"Right, I locked myself in a cage and suspended myself above a death drop." Fiora replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes and gesturing at the lever on the wall, just out of Garran's reach, it seemed. She was certain the pirate might have been able to reach it if he stretched a little, but it was precarious at best and she would not be responsible for him losing his balance and falling to his death.

"I hope you have a good grip." She added with, taking in a deep breath before pushing the energy she had absorbed to her feet and pushing herself off the floor of the cage in a leap, aiming straight for Garran. When he did catch her, she simply laughed and flashed him a sincere smile of gratitude. "Thanks a lot, big guy. You're my knight in shining armor. Well, except for the armor part." She planted a kiss on his cheek, and moved herself back onto her own feet in the corridor and shut the door behind her.

"Now, let's be off before my charming father regains the use of his limbs."

Daren tilted his head, considering. On the one hand, he could go and see the latest inventions of war and combat. That would certainly promise to be interesting. After all, who wouldn't want to see what the best and greatest minds the Seraphim have to offer could create, especially given that they've magic as well. There would certainly be enough things there to keep him occupied, and he would get to see more of the city in the process. Always a plus, given that this city was one of the most well built, beautiful, and amazing architectural creation he had ever seen. Then again, he hadn't seen all that much in terms of great architectural building. A few houses that soon burned down all around him in his early life. Some stone buildings in the towns he visited. Then the huts of the wolf tribe. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Daren realized that this was likely the first and only truly great city he was going to see. The city that was on top of a very high mountain with a very long way down to the bottom. On the other hand, he could go with an old man and listen to his stories. As if prodded forward by the familiarity, an old memory floated to the front of Daren's mind. Another old man, his eyes that sparked with good humor nearly lost in the wrinkles, telling him stories as he sat in front of him. The memory filled Daren with a warmth. It was a from a time when he knew he had people who loved him. However another memory soon took it's place.

That same old man, eyes glassed over with death, laying in front of the member of the mob who had killed him, while the fire raged all around. Daren shook himself, banishing that memory to the dark recesses of his mind. "Doubtless I'll see these new weapons, or better versions of them, sooner or later. But stories, ah, stories are a once in a lifetime opportunity. I'll take my chances with you."

After catching Fiora with little effort, Garran laughed loudly and placed her gently back on the ground, placing his hands on his hips quickly afterwards. "'Tis only nat'ral t' save a damsel 'n distress," he shouted loudly as he puffed up his chest, "tho'...what d' we do 'bout tha' man?"
"Oh...leave him to me," sounded a familiar voice as Caelum appeared from the shadows, a smile on his lips but the rest of his face as expressionless as a porcelain doll. It made for an eerie image. "Charges of kidnapping, embezzlement of funds, and I'm sure with access to his manor...other things will be found," he said as he lifted up his hand, revealing a sheaf of papers with Garen's personal seal on it. "With this...I can ruin him politically and put an end to his caterwauling at my family," he said with a small chuckle under his voice. Garran felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This Caelum was...different. He was usually so nice, but apparently when it came to politics, he was...pitiless...relentless...well, from what he had seen so far at least. Turning over to Garran and Fiora, his tone changed once more to one that was much gentler. "Good work, Garran," he said, "you didn't cause too much damage so I can probably write this off with a few explanations of uncontrolled magical experimentation. I'm sure I can fake a few things down in here, but you madame," he said as he turned to Fiora, "would you like a part in ruining your kidnapper? I am sure a victim's account will not go amiss in his incrimination."

"Uh...Cael'm, methinks Fi'ra needs t' get some rest 'fore she thinks of anything else," Garran said as he looked down at the Seraphim. Caelum nodded. "But of course," he said, bowing, "let us return to the compound for now, I shall see to what wounds you have madame, if any."

"Certainly." Fiora replied in response to Caelum. "I'll even offer some of my blood to prove my lineage." She wasn't ashamed of who she was or where she had come from, and whoever couldn't look past the surface didn't deserve her friendship. She glanced at Garran and slipped her hand into his, smiling up at the pirate. She found herself quite at ease with the pirate, though perhaps it was because their livelihoods were very similar in certain respects, though Fiora had less need for violence in hers. She wasn't sure why it had been so natural for him to show up to her rescue that she hadn't been surprised it was him and not the assassin or nobles in the group.

"Why don't you come with me, big guy? I could use a drink after all this and someone to toast." She offered, still smiling and remembering the feeling of being herself around someone else after a long time of putting on masks and personas to survive.

Cadogan smiled like an idiot - well an idiot, or a very goofy person. He quickly gathered his composure though and replaced the smile with a more determined one. "Ofcourse I bloody damn sure intend to win - what reason would I have to join a competition just to aim for the second place?" He rolled his eyes and took a little sip from the bottle of wine - which was at this point less than half full. "That's like building a weapon and not intending to use it - pointless." The Great Inventor muttered as he scratched his chin and shook his head a bit before chuckling "If I don't win this one I'll be greatly dissapointed in myself. Might do horrible things, like composing music or other such mumbo jumbo." The white haired man shook his head again and ran his fingers though his hair. "Ok, I need to concentrate..."

Cadogan shifted his stance - straightened his back and took a little sidestep while taking better support from his walking stick. "Now, if you excuse me I have few last minute details to take care of - so... uh... Wish me luck, ok?" The white haired man smiled quite sheepishly as he made a little bow and made his way past Torva and Hagumi.

Despite the slight swaying in his walk the Great Inventor managed to get himself signed up to the competition without much of a hassle - and he managed to do it in a dignified manner to boot. He made his way to his assigned working space and sent word to a few fellows he had paid to get all of his belongings to the site. His creations arrived in good order and Cadogan began checking the little details and making some last minute adjustments - mostly to the War Walker of his.

While the white haired man worked he silently whished himself luck for the competition and occasionally took a little sip of wine to ease his nerves.

Justica placed a hand on her chin as she examined the map before her. The region Itzal had marked certainly matched intelligence she had on the general location of Halden's Den. Although the nature of his magic made it more effort than it was worth to track him down, she was familiar enough with his and Shade's long history to bet the assassin would put in the time and energy to do so. She was also familiar with the fact that Seraphim had been sneaking out to attend some sort of illegal fighting ring, but as is often the case, trying to prosecute men of money and power was usually futile even in Seraphim society.

