Taking a single deep breath, her chest filling rapidly with the sting and taint of sulfur, of heated rock and splinting glass gone cold, Kamyshin knew she had finally passed beyond the last gate barring the entrance to the mid levels, the Catalai; the thick stone structure made from the same materials that were primarily used within the towering structures and mines of Meq'domnius that litter the horizon and tunneled deep, deep beneath. The nearly whimsical and water slicked buildings of the first with its mixture of flammable materials and seemingly flimsy construction rapidly transformed just beyond this threshold of stone, into only stone.

Although this change was quite easily explained by the relative baseline heat and sluggish rivers that cut like the shining blade of an attacking assassin, if it was easy to catch the hungry tendrils of flame and lava, then it would burn, fall and it would be destroyed. Even in light of this conflict and the way of life here within the furnace and Meq'domnius' Catalai, it did not seem to stop some from the comfort of simple things and the luxuries of life; the grey and white stone walls coated in the thick smears of paints, inlaid metal into carvings and even the sparing spins of spider silk from the native creatures which cover the cielings in a city of their own.

The splash of reds, yellows, and oranges thrum and stain the stones of this district, turning what must of been a blue mural of the surface's vast sky and guiding it to greens and purples of the aurora. Nevermind the color that it has turned her companion for the day's pursuit, his creamy flesh sharpening into a bold red like that of a Madder skinned Courser, his striping deepening further into the shadows cast by the molten river.

Logue stood with his back nearly pressed to the walls of their meeting spot, a well known and patroned tavern, 'The Candlelight'. She had come to require his assistance with a delve out of Catalai proper into the truth of the furnace and had not impressed upon one of her sisters in the Order to take the long journey back with her. After all, the mercenaries within these walls would suffice and she would not be the one to ruin another's hard earned leave for a simple as this mission would be to undertake. It was not that she felt her fellows would not turn her down, rather it was that they and she, would scarifice everything for each other because of their bonds and natures. So, she had not told and did not ask.

The 'Underdog' as they call him turns his pale green eyes over the bobbing crowd's heads and meets hers on his second glance, the flickering of flame from the river mudding them for a second too long her to grasp it's true hue, and she nods her greeting to him; the throng and thoroughfare of the Catali was thick and relentless at this hour. As similiarly to her own armoured state, the mercenary came prepared to leave and to fight, his well oiled and darkened leathers hosting a series of scraps and scars and the supple bend of his layered belts pulled heavy with the weight of blades and other adventuring items; a wax coated length of rope, the curved hooks of a grappling system, and even his own companion hanging from the flap of a pouch. A dark brown bat with beady and aware black eyes.

Side stepping a stone hauler, the wheels of his cart rumbling noisely on sharp stone and splinting black glass, Kamyshin shiftly parts the people and reach his side, "I would take it that you are Logue, yes?" Her soft voice pours from her lips and a twitch of his velveteen ears in her direction speak of his awareness to her words.

A soft and welcoming smile, bracketed by his wary nature with flank still pressed against the structure behind him, is her first answer. A bob of his head, long brown gold strands flopping in the dry, heavy heat, and a searching look is her second. He was assessing her capabilities and likely reordering the mission with different parameters in his mind, all before he spoke a second later, "And you are Kamyshin, of the Scarlet Order." The Champagne spoke with confidence and a flick of his tail to break the stillness of the air.

Her own face pulls into a smile, "I did not know that this name was known to the Catalai, a place where it is always stained Scarlet with the river's glow." Her is teasing and open, a result of her comfort in the space she knew as her home and her people.

Kamyshin was well aware that the Meq'domniusian people knew of her existence and all were fond, well most were fond, of her and her work, but the name in which he referred to her Order as... it was a term that really only the surface dwellers used. It spoke of the battle in the red passes of the desert metropolis Yuhnica, where there were only the hues of their livery to separate them from the invading forces from the eastern seaboard, it spoke of their aid in the healing tents and how their bodies became the same color of their roses once they had been let against the pillaging soldiers. To the Yuhnican people, they had bloomed that day and had become an Avenging force... It spoke of both rescue and bloodshed, a darker side to their Order and it's unique history.

