Link to the Previous IC~!

However, for those who don't have the time to read though said IC, here's a quick synopses of what happened:

Kayech Del Vinensia, the new king and leader of the Vinsenian Army, turns out to be a sadistic man who was the old king's bastard, taking the throne through a series of brutally violent acts that it seemed were ultimately for the good of the country.(According to an age-old sword of prophecy)

As Kayech lectured on to the now slaughtered assassin, the Carthul Mercenaries set up shop inside of the border town of Charten, Belinni, having been hired to drive of the bandits that flee the approaching Vinsenian threat, lead by General Issac.

As the forces of the mountainous land of silver march closer, the Tyl family hones their battle skill against one another, clashing high in the air above the now set up mercenary camp. In the town proper, the dark mage Ersehk runs errands on the orders of Duraid Carthul, the leader of the mercenary band. He is helped out by the well-meaning Pegasus archer Barst, and the two get to splitting the workload. Elsewhere, the wandering former Knight of Vinensia, Hark, contemplates his lost purpose in exile, unaware of the approaching threat. Just outside the town, a scouting branded, Ashielle, lets loose an almost prophetic message as she slaughters a wounded boar. On the opposite side of the well-paying town, the Nsran pack wanders the markets, planning only a small stopover on their way home.

Over the horizon, a climatic battle takes place, with General Issac leading the Vinsenian force to yet another victory. Despite this, tensions rise in the camp as the newest additions to the army, a group of former bandits, refuse to take to the field, preferring the easy life of looting the defenseless villages. To complicate matters, the brigand leader gained the favor of the king, limiting the moves that Issac could take against them. In a stroke of genius, he calls forth a recently un-retired commander, Alice Von Scmitt, and orders her to throw the bandits against the fortified town of Charten, aiming for complete annihilation of the offending bandits.

---

For the Carthul family, the training that other people did was simply a warm-up.

In the exact center of the training grounds, two figures clashed.

Duraid was clearly the superior fighter of the two, using his massive frame and surprisingly quick reactions to shut down his daughter's offensive jabs and slices. Faris, however, seemed far from discouraged. Her own strengths lay in her youthful vigour, versus the older man's tempered endurance.

Even greater than that was the force of which her blows struck, smashing into her father's practice blade with all the strength her lithe body could muster, as the mercenary exhaled and gnashed her teeth at every failed attempt to penetrate Duraid's guard, looking angrily for a chance to strike with hate-filled eyes.

It was perhaps fate, then, that when one of her rage-filled slices impacted the edge of the warrior's sword with a jarring clang, Duraid's grip loosened enough to have the entire practice blade knocked away from his hands, hitting the dirt with a dull impact.

Duraid, now weaponless, leaped backwards, his face as deadly serious as it was in true battle. He slid into a resting stance, positioning one foot forward and tightening a fist by his side, before taunting his now advantaged opponent with a pointed glare.

The lull in the mock-combat lasted for a single, breathless second as both Carthul combatants locked eyes, one jade set gleaming with overflowing confidence, the other dark and serious.

In the next moment, Faris charged with explosive force, whipping the blunted iron blade around in a glimmering arc as she leaped toward her father's muscular shoulder, her face a picturesque mask of barely contained glee. She could almost taste the victory.

Several things happened all at once.

The much larger warrior took a step forward, twisting his foremost arm around in sideways block that smashed into Faris' sword arm, directly impacting the tendons and veins that clustered around her wrist. The other arm launched from his side, barreling forward and into his daughter's gut like a mace made of bone and sinew, impacting with the dull thud of flesh on flesh, before withdrawing as soon as it came.

Faris, no longer grinning, spasmed as she lost all strength to the lower half of her body, unable to take a breath as she fell to the hard-packed dirt below. The dulled sword clattered down next to her, lying rather awkwardly against her now bruised right arm. She struggled momentarily, managing to draw in a hacking gasp of air as the mercenary glared up at her father, locking eyes with the man who just defeated her so soundly.

