The elf marvelled at the glowing sword in his hand. He'd never touched holy magic before. It was... tingly. However, before he could even thank Serena, she was off- bounding towards the demons.

They turned, sensing her approach, and clawed at one another in their haste to be the first to attack her. Jere climbed on to Bo's back and told him through their Sense to circle behind the creatures, quickly. The wolf followed orders, pulling up earth as he sped behind the lava monsters.

Once they were in position the Beast tamer threw himself from his mount, blessed sword barred out to attack. The swords edge jit the backs of the demons necks, slashing one deeply. Both buckled in agony and shock, turning slowly back to face the threat behind them. As Jere fell he was saved from hitting the ground by Bo, who had kept on running while Jere attacked. As the elf landed back in his seat they circled back behind the demons once again.

This time Jere targetted the one who he had wounded deeply- it lagged slower behind the other. It began to make guttural noises- moans as if it was bubbling inside- ready to burst and explode at any moment.

"Watch out!" He called to Serena as he threw the blessed sword at the demon, embedding it into the beasts side. It screamed and thrashed, hitting the other. The demons grappled. The dying one began to burst in heavy blows of lava.

Bo bounded toward Serena and Jere dragged her on to the feathered wolves back. They skirted out of danger as both demons exploded.

They returned to Veltis's side and Jere looked back over the scortched battlefield,

"That should be all of them-" he looked back at Serena, "Thank you. Because of you Bo and I were able to help. Without you we would have been useless."

The wolf snorted at this as if he didn't agree with Jere.

After dispatching a few more of the scarecrow demons, he looked over to the spellsword, Miercoles, as he spoke.

"We can exchange names after this. For now let us focus on destroying these pests quickly."

Vance nodded to him as his sword stabbed into another scarecrow, causing the wood and straw to crumble to the ground.

His attention was on his most recent foe when his head jerked to one side quickly at hearing the distinct, deep roar of a Tiger Bear. The beast was so massive, that it shook the ground as it walked, but it wasn't walking, it was charging!

Vance's first instinct was to run, but there was no way that he could outrun it, and he was here to protect the people and slay these demons after all. He didn’t have time to think before the reality of this beast charging at him was sinking in. It ran over a few villagers who were trying to fend off the remaining scarecrows, knocking both friend and foe away like bowling pins.

He readied his shield to block the attack. As soon as he braced his feet, and raised his shield towards the creature, the shield took on a faint white glow, which intensified as the beast got closer. He had time to glance over at the spellsword for a second before the beast rammed into him. Despite his best efforts, he was knocked back by the massive Tiger Bear, holding on to his shield tightly as he quickly recovered. He looked over to the shoulder of his shield arm, it had been dislocated, and he didn’t have time to heal the injury. Now the question, with only one of his arms useable, does he defend with his shield, or forego defense for attack with his sword?

He decided that since he had a spellsword with him, he would be on the defensive, and keep the beasts attention on him. He said a little prayer in his thoughts that his ally was reliable, and most importantly, with his sword dropped, and his shield on his good arm, that Miercoles was able to kill this thing before they both died.

Adrial watched as the tactician was able to cut his foe down as expected from the strategy they agreed upon, however just as Brennan was about to cause the finishing blow, the sound of villagers rung out, causing Brennan to drop his assault and hurry to the location of the scarecrows, which only made Adrial slap his open palm against his own forehead.

"You're forgetting about finishing the screecher you stupid-- Nevermind..."

Adrial quickly rushes toward Brennan but not before igniting a ball of magic energy in his hand, quickly approaching the screecher, he shrunk the balls to the size of a pebble and wolfed it into the open maw of the daemon as it made a muffled screech of confused anger. Before it could retaliate however, Adrial ran alongside Brennan and snapped his fingers, and that's when the energy ball fluctuated in size, the magic burned away at the daemons flesh, rending it aflame with magic from the inside out, burning it alive with little more than a click of the Elvinians fingers, as the ball expanded and imploded, obliterating it into nothing but glowing shards of ash.

