Her anger might’ve diminished slightly, had it not been for the strangely colored man—the apparent owner of the “Deathcrawler” as he called it. She crossed her arms and put her weight on one foot as she listened to his lecture, eyebrow raised and twitching the entire time.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that the Wanderer was very much taking her threat to heart. And she always pulled through on her deals. She was about to stomp her way over and grab the Wanderer out of her hands when a lupine female identified them to the Blueberry Prince himself. Of course, irritation was seeping out of her body at this point as both she and her companion were dragged—or corralled, whatever—into whatever mess he had.

With the order to make the Deathcrawler go away, she immediately got into its owners face.

”I don’t know how stupid you think I am, but I’m pretty sure that I know what a fucking ant looks like. Now why don’t you take the technical pole shoved up your ass out and leave me alone.”

That settled, her pink eyes immediately set its sight on the purple man who was inching father and farther away.

”AND WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?!”

Say your prayers, Wanderer.

As soon as she got close enough, her hands—tiny as they might’ve been—wrapped themselves around the Wanderer’s neck and she began violently shaking him, probably swinging his head back farther than his neck ever intended for it to.

”LOOK. AT. WHAT. YOU’VE. FUCKING. DONE. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT. NEXT TIME, NO MORE SNEAKY SHIT. WE’VE GOTTEN IN SOOOOOO MUCH TROUBLE BECAUSE YOU FELT LIKE REALIZING YOUR NINJA DREAMS, YA BRUISED COLOR SAMURAI.”

Whatever calm, cool, and collected look Ennis was trying to balance on his face was wiped away quicker than the excited Sir Mauls had bowled over the man he had to assume to be Drosil, judging by the noise of disgust and quiet curse emitted by Vesta as he arrived on the scene, as the Deathcrawler turned and clicked its bloody mandibles at him. His eyes grew wide as the beastly creature approached him, the disrobing wizard giving Ennis a set of instructions that the man did not need—it wasn’t fear in his eyes, but boyish excitement. He had read all about Deathcrawlers when he was just a sickly, bedridden boy. Like a spoiled little princess demanding a pony, Ennis had pestered his folks incessantly for a giant, man-eating centipede. He was forced to settle on the stuffed animal version one of his caretakers had made for him. Mister Leggy was now in the care of his daughter. His face darkened, praying that Nia had been able to assist his family in their flight to the Kirun. He didn’t have too long to brood as Sir Mauls began to feel his face with his antennae or, as Ennis imagined it, gave him Deathcrawler kisses as if the thing was a giant puppy.

“How wonderful!” exclaimed Ennis to himself as the Deathcrawler moved on to the next lucky person. He turned and gave Vesta a look, grinning like an idiot. Her gloved hand was pinching the bridge of her nose; her head was slowly rocking back and forth. “I think he likes me.”

He was too giddy from his close encounter of the many-legged kind to notice Drosil’s usage of magic. Instead, he kept his gleaming eyes focused solely on the Deathcrawler. Ennis felt something inside of him twist in pain when the pigtailed woman insulted the mighty creature. How can you call him an ant, thought Ennis, a look of shock and befuddlement on his face. He was about to correct the woman, knowing that certainly the only way someone could make such a mistake would only be out of sheer ignorance, when Drosil beat him to the punch. It was then for the first time that Ennis truly paid attention to the man as he lectured the girl on anything and everything about Deathcrawlers. He began nodding along in earnest interest as the man started delving into things he hadn’t even known about in regards to the creatures. He recalled Vesta comparing the man to him. Truly, it had been a compliment to be considered anyway similar to a man of such intelligence. Perhaps he’d teach me what some of those words mean in a more common tongue! Surely, a man as well versed as Drosil would be able to rid this loud woman of her misconceptions regarding one of the few good things to ever come out of Jasi.

”I don’t know how stupid you think I am, but I’m pretty sure that I know what a fucking ant looks like.”

A soft cry came from Ennis as whatever her words had originally twisted in side of him now broken completely. How could someone be so ignorant? he thought, glaring at the woman as he walked over to Drosil and Sir Mauls. He stopped as she yelled something again and, upon noticing it wasn’t towards him, took two long strides and slid up next to Drosil’s side.

“Unbelievable how some people can completely lack manners,” said Ennis. “Personally, I think it’d be best if we let the Prince handle her; I’d love for you to continue on with what you were saying.” Ennis snapped his fingers as he remembered something from his childhood. “Is it true that Deathcrawlers cannot survive in cold or mountainous regions?”



Vesta hadn’t removed her hand from her head. Normally, when one drank they had headaches after their buzz had cleared, but all of this was causing her noggin to feel as if it was about to split right open. That self-righteous mage was back, and Ennis was acting like a damn child. Vesta had been mistaken about Alasa choking that woman, no, man because he spoke way too much. She at first suspected the alcohol was playing tricks on her ears before realizing that the man just did not know how to properly form a sentence. All she could hear as he talked was the out of place words. The brat with him yelled like she was a drill sergeant, and it made Vesta worry if that was what she had sounded like back when she was a captain of the guard, barking at her men to work harder. Regardless, all of the noise formed a perfect knot in her head, but they weren’t the true source of her headache.

No, that pain came when Cyril invoked his princely powers and had drafted them into their ragtag band of misfits. By the time they got to Gurata she feared that there would be a big enough train of imbeciles who could wield a sword following behind them that the Guratans would think that Cyril had come to start an invasion, not an allegiance. Besides, they did not know these people. True, they had defended this village, but it did not mean they had good intentions. She knew this only because she would have fought until she was red of tooth and claw if she had been caught in this damn backwater when the H’kelans had come. Of course, she would certainly not have been able to drive the H’kelans back without some fatalities, herself most likely included.

For two people to be able to do what they did meant one of two things to Vesta. One, either they were incredibly dangerous in terms of raw power, or, two, they were frauds. H’kela had plenty of spies in Barcea that could have reported the Prince’s route to the North. I have no real proof, thought Vesta, casting a suspicious eye towards Ennis without removing her face from her hand. Still, she felt as if there was some sense in her doubt of the two angels, and she knew that it was wise to never trust a damn Cade, especially one who decided to be a politician. It just all felt wrong to her, like it was a setup. Worse of all, the fucking Prince didn’t suspect a thing. Olain hadn’t raised his boy to soft, but had years under Kori’s rule soften his heart and his head? I love Kori to death, thought Vesta. But she always was too idealistic and trusting for her own good. She had proof this time in the shape of Ennis. It’s fitting for her. It’s not fitting for Olain’s son.

Somebody would have to set him straight, and of course the only one capable of doing that would be her.

“Cyril,” she said, dropping her usual formalities as she touched his shoulder. “I need to talk with you. In private,” she said, before politely adding, “at your earliest convenience.”

Drosil frowned as the girl yelled at him, held tilted in slight confusion at her comment. As she walked passed, his eyes would follow as she went to strangle her companion, and while most would look at this scene with either shock, confusion, or worry, Drosil just chuckled as he found it most amusing. Turning to Cyril as the man approached, he gave a slight inclination of his head to address the man.

"Seems like you've picked up some interesting new companions since we last met. Are those two lovers, by any chance, as they seem to be rather close. That or they have the most extreme case of a love/hate relationship that I've ever seen. The girl especially seems to be rather spirited, if ignorant in the department of Entomology." He ran a hand through his black and white hair, taking a moment to let his eyes gaze around the village, holding his gaze on each person for a moment before moving onto the next, though his gaze held on Lora noticeably longer than the rest, the curiosity fairly clear in his eyes. It was like the look of a perverse man stripping a woman bear in his mind, except much more penetrating, as if he was mentally dissecting her piece by piece. Once his eye turned away from her, he'd turn his attention back to the Wanderer, giving him a similar look before finally addressing Cyril's question, the smile on his face making it seem like he was purposefully taking his time to answer the Prince. "As for my presence here, it's not really that surprising. Shadar and I have a mental link of sorts, and he let me know that he wanted to return home and relax after the long walk. Also, though this is pure conjecture, but I believed he was annoyed by what he told me to be, and do note that these are his words and not mine, 'Such a sickeningly sweet display of puppy love from the wolf-eared girl that I'd rather dunk my head in a bucket of spiders than have to deal with that nonsense all the way to Gurata.' As for calling off Sir Mauls, that'd be like telling the wolf girl over their to back off if someone were to liken her to the animal whose features she shares, if not more so because the person got them incredibly wrong. You seem to think that I have completely control of Sir Mauls, but he's a very stubborn individual and holds a mean grudge. I'll do my best to keep him in line, and can promise that he won't kill or maim the girl . . . _hopefully."

Of course Drosil was lying through his teeth about the teleport spell(though if he really had one, that'd be amazing beyond words, the only thing topping it would be a spell that enabled sustained flight), having no such link with his brother and making pure conjecture from want he knew of his brother and the memories he could gleam from his time with the group. However, considering Shadar's . . . rough personality and cynical view on life, he didn't think it'd be that much of a stretch to believe he'd rather not be around such a thing. Turning to point towards the woman who he knew to be Joy(as well as sending her a look of 'Can we talk later'), he continued lying to the Prince's face. smiling all the way. He was used to lying to Nobility, and even if he felt bad about doing it this time, it was something that he felt was entirely necessary. The less people knew the secret, the better.

"You can even ask her about it, as she was witness to me casting the spell once I kind of, um, tired myself out at the raided village. It's one of the ancient magics I've uncovered in my studies of the many magical ruins in Jasi, and has proven very useful. Unfortunately, it only works by switching the position of two people, so I can't bring Shadar here without sending myself back to where ever he is at that moment." Drosil gave another small inclination of his head to Cyril, before turning to look at the shorter man who approached. As their eyes met, Drosil instantly knew he had met a kindred spirit, a man who had the burning passion to learn all he could about the world and more. Cade's question to Drosil did little to dissuade this notion from the mage's head, as he snapped his fingers to have Sir Mauls scuttle over, lowering his head to show a large rune on his carapace, the color being similar enough to the material it was placed on that'd it'd be hard to spot without looking. Spreading from this one rune were lines of smaller runes running down the length of the creatures back.

"Normally yes, but since I would never wish to leave my best friend behind, I have place upon him a spell that keeps his body temperature stable so that he can traverse areas of cold with me. Unfortunately, areas of deep snow will forever be a problem for Sir Mauls, so when we actually arrive in Gurata, I'll have to embark on the tedious process of fitting each of his legs with a special magical item I had made for him that will evenly distribute his weight amongst the snow, and thus keep him from sinking into the freezing mire. Unfortunately, somebody doesn't appreciate the large amounts of money, time, and effort that I went through to have these made, including having to stop two assassination attempts on the man's life since he apparently ticked off some noble by sleeping with their daughter and impregnating her, and is constantly trying to take them off and hide them."

The later half of his speech was not so subtly directed at Sir Mauls, who made a quick series of clacks and hisses as he stood up on his hind legs, obviously annoyed and somewhat offended by the accusation.

"Yes, it was two, I remember. The first one tried to poison him, the other tried to stab him!"

More clacks and hisses.

"I don't care how uncomfortable they are, you're need to wear them!"

Dismissive clicking.

"YES YOU DO!!!! You remember the last time we did things your way? You were stuck in the snow for to days before I was able to convince a nearby village to help me get you out, and how did you repay that kindness? Hmmmmm? I'll tell you how, YOU DECIDED TO BITE THEIR CHEIFTAN'S LEG!!!!"

More dismissive clicking, followed by what could only be described as the the Deathcrawler equivalent of a defiant sigh. Drosil threw his hands up with a frustrated yell, before he took his frustrations out on a near by rock, giving it a nice and solid kick. . . only to hiss and curse his foolishness and Sir Mauls' stubborn idiocy as he was reminded that rocks were very hard things, and it was not recommendable to kick them. Sir Mauls' chuckles didn't help Drosil's irritation either.

"Ungrateful little . . . Ugh, why do I put up with you?"

Sir Mauls' gave it's best rendition of a shrug, before it decided to go back to it's previous prerogative, glaring a hole in the back of Chikako's head and cursing out the ignorant shedevil in a language only one other person could understand. And they didn't approve of their . . . colorful word choices.

"Sir Mauls', where did you learn such vocabulary?!?!? Your pincers have no business going anywhere that place! Really, that kind of language is completely uncalled for and it makes you see childish and immature, if not rather . . . creative in how you graphically describe someone's slow, agonizing death. But still, you should channel that creativity into something productive like . . . like . . . uh. . . ." Drosil, now mostly recovered from his bout with the rock, looked to the others for some kind of idea, as he currently couldn't think of many things a giant Centipede could with it's creativity that could be labelled productive. The lack of hands or real vocal cords really limited Sir Mauls' options.

Lora Kadar

Lora’s eyes flitted between the man, Wanderer, and Cyril as they received the news. It seemed to confirm something for Cyril, who watched as the Wanderer passed through panic and fear and into begrudging acceptance. He spoke, keeping up his odd insistence of referring to himself with impersonal pronouns, distilling any remaining doubts about what she had seen yesterday. She wasn’t surprised at his statement, expecting nothing less from the way they had all but evaporated after the fight. She turned back to the Prince as he processed this and turned it to his liking. And then he extended his earlier offer to them as well, except where hers had been a soft offer theirs was a firm order.

