Round 1: Team C

[Max Dirks]

Round 1 will begin at 3 PM EST on Thursday, February 2, 2017.

You stumble upon the refugee camp either to assist the Rangers or by other circumstances. The cat like race of people you encounter do not speak any known language. Three combat ships are bearing down on the camp. Their origins and purpose, like those of the refugees, is unknown. An ideal thread will address the communication issue with the cat people, the purpose of the combat ships, decipher the symbol and will identify the origins of both parties. Please note the term refugees was coined by Ceidon to describe an unknown group of crash victims. It is entirely up to you whether they are actually refugees.

[Philomel]

Quietly the gentle waves lapped against the side of the boat, making small splashes as if desperate to greet the passengers but not having the energy. Behind the small wooden vessel, piloted by four bulky female sailor-warriors, larger waves crashed against the side of the hull of a ship, farther out to sea where it could rest easier. Birds flew and cawed out in beautiful voices, screeching to their hearts' content as the sea took the voyagers closer to a white shore.

At the helm of the boat stood a lone figure, one hoof proudly on the stern. She stood with violet hair around her shoulders like a mane and a determined expression on her face. With naught worn but a dark red battle corset, shoulder guards and a series of thick fabric around her waist holding in possession various weapons, she looked as if she was going to conquer the world. Or at least ready to. She was a faun, and her name was Philomel can see Aart, and with a heart of steel she led the expedition.

Or maybe this was a rescue.

In any case the allure of a new species made the fur on her back stand on end. Excitement thrummed through her with potential of discovery. What would people say about her when it was told she was the one who discovered the cat-kin? Would they call her the 'Majestic’ or simply 'The Marvellous’? Either was good to her.

Philomel stepped down off the prow of the small rowing boat to look back at the others there as they got closer to the shore. Eight others were in it, including her four sailor-warriors, women of the Gilded Lily who were to join them this day. One was her companion, the beloved Veridian, a fox, and the three remaining were people of like grandeur. She had contacted many others, but these three, these heroes and villains alike, had come to her call with the understanding they would all save the world.

“I ask you,” she had written, and sent with her large-breasted messengers. “I implore. There is a plight that must be sorted, must not be ignored. I am calling for volunteers to aid me in saving the lives of a newly discovered tribe from the dreaded threat of likely piratical villains. I implore you to reply by raven by the next full moon, and we will rescue these people together.”

[Knightly]

It wouldn’t be right to ignore the call for aid and the prospect of meeting a new species was always exciting. So naturally Gideon returned his raven as quickly as he had received the call. The trek from Corone was brief, only taking a fortnight before the young knight-errant meet with the crew of the Gilded Lily. He was impressed that the call came from a the Lady's Guild and that they sought help outside their gender. Gideon has always assumed that the dreaded captain Philomel and her crew considered themselves sufficient and without need of men. Gideon wasn’t sure what their motivations were but was happy to aid them in this endeavor.

As they crew lowered themselves into the smaller passenger vessel the young knight-errant sat in the rear behind The Captain's regular crew. Patiently he fiddled with the small lump of coin he had stowed in his jacket fold. The cool breeze of the ocean twisted his short black hair as a gust swept port side. From appearances all of the crew were heavily armed, he was no different, carrying blade after blade strapped to his frame.

“See, the winds are at our backs!” one pirate woman cried leading the cheer from the group. As their vessel was lowered into the choppy water Philomel whipped out her blade raising it high toward the shore. The crew knew what this meant and quickly started to row. The group picked up speed quick as the ladies showed their strength. Gideon too picked up an end of an oar and helped out the ladies, despite them proving they didn’t require an assistance.

As the vessel made landfall Gideon noticed a cloud of smoke billowing up over the tree top. From the looks of it the fire had to be come from a few metres through the brush. On first glance the evergreen forest seemed quite dense, layered in large draping foliage and peppered with dwarf sized boulders. Quickly Gideon and two other lady pirates lept off the rear of the rowing boat into the knee high gulf. The three of them pushed with all their might to beach the vessel as the others dismounted in the front.

Once the rowboat was beached Gideon and the others returned to the small land party. In the distance the knight heard the calls of numerous different birds making a relaxing ambiance. As the group huddled round the Captain everyone began scanning the surrounding. This might have been their first adventure together but everyone here was well trained in their own fashion making them all assets not to be disregarded.