Duraid's eyes held none of the warmth that he reserved for the 'family' he'd built up as he leaned over his own flesh and blood, staring down at the doubled-over form of his daughter, who could barely breathe without a hacking retch. His next words were as icy as his gaze.

"You lost because of overconfidence. This is a recurring problem. Fix it before trying again."

Hark breathed deeply as he continued through the town, transporting foodstuffs on his shoulders to the nearby silo. He made his way through a series of alleyways to shorten his trip, a bead of sweat sliding off his nose and into his unkempt auburn beard. Hark adjusted his shoulders for a moment before rounding a corner, and catching an unpleasant sight in his peripheral vision. What he saw made his blood boil, and the distant look in his eyes changed to something nobody in this town had ever seen in Hark. He quickly dropped the nearly 200 pounds of potatoes from his shoulders and growled to the large man standing over the young woman, "Hey! What the hell are you doing?!"

There was less than twenty feet from Hark and the man. Hark was far from the fastest or nimblest person in the world, but he could close that distance pretty quick, and that's what he was going to do. Hark took off, kicking dirt up behind him as he charged full throttle towards the man. Hark opened with a feint, showing an obvious right haymaker, only to shift his weight to bring an elbow towards the chin of the man.

The afternoon sun just peaked over the building, penetrating the shadowy alley Arianna was sleeping in. As the light rested on her face, her eyelids fluttered at an attempt to sweep the sunlight out of her face. Eventually, the sun dragged her from sleep. She sat up and yawned, stretching out an amazing ache in her back. She stood up, adjusting her clothes. After her outfit was adjusted, her next priority became apparent: food. Her stomach groaned, begging for breakfast. Arianna covered it with her hands and moaned. "I knew I should have taken the food from Mr. Goyle," she thought aloud. Mr. Goyle was an employer she had, a rich old man who preferred the less fortunate side of town. She would help him maintain his house, him being too old for the work, and in exchange, she would get 3 meals a day. If she preferred, however, she could exchange her meal for a bath. She always regretted the decision, but the hot water was always so inviting.

Her stomach growled again, this time louder. She needed to get some food before she woke the whole town up. As she began to walk out of the alleyway, she noticed a couple of people carrying marketplace bags walking down the streets. She retracted back in to the alleyway and pressed herself on to the wall to keep herself hidden. She watched the small group go by: two men, one scrawny, looking to be barely able to carry the bags, and the other shorter, but obviously more physically capable. With them also was a saddled pegasi. Then, she noticed a bag, which contained one of the most beautiful sight she had ever seen in a very long while. Crisp, crunchy, sweet, delicious bright red apples! That would do well to quell her hunger, at least until Mr. Goyle woke up.

Now was the harder part: stealing one of those tasty red orbs. The tall, scrawny boy hadn't phased her. The shorter, more built man was more of a threat. Arianna would be in a lot of trouble if she were to be caught by him. Her stomach moaned, and she growled at it in return. "Quiet," she commanded it. She decided to risk stealing from them. After all, who would miss just one apple? She jogged out of the alleyway and speed walked behind them. Once she was right behind them, she focused on the bag of apples. One sat perfectly on the brim of the bag, begging Arianna to take it. On the back swing of the bag, she stretched her hand out, the apple almost rolling in to her hand. She smiled in triumph. However, as she reeled in her prize, her stomach let out a betraying roar. Her body tensed, but she kept walking. Get out of there! she thought to herself, but her body kept moving behind them in embarrassment and fear.

As the brothers approached the encampment of the mercenary group Helath began running forward as he saw a sparring session taking place. Finding a good post to lean against near the spar, Helath watched with enthusiastic eyes as small blows were traded between the larger man and small, but nonetheless strong, woman. With a small grind of his teeth he turned his head towards his approaching brothers, mainly Lasair and Sammael. "So, we placing bets on this one?"

"We have nothing to place bets with!" Nialas said in an annoyed tone as he began to examine the fight, but quickly disregarded it, searching for someone in particular. "Not that it would matter anyways."