The man did not like this possible outcome of events, but reason wasn’t far off and he agreed. Cyril looked pleased and turned away, done with his convincing and on to attending the rest of the group. He turned his Sentinel away and moved onto their new companions, comforting the Wanderer, but perhaps just depressing him. He didn’t care for long, moving on to the newest man—Drosil.

She turned back to look at the scene in front of them, the woman yelling about the species of the Deathcrawler and then turning her sights on her companion. Her ears turned towards the Prince and Drosil despite her watching the one-sided fight, the soft tone drawing her interest. The sound paused, and she glanced over to the two men on instinct. Drosil was staring at her with a look in his eyes she’d rather not describe, much less ever see again. Discomfort slid a cold hand down her back and she glared her best at him, nose flared and teeth peeking, but he was too busy picking her apart to note the intense distrust she was sending his way. After far too long he turned away, but she did not. She watched him move back to the Prince and take his time continuing, her eyes narrowed. If his small but far too long actions towards her weren’t enough for her to find dissatisfaction, his manners toward the Prince certainly were. She wasn’t close but her hearing was unfortunately expert, and honed in on his words. He mentioned the man from earlier that was no longer here—were they connected in some sort?

And then—Puppy love? Puppy love? Lora hadn’t had puppy love about anything since Pax had grown from a foal and the insinuation that the rest of them had reacted with less enthusiasm than her was frankly—in her modest opinion—conducive to treason. He was the Prince for Ambrosia’s sake! Was she supposed to be as grumpy as the rest of this lot? What did it matter if his voice was velvet and his eyes belligerently brilliant, the rest of them should have been just as pleased as her to share his company!

The man continued with a rather insensitive comparison (she was a nonhuman, not a Deathcrawler) and Lora had had enough. Turning sharply and removing the man far from her mind, she caught up to the Wanderer’s near-death experience. She hesitated for a moment, perhaps now wasn’t the best time, but continued. It might be the only time, if the woman got her way. Anyway, she was all too familiar to tiffs between friends being solved with a little fighting. “Thank you—“ Lora interjected between the woman’s screams and the Wanderer’s sputters and gasps. She rushed her words, sure the woman would cut her off if she gave her the chance. “I’m sure you don’t care to hear it but I really mean it, and I’ll follow you two around until you let me get it out. What you two did was extraordinary and I’m very glad and grateful that you did it, whatever your reasons or humbleness.” She grinned brilliantly, nodding. “Thank you.”

Cyril, the Wanderer, and Company

Try as he might, Cyril just couldn't seem to get a full handle of the situation. Even as he waited the brief moments it took for Drosil to answer, he startled slightly as the newest female member of their group practically exploded. Eyes widening in surprise and then horror as she began strangling the man in front of them all, shaking him violently in the process. The man, surprisingly enough, didn't fight back, instead just letting his arms swing back and forth freely in the process, just as his head bounced back and forth as well. From the shaking, the Wanderer gave a sort of quiet, distraught groan that, once it began, didn't stop.

Even as Cyril opened his mouth to try and intervene he was once more sidetracked, though this time it was by something much quieter. His brow furrowed in confusion briefly as he felt the touch on his shoulder, turning in his head to see that it was Joy. Something was clearly bothering her, about just what he wasn't certain, but she asked for privacy when it came to the matter and it was clearly serious. He gave her a nod, saying, "Tonight then, as soon as we come to a proper stop."

It was then that Cyril got his answer from Drosil... and he wasn't satisfied with it. Admittedly he didn't know as much about Drosil as he did Shadar since he had spent more time with the latter, and he barely knew Shadar at all, but something didn't come off as... quite right in Drosil's explanation. Too convenient wasn't the right way to describe it, but far-fetched seemed to be more likely. It wasn't the time or the place for a proper grilling of the Jasian, so Cyril just filed it away for later pursuit. Even as Drosil's attention went to Ennis instead, Cyril was moving to step beyond them all, the journey beyond now foremost in his mind-

Wait, puppy-love? It was enough to bring Cyril to a complete stop in his tracks, and round on the Jasian. It was mostly due to the fact that it seemed so ridiculous, but Cyril made his decision then and there to just keep moving. The situation would only get more out of hand if he engaged with it now, so he instead just said over his shoulder, above the general clamor, "Let's move everyone! Time's wasting, and we need to get back on the road again."

As the Prince said these words, the Wanderer finally did something to prevent himself from being shaken to the point of concussion. His hands came up, gently going to his companion's wrists. There he appeared to grip down lightly, but in reality he provided enough force to stop the shaking in an instant. Giving an apologetic look in the direction of his attacker, he then looked in the direction of Lora with a look on his face that almost seemed bashful, or perhaps even ashamed.

"Please, do not thank him. He only did what he could."

With that, he let the woman's wrists go once again, fully prepared for the continued throttling.

Eventually, the group once more gathered together to its full size on the opposite end of the village. Most of the Sentinels were already waiting for them, having gone through the village with little incident. Cyril introduced the three new people coming along, but only did so briefly for the Wanderer and his travelling companion. Though Diane gave the Prince a very odd look, Cyril didn't seem to mind even as he didn't give their names, only saying, "These two will be coming along with us to Gurata as well. Better to travel together at this rate." In contrast, Lora got a full introduction, and after a moment Ayano postively beamed with recognition.

"Lora?! You're kidding right?! Come here, it's been so long, come ride with me-" So on and so forth.

Whatever the Prince was thinking when it came to the other two though, no one verbally questioned his decision in that moment. Those who were not mounted proceeded to do so on their respective steeds, save for the Wanderer and the small woman, who had no horses; despite this, they did not seem too concerned about being able to keep up. Once more they took to the road, the villagers calling out their farewells to the Prince, the Sentinels, and their companions.

Slowly but surely the air began to turn colder the farther north they went. The land became less and less green and a little more grey, but the fields were still full of grass. As they travelled, they soon passed beyond the arch that had been the main target of the H'kelan soldiers, which curved from just above the western part of Barcean far to the south. The villages they began to see and pass through had been spared, and the farther north they went, the more it became apparent that no knowledge of the attack had reached these people at all.

For the most part they travelled nonstop, but towards the end of the day it became more and more apparent to the Prince that the delay in the first village they had stopped in made their journey suffer some in the matter of time. Thinking of alternatives to himself, he announced his decision of his shoulder, saying back so that everyone could hear, "We're going to stop in the next village we come to. We'll buy whatever missing supplies we need for ourselves and those who have just joined us for Gurata. We'll stay the night there and move on in the morning." Cyril made the decision partly out of absolute necessity, but also keeping in mind the fact that Joy had requested a private conversation with him, and an inn room was certainly more private than in a camp.

The village came into view, and as they entered they once more received the familiar greeting given to the Prince and the Sentinels. Coming to a stop within briefly, Cyril gave orders to different members of the Sentinels, instructing them on the supplies they would need to survive in the northern lands. As they proceeded off in their own directions, Cyril proceeded forwards, with the inn in mind. Even as he went along, he tapped along the fingers of one hand as he mentally counted the number of beds they would need. Among those who went with the Prince was the Wanderer, who didn't seemed even slightly bothered by the long walk that had happened that day.

The inn was nice enough and was of decent size, which was very promising to the Prince considering the size of their group. After dismounting and handing off his reins to one of the stable hands, the Prince led the way into the inn, where he had to wait for a few moments for the clamor to die down before he was finally able to speak. With a kind, polite smile on his face, after his greeting he got straight to business:

"Fourteen beds in whatever rooms you can spare, please."

"Just thirteen. He does not need a bed." The Wanderer suddenly chipped in from behind and to the side quietly, Cyril glancing to him briefly in slight confusion before shrugging slightly as he looked back to the inn keeper.

"Er... Thirteen, then."

Outside the Village

While the Sentinels spread out through the village, two individuals approached the village from the west. Both were on horseback, travelling at an easy enough pace. One was a very tall man of nearly six and a half feet, with short blonde hair and circular glasses upon his face. His skin was somewhat tanned and he had a large, wide scar across his left cheek, almost like a heavy, thick triangle set into his flesh. He wore dark robes of mostly black that had gloves and heavy boots included. Along with the glasses which often gleamed with the light, his most eye-catching accessory hung around his neck as a silver chain and symbol, the symbol only able to be described as the empty space exposed in the rip or tear in a hypothetical piece of fabric.

The other was a young man, and though he certainly wasn't short, he was shorter than the older man by almost three fourths of a foot. Despite his clearly young age of nineteen years he had surprisingly grey hair that matched his eyes. The expression on his face was slightly irritated, and at least for the moment seemed to be consistent. His jacket and pants were dark, the shirt underneath the open jacket red, but the most interesting thing that he wore were on his hands and arms: he wore silver gauntlets, which were rounded and smooth. The sleeves of the jacket were pulled down over them, but they went all the way up to his elbows underneath it.

As they went along the man spoke to the younger without looking to him. His voice was one of practiced calm, even sounding experienced and knowing of the world, with the slightest of accents. "Get into the village and get supplies. I'll take care of the problem."

Once more in contrast, the younger's response was more than just a little brash, his frustration leaking through. "Of course you would, Divinesdammit, when am I going get to get in on some action-"

"Watch yer tongue, boy, or I'll remove it." These words cut off the younger immediately, and though the general tone of the older seemed calm enough, something about the briskness of his words was like a razor slicing through the air. It was enough for the younger to startle slightly, before his scowl returned fully and he shrugged.

"Yeesh. Fine, whatever you say. Why didn't we take care of this problem the day before yesterday?"

"As I told ye, we had another calling to attend to. Do not feign ignorance of that." With that the man broke away from the younger without giving him a chance to respond. Quietly, the young man swore under his breath, making a vague rude gesture in the direction of the rapidly leaving elder even as he kept on his course to the village. By the time he did so the crowds had already been relatively dispersed after the appearance of the Sentinels, so he had no idea that anything was different from when he saw the village two days before.

He was recognized as he rode through the village, for after all grey hair like his was certainly distinctive. Of those who recognized him, the oldest and the youngest actually seemed pleasantly surprised by his reappearance. To them he actually polite smiled every so often, before his expression turned to one of indifference; the shift in expression went doubly so for whenever he passed by some of those that were neither younger nor older, who did not seem too pleased to see him. At the moment at least, he had the decency to ignore them, but that could change at any moment.

He went straight to one of the more general shops in the village, where he dismounted and left his horse unattended without a care to give. Within, he gave a nod to the store owner before he started to quickly browse the shelves, skimming through in order to find whatever was on the list of things that he knew they needed. It included everything from gauze to hardtack. It didn't help that he pulled everything from memory, rather than having some physical list, so there was no telling just how much he had truly forgotten; with as much as he doubled back for, one could assume a fair amount.

The ambassador had already disappeared up the stairs and into a bed. Surely, a pencil pusher like him would have been exhausted after a long day of traveling. Vesta, too, felt tired and her body ached, but it was a good pain. Riding horseback worked muscles she could actually use; she didn’t have to worry about putting the wrong kind of pressure on her knee or slowly and methodically trudge her way down a road. A simple pleasure, like the kind she found in the mug of mead that she was currently nursing, or it would have been if dark clouds looming in her future. They would be in Gurata soon. The last time she had been in that frozen shithole some bastard had crippled her with a cheapshot. How long ago had that been? She couldn’t even remember. And now she was going back, dragged along by some wide-eyed and bushy-tailed scion.

Tilting the mug back, she drained her drink before pushing herself back from the table and onto her feet. Her scabbard clacked against the ground, betraying her otherwise silent footsteps as she approached Cyril and the Wanderer. Vesta brushed the hair out of her face and faked a cough to get their attention.

“I am safe in assuming that you are free now? I would still like a chance to have a word,” she said to Cyril, before casting a cold glance at the Wanderer. Her voice dripped with venom; her left hand curled into a ball. “He was just about to go for a walk, was he not?” she said, before turning back to her Prince. Her gaze did not soften as she nodded to the stairs leading to their private rooms. “Shall we, Cyril?”

The cough was enough to apparently physically startle the Wanderer, making him jump slightly, almost threatening to be expeled from his skin. Cyril's reaction was much more tame, straightening slightly before he turned to face Vesta with a smile. Though it didn't fade, his gaze became curious as the sudden, unpleasant turn came into the woman's gaze and words. Beyond that curiosity, whatever Cyril thought about it he kept to himself. The Wanderer, meanwhile, shrank away, seeming to become even smaller than he usually was as he looked away, as if ashamed.

"Sure thing, Joy."

She nodded as if to say "follow me" and then limped her way up the steps, holding the door to her room open for Cyril before stepping in behind him. Closing it, she latched the door and made her way across the small room. It was actually quite a bright and quaint room, but for some reason the atmosphere felt heavy. She set her sword up against a side table next to her bed, offering the chair to Cyril with a gesture of her hand as she leaned against the wall. Pulling her flask off of her hip as she looked out the window, she took a big swig of the burning liquor. You're just delaying this, she thought, capping her flask. She tossed the object to Cyril instead of putting it back on her belt.

"Have some," she said with a huff, folding her arms over her chest. It sounded more like a demand than an offer; she eyed him expectantly as she mulled over in her head how to start. Sighing, she lowered her gaze to her feet, her lips pressing into a frown. Finally, after what felt like an almost unbearable amount of time, she spoke.

