“Dreven Sorrowmoon?” Lisan Emberton felt the name echo ominously in her mind, like a dark omen reverberating through the dense foliage of the Nortaberg forest. Years spent navigating the treacherous waters of various guilds around Ultima had taught her never to assume much about other cultures. However, this one was something else entirely. He radiated an aura of cold bloodlust, palpable in the stillness of the air. Even the way he had dispatched the goblins—without a hint of compassion or dignity—sent a shiver down her spine.

Lisan’s gaze swept over the half-naked man, who looked like an elf of some sort; his long, pointed ears glinted in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. He possessed a strikingly handsome face, with sharp features that could have easily graced the pages of a bard's ballad. His tousled dark hair framed his angular jaw, but it was his skin that caught her attention—the color of gray granite, smooth and polished like a stone weathered by time. There was an otherworldly quality to him, both alluring and unsettling. A flicker of attraction tugged at her thoughts, reminiscent of the elves she had encountered in her travels—typically graceful and alluring, but with Dreven, there was an edge that made him distinctly more dangerous. This was a part of the kingdom that was supposed to be safe, yet here he stood, a stranger whose presence felt like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon.

Nortaberg, centrally located in the Kingdom of Norran, was known for its tranquility and strategic location. The region had been thoroughly explored for years, with little sign of anything out of the ordinary. The prospect of a splinter group hiding deep within was unlikely. Norran itself, a smaller Kingdom, had long served as a popular hub for many guilds, yet this figure—this Dreven—seemed out of place, an anomaly in an otherwise well-trodden land.

“Ehem.” Lisan cleared her throat, the sound crisp against the backdrop of the forest. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Dreven Sorrowmoon. My name is Lisan Emberton of the Emberton family.”

Dreven’s face revealed no meaningful reaction to her introduction. “It is a pleasure, Lisan. I must admit, I’m a bit lost. You wouldn’t perhaps mind telling me where the nearest town is?”

Lisan’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion mingling with curiosity. It was uncommon for strangers to appear so suddenly, and even more so for them to be entirely unaware of their surroundings. The realization hit her hard: a stranger from outworlds. The air felt thicker now, and the vibrant greens of the forest around them suddenly seemed less inviting.

Smiling, Lisan masked her true intentions. “Well, Dreven, I would be happy to bring you back to town. Our party was heading back anyway, and for helping us against the goblins, it would be our pleasure to assist you. Just give me a moment to talk with my party members.”

“Of course, take your time,” Dreven replied, his smile revealing teeth that gleamed like polished ivory, but two of which were notably sharper, reminiscent of canine fangs.

Lisan’s gaze lingered on Dreven for a moment longer, her mind racing. She had seen dangerous men before—hell, she had been one herself in her younger days—but there was something about him that unsettled her. His aura, cold and calculating, made her uneasy in a way she couldn’t quite place. The way he had dispatched the goblins without a second thought had not been the action of a simple traveler lost in the woods. There was precision in his movements, a practiced cruelty. But then, there was also a peculiar loneliness about him, a sense of being utterly disconnected from the world around him. It made her wonder—did he truly not know where he was, or was he playing some kind of game?

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As she walked back, the crisp scent of pine and damp earth filled her lungs, grounding her thoughts. She nodded to Tarn, who had been keeping a watchful eye on the exchange.

Tarn, the sturdy dwarf, grumbled under his breath as she approached. “That fella’s got a look that’d scare a dire bear off its dinner,” he muttered, voice as rough as gravel. “Ain’t natural, him skulking about like that with no weapons or gear. Just… loiterin' in the forest like he’s part o’ it.”

Rowan snorted, leaning against his bow with a smirk that was equal parts daring and disdain. “What, ye mean t’ say we should roll out the welcome mat? Look at him, walking ‘round with a name like ‘Sorrowmoon’ and a face like a grave. He’s trouble, mark me words. Outworlder or not, I’ve half a mind to plant an arrow in him just t’ be sure.”

Caius, on the other hand, regarded Lisan with a lazy glance, his fingers absently tapping the hilt of his sword. “Rowan, no one’s stopping you from getting yourself killed if that’s what you’re after,” he drawled, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Lisan, you’ve been sizing him up like a cat watching a hawk. What’s got your back prickling? Did he do something… odd?”

Lisan took a steadying breath, eyes flicking back toward Dreven. “It’s more… what he didn’t do. He’s not local, and he didn’t seem to recognize anything about where he was. That alone makes him a potential outworlder. And in Norran, we can’t afford to take chances with outworlders.”

“Aye,” Tarn rumbled, nodding with his usual stoic grimness. “An’ the last time one came through here, it took four of us to haul what was left of him back to town, and that was with his hands tied and head bagged. We can’t trust someone with no roots, no allegiance.”

Rowan’s face twisted in distaste. “Bah, outworlders. I say we turn him in and be done with it. No different from any other wild beast. They’re always causing trouble, gettin' people like us stuck with the cleanup. That’s what happened to my folks.” He spat on the ground, his bitterness laid bare. “If this one’s not a menace now, he’ll be one soon enough.”

“Easy, Rowan,” Lisan murmured, feeling the tension simmering between them. “I get it, truly. But let’s be smart about this. We’ll bring him in. The Inquisition can decide his fate.”

Tarn crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyes narrowing as he scanned the newcomer. ‘I’ve seen enough men like him—outworlders who think they can just stroll in, make trouble, and vanish without a trace. But we don’t forget easily, do we?’ His tone was gruff, but there was a sharpness behind it, as if he had witnessed something in his past that made him wary of anyone who wasn’t from Norran.

Caius shrugged, looking more amused than concerned. “Well, I won’t be losing any sleep over him either way. I’d say, if he turns on us, I’m curious to see if he’s half as fast with those bare hands as he thinks he is.”

Tarn grunted in agreement. “Then we’re agreed, I take it?”

“Aye,” Lisan replied, casting one last glance at the stranger who seemed to absorb the forest’s shadows. “Let’s get him back to town.”

With a fake smile plastered on her face, she waved Dreven over. The moment hung heavy in the air, and Lisan couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling in her gut. Today wasn’t going to be a good day. Outworlders were often dangerous, and the aura of this one unnerved her.

Dreven walked over. “We got some spare clothes for you and we will take you back to town. Don’t worry we will make sure you get situated.”

With a smile Dreven nodded. “Thank you very much. It is much appreciated.”

As Dreven smiled, a strange, cold gleam danced in his eyes—one that didn’t quite match the warmth of his voice. It was like the smile of someone who had seen too much death and was no longer disturbed by it. Lisan’s instincts screamed at her to remain cautious. There was something beneath that smile, something he wasn’t saying. Her eye twitched, but she remained still, her face a mask of civility.

The Inquisitors would take him off their hands and then she could leave this group and move on to the next Kingdom.