Examining the pendant and the package, although she didn't go as far as to unwrap it, Justica couldn't help but come to the conclusion that this man was telling the truth. Halden's head alone would carry with it a heavy bounty, but if Shade was indeed dead... well there was no point in getting ahead of herself. She would have to send out a dispatch to verify the details, but by this point she was more hopeful than pessimistic as to how successful they would be. Still, there was one detail that had been nagging her. Justica had stayed well informed on Lady Dralina's efforts to find a cure for feralism, and not once had Itzal's name appeared on any of the reports. The seraphim elder eyed the man across from her warily, wondering how he could have evaded any mention.

Nevertheless, Halden's head deserved some degree of reward, and the issue of the man's identity could be resolved in due time. “Let us assume for a moment I believe you,” Justica said, taking a conservative tone. “What did you hope to gain by coming before me? Information? A reward? You don't seem the type looking to have a statue cast in their honor, and yet here we are, the lifeless head of a known fugitive sitting on my desk in broad daylight. Perhaps it is a pardon, then, for past crimes? I must admit I have no recollection of your name ever crossing my eyes before.”

Justica paused, hoping that last part would illicit some sort of reaction, even the slightest of twitches that might reveal his identity, but when Itzal did not react she continued. “If all this is true then Seraphim society owes you a great deal of gratitude... and compensation... for your efforts. So then, what does a man such as yourself value most?”

---

Munus and Macto openly welcomed Kayla, both as a member of the Council of Elements and as a respected mage across the lands. They had both been eagerly awaiting her report, having spoken to human dignitaries the day before, if only to clarify certain points of the story they had heard thus far. Macto laid back casually, sipping tea from a carefully crafted glass, while Munus furiously scribbled details from the story and compared notes from the previous meetings. Certainly Kayla's story had a drastically different take on the events that took place in Dumont, and yet they were consistent with the facts presented where such facts could be independently verified.

As Kayla finished her story, Munus was the first to speak, “I thank you profusely for your report, and graciously accept your opinions on this matter, but I am afraid I must disagree with your hypothesis. The fact of the matter is that a member of the Daeva monarchy did in fact go feral and attack a royal banquet, and if reports are to be believed Lady Dralina herself caused significant collateral damage invoking some sort of dark ritual. Supposedly the land remains scarred and dead where her magic struck and all manner of plants die the moment they are placed in that soil. I would argue, as I hope the council will, that this is clearly a case of self defense.”

Macto finished sipping his tea, gingerly placing the cup down on his desk before interrupting. “I hardly see how genocide is ever the solution, self defense or no. Shall we also round up every human who owns a weapon simply because a number of them have used them for murder?”

“Hyperbole! Non sequitur! ” Munus responded, “The number of feral attacks has increased every year since its discovery, and the daeva have failed in every attempt to quell the issue. Would you have us sit back until every one of them is feral and clawing at our gates before acting?”

“I would have you calm yourself, first and foremost, and remember that what you or I would do is only a fraction of that to be considered, albeit a considerable one. Lady Kayla,” Macto said, turning his attention towards the elemental master, “should war break out, many would die from both sides. Seraphim will surely be drawn into the fight, and even if Adalrich does not act, individuals are free to do as they choose within the bounds of the law, and that included drafting into war. I do not wish any form of bloodshed, which is why I must ask... how would the council act if it were determined that the path of least bloodshed lie in an overwhelming victory and not a protracted battle?”

---

It had been a strange couple of days indeed, and so the seraphim guards at the outer gate of Adalrich ceased to be stunned when a man strapped with all manner of weaponry arrived holding a wanted posted... and the man in question. After briefly questioning him on his purpose and informing him about most of the common laws he would have to obey, as well as removing the bolt with considerable effort, they simply opened the gate and let him pass, each wondering how exactly to describe the man to their buddies when they retired for the night.

As Lazarus drew closer to the city's core, however, the familiarity of the seraphim with the bizarre waned considerably, and the bounty hunter caught all manner of sideways glances from seraphim as they passed by. Eventually stopping, it wasn't long before Lazarus drew the attention of a local guard patrolling the streets. “Erm... excuse me, sir.” He said, arm on his weapon but not immediately taking an aggressive posture. Spotting the rolled parchment, the guard quickly pieced together the apparent purpose of the strange fellow, and cut right to the chase. “Ah, a bounter hunter? That explains quite a bit. I take it you've come for the reward. For that you'll have to go to the western edge of the city where the holding cells are located, and then to the Council of the Righteous to collect your reward. The guards at the penitentiary will provide you with a writ of confidence detailing that the bounty has been fulfilled and reward owed.”

Poking the body briefly with a gloved hand, the guard was fairly certain the bounty was not going to cause any trouble. Even so, protocol required that he ask. “Is the target, um... hmm. Well is he dead? I am required to escort you if he is not, although I don't think he could so much as roll off your shoulder without being impaled on SOMETHING.”

Torva's ears twitched at the words Hagumi let slip ever so silently from within her mother's grasp, his fur standing on end as the temperature plummeted before returning. He had no idea what these tests would really be about, or how hard they might really be, but if there was no way to stray from the path that had been chosen for Hagumi, then there was only one thing for Torva to do....

“Hagumi is the most talented seraphim I have ever seen.” Torva said, placing a large hand on her mother's shoulder, “and I have faith in her abilities. You've raised a talented daughter, so if you're going to bet on anything, bet on that.”

Hagumi's mother jumped at first, a startled look in her eyes upon seeing Torva's hand on her shoulder. Tolerance aside, she had never been so close to a daeva and she felt embarrased at her reaction. Her eyes quickly softened as his words though, and she released Hagumi, wiping a tear from her eye as her other hand touched Torva's. It was warm, and surprisingly soft, and even though she could feel the power in those hands his touch was gentle on her shoulder. “You're right,” she said, standing upright. “If anyone can do it, my daughter can. Thank you. Hagumi, you've found yourself a fine man, and I'm happy for both of you.”

Blushing slightly, Torva was relieved to follow Hagumi outside, and even as the whispers and stares resumed, something about his previous encounter put Torva at ease enough to brush off the assumptions of strangers, at least for now. Approaching a fountain, the gentle babbling of the water drowned out most of the hushed whispers anyway, and as a calming breeze blew through the trees the rustling seemed to settle the remaining doubts in his heart. Still, he couldn't help but worry for Hagumi, and although he tried to hide it, their time together had opened him up to the seraphim like a pop-up book.

Grinning sheepishly as at being discovered, he slid closer to Hagumi while she reminisced, trying to imagine a younger, smaller version of her hiding among the branches trying to sneak in a few pages of her favorite book before being discovered. “The inventor's competition, huh?” he repeated to no one in particular as he gazed towards the heavens, a lone cloud passing under the sun. “That sounds like a great idea, and I'm sure Cadogan will need the support.” Torva added, knowing how tough the crowd would be if HE entered into any competitions in the city. A lone feather danced in the air as a gust blew past, finding rest on his muzzle. A sneeze and a shake later, and it was gone, as were they, on their way to the Colosseum.