"I think the first time we ever met was when I was close to your age now," she said, her voice heavy. "Your father had ordered me to train his son how to use a sword. I was one of the best back then." She drummed her fingers as she continued to fix her eyes to the ground. "I remember being real upset about that. I think both of us were upset about it. I always figured you wanted daddy dearest to spend time with you. I just felt like I was being punished, forced to babysit some little brat because I had upset a few dozen noble families during my younger years. I didn't let it show, but I was furious." For a moment, there was a hint of a smile on her face. "Although, I wasn't nearly as mad as the day your father promoted me and had to find you a new trainer because I had become too busy. Stupid to think about now."

She let out another loud huff, and then peeled her eyes off of the floor to look at Cyril.

"Do you remember my first lesson? The first thing I said to you?" she asked. There was a hint of doubtful desperation in her words, as if she knew he would not remember.

Cyril was not one to drink often, especially not while on a mission. He nearly missed the flask entirely, hands quickly coming up at the very last moment to catch it. Blinking, he almost absentmindedly took the seat she had offered him. In the silence that followed their arrival, he spent the moments looking over the flask, before almost cautiously opening it. The expression on the woman's face made it seem like he didn't really have a choice in the matter, so after a silent sigh he finally took a sip, thinking one was more than enough.

He managed to keep himself from wincing. She was just carrying this around?

The burning in his throat quickly faded at the mention of his father. In the time that she was looking at the ground, the color had drained from the Prince's gaze slightly as he tensed just a little. His finger tapped slightly against her flask, being the only other sign of his irritation. As her words went more away from the subject his father and instead towards how the two of them were in the past, the Prince relaxed some. By the time she looked up to him, the displeasure was gone entirely as he instead smiled to himself, thinking back to the practical beatings in the past that, while at the time and at first he hated, he had grown to understand the reasoning why they happened in the first place.

The response to her question came immediately, straightening slightly in the chair as he set the flask off to the side, with no desire to consume any more. "Never lower my guard. Surprised I still don't have the bruises from how long it took you to whip that into me."

She cocked an eyebrow, surprised by the quick response. She couldn't tell if she was more impressed that he remembered or upset that he had not taken it completely to heart. Her fingers stopped drumming as she chewed over what she was going to say next. The boy had proven he could take a physical thrashing from her; maybe he could benefit from a verbal one.

"So you do remember," she growled. "Yet you still lower it. Pray tell, why are you not more careful? Traveling with such a small group yet still flying Barcean colors, sending your men ahead to scout while remaining behind with unknown quantities, and know inviting those strangers to join us without even knowing who or what they are! You can't truly tell me that you trust them. Why are you being so goddamn careless?" she demanded, her fist hitting the wall.

His eyebrow rose slightly as her tone suddenly shifted. It had become aggressive, almost violent; a far cry from what it had been moments before. It took him a few moments to figure out just what she was going on about, but when he did... It brought an almost relaxed feeling over him. This he could deal with, as he had advisors and worriers before. It was just more of the same. Not even the sudden fist against the wall startled him.

"A small group moving within the borders, going from place to place to not just scout, but direct and lead." He began to rise then, slowly crossing his arms after he stood at his full height. "A group to react quickly and effectively, to save as many lives as possible. A group to find those unknown quantities, those strangers you speak of..." He brought one hand up even as his arms remained crossed for the most part, one finger lightly tapping his temple. "And to keep an eye on them, rather than simply letting them roam free just after hearing or even seeing them. Does it make sense more from that perspective, ma'am?"

"It made sense to have a ceasefire with H'kela. It made sense to march West to liberate Aatroia from the God Kings." It made sense for me to run away, she thought spitefully. "Just because something makes sense does not mean it is a good idea," said Vesta, folding her arms again as she shook her head.

"What if those villages this morning had not yet been destroyed, but were still under siege. What would you have done if we had come across the H'kelan forces? Fight them outnumbered ten to one? Do any of your men even have any real experience outside of a few bandits here or there? Would you be able to give the order to flee, knowing that you were condemning your countrymen to death in hopes that, perhaps, somehow, you could save more later?" She pointed a finger at the Prince. "And if those two idiots can drive an army back, then what chance do we have if they turn out to be enemies of the crown?"

"If you want to do things that don't make sense, I can think of a few. If my father were still along, he probably would have executed the two of them in the middle of the village square, if it fit his fancy. But we wouldn't have been able to do that, now would we? If they were enemies of the crown, we'd be dead already. The village would have been left alive to draw us in, we would have been massacred in the streets in our confusion, and the rest of the village would have been finished off as well. The fact that the village is still alive, that we are still alive, gives me some pause, gives me some reason to be grateful to them. Because of that, I'm willing to be a little more patient."

Cyril had waited for Vesta, but in that moment the words suddenly spilled from his lips. Once more he was tensed, gaze narrowed slightly as he defended his actions. It was more than just that, though, and really what was directed towards him was the least of his concern. It was what was pointed at the rest of the Sentinels that he saw as the true attack.

"Sampson is a Barcean soldier, through and through. He is one of the most resilient men I know; nothing phases him, and he just doesn't stop. Gortul is one of the strongest within reasonable limits; he's no Direwolf, but for a so-called 'regular' man he's impressive. Alasa is brilliant, and has fought every day to survive. Diane lived on the western border. In a way the reason she was born was because of the constant warring, and she's seen that constant warring, and she's acted during it."

Briefly he paused, closing his eyes as he sighed. Once more his hand went to the bridge of his nose, the habit of a physical attempt at relieving tension bringing pause and giving him a moment to figure out just what he wanted to say next. "Even more, they're more than just the sum of their parts. On their own, they're worth ten men each. Together, thirty men each, easily. You may not believe me, but I believe in them. And I know that if I'm ever faced with that choice of sacrificing the few for the many, or attempting to save those few and face nearly certain death, we will pull through that crucible even stronger than before."

Vesta dropped her eyes. She knew it had been a mistake to bring up his men; she would have defended her own in the same way. If Cyril was ever going to listen to her words in the first place, then whatever fleeting chance there had been drifted away the moment she had attacked his men. However, despite understanding his reaction she couldn't help but feel herself overwhelmed with jealousy again. The jealously quickly burned itself into anger mixed with actual concern. She glared at him.

"I do believe you," said Vesta, thrusting herself off of the wall and placing her hand to her heart. She felt a pain shoot through her knee. "That is why I'm trying to protect you from your own childish thinking." Wrong words again. Damn it! she thought, shaking her head. "It's just that you're being unrealistic. Just because someone is worth an entire battalion doesn't mean that there isn't a person on the other side that's worth a whole army. You can't rely on others like that." She exhaled with frustration; her voice betrayed her emotions. "You put too much faith in these people. You're always like this every time we talk. I don't even know why I try; you never budge an inch. Your stubbornness will get you killed one day, Olain, I—"

She clasped her hand over her mouth and turned towards the window. You idiot.

In that instant, something about Cyril turned cold. It hadn't been being called childish, or even being called unrealistic; it was the name that caused the change in the Prince. Any hope of the conversation continuing for much longer was snuffed in that moment. Gaze sharp, he slowly brought up a hand. As he did so, it was very apparent he was trying to keep himself calm, breathing in and out slowly... But he only extended his forefinger, pointing as he gestured to himself slightly, and then down.

"The reason why I am not like my father is because I rely on others. Because I put faith in them. Don't ever think of me and him in the same vein when it comes to that." His voice was just as chilly as his eyes. Slowly he lowered his hand, turning to begin walking out. "I'm going down to the main room to get some food. Need to make sure there's a big enough space for all of us. Even if you don't decide to join us, make sure to get some food. We leave early tomorrow morning."

With that, the Prince left, almost too carefully closing the door behind him.

Although Vesta stared out the window she could not see the village in front of her; all she could see was the past. Pulling herself away from the terrible view, the woman grabbed her flask from the desk and fell into her bed. She spat out the swig she had taken. It tasted foul in her mouth. Rolling onto her side, Vesta stared at the wall as if she would find some kind of answer. All she could see was the face of her Prince and her King, blending together into one. She frowned. She told herself that Cyril had been wrong about one thing: Olain did rely on others. It was the reason she was here, was it not? To watch over the ones he had left behind. His final orders; much better than the reality of things.

It was so great of a lie that even she believed it.

Lora Kadar, Ayano Serio, and Diane Laues

The Prince called for them and Lora glanced behind her to catch him moving away from the others. She turned back to the two angels for a last thanks and a goodbye, when the man reached his hands up and the woman stilled. He turned to Lora, eyes down and mouth small. He pushed off her thanks and her lips twisted into a frown. Now wasn’t the time, but she wouldn’t leave it until he understood the impact they had made.

She joined the larger group and Cyril motioned towards her and the other two, skipping over them quickly and spending twice as long on her. She flushed a brilliant shade of coral, bowing to her new travelling companions and willing her face to fade as fast as it could. She straightened and a bright voice piped up and called her name. Lora peeked behind another Sentinel to find Ayano, grinning widely in her direction. She returned the smile and approached her, surprised and incredibly pleased to find her here.

They mounted and made their way out of the village and towards Gurata, small talk eventually dissolving into a comfortable silence. She had always enjoyed Ayano, if she hadn’t managed to spend as much time with her as the others.

But, no time like the present. They reached the end of the day and the end of their journey so far, stopping for the night at a sweet inn on Cyril’s direction. Ayano and the woman who had been sticking close to her other side weren’t given any explicit directions for action, so Lora dismounted and seized the opportunity.

“Would you like to get food?” She directed the question towards Ayano, but smiled politely at the woman near her. It didn’t look like she was keen on leaving Ayano at any point in this journey. “I’m starved and you’ve been travelling much longer than since I joined you, so I can only imagine how famished you must be,” she added.

The Princess opened her mouth to reply, but something else beat her to it. Almost as if in response to Lora's question, suddenly Ayano's rumbled in a terrific growl. The opening of her lips changed from speech to mute horror as she instead wrapped her arms around her torso, bending over slightly. As she did this Diane quickly stepped over, a look of worry on her face, but she relaxed a little when she realized the Princess was only suffering from traveling hunger pangs... Even if they were some of the loudest the Princess had experienced.

"Oh... Yes please! Cyril only had jerky for snacks and I'm worried it's bear, so I... chose not to partake willingly..."

"I wouldn't let him feed you bear, dear." Diane sniffed slightly after she spoke, as if the idea was preposterous. Ayano, however, was too busy after straightening, hands going to rub her own backside some. Clearly her stomach wasn't the only thing in pain from all of the riding.

"Ugh... my butt hurts..."

She had stepped forward when Ayano doubled over but the other woman beat her there, and Ayano was quick with her response and confirmation it was simply hunger. Lora offered her a small and understanding smile that quickly developed into an amused grin. Saddle sores were only too familiar to her.

“Come on, let’s find you a nice, cushioned seat and some food that is inarguably not bear.”

Inside the inn they were seated and they ordered—some chicken for Lora and some not-bear for Ayano, and tea for her companion.

“So, what brings you two to join his Majesty on his way to Gurata? Why is he heading to Gurata anyway? You all are the last people I expected to run into on my way home, much less run into and be recognized by. It really is wonderful to see you again, and doing so well, your Highness.” She folded her hands on the table and offered them a sunny smile.

Diane was the first to receive her order, with it only being tea; she had made sure to order the Princess some as well, and as soon as the cups were poured she carefully directed Ayano's hands to the cup with a light touch. Even as she was directed to the location of the cup, the Princess smiled at Lora in return, even if she had no way of seeing the young woman's smile.

"Oh, we're going to Gurata to-"

"Ayano..." Where Diane might have broken a staff over someone else's head, her response to Ayano's near blunder was just a gentle, admonishing tone as she didn't even look over to the Princess, her eyes nearly closed as she sipped gently from her tea. The Princess jumped in her seat slightly, a motion that made her whimper slightly in pain before she settled back down.

"Oh, right- Um, we're on a mission! If you want to find out more, ask Cyril for specifics but... Well, it's good to run into you again too! It's been a long time! How have you been? What have you been doing? Where have you been?" The questions had begun like a flood.

The woman cut Ayano off and Lora quieted her smile to a polite shift of the lips, nodding as the Princess shifted the topic. “Of course, I understand. Someone’s got to save the world, right?” she joked, letting the topic drop.

“I’m good, I’ve been good!” she started, leaning forward and letting her eyes drift around the Princess’ face. With no eyes to hold, she got caught on the lift of her nose and the ivory waves of her hair. “I’ve been in Gurata since I left you all in Barcea, with my uncle. He’s Alpha of his tribe there, over under Chief Kisarin? Once my tail finally came in I took up as his Beta, but I recently took off for some…uh, travelling.” She searched Ayano’s cloth and glanced at the woman before nodding lightly—mostly to herself. “Soul-searching, I suppose you could say,” she admitted. “But Gurata’s lovely, though it’s no Barcean castle.” She chuckled, twisting her fingers together.

“What about you? You’ve certainly grown up lovely, if I can say so. You look great, and I can only assume you’re doing as equally great things if you’re accompanying his Majesty. How are you doing, saddle sore and hunger pains aside? How have you been since I left?”

“Oh, stop it, I'll blush!" Though her words may have been rejection, clearly the Princess was pleased by the compliments as she giggled slightly. To herself, Diane smiled slightly as well, though it was a smug sort of smile. At least the pup knew good breeding when she saw it, and seemed to know how to throw out a proper compliment or two.