Lasair, leaning on the hilt of his sword, raised his eyebrows and shared a look with Helath, who simply shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, Nial, What do you mean it doesn't matter? Hey, pole dancer!" he shouted, being ignored by the lancer as he searched the grounds with his eyes.

"The fights about done. The man will finish her." Sammael stated what Nialas was too distracted to say, nodding his head at the fight. He was on the roof of one of the buildings within talking distance, sitting over the edge comfortable. None of them noticed him climb up but both Helath and Lasair followed his eyes back to the fight. The woman was about to strike the defenseless man.

Helath held on to his disbelief for a moment longer. "What do you mean? She's about to strike him dow-ouch!" As the father landed the decisive blow on the woman's stomach and knocking her over, retching, Helath winced. "Oh... You know, if you guys are so good at predicting battles you should actually use it when we get into scraps instead of just standing by!"

As he finished talking to his brothers Helath took off from the post and briskly walked towards the fallen woman, attempting to help her up from the ground. "Are you alright? That was quite a finishing blow you... almost delivered." he commented, crouching halfway to offer his hand. "It probably would have worked better if you went for a limb first and disabled him."

"Damn the deer, where is the leader!" Nialas shouted to himself, unable to distinguish anyone of authority in the group of mercs. "The man about to get decked in the ring." Sammael said from the roof. A moment of confusion took Nialas before he heard a shout.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?!"

Turning just in time each brother watched as a random stranger tried to attack the man who was apparently in charge. Helath, the closest to the two men, turned his half crouch into a defensive stance. Lasair watched on with an amused expression while Sammael seemed bored, yet keenly observed their movement anyways. Nialas simply let out a groan.

"Oh, um, funny you should mention that, actually." Ereshk chuckled softly in reply to Barst's comment about doing chores with magic. The mage held up a finger to interject, shifting the bag of apples around in his arms. A few of the apples on top came dangerously close to spilling out of the bag.
"You see, the Master actually specialized in-" Ereshk found himself rudely interrupted by the roar of a rumbling stomach immediately behind him. The interjecting finger drooped pitifully. He shuffled the weight of the bags again before turning to face the interrupting stomach, and possibly the woman said stomach belonged to. "Hello?" Ereshk raised a curious eyebrow at the stranger. "Can I help you?"

Barst was about to groan and shake his head at the implication of his companion's words when he heard a stomach rumbling. Pausing instantly, he turned around to observe the offending party. A woman. Walking directly behind them. With an apple in her hand. "Oh, you've gotta be...really now, young lady?" Sighing, he shook his head. "If you're that desperate for food....screw it, just take the damned thing. It's one apple. Still....you shouldn't have to resort to stealing. Do you have nowhere to go or anything?" Thinking on the possibility, a frown crossed Barst's face. If this girl really was stealing from them to survive, there had to be something they could do for her.

That was one possibility. Mulling it over, he nodded and smirked at the would-be thief. "We're actually part of the mercenary company helpin' out here. If you join up with us, you can get plenty of those," he pointed to the apples, "and a whole lot more. Ya just have to be able to wield some sort of weapon and not kill yourself or everything around you, really. I'm sure our commander wouldn't be too upset at training a newcomer."

Today was a good day.

Sitting by himself near his tent, Manus the mage wrote in the book in front of him things that would set even the most brilliant of minds racing with new ideas... Or labeled completely insane and safely ignored by the majority. The line between genus and insanity was often blurred after all.

As was often the case, Manus paused in what he was writing on the forces that kept things on the ground as a new line of thought entered his head. Flipping ahead several pages in order to give him room to return to what he was writing later as he explored this new idea, Manus put ink to paper as he wrote down the inturding thought in order to get it out of his brain.

There are no such things as gods, nor transcendence. Only power. To become a god is merely to find that power.

Manus stared at what he had written. There were plenty of people out there that would consider such a sentence to be the foulest of heresy and would most likely try to have him killed for daring to challenge their beliefs... But Manus kept writing all the same.

