"I want his head on a pike!" Pasha Kylar shouted at his grunts. "That stubby-fingered bastard lifted my cloak last night whilst I slept! The first one to bring me his head will be handsomely rewarded." All of the eyes in the crowd gleamed with anticipation; all of them except for one. Caelyn had been the closest thing to family that Tomas had ever known. Now he was charged with bringing in his head. The two of them went back all the way to their days in the orphanage. "Ah, the orphanage..." Tomas wiped a tear from his eyes.
Caelyn was always the pasha's favorite, but with that favoritism came extreme criticism. Tomas recalled a time when the pasha paid very heavily for some intel on very large score. He sent Caelyn of course, and when one of the lackeys that accompanied them got caught, Caelyn rushed in to help. He got everyone out alive, however the guards arrived and they had to pull out. Instead of blaming the grunt for the error, Caelyn took blame. He knew that if Kylar found out that a grunt cost him this big of a score, he'd never allow him to live. Caelyn knew the only chance of anyone getting out alive was to own up to the error. Caelyn did manage to save everyone's lives, but the trade off could not have possibly been worth it. This was some lowly pickpocket, and the center of Kylar's retribution was the orphanage.
To her defense, the madre did not scream as he ordered her whipped. "I'm going to take all the money that you cost me out of her hide!" She just gunted with each.... Ah, that's enough dwelling in the past. "Are you going to just stand there? Or are you going to do what I have asked?!" "Oh, sorry boss was just lost in thought for a moment." Tomas said. "Well if you don't get going, thought won't be the only thing you'll be getting lost in!" "Uh, yes sir!"
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Arrows flew over head as Caelyn ducked down an alley. "Phew that one almost got me head! Seems a bit overdramatic for a durned cape." Caelyn shook his head. "What have I gone and done this time? Oh well, serves that dolt right for killing me madre. He's gotten too ruthless for his own good, and he thinks he's immortal. No wonder he's so upset, someone actually got the best of him." If I can get out here alive, Caelyn thought to himself. Ahead of him was a wall. He summoned what energy he had left in attempt to scale it. He felt his legs pumping and as he got to it he jumped with all his might. To anyone watching, it would have looked as though he kept running, but to Caelyn it felt as if he was flying through the air. Luckily, the wall was made of this soft substance known as wood. And unfortunately for the wood, Caelyn was made of a tough substance known as dwarf. In an intense clash of will, the dwarf was victorious and punched out a huge hole in the wall. Coming into a roll, Caelyn sprang back to his feet. All those years of cat-burgling did have its advantages.
He kept running until he put what he thought was a sufficient distance between him and any of his other pursuers. "Nice job you did on that wall back there." an all too familiar voice called. "Aye, did you see the air I got on that jump?!" Caelyn replied with a hearty chuckle. "You know why I am here Caelyn." Tomas stated. "Aye that I do, and what might ye be thinking o'doin 'bout it?" "I can not betray him Caelyn, he will surely kill me if I do." "Come with me, and we can both start out fresh!" Caelyn pleaded. "Caelyn we both know that we have seen too many awful things to be given a new start. I think my stars have already been plotted for me brother, and I intend to stay alive."
Caelyn squinted the tears from his eyes, then wrapped himself up in the cape, and vanished!? He saw Tomas looking around in panic, and Caelyn wasn't about to miss this opportunity. He bull rushed Tomas, and the moment he made contact with Tomas it was as if he re-appeared. Quickly, Caelyn drew one of his hatchets and smacked Tomas in the back of the head with the flat of the blade. "Aye brother I intend to keep ye alive, too."
Sprinting on, Caelyn soon became exhausted, dwarves don't do well running quickly after all. He pushed himself to his physical limit, actually too hard. Caelyn's vision became blurred and then everything went black.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When he came to there was more black? It must have been night. "How long have I been out?" Caelyn spoke aloud. Although he soon realized there was no one around to hear him. A quick scan of his surroundings and Caelyn understood that he was not where he rememebered last. Instead he was in a mountainous forest. So thick that the smell of nature almost offended his Dwarven senses. "Bah! I'd rather be smelling a donkey's backside than this!" It was like the air was toxic, likely had to be bad. "I'm sure this would tickle an elf's fancy, all these trees for them to hug and what not." Caelyn laughed to himself.
Unfortunately, for Caelyn that would be the last time he laughed, because he soon realized there was no quick or easy way out of this. Thorns clawed at his body often ripping everything on him, except for the cloak. "This durned cloak, this is the whole reason I am in this mess." In a fit of anger, Caelyn snatched the cloak off of his back and tried to rip it. With all his dwarven might, he couldn't even pop a stitch. "Bah! Stupid son of a jackal's monkey's ugly cousin!"
Days led to what seemed like weeks, and possibly a month. He cursed and prodded and kept pushing. His physical body was beyond exhausted and his mental body was almost nothing. He knelt and he prayed. His madre used to tell him, "Sometimes the only way we can be found, is if we completely let go." So there in that snowy pass, Caelyn confessed any kind of wrong act he had done going all the way back to when he met the Pasha. He had amazed Caelyn with some simple prestidigitation. An easy sleight of hand that he could do in his sleep now. He hadn't realized that he closed his eyes. But when he had opened them, he saw a light? "Ah durn! I guess me prayers were heard. Sure is a small light for me end." He soon realized there was more to the light. There was some kind of house in the middle of a pass? "What the..." Not taking time to question it anymore, Caelyn slowly rose to his feet and pushed on, thankful for his madre's inspiring words. He knew now that their was a second chance for him in this place, and he intended to make the best of it... Up ahead, he saw a sign in front of him that says: "Warm Food, and Good service, some of the time." Following the light further you come upon a very large inn. It has a sign on it that says "The Unorthodoxy". When you open the door, you are greeted by a hearty dwarf with a booming voice. "Welcome to The Unorthodoxy." With a smirk on his dried out chapped lips, he mustered his energy and shouted a hearty "Hello!"

