[b]Lucretia[/b]

Forests did not rank amongst Lucretia's favourite locations. They were too distant from civilisation, too far disconnected from human advancement that death -- and by extension grief -- rarely happened to natural causes. Nevertheless, she would persevere and show up wherever her son preferred it. 

Mostly in attempt to stop a bloodthirsty and distinctly unsubtle attack. With a wistful sigh, she moved closer to him in a flash. Though he looked like his father, a devout druid devoted to the oldest of rituals, it was only his biological connection to her that held him back from blasphemy. She doubted that Draven would ever truly be a suitable Champion, though he was loyal to her to his very core.

Breath like an icy caress on the back of her son's neck, Lucretia whispered, "You may be my child, Draven, but your [i]particular[/i] form of violence is of no use to me. I should have nipped it in the bud earlier, my love." Her satin slippers brushed against the foliage littering the ground, barely audible, as she turned and walked in front of him. "We are not savages, nor are we a part of my brother's 'forces of darkness'. Neutral." A tiny smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "My sister would be upset if I supported the murder of innocents."

Lucretia hoisted up her dress, mud staining the white lace hem, and stalked over to a nearby tree branch. She had never been willingly called upon at a festival, save by her already-pious followers; therefore, she had time to kill.
-----------------------
[b]Eida Craig[/b]

Eida Craig watched with disinterest as a disgustingly regal looking man on his white horse rode in, brutally knocking the festival-goers out of the way. A rude fellow that was, she noted as she tore strips of flesh from a roasted leg of chicken (or was it turkey?) and fiddling with the hilt of her ax. If she were to guess, he would be some sort of lord, or [i]worse[/i] -- a prince. A part of her reasoned it was just fantasy, that no prince would go to a lowborn event like this.

Another part of her wanted to find out why the man was in such a hurry, and maybe intimidate him a little for looking so strange and acting so nastily on his way in. Leaving a few coins for the vendor, the last of her money, she moved swiftly away before anyone realised that it wasn't enough to pay for her meal. It couldn't be [i]too[/i] hard to find such a pure white beast as the lord's horse was. Eida wondered rather morbidly if it was bloodstained for all the peasants he'd trampled over on the way.

A few minutes of hunting and pushing through the crowds and she'd found it. [i]Of course he was in the temple, of all places,[/i] she grumbled to herself, seeming out of place while surrounded by those who actually wanted to take part in the worship and ceremonies. Feeling blasphemous, Eida steeled her nerves and wandered inside. Her large, heavy boots made it somewhat difficult to be stealthy as she discreetly searched for her target. It wasn't [i]spying.[/i]

She hoped no God would smite her down for extortion. Eida was a mercenary -- and work trickled in far too slowly for her liking. If she wanted money and purpose in her life, she would have to grab an opportunity (like this fancy-schmancy rich man) with both hands and beat its head in until it paid her.