---

Leon ripped the fallen tarp from the boy's body, and let the boy fall to the ground. With enough force to wind him, Leon pinned the boy with his foot. Leon help the tarp out in front of him and dutifully wound it into a crude cloth rope. Taking the boy's arms and legs in hand, Leon hogtied him and tied the rope taut.

Criminal duly subdued, Leon hooked his arm around the boy's midsection and hoisted him upwards. Carrying the boy in one arm, Leon gently reached his hand out to Raine. A man and a woman's testimony would be worth far more than only one person's, after all.

"Excuse me," he said. "Could you please come with me? You will need to be present at the trial to properly determine the extent of his crimes."

Leon noticed that the woman looked... concerned for the boy. Smiling gently, he attempted to reassure her.
"You do not need to worry. This one has been subdued to the fullest of my ability. He will be kept safely until such time as he can undergo [Judgement]."

Leon briefly considered what this boy had stolen, and hoped it wasn't something as simple as bread. To lose one's hand for the simple theft of foodstuffs was a folly that should never come to pass, but justice was justice. Forgiving any crime, no matter how small, would do nothing but encourage them further. In the interest of fairness and good morality, all crimes of a kind are equal. Leon tightened his grip around his catch, and patiently waited for the orc guards to arrive.

As the woman greeted her, the blade master looked up to find her company, but wasn't terribly pleased by the woman's attitude - casting aside and uncaring much for her looks. While Ellise smiled politely and reached up to gently shake the noble's hand, she was internally displeased in the manner she was addressed, as if because she was not of noble origin herself that she was somehow lesser. Ellise really did hate that look, the icy coldness of arrogance. She normally didn't have time for these silly political games and dances of subtle stabs and whispered notions, but seeing as she was stuck at this location until the big reveal, she had no choice if she didn't want to make a scene. The amusing part though was that the noble had no idea how 'formidable' a blade master was, for truly only another master of the sword or any other weapon could really overpower one. She wasn't here to brag or show off though.

"Well, maybe not as formidable as you think, Lady Serkan." Again, Ellise didn't like flaunting her skill and would prefer to keep her true level of mastery as hidden as possible. "My name is Ellise Callan..." She then paused, letting go of the noble's hand and glancing around. "But please have a seat." The warrior gestured to the spot next to her and smiled politely again, no matter how amazing Akalda thought she was. "Don't figure you might have a guess as to why we've been summoned, m'lady?" she inquired, perhaps in a more educated tone than most other warriors - she was part scholar, after all. As she listened, her eyes glazed over the rest of the patrons, noticing a clear divide between class and commoners. She could only try and empathize with the others that felt out of place, at least more out of place than Ellise was herself, and mentally sigh towards those that were ignorant to the reality of this town.

There was so much to do! So much to learn! How could anyone know where to start?

Petra had been rattling her brain trying to understand the complex library books from the academy. Maybe it was her simple upbringing or small town education but she didn’t see the relevance of anything written in these books. Sure it made sense that certain parts working together would create something else but this was all theoretical. Why would people spend their time studying theories and fanciful guesses when they could be out in the world learning about indisputable facts. For example, from Petra’s extensive time in the mines, she knew that the average time for people eyes to adjust to darkness is 18 seconds and if you apply all of your effort during the start off a day, not only will you run out of energy by noon but you'll be sore for at least a week. Why wasn’t this information in these books?

She returned all of the 'Theory' books and began browsing around for something that sparked her interest. 'Pixie Anatomy?' No, not really. She didn't care much for learning about those little creatures. 'Orcs, Goblins, and trolls. Oh my!' She didn't even stop to read the back of that book. 'Earth and its many Properties' Yes! This was just what she was looking for.

After what seemed like mere minutes of reading, she closed the large book and looked around. Practically everyone had left and she noticed the sunlight quickly disappearing behind the low mountains surrounding Jeorva.

She wanted to be inside those mountains so badly. She yearned for the endless hours beneath the earth and the companionship of the rocks. She let out a deep sigh and stood up from her chair. As Petra placed the book down on the table, it rocked on the edge and fell to the floor with a loud BANG. Everyone slowly turned and looked at Petra as she turned a deep shade of red. She crouched down to pick up the book only to see someone had already retrieved the book and was smiling up at her.

“Oh, thanks for getting that.”

A wide toothy smile appeared on the stranger's face.