Waving to Cadogan and Chii, Torva wondered where Neon was, or if she was having any luck talking with the Council. He knew there wasn't anything he could do personally to convince them, so he may as well take in the sights and enjoy the brief respite from battle while it lasted. After wandering slightly, the unlikely pair were able to find seats relatively close to the front. Torva wasn't sure if they had belonged to someone else, but nobody was making a move to approach the daeva, so he might as well take advantage of his undeserved notoriety.

The crowd was already uproarious, seraphim of all shapes and sizes shouting out the names of various mages and inventors, although Cadogan's name wasn't among them. As it came closer to the beginning of the events the sound only grew louder, one particularly obnoxious seraphim beside them shouting drunken obscenities in the name of someone or another. Eventually even Torva got into the mood, shouting “Come on Cadogan! Show these featherbrains what you can do!” which only caused the drunken seraphim to shout even lounder. The two went back and forth, each trying to drown out the other. Finally having had enough, Torva lost himself in the moment and took a deep breath, bellowing in a voice that echoed throughout the stadium. “GO CADOGAN!”

The entire stadium fell silent, all eyes on Torva, and realizing that he had perhaps been a bit too excited, suddenly found himself wishing he could vanish into a puff of smoke. It was the drunken seraphim, of all people, to break the silent. Slapping Torva on the back, he stood and stretched his wings to their fullest before yelling what sounded like a battlecry. Instantly the stadium erupted into shouts as everyone realized the master of ceremonies had entered the arena, signaling that things were about to begin.

“Ladies and gentleman!” he said, magic enhancing his voice like a loudspeaker, “Welcome, to the inventor's games!”

"I believe coin would serve, as Lady Dralina would no doubt be quite cross with me if I let slip the chance to fund our expedition further." Itzal replied, calm and quiet. "Though in this case I would simply ask for your voice against declaring war on the daeva. I will not deny the amount destruction our group may have caused there, and arguably far more than would justify self-defense... but I hardly think it is reason enough to declare genocide."

Itzal studied Justica's features and tried to read the woman for any hint of suspicion. It seemed she had bought his story, for now, but the lack of a body at the site would no doubt have her trying to track down Shade once more, though she would have better luck finding a ghost. If she agreed, their conversation would be at an end, and he would part having gained the upper moment - for the foreseeable future anyway - over his long-time adversary. In time, Justica might piece the clues together, but for now, he hoped she would consider the man sitting before her now and the man she had been hunting for a good length of her career were two very different souls.

"All I have heard of you tells me you are a just and fair woman, a champion of justice, if a little stern and fierce. So tell me, Councillor, when does a good person know when to kill?" Itzal asked. "Is there ever a good reason to draw a blade or march an army... and if there is, would you consider the current circumstances one?" He left the question hanging in the air, eager to hear the woman's answer.

---

"The council's decision stands." Kayla replied confidently, unwilling to let the two men dictate or sway her stand, and by extension - the council's, on joining the war. "We cannot and will not condone or partipate in genocide. The daeva have been unable to quell feralism, you say? Give me an honest answer then, councillors, would the seraphim be able to do any better if we were in their position? For all of our magic and intelligence, we are as close to understand feralism and find a solution for it as the daeva or humans are. Lady Dralina has personally undertaken this expedition in hopes of finding a cure or an end to it. That is more than can be said for either us or the humans, despite our constant bickering over how dangerous the daeva are to our people. For all our love of claiming we are far more intelligent and enlightened to our neighbours, your words tell me we would resort to the same barbaric measures they would. There will always be a reason for us to declare war on one another, councillor, choosing not to and working it out is what makes us better than the forces that seek to divide us.

"The Element Masters learn to control all the elements. To use them in harmony and recognise that each element gives us life as well as takes it from us. Fire fends of wild beasts and provides warmth but burns down our homes and our crops. Water sustains us and waters our crops but also drowns us in floods and crushes us under its tidal waves. The earth, for all its bounty, quakes and tears asunder our land. The same can be said for any of our races, and if feralism is cause enough to kill the daeva, our magic is cause enough for a war against us, as is the humans' engineering prowess."

She met eyes with the councillors and made sure they were fully aware she was ready to back up her words. "As for what you say of excessive force, tell me then, why the Providence was brought to bear on a small group of travelers. They had the numbers and the firepower to capture or kill us but they chose to mobilise their strongest weapons - capable of leveling their own city. Tell me, councillor, in light of those facts, did Lady Dralina truly overreact? She is a dragon, and to slaughter her kin before her eyes was cruel at best, no matter how justified. Would you not unleash every ounce of your magic if your wives, or children were slaughtered before you?"

Kayla sat back down in her chair, but the strength of her gaze had not changed. "The Council of Elements sent me here to inform you of our stand on the war, and my decision has not changed. I would hope, for the sake of my companions and the soldiers you are considering sending to their deaths, that you will think on yours."

"You may follow me if you wish, for the man is alive." Lazarus replies and glances at the guard."But, I decide the route we are taking, and wise would it be if you, nor no one else, will try to stop me." He finishes and glances around the streets before he resumes his walk. Then all out of the blue he asks from the guard."There wouldn't happen to be anything..interesting, going on around here? Something big, something for the crowds?" His head turns to look at the guard as he waits for his answer, taking his time with the travel towards, assumingly at least, the holding cells, and to the Council. While he waits for the reply, he observes his surroundings and shakes his head a bit, for he knows not where he is at the moment."A while.." He mutters under his breath and gives his now squirming prisoner an firm squeeze, briefly cutting his air off."Oh be patient Ladykiller, you'll be off of my grasp soon enough..."

Despite himself, Garran blushed a bit as Fiora's tiny hand slipped into his grasp. Nevertheless, he eclipsed hers with his own and laughed as raucously as ever. "Sure, why not lassie, thar always be room in me belly fer grog!" he shouted as he slapped his scorched abdomen. Caelum laughed once, before turning away into the recesses of the mansion. "Run along you two, I still have work to do here," he said as he flexed his old, yellowed wings, "besides, I still have to explain to the constable what happened here, and I'd rather you two not be at the scene of the crime to mess up the story." Garran threw him a little look, before shrugging and turning to Fiora. "Whassay we head 'n down t' the port 'nd see what bars are open lass?" he asked with a grand smile on his face, "ev'ry drink 's on me t'day! Lessee if ye c'n outdrink ye old cap'n!"