“How about we scout ahead?” Gideon broke his silence nudging the young blonde soldier to his right, Cain was his named if Gideon remembered correctly. “We can be quick, in and out, and let you all know what we see.”

[Mordelain]

Unsettled by open water, Mordelain spent the majority of the journey quietly biting her tongue every time one of the ‘pleasant sea folk’ muttered something out of a children’s adventure book. She had met pirates, sailors, and seamen on three different worlds…none of them quite took to the stereotype like an Althanian.

Now they were close to solid, quantifiable land again, she stood on uneasy legs and measured the distance between the boat and the beach. It was too far to risk her spider silk sandals.

“Don’t rush ahead!” she called to her companions, many already shaking down their sodden boots and scoping the treeline for signs of danger.

She disappeared.

One world turned into nine. The Void consumed her, washing over her body and soul and drowning her in the sights, souls, and sounds of each of the Khalithrism planets. When she was younger, she had tried to count the seconds, minutes, hours, and days, she spent suspended in the infinite expanse of nothingness. Now, she admired the solitude, the time to think. When she re-appeared a few feet in front of Gideon, she had been reflecting on recent events, and the levity of the situation in which they found themselves for half a day. Only a second passed to her companions.

“Provided I don’t have to mention scurvy or wave a falchion at anything, I’ll look ahead.” Her voice projected clearly over the breeze and broil, full of condemnation and growing annoyance.

Gideon raised an eyebrow.

“I think you mean cutlass.”

“Do not take any needless risks Mordelain,” Philomel said with a glint in her eye.

The il’Jhain tucked her hair behind her ears, and then tied it in a loose ponytail with a length of blood red silk gifted to her by her father. Though he was not here with her in his ample flesh, his spirit watched over her shoulder. She had psyched herself up for days before approaching him for consent to leave the University, and Irrakam, after she had received Philomel’s letter.

“Likewise,” she glanced at the pirate. “Bring your crew just into the treeline, no use standing out in the open in case our guests decide to be uncouth.”

Her tanned skin bristled, sweat beading on her brow as the humidity of the dense forest seeped out from beneath the canopy. It was hard to focus on the possibility of conflict when nature did its best to drown out man’s folly with such beauty. Birds continued to dance overhead, wingbeats a rhythm more portentous than any war drum.

“Gideon, take the lead.” Philomel gestured ahead with her sword tip.

With a final nod of understanding, Mordelain steeled herself. She looked ahead, focussed on the rising plume of campfire smoke, and drew on the ambient energies around her. To move into the forest, she would have to travel from the sand beneath her feet through Hudde, the desert world, and then the indomitable wilds of Bulganin – wood to wild wood, and then into the unknown.

“Move out!” the grizzled man cried.

As Mordelain vanished, the Gilded Lilies’ best and bountiful trudged over the golden sand, leaving the safety of the rowboat, and their maritime maladies behind. Into the Void went the redhead, black leather coif and Fallieni ribbons trailing behind her as she once again risked her life in defence of the world so long ago her kin had tried to enslave.

[Cards of Fate]

It was rare for Vincent Cain to stay silent for so long, but the occasion seemed to call for him to hold his tongue. The whole thing seemed something of a joke really; a Planeswalker, Prostitute, Podeslayer, and a Paragon stroll onto a beach. The set-up seemed absurd, which only had Vincent all the more concerned for the punchline. The pirate talk seemed to be something out of a storybook, and he couldn’t help but ponder the powers of the woman who seemed to be flickering in and out of existence. Philomel’s letter had been an unforeseen invitation to take care of business, a push to to deal with another item on his ever expanding to-do list.

When he wasn’t busy chasing the shadows of the past, he was slaying the seemingly unending hordes of undead in Raiaera’s plaguelands. However Fate’s normally quiet whisperings had grown to a cacophonous roar as news reached him about these…”refugees.” First contact was something that had a tendency to set the precedence, be it bloody violence or prosperous peace. The idea seemed almost utterly alien to him, given that on the world where he was from the world seemed to small. Everything had been found, everyone had been found, trade routes went all around the world. The idea of first contact was reserved exclusively for aliens, and yet here he was getting ready to face a different type of alien. The very echoes of this event would haunt him for the rest of his life, and possibly those that he truly cared for as well. Everything was riding on this one moment, and Vincent was found with strangers at his back instead of friends.

