Ishmael

Ishmael watched Regalia, a well known and respected pirate, he decided it was time to dismiss his spell. Giving Inyata her voice back. He then moved to Regallia. "I know it seems a lot to ask this of you, but could you join us on this quest. You being more experienced in your field. You can keep the young one in check. Our mission involves us rescuing Nova Lysanthir,... I fear the rash attitude of this one could get us or Lady Nova killed. I can not teach her as well as you might." He asked. He would not force her, he knew better then that. Regallia was important to this city in many ways.

His squire ran up and patted his shoulder. "Milord, the cart is ready as well as the mule to pull it." Daniel spoke. Ishmael patted he boy on the back and gestured to the carts seat.
"You can take the reins.... Ceceria, you can ride with me or him." he said. Giving her the option to choose. Hopefully she chose to ride with him. The boy had enough distractions. He then looked to Wade and sighed. He could smell the alcohol. He rose up a hand aiming it above the man and snapped his finger and 2 gallons of water dropped from the sky to land on the man. Rinsing the smell away. For awhile anyways. "Ride in the back of the cart." he ordered. He then patted his horse and then climbed on top. Offering a hand to Ceceria to help her up.

Ceceria

Ceceria almost chuckled at Inyata getting put in her place by the older Regallia. Ceceria watched as Ishmael gave the woman a proposition to help control the wild fire. She doubted the pirate would take up the offer. She just wasnt the babysitting type. Ishmael had already one fool to take care of. He didn't wait for a answer either as he climbed upon his valiant stead. She almost would have blushed at how serene he looked. A white knight sitting on his horse with his hair flowing in the wind. His blue winter eyes looked to her and outstretched his hand to offer her help. She then recalled him saying she can ride with the boy or himself. She smiled widely clasping the hand without hesitation. Without a second thought she climbed up placing her leg around and sat there. She held on to his side and laid her head on his cold armor.

Nova

Nova was now miles away being lead closer to her destination by an orc. He sat upon a large warg with the rope of her bindings tired to the saddle. They were later joined by more of the clan. They ranged from wood elves ,men ,and of course black scaled lizard folk. Each member had the mark of the cresent moon on their necks. She decided to jump up and land on the back of the warg. Right behind the orc. "I got tired of walking" Was all she said. The orc snorted and kept on with their pace. They came over a hill and saw it. The big gates of the fortress. She had arrived. She had awful feeling of the place.

She kept stroking the horse’s moist snout untill she heard a much older voice; coming from a female. She turned around to see that she was being instantly scolded, Inyata looked down in a huff, she didn’t want to get told off by a much older, mature pirate. Not by the almighty and great Regalia for that matter, but she decided to cross her arms and stand in a slouched position.

She growled under her breath and it succeeded, growling more she looked to Ishmael; stopping her growls and instantly apologised ‘I am sorry, Sir… I got… over excited...’ growling once more she scratched her freckly face and walked towards him ‘I am Inyata, a pirate as you can see’ biting her lower lip she was finally calm enough to take a proper look around to examine this crew. A psychotic jester, a respectable but too holy of a paladin, a obsessed poet and various others for Inyata be looked down upon. She was not going to have fun the easy way at all.

‘So, captain’ she gained Ishmael’s attention ‘where do you want me positioned?’

Ramara

Ramara stood back slightly as she watched the older Corsair rip into Inyata and smiled inwardly. Perhaps the kid would snap out of the foolish behavior, at least for a while; she doubted it though, scolding children did little more than make them worse later on. Now, a switch might work. Turning she stepped closer to her horse as she pushed the thought from her mind and left the young pirate to Regalia. At least Inyata would have someone else to bother.

Placing a foot in the stirrup Ramara pushed up and swung herself into place in the saddle; taking a moment to situated herself comfortably. She didn't know how long it would take to find their mark so it was best to be as comfortable as possible.

Hearing the splash of water Ramara turned her head slowly to look back and let a smirk actually come to her lips. Well played paladin, well played indeed, she thought to herself but the smirk and the thought quickly passed as she heard Inyata start to speak again. Well there goes the comfortable silence, was the thought that replaced the previous.

Nudging her horse forward slowly she came up beside Ishmael and Ceceria, glancing towards the assassin out of the corner of her eyes as her horse stopped when she pulled back on the reigns. "Long time Ceceria," she said in an even tone as she sat there in the same still manner as she had in the tavern. "Glad to see those lessons paid off," she said before her eyes faced forward again. "Your G is still a little sharp," she taunted. Remara meant nothing by the comment, something she was sure Ceceria would know but she doubted that would keep the jester clad woman from making a snappy comeback.



Regalia turned and faced the paladin as he spoke to her and arched a single brow at his request; the brow lowering slowly as he fully explained the mission to her; thinking on it for a moment. She was no baby sitter but she had helped a dear friend of hers in the past take care of an orphan that was far more trouble than she imagined Inyata could ever dream of being. Then there was the mission itself. Even with young corsair joining them she could not turn her back on a deed such as that. It went against everything she stood for.

"I'm inclined to acquiesce to your request," Regalia answered with a bow before looking over towards Inyata as she climbed up onto her black steed and smiled as she trotted it over to Inyata; finally taking a moment to properly look the young one over. I have my work cut out for me, she thought before holding her hand out to her. "Come young one, you have much to learn," she said in a kind motherly voice.