"Another one bites the dust, as they say..."

With that, the two of them are able to set up a pretty well rounded defense of hay bales to protect against the incoming scarecrows, Adrial using his healing powers to cure some of the wounds of the injured villagers, however he closes his eyes, not wanting to see the wounds properly for himself, though this doesn't reduce his healing capabilities.

"I hate battles like these... so pointless... so worthless..."

Adrial then cocked his head to Brennan, a frown escaping.

"If you have time to think, you have time to act, finish off those blasted scarecrows, unless they're too tough for you..."



Veltis simply watched in wonder as the beast tamer and the templar demolished the remaining enemies and returned to his side, the boost the templar gave him running out, returning the archer to a tired, but no longer bleeding state, his legs wobbling furiously, only for him to place his hands upon both their shoulders to support his weight, which seemed to be heavy, due to his greatbow now being on his back.

"We did it... But I believe that's all my body can take for now... I hate to be a burden my comrades but... Could you help escort me back? I need a longer rest and... Sleep would be... much preferred... You were both amazing out there...!"

After a few moments of keeping the beast at bay with only his shield, Vance looked around the battlefield, unable to see the allies that had been paired with him in town. A few villagers were trying to help him by stabbing at the Tiger Bear with makeshift spears, and pitchforks, , but they were quickly forced away by the creatures hind legs, and the occasional distraction from Vance to swing it’s front paws at whoever was nearby.

When Vance gained the beast’s attention back to him, he noticed an unnatural look in its eyes. Vance recognized this as a sign that the beast was under a dark influence, though he assumed that the Tiger Bear would only be this ferocious if it were protecting its young, or hunting for food, but this beast had murderous intent.

Vance was starting to grow exhausted. With only one of his arms in use, he had to try and calculate when the other arm would be a target, and try, very painfully, to move his limp arm out of the way.

He bashed the Tiger Bear straight on the head with the flat part of his shield, causing it to reel back a bit, and shake its head. Vance used this opportunity to form a plan, though not a very good one.

“Eve..” he said, trying to catch his breath. It was a struggle just to hold his shield up to defend himself anymore. “Get back!” he commanded. The tone of his voice was enough for her to feel fear, and to obey. She found a nearby tree to hide behind, not wanting to think of what was going to happen. He was weakened, injured, and the beast barely had a scratch on it.

As soon as the creature regained focus on the Templar, it started to charge again. Using all of his concentration, he started his incantation. A small pool of white light surrounded him, flickering like a moving flame at his feet, growing with intensity as he cast his spell.

“I call forth the light, to banish evil to the depths of hell..” he started, still out of breath from the fight. “.. to bring again the light of day from the darkest night!”

As he finished the incantation, the beast was upon him, but as soon as it was about to attack, Vance raised his shield with his remaining strength, and a white ball of light rose from the ground under the beast, growing smaller, and then exploding in a flash of holy light.

The blast disintegrated the creature, and sent Vance flying through the air, into the tree that Eve was hiding behind. All she heard was his incantation, then a flash of light, and Vance’s armored body slamming into the tree.

After she emerged from hiding, she saw him lying on the ground, face down, and not moving. She panicked! Flying over to him, she tried to nudge him, to see some kind of reaction, but there was nothing. She listened for his breathing, but it was so shallow that it was close to nothing.

She quickly flew back to town, as fast as her small wings would carry her to get help.

*Time: mid-afternoon. Around 3-ish.

Watchmen, young lads armed with crossbows, were posted just above the gates- watching the battles to later on report what exactly had happened to the volunteers. Their dual function, as well, was to shoot anyone that could have been overpowered and controlled by a demon. Luckily for these green boys nothing of the sort happened- and when the battles came to their conclusions, they signaled to the guards below to open the gates.