A nudge drew the scholar from his thoughts, as the young knight muttered about scouting ahead. He chewed his lip for a moment as he mulled the idea over. “Sure thing, but can you keep up?” The scholar asked, a grin forming on his pale lips. His sapphire eyes darted to the treeline, eyeing a small errant trunk. He took a deep breath and...whoosh, he vanished into a cloud of teal sparks only to appear at the spot some fifty feet ahead of the group. A strong coastal breeze picked up, causing his long vlince coat to flutter slightly in the breeze. He seemed to be dressed the part of pirate today, ditching his usual robes for a pair of plain trousers, his titanium plated drakescale boots slightly caked in sand. His chest was covered in a simple cotton shirt, layered over by his vlince coat. The sun glittered off of the titanium plates, shoulder pads, and gloves he had donned to protect him. He eyed his “team” over once more, trying to shake the unease he was feeling. He had no doubt that they’d be more than useful, but he would feel much safer with the might of someone like John Cromwell at his back.


He turned towards the jungle and took in a deep breath, wiping a bead of sweat that was emerging on his tanned skin as he did so. He couldn’t tell if it was from the smothering humidity, or from his own nerves as he took his first step into the verdant growth before him, crouching ever so slightly. He tapped the amulet hanging on his chest and focused in on the three behind him. Using the amulet as a catalyst, he called on its natural power and formed a mental link between the four of them.

<I think spoken word is risky from here on out. I’ve created a mental channel for us all to talk through. Avoid speaking unless needed.>

[Philomel]

Immediately her tapered ears pricked up at the familiar sound of the voice in her head. Glancing over to where her dearest fox companion stalked carefully over the small dunes to the trees, she wondered if it was his making. But the earth-spirit seemed none the wiser. His purposeful steps over the easily shiftable under-footing were all he was intent on.

Her lips formed a frown, and she looked up and over to where the man who had the same utterance and pronunciations. His hand was touching a small stone around his neck in a fond way. Pausing for a moment she testily nudged at the voice that had come into her head and murmured back:

<"Hello? Why is this … holy crap!">

It was only then she realised that her thoughts here could be heard by the entire group. All four of the bipedals there. Eyebrows shot up in good impression. It was as well a very good idea. Keeping their voices unheard like this would aid in the stealth that they may or may not want to adopt, as well as keep any conversation private. Of course, her four warriors were not included - they wandered to the back as a rearguard - but that was no matter. It was these adventurers that were not under her orders and so who she needed to discuss with.

<"Very neat trick, Mr Cain, however you have left out my dear companion."> She gestured to Veridian as she strode faster up the beach to the tree line. <"He and I share that mental connection, it is how we communicate.">

The young man Vincent looked rather surprised at this idea, but he nodded slightly. It seemed to take some time, as his features developed a focused attitude.

<"Usually I am limited to four…"> he said, but then -

A mental link already was established between faun and fox. It only required the added intention to intertwine that into Cain's spell.

And suddenly Philomel felt the connection to her beloved fox double in influence. She smiled gently and introduced everyone. Veridian himself looked up with glistening, bright gold eyes as he felt it being made.

<"This is my eternal beloved companion, Veridian. He and I share a mental link. Very few times have others felt his mind.">

Veridian paused, watching her stride with a new sense of pride up to where the first sapling burst from the sandy soil. Resting her sword on the root she leant on it and smirked.

Sighing, he bounced onto the first rock he saw and replied to all.

<"Hello,"> he said in his low, handsome and silky voice, <"You may know me as Veridian, and her as the idiot.">

[Knightly]

Suddenly, and as if out of the nowhere, the swordsman felt well outclassed by his comrades. Sure Gideon was dashingly handsome and more than talented with a sword or two. But when it came to problem solving, the young knight-errant fell short. As the group turned face and began to march through the brush a bead of sweat dripped down Gideon's neck. He needed to be of better use to the group, and interpreting cat folk wasn’t going to be easy.

<“Doesn’t someone need to watch the boat?”> Gideon asked the group, trying to find any excuse to diverge from the path of diplomacy. He didn't mind dealing with the Rangers, they were a reasonable bunch.But this turned into a political issue, something that was far from his cup of tea. <”What’s our plan if things don’t go our way in there?”