“These aren’t exactly shining credentials.” Noami pursued her lips for a moment, considering, and then rubbed the side of her nose. Her eye contact with the butler did not falter, however, and for a long minute she held his gaze until he began to shift uncomfortably. Finally, he shoved the papers back into her hands and said; “I don’t think the Lord Rowan will want a cook who has had house-fires in her ledger, my apologies.”

“I get it,” she said, her frustration layered thick onto her words. “You’re the kind of man who controls every little detail, right? Micromanagement, that’s the term. You want someone whose leash is a little shorter.” There was a quick nod in reply, and a motion towards the gate of the estate. Grabbing the papers, Naomi stuffed them into her boot carelessly and turned on her heels to exit. With one last thought she turned again.

“You wouldn’t happen to need an alchemist, though?”

“I’m afraid that job is one for academies, and not estates. Good day, ma’am.”

And a good day it was not. Three times already Naomi had been turned down in this town. The first attempt, of course, was at the university. There, a rather shriveled old creature gazed down at her from a seat that was a foot too high to be practical and dismissed her application with practiced ease. A tavern run by a woman who found mothering to be more than she bargained for simply could not spare the money to hire another cook. And no, wizards did not have that kind of coin either.

Naomi dug a furious hole in the snow with the heel of her shoe. It was far too cold to seek out another job offer before nightfall, and she couldn’t afford the inn where she was now. Trekking onwards was her best option. She pulled her cloak around her a little more tightly and asked a merchant who was packing his wares where the next inn would be. After a shake of his head he pointed north, and north Naomi went. She went for hours, gathering snow on her shoulders and in her boots. And finally, as her toes were numbing, she caught site of a building. Above its rickety-looking door hung the words “The Unorthodoxy.” Upon entering she was greeted by a dwarfish man, and she took a moment to appreciate the dry, heated air and orange tones of the room. This would certainly do.

Snow. It really was rather beautiful. The blond elven woman had never really seen it before. It was quite remarkable. It reminded her of the sands in the deserts where she had grown up, only sand didn't cling softly to branches. It was hard and abrasive. She watched a flake tumble down through the air and settle upon her big toenail, where her bare foot was propped up against the vardo wagon's railing. If it hadn't been for her magical ring, protecting her from the winter chill, she probably wouldn't have been quite so impressed by the crystalline flakes falling from the sky overhead, especially not given her current attire. Assallya Kressair was dressed in the attire she had worn in the harem she'd grown up in. She'd grown accustomed to the light silks they wore when she'd bothered wearing anything at all- and shoes, she'd never grown accustomed to wearing those. The ebony silks billowed and flapped around her arms and legs, gently, as the wind that must have been violent elsewhere was cut down to a breeze by the coniferous canopy. She'd been assured the ring would hold out, protect her from anything the most well dressed woodsman wore but extreme cold that would drive an experienced winter hunter to seek shelter would be her downfall. Only, Assallya had never been to the north. What constituted a need to find shelter?

Admiring the view, she let her trusty nag of a horse follow the path, still clearly visible beneath the thin sheet of snow born of a nascent winter. She would be safe here, up north, nobody here would know about the bounty on her head, not in this land so far away from home and by the time she returned most would have forgotten her misdeeds or assume her dead. At least, that was the plan. In the past, every time her would be captors and assassins would have given up she found herself sighted and the hunt begun anew. This time she had gone far enough to elude them all and far enough that by the time she returned all would have forgotten.

