…..:::::|. Has South Plaza .|:::::…..

Fully invested in the crowded rhythm of their walk into the city, the group made it to a square with a cluster of tent-stalls at each corner. Halycind was pulled at the upper arm by Veygornne to the rightmost stall where sat a rotund lady being kissed and petted by—what was clearly suggested to be—her doting husband; too slim to be in control of the moment as he was.

Both the happy mess of braids and the flaxen-haired man prodded them politely, tapping on the Post's counter, to interrupt the loving pair. They were ignored. The messy one scanned the scene then made a shamed face at the light-haired man; she was unsure if their lot were intruding upon some condolence or just some everyday moment of public affection. Such a display would have been a scornful sight on the streets of Ashok. Any affections amongst the wolf-spirited people were sternly delegated to the privacy of their dens.

The crowd was thick here and the group squenched in together as they waited for said marital moment to naturally pass before making their request.

Cloaks and robes passed by too close to Halycind's left shoulder to let her remain comfortable amongst so many unknowns. One heavily cloaked man doused in the perfumes of dying roses didn't even break speed as he knocked her shoulder passing by. She cut him an eye and grimaced as he disappeared into the rest of the crowd. She furrowed at the memory of him for she could have sworn she had seen a collection of dark cloaks like that once before, in the port city, when they arrived to this country eight moons ago and then, now, here again. She squinted as his cloak and garb seemed to shift in the light unnaturally. A quiet shock punched at her heart and her brows furled. She looked back to the couple then back to where she'd seen him disappear within the crowds around a city fountain. Halycind blinked a number of times figuring if she should be angry or not, she was not used to such disregard of personal space from whence she hailed.

Then she shrugged away her annoyance.

The smiling wife, being kissed, finally noticed the group standing far too close to her stall to have been oblivious of them and jumped to a serviceable demeanor. Her husband also straightened himself and all his attire, dusting as if there had been space enough between them for lint to have collected.

“Oh, my good Sers, welcome to the Post's Extension.” She began with lips of smeared rouge. “What do you?”

The large heroic one blinked long to push aside his vexation for the sake of professionalism. “We do with a held Littera Missiva for the Zadagen Agency.” He said sharply. His voice was so commanding even a few of the townsfolk and travellers minded his address. Her skinny husband beamed tiny blue eyes upon them. The great one regarded his look, closely, and wondered of his familial background; as blue eyes were uncommon amidst all the brown and grey irises that seemed to blanket Dureyr's nations. The woman, feeling somewhat scolded, went to digging through locked scroll compartments and papers. Her small husband stepped backward and began shuffling a stack of parchments of his own.

“It would be a bright green case...capped in gold.” The young messy girl instructed brightly.

The tall fair-haired man turned an eye down to her and raised a brow. “Eberhavven? How did you know it was a—“

“The second you asked me to tighten up my wolaenki. I stopped listening to yer words and started watchin’ yer hands.”

Siin chuckled to himself.

“On the boat, pup?” The light-haired one sounded shocked.

“Yeah, you slipped a case to that pretty boy in red.”

“You can’t have him. His mother would have my head.”

“You run an entire hunting agency and you’re scared of some fox-boy’s mum?”

“Live with the Buraam for just one moon, pooch. You won’t be so bold to speak so casually.” Siin slid an eye and a smirk to the scowling girl.

Halycind and Veygornne looked to each other, unknowingly. It was evident the manly one had collected both Siin and Kodlaa some time back and had escorted them to Ladi Gru Has to receive orders for their head-hunting trial but they’d only now realized how close the threesome had become.

As the round woman dug through slots of parchments, the light-haired man turned his attention to the greying old wolf. “How was your trek, Veygornne?”

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“Marred with troubles.” Veygornne's gravelly voice huffed and his eyes darted about his soured memories. Halycind looked up ready to defend her behaviours.

“What, borderguard give you bother?”

“Naturally, I’m a wolf. However, it was more-so the whole of the port city trying to bed this one.” He shoved a thick thumb to the youth beside him. “Those ruffians see flare and flounce so often they wouldn't know actual nobility if it stabbed them with a gilded knife.” His eyes rolled viciously. “She was propositioned countless times, gifted a round of ale from howl-knows-where, and offered some woman's lay-about son to court just because she wore a slightly less tattered cloak than his own. But, all-in-all, the princess did well.” He said with a rare smile. “Taph taught her to keep her Split-Wolf mouth shut in cases such as these.”