For just about anything to be considered a god, all it requires are those willing to believe that it is a god and worship it as such. While the strong of both body and magic are often the targets of such worship, the cunning can also claim worship with some careful planning and a bit of luck. While such cults of personality tend to die out when the figure of devotion does, some manage to hang around after the death of their idol for a variety of reasons.

In total silence, Manus continued to write in his book rather innocently, blind to the world around him.

For Faris, the fact that her father's gruff face was suddenly exchanged for a much younger man's visage was perhaps a more welcome repreive than she let on, barely batting an eye at the sudden change.

The next few seconds, however, brought an hateful smirk to her haggard face.

Hark's charge interrupted Duraid's contemplation of the arrival of the wolf-pack, drawing a frown to the large man's face in the few seconds he had before a fight was inevitable.

Perhaps it was because of the obvious challenge and misplaced chivalry that the fist-slinging newcomer displayed in spades. Perhaps it was because his daughter had nearly done the exact same thing a few moments earlier.

Instead of the unarmed combat he'd been forced into before, Duraid chose what he felt was the much wiser decision.

He disengaged from the fight entirely, leaping backwards as soon as the younger man began to swing his fists, ignoring both the feint and the actual punch as the warrior darted toward the edge of the hard-packed ground. He came to a halt at the rack of practice weapons, selecting one of the bows with almost cat-like grace, and a single, metallic arrow.

Only then did he speak again, his words slow and measured as he nocked the arrow and began to draw the bow, the wood creaking and groaning as the strain of his massive muscles tugging on the small weapon began to show itself. He still hadn't turned to face Hark again, perhaps to add insult to injury.

"Boy, I'm fairly certain that you don't know where you are. Or that your misguided sense of justice will get you killed. As it stands, you've come to my camp, and charged both myself and my daughter. From what I recall, that'd make you a Vinsenian spy, then? They don't make them as smart as they used to. So, instead, I'll ask you your own question. What the hell are you doing?"

I'm dead, was among more of the more prominent thoughts that ran through Arianna's head. I'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdead. Her pulse pounded so hard that she could barely hear the first man as he turned around and caught her stealing. She tried to break through the constant loop of "I'm dead" in her mind. Breath, she told herself. Breath. Calm down. Listen. Lie. You've gotten out of worse. By the time she had calmed down enough to hear anything, the second man had turned around as well. The man was talking, too, probably scolding her, evident by his serious face. The man frowned, and with a final calming breath, Arianna could begin to focus on what the man was saying to her.

"We're actually part of the mercenary company helpin' out here," the second man informed her. "If you join up with us, you can get plenty of those, and a whole lot more" He gestured to the bag of apples, and at the mention of even more food, Arianna's mouth watered. Her stomach made a small noise, and she covered it shyly in an attempt to quiet it down.

"Ya just have to be able to wield some sort of weapon and not kill yourself or everything around you, really," the man continued. "I'm sure our commander wouldn't be too upset at training a newcomer." It became apparent to Arianna that she was being offered a job. She was definitely in need of one. And the offer of food was all she needed to agree to it. And not just apples. As she examined the two men, sizing them up in case they had more devious intentions, she had surveyed what she could see within the bags they were carrying. Corn, eggs, bread, all sorts of things. But the best of it all? A big, fat, plump chicken. The beautiful sight threatened to make her faint.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had found herself nodding at the offer. "Y-Yeah, absolutely!" She straightened her posture and put her fists on her hips, apple still in hand. "I'm good with an axe, actually. The best!" She exclaimed with confidence. However, chopping wood was the extent of her training, if you could even call it that.

The girl's relief was evident in her posture and her face as she straightened out and gave a somewhat confident answer. He noticed her eyeing the other groceries and let out a little chortle. Experienced with axes, eh? Well, they'd have to see about that. Still, it couldn't hurt to have an extra set of hands around. "It ain't gonna be easy, but for the most part, we're all decent people and we look out for each other. Well, let's get back to the camp. Shouldn't be far, now."