As the gates opened and the survivors made their way inside, they were met by not only guards but horse carts meant for the wounded that could not walk. A priest and a small entourage of religious affiliates stood by, praying for the dead and blessing the wounded. No cheers. No congratulations- for those that saw the carnage that lay beyond the gates were somber despite the victory.

"You are all heroes!" said someone at the gate, "please- visit the Tavern of Heroes and claim your place there. You will be fed and a doctor has been hired to tend to the wounded there."

Many, however, chose to head directly to the clinic and then to their homes-renouncing the life of Hero right there.



Trevant Burnell sat on the bar, reading over the agreement that he had signed with the palace. They had hosted some sort of event that he was meant to agree to accepting the winners of. In fact- they had dropped a whole sack of gold on the exact bar that he sat on that very morning- claiming that it was the payment that these heroes would receive, if they wished to carry on as heroes, of course. Such a strange catch, thought the war veteran, for they had risked their lives- yet would only be paid if they chose to keep risking their lives? won't sit well with some of'em, he thought again, for he knew those who didn't care much for reading between the fine print- that they were the type to throw an axe between yer eyes and take all the gold. He was sure there were a few of those types running around in those that signed up.

The old man wasn't too keen on giving room and board to a bunch of strangers- his establishment was a place of trust- but their bravery was admirable, he had to admit. Anyone that would risk their lives for the Peace was trustworthy enough for him. He glanced at the gold, however, and thought again. It was truly rare to find people interested in something other than their pockets, though. He shook this thoughts from his head- no matter, he would judge these people based on his own gut feeling when he met them.

Trevant had promised that he would provide healing potions and remedies for those that came in- since he believed that providing his own medical treatment bonded people together- it was a kinship tactic he had learned from the war. Your brother was your brother not by the blood you shared but by the wounds that they helped you mend.

He heard the tramping of footsteps- an oncoming crowd- just outside the Tavern. Trevant looked over at his daughter, Lucia, who was cleaning off some of the tables. She caught his eye and nodded, dropping the rag on the table and walking toward the front door to open it.

"Hello and welcome to the Tavern of Heroes!" She chimed with a smile as she looked out at the weary and beaten heroes,

"Who wants some ale?"

*warning, it gets really nasty

The creature walked out in the field-made-hell alone but not alone. The dead around him were twisted and contorted, gnarled by their struggle and last earthly fight. Their eyes, bloated and yellowed, bulged up from their bloodless sockets, staring blankly up past him- perhaps to a god- as he passed by them. The bodies were charred from unholy flames. The smell of them clung to his face and hands. He noted the faces of boys and girls he had seen run through the streets of Maplestead years ago- when they were merry and care-free. Now they were bloodied and mangled. He saw the faces of old men and lame men. women who were mothers. Of course he even saw bodies without faces. And faces without bodies.

As he walked he came to the conclusion that those that had died were either too young or too old or too shredded to be used for what he wanted. In fact, most were not worthy for parts because they were so blackened by flames. He regretted choosing this gate. The man, cloaked in black, has only been drawn to the east gate because of the blood curdling screams he had heard. They excited him. By the gods, they reminded him of the early days in the War- when the killings drenched the earth a dark soapy red.

A moan drew him out of his nostalgic thoughts. The necromancer turned his black gaze on to the face of a young man, who writhed on the ground, attempting to turn on his side to stand up- but without an arm or legs. One of this mans eyes was dangling against his cheek, smacking against it like a deflated blue balloon. Intrigued, the man crouched next to this delirious boy and considered him for a moment before speaking,

"The gods sure hate you, lad. Wonder what you did to deserve such a fate.." The single working eye turned and looked up at the necromancer. Perhaps it was the gray face of the stranger or maybe he believed that Death had come to collect him- but the dying man tried to speak. However, no words could be made without most of his teeth and a tongue full of holes. The impostor of Death smiled and watched the man bleed out- he watched the life leave his eyes.

