Elora Nicholi (and Edna Nicholi)
The Streets of Deliar

The drink was sat in front of her and small, circular metallic coins were taken from her red bursa, a receptacle for her coin, to pay for the liquidized heaven. It clanked across the counter and rang in her ears like the melody of a siren. She knew it was only so much time ‘till her red-faced mother dragged her out by her ruddy braid. Elora was determined to drink as much as she could till then, and enjoy the amorous man’s company as well.

“By Rina’s hair, are you perhaps enjoying my company a bit too much?” Elora cooed, sipping her ale as she glanced at him demurely.

Entertaining such men as never been a forte she possessed, or anything she generally did given the lack of desirability they held for her, but her nineteenth birthday was upon her and she wished to get the insurgence from her bones before then. As on her nineteenth birthday, her parents were preparing for a chat, an imperative chat that involved Elora taking accountability and co-owning the tailoring shop alongside Breena. The barely woman was not quite sure if she was prepared for such an endeavor as she still had things to ponder, such as the prospect of opening a patisserie even if it was to go against her cherished parents’ wishes.

Her time was not to last as just that moment the bustling Edna arrived, faced as ruddy as Elora’s dress and her fat, sliced fingers pointed accusingly at her daughter. She stormed across The Boot Buckle, her hand grasping the collar of Elora’s dress and tugging her away from the delicious freedom and back to work. Without a word, which meant the fifty year old woman was truly livid, Edna dragged Elora through snow and water with only small grunts and huffs to explain the coarseness in which she handled her.

“Ma, I was only gone for a minute or two, no need to get your thimble dented for Carios’ sake!” She whined, only half there as the other half of her was staring at a display of golden necklaces that had caught her acquisitive eye.

“Elora, I have almost had it with this behavior of yours.” Edna had officially begun the lecture and Elora groaned in despair. “What has gotten into you? Abandoning your work, philandering your time away – is this what Breena Tinath will have to deal with when the time comes? I pray for her soul, then.”

Valfunde Perar
Streets of Deliar, around the corner from the Belt Buckle...

Valfunde arched an eyebrow as he watched a small group of soldiers slowly make their way towards him, carrying one of their own between three of them. "Halt." The men, really just boys in legionnaire's helmets and gear, recruits, looked bewildered, noticing for the first time that they did not stand alone in the street. None of them spoke for a moment. Valfunde examined their wounded comrade, closely, noting the already dried blood on his collar and forehead. He was an ugly man, pockmarked and scarred hideously, probably the veteran of this group. "What happened to him? Took a fall?" He asked with an official tone, looking over the others for any injury.

"N-no, sir. Vince took a knock down at the Buckle, sir. From tha' barkeeper." immediately stated one of the soldiers, respectfully at least trying to show respect, despite his eyes and movements being noticeably clouded with alcohol. "How does he fare?" Valfunde responded, looking from him to the other man. He again raised an eyebrow, interested. "He ain't breathin' too well either, sirrah." another of the legionnaires said, grimly, checking his mate. The incapacitated pikeman shifted and groaned for a moment before slipping back into complete unconsciousness. The patrol sergeant took over, moving forward to check the man. "He's down good, strong arm, this barkeepa'." he whistled, looking back at Valfunde, who narrowed his eyes before looking back at the street ahead of them. "Do we investigate, m' lord?" Valfunde nodded, slowly, looking over the drunk and frightened recruits. "Return your comrade to his barracks and report back to your optio before leaving him alone." There was a chorus of half-hearted salutes, and the guardsmen side-stepped to let the little group through. "I suspect there's more to this, but move on. To the tavern."

As they came upon the entrance to the respectably dingy pub called the Boot Buckle, a little place run by a Jymson Fletcher, a rugged older man who usually knew his place when it came to fights. With a wave, he directed two of the guardsmen to stand waiting by the door. Quietly, his sergeant slid open and propped open the door to admit the rest of the patrol, Valfunde walking in second behind another guard. Quietly, the men took up places around their captain, cold eyes watching the bar-goers for any trouble. As he walked in, he unfastened and took off his helmet, sliding it under his arm. It got quieter as those at the bar noticed the huge, armored nobleman stride up calmly to the bar, one hand firmly placed on the pommel of his sword, low in his belt. He grimaced, not wishing to have made such a spectacle in hindsight.

He picked out Fletcher subconsciously, sure to remain neutral-toned here and now. "Master Fletcher, I came across a group of soldiers on their way home from your bar. One of theirs was wounded, apparently something he received here, as I am told." He sighed, looking over the man. "Can you explain why you attacked that man?" He laid a hand on the bar to steady himself as he leaned forward, watching Jymson. "I hope for you that your reason's just, sir, this is not a light charge. You may have nearly killed this legionnaire, messir. Not a good idea." He sensed now the eyes of every one of this man's sworn friends (who doesn't love a barkeep?) bore into the back of his head, a host of hostile eyes looking over. He simultaneously checked his poin curse, snatching gold coins from it and placing them down slowly before the man. Good money. "A round of beer for my men and I, meanwhile, if it shall please thee."

