Last night, everyone had gotten plenty of rest. The next morning, bathed in the bright sunshine, the group left the doors of Warhammer Tavern and began riding northeast.
Of course, no one wore the armor that Dag had worked on the previous night, except maybe to risk injuring their mounts. Besides, wearing such armor on the entire southern bank of Hoffenstan River would have been too embarrassing.
The prince of Seren, the Elf General of Androlina, Acheron Mingyan, joined them. Had it not been for his voice, the group would have hardly recognized him. His hair was now as white as snow, and his skin as black as charcoal, making him the spitting image of a Zoel Elf.
"Your costume looks quite convincing," Bruto commented to Acheron, who was sitting backward on the rump of Lancelot's mighty Nightmare, "You almost look identical to the Dark Elves from Twin Bridges Town."
"Are Zoel common around there?" Alamir asked curiously.
