"The Vanisher," as they call him, was a rather interesting soul. "He got challenged by a punk a few weeks ago, back 'n town," spoke a gossip, "the second his fist landed, he vanished without a trace, nowhere to be found. That is, until an hour later, when they saw the punk hangin' unconscious from a lady’s balcony." "He managed to scare off a platoon of mercenaries with a single arrow," another exclaimed, enthralled with rumor. A tall, sculpted character listened intently from a booth near the entrance, solemnly watching the activities of the persons in the inn as he awaited his order. The rumors never seemed to stop in that building. Every time he visited the place there were gossips with tea, gathering around and spewing their filthy lies at each other for laughs and giggles. The man found their words interesting, but could not stand their public indecency and lack of shame.

I would prefer hearing rumors than hearing threats, he reasoned with himself, a small grin slowly filling his complexion. He heard the welcoming sound of an approaching waitress, and turned around to see a beautiful maiden with a tray of fine-smelling delicacies. “Your food, sir,” she humbly stated, stopping at the end of the booth to place the items on the table. “A lady of your looks working in a place like this seems to be an awful waste of talent,” the man posed, helping her to move a few of the items from her tray. The waitress blushed slightly in response, then lifted her empty tray and hastily made her way back to the kitchen, looking back briefly before leaving the room. The man stared at the cuisine before him and sighed. The annoyance lining his face spoke for itself as he began to eat.

While he still had a few pieces of potato and ham on his plate, a ragged woman walked over and sat across from him without a word. He paused before placing a piece of meat in his mouth, looked up at her, and waited, trying to identify her. After a few moments of awkwardly staring at each other, the man gently placed the food back on the platter and began, “it’s rude to sta-“ before being interrupted by the lady. While slamming her fist onto the table, she growled, “you’re that scumbag traveler aren’t you? The Vanisher?” Before he gave answer, she pulled out a scroll of crumpled paper and placed it on the table, continuing, “this may be of interest to you, for five gold pieces.”

Eyeing the scroll on the table, the man pulled out his purse. He casually piled up a few thin golden coins next to the scroll, leaving her to count them. “May I ask who you are and why you recognize me?” the Vanisher asked, watching the lady as she eagerly dragged all the coins back to her purse, releasing the scroll as she counted them. “Lucky guess, ‘spose,” the ragged woman said, forcing the coins into a pouch which could barely be considered usable, “you have the eyes of a hunter, and the expression of an adventurer.” With her snide comment said, she quickly got up and started hobbling off, leaving the Vanisher and various other inn inhabitants to watch her leave in surprise. He quickly opened the scroll after she was gone, curious as to its worth, and was instantly satisfied.

“Hear Ye, All Who Dare

Across this land is a plague of death, creatures more powerful and deadly than any powerless man could handle, diseases which can barely be controlled, and a greed for recourses caused only by the isolation of our individual cities. However, it has been rumored that the source of all these problems has been identified! The Haldor High Council has officially confirmed the presence of a Death Magician. This is a person of unparalleled power, one which can summon creatures of strength beyond imagining and use magic stronger than any deed power currently known.

The Haldor High Council is currently interested in hiring the assistance of any person, man or woman, who can find the hideout of the Death Magician and return this information. Death is all but assured to the careless, but a great reward shall be given to those who succeed, 500 gold pieces per person and pardon from any crime before the past year.

All interested persons are to report to the true capitol of Haldor, Stoneham, and meet at the city hall on the eve of the fifth full moon this year. There you will be grouped up and sent off.

Signed,
Councilor Kagan”

The tall man immediately shoved the final piece of his meal down his gullet and got up to leave. He left two silver coins on the table(one for the meal and one for the maid), pulled his rucksack onto his shoulders, and left, ignoring the sound of a few voices as people inquired about his identity. Without a second thought, he charged out of the inn and headed for the stables, eager to meet the deadline. He took a deep breath, brushing a few crumbs off of his lamellar chestpiece and his black cloak, and, with a calculating frown, started to think. A single moon to get all the way to Stoneham seems difficult, the tall man thought, frowning, then again, those ladies mentioned a caravan leaving today…

---

The caravan owners only needed the Vanisher’s name before hiring him as security. He asked their destination, and, perhaps by luck, they were headed for Stoneham. The towering man joined them on their travels, riding on one of their silver dapple horses along the journey. The caravan proceeded smoothly, as they only ran into five large groups of vicious creatures throughout their journey. The way was relatively flat, few rocky bits, only two detours, and one stop per night. The people were greatly annoying in their eating and sleeping habits, however Nestor never found necessity in complaining openly to them. Only two casualties and three injured, none of which resulted from combat.

Unfortunately, Nestor always had night duty. He really loved his sleep time, especially when it was dark out, thus being asked to stay awake for three hours a night was a major annoyance, not counting the annoying late-night activities of the caravan dwellers. In the few combat situations he encountered on the journey, the effects of his sleep deprivation showed. He was a bit sloppy in using his sling, however, he was given more bullets by the caravan folks. Every day, he drank his entire water skin and even a few sips of wine, hoping that the extra water and the slight bit of wine would keep him from falling asleep accidentally. It worked until the last day of his travel, in which he fell asleep for three hours before reaching the foot of Stoneham Mountain, named after the capitol.

After climbing to the entrance of the vast city, he dismounted his horse and approached the wooden city gateway, looking along the wall for the porter. A caravan man shouted out behind him, “Ho there, guards of Stoneham, the Caravan of Midriff is here! Open the gates!” The sound of metal footsteps then sounded as a person seemed to descend from a staircase, just out of view, and a heavy groaning sound shot towards them as the great wooden doors were pried open.

“Looks like I did my job,” commented Nestor, looking over at the person who shouted. “Aye, ye’ did indeed,” responded the man, reaching into his money pouch, “how sounds fifteen gold?” Nestor glared at the man, annoyed at the ridiculous notion, and responded, “thirty gold at the very least. You hire a man like me, you pay for a man like me.” The caravan man chuckled after hearing the Vanisher’s response, then jumped off his cart, the sound of the gates moving finally over, and poured thirty gold coins into Nestor’s outstretched hands. The Vanisher immediately put the coins into his money pouch, then gave a curt bow and walked through the gates, into the town.

Everywhere he looked, Nestor saw the faces of scholars, guards and mercenaries. The sight of so many learned and experienced men was unusual for him. He paid no extended awe at the spectacle, and quickly found himself walking along a paved walkway behind a group of thickly-garbed women. The names of buildings and businesses lined the walls as he walked past, each word denoting the identity of the room behind the door which was next to it. Leather tanners, armories, metal smiths, music instruments, banks and grocers were a few of which he noted. After a few minutes of soaking in his environment, Nestor happened to find a town crier, who was yelling about the Death Magician.

Interrupting the man in the middle of his rant, the Vanisher asked, “do you know when and where this meeting is?” The crier looked very angry at the man, but cautiously responded, “the meeting will be held in town hall three days from now.” The Vanisher nodded, but quickly continued, “and, where is the town hall?” The crier then smiled, realizing why he was being interrupted, and calmly answered, “the town hall is along the north road over there,” as he pointed to Nestor’s left, directing the man’s head with his other hand, “you continue along the path until you reach the second intersection of roads, and then you head along the path until you reach the large open area.”

The Vanisher was about to interrupt the crier at this point, however, he continued speaking. “There should be a few skyholes around the area and a rather large fountain. The town hall is the one the staircase leads up to. It is nearly impossible to miss, in fact,” the crier ranted, looking up at the ceiling as he pictured the fountain in his mind. Nestor roughly separated the man’s hand from his shoulder and said, “I-“ but was then interrupted by the continuation of the crier’s rant as he said, “The building is made of an exquisite white marble. It is one of the finest looking buildings I have ever seen, with those majestic columns, a great archway entrance with two ironwood doors, which our town’s fine emblem was carved into…”

At this point, The Vanisher decided that his question was not important enough to continue making a scene with the ranting fool, and thus he left. He still had three days before the meeting would be held, thus he had plenty of time to spare. As he continued walking through the surprisingly crowded streets, Nestor spotted a Bed and Breakfast place. Relenting to his urge for rest, Nestor jumped through the doors, looking for the price estimates. Instantly, he found a man with a knife drawn at him and heard the sound of an arrow being nocked. “Who’re you?” came the crackling voice of an old man from across the room. “Yeah, and why’re you here?”

Snidely, Nestor responded, “to get some food and rest, clearly. That’s what the inscription says.” The man with the knife lowered his weapon after hearing this, but the elderly bowman never relaxed as he quickly responded, “you aren’t welcome here, traveler!” Without a moment to respond, he was then lifted up and thrown back out the doors by the knife-wielder. “Rowdy crowd,” he commented, holding his head as he rose back to his feet.

He continued searching through the unpredictable town for quite some time, finding an inn here and a restaurant there, getting kicked out everywhere and complaining at every chance. Finally, he stopped and pulled a random lady out of a crowd, holding her by the collar. She immediately freaked out and tried prying his hand off, thus he said, “calm down and just tell me something.” She showed no sign of recognizing what he said, so he continued, “why are the inn keepers so hostile to travelers?” The lady opened her eyes, after having shut them tightly out of panic, and murmured out, “b-because of th-the call for the Death Magician search party, I-I guess.” The Vanisher then released the lady, who sprinted away as fast as she could, bumping into a few people in the crowd who happened to be in her way.

It makes sense now, the stocky man thought, frowning as he sat down on what appeared to be a collapsed drunkard, no one in their right mind would let a ruffian, one with a power capable of sparring with the Death Magician, into their humble abode. He then looked around, searching for a solution. Sleeping in the streets would do no good, except possibly for roaming pickpockets and thieves. Additionally, he could not enter a building with his lamellar armor and his traveling cloak equipped. “I suppose I will need to live without them on for the time being,” he supposed, frowning at the thought. He loved his lamellar armor, a special gift from his father before he became a royal jerk. The thought of storing it in his rucksack made him cringe. It has to be done. I don’t care to make another plan right now.