Ishmael
Ishmael looked from Inyata,...'good she has learned some maners', he then saw Regallia approach them and directed the young pirates attention."Go with her, she will direct where you will be at." He said. He then nodded thankfully to Regallia.. good thats one problem I wont have to worry about. Bad enough I will have to protect the boy, I can't both protect him and teach this woman how to be proper. He sighed and looked about, everyone was in position and in there spots. He could see Wade still standing and waiting. I suppose he prefers to walk. If he prefers it that's fine by me. He then patted his horse and flicked the reins. His stead moving along and out the gate, he was followed by the boy Daniel and the cart which held the supplies they would need. He then pulled the rope that had been tied to the saddle and walking in behind the horse was the prisoner. A man forced to show these people where his friends where at, or be put to the chopping block. Either way it was a death sentence. The horse moved out and took the lead and then he pulled on the rope and pointed to the front. The prisoner did as he asked and took the lead. He was to lead the way. For his sake he better not lead them on. It wasn't what Ishmael would do to him that would be terrorfying... it's what the others would do to him.

Eventually the troupe would come to a bridge that would take them over the river. It was a large bridge, to stretch across a river wide enough and deep enough to carry a corsair's ship through it. The bridge had spots in it that used to be lit. However, it wasn't even close to night fall yet. The sun was creeping down there though but not yet needed for the man whose job it was to light them. They would trek as far as they could until they needed to rest. He felt kind of odd with Ceceria at his back. It wasn't so much odd ,but a weird feeling of nervousness. If she saw me right now, she would be real jealous.....

Ceceria

Ceceria smirked at the young pirate woman. Inyata was her name, what a odd name, even for a pirate. Regallia was a much cooler name, it fit the belt of a great person full of respect and admired by most. Regallia was how a pirate should be, not like.... that. She said looking to Inyata. Then again the lady was young and stupid. She then heard the voice of Ramara and pulled away from her position. "Oh?... it was?...." She said rather quizically but full of mirth. Her eyes sparkling from the light shinning off of Ishmael's armor. "Oh well,... it did it's job though. That mark didn't even see the hidden dagger." She looked to the fellow assassin. "You see I had a bit of adjustments made on it.... The part you hold with your hand seperates from the body of the violin revealling that it is also the hilt of a pointy dagger..... had to get a new change of clothes though. He ruined my old ones with his blood.... so so rude of him to do so." She added as if the man could control where the blood splurted. She had to chuckle at it. "Oh I can not wait to show you my new tricks....."

Ceceria looked rather excited for the mission, a little to excited. If someone every got so excited to kill something that they acted like a girl chasing a prince, then there was often something wrong with her... in the head.

Nova

The warg marched up the ram to the gates, and with a howl of it's roar, the gates began to open and in they went. The fortress was a lot huger up close then from far away. It however had seen better days. She could see the scarring on the walls. The marks where stones hit as they were thrown by the trebuchet that launched them. She sighed, how mighty has this place fallen that bandits have now claimed it. Oh father, oh mother we should not have adanboned such a place to the monsters of this world. The orc dropped from his warg and it moved away to its place of rest ,shortly after the orc yanked her off of it. Rather forcibly too. She frowned, ' first on the the list is the asshole orc'.... she said as he carried her underneath his arm up the stone stairs. He then stopped and moved to the side of the wall opening a door. He took her inside and down some spiral stairs. It was here where she found her place of rest. A dungeon so to speak. The orc took her to a empty cell, rather large and ment to hold a lot of people. He set her down and chained her ankles to the floor. Then he chained on of her hands and cut the rope that bound her to chain the other. There she was , alone in a dark room with light coming from a single two inch wide window.

She did not like this, not one bit. Then again who would.....

Inyata wasn’t the type to look up to others other than her own grandfather herself, she wondered what made Regalia so important to the city, after all. She was a pirate like her; but she wasn't as much fun as she thought all the other pirates would be, she then decided that she would ask the great and well-known Regalia questions now and then, even if they were rude or not… Well she might as well since she was only taught so much at the ship and apparently needed to 'know better' anyway.

Upon hearing Ishmael’s words to go along with Regalia she nodded and said ‘aye aye’ with obedience before holding onto Regalia’s hands to gain the assistance of being pulled up to her gorgeous and well taken care of horse. She then hugged Regalia’s back and asked; ‘well… what is the way of the female pirate then?? Regalia??’ she asked with the utmost curiosity.

As she asked she looked side to side... She has never been on a horse before, in fact she has never seen a horse before, and all because she spent her life on the ship itself, scrubbing and having fun with the males on the ship, as she was the only female there.

Regalia & Remara

Taking Inyatas hand Regalia helped the young corsair swing up into place behind her on her steed and waited for her to get situated, giving the little one a soft squeeze of her hand before pushing her horse forward and following Ishmael and the wagon, hanging back a little bit and keeping her eyes out for anything that may come up. Hearing Inyatas question she chuckled somewhat. It wasn’t a bad question but it was one that was difficult to answer. “Being a Corsair is more than grand adventures on the high seas and wondrous treasures found buried in the sands of a deserted beach. It’s about being a leader. Someone your crew can look up to and trust and someone that makes those that would cross you think twice. It’s about having an air around you that gives off the feeling of confidence and respect. A captain without the respect of her crew will be a captain for only a short time.”