Shortly after this the man began to piece his way through the bodies. Dirtying himself with their blood and their decay. He cut apart those that he believed best for body parts- he took arms, hands with wedding rings, feet- he avoided legs and torsos because he had neglected to bring the proper tools. Once he collected what he wanted he returned to the small mule drawn cart. The mule widened its eyes at his approach- for she was not in fact a mule but a girl that had been cursed by the necromancer years ago. He tossed the body parts into the cart carelessly- covering them with a tarp. He then began to talk to her as they walked back into town through the sewer-way.

"You know, Balbasa," for that was what he called the mule despite it not being her true name, "I did not want to watch the boy die earlier... I did. But, you see, something compelled me to end his life quickly. I did not, of course, but I wanted to. It was the strangest feeling." The mule nervously nickered.

They arrived in the slums of Maplestead soon enough and were soon lost among the lower-class fashion of dressing in dark fabric and hauling mule drawn carts with tarps over them.

He soon heard talk of Heroes arriving back from battle. That they would all be gathered at the Tavern of Heroes. The creature had no interest in the living. In fact he was sure that he and these heroes would never cross paths.

"we've failed to gather sufficient parts, little Balbasa. Let us head to the next gate and gather at least a whole, strong body." Again, his only reply was the nervous whiny of his mule.

After walking some ways- the pair found themselves at the North gate. There the guards, assuming that they were the war field clean up crew or something, allowed them passage outside. Once the gates were hastily closed behind them they surveyed the battlefield. It lacked the charred and burned earth from East gate- but the carnage was equally as disturbing. More shredded faces here- no doubt by some massive animal, although he could not see one anywhere nearby.

@UruvionPerhaps it was how his armor glinted in the light- but the face down body of Vance caught the body collectors eye. The man skirted across the field, giddy and excited like a child, toward this find. And, yes, upon his approach he noted that whoever this person was- they were indeed the proper proportions and of good health. He turned Vance over with his hands- the blood had not left his face! no doubt he had died not moments ago. Vance's armor made it hard for the necromancer to see that he was still shallowly breathing.

"Gods- I've lucked out. A little wear and tear on that shoulder- but otherwise!" And he stooped down next to the body, he began to unbuckle the armor,

"Just need to get this damned- ugh- tinfoil heap off of'em." In the process of doing this, however, his fingers brushed against Vance's skin and he could tell that the other man was alive. Disgusted he drew back,

"No..." He groaned, his hopes dashed. He'd really hoped to have had a chance with a proper specimen. The slums only ever offered sickly bums and druggies. Perhaps.. he could kill this man here? He could! He could and that would solve his problem.

Gian reached in to his cloak and withdrew a sacrificial knife, ready to plunge it into Vance's throat- but he was scared from this act in the last second from someone by the gates, calling out suddenly.

He hid the knife and glanced back- a medic! Damn, the odds of that. The man sprung up and ran to his cart, jumping on the back of his mule and jerkily riding away.

The medic, accompanied by Eve, was at once by Vance's side. He drew the man up,

"Let's get out of here, son. The gods know- that man looked insane."

With the help of some guards the medic helped Vance to the clinic, where he was treated for his wounds and kept under close observation until he was to wake next.



*will edit in later I'm too tired ;A;

Right when he was about to unsheathe the blade in defense of not only his wounded comrade but, everyone else for that matter the armored warrior somehow got up and fought it. That is until him work some magic as white flash of light and then the sound of the bear being reduced to ashes. Sighing he relaxed his grip as he watched something that looked like a large fly flying past him. With nothing else for him to he just went back to town.

With the chaos of monsters and demons having been impeded for the time being, the noble cleric removed the glasses that rested upon his nose forthwith, the luminescent energy which inundated him gradually returned to its vessel, Adrial himself. In conjunction with the return of his energy, the beautiful angel like wings conjured by his magic gradually returned to their original petite size, which flickered sublimely against his elegant, handsome leather white long coat.

