“To Lieutenant Amy Lockwood,

In preparation for the king’s festival, you are ordered to return as soon as possible to the capital. Details of your orders can be found by reporting to your commander. We wish for your safe and speedy return.

Sincerely,
M. Francis Welk”

There and back again. With a gentle tug of the reins, White Hare gave pause and Amy took off her helm. The rank and file of soldiers behind stopped their march. How nice it was to feel the midsummer’s wind blowing at her face! It felt like an eternity since Amy has laid her eyes upon Amayth’s magnificent distant stonewalls. Two years, two memorable years away from the only place she once called home.

Home. Where was home again? Ah yes, there was great mansion and Groundskeeper William humming himself a tune as he raked the fall leaves. Inside the dinner hall, the portrait of her grandparents hung above the fire mantle, stern and composed. The fragrance of magnolia in her old room, oh how sweet was it scent!

“Why we’re stopping lieutenant? Something the matter?” asked a soldier.

“Nothing, just enjoying the view for a little bit. It has been awhile. Quite a spectacle they are making by the lake.”

“Preparations for the festivities it appears. Nothing better than being home right lieutenant?”

“…Yes. Yes, I suppose you are right corporal. There is no place better than being home. Hyah!”

The city also reminded her of something else. Her family, her former family to be precise, what were they up to all these years? Father no doubt was trying to climb the social ladder after falling down quite a bit no thanks to her after all these years. That old hag of a stepmother was probably up to no good, inflating her own vain sense of self worth. If she knew her younger brother, he was probably wasting the family’s fortune on booze and women. It would be very unlikely he would be holding a steady job.

Then, there were her two older brothers, the only family that mattered to her anymore. How were they doing? Did she have any cute nephews and niece? Since her exile, she made no contact with them because she was now a “stranger.”

She found herself absentmindedly gazing upon the serene lake. Not too long ago, she could have only dreamed of the places outside the storied walls. Ever since she made the fateful choice to join the military, she felt she had seen a myriad of things both good and bad, of how the “other side lived”, things that she would not have experienced if she had continued with her old sheltered life. They arrived at the main gates and the gatekeeper held his hand up, stopping Amy.

“Who are you and those band of men behind you?”

“Red Lion’s Lt. Amy Lockwood, Third Platoon.” She presented her badge. The gatekeeper inspected it briefly and handed it back to Amy

“The Red Lion Company? You must be that female officer a few years back. Never thought I’d see you in person. What brings you here? Coming here on vacation?”

“I’m afraid not though that would be great. We were recalled to provide extra security for the festival.”

“Hmm…well you should check the bounty boards then. Those are always up in pubs and I’m sure there’s bound to be a few somewhere in the barracks. These occasions will be bound to attract unsavory types. The more eyes the better.”

“Hopefully there won’t be any need for that. I do want to take it easy, especially when it’s my first day back to the capital.”

“Mhm. It is a joyous occasion.”

Once inside, Amy Lockwood led her troops to the local garrison. “You can do what you want for now but don’t wander off too far. I’ll need to meet with the commander and get our new orders. It shouldn’t take that long.”

She left her men to their devices and went to the third floor to get her new orders.

Leander leaned back against his workbench in exhaustion, running a tired hand through his hair as he watched his previous patient disappear through the rickety wooden door that creaked and groaned ominously at being opened. He really ought to fix that before it falls off its hinges... but...

No time like the present, he supposed.

The alchemist carefully packed away the needle and thread he'd used to sew up a gushing wound on the man's arm – one he suspected to be from a knife, not that it was any of his business. That was life in the poorer maze of streets unseen in Amaryth, the one he could do the most good in: “they don't tell, you don't ask”. He doubted that he would understand all of the man's words, anyway, jumbled and panicky and pain-stricken as they were.

He had only just set over to the door to inspect it when a woman burst in, a neighbour. Leander knew her well enough (Lily, he thought her name was) and even simply knowing of her profession made him blush beet-red. “Leander!” she called as if they were old friends. “I need a bit more of your... ahem, treatment!”

Lily strode over to the worktable, flipping her blonde braid over her shoulder and pulling the arm of her dress back over her shoulder. Back in Kalnach, she would've been killed for such an undignified appearance – at least, that's what he'd heard of the cities. Shamed eternally, with no reputation to use to find a husband, start a family. Leander could admit to being just a little apprehensive about treating such a girl, but he suppose if he had healed criminals and murderers in his time, a woman with loose morals wouldn't be so much worse.

“Hi,” he replied awkwardly, turning around to fetch a vial of some colourless, odourless substance from its hiding place at the bottom of a jar. Time spent in his home village had taught him to be very careful with where he placed his cure lest an inquisitor find it easily. The flower crown from which the medicine derived from was sitting on the desk, three blooming specimens curling around it, and he was thankful that he didn't have to have it permanently attached to him.

“So you know,” Lily started slyly as she gulped down the medicine, legs dangling from her position on the table. “You've been helping me out a lot lately, and I know the Madam pays generously but... maybe you deserve a bonus.”

Leander gulped. “Maybe some other time...” he managed to get out.

“Oh? Too bad. We'll be so overworked with the festival and all... you might want to take that offer.” Why – oh – why did Lily lace every word with innuendo? She cackled as she hopped down from the table and wandered towards the door. “A girl'll be 'round later with the money!” As she left, Leander sighed in relief and rubbed at his forehead.

Women. He definitely wasn't going to help them while the celebrations were on. Definitely. (Even when a small part of him reluctantly reminded him that he said that last time.)

"Enter."

The door opened and closed behind Amy as she saluted her superior, Jeran Minsk who stood by the window watching the streets below.

"Amy Lockwood, reporting for duty sir."

Jeran Minsk turned around. He was a man in his late forties, his wife dead for some time. He wasn't a very good looking man but he did come from a modest landowning family and stood just shy of six feet. In the two years since she had last seen him, he appeared to be more lankier.

"State your business missy," Jeran said dryly.

"It's Amy Lockwood. Not missy," Amy replied back in the same tone.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Amy did not understand why she had to deal with such a difficult commander. He always gave her a hard time at any moment. His expectations and demands of her were impossible to satisfy and many of the other lieutenants under his command didn't have such a hard time. His personality didn't appear to mellow out in two years either.

"Well then Madame, what can I do for you?" Jeran said as he pulled out his chair to sit.

"M. Francis Welk sent me a letter. I was told to report to you for additional details."

Jeran sat down and rummaged through his drawers, looking for something. He found what he was looking for and moved the paper towards Amy. He motioned for her to seat. Amy made her way towards the desk, picking up the paper but she did not sit down. The paper was a map depicting patrol routes through the capital's West District.

Jeran began to talk, "As you are well aware, the King's Festival starts soon and all manner of people will attend this event. So, security will be tight in and around the capital. Our unit is responsible for the West District. I'm sure you know the types of people who lurk there."

She looked at the map in her hand. "I don't see a problem here. Surely they can't be worst than bandits on the borders? Wait, I'm patrolling through this area? That place is a thieves' den last I remembered."

"Yes and it still is although the West District has been cleaned up over the years. I'm sure it isn't any problem for someone of your caliber. You are to start today at evening. There is no problems at all I hope?"

You deliberately gave me the worst place in the capital because you wanted to see me fail or worse. Well, you get a whole 'nother thing coming at you.

Amy smiled earnestly. "None at all. I'll relay the information to my platoon. If there's nothing else, I will take my leave sir."

"You're dismissed missy."

Amy left the room and bit her thumb as she made her way downstairs to deliver the news to her men. How she wanted to burn that moron to the ground with her relic! She couldn't stand his snarky attitude. He'd never be this cold and snarky to her male colleagues, even those of lower rank than her! He singled her out simply because she was a women! And his refusal to acknowledge her name! It infuriated her!

"Don't underestimate me," she muttered under her breath.

Kaiden draws in a deep, filling breath, and silently imagines a little mutt puppy doing backflips, making a mental note of how many times it turned in the air. He tries to keep himself cool-headed and prevent his bubbling irritation from rising; his two “coworkers” behind him, fresh blood that he unfortunately was commanded to babysit, have never stopped, from the time they left main camp to now, comparing their “bulging, hulking muscles” and their “insurmountable skills in battle”. Pleased to meet you too, Lenard and Tran, he thought sarcastically as he slowly exhaled the collected air in his lungs and continued to tolerate their brazen, obnoxious argument while he carried a sack of stolen goods over his shoulder. He whistles a tune of a frequency unreachable by normal adult ears, just to make sure that nature doesn’t get the jump on them with a forest leopard. “I fuckin’ told you time and time again mate, I can bash yer skull in with one swing of me trusty babe, Gertrude. Why, if we was in a duel, you’d be mincemeat in seconds and sold to a local butcher! I heard human meat is forbidden but much… enjoyed by many of nobility somewhere, out there.” The voice of the first companion reverberates throughout his entire body, painting a large, beefy tank of a man with broad arms and shoulders, but minimal armor and clothing: all he dons are large, iron pauldrons strapped on tight that clink with every step he takes, simple pants and boots of softer material, and of course, his equally massive two-headed battle axe. The deepness of his voice, the boldness of his tone, the grotesque scenario of his words suggests a personality comfortable with violence, at a great dislike for speech craft and intellect, but easily manipulated with the simplest of sweet talk. Kaiden wants to laugh heartily at the idea of a titanic, brutal man who intimately bestows a name onto an inanimate, disposable object, as indicated by his slight pause and momentary snicker, but he clears his throat of any mocking humor and continues on with his tune; he didn’t want to make early enemies of people he should trust to have his back in dire situations. Just go with the flow, don’t lose the tempo~, he sings merrily in his head, adding a little bounce in his steps to take his mind off of the two lugnuts he was dragging behind him.

“HAH. I bet you can’t slice your way out of a deer skin bag with your poor excuse for a brain and your boulder body!” [Aah, another “special case”[/i], the young says to himself, smirking with much amusement; despite the fact that they are noisy, they do provide some entertainment, which helped to lighten his mood. Now he understands why Irene, the head mistress of the Leviathan bandit clan, stuck the boy with these particularly dogmatic recruits: his significantly longer patience compared to most of his equals and seniors, and ability to find a little bit of humor in almost any situation, make him the best qualified to deal with their antics. “The thing about your two-faced, rusty whore is that she doesn’t know which way she wants to swing! You want a lance, which flies straight and true, and you always know that it’ll come back to you!” This voice drew a different kind of picture: a man of petite, limber stature, with a camisole and pants that seem to cut off past his knees, weathered sandals, and a simple, pointed lance. There isn’t much to his overall look, it seems, but then again since when did outlaws care about how they appeared to everyone else? What Kaiden found extremely interesting, however, was the color of his tone: a scrawny vocal box lacking in proper enunciation and without a concern for clarity, yet the way he blitzes past with his words suggest an untapped wit, wasted on an often irrational, barely educated mind. The boy found the discord of human traits of humorous irony, and chuckled as a result of his revelation.

As they neared the city of Othea, Kaiden could feel the intense vibrations of city life slowly come into his audio picture. There was much banter, but also much bickering, regarding wares, wives, husbands, children, “sizes”, and the latest gossip that currently circulated throughout the Othean folk. It was a wonderful yet slightly overwhelming thing to behold, as his acute hearing senses would take a bit of time to get adjusted due to the almost abrupt presentation of audio input. He motioned for Lenard, who was on his right, to give him his trusty, “poor man’s” cane. “Do you see any guards about?” The young man whispered to his compatriot as he pulled his cloak closer towards his front torso area in an attempt to hide his double short swords and his twelve throwing blades. He could feel Lenard nod his head curtly, yet cautiously; as a man rocking the look of a lumbering, intimidating outlaw, he wasn’t exactly comfortable being in a place that reeked of proper civilization and rules. Tran probably didn’t want to mention it, but Kaiden’s pings picked up on his clammy, jittery hands and his nervous gulps. He smiled confidently, knowing that he had the psychological advantage, and said in reassurance, “Don’t worry. Stick by me, don’t say a word, and I’ll take care of the rest.” His team mates both nodded in unison, finally calm after being faced with a fairly new and very unnerving situation. The boy snickered lightly and knowingly, and gripping the cane firmly for support, moved forward while feeling around for any obstacles, and warning people of his presence.