“No problem. “
The kind woman glanced at the book cover and looked over again at Petra with a raised brow.
“So, 'Earth and its many Properties' huh?”

“Yeah it seems like the only volume that makes sense in this entire library.” She jokingly replied as she retrieved the book from the outstretched hand of the woman.

“Well, if you want, there are some really interesting volumes just over this aisle.”

She began walking in the direction she indicated but notice Petra wasn't immediately following. The woman turned and smiled over at Petra.
“They're just this way. Come on.”

How is it that every citizen Petra ran into treated her so kindly? She had heard such negative things about the people here in Jeorva but had yet to experience one slightly unpleasant remark or look. She quickly shook her fuzzy thoughts aside and followed after this woman. She seemed to know the place well enough, why not trust her judgment?

James' muscles tightened slightly as he heard a voice speaking to him, then relaxed when he saw the plain clothing. Obviously not one of the crowd who were throwing this party, nor one of the gala's more esteemed guests. Ordinary clothes, on a girl almost stubborn in her ordinariness, down to the ever so slight tiredness around her eyes from a life obviously plagued by labor and her self styled hair. "The first," he said, quietly and shortly. If he considered her question rude, he didn't show it--after all, he was a country boy, there was no doubt about that, so being insulted by the "you don't get out much" wasn't too easy to be.

Realizing that he should probably give the girl more to work on, if she wanted to continue making small talk--which she undoubtedly did, there wasn't that much else to be done--James looked for something else to say. To be honest, he didn't have many comments to make about their surroundings. The lavishness and wealth the ballroom embodied was impressive, no bones about it... But to be honest, it somewhat irked him. The decorations didn't seem to be for any purpose other than intimidation.

"Do you know why we're here, Miss... I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

On a street in Jeorva...

As the boy started to come to, he groaned in response to the pain he was no doubt feeling in his head. Upon realizing his current state, his body started to squirm vainfully upon Leon's shoulder.

"Let me go!" he growled, the muscles in his arms and legs jerking at the rope with all his strength, "No! No! I have to go home! My sister--"

Raucous laughter cut off the rest of the boy's sentence as a pair of orc guards approached. Massive, even by most orc standards, the pair stood half a head taller than Leon. They seemed to be laughing at the way the boy was tied and his feeble attempts at breaking free. "That's him," the man in the green robe said, finger accusingly pointed at the boy's face, which by now had gone quite pale at the sight of the orcs.

"Alright," one of the orcs sighed, holding out a single sickly grey hand while the other gripped a long spear, "We will take him from here." He bared a set of yellow, diseased looking teeth, parting a jagged scar that ran from his temple to his chin. Whether the expression was meant to be a smile or a threatening grimace was unclear.

The man in the green robe procured a cloth from his pocket and dabbed the sweat from his face and forehead. "I really cannot thank you enough, sir. I should like to repay you with a reward," the man did not give Raine the time of day. He seemed not to realize that she was a part of the incident at all.

"But first--" he turned to the boy and began patting his pockets. Quickly growing impatient, he slapped the boy's jacket pocket one final time before going red in the face, "Blast! Where is it boy?!"

The boy's eyes were wide, seeming just as distraught as the man, "I- I don't know! I must have... I must have dropped it!"

"You idiot!" the man hissed, his soft brown eyes suddenly turned quite feral, "Have you any idea what that medicine was worth?!"

"Of course I do! I paid for it and it's mine!" the boy barked back.

"Bullocks, boy. You're speaking nonsense," the green robed man growled, "Please get this filthy street rat out of my sight!" As the man spoke his eyes swept the ground for the item the boy had stolen.

On another street in Jeorva...

An inhuman, high-pitched screech escaped Shuzug's lips as Esmerelda pressed threateningly into his neck. Needless to say, this was not a very common occurrence-- it had been a long time since anyone in Jeorva had the gal to stand up to an orc soldier. This became very clear as a few members of the passing crowd could be heard gasping. The clearing that they had so far carved out of the passing crowd suddenly began to grow.

Almost as quickly as Brande had taken hold of the smaller orc did Varfu pull Zanna sharply into his armored chest and lift his axe to her throat. Zanna's eyes were wide with fear, staring at Shuzug and Brande.
Once Shuzug had somewhat regained his bearings, a low, throaty laugh bubbled up from inside him. Varfu's expression was like stone, waiting for Shuzug's final word.