<”What do you mean, what could go wrong?”> Vincent thought back, it was clear he wasn’t worried at all. <”There just some over grown putty tats.”>

<”Captain, I’m going to hang back and set up a some kind of base “> Gideon said rubbing the back of his head while sporting a charming smile. <”I’ll keep it small and tight, hide our vessel off the shoreline, make sure we aren’t going to be surprised.”>

<”That’s a great idea, just keep it hidden and keep an eye out on the horizon. We may not be the only ones coming in from the gulf.”> she thought back, pointing to a small clearing about two hundred paces into the tree line.

”Pester,” she said out loud. “Could you keep an eye on Gideon, make sure he doesn't take anything.”

“My lady.” The rough and ready beauty answered. Pester was of Fallian decent, her olive skin glistened in the faint sunlight of the forest. She was the shortest of the three other lady pirates accompanying them on their mission. She stood about a foot below Gideon, a feature the knight quickly took notice to.

“Both of you, settle in the distance and watch the coast for any unwanted guests. Report to us at once if anything troublesome looms,” Philomel finished not skipping a beat as the dredged forth through the foliage.

“Aye aye!” both Gideon and Pester answered falling back behind the group. As they watched the Podeslayer, Planeswalker, and Pirate Princess and her jolly partners disappear into the direction of refugees Gideon and Pester looked at each other. His eyes looked in her gaze, unwilling to leave it. He wanted to simply say something, anything that might impress the girl standing before him. But she seemed the sort that would take some endeavour before easily falling into a man’s arms. He studied her face a while, examining how her lips had the smallest of curl, and that he had been gazing at her for just slightly too long.

“You know I’m not gonna steal anything, right?” Gideon asked cocking his head to the side slightly, avoiding any more awkward staring.

“Shut up!” Pester responded grinning, slugging Gideon in the arm before heading back to the boat. It wasn’t long before the two of them moved the rowboat out of sight and had begun stringing up a small tarp in the clearing.

[Mordelain]

Spiralling through the Void, Mordelain to put what she had seen in the camp to words. She doubted she could do the scene justice. As fragments of nine worlds drifted past her, and silence consumed her every soul, the only thought on her mind was of foxes, sweating soldiers, and the all too familiar feeling of a woman scorned.

“<Err,>” she said. At least, she tried to say. It rattled around in the skulls of her companions.

The urge to vomit told her she was close to home, and sure enough through a rippling vision of Corone, she saw the party Philomel assembled. She plummeted. The Void disappeared and in a flash of white, as brilliant and pure as the sun, the il’Jhain re-appeared on Althanas.

“<I thought you’d sound a bit…earthier.” She frowned. “<This is weird.>”

She stood twenty feet from her companions, between two gnarled oaks that told tall tales all of their own. Three days had passed to her, but only minutes here. Her boots dusted with sand betrayed the ordeal she had been through to spy on the encampment. The smell of fire smoke filled the clearing.

“<The camp is not guarded. Well, I mean, they’ve got claws and viscerally cute whiskers, but I don’t think they’re here to enslave the muffin eating and coffee drinking Coronians.>”

“<Are they literally cats?>” Gideon probed. He stopped where the sand turned to a mossy verge. “<On all fours?>”

“No.” Mordelain raised a hand to her mouth, “<No, they’re bipedal. Sort of like Nekojin, but less bendy arms and good god they smell!>”

She had slinked in the bushes around the camp for over an hour, watching the movements of the refugees and the way they interacted. Whatever language they mewed to one another was utterly alien.

“<How many?>” Viridian, in a huskier tone, bounded up into the treeline and sat on a rock in front of the Fallieni.

“<There’s a rather hastily built quarantine around their original camp, so it was hard to count between the Rangers, some prick in a stupid hat, and the refugees themselves.>”

“<So?>” Phi stopped next to her companion, ears twitching, and tail swishing.

“<At least twenty refugees and a handful of Rangers. Lots of people coming in and out of a checkpoint to the north of the camp.>” The ringing in her ears grew louder. “<This is painfully taxing…>” She curled her mouth into a frown come doubt.

“<Are the Rangers armed?>” Gideon leant against a tree, arms folded, musculature tense.

“<Bows, naturally. I do not think we are going to encounter any problems. They’re letting people in from all over, scholars, diplomats, some guy who thinks double denim is stylish.>”

“<So a battle of words, not swords?>” Had Viridian the face for a puzzled look, he would have seemed most troubled.