“The last thing a Corsair wants to deal with is other pirates trying to take her hard earned treasure,” she said as they rode; “Turning her head slightly so she could look back at Inyata sitting behind her. “Anyways, tavern brawls lead to torn silk. Why waste a perfectly good shirt on a ruffian that isn’t worth the cost of the silk,” she said with a wink. “I’m not saying be as stoic as that one,” Regalia said pointing over to Ramara. “But pick your battles.”

Ramara smirked hearing Regalias comment but it faded quickly, having been riding a bit in front and staying closer to Ceceria than the rest. “Very rude indeed,” Ramara said in an ever flat tone as she kept her eyes on the road ahead for the most part but every so often they would dart from side to side to check the layout of the land as they passed incase an ambush was set up in the tree lines. She listened to the clip clop of the horses that had with them, the fall of footsteps made by those that were walking and the creaking of the wheels of the carts turning, taking note of each sound as it came to her ears and keeping an ear out for any changes further away from the.

“I am sure you have a great many tricks up your sleeves.”

Charroux trotted with heavy clops, his hooves digging against the brittle road. Derrix sat comfortably on top, his mind awash with scenes of a far away land and a far away time. He wanted to close his eyes and just let Charroux take lead in the matter, the animal was certainly smart enough, but Derrix scolded himself silently for such a lazy thought. With a deep inhale he kicked the horse and he shot from his place in front of Jasmin and the sumpter, catching up to trot abreast by Ishmael.

Derrix was quick to get down to business and he opened his scarred mouth to speak, “Ishmael, do you want me to scout ahead of the convoy?”

He was sure he might have seemed silly asking. Being a poet in simple garments and without a weapon on him. He knew though, that his horse was fast, his sight was strong, and more importantly that when dealing with high end bandits, to expect an ambush or two along the way to their hide-out.

Wade felt the water wash over him and bring him back into soberness. The anger welled up inside of him as he clenched the grip of his crossbow, having it in mind to shoot the first person he laid eyes on in the head. His eyes quickly landed on a pirate like figure, seeming older and more experienced. Her looks definitely delighted his eyes and his senses felt alive for a moment. For once while sober, he felt something. It really was not just sexual for a moment.

Unfortunately, his mind ended up going into the gutter and he lost any feeling he had, only leaving a bitter husk of a human being. He looked to the young boy that was headed out with them, thinking of how he had killed many that were at his age before. That was that, however. Wade had yet to fully pay the price of his crimes and be free from the burden. Sometimes, he thought he would never be free. He would bear the burdens of the people he killed for the rest of his life after all.

There was something he was told when he was younger by an old sergeant-at-arms that he recalled. "Look the people you kill right in their eyes and never forget them, because they will never forget you." Sometimes, when he looked into the eyes of the living he saw only the dead. Perhaps that was why he had lost feeling. Because he was already dead inside.

Finally, he pulled himself out of his head, pulling out a pipe and sticking a strange leaf into it. He used friction to create a little spark, allowing him to puff on the pipe and get it smoking. He breathed in the smoke, calming himself and bringing his mind to the present.

Wade simply walked next to the wagon, preferring his own two legs over that of a horse. He might ride in a wagon every now and then, but that was for the lack of better options. Now they were going at a good pace, so he walked. His attention went through everything that was occurring around him, tossing it through his now thoughtful mind.

His eyes finally came to the squire tagging around the paladin, and he felt very old. He had noted how the paladin had treated the squire and wasn't even partially on the paladins side. "What an ass." He muttered, then looking to the squire and said, "Why the fuck you wanna be a paladin?" His mind would never be able to grasp why anyone would want to live with a bunch of rich pricks who used the low ranking men-at-arms to do the dirty work, like killing entire villages. He always associated paladins with the nobles of different fiefdoms. He remembered how great it was to kill nobles, them never quite understanding how they could die to a 'lowly' man-at-arms. He loved the look on their faces when he stabbed them over and over again. He just couldn't get enough of killing the pricks.

Some day, however, he would have to stop being such a psychopathic killer. Some day he would probably be put in his grave for it. For now he would have to make the best of it.

Wade pulled out his water skin, which miraculously carried water, and offered it to the squire. The water skin was accompanied by a piece of bread. "You actually look like shit, kid. You really should just find a nice job as a tailor or a butcher or something that doesn't involve killing." He scratched his head, noting the fact that he had just included butcher in a list of jobs that didn't involve killing.