Fingers wrapping around the warm tea cup, Ayano's smile faded back into a more settled one, rather than the beaming she briefly broke out into from Lora's words. "Well... I wouldn't say equally as great, but I have been practicing! Cyril seems to be getting really, really serious about letting me join the Sentinels! I've been joining him on trips, and starting to figure out how they work! Beyond that, I'm still working on my painting, and, well... People are saying that's going well, too!"

"You did bring your supplies just in case, Ayano?"

"Yes, of course Diane!"

She laughed as Ayano did, glad to see the girl happy and pleased she could be the cause. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed when the conversation opened for her. “So exciting, and impressive! I’m sure he’s very proud of you, and I’m more than sure you’re doing excellently. Oh! How nice, I’m positive it is! I’d love to see anything you have, if you don’t mind, of course. I remember when you used to paint while the rest of us ran around and it was brilliant then. I’m sure it’s only gotten better! I’ve always loved painting, it’s absolutely magnificent, don’t you think, ma’am?” she raised her eyebrows and a pleasant smile towards the woman, Diane.

The man behind the bar reached their table with the food, setting it down in front of Lora and Ayano and blundering his way back to his other patrons. She thanked the man and turned her smile back to the other two without touching her food.

Diane had placed down her tea cup by that point, one again her hands going over to Ayano. The Princess allowed her to turn them over so the palms faced up, and from there the woman then placed the cutlery into Ayano's hands. After making sure to have them turned properly, she gave Ayano a little pat; with that, the Princess actually grabbed onto the utensils, while Diane directed the Princess to just where the plate was. With Ayano able to start eating, Diane finally looked back to Lora, picking up her tea once more.

"Yes, art is quite stunning... so long as it is of sufficient quality. The Princess' for example, has such quality."

Even as Diane spoke, Ayano was feeling around her plate with her fork, discerning the size and shape of her food before she actually started to eat, carefully at first but with growing confidence at each bite.

Lora watched the direction, taking note of the setting and tapping and feeling around that was being done. She didn’t miss the still compliment of Diane’s, and retained her small smile to agree. “Yes, of course.”

She waited until Ayano was eating with no troubles before she dug into her own chicken. She was caught between simply picking it up and tearing into it, and slicing off the smallest pieces she could in order to eat like a proper lady. She eventually decided on something in the middle, being it that Ayano could only hear but not see the actual display, and it appeared Diane was going to be rough around the edges no matter how courteous she tried to be. She cut off large pieces and ate a few at the same time in an even larger bite, taking care to chew thoroughly before swallowing.

“Do you get much chance to paint on the road, your Highness?”

As both of them ate, the look that Diane gave Lora bordered on disapproving. Her head was tilted back slightly as she looked down her nose at the newcomer, only taking a sip from her tea every so often. Ayano was not aware of this, and though she could hear the way Lora ate she didn't mind at all; after all, Sampson was a member of the Sentinels.

"Oh, not as much as I like... There are plenty of things I smell and hear that give me plenty of inspirations. But really, the only time I can do it well is when we stop for awhile... Maybe at Gurata, if we stay long enough? Oh, I hope so... After all, I don't know when the next time I'll be back there!" Ayano took a pause here as she munched away, happy to have some sustenance to enjoy.

"So are you going to part ways after we cross the border, or stay with us all the way?"

Lora didn’t miss the look from Diane, but took care to pretend she did when Ayano showed no hint of her own disapproval. She hummed as Ayano talked, smiling at the picture of her painting away in Gurata. “Yes, it’d be wonderful if you found the time!”

She swallowed one of her last bites of the meal, dragging out the end to answer the Princess. She frowned, remembering the Prince’s invitation to travel to Gurata with them. “Well, I’m not sure. My home isn’t too far off from the border really, but I’m in no rush to go home. Of course, I’m not really part of your travelling company or your mission, and the last thing I’d want to be is in the way. If I’m not helping I’m probably just dragging you down, so I suppose perhaps heading home would be the best course of action, now I think about it…” She drifted off at the prospect of heading back home after travelling with the Serio family, her true ranking in society hanging in the air between them. “But this is more than I ever expected,” she added in a happier tone. “Sitting here is an honor, your Majesty.”

Ayano wasn't having any of it, though. In the middle of bringing her fork to her mouth for another bite she stopped, sitting up in her chair sharply. The movement was so sudden that Diane's quickly looked over her direction in worry, but relaxed after seeing that the Princess was alright, just... indignant, almost.

"No, of course you aren't in the way! You're a friend, and I bet if you asked Cyril would let you come the entire way! You know he's nice like that, so ask!"

Lora smiled brilliantly, and though Ayano couldn’t see she was sure it carried into her voice. “Well thank you, your Highness, I appreciate that very much, but we both know that perhaps Cyril can be a little too kind.” Her smile faded, and her stomach twisted unpleasantly. Cyril’s sweet nature was probably her favorite thing about him—eyes aside—but sometimes she wished he wasn’t so. It made the line between Kind King and Amiable Friend very hard to distinguish. He had seemed pleased to see her and had invited her along—but because of their past and taking actual pleasure in her company, or because it was the kind and polite thing to do for an old friend was indiscernible. And it wasn’t as if she could go up and ask him to clarify—he was her Prince. He had far more important things to occupy his time with than her.

“I’d hate to take advantage of that and guilt him into letting me come along, or make him feel bad for asking me not to tag along like a lost pup.” She cringed at the picture. “Really, don’t worry about it, please.”

"If you don't talk to him, I will!" Ayano was adamant, holding the base of both of her utensils against the table as she leaned forward slightly. Blinking quickly, Diane's hands went over to almost seem to restrain the Princess, who looked like she might pounce at Lora with how intent she seemed on having the friend from long ago come along.

"That's enough, Ayano. I'm sure she gets the point."

"You heard her, she's not going to do it! So I'll take it into my own hands!"

Lora’s hands twitched to raise in a placating motion, but she held them down because Ayano wouldn’t be able to see them anyways. “Your Highness, really, that’s not necessary.” The only thing worse than asking Cyril to let her follow them like her previous thought of a lost puppy was having Ayano do it for her. He would certainly feel worse turning down the sister he loved so much than he would her.

“I’ll talk to him, alright?” she bargained gently. “But if he says no I won’t push him—as much as I’d love and be honored to spend more time with you all, I won’t get in the way of your mission. You’re obviously going to Gurata for something far bigger than rekindling old friendships and I would never stand in the way of that. Besides,” she started, hoping she wasn’t too forward but wondering if Ayano wouldn’t leap across the table and drag her there if she tried to step back at all, “If you really like we could always cross paths again—I’d love to be of any help to you all I can, even if it’s not necessarily this time around you could use me.”

"Fine, so long as you do it!" The Princess, for the time being, seemed satisfied, giving a smile. "See? Was that so hard?"

Lora barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes, for once extremely glad the Princess couldn’t see her. “No, I suppose not,” she answered with a sigh, turning back to her plate and finishing off the last bits of her dinner.

After the Wanderer seemed to have shrunken away from the Prince and the Cripple, Chi had appeared from seemingly nowhere. She grabbed the scruff of his neck and proceeded to drag him to whatever room she would deem as theirs. Having given a light squawk in surprise as he was grabbed, the Wanderer was dragged along without a fight. The small man simply went limp in the smaller woman’s grip, even his feet dragging along behind him as he was practically lifted along.

Once in the room, she shut the door and locked it, turning to him with his arms crossed and her perpetual scowl etched into her face. Only when they were in the room did he stand on his own once more, face pale as he returned her gaze.

”What. The Fuck. Is Going On.”

”Please do not hit him. He bruises easily.”

The scowl only depend as she began to tap her foot rather impatiently.

”If you don’t give me answers, you’ll be one giant bruise.”

His face went even paler as he brought up his hands, as if to try to both calm her and ward her off at once.

”We are going along with them to Gurata. It is better for us to hold off the questions for as long as possible, and he thinks the Prince knows that and is…ruthlessly taking advantage of it…”

”Why’re we even going with them in the first place?! We were doing just fine on our own.”

The Wanderer sighed quietly.

”We were, but the situation changed when the Prince…arrived. It is within his power easily to demand answers of us, and considering our…situation…It would be better to play along with him for the time being, until he is certain we are not a threat.”

She rolled her eyes as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

”This really would’ve been easier if you had just taken the fucking front door…”

In response, the Wanderer became indignant, standing up straight suddenly as he attempted to defend his actions.

”We would have just run into them sooner if we had done that!”

”Yet we were caught taking the side door! In what part of this world is taking the side door fucking normal?!”

”He has done it before! It’s worked!”

”In what fucking lifetime?! When you were a horse?!”

He groaned, turning to walk over to the corner as he did so. Once there he apparently got comfortable, settling down on the floor and looking up to her from there. Once more his hand came up to scratch lightly at the bandages on his cheek, as he had often done during the walk from one village to the other.

”You know what lifetime he is talking about…”

She harrumphed as she went over to the bed, kicking off her shoes and undoing her pigtails.

”Guess you’re a horse in this lifetime.”

He just sighed quietly, briefly hanging his head.

”No he is not…Besides, it might be better this way.”

Chi lay on her bed, her arms crossed behind her head.

”Why’s that?”

”Whatever is happening now…clearly it’s big. The tensions between H’kela and Barcea were always heavy, but this…clearly, they have snapped. The Prince would not be heading to Gurata for no reason so…Perhaps we will remain at the center of the storm for as long as possible with him, and that is where we can do the most.”

She sighed a bit. He had a point.

”Where we can do the most, huh.”

He gave a slight nod. His gaze was kept low as he carefully fiddled with his blade, resting it against himself.

”Yes…So perhaps it’s best we do this for as long as possible, and if later the truth comes out…We can always run, as we have before.”

”…What if we don’t have to run?”

”Then we will make sure to see this all the way through. Is that acceptable to you?”

She turned on her side and grunted her approval.

”Just don’t do anything stupid.”

”…He doesn’t do stupid things…”

Drosil had absent-mindedly followed Cyril to the inn, not really paying attention to those around him as he was engaged in the task of maintaining his enchanted flintlock pistol. Running his fingers over each rune, he spoke a whispered inspection spell in order to make everything within the weapon was functioning properly. While amazingly effective way of casting, the gun had the added danger of potentially blowing the user's hand off of they don't keep it properly maintained and enchanted, as the magical energies housed within were especially volatile. The process of mixing magic and firearms was still a very new field of research, and thus, was fairly hazardous to those few brave pioneers like himself, willing to take the risk in the name of arcane research.

Once they arrived, he simply sat down, putting his weapon away as he decided what he should try next. Looking around, he suddenly smelled the sent of roasting chestnuts from the campfire, where some younger patron of the inn were spending there time prepping the delicious little treats. While not intent on robbing them of their joy, the thought of roasting chestnuts did bring another thought to mind. Muttering a quick spell, he summoned a minor imp and gave in instructions to cast a minor illusion over him, so that everyone looking his way would continue to see him fiddling with his device. He then took out his backpack, pulled out a few herbs of the mundane, exotic, and magical variety, and proceeding to get cooking. Mixing in a few bloodbane leaves, dragon tongue petals, and demon-spit lily nectar, he began to roast up his favorite alchemical concoction, a small dose of a particularly potent form of alcohol known only as "The Dragon Blood Surprise." It was a very rare and well-sought drink, as it was not only a delight to the tastebuds, but a very powerful drug that was said to open the mind to greater wonders of the universe.

While Drosil was unsure if that was true, it was always an enlightening and inspiring experience to have some, especially on his less enjoyable days. He made about 3 pints of the stuff, each one sealed in a one pint vial, having used magic to accelerate the process of creation, which usually took a few weeks, and crammed down into 30 minutes. He then proceeded to experiment with a few other herbs and substances, mixing, matching, and imbibing quite a few until he was done. He commanded the Imp to disperse and drop the illusion, which revealed him to be rather normal looking, except for his eyes. The green and gold were swirling haphazardly into each other, and as Drosil attempted to get up, he seemed to mistake the ceiling for the floor, and promptly fell down flat on his face, which prompted a small giggle from him as he quickly rose up from the ground. His robes smelled of numerous things, some sweet, others sour, and even more that just felt . . . wrong upon entering ones nostrils.

He, strangely enough, found himself at the table with Lora and company, smiling absentmindedly as he dragged over a chair. He tried to speak a few words, but he wasn't sure what he said. Half of it didn't sound like it was in a language they'd understand, and the rest sounded like inane gibberish. THis jabbering left him confused, as he tried several times more to speak like a normal person, but only succeeded in more gibberish. After a time, it began to amuse him, as he laid his head on the table, giggling in giddity joy at the sound of his own voice, which seemed to take on strange reverberations in his own head. As he looked at Ayano, he instead found himself looking at the ground, as it appeared he'd tried to get up only to fall down again. He spoke more words, and these must have been in the language of magic, for it conjured several small ferrets, white and fluffly as clouds and quick to scurry all about the his body, one leaping onto Ayano to sniff her out, before jumping on the table to eat any scraps she may have had.