Mordelain shrugged.

“<Did you see a leader of sorts? An…alpha cat?>” Vincent shrugged back, realising now how silly it must have looked, four strangers pulling faces at one another in the wilderness.

“<There’s a few larger cats in a meeting tent the Rangers erected. It is like they rolled out the red carpet, but they can’t understand a word one another are saying.>”

“<Then they’re really from beyond the mists?>” Gideon seemed surprised. “<I was starting to think this was all some elaborate joke.>”

“You don’t joke about kitties,>” Phi smirked. “<Okay. Let’s close in on the camp and see what we can do.>”

Once again, the faun took the lead, headstrong and head held high as she nimbly navigated the thickening tree line as it turned from verdant new beginnings to a world older than Radasanth itself. The trees bent and cracked, as though alive, and the moss became a springy tapestry of green and brown underfoot and hoof.

[Cards of Fate]

The jungle brush was thick, making forward progress an agonizingly long endeavor. Philomel seemed to have no issues with the thick verdant barriers, but Vincent and Mordelain seemed to be struggling. Each step was labored and required intense focus and planning in order to not trip or to roll an ankle. Each branch had to be pushed back or ducked under, each stray twig clawing at their exposed skin like barken blades. While this difficult terrain alone could have been overcome, the oppressive heat and humidity seemed to be sapping at their strength and wills. Vincent’s shirt had been soaked through with sweat after a mere hour, with the end nowhere near in sight. He would have shed his coat a long time ago, had it not been for the extra protection it was affording his arms. Mordelain seemed slightly better off, her steps keeping a slightly better pace than Vincent’s, but he could tell she was more used to a dry heat, rather than the damp humidity they seemed to be crawling through.

After two hours, the trio and their entourage took a small break to rehydrate and chow down on the rations they had brought with them. Vincent had found a nice tree to lean against while he greedily guzzled down half of his canteen full of water, a mistake he imagined he would surely regret as time went on. He attempted to wipe the sweat from his face with part of his shirt, only to find it equally as damp. Growling he chewed his lower lip and shook his head. He was used to rough terrain, he’d spent the first year or so of his life here on this world having to trek back and forth out of one of the deadliest forests in the world but this…

This was something else entirely.

Instead of anything and everything trying to kill you, everything and anything was trying to slow you down. Each step was an annoyance sapping at your strength, each branch was a barrier to forward progress that seemed to be just within reach of conquering. Everything was a test of your endurance, even the heat itself. It seemed like the entire ecosystem was conspiring against him, regardless of his ridiculous strength or his magical prowess.

<Are we almost there?> Vincent asked in an almost hushed whisper through their mental link, as if the mere action of sending a thought was exhausting.

<I’d say we have another hour or so if we can keep up this pace.> Mordelain replied turning to look at the scholar. <Do you think you can make it?>

<I’ve had to deal with worse…> The scholar quipped as he let out a small, audible grunt. <Just give me a moment to rehydrate.>

<We need to hurry!> Philomel chided. <Those kitties need our help!>

<I’m pretty sure that’s racist.> Vince replied as the snapped his fingers, banishing his canteen into a cloud of sparks. <Like if I solely referred to you as a goat or something.>

The faun shot Vincent a dirty look before wordlessly taking off into the brush once more, fox in tow. The scholar imagined he’d just struck a nerve, but simply wordlessly followed after her, planeswalker in hot pursuit as well.

<How do you plan to get us into the camp?> Vincent asked as he struggled down the rough trail the faun seemed to be blazing. <Or is your plan for us to sneak in? Because I highly doubt that’ll work.>

<Why wouldn’t sneaking in work?> The smooth voice of Veridian inquired mentally.

<Because I imagine we’re a tad too obvious to just blend in. Mordelain and I could maybe steal some uniforms and sneak in, blending in with the troops but Philomel...has hooves. Those are sorta hard to hide.> The Fox inaudibly hummed slightly through their mental connection as he seemed to be pondering Vincent’s words.

<Perhaps you have a point, but how would you suggest going about it?> The fox asked. The group stopped and turned to Vincent, who simply grinned.