Ishmael

Ishmael looked to the person who had spoke to him. It was Derrix the poet, he wanted to scout ahead. He nodded, "Be careful though, if you see anything worth reporting just come back and let us know. Don't want you getting killed, I got plenty of blood on my hands... don't need yours added to it." He said. Not meaning to insult or anything. It was just concern and it could be seen on the man's face. The same concern he had for his squire. The only reason he did not want a squire. He was afraid he would get the boy killed. Wade seemed to be giving the boy attention with water and some bread. He even told the kid he should take up something else then a life of a paladin. "He is right you know, the life of a paladin isn't something you can just take on and expect to not have to do anything. I have killed my fair share of heretics and demons. I am not like some paladins, my job was never ever to conquer lands or anything. My specific position in the clergy is to hunt down evil at its roots... Even then I have my share of nightmares. Not as much as a soldier, but I do often find myself blaming my inability to keep people from dying." He said. If Wade could manage to convince the boy to go another path he would not mind. If the boy kept traveling with him, he would likely not make it to his age. Ishmael was surprised at his own ability to stay alive. It was as if he was cursed to watch his men die around him. While he was made to live. The boy looked to Wade then up to Ishmael. He took the offering of water and bread.

"My father was a paladin,.... Brother Ethan was his name. He served alongside Brother Ishitar, I aim to honor my father and follow under his footsteps." The boy answered. Ishmael sighed and a sadness took over him. "Oh your Ethan's little boy, I remember you now. I am deeply sorry I couldn't save your father. I tried my best to get to him in time.... I tried fighting past the gargoyle guardians of the vampire but I was not fast enough." He said in response. The boy sighed, and then managed a smile. "At least you tried to save him, he was like a brother to you. I know you tried, that's all that matters." The boy said. Ishmael took a deep breathe and let it out. The boy forgives him, but Ishmael did not forgive himself. Ethan wasn't the only one who died that day. The purge of the vampire scum claimed many lives that day. He punishes himself every day for it.

Ceceria

She could see the change in Ishmael's face as he heard and spoke with the boy. A lot of history were in those eyes. A history the man wanted to forget, or keep in his mind forever. She could never understand such things. Why must men always punish themselves with things they just can not control. "It sounds mighty foolish if you ask me... how can you ever expect to prevent deaths during such things. You shouldn't ever hold yourself responsible for the deaths of others. You were doing your duty to slay evil, so where they. They knew the risks, and they took them. They wouldn't blame you for it, and nor should you." Ceceria broke in. Ishmael was taken aback by the woman's words. How unpredictable this person was. One moment she talked about killing someone with such glee and then she says something rather deep and understanding. It was easy for her to throw such things aside. She was an Assassin, she was used to death. There was some truth in her words though. A truth that he would not ignore.

Nova

Nova kept looking to her chains trying out some way she could break free of them. They were pretty sturdy though. It would take more then what she's got to smash them. She sighed and looked around. The dungeon was rather large. She wondered if anyone else was put here at some point by the bandits. Then from a door on the opposite side of the room emerged a cloaked man. He had red glowing eyes and pale skin. She looked around and then back to him. He was closer then he was before. She could see that this man was a vampire. She could tell from the way he moved around the beam of light that entered the place. He moved into a crouch as he got to her. "I take it you lead these group of bandits?" She asked and he laughed. "I guess you can put it that way,... yes I do lead them. They bare my mark, they are in fact my thrawls. They brought you here as profit for them for when the king and queen pays the ransom. That will not happen though. I don't care either. I wanted you because you are a elf, and one of royal blood. I like the taste of elven blood. It tastes so sweet against my lips. Do not worry I wont turn you... the blood never tastes as good afterwards." He responded. He then took out a knife and cut into her forearm and placed a goblet underneath it. He then put away said knife and squeezed it. Her blood dripping into the goblet. She winced as she did so,...."You sick bastard...." she said. He smirked and when the goblet was full he released energy from his hand to close her wound. "Wouldn't want you bleeding to death..." He stood laughing and then down the hatch. He rose the goblet and poured the blood into his mouth some of it trickling down his chin and neck.

‘oh?’ Inyata smiled at her ‘so there really is much more to learn...’ she pouted softly at the remark Regalia made about being a captain, that might have been why her grandfather always told her to be careful who she spoke to, and all because of her sheer attitude and amount of fun she just had, could also be that she was sheltered also within the ships and never had a female to look up to; there were many possible explanations why and she will most likely never find out about anything of why she was brought up the way she was.

Upon hearing the comment about the silk she sighed, she never really did care what material it was, silk or what-not, she just found it really comfortable to wear and very nice to keep wearing upon herself, she did like the colours though so there was maybe that?? Inyata then instantly covered her face, she wanted to snigger and giggle at Ramara for what Regalia done ‘hehehe...’

The order had ordered Josef to a mission- to find himself and heal as much people he can find during said mission. Josef was confused, but he didn't question the wisdom of the head of the order. "As you wish, head." Josef said, bowing to him before taking his leave. He initially went to his mentor and asked her what the head meant, "Only you can answer that Josef." his mentor replied nonchalantly. The grief of his mother's death and his fathers absence was bringing down his potential.

Packing his materials, and robes and necessities. He left the grandeur building of the order, and with the gate clinking to a close. With a lazy sigh, he began his journey. It had been a few months- he had healed a numerable amount of people, most showing gratefulness and the like. Others showing fake thanks- Josef didn't really care too much. Josef himself by nature was lazy, and would rather talk his way out of a fight. His aptitude for healing was something that surprised him- he thought that he was a talentless fool.

