#spentpyromancer

A goddess she might be, but even Gwyndolin had her limits when it came to procuring items for her sorcerers experiments. From time to time she had to leave the safety of her golden fortress in the hands of her Knightess, trusting she would be called back if anything were to happen. Though there had never been any major trouble before now, she could not rest easy until she was home again.

At least Tarwillow was a comfortable little settlement, precariously perched on the edge of volcanic territory, surrounded by hot, muddy bogs. It was not comfortable for the environment, but for the people, largely witches and pyromancers, and all very reliable when it came to collecting rare materials from dangerous locations. The chitin of enormous matron crabs, chaos-infused titanite, crystal lizard hide... And Gwyndolin had plenty to exchange for it. 

Rancid, the whole lot of them. Perfumes and cologne poured on all of these bodies by the gallons. Antares was sure they would have just fainted if they hadn’t managed to escape to the edges of the crowd. While they had enjoyed talking to Adrian and some of their other friends, the old hunter was more relieved by this private corner near food and drink. Now, they were gingerly sipping a cup of hot cider. Their imposing height in a black bear mask and cloak probably stopped a few guests from approaching them. Good. More privacy. And more refuge from all of these smells. Damn their sensitive nose.

There was a whiff of something less disgusting though. Something a little metallic, but still pungent… Blood. Rotting blood, from the likes of it, not unlike what would stain the old hunter’s Crowfeather cloak after a successful night’s hunt. But where? Who would wear such smelly clothes here- Oh, another Crowfeather? They seemed to be eyeing all of the food on the tables. Antares would have thought nothing of seeing another covenant member until they noticed the other's trick weapon. A folded sword, one very reminiscent of an old colleague... Could it be him? Something seemed a little off though, this hunter almost seemed too small for their clothes...

“It ain’t the catalyst,” he said. “I dunno how it works with Pyromancy, but y’ can’t force sorcery.” He scratched his neck, watching the woman moving the catalyst so forcefully. “S’more ‘bout... imaginin’ the form y’ want yer spell t’ take and shapin’ it...”

nothin’ wrong with a bit of harmless looting