WHO: Chris Lightfellow, and others. Open!
⚔️️ WHAT: Chris continues to struggle to learn magic, does some questing, and decides to learn more of the myths and legends of Camelot.
🕒 WHEN: Throughout March
🗺️ WHERE: Camelot, Red Springs, and the Archivist's Home
⚠️ WARNINGS: None that I can think of

Training

In the training yard, there's a WHOMP sound, like accompanies an outburst of fire, a brief cry, followed by a clanging noise, of metal hitting stone. Going to investigate, you find Chris a short ways away from an entirely unburnt training dummy where her familiar, the Holly Elf (just call her Holly) sits on top of its head, head in hands, watching boredly. The Silver Maiden of Zexen is clutching her right hand to her breastplate, a few feet away, a gauntlet lies discarded. What you can see of her hand suggests it's been burnt; the skin is red and angry-looking. Chris' expression is pained, but looks more frustrated with herself than anything else.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn. Agh." She sees you approaching and attempts to wave you off. "Ah, forgive me, I didn't mean to cause an alarm." She'd been trying to replicate a Flaming Arrows spell, or something similar and..obviously it hadn't worked out.

"I thought fire magic was supposed to be your entire deal. Isn't that why you've got that funny little tattoo on your hand?" Holly observes, kicking her legs against the face of the dummy.

Chris shoots her an annoyed glance. "That's not helpful, Holly." Back to you, she tries to assuage any concerns you have. "Don't worry, I've had worse in my time. It's not quite as painful as it looks." That may be, but a healer might still be advised. Or at least an icepack.

A Bit of Thief-Taking (RUN SNAGGLEFOOT RUN)
This was more familiar to her. This was something Chris knew she was capable of. Thief-taking wasn't normally in the purview of the Zexen Knights, and certainly not their commander, but a nation founded on mercantile and run by merchants and traders tended to take an especially dim view of thievery. Besides, it felt closer to the duties Chris was normally used to than all this magic nonsense. Especially when the thief was so incompetent to let his destination be known.

Said thief is now currently backing out of the stables as Chris comes out of them, hand on her sword, but not having drawn the weapon yet. "Hand over the stolen merchandise and submit yourself to arrest, Mr. Miffen." She says sternly. "This farce has gone on quite long enough, wouldn't you agree?"

Snagglefoot Miffen balks, and his eyes noticeable look down the street. "Don't do something you'll regret, Mr. Miffen." Chris warns. "It will go more poorly for you if you run."

"Not as poorly as it will for you love in all them clanking armour bits." He points out with a cheeky grin, and then books it.

"He's running!" Chris calls after him. "Cut him off!" Hopefully the assistance she positioned at the end of the street while she cut him off at the stables is keeping their ears open. She starts after him, but he was right about one thing; in all her armour Chris isn't exactly mobile right now.

Myths of Camelot
Chris is wary of coming this close to the Forest of the Fisher King. She doesn't know much about the place other than it sits at the edges of the Land of Rot, and that everyone has been advised not to go too far in. Fortunately, her destination is on the edges of the forest, so she doesn't expect too much trouble. Still, she would go with company if at all possible.

Chris gives the steamcar the Archivist calls home the once over as she and whatever company decided to tag along with her approach. "Strange choice of domicile." She notes. "I gather the actual archive is below ground." Her familiar, the Holly Elf is perched sitting on one of her pauldrons (Chris has long since given up trying to shoo her away) and already looks bored.

"Oh boy, hours trapped underground in a dusty old library so you can read a few myths and legends. This is fun for you?"

Chris closes her eyes and sighs. "Holly, please. You're welcome to stay out here or return to Camelot if you like."

"All that way by myself? No thank you! My wings get tired." She grumbles some more, but doesn't move off the pauldron.

"Well then, do you suppose we knock, or can we just let ourselves in? I don't wish to be rude."