The Vanisher then took off his cloak, then his rucksack, rolled up his cloak, and untied a few of the braces along the inside of his lamellar chestpiece. After a good deal of loosening, he managed to fit it off of his chest. He then fit the rolled up cloak into the cavity in the middle of the chestpiece and stored the armor in his rucksack. The bag was about as full as it could get, at that point, so he decided that it was time to find an adequate inn. What better inn than the one he started at?

Walking back to the bread and breakfast, which was rather close due to his circular journey, he decided that he would try to reason with the inn keeper as opposed to using force. He did not want to look any more the part of a ruffian than he needed too. As a few people passed by, not paying him a second glance, he felt he was starting to fit in. Still need a bath, but I’ll save that for tomorrow, he thought, approaching the door to the familiar building.

With confidence, Nestor strolled into the building again. Suspecting he would be greeted with a knife near the face, he brought up his hand, and, as his eyes adjusted to the light difference in the building, he saw that his hand was following that of the large man who threw him out last time. Catching the man’s wrist before it reached his head-level, Nestor dug his index finger and thumb into the joint of his wrist, encouraging him to drop the weapon. Being the rather agreeable man that he was, the burly man dropped the knife, which Nestor then quickly caught with his available hand, by the blade-end. Knowing that a bowman would be in the back to the right and behind the burly man, Nestor then threw the blade towards the bowman, spinning the blade so that it would land blade-first into the wooden counter in front of the man. The blade hit the counter, stuck, but quickly wobbled free under the weight of the hilt, landing flat on the floor.

After this brilliant display, the elderly bowman in the back was speechless(as he was still reaching for an arrow from his quiver) and the burly man pulled his arm away roughly, massaging it in the hopes of dulling the pain. “Who are you?” asked the elderly bowman in the back, dropping his hand instead of drawing an arrow. “Name’s not important. I’m here for a bed and some food, and I got money to pay with,” Nestor claimed, pulling three silver coins from his money pouch. The burly man stepped to the side and bit his lip, looking over at the elderly bowman in the back of the room. “I dunno,” he said, eyeing his wrist, then looking back at Nestor with suspicion, “he isn’t normal, Berlow.” The elderly bowman then sighed and motioned for Nestor to walk over to him.

The Vanisher complied quickly, picking up the knife from the floor and, holding the blade, offered it to the elderly bowman hilt-first. The bowman grabbed the hilt and placed the blade in a drawer under the counter as he said, “for most, it costs two silver for a normal meal and a night in a small room, three for a large meal and a small room, four for a large meal and a large room. For you, you can add one silver to it for hurting Buster over there, and two more silver per night, meal included.” After hearing this, the tired fellow put the silver coins back in his bag and pulled out a gold coin, smiling warmly as he said, “I’ll have four nights in a small room with four large meals.” Surprised at the speed the man in front of him calculated the price, the elderly man returned his smile, grabbed the coin, and replied, “glad doin’ business with ya’.” He then turned his attention to the burly man and continued, “Buster, give im’ the key and tell Rusty to get cooking.”

With a fake smile, the burly man walked over to a pile of keys, pulled one out, analyzed it, and walked over to the Vanisher with his arm outstretched. “Here, you get the room upstairs at the end of the hall,” he said, watching as the traveler grabbed the key. As soon as the guest had possession of the key, Buster walked out of the room and through a door, turning around the left corner and shouting, “HEY! RUSTY! GET COOKIN’!” He received a shout in response soon thereafter, the voice of a hardy, vigorous woman, “SHUT YER’ YAP, I HEARD!” Nestor nodded in thanks to the elderly archer, then quickly escaped from the presence of the crazy men and ascended the stone staircase to the second floor. His eyes were finally adjusting, but the atmosphere was nothing to write home about.

The dirty stone had a nice grit to it, enough that one would not slip on it were it wet. The walls and floor were the same color, but the floor had a few rugs placed along the hallway, once he finished climbing the stairs. On his way to the room, he found candles outside each door, unlit and almost unused. He inserted the key into the lock of one of the doors at the end of the hallway, found that it did not work, and tried a different lock on the other side. The second time he tried it, the key slid in and, with a satisfying “click,” the door opened. It’s better this way, my lockpicking kits can be put to better use. he thought, pulling open the door as he grabbed the candle on its stand.

Nestor got settled in his room and lit the candle, quickly placing his lamellar armor back on his chest. They knew who he was, so he assumed they would not mind if he wore his favorite article of clothing any more than they minded him without it. The man found his water skin empty and fitted it into one of the crevices of his trousers before leaving the room. He climbed back down the stairs with his lamellar armor along his chest and the water skin hanging out of his pants, then opened the door to the “welcoming” area in search of his meal. Already, as if by magic, a few plates of food were placed at a table over in the corner of the room. Having finally adjusted to the light of the building, he wandered over and took a seat without heeding the presence of the other men.

After consuming his meal in the fastest and most eloquent manner possible, Nestor rose from the seat and walked over to the elderly bowman once more. “Are there any springs or baths I can go to?” he asked, one of his eyebrows flying up to display his curiosity. The elderly bowman curtly replied, “yes,” and, having placed his unstrung bow on the counter, started inspecting it for damage. Nestor quickly continued, “where may I find a cheap one?” to which the elderly bowman quickly replied, “near the town hall there’s a good one. It’s called a fountain. You’d love it.” Nestor slammed his fist on the counter after hearing this, his expression suddenly quite grave. The impact of his fist left a slight depression on the surface of the wooden counter, but his fist quickly relaxed as he said, “bad answer, friend. Not asking for a jokester.”

A bit nervous, the inn keeper then replied, in a more serious tone, “there are only two in town, one towards the North Barracks, one towards the entrance. You’ll find steam all around the entrance, so it’s hard to miss ‘em.” Nestor nodded after hearing this, and, with a more friendly(but fake) smile, he added, “that’s better,” and walked back towards the stairs, making his way back up to his room. Once there, he barred the door behind him, using the wooden bar against the wall, undressed himself, and dropped in a heap on the bedding provided. Within minutes, he was asleep.

---

The next day passed fairly quickly. He woke up barely in time for breakfast, ate until satisfied, charged over to the bath house, relaxed for awhile, got some lunch, and then began wandering around the town. He bumped into a few interesting characters, and saw plenty of odd people wandering about along his journey. Eventually he chanced upon a giant fountain, and decided to take a look at the town hall briefly, just so that he would know where to go more adequately on the day of the meeting. The town hall was a really large amphitheater-like building with a fairly large speaking area on one end, a great number of chairs throughout, and a few balconies and staircases for the wealthier folks. It seemed to be the perfect place to conduct meetings among the important men of the city, thus why the Haldor High Council found it necessary to use this space.

Having lost his curiosity for the building as fast as he opened the door, Nestor soon left the building and returned to wandering for awhile. Sun set quickly, so he returned to the inn, ate some dinner, and went to sleep early. This repeated for the next day as well, except for the bath in the morning, which was replaced with more wandering around the city. Feeling as if he was well rested, clean, quenched, and fully satisfied with food, Nestor felt that he was ready to go to the meeting the next evening, thus he continued wandering around and looking for interesting things.

Noting that a mortar and pestle would make medicine crafting much easier, he decided to buy a pouch to carry his herbs and medical tools in. The pouch fit along the sash attached to his rucksack, so it would not get in the way. It made his money pouch feel all the more light, but he got over it quickly. Being able to quickly make medicine was of more importance than having money, considering how non-lethal alternatives became available when one can more quickly mix poisons and other drugs. Being that he preferred to keep killing other humans to a minimum, and that he wanted to make self-application faster, he was convinced that his purchase would satisfy its own worth.

Another day passed, more rest and food at no further expense. After dinner, having noted that the sun was starting to fade, Nestor rose from his seat at the dining table in the corner of the inn and walked out of the door, making his way towards the town hall. The streets along the way were fairly confusing, however he had already made the journey, thus he had no issue reaching the fountain area. Of course, there were hundreds of other people gathered around, seeing as the doors were barred and were not opening yet, so Nestor decided to walk towards the crowd and see who would decide to bump into him. A wimp who would instantly apologize? A brute who’d continue without a word? A lady who’d flee in terror? The people of Stoneham were quite unusual indeed, for Nestor could not even think of a general reaction he might get. Nonetheless, he continued along his way, wondering what the H.H.C. had in mind for him and the others.

The clattering of hooves and wheels on rough ground, along with the general chatter of traveling men. Sunlight filtering down through the ever present haze of dust disturbed by the caravan. And the warm smell of a thick stew bubbling on the back of the cooks cart, near the front of the caravan. These were the things that awoke Kyoht from his sleep, as he sat up and rubbed weary sleep from his eyes. His muscles were a little sore, mostly from sleeping on the rough hard grain of the passenger carriage tops thick boards. Steadying himself on the light rocking of the carriage he rolls himself to a standing position, before taking stock of his equipment, checking the condition of his bow and ready arrows. Finding all well, he crouched down slightly near the forend of the carriage. “Finally up lazy? You've been sleeping all morning!” Kyoht turns his head to the voice, to see the grin of an armored horseman riding alongside the carriage. “What would you know? Your the one sleeping away in a cart while I stay up all night guarding your backsides!” With a laugh the horseman waves a hand at Kyoht before spurring his horse forward. “I'll grab a quick tin of stew for ya Archer! And with those eyes of yours no wonder your always on nightshift!” he replied as his horse rode off to the cooks cart.

Kyoht sighed, moving to a sitting position on the edge of the cart. He was always battling misconceptions about the colours of his eyes. As it stood, most of those on this particular caravan believed that his eye colour gave him extraordinary night vision, while in truth he spotted things with his ability. Even after explaining such to those of the caravan, the belief that his eyes gave him night vision still seemed to persist, and any explanations otherwise were usually treated with mock attention. In fact, often people called him “Gold Archer”, or just “Archer.” Kyoht preferred to think it was for his award winning skills at archery or his vocation, rather than in any reference to his eyes. Although Gold Archer was a better name than some he had heard upon the lips of others. Letting out a breath, Kyoht leaned back resting on his arms and enjoying the mild breeze brought on by the motion of the carriage. Al in all, the caravan trip was going well and he didn't really mind staying up all night, as it really meant less things to do. Since the caravan had been on the road steady for two weeks now, he had adapted to change in sleep, and now found it rather easy to stay awake in the nighttime hours. It also had the benefit that he could be alone with his thoughts, as the others working nightshift didn't make irritating conversation. And since those on nightshift didn't have to join on gathering tasks to fetch water or firewood for the moving caravan, and that suited the gold archer just fine. The less he had to do the better.