Drosil, in his addled state, found this to be greatly amusing, giggling some more for reasons he couldn't understand, before he suddenly stopped, staring blankly at something only he could see, his eyes spinning in a veritable whirlpool og green and gold, his staff doing similar, before he began to reach for his pouch, pulling out a strange purple leaf which he began to absent-mindedly chew on. As he chewed, his pupils suddenly began to dilate, becoming so big that it as near impossible to see his whirling irises, and his hair and skin began to pop with little sparks of magic. As the magical sparks touched inanimate objects of small stature, such as utensils, dust, old food, they'd began to dance around the table in strange, yet elegant patterns, moving in perfect synch with whatever beat was playing through Drosil's head. At this point it was quite clear that Drosil was partaking in some form of drugs, and it was clear that he had a ready supply. What wasn't clear, however, was whatever the hell he was doing. he'd stopped blinking, and was now moving his fingers across the table as if it were a large piano, playing to an invisible crowd with a silent grace, all while his greatly dilated eyes stared onward into nothingness, fingers sparking with little bursts of magical energy to bring more and more objects to life around him, floating through the air and dancing to that inaudible tune.

Another Meeting - From Store to Inn

It took time for the young man to finish shopping, what with the amount of times he had to go back and forth to actually acquire everything on his mental list. The repercussions of his lack of foresight and planning bled into how he ended up struggling to carry it all to the counter without dropping anything. The transaction took only a few moments, coins passing hands before he left with a single nod, the items placed into the bags he already carried.

From there, he had nothing to do besides wait, so to the inn he went. It was a very short walk, so he didn't even bother to remount his horse, simply leading it along by the reins before he handed them off to one of the waiting stable hands. Inside he ignored almost everyone, having eyes only for the innkeeper so that he could take care of the business of not just paying for a room, but ordering food as well.

As the young man continued through his business, Drosil had certainly added in a unique element of chaos into the equation that was the table of Lora, Ayano, and Diane. As the Sentinels' eyes bulged in horror as the Jasian descended further into a drug-induced stupor, and then her horror escalated into a borderline heart attack as the ferret jumped from Ayano, and to her food. Her hands twitched, as if she didn't know whether or not she wanted to grab the ferret, or throttle Drosil.

However, the Princess of Barcea didn't mind the ferret at all. Even if it did initially startle her when it suddenly jumped on her it was small, fluffy, cute, and very, very white. What did bother Ayano though was the overwhelming, in both number and intensity, smells that came from the Jasians and the robes. It was enough to make her turn green below her bandages, which only worsened her condition. The ferret could have her food; she no longer had any desire to eat.

More and more players were added to the scene. The Sentinels that had gone out to gather supplies were returning one by one, Gortul with seemingly the most to carry, as he entered bogged down with furs. Alasa carried miscellaneous bags, while the food purveyor Sampson had gathered the best food fit for travelling for the next part of their journey. From upstairs, the Prince returned, having regained his full composure after the conversation with Vesta. Though he had descended with the objective of gathering together enough tables for the full party, he was more than just a little derailed by the sight of Drosil, blinking in surprise as he quickly approached.

"What in the Hell-?"

"Cyril, do something with this idiotic addict before Ayano gets sick-!"

From where he sat at a table alone, the young man with grey hair just ground both of his palms into his eyes. Those Sentinels that had gone out hadn't entered alone, each bringing in at least three villagers who had clamored to help or suggest better purchases earlier, and had continue to follow in order to (successfully) catch at least a glimpse of the Prince, and the Princess as a bonus. The young man, who knew very little of Barcean politics and cared even less for them, did not recognize them for who they were and only thought about how loud they were being. It wasn't helped by the fact that though Cyril hadn't been able to ask for tables to be put together (as he instead had gone to grab Drosil and sit him upright, in order to see those strange irises), the Sentinels took care of it themselves.

Such was the situation in the inn, one of loud merrymaking mixed with chaos, thanks to Drosil...

And then, up above, the Wanderer sat up from his corner sharply, gripping his blade. From down below, just outside the inn, he felt a sudden presence, one that was massive, imposing, and overwhelming. To one with senses like him, it was like a mountain had suddenly exploded into existence right in front of him. He gasped with alarm, saying, "What in the name of the Divines-"

Down below, the door to the inn suddenly slammed open, and everything went quiet instantly. Gazes turned to the open door, where in it stood a massive, dark figure. His features were shrouded, only the circle glasses on his face and the strange symbol around his neck gleaming with light as they reflected that which came from the inn. The one who showed the least amount of alarm was the young man, who nonchalantly looked up from his meat and potatoes, chewing away; after all, it was his tall robed companion from before. The man appeared as much the same, though now stains that were darker than even his robes were blotted over his attire here and there, along with plenty of tears. In his hand he also carried a large sack that was also stained dark, and within several round objects, around the size of melons, were gathered within.

It was abundantly clear though, thanks to the smell of iron that filled the air, he was not carrying a fresh harvest of fruit.

The man stepped forwards into the light, the various details from his short blonde hair to the scar on his weathered cheek appearing as he did so. Without any real regard for anyone else he walked through the inn, people quickly moving out of his way as each step heavily thudded thanks to his boots. Upon reaching the counter and the innkeeper, he stood in front of the rather intimidated man for a moment, silent.

Suddenly, he brought the sack up and then down heavily onto the counter. "The problem has been dealt with. A meal is all that this toiler needs." With nothing more the man turned, leaving the sack behind for the innkeeper to desperately catch and keep its contents from spilling out. The man, meanwhile, calmly made his way back through the room of the inn, only to sit in front of the young man, who made sure to finish munching before speaking.

"How'd it go?"

"Easily enough."

Though his imposing presence may have still been there, the suffocating silence began to fade as the people began to murmur together. The man, apparently, was recognized, and had many titles:

"The Penitent Soldier..."

"The Rightful Executioner..."

"The Chosen Cutthroat..."

It was the Prince that said his most well-known, and perhaps official title. As he pulled away from Drosil, letting the man drop back to the table gracelessly, Cyril's gaze was focused completely on the man as he quietly said, "The Divine Paladin."

The Divine Paladin, Damon Dubois. A man who was revered as a saint, and feared like a boogeyman. Tales of his exploits were those that were whispered from person to person, often in at night, and never to the very young. In the name of the Divines, always appearing wherever he was needed to correct some sort of problem, and always with terrific amounts of violence. He was known in all three countries of the east, with similar levels of respect in each... and often similar amounts of fear.

As Diane pushed away Drosil with her staff, Alasa watched Cyril's expression carefully. He could see the gears turning in his head, could see that glint that he had seen so often before in his eyes... And the Sentinel could only sigh as Cyril moved from the group, towards the table. The Paladin watched his approach calmly, and the young man who sat with him only realized Cyril was approaching as he came into view from the side. Before the Prince could speak, however, Dubois gestured towards the table.

"Have a seat, Prince. Let's talk business."

The Prince gave a nod, quickly pulling up a chair to sit down. What was said next could not be heard by those at the table the Sentinels sat at, and though at least Alasa watched the conversation carefully and still failed to read lips, the others were struggling to keep Drosil at least somewhat up. While Diane actually physically moved Ayano away from the Jasian, Gortul had gone behind him to try and find some way to pin him upright, while Sampson very cautiously (and somewhat fearfully) tried to clear away those objects that were sent floating around by the Jasian.

The conversation lasted a few minutes, and when it ended the young man threw his hands up into the air, as if to properly punctuate it. Together, the three at the table rose, and walked towards the gathered tables that had the party. As they came to a stop the Prince held out his hand, gesturing towards both the Paladin and the young man, the latter of the two having carried his plate with him.

"Everyone, this is the Divine Paladin Damon Dubois, and his apprentice Christopher Nocte. They'll be joining us for this journey."

"It is the will of the Divines." The Paladin brought his fist up to his chest, placing it over the silver symbol as he bowed his head, slightly. In contrast, the young man, whose name was apparently Christopher, just kept taking a bite from his plate every so often, and only said, "Sup."

Cyril was clearly pleased about getting the Paladin to come along, but as he looked to Drosil a sort of frustrated expression came over his face. “Do we have any idea what is wrong with him?”

Meanwhile, the Wanderer had already quickly left the room that he and Chikako had entered, making his way down the stairs quickly and back into the main room. He stopped at the top of the stairs, tensed as he looked about, but for whatever reason at the sight of the Paladin he actually relaxed, straightening and moving his hand from his blade. The Paladin returned his gaze out of the corner of his eye, giving an ever slight nod before he looked to Drosil as well. As he began to speak, the Wanderer turned to begin heading back up the steps.

“Clearly, he has decided to partake in less than pleasant substances. I hope ye are carrying coffins with ye.”

Ennis couldn’t sleep. The aches and pains from the road demanded to be heard, and he swore quietly underneath his breath. His curse had saved him some nasty burns once or twice from one of Nia’s errant fireballs when she had been practicing so many years ago, but now he would have done anything to be able to trade it in just so he could cast one healing spell on himself. Instead, he just shifted in the bed, trying to find a spot that didn’t fire off a shot of pain through his body. He stirred, trying to find the energy to push himself off of the bed and perhaps stumble into a bath (surely, these country folks still practice hygiene, yes?) but his body refused to lift itself up. He would just marinate in his own sweat, then. The thought of it made his skin crawl.

Hunger, however, proved to give him the strength he needed to pull himself out of bed. He stumbled slightly as he got up and steadied himself on the bed’s frame as he felt his legs reform themselves into something solid. Grabbing his hat and smacking the dust from the road off of it, he ran a hand through his hair and put the cap on the top of his head. In fact, despite his aches he still found the energy to brush off whatever grime that had settled on him. He did not want to eat looking like some disheveled madman. Pushing his way through the door, Ennis kept a hand on the wall as he made his way down the stairs and into the common room of the inn.

He cast a look over to his companions—Drosil had just joined the table of ladies—and he decided he would join them once he order his meal. Sitting down at the counter, however, immediately changed his plans. There was no way he would be getting back up. Not for a few minutes, at the very least. He tucked into his food, nearly oblivious to the scene that was playing out behind him until Cyril announced the name of Damon Dubois. Ennis nearly spit out the soup that was in his mouth as he twisted, painfully, in his chair and added his own variation on the paladin’s title to the ever-expanding list.

“That Fair-Weather Bastard,” said another voice instead. Ennis almost leapt out of his seat (an action that surely would have sent him to the floor) as Vesta seemingly materialized next to him, leaning with a back against the bar. Already, she somehow had another drink in her hand. She was looking through angry eyes at the Paladin. She spoke in a muttered voice, but Ennis felt that she wasn’t really talking to him. “Of course that boy would bring that asshole along, too. As if we didn’t have enough problems as it is.” She took a heavy swig from her mug and slammed it on the bar. “Let’s go say hello. Wouldn’t want the boy to get upset.”

Vesta walked from the bar to the the table of their companions; Ennis struggled after her. Vesta shoved past Christopher. Ennis gave him an apologetic handwave. They arrived just in time to hear the Paladin’s comment about coffins.

“Yes, the bodies do just seem to pile up when you are around, Damon,” said Vesta. She looked at Cyril and nodded at the villagers the Sentinels had brought in. “More recruits, I take it? Shall I ask the innkeeper if he would want to accompany us, or perhaps the stablemaster? I’d ask the undertaker, but I fear he’s going to be quite busy in the next couple of days,” she said, her eyes glowering as they turned back towards the Paladin. “Why are you here, Damon?”

Her question, however, was lost in an outrageous and obviously fake laugh from Ennis. He slapped her on her shoulder and pulled himself in front of Vesta, wiping a tear that wasn’t there away from his face.

“Oh, what a kidder you are, Vesta. I see why they call you Joy, now. Truly the life of the party, always ready with a joke or your quick wit,” said Ennis, smiling brightly despite the daggers Vesta’s eyes were staring into him. He clasped the Paladin’s hand. “ Hi, Ennis Cade. It is truly fantastic to see you again, Sir. Well, we never actually met face to face, but you did help my family with an, uh, discrete matter many, many years ago. It is an honor to have you accompany us. Isn’t it, Vesta?”

“Honor isn’t a word I would use when talking about this man,” she said. “Damon, why are you he—”

“A delight, isn’t she?” said Ennis, giving another loud, fake laugh. “Oh…”

He knew the man’s actions towards blasphemers and that worried him. He also knew that he did not know how far Vesta was willing to go to egg on the Paladin, but she did not seem like the kind of woman who gave much regard to the Divines and that terrified him. He looked around with pleading eyes at the others, hoping somebody would steer the conversation towards, well, anything. His eyes fell on Drosil, unaware of the state of being the magus was in. The man seemed intelligent; surely he could fix this before it came a mess.

The commotion in at the Inn had cooled down somewhat and now all eyes were flitting over to the table where the large blond man sat. He wasn't a stranger in anyone’s eyes yet he was someone who you didn't particularly want see hang around you, as it normally spelt bad news for you.
Cyril had now left the table after a very brief meeting, he approached the rest of the group just as Arvis arrived, who thought it kind to purchase a beverage for everyone. He now leaned across the table and placed the tray of drinks down, sure he had remembered what everyone liked but if not, well, he is only human.
Lyrena reached over from her seat at the table and grasped her drink, sipping it elegantly as it reached her pursed lips. She waited anxiously for what she thought was to be the final briefing before the big journey to Gurata. Arvis pulled up a chair next to Lyrena and eyeballed the new additions to the party curiously. Damon Dubois was a worshipper of the Divines and one that Arvis had heard quite a lot about in his travels, he was as tough as they came and completely unforgiving. Whatever their mission was in Gurata, it must be something of great importance and great danger for Cyril to invite him along.

