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“…traumatically horrific-existential-crisis-in-a-box with a side of a malevolent menagerie?”

Peace settled over Jericho.  Peace she’d not had in a long time.  With a faint smile she began to fade away, gently laying a hand on Alessio’s shoulder to assuage as much of his anxiety as she could before she vanished.  And then she was gone.

Appearing beside Alessio was a tall, lithe man, probably in his twenties, with dark hair and eyes.  He wore a drab grey cloak with a flap cut to grant access to a quiver of long-shafted arrows of varying thicknesses.  On his shoulder was a stout longbow.  Beneath the cloak he wore a loose white shirt and tight-fitting open vest covered in embroidery.  His trousers were tucked into heavy trekking boots and tied with a vibrant sash.
Startled, Jango instinctively nocked an arrow to his bow and glanced around.  There were all manner of strange people, animals in cages, and an actual dragon within the room.  By Kiaan, where am I?  But he did recognize one person in the motley assortment of creatures.  Brendin Warin, Lord Northiron’s nephew.  He’d been kidnapped from the University by Ingor’s maeres nigh on six years ago, presumed dead.  Or worse.  Yet there he stood, alive and well.
“Lord Warin,” he greeted in Kith.  “What’s going on here?”