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The Nightmare circled in the morning skies, sunlit wings outstretched, wheeling with the breeze. One. Twice. Then with a dip, Bromor came swooping back to his hidden party within the wooded copse. His hooves skidded a little as he landed. He was still learning his newfound skills.

His nostrils flared from the effort of flight, and his deep, muscular chest rose and fell as he took rapid breaths.

"Well?" Anar asked, keenly. "What did you see?"

"Yes," The Dragon urged, "tell us. My senses aren't quite up to the task of identifying other magic users right now." Its scales had warmed in hue somewhat despite its severely depleted magic levels, after being charged up by it's aardvarkian companion, but there was still a distinct lack of vibrance.

Lieutenant Brook gave the curious creature a concerned look. The Dragon was certainly the weakest of the group, and the one to pose them the greatest risk should they encounter trouble.

"A mage," the big black horse replied. "It's a lone mage. Appearing as if from nowhere, I could see a distinct lack of tracks upon its position."

"Did it see you?"

Another deep breath, "My Lord, I don't know how many big flying animals you've seen in your lifetime, but I think I can safely say the mage spotted me up in the air, yes."

"True, you're not exactly inconspicuous, are you?"

Bromor shook his heavy head, his forelocks swishing.

Brook turned to her commander, "but this could be good, right? A mage could help us?"

"Depends on what they're here for. We'll follow them and see what they do. If they work for Nisgarant, and that's a possibility considering he has spies everywhere involved in all kinds of artistry, then we could be in for a scrap much sooner than we'd like."

The gobliness jutted her chin forward, proudly, gripping her dagger with purpose, "I didn't choose desertion because I was a coward, sir."

"No, no, of course not, Lieutenant, but we shouldn't hurl headlong into a situation we're not prepared for, neither. Tread softly."

He swung up onto his steed's back and led them out of the copse and towards clumps of glittery marble rocks, and thorny bushy scrub, following in the direction of the mysterious magical figure as it made its way furtively towards the valley and river.

It was dressed in long robes of white, hemmed in a bronze metallic thread, with a hood up to ward off the sun. There must be long, pointed ears like an elves' beneath, as they made tiny points within the fabric folds. It had curious footwear upon it's feet, as it left a pretty pattern in the mud and dust behind it as it walked. They had been made by a craftsperson of the name Skechers. Occasionally, it drew out a noisy metal box from within a deep pocket, and paused to look at it, before setting off again.

The Dragon, Lieutenant Brook, General Warlock and Bromor, skirted around the worn track as they surreptitiously followed at a sensible distance. It was a path the rat's army had taken only a day previous and their litter was strewn around.

"They're looking for something."

"Me, do you think?" Brook asked, with a frown.

"Could be. Could be. But with a magical aura like that, they should have found you by now," Bromor replied.

"Yes, I did rather expect a hunting party to be coming after me I must admit. Wolf scouts or gnolls. Perhaps, then, this mage's sudden appearance is simply a coincidence?" she turned to look at her senior officer atop his magical horse and received exactly the expression she'd expected. "No coincidences, huh. So, they're connected to the rat, somehow?"

The Dragon cleared his scaly throat and spoke, "the tri-corn horn sceptre is a prized artefact," he said smoothly, "one of the reasons staff such as I guarded it, and Nisgarant himself, so closely. This hooded power wielder could be a prospective thief. An assassin, even."

Brook's eyes widened, "you think a lone sorcerer is going to wrestle the rat's pointy stick off him?"

"I'm merely presenting a reason for a mage to pop up and follow in Nisgarant's tracks."

Anar nodded, "it's a fair point, I'll admit. I for one want that sceptre, if only to destroy the bloody thing once I've got it. Stands to reason others would want it too."

The Dragon's scales flashed, unseen, just for a moment as his teeth bared. "You'll get your personal audience with him, I can promise you that much."

The robed traveller up ahead was flinching at just about everything in its path that it encountered along the way; whether it was fluttering birds, bounding rabbits, even a sudden breeze. Anar very much doubted, whoever they were, that they up to the task of firing thunderbolts off at Nisgarant, never mind dispatching his armed entourage first, but said no more on the subject. Simply thinking about that murderous rodent made his hands fizz.