Adrial brought the framed glasses to his shivering mouth, and with a frigid, hushed whisper, sprayed a moist vapor, coating the outer and inner layer of his frames with the condensation. Without a second to lose and a thought not wasted, his left arm quickly retreated into the long coats left pocket, only to come out of hiding with a silk white napkin perfectly folded from within its depths. The Cleric simply stood there several minutes, polishing and swiping the condensation against his spectacles, which in turn wiped the dirt and grime from the glass. Finally finished with his task, his quivering mouth stood still, relaxed, a smile protruding afterwards, and like clockwork did the Cleric return the silk napkin to its home, in the left pocket of his coat.

"Twenty four." Adrial spoke, not taking the time to look at his comrades before he proceeded to calmly approach the gate they had appeared from not too long ago. "Twenty four lives... Taken from this gate... From these fiends. Twenty four families will now go hungry, unable to obtain their rewards. Out of those twenty four families only six will live long enough to mourn their lost child... Not counting suicides... A average family has six people... A hundred and eight lives will have been lost in total come next month... Give or take ten... The city now knows who was at each gate... Which means I will have A hundred and eight people starving and blaming me for not saving their child. All of them will want my head... And it wasn't even my fault..."

Adrial spoke with a bitter, sad tone and stared, lost in thought into the blood soaked dirt that laid before him, as he retreated back into the city for now, to go to the tavern of heroes and collect his reward, though as he entered, he was met by a girl, who asked if he wished for ale. Were he not lamenting the events, he would have told her to soak her head and shut up, but every battle made Adrial think differently, Any time after a battle was one of sorrow, lives he tried to save died, and despite his actions of leaving the idiots to die, there were only scared villagers that day, no knowledge of tactics, they died from inexperience, their deaths were not their fault. Instead, Adrial spoke only a single line.

"Milk... Corner table... Reward as well"

And like that, Adrial sulked to a corner table and sat himself down. Awaiting his drink and his coin.



(( Will write this later ))

Inside the safety of the clinic, Vance was lying in bed. His armor and clothes were propped against the wall, next to the bed, and Eve was sitting on the edge of the bed near his shoulder.

He tossed and turned a bit, dreaming as the painkillers that were administered started to take effect. He saw a man in black garb, and a mule, then a knife drawn, and put to his throat. One quick slice and the deed was done. As the man drew the knife across his skin in the dream, he awoke. His eyes were wide and he gasped, quickly sitting up in bed. The motion, and sound, had scared Eve to the point that she nearly fell off. His hand reached up to feel his neck, to make sure that it was just a dream.

“Who was that?” he thought. He could have sworn that what he saw in his dream actually happened, but he wasn’t far from gone when it did, so he couldn’t be sure.

When Eve recovered from her surprise, she quickly flew to him, hugging his neck as tightly as she could. “Oh gods, I thought you were gone! Don’t you ever do that again!” She said with tears in her eyes, still clinging to him.

Vance shrugged a bit, wincing at the pain in his newly readjusted shoulder. “It was either that, or die” he said with a ‘matter of fact’ tone.

She gave him a look that said. “You better not die!” She still had tears running down her cheeks as she looked at him.

“Were there any other survivors?” he said, looking from his shoulder to her. “Not many” she said, shaking her head.

Vance was still too weak to fully heal his shoulder, so he would let the painkillers do their work.
Eve explained to him where they were, and that when he was feeling better, he should go out to the tavern to meet the remaining heroes who survived their battles, and, of course get paid.

As a priest walked through the clinic, blessing the survivors, he stopped at Vance, reaching into a small pouch and bringing out a small, silver cross on a chain, which he handed to Vance. The Templar looked at it for a minute before Eve snatched it away, unfolding the chain and putting it over his head. The metal was cold against his skin, but it looked good sitting against his bare chest. He needed a little while longer to recover before he could meet the other heroes, and collect his payment.

