He knocks.

Orus decided he would not be cowed by myths. He rapped his fist upon the old door, determined to see to the matter as a true knight.

There was a long moment of nothing but the sound of the wind, yet just as he was about to knock once more, the door handle turned, and with a slow creaking, it opened to the sight of a woman in black.

The knight stared for another moment. She was an elegant woman, of a prime age with no semblance to the decrepit and dry lands surrounding the tower. He realized that semblance was what he had expected of a witch who would rule such a place, but this woman... she did not resemble his expectations at all.

“What a surprise I have been granted at this early hour,” she spoke in a fine tongue, her head tipping enough that her sleek fall of midnight-black hair swayed gently. “A visitor is such a rare thing these days. To what to I owe the honor?”

Orus met her large, dark eyes, grim determination set into his bold features. “I come in search of the lady Gwyneviere Fairchilde,” he answered dryly. “Tell me, have you come across anyone whom you might call such?” He fixed an inquisitive stare upon her striking appearance, one hand by his sheathed blade.

Her eyes danced with his as she mulled a reply behind slyly shifting lips. “Perhaps...” she finally said, clasping her hands. “I could tell you of the possibility, that one such person has come my way, if you would accept an invitation to join me inside?” She tilted her head toward the interior of the tower, where dimly-lit furnishings told of a cozy living space.