Kareth
The Boot Buckle

He finally found the Belt Buckle. A wooden sign decorated with a leather belt with an over-sized gold buckle swung gently in the cold breeze. Also, the words "Belt Buckle" were helpfully painted on the bottom, as if that helped the illiterate commoners. The sign was a little worse for wear, but at least it was legible. The directions Kareth got from the guard were either less than helpful, or Kareth had forgotten a few of the steps. It hardly mattered now; Kareth's only desire was to get out of the cold.

He stepped inside, shuddering involuntarily at the increase in ambient temperature. You never know how cold you are until you aren't. He thought as he shook the snow off his cloak and boots. I'll need to get a new cloak. The quartermaster made him hand in his old woolen Legion cloak, the ass. Kareth had to buy a new one. It wasn't as good as his old Legion cloak, and it was looking quite worse for wear after the hounds incident. He may also have to get his left bracer repaired too, covered in tooth marks as it was.

He took a seat by the fireplace. He unslung his pack and set it by his feet and groaned as he leaned back in the chair as his back could finally release its burden. He wanted to order food, but was too tired and frostbitten to speak up. [i]Maybe a rest here for a bit, and then I get up and get some food, a room. Then tomorrow I could go find a tailor to fix my cloak, or maybe get a new one. Yes, get a new one, a fine crimson one, with gold embroidering along the edges. Maybe they could fix up my bracer too, or would that be a blacksmith's job? I'll need a file from one anyway, in case I'll have cause to add any tallies to my weapons. And then some dice. Maybe I could find a game going before I get my room....

His to-do list kept going in his head until he fell asleep in the chair, amidst all the tumult of the merrymakers, and oblivious to the tension in the room.

Leeson
City of Deliar at the corner of a street

Deliar was rather quiet today. A few merchants hawking their wares from the warm comfort of their storefronts. Leeson himself almost got himself sucked into a brothel (Almost literally), but resisted. No doubt the women in there were very beautiful, but he was not going to sully himself for five gold denars. Not that he had that sort of money anyways. He sighed quietly as he continued onwards. The streets of Deliar, for all their imperfections, was rather peaceful and serene in a sense. Almost made him want to.... Break into song. When he was certain that there wasn't anyone else but himself around, he quietly sang to himself as he walked.

"When the sun rises over the eastern skies, where the the land of paradise lies, who is to sing the song of Delair? Who else but it's one true heir~" With a skip in his step he noticed a puddle ahead of him. In a faux show of athleticism, he planted the tip of his staff into the center of the puddle and vaulted himself over it without causing a splash, a simple feat that he could have done with long stride. Still he felt a sense of accomplishment from it, so he continued. "If you're looking for a place of ale and knuckles, than you'll be looking for the Boot Buckle! A tawdry place of with the finest lass, who's barkeep makes you look like the ass! But where's one to go when has hasn't the stones? Back to his box! His life spent forever alone..." As Leeson continued to spew his deathly ill rhythms and lyics, he ran into two large men. From their scarred faces and bulging muscles, Leeson thought they were Legion soldiers. But they had neither uniforms nor weapons, simply a large and imposing presence that dwarfed Leeson. And Leeson had the misfortune to run into them.

Backing away, Leeson bowed his head and tried not to make eye contact. "S-s-sorry, didn't mean to bump into you. I don't want any trouble-" As though they were waiting for Leeson to say that, one of the meb planted a firm hand onto his Leeson's head and made him look up. "Trouble? Who said anything 'bout trouble? Or are ya saying that you're going to bring trouble, little man?" Quite a predicament Leeson found himself in. "Ah, no, I mean.... I'll just me on my way." Leeson tried to walk off, but the man's grip was tight on his hat, which was strapped underneath his chin. "Hey now, what's the hurry? Why don't you stay around, if you don't want any trouble?" "Bollocks." Leeson might have to lose his hat.

---

Lucilia Riovas
City of Hials under a bridge

The debriefing was, thankfully, rather short. Or rather, it seemed that she didn't need to stay and say too much. Either it was because the guards there were quite well aware of how this process went, or very lazy. She believes in the latter, given that one of them seemed to be snoozing when she came in. Granted, the guard of Hials were disciplined and honorable; a few bad apples of the bunch defined them however. Sure, you had an army of hundred men, but that one disorderly soldier will condemn them all. She saw plenty of them back in her days up north, and her brother had a rather strict way of dealing with them: First a flogging, than an execution. Whether or not that was really allowed under Imperial Law didn't matter to him; they were soldiers first, and flawed human beings a distant fifth. Harsh, but his campaign had been mostly successful last time she was with him so he must be doing something right.

But if there was one thing Lucilia regretted doing at the guardhouse, it was not using the chance to relieve herself. Now that all the excitement was over, she now felt a force within her lower abdomen yearning to break free. She could, of course, hold it in, but when she spotted a fairly secluded bridge over a small river. she figured that she could be in and out in five minutes or less. It wouldn't be her first time having to go from fully armored to squatting over a hole to void her bowels, so she was confident that there won't be a mess.