The three reached the grand gates of the city, and as expected because of Lenard and Tran’s suspicious looks, were promptly stopped. In order to add to the “blind, helpless man” act, before he spoke, he continued facing towards the door, when he very well knew a guard was stomping his way towards them from his left. Kaiden could basically feel the guard’s tightness of lip and heightened wariness, but he simply laughed and greeted, “Hello, good sir. We have come for this joyous occasion. May we enter and enjoy whatever grand food and entertainment your city has to offer?” There was a slight awkward pause, and then a small blurb of a giggle from the guard on the right, and Kaiden knew he had slain the suspicions of one out of two. The other gates man, however, was more difficult to convince, and he grabbed the boy’s shoulder and made him towards his direction. “I don’t suppose your friends would have a reason for bringing their cleavers and witch pokers?” Slightly taken aback by this strange wording, he attempted to recover himself by brushing aside his absurd use of terms and replied with a pleading tone. “Um, you see sir, we come from the Cities of Harra, very far away. Ever since I heard of Othea and her wondrous festivities, I’ve always wanted to go, but since I’m blind, my father never lets me out of the house; he thinks I’m fragile and not fit for travel, and that I should be taken care of like a sickly child.” Kaiden sighed for added emphasis, and his pings show that the guard’s expressions were slowly taking a turn for the softer, more empathetic side. “But as a man, I shall not let my disability drag me down and keep me from experiencing worldly pleasures. So I begged him to let me go, even if it was just this once. He may be overprotective, as typical for a father, but he is loving, and for this time only, he has decided to let me go.” He motioned his towards Lenard and Tran, and continued on with his “sob” story, as he could sense, by the relaxing of the guard’s posture and the small exhale, that his words were having the desired effect. “So he hired two mercenaries to protect me, and rented a caravan to escort us there. Unfortunately, some bandits attacked us halfway. Fortunately, they were run-of-the-mill, so these strong men made quick work of them, but we ended up walking all the way to Othea, through the wilderness and the beasts that reside in it.” Kaiden hung his head low, well presenting humility and a sort of irresistible vulnerability that usually tug the heart strings of people in his favor.

“Woah, you reached Othea all the way here on foot?? Damn that is amazing!” The guard to the right exclaimed, not minding his post and his position in society. “Angus, this guy’s got guts. You HAVE to let him in!”

The gate man on Kaiden’s left sighed and weakly protested, “But Darren..”

“But Darren nothing! You’re going to reject these people after hearing all about what they went through to get here? I knew you were a scrouge but hell, this is an all new low for you, denying access to our great city to a BLIND man and his companions! Why, if Captain Lockwood were to hear about your cold-heartedness, she-“

“ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT.” Kaiden noted much frustration in his voice, but could there also be a hint of flustered embarrassment? He didn’t exactly know, nor did he particularly care, since they got what they wanted. He smiled as the guard yelled exasperatingly, “I don’t care anymore. Just go through and do whatever the hell you want! It’s none of my business anyway!” The boy laughed and thanked both of the gates men profusely, then proceeded onwards inside the city. “How did you do that?” Tran asked with newfound respect and great awe. Kaiden simply shrugged, curled his lips upward into a sly smile, and said, “Lots and lots and lots of experience, my friend. Don’t worry, you’ll learn… If you live long enough to survive, that is.”

A man laid back in a sloppy caravan, letting smoke pour out of his mouth into the air, forming little shapes like crowns and hearts. The man had little patience, and did not intend to continue waiting for much longer. He looked pout over the roads, noticing a single horse-rider coming from down south. The man jumped up, stretching his arms and legs, his large frame clearly apparent to the rider coming close. He adjusted his belt, a large brown and gold, very decorative thing, and he jumped off the wagon, landing right in the way of the horse. The rider continued to advance, seemingly not going to stop, but the rider manages to pull on the reins, stopping a measly few feet in front of the smoky man.
"About time you showed up. I was starting to think you had some bad news." The man surrounded by smoke spoke. The rider slowly got of his horse, standing beside the smoky man.
"I am sorry, Barron, i was held up along the way." The rider said, attempting to present himself as larger then he is to compare to the hulking man beside him. The "Barron" started to walk, the rider following in close suit, as the pair stopped along the edge of a hill, looking over the countryside, and they could almost make out the city in the distance.
"You were stopped?" Barron finally asked, after a few moments of strange silence. The rider swallowed nervously.
"By some guards, i believe that the city is planning something..."
"I know" Barron interrupted. He looked annoyed with the rider as he continued to smoke liberally, a small gathering of smoke gathering around them. "I was invited." The rider nodded.
"I was stopped, and they found the reply message..." The rider said, starting to shake. He coughed quietly, clearly not reacting to the smoke well.
"They have the message?"
"Yes but i can tell you that..."
"They accepted?" Barron nodded confidently. "I knew they would."
"Then..." The rider starting talking hopefully. "You don't need the reply?" The rider coughing a bit more loudly. Barron shook his head.
"I need the acceptance letter to hold them to their honor. Without it, they could easily claim a few months down the line that there was no such deal." He turned to face the rider, who was starting to cough uncontrollably. "In addition, now that the guards know that a local crime ring has joined forces with another, they will be extra more cautious in handling such matters." He started to speak angrily, the rider coughing violently, small bits of blood coming out. "You have failed me," He said, speaking with complete disdain for the man who seemed to be dying. "And one does not fail Barron Blackwill and get away with it." Barron gripped his hand over the rider, condemning him to death as the smoke that had been building in his lungs solidified, causing the man to suffocate, grasping at his neck and mouth, The Barron sighed, twirling his finger around in a circle, wrapping a thickness of smoke around the mans neck, and solidified it and brought it together, snapping his neck and killing him. He turned back to climb into the carriage, a small trail of the remaining smoke following him. He waved it off, knowing they weren't too far from the city. He nodded to a man who sa in the driver seat, who began to take them to the closest city.
"We'll be there within the hour, sir."
"Fantastic." The Barron smiled.

A road near Amaryth,
Othea

A lone figure walked down a narrow, winding path surrounded by nothing but grasslands, hills and small farms as far as the eye could see. With a sigh, Marcus adjusted the bag and bundles on his shoulder. In the last week, he had determined by experiment that carrying a half-soaked tent, provisions, bow and quiver wasn't too great for one's back. His feet were sore after days and days of walking, and he was mumbling curses under his breath directed at his gods for creating such a vast world.

Nevertheless, the view was great. After living in a small cabin in the vast woods near the Southern Mountains for the past three years, it felt good to see vast grasslands again. The air still smelled of rain and if he made an effort, he could see the glistering of the famous grand lake on the horizon. The city of Amaryth was visible as well, bathing in the morning light. It was one of the few grand cities Marcus had ever seen in his life, and to him, it seemed majestic. The way it stood there, proudly on its hill, with an air of loftiness surrounding it. He adjusted the cloth that hid his face slightly, as a grin spread around his lips. All in all, it was simply great to be on the road again.

He had tried his best and succeeded in avoiding the main roads ever since he had left the Southern Mountains. Right now, he walked a road that was somewhat parallel to the King's Road, and since it wasn't as well maintained as the latter, Marcus had found it to be less crowed than he had feared. Crowds always made him feel uncomfortable, and these days, the main roads were more than crowded. No wonder, since it didn't happen that often that the king threw a whole festival for his name day.

A wry smile crept across his face, as Marcus thought back to all the "kings" he had known back home in Da-Hyun. Twelve... in a span of fifteen years. On two of their coronation days, the High Saeng had been killed just before he ascended the throne, and on one the poor man had been killed by poison in the holy water. It hadn't been a pleasant sight when the High-Saeng-to-be, fell to the ground, screaming as his skin and hair seemed to wither after the water had been poured over his head -as a symbol of unity with the gods-. Apparently, the gods didn't really like kings.

Forcing his thoughts back to the present, Marcus noticed that there was a group of people walking not too far ahead of him. His bow hung on his back, just in reach, but with a shock, he realized that he wouldn't be able to reach for his arrows. What on earth had he been thinking when he put them in the bag with provisions earlier this morning? Admittedly, it had been early, he had been sleepy, the sun hadn't been up yet... But still...

Unconsciously, Marcus reached for his lower abdomen. Beneath the piece of cloth strapped around his waist was the reassuring weight of metal. His blade Sang Min was within reach and with that comforting knowledge, he continued to catch up with the group. A whispered prayer flowed over his lips in a language that wasn't often heard in these lands. Quietly, he asked the goddess Yuwhae to let the strangers have peace on their mind, and he pleaded to the god of war and plunder, Yun-Yeong, to mind his own business for once.

"No way that... Do it yaself!"

As he came closer to them, he noticed that three of the group were arguing about something. The group consisted of five men, three woman and two children. While being armed, none of them appeared to be looking for a fight, and they wore typically Othean clothes. His hand moved away from Sang Min and he sighed with relief. Marcus wouldn't have to shed any blood today. Even after all these years, he still felt haunted in the presence of anyone he didn't know. Especially his former countrymen made him feel spooked.

"Ya know bloody well.. necessary..."

When he was only five yards away, one of the younger men finally took notice of the foreigner.

"Hey and who is this then? Sneaking up to us like tha. Lance, look at tha. He's dressed real odd isn't he, that fellah." Lance... the name had an oddly familiar ring to it. A man as large as a bear turned his head towards them. While he at first seemed angry that the younger man had interrupted his conversation, his eyes went wide when he spotted Marcus.

"Well blimey... I may be dammed if that ain't our very own Recluse!" Before Marcus had a chance to react, Lance had already grabbed him and hugged him tight, squeezing all the air out of Marcus' lungs.

"Lanc....le..m...no..." But Lance paid him no heed and just continued to smother the sinewy young man while laughing his roaring laugh. When he finally let go of him, Marcus was sure he was a few bruises richer.

"And wha on Azukhar brings ya so far from ya lil forest?", Lance asked with the thick accent of the southern mountain people.

"Ya didn't come all tha way just to say ya miss me, did ya now?" Lance laughed loudly at his own joke and Marcus couldn't help but smile, invisible under the cloth covering his mouth. Lance was the blacksmith in the village that was closest to Marcus' cabin. Marcus often sold hides and home-made trinkets to him, in exchange for food and useful tools. The man was always kind to him, often inviting him to eat with his family and never insulted when Marcus declined again. After taking a good second look, he noticed that Lance's wife Meriam and his children Bruce and Amily had come as well. For Bruce and the small Amily, it would most likely be their first time in a real city. After nodding towards the three, Marcus returned his attention back to Lance.

"Actually, I'm on my way to the festival.", he said with a soft voice. His accent was barely noticeable, but his obviously foreign clothing obliterated any thought of him being a native quite effectively.

"Wha coincidence, so are we. Ya should join us!" Lance wouldn't take no for an answer, and so Marcus found himself continuing his journey with ten new companions. Herewith, his plan to avoid the main roads died a soundless death...

A meadow/grassland close to Amaryth, Othea’s capital

All around Roan’s wolfen form were tall grasses, a meadow or grassland. Larks and other lowland birds sang their shrill, elegant songs from their hidden places while they filled the air, seeking would be mates to farther their race’s existence. For the most part there was life teeming everywhere. From the smallest budding flower to the great, blue sky that sheltered the great sun overhead, nothing was left out of the natural cycle all around Roan’s present location. He was mentally relieved to found himself in a more comforting surrounding then the Karak Claw Mountains gave him. The trip, without a single trail and all on his own strength, had been a harsh and unforgiving one which had taken him nearly a week to manage. Between hunting and rest, it was difficult but far less risky than taking the established pass. Over the next few days along his way to Amaryth, he had slowly replaced his lost belongings by either pilfering from lone travelers, farmers or the small, scattered tribes found within the wooded area. His last item ‘borrowed’ was a bow and quivers, unable to return to gain his own, that he continually practiced until he became accustomed to the difference. The string material, wood, and others features made a great effect in his use when compared to his old one, a military assigned one. Most wouldn’t notice why but Roan did. Often he tried to adapt because he was forced to make do with it.

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, Roan’s paws continued to dog trot his way between the vast treeless lands. His paws flattened and crushed the dew coated grass blades with each step, damping the pad slightly. Each time, sending small insects and creatures scurrying for new cover wherever he had treaded, fearful he was still hungry and would end their little lives. Instead his mind was focused on the copper taste, blood from the goat’s leg, the body dangling from his jaws which left small drips in his wake. Ruining the scene’s flawless life he could’ve left untouched. Despite the soft rustle of the grass, he was absolutely silent in his movement when he finally scented out his current ‘camp’. Feeling the exhaustion weigh in his muscles, Roan’s maw opened, dropping the carcass down onto the dirt, while his head lifted to dart about the scenery. It had taken a long time for him to grow use to the oddness of this new form’s sight. Everything within his focus sharpened, the outer edges blurred slightly, making it easy to ignore any distractions outside of it. Colors had been dulled greatly by what he could only described as seeing through a yellow amber gem covering each eye. Unlike his human shape, there wasn’t any color which stood out with such intensity that he found it easier and faster to adjust his target to sudden motion within his vision range.

One of the few things he liked about his wolf shape.