The mood at the table changed as Vesta and Ennis took their seats, Vesta cut straight to the point in questioning Damon and his intentions, Arvis noticed Ennis starting to look a little flustered and decided to steer the conversation elsewhere, not so much for Ennis, but for everyone else; if Damon struck Vesta he knew that Vesta wouldn't be the only one retaliating.

"Your highness, I am sure in my words when I say that we all know who this gentleman is ..." he gestured with his hands toward Damon,
"but my question is, what is it we are to find in Gurata that requires the assistance of the Divine Paladin?" Arvis finished and took a sip of Whiskey from his tumbler.

Inn

Drosil was mostly unperturbed by all the pushing and shoving, just simply letting everyone do as they will. As he found the paladin's attention focused on him, however, the drug began to clear ever so slightly as the haze thinned. This allowed him to comprehend what the man was saying of his condition, and this prompted him to reply in kind.

"Heeeeeey, I . . . only take what helps to enhance my mind to a higher state of consciousnessssssssssssss. . . it may not work alllll the time . . . but's absolutely marvelous when it does. A feeling without rival to gain such an innnnnnnnntimate bond with the universe." Drosil continued to smile like an idiot, reaching out as if he was trying to grab the man shoulder, but missing by a good bit as his depth perception seemed to be slightly impaired as well. Falling to the floor, he only let out a soft chuckle before he picked himself backup. He stumbled over to a nearby wall, where his staff was located, and took it in hand to balance himself. "I admit that it's a . . . bit of a game of . . . _{choice, chops, chagrin, cha-} Chance, yes, chance. The odds are generally not in my favor of something . . . exquisite happening, but I feel like it's worth a few mild side effects and light addiction for the chance to get closer to my grand ambition!"

Drosil seemed to be slowly sober up as he spoke, but his actions were more than proof enough that he was still vastly under the influence. His steps were measured and slow, one after the other with a sharp melodic clank of the crystalline staff smacking against the floor. He eased himself into an empty chair, turning his attention to Cyril, his eyes shifting from a disjointed mess to a crisp star-burst, as it seemed like he was staring into the man's soul with a chaotic passion, not to mention that the white of his hair began to take a slightly more noticeable glow.

"I never told you my grand ambition, did I Cyril? Heh, now's the p-p-p-_{perceptive, punctual, pugnacious, personal, perfect, oh, there we go} perfect time to tell you, I do believe. You see, I plan to learn all there is to be known in this grand spectacle of life, but I'm nearly positive that are plane of existence is not capable of feeding my hunger I've looked into many, many, many, maaaaaaany sources, but all of my research points to one, definitive possibility. The Golden City of the Divines, the seat of the gods themselves. And one day, I shall go there, learn everything that can be learned about magic, and unlike the divines who simply watch the world, I shall act. Every villain struck down, every disaster averted, every corrupt noble given a piece of their own damn medicine. I guess one could say I plane to ascend to Godhood myself, and become a better god then the Divines themselves." Drosil voice rose to very overdramatic heights, and might've been played off as a drug-born jest made in poor taste, except for his eyes. In those burning jewels of sparkling emerald and burnished gold lay a black and dark heart that radiate desire and ambition. Every word he said, he meant to accomplish one day, no matter the cost. "Hell, I'd consider myself half way there already, hehehehe."

The Prince took what Drosil was saying as what they appeared to be in that moment: the drugged ramblings of a madman. Even as Gortul moved forwards to once again try and secure the man at least mostly upright, Cyril waved him off, just giving him a shake of the head. For whatever reason, the Jasian was a little more functional than before, so at the moment it wasn't necessary... Though at the rate he was going, Cyril wasn't sure what would happen next. After all, what the man had just said could be considered the greatest of blasphemies, and though the Prince appeared calm he still glanced towards the Paladin, just in case.

"You wouldn't be anything more than a tyrant thinking like that, Drosil. And I don't think the Divines would just let you... 'replace' them anyway."

The Paladin, very slowly, looked from Drosil to Ennis, and then from Ennis to Vesta. The imposing man had made no fight to keep the H'kelan ambassador from shaking his gloved hand, though he let it fall afterwards. His expression remained stoic, and his eyes couldn't be seen thanks to the glare of his glasses. To Ennis, he said simply, "I remember yer family." To Vesta, he had a little more to say: "It is the will of the Divines that I am here, specifically that of Ambrosia's. Praise them, so that ye might appreciate her influence. Yes, praise them, for even a cripple such as ye may find some use."

And then, quite suddenly, the Paladin's arm shot up and forwards, to Drosil. Cyril swore quietly as Dubois grabbed Drosil by the scruff of his neck, lifting him up with ease as he slowly turned his head to look into Drosil's eyes. Thanks to the addition of the glow from Drosil's hair, his glasses seemed to become two burning, white circles. With ease, he lifted Drosil from the ground entirely, holding him up into the air. Despite the sudden movement, the Paladin's expression hadn't changed in the slightest, even as villagers nearby moved back or even took cover, with fear of what might happen next.

"And ye best be silent, before I take yer tongue and carve yer blasphemy into it so that ye might read it more closely. Fools such as ye have always existed, and they have always met their deserved end. I'd bring it upon ye now, and save ye the time, if it weren't for the source of the blood running through yer veins. It will not protect ye forever, though; even Divineborn shall have judgment cast upon them, and I am more than willing to be the falling axe."

With that said, the Paladin suddenly released his grip, which sent Drosil crashing back down into the chair. Cyril (and the villagers throughout the inn) relaxed slightly, more than just a little glad that the Paladin had stayed his hand.

"Hmph. . . every time it's the same old drivel from those to stuck in their place in society to embrace what needs to be done to make this world better." Drosil chuckled to himself, his eyes taking on a slightly darker countenance as he looked at his two critics, rising up out of the chair to look them both in the eyes as he spoke to them, starting with Cyril. "Why am I a tyrant, Cyril, when all I want to do is end the unworthy who put their own needs before those of others and cause suffering on a grand scale? I have no desire to rule or conquer, I don't even plan to 'replace the Divines' as you put it. I only seek to do what they won't, or as I hope is the case, can't do themselves. I believe in the Divine's as dearly as the next, but I've seen too much injustice and depravity just in my time in Jasi to think that they're doing everything they can for the people. Whether this is purposeful or not, I don't deem myself blasphemous enough to know what they believe and think, as much as our friend hear would like to disagree, I imagine. I simply wish to gain the knowledge and power to remove the tyrant's and filth that infect all of humanity. Have you ever been to Jasi, Cyril? Have you seen how miserable the people can be under the corrupt oligarchy that lavishes in opulence? There's a time when simply doing what's right and proper just isn't enough to institute real change, and I plan to be the man to do it. Whether I succeed or fail between me and the Divines, including the one who sired me."

As he spoke, he slowly turned his attention away from Cyril and towards the Paladin, showing no fear of retaliation as he continued to speak. "If what is say is so wrong, why do they not tell me as such, why do they send me no message or sign that this is the wrong path to follow? Who are any of us to say we know what the Divines want of us or not. If anything, you're arrogance is even more astounding than mine, Damon, in believe that as long as you end those who speak ill of the divines, they shall always favor you. Face it, you're nothing more than the churches rapid hound, and if you think I'm afraid of you, than I call your attempt to frighten me pathetic. I have heard better death threats from the children in Jasian slums that were paid off by the nobles to try and kill me." As he spoke, his voice seemed to grow louder and louder, reverberating in the ears of those who heard him, yet his voice stayed the same impassioned low that he had started with. Not only that, but his eyes, now swirling vortexes of auriferous viridian, the green getting darker and dark as it became like darkness, and the gold brighter and brighter as his temper rose, reaching a burning white hot radiance as magical energy began to sark off of him with a low cracking hum. "I've faced death many times in my short lifetime for my ideals, Paladin, and let me tell you that worse than you have tried and failed. With but a word, nay, but a thought, and I could leave you roasting right here and now before you could twitch. Do not think that I shall allow myself to be so easily cowed, nor that I should allow a threat against my life slide by so easily. DO. . . NOT. . . FUCK WITH ME!”

The tension in the air was getting so thick that some could probably find it hard to breath. For those watching, it was unclear how much of Drosil's attitude were caused by the drugs he had imbibed, or where simply his true nature brought to life. Either way, everyone could notice the dark pulsation of his staff, the transparency giving way to opaque blackness, and the flowing runes along the side began turning into harsh sigils. At his feet, a dark aura could be seen gathering, slowly climbing up his form with flashes of light emanating from within, as if some form of battle was occurring inside the writhing shadows.

Whatever chance Cyril had to respond was lost as soon as Drosil turned towards the Paladin. The Prince only paled as he watched the Paladin slowly tilt his head forwards, his expression still not changed in the slightest. Though many around them showed fear, such an emotion was apparently not available to the Paladin. "A fool ye continue to prove to be, throwing around yer ignorance as if it were knowledge. I follow no church, as I need none. I commune with the Divines directly, something that an idiot such as thee cannot comprehend. Ye, who need yer structure. Your words are gilded, but they show what ye are; a child who wants all the toys. Ye are nothing more. It is time for a nap, ye child, for you have a long day tomorrow."

Once again, the Paladin moved, even faster than before. In the movement his arm was a blur, shooting up and hitting Drosil in the chest with enough force to send him back off of his feet, and down into the chair. At this moment the Prince finally swore, the action having happened so fast; the Paladin's hand broke through the aura with ease to land such a blow, and it did more as a sharp pain suddenly blossomed in the Jasian's chest. From Drosil's torso two inches of a nail protruded, having pierced the sternum with ease and sunk in a full four inches. The nail appeared to be silver, with gold inscriptions inlaid that began to glow rapidly as soon as they tasted blood. From the inscriptions light sparked, before suddenly spreading out like a spider web and disappearing; in that moment, Drosil would lose all feeling and ability to move.

"For fuck's sake!" Christopher exclaimed from the floor, from where he still was thanks to Vesta. "Can't a bastard eat in peace around you assholes?!"

Cyril tried going forward in that moment, though he was stopped as the Paladin's arm extended out to stop him in his tracks. Even as he continued to hold that arm up, the Paladin slowly brought his other hand up to push his glasses up his nose slightly. "Ye carry children with ye, Prince Serio, and ye carry them into battle. A harsh education is in yer future, if ye continue on at this rate." Things were much quieter now, seeing as Drosil was silenced; in a way, the silence was more frightening than Drosil's bellowing, simply because the Paladin was much too calm of a man.

"He... means well." Cyril said, actually looking under the Paladin's arm to get a look at Drosil. "Grand words notwithstanding, he means well I think."

"Just how sure are ye, Prince?"

The Prince had no answer, not in the moment. Instead, finally, Cyril looked over to Arvis, with the time to address his question. "In Gurata, their politics involve a lot more... fighting than ours do. It's good to have strong people to represent our cause." That was the clearest reason, and the one the Prince would say, but there was another one that had made itself apparent thanks to Drosil's outburst; in case something like that happened again, the Paladin would be able to help Cyril keep control of the situation, no matter who or what it came from.

Whether or not the Prince knew of that reason in the moment, or if he only thought of it later, didn't really matter in the moment. His focus had already turned to plans for the next day, gaze turning to the side briefly before he came to a few quick decisions, only then looking back to the group as a hole. "Alright. Everyone, finish your meals, and then I'd recommend heading on up to rest. We'll be leaving at dawn, if not earlier. Get some rest."

With his orders given, Cyril turned to head for the stairs. In a matter of moments, Sampson had scarfed down his food and Gortul's, much to the surprise (but not annoyance, surprisingly enough) of the larger man. As those two made their way up as well, with Gortul having actually picked up Drosil to carry him along, Alasa followed after a moment. Meanwhile Diane, who had been covering Ayano's ears throughout the entirety of the confrontation between Drosil and the Paladin (especially in the moment with the nail), finally released Ayano's head and stood, helping her to her feet.

"Come along, Ayano, we have a long day tomorrow."

"O-Okay!"

The Paladin, meanwhile, looked down to Christopher and said, "Get up off the floor."

"Is it safe to yet? Anyone else want to throw a bloody hissy fit?" With other similar grumbles, the young man lifted himself up to his feet finally, before heading up as well. The Paladin would follow after a moment, after surveying the group slowly with his glasses glinting. Everyone else would be allowed to head to their rooms at their own pace, if they even chose to.

The Next Day - The Road North

Night passed, and morning came early. The Prince was serious about leaving at dawn, and so he was up well before the sunrise. The various members of the party were waken up with varying levels of difficulty, and preparations to leave were made rapidly. With everything already gathered and paid for, they were able to leave just as the sun came up, each person mounting their respective horses (or not, in the case of the Wanderer and his companion) to continue on the road to the north.

Though it continued to get colder, it was surprisingly clear the moment they crossed the border from Barcea into Gurata. Almost immediately, the road became less clear, less worn, and obviously less used. The road that they had travelled on from Barcea to Gurata was one of many roads throughout the nation; in contrast, it was the only road in Gurata, and it onjly proceeded as far as their destination. The land was very flat and often very stony, and for a while there was nothing for any of them to see at all...

So when something appeared in their way, it was all the more obvious it was there, in the form of a collapsed body.