Walking down an unfamiliar road, a sudden group of odd individuals entered his eyes. Thinking that it might be fate in the works, and maybe his mission he walked up to the apparent leader- the human paladin. "So Sir Pretty Boy." he called out, while leaning on his staff with a lazy and bored look across his face "Any need for a Cleric or something?"

Ramara

Ramara kept her horse in pace next to Ceceria, listening to the conversation but her eyes facing forward looking ahead of them with the intermediate eyes shift as she checked the terrain along the side of the roads. She sat there stoic as ever as she listened to the conversation; not really wanting to get involved. Talks of paladins and killings was a combination she would have nearly found humorous if it hadn’t been for the constant barrage her people had to deal with from not just the average everyday citizen but from the Holier Than Art Thou Type. Ramara was a killer; there was no doubt about that. She had slain her fair share of people in the past but it didn’t bother her as much as it seemed to bother others. To her it was a job; her removing a target was no different than a butcher slaughtering a pig for meat. To Ramara it was as simple as that.

“Death claims all, doesn’t matter the means,” Ramara said as her eyes darted over to Ceceria. Ramara doubted any others in the group would really get what she was saying but Ceceria might. Hearing the squires words she rolled her eyes before looking back forward. Honor thy father and mother was something she had heard numerous times in her life. Why? Because they brought you into the world? So what? No one asked to be born and Ramara had seen plenty of people that their greatest problem is that they did not want the life that was dealt to them. Ramara felt no need to honor her parents, in fact herself and her older sister had shamed them by leaving and not following in their peoples ways.

Ramara thought back to the day Sana left home. It was not a pretty memory. Their parents were furious that Sana was leaving and not taking her place in the troop. Things were said that she knew had hurt the only person she looked up to. She couldn’t blame Sana for leaving, Ramara felt that Sanas assigned path was one no woman should be forced to take to honor a family name. There was no honor in that profession she felt, even if it was the oldest occupation on the planet as some called it. Ramara was luckier than Sana; her assigned path was much simpler. A violinist who wowed the crowd as she played and performed acts of acrobatics was fine but that was not what Ramara had wanted. So when she came of age she left to find Sana.

“There is no good in dying in a battle you are too afraid to raise a sword in just because you are trying to honor a ghost,” Ramara said bluntly to the young squire. Her voice was directed to him but she did not turn to look at him. She just kept looking forward, having said far more than she normally would have. Seeing someone coming up on the road, Ramara perked a brow and smirked at the new arrival calling Ishmael a pretty boy. A cleric? That was someone that could come in handy.

Regalia

Regalia turned slightly and smiled at the young corsair. “Don’t worry, you will learn over time and age brings calmness,” she said before turning her attention forward once again. “Believe it or not I used to be quite the rabble-rouser. My father, may he rest in the peace of the tides, had his hands full with me when I was growing up; the only girl child on the Maelstrom, surrounded by pirates. There was no female influence,” she continued with a reminiscent look playing on her features. “I was rather good in spitting contests,” she said with a chuckle and shaking her head slightly at the thought of herself. “If the young me could see me now she wouldn’t believe it,” she said, giving Inyatas hand a gentle squeeze as they road.

Hearing Ramaras various comments her eyes narrowed slightly. Regalia saw nothing wrong with honoring a parent. Regalia was the way she was because of her father and her grandfather before her; a third generation Corsair and Sword Wizard. She was proud of who she was and where she came from. Yes, some pirates were ruthless and caused issues but there was a code amongst them that gave them their own personal sense of honor. Something Regalia held very dear to her heart, even after all these years. It was one reason why it angered her to see her people act in stereotypical ways. She felt they were better than that. Thou not of noble birth, they could be very noble themselves. Kings and Queens of the seas, Masters of Storms and Ladies Of The Deep. For Regalia, a Corsairs life was one of the few lives a common born could grow up to be anything they wanted. Birth rights did not matter. Had Regalia never grown up and taken the life seriously, she would not have been her fathers choice to take over the Maelstrom when he died. It would have been his first mate Tseng.

Regalia sighed remorsefully when the thought of Tseng came to her mind and quickly pushed it away when she saw the new comer approach. Perking a brow she smiled towards him and gave him a welcoming nod as he spoke to Ishmael. One who could heal a wound from battle was always good company along a voyage.

Wade was perplexed by the words shared between the paladin and the jester of death. Wade had never understood why people would feel remorse for people they couldn't save. Of course there were surely family of all the people Wade had killed who wished to find vengeance. People who felt it their own fault for the deaths. That was nonsense of course, because Wade would have killed them too if they had come to the rescue.

Wade and his comrades who fought alongside each other, only thought of killing. They didn't really care, they made a joke of many things that most people wouldn't be able to laugh at. Their senses of humor were dark, but that was the reality of their situation. You had to be able to laugh at the dark things as a simple man-at-arms. You wouldn't see anything other than killing and comradeship.

The words from the very attractive assassin resounded very true to Wade. He had never raised his sword for anyone other than himself and the men beside him. He had still been the man who had made widows and widowers; orphans and childless. He remembered shooting people down in crowds, all running and screaming in terror, not a chance at survival as they were slaughtered. At the time he had only thought of killing, but now he felt the stigmas of his sins.

