Cynnybun
Join if you want!
Kitty Sprightt
Join if you want!
Yvessa
Join if you want!
Wickwright had not waited for explanations when he awoke in what appeared to be ancient Ardenth. He spoke the Ardenian language, although he had been displeased to find, in the last few hours, that Hopkin spoke it better. Once he had awoken in a sun-drenched villa, seen no mage about to even partially explain the teleportation, and located his Plague, he had made haste to convince the villa's somewhat irate owner that he was a bard from one of the outer reaches of the empire looking for work. The looking for work part was not difficult. Wickwright, as a traveling and poor mendicant, had always carried the somewhat threadbare air of the unemployed. The man had given him a trial run, and, with the help of Hopkin, Wickwright had spun his most suitable stories, was rejected, but directed to the marketplace, given some coin, and sent to find new, less terrible, clothes.
He sat now on a large stone, telling stories to children, seeming almost entirely Ardenian. It was work that Hopkin seemed to particularly enjoy, but it brought them no closer to discovering why they were there in the first place. Wickwright kept his eyes trained on the marketplace, hoping to find a clue, or at least to find others in their situation, and he was careful to keep the stories relatable to his audience, but distinctly Panymese. If there was anyone in the city who didn't belong, they could tell him by his stories, at least.
Hopkin, from Wickwright's robe was providing extra voices in the story, but once it finished, he asked, "When will we seek answers?"
"When we get enough money to eat," Wickwright replied. "You may not need it, but I'm old and I'm human, and teleportation takes it out of me at the best of times."