"What in the world...?" Cyril asked himself quietly, before quickly picking up the pace as they approached.

Southern Coast of Barcea

"Dead men walking!"

The crier led the four captive prisoners toward the town's gallows. Dalious walked at the rear and was the only of the pirates to have his head up. He was looking at all the faces in the crowd for one specifically, the traitor dwarf that got him captured in the first place. One who was once called a loyal friend, though he was nowhere to be seen.

A rock flew by and cracked Dalious in the temple, causing him to drop to a knee. "Thieves!" one older man yelled while raising an angry fist in the air. "Pirate scum!!" came another voice.

"Piss on you, you meesley vagrants!" Dalious spat, which welcomed a fist to his gut from one of the guards. He was then tugged onto the platform and forced under a noose. He turned his head to see his comrades under the same fate. They were some of the newer members to his ship crew and probably the only ones that could have been trusted, though he found that little bit of information out a little to late. "An easy job he said. In and out, he said. That fat treacherous dwarf! If I ever see him ag--"

His words were muffled by a wool bag being placed over his head. Everything went dark and it became immediately harder to breathe. He then remained silent, as he figured he would rather be hung with a bit of air than none at all.

The crier began to speak of their crimes to the ever angered mob of people, all waiting in anticipation for the ropes to let go. Dalious tried to ignore all of that and instead focused his thoughts on the last woman he had lain with. Her name was....actually he forgot her name, but her smell was of peaches and lilac. She was just another whore, and he didn't know why he thought of her specifically, but it helped calm his nerves given the current circumstance.

Suddenly, the first of the trap doors opened up, and his former crew member fell quickly. The poor bastards neck snapped him dead near to immediately. As the crowd cheered, with a few surprising jeers, the next pirate got hung. His name was Gref, somewhat of a good man, at least in the sense of being a pirate and all. He struggled for a good while before his body became stiff at the rope.

"Dalious," the man next to him said, finding the time to speak a few last words before he met his demise. "I want you to know, I had nothing to do with what happened. I want you..."

"It matters not, mate," Dalious calmly spoke through the bag. "Die well, I shall be there very soon."

"We had some fun though," his comrade said with a slight laugh. "It was an honor to..."

All Dalious could hear was the floor slam as it gave way, then applause. Some of the people were sickened by the act and tried to leave, though curiosity led them to stay. Their noise was muffled when it was his turn next, as all the man could hear now were the hangman's footsteps as he approached.

"Never trust a fucking dwarf..." he muttered to himself and took one last breath.

"Run!!" "They're coming!" "H'kelans!"

Madness ensued. An arrow flew by Dalious' face and struck the hangman behind him dead in the heart. The large man fell to the pirate's feet, as the roaring of the crowd quickly turned into panic and confusion.

The H'kelan soldiers poured out from the treeline of the small village. Screams began to fill the air as they caught their enemy off guard. They slaughtered everyone in their path, and burned every structure they came upon.

Dalious used his toes to pry the arrow from the dead hangman's chest as the chaos erupted around him. Once he finally had it, he lifted it up to his bound hands and began snipping the rope away with the arrowhead. The villagers began to fight back with whatever weapons they could find, though the H'kelans were too large a force to be reckoned with. Luckily, none paid much attention to the pirate as he finally freed his hands and took off the noose and bag.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," he said to himself. "Bloody great."

He ran alongside the mayham until he noticed himself about to be cornered. He then quickly went into the burning stables where a single stallion was, prisoned by the gate it was in. The horse was wailing and panicking, but it calmed down once the pirate opened the gate.

"There, there love," he spoke to the animal. "We have to work together on this, savvy?" The horse seemed to understand after a brief moment, as it let the stranger approach it. "Save me now, and I'll pay back the favor." He jumped onto the horses back and gave her a tap.

Together, they rode out of the smoke filled village and galloped through the battle. One of the H'Kelans noticed him and loosed a few arrows his way, all but one missing. The one that struck him hit him right behind his left shoulder. Though it was too late, the horse had sped off while Dalious hung on for dear life.

They rode day and night to the north, not even thinking about stopping. He managed to pull the arrow from his flesh successfully on the first night without it being much of a problem, but the loss of blood would slowly drain him as he went on. Unaware to him, he passed the capital some time ago, traveling parallel to it when he did. He was now lost, weak, and weary from thought of mind. His eyes began playing tricks on him as the sun beat down on his skin. Eventually, he collapsed, not even feeling his face smack hard against the ground.

What felt like moments later, his eyes barely opened up and he saw shadows approaching. With all his strength, he could but utter one word to whomever they were. "Rum..." He blacked out again.

Lora Kadar

Lora woke easily the next morning and helped shuffle the rest out into the stables and onto the road. She was only a little tired though her nose ached; Drosil’s inebriated appearance at their table had included far too many smells and upset her greatly. For the most part she rode quietly near Ayano and Diane—but not too close. She had spent the latter part of the night and now the beginning of the journey trying to find a good way to go about keeping her promise to Ayano, and the last thing she wanted to draw was more prompting. Or worse, Ayano sticking to her promise of bringing it up to Cyril herself.

There was simply no good way to ask the Prince of her childhood home country if she could continue tagging along behind him and his sister on their mission to save said country. She had very little, if anything, to contribute to the mission besides her five senses and pleasant demeanor, and there was no way to request her staying without it sounding desperate or too commanding. On the other hand, however, pulling him aside to discuss her point of exit on the journey would seem like a guilt trip. She would settle for simply following until she became a burden or they passed the best route to her pack, except if she did nothing Ayano might—correctly, at that—think that she wasn’t going to ask him to stay.

It was a stalemate if she ever had one, and she wished she could just fight it out. But the only person to fight would be herself, which was impossible, pointless, and could be fought just as well internally. She sighed heavily, resigning herself to the rest of the journey into Gurata. Perhaps if she just let it go for now, the answer would come to her.

Something came to them, though it wasn’t the answer she had hoped for. The air around them grew steadily colder, but the chill was welcome to Lora and didn’t reach through her layers. Pax snorted as they crossed the border, comforted by the familiar lack of road and knock of rocks against his hooves. She leaned forward with a gentle pat on his neck and he moved with a new energy when she squeezed him. They continued on for a while, though, and by the time they came across something Pax had settled back down.

Cyril spotted it at the same time she did, and quickened his horse’s pace towards the collapsed man. Lora followed as close behind as she dared, and when they drew up in front of him he managed one word before passing out.

“Rum?” she asked, looking between the man and Cyril. Had she heard that right? Drunks collapsed on the road weren’t particularly common for Gurata, but it was always possible. Unless… “Did he mean run?” She quickly glanced between the two again and then at the area around their travelling party. Everything seemed quiet and there was nothing in sight, but that only meant if there was something out there, it would be even worse.

Lora slid down from Pax and dropped his reins to the ground, bending down to the man’s side and gently moving his shoulder. He was out cold, and Lora wondered how long he had been there before they approached. He smelled of smoke and blood, and Lora began shuffling around his clothes until she found the crusted wound behind his shoulder. She turned and looked back up at Cyril, thinking it was far more likely he had said Run. “He’s injured, it looks like it took a lot out of him. It’s old, though—not fresh. Whatever happened I think there was a fire, he—he smells like smoke. It’s hanging on his clothes.” She turned back to look at the man, shaking her head. “He doesn’t look like he’ll make it much longer.”

It had been a rough morning for the Ambassador. It had taken more than a few knocks to stir the man out of his restless sleep, and even then his body was too stiff to move. He never did find that bathhouse; most of his evening had been spent trying to keep an eye out for any trouble within the group. Vesta had, luckily, backed down from challenging that paladin (after Ennis had discretely cast a spell on her that made her words sound like mush). Realizing almost instantly what had happened, his “bodyguard” had stormed off—the reaction Ennis had hoped for but hadn’t been a hundred percent sure he would get. Fortune smiled on him, thankfully. He didn’t see her for the rest of the night; likely, she was off venting her frustrations on some poor bottle of liquor.

Eventually he did clamber out of bed and into his travelling clothes, although urges from the Sentinels that he hurries up prevented him from taking his usual time to groom himself. Hair sticking every-which-way and his eyes deeply set within two dark sockets, Ennis looked more as if he had walked out of a war zone than had spent a day riding at a steady pace. Vesta was already ready with his horse by the time he had joined the others, although the woman said no word to him as she handed him the reins. In fact, she had said no word to anyone since the paladin had chastised her and Ennis had temporarily snipped her venomous tongue. Even as they rode the woman was silent, occasionally separating from the group to either scout ahead or to avoid the others. Ennis knew that is was probably both. The woman was vigilant, but she was also beyond stubborn.



And, more importantly, she was hiding her drinking. Vesta had started that morning and had no intention on stopping until they either made camp or she fell off of her horse as drunk as a lord. She didn’t even know why she was hiding it. She cared little if they found out about her vice, let alone if they left her to freeze on the Guratan wastes; she would still follow Cyril as he, like that bastard paladin said, led children into battle. It was her duty to protect Olain’s children, even if they were arrogant, self-righteous idiots who surrounded themselves with sycophants, serpents, and strangers—not to mention cowardly drunks.

She was riding on their flank right now, her bow drawn as if she was keeping her eyes out for any wandering miscreants. Not that it mattered, for Vesta knew that if they stumbled upon a bandit, rogue, or pirate that Cyril would wave his hands around, declare an imperial decree, and draft the cutthroat into his merry band of riffraff. The man’s unrelenting idealism was almost impressive. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but she could almost see Cyril going up to Gartian, shaking his hand, and asking him to join their cause to stop his own damn army. She spat at the thought. Her eyes flashed back towards the group; they were stopping for some reason.

She spurred her horse and rejoined the others as they crowded around the crumpled figure. A corpse; so what? Through the haze of her vision, however, she could see the dead body’s chest rise and fall. She sighed. It was a hindrance, but even the reformed bandit wasn’t low enough to leave an injured man out in the field. In her mind, it was the same as being the one who had inflicted the wound in the first place. Slowly dismounting from her her horse, she hovered behind Lora as the woman revealed his shoulder injury. Vesta had seen her fair share of wounds in her day, and could immediately determine what she was looking at. She shook her head disparagingly. What idiot pulls out an arrow without having someone around to help heal the wound?

“Poor lad,” said Ennis.

“He’s a dumbass,” said Vesta, steadying herself with both hands on her makeshift cane. Lora had said that the wound was old. That meant he either felt no need to get it patched up or felt like he could trust no one to patch it up. Vesta knew from experience that even most magic couldn’t heal a wound that had been given too much time to improperly heal. It was the very reason why she no longer put money on bar bets that required her to race somebody. She couldn’t help but empathize with the wounded man; part of her even hoped they were not too late for the fellow, idiot or not.

Another part of her was on high alert.

“We should do something,” said Ennis, ignoring Vesta’s correction and offering no solutions on to what something would actually be.

Yeah, I get it.

“Lora, unless you know any healing magic then get out of the way,” she said, stepping a few more feet away from the man herself. Her voice was stern and steady, but wasn’t necessarily harsh. She tucked her sheath into her belt and drew her bow. “A common tactic among bandits is to use a wounded individual as bait to force travelers to lower their guard. Cyril, command your men to set up a perimeter around the area just in case.” She glared at Diane. “You, Lady Laues: despite what Damon says cripples are not completely dependent on Divines or babysitters. More importantly, Ayano is not a child; you can stop doting on her for a minute. Surely, that staff is not just for show. Heal this man; I’ll cover you if he turns out to just be a good actor.”

“Now,” she said firmly as she notched an arrow.

The Road North to the Homestead

"Do as she says!" Cyril ordered, even as he rode beyond the wounded man and those gathering around him to go and look beyond. Diane's glance to Vesta was positively disdainful as she moved forwards, dropping from her horse to approach the man. Shooing Lora away, she checked the wound herself, before sniffing slightly.

"Hmph, barely an issue." She brought her staff around then, holding it over the man with both hands. She murmured something to herself and her staff began to glow with a white light. This gentle light slowly drifted from the staff down, as if affected by gravity, where it began to fill the wound on the man. A thin layer of flesh began to close the wound as the seconds passed.

Eventually she stopped, looking up as she stood back up on her feet. "Cyril, I can finish this as we ride. That is, if you want to."

The Prince looked back, and gave her a nod. "Good idea. Gortul, you carry him along for Diane as we ride." Not the most ideal of situations, but they needed to keep moving, not just for safety but to accomplish their goal as well.

"Yes, sir!" With that, Gortul practically sprung from his steed, lifting the man and carrying him back to it while Diane returned to her own horse. After everyone mounted back up, they began to move once more. Along the way, Diane continued to tend to the stranger as Gortul carried him along next to her, often grumbling to herself about one thing or another. It took her a little while, but soon enough she had done all she could, having shut the wound fully and wrapped it up afterwards. With that done, Gortul was able to more comfortably sit the unconscious stranger in the saddle.

The Homestead came into sight two hours before midday. It was a large, sprawling city with no real design, so haphazard that they were able to see it from their approach. Clearly, as time had passed, the Guratans that had chosen to settle down in the Homestead simply built in a free space, the city slowly but surely growing as more and more Guratans left the tribal lifestyle behind. Buildings went suddenly back and forth between short and tall, and were for the most part wooden. Though the streets may have been winding and confusing, the Guratans still clearly cared for their home, keeping it relatively clean... Well. As clean as could be, especially seeing as animals often freely roamed the streets, only to be chased down and caught later. Still, despite the chaos there was a homely feel to it, if a little rough around the edges.