By the time Lucilia had gotten off her horse she was already beginning to strip, but came to a halt half-way through when she reached underneath the bridge. To her misfortune, Lucilia was not alone. There was an well-armored woman underneath the bridge... Crying? What had happened to make her do this? Trying her best to put her trousers back on, Lucilia called out to the woman. "Excuse me, is there something wrong madam?"

Jymson Fought the Law, and the Law [MISSING]
The Boot Buckle

Jymson saw her coming; a tall woman, with an almost warrior-like attire. It was not uncommon to see one of the ladyfolk fronting that kind of dress, but it always made the old barkeep smile inwardly when he did. All leather ‘n trousers, not like the gud ‘ol days, eh Jym?.

She seemed sheepish, somehow, and subdued. She spoke in a tone that Jymson’s aging ears struggled to register, but it was of no worry, he was skilled in the arts of dealing with the timid folk. There was a distinct difference in the movement of the lips when one was saying the words ‘beer’ and ‘food’.

“Aye lass, we got food. Mutton, chicken, bread – some beer blasted onions, too. Might be able to getcha some fish’n ‘tatoes, n’all, if that suits the ladyship?” He asked, merrily. Though he spoke to women as if he were dealing with men, he always did what he could to hide his gutter-speech.

The oaken doors to the Tavern opened, and Jymson got an early warning from Tedmin, who had turned from a waiting customer to flash a concerned glance. Seems like the soldiers were back for more; it was always a throw of the dice as to whether or not they’d come back, and it looked like the oaf had thrown badly this time. The fingers of his right hand absent mindedly traced the thick scar that ran across his ruined eye. His diminished sight was a personal reminder of the Empire’s might.

“Sorry lass,” Jymson said with a smile to the waiting woman, “looks like I’ve got me some fine company to keep- but dun’worry, my whoreson friend here’ll take ya order.” He pointed to Tedmin, who was only too glad to find an excuse to escape the coming confrontation.

Lord Valfunde Perar, it’s bin a while, aint it now? Jymson thought to himself. The Lord stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of The Boot Buckle; his men ever more so. Patrons stopped their chatter, and their ale, to observe the newest drama of the day. A Lord, and his men, and a barkeep guilty of assault on His Majesty’s soldiers. What could possibly be more entertaining?

The Lord walked towards the bar. Jymson took in the man’s presence; he was strong built, most likely not unfamiliar with soldiering, and had an air of authority about him. Jymson knew the Lord, though was unsure whether the Lord knew him. It was hard to be of nobility, and not be known to an innkeeper. Not with all the senseless talk of scandals that blew around an ale hall like a hurricane of self-wrought destruction.

Lord Valfunde stated his purpose, and Jymson inwardly recoiled. This was no snott-nosed child, used to beating his servants around extravagant hallways – no – this man was an image of true power. Even his unkempt hair and beard, a general negative for a noble’s appearance, aided in making him appear a Warrior King of old.

"I hope for you that your reason's just, sir, this is not a light charge. You may have nearly killed this legionnaire, messir. Not a good idea."

Jymson said nothing, just held the man’s gaze with his one working eye.

"A round of beer for my men and I, meanwhile, if it shall please thee."

Jymson did not speak, but he did reach below the bar for a half dozen tankards. As he filled them, one by one, with the keg of Legion Ale jutting out of the wall beside him, he never broke eye contact with the Lord. He hated highborn, indeed, he blamed them for a great deal of things. He had seen many walk through his doors, seeking ruin for the wrongs they had sustained at the hands of their betters. As Jymson finished filling the last of the tankards, he cleared his throat.

“Tha’ man whose head I broke? Aye, milord, he was trying to poke himself into someone who didn’t want ‘im poking himself into,” said Jymson, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, with a side of extra gravel. “I asked ‘im nicely, ‘n things mighta been fine if he didn’t make me a sex fiend ‘nfront of my customers with that c**t tongue of ‘is.”

Jymson cleared his throat a second time, trying to appear modest and subdued, when really he was full of fire.

“Tha’ girl is me barmaid, ya see, milord. She’s only sixteen, just this autumn past, ‘n he had his hands workin’ towards her… innocence. One thing I don’t allow under my roof is the robbin’ of innocence,” he finished. His hand lowered to his waist; obscured by the rise of the bar, it gripped the handle of Peace Keeper.

Aye Jymson, nice knowin’ ya lad.

The First Sign.
Rumours starting to spread.

A dark cloud is approaching? But for who?

While many would seek the warmth and company of many places, like for say the Buckle in Deliar or maybe even a bridge in Hials, there is a rumour spreading. It is starting in whispers between groups of people, but starting to spread out. Though that nobody clearly know who caused or started this rumour, it is becoming clear that is unnerving to say. The rumour is that there is a group that is seeking to cause distress among the commoners to bring up chaos, evil and what not. But rumours are just rumours, aren't they?

Still, this could be a bad omen. Just only,

For who?

