Morgan continued on her way through the village, the tension in her stomach not subsiding even a little as she passed through the streets. She could hear the cries of the villagers, though she did not try to look for their source. It was bad enough to hear the rumors of what Lycian soldiers had done on their way through Etruria; to see those tales in action, in a Lycian village no less, was immensely troubling. A mixture of fear and guilt gnawed at the back of her mind. She felt selfish for continuing with her business while people were suffering nearby, but what could she do? If these soldiers treated fellow Lycians like this, she could only imagine how they'd react to a single traveler stirring up trouble. She was lucky they hadn't plucked her off the street yet.
She still hadn't spotted an inn or tavern in this place yet. No place for travelers to gather, it seemed. That didn't bode well for her hopes of gathering information on her family's whereabouts. It seemed like her hunch had been fruitless after all, and had merely brought her towards danger.
She was contemplating turning around and getting back on her horse when she spotted a trio of hooded figures. They were a short distance away, and Morgan assumed from their garb that they likely weren't from here. Morgan couldn't say if they were refugees or mercenaries or what, but if they weren't from Santaruz, there was at least a slim chance they'd know something.
It seemed almost an absurd thing to do, given the circumstances, but she decided she couldn't afford to be picky. At this point, she was desperate enough to take any potential lead.
Morgan picked her pace up a bit and headed in their direction. By the time she'd arrived, a bit behind them and to their right, she'd already figured how she would broach the subject. She'd just have to hope they'd care to dignify her words with a response.
Words which caught in her throat the moment one of them began taunting the Lycian soldiers.
She still hadn't spotted an inn or tavern in this place yet. No place for travelers to gather, it seemed. That didn't bode well for her hopes of gathering information on her family's whereabouts. It seemed like her hunch had been fruitless after all, and had merely brought her towards danger.
She was contemplating turning around and getting back on her horse when she spotted a trio of hooded figures. They were a short distance away, and Morgan assumed from their garb that they likely weren't from here. Morgan couldn't say if they were refugees or mercenaries or what, but if they weren't from Santaruz, there was at least a slim chance they'd know something.
It seemed almost an absurd thing to do, given the circumstances, but she decided she couldn't afford to be picky. At this point, she was desperate enough to take any potential lead.
Morgan picked her pace up a bit and headed in their direction. By the time she'd arrived, a bit behind them and to their right, she'd already figured how she would broach the subject. She'd just have to hope they'd care to dignify her words with a response.
Words which caught in her throat the moment one of them began taunting the Lycian soldiers.