His bluish tongue came out once and licked his black nose, wetting it, before it flickered back in. His middle twitched when his hunger began to claw at it making his head flipped downward, eyeing the goat again. His eyes narrowed upon the glossy eyed brown and white beast which stared its undead sight on him, quietly accusing. Roan felt his breath inhale and let out sharp, arrogant snort like sneeze. Gently he lowered himself onto his stomach while his right arm reached out to drag the goat’s limp corpse to his chest. He pinned the plump, fresh meal between his hands and lowered his muzzle to the short fur outside. His tongue darted out to lick its belly. Letting his saliva soften the tough hide and mark to his nose were to dig in. The place where the choicest pieces, lungs, heart, intestines, and more were locked away. Roan felt his lips quiver, filled with saliva before his fangs widened then clamped down.

Crack… crunch…ssnffff… his muzzle dig deeper, bones breaking easily, being ripped from the middle with ease. Blood filled his narrow jaws again, throat gulping it down with each time he snapped another rib. Shortly a small hole was made. Licking his chops, Roan started in on the inside morsels. His small canines nipped over the goat’s stomach, catching some of the fatty tissue alongside the juicy muscle while he tugged it out. Bit by bit it came until it hung like a flabby bag, his teeth jerked up and down, shoving it down his throat with each snap of his jaws. The warmth seemed to waft through out his being and delight him, sparking a fresh need to repeat which he did eagerly. Gorging himself on each bite.

While the primal instinct was distracted, Roan’s humanity turned inward and away from the sight. In it was memory of how he had gotten his latest meal much early that same morning and the cause of his worry building deep in his conscious.

The sun, red and angry, had just peered over the horizon. Hours before official dawn. Light crept like molasses across the wide farmlands, dowsing everything in bright gold and adding to the glory of a new day. Among the early creatures, a single wolf like animal stood just outside a land’s fenced in area. His figure easily pulled up and over the crude, manmade structure then dropped back down to all fours dog trotting closer to the single hut which served a small family of four.

Roan’s eyes settled upon a small scene. Its acres on the left was a wide, crudely plowed field, currently left fallow for this growing season while animals polluted the surroundings with their mellow noise. First he narrowed upon the chickens, idly pecking and scratching their daily meal into their greedy beaks. Their filthy feathers ruffled then smoothed, some partly bald from their continual aggression toward each. Slowly, Roan shifted to the dairy and few meat goats within a pen. They, ranging from does to bucks, displayed their varied coats from black to brown and white nearest a small shack like barn. A waft of fresh hay, coupled by the old scent of an inexperienced youth, had told Roan all he needed to know. The goats had hadn’t been fed and were left alone for now.

This knowledge seemed to encourage Roan’s body to move. He slunk to all fours, his tail hung to balance him, while he started to cautiously close the distance between him and the shack. His body laid as low as possible in his approach. Every few meters he’d grind to a stop and perk up his ears, his body slumped deeper into the uncut grasses, until it seemed he was still undiscovered. His paws absorbed sound as well as protected his hands and feet while he edged to the goat pen. It took only a few moments for the animals to sense his presence. Their narrow heads barely reached the second gap before their watery eyes blinked then gave a shrill alarm, unhappy with the scent of a nearby predator. Several fat little bodies veered away from the edges nearest Roan and clustered together, their cries grew louder with each passing moment. It made his heart leap. Both driven by hunger and the desire to taste blood, he licked his black lips revealing several white teeth, enjoying the fresh waft of shit pilled on by their panic. Gingerly, he lifted on three legs. His upraised arm pressed near his chest then, when his eyes caught no movement from the hut, it reached for the top part of the fence. Muscles coiled and snapped, bring him to hop onto the top of a post where his sight could easily decide his prey choice. It was hard. His need demanded them all but he knew he was only going to be able to carry one.

Roan gradually moved into the pen, the coast clear, causing the goats to veer away from his position, the more experienced ones stumbled and tried to leap over each other to escape their demise. Blood… it was deeply etched within his mind, the thought of tearing flesh and feasting made his muscles twitch with anticipation yet his wolf like mind refused to make a mistake. Not this close to actually gaining a meal. Louder their noise became while his muscles coiled underneath the dark fur and his eyes intense in their glow. His face narrowed on the largest goat. A buck, his nose confirmed through smell, stout and strong with plenty of meat thanks to the human boy’s favoritism. Too bad it doomed the animal when Roan arrived.

His muzzle snapped open when he lounged at the goat’s throat. Its neck bones fractured easily between his teeth, even with the muscle thick as it was, so quick that it barely had time to choke out its last sound. Even on the moment of impact Roan felt its life ebbed from it. In seconds, the others scattered to the other side and tried to knock their prison’s wall loose. Their bodies shivering from the bloody scent masking his muzzle, fangs now pinked with the kill, while he twisted his head to give a snarling snap for silence. Abruptly his ears perk when a sound reached him. His fur bristled from the realization eyes now watched him, causing his sight to follow his nose. They narrowed upon a figure standing now within the enclosure’s inner circle, the farmer’s young son.

Only ten in age, his brown hair was shabbily left long and messily curled about his face smudged with goat shit, dirt and hay. His breeches and tunic were stained with labor from head to bare feet. Within the boy’s hand was a pitch fork, sloppily held upright to jab into the wolf now staring at him. Their eyes locked. Roan’s frightening animal like eyes fixed on the pale blue ones, laced with frightened but determined emotions. The weakness within seemed to pour strength into Roan’s dislike at being interrupted in his kill’s victory.

Roan made a soft, threatening growl. His eyes fixed on the pitchfork then his head jerked to the side, as if motioning for the boy to discard his weapon, only to fail in being understood. The boy instead tried to shove the pointed weapon. His aim: right into Roan’s shoulder. It was far too easy to read; Roan’s body shifted upright and tilted his shoulder back while his hand like paws whipped up. They grasped the junction where the prong piece and handle were forged together. His fingers wrapped around, stopping the points from breaking past the fur and skin, resting merely on the surface. Roan gave another warning growl then jerked it from the boy’s shaky grasp. The tool rang out in a hollow thump when it hit the fence then the dirt at Roan’s side. In the same motion his hands pressed into the ground and lowered to stalking form, his figure pulled closer. His fangs slickened with drool dripping past his lips, his muzzle crinkled in fury. Naturally the boy recoiled. The lad’s feet gave out from under him causing him to topple into his side, kicking dirt up in his terror scrambling backward. Too bad his attempt to retreat was stopped by the fence itself. That fact alone seemed intensify Roan’s excitement, his pace never faltered or changed until he was inches from the boy’s face. Roan’s hot breath breathed into the skin, his nose inhaled all the information, flooding his brain, as the most disturbing thought crossed his consideration.

How easy it could be to just sink his teeth and shake. Not a gentle one, but one which would easily snap the neck, and devo…

Roan felt his humanity send a chill down his spine. It took a moment to realize where his thoughts had turned and it terrified the hell out of him. The haze, the high, and all attributes in tune with his wolf side abruptly vanished. He shut his jaws just inches from the boy’s face, and then slowly pulled back. Already his ear picked up the sounds of adults, a man and woman, the father and mother respectively, start to pour out of the house. It was time to go. Now. He turned away, pausing just long enough to lock the goat within his jaws then gave the boy a remorseful glance back. His ears were pinned back in shame before he darted out of the enclosure in a dead run.

Soon after, he was out of sight and never looking back again.

The memory faded yet the disgust with himself remained, his mind irritated despite the raw meal warmly filling his stomach. His head lifted enough to peer over the tall grass and fix his gaze upon Amaryth, Othea’s capital. A prang of hurt edged into his heart at the painful memories Angus left him, even more for his behavior. He wondered what was happening to him. His thoughts drifted back to his original reason for being here, his need to seek out anyone who he could trust and would listen to him about his brother’s plans. Hopefully the information he held would be able to reach the Empress in time. Roan’s emotions stirred while he decided it was best to release his form back into his original shape. Before something else happened that was beyond his control. Gingerly he lifted his body to all fours, his front limbs stretched out in a dog like yawn, the claws digging into the earth before he smacked his jaw together then stood alert. He inhaled a long, soothing breath.

Then the change back began.

Into the beast was never hard, just always the changing back which was torment to Roan. Hot, flaming pain rippled through his muscles making them spasm uncontrollably. Immediately his body curled into a fetal ball crumbling to his side while his mind’s thoughts blared into numbness, each painful wave washed over him. He felt his very insides rearrange themselves from his bones down to his very muscles. First he felt his muzzle sucked back into his face inch by inch, the bones making loud, and deafening cracks giving him a headache from hell. Even in the foggy haze of his thoughts, Roan thought it was like a red hot poker was being shoved bit by bit between his eyes. Scents faded into the dull contrast of the human range giving Roan a sense of mourning. His eyes blinked and shut, blocking out the sudden rush of color flooding. He whimpered softly, trying to let it pass and praying not to pass out this time. Not like the first time. His ears shrank and shifted, rotating to the sides where they rested on his human skull. His hind legs cracked their joints back into their original places as the foot shortened, the knee rose, and calf lengthened into a recognizable human leg. Fur retracted leaving him naked and an itchy sensation all over his flesh, like he was too small for it. The last notable discomfort was his tail. It sucked back into his body without as much as a warning, making him grunt in annoyance then shudder.

All that was left was a sweating, shivering and pitiful looking man in nothing more than his breeches. Thankfully that changed with him or else he would’ve been butt ass naked. His torso and arms still held the evidence of his last kill, the carcass not too far away, though it took some to clear away the pain of his transformation. Now he knew how a drunker felt after a night spent face deep in the ale. Slowly, he lifted his shoulder upright, lying on his side in an effort to bear the pain and regain some ability to focus back. Sitting here wasn’t going get him anywhere other than caught. That thought began to push Roan into moving just a bit faster. His feet pulled underneath and tried to straighten into a wobbly stance. It last only a minute before he crashed down hard onto his knee, pain ripped back up causing Roan to cry out in surprise.

“Shit… bad idea,” Roan muttered to himself, his arm braced against the ground, stopping him from plummeting into the dirt face first. Talking to himself was habit now which would take time to lose. He just hoped no one could debate if he was crazy enough to warrant arrest as he tried to rise, more carefully, back to both feet. Nothing said unsound of mind like a half-naked man wandering the country side, talking to himself.

Once up again his eyes darted to his small stash nearby, his weapons, clothes, and more safely wrapped up together and hidden surprisingly well among the tall grass. Still very sure he would easily stumble and fall, Roan took his time. First he disposed of the goat’s body by dumping it into an old fox den he had noted earlier when he was still a wolf. The animal was long gone but since it was likely farmers who would hunt him, they likely won’t know the difference and assume the animal was still around to pillage their farms. Part of Roan hated placing the blame on another, innocent creature, even if it was for his own survival. Ripping up the taller grass here and there, he made a small bundle to use for the purpose of covering his prints. Mainly due to the fact they turned from wolf into man in a few places. It was a dead giveaway he was an evoker and that might’ve been a good thing to keep him from being killed on sight, but it also made it easier for Angus to send someone to silence him. Like drawing a charcoal target on his back for them to shoot at. Taking up his belongings in one hand, he walked through the unfarmed land, dragging the bundle behind, for about a yard until he felt safer to finish his dress. Wiping off most the blood, Roan started with his boots to prevent any more blistering to his soles then started with his shirt. All the time, his spear was close to his right foot, ready to be used against ambushing thieves. Though in this case, they would attack at their own risk for like others, they wouldn’t live long enough to keep his belongings.

The woman, Lavica Nizak, struggled through the plains. If one were to see her, it would become quite clear that she wasn’t raised in this wandering lifestyle. The noble, or ex-noble as it was, tripped and stumbled in her long green dress as it snagged on sticks in the ground. Many times the blonde fell to her knees, deep emerald spots that were darker than the rest of her silken gown and brown smudges of dirt stained the expensive dress. Yellow blades of grass were tangled in her hair from her short travels to the ground and scratches from twigs adorned her cheek. Frustration was mounting and mounting; every time her dress stretched behind her, she yanked hard with all her strength, uncaring if rips were found later.

“Ugh!” She shouted to no one when her dress was caught again. Lavica’s anger caused her to take the small blade she kept on her for protective purposes and slashed through the material until her loose brown trousers were seen. The dress had now become a long shirt with jagged ends, Lavica pretended the ruined dress was in style so she wouldn’t fret too much over her appearance.

The Nizak woman attempted to maintain a straight face, but a triumph smirk rose to the surface as one mere thought uplifted her spirits: if father could see me now. Lavica entertained the thought of what would happen if he were there. First and foremost, he would glower and magically produce an elegant blue dress a size too small that she was expected to shove herself in. Then the man would sit her down in his study; she would be expected to sit in the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk while he was seated in the comfortable, soft velvet red chair behind the impressive oak slab. His following speech would be heated, disappointed, and spectacular filled with emphasis on her gender. Her smirk transformed into a large grin, teeth reflecting sun beams that were sure to dazzle anyone if they were there. The blonde relished the idea that he couldn’t give her that speech anymore. She was free.