In the dingy bar of the "Saucy Stallion" within the merchant's district, the two humans found refuge among their kind. It was still a little gaudy for Garram's taste, but being a newcomer to this city, he didn't see anything better, and so he entered with his companion, still holding her hand. A few wolf whistles went up as the two walked through the door, as well as a few shudders as they caught sight of the massive tear in Garran's cheek, revealing the inner musclature of his mouth. Taking a seat in one of the more secluded booths, Garran was served a tankard of heavy ale without even asking, which he promptly slammed down in three gulps. As Fiora's drink finally came, and Garran's was refilled, they toasted various things together. Their health. The health of their party, Their mutual survival, and the rest was just drowned out in a flurry of empty tankards.

Halfway through his next tankard, Garran caught a glimpse of a group of men drawing nearer to their table. As they came closer however, they seemed to totally ignore him. "Hey pretty lady, how about you dump that ugly arse you've got there and come have some fun with us?" said the one one in the lead, a skinny little beanpole with too much ego for his own good. Before Fiora could speak, Garran stood up to his full height, shadowing the little twat and blocking out the sun. "Turn ar'nd 'nd leave, laddie," Garran warned with a smile and pleasant tone, "this lass be with me." Turning to him with a smug look on his face, the man scoffed. "I believe I was talking to the madame, you overgrown gorilla," he said haughtily. Laughing uproariously, Garran leaned in closer, before grabbing him by the folds of his tunic and lifting him off his feet. "Unhand me brute!" he shouted indignantly as he tried to pry Garran's massive, ham-like fists off, "do you know who I am?! My father is the great merchant-!"
"I dn't give a crap, lad," Garran said, the smell of cheap alcohol on his breath causing the man to turn away in disgust. Leaning in closer, Garran smiled even wider, emphasising the various scars on is face, especially his missing cheek. "D'ye wanna know how I got these scars lad?" he whispered menacingly as their eyes locked again. The man remained silent, suddenly cowed by his sheer size. With a sudden lurch, Garran threw his head forwards and cracked it into the rich ponce's forehead, knocking his unconscious. Throwing his limp body to the ground, he turned in time to see one of his lackeys draw a knife from his belt. "C'mon lad, that be nothin' more than a pin!" he shouted as he doubled over in laughter. Enraged, the man stepped forwards and made a stab, but the pirate grabbed his wrist and tyanked upwards. With a belly churning crunch, he tightened his grip, and the man screamed as he grasped at his arm. Dropping him back to the ground next to his unconscious master, he revealed that with a simple grinding of his hand, he had snapped the bones in his wrist and forearm. The knife, tiny in the goliath's grasp, was thrown into the ground beside him.

Turning back to Fiora, he beamed brightly, as if nothing had happened. "So, whar were we?" he asked as he took a step forward, before there was a sudden snap and a shower of splinters. Being forced over, Garran was silent for a second as one of the bar patrons slammed a chair over his head, breaking the piece of furniture. Silence occupied the entire bar. Slowly, laughter permeated the room, coming from the pirate himself. Turning to his aggressor, he grabbedhim by the face and lifted him up. "I guess yer lookin' fer trouble, matey," he said as he smiled widely, a single drop of blood making its way down his face, staining his fair, "and guess what? Ye just FOUND IT!" With those final two words, he cast the man into the wall opposite him. it was then that all hell broke loose. Cheeking, fighting and breaking furniture.

“Something interesting? You are one lucky fellow,” the guard said as he studied Lazarus. “See that giant arena in the distance? The inventor's games will be starting soon. It's one of the biggest events in all of Czarina and a true show of Seraphim skill.” he added, neglecting to mention that all the races were of course allowed to enter. “In fact, if you hurry you just might make the opening ceremonies....”

---

The crowd roared to life as the announcer and master of ceremonies took to the center of the arena. The contest was held each year in a Colosseum nicknamed the Magnus for its sheer size. Tens of thousands could fit in the circular arena, and certainly it seemed as if that many had attended for the day's activities. The arena itself had been made perfectly flat through earth magic, with over a hundred workbenches scattered throughout evenly, all facing inward. In the center a massive pit loomed, dark and ominous.

While the announcer riled the crowd up with stories of past winners and returning champions, the competitors were being given a much more useful explanation of the rules by the judges in an underground chamber leading out into the arena. “Each competitor will be allowed to enter each of the three main events. Placing well in any event will score points proportional to your rank, while placing poorly will cost you an equal amount of points. Not competing in any event will not be penalized, and the winner will be determined by their total combined score.”

Three additional judges stepped forward, all seraphim in official garb, each representing a different event. “The first event will be weaponry,” the leftmost said, glancing down at parchment. “All competitors will be given an hour to create a weapon of their choosing. Targets will be provided for demonstration. Ranged weapons are allowed but you must create your own ammo. You will be scored on craftsmanship, durability, originality and, of course, lethality.”

“The weapons event will be followed by armor,” the second instructed. “Competitors will have two hours to create as many pieces of armor as they wish. Competitors in this event must have an assistant to model the armor. A precaution: the armor will be tested, so do not enter if you are not confident in your design or care for the survival of the person assisting you. Points will be awarded for quantity of armor as well as quality, weight, craftsmanship, flexibility where appropriate, and function where magically enhanced.”

“Finally,” the center seraphim said, stepping forward, “we will close with the trinket event, a crowd favorite. Competitors will be given three hours to refine and showcase any items they have brought with them or create in that timeframe. Entries from previous years will not be accepted. They can be anything, so be creative! The winner will be determined by panel evaluating each item's uniqueness, durability, function, visual appeal, and by crowd reaction.”

“In a moment we will be opening the gates and you will be directed to the bench prepared for you. I see some new faces this year,” the head judge said, nodding at Cadogan, “so I expect to be surprised. Winners, don't get lazy because you won in in previous competitions.” As the gate began to rise light poured in from outside as the cheers of the audience shook the very walls. “GOOD LUCK” the judge shouted as he pointed towards the exit, shielding his eyes from the light. “MAY THE BEST INVENTOR WIN!”

Outside, the master of ceremonies greeted the inventors and officially began the event by firing a bolt of energy high into the air. The bolt arced in the sky and flew down into the massive pit, which exploded into a massive flame that rose above the Colosseum itself. Embers flew from the pit, dancing through the sky in a magical display and earning cheers from the crowd as they fluttered down to each station, lightning coals to be used in smithing.

The first event had begun.

