In the cool breeze-filled night, Clayton walked slowly through the wreckage of his barracks. Seeing the dead lettered on the ground, the blood that had pooled made an inch-deep puddle. Clayton was lost, why did this happen? They were all trained knights of Umar, symbols of pride and glory. To feel so weak and defeated, Clayton continued through the wreckage of the building. Francisco, not far behind but keeping his distance, watched Clayton. Clayton moved through the pooled blood and bits of meat that were left behind, his mind was struck with crashing waves of memories. The laughter that once echoed through the dining hall. The tall tales that were told around the fire pit that sat in the center of everyone's beds. The many many brotherly roughhousing and pranks played over the last year. Clayton's heart hung heavy with grief, his eyes welled with tears. He tried his best to not let them fall but they did and as they did he dropped to his knees broken. Francisco watched fighting the urge to go over and comfort Clayton. But he knew this was something Clayton had to experience himself even for a few short moments. This didn't stop him from playing a soft song on his pan flute. It was an older song from the time of heroes, Herald of Peace; it was commonly used to lay to rest the fallen warriors who were killed in battle. The melody flew through the air as if dancing in the wind. When the song reached Clayton, it wrapped around him filling him with this sense of calming release. As if the song was taking his grief and sorrow when it passed through him. Clayton stood up and turned to Francisco, their eyes locking as Francisco stopped playing the melody. Clayton gave him a nod with a grateful smile, Francisco tipped his nonexistent hat to Clayton. Before either one of them could make a move or say anything, the sound of horse hooves came rushing up the road, and halting hard at once was the front gate of the barracks. It was one of the soldiers that rode into town, he quickly dismounted and stormed his way over to Clayton, walking through the rubble and blood not caring in the slightest. Clayton, confused as to who this was, suddenly recognized that it was a high-ranking holy Umar knight, one that was only ever seen in the capital or out hunting a high-value target that was a danger to the king. Clayton snapped into formation, and Francisco quickly changed his form back to the one he used to escape the angry villagers. The high-ranking Knight approached and said, " At ease, young knight," in a stern deep voice. Clayton rested, the Knight removed his helmet revealing an older man with gray hair, and a scar reaching across his face from his right temple to the lower left corner of his chin. His one eye held years of combat. "What happened here?', "Where are the rest of the men?', " Where is your commanding officer?", The Knight spoke in a curious yet demanding way. Clayton began to inform the Knight what had happened. " A Gultonk came crashing through our barracks as we were returning from an issue in town." The old Knight interrupted "Why didn't any of you notice the Gultonk approaching?" "By the looks of the debris and the blood and bodies, this would have happened sometime before sundown, more than enough light to be able to see such a giant creature approaching." Clayton's gaze fell to the ground, " I do not have an answer for you sir." The High-ranking knight began to walk around the debris and bodies, "Continue with your report." Clayton followed behind, and as he did he signaled Francisco to leave. Francisco slowly began walking backward and turned right just before the sight of the pair of knights was no longer in view. Quickly Francisco sped and walked down the path the Older Knight had just rode up, passing by the horse he had ridden noticing the Umar seal and colors decorating the saddle with its gold and red colors. The horse itself looked to be bred for war and nothing else; strong and covered with armor. Francisco only glanced at its eyes before seeing a mean and intent to harm coming from the horse. Feeling a chill run down his spine Francsico's speed walk became a jog. As he continued his attempt to make it back to the Tavern, he noticed the other knights who had a road in only counting five in one of the diverging paths. Francisco, not wanting to be cornered and questioned by them, maneuvered his way around the buildings. Coming to where the Gultonk's two halves lay. Seeing the creature overwhelmed him, Francisco in all of his travels, he had seen enough to fill hundreds of stories but this was enough to fill nightmares. The last time Francisco had seen a Gultonk, was when he passed through the Kordon mountains and saw a group pushing rocks together to make a path for the running water from the melted snow. They didn't look the way this one did, this one looked twisted and vile. The smell it gave off was enough to make Francisco cover his mouth to attempt to hold down his dinner. He looked around to see if he could reimagine what happened and how the fight had played out. The signs of what the Gultonk had done were easy to point out, but then Francisco noticed the footsteps left behind by Clayton and followed to where they lay. The shifted weight in each footstep became easier to follow as Francisco imitated what had happened or at least what he thought had happened. Francisco realized there was a third individual, one with more experience than the young knight Clayton. With a loud snap of his fingers, Francisco concluded it must have been that adventurer with the bear cloak and greatsword. Francisco turned to begin walking to the tavern again but he hadn't noticed the large cloaked individual standing in the ally. Francisco called out to them, " Good evening kind sir, I was merely looking at what had happened here. I am of the curious sort, unfortunately." The large figure began walking toward Francisco, with a determined pace. Francisco couldn't think of what to do, he had forgotten who he turned himself into. Was it the drunk in the corner at the tavern or the drunk that had passed out outside by the front door? It wasn't until he looked down, and saw his hands were old and covered with a deep brown-red skin tone. One you would get from having daily exposure to the sun for too long. He attempted to present himself to be older, by hunching over and rubbing his back as if he were in pain. The figure now stood over him, Francisco being a Nesfundru was no small being. Why the average Nesfundru was well over seven feet tall and that was with their horns. But this figure stood at easily eight feet if not more. The figure placed their hand on top of Francisco's head and muttered a phrase under their breath. Francisco changed back into his real form and realized what happened. The figure dispelled his morph spell and now stood in the open with his true form showing. His tall horns that curved back behind his head, his long snout, and his deep red scale skin shone in the moonlight. It gave him an unnatural feeling having been forced out of his spell like that. Francisco attempted to flee but the figure struck him from behind, knocking the Nesfundru out cold. Three knights walked out from the corners of the building that Diomede was thrown through, they picked up Francisco and placed strange iron shackles on his wrist.