Of course they arrived when their commander was getting attacked by a really big guy. Of course. There were a few other strangers around, but before Barst had the time to even put the groceries down safely, Duraid seemed to have the situation under control. Damn, that man was good. Managed to back away from a feint, a real attack, AND arm himself, albeit with a weapon that might not be the best for a relatively close-quarters fight. Shooting a look to his companions, Barst took a relaxed posed and looked on. "Let him take care of it. I doubt he'd let us interfere if we tried."

As Hark was going in for his attack, Duraid simply disengaged. Hark regained his balance with a twist before pivoting sharply. Duraid had grabbed something from the nearby rack and had yet to turn around. Hark placed himself directly in between the woman and Duraid. Hark quickly kneeled, placing a hand into some dirt that had been stirred up. If Duraid had a weapon, Hark would have to play dirty, so he grabbed a handful of dirt. As Hark kneeled he looked back at the woman and asked, “Are you alright? I’ll buy you some time to get away.”
Hark stood up, a fistful of dirt in his left hand, a clenched fist in the other. Then Duraid spoke, "Boy, I'm fairly certain that you don't know where you are. Or that your misguided sense of justice will get you killed. As it stands, you've come to my camp, and charged both myself and my daughter. From what I recall, that'd make you a Vinsenian spy, then? They don't make them as smart as they used to. So, instead, I'll ask you your own question. What the hell are you doing?"
The blood pounding in his ears that sounded vaguely like the beat of a drum prevented him from paying the words much heed. However, what he did hear was the man accusing Hark of being a spy.
A smile spread across Hark’s face and he couldn’t help but to burst into laughter. One could describe the laughter as coming from one’s boots. A spy! Hark, accused of being a spy! Hark managed to sputter between breaths, “Ser, there isn’t an ounce of subtlety in my entire being! How in the nine hell’s could I be a spy?” It took him only a second to recover. “And what I’m doing.” Hark said, the smile fading from his face, “is making sure you pick on somebody your own size.” Hark said, bringing himself into a fighting stance.

Outside of Charten, just over the rise beyond the outer fortification, two cloaked figures walked slowly, but methodically, toward the town. They were both wrapped in brown cloaks, making them unable to be identified from a distance. Even with the cloaks, the two men had long since discarded the emblems they once wore to identify themselves with. It wouldn't due for them to be outed as the Caldegian fugitives they were. Even here in Belinni, where Vinsenia's presence had yet to take hold, they could not be sure that the people here wouldn't just put them in shackles and hand them over to Vinsenia as some kind of bargaining chip, or even to line their pockets with reward money. In these times of war and chaos, they could trust no one but each other.

"So this is Charten?" asked the younger of the two to his older companion, who just nodded in confirmation.

"It is," he said, voice sounding tired, clearly the war had a way of taking its toll on those who participated, "and it doesn't appear to have fallen yet. That's a good sign. Means we're not too late." when he spoke, he did so succinctly, as if any time spent in conversation was time that was being wasted. Choosing not to speak again, the man pulled a near-tattered book from his pack and began thumbing through it. An average person would have assumed this to be some kind of spell tome. They would be wrong. This was nothing of the sort, and was arguably far more useful and valuable than any mere tome. It was the man's playbook, a journal he'd spent countless hours writing in and reading from, it was filled with drawn pictures of battlefield formations and various weapon statistics for siege machines. Years worth of tactical genius were condensed into this book, and for that reason alone, it was virtually unreadable by anyone but the man himself. For you see, he was clever enough to know that he could never allow enemy eyes to gaze into his writings, and so everything in this book was written in code, using seemingly random jumbles of words and letters so that the book would appear to be absolute gibberish to anyone who did not know the code for deciphering it, and as of now this man was the only person who knew the aforementioned code.

