It's eerie to be followed by a tribe of what essentially are snakes. The lizardkins, despite their large builds, slid silently through the trees, following Morgan and Art's footsteps that crunched leaves under their feet. Like their ancestor reptile that hunted the same woods, the lizard people stalked behind soundlessly.

Lands Lord was the one who led his tribe's way, with Fisher given a ride on his back. The others of his kin held on to tent poles and supplies, with heavier crates and materials carried in stretchers and on spars lifted above twos' shoulders. The only light that gave way for them was the ball that Art continued to hold and a tiny flame that Fisher held.

They were close to the edge of the forest now, nearing the village of Grimmel. Their approaching figure and light sources had brought a small gathering of villagers onto the outskirts' field, including the white form of a few Knights of the Round.

Pouring out of the weaves of trees like a slow river through a broken dam, Morgan and Art led the way for the lizardkin tribe that flowed through. As the members carrying the heavier loads stepped onto the open field, they settled down their luggages and began unpacking as Lands Lord set Fisher down on a rock to sit. The former then followed Art and Morgan as the two knights headed for the muttering villagers.

Merylin approached alongside another knight, the latter with his hand on the handle of his blade. The older knight had both hands tucked behind her back. While it looked inconspicuous, that was Merylin's stance before drawing her weapons.

The old knight asked, ‟What's happening, Lae Artria?”

‟The situation has changed,” Art bluntly spoke.

As Art told Merylin of the situation, Morgan stood beside Lands Lord, the two of them watched closely by the male knight. The man was not outstanding in looks like his fellow knights. A hume - or a half elf - with light brown buzzing hair and stubble, he lacked Merilyn's age, Art's grace, or Morgan's deformity. The only part of his looks that stood out were how parts of his uniform, including a short cape, were lined with strains of green, a leftover from his field days where he had to repair his outfit with the only threads he had available.

Morgan asked the staring man, ‟Is something the matter, Curoi?” Even though Merylin had taken a casual stance, the man had yet to remove his hand from the handle of his sword.

‟I was a child during the war.”

Lands was taken aback by the revelation, but his face quickly settled into formality. ‟I am sssorry for what my people did. But I am not them, and neither are the young of my tribe. We are far from the monssstersss you witnessss.”

‟Hmph...” Curoi humph without another world.

Art had finished briefing Merilyn on the situation and the latter headed back to the village, where it seemed the entire populace had gathered. The mayor was walking out towards them, and the knight intercepted his path.

Art approached Curoi personally. ‟Curoi?”

‟Yes, my lae?”

She pointed to the accused lizardkin and girl who stood within the midst of the tribe, helping to unpack. ‟Those two right now are our prime suspects in the crime. However, we do not have enough evidence of their guilt. While the investigation is ongoing, I want you to guard them, and make sure they don't run. Another knight will be arranged to trade shifts with you.”

The man raised a brow. ‟And the other reptiles?”

Lands let out a long pained breath at the slur which Morgan took note of.

Art, not having heard the kin, continued with Curoi. ‟For now, the tribe will stay on the outskirts. They are not allowed to leave the town for anything other than to hunt and forage. I'm leaving Merylin in charge here. She will settle the perimeters.”

‟Are you going somewhere?”

‟Back to The Summit.” Her eyes glanced over at Lands Lord. ‟There are diplomatic forces at work here as well. Now, get to it.”

Curoi gave Art a chest beat salute - and Lands a wary glare - before jogging off towards the suspected lovers.

After watching Curoi leave, Art turned to Morgan and Lands. ‟Morgan, I want you to work with Sherl Octavia and get to the bottom of the killings. If you solve it before I return, send a raven.” The commander then turned to the kin. ‟Prepare yourself and bid your farewells. I'll meet you at the gate for our journey.” Without another word, Art turned away and left, her mood seeming foul to Morgan.

Once out of earshot, Morgan blurted out, ‟I'm sorry” to Lands.

The kin, genuinely confused, asked, ‟What for?”

‟Curoi can be vulgar at times, but I did not expect him to derogate you.”

‟Asss I told your fellow knight, I am not not accountable for the actionsss of my forebearersss. In like, you are not for hisss.”

‟You seem to have rehearsed your reply.”

‟I knew the day would come when my people would chanccce a return. Asss the one charged with land, I am by default the diplomat. Thisss are daysss that I have been preparing for all my life.” Lands Lord shouldered straight. ‟I mussst now prepare for the journey, Morgan of the Round. While it may be trivial in the eyesss of your people, today, my kinsss have their world changed.” The kin turned to slide away.

‟Lands Lord!” Morgan called out, to which he turned. ‟I wish you good luck.”

The lizardkin gave a lopped grin. ‟You too, Morgan. Find the killer. Clear our namesss.”

Morgan stood in the field, looking back-and-forth between the lizardkin tribe and the villagers of Grimmel. The mayor was protesting vehemently against a knight Merylin had left in charge of negotiations, while the old woman herself had gathered the remaining of the Round to form perimeters and shifts to guard the tribe from escaping, and also from curious and angry villagers who were starting to grumble.

‟Who do you side with?”

Morgan jumped at the voice, her weapon blinking into existence as she turned and slashed at the suddenly appearing figure. Honed from years of training however, her blade stopped short of Sherl Octavia's neck.

‟How did you-?” She had not sensed the detective's presence. After a moment to calm down, she de-materialized her sword. ‟What do you mean, ‟side”? There aren't any.”

‟Oh, there are always sides. Will you continue to stand by your saviour, Artria Pendragon? Or find commonality as a fellow monster?”

‟I don't know what nonsense you're spouting.” Morgan spit back, annoyed. The knight turned to leave.

Sherl sleekly reached under Morgan's armas cape and pulled out her hidden arm before the knight could react. ‟Calloused atrophied muscles, John said. A rare mutation often seen as a curse. Turns the skin hard as rocks yet not having a single drawback to daily functions.”

Morgan quickly pulled her limb back. Like her face, the entire arm hand the darkened tone of bedrock, the joints having the hardened skin coated over to bend in the shape of broken scales on armour. From her hand up to the elbow, the calloused rind widened in copy of a gauntlet up her elbow, almost as wide as a small targe shield. As she moved it, the limb's texture uncannily shifted, sheering on a person as earthquakes does on land. It looked monstrous, like a golem from the underground where pits of lava burned.

‟Is your right torso mutated to? What about your leg?” Sherl asked, a hint of mad curiosity in her eyes. ‟What about your privates? How does it feel inside?”

Angered, Morgan growled, ‟Is this what you're here for? To mock me?”

‟Never, my dear. Your looks are the least interesting thing about you, but it is the only surface question I can ask as of now, pardon the pun.” Sherl waved a reprimanding finger, her tone honest and straight, as if she was talking to a lab specimen. ‟In fact, I think after getting to know each other a little more, I will have nothing but the utmost respect for your.”

The detective stepped by Morgan and looked out to the plains and the village. She stretched her hand out wide as if to hug the landscape.

‟This. This is what I'm here for.”

Morgan raised a brow. ‟You're here to be theatrical?”

Sherl either ignored her or had completely forgotten the knight's existence. ‟Somewhere here is a serial killer. And not just any old killer, but one with a plan. And it is a puzzle I am going to solve. Finally! The game is afoot!”

Morgan was not sure if the woman was insane or a genius. She could be both. Looking out at Sherl, the village, and the tribe, she could not help but think on the case. Perhaps it was as simple as a lizardkin who had come for revenge over their exile, or someone had planned a meticulous framing of the tribe. But the detective was right about one thing. There was a serial killer somewhere in the picture of her sight.