"Let Zanna go," he said, sounding amused.

As ordered, Varfu slowly lowered Zanna to the ground.

At the academy...

"Oh," tilting her head, Rowena lowered her hood. She'd suddenly become aware that wearing it up indoors didn't exactly make her seem very approachable. Her tone was almost disappointed. She'd really hoped the human would have recognized her voice from the dreams, but then... it wasn't like there was anything particularly memorable about her voice.

"I... could show you to the Dean's office," Rowena said, "But if you want to know more about the dreams you've been having, I would suggest coming with me... 'fore you go see him, that is." She smiled, feeling a bit proud of her first use of what she assumed was human slang-- unaware that it may have come off as more of a mockery.

"My name is Rowena," she said, extending her hand.

Leon stared blankly at Raine. She seemed to be grossly ill-informed about this situation. Was she injured? Possibly.

"Ma'am," Leon said, vaguely disconcerted. "reparations will be paid in full, but must be paid by the criminal. Unless you're his parent or guardian-- in which case you might be held accountable for his actions-- you paying for whatever it is the accusing party has lost will--"

Leon paused. The boy didn't have whatever he stole, so he may have hidden it somewhere. Since Raine had been in disgustingly close contact with this would-be kidnapper, perhaps she had noticed where he hid it away prior to being caught?

"Actually, there is something you can do to help us. While he was hiding under the stall with you in his [Insipid Control], did you notice him hiding anything? A small bag, a flask, anything like that? It would be best if we could get this medicine back to its owner as soon as possible, before someone else steals it."

That meddling Ashbell boy.

Brande didn't falter, his blade stayed steady, true. For an instant, he thought, he must have looked the spit of his father. But the thought passed quickly enough.
With his free hand, he gestured mutely for Zanna to join his side. Then, finally, he smiled amicably.
"Perfect," he breathed, half in relief. He might have looked like his father for an instant, but he'd never share the man's iron nerve: that was an arrogance he'd borrowed from the aristocracy, to which Brande was now estranged. It was remarkable how quickly favours dried up in the presence of burning wealth.
"Peachy. See? That was easy."
Esmeralda remained at her station, but Brande seemed to relax a little. The fire in his eyes had given way to the cool reflection of a distant smoke.
He dropped his unoccupied hand back to his bag, sure to keep his sword arm rigid, and then calmly fished out his box of matches. He slid it open with his thumb, and- unable to grab a match without his other hand- he extended the box to Zanna.
"Do me a favour? Strike one, then put it back in the box."

Once the deed was done- after a short, confused pause from Zanna- Brande closed the box again, and counted down from three.
"Three... two..."
And then - he threw it upwards.
Anybody who has ever, when young and curious, lit a box of matches on fire just to see what happens, has likely been shocked to find just how quickly and brightly they burn. The box will burst suddenly into a fireball.
That was the plan.
At the last instance, Brande had drawn Esmeralda back, only to fiercely jab forwards again, and pierce the match box as it fell.
In that instance, he utilised his gift.

It was a strange sensation, heat climbing from his heels and through his body, as though he were being engulfed by his own, personal inferno. The first time it had happened, it had stricken him as unpleasant. But now, when he felt the fever of his own powers overtaking him, it was... a strange comfort. Empowering. As there is no sensation quite like playing with fire, and knowing you will never get burnt.

Esmeralda pierced the matchbox, and in that instant Brande willed the heat that had swallowed him out of himself, and into the sword's sterling blade. As he did so, he closed his eyes.
The matchbox exploded: and with Brande's influence, it went off like a short-range firework. A burst of white-hot fire, right before Shuzug's eyes.
And in that instance of blinding heat, Brande had grabbed Zanna by the wrist- "Let's get outta here, amica!"- to guide her through the suddenness of it all, and made off around the corner, beating a retreat as hastily as he could whilst he sheathed Esmeralda at his side.
He made a mental note to invest in some new matches as they fled.

Meanwhile, at a party nobody asked to be invited to.