An oddly shaped lump came into view at the side of the road ahead. Assallya wasn't sure what to make of it at first. Then, after her trusty horse took several more strides she recognized it as a humanoid being. She couldn't make out the face but the feathered shaft sticking out of the huddled form seemed to indicate a slain traveller. Pursing her lips, Assallya considered and then gently pulled up her reins. It wasn't that she was concerned for the poor creature but the creature could possess something of value she could pawn in the next town. Grasping the side of her wagon, she shimmied down the brass pole alongside the crimson wagon and alighted upon the ground. Then, moving carefully she padded forward quietly towards the fallen figure, her barefeet barely making a whisper upon the soft newly fallen snow.

Aphrodite, or rather Fay cursed under her frosty breath as she stretched her cramped limbs. It was a harsh night and Fay had to make a hasty camp against a large tree and some hard packed snow surrounding it. Fay was on the hunt again, and although she usually enjoyed this initial stage of tracking and observing, the destination of her soon to be victim just so happened to be in the heart of the Northern countries. Born into the more gentle weathers of the South, Fay was not used to the harshness and dangers the cold could bring. If it wasn't for the advice of an old man from a tavern she'd stayed at days ago, she would have frozen to death in the snow.

The slight woman yawned then made sure her four throwing knives were still snuggly tucked away on the inside of her wide leather belt. Then she first checked her hunting knife, then her small pack of provisions. Only two strips of salted beef and a mouthful of cheese left, with no fruit and no water Fay was going to need to find a proper shelter soon, or face the near impossible task of hunting in the snow.

As the sunlight reflected almost painfully into her eyes, Fay shouldered her sack and trudged on. The man she was to kill was a rich merchant of silks and other fine cloths. He'd recently found a new way to treat them so that darker coloured dyes did not run. It fetched him not only unimaginable wealth but also a favourable place amongst the nobles. He was also all talk and no walk with his bedroom skills. It was Fay's plan to follow him on his next business trip, "coincidentally" bump into him at a tavern, charge him a ridiculously large sum for a night of pretend passion, then slit his throat before the first crow of the cock.

A fine plan, but only one small hiccup. Fay was lost.

She'd lost his tracks the first night the snow hit, and ever since she'd been trying to catch up to him but to no avail. Now stuck in this God forsaken forest covered in this most unpleasant frosty powder, Fay cursed loud and colourful once more. She knew the general direction he was headed, and so decided to continue onwards in hopes of making it to his destination.

Time passed slowly, one foot after the other Fay pushed on, her toes grew numb and she could feel a tingling in her finger tips. Panic started to set in, but before it could spread like a wild fire Fay squinted against the tree line and saw the silhouette of a structure. She started to run, not caring that her sweat would freeze against her skin, until she came upon the structure. A sign read "The Unorthodoxy" appeared, and a door right under it.

"Damn but this wood feels good..." Fay murmured to herself as she laid a hand on the heavy wooden door. With a sigh she pushed through and almost cried out as a blast of hot hair hit her face. Her expression changed then, her body language, posture and tone of voice all changed right back to that of Aphrodite, a woman of confidence and dripping sexuality. She licked her dry lips, allowing saliva to plump up the petals, before acknowledging the greetings of a dwarf.

"I do hope this place has some suitable rooms, I'm going to require a lavender scented bath and some hot food."

-"Give us the pot full of gold, you little leper!"

Somewhere in the cold north, the hafling known as Harran O'Stoner, because that was his name really, had found himself in a bit of a tight spot. Yes, his name was O'Stoner, and it's going to be that way, so just follow the story and don't question it. Anyway, the hafling stood squeezed between two tall humans, both armed with clubs and axes, looking down at Harran.

"I'm telling you both, I'm not a leprechaun, and I certainly don't have a pot of gold! And even if I did, why would I tell you?" The hafling shouted at his assailants, standing knee-deep in the winter snow covering this cold land. He had been running from them for a week now, ever since he had helped sharpen their axe back in a town far away from where they found themselves now. Apparently Haflings were so rare in these parts, that they thought he was a magical being. Nonsense!

-"But you are magical! You sharpened my axe and didn't turn me into a newt!" One of the humans said to Harran, while the other human suddenly turned to his partner.

-"Wait, wait, wait, WAIT for a moment! Are you saying the only reason you thought he was magical, was because he sharpened your axe?"

-"Yes? What were you thinking?"

-"..."