Lavica would have continued to gloat and smile if loud smacking sounds didn’t pull her from her daze. Her eyes refocused on her surroundings and before her was the growling, snarling form of a terrifying beast. She didn’t think it noticed her, she hoped it didn’t notice her, as it was awfully preoccupied with the goat it was feasting itself on. The beast wasn’t quite wolf and had a resemblance to man, but that fact was overlooked as she saw the glistening fangs easily stab clean through muscle, as she saw sharp claws gleaming with the sun, as she saw a monster. The dormant part of her yelled at her to run, but she was frozen in place. It was beautiful. It was horrifying. Gasps escaped her lips as her heart beat rapidly - could it hear her impending heart attack? Not knowing what to do, Lavica crouched low to the ground and hoped that the tall stalks would cover her from its sight. If she ran now, this moment when she could, it would hear her and it would all be over. Lavica swallowed her saliva in horror.

The beast stood on all fours and Lavica’s heart dropped - had it sensed her? But it made no move towards her and instead began to morph. Bones snapped whilst rearranging, the muzzle began to press in on itself until it was a face, ears shrunk and twisted until they resembled her own, its body became smaller, fur disappeared, and the wagging tail was gone. It was a man! How could a beast become a man or did the man become a beast? How was this possible? Then again, how was it possible for her to fry enemies and electrocute foes? It was possible with the help of her relic. It was clear to her now: he was an evoker, like her.

The man started to move away from her, and, despite her instinct telling her to sprint away, she began to lightly creep after him. She had never met another evoker, meeting him could fill her with plenty of knowledge regarding her own relic. Deep inside, Lavica knew she would never muster up the guts to approach him even at the expense of knowledge; after seeing him in his beast form, the blonde probably would never be able to. Every crunch and crack underneath her feet caused the woman to flinch as she urged herself on. Lavica was all too conscious of the space between the two and there was no desire in her to diminish it.

Roan already knew the female had been there for a while since his change. A part of him, the one burdened and gifted with humanity had secretly hoped his shift back into his original form would’ve scared her off. It seemed he had no such luck. Farther ignoring her, he finished placing on his tunic, then his belt with his medicine and flint. Finally, his last piece of equipment was his dagger and quiver before he spoke. He inhaled, his head turned slightly to eye the noise figure from his vision’s edge. Mentally the man considered his options and settled on one.

“I know you’re there. Heard you a while back and if you’re a bandit, it might be wise you keep on looking for another poor beggar to mess with.”

Lavica startled and straightened to her full height instead of the crouch she had used to stalk him. She scowled, “I’m hardly that low. On the contrary, you happen to be in the presence of a noble from Kalnach.”

Roan’s eyebrow rose in question as his blue eyes narrowed on the wear worn woman. His body already twisted about to face her fully and his hands, one with spear in grip, crossed over his chest. He had sized her up for a moment, absorbing it, letting the silence settled for several more. “Very well. If that’s the cause, where’s your escort?”

As he mentioned the missing piece most nobles kept around, his eyes looked past her into the grasses beyond, seeking any movement which would have his spear tasting combat or worse, blood.

At the sight of his spear, the blonde allowed sparks to flicker between her fingertips cautiously and she hoped he didn’t see it, whoever he was. It wouldn’t do well to expose herself before she received all the information she could.

Lavica was stumped. Was there anything to tell but the truth? Crossing her arms and lifting her chin defiantly, she answered proudly, “I don’t need an escort anymore.”

“Oh really?” Roan’s tone wasn’t mocking or sarcastic as it was curious. “Few people tread off the roads since traveling in groups tend to be the safest way. Mainly because of bandits, but even without guards, you would still need supplies and a means to carry it. I don’t see a bundle or such means on you.”

It became apparent to Lavica then that she was ill prepared and knew nothing of surviving by herself. She had grown up sheltered and, naively, had believed that she would be able to go off by herself without the help of anyone. So far she had only survived because of the jewels and coins in her pocket which she used to buy dinner and a room to sleep in when she stopped at villages, but what happened when there was no village to stop at? What if she starved? It was because of pride that Lavica didn’t allow this man to know how stupid she had been and so a change of subject was to be made.

“I’m Lavica Nizak. What is your name?” She muttered, letting her arms fall limply to her sides to appear more genial.

Roan wasn’t sure what to think if he was honest with himself. This woman, in a small way, had stirred that same protective nature the brat Alessia had when he was younger which didn’t sit very well with him. It was plain she had went off on her own, at least he assumed, without any notion for prepare for the future. Namely to keep herself from starving. He sighed, the Empress help him with her divinity, while the tension faded from his stance.

“I don’t have wolf hearing anymore so you’ll have to be louder. My name is Roan…” he paused, his mind stalled a bit to seek out another name, about in natural habit to give his own. “Gallus. Roan Gallus.”

The way he said it, it seemed he was trying to concrete the very name himself into his head. “So…what now? I have a feeling it would be unwise to leave you out here alone, wouldn’t it?”

While Lavica had made a mistake, which was a rare sight for her, she was not stupid. However, she decided not to press on the matter of his name at the moment and addressed the last part of his statement that sent jolts of anger down her spine. “I don’t need protection, if that is what you are getting at. I can defend myself on my own from bandits and what-not.”

The blonde messed with the torn edges of her dress before sticking her nose in the air and turning slightly away from him haughtily. “But I wouldn’t mind some company on my way to Amaryth, as long as you can keep up.”

Roan stood, unflinching at her pride seeping through in her anger. However his upper lip twitched, his tooth tried to snarl like a defensive wolf before he shut it down. He was a man, not some animal he reminded himself for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He kept his calm and stated in a gentle tone while others would’ve likely just left the woman behind. “Assumptions are the best way to get you left behind. Bandits, even for one with weapon’s experience, like myself, aren’t nothing to think lightly of. I much rather not face them alone myself and I doubt you would like to either. Either way, I’m not much of a fighter when it comes arguments, Nizak,” He said, politely using her last name instead of her first. They were only strangers after all and not friends, or acquaintances on familiar ground.”Now, if you would be so kind to lead the way?”

He gestured for her to move ahead of him while his arm reached down and moved his bow over his shoulder. His spear, on the other hand, remained firmly in his grip.

“Hmph.” Lavica snorted, moving in front of him with a swish of her curly blonde hair. The city awaited her after all and she could hardly wait to enjoy the festival. It would be an excellent opportunity to round up followers for her cause. However, she couldn’t help the little inkling of fear that travelling with a virtual beast often brought.

Dawn was not far off, that much Thora knew. She could feel it in her bones. It was only fortunate that the gates of Amaryth weren't sealed shut at night. But then, the guards had no reason to do so. The whole nation was infected with a serious case of peace, so aside from minor border skirmishes to the south and west, there was no conflicts at all in the entire kingdom.

Thora made her way through the gate, seeking to find an inn before the sun rose, for in her weeks of journeying, she had found that it was much better to travel at night, when the sun could not hurt her eyes. Looking back, she saw that there were several soldiers stationed upon the walls, but that the walls also bore signs of disrepair. Or at least she thought they did, not knowing anything about fortifications. There certainly weren't enough soldiers there to defend the walls properly should anyone hostile come calling, but she supposed the barracks held more.

Making her way into the city, she went deeper, searching for an inn that was open. It took her a long time to find anything, for almost all were closed down still. Or full, of course. There were some strange posters about, but she could not understand them, as she couldn't read. There were some fancy drawings of warriors sparring, so she guessed that could possibly be about some tournament or somesuch, considering that war wasn't likely. It had to be one of those. Or it could be some armorer's advertisement. Truthfully, she really had no idea what it was, and there were none around to ask.

First order of business would be to find a decent inn for the morning. Second order of business would be to find someone to help her understand the relic. Should be simple enough, she thought. She'd crossed the entire city, arriving down near the docks before she found an inn with any room left. Guessing from the sign, she thought the name might be 'the gutted Karak'. At least that's what it looked like.

The room wasn't particularly large or clean, but at least it had a bed and curtains to ward out the morning light. That would have to serve for now. She didn't care if anyone found it odd that she'd go to sleep with the sunrise. She was rather tired and needed the rest. Especially since she'd have to go out later in the daylight, something she did not look forward to.

Amy entered the room and placed several papers down on unused table. The men in the room were too busy conversing with each other to notice her presence. She clapped her hands several times until the chatter died down. She motioned for them to come closer to the table.

"Gather around folks, I have our new orders. We're to patrol the West District ."

There was dissatisfied grumbling among the troops upon hearing this. Amy simply allowed the chatter to die down.

"Well, when do we start?" asked one of the soldiers.

"Our shifts starts tomorrow morning when the festival begins. The Third Platoon will be doing rounds in this area of the West District."

She pointed her finger at a red circle on a map. "There? We've drawn the short end of the stick this time!" cried aloud a soldier.

Amy held her hand up. "Now, I know there's an unsavory reputation around those parts but bear in mind it's been two years since we left the capital and as our captain tells me, it's been cleaned up over the years. Luckily, we have the morning and afternoon shifts so I don't expect to there to be much trouble. However, I expected you all to be on your best behavior. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am," the men said in unison.

"We'll be splitting into groups of four with twelve men in each group. Kormac, Mathias, Rumford, and I will be the squad leaders. You three come here."

She took out a fountain pen and a blank parchment and placed it abreast a registry. "Here's a list of everyone on the Third Platoon. We're going to make the squadrons now." Ten minutes later, the teams became formalized.

"There is one more matter. The bounty board was updated with new heads and here is a couple of them." She picked up a wanted poster and showed it around. "Just something to keep in mind on your patrols. Be ready to work tomorrow. You're free to do whatever until then. You're all dismissed."

As for myself, perhaps I should see how my brothers are doing. Maybe I'll stop by the old inn? But I do feel oh so tired from that journey. Hmm...

Night fell, the air cool and brisk. With a hood covering her head, Amy made her way down the road towards the marketplace. She was dressed in plain clothing and to any other person looking at her, there was nothing that gave away her military and noble background. For the most part, the marketplace closed up shop but she wasn't particularly interested in any of the stands.

She looked around for signs of the inn she worked at, the inn where she accidentally set the kitchen on fire with her relic. To her annoyance, there was no such inn in the area. Where was once the inn now stood a bank.

"Odd, I'm sure brother's inn was right here. Did he relocate the business? I know he rebuilt the inn too. Hey pardon me miss! Do you know what happened to the 'Flying Gryphon' inn? It's where this bank should be."

"The Flying Gryphon you say? Oh the inn before this bank? Great place before it got sold off. It's tragic really. The owner and his family drowned about a year and a half ago while out on the lake fishing. The father took over the inn and sold it off and someone else built a bank in its stead. Is there anything else miss?"

"N-no. Thanks for the information. Have a safe night," Amy stammered.

"You too dear..."

She propped her back against the walls of a building in an attempt to steady herself but found herself sliding down. Tears streamed down her face no matter how hard she tried to hold them back. She sniffled and wiped her eyes.

"Albert, I never did get to say thank you to you properly for all the things you did. Why did you have to go so soon? I was really looking forward to meeting you guys again and have a drink or two. Now, I can't even pay my respects to you and mother either. Father would have buried you in the family crypt," Amy whispered melancholy to herself.

She wiped away her tears and stood back up. "I have work tomorrow. Yes...the festival is tomorrow. The security of the royal family is at stake here. I mustn't be distracted. Please be ok..." Downing three pints of beer, Amy drifted into a dreamless sleep that night.

Day of the Festival, Amayth, Arriving at West District, 11:05 AM

"Uh, lieutenant Lockwood, you feeling alright?" asked Kormac.

"No, not particularly. I had one too many pints before I went to bed," she groaned

"Celebrating the night before eh? Who would'a thought you'd do something like that? That's not like you," Kormac quipped.

"I'm not in the mood right now Kormac. Sorry."

"Oh...well, it's rare to see you so serious. Alright, I'll leave you alone then."

***Just waiting for other IC.

The young woman ran through the streets, the inquisitors not far behind Angie. For eight days now, she’d never paused long to rest, for ever the pursuit was not far behind her. She’d have fled Amaryth long ago but for the fact that she knew nothing of the land surrounding the city, let alone how to survive on her own out there. Rarely did a hiding place work for more than an hour or two. It was almost as if the inquisitors could sense her location somehow, no matter how well she hid.

It was only through the aid of the city’s canines that she had managed to avoid capture so long, for whenever she hid, she asked canines around her to stand watch and warn her when the inquisitors approached. It wasn’t much of a watch, but it had served well enough so far. Each day, she went to a different part of the city, hoping to find a safe place, but always failing. Slowly she was starting to lose all hope.