The dominating feature was the Arena at the center, very clearly the first structure that had been built there, and probably the best built one as well. Rising high above everything else within the Homestead, the round structure was made of both stone and wood, with plenty of entrances all around. Clearly, from the openings to form windows all around, there were hallways stacked upon one another that ran around the entirety of the structure. Though the streets of the Homestead may have been chaos, they all eventually led to the Arena.

The Sentinels followed the street they entered by to the Arena, sometimes in their usual cluster or sometimes one at a time, all depending on the street. Their approach was noted, but not prevented or challenged; though the Homestead may have had no real walls, there was no question that the Guratans could have stopped their approached if they had decided to. Instead, they were only watched, discussion stopping as curious gazes were turned in their directions as they passed by, only coming to a stop as they reached the arena, where they dismounted, and had their steeds taken care of. Once more, Gortul was the one to carry the unconscious man.

No guide or guard came to them even as they entered the Arena, though the hallways were not nearly empty. The disorganization was foreign to those of Barcea and H'kela alike, but especially to the Prince. He seemed unsure very briefly as he looked back and forth, before sucking in a breath as he stepped forwards, towards his left. "Come on. At some point we have to find someone..." Perhaps it was a foolish plan...

But it worked, as soon enough someone came to a stop in front of them, crossing her arms. She was just a little shorter than Cyril, with deeply tanned skin and hair that was almost white, pulled back and out of the way. Her eyes were a bright green, and her eyebrow was raised in a quizzical manner as she looked the group over, her gaze eventually remaining up Cyril. She wore red armor in the form of a breastplate and armored skirt, carrying a large, unsheathed blade over her shoulder and a shield on her back.

"So my man wasn't just drunk after all! A party of Barceans, entering our Homestead and finding their way into our Arena. Not a sight you see every day in Gurata, and one I'd certainly like an explanation for."

Briefly, surprise flashed over Cyril's face, but he regained his composure quickly enough as he said, "I am Cyril Serio, the Prince of Barcea. I'm sorry for the intrusion into your Homestead, but we have urgent matters to discuss with your leaders. Who are you?"

"Oh, so the Prince himself? Well that's a development. And I-" At this, the woman brought her fist up, heavily pounding it against her own chest with two metallic thunks. "Am one of those leaders you're looking for. Chief Yihira of the East, and you could have been stuck with worse because I won't kick you out immediately." Cyril chose not to ask what she meant by that there, letting her continue on, "Heard you've been having problems with the borders lately. This have anything to do with that?"

Even as she spoke, the Prince's face darkened some, something the Chief took note of. Her expression in return became surprised as he said, "H'kela has attacked us in full force." She brought her hand up to her chin briefly, before she turned and began to walk.

"Come, quickly." Immediately after saying this she pointed to one of the Guratans standing nearby, commanding, "You there! Go find me Kisarin and Seryosa, now! Have them meet us in the Chiefs' Hall now!"

As she led the way along, Yihira took the time to fill them in with some information. Quite casually she explained how the Arena was more than just an arena; it was Gurata's one real governmental structure, so here issues of politics were settled along with fights (though more often than not with more fights). Where they were heading to was the usual meeting place of Chiefs. Up to the third floor they went, led through double doors into a large, massive room with high ceilings. There was no furniture in sight, and the floor, though stone, was surprisingly damaged, with plenty of pockmarks and holes spread throughout.

They waited only a few minutes for the next Chief to arrive, and when he did so Cyril actually staggered back in surprise. The man, like Yihira, was tanned, but he had short dark hair. He was extremely physically fit, covered in furs for the most part save for his arms, which were bared and showed how powerful and scared they were. Scars were over his face and neck as well, but one of the most impressive aspects about him was how he stood at an even seven feet. The next impressive fact was his weapon, which was on his back; it was a massive blade with one edge, as tall as he was and as wide as his torso, tilted to the side so that could be on his back. His voice was also impressive, with how loud it was.

"Yihira! Looks like you're finally making some new friends!"

"Very funny, Kisarin. These are-"

"I have some inkling to who they are and their problem." The man brought his hand up in a similar way to that which Yihira had done before, pounding it against his chest twice. "Chief Kisarin, nice to meet you. You there, with the blue mop; you're Prince Serio, right?" The Prince blinked at how he was suddenly addressed, but gave a nod.

"Yes, Chief Kisarin-" He didn't quite get to finish his sentence before Kisarin took the few steps he needed to reach the Prince, where he then brought his hand up to clap it down onto Cyril's back. The gesture was clearly friendly, but the force was more than enough to nearly send Cyril sprawling across the ground.

"Welcome to Gurata! Though I wish it was for better circumstances..."

"The Hell is going on in here?" Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the air, and Cyril looked in the direction of it, as did the Chief and several others. Five figures entered, three of them at the lead and two behind. The one who spoke was a woman who was decently tall and clearly very, very strong. She wore old grey armor that had clearly seen much battle, her dark grey hair streaming behind her from beneath her helmet that she wore even in that moment. At her side was a maul, and her skin was very pale. Kisarin was the one to speak to her initially.

"Ah, Seryosa. Good, you're here. As you can see, we have guests-"

"I'm not blind, you dunce. When the Hell have we taken in guests?"

Slightly behind Seryosa stood a woman in silence. A sandy skintone that was likely at one point much darker, athletic form garbed in rust-pink coloured scalemaille and chain links. Nearly white hair cascaded in messy waves down her back, held loosely in a ribbon at the base of her neck. The flawless emeralds she called eyes didn't seem to want to make contact with anyone, though they did wander to observe everyone in the room. If she had gone unnoticed to this point, presence would be known by the sound of a massive greatsword being placed tip-down rather heavily at her left side, and the soft scrape of her naturally armoured tail shifting against the floor, behind her.

Walking next to this woman behind Seryosa was the other nonhuman member of the party, though this one was certainly an animal. It was a massive white leopard, one that almost stood at Seryosa's height while on all fours. The beast looked around the room, growling lowly at the sight of all the people, but Cyril didn't pay attention to the creature, instead looking to the men who walked next to Seryosa.

The man who walked farthest from Seryosa was tall and held just as neutral an expression. He was dressed in varying shades of khaki, the only hint of color being the long blue and white scarf that was wrapped around his neck. He was smoking from a pipe and as he looked over the Sentinels, he gradually let out some smoke.

The other was a tall and thin man, just shorter than the Paladin Dubois, and he walked directly next to Seryosa. He had red hair of slight length, swept to the left side. His eyes were a sharp, icy blue, and something about his face was almost feral, even if his expression was calm. He wore armor on his forearms and legs, with cloth covering his torso. Both the armor and cloth were a sort of off-white, though the armor had a dull shine as well. At his side was a long blade, sheathed of course. The man calmly looked in Cyril's direction as the Prince stepped forwards.

"Takuma! Alsius!"

The red-haired man bowed slightly, mostly with his head in a very controlled movement. When he replied, his voice was quiet and smooth. "Prince Serio. It's been awhile." Very briefly he looked to the group, seeing who he recognized and who he didn't... And briefly, his eyes and the Wanderer's met. The moment was so quick that it would have been missed by all but the most perceptive of individuals, but in that instant the ice in Alsius' gaze became much colder as his eyes narrowed ever slightly, and the Wanderer bristled. Before anything happened, though, the Wanderer quickly looked away and stepped to the side, in order to fade into the group some, while Alsius relaxed some. This man was known as the Direwolf Argentum, and was recognized as one of the greatest knights that Barcea had to offer. In the days of Olain, he had been a fearsome warrior, and even while on more "peaceful" missions from Kori he was still a man to be reckoned with.

“It is good to see you are in good shape, Prince Cyril,” the other said with a bow. His full name was Takuma Nakamura. A close companion of Alsius, he had served the royal family for about as long as Alsius had. While Alsius may have been known for his ferocity, he was known for his own skill and extended knowledge of poisons and their antidotes. His knowledge earned him the name, Wolfsbane. As he came to stand straight, his gaze landed on the Paladin. A small smirk appeared on his face as he took hold of his pipe and blew a puff of smoke.

“The members you’ve brought are certainly the esteemed sort.”

"Is it finally happening, then?" Alsius asked, calm as ever.

Cyril nodded slightly, his expression once again going grim. Even before he had a chance to speak though, Seryosa once again spoke, snapping, "Well, get on with it!" Quickly Cyril looked to her, before taking a breath and then speaking.

"I'll be as brief as I can. The day before yesterday, King Gartian sent his soldiers across the border to raze several Barcean villages. For the most part, no survivors were left behind. There was no warning. We need assistance while we continue to prepare our armies for the combat that is sure to come. If Gartian destroys us, it'll only be a matter of time before he turns his gaze north. You need our help just as much as we need ours."

Clearly, Yihira and Kisarin thought about what the Prince had to say, the former nodding her head slightly while the latter crossed his arms. Yihira was the first to get on board, saying, "Makes sense to me. Gartian hasn't done the nation of H'kela any favors from what I've heard."

"Agreed." Kisarin spoke up, giving his own nod. "A lot of men are good to go, so-"

"No." When Seryosa suddenly spoke, Cyril actually physically started as he whirled towards her.

"What-?! Why-?!"

"If you can't handle your own problems, then your entire nation deserves the burning it'll get. We're done here." With that, she turned, beginning to walk away as her leopard turned with her. Looking to the other two Chiefs desperately, Cyril knew there was no hope of them stopping her, or circumventing her; for something like full scale war, the Prince knew that all three Chiefs had to be in agreement for anything to happen.

He also knew one more thing, which, after receiving a nod from the Direwolf as he glanced to the man, he decided to use.

The Prince stepped forwards, drawing his blade as he did so. Immediately, Yihira gave a slightly yell as she swung her own weapon around, pulling up her shield. Kisarin, meanwhile, reached back for his own blade, preparing to swing it around. Cyril paid the two Chiefs no mind however, as he was focused on the third. Seryosa, upon hearing the commotion behind her, also whirled as her hand reached for the maul, and the giant leopard snarled loudly.

The Prince stopped two yards away from Seryosa. He brought his blade up, and then stabbed it down into ground. He kept his hand gripped on the hilt as he, a little loudly, said, "I call for Decision by Combat!" Though Seryosa may have tied Yihira's and Kisarin's hands, the Prince could tie hers. He would have to fight no matter what, as the challenger, and Seryosa would have to find champions to represent her. Now, Seryosa had no choice but to accept or back down, which would then mean that the two Chiefs could proceed without her...

And she definitely knew this. She blinked once, and a scowl briefly flitted over her features... It then morphed into a grin as she stepped forwards to meet the Prince. She brought her mace up and around, swinging it once before smashing into the ground with such force that the stone floor crumbled, making a new crater. She leaned forwards towards Cyril, even as she continued to grin.

"Fine then, Prince, I'll play your game. Tomorrow at noon. Eight on your side, and eight representing mine. Pick wisely, or I'll make sure you won't be making it home upright." With that, she turned and began to walk away, putting her maul away as she did so. Her leopard turned to follow her, and as they both left silence briefly fell over the room...

And then Kisarin laughed suddenly and loudly, patting Cyril on the back heavily. "I like you, Cyril! We'll get this settled like true Guratans! It's been a while since I've seen a good, proper fight!"

Yihira, meanwhile, stepped forward as well. "Very surprising, Prince. We'll set up your party in the rooms for fighters on the second floor. Should be plenty of room for you all. Do you know already who is going to be fighting with you?"

The Prince shook his head slightly, slowly pulling his blade from the ground and sheathing it. "Not yet."

"Take your time, then. You have until tomorrow, and many of you seem like pretty good fighters."

Thuraya kept her silence as the conversation began. This was when she started really taking in who was there. Eyes silently scanned every new person, watched interactions with those that she already knew. So this was the Prince Cyril, was it? He didn't look like much, in her opinion. It was as he mentioned that they would need his help as much as he needed theirs that she let out a soft, stifled chuckle. When the other two chiefs started to agree, her eyes snapped over to Seryosa. The blunt "no" from the woman allowed Thuraya's smirk to stick on her face.

The Prince's advances afterward had the young scorpionfolk's blade dragged across the floor quickly without even being lifted out of it first(which undoubtedly left a new scar in said floor), left hand tightened on it's hilt, held in a way that the blade was then between him and Seryosa, smirk faded in favour of a scowl, tail raised in defense, pointed directly at him. She would not strike first, no, but she would defend with her life if it came to that.

The words "decision by combat" left his lips and her eyes widened slightly, lips parted as though she were going to speak but remained in silence. Seryosa agreed then, setting the time and numbers. Thuraya left her eyes on Cyril as she took a few steps backwards and finally lifted her sword with relative ease out of the floor. She stared only for a moment longer before turning, letting her tail down out of it's guarded position brought her sword up over her shoulder and took a few running steps to catch up with Seryosa.

"I'm going to fight for you. Don't tell me no, I'm strong enough now. I'll take them all down myself if I have to!" Her tone was soft at first, but became full of purpose and determination. She would not fail her.

Seryosa gave Thuraya the briefest of smirks, before her gaze went back forwards. The giant snow leopard continued to pad along behind them before it sped up slightly to walk next to