He particularly enjoyed this caravan, even though it was a little different than hose he was used to. This was an express caravan carrying some sort of important passenger. As such, instead of the regular goods and materials carried in the other carts, there was instead just firewood, barrels of water and extra rations as the caravan had no intention of stopping at all. Food was cooked in a special stove and pot arrangement on the back of a cart, and any water needed was tapped from a barrel on another. Horses and oxen were fed on the move, and horses were swapped out in shifts to keep them fresh, and allow them access to a special water trough attached to one of the carts. Those not on horseback, rode on the carts providing protection for each cart, and help handing out various supplies as they were needed. Kyoht was fortunate enough in that aspect as well, as there was nothing really to assist with on top of the carriage, other than to pass on the needs of those inside.

That said there was definite downsides. Due to the height of the carriage already Kyoht had no canvas tarpaulin over his head to fend of weather, and he had already been soaked by rain twice on the journey. He had a thick oilcloth poncho given to him a the start of the trip, but that only did so much in the torrent of water they were doused with from the previous water. He had used it moreso to keep his bow and arrows dry, than for his own person. The second being that he was essentially confined to the top of the carriage for the trip leaving him with a small square of space to walk on. Sleeping on top of the rolling carriage wasn't the easiest either, as the wheels always seemed to find ever rut and hole in the road. And since there was no stopping, he had a small steel bucket for anything else which wasn't the most pleasant of options. The caravan had only stopped twice on the journey. Once because the carriage had thrown a wheel, almost pitching Kyoht off the top of the carriage in the process. The other when they were ambushed while traveling through a thickly wooded area, were they ended up losing a cart with five dead in the ensuing battle. Otherwise they made good time on their journey, and lay only two days more from their destination.

Wakened from his thoughts by a call from the horseman returning with a steaming tin of stew, the Gold Archer waved a hand lazily in acknowledgment. Leaning precariously off the edge of the carriage roof, he grabbed the tin from the rider, wincing slightly at the hot metal on his hands. Thanking the man, he watched as he spurred his horse to pass out a few more tins to carts rearward of the carriage. Carefully clutching at the stew, he put it to his lips and took a few gulps of the hot mixture. It was a rather well put together stew, tasting well even with the limited supplies the cook had to work with. The downside was that stew tended to be the only thing that the cook seemed to make, and Kyoht was rather tired of it. With a sigh, he looked out over the scenery of trees and bushes watching idly as the caravan continued to roll on.

The next few days that passed were uneventful, and instead of combating monsters he found himself combating the ever present boredom. As the day passed, he saw more and more traffic on the road alongside the caravan, and he could hear the chatter of the various guards riding about the wagons and the carriage. Standing up to his full height, he squinted his eyes to see as best as he could in the distance. Staring for a few moments eventually brought the welcome sight of their destination: Stoneham. Pacing back and forth on the carriage rooftop, he watched the various people moving about on the road, as he idly twirled an arrow in his hand.

It was a few hours before the caravan stopped outside the gates to the city, and everyone gathered together to get their allotment of pay. Clambering down the carriage, the Gold Archer felt the rough and solid surface of the ground beneath his boots for the first time in a few weeks. He took a moment to steady himself he unstrung his bow, as those in the town probably wouldn't be happy with him walking around with a strung longbow. Walking slightly bandy legged he came to the line of men standing before the caravan master, and after a few minutes he stood before the man. The caravan master looked at the Gold Archer for a moment, before staring down at a scroll he held unraveled in his hands. “Kyoht. Archer. Nine gold.” He said sharply, and Kyoht watched as the cashier reached into a small chest palming nine of the shiny coins to give to him. “Nine gold? What do you mean nine gold?” Kyoht commented a little angry. “You said twenty at the start of the caravan!” Unperturbed, the caravan master looked at the scroll again. “Well seeing as you didn't provide your own food, water, arrows, or horse, there were deductions on your total.” He replied, simultaneously signaling to two larger guards flanking slightly behind him. With a sigh, he accepted the coins offered, and stalked away from the caravan highly irritated. He had originally set out on this for the promise of twenty gold, and the feeling of only nine in his coin purse was much less than he figured he would have at this point.

Sweeping under the arch of the gates, he was greeted with the bustle of what seemed to be a slightly excited crowd. AS he moved along the street through the people, he found that most of the people avoided him well enough, instead of the usual busy jostling crowd he would find elsewhere. Either way he moved gingerly through he crowd, unused to such crowds of people. He wasn't sure why the town had such a crowd of people in it walls at this time, but he was sure it wouldn't take him too long to get to the bottom of the matter. Following his ears, it wasn't long before he stood with a somewhat motionless group of people before the small platform of a town crier. He drew a few strange looks form other bystanders, obviously standing out slightly form the crowd in his mussed up and unwashed state. Listening to the news of the day, he learned that there was a big to-do over at the town hall, something about gathering people to find some sort of Death Magician. He smirked slightly, he was sure things weren't actually as described. He didn't really quiet believe all the claims spouted by the crier, but there was enough to pique his interest.

As he turned and walked away form the crier, Kyoht though on the matter a little. I'm sure an enterprising individual could make some good coin locating this “Death magician.” Surely the claims of his superior power are blown out of proportion due to fear and rumour. Buried in his thoughts, it was a little while before he realized that he was thoroughly lost. He stood off to the side of one of the main streets, as various scholars and tradespeople walked passes, eagerly chatting to each other. Frustrated, he realized this was why he didn't like towns. The constant buzz of various noise emanating from the bustle of life bothered him, and the constant press and shifting about of people lessened the usefulness of his Zephy Aura. In fact it was even more irritating in the fact that at close range he could feel the ebb and flow of people as they shifted air about his person. With a quick breath he plunged back into the crowd, resolutely making his way toward what he thought was the center of the town. Navigating by the general flow and thickness of the crowd, after a while he soon came across a large group of standing people, near some sort of large fountain.

Shifting through the press of standing individuals, he finally made his way to the edge of the crowd near the front of what seemed to be the town hall. He continued to make his way through the crowd, threading his way amongst standing crowd in a way as to not actually touch a single person. He wasn't quiet doing this deliberately, it was just how he was. He always moved carefully, some part due to his ability, the other from a lifetime of living a life amongst the edge of a forest. Eventually he came to the rough and cool stone of a building skirting the square, of which he leaned against nonchalantly. Tucked into the slight shadow of the buildings wall, the Gold Archer gazed out over the people who made up the crowd. His golden eyes reflecting the light ever so slightly in the shade of the building as he let himself relax slightly. He wasn't sure who would be serious about this call to hunt this death magician down, but he figured it would be best to get a good sight of those he might potentially be working along with first.

Nestor walked into the crowd, casually making his way towards the entrance to the city hall. He hadn’t expected for the crowd to part as it did for a king, but he was surprised that most people made room for him to pass by. The few people who bumped into him curtly apologized and returned to what they were doing. One person even threw a silver coin at him due to tripping the seemingly fragile traveler. Nestor was very annoyed at this gesture, but took the money with a faked modesty.

Midway through the crowd, however, he finally found the trouble he was looking for. No, it was not a pickpocket, nor a weakling who was just passing by. It was not a lady in trouble, or a beggar, or even another traveler seeking a chat. He was stopped by what seemed to be a devout thief with blood-stained plate mail armor, carrying a crossbow with a few skull pieces and monster teeth/claws incorporated in. He could tell a great many details about the crossbow, for it was pointed right at him. The people quickly backed away from the two as they silently sized each other up, resulting in a make-shift brawl area.

Nestor’s eyes focused on the fact that the crossbow had no bolt nor trigger, despite being pulled back. Immediately, Nestor assumed that the man’s power was a deed power related to the creation of bolts of some sort. His time for observation did not last long after this as the burly man before him roared, “How dare you bump into me?! Do you not know who I am?” His muscles flexed in turn after saying this, as if he was attempting to intimidate Nestor with his physique. As this happened, a few men from the crowd worked their way over to the man and positioned themselves behind him, already having drawn weapons.

Unfortunately for the man, Nestor calmly joked, “Is it not common to bump into a bull when travelling through a herd?” and got a few cracks of laughter as the man before him and his buddies growled at him.

In response, the bull-man yelled, “I’ll feed you to a herd if you don’t beg on your knees right now!” His cronies then backed up his words with shouts of agreement and aggression, waving their weapons carelessly at Nestor and walking towards him. “He the strongest crossbowman in the world,” one of the men shouted, “Ralick the Skullcrusher!”

Nestor chuckled after the brief introduction, then commented, “I don’t think the locals agree with your aggressive antics…” as he motioned towards the people around them, whom had gradually been drawing their own weapons. “We don’t need any fights here yet,” a lady from behind Nestor shouted, pointing a staff at the crossbowman, “for all you know, this man could lead your group right to the magician!” A murmur of general agreement then passed around a few members of the crowd as Ralick’s cronies relaxed.

Ralick himself, however, was too angry to be swayed by those words alone. “SILENCE!” he roared, stomping the ground hard enough to crack the stone, “I SAID BEG!” After saying this, a bolt appeared in his crossbow and, without a second delay, it shot into the stone immediately next to Nestor’s right foot. After the round was loosed, a few members of the crowd advanced a step to stop a fight from ensuing.