"One thing's for sure. You'll only carry that sword for yourself and the ones beside you. One thing paladins and simple soldiers have in common as that we know how to fight for people beside us. Because when shit gets rough, those are the only people you have." Wade had never killed for money or a just cause. He only killed for the men beside him. They were brothers, forged in blood. Now they were all dead and Wade remained.

When a random young man showed up out of the blue and offered his services to the group, Wade scoffed a little. "You seem useful, but why in the fuck are you offering your services to people when you don't even know what they are doing? You might want to ask first." He said, sounding a bit more like the sergeant-at-arms he once was. He knew all to well how to deal with young bucks, but this one was a cleric. A little different in his eyes.

Jasmin tossed a bundle towards Derrix, the pommel of a blade caught the sun before the man grabbed it from the air. The pommel was a unique metal of an almost smoky color, and a blazing sun was etched into it. The man swung the bundle onto his back and with a kick of his heel, Charroux jolted from it’s place by Ishmael.

The wind numbed Derrix’s face as his destrier charged off from the group and into the path ahead. His tunic flapped in the wind as his horse galloped with pounding hooves and thick muscles. A smile creeped across the man’s face for a moment, enjoying the wind and the power of the beast beneath him. Buildings and people blurred by him as his horse quickened its pace, just allowing Derrix’s sharp golden eyes to make out faces and figures before whizzing by them.

The wind was familiar, and as Derrix rode, his mind galloped off into memories. The buildings blurred into a desolate wasteland where many found their grave, and the road turned into soaked gravel. What perfumes of the city that had danced in his nostrils were replaced with the acrid smell of death and carnage. The sky turned crimson with poofs of grey clouds, and the sun and moon was nowhere to be seen. A dry bite seemed to follow every burst of lifeless wind, and a disgusting liquid foamed from the ground with each hoof fall.

His tunic was swapped for valiant white armor, and a deep red cap embroidered with a blazing sun. His face was covered by a thick helmet, and inbetween his face and the metal was a mask of wool and herbs, filtering each breath with a burst of lavender.

The wind whipped by his covered face and threw his cape up in a flurry. Framework wings were attached to the back of his armor, and a white glow engulfed him, giving his charging figure the looks of an angel storming hell. To his flanks were men of equal dress and attire, but without the powerful white glow blazing their path. The wind whistled as it weaved it’s way through the angel's’ wings, giving their descent onto the battlefield an alien song.

All around Derrix arrows whizzed and sank into the unprotected civilians escaping a black horde in the distance. Screams of terror broke his ears and if not for the mask of wool, a dark miasma that sneezed from the horde would have choked his lungs as it choked his vision. Only by the shine of his own golden eyes that peered through the helmet could he witness the horrors of the beyond.

Women, and children, as well as men young and old were being torn and ripped from their places as they ran. Grotesque beasts of another world snagged them with their sickly claws and munched on their bodies with crackling crunches. Black scales and slimy skin contorted around muscular jaws that held millions of teeth. The people were sawed and strewn in every direction, children and babies were turned inside out in bloody fits of aggression, all the while a sickening plague marched by the side of the evil horde that seemed to swallow and suppress any remaining hope just to replace it with terror.

People who were no longer human, women now plump with puss and men twisted and deformed slowly marched beside the beasts, once brothers and sisters to the survivors, now turned.

“Hold,” was the only word in the minds of the few who sat atop their chargers and witnessed, “hold.”

Derrix lowered his long lance, it’s shaft glowing with the power of the sun. All at once his line of cavalry followed suit, and with an unforgettable sound of wind stopping, metal grating and bodies colliding, they clashed.

Derrix shook his head and suddenly he was in his tunic, sitting atop Charroux in an idle trot through the streets. The tight sickness in the pit if his stomach seemed to slowly fade and his nodded to himself.

“All’s clear.”

Ishmael

The boy, Daniel, looked Ramara with annoyance. "My father wasn't just some ghost,... How could you ever understand anything. Your an Assassin, death has no meaning to you. I was robbed of years I could have spent with my father. You may hate your parents ,but I deeply cared about mine." He looked to Wade and scoffed. "Better to live a life I choose then a life not worth of choosing. I chose to take this path. I wasn't forced to. The vampire that claimed my father, just made the choice even easier." He then looked away turning his back to them. He handed the bread and water back to him. "You don't have to like or respect my decission, and I really don't care. You can have your water and bread. I will rely on my faith in Ishmael to keep me sustained."

Ishmael was shocked and a bit stunned by the boy's outburst. He was also a bit impressed. Perhaps the boy doesn't lack courage after all. The boy was showing some positive improvements. Perhaps a stranger insulting his father was all it took. He nodded at boy showing he was proud of him. Perhaps when they stopped for rest he would teach the boy something. He wondered how much he was taught so far. Did he know any of the paladin spells or did he have any skill with a blade. Questions he would ask him later. Right now the boy will have to calm himself. He then heard a voice call him a pretty boy and he looked to the person. The man was a cleric,... That was a good sign,... Another healer. As far as Ishmael knew,... He was the only one who could heal. This person was another one added to the list. The man known as Wade did make a point though.

