An Incident

As they were walking through these full-of-life streets, they decided to enter the in to eat a big meal and create some food supplies for their journey to the dungeon. The inn they entered was bustling with the raucous energy typical of a place frequented by adventurers and locals alike. As they pushed through the wooden door, they were immediately struck by the clamor of voices and the scent of spiced meats and ale. The main room was dimly lit, with lanterns swinging gently from the rafters, casting dancing shadows across the walls adorned with various weapons and trophies.

In the center of the room, a makeshift ring had been formed by the crowd, cheering on the impromptu duel that unfolded. The man in the white cloak, who was at the heart of this tumult, bore a demeanor of calm that contrasted sharply with his surroundings. He was tall and slender, with a mane of long, silver hair that cascaded down his back, shimmering slightly under the dim inn lighting. His face was angular, marked by sharp cheekbones and a pair of piercing blue eyes that seemed to weigh every situation with a practiced ease.

As they approached the counter to order, the man in the white cloak was trying to defuse the situation with calm, measured words. "Listen, we have no reason to fight. I will go my way, and you will go your way, and everything will be fine," he suggested smoothly, his voice barely raised above the din of the inn.

The other man, stockier and with a scowl that seemed permanently etched onto his face, was not so easily placated. "In that case, pay for my food and cleaning my clothes," he demanded, his tone aggressive and accusatory.

The calm man shook his head, his expression unchanging. "I won't do that, as it was you who bumped into me, not the other way around," he replied, standing his ground with a composed stance that contrasted sharply with his accuser's agitated demeanor.

Frustrated, a burly man with a scowl, charged at him with clumsy aggression. The calm man, dressed in a pristine white cloak that seemed untouched by the fray, moved with fluid grace, each of his dodges calculated and minimal, conserving his energy and clearly outclassing his assailant in skill and temperament.

Amukelo and his group found a table near the back, ordering plates of hearty stew and fresh bread from a harried server who darted between tables with practiced agility. As they ate, their eyes were drawn to the unfolding fight. The man in the white cloak, after effortlessly pinning the aggressor to the ground, faced a sudden onslaught from the man's companions. Yet, his response was measured and precise, his movements a blur of efficiency as he dispatched each new attacker with non-lethal strikes that spoke of a disciplined martial prowess.

Amid the chaos, a glint of metal caught the light—the tip of the man's sword, adorned with a golden lion face, a symbol recognized by many in the inn. Whispers of "Fallenhoods" circulated rapidly, and a wave of fear washed over the crowd, prompting a hasty exodus from the establishment.

As the room emptied, the man in the white cloak sheathed his sword and surveyed the room. His gaze lingered on Amukelo and his companions, particularly noting their necklaces. With a composed stride, he approached their table, his cloak barely whispering against the floorboards.

"Excuse me," he began, his voice carrying a calm authority that matched his demeanor. "I couldn't help but notice your necklaces. They mark you as individuals of purpose, much like myself. May I join you?" His inquiry, while polite, carried an undercurrent of earnestness, as if joining them was more than a mere whim but a part of a larger, shared destiny.

As he sat next to them, he introduced himself as an Airnel Vumogo and began, "A few days ago, a group cloaked in darkness descended upon our city riding an undead dragon, an ominous sight that sent waves of fear across the populace. They attacked without warning, targeting the dungeon's entrance. Their goal wasn't clear as no one knew the reason for what they did, but now seeing you here, it becomes clear that they just wanted to enter the dungeon to steal the artifact. Normally the process of their first entrance into the dungeon would take them more than a month."

Airnel's expression darkened as he recounted the violence. "They breached the dungeon's defenses with terrifying efficiency, overwhelming the guards and using dark magic to bypass the ancient wards. It was a massacre; by the time our forces responded, the intruders had already entered the labyrinthine depths of the dungeon."

Listening intently, Amukelo and his friends exchanged grim looks, piecing together the events with what they knew of Valarian's recent activities. They weren't able to stop him from killing more innocent people, which frustrated them greatly.

Airnel shifted in his seat, his gaze piercing. "My guild, the Fallenhoods, is the most skilled in navigating the complex layers of the dungeon. We've mapped out much of its expanse through countless expeditions. If these raiders are still inside, we have the best chance of intercepting them before they reach the deeper sanctums where the next artifact is presumed secure."

Rising from the table with a sense of purpose, Airnel invited them to his guild's headquarters to strategize their next move. "Come, let's not waste any more time," he urged.

They followed him through the bustling streets of the city, moving past vendors shouting over the din of commerce and children playing near the fountains. The city was alive with the vibrant tapestry of daily life, which contrasted starkly against the shadow of threat looming over their heads.

After a brisk walk, they arrived at the entrance of the Fallenhoods' mansion. The building was a grand edifice of old stone and fine wood, its architecture a blend of high-arched doorways and intricate window frames that spoke of a rich history and substantial resources. The front was adorned with lush greenery that framed the path leading up to the wide double doors, and a large fountain with sculptures of mythical creatures commanded the center of the forecourt, water sparkling under the sunlight.

The garden surrounding the mansion was meticulously maintained, with flowering plants and neatly trimmed hedges that offered a serene contrast to the grim discussion that led them here. Statues of famous warriors and mages from past eras of the guild's history lined the walkways, each posed in mid-action as if frozen in time during their most triumphant moments.