Instead, Brook spoke for him. She turned to the General, thinking alike, "the next settlement is over a day away, sir. Longer, at the snail's pace they're going. Considering they'll be travelling into nightfall I can't see a physical weapon on their person. They must either be very skilled in magic, or very daft."

The footprints they were vaguely following began to deepen. Most adventurers in this situation would be treading lightly, keeping to the long midday shadows, flitting between cover, exactly what they themselves were doing, in fact. Their quarry was stomping about in a most ill-advised manner. If there were goblin hunters nearby, or indeed Nisgarant's scouts, they would be in trouble very quickly.

Anar's group stopped for water and savoury biscuits, while Bromor grazed upon fresh pasture. The Dragon made tea and briefly made touch contact with the General for a magical top up.

"well sir, what are your thoughts?" Brook asked, sipping.

He replied with his hand on The Dragon's shoulder, "you're quite right in your thinking; that mage is either incredibly powerful, or just plain daft. I'm beginning to think the latter. For all their brazen trampling around, they're not at ease at all, almost as if this wilderness is alien terrain. Bromor did say they seemed to appear from nowhere with no visible tracks. Most likely magically appeared from a city, where they're more at home. When nightfall comes, I think they're going to find themselves in dire need of their skillset. They will need to use magic for shelter, warmth and food. In fact, I'm surprised I haven't seen them use any magic at all yet. At the very least, they should be erasing their tracks. Or muffling their sounds. Using some sort of cloaking spell, perhaps. That's what I would do."

Brook chewed a moment, "have you been doing any of that for us?"

"Err, well, I don't know how to," he admitted.

"I have," The Dragon said. "I may be weak, but I can still do my bit to try and keep us all safe."

"We are safe! You're meant to be recuperating," Anar scolded The Dragon as he would a naughty child. "I've got no skill when it comes to my magical abilities, and if you collapse then I may as well not have them."

"What if this mage turns on us, and overpowers you? Are we safe then?" The Dragon mumbled.

"I know how not to be seen. That mage won't know we're here until we want them to."

"And the rat's scouts? They were trained by you! We'd be fools to think there isn't a bunch of his swiftest men hot on our tail."

Anar scowled, "if I say we're safe, we're safe."

"And I for one trust his word," Brook said, loyally.

"That may be. But you don't know magic like I do. It wants to be found. It won't stay quietly hidden. Those gifted with Sight will see Anar as a beacon, much as Bromor saw this mage. As long as the General has my magic in his blood, he will never be truly safe. Other magic users will see him as a threat to dispatch, and collectors will see him as a prize to harvest. He may as well be a dragon himself, at this point. He's a wanted man, er, aardvark, is what I'm saying."

Then the peace was broken. A faint whizzing sound of arrows in the distance, and soft thuds.

General Warlock's long grey ears pricked. He slowly poked his round snout out around the craggy rocks they had been winding through, his pale grey eyes watching as their lonesome mage activated a shield and sent gnoll archers sprawling in the dirt with a bright blast of magic.

A high-pitched lady's voice wobbled a warning as her attackers advanced again.

"Stop making me use my magick on you!" she trilled.

"Why aren't those gnolls dead, yet?" Brook wondered, also peeking out from their hiding spot.

"I honestly don't know. Maybe she's just learning, like me?"

"It's a 'she'?" Brook asked, suddenly interested. "Maybe we should help her out, then. Just a bit, mind."

The gnolls had drawn their knives from their belts and had spread out, keeping a wise distance. If the mage was going to do any fireball hurling, now would be a good time. They watched as she weaved a flimsy blue net deftly in her grey hands.

"She's going to capture them?" Brook's voice was full of disbelief.

Anar turned to his faithful Bromor, "fancy knocking over some gnolls?"

"At once, My Lord," he rumbled, scraping a hoof, before leaping into full gallop to the ongoing scene ahead. He roared and screamed, knocking the funny furry attackers to the ground with his curved horn, bringing his hooves down in an earnest attempt to crack their ugly rodent-like skulls. They turned tail and fled, clumsily, away from the river and up out of the valley, leaving their bows behind them.

The mage cast her magical net upon Bromor, and he was immediately scooped up within it, restrained and blinking, confused.