Without moving, Nestor calmly leaned towards Ralick and joked, “I think this bull needs some grass, it looks hungry and irritable.” At saying this, Ralick swung at Nestor with his crossbow, but, once again, Nestor didn’t move. The crossbow passed in front of Ralick, but by the time he reached the end of his swing, Nestor was behind him, holding a knife to his throat. “That’s enough,” he commented, kicking out the man’s right leg with a loud “thwack,” and bringing him to the ground.

After Ralick hit the ground, Nestor sheathed his dagger and sweeped one person from Ralick’s posse to the ground. A few members of the crowd then quickly suppressed the other few angry members of Ralick’s group, disarming them and calming them down. It took a few heavy men to keep Ralick pinned down until he was calm, but the incident was stopped without any major injuries. Of course, by the time everyone was calm again, Nestor was already moving through the crowd some more, interested in the diversity of people.

He bumped into a few more aggressive people, but he didn’t need to fight anyone else that day. He moved towards the town hall, and eventually made it near the edge of the crowd and bumped into a lady. He managed to bump rather accidentally into her, however, for a trouble-maker decided to catch his foot as he walked in her direction, resulting in him tripping into the lady’s behind. Nestor rolled out of the way of a kick as the flustered lady tried to respond to the awkward situation with violence, then stood up and held up his hand.

“If you are looking for the culprit of this situation, the man at blame is he,” Nestor commended, pointing towards a man who was quickly working his way away from the two of them. The lady did not believe Nestor, and quickly slapped him in the face before leaving, muttering curses under her breath. Nestor sighed, deciding that her assumption of his perversion merited a hit, for the purposes of common courtesy. “Not really worth it though…” he murmured to himself, reminiscing the moment.

He then started walking towards another group of gentlemen near the edge of the staircase leading up to the town hall. The men looked to be established warriors, with moderately dirty armor and custom-made swords, the likes of which were probably power-related. Nestor assumed that the meeting would be taking place soon, but there was still plenty of time left. Maybe one more scene, Nestor thought to himself, sizing up a few of the individuals of the group as he continued calmly nearing them.

As he approached the group of warriors, one of them quickly turned around and greeted Nestor. “Hey, you’re the guy who took down the Ralick guy earlier!” he exclaimed, hugging Nestor, as was the common greeting among friendly travelers. Nestor patted the man on the back and commented, “If I hadn’t, he’d have whacked me in the face.” This caused a few other men to look over and greet Nestor in turn, offering a few words. As a result, Nestor got caught up in a friendly banter with a few other travelers for awhile, discussing the town, the possibility of a hoax mission, and other such important points.

Around ten minutes after greeting the warriors, Nestor gave his good tidings and left, rather skeptical of their treatment towards him. They seem like a band of thieves, he thought, ensuring his money pouch was yet present as he weaved through the bodies of people. A notable number of people in the crowd were rather aggressive, the type to openly betray a comrade. Nestor hoped that he wouldn’t have to deal with people like that, especially not for a mission like this one.

Nestor found himself bumping into a group of rather young men and women and tried to discourage them from joining on the mission. “No way, mister, we’re ready for this. We’ve been training all of our lives!” one of the young men commented, toting his bow and evoking agreement from his peers. Nestor groaned and commented, “and just how much longer do you think the Black mage has trained? And those security escorts who die on their missions across the Sulva Plains?” This caught the young man off-guard, but he retorted, “we won’t make foolish decisions like that, we have Johnny here!” He then pointed to one of his peers, who nodded.

Nestor heard a loud trumpet sound from the town hall immediately following this young man’s statement, then quickly turned around to witness the source of the noise. Two men stood at the open door, dressed in what looked to be a fancy robe with the town’s crest on the chestpiece. Before Nestor understood what was going on, the man announced, “I hereby call into order the meeting declared by Councilor Kagan of the Haldor High Council! All who wish to join the search for the Death Magician may now file into the town hall! All seats must be filled, and public decency is advised! No drawn weapons are allowed in the town hall by punishment of imprisonment and fine!”

Upon the last word of the announcer’s speech, the trumpeter played a quick tune and they opened the doors to the town hall. Immediately after this, the people of the crowd started to file into the hall, each man taking a seat in the vast room, some people needing to stand up due to the vast number of men. After the last man entered the room, the doors were shut, but not locked, and the trumpeter went to the stage at the front of the town hall. He played his tune, then the announcer walked up and introduced Councilor Kagan, who walked up to the stage with five armored guards.

Kagan was a pot-bellied man with a well-tended head and a fine robe who carried with him a ceremonial sword. His appearance was best described as that of an upright gorilla without hair. Not the most handsome of men, but rather professional in mannerism nonetheless. The crowd was still shooting murmurs and general chatter as he got into place to speak, many comments being asked about the man’s identity and stature. “Looks like the kind of guy who’d fall over dead after starting to run…” Nestor commented, evoking the chuckles of a few men next to him. After clearing his throat and calming the crowd, he began to speak in a rather nasal voice:

“Greetings, men and women of Haldor. As of now, I am sure that you are all wondering whether or not this, ‘Black Magician’ you were told of is real. The Haldor High Council has had many, many readings confirming an entity which has been seen in seemingly random places across Haldor, bringing with it plague, famine, many, many monsters, and a great deal of suffering and death.” After saying this, a murmur of general disagreement passed across the crowd, then Kagan continued, “Few men have ever seen this entity and lived to tell about it, let alone describe what it looked like or follow it home. As a result, many of you are undoubtedly skeptical about this ‘Death Magician.’ The solution?” He paused, then shouted, “We find this ‘Death Magician’ and get some proof! All men providing proof will be given 600 gold pieces, as was changed by the Haldor High Council, and remission of any crimes previous to the last year.”

At this point in his speech, Kagan motioned for two men on the balcony, who then unfurled a extremely large scroll with a map of Haldor. There were a great many mountains and rivers across the map, a number of dots with the names of cities beside them, and two hundred sporadic red x’s across the entire map. “Above me is a map of Haldor,” he commented, scanning the crowd as the people started to look up at the paper, “Each red X marks a general area one of your groups will explore. We’ll need to separate you all into two hundred groups, one for each x. Each group will have anywhere from two to fifteen people in it, ranging based on the suspected probability of finding the ‘Death Magician’ there.”

Kagan then motioned towards the sides of the stage and a large number of men and women started to file through the crowd with a large number of scrolls. As they reached the crowd, Kagan continued, “Each of these scrolls of paper is a map. On this map is a detailed map of Haldor with one of the red Xs marked with a number.” As he continued speaking, the people of the crowd started to gradually lose interest, grabbing the scrolls and talking amidst one another. “If you do not like the map number you got, find someone to trade with. You are all to meet with the other people assigned the same map number as you in the courtyard tonight. You have three months to complete this task, after three months, you are all to return here whether you have succeeded or failed.”

With these words said, Kagan motioned for his guards and finished his speech with the words, “I wish you all the best of luck. Keep each other alive out there!” and left the stage with his escorts. After he left, a few minutes were allowed for the distribution of scrolls. Nestor grabbed one of the scrolls from a particularly pretty maiden, then opened it and discovered that he got #143, an area near the North Westernmost part of Haldor. Deciding that he was too good to trade with the other people, he decided to sit back down and wait for the people to open the gates so he could leave. Before opening the gates, the announcer and the trumpeter reappeared. With a quick fan-fare, the trumpeter left, providing the announcer a bit of peace from which to talk.

“You are hereby dismissed from this meeting! From this moment forth, all information must be sent to us regarding the ‘Death Magician’ must be given to the Haldor High Council by person, so as to determine the validity and honesty of the claims. You are all dismissed!” He then motioned for the guards at the door to open it, stepping towards the stage exit. It did not take long for the gates to open, for the men nearest the gate helped to open it. Nestor then worked his way through the crowd and escaped the stampede by jumping over the railing and off the stairway, landing a few feet down on solid rock, resulting in a bit of ankle pain. Shortly after this, Nestor looked around, brushed himself off, and made his way back towards the slowly emerging crowd, highly uneager to find his partners.

Kyoht waited for what seemed a while, his eye gazing over those of the crowd in front of the town hall that he could see. Many of the people he could see looked to be two ends of the scale, either grizzled veterans, or sparkling green hands. He wondered how this mission was going to pan out, and how everyone was going to be chosen or assigned. Rubbing his temple with a hand, he began to figure that this all would be more a bother than it was worth. As he debated the merits of the mission in his head, he heard the blare of a trumpet emanating from the town hall. He listened to the quick announcement, and then pushed into the crowd with the others as everyone made their way past the doors inside.

Jostling back and forth, Kyoht found himself unable to find a seat so he joined along with some others standing alongside the full seating. He stood rather uncomfortably surrounded by the press of various other individuals clad in various armours. He didn't really like large crowds in rooms, as he found the large amount of people in a room always made him nervous. A bit because of the affect it had on his ability, and the other that he just wasn't all that used to it. Large crowds outside were a little different, but a large press of individuals in a room tended to create dense surrounding air currents that always played haywire with his senses.

As he stood, it only took a few moments for the last stragglers to shuffle in and the main doors to close. It was then that the trumpeter played another spiel on his horn, to with the Kyoht winced slightly finding it a little too loud. Interested in the figure he silently as he strode into sight before everyone, eliciting murmurs of speech form those standing about. After a moment the man began to speak, in a voice that Kyoht found somewhat irritating, as if the person didn't take proper good and proper breaths. That said, he listened closely as the man laid out the goal and the plan for those inside the hall. He felt a little skeptical about the entirety of the rumors surrounding this 'death magician', as he figured no one could bear such power without horrible repercussions.

Palming his eyes for a moment, he looked about as many in the hall received their scrolls denoting their groups. He was slightly jostled as those around him rushed forward to get their own scrolls, but Kyoht decided to wait a moment unwilling to push forward to get one just yet. After a minute or two of waiting, he was lucky enough to have a scroll bearing maiden pass by. Stepping forward, he grabbed a scroll in his free hand with a quick nod of thanks, before making his way through a group of individuals to lean against a nearby wall. Declining to open it for now, he tucked it into his belt, just before the doors to the hall were opened. He watched as everyone rushed toward the doors as he expected, eager to start their mission. Kyoht himself just waited for the stampede at the doors to diminish, before calmly making his own way out of the building.