Angie’s hope spiked to new heights when she heard the rumors spoken of about this “embassy” owned by the mysterious Kalesians. Nobody knew much about that foreign people from beyond the impassable Karak claw mountains. Half she’d heard was probably false, the other half embellished beyond sense. The one thing that had interested her was how it was said they protected evokers, how they did not bow to the whims of the Order of Idris. It was for that reason alone that she sought to find that embassy (whatever that word meant).

~|~

“My Lady.”

Alessia heard the voice of her personal servant through the haze of sleep. It was expectant, but she did not wish to rise yet. Her body ached all over from travel - she had arrived only last night and the journey from Kalesia’s capital to Amaryth was neither short nor forgiving, especially for the first major journey she had made. Etiquette demanded she not childishly pull the thin sheets - present only for the sake of modesty, for more thick covers would’ve been stiflingly hot in this overly warm land - further over herself in protest, but she still feigned sleep a while longer.

“My Lady.”

More insistent this time. Her servant would not be so bold as to mother her, but it was as much the servants duty to ensure their charges were where they needed to be when they were needed as it was the Nobles to command the servants. The moment she stirred, the servant turned back to the door to leave the room while Alessia dressed. She had heard that in some places of the world, royalty and nobility were so pampered that they did not even have to put their own clothes on. How servants could be so disrespected was beyond Alessia’s comprehension. Nobles may be respected more, but only because they worked harder to achieve their position. Servants were every bit as important as the Nobles that commanded them.

As she dressed, favouring cool clothing that left little to the imagination (though hid enough that she might not appear a harlot) above the waist, her servant began to list her itinerary through the door. It was strange, she had found that her days were being planned more and more by others ever since she had acquired the relic. She did not know if she was pleased at the simplification of life or annoyed to lose control she was so used to having - time would tell. The first few events of the day seemed to be meetings with the current diplomatic staff to update her on the vagaries of the current Othean politics - a dull but necessary chore that would likely be rushed to allow for more time at the next event - the festival opening. Though not the most skilled diplomat in residence, Alessia was nobility, and that afforded her additional privilege that the diplomats could not gain so easily on their own. Othean officials were obligated to follow Alessia’s requests to a certain extent, for, in the eyes of the Othean rulership, Alessia’s opinion would count far more in Kalesia than the diplomats.

She exited the room stiffly, satisfied with her appearance, just as her servant was finishing listing the days events. She had only listened to some of them, quite sure that she would be led where she was needed anyway. “Thank you Lydia.” Alessia said genuinely to her servant, a women slightly shorter than herself but much more heavily set. Lydia was both a servant and a bodyguard, not that the Otheans were notified of the second role. Though she had armor and a sword, Lydia would not be wearing those until Imperial plans moved much further along, and she hardly needed them anyway, not against common rabble and thugs. “If you would be so kind as to accompany me to the courtyard? I would see this city in the light before I am locked in a room with nothing but diplomats for company.” Though phrased as a question, it was of course a command. Alessia did have the right to command this entire operation however she wished, not she would, for a multitude of reasons. Her servant smirked at the tone she used to refer to the diplomats, picking up on all that went unsaid for the sake of politeness and etiquette, though she wasted no time leading the way to the courtyard.

~|~

It was not long after dawn when Angie had to flee her latest hiding place, the reeking alley behind a tanner’s shop. One of the local residents’ hounds had come running down the alley, barking the warning that a cadre of inquisitors was approaching. Considering how little time had passed since she found that spot to hide in, that meant she’d gotten a grand total of two hours sleep.

Crawling out from under the pile of rubbish, Angie started running the opposite direction from the Inquisitors. Thankfully the alley wasn’t a dead end. She didn’t really know what way to go, so she kept running the direction she thought might be eastwards. Her clothes were filthy from a week of sleeping wherever she could find cover, but were still mostly whole. She had no doubt that she herself reeked.

It was only by chance that she ran straight at the Kalesian Embassy. She didn’t read too well, but her mother had taught her the basics so that she could help her father in his bakery. When she got to the gate, she started banging on it with her fist, hoping that someone would open, despite the early hour.

~|~

A commotion began at the gate as Alessia stepped outside. The guards, resplendent in polished breastplates and mail, were already moving, though they looked as though they did not know entirely whether they should open the gate or push the desperate woman on the other side of it away with spears. It took hardly a moment for Alessia to assess the situation. The woman looked common in all respects but one. Her eyes were an unnaturally bright shade of yellow. That could only mean one thing. She was an Evoker. Likely now come to the Embassy to seek refuge, given the state she was in. As if to illustrate the point beyond all doubt, a group of men bearing the seal of the Order of Idris rounded a corner down the street and began sprinting towards them at first sight of the woman at the gate.

Alessia wasted no time in acting. “Guards.” She said with the authority of one used to commanding, projecting her voice over the commotion. “Bring that woman inside the gate.” To their credit, the Guards were quick to obey, one of them swinging half of the gate open while the other ushered the woman through the opening. As this happened, Alessia made her way towards the gate, preparing to confront the Idris Inquisitors that were pursuing her. She hardly noticed it, but Lydia shadowed her every step, ready to leap to her ladies’ defense should this be a ruse.

~|~

When the door opened after what felt like an eternity of banging, Angie breathed a sigh of relief, for in the background she could see the inquisitors approaching, even as the hounds told her of others approaching from other directions. “Thank you! Thank you! The inquisitors have been hunting me for days now!”

~|~

Just as he thought they’d caught the elusive evoker they’d been pursuing for days, Stevan Vlahovic, inquisitor of the Order of Idris, saw her being pulled inside the so-called embassy of the Kalesian Empire. “heathen scum.” he muttered, fuming over how they frequently interfered where they had no right to do so. His troops, a cadre of junior inquisitors, followed closely at his heels, even as he knew other inquisitors were converging from other directions.

He did not hesitate a second when he saw the Kalesians taking up position outside the gates of the embassy. He marched straight up, stopping right before the gates. “In the name of the Order of Idris, you will hand over the criminal fugitive that just entered this compound. Immediately.”

~|~

Alessia shot the girl a reassuring smile as thanks flowed like a river. She would deal with her after she turned the Inquisitors away. Putting her best official smile on, she stood a short distance from the gate and addressed the Inquisitors, hiding her amusement at the looks they had on their faces from defeat being snatched from the jaws of triumph. “Criminal?” She said, exaggerating surprise. “And what, may I ask, are her crimes?”

The inquisitor looked at the Kalesian Ambassador. Though the guards stood interposed between him and her, he could still easily see her. “She is an abomination against nature. An evoker. The worst scum of all! Idris himself decreed that no evoker should be let live!” The religious fervor in his voice was crystal-clear as he spoke. “Turn her over this instant!”

Part of Alessia felt a great deal of revulsion for this man and his beliefs, especially as he was unknowingly calling her those things as well, though she was far too composed to show it. When she replied, it was with a hint of mock seriousness, just to make sure her point was felt “I am afraid that simply being an evoker is not considered a crime in Kalesia… If you can provide the embassy with a list of this womans other crimes we may be able to arrange extradition to the Othean state. With all the correct documentation of course.” Alessia maintained her best diplomatic smile the whole time, despite her desire to laugh at the increasingly crimson face on the other side of the gate.

“Extradite? She’s on Othean Soil! And that means she belongs to me. Turn her over now!” He shouted at the woman, fuming at her infuriating use of diplomatic language. He could not believe she would dare to oppose him. He was an inquisitor of Idris!

“I am afraid you are incorrect.” Alessia began. “Your order holds no authority in the Kalesian Empire, and per the terms of our treaty with Othea, this Embassy is Sovereign Kalesian land. While on Kalesian soil -” she made a point of using the same word as the man had. “- She will be protected as any visitor to the Empire is, so long as she follows our laws. I am afraid formal extradition is the only option.” Alessia looked as though she was finishing, but just before the man could speak again she continued “Unless you intend to cross the border and take her, despite her being granted asylum. An act of war.”

“Gah!” he growled between his firmly closed teeth. He knew he’d been outmaneuvered this time. “You’ve not heard the last of this! Mark my words! She will be mine!” He turned about, marching off, his lackeys following at his heels. He knew just what to do. The Order had long had virtually free reign under the King Hrodlaf. It should be small matter to get a royal decree demanding that the heathens turn over the prisoner.

~|~

Alessia’s smile grew triumphant as the man turned away, spouting typical revenge blather. He did not seem a subtle man, though that did not mean he was not dangerous. The power held by the Order of Idris in this land was great, that she had learned before departing her homeland, and she doubted it had changed much in the time it took her to make the trip. She liked to believe that the oppression of Idris in the west was one of the reasons that the Empire was finally moving as it was, but that was speculation for another time. Right now, she had a young evoker to save. turning to the young woman, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the smell, she asked kindly “What is your name? I am Alessia.”

Angie had been terrified the whole time the Kalesian and that inquisitor argued, even if she had been indescribably thankful that someone actually took her side. It took her a while to figure out what the Kalesian said, for though the language was the same, the accent was quite strong. It was through listening to the Inquisitor she got the gist of the discussion, which made her smile a little. “Ev’ryone calls me Angie.” she whispered shyly.

“Angie.” Alessia spoke the name, it sounded very… common. When she continued, she tried to speak slowly and clearly to overcome what the girl evidently thought to be a strong accent. “Well Angie, let us not linger in the courtyard. You are safe here.” She motioned to the Guards to keep the gates shut and go back to their duty before turning to head back inside the building, looking expectantly at the girl to follow. On the way she called Lydia close and quickly spoke to her “Please prepare a bath and some fresh clothes post haste for our guest.” Once inside she turned to the girl again and spoke, once again slowly and clearly. “My servants are preparing a bath, while they do, can I ask you some questions?”

Angie’s eyes lit up at the mention of a bath. With her sense of smell, she knew just how much she reeked. That offer made her opinion of this Alessia rise even higher up. Smiling widely, she nodded at the woman.

“You are an Evoker.” Alessia began, as tenderly as she could. There was no denying it with the way her eyes looked. “May I ask how long you have been this way?” At this point the girl really had only one choice if she wished to survive the Idris fanatics, but it still helped Alessia to know how much the girl knew. The less, the better, for she would be more accepting of Kalesian ways.

The statement shocked Angie a bit, but she couldn’t deny it. It was not as if there was any way to hide it. Nor, if she’d understood the earlier words correctly, was there any need to do so. She was more than a little thankful to the Kalesian for her speaking slowly and carefully. It made understanding her so much easier. “A few months, I think. ‘twas back in spring.” As they spoke, she followed the Kalesian deeper into the compound.

Not long… That was good. “What are you good at?” Perhaps an unusual question so early in conversation for some, but in the Empire a person was defined by their role in society. Knowing someones skills was important to a Kalesian.

“Well…” she murmured. “I trained under my da as a baker. I can read a little. And of course i can smell, see and hear better’n most.” She thought for a bit more. “Oh, and that hound over there really likes the gate guards. They keep giving him sausages.” The hound in question raised its head and smiled at her, his tail wagging at the attention he got.

Alessia laughed at the last comment, enjoying the humour of the situation even as she calculated. Though she had not really intended for it to be a description of the relics abilities, it did save her asking the question later. “Alright Angie, thank you for answering my questions. This is Lydia-” She pointed at her servant. “When you are finished, and feel free to take as long as you wish, she will bring you back to me and we will speak of the future.” With that she turned and walked down the corridor towards one of the meeting rooms. Her discussion with the diplomats was likely to be far more interesting than she had predicted.

Angie smiled and nodded, then followed the servant into the bathing chamber. She quickly got out of her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. The only thing she took with her from there was her relic. This she also took into the bathwater, laying it on the bottom of the tub as she took her time washing. By the time she finished, the water had taken on a dark gray color, but she felt worlds cleaner. Getting out of the water, she found that the servant, Lydia, had left a small pile of clothes on a bench along one wall, along with a large, thick towel. She dried herself thoroughly and put in the clothes, though it took her a good while to figure out some of the fittings. Though her family had not been poor, the weave of these clothes was much, much richer than any she had ever before worn. The color was a dark green, not unlike forest foliage, and it fitted her reasonably well, which came as a bit of a surprise, considering she’d been there less than an hour. Her relic she concealed beneath the clothes.

Only once that was all done did she go out of the chamber to figure out what else Alessia might want of her. Staying here would be perfect, she thought. Safe from the Inquisitors, safe from harm.

Amy was thirsty. The weather was heating up as the day agonizingly passed by. Her head was still throbbing from last night's hangover and her mouth tasted something awfully dry. Her eyes, for whatever reason itched ever slightly and every attempt rubbing them appeared to make the problem worse. Her stomach growled.