"Not my magical horse, you don't!" Anar hissed through gritted teeth. His palms lit up in a bright blue glow, and he stepped out from the rocks.

The mage was once again waving around her metal box that was peeping in her palm. She slowly turned, facing the General as she did so, taking a defensive step back with a visible flinch.

Around her neck he could see a glittery amulet, the source of her powers. In her palms, blue sparks danced, much as he himself was displaying.

He was about to demand the release of his Nightmare, when the mage reached up for her white hood hem, and slipped it back over her head and ears, letting it fold behind her.

Whatever he had been expecting, it had not been an aardvarkian lady.

Her skin was a subtle pale grey, her hair a mousy brown that flowed down to her shoulders in glorious tumbles. Wide open amber eyes met his, and he knew he was in big, big trouble.

Brook was at his side in a flash, happy to speak on his behalf, "I believe that's our horse you have captured, there," she flicked her scimitar into the air and caught it again, coolly, "mind letting him go?"

The grey lady's dainty, rose-tinted lips parted, and her mouth flapped as she debated on how to reply. "I am a LayMage from the Council of Sorcerer's, and I mean you no harm," she squeaked.

"That much is obvious," Lieutenant Brook snapped, "seeing as you struggled with a band of gnolls."

"Gnolls?" She looked lost. "And... that's a horse?"

Bromor grunted within his magical net. "A Nightmare, actually."

"I hate this rotten planet already!" With a flick of her wrist the conjured net dissolved, and Bromor failed to stop himself from falling down in the dirt. He shook himself upright, attempting to retain a shred of dignity, and harrumphed.

"I was trying to help you," he sulked.

"I'm sorry! It's just, this is my first retrieval mission, and it isn't at all how I expected it to be, and I'm not packed for an adventure, and, honestly, I thought this was a deserted planet. I say, 'I thought', what I mean is, I was told there would be no other intelligent life forms here. No sentient creatures. I expected dragons, but not flying horses. Certainly not gnolls. I'm just here to find a rat and bring back a magic sceptre."

Anar looked at Brook, who turned to the rocks where The Dragon was daintily sat, finishing his tea. He looked up across at them, holding his cup to his thin reptilian lips, and raised a bony eye ridge above his fancy new smoked glass eyewear.

"I think we've got another member to the group," the goblin clipped, sweetly.

Anar agreed with a nod, still speechless.

The mage produced a clipboard with a flourish and began to write down on paper. "With you in a sec, just have to log all the magick I use."

Anar blinked, fighting off a mental fog, and a desire to run his hands through her beautiful locks, "I'm sorry, you need to do what?"

She pulled a face, obviously irritated at her task at hand, "I need to write down the time I used the magic - Standard time, not whatever hour this place is at, and what I used the magick for. It's all for work use, see, and we can't be seen to be wasting it on Council tasks. Then it gets logged in the system, and if you're using too much without just cause they pull you into an interventional meeting." She shivered.

The General looked at his hands briefly. They still had a blue hue to them. "Huh. How odd."

She gave him some side eye. "Well, you wouldn't want to deplete your source unnecessarily, would you? Getting a new one's a right pain. All those forms. Background checks. You know. Or you end up on sanctions, with a lousy lesser-rated charm bracelet that can barely fire off ten shots, and you have to make it last you six months."

He looked lost.

She blinked. "Anyway," she whisked her official MagickLog sheet away and pulled out the noisy metal box they had seen her use, "I'm going that way. Towards the sceptre. I bloody hope it's the sceptre, anyway, my job placement is on the line here."

"Your contraption hunts out magic signals? That's very clever. My Nightmare found you. Our dragon is having, er, difficulties at the moment."

There was a heavy pause. Eventually the mage blurted out, "there's a dragon, too?!"

"Sure is," Brook grinned, "come meet it. Have some tea with us. We're headed to the same destination you are. This is General Warlock, who's the same species as you, which is a turn up for the books, he's been risen from the dead and wants revenge on the rat who killed him. I'm Lieutenant Brook, I'm on the run from the rat's army, and we'll probably run into his scouts soon who are looking for me. You've met Bromor, the Nightmare. Follow me..."

"I'm Lucinder," Lucinder said, softly, aware of a pair of eyes that hadn't left her for all of the last five minutes. "It's, er, nice to meet you. I think..."