Stepping into the thick mob of people outside the doors, he had to push his way somewhat through the milling crowd. It took a few moments to get through everyone, but after a minute or two he found himself pushing past a press of people to find himself in a relatively calm part of the courtyard. There he could see a few of the older warriors who stood about engaged in muttered conversation. With a sigh, Kyoht figured he should take a look at the scroll and find who else was part of his group. Staring at the map for a moment, he saw that his number was 143, and that it was an area in the northwest stretch of Halidor. “It couldn't be anything close and simple could it.” He muttered to himself under his breath.

Re-rolling the scroll and tucking it in his belt, he looked at those standing around him wondering how he'd find others with the same scroll. He could see some younger individuals wandering around yelling their numbers over the din of excited conversation. Exhaling, he stared over the various groups of warriors scattered about again. This mission was already starting to be a bother, let alone excepting the fact that he had to trek across pretty much all of Halidor. Gathering himself he stepped forward, pushing along gently into the crowd. He worked his way amongst the various groups, asking a quick question or two on their scroll numbers.

After a few minutes, he was still unsuccessful in finding his partner. He had checked almost every larger group and at this point he was wondering if whoever his partners were, were still around. Tired of searching amongst the others already he left the crowd, and found a smooth patch of empty wall where he plunked himself down. He laid the unstrung bow across his thighs, before taking a small drink from a skin affixed to his belt. He withdrew a small travel biscuit form a pouch on his belt as well, gnawing at the hard ration with his teeth as he idly waited. He figure that whoever else had a scroll would come to him at this point, as he was tired of searching amongst the crowd. As it stood he disliked crowds well enough.

Nestor’s green eyes shot across the crowd in search of maps as he met the undulating masses at the base of the staircase. The Vanisher did not want to use his power to make the searching faster, despite his urge to do so, because he found that the repercussions would far outweigh the benefits. Instead, he observed others and listened, his ears perking at the sound of voices crying, “One Forty-“ and then absolutely everything except the beloved “three” he wanted to hear. He was by no means desperate to find his partners, but he especially did not like wasting time as he was doing.

As the man looked around in the crowd, he witnessed a great diversity of groups. Most groups took the tactic of grouping together tightly and lifting one member up to call out the number and hold up a map so as to find members more easily. Some members just gathered around in a group and waited, while others left alone, possibly supposing that they’d more easily find their group as it left. Nestor wandered around and shouted the phrase, “One Forty Three” at anyone who neared him, hoping to arouse an excited response. Of course, he got none.

His actions continued on for a few minutes, then they suddenly changed. Nestor was debating whether or not he should continue his search the entire time, but decided that he had best wait for the crowd to thin out a little more. “This was not a very insightful system,” he commented aloud, “I will never know whether or not my group left without me unless I wait until sunset.” A person nearby heard him and walked over, stating his agreement in an exasperated tone. The two of them talked for a minute, then the man perked up at the sound of, “One Ten!” and ran off in the direction of the call without a single word.

Nestor sat down on a bench and watched the crowd move about for a few minutes, watching as individuals slowly grouped together in larger, more organized groups. “Now it should be easier,” he commented, standing up and looking around once more. The Vanisher continued searching for a half-hour after the doors to the town hall opened, only capable of seeing due to the dim moonlight shining down from the sky-holes and the light cast by held torches and candles. The man was nearing anger as he asked what seemed like the hundredth group for their number. “One would think that the chances get higher at each question,” he posed, “but they seem to be getting lower!”

A few more conversations and one quick skirmish later, Nestor gave up looking in the huge crowds. He had checked all of the large groups, so he assumed that his group would be very small. The man observed that people from small groups were assembling along the edge of the town plaza, so he decided to do the same. “One Forty Three,” he called, his voice as strong as it was when he started, “if you’re in group one forty three, come to me!” His tone was lathered in impatience but he was starting to become more eager to find someone else. He continued calling as he passed by a few groups, walking past buildings and stone walls, benches and beggars. From what he observed, there was not a man in the city who carried the fabled number 143.

Grinding his teeth across the hard biscuit, the rough hardy food rather resistant to teeth. He hoped that he would find whoever his partner or partners would be so he could go get some proper food. As he sat leaning against the rough hewn stone of the wall, he could see groups of people start to leave, thinning the crowd. He was considering if he would have to head off alone and maybe meet up with the group on the way somehow.

With a sigh he stood up grabbing his bow and wiping crumbs from himself, he once again surveyed those standing about talking excitedly. Shuffling his feet slightly, he set off pushing lightly between the backs of a few adventurers, keeping an ear out for his number still. There were less people shouting numbers at this point, as most the groups seemed to have formed and started hashing out plans. He deigned to join any conversations, sticking around any groups just too see what number they had.

After a few more minutes of wandering and checking for numbers, Kyoht was once again frustrated. It was then that he swore he heard the tail end of the number one-forty-three, and he quickly paced toward where he thought it came from, apologizing as he knocked people with his bow as he rushed along. After approaching where he thought the call had emanated from he called out the number as well.

As he did so, he was sure he saw a reaction from a rather rough looking fellow. Kyoht approached him, holding his own scroll out slightly before him. “You group number one-forty-three?” he asked hopefully. He didn't see anyone else with the person, so assumed that they still had to find the others of the party as well if this person bore the correct number.

"Psh,” the rough man scoffed, staring at his scroll, “it’s as if I’m the cursed one now.” The Vanisher continued walking along, calling his number time and time again, his keen eyes scanning the crowd for anyone who looked his way. To his dismay, he could not hear a single person yell even the word, “hundred” for an entire ten minutes. His search went on fruitlessly for another few minutes, then he stopped moving and stood on a bench. That’s it, he thought, if no one reacts in the next five minutes, I’m going on my own. With this thought, Nestor held his scroll above his head and continued shouting, “one forty-three,” repetitively.

Right before giving up, Nestor noticed the crowd parting (with a noticeable displeasure at the source) and calls of apology. The Vanisher stared at the man responsible, but continued calling his stock phrase in case someone else from his group happened to pass by. He watched the dark-haired man shoot through the crowd with a curious expression, then stopped as the man approached him. Many people were annoyed at having gotten smacked in the face by the man’s bow, but no one seemed to be annoyed enough to pick a fight.

He’s either notorious, weak, or efficient Nestor thought, a smirk forming over his face for a brief second before being engulfed by a questioning gaze. The man posed his question to the Vanisher with a hopeful tone, pulling at the broken heartstrings within his chest. The ragged traveler loosed a sigh of relief, then collapsed down onto the bench in a seated position, smiling at the other person with condescension. Without answering the question, Nestor asked, “how many others do you think are in my group? Just one? Maybe two besides me?”(Time-0 sec) With this rhetorical question proposed, the Vanisher stared over at a man in leather armor by a small fountain who he noticed was still watching him.(Time-.5)

The man in leather armor stared back at the Vanisher in surprise,(Time-1.5) then stood up and started to walk towards them, shouting, “Do you need something from me?”(Time–2) Nestor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but waved his hand “negative,”(Time-2.5) and looked back at the person with dark brown hair. The man’s eyes were glowing with a pale gold color, an oddity even among sight-power users. Nestor paused a second, then commented, “Or do you think I’d be better off with just one,” with a skeptical look on his face, gesturing towards the man in leather armor as he seated himself on a bench once again, still staring at the pair. (Time-3.5)

Kyoht stood expectantly before the somewhat rough looking figure, clutching the scroll in his hands as he waited for a reply. After hearing it, it took the Archer a moment to realize that in fact he had not received an answer for his question, but another one in reply. About to mouth a reply back, Ky stopped for a second running over the question asked him again through his mind. He wasn't sure why the man said “my group” but passed it off for the moment as unimportant.

Wrapped up a little in his thoughts and his gaze on the man before him, Kyoht didn't really notice the man in leather armour nearby. As it was, he felt rather distracted and tired. The noise of those yelling for their group, along with the chatter from those already formed grated on Kyoht's ears. His senses were already muddled from the shifting eddy of air currents caused by the various clusters of people about.

Brought about again by the man before him as he commented and indicated a person taking a seat on a nearby bench. Ky stared at the man indicated for a few seconds, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking away. Looking back before him, he shrugged. “Personally I just want to get the hell out of here, two or three person group.” he replied, rubbing at his temple lightly with a hand.

Looking about himself for a quick moment, he fidgeted with the scroll in his hands slightly, feeling the rough texture of the parchment on his fingers. He could feel the leather armored mans gaze upon himself and the man before him, and he didn't have a good feeling on what it might mean. “I don't really work well with larger groups, so how about we just head out then?” He asked a moment later, throwing up his shoulders in a non-committal shrug as he again looked around at those remaining in the square.

Nestor, having heard the bright-eyed man’s response, concluded, he’s efficient and harrumphed, jumping down from the bench. As he landed(Time – 0), he took a few moments to brush dirt from his otherwise-adequate cloak. Once finished, (Time – 2) he looked over at the stranger and, with a emphasized nod, pointed down to his hand (Time – 3). With his hand, he was pointing towards the man in leather armor. “Prove you’re in this group, first,” he commented, his eyes straining slightly. (Time – 5)

His expression gradually became more stressed over the next few seconds as he said, “there are plenty of rogues in these crowds, you have to make sure you can trust each other.” First, he pointed in the opposite direction of the man in leather armor, emphasizing the word rogues as he spoke. (Time – 7) Next, he pointed over his right shoulder, emphasizing the word, trust as he spoke. (Time – 10) He then dropped his hands and awaited the man’s response, his eyes shifting across the crowd, scanning.

From where they stood, there were a great many groups of men forming. Among them were at least three groups with men in the same leather armor as the man Nestor gestured at. Two such groups were located in the directions Nestor gestured at, one next to the fountain, the man in leather armor near another bench and a few others, and a larger group near the stairs to the town hall. From Nestor and Kyoht’s position, all three of these groups were almost equally distant from one another.