Thirst, hunger and a hangover. Brilliant. Now that she thought about it, yesterday night her dinner was only three pints of beer and today, she didn't eat anything since she woke up at nine this morning. She was a train wreck and she knew this. The sudden death of Albert and his family weighed heavily on Amy's mind as she continued patrolling the West District. Why did it matter that her name was no longer Beauchene? Could she not pay her respects to her dear brother? No, of course not. The servants of the house wouldn't let her approach the manor, let alone the family graveyard where Father no doubt buried him.

Elric. Perhaps her eldest brother could fill her in with details. But, that would have to wait until her duties are finished.

She paused and looked around for an inn. The Gutted Karak? she mouthed wordlessly. The heat was really getting to her as well as the hunger, thirst, and worrying. She turned towards her men.

"Alright, we are taking a break."

The men under her control looked skeptical. "We still have an hour or two until..."

"You'd prefer if we continue in this blazing heat? I should have worn something lighter if I knew this weather would be so hot. Grab something to eat and drink in there."

Her troops entered the inn. In an instant, the inn's boisterous and rancorous nature became quiet. Naturally, that would have happened but today was a special day and the patrons there paid little attention to the guards that just entered.

"What do you have?" she asked the innkeeper.

"Today's menu's up there," the innkeeper replied.

"Let me have a slice of rye bread, a large bowl of pottage and brie cheese. Here's the money."

She sat down to eat, feeling a little bit better after taking a bite of bread.

Myth, at this point, had gotten used to being alone. After leaving his father some time before, armored and armed, he had to walk quite some distance before reaching a town. Days, actually, just trudging through the dark green forest, always under the shade of the leafy branches of the oak forest. He could hunt well enough; his arm was strong, his aim true, his eyesight sharp, and his tracking adequate. Throwing a knife is a much deadlier option for him than a bow; he threw with more accuracy and speed than others might draw and shoot a bow. While lacking in range, Myth had ways to get in close without alarming the local wildlife.

That was one of the Blademaster's more important lessons- melee or throwing weapons may be deadly, but they're no use against a trained archer. Getting in close without being skewered is a must-know. Training with animals more alert than any soldier is great practice- despite not being very stealthy, Myth can move quietly. Maybe not blend in, but stay unnoticed. But that was when he was being stealthy. Today was not a stealthy day.

He rode down the worn-in path towards Amaryth, still some distance away but the most direct route from... where he was. Or so the map said. He figured that maps couldn't be trusted all that well, unless you get them from a cartographer's guild in a large city, such as a capital one. Part of the reason why he needed to go to Amaryth. His horse clip-clopped along the path- he had already decided that it was a very well-bred horse, taken care of and carefully cared for by the stablemaster he had bought it from. A beautiful brown horse. Well, beautiful in his opinion- the horse was odd, in that it was much smaller than a warhorse or something else more suitable for a warrior, had shaggy-ish hair, and was rather stout. The man who had raised him called him "Tug," and said there's no way any horse would beat him at anything. (reference)

Riding along on him, he found that the horse seemed to have endless stamina- he trotted and trotted and trotted, never getting tired. He had been surprised by the little horse's sprint- very fast, and able to jump out of the way, or jump over things. And now, he was riding it towards Amaryth, intent on getting some know-how on their way of doing things with the sharp pointy steel pokers, and on getting known and maybe be some kind of... blademaster, really. Not much way to put it in any different way.

His thoughts of his goals and his horse was interrupted when he took notice of something didn't belong in this kind of forest- a small piece of tan cloth, snagged on a prickly bush on the edge of the road. Taking care not to move any differently, he kept riding on. As he approached the bush, a man stepped out, a rusty sworded sheathed through a rusty iron ring attached to his belt. A primitive way to carry a weapon, but it worked well enough. The man strode out in front of him, still a short distance away, calling, "Halt! These are civilized lands, mate, and one must pay for the protection put on these roads! So if you'd kindly..." he eyed the coinpurse at Myth's side in a decidedly greedy way, "hand over a good tax, we'll let you be on your way. Wouldn't want to get in the way of important business, as a man such as yourself might be heading off to!"

Myth, on horse with about six saddlebags, with two longswords sheathed on both hips, a shield across his back, and several knives and daggers both hidden and revealed across his person eyed the man skeptically. He had read plenty of books- these were obviously bandits. "Alright, why don't you bring your men out from the trees so I can pay you all evenly? Wouldn't want to have you squabbling for each other's throats if only one of you got the money, now would we?" Myth said, dismounting from his short horse, and slowly walking forward to meet the man. Without the man even saying anything, about half a dozen men sporting hunting bows and only one or two longbows, and a great variety of clothing, all came forward, eager to go ahead and get their money. As they gathered around Myth, he held his hands out at what he felt was the right distance, and said, "Now you all don't get too close, now, I need room to swing my blades."

They all paused, being confused and then realizing what he meant when he drew both swords, and swung, the bows in the half-dozen bandit's hands. He had swung from the front to the back, and was now eyeing the leading swordsman in a dangerous way. The bandit, seeing that he still had him outnumbered drew his own sword, intent on the large coinpurse tied to Myth's belt, jingling with every move. The other bandits, seeing that the man who was supposed to give them more and more until they had everything, drew a variety of rusty or nicked daggers and shortswords, each of them grinning with the feral hunger of wild wolves.

Myth took a look around the bandit group arrayed around him, shrugged, and said, "Very well, I will take your coin today." He spun his blades in front of him, and as the bandits seemed to take up their courage and step forward to attack, he launched himself at the left group, ploughing through them while slashing a knee and a hand. He heard a yelp and a cry; one had fallen and the other had dropped his sword. The next two swings brought about a clean cut to the chest of the third man and a cut down his thigh, which also dropped him. They seemed to have relied on scare tactics and numbers- they had a horrible pain resistance when it's combined with shock. As Myth broke away, he moved towards the forest, the bandits following him. The three that he had wounded had begun getting up, their intentionally-small wounds being covered up with the heat of hate, and they began moving after him, at a slightly slower pace.

As Myth receded into the treeline, and the world became a shady green darkness, the bandits followed eagerly, as if they'd have a better advantage against the retreating man.

A bright flash, a thunderous boom, and ten minutes passed before Myth emerged from the forest again. Behind him, hidden in the forest, were seven men tied around a tree, three dead, the others wounded but with rudimentary bandages on their wounds. Their weapons were hidden in the tree above; their coinpurses emptied by Myth. While another would think it dishonorable, Myth simply took what he could get. He had honor, for sure, but they weren't needing it, and it'd encourage them to stop looting after being looted themselves. Hopefully, that is.

Myth mounted Tug once more, who had wandered off to the opposite side of the road and was busy munching on grass, and rode off towards Amaryth, where the forests were not as thick.

" 'ey, mincemeat." Kaiden ignored Lenard's self-imposed nickname; he didn't care to respond to such petty teasing, and he certainly wasn't going to start answering any of their stupidly incessant questions about charming one's way out of a situation as a smelly, uncultured, violent brute. Once you entertain one inquiry, the rest will keep coming.. He thought to himself as he continued to tolerate Lenard's persistence in acquiring his attention. Thankfully, Tran kept silent and didn't bother him anymore, so that reduced the amount of unnecessary vibrations his ears had to deal with. The soft clink and clank of the sack of stolen goods carried by his leaner junior gave him a little bit of reassurance that they were at least doing that part of the job right.

"Oi, mincemeat." Just keep trudging, this oaf will stop soon enough.

"Ey, you listening to me??" Kaiden continued to walk on through the crowd, hoping his tireless chatter will cease to exist as long as he tops up his patience.

Suddenly, Lenard grabbed the man's shoulder, forced his ears close enough towards his mouth, and yelled, "OI, YOU FUCKIN' DEAF OR SOMETHING??" Kaiden recoiled sharply away from the mentally lacking brute, feeling his ears ring harshly and his cane falling from his hand, and tripped over a rock as his audio projections fuzzed and blurred in his mind. His body fortunately recovered his balance and cushioned his fall with his knees and elbows, but the chiming bells and the dizziness did not stop at meddling with his disorientation until he took the time to crawl away from the crowd. He felt feet rub and hit against him, and at one point, some rude, unforgiving man tripped over him, almost toppling into a bunch of barrels and crates a few meters ahead. He screamed unintelligibly at the blind, young man angrily, and delivered a swift kick to his ass, causing Kaiden to groan in pain. Oh for fuck's sake, this cannot be happening. He dragged himself with steady determination, feeling around for his surroundings, and happened upon a stone wall with an opening. He felt his head begin to stabilize more and more, and the dysfunctional tremors that sent his audio map out of whack also started to paint a more concise picture for him. He slowly crawled into the opening, spreading his legs out like a wary tortoise, and his foot smacked upon another wall at the opposite end. So this must be an alleyway then, good.. Kaiden thought to himself as he slowly recollected his mental and physical state carefully. "EY MINCEMEAT!?" The voice of Tran rang shrill and close, and his sudden swerve and halt in his momentum signified that he had found his lost companion. "Oi, lugnut! Mincemeat is here. No you dumb ass, over here!!" The rumbling mini quakes that came with each heavy step told Kaiden that both of his “comrades” were running to his “rescue”. His jaws clenched hard, and his hands balled into fists tightly with anger within a snap of a finger.

Kaiden slowly got up to steady himself. As Lenard approached within reach, he did a hard sidekick to his abdominal area into a wall, making the titan groan with pain and sharp surprise, and flicked a throwing knife dangerously close to his face. The blade nicked a part of his cheek and caused a thin ribbon of blood to dribble down his neck. Packing an eerily serene smile that sent shivers down both Lenard and Tran’s spine, he slowly unsheathed one of his short swords menacingly and slashed the weapon at the hulk’s neck. The razor sharp edge of the steel halted abruptly mere centimeters away from the Lenard’s soft, pulsing artery, and the blade stayed there for what seemed like forever. The boulder of a man could not stop his teeth’s incessant chatter, the sweat from bathing his entire face, and his face from holding a constant, terrified expression. The boy could sense Tran’s violently trembling knees and the soft, rapid pulsing of his heart against, and his sinister grin grew ever so slightly in knowing that he inflicted the desired psychological effect. “Listen you smug, cocky, asswipe,” Kaiden growled in a deep, threatening voice. “Don’t ever. EVER. Fucking scream in my ear ever again. I could have slaughtered you filthy, lowly scum several hours ago when you annoyed the SHIT out of me, but I was being kind and generous. However, I’m not a fucking charity, so don’t expect me to keep sustaining the seconds on your pathetic lives if you keep this crap up.” He moved the tip of the blade from his neck and jutted it towards Lenard’s eyes. “You wouldn’t like it if I scraped off your eyes ever so slowly, and you wouldn’t like it if I just chopped off your arms and legs to bleed you out, right?” The titanic figure hastily nodded his head in agreement, and Kaiden allowed himself to blow some steam in a heavy, drawn-out sigh while slowly sliding the sword back into its sheath. “My ears count for two senses: my “vision”, and my hearing, so loud noises that are near to me will disrupt me heavily,” he explained in a steady, controlled voice that leaked of exasperation as he turned out of the ally and walked towards the nearby Gutted Karak in the West District. “I need them to fully work to even get by in life, just as you need your eyes and your ears to be a healthy human being. So don’t be a dumb fuck next time, and keep your mouth far, FAR AWAY from my ears. Understand?” The terrified duo moved their heads up and down in unison, not saying a word, and meekly followed him from behind to sell their stolen goods in the inn where a well-known, underground fence awaited their arrival.

Lavica walked around Amaryth, lost and confused with no one with her. She had lost Roan once she entered the city and Lavica felt an amount of relief and fear at his disappearance. On one hand, she wouldn’t have to worry about a hungry beast feasting on her bones, but now she would have to worry about unruly men and thieving urchins. Lavica cleared her throat and glanced around the buildings for an inn for her to stay at.

Distantly, Lavica wondered what her mother would be up to at that exact moment. Lavica imagined she would be doing nothing except sitting around, cooped up in the Nizak estate. Lavica shuddered at the thought; the moment she became queen, she would set her sights on Kalnach. Her journey would be hard and long, but Lavica was positive that she would get it done. She would go down in history – she would change the world!

Without noticing it, Lavica had travelled towards the docks. Glancing around, she picked the first inn she saw – The Gutted Karak – and entered it.

“May I have a room for the night?” Lavica inquired and she received the key.

Her room did not hold the extravagance she was used to, but Lavica decided that this was best to keep a low profile in case her father had intended to come after her. Throwing the small knapsack she had onto the shabby bed, Lavica departed from the inn and walked around for a bit. There were posters all around, one of them advertising something about fighting and Lavica tore it down, folding and stuffing it into her trousers’ pocket, intending to check it out later.