Cadogan blinked his eyes a few times. No one told him these were going to be proper inventor's games - as in you have to INVENT something on the spot. He took a deep breath and gently lowered his forehead to rest against his workbench. There he remained for nearly three minutes, silently repeating a word that starts with the letter c and rhymes with a punt. When he had composed himself, managed to clean up his language - and emptied what remained of his bottle of wine - the Great Inventor took one of the parchment rolls he had saved from Dumont and rolled it open. A little vexed smirk decorated the white haired man's lips as he began making calculations about the time it would take him to make both the weapon AND the damn munitions to it. He was quite sure that he could succeed - though being sure about things was not at the moment what Cadogan was best at.

Still he wouldn't give up so easily! Not before the whole games had even begun properly! He glanced at Chii and smirked. "Ok, since you are my assistant during this event would you please get me some wine? That would be really nice." Cadogan didn't wait for an answer - instead he began the work of bending and shaping metal. He added to himself that there would be no time to make wooden stock for the thing he was building - so he'd have to come up with an alternative solution. As he worked the Great Inventor seemed to ignore everything that was going around him - at the moment that was for the best, since he was working at a very tight schedule.

Fiora sighed when another man tried to butt in and earned Garran's ire. She could have handled it herself, but the pirate had intervened before she could even say anything. She had a feeling things were not going to end well and it call came true when she heard a chair splinter over Garran's head. She winced at the sound but the man didn't seem to be fazed by it, instead opting to plant the attacker in the wall.

"Here we go again." Fiora deadpanned as she kicked the table, causing it to slide across the floor and blocking the rest of the group from reaching Garran. They glared at her only to be greeted by her giving them an innocent doe-eyed expression. "I'm sorry, were you walking by?" She rose to her feet, hooking one leg behind her to kick up the stool she had been sitting on into the air, before spinning around and kicking it right at them. The stool caught one of the fools in the chest and sent him flying into the wall, the legs embedding themselves into the stone and the one trapped between them terrified once he realise she had done that.

Fiora broke out into a run and kicked the last man away, grabbing her tankard as she landed gracefully into a seating position on the table and finished her ale, before swing a leg up to kick away another patron's fist and send the empty cup flying into his face. She did a backflip and landed beside the guy she had pinned to the wall, leaning against it and frowning cutely at him as though a bar fight had not just broken out. "Well now, interrupting a girl while she's drinking isn't that smart is it? Rudeness doesn't win you any favors with the ladies, good sir." A menacing smile crossed her features as the man shivered at her performance. "If I see any of you around me or my companion again, you'll have more than bruises to treat."

Once she was done warning the idiots who had accosted her and Garran, Fiora found her way through the fight to the pirate. "Well, tough guy, this wasn't what I had in mind for a date... but I really think I'd rather we have some time by ourselves."

“That's the spirit!” Vates said, gesturing Daren on as he excitedly hobbled towards the council. “Weapons may dull and break, but a good story! Ah- a good story can stay sharp forever.”

Vates led Daren through the grand hall, filled with paintings of great seraphim from times of old, each taking a regal pose. Their steps echoed off the marble floors and through the stone halls as they approached the various offices of the council members. Unlike Dumont, the decorations were all creations of local artists placed, not to show off seraphim culture, but to remind each seraphim walking through the halls of the high standards they must maintain. Where Xerxes halls were filled with trophies and spoils from conquests, many of them Raha's own victories, there was nothing glorifying war either. True to the seraphim culture, each wing and open door seemed to signify that the seraphim were above such petty things as war and gloating, and yet the whole city seemed like one giant spectacle at the same time.

Opening one such door, ornately carved from oak into the image of a book in a forest, Vates gestured for Daren to sit as he perused his collection, muttering to himself. Glancing over his shoulder at the strange fellow that he had captivated for his own entertainment, he finally settled on a particularly old book, worn from a great many uses. The pages were yellowed, and yet not a single speck of dust lay on the leather cover. The old man smiled warmly as he run his weathered hands over the cover, gingerly opening it up to the page he was looking for. In truth, he had long since memorized the tale, as it was one very close to his heart, and yet he flipped the pages as he read anyway, a habit long ingrained into his worn body. “This particular tale stars a young man not unlike yourself, swept away on grand adventures across wild lands...” Vates said, beginning his tale.

“He had fought many dangerous creatures, and laid with more than his fair share of beautiful women. “ Vates teased, “and yet his heart was like a rolling stone, never settling long enough to grow roots. Dozens of broken blades and too many broken hearts later, the boy, now a man, had learned much of the world, and yet still little of himself.”

As the story progressed, Vates seemed somewhat sad, and his hand gently caressed a sketch across the pages of one of the women in the story, a fiery women with jet black hair and raven's eyes dancing in the moonlight. “He thought himself invincible, and perhaps in spirit he was, until the day he met his first dragon. It had started simple enough, a clash of egos arguing over which could claim the right to any treasure found in a recently uncovered crypt. The dragon felt that it was on daeva lands, so only a daeva should have rights to them, but the man pressed the issue, claiming his discovery granted him rights to whatever it contained. Words became blows, and blows became battle. The sky erupted with lightning as the two fought, their elements aligned such that neither could really hurt the other with magic. The man was swift, his wings strong, and he flew circles around the dragon, but arial acrobatics alone can't down a dragon, and he was struck in the leg, critically injuring him and sending him careening towards the ground.”

Vates paused, shifting lightly in his chair as he glanced at Daren, making sure he wasn't boring the lad. “The man lives through the good graces of the dragon alone, forced to crawl through the dirt and the mud for miles to the nearest village. He entered the forest a seasoned adventurer, champion to many, but what came out was something much more.” He waited for dramatic effect, closing his eyes as he finished the sentence, “What came out was a man who knew he knew nothing, a fool among fools with enough self-awareness to know it. Where I come from, we call that wisdom.”

Closing the book, Vates made sure to stop one page shy from the end of the story, where a sketch of the man, wounded and recovering at the hands of a tribe of wolves, looked suspiciously like a younger version of Vates himself. Collecting his thoughts, he gently placed the book back on the shelf and addressed Daren. “I see much of that young man in you, both the good and the bad. It may be twenty years too soon for this story to have much meaning for you, but I hope if you take anything away it's this: adventure without purpose, mischief without consequence, and a life without love isn't worth a single copper coin when you find yourself on death's door.”

Coughing slightly, Vates realized that perhaps he was being a bit too morose for the sightseer, “Perhaps you should go and see those inventor's games after all. In truth I'm feeling a bit under the weather and these old bones don't hold out as long as they used to. You're welcome to come back again, if you'd like. Perhaps I can tell you about the seraphim that flew higher than any other, or the daeva that could change his appearance at will. I promise the next time it will be a bit more entertaining.”