It was not a history that she would have expected the depths to know, but Logue was a soldier of information was he not? Mercenaries thrived on knowing their employers and their movements better than they themselves knew, it would have been expected for him to research her and know her capabilities.

Logue's smile winked easy and calm at what must have been shock in her eyes, "You represent Meq'domnius, how would we not known of your every deed as it passes through the lips of bards, soldiers, and merchants alike?" The comment tempers her shock into more of a tired amusement, she had become more of a figure of story than she had wanted, intended, or really expected and here it was being told to her in the voice of one that mixed his accent from the surface to the Catalai. A twang that invoked both sunlight and hearth flame.

"True enough, my good man, true enough that is." She sidles up alongside him and takes to watching the crowd pass them by, packages hanging from lip and back alike, to foals chasing one another, and even to the biting barter of merchants and clients a street over the bank.

A soft twinkling laugh reaches her long ears, Logue's laughter, "The day may be long in both Yuhnica and within these halls of the Kingdom, but it's time we continue on, no?" She bites out with a subtle pout. This only makes the laughter last, clattering shoes that hop into action following quickly after her and into the nearest exit, a hole choked with metal bars and two standing guards.

The mustard yellow plume of their helms were vastly more untidy than the patrols of the main walks with the ends bend and misshapen, it was likely they are on the end of their shift and bleary-eyed in the wake of the late hour. They approach and seek entrance into the depths of the Dungeon with ease, by Logue's swinging badge stating his position as a mercenary and her emblem of the Order that was emblazoned on her blanket.

Logue looks to her, face having steeled into a professional rigor, "The target you asked us to track three weeks back has moved to the inner chamber of the ruins in the westbend. Follow and I will guide you to them." She nods, pleased that he was able to keep a level of decorum in the field, and their positions are switched to her following after his hoof steps instead.

He leads them down sloping and curving paths deep into the furnace heat, the walls smooth and gleaming with once super heated glass and stone. It took more than a few hours by her internal calculations to arrive in the ruins he spoke of, the first in the western loop known as the Westbend due to its angular labyrinth design. The walls were littered in various molten lines, unusual given the smoothness that it should have similar to the path that had just taken... and yet they were consistent in design. A series of five lines trailing one after each other in a sort of paw like gesture with the fifth at a different angle than the rest.

"Your intel is good." She impresses with her studying glances at the scars in the stone, softer and brighter brown tracing the prints into the shadows of the far end. Kamyshin could see its path as easy as if they were illuminated by the dawn, it was as if it had left them for her to find. A ghostly howling wind rips through the hall, rustling fur and manes with the hot breeze.0

Most would be offended by her words, instead Logue simply nods, "I was tasked with the tracking of the creature, I should hope that it had not changed dens before I had last seen it." Logue was exceedingly humble in his response, Kamyshin liked him more and more.

The dying of the wind brings a fluttering of sparks and ash, that which sizzle still from the mother fire that had birthed its mortal children and flung it from it's embrace to live either a tragically short or long life admist the flow of the Furnace. Or perhaps in this case, as in a flurry of movement and crackling, to birth its own monstrousity on it's back. A hooded figure blooms to life, wreathed in flame and hosting bubbling flesh mits as it spreads it's limbs open wide to her and her companions, a fluttering of screeches falling from the bat of Logue's and her own mouse.

Breath catches in her throat, like a rock lodged in the crevice, and she rears back to avoid the hazard. Here it was, the crier, the one that had sought their help with its in disernable pleas and projects images of the Furnace grounds. A danger that she had taken on alone in her passion to help the people's that inhabit her domain and lands, her duty calling to her.

"Hello, one whom is of Fire." She chokes out once her hooves land back on the stone path, skittering with it's sparking of metal and obsidian.