Girvus Rynir.
Head of the Rynir House and governor of Awom

Standing in front of a window, the old man that had been the leader of both the High House as well the governor of the Awom province for some time, stared at the scene in front of him. From the high tower, where his study room was located, he had some good view on the fortress of Hials. How the the place was defended and would be protected by two firm and sturdy massive stone walls. The grim expression on his face revealed that the man was thinking about some kind of thoughts. After a few moments, Girvus turned around. ''This damn cold.'' He mumbled, though he was dressed quite with clothes that should keep the cold out, he couldn't help it. Somehow he kept feeling the chill breeze as if he was outside. But he wouldn't blame it on his age. That would be something his pride wouldn't accept. Walking to his desk, the man muttered more curses in the direction of the season that now held the land in her icy claws.

Sitting in his comfortable chair, the old man took out some papers. Mostly letters that had been sent to his address, requiring his attention. Some came from the Senate, one from the Emperor and some others from people he had appointed to govern the settlements that were present in the province. Calmly he took out the one that came from the Emperor. But like he had expected, it was a regular kind of letter. Wanting to know how the province was doing. If it could provide the expected tax. Grunting, Girvus started to write a response. It took him around ten minutes when he was done Putting the response letter away, he started to work on writing a response on the other letters that had been sent to him as well.

However, as he read the last letter, Girvus raised both his eyebrows. ''Oh my...'' He mumbled, slightly surprised at first. It was regarding some rumours popping up and the question what do about it. Knowing from experiences that the commoners always spoke about things they had little experience with, Girvus decided to write another party. The Rangers. Writing a polite letter that he desired that the rumours should be investigated, he hoped that the rumours would either stop and vanish or maybe hear who started it.

Girvus then however didn't stop writing letters. His attention and thoughts were now turned to other people. Writing a letter towards one of his 'agents'. One that had the name of ''Calais Cousland. A member of the Rangers, but one that was loyal to him. A true asset for his own goals, Girvus grinned as he started to write the letter.



Clearly not addressing himself, knowing that it would be too risky, he started on another one. One with the name Valfunde Perar, the captain of the city guard of Deliar. And head of the Lesser House of Perar.



With that, Girvus called for a messenger that would make sure that the letters would be delivered. Sitting in his chair for several moments, Girvus rose up and walked again to the window. This time however, his facial expression was plain. ''I wonder..'' He whispered.

-Double post. Stupid... :'( -

Lord Valfunde Perar
The Buckle, investigating...

"I asked ‘im nicely, ‘n things mighta been fine if he didn’t make me a sex fiend ‘nfront of my customers with that c**t tongue of ‘is.” Valfunde listened intently, his mouth a tight line, allowing the man to speak his thoughts, knowing that any other constable would have probably slammed his mace into the barkeeper's mouth if he'd said those words. He crossed his arms, nodding politely to Jymson as he filled the tankards. "Thankee, barman."

“Tha’ girl is me barmaid, ya see, milord. She’s only sixteen, just this autumn past, ‘n he had his hands workin’ towards her… innocence. One thing I don’t allow under my roof is the robbin’ of innocence,” In response to this, he uncrossed his arms and again leaned closer, meeting the obviously angry eyes of Jymson Fletcher, the name he'd gotten once before and just remembered. He did not miss the scant movement of the muscles in his arm; a slight shift, but telling. Reaching for a weapon? "Can you confirm this? Where is the lass now?" He looked about, noticing there didn't appear to be any barmaids, which was unusual for one thing. "I will not tolerate the taking of any young maid who does not wish hands to be laid upon her." He said, curtly, emphasizing the important words. "If what you speak is true, I will see that this man is punished further. You may have already done that for me," he added, some humor in his voice.

He signaled with a slight nod to his men, who settled down and moved to pick up the flagons, though the sergeant and two of the men visibly watched the bargoers and Jymson and Tedmin behind the counters with narrowed eyes behind their helms. Valfunde continued to meet the loathsome stare of the accused, who he decided he would rather not aggravate, despite being a foul-mouthed oaf. "I do not wish to further disrupt thine business, Master Jymson, but this is an ugly matter. You accuse a man of ours of attempting to despoil your girl, his mates accuse ye of attempting to kill him. I would rather see this thing settled with no further violence." His eyes flickered to where he'd seen Jymson move something. "You will, for example, not pick up whatever weapon you have stashed beneath the bar. That would be a costly mistake, messir." His eyes implied that he wished to take this man honestly, considering how likely it was to see a group of drunken arseholes harass a pretty young thing in a place like this.

"Now, the lass, fetch her if you're able." he said, his tone still compassionate, but there was definitely some force behind it, compelling the man to action. "I do not wish to be forced to send thee to the stocks as a liar and a killer, man." He still hadn't touched his beer, though some of the guards had already dipped into theirs in a corner table by the door.

Erin Farain
The Boot Buckle, Deliar

“Aye lass, we got food. Mutton, chicken, bread – some beer blasted onions, too. Might be able to getcha some fish’n ‘tatoes, n’all, if that suits the ladyship?” There was a friendly sort of respect to the man's words, even if it wasn't something she'd asked for. Just as swiftly as the conversation had begun however, the elder man gave his attention elsewhere, inevitably drawing Erin's eyes with him to the entering crowd. The man excused himself to go speak with them, and Erin twisted to spectate out of the corner of her eye.