As Nestor awaited the stranger’s response, (Time – 13) he managed to whisper without moving his lips, barely uttering, “meet me in Rusty’s Bed and Breakfast.” (Time – 15) With these words uttered, he fixed his gaze directly at the golden eyes of the stranger and, with a newly relaxed gaze, held out his hand. “Let’s see if that scroll of yours has the right number, eh?” he commented, presenting a painfully fake smile.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Ky let out a breath as he once again looked about. He found himself comparing the relatively peaceful time alone on top of one of the caravan carts, to the hassle of standing around where he was now. Turning his attention back to the man before him, as he pointed away from himself toward the previous leather clad figure.

Kyoht raised a brow, not sure exactly what was going on. As far as he was concerned, conversations with strangers was on the top of his list for things he disliked. He never really knew what to say or act, let alone pick up on whatever social cues the other person was trying to get across. As it stood, he wasn't sure who the man before him was talking to, along with the emphasizing certain words of his sentences. He wasn't sure if the person was trying to get some sort of message across, or just oddly enunciated certain words.

Rocking back on his heels for a moment, he took a second to look around quickly at the groups about himself. The archer felt that his neck was on a crude swivel, as he always felt that there was someone right behind him. Unable to tell so with his natural abilities, he found himself manually checking. A habit he had to consciously persuade himself from doing, as it probably detracted from whatever image he was putting across.

Tightening his grip on his bow, he schooled his face into a more stoic expression. As he did, he could have sworn he caught a whisper to meet in some sort of inn, but before his mind could fully process it his eyes met the gaze of the stranger before him again. He found himself looking away almost as soon as their eyes made contact, self conscious of his own eye colour. While nobody said anything to his face or within earshot, he had a good idea of what people thought.

Growing up alone with his parents in a semi-remote cabin by the woods wasn't for fletching alone, as his father shared the same distinctive eyes he bore. In fact, Kyohts' last name of Makya was based on a old family legend of how his ancestors used their archery skills to steal the eyes of eagles.

Shaken somewhat by his reverie as he was asked to see his scroll, he soundlessly handed it over, Hoping to get this party forming business over with.

As the Vanisher finished his subtle gesturing, he fought to keep himself from frowning. The golden-eyed man barely seemed to recognize that he was being spoken too throughout their brief conversation. The man seemed to understand the basics, and looked to where Nestor pointed quite bluntly, but otherwise appeared lost. The Vanisher had no other way to convey the concepts he wished to show without the men in leather armor noticing, so he decided to give it up. If my partner is too dense to catch on to this, he’s probably got other talents he concluded, watching the golden-eyed man avert his gaze.

Without a word, the archer then handed his group number scroll over to Nestor, who quickly accepted it. The Vanisher already concluded that the golden-eyed man had the right scroll, otherwise the stranger would have said “farewell” and left after getting confused by Nestor’s gestures. Nonetheless, to keep the spectacle going for the leather-armored men, Nestor opened the scroll and took a few seconds to read the three large numbers plastered in the middle. As he did so, it took all the psychological inhibition in his body to keep him from whispering, “you blithering fool!” under his breath.

Nestor debated making a more obvious gesture to the golden-eyed man, but determined that more attempts to covertly provide information would lead the leather-armored men to suspicion. Additionally, Nestor figured that the man was too poorly educated to understand what he was doing. As a result, Nestor smiled a dreadfully forced smile and rolled up the scroll, handing it back to the golden-eyed gentleman once he was done. His hand moved painfully slowly as he reached out with it, speaking as he did so.

“Well then,” Nestor started, “I guess you really are in my group! We should get out of here, but let’s take the South gate. The main gate will be too crowded.” With this said, Nestor walked past the golden-eyed stranger and began to quickly move through the crowd, heading South through the plaza. By this point, the plaza was thinning out, making the groups of leather-armored men slightly more visible amid the crowd of people.

As he continued along his path, a large group of rather wide drunk warriors wandered into his way. (Time – 0) Nestor gritted his teeth after realizing the necessary detour he would have to make as a result, staring to the left of a rather fat man to see the leather-armored men surrounding a fountain. (Time – 1)

The fat, drunk soldiers had a rough appearance, but these leather-armored men were slightly more refined, almost deceptively so. A few in the group had cards out, and a few others calmly sharpened their blades or cleaned equipment, leaving two rather scrawny men seated on a dry lip of the fountain to keep watch. None of the men were particularly noteworthy in appearance, besides scars, odd patchwork armor repairs, and randomly assorted weaponry, however the way the men treated each other was cold and harsh, almost violent. None of the men who were playing cards smiled, whereas all of the fat, drunk soldiers blocking Nestor’s favored route were merry and happy.

The two scrawny men on the fountain nudged each other as Nestor looked their way (Time – 1.5), then one jumped off the fountain and started to whisper in the ears of the other men. (Time – 3) Nestor gestured for his new companion to follow him as he weaved his way around the fat soldiers, moving past the men at the fountain. As they walked past, the leather-armored men paid no heed, but after the two passed by, all of the men watched eagerly, steadily getting up from their spots and replacing their equipment as the two got further away.

Taking back the scroll, The Archer took a moment to tuck it securely underneath his belt. Looking up from the task, he saw that the scruffy looking fellow in his group had already brushed by and started moving through the crowd. With a small shrug, Ky headed after him threading through the various members standing about the crowd, this time passing through the various groups deftly being mindful of his bow stave.

A few fast steps later he caught up behind his other party member. Slowing to a stop for a moment, he came to a stop as he observed the group of men blocking their path. The group seemed rather jovial, and Kyoht was apt to share a smile until he saw the composure of his companion before him. Not quite sure what was going on, he nervously looked about not sure what exactly was going on in the situation.

Seeing his group member gesture for him to follow, he silently did so, sticking close and shadowing his steps. As he walked he slowed for a moment to string his longbow, and act that he had trained himself to do while moving. While not easy, it was always good to have a bow than a stave at hand as far as he was concerned. Done doing so he rushed a few steps to fall back in behind his companion. Warily he kept a free hand near his hatchet and the arrows tucked in his belt right next to it. While he probably wouldn't get more than a shot off with the bow if things went awry, a man holding a drawn longbow a feet from your person was always fairly intimidating.

Shuffling past the rather girthier warriors, avoiding disturbing them and their merriment. He wasn't sure what exactly was going on but he didn't have a good feeling. While he wasn't quite used to crowds and cityfolk, he knew that groups and traffic didn't happen like this. As it was it felt like a set up, but for whom he wasn't sure. He assumed that there must be some sort of bounty or grievance against the rough fellow he was currently partnered with, but for all he knew whoever it was might just be after all the scrolls.

As it stood The Archer wasn't fond of close combat. At best, if his companion was the target his abilities would best be served providing over watch from a nearby rooftop. Then he could bring his best skill into play, that of his archery. Otherwise while capable enough skill wise at defending himself in close combat, he wasn't geared for it and would be at a definite disadvantage. He could use Zephy Aura to help dodge incoming blows at close range, but he wasn't that practiced in it yet to be good at fighting multiple opponents.

He found himself tensing up slightly, walking with deliberate careful paces as if he was stalking prey in a hunt. As it was he was going to let his companion take the lead and see what would develop.

Nestor continued walking through the crowds, aiming for a wide street bustling with activity and vendors. His expression remained unchanged as he walked, his eyes focused on his task. Each step brought another thought to his head, another possible solution to the current problem. Half of his consciousness was excited at the thought of already having the ability to test his new companion, but the other half was on high alert for safety’s sake. He looked back at the gold-eyed archer behind him to see that he had strung his bow and was awkwardly keeping his hand near his side.

As far as Nestor was concerned, the people around them were irrelevant, besides the leather-armored men. He had not bumped into any, and bluntly ignored those who begged for money or booze. The noise in the street was loud and clamorous, yet quiet enough to carry dialogue in. Nestor was greatly annoyed by this, but the great number of people and the large amount of noise would give him and his partner some room for error, and possibly the element of surprise.

Nestor took a breath in order to speak, but quickly remembered that the golden-eyed archer was incapable of recognizing his hidden speech. Shifting his gaze around his partner, he quickly spotted seven or eight leather-armored men spread out among the crowd, most of which quickly averted their gazes the instant Nestor turned. Again, to avoid suspicion, Nestor decided that he would need to say something or risk the leather-armored men catching on.

“So, do you have a name, gold-eyed one?” Nestor asked, shifting his position so as to walk right next to the archer. He continued to look straight ahead for the most part, turning to the archer in order to speak only for a moment before returning his focus to path finding. Nestor had only been in town for a few days, so he had to think hard in order to not get lost, or worse, to reach a dead end. His expression reflected this strain, albeit slightly, as he watched people turning corners and entering shops.

He barely had time to hear the archer’s response before, in his surprise, a group of leather-armored men merrily wandered out of an inn, clambering around the two in a drunk manner. If that was the cut-off, I overestimated these fools Nestor thought, a smirk covering his amused face. As a means to calm himself, he quickly pulled his hood up slightly and combed some of his hair off of his forehead, refreshing his stoic and lackluster expression. The drunk, leather-armored men were immediately confronted by the other men who were following the group, all of which turned and walked into an alleyway to converse.

Taking the opportunity, Nestor quickly said, “don’t let them think that you know they’re there. They can’t attack us in crowds, but they think we’re leaving town, where they can.” He then quickly looked back to see that the leather armored men were still in the alley-way. “Meet me at Rusty’s Bed and Breakfast,” he whispered, looking around once more to ensure that no one was watching. With this said, a rather burly man brushed up against Nestor, causing him to vanish instantly.

Kyoht matched his companions pace, as he slowed to allow them to walk side by side. He found that people such as beggars and the like tended to somewhat shy away, or avoid him when he turned his gaze on them. He was resigned to this reaction from others already, having had to deal with it his whole life. Looking up from the street when he heard a question asked of him, it took a moment for him to reply. “Hmm? My name?” He commented idly, hiding a flash of irritation. “Kyoht Makya.” He added, studying his companion alongside him for a moment. As far as he could tell, the man seemed to be focusing fairly intently.