-"And besides, he's so tiny! He must be magical to be so tiny!"

"Hello! I'm still here, and I'm not tiny!"

-"Shut up, we're not talking to you. Now Bhun, you may be right that he's magical, but to lay the basis of your magical theory on just his size and his skill in weapon sharpening, is a little thin."

-"Yes, but I'm also comparing my already stated facts with other theories, and this one just seems like the most logical one. Firstly, no one in that town could sharpen my axe other than this tiny being. Secondly, we have never seen such a tiny being in our lives, and ergo, since he's tiny and can sharpen my axe, he must be a leprechaun! And since leprechauns have pots of gold, we can get rich!"

-"...What about kids? They are tiny too. Or dwarfs?"

-"Yes, but they are not leprechauns, aren't that fact already proven?"

---

Hours away, Harran had ran. He couldn't believe that his assailants were both so incompetent, and yet had thought through the theory so thoroughly in their hunt for him. It was almost as Harran himself wondered if he was a leprechaun, and if he was, where was his pot of gold? But the thought flew away just as quickly as he remembered why they thought he had sharpened the axe; it was not an axe, for he had taken the axe and sold it to an elf. What they had was a spear, hence why it was so sharp.

As the snow grew deeper, and Harran's feet disappeared underneath him until it looked as if it was a bunny digging its way through the snow, Harran suddenly hit something. Hard. With his face first. It was a door, a door! He looked up to see a sign, "The Unorthodoxy", a tavern. "Well, perhaps I finally can shake of those morons..." He said happily to himself as he got past the door and into the warm interior of the tavern. And just as he turned away after having closed the door, he hit something, again. Hard. With his face first. This time, a leg. And what a might fine leg it was.

"Excuse me madam, but you're ever so delicate leg is in my way. Excuse me." He said, walking right underneath her legs, happily smiling at the perks of being tiny; the view.

"Are you sure you don't want an escort to Ferremis?" The ranger—Laisa, he reminded himself—looked concerned. "It's not that far out of our way."

"I'll be fine," Devon said, remembering to give a reassuring smile at the last minute. The wizard—Melchior— had insisted he present a friendly face to others while he was travelling with their group. That had apparently consisted of smiling (properly) at appropriate moments, asking polite questions and providing reassurance when taking on jobs. Then again, it had resulted in the stones currently in his pouch and vest pocket and embedded in his gloves, so maybe there was something to his advice.

Melchior nodded. "Good luck with your hive."

"Thank you," Devon said. At least his smile felt more real this time. With a final wave at the two adventurers, he set out for Stonecrest Mountains. According to the map, this was the safest route to Ferremis, where he could report to the branch of the guild there and stay for a few weeks. And, of course, negotiate matters regarding his hive.

Several hours later he was beginning to wish he'd taken Laisa's offer. The snow was coming down fast in the mountains, and he shivered. To make matters worse, it was getting dark and there were no inns nearby that he could see. At least the bees were safe, suspended in the stone enchantments and placed snugly in his pouch. Each stone contained around seventy or eighty bees, which was the most Melchior had been able to apply the spell to simultaneously before it simply refused to take. The hornets were much fewer in number; the stones embedded in his leather gloves and jostling in his vest pockets contained around twenty of them each.

He didn't like hornets. Bees were useful, only stinging to protect the rest of the hive and even then as a last resort. Hornets were pests, pure and simple, and they stung repeatedly. Much more vindictive.

As he was considering the best place to camp for the night, he spotted a sign. "Warm food and good service, some of the time?" He read out loud. "I don't care about service. I'll take the warm food." There was a light up ahead, probably the inn. He set off to follow it, trudging through the snow with some difficulty. The cold wind blew at his neck, and he began to wish he had a scarf.

Eventually he came to an inn, lighted from the inside. It wasn't the biggest he'd seen, but it looked cozy and inviting. The name was strange though. What was unorthodox about it? He imagined a safe haven for orcs and trolls, other inhuman beasts. A hive of scum and villainy. He snorted to himself. Real hives were much more organised than that.

"Welcome to The Unorthodoxy!" A dwarf said as he entered. Devon stared at him. "That is the name on your door, yes. How much for a room?" Between his payment and the gold the villagers had handed over for handling their bee problem, he wouldn't have any problem with money for a while.