Then came the second man, posting a quick query about what she wanted. Haggling wasn't on her mind any longer, whatever this was would no doubt be interesting enough to follow, so just handing the man her coin and mouthing 'food'. It seemed to work well enough. Maybe even gave her a little confidence in her dealings. Or not. It didn't really matter, her interests were on the man who rather clearly stood out, and his interactions with the rough-yet-friendly barkeep. Whatever was going on, it was exactly the kind of thing she left the store to see. Right?

Something about an injured soldier. The same group as outside perhaps? Would it be that recent, perhaps an ill stroke of luck on the barkeep's part. Apparently they'd accosted a girl and paid the price for it. Serves them right. The gentle stir of emotions rises again, though not powerful enough that she risks doing anything but watch the exchange. It would be typical injustice for the barkeep to suffer for this. But it's not her business, is it? She shouldn't get involved. Definately should not get involved.

So she watches from her corner, skulking by the edge of the counter.

Calais Cousland
Near the loch west of Deliar

Calais along with the other two rangers, Wilson and Baldrick, left the vineyard later that day after ensuring that they each had full stomachs, some supplies and that their horses had gotten at least a bit of rest. They were of course eager to catch up with the bandits that Calais had been scouting, and so rode long and hard through the morning and through the evening. Given where the bandits were last spotted and the rough direction in which they were heading, the rangers were able to guess the route they would have taken for there were only a couple of old trails that they were likely to have followed. Wilson spotted their tracks not long before the sun went down and so they stopped to discuss their next course of action. “We’re fortunate to have such a keen eye in our midst” commented Calais causing the older ranger to smile.

“You’re too kind brother.” Wilson replied as he studied the tracks, “It looks like you were right, they are heading towards the loch. Unless they’ve taken to the woods, they have missed the trails that would have led em’ to Deliar. Given that the snows not yet completely covered these tracks I would guess that we’re only a short distance behind them.”

Baldrick beamed at that, “Then if we’re quick we can bring the rot to justice before the night grows too dark!”

“Are you really so fucking stupid?” hissed Calais, “We’re not here to take them out. We’re simply following them and ensuring that they don’t cause further harm. Once we have a better idea of what these bastards are up to we can get the local guards on them.”

Baldrick was gobsmacked at what he heard, “But we’re rangers! Not cowards! It’s our duty to kill this scum!”

Wilson turned to his apprentice, empathetic to his words. “Our duty is to keep the peace. Not to kill everyone we take a disliking to. Calais is right lad. Besides, there are ten of them and three of us. Even if we all fired straight and our arrows found their marks we would be lucky if each of us took down two men before we would be forced into a melee, at which point we would still be outnumbered. If they are deserters it means that they are trained and maybe have some battle experience; they may be wise enough to find cover from our fire and will likely destroy us in close combat. Now then, let’s get going before we lose them”

Melisa Rynir - Under a Bridge - Hials

It was a long while before Melisa was roused out of her whirlwind of deranged toughts. It was the concerned voice of a woman who was likely passing by.

"Excuse me, is there something wrong madam?"

Cursing lightly to herself, Melisa wondered how she could get out of this one without her face being seen. Last thing she needed was to be seen in this state...and oh how unfortunate she was that someone had stumbled upon her. She wished she would be so lucky as to have simply wasted away in this frozen crevise. With a sigh of frustration, she lifted a frozen hand to pull her hood over her head and eyes before slowly standing. She did not look at the woman, just simply stood and began to dust herself off as she walked towards her. She dabated wether to just ignore the woman and continue on her way with her foul mood, however such a circumstance as this required Melisa to re-think her plan of avoidance. Instead she stopped a few feet away and spoke. "Is th-there... a p-place near here where i can get f-food and a drink-k?" despite her trying not to studder, the involuntary shivers that assumed control of her body did not allow her to speak in a fluid sentence. Nor did it allow her to use her menacing voice. Instead, she sounded like an average woman her age who was lonely, scared, hungry, and cold. It brought a scowl to her face as she heard the sound.

Well, i suppose if there is one thing about this damed city that has remained true...it is that it changes even the worst kinds of people...

Lucilia Riovas
City of Hials under a bridge

Scratching her head through her helmet, the guardwoman sighed. "Another lost traveler...." She whispered to herself. Affixing her trousers and holding back the floor the guardwoman returned to Benedictus. Still, in a better light with better sight, this woman was strange in more ways than one; it's not too uncommon to see travelers in armor and weapons, so long they keep out of trouble. But this woman... Lucilia was no professional smith, but her armor alone looked like it cost ten times as much as everything Lucilia was wearing. Maybe even more then Benedictus. Lucilia's armor was sturdy and strong, sure, but it was also standard issue among the halberders back at the north. Her armor was finely made from what she guessed was pure steel, something reserved only for high ranking officials or those who have excelled above and beyond their station. Carnifex was made from steel, but this woman had a set of armor made from the stuff. Very curious.