The other traveler sighed when the older man started thumbing through his book. He knew by now that it meant the man, his father, did not wish to converse any longer and was content to remain in thought and concentration for the remainder of their journey. As such, the two shared no words as they neared the town, the younger of the two almost sighing with relief as he could now hear the sounds of people out and about. Traveling with his father was never that lively, the man barely spoke and when he did it was always purely for business. In fact, the young man was certain that they hadn't even spoke at all about what had happened to them in Caldegia, and it was obvious at this point that his father preferred it that way. From what he remembered, the young man's father had always had trouble speaking from his heart, instead preferring to speak from his mind and notes, it was a wonder he won the youth's mother's heart all those years ago.

Glancing around, the young traveler could see a few things happening, mostly mercenaries training. That's when he realized something. Mercenaries? Shouldn't there have been Belinni Regulars stationed here? Or were they simply spread too thinly and thus resorted to hiring local mercenaries to aid in the defenses of this and other towns? Well, his father didn't give him much time to think, he felt a hand squeezing his shoulder and heard his father's voice speaking briefly and, as usual, succinctly.

"Tavern's over there. Come on, we're wasting enough time as it is." the man said in a hushed tone. Strange that he mentioned them wasting time despite having only just arrived. Then again, given the man's behavior and mannerisms as of late it wasn't that much of a surprise to the younger traveler.

"Let him take care of it. I doubt he'd let us interfere if we tried."
Hearing a man talking to the others about the fight, Nialas stuck his nose where it didn't belong. Walking over a few paces to the man with groceries the lancer nodded at the two men in the middle. "Is this a regular occurance here? And would that man with a bow be the leader of this group?"

“And what I’m doing.” Hark said, the smile fading from his face, “is making sure you pick on somebody your own size.”
From behind Hark a loud laugh began as Helath almost fell to the ground, dropping the fighting stance. "Ha ha hah hah, oh, bite my tail, you're a few cards short of a good hand, aren't ya?" Helath laughed out, turning his back from the standoff and offering his hand to Faris again. "Sorry for dropping my hand, I thought something actually life-threatening was happening." he said, a big grin on from the laugh.

"As it stands, you've come to my camp, and charged both myself and my daughter. From what I recall, that'd make you a Vinsenian spy, then?"
On the sidelines Sammael listened to Duraid's words. Standing ontop of the roof he took out his shortbow and notched an arrow, aiming it at the man who had just picked up sand from the ground. Speaking in a loud voice, he shouted towards the mercenary leader. "If you would like, ser, I'll gladly end his life this moment. My brothers and I are looking for work and offing a simpleton would be an easy task to gain a footing in your camp." All of this was stated in a normal, if not bored, tone.

Lasair simply chuckled from the side of the post that he still leaning against, finding the entire event to be very amusing. "Go for the eyes Sam! Clean kill only!"

Well, there went any possibility of this thing ending peacefully without Barst intervening. Dammit all. "It's not a regular occurance, the big dumb oaf just stumbled upon our commander-the bow guy-and his daughter training. Fuckin' hell...." Walking over towards the two, he called out. "Alright, everybody, before you all get your britches in a twist and somebody gets killed, shut yer traps for a minute and let me actually explain what the hell is happening here."

"First of all, big guy, drop the sand. You're not gonna do a damn thing except piss him off. And the young lady you 'heroically' rushed in to 'save' is his daughter. We're a mercenary company, and you just interrupted their training. Now, boss, you have to admit, a Vinsenian spy? I know things are bad, but those guys aren't morons. Anybody who stands out in a crowd ain't good for spy work, and this guy....well, he sure as hell stands out in a crowd. Other than that, why would a spy rush after you headlong like a complete dunce?" A sharp glare at Hark turned over to Duraid.

"None of this makes sense, and even you have to admit that. So here's what ACTUALLY happened. Our cheerful, ever-friendly leader and his daughter were training, I assume she got her backside handed to her....AGAIN....and mister large and in charge here rushed over thinking he was gonna end up a hero. As for the three extras....yeah, I'm just not gonna try with that. That about right, though, everyone? No need for someone to get killed over a misunderstanding, right?"