The Evoker decided that maybe she should attempt to find Roan considering he had a Relic as well. She began shoving through the crowd, using her elbows and shoulders in any way possible.

“Understand?”A voice ahead of her said, and she ran into the poor. Stepping back, she called out a unladylike word which she took much pride in saying.

“Watch it.” Lavica hissed, crossing her arms and awaiting an apology even though it might have been her fault.

Roan was nervous.

The hairs on his neck stood erect and his eyes roamed the streets crowded scene, narrowing on every blonde headed woman only to realize it wasn’t Lavica. His teeth gritted in frustration, not anger, gnawing at him while he let out a slight snort to acknowledge it. Even more aware he was currently standing among a crowd with little clue where to head next. On top of that, he had lost Nizak which in his mind was just a sign of ill fated trouble to come.

He was growing more and more irritated after the crowd had parted, leaving him alone and absent of the blonde. Even now in his completely stopped position, more bodies, some who thickly stank with sweat, hay and shit, had moved into to fill the void her absence made and furthermore put him on edge. Reflexively his knuckles had tightened about his spear and eyes minded its direction, not wanted to impale anyone rude enough to get in its way during his navigation through this ‘sea’ made from people. His figure was very stiff while his mind was a frenzied unsettled mess, his head jerked about at any motion that caught his attention, his breathing slightly soft and quick to reflect his nerves. One reason was because he was in unfamiliar territory. The other was the need to find Lavica and very fast, not liking the notion he might discover her in a damp alley or worse, dead in a filthy ditch.

It would also make him less edgy, a fact he didn’t like this feeling a bit. Not when his Relic had stated to sense his emotional stress and now was burning like cold ice against his skin drawing slight concern as he breathed in order to force himself to settle down. He inhaled and exhaled twice until the feeling had edged away. Not gone but far less intense than before, a positive sign in Roan’s head. Around him, bodies still roamed about without consideration for personal space though he ignored it, still gritting his teeth through the experience.

For a moment, Roan found his nervous state…odd.

This wasn’t the first time he had been in a city as his mind drifted to his childhood, inwardly reflexed on source and seemingly to come up empty. Roan concluded he had been out in the wilderness for far too long, now needed time for him to get use to the city again. He felt a brief smile curl his outer mouth edge then fade. Inside he was pleased with the answer though his instinct had twitched that it wasn’t the reason. That it was far deeper.

Now wasn’t the time to get paranoid he chided himself. His blue eyes swept along the scene, trying to find clues to his current whereabouts or at least landmarks. From the number of lower class and a few less than savory characters, this wasn’t a place Roan wanted to be.

It seemed his luck only spiraled farther when his eyes spotted two, no...five characters who had been staring in his direction for far too long. At first he had thought they were waiting patiently for a companion, bartering or seeking something else, but those thoughts shortly vanished when he moved. As if some invisible thread had been pulled they started to follow in his wake. His eyes narrowed yet his body gave little away, his feet still locked within their steady pace while he followed the wall closely. Something wasn’t right and he felt it deep within his pale skin, his teeth gritted in frustration at the misfortune, including feeling like a herded animal. Not a sensation he seemed to be able to tolerate. Personally, Roan wanted to avoid a fight and it wasn’t because he was afraid for his safety. Rather he didn't like the idea of what his inner wolf might do to the several thugs or worse that were following him. He just knew it wasn’t going to be pretty and escape was his best option, his eyes flickered for a way out while his hand slipped discreetly to get his knife.

With a quick turn on his heel, his spear still in his grip, Roan moved.

He spotted the five men close behind, eating the distance and hot on his heels. His attention centered on the men so heavily, he hadn’t seen Lavica or the man she had stumbled into, alongside his fellows near his location. He even barely avoided colliding with someone coming out of what might’ve been a clinic though his mind wasn’t sure. Roan grunted a quick apology without stopping his path. The whole time, looking nervous and unsettled until he entered the alley.

A dead end.

Roan cursed his stupidity, realizing in moments his stalkers were about to raze hell. Forcing him into a situation less wanted than before and even worse, he had given them the chance. His teeth reflexively bared in instinct while let out a slight, soft snarl. Already he spotted the shadows betraying the men’s approach.

What did he do now...his mind paused and looked at his knife. He weighed the risk only to sudden flip his head about, hearing the uttered curse of a man followed by the snicker of his companions. Roan bitterly realized there wasn’t any time left. His hand clasped about his blade then ripped it across his palm. He hissed in pain. Then his eyes traveled to look at the blood pooling at his cut and start to glide down. Pain ripped across his flesh causing him to hunch down, his bones cracked, fur sprouted, and muscles flared into his wolfen form. It was much shorter than it had been the first time. He only hoped it was fast enough.

Western District,
The City of Amaryth
It had been three hours already... Three long hours of sitting as still as possible, in a space too cramped for the human body, drenched and cold, with little distraction and just as little fresh air. Shin was still waiting for the two men that were supposed to have started a meeting an hour ago in 'The Shining Swordfish', a shabby tavern in the Western district that was well past its days of glory. Once renowned for its fresh and well flavoured fish -the host claimed that it still was- these days the place was primarily known for being in an area with a lack of regular guard patrols. As a result, the tavern was often used as a meeting spot for Amaryth's scum. Other than the name suggested, the place was nowhere near shining, and Shin was more than happy that he had already booked a room in an inn on the other side of the city. The taproom was small and stank of smoke, must, sweat and local alcohol and only one old, bearded man and the innkeeper were present. Obviously, the place was nowhere near popular, especially not this early in the morning.

Shin moved his left foot slightly, trying to shake off the numb feeling that had settled in it without disturbing the water that surrounded him. He was starting to think that his informant may have been wrong, when the front door opened and a man entered. Shin couldn't quite distinguish him, but he could hear the door slamming open and shut again, followed by the sound of one pair of boots on the wooden floor, leading towards a table in the back. The same table as where the old man was sitting. After agreeing with the owner, the two were left alone -in exchange for a few gold. The new man sat down and waited until the innkeeper left. After making sure there was nobody else in the room, the two started talking in a hushed tone, barely audible despite them being alone. Judging from their tone, the old man was angry at the younger one for being so late - something Shin agreed on with him.

Moving as carefully as he could, Shin crawled towards them. He admired their cautiousness, but more so he found it interesting. Usually, criminals would feel comfortable in places such as these, but something had these two on edge. Something interesting no doubt. Having experience with cautious men like these -and being one himself-, Shin had taken care that the two wouldn't be able to see him. If he really tried, they wouldn't have noticed him even if he had sat on the same table as them, but being in an unfamiliar city, Shin had decided to take extra precautions. Instead of being in the same room as the two he had to spy on, Shin was underneath them. Waiting below the floor for a few hours in a tavern built so close to the docks that the water reached his thighs, wasn't the most comfortable plan that had crossed his mind, but it was the safest. He had scanned the place the previous evening, but as usual in foreign places, Shin simply stood out too much to go unnoticed, even in such a shady establishment.

With some effort, Shin had manoeuvred close enough to the men to be able to listen in to them, without attracting their attention -thank Yuwhae. Luckily, the planks were placed irregularly enough to grant him some sight and Shin carefully watched the bearded old man as he spoke.

"...should know tha' now. We just can' afford to risk i', no' with a load like this." Apparently, the man had some trouble with pronouncing the letter 't' and Shin tried his best to place the accent. After a few moments, it dawned on him. The man was an Oragossi... or he was missing a few teeth.

"Yah, yah. Yah don't need ta remind me all tha time Thar, I bloody told yah why that is, so get to tha point already would yah? Why meet at such a godsversak'n time"

The old man looked around once more, obviously his nerves were haunting him. He continued on an even softer tone. Only parts of words were audible now. Shin would have sighed in annoyance, weren't it for his lifelong training in the art of stealth. Even a soft sigh in a silence like this would immediately attract attention. For a moment he wished that he had simply relied on his mask and had positioned himself in the room itself. Disturbed, he brushed the feeling aside. Excitement only led to a quick death, he knew that much by now. The logical reason why he had chosen to be here of all places, was that the mask wasn't all that reliable... At least, not at all times... Slowly but steady, he took one step. Followed by another...

When suddenly, the ground gave way and Shin felt himself falling down into nothingness.

He remembered swimming, darkness, bitter cold, a seemingly endless tunnel and then air, sweet air. Followed by an even deeper shade of darkness.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he came to again. It could have been hours, days even. But analytic as always, Shin figured that it wouldn't have been more than an hour, seeing that his clothes were still damp and he was lying in a relatively dry place. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness around him, Shin became aware of his surroundings.

He stood at the far end of a long tunnel, some might even have argued it to be a hall, which led down, deeper into the earth. It appeared to be manmade as Shin was able to easily walk with a straight back without touching the ceiling, and even a second man could have walked beside him. Moreover, the stones felt unnaturally smooth under his feet. Deciding that it had no use to go back, seeing how Thar and his buddy would have no doubt heard him splashing around, and he had planned on checking the tavern more thoroughly either way, Shin continued onwards. Perhaps he had accidentally stumbled upon the hiding spot of a band of criminals.

At that thought, Shin instinctively reached for his side, to the empty place where his twin blades usually hang. A soft grunt of displeasure escaped him, when he remembered that he had chosen stealth and speed over strength for this mission. He had left the swords behind in his room, hidden and safe, but of no use to him now. The only weapons he had on him were a few knifes as well as his abilities. Shin's hand reached up to his face. Touching his mask always gave him a sense of focus and security . After all, one cannot hit what one cannot see. The next moment, Shin's figure disappeared. He had draped the little shadows that could be found as a cloak around him, hiding him from the view of any who could possibly be watching.

Not too long after, the tunnel reached an end and turned into a large grotto. A single beam of light reached down, illuminating this wonder of nature. The roof appeared to be even taller than the palace of Amaryth and it stretched out further than Shin's trained eyes could tell. In the middle of the beam of light, stood a tall statue. The thing piqued Shin's interest, and as he walked closer to it, he could make out more details. It was a very realistic statue of a man, and judging from his somewhat alien eying armour and the expensive looking pendant around his neck, the man was a lord of some kind. With his 6 feet, Shin felt dwarfed by this giant of a man. Then again, perhaps the sculptor had exaggerated somewhat to please his lordship. His attention was drawn back to the armour the man wore. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, and in his years, Shin had seen a fair share of armours. The helmet covered the figure's face and the whole armour was blacker than night itself and obviously meant to intimidate people. As if that hadn't been enough, the sculptor had decided to add a massive shield and flail. A smirk formed behind Shin's mask as he pictured the sculpture. Trying his very best to impress his lord, he had added details that weren't right. Nobody would be able to carry those things. Then again, a man of this statue might just be able to do so.

As his eyes were drawn back to the pendant around the figure's neck, an odd feeling of foreboding came over Shin. That necklace... It had the colour of silver and a green gem in the middle, but the gem was shining too bright to be made out of mere stone like the rest of the statue... Moreover, it somehow didn't match the figure itself, as if it was a real necklace that had been put around the stone neck. As the feeling turned into something close to panic, Shin took a few steps back. Gods, why hadn't he checked for traps the moment he arrived? Quickly, Shin grabbed one of his knives, took off the glove on his left hand and cut his ring finger. Any hint of pain was hidden by the mask on which a smear of blood appeared as Shin stroked his finger across it. A soundless prayer crossed Shin's lips, as he felt the effort of using two of the mask's powers at the same time weigh down on him. Calming his thoughts, he took a few moments to focus on the figure as he felt the pressure of his mask against his face. The world turned black, with the exception of-

"Fen's face..."

On Shin's retina, the 'statue' was glowing in a bright bluish tint. The statue was no statue at all, it was a living being. An evoker.

---

Blackness. An endless void of rolling blackness, and the Baron was at the center of it. Days, weeks, years, centuries, He couldn't be sure of how long he had been trapped here in the infinite black. He wasn't even sure what any of it was... Truly, his imprisonment was cruel in one of the worst ways imaginable. An eternity of... nothingness. Though still conscious. Nothing but himself and regret... He wondered what had become of the heroes that had stopped him. They had become kings or lords no doubt, they were always of the greedy sort... And this blackness, his own soul, perhaps? Or maybe even something darker...

It was then that he had... felt something. He had not felt in centuries. Or was it hours? He did not know... Slowly, feeling returned to his fingers. Of course, it was good that the intruder had discerned that he was actually alive, or he might be much more frightened at the statue's fingers starting to move. He felt... cold. Slowly, he felt his body return to him. Stone had begun to flake off the statue as he took several slow steps forward. His movements were sluggish, as if his limbs had all fallen asleep. Thankfully for him, 'forward' wasn't towards the invisible being. So at least the man wouldn't get violent... maybe.