<Do you know who I am? I’m one of the five legendary Podeslayers, I have all the documentation I need at the snap of a finger to prove my diplomat status. All we need to do is state that we came here on behalf of Raiaera and I’m almost sure they’ll let us in.>

<Sounds like a plan to me.> Mordelain replied as she caught up to Vincent. <Or at least, better than anything else we had come up with thus far.>

<I concur.> Veridian replied, looking up to his faun companion. <Any issues?> Philomel rubbed her chin for a moment before nodding.

<It seems like the easiest course of action. I hadn’t even thought about using Vince’s status.> She turned back to him and tapped her hoof as she thought about it.

<We’d simply roll up to the gate, I whip out my papers.> The scholar flicked his fingers and suddenly he was holding an envelope stuffed to the brim with documents. <I’ll tell them that we’re an embassy from Raiaera curious to assist with the situation, claim something like we’re a team of linguists from what’s left from the Istien university and BAM.> The scholar pantomimed some form of punch, <We’re in on an official level without having to sneak around.>

The trio looked at each other for a moment, and without saying a word mentally or audibly, they nodded.

“Alright girls...here’s the plan!” Philomel exclaimed audibly as she turned to face her three remaining troops.

[Philomel]

Juli, Harmony and Gildred Phantom, the three other sailors that Philomel had deemed responsible and useful enough to come with them to shore, listened to their matriarch well. And they immediately agreed with her. Though Juli, a gorgeous curvy women with brawn and her fists, muttered something about the fact it was Philomel who and concocted this plan. Harmony shushed her though and reminded her that if Philomel had agreed to the plan, then it must be one of the only ways.

As the main party began to reveal themselves out from between the trees and present themselves forwards, Philomel looked to the three sailor-warriors and gave a small nod. Taking the point of an arrow, Juli twisted away from the two strong females and the strange Cain man, and headed over to where a group of merchants were discussing something over a low, long table. After a brief glance around the main settlement, Juli had come to the conclusion that they would have the most information, at least now. If not for the large number of them, but also for their wealth. The other groups seemed full of fighters and not as smug as the merchants were. Which probably meant they had more answers.

They were dressed in finery, rich fabrics and golden threads. They were part of the general array of tents, and situated themselves under a dull coloured tarpaulin. With pursed lips Juli strode into their midst and coughed loudly.

Silence fell, and eyes immediately turned to them. Dark eyes, hateful and spiteful eyes.

“Can we … help you?” A sour voice said.

It came from a tall human in a long robe and matching hat. He had his hand resting upon the table between everyone, where it could be seen now there was a rough map of the entire place. Juli gave a sideways glance to Harmony, known for her photographic memory who only blinked back at her.

A sign of understanding.

“Greetings,” Juli stepped forwards, “We are part of the Raiaeran delegation of interpreters. We come under the Podeslayer, Vincent Cain, and we are trying to make connections.”

She smiled sickly sweet.

The merchant stared, “There are many other people here, why interrupt us?”

Juli looked him up and down. “Why, you are merely the most attractive set of gentlemen.”

He didn't seem that impressed. Though his comrades raised eyebrows.

“Indeed, now answer the question.”

Juli grinned more. “We want information. Anything you have so far, and we'll pay handsomely.”

“What makes you think we would-”

“Unless you think that any of the other parties have a remote chance of finally finding the key to their language… for that is what you are still stuck on… is it not?”

She felt lucky, in that moment, that Matriarch Philomel’s friend had scouted ahead and got the general idea of what was going on.

There was a general murmur amongst the men, undercurrents of mutterings and quiet grins. Some even winked at the girls.

It took the head merchant to shout. And grab their attention back.

“No,” he yelled, or rather hissed. “We will not help you. Stop with your distractions. Each for their own here!”

He grabbed at his belt, where Juli could see the hilt of a knife. Behind her Gildred Phantom made to come forwards and argue more, mouth open to shout - but Juli saw the knife. She grabbed her comrade by the arm and spoke fast.

“We're sorry for bothering you,” she smiled, not wanting to start a fight - not yet. She took a step back and bowed her head.

Eyes glanced to Harmony, and the elf inclined her head. Then, Juli knew they could leave, and thus she twisted around to go. Pulling Gildred in tow she grinned to Harmony and the two of them shared a knowing look. One that meant they would now be on the top. One that meant that they would be up a level and be able to now go forwards with their plan.

For Harmony had memorised the map.