"Hey don't get mad at me!" Victoria shouted as she quickly ducked out of the shop. "It's not my fault you're life is a piece of shit!" She shouted again before watching the door slam in her face. Grumbling the elven girl pulled the hood of her cloak up around her ears and started walking.
Victoria Ashwood had been used to the rage people would get from hearing their fortunes told, what made her feel a bit worse about it was that they were forced to keep the beautiful bouquet of flowers until they died. The normal span people had until their fortunes came true. Looking around the village square that she stood in people were giving her looks, and they were all of mixed emotion.
Some people smiled at her, others glared, it wasn't her fault that she had these visions. After a moment of thought Victoria bowed to all the villagers then turned. "I bid thee all farewell!" She cried out before lifting up the edge of her cloak running toward the edge of the town.
Hopefully if she ran fast enough she could make it to some place warm before the chill really set into her bones.

After what seemed like hours of running Victoria slowed down along a dirt path, well partly dirt. Where ever the girl had ended up had a fresh coating of snow along the ground. Bending over she laced her boots up tighter then pulled the cloak closer around her person. "There has got to be at-least a cave around here somewhere." She mused to herself as she pressed on. More time passed and a wind started to kick up and it was dark. Victoria was about to give up hope, when a faint orange glow took her attention off in the distance.
Mustering up the last once of energy she had the girl took off running toward the light. As it grew brighter and brighter, so did her hopes. Skidding to a stop infront of a large Inn Victoria made her way to the door, before her fist even made contact with the wood it opened. "Welcome to the Unorthodoxy." A burly man said.

"Welcome all of you!" Dennik was elated. It had been at least a week since they had had any guests. He almost forgot that he was running the inn while staring at all of the fine folk. Fine folk... he rubbed his eyes in disbelief at the band that had walked in. It seemed this group had seen some miles and had many stories.

"You all must be tired, come rest your weary arses in tha' tavern. Seems the durned white stuff is fallin' and I'm not talkin' about me mudder's dandruff. Bahahahah!!!" He boomed while wiping his eyes from laughing. "You can all be checked into yer rooms in a bit. But for now, the first drink is on tha house." Dennik offered a bow disappearing behind the counter and falling over from being a bit inebriated.

"Welcome all of you!" Dennik was elated. It had been at least a week since they had had any guests. He almost forgot that he was running the inn while staring at all of the fine folk. Fine folk... he rubbed his eyes in disbelief at the band that had walked in. It seemed this group had seen some miles and had many stories.

"You all must be tired, come rest your weary arses in tha' tavern. Seems the durned white stuff is fallin' and I'm not talkin' about me mudder's dandruff. Bahahahah!!!" He boomed while wiping his eyes from laughing. "You can all be checked into yer rooms in a bit. But for now, the first drink is on tha house." Dennik offered a bow disappearing behind the counter and falling over from being a bit inebriated.

"Welcome all of you!" Dennik was elated. It had been at least a week since they had had any guests. He almost forgot that he was running the inn while staring at all of the fine folk. Fine folk... he rubbed his eyes in disbelief at the band that had walked in. It seemed this group had seen some miles and had many stories.

"You all must be tired, come rest your weary arses in tha' tavern. Seems the durned white stuff is fallin' and I'm not talkin' about me mudder's dandruff. Bahahahah!!!" He boomed while wiping his eyes from laughing. "You can all be checked into yer rooms in a bit. But for now, the first drink is on tha house." Dennik offered a bow disappearing behind the counter and falling over from being a bit inebriated.

.

A drink, a FREE drink? Now Harran wasn't going to let that opportunity slip away from him. He walked underneath and around a couple of people on his way to the counter, even having the privilege of nearly looking evenly at a dwarf, just a little taller than him. The chair was a bit tricky to climb onto, but the promise of free beer made the climb worth the pain, and soon Harran sat on top of bar-chair...and was still too short.

"Ehm...excuse me, Sir Dwarf, but do you have a chair better suited for my unsuitable height? Hey, where did you go?"

Devon blinked in annoyance at the man who he assumed was the innkeeper. He was far too loud; put a sword in his hand and light armour on him and he could have been any of the men Devon'd had to fight alongside during the war. And he was obviously drunk too. How many people stopped by here, if he could afford to do that?

The innkeeper walked off just as a midget clambered up onto the stool. He'd seen people move faster than that undersized man did, but not very many. Clearly alcohol lit a fire under his belly; figuratively of course.

""Ehm...excuse me, Sir Dwarf, but do you have a chair better suited for my unsuitable height? Hey, where did you go?"

Devon looked around. There weren't any higher chairs as far as he could see, the tip box might have let the midget reach the counter but it would be harder for him to get down...

No, sometimes the best solution was the simplest one.

He strode forward and picked up the midget by his collar, moving to plop him down on the counter so the bar chair was slightly behind him– but what if the midget lost his grip on the chair while trying to climb down in a drunken haze?

Offering assistance would probably help. "Let me know if you need help getting down later, alright?"