Akelda sat beside Ellise with the sort of delicate, weightless manner of a tea party hostess: unobtrusive and quiet, as though it was rare she socialised without a table and a tea pot between her and her compatriots. She brushed down the frills of her dress as she did so, but the gesture did very little for the broken and rotted lace's appeal.
"Don't figure you might have a guess as to why we've been summoned, m'lady?"
Akelda didn't respond, at least not right away. She seemed to roll the thought around her head contemplatively for a few moments, and as she did so she tapped her nails- long, well pointed, and painted a pearly white- absentmindedly into her own knees.
She, too, cast her glance around the assembly, as Ellise had. And as she did so, the craning of her neck revealed a fragile looking collar bone, and a very slender throat.
When she spoke, her voice was still small, and soft, but it was laced with a sort of distant dreaminess. As though at any moment she might lose herself in a waltz that wasn't playing, or else fall into a slumber.
"Perhaps, it is because we are all formidable warriors", she concluded, vaguely. She made a hand gesture that seemed to suggest this was a tenuous guess, but the best she had to offer at such short notice.

James' conversational partner smiled tiredly, as though she couldn't wait for this soiree to end. It was- decidedly- not her 'scene'.
"Mikka," she told him, shoving her scarf into the pocket of her overalls, quite indifferent- if not outright resistant- to the invite's demands that she wear it, "Mikka Corriander."
She folded her arms across her chest, still leaning against the wall, trying her best to look unsophisticated on the vague hope they'd let her leave.
"I'm a country gal, myself. Well, a migrant worker, technically."
Something about the way she said 'technically' seemed to suggest whatever home she'd had in the country was unlivable now, "How 'bout you? What's your name, where're y'from?"
She seemed weary but nonetheless glad of another "normal" person's presence.

Audra's brow furrowed as the country woman walked out of sight in the direction that the elderly man had pointed. She had just taken a deep breath and took a step to approach him when the man's face made a sour and displeased expression and walked farther down the hall out of her sight, muttering under his breath. With a pounding heart, she quickly approached the front doorway, peeking her head around the corner in the direction they had gone.

Should she follow them?

As uncertain as she felt on what to do, she was certain that it was better to be inside out of the night and that following the two strangers was still a better plan than anything else she could think of at the moment.

Audra followed like a swift, light breeze down the hall, keeping close to the walls, as the country woman and professor hadn't noticed her yet. As the woman approached the stairs, the man's pace quickened (which did only so much considering his decrepit physical condition) and he was approaching her just as another woman descended from the stairs. Audra paused a moment, curiously assessing the situation. There was something about the cloaked woman that was familiar somehow....

What is it?

Audra couldn't quite put her finger on it, but her thoughts were interrupted as the woman addressed the professor, telling him that he was wanted by the Dean. The woman was obviously trying to get rid of him, but the elderly man didn't seem to notice as he came hurrying after his own manner back towards her. Audra hugged the wall a little closer, worried about being spotted and interrogated concerning what she was doing, for which she had no good answer, but Professor Augustine hurried past without a second glance, leaving the farm girl to breath out a small sigh of relief.

Making her way a little closer, Audra could better hear the conversation between the two women..

"I'm here to see the Dean, I s'pose? Maybe? I have a problem and I wan- would like it fixed 'fore I go back to Diedremere."

Diedremere? She's from home! Audra felt a small burst of excitement at the mention of her hometown, followed quickly by a slight pang of homesickness that she cut off immediately. This was no time to be feeling doubts - she was on the cusp of the adventure she had always sought and hopefully close to discovering the meaning of her dream. Audra snapped her attention back to the conversation she was eavesdropping on as the cloaked woman lowered her hood,

"Oh... I... could show you to the Dean's office, but if you want to know more about the dreams you've been having, I would suggest coming with me... 'fore you go to see him, that is."

Audra jumped slightly with a gasp at the mention of dreams. This country woman was having them too? Or were they even talking about the same dream? And how did this woman know about that anyways? It was in that moment that something clicked in the farm girl's mind. She knew why the woman had something familiar about her.

It was her voice.... It was this woman's voice that had resonated in and through Audra's dream...

Audra had unthinkingly stepped delicately forward, her curiosity pulling her towards Rowena like the wind pushes a sail.

On a street in Jeorva...

"Wait!!"

The man's eyes surveyed Raine as she made her rather generous offer to pay for the stolen goods-- generosity he fully intended on exploiting. It was clear that the wealthiness of her appearance did not go unnoticed as he pressed his fingers to his chin and furrowed his brow. As Leon quickly shot down the idea, his pensive expression quickly became overwrought.