The following period of time the man spent was wandering the city and surveying the aftermath from the events that just recently happened. Truth be told he found himself quickly becoming bored as he continued prowling through the city. The city despite any damage to its citizens was still standing and in working condition although there was probably a large focus on manpower in tending to the wounded and dead as well as possibly tallying any damages incurred. These things which are all very important and not in his hands at all. His thought would be to relegate himself to the currents of his whim in much the same way a leaf gently travels through a breeze.

He thought about the others people who had signed up and were along for the ride. And that most of them would be at some bar socializing and resting while awaiting the next set of orders. However for him it was still too early to hit the bar as to maximize the most of his profit he'd want it to be filled tighter and with the audience just liquored up enough to be properly lubricated.

Tangentially to the subject of the others his mind quickly turn to his assigned group. He recalled that there are three people per group and that furthermore only one he saw. Speculating about the woman he did not see would be a waste of time; a thing he did not like to indulge in. It would be far more easier to seek the other man who'd he for the sake optimism was wounded and not dead and inquire about the whereabouts.

Having made his way to the clinic where he heard the man was being held at. He slinked his way from out of the corner with his target in sight. There were many other beds each filled with different people. But only one of them had that same armor set he saw. There was a scent of some herbal concoction in the air as he spoke to the man, "We meet again. I'm just here to get some information, so tell me of the other person assigned to tour group. You happen to know her or something about her?" This conversation terse thought it maybe served two purposes: one being the obvious practical aspect and the other just sating his curiosity and giving him something to do.

The door to the tavern of heroes slammed open, and a short woman with bunny ears wearing a beautiful dress stood on the other side. She lowered her foot, having kicked the door open. In each shoulder she held a youth, her companions Elisha and Louis. Both were blasted as all hell, as was her companion Cecilia, stumbling after her.

Lenna looked around the tavern for a moment, and smiled.

"My, what a lovely establishment," she remarked, "Don't you think so, lady Elisha? Sir Louis?"

Without waiting for a response, Lenna quickly strided over to a table, depisiting the drunken youths each in a chair.

"Beat that you guys not drink anything more," she suggested, "Lady Elisha, perhaps, but, sir Louis, I'm afraid if we let you sniff another drop of weak fruity drink, you may die of alcohol poisoning."

She paused, "Are either of you hungry? I know bread neutralizes alcohol to an extent. Perhaps a bit of food could help."

She smiled. Her team was crazy, but she liked it. Louis was especially odd, the little dork. She certainly wasn't going to tease the boy when he was drunk anymore though. She still blushed a bit, remembering his lips on her.

My, that had been embarrassing. The tsundere little dork had even rubbed her bunny ears. He had no idea how intimate that was!

The only people that had rubbed her ears were her father, her mother, her lovers, and Greg that one time that some boy had made fun of her for being beastkin.

And that had been a special occasion, and Greg was basically dad#2 to her anyways!

She briefly wondered if there was a local version of the Pugilist club.

"Cecilia, you know about illegal stuff, right?" Lenna said, "is there a Pugilist Club in town?"

Elisha didn't think she was drunk enough to not be able to stand up and walk all the way to the Tavern, and was about to decline Lenna's offer. However, once Lenna did stand her up, she felt the strength in her legs slightly give out and her head was light as a feather. She silently thanks her rabbit friend and goes along for the ride.

It didn't take long for them to reach the Tavern, and she was then shortly placed onto a chair by Lenna. "Thank you, Miss Lenna." The alcohol's effects were still lingering in her system, and she takes her head into her hands in an attempt to balance and regain her composure... which wasn't helping too much. "And yes, I'll take some of the bread, thank you." She reaches for one of the loaves that was in the basket that Cecelia had ordered for them, and proceeds to take small bites out of it.

"I-I think I'll be alright." She had a migraine going, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. "...Miss Lenna kicking open the door was enough to shock me awake and splash me with heavy dose of a headache though," she adds before groaning a little as she rubbed her forehead.

Elisha wasn't drunk, or at least she didn't think she was relative to how Louis and Cecelia acted when they were. She was desperately trying to keep her composure and not pass out or go all weird like Louis did earlier. It's a scary thought that she could turn into someone like that if she ever gets drunk like him.