Before he could think on it more, he saw a group of leather clad figures leave the entrance way of a local inn, stepping past them in a rather boisterous manner. Slowing his pace to avoid clashing with them, he found himself faced with his associate, as he quickly told Ky to essentially act normal, and then meet up at some place called Rusty's Bed and Breakfast. His brows furrowed for a moment, as he wondered why he could just follow along when all of a sudden a hefty fellow slightly contacted The Archers group partner causing him to disappear.

Standing dumbfounded at the sudden vanishing, it was a moment before Ky found his legs and continued on down the street. Figures he'd be one of those stealthy “now you see me now you don't” types. This better not be some sort of bullshit test, all of this is starting to become a bother already. With a small sigh, Kyoht took a moment to sling his bow over his shoulder, using the string across his chest to hold it to his back lightly. Dipping a hand into a pouch on his belt, he withdrew a small reddish strip of dried fruit. He gnawed on the dried strip, as he figured out what he was going to do.

I don't even know where this stupid place is, let alone where I am. He mused as he resumed his pace down the street. And are these guys after both of us, or just my new found partner? Because I'm sure it's awfully suspicious if he's suddenly gone if they're after both of us. And it's hardly a consolation to know that were going to be attacked as soon as we set foot out of a public space. As The Archer thought on the situation, he found his feet falling into his long distance travel lope, a ground eating pace that let his mind wander.

As it was, since they were heading this way in the first place, his destination must be down the street somewhere. Or at least that's what he hoped. Continuing down the road he pushed past various peoples going about their daily business, and a good handful of various adventurers. Thankfully he didn't see much of the leather-armoured figures form before, but he wasn't looking all that hard either.

Threading his way through the various people thronging the street, he eventually found himself coming to a larger sized crossroads. On the perpendicular route to his, a few goods laden wagons gently rolled along the stone of the thoroughfare. Taking a moment to observe, Ky watched as the drovers managed their placid beasts of burden as the carts moved through the crowd. Why didn't I become a wagon driver? All you have to do is sit around all day and hold a set of reins and crack a whip once in a while. Letting out his breath in a small sigh, he set himself to continue on to hunting down the location of the inn.

Glancing down the various directions that the crossroads went, he picked the easterly direction on a whim. The Archer at this point had absolutely no idea where he was going, but the increase in adventurers, warriors and caravaneers down the particular street he strode down made it likely that the particular inn he was looking for would be found on this cobbled drag.

As he paced in his lazy lope, he kept an eye out for the leather armour clad men, but at the moment he couldn't see anybody of the sort. Which either meant they weren't tailing him, or suddenly got better at sneaking about. He felt a little worried about the situation either way. Suddenly stopping he spun his body around in a sudden action to try and catch anyone who might be following him, but his searching eyes caught nothing. Instead of catching any followers his action instead elicited a bout of various muttering from nearby folk.

Turning back about he continued heading down the street, and as he walked the buildings framing either side to grow a little taller, often having a second story and a loft window. Many bore various old signs swinging lightly in the breeze denoting the various names of the taverns and inns. Kyoht found himself grinning slightly as he read the faded text painted on some of the signs. Many of the signs were hand carved and painted, illustrating names like 'The Nob on the Staff', 'The Mute Bard', and his personal favorite so far 'The Thirsty Fish'.

His mood wasn't to be cheery for two long however, as he was suddenly jostled while he stood still reading the name off yet another hanging sign. Stumbling for a moment, he caught the sight of someone dashing off in the corner of his vision. His a hands flashed toward his belt pouches, and as he reached into one of his pouches he cursed under his breath, muttering damnation about all pickpockets. The pickpocket had not stolen his money, as he kept his coinage in a special pocked sewn on the inside of his tunic. Instead he found that the thief had snatched his entire supply of spare steel arrowheads, probably mistaking the light jingle for the clinking of coins. While not overly valuable he didn't really have time to go to a smith to have them replaced, or the desire to spend a few coins on getting such done.

Rubbing his temple in irritation, he angrily stalked forward, his eyes flashing a particular glare which kept people who noticed his gaze from his path. Wrapped up in his thoughts he almost completely missed it, but after bactracking a few steps he found the frontage of the place he was looking for. Sighing in relief that he had finally found it, he approached the entrance way and stepped in cautiously blinking a few moments in the change of light.

A half-hour or so before Kyoht arrived, Nestor returned to Rusty’s Bed and Breakfast to tell Buster and the inn keeper about a visitor he was expecting. He told the two to send a “golden-eyed man with a bow and an axe at the hip” to his room and to send off anyone in rugged or patched leather armor, “because they’re dangerous, scheming snakes.” Buster asked if any of them were as strong as Nestor was, to which he casually replied, “they’re the shady types. Kick em’ out quick or they’ll pull a knife on ya.’” With this said, the Vanisher returned to his room, turning his key in the lock hanging from the door. After he was in his room and set the lock once more, he lit the candle and took a look around his room.

It was late at night, but many people in the city would remain awake for another few hours. The guards had to stay awake to make the lives of the thieves more difficult, the inn-keepers were still busy with the many ruffians and travelers vying for a place to stay for the night, and countless other people of various occupations walked around, continuing their busy lives. Thin beams of light from the moon shone through the skylights in some areas, while others merely offered a view of the stars, often admired by artists and scholars. Altogether, whether or not it was dark out, the city lived on throughout the day.

Nestor got a reminder of the livelihood of the city as a few pebbles crashed against the outer wall of his room, undoubtedly the result of immature children daring or testing one another to gauge their manliness. The snickering and laughter of the kids angered the Vanisher, but the even angrier voice of Buster soon drowned out the annoyance. Nestor washed his face and hands in a fresh basin of water near the door and packed all of his travelling gear. He organized his clothing and placed it back into his rucksack, then used a small amount of water and a cloth to clean some of the dirt off of the bag. The rough, thick material which held the outside of the pack together was very rough, so the dirt stubbornly remained in the weave of the material despite Nestor’s efforts. This annoyance sent blood to his face along with a frown as his frustration grew. “At least I get a meal,” he mumbled, searching for ideas to calm himself.

After another minute, Nestor threw the cloth back at the basin, causing it to land limply beside the wooden table the basin stood on. The Vanisher stood up and, after listening to the walls carefully to check for eavesdroppers, sat down next to his rucksack to wait for his visitor. He won’t be long, the man thought, reforming a picture of the golden-eyed man in his head, distinguishing each individual feature, I bet those eyes make searching easier. He continued to sit next to his rucksack for around ten minutes before hearing a knock on the door. Without a word, the Vanisher arose and walked up to the door. Whispering, the traveler asked the knocker, “what number are you looking for?”

---

[as Kyoht walks in]

Buster, a big and burly man in rather casual dress, walked up to the man in the doorway and bent down to look at his eyes from about three feet away. He frowned for a few seconds as he stared into the man’s eyes, trying to make out the color he was seeing, when the elderly man behind the counter grinned cheerily and, with a crackly voice, claimed, “he’s clearly the one the fellow was talkin’ about. Relax.” With this, Buster stood up and nodded, retorting, “’twas hard to tell in the torchlight. Coulda’ been a light oak.” Noticing that the Innkeeper ignored him, Buster dejectedly returned to his seat on a bench near the entrance.

Meanwhile, the Innkeeper motioned for the golden-eyed archer to come closer to him. When the archer was within reach, he motioned for Buster to check out the doorway and turned to the archer. “The feller’ with the black cloak and lighting reflexes said to send the golden-eyed archer to his room when he got here. He’s in the room upstairs, at the end of the hall.” He barely changed expression while talking, a serious, yet intrigued look which bespoke suspicion. It was likely the result of having two people he didn’t trust in his building. Either way, he watched the archer off, pointing to the stairs to guide him at his behest, then sat back in a similar stool to Buster’s, leaning against the wall. Buster returned inside soon after the innkeeper stopped talking, returning to his own stool. He cast a glance at the innkeeper with a look of unease, which the innkeeper shrugged off.

Brushing the back of his hand across his eyes as they adjusted to the change of light, Kyoht found himself suddenly confronted by a large bear of a man bending down slightly to stare him directly in the eyes. He shied back slightly with a half step, wondering what was going on before the man at the inn counter commented that he was the one they were looking for. I guess my companion notified these guys ahead of time I was coming along. Probably a good thing. As he moved forward to the beckons, the large man spoke back in reply to the innkeeper mentioning something about how whatever “Coulda' be a light oak” What my bow? It's ash, so not sure what he's talking about. The archer wondered for a moment, before coming across from the innkeeper.

Nodding at the mans words, he looked to the stairs for a moment before waving his hand in acknowledgment at the innkeepers words. He felt somewhat irritated, as people always seemed to define him by his golden eyes. Following the pointing hand of the man, he set his boots on the stairs, ascending quietly with barely a whisper of noise. This was due moreso to the fact that his boots were well worn and supple, rather than any particular effort applied by the Golden Archer. Moving through an environment without disturbance was pretty much a well practiced act, that was generally just muscle memory at this point. Kyoht had the habits of one familiar with woods craft, having such trained into him from a very young age.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he paused for a moment, his eyes taking in the hallway as he looked for the correct door. Easily finding it, he casually paced down the hallway to stand before the door. He reached up to knock with a hand, before he paused to consider his actions. Instead of knocking for the moment, Ky placed his hand lightly on his temple as he closed his eyes in fierce concentration. Working with his minds concentration he called up his Zephy Aura, and began to feel the slight tremors of air about himself. Thankfully there wasn't that much disturbances of air in the inn to cloud his ability, making things a little easier.

Beginning to isolate his own affect on the air currents such as his breath and slight movements, he cast his sense out working at feeling the air currents in the room on the other side of the closed door. After a silent minute or two, he was sure that he could feel only the breath of one person, but he wasn't particularly sure. He couldn't perceive much with his Zephyr Aura through walls, and if other individuals stood at the far wall opposite the door he was sure he wouldn't be able to pick them up. With a small outlet of his held breath, he reached up to rap his knuckles smartly on the wood of the door in a firm knock.