"Whoa whoa whoa-- hold on there, my friend," he smiled, "I'm quite aware that this boy doesn't have the money to pay for what he took. If the young lady is willing to pay for the product on his behalf, I see no reason why we can't settle this now and go about our business as usual. Bygones and that, you know?"

One of the orcs grunted impatiently. "Are we done here then, Maucolyn?" his voice grumbled, low and gravely. His yellow eyes fell on Raine-- as if he was blaming her for wasting their time.

"Er... yes. Yes," Maucolyn said resolutely, "Yes, I don't wish to press charges. That is-- if the young lady can pay me the platinum piece that medicine was worth?"

All eyes fell on Raine. It was an an extremely high amount-- especially for medicine. Either the man was ripping her off or it was very valuable medicine-- no doubt of the life-saving and rare variety. The boy craned his neck to look at Raine, somehow managing to look both frustrated and grateful at the same time. "You're a greedy old bastard, Maucolyn!" he spat finally, snarling at the man, "A genuine jackass!" One of the orcs quickly put an end to the boy's protests by smacking him upside the head with a loud thwack!

"Enough! Woman-- will you pay it?" the scar-faced orc growled, again looking at Raine.

It was as close to a warm homecoming as one could expect heading into Jerova. After passing the city gates, and largely avoiding the guards’ ire due to a lack of visible weapons, Randall took note of the city that had been his home for quite a few years. The merchants were still hawking their wares in hastily assembled kiosks and booths, the class divide was still painfully apparent when not five minutes after seeing a nobleman ride by in a rich velvet doublet and a few overly large rings on his fingers with a retainer of body guards, Randall witnessed two boys, who couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7, thoroughly pounding on one another with fists over half a loaf of bread. Some good Samaritan probably thought they were being kind to a filthy street urchin, not counting on the desperation hunger could bring about. Randall did not move to interfere; the memories were still fresh enough that he remembered being one of those children, brawling for scraps. The only reason he’d survived to adulthood was because he was bigger and older than the other kids and could physically take food from them. Besides, one didn’t stay invisible and unremarkable in cities like Jerova for long if you did anything the locals didn’t do.

And one thing the locals never did was help the beggars.

It wasn’t to say Randall was heartless and blind to their plight; he had often shared some of his excess takings with those who could use it, and left food for those who needed it more than him. It was always very subtle, and he didn’t want his charity work going noticed. If someone who was on the receiving end of charity could adequately describe the man who helped them, word would spread, and life would soon become miserable for anyone remotely matching the description. Like pigeons, beggars would often swarm those they figured were good for a handout. The worst part was, any bit of charity, while well intentioned, didn’t really go far or do anything to solve the problem. Randall simply didn’t want to see people starve or freeze to death in the cold streets that molded him.

A caw sounded from overhead, as if it heard the musings about pigeons earlier. Gruff was perched up on a rooftop, surveying the streets for anyone careless enough with their food to drop it. The crow, something Randall saw as a friend, was easy to pick out as it was missing two large feathers off of his right wing, the result of a squabble with another pair of crows over a rabbit carcass some time ago. He didn’t ever go far, and even if he left Randall’s sight for a few hours, he always seemed to know where to find him. Randall smiled, in spite of himself. At least he had one friend left in this city.

Suddenly, cries about a thief filled the streets and Randall caught a glimpse of a boy who was fleeing from somebody. He grunted, knowing all too well what some of the punishments for thieves were in this city. Age didn’t seem to be a factor orcs considered, either. Randall subtly checked his gem pouch, filled with odds and ends of gemstones and jewellery he’d nicked on thieving jobs that he used almost exclusively for bribes. It was hard to feel shortchanged about the value of a gemstone in exchange for a meal or information when it was amongst the easiest acquisitions one could obtain, should they find themselves in a strange house. He had a very real fear he wasn’t going to be eating as well today as he had anticipated.

Turning the streets and following the reactions of the crowd, Randall eventually found what was going on. A young boy, accused of stealing medicine, a green-robed man who was almost certainly one of the sorcerers, a hulking orc guard, and two people, a man and a woman, who seemed to be negotiating for the boy’s release. Randall watched with arms crossed, wondering how the woman, a slightly woman of small stature and gentle features, seemed to be pushing hard to free the boy, concern genuinely evident on her face. Compared to the other onlookers, she looked positively radiant and pristine, like some painting of a goddess or an artist’s lover. It was hard not to have eyes lingering on her for more than fleeting glimpses, especially considering the present circumstances.