"Follow me than. I do know of a small Inn just past this bridge that would take you in. If you can stomach their food and drink, they have warm beds and are affordable. So, what brings you to these parts, traveler?" Lucilia knew she was taking a bit of a risk asking the woman her reasons for being here. LIke with Haljon before, it might rope her into another encounter with crime. Lucilia hoped so.

Elora Nicholi (and still with Edna)
On the streets of Deliar

Edna was once a beautiful woman with tresses as red as Elora's. Brown, hazel small eyes were positioned on both sides of her up-turned nose. Now, her face was sagging and her hair was wiry and gray. Wrinkles adorned her face like flowers in a garden. Her once lean, curvaceous body has become weak and fattened. Edna's cheeks were always an intense rubicund and her eyesight was beginning to fail. It would be hard to guess that she was only a woman of fifty. Elora suspected her premature aging was a result of the stress of motherhood...or maybe just the stress of her. Elora was never the easiest to deal with, that was a fact.

"Ma, where are we going?" Elora grunted, her arm in the clutches of the irritated woman. The redhead was stumbling and tripping as she tried to keep up with the charging mother.

The bulky necklace around Edna's neck slapped against her collarbone and her daughter was afraid it would bruise. The older woman acrimoniously shimmied between two toned men who were crowding around someone. If Elora was correct, then it was the blacksmith that lived somewhere nearby. She gave an apologetic smile and waved at the trio as she trampled on by, shouting over her shoulder, "Sorry, she's not in a good mood!"

It was then that Edna decided to speak once more. "Oh, you are trouble! And at such a time, too! It's dangerous, dangerous! Elora did you hear me - the streets are dangerous!"

"You don't have to say it thrice, ma, I understand. The streets are not safe." Elora droned, rolling her eyes as snow fell onto her shawl.

"You obviously don't understand! The rumors are what got be worried." The aged Nicholi cried, wrapped her own serape tighter.

"Rumors, what rumors?" Elora inquired, as she was a girl who never dwelled on outside manners. Edna stopped in her tracks and pulled the girl closer to her, her fat pointer finger tapping the young tailor's nose twice. "There are rumors, dear, of something coming out, rumors. A group wanting to take over - it's dangerous."

Elora licked her lips nervously.

Melisa Rynir - Onward to an Inn - Hials

Biting back a snap she normally would have sent out, Melisa stayed quiet for a moment. A traveler? Dressed as I? I ought to smack her for saying such a foolish thing...her only saving grace is her ignorance. She knows not who I am. With a deep breath and reighning in on more control over her voice, she said, "I'm no p-pesky traveler. one would think such a person comes more prepared for the expected w-weather. It has been a long time since i've walked these c-crowded streets is all..." Well, that was a bit better than the first time. "I have a better place to sleep tonight than a filthy inn... which I plan to take advantage of, though with d-discomfort at the thought of it." she said, refering to the Rhynir fortress that in her eyes was more like a prison. However, I will gladly take food and drink regardless of the quality." she finished,

With a sigh, Melisa decided to answer the question simply, likely the woman didn't want to know her backstory. "I am here on an unwanted vacation." she said in a low voice. There it was, that menacing edge to her voice was clearer that time around as she glared at the footsteps in the snow. Melisa had already grown tierd of speaking to the woman, but did her best not to let her discomfort show. She didn't want to start telling the whole story of being dragged from Rehon to this place the gods appeared to have forgotten about. It was also very daunting, the realization of the next possible question being, 'Why were you huddled under the bridge like that?'

Melisa gave a silent prayer the woman wouldn't bring it up. Her emotions were now under control, back to where she had like them to be. The last thing she needed was a trigger than sent her crying waterfalls again.

Lucilia Riovas
City of Hials moving towards an Inn

Lucilia listened to the stranger carefully. Normally most travelers had a bit more respect for the guard. Either this one was arrogant, or as her armor would have told Lucilia, someone who's station is above your average guard. And aside from her somewhat commandeering tone, the stranger didn't give much hints as to who she was. From what she could gather, the stranger was obviously not a commoner. Possibly of the lower houses who may have a closer tie to the Greater Houses than those of Tinath, or maybe she was just pompous. It would make some sense, as those of nobility tend to be rather disconnected to the more common things, like the weather. Lucilia's armor was nice and padded to keep her warm, while the traveler's armor seemed rather close-fitting, if nice.More suited in temperate climates than where snow falls.

"Not a traveler, eh? Makes sense. That armor's too nice to be wearing as day wear unless you're you're a guest at some royal ceremony. And vacationing... Back during my time up north, we call those "Discharges". Made to leave the front lines due to injuries, mental sickness, or cause your family misses you. Still, begs to question why you'd chose here to vacation. Nice little place to raise a family, but it's not the most cultural city I know that." As as inn came in sight, Lucilia decided that she might as well ask the big question now. "But more importantly, just who are you?" Fancy armor, arrogant tone of voice, rather healthy physique; Lucilia felt that she should have recognized who this woman is, but she was drawing up blanks.

