Perhaps surprisingly, Affare has had more experience with Hermetic Portals than either of you Emrys and Frederich.  That is, he's gone through one once.

You both of course know of them.  You're both magi.  How could you not?

But until an hour ago, neither of you had even been allowed into the chamber below Fengheld where the covenant's portals were located.

Affare, you had come to Fengheld through Harco, House Mercere's Domus Magus in the Roman Piedmont.  It was an odd sensation, this stepping through a doorway in the air.  Everything became blue colored and your mouth filled with the taste of turnips.  And then you were in Fengheld.

Velum is reclining on a table, studying you all.  In the hallway, Evzen, Leonard, Wulfgang, and Felix are finishing with the luggage.  Of course, they'll be the ones carrying everything.

Horst stands nearby, looking amused.  He finally steps forward, handing a sealed letter to you Frederich.  "This is a letter of introduction.  Valnastium isn't expecting you.  So they may be a bit cross.  This says you're there on business.  But I don't specify what that business entails.

"This is the most I can do for you.  You'll have to soothe those ruffled feathers yourself.  But they're Jerbiton.  Just compliment their perfect hair and ask them to explain art to you.  I'm sure they'll be eatting out of your hand."

He laughs.  "Alright.  You'll pop off to Harco and then from there, use the portal to Valnastium.  Affare...see to our clients, eh?  Masters Emrys and Frederich.  Any questions before you go?"

---

"This is as close as I can brung ya kind Sir."

The farmer stops his cart and leans back, looking at you Alfred, more or less telling you to get off.  At least he's being polite about it.

He nods at the trail.  "Them nobles are up that way.  Follow the trail further up the pass.  You can't miss 'em.  Queer lot.  But if you got business with 'em, I can only wish ya God Speed."

You grab your gear and slide off the back of the wagon, stepping over the live goose he's got trussed up.  That poor goose has been your only companion for the last two hours since you hitched a ride from the village at the bottom of the pass.  Maybe you'll miss that goose.  Maybe you'll just miss not getting to eat him.  Each man treasures things in his own way.

The mountains are beautiful.  They aren't the ocean beautiful, but they have their own charm none the less.

There's a stream running down one side of the trail.  Maybe the sound of water gives you some comfort.  Maybe not.

You head up the trail towards this Valnastium.  That's where Gustav is supposed to be.  At least according to the rumors you've followed.

About a half hour into your march you start to hear something besides the stream.

It's music.

A harp of some kind and a woman singing.  Just up ahead.

The trail turns a bend ahead.  The music sounds like it's right around that bend as well.

You turn the bend...

There's a woman sitting on the rump of what must be a dead horse, playing a small shepard's harp and singing a song.  Standing not far from her is...an ogre?  A giant maybe?  You aren't sure how to describe him.

---

Reynard, your ankles have been killing you.  No farmer with a goose filled cart offered to give you a ride.  Oh no.  They simply cast their eyes sideways at you and spurred their donkeys to tromp along faster, maybe hoping to outrun you before you did whatever they suspected you would do to them.

Due to you being you, you might get that a lot.

The pass at least is pleasant.  The weather is nice.  There's a brook running beside the trail.  Maybe you stopped to soak your feet in it at some point.  Maybe not.

Valnastium is ahead.  A gathering place of these magi.  And maybe...just maybe...a home.

You were about halfway there by your reckoning when you heard someone singing.  You soon came upon her.

A moderately pretty lady who looks like someone's distant aunt.  She is seated on the rump of a horse you think is dead, strumming a small harp and singing in a language you've never heard before.

She eyed you as you came close, but didn't stop her performance.  Instead, she just gave you a slight nod, and continued her song.

It's a lovely song.  Both sweet and bitter.  Whatever it's about must be a moving topic.  If only you understood the words.

As you listen, the sound of footsteps catches your ear.  You turn behind you to see a man come around the bend in the trail towards the two of you.

Alrightie.

Affare, Frederich, Emrys:  you guys are at Fengheld.  All packed up and grogged up.  About to step through the Hermetic Portal to Harco.  And from there, another portal to Valnastium.  So yes.  Your flight does have a lay over.

Alfred and Reynard:  you both are walking up a mountain trail towards Valnastium for your own reasons.  You've both stopped because you came upon a lady playing a harp while seated on the butt of a dead horse.

She hasn't stopped singing.  She's still singing right now.  Neither of you know her.  Nor each other.  I will let you both introduce what your character looks like in your post.

Let's get this mother growling people.

Questions?

Reynard’s feet are a mess.  Sure, it felt great to cool them off in the brook.  He even tried walking in the brook for a little while, but he kept slipping.  Sore ankles were better than a broken ankle, so he went back to the path.  Walked along to let them dry, and now they’re covered in mud.  The mud has turned to dirt, but the boots were hot, anyway, so they stay slung over his shoulder.  He can’t march properly, but he’s not in a hurry.  Well, maybe a little.

So he walks up the hill.  A man 8 feet tall, dressed in chain-mail, with an unmarked tabard that was once white, but has seen too much dust and travel to remain so.  He is broad-shouldered and fit, with a variety of weapons strapped to him in various places that look easy to access.  He has an unkempt mane of black hair, and an equally shaggy beard, but there is something strange about his countenance.  His skin doesn’t look tanned or reddened from long travel, but pale, with a slight grayish tinge.  His eyes are a deep blue, but they look distant, almost clouded, although he looks at his surroundings and at the people around him, apparently not blind.  Incongruously, he stands on very muddy, very large, bare feet, and a pair of long boots dangles around his neck, tied together by laces.

He’s been alone, walking up this hill, despite the traffic.  Nobody wants to see him, he chooses to believe it’s just because a big, armed man is scary, though he knows it’s more than that.  So when the woman silently acknowledges him, he feels moved, more than he should, perhaps.  He stands still, leaning on the uprooted sapling he’s been using as a walking stick, and listens to the music.  Sweetness, tinged with bitterness.  It fits his mood, his whole being, perfectly.

But he must remember his manners.  He is loth to interrupt, but it would be rude not to introduce himself, so he gives the musician a courtly bow.  “Ma Belle Dame.” he says, as quietly and gently as he can, so as not to disturb the music unduly, though the words rumble in his chest.  He continues in the strange mix of German and French that is his mother tongue*, voice gravelly and unpleasant to his own ears, as always when he tries to be refined.  “I am called Reynard.  Can this humble knight do anything to assist you?  I cannot help but notice that your cheval, he has given up the ghost, has he not?  Are you travelling to the place called Valnastium?”

*Burgundian

Reynard is not particularly observant, and focused on the music, doesn't seem to have noticed Alfred yet.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:51, Fri 07 Apr 2023.

As Alfred disembarks from the cart, he once again wishes he were on some large body of water, not this place a bit above sea level.
Gustav, he thinks.  This is how I find my brother.  Keep focusing on the task at hand, and you can back to your crew and your ship. But thinking that makes him wonder how they are all doing, running simple runs along the Danish coast until he can return and they can strike out to find their fortune.

He hears the voice before he sees the woman.  And what a sight he sees.  He hangs back, not exactly trusting his eyes.  For all he knows, this whole scene is some sort of fae glamour, designed to entrap him far from the waves. His hand rests on his hilt as he scans the area, trying to see what he might be missing.

What is wrong with this picture, he muses to himself.