Following the recent rumours held that have brought whispers amongst the public with mixed reactions, A female Dhaerow cusped onto the lips of death staggered into the city.
Her robes were torn into tatters, crimson blood soaked onto her dark complexion followed with her collapse within the apparent safety of the bastion.
Luckily a few individuals nearby had attended to the magis grievous wounds and escorted her to the Glouras wings where one can only imagine that she had recieved reprieve through whatever ordeal she had faced.
There was few speculations as to the Identity of the woman, Some rumours abound of a foreigner of sorts, Some say a raiding party. The affliations and hearsay prove unclear. The settlement looms in a period of uncertainty from the refugee within the Wings.
"Don't fear failure. Not failure, but low aim is the crime. In great attempts it is glorious even to fail"
A few days had passed since the arrival of the once battered and apparently broken female Dhaerow that entered the Glouras Wings.
She was often seen walking the area of Sshamath with a cautious step and a scrutinising glance in the time she has been present, As if surveying the area.
A collection of male Dhaerow, Each with their own sharp tongue rumoured to have met with the enigmatic magi within Glouras wings.
The table was set and a gathering was held. The exchange between the visitor and the male Dhaerow began. The male congregation as a collective fired back in sharp and with precise succession, A battle of information it would have appeared to the bystanding regular clients of the wings.
The visitor seemed to have remained composed throughout this time, Finally ending the exchange with a simple whisper to one of the questioners present, To what was contained in that whisper appeared to have entertained the questioner in some format.
In the background at this particular time of the gathering, The drunkard shoutings of a duergar filled the space of the establishment, At one point with alcohol slathered all over his persons.
The visitor frequents the wings still and appears to be waiting. Her very presence unnerving the air around her and whomever was present.
The whispers in the local area are becoming wilder, More denizens are speaking amongst themselves where they may have kept to themselves before. The hum of whispers as you walk the streets of Sshamath is becoming more noticeable as cycles pass.
"Don't fear failure. Not failure, but low aim is the crime. In great attempts it is glorious even to fail"