Her companion was another story altogether, a heavily muscled beast of a man who towered over nearly everyone in the crowd, save perhaps the orc, and the man was more conspicuous by his odd attire. Nearly naked and standing like a bronze statue, Randall quickly decided he was not a man who he would want to cross. He could tell from the fleeting glances from the guard and the sorcerer that both had their misgivings about being in his present.

"Yes, I don't wish to press charges. That is-- if the young lady can pay me the platinum piece that medicine was worth?" the sorcerer said, inwardly making Randall cringe as he looked at the terrified boy. He may have to cough up the ransom after all.

On another street in Jeorva...

A torrent of screams erupted from the crowd of onlookers Brande's stunt had acrewed. Zanna staggered to follow him, her face buried in her elbow to shield herself from the heat.

"After them!" Shuzug yelled out behind them, still recovering from the blast. His cry was accompanied by a high pitched whistle to alert any other orcs that were nearby.

"We- we have to hide!" Zanna gasped.

As Brande rounded the corner, he would notice the Academy in the distance. Students continued to trickle out the door and down the steps. Near the rear of the building there nestled a small garden shack, cloaked in ivy vines and autumn leaves that had fallen from the trees that surrounded it. The shack possessed a single window that was too covered in grime to see into from a distance.

Further down the street stood a second pair of orc guards. Their heads craned to look over the crowded street-- obviously on the alert, but not yet informed about who it was they were seeking. Zanna's eyes grew wide at the sight of them and the sound of her breath grew uneven and strained. Her auburn hair was sticking to her neck and cheek. Within Brande's hand, her wrist became clammy and cold.

Ellise raised an eyebrow slowly at the answer, watching the woman gaze into a dreamy distance. After a few moments, she concluded that this woman - Akelda - was a bit off her rocker. It was either that or she was really good at acting and knew more than she was letting on. Who knew with the noble types though, they were always playing word games and scheming in one way or another as it was. The warrior leaned back then, folding one of her legs under the other and intertwining her fingers together to rest on her lap more comfortably. It seemed obvious that they'd be sitting here for a little while and she was stuck with someone who either was in dreamland or was just toying with her - neither of which she enjoyed.

"I suppose that's a possibility... if you consider other skills besides fighting to be warrior-like..." It wasn't like Ellise didn't, now that she thought about it. One could spur men to blood with words alone, if it was the right type of person. She wasn't anything close to that though and didn't care for bloodshed as it was, but there are times you must do what you must and that had been the reason for her training.

As they fled- Brande Ashbell and the woman they would no doubt later refer to as his 'accomplice'- the world seemed to grind, and slow, as though it were passing through invisible waters, choking its movements to the point of near stillness. Brande began to wonder how long it had been since he'd been so giddy.
From the instant he'd pierced his matchbox with the tip of his blade, he'd felt a strange, tense sensation spreading from his chest: his breath had felt shorter, his eyes sharper, and his pulse far more fierce. It was familiar, albeit distant, a feeling he remembered but not vividly enough to recall the circumstances at the time.
At first, he'd assumed it to be fear, panic: because only a mad man would have felt anything else, after willingly picking a fight with every Orc in a three mile radius. Was he reliving his ill-footed retreat from Serafina Heights, stumbling- at least in spirit- through the midnight moors, all over again?
But as he'd continued to run, it had dawned on him that he could hear something strange, in this new, slower world. A repeated syllable, long and coming from very, very nearby...
He was laughing, and he hadn't even realised.

Because it wasn't fear. He knew now, it was excitement. He thrilled to the chase, a sharp-toothed mouse in a house of ragged cats, and recognised that this excitement was the same he'd felt when he'd first locked swords with his father, so many years ago. He'd become intoxicated by a cocktail of danger and overconfidence. His father had once supposed it was because he had too much of his mother and her wild-child ways in him.
And it felt good. It was only as he and Zanna- in great, slow strides, in his mind's eye- pelted down the street that he realised he'd had it too easy, for the last few years. A simple fight dulled the senses, but in this excitement Brande seemed to be sharper than he'd felt in a long time. He felt like the protagonist in a tale of true love and high adventure - today would not bring with it the final, glorifying battle he sought, but it had nonetheless turned into a great adventure.