"Before I let you join let me give you the rundown of what we are doing. " He said to him. "First, my name is Ishmael, we are on a mission to rescue Nova Lysanther, the princess of Shar'es. We are on the trail of a group of bandits. They are known as the Black Moon clan." He paused letting it all sink in. "With that said, do you still want to join us. If so,... Fill free to climb up beside Daniel."

Daniel looked to Ishmael and smiled. He called him by his name and not by boy. Perhaps he proved himself in his eyes.

Ceceria

"Death comes to us all sadly, that is true." Ceceria said. "A wise man once said, 'Even Kings are devoured by worms'..." Ceceria then heard the boy Daniel defend his father and that it was his choice. He loved his father,.. She saw that in his eyes as they twinkled. "Its a good thing to choose. I didn't,... I am an orphan. My father died in a plague and my mother soon after. I would have followed if not for the order of paladins and clerics who visited the village and cleansed it. I am always grateful for them saving me." She said. She found herself playing with Ishmael's long blonde hair.

She had to giggle at the new arrivals name giving of Ishmael. "He is a little right you know,... You are quite the pretty boy. Even I am a little aroused at your sight." She said rather teasingly. She then turned around on the horse. She pulled forth her violin and began to play it. She played a fitting tune for the moment. She suddenly got annoyed with her hat. She tossed it off and heard the bells jingle as they hit. Her hair was both dark on one side and violet on the other. She was a harlequin in all it's pureness.

Nova

The elf princess began to feel thirst come over her. She wished her hands were a little higher. She could cast a spell that she learned from Ishmael. She sighed,..."Hey jerk!.. You want me healthy?.., have one of your goons get me some water." She barked at the shadows. Soon after the door to her side opened a guard coming in and placing a bowl of water down. He then released her hands from their chains. He quickly moved away as she tried to grab him. He spat at her... This angered her to the point a burst of flames shot out from her hand. The blast nailed and launched him to the ground. He was dead. "Asshole..." She said eyeing the smoke coming from the burned hole in his chest. Nova rose the bowl up and took a drink from the water. It was refreshing.

Ramara And Regalia

Ramara sat there in the saddle and let the boy explode, listening to his outburst and not showing the smallest hint of emotion. He could speak of things concerning himself all he wanted but he assumed how she felt about her parents. That was foolish but with youth comes such foolishness. Assassins were not always of a stone heart and Paladins were not always perfect. It was something he would have to learn for himself in time; it was nothing she or Ishmael or anyone else could ever teach him, only life could. Life was a short journey for some, a long journey for some and even a longer for others; life was a cruel and compassionate teacher and only looking back on life could see clearly see the moments that were cruel and the ones that were full of compassion.

She could have told him all these things but she didn’t. A child lashing out in anger would not listen to one he had already prejudged, however incorrectly his judgements may or may not have been. She simply sat there and let him vent before her head snapped around and a smirk came to her lips. “Perhaps he is not a ghost after all,” she said before turning back around and looking before her as the expression on her face faded. Sometimes someone just needed a push to show courage; perhaps he had some after all. Or perhaps he was just a child lashing out about a memory. Only time could tell.

Regalia was however not as silent or stoic as Ramara, pushing her horse forward she came up to the wagon and next to the child, eyeing him for a moment before shaking her head slightly. “Child, I would watch what you say. If she is as cold and heartless as you seem to believe she could have just ended your journey,” she said in a rather compassionate voice. “But she didn’t. Try not to assume that death means nothing to someone or that someone may hate their parents or even that a lifes path is not one worth the choice. All have their reasons, if you didn’t care you wouldn’t have had an outburst,” she said with a kind smile on her features as she slowly pulled back on the reigns and backed her horse up a bit to the back of the wagon before stopping and letting it stand there until it was time to move again.

“I have to agree with her though, there is no honor for a parent to have their child die in a battle they are not prepared for just to honor them. Parents, well most, love their children. They want them to have better than they had; safer lives and less pain than they themselves endured. I am sure your father is proud of the choice you made to follow in his footsteps but perhaps, just perhaps he wanted better for you. That’s all I am saying. Take it or leave it,” she said before giving Inyatas hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance as they waited to continue.

"And Wade is correct, in the heat of battle you must fight for those beside you, because they will be fighting for you. Family is not always the people that are of our blood, but the people that will become your blood. Brothers and sisters forged in war, child found needing direction, a parent to look up you may have never had. Travels, on the road and sea, makes strange bed fellows but sometimes it gives you great rewards that gold and silver cannot measure," she said looking over her shoulder and at Inyata with a smile.

The conversation between Ramara and the young boy reminded Wade of a much younger boy who had tried to take up his father's place. Wade and many men-at-arms were clearing a town, after toppling the walls and breaking through a siege. They were clearing house after house, making sure there was no resistance. It had so far dispersed with little threat left, as they hadn't experienced resistance on this next street. The previous patrol had cleared a lot, so they had little to worry about.

The signs of resistance showed, and it had been adequately stifled well. Dead soldiers laid everywhere. Among them, there was a child, a boy, on the ground weeping over what Wade assumed to be his father. They simply looked over the boy as they passed over, but after the boy noticed them, Wade saw something unexpected. The boy was trying to pick up his father's crossbow. Wade already had his own crossbow in hand and he pointed it at the boy.

