As the village crawled closer on the horizon; Asrael sent his army of dead out onto the dunes, where they dispersed to find shade beneath whatever rocky protrusion they could find. Barrel breathed a smidgen lighter as he watched the pale, naked, blood-caked forms disappear to either extremity of his peripheral view, whereas the sulking girl next to him continued staring at the beautiful horses with defeat in her eyes. Asrael peered out the side of the carriage to behold the pathetic village of yurts, dust and permanent installations of scorched-dust bricks and canvas. On his journeys through the lands- back when he was still alive; he had seen unsightly villages, but none as filthy and dilapidated as this one. Perhaps, if he were lucky; he would find the knowledge he sought from an elderly magus, but seeing the state of the place, he opted for suppressing any urge to hope.

Neda and Barrel heard the sour tongue of the Necromancer through the wood;

“This village... how many live here?” Neda hunched down and grabbed her knees- determined not to speak the evil creature. Barrel rubbed his hard, sweaty belly and shrugged. The disappearance of the unnerving, dead wardens had lightened his mood, but Neda could tell that the small, charming man still held a respectable measure of fear towards their companion.

“I-I d-dunno, Boss. I’ve only ever been through to trade and pick up the young’ins.” Neda’s skin crawled as she remembered the day a carriage a far bit newer than this one had picked her up.

“The what?” Asrael questioned. Barrel swallowed and jerked his head in nods.

“T-The v-villages... they hunt and scavenge, but when times get desperate; they trade the kids for water and food.” Asrael awaited the man’s continuation.

To his dismay; it would be Neda who continued by stating: “Magic-kids. Like me. The greenlanders pay the village to get us, so the village keeps the kids for when the going gets tough.” Asrael leaned back on the bench and scratched his chin. The Gift did not necessarily follow an inheritance-pattern- there were more than a few examples of a magus being born to non-magical parents. But in order for them to be reliably stockpiled in such a manner; it would seem someone was actively breeding them, meaning... there should be older magi in the village. Asrael spoke back to the wood; “Good. Then you will take me to your parents and I will-”

Neda cut him off with a snorted scoff; “I don’t have parents. They were sold before I was old enough to remember them. These lands have been up shit creek for the last generation. Me and Rallo were the last magic-children to be taken from the Pit...” She cursed her talkative nature- she'd rather shut up and let the disgusting man find his own way. Asrael bit his lower lip and rubbed his chin.

“Then I’ll have to speak to one of your elders- someone who has spoken to the other magi. Maybe they would know...” The village was perfect in regards to such a quest. If they had been reliably hoarding and rounding up the magi, then surely; they’d know what had happened to the magics of the world- they must have heard something. As the carriage drew closer; men, women and children began to flock to the dirt road leading up to the village with excitement and curious gazes. Upon seeing the nervous, fidgeting, fine woman at the front of the carriage; several of the villagers gasped in recognition of the beauty. She could hear her name whispered out in the sea of a hundred or so people; ‘Neda’- some disbelieving, whereas some sounded downright spiteful.

When the masses had gotten too thick for Barrel to safely push onwards; he unnecessarily wiggled the reins about and ordered the horses to come to a halt. In the back; Asrael unlatched the hatch and nearly struck a pair of the dirty, wide-eyed villages as the heavy wooden ramp slammed down unto the road. They were as disgusting as the beggars of Capita’s lower reaches- scuttling away as they saw his false credentials of a white, fine shirt and equally impressive pants. ‘It’s an Inquisitor!’, “He must be an interrogator!”, “A diplomat?” The crowd’s suggestions rained down upon him in whispers, but he had no intention to speak to the rabble. They shirked away as he walked around the carriage to speak to the pathetic girl. She had been pathetic when first he had laid his eyes on her and since then; he had lost an ounce of respect for her every day, but this... this was a saddening display. She sat on the bench, gripping her elbows with a pronounced slouch- her wildling, red eyes darting about the crowd as if expecting them to pelt her with rocks. He followed her gaze and finally, he could see what she had. Around them; along the outer rim of the welcoming party, there were some two-dozen men- all wielding bows, blades and axes in their bare-chested glory. The scrutiny of both the crowds and this welcoming militia was directed entirely at Neda, whereas the rest seemed to stare at Barrel and Asrael with awe.

This could prove a problem. As much as he enjoyed the thought of Neda being crushed by a rain of rocks; he could not allow it- not now. They needed to come off as a unified front- confident and powerful and therefore; he bit back every ounce of disgust he had for the girl and reached his hand up towards her.

“Come, my dear. We must find this ‘Elder’.” Her jaw dropped- the crowds all gasped as they saw his extended hand. Neda? With a greenlander- an Inquisitor, of all things? Suddenly; the hate and spite in their eyes drained away for awe and jealousy. Two decades amongst these people and never once had they envied her anything, but now; thinking she had moved up in the world and been allowed into the greenlands; they were... jealous... of her. She broke from her stupor and blinked to dispel the haze before straightening her back to grow several inches. An arrogance crawled across her face as she grabbed the fine Commander’s hand and allowed him to help her down from the carriage with the use of his surprisingly strong, long, spindly arms. The women all gasped with their continued envy, whereas some of the men turned away in shame as Neda, in the heat of the moment; wrapped her arms around the horrible man in an embrace that warmed his cold, dead skin.

“Thanks...” She whispered into his ear, to which he needlessly signaled his disapproval with a low grunt. He could’ve sworn she had never been this tall, nor as strong- certainly not as confident as when she broke from the embrace to intertwine her fingers with his and demand of the crowd; “Go get Manjuseth! Asr-… my dear needs to talk to him.”