Brande reached back with his unoccupied hand, and pulled the hood of his cloak up over his golden hair, to obscure its glint from sight. Then he heard Zanna, at around the same time he'd clocked the academy - just like the dream had told him. Had this been destiny, all along?
"We- we have to hide!"
And right she was.
Brande became aware, as he began to once again perceive the speed of his own footfalls, that this probably wasn't half as thrilling as it was terrifying for his unwilling new companion. She didn't have the fine eye of a practiced swordsman, so no doubt, to her, the world was moving all too quickly, and it was chaos.
For an instant, he'd pictured himself carving their way to freedom- it wouldn't have been the first time he'd walked a sword's finer edge to cross the valley of death- but Zanna was afraid. He could feel it in her skin: clammy, sticky, cold. She didn't share his spark, the electricity in his own sweat. It was unfair of him to assume she'd come along for so dangerous a ride, no matter how fun he supposed it might be - no great swordsman put a civilian at that sort of risk.

Further down the street, he clocked a pair of orcs, and back in real-time, Brande pulled Zanna around a corner, running past The Academy.
That was when he spotted the shack that flanked it, as they ran by. He supposed they might just disappear, if they got there fast enough, and as it flanked The Academy, it was a two-birds, one-stone scenario.
"You're right, amica," he told her, in a sort of loud, harsh whisper, lest his accent- with the distinctive foreign influences of his family's distant homeland- give him away at any other volume, "This way!"
He pulled her at last across the street and past the academy, as fast as he could manage, and as they approached, he saw the shack was covered in healthy green arteries of ivy and moss, but surrounded by autumnal leafs, all gold and crimson. He thought, for an instant, that in an abstract sort of way these shades of autumn almost looked like a fire had surrounded the place, a wreath of flames lit to smoke the shack's inhabitants out. He tactfully chose not to actually tell Zanna this.
He elbowed the door open- "Ouch!" - before he shepherded Zanna through it. He had whispered something along the lines of "Ladies first, amica,", but the implied chivalry was token at best given he'd essentially just shoved her into an ill-lit shed.
He stepped in after her, closed the door, and drew his sword, albeit more for his own comfort than hers.

Then he licked his lips- he could taste the familiar metallic tinge of copper- and let go of Zanna's wrist, wiping his own forehead with the back of his hand.
Then he smiled at her, brightly, breathing heavily but otherwise in good spirits, "Believe it or not, I've made worse introductions," he jested, as though they hadn't just become fugitives. Then he bowed, politely, as if he hadn't quite yet had all of the nobility beaten out of him, "My name is Brande Ashbell, last of the Ashbells. What's yours?"

Petra followed the kind woman to the furthest corner of the library where enormous volumes were covered in what seemed like years of dust. People must have not looked at these volumes since before the wars started.

“Hold out our arms please.”

“Oh um, alright.”

As Petra extended her arms forward for the librarian, the shirt sleeve from her brown tunic inched up to reveal the scribblings on Petra’s forearm.

“What’s this now? Were you having a difficult time finding a scroll to write down your notes? I do have a few spare parcels-"

“Oh no thank you. I was just jotting down a few thoughts. Nothing that can’t be remembered should it wash away.”

She timidly smiled at the librarian while pulling at the edge of her sleeve to help cover her wrists. Petra felt uncomfortable at the thought of sharing her thoughts with anyone so the idea of having to explain to this kind woman why Petra couldn’t stop thinking of her dream was slightly nerve wracking. She had come to Jeorva just as the dream had instructed and had patiently spent her time in the Academy. She was begin to feel antsy again like before when she had to wait to set off on her journey. This isn’t where she needed to be.

“Please excuse me.”

She handed the volumes of books back to the startled librarian and headed straight for the exit. She knew reading those books weren’t going to bring her any closer to discovering why she was called her and who summoned her here in the first place. As she barreled through the large double doors, she looked inwardly on her instincts to where she should go next. There seemed to be a pull coming from the end of the hallway where a small group of people were gathered. Perhaps they could help explain the strange dream Petra couldn’t get off of her mind.

"Me? Bother the thief?" Maucolyn scoffed, "As a merchant, I can honestly say that is the last thing I wish to do, young miss. I agree to your terms on the condition that this boy not shoplift my wares again."