Ashok had once been called the Split-Wolf Kingdoms long ago, but now the moniker only really rested as a favoured appellation or a sobriquet in close camaraderie. All wolvkin took a certain pride in it, as Halycind's smirk displayed now.

“Uh, nobility. I wasn't even thinking about that part. I was thinking Gaen A Nce needs a fleet of weyships, the whole time. This is some of the roughest terrain I've ever had to trudge across.”

“You'll get a weyship when Gaen A Nce opens its borders. You see the way they guard its receivables.” The manly one's palm flapped toward the stall of the Post's Extension.

“Oh, so never.”

Every history and rumor Halycind had ever learned of this place was slowly starting to fold into reality. It was a pretty island, yes, in places, but it was also pretentious.

The Giant island of Gaen a Nce loved its highfalutin status.

They were the only people who formed customs at the whim of a season, who fostered rampantly unserviceable courtly ways like extravagant curtsies, wildly lengthy greetings, and overweening displays of fanciful swordplay. By the time the rest of the world would learn any one of their lavish obeisances or bureaucratic procedures, the sentiment would be made obsolete by Gaen a Nce's elite and a new one set in its place. They could remain stuffed-shirt in this respect. Everything a learned dance. There were so many more rules and odd etiquette; fleeting fads alongside ancient highbrow rituals on Gaen a Nce than any other place on Dureyr's grand surface. Most of her other countries cared nothing for it all and stayed far away from this island nation. So the only foreigners that ever really visited her shores were either sanctioned or chartered or flippant and opportunistic. And the Agency was two of those.

There was one thing Gaen a Nce had in its favour, however, and was known world-wide for. Its Solarguard. If ever there had been need for armed forces in any part of the world, Gaennish troops were among the most powerful and they never failed to flaunt their military force. However commissioning the Solarguard took scrolls upon scrolls of meandering missives. In this philosophy, Gaen a Nce could both offer its aid openly and lock it behind banks and banks of crushing bureaucracy. In this, the Great Island Nation Gaen a Nce could also remain the most powerful single solitary armoured force in the world.

The flaxen-haired one seemed burnt out from the wait leaning on the stall. His cohort from long-whence shouldered him with a wayward thought.

"What was that blip you and the others were on about the other night? I was having fine dreams of--"

"The Ironwight showed up again."

"Ah, the Ghost. We still haven't pinpointed its--"

"No. And I don't think we will until things on Dureyr progress."

"And The Mother?"

"Nothing."

"Sleepless and useless, I feel."

"Time is a merciless master."

"That it is."

There conversation closed with the young ones muttering on about the different foods they'd eat as soon as this Agency mail business was done.

Just when their stomachs were beginning to make the pups growl with impatience, the cheerful woman smiled upward . "Ah, there we go." And unlocked the box the case had been delivered in. She pulled out a long green scroll case capped in gold. "Highest security in the land, that."

“Ever your heart.” The manly one said dryly as he took the case and shoved it into some hidden pocket in his golden-furred cloak, that seem to envelope him four times over.

“Oh, you’re from Ashok!” The woman yelped in glee. “My husband is from Sidian Garden! He says that phrase to everyone we pass.”

“You’re hubby’s dweomer?” The mess of braids and colours perked a disbelieving eyebrow high up on her face.

“Half-Giant, really. I wouldn’t be able to handle him if he was full dwarf.”

“No, I’m not from Ashok. And I doubt he is either.” He rubbed a thumb across his lips in gesture to the smiling wife. She patted at her face and took to wiping the smeared rouge from her lips. The light-haired man eyed the two once more and stirred his lot away from the Posts’s Extention as the rotund woman turned a confused eye to her tight-lipped spouse clasping papers to his slim chest.

“He’s just a walker, that guy.” Kodlaa thumbed back toward the tent stall.

“Indubitably. And she’s oblivious to the rest of the world just like most of the Gaennish.” the heavily golden-cloaked one stated. He scoffed at that moldy bit of business now done. “Oh, well, best settle you two in. We are bound to have an interesting time together here in The Ladi.” The large manly one and the happy mess of braids and scarves and colours lead the trek further into the large crowded city toward their inn while aBn Ynggr and the two Cashtiel wolvkin followed brightly in suit.