Hark absorbed the ridicule for a moment before taking a second to collect his thoughts. An archer on the roof, an axeman behind him, the woman also behind him, an unknown in front of him, and another unknown behind him.
The thought crossed his mind, bandits. He fell for a bloody damsel in distress trap.
Then another man intervened and started explaining the situation. It made sense; Hark had a tendency to fall into his old role as a defender of the people.
Hark could do nothing but throw his head up and laugh before announcing. “I’m still not convinced this isn’t some kind of trap. As far as I know you set a “helpless” woman as someone who needs saving, and wait for some sucker to walk by to offer help so you can mug him of his belongings. But you might be disappointed to find out that I’m flat broke. I am not dropping my guard.”

Grey Onyx

A year's got to be enough, right?
The man thought to himself as he wandered the marketplace in search of some trail rations that weren't too foul.

I know I can't go back but... I shouldn't have to hide anymore, right?
Now he was looking at a weapon stall, typical. He eyed a hand-axe, balanced for throwing, and found he had subconsciously reached for the leather covering protecting his ruined eye. No throwing for you, Greyson. I couldn't even hit the ground... he thought, scowling. He did notice a rather simple Iron axe. While it was true that he already owned a better one, it was also true that he would run into foes too weak to risk damaging his good axe on. He fished out a sack of silver coins (Rak'thurr currency. Not as valuable as the gold pieces southerners favored, but a hell of a lot easier to find out on the plains) and completed the transaction. Hooking the axe to his pack, he continued onward.

I'll see what Alika thinks first. Though I think it's high time we stopped running and... got jobs or whatever. We're low enough on funds as it is... Grey thought. He wasn't sure what he could do, he could fight and be rich but that was it. Alika liked to say he was a good cook but that was probably just flattery. Fighting was good though, there'd always be a place in the world for big guys with axes, he thought. It wasn't long before he heard some noise, conflict no doubt. "Well, speak of the devil..." He muttered to himself as he unclipped and readied his new axe. He didn't ready his shield, didn't think he'd need it.

He relaxed a bit when it just appeared to be sparring. He took a seat on a nearby stump some distance away. Maybe someone saw him, maybe not. It didn't matter. It's not like anybody would recognize him. they seemed to be mercs by the look of them. Why would this place have so many damn mercs? wouldn't this place have a militia? something scary must be on the horizon then. Nevertheless, mercs were always looking for new blood. Maybe this would give him something to do? Almost as soon as he finished that train of thought some guy charged them. Grey shot up and reached for his axe, but it soon became apparent that there were enough mercs here to handle it.

And then some beastfolk arrived, wonderful. Then another guy who decided to explain everything... wait? that guy thought that they... well, this was hilarious. He couldn't help but laugh at that. He leaned on his axe as he recovered, before wiping a tear from his eye. "Glad to see someone's got their head on straight. I was worried this might turn into a slaughter" He said, still getting the last few chuckles out of his system. but the guy refused to believe them? Priceless. "For fuck's sake calm down man. I'm not with these damn people and I know nobody's in danger here. Just stand down 'fore you get yourself killed."

Walking in to the camp was interesting to say the least. This was in no way what Arianna was expecting the camp to be like. Where she expected a few tents, perhaps a few mercenaries from the group sitting around a campfire telling life stories or wife's tales, she found the start of a fight between two men. One was massive, and was kneeling with his back turned to a girl, doubled over in pain. The wall of a man was facing a much smaller opponent, who had his back turned to him, a bow drawn and ready in his hands.

There was all too much to take in at the moment, so she decided to not even try. Instead, in the heat of the moment, she noticed that she was still holding her stolen apple, which was still whole. Arianna decided that she should change that, noiselly biting in to the crisp flesh of the apple, tearing off a piece to chew on. She wiped away some of the apple's juices as one of the men who led her hear- the shorter one- began to explain the situation to the confused group.

Apparently, the girl hunched on the ground behind the mountain of a man had been defeated in a sparring match by her father, who was the one who had picked up the bow from the weapon rack. There was some misunderstanding, which caused the larger man to attack. Boy, some names would be helpful right now, Arianna thought. The Branded individuals were addressed, but not explained. "So, this is what you guys do for fun," she examined.