He was a long distance off from the child, and the rest of the men-at-arms were too far ahead. Wade was the only one far back enough to respond, or even notice. He looked at the boy, as the boy paid him no mind and kept trying to pick up the crossbow. "Don't pick it up." Wade whispered, as the child kept trying. His eyes became wet with frustration as his mouth shook. "Dontchu fuckin' pick it up." His voice was shaking, as he had killed before, but this was long before his days of dealing with genocide.

Wade was a much younger man. This boy was perhaps a good decade younger and he persisted, until he held his father's crossbow in his hands and aimed it at Wade's comrades. "Dontchu fucking pull that trigger!" Before Wade knew it, he let loose a bolt from his crossbow on the boy. The boy went down, pierced through the heart by Wade's bolt. "FUCK!" He screamed it as he reloaded the crossbow, hastily. "Why'd you have to fucking do it?!" He said, his eyes watering up with frustration.

Sometime after that, he started to experience a much bleaker world, killing more. Age stopped mattering, so did status and gender. He had killed all he could. The only thing he could hold onto was the fact that he was still alive and he had to make sure his comrades stayed alive, too.

Back in the present, Wade took the water and bread from the boy, graciously taking them back. "Yeah, whatever. Dick." His eyes looked dark as he had recalled the memory in a small flash.

He noted the conversation between the two women and the boy. He wasn't sure if he liked everything he was hearing from the older woman, but she was spot on for much. "You're a fucking assassin?" Wade had a look of slight amusement on his face as he spoke towards the blonde emotionless female. He scratched his head, and puffed a little more on his pipe.

"Well, of course he fucking cared. We all just insulted his fucking choice of profession which has very sentimental meaning for him, obviously. I'd be pissed the hell off too." Wade finished his short ramble and swigged some of the water. "Wait, I was the only one who insulted his choice of profession." He laughed at the realization. He swigged at the water before hanging it around his torso from the strap that was around it. It dangled freely, annoyingly kicking out with every step he took.

Wade's concentration seemed to settle on the ground as he walked quickly, beside the cart. His attention was unfortunately brought to what was going on between the jester of death and the paladin. The jester was playing with the paladin's long blonde hair and Wade was making a very disgusted looking face. "Ewwww, nooo." He said, to himself, not sure if anyone was listening. "Pretty boy? Aroused? What?" He said it all, not really thinking on whether or not the two of them could hear him, or if the older woman and the assassin were listening to him.

Ishmael

Daniel looked to Regalia. "Do you know my father?....no. Do not assume you know what he would have wanted for me." He said. "Those without swords still die upon them. Better to have one in my hand and the skill to use it. Then to not have one at all resulting in someone stabbing it into my belly." He said. He then looked back to Wade. "You may have been the only who insulted my choice, but it was someone else who insulted my father as if he was nothing to me." He said and then looked forward. "I am done listening,... and talking." The boy added.

Ishmael then raised his hand. "Alright, I have heard enough. Stop picking on Daniel." He said. He felt the boy was right in a way but he didn't want the boy making a fool of himself. He was going to let the boy have his victory. He would start to see how much the boy had learned with swordsman ship. Hopefully the trainers taught him something along the way.

Ceceria

She rose a brow as the group continued on after the boy. Wade and Ramara seemed to have ceased ,but then Regalia had to step in. She agreed with the boy though. Best to learn how to fight now when he is young and to have his blade in his hand. She knew all to well how true his words were when he said that those without them still died upon them. Even Ramara would have to agree perhaps. She knew she claimed a few lives who never picked up a blade. She liked the boys heart though. He wasn't going to let people step over him. She respected that.

Jasmin seemed to shrink away from the conversation. After Derrix had rode off she had been in the crossfire of the moral debates, with only her old brown sumpter to share the misfortune with. She parted some of her honeyed hair from her young almost milky white face and heaved a sigh, hoping Derrix would ride back soon. Even if he was only her employer, she could definitely use a familiar face among the group of misfits and the mismatched.

She pursed her lips in thought as she tried to figure out a way to ease the awkward situation she found herself in. After slapping a fist idly into an open palm for a little she turned to the younger pirate looking lady and smiled, attempting small talk “Madam? Where is it you come from?”

@salrynn

Inyata growled under her breath, she hated what she saw; it appeared to be a scene just exploding tempers and unpleasant conversation, all she knew was that this might not make her mature but might make her more childish during the journey ahead, she finally drifted off as she held onto Regalia. She wondered what the princess would look like, if she was beautiful and kind, and young like all the other elves she encountered during her journeys on her ships, Damn; she was half elf herself so she should very much know by now, the only thing she didn’t understand was; why couldn’t she cast magic like all the others?? she was taught how to use it but she never was able to cast it. The worst thing was that her mother and father could use it.

She finally snapped out of it when she heard a young lady’s voice calling her madam and instantly looked at her, she seemed kind and mature; maybe she could talk to someone normally after all, she chuckled to herself and answered;

‘Well! I come from a ship!’ she answered in delight ‘Unfortunately I don’t know what that ship was called, but grandfather took care of me in there and everything! he taught me invasions, he taught me how to fight, he taught me quite a lot actually! hehe!!!’