Vated hobbled out of his seat, leaning heavily on his cane, as he led Daren back into the main hall. “Just follow the cheers and you'll find it in no time,” he said, pointing in the general direction of the stadium. “They've probably only just begun, so if you hurry you can make the second round.”

Torva scanned the crowd as the announcer explained the rules. The vast majority of attendees, as to be expected, were seraphim. Men and women of all shapes and sizes with wings as white as snow and black as coal. Little children ran up and down the aisles giggling, and every gust of wind blew feathers into the air that twisted and swirled out of the stadium like flurries in a snowstorm. Of the many thousands in attendance, only maybe one or two dozen were non-seraphim by Torva's count, discounting those with their wings likely covered or bound. Of those, most were human, but the wolf's keen eyes spotted one or two other daeva hiding amidst the crowd, blending in thanks to their ability to transform fully. If not for fanged teeth or patches of fuzz behind their slightly pointed ears they would have fit in perfectly with the human attendees, and Torva found himself jealous of how easily they fit in, his hand reaching down and touching the enchanted bracelet in his pocket unconsciously.

Making a note to mention them later, Torva's attention was turned next towards a massive gate opening at one end of the Colosseum. The opening ceremonies concluded, a veritable army of craftsman, iron workers, and mages poured out, some sprinting towards their workbenches while other casually strolled along eying up the competition. Even Cadogan was lost to the crowd, and if not for Chii standing out like a beacon in the night, Torva might have had trouble spotting him. Chii's tiny tail swished as she followed Cadogan, following his instructions while assisting in the first round. Chants broke out once again across the stadium, the favored winners' cheer squads waving banners and shouting obscenities at the competition. Although Torva had grown up around more vulgar language, to see the seraphim people acting so was almost... relieving. “Huh, I guess they're not so different after all” he said to nobody in particular, his words lost among the screams around him.

It felt good to be anonymous, if only slightly, and Torva certainly appreciated the crowd far more than that of Dumont. The constant shouting and cheers was like a white noise, drowning out Torva's ability to discern one voice from another, and his nose was nearly overwhelmed with the smells of hot meats, baked goods, scented oils, and burning irons. He grabbed a handful of Hagumi's hair and, being careful not to pull, brought it to his nose and breathed in, closing his eyes. The familiar scent helped Torva adjust his senses, blocking out the more obnoxious scents and sounds one by one until he could once again form coherent thoughts. “I'm probably the only one here who appreciates how amazing you smell right now” he said to Hagumi, wrapping one arm around her. “Have you found Cadogan yet? He's right there” Torva gestured, bringing himself cheek to cheek with the seraphim to guide her.

“It's amazing, all these strange and inventive weapons. I'd hate to be on the pointy end of most of these” Torva half-shouted to Hagumi. “I really hope the council makes the right decision tomorrow, or I might just find out. More importantly, you're more familiar with seraphim culture than I am” he said, quickly changing the subject, “what are Cadogan's odds of actually winning?”

"Inventor games eh." Lazarus muttered to himself and adjusted the barely breathing bandit on his shoulder."Excellent. You told me that you'll have to escort me if I am to go and claim the bounty from alive wanted? Well, I am not about to claim a bounty anytime soon, so, you may, or may not, continue to escort me. But I, am heading for the arena now, and thus, in theory, your presence is not needed there." He began to head towards the arena without giving the guard a chance to reply, nor act for that matter. Due him having wasted enough time, Lazarus did not make it in time for the opening ceremony, but he arrived in time to take good glances towards the inventors as the first event begun. He could not care less of the stares of the others, and most of them soon enough focused their eyes back to the competition anyway. As for the bandit, he wasn't in any shape to even attempt escaping and could only lay there and wait for Lazarus to finally take him for authorities.

After a while of wasting his time, as Lazarus thought of it, he began to head through the audience, to get better view to the inner part of the arena, and the center of attention. He took a small jump and landed on the border of the stand, and before anyone could have chance to react, he took another jump, and soon landed gracefully on the ground. If that wasn't enough to draw some attention, his carefree walking and loud voice should be."People of Aldarich!" He announced."I am sorry to interrupt your entertainment, simply to provide my own. BUT, should you just let me take a moment of your time, I shall begone quickly and let you back to your nonsense." Lazarus did not even bother to let anyone reply before dropping The Ladykiller from his shoulder and on the ground, he grabs the man by the hair and pulls him up on his knees."This here is Cayne Hillborn, some of you do know him better as The Ladykiller. He is scum, an outlaw, wanted for murder of countless women, or to be more precise, 21 of them, the latest victim being nothing less than the High Counselor's dear wife. For his crimes, this man has been placed bounty upon, and has been authorized to be brought upon authorities ALIVE.." Cayne's lips formed into a smirk, alive, he could flee, escape or bribe possibly his way out."or DEAD." His smirk died off as Lazarus spat the last part out and let go of his hair. The bounty hunter took a step back and pulled broadsword and a katana from their scabbards."And so that NONE of you shall get a wise idea of breaking the law, this scum shall serve as an example for all of you!" Cayne manages to turn around and look up at the man, his mouth opens as he gets ready to plead for his life, but his words are cut off along with his head before they ever get out of his throat. The bandit's head comes clean off his shoulders, and Lazarus lashes his swords down quickly, thus cleaning their blades from blood, sheathes his swords and turns around. As he extends his hand, the outlaw's head falls past it just in time for the hunter to grab his hair again."Now then, good people!" He yells out again."Thank you for your time, and remember, if the reward from your head ever reaches my ears, I will be there, and you shall be caught. Now then, enjoy the rest of your show!" He turns and began to head for the exit, leaving the audience and contestants to react however they saw fit. He slips away from the arena with one final sentence."Oh, and the winner drinks on me today."

Hagumi had smiled to herself as she felt Torva grasp her hair... she couldn’t help it. Hagumi was also finding some bit of solace in the massive crowd, for while they were mostly seraphim, the attention was not focused on she and Torva, but instead was on the inventors in the ring below. Hagumi wondered if her mother or father were in the crowd somewhere. They had not talked about going to the games, but it had been something the family had done, in Hagumi’s younger days… often bringing Phryne along with them, as she and Hagumi had been very close from the moment the other seraphim had come to work for Hagumi's family, close as sisters, and perhaps closer..