Breathing could then be heard from the man. Pained, deep breaths. He huffed and puffed as he fell to his knees, his gear clattering to the ground. He was nearly fully in control, but seemed in poor shape... He looked around, He did not recognize this place. The last thing he had remembered was suffering an appallingly clichéd speech about friendship at his throne room, and then blackness. He seemed shocked for a moment, and reached to his neck. He seemed to relax as his fingers curled around his pendant. Becoming that statue should have been fatal... "M-mara..." He said to himself, softly. It was odd that such a gentle voice could come from a man like that.

He felt his power next... He could feel the earth again. He tested it, lowing his palm to the ground. He felt everything, every minor tremor... But there was an anomaly. Pressure on the stone, vibrations from slight movements. Tell-tale signs of a man's presence. But there was no man... "Show yourself. I am no threat." He said. His voice was firm and strong, but carried not an ounce of aggression. Still, one couldn't be too careful.

It took Shin a few moments to recover from the shock of seeing that huge statue come to live. That first shock was quickly replaced by a second when it turned out that the man was aware of Shin's presence. Why? How? Most likely, the man possessed a relic similar to Shin's, allowing him to see other evokers. For a moment, Shin considered showing himself and asking the giant all about his relic, but his sense of duty prevailed. A small, invisible smile played around Shin's lips as he realized that he just might have stumbled across a more important secret than any band of bandits in Othea.

More important questions came to him. Who was the man? How had he ended up here of all places? Was he a pawn of Othea, some criminal that had been locked away here or a lone evoker with the ability to turn into a statue-like version of himself? A small voice even whispered that perhaps the man had been sent here to kill Shin. That however, as well as the third option didn't seem very likely, seeing how the man's first words had been a gentle... name? After pondering on these questions and some others, Shin decided to at least respond to the man. If he had wanted Shin dead, he could have use whatever abilities made him aware of his presence, to kill him in one swift blow. However, caution always prevailed.

"Tell me who you are and who you are loyal to, then I will decide for myself whether you truly are of no threat to... me." he stated, while shifting back and forth to disguise the direction of his voice. Almost, Shin had added 'my nation', which would have given away far too much of his own identity and goals. While the words themselves were full of confidence and something close to conceitedness, Shin's deep voice simply sounded calculating, and carried a message of pragmatism. His accent betrayed foreign roots, but judging from the way the giant had spoken, it was quite possible that Shin wasn't the only foreigner in this particularly grotto.

The Baron simply stared off in the general direction of the visitor, awaiting a response. He could feel where the man was, and from the slight shifting in his position, it was indeed a man. He was even considering violent action, before the silence was finally broken. The words were coming from slightly different locations, but he could feel every step the man took. He kept his eyes firmly trained on where he suspected the man was going, turning his head so this mystery man would know that he could 'see' him.

He considered this man's words... He specifically asked his allegiance. He had also taken a pause at the end, before saying 'me.' Now, if he were a normal person that had just happened upon him, he would have asked 'Who are you and what do you want.' or something similar, who cares where he called home? Thus, this man must be a foreigner to... wherever he was. And not only that, but he had a hunch that this man was likely directly employed by some sort of government... but for what purpose, and where? Or was he just wrong? Either way, there seemed to be little harm in answering truthfully.

Isaiah sighed, kicking his equipment towards the man as he slowly raised his arms in the air. "My name is Isaiah Markul. I am loyal to no one." His tone was just as level, and as non-hostile as always. Truth be told, he was a bit worried. If this man had been sent to kill him, or was simply insane, he doubted that he could fend off a skilled opponent in his current condition... "I know not where you are from, ghost. But where I come from we have our conversations face to face. If I had wished you harm I would have attempted doing so by now, so once again I humbly request you show yourself."

When the giant -or rather, Isaiah- turned his head to follow Shin's movement, the Da-Hyuni had to face the facts. After all, being invisible is utterly pointless when the one you're hiding from can still see you. Isaiah's statement that he was loyal to no one was quite encouraging however, especially since he sounded so sincere. Thus, with a swift movement of his arm, Shin dropped the shades, allowing the giant to see him.

While both clad in black, the two men formed a great contrast. Shin was short and wiry, where Isaiah was broad and imposing. Shin was clad in (still soaked) dark cloth, while Isaiah wore his imposing armour. Both had covered their faces, Shin's mask and Isaiah's helmet. For this occasion, Shin had manipulated the light to make his mask take on the appearance of a snow white oval, adorned with a narrow black shadow. He manipulated the steady pulse of light that always flowed from the mask, to make sure it wouldn't be a beacon of light but appear like a 'normal' mask.

Slowly, making sure that Isaiah would know there was no threat in his movement, Shin stretched out his arms, showing the other that he had no swords or such on him. To clarify that he had no evil intents, Shin spoke with a hint of a grin in his voice.

"Though 'ghost' might suit me just fine, you can call me Yuu. I believe we are on equal grounds now Isaiah. Neither of us wish to hurt one another." He didn't mention the knives laid hidden in his long, narrow sleeves and boots, but then again, he did not intend to use them.

"Therefore we best attempt to find our way out of this place. We might even make it in time for the opening of the King's festival."

His senses keen on all signs of movement from either Isaiah or a third human, Shin started searching the large grotto for possible traps or exits. His feet placed carefully as always, his footsteps inaudible on the stone floor. Thus far, there appeared to be only two exits, the entrance through which Shin had come and the gap in the ceiling through which cold morning air entered the grotto. Which meant there was only one, highly unpleasant 'real' exit. A chill went up Shin's spine and he became aware once more of the fact that his clothes were still damp. Discomforts such as that had to wait however, getting out of the grotto was a higher priority.

Markul had had to suppress a sigh of relief when the man showed no ill intentions. He wouldn't be dying here after all. He listened to the ghost's, or rather, Yuu's words... and he was slightly confused. "King's festival? Where... where are we?" He asked. He had never heard of such a thing, there weren't any places that had such a thing, except maybe Gozoah, but that was 'Monarch's day.' Were... were they still on Amaryth? Or maybe... maybe he had been gone far longer than he had thought. "Tell me... this is Amaryth, correct? What is the date?..."

Yuu seemed awfully preoccupied in finding a way out, so he did the sensible thing and made sure his attention was undivided. He raised a finger in a 'hold on' gesture and turned towards the center of the room. He stomped, and stone pillars rose from the earth, creating a stairway to the hole in the ceiling. As it was completed, he dusted his hands off, breathing a bit heavier as if he had been winded. He was definitely not as powerful as he was before, such a thing would have been nearly effortless.

Shin's eyes were on stalks as Isaiah stomped a stone stairway out of the ground as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Shin had heard of the relic-geomancers employed by the Kalesian empire for construction purpose, but he had never seen them at work. Despite being out of breath for a while, Isaiah was obviously a powerful one. Remembering the question Isaiah had asked around the time when Shin began searching the grotto, he started putting one and one together. Isaiah was unsure of the time, his armour was alien, he was unnaturally tall -but then again, most Otheans were half a head taller than Shin... presumably they ate better- and he had an accent that Shin couldn't place. How long exactly had the man been a statue?

"So you're a geomancer... Isaiah. I do have to thank you for creating an escape." He made a deep bow out of gratitude and took a few moments to convert the different dates he knew before continuing.

"It's the thirtieth year of King Hrodalf the third's reign. In Oragossi years I believe this year is the 213th after their Dominion. According to Idris it would be 1003 after the Messenger, in Da-Hyun it is 312 in the reign of house Jun. I'm not too familiar with Harran and Kalnachi measurements I'm afraid. I hope any of these ring a bell?" As he spoke, he followed behind Markul on the stairs, leading up to sweet fresh air and sunlight.

Markul smirked under his helmet... though it wasn't as if he could see him do it... Geomancer, yes, the proper term. He hadn't been called that in a long while, longer than he thought, actually. "I do not wish to remain in this... hole forever, do you?" He asked, the closest he ever really got to humor. Still, he got an answer... and it confused him. The dates... he didn't recognize any of it, except... "Idris... I..."He seemed at a loss for words for a moment. "More than half a millennium..." He said softly, shaking his head. "It would appear... I have slept for far longer than I had originally anticipated..."

Northeastern Amaryth, mid-day second day of the Royal festival

Stevan Vlahovic could not help but smile to himself as he made his way towards the royal castle near the Northeastern corner of Amaryth. He knew for a fact that the king would grant his demand to force those blaspheming Kalesians to give up his target, the strange evoker girl that had sought refuge in their so-called 'embassy'. It was bad enough that she was an evoker. The fact that she was a girl too just made her sins even worse. He already looked forward to the day when he could bring the full strength of the inquisition to bear upon the kingdom of Othea to purge it of sinners.

He passed through the outer gates unchallenged, nodding to the two guards stationed there. Like so many others, they were loyal to the Order, not to the foolish pushover of a 'king' of these parts. It should not take much more effort to finish the takeover, provided there were no significant setbacks.

What met him when he got past the second set of walls rather shocked him. He'd heard that the king was organizing some sort of festival, but had not really paid attention to it, deeming it fairly irrelevant. He should've known better. The entire inner courtyard was filled with people. Mostly the richer merchants and lesser nobles, but also a good portion of the common rabble. Rising momentarily onto his toes, Stevan looked over the crowd and saw that there were no empty spaces ahead at all. Even worse, people did not move from his path, despite the fact that he wore is robes of office. Back home, even the most loyal citizens would have given him wide berth. Here they ignored him.

He was just in time to see the king and the crown prince step out a far-above balcony. As his focus had been on the King, he did not really know much about the crown prince, other than that he'd been educated in private. He had, of course, tried to get the king to assign a priest as his teacher, but did not really know how well that had worked. He halted to listen as the king started his speech. There would be no reaching him in private until afterwards in any case.

“People of Amaryth! People of Othea! My dear, beloved subjects!” The king shouted. Stevan was actually surprised at the volume, for he knew the King had been in quite poor health recently, often citing that as a reason to cut short many meetings, both with him, others of the Order, countless courtiers and various nobles of greatly varying rank. “Today is an auspicious day. I know the rumor mills have been running wild for months. They have spoken of my failing health. Of how old I have become. How I am no longer the king I once was. These rumors are true. I can feel my body failing slowly. Only the presence of my beloved son, Aral Otharion the fifth, has kept me from giving in! However you need not fear, for even as my body fails me, my love of you the people, has never been stronger!”

Stevan could not help but smile, even if he did not understand where the king was taking the speech. That particular skill at oratory had been one of several things that had endeared the king to him over past decade. He stopped his thoughts to listen once more when the king spoke on. “My beloved subjects... It is with heavy heart that I do this. Effective immediately, I transfer all rule of the Kingdom of Othea to my son, Aral Otharion the fifth. Henceforth and until he dies, he shall be known as king Aral Otharion, the fifth of his name, lord of Othea!” Stevan stood there and watched in shock as the king lifted the crown from his own head, placing it on the head of his heir, symbolizing the complete transfer of power. Nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing.

He had been outmaneuvered. Just when he thought victory had been in his grasp, the king had pulled the rug out from underneath his feet. It simply wasn't fair. Of course, by this time the speech had sunk into the minds of the people crowding the massive courtyard. The applause started as a faint drone, quickly ascending to a thundering roar. King Hrodlaf had been well respected by the people. Everyone knew that. But he'd heard that the Crown Prince, or King as he'd just become, was beloved of the people. That could either be good, or very bad. He decided to continue moving towards the castle in the hopes of getting an audience.

~| Elsewhere |~

This city was far too loud for Thora. Even exhausted as she was, there was no way she'd be able to sleep through all that noise. Judging from the direction of the shadows, it was barely mid-day when she realized there would be no way to get any further sleep. The last night she'd gone through the city searching for the right sort of places to visit to potentially learn about her relic. They'd been closed then of course, but at least it would mean less time spent out under the sun today.

She made her way downstairs, hoping to get herself some food before heading out. Even inside, she chose to wear her thick cloak. She wanted neither attention nor sunlight. She suspected some might find it a bit odd, but privacy was more important than the opinions of nobodies. She ate the provided food in silence, her ears perked to take in any possibilities of threats. When she was done eating, she decided to make her way outside, fully intent upon finding that unique librarian. If anyone paid attention to her as she left, she did not care for none gave her any feeling of danger, of someone wishing her harm.

~|~

The noviate of Idris followed the robed woman out of the inn. He did not know for sure if she was one of the hated evokers, but some gut feeling told him she was. He was careful to stay well behind her, to never even give the hint of danger. He personally was not trained to handle such evil creatures, but it was easy enough to follow them about the city, to tip off the inquisitors about such. One day he hoped to be promoted to join their illustrious ranks. He could imagine no greater honor.