Louis had no problem being carried by Lenna. "Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" He cried out as she entered the Tavern of Hero's "riding on a sexy bunny lady" Louis sang because why the hell not. He slid off of Lenna's shoulder and plopped down to the ground, his face meeting the floor directly. After 4 seconds of just lying there, Louis picked himself. Once back on his feet, he stumbled over to Elisha and slung and arm around her shoulder

"Elisha" he began "has...has anyone ever told you that you're a very pretty lady?" Despite hanging on to Elisha, he was swaying back and forth "be-because you are fucking gorgeous, an I don't think you hear that enough. Whoever gt's married to you, is going to be one lucky son, or daughter, I won't judge, of a bitch. Hell, if those asshat parents of mine were both alive, and remembered I existed long enough to stick me in an arranged marriage, then I'd want that girl to be you, because you are fucking gorgeous. It...it's also cute how shy you get sometimes......it just makes you so much more appealing. You know what I think you need; a hug. Hugs are nice" with that said, Louis transitioned to a full body hug with Elisha "ahh...so nice. I like hugs. You want to know something fucking sad; I can count all the hugs I've ever gotten with both my hands. So I for one...am happy to have a new supply of hugs"

((All misspelling is intentional))

Over the groaning of the other patients in the clinic, Vance heard footsteps approaching his bed. He, and Eve, looked over to see their companion, Miercoles. A small smile appeared on Vance’s face as he looked at the spellsword, who seemed to walked away from the battle unscathed, at least visibly. He remembers what he saw on the battlefield. The man was an impressive fighter, and good with a sword, a welcome ally to anyone’s team.

"We meet again. I'm just here to get some information, so tell me of the other person assigned to our group. You happen to know her or something about her?"

Vance rested his head back on his pillow, closing his eyes, and trying to remember her name.

“Elle of Asterith.” He said after a moment, remembering what the town crier had said.

“There were some female villagers with us out there, but I don’t think that any of them were her.” He said with some uncertainty in his tone. “I don’t even know what she looks like” he said, shrugging a bit, though luckily, the painkillers were taking effect. He had personally never been to Asterith in his travels, though he had heard of it.

He stood up, wearing nothing but a white piece of cloth around his waist to cover himself. He was unaware that they had stripped him down to this before treating him, but it made sense. He had a small blush on his face as he walked over to his regular clothes, putting on his pants, and then his socks, staying bare chested for now. He looked over to his armor, thinking that he would wait until the next assignment to put it back on. He wanted to relax for a while, maybe get a drink, and of course, get paid.

“Has anyone mentioned the next assignment, yet? How many people survived the first quest?” he said, looking at Miercoles.

The town criers are roaming about the city, calling out news. Fresh from the palace, they say. The news goes something like this:

"Hear ye, hear ye. The palace has just received notification from our fair neighbour, Brindle, that the infestation of demons and monsters is affecting their town as well. The city officials have sent request for assistance, and we are sending our Heroes. Anyone else who wishes to join in our fair city's crusade against the evil that has fallen upon us may sign up at the palace entrance. The Heroes, both present and future, will leave at high noon tomorrow."

The bartender casually makes a statement to all in the bar that upon signing up for the original quest to aid Maplestead and collected your gold, you have been conscripted until further notice by the Palace of Maplestead. The barman goes on to explain that you will still get paid for every mission you partake in individually, but you're stuck here until they relieve you of duty. He adds a quick, humble note of thanks at the end of his explanation, though he has a bit of lingering sorrow in his eyes as he looks over the room, seeing many young 'uns that he'd rather not be dead.

"Well hopefully she appears or we get a replacement. Having a no show is only gonna be a huge risk with no gain on any tougher battle. As for your question that's not my responsibility. Just a hired sword paid to fight, unless they need me to know you're gonna have to ask someone else." Miercoles said to Vance.