Alika

The woman sighed as she listened to the tavern keeper finish the story. Vinsenia was at war with... everyone? most troublesome. This would explain why every town they had passed through recently seemed so... tense. Not that Grey would notice. He was a good friend but he could be... thick sometimes. She thanked the tavern keeper for the information and passed him a few coins, along with an order for a drink.

She sat there with her drink for a while, pondering. What had her time in Rak'thurr accomplished, other than getting Grey's entire family and all of his friends killed? She was certain those assassins were there for her, but how could they have found out? It was a minor house and it wasn't exactly easy to figure out she wasn't human... Oh, and that. What would Grey think if he ever found out? he was bound to find out eventually when he noticed she didn't age like he did. oh, this was not good, none of it. Still, she was sent to get information and that's what she did.

"Hey, don't worry about any of that, they can't chase us forever. If you've got time to brood you've got time to live."
She remembered what Grey told her a week after they escaped, and he had a point. It was hard, but there was no point being all depressed all the time. Of course 'stop being sad' isn't easy, but remembering that always took the edge off. She decided she should probably actually drink the beverage she just bought, and set about doing so.

Around that time, she noticed a couple of cloaked figures enter the tavern. She suspected they were trying to hide, but to her trained eye the lack of attention they attracted was like a beacon (she kind of stuck out herself, what with her snow-white hair). Either they were up to no good or they were running from something. she decided she'd watch them for a bit.

Duraid's grip on the bow slackened, allowing the complaining wood to relax as the rather comforting tones of the Caldegian archer carefully broke down the situation. He replaced the bow back on the weapon rack before finally turning to face the group at large.

For the ones familiar with the slight quirks and minute changes to the warrior's face that were the only giveaway to his current emotions, the large man looked exasperated.

"Look here, Barst, I've worked with men larger than I am who paid for themselves as assassins. Although you do make a good point with the questionable decisions this one makes."

The sunken green eyes glanced over to the wolf-pack, focusing on the archer of the siblings. "You said you wanted work?"

A few feet over, Faris accepted the proffered hand, hauling herself up with practiced ease. She gave Helath a mute grin, before retrieving her fallen sword and lightly tapping her "hero" on the shoulder.

Nialas watched the man named Barst give off some information which sounded accurate to the situation and decided he liked this man. Down to earth, truthful speech. "Finally, another sane man," he said with a nod.

Lasair, on the other hand, was still just enjoying the sidelines for the moment. Between hearing the man on the stump comment about the the sand man exploding and girl eating the apple saying "So, this is what you guys do for fun" he was having a hard time deciding if he wanted to join in the fun or just keep listening to the hole or, possibly grave, he was digging himself. "Ohhh man, nevermind! Cute girls and comedy sketches? I don't want to rush through this town anymore! It's way too entertaining to miss at least one person getting themselves in a situation they can't dig out of. My money is on the sand man! Taking wagers! 1 to 10 odds on sandman, 1 to 3 on my brother Sam setting an arrow between his eyes, or 1 to 2 on the fearless lead-off!"

The air left Lasair's stomach as Nialas returned to his brothers side and delivers a swift hit with the back of his spear. It was amazing how quickly Nialas drew his weapon when it came to punishing his older brother. "Shut. Up. Lasair." he muttered in his doubled-over brother's ear. "Run your mouth after we get hired."

Helath returned the smile and let his eyes watch her for a moment before turning his head towards Duraid. "Well, either work or free gold, whichever one you'd like to give us!" he said jokingly, hoping to cover up his brother's idiotically amusing wager idea. Walking away from the ring and back towards Lasair, Nialas and Sammael, who had returned the arrow to its quiver and went back to just scanning the area, Helath enjoyed the idea of being a part of this group for awhile. An odd feeling hit Sammael as his gaze fell over the treeline. It was something that felt far off, but he still couldn't place what was now prickling the back of his ears...