Robin Throckmorton
Deliar - The Boot Bucke

“By Rina’s hair, are you perhaps enjoying my company a bit too much?” The woman told him on a rather challenging tone, and he leaned on the bar to serve her an intruiged response. However, before his lips had even formed the first word, a red-faced fury stormed through the crowd and abducted his companionship, much to the amusement of his comrades. Rolling his eyes, he accepted his defeat. If there was one thing this veteran had learned, there was only one foe you could never outsmart, never defeat, never trick, no, not even silently assassinate. An angry mother or wife. Backing off was the only sane option here, so he let his cup be refilled untill the establishment went silent again.

His soft grin turned into an unstoppable snickering as he slammed the bar with his fist repeatedly. This situation was just too funny. Stepping out from the crowd that had completely fallen silent, he blessed the Gods for sending Lord Valfunde Perar here, a man with at least a little bit of honour and respect for moral values. "Aye, Lord Valfunde, I saw it with my own eyes. Vincent grabbed the lass by her skirts, and I could see it in his deformed face he was up to no good. Our good man's peacekeeper reachd his face just a tad earlier than his hand reached under her skirts. Perhaps we should let Vincent and Jymson 'ere change jobs. Obviously that ugly drunkard is better fit for holding a whorehouse, and our good barkeep 'ere can smack a Barbarian skull or two, probably even in one hit." He said, stepping away from the bar. Anticipating a question about his rank, and seeing the red-faced recruits stare him down in anger, he sent them a wolfish grin. "If poor ol' Tessarius Digby wouldn't have gotten crippled, he'd have gotten Vincent flogged a long time ago."

Calais Cousland
Near the loch west of Deliar

The three rangers continued to follow the tracks until a dim light could be seen in the distance. Words did not need to be exchanged, for they all knew it meant that the bandits that they were following had set up camp for the night and managed to set a fire. An impressive feat considering the weather. They continued to trot along quietly in that direction for a short while until they came across a dark trail in the snow. “Blood.” Wilson whispered having gotten off his horse to investigate further. Calais and Baldrick dismounted their horses as well whilst Wilson followed the blood into the nearby flora. “A body. Naked. Completely without possessions. Looks like he was robbed and killed. Gods know what the poor bastard was doing out here.” Wilson continued as he stepped back out of the flora.

“Fisherman maybe? We can’t be far from the loch now. Still, it’s a bit strange.” suggested Calais as he took a quick look for himself.

“Matters little I suppose.” Sighed Wilson before taking each of the horses reins and passing them to his apprentice, “Stay around here with the horses whilst we go take a closer look at these bandits. Is not that I lack your ability, it’s just we can’t afford to leave the horses unattended.”

Baldrick was clearly peeved by the order but did what he was bid without comment, leading the horses to the side and hitching them on a tree. Meanwhile Wilson and Calais quickly and quietly made their way towards the small fire. The two of them approached it from different angles, keeping a good deal of spacing between them. As Calais got within close sight of the fire he could see various figures huddled around it and the odd sleeping body just beyond. He crept incredibly slowly to a point that would have been almost painful to many, and even so ensured that he stayed behind cover as much as he could; if he could see them they could potentially see him. This continued until he was but metres away and sat with his back to a tree where he could hear their voices with almost crystal clarity.

“Fuckin’ gob shite! You-ve l-led us to a f-fucking icy grave! Ya said we’d be in D-Deliar by now.” complained one of them, clearly suffering the cold.

“Twas you that fucked up our plans! If you’d not been so careless at that farm, if you’d kept your manhood sheathed, we could have taken the roads. No one would have made us for deserters, no while there ten of us.” replied a gruffer yet clearly not quite so gutter-born voice. Perhaps their leader? thought Calais. Slowly he began to tilt his head round the tree so he could take a glance, but quickly drew it back when he heard a scuffling from behind.

“What the fuck was that?!” came the gruff voice again along with the sound of men quickly clambering to their feet. There was a moment of silence before an all too familiar twang revealed the firing of a bow. A thud followed quickly and it was clear one of the bandits had been struck. Calais’ heart begun racing but he tried to remain calm and still, anxious that his breathing might give him away. Another twang followed from the same direction, and then another from the completely opposite direction. Two more thuds followed. By this point the bandits shock wore off and suddenly shouts and the ringing of metal swords filled the air. Calais took an arrow and quickly drew his bow whilst not moving from his seated position. Three men ran straight past him, close enough for him to have been able to reach out and touch them. They ran in the direction of what he assumed to be Baldrick. He waited a couple of seconds before firing a shot at the last mans back, causing him to cry out. The man just before him stopped quickly and turned almost instantly towards Calais, who had already begun to draw his next arrow. The man was clearly as terrified as he was angry and he charged at Calais with a wild scream, getting only feet away before Calais fired the well aimed (if not very late) arrow through the man’s neck, causing him to lose his footing and fall to his side before clutching desperately at his throat.

