxiri Knights have managed to do is complicate a quest line and turn your guild enchanters and potion makers into over worked lemmings. The last I saw of Selrah she was on her fortieth potion.”

Sindre, Mythril made a mental note of the name. He didn’t need to ask Jumin to figure out who that would be, and as far as he was concerned Jumin had just given him a way into the conversation without seeming too suspicious.

“Okay,” Mythril nodded. “Then let’s go inside.”

Mythril patted Audreg on the side, more for himself to calm his nerves than for her. The inn had looked imposing upon his first approach, but at least it had been in an impressive way, now it brought fear to his heart. Or, more exact, what was behind its doors brought the heavy beating of a drum to his chest.