He glanced at the boy as Raine went to place the coins in his open palm, "I'll be more than happy to leave him alone if that so be the case."

"Agh!" Maucolyn cried. He scrambled to catch the coins as they fell, his brow furrowing in a less-than-pleased manner. His love for money being much stronger than his irritation with Raine, however, he hurried to collect the coins without complaint and quickly counted them before motioning for Leon to let the boy go. Leon set the boy on the ground and untied him, clearly disgusted by the corruption of justice he had witnessed. He was given 5 silver pieces as payment for catching the boy.

With that, the party dispersed, leaving only the boy and Raine once more. The orcs sighed irritably as they left, muttering complaints to each other in their orcish tongue. The boy, from his position on the ground after being untied, shot her a baffled look before diving for the broken table, obviously looking for the object he'd dropped.

---

Elspeth's eyes lit up, evidently recognizing Rowena's voice now, "You! You're the one that's been botherin' me in my dreams."

Rowena's smile quickly faded into a frown, "Bothering? Ah... I'm sorry if you found them unpleasant. But there's a good explanation-- I promise. There are a few others like you, though-- they should be here so--"

Rowena stopped suddenly, lifting her head to look past Elspeth and down the hallway where two girls stood-- almost as if she sensed them rather than heard or saw them. The closest had long red hair pulled back into a braid. She seemed to be much shorter than the woman who lingered behind her with short brown hair pulled up into a loose bun. Their manner of dress seemed quite similar, a detail that Rowena quietly took note of as she called out to them.

"Oh, good. Two more," she smiled with relief. Her gold irises drifted between them with an otherworldly sheen. With her hood still lowered, she appeared to be human, albeit somewhat foreign. "I believe the others will be here soon. But... until then, please come with me."

---

The inside of the shack was very worse for wear. Rusty shovels, hoes, and an old axe were stacked in a cobweb covered corner. Dusty wooden crates lined the room in disarray-- it was too dim to read their faded labels. Two broken flower pots lay shattered on the ground; the shards of clay rested on the scattered soil. A few pairs of gloves, a mud caked coat, and some filthy looking cloth cluttered the workbench that was placed beneath the grimy light-shunning window.

"Z-zanna," the girl seemed to choke on her words as she continued trying to catch her breath. She turned away from Brande suddenly and coughed hard into her palm.

"Oh," she muttered with frustration. Turning back around, she held open her hand to reveal a good amount of blood. She apologetically began to wipe it on her dress while stifling another cough with her clean hand. "Sorry-- I... I need to sit down for a sec."

With the departure of the guards and the portly "victim", the boy and young woman were left alone on the cobblestone street, no worse for wear, although the woman a considerable amount of coin poorer. She was a curiosity and people didn't just throw down that much coin to help a stranger, even if they were a child... or innocent, for that matter. As the meager crowd thinned out, the excitement of the altercation having passed, Randall approached with a single clap of the hands and a sly smile.

"Well, it's not every day one gets to enjoy such open defiance of the greedy bastards. I swear, he got winded picking up the scattered pieces." Randall laughed, keeping a polite distance from the pair. He rose a pair of apologetic hands. "Allow me to apologize for the intrusion, I'm simply an admirer and a friend in a city where both are in exceedingly short supply." He said, looking after the sorcerer and his entourage, his brow creasing as a frown took over his countenance. "Some words of advice from a man who might as well been this boy when I was his age, if you'll have them. I don't know if you're sick of people like that, new to this city, or unaware of how dangerous it is, but they won't likely let something like this slide. The humiliation, you see. Slights fester like infected wounds, so I'd keep a low profile until that fat bastard's ire is on somebody else. Also," he turned back to face the woman. "It's incredibly dangerous to be flashing money like that, especially if it's to help someone else. People here will gut their own mothers for a loaf of bread. Unless you plan on avoiding a city that seems to be comprised entirely out of suspicious alleyways, somebody in this crowd took notice of that and word's going to spread. Somebody's probably planning to see what else you have on you, and honestly, I'm not comfortable with the idea of the first decent person I've seen in months get punished for actually giving a shit about somebody the world gave up on. Ah, my apologies. Manners."

Randall smiled apologetically and offered a hand. "The name's Randall. Just that, nothing fancy or extra. Keeps people like your friend from finding my whereabouts when I decide to knock him down a peg."