“I see them,” Hagumi replied, leaning over to speak into Torva’s left ear, pointing to the tiny figures of Cadogan, at his workbench, and Chii, whom was scurrying off to, presumably, get something for The Great Inventor, although neither Hagumi or Torva knew that Chii was looking a bit frantically about for a wine vendor… “Mother told me that Doragon came from this place,” Hagumi whispered into Torva’s ear, feeling her sword hum softy against her right thigh as its name was spoken. Looking back to the ring below, Hagumi saw Chii hurrying back toward Cadogan, the tiny, silver haired dragoness clutching something, a large jug, Hagumi guessed, tightly in her hands.,,

Hagumi chuckled as she watched another white feather alight on the tip of Torva’s nose, and plucking it deftly away, the seraphim hugged Torva’s waist tightly with her free arm. “See, everyone is alike, even we seraphim let our hair down, so to speak,” Hagumi murmured in her companion’s ear, having noted Torva’s earlier words. Hagumi’s attention returned to the ring, where she could see Chii had arrived safely back at Cadogan’s work area, and had handed The Great Inventor whatever he had sent he dragoness to fetch for him. “Cadogan is keeping Chii buy,” Hagumi laughed…

Then things took a rather unexpected turn... A man appeared in the ring below, dragging along a unsavory looking fellow. He went on to, in a unapologetic tone, apologize for interrupting the games and went on the name the man whom he had drug into the arena as The Ladykiller. The bounty hunter went on to spout off about making an example of The Ladykiller… so that no one ‘would break the law’. “Oh thank you… champion for justice,” Hagumi muttered under her breath as she watched the spectacle unfold, that’s all it amounted to… Justice was just an excuse; the bounty hunter was nothing but a attention whore, and a rude, loud, uncivilized one at that…

Some of the large crowd screamed as The Ladykiller was relieved of his head and thus his life, some of the seraphim who had never seen battle, blood, or death, being shocked at the gruesome display. The young ones were the most affected, some standing in shocked silence, other crying, most running to the parent(s) or to the nearest adult, who if they had any sense, ushered the young one(s) away from the arena with all due haste. “He didn’t need to do that here,” Hagumi hissed angrily into Torva’s near ear as she glared down at the arena, the games all but forgotten now.

“Since when did some bounty hunter have the right to lecture us,” Hagumi seethed with indignation, and anger, the latter for having her brief time of relaxation interrupted by the sword wielding jerk spouting justice and beheading a man in front of everyone. “And what does he think we are… humans?” At the words left her lips, Hagumi bit her tongue. “I didn’t mean that,” she muttered softly, glad that no humans were in earshot to hear her words. “I’m just. All I wanted, quiet for a day. I can’t even have that, can I!?”

Cadogan didn't pause to listen to the odd swordsman's declaration - he did hear it, but there were more important things to concern himself with. He didn't even stop his work when the Ladykiller was beheaded - after all he was under a tight schedule. Still the Great Inventor very briefly paused his work to take a sip of wine. The wine was a bit bitter, but that was probably for the best - too sweet a wine would just be consumed too quickly and since he was going to work with explosive materials drinking the wine too quickly would be a tad bit of a bad idea.

As the white haired man worked he muttered under his breath "Who does that bastard think he is? Comin' here and stealing our spotlight..." Cadogan spat on the ground and shook his head while reminding himself that there were still events to be held and that he'd have ample time to get back in the spotlight. "No guards or anything even trying to stop the fellow..." He rolled his eyes and concentrated on finishing the barrel of his gun - he'd add the rifling to it if he'd have enough time. "In Dumont the fellow would have been shot by now..."

There are three types of men in this world. The heroes, who rise to fight monsters against their will. The monsters, heroes who lost themselves to evil. And monsters who were redeemed, to become human again. But it is impossible to be certain which you are, until it is already too late.

---

Falling.

move…have to…move…need…friend…need to…

Chaos. Thoughts, swirling in an abyss.

Have to move…gotta…need to save…now…move now…don’t stop-

Diving. Wind rushing through feathers, through fur, drowning out the noise.

Diving…have to…move…have to move…have to move now HAVE TO MOVE NOW GO!

Landing. The ground rushed upwards, slowing to a halt as wings beat furiously. Dust flying, settling.

Breathe……

In front, the firing squad. Behind, a Daeva. Between them, a Pegasus.

Now gotta…escape!

Flying again. Muscles struggling against added weight.

Gunfire.

Then nothing.

=-=-=-=-=

Aldris woke with a start, the nightmare still fresh in the front of his mind. For a moment, he had trouble getting his bearings, before realizing he had woken in the makeshift infirmary of Shade’s home. Of the multiple beds, his was the only one with a resident, although one of the beds had the look of recent occupation. Hours, maybe even minutes recent.

He sat up ever so slowly, his muscles still remembering the multi-day flight, even after healing magic and more than a full day of rest. Very little would quickly repair the amount of wear and damage he had sustained. The only reason he even knew where he was, was the pain keeping him awake through the exhaustion in the initial hours of his arrival. Setting his elongated jaw in preparation, he stood up…

…And promptly fell flat on his face as his legs gave way. With an effort, he forced himself to his feet again, this time much more slowly. He remained standing this time, but there was certainly a lot less strength in his legs than there was before. It was obvious visually, too; the intense exertion of the flight had begun eating away at muscles not being used at the time, leaving his legs and arms both thinner than before. Some heavy therapy, maybe some magic, would fix that in relatively short order, butit would be an arduous process.

He was dimly aware of the fact that he wore nothing but undergarments, but this was no surprise. He had often needed to shed clothing quickly to transform, or lose whatever he had been wearing. In this case, he had lost what he had been wearing when the boat had been attacked. He tried not to think about how the undergarments had arrived on his body. For the time being, he took stock of the rest of his physical situation, and mulled over his options.

Apart from being a little weaker in limbs, he was otherwise apparently unharmed. The healing magic had done that plenty well. His wings felt just as sturdy as before – a fact he was extremely glad of. A few days of physical therapy could not equate to a lifetime of practice and strengthening. He also still had the issue of a lack of clothes, as well as the more pressing issue of being entirely alone, and having no money whatsoever. The part of him that remembered the Dumont underground made him wish for a means of defense, as well, and he suddenly longed for the familiar weight of a taught bow in his hand.

With little other option, he found a servant, and was able to borrow a simple tunic and leggings. How he knew there were servants around was beyond him, but that didn’t matter any more. What mattered was finding somebody who knew what was going on, and could help fill in the blanks. The servant had mentioned some inventor’s games – that was as good a place to try as any. With that in mind, he took wing and leapt to the skies.

---

Business. Why was it always business? Was there no time for pleasure in a world such as this? Sel mused such thoughts to himself as he walked towards the office of a high councilman. The council member Macto, Keeper of Foreign Matters, to be precise. A letter had been sent ahead informing the seraphim of the current situation, now was the time for follow-up. Now that an entire illegal crime ring had been taken out, and almost killed three party members in the process.