Instead of the expected unlocking and opening of the door, he heard a whisper ask him what number he was looking for. This guy is super cautious, maybe he has a bounty or something. Would explain those leather clad guys following us. He thought for a moment as he scrabbled for the scroll tucked in his belt. spooling it out for a second to re-read the number he had already forgotten about, he let out a small sigh. This guy better not be crazy paranoid all the time. Otherwise this job is going to be more or a chore than it already is. “Uh... One forty three.” He commented, tucking the scroll back into his belt as he then waited expectantly for the door.

From the other side of the door, the Vanisher heard the words he was hoping for, then softly responded, “wait there.” With a few quick steps, Nestor returned to his rucksack and fitted it over his shoulders. The pack was light – although it was considerably heavier than he was used to – and filled with enough bread, dried meat, cloth, water and other supplies to last him a week of unaided travel. The Vanisher had all of his travelling supplies on his person, and felt a tinge of excitement welling up within his breast. A thoughtful grin stretched across his face as he returned to the door, envisioning the events to come, backtracking to the entrance of the city, and planning the best placement of each straw man along the way.

With a sharp “clink,” Nestor unlocked the padlock on the door and tossed it aside without taking the key. He then opened the door rather roughly and motioned for his ally to enter the room. He waited a few seconds to ensure his companion was no longer in the way, then closed the door. At the same time, he created a straw man in the hallway to ensure that the innkeeper was not having any trouble. After the door was securely closed, Nestor walked over to the sleeping area and, facing Kyoht, quickly relayed some information with a moderately frustrated expression.

“Back in the crowd, when I was talking gibberish to you about rogues, or something like it, I was trying to show you that we were being, and still are being, followed,” he commented, raising an eyebrow, “I cannot afford to let them understand that we are aware of them until we leave the city.” After a brief pause, he walked over to the window and peeked out, frowning after observing information from a different straw man. He continued with a more quiet voice, “they work for Rildraz’s Mercinary Guild, the grunts with pathetic or useless powers and weak gear.” Once again, he paused, moving away from the window as he whispered, “They know we’re in here, but if we fight them in town, the guards’ll be on their side.”

The Vanisher looked over his companion’s face for a moment, but quickly commented, “We need to jump out of this window to insure that they won’t trap us, but they’ll know we’re aware of them the second we jump out.” After another brief pause, he stepped towards the window once again and , in an even softer voice, whispered, “If you don’t contact or talk to them, they’ll prioritize me, so get to the North gate as fast as you can – I’ll misdirect them. When you get there, buy two pack mules and start off without me.” Once again, Nestor paused, except this time, he untied his money pouch and offered it to Kyoht as he continued speaking. “We can lose them in the Forest on the North West side of the base of the mountain, if you’re fast enough. I have around thirty six gold in there – use it sparingly, but quickly.”

He then dropped his arm by his side and reached over to the window, ready to part the wooden panels and jump. “Any questions?” he asked, looking back at Kyoht with a neutral expression as heavy footsteps thundered the wrong way in the hallway behind them.

As Kyoht was let into the room, he found himself faced with his rough companion who quickly relayed a bunch of information on what was going on, although not as much as he hoped to hear. And what he did confused him slightly although he didn't have much time to react to such as Nestor presented him with a small pouch of coins, with the instruction to purchase some mules and head out from the city without him. Tucking the pouch into a another on his belt, he was about to ask some questions such as why in particular this guild was hunting them. But, sensing the urgency as he heard the clomping of heavy boots on the floors outside, shook his head for the moment, stacking up behind Nestor at the window. He figured he could get a proper explanation later.

He watched as Nestor jumped out the window, and he followed almost immediately after, pushing aside the shudders and repeating the same actions. I hope this doesn't set the tone for this entire journey, otherwise it's going to be a serious bother. The archer thought, right before landing. As he hit the the ground, his left foot stamped into a small pile of refuse causing him to tweak his ankle slightly. Grimacing slightly at the sudden shock of pain, he nonetheless moved forward, conscious of the need to get out of the vicinity of the inn and his companion.

Moving at a fair pace down the street, weaving in amongst the various few people still in the street he put a little bit of distance between himself and the inn. He found either his adrenaline was up, or that his ankle was simply better as he wasn't really feeling any pain any more. Ducking into a smaller road, perpendicular to the one he was just on, he moved past a group of guards on patrol to end up in a small open square. Pausing, he looked about to try and get his bearings. He wasn't sure exactly where he was, but moved off in the most northerly direction he could.

As he walked down various side streets he could still see that some people were up and about, although they usually hurried by wrapped in long cloaks or stood to the side conversing with one or two others. This made it easier for The Archer to check his back trail for any of the leather armoured figures, but also made it much easier for them to follow him. Quickly checking behind him, he didn't see anyone following. Either this guild of men had no interest in him, were being distracted by his new companion, or Kyoht just lost them, he didn't know.

It wasn't too long before Ky found himself back on one of the main avenues. He was in luck this time though. as he could see that the street went to the Northern gate in the distance. Keeping to the side of the road, he hurried along towards his destination. Pasuing again for a moment, he checked down the street and was surprised to see a small group off people in the distance moving his way. He assumed they were members of the mercenary guild by what he figured he saw as leather armour, although it was hard to tell in this light.

Rushing a little faster, although not to fast to attract too much undue attention, he made his way eventually to the buildings which housed the stables and the mules he needed to buy.

Kyoht made his way to the nearest stable buildings door, and paused for a moment before the rough timber. With a small outlet of breath he rapped on the door firmly with his fist. After doing so, he stood impatiently for what he felt like was forever. Shuffling his feet, he heard the rasp of locks and latches let loose, before the door cracked open halfway. Kyoht's eyes found themselves taking in the bearing of a rough older man, with loose stubble and a stained leather cap on his head.

“What do you want at this time of night?” The man growled, eying the Archer carefully. Kyoht idly jingled the beltpouch that held the gold coins on his belt lightly. “I'm looking to get two pack mules, ready to go.” he replied, looking carefully into the mans eyes. Opening the door slightly more with a small grin on his face, the stablemaster brought round a small lantern from inside and held it up to examine Ky more closely in better light. Appearing satisfied with whatever he was looking for, he quickly placed the lantern back where it had come from, and rubbed his hands together.

“Well, that will cost you a pretty penny. You know mules are in high demand due to events lately,” he commented, trailing off for a moment. “I'm sure I could fetch a better price tomorrow, with all the travelers and whatnot seeking to head out.” He added, fixing Kyoht with a judging eye. “How about this, I'll offer you the low deal of forty gold.”

Ky almost chocked at the absurd price. Looking down the street in a forced casualness, he couldn't spot any of the leather armored men. But just because he couldn't see them didn't mean they weren't skulking around. Turning back to look at the man before him again, the Archer thought on his counter offer for a quick second. “How about twenty-five gold. That should be plenty of profi-” He said, but was almost instantly cut off by a negative wave from the stablemaster. “Fine then. Twenty-eight, and that's almost highway robbery.” Ky amended, pulling out the bag of coins that he had received from a belt pouch. He slowly counted every gold into the outstretched hand of the stablemaster, before he saw the mans face light up with a grin. “Good doing business with you. Wait here, and I'll bring them around upfront for ye.” The stablemaster closed the door, once again shrouding Kyoht in the semi-dark of the street.

Waiting impatiently, the Archer found himself pacing back and forth as he waited for the man to bring the mules about. As he entertained the thought that he was cheated in his mind, a larger door opened up further down the building. Out of it came the stablemaster leading two pack mules by rough rope leads, carrying a hooded lantern in the other hand. Kyoht paced up the the man, taking the rough hempen leads from the offered hand. Waving thanks, he began walking toward the north gate when the stablemaster called out. “Where you think ye be going? Don'thca know they don't open the North gate this time of night, your going to have to head to the South gate, that'll be open.” He commented, before making his way back inside.

The mans words, left Kyoht to wonder what the hell he was going to do for the moment. He couldn't really turn back and traverse the entire town at this point. Deciding that he'd figure something out once he got there, he continued on toward the North gate, mules in tow. After only a short walk he came upon the archway of the gate, and caught vision of two town guards lazily standing afore the main gate. The stood lit in the light of two sconces bracketing the gate off the stone walls of the arch. Continuing his approach, Kyoht came up to them and was halted by a hand motion by one of the guards as they both straightened up and walked over to confront him.

“What do you think your doing?” The one guard asked. “This gate is closed till morning your not going anywhere through here. Travelers exiting at night are to use the South gate.” He added. With a sigh, Kyoht looked at the two guards, before glancing at the closed gates. Catching a glimpse of something on the gates, he had a quick flash of hope for a second. “Look, I really need to head out this way. No need to even open the gates, I'm sure I can pass through that wicket gate well enough. I'll even make it worth your while. Three gold apiece.” He said, before seeing the frown on one of the guards faces. “Look, four gold. Four gold each.” He said, taking out the small pouch of coins, and holding it out to the nearest guard.

The man took it in a gauntleted fist, before nodding quickly to his partner. They both moved back to the wicket gate, Kyoht following close behind. The one guard took out a large key, and after taking a look through the doors peephole, unlcoked and swung open the iron banded wooden door. Stepping through with a quick thank you, Kyoht badgered the mules until they were both through the man sized doorway. Almost as soon as the second mule was through the wicket gate was closed behind him, with a iron clacking of the lock reengaging.

Finding himself on the main thoroughfare out of town, Ky breathed in the air in a deep breath finding it somewhat cooled than that immediately on the other side of the gate. Not wanting to stay easily visible on the main road, he began trekking off in a perpendicular course to the road, heading in a somewhat North-West direction. He found the mules fairly placid, although the one would bray at any tugs on the rope lead. The Archer hoped that they weren't completely bad stock, as he had no time to really examine the beasts of burden, or enough light at this time of night to even do so. As is, he was walking in the dark, but his eyes had asjusted well enough as he pushed his way through the long grasses.