“Son of a bitch!” came an almost deafening shout from Calais’ side, prompting him to try roll away and by some feat of luck happen to dodge a sword swing which became lodged in the tree. Calais cursed under his breath as he frantically tried to crawl away from his attacker, not quite able to find his footing in the snow. Knowing that the bow was next to useless now, he threw it to his side and rolled over to face the attacker as he fumbled for his saxe knife. By the time Calais unsheathed his small blade the furious attacker had managed to yank his sword free and now lunged towards his target, stabbing the blade down towards Calais’ stomach. With a slight roll and a slight deflection with his dagger Calais managed to divert the course of the sword but it still managed to slightly clip his side causing him to cry out. However, whilst the attacker was bent over with his hand on his hilt he was left vulnerable to the saxe knife which repeatedly stabbed at his neck and face, causing blood to leak out all over Calais before his whole body dropped on top of him.

Less than a minute passed as he lay there but for him it felt like hours. Eventually the familiar face of Wilson towered above as he yanked the corpse off his friend. “Shit. You alright lad? Things got a bit choppy there. You’re not hurt are you?” said the old man as he tried to distinguish what blood belonged to whom.

Calais nodded and placed his hand over the wound, “Bastard clipped my side.”

Wilson helped him up and led him to the fire where he could see more clearly. Quickly removing the layers that covered the wound he make an assessment, “Luckily your cuirass took some of the blow, but not much. He still took a few mil out of your side. No vitals though, so you’ll be fine. We just need to stop the bleeding… which is probably gonna hurt a lot more than the wound did”

Calais didn’t get a chance to respond as a piece of leather was shoved into his mouth. He went to remove it but suddenly he found his arms pinned down by Baldrick who had been otherwise quiet. Calais felt a horrible deep sinking in his stomach as he noticed Wilson heating his saxe knife on the fire. Rather than try fight it he simply looked away and did his best not to show weakness. At first he felt nothing, but quickly the terrible burning sensation came to him as Wilson cauterized the wound. He shook in pain for a moment before passing out.

Arameus Brantly
Woods outside the City of Deliar

Arameus strapped the two deer carcasses on the back of his horse, then looked to the sky, by the look of it and increasing chill of the air there would be more snow falling before dawn of the next day. Normally he would of only needed to take one deer, but this winter season had already been unexpectedly harsh, especially on the game herds which was evident by the two bucks he'd tracked and killed, both were visibly under nourished and several pounds lighter then they normally would of been in the middle of the winter season.

He grabbed the horses reins and started back north to Deliar, given the already deep snow, the trip back took longer then usual and by the time he reached the City, it was well pasted dark. He past a few guards, some on patrol, but most, it seemed by they're manner and attitude, had spent the night drinking, those on patrol that stopped to inquiry whom he was and why he was out on the street, bid a quick greeting and went back to patrolling once they'd gotten close enough to see the emblem of the Ranger Corps pinned to his cloak, those that had been drinking, were smart enough to know they didn't have enough liquid courage to tangle with a Ranger, even if he were on his own.

He passed the Boot Buckle Inn, decided the place too crowded for a quick mug of ale and continued on to the orphanage, where he rapped his knuckles on the kitchen entrance, made his apologises for his lateness to the Cook who opened the door sputtering curses for having been roused at such an hour, but happily took the offering of the two bucks, in return offering the use of the barn, hay and some oats for the Rangers horse. Arameus however insisted on paying for the oats and hay, knowing the lack of funds an Orphanage had, then after an exchange of pleasantries, he made his way to the barn and found a stall for the horse, gave her hay and water and a quick brush down, then finally a small portion of oats before going over to a pile of hay and laying out his bedding and furs and settling in for the rest of the night.

Melisa Rynir - A random Inn - Hials

Melisa glanced down at herself when the woman began to try to piece together who exactly she was through what she was wearing, among other things. It was true her armor was not one that just anyone could afford, and when the woman mentioned 'discharges', an even greater scowl was brought upon her face. Melisa was not injured, highly doubted her family even thought about her in the past few months, and was most certainly not here because she wanted to be. So where did that leave her? Did she fall under the category of mentally ill? The thought seemed ridiculous despite her deteriorating sanity. As if anyone would have noticed...had she not been as secretive as she would have liked? So many questions that simple statement had brought about.... As they approached the inn, the woman had turned and asked a simple question.

"But more importantly, just who are you?"

Letting out a small sigh, Melisa crossed her arms over her chest. It was probably a bad idea to tell the woman her name. She could only imagine how much gossip she could arouse by telling all she knew that she had spotted a Rynir cowering under a bridge. How disgraceful that would be. However, the woman did seem more mature, she was helpful....so maybe this time she would take a chance and trust someone. If all else failed, it didn't matter. Melisa didn't plan to return to Hials after this, so as long as the rumors stayed secluded here, it didn't really matter. It was a long moment before she actually spoke. "My name is Melisa Rynir..." she said, her voice absent of anger or the like. She glanced around herself and thought maybe she could avoid such a secret getting out.

"...I'm willing to pay you however much you want to keep you quiet about finding me. I have a reputation I would like to uphold."