Sel was, in fact, still recovering from that, although he showed little sign of it as he walked. Physically, he was fine, although there was a cut in his left shoulder that had not taken well to healing magics. Mentally speaking…well, trying to cast complex magic the morning after had been a huge mistake, and the cause of an hour-long migraine. He was almost completely drained right now, after casting the same high-level spell twice in a matter of days. Once to fight a kraken, the next to take out a terrifyingly powerful elemental Daeva not one day before. His hand was still bandaged from where the backwash of energy had burned it, although healing had left it a soft, tender red for now.

He grunted, annoyed that he could not have been healed further, but forced to be satisfied with what he had. The poor Daeva in the bed beside him – I need to ask his name! – had it far worse, from the looks of things. Outwardly fine, but clearly beyond exhausted. If there had ever been a reason to be satisfied with less, that was it. The kid had still been sleeping when Sel left, somehow. It was incredible that someone could sleep that long.

He arrived at the front gates of the embassy, and squared his shoulders, making his imposing figure even moreso. He rapped the knocker three times, before crossing his arms to wait for the servant who would no doubt arrive shortly. He expressed a hint of annoyance upon finding out that the councilman was otherwise tied up, but it was to be expected, seeing as how he had not set up an appointment. The servant, however, showed him to a seat and sent word ahead to Macto that an old acquaintance had arrived. Whether the councilman liked it or not, he would at least hear of the downfall of Halden. If all went well, perhaps he might even be able to elaborate on the details of his letter – if all went well.

---

Hunger. I’m Hungry. Feed me. FEED ME! The thoughts rose to a shout in Gael’s mind, but they were not his own. Across his back, the broadsword he carried almost seemed to writhe, as it screamed at him. No! There are too many innocents! I will not let you feed today! he shot back at the blade, a silent conversation no one but himself could hear. Squall, that living blade of his, had not been fed in days, not since the soldiers had attacked him at that godforsaken outpost in the middle of nowhere.

It was a terrible experience, carrying this blade. It needed to feed, to stay alive, but he was not sure why it needed to remain so. The blade was evil, in every sense of the word, even Gael, twisted over years by violence and bloodshed, knew how evil the blade was. Yet, he was forced to carry it, to keep it alive, in the hopes that one day it might become a weapon to save everyone.

Right now though, it was hungry. It wanted blood. And it sensed violence in the city. Specifically, in the lower regions, where bar fights broke out on a regular basis. There was one happening now, as a matter of fact. Not hours before, a fight had broken out in the middle of the noble’s quarter. When the blade was hungry, he knew. Stubbornly, he moved in to opposite direction of the sense of violence. Right now, He wanted to feed the blade, to be rid of the shouting voice, the whispering screams, but here would not do. This was not the place for it.

Suddenly, and without warning, he sensed another wave of violence. A single blow, but seen by hundreds of thousands of people. A public execution? That was the only explanation. A corpse was already dead – there would be no harm in stabbing it further. Such meals were usually refused, but for now it would sate the bloodthirst of the metal on his back for long enough to leave the city and find a proper victim. He headed in the direction of the feeling, of the feeling of anxiety and worry and confusion. He wanted to get eyes on that body, and not let it leave his sight. A manic grin formed on his face, even though he did not realize it.

The Guard Captain watched nervously as Lazarus, bounty in hand, climbed over the small barrier and into the arena. It wasn't unusual for a few crazed fans or rejected applicants to try and get into the arena, and there was one particularly aggressive seraphim they had to detain years ago that flew around the workbenches naked wielding a hammer menacingly. Nevertheless, he signaled to the event coordinator, who forwarded his message on to guards in the vicinity that moved towards Lazarus' position. "Who is that he has?" The captain asked, turning towards a seraphim with parchment in hand.

"It's one of our posted bounties," the woman responded, flipping through the pages in hand until finding the match. "Here. Known as the Ladykiller. We've been trying to track him down for a while now. Should we send the guard in."

"Not yet," the captain replied, "but keep them at the ready. Have them prepare at least 2 binding spells, preferably more in case he has accomplices, and be ready to deal with the crowd if things get out of hand."

Many of the inventors paid little heed to Lazarus' speech, some thanking the gods for a distraction that might add a bit of time to the clock as the first round was nearly concluded. The audience, however, was a strange mix of captivated and horrified, and a strange silent settled over the onlookers, a mix of clanking and hissing filling the void as the forging continued. The moment Lazarus drew his blades, no less than five guards drew their own, nervously awaiting the signal. A hold was given, though, even as the criminal's head flew through the air. A collective gasp escaped the lips of hundreds in the stadium, and a number of children began crying.

Almost immediately Lazarus was surrounded by a dozen blacksmiths, their finely crafted weapons in hand, some still smoking from their final dip in the water to cool. Again, the guard captain signaled to stand down, and a number of guards placed themselves between the mercenary and the inventors. The offer of free drinks was drowned out by the booing and jeering of seraphim upset at the unsightly display, as well as the guards protection of the man, some going as far as to throw food at the mercenary as he walked into a corridor leading out.

The moment Lazarus disappeared into the tunnel the guard captain gave the signal and guards from both ends charged Lazarus, swords and spears drawn. As one seraphim cast a spell placing a barrier around the tunnel to minimize damage, two others lashed out with binding spells that rooted the mercenary's legs to the ground and locked his arms to his side. "I hope you appreciate the lengths I'm going to let you keep some of your dignity" the guard captain said as he entered the barrier, his piercing sky blue eyes and neatly trimmed features illuminated by the magical aura surrounding him. "Technically the only law you broke was disorderly conduct, as your victim had a bounty on his head." he said sternly as he drew his blade, the metal dancing and flickering as if it were fire, and held it close to Lazarus' face. "HOWEVER," he yelled, clearly angry, "what you did could have instigated a riot, or fighting among the contestants! I have a mind to cancel that bounty right now and throw you in a cell for a while! The only reason you're still standing is because the criminal you killed was extremely dangerous."

Glancing left, and then right, two of the guards around Lazarus brought their hands up. "Think very carefully about the next words you utter," the captain warned, "they mean the difference between walking out of the other end of this tunnel a free man with a heavier purse than when he entered and waking up naked in solitary with all your possessions confiscated. Now, with that being said... what possessed you to come to the largest city in Czarina, to the single biggest event in Seraphim tradition, climb in to a heavily guarded arena filled with weapons being actively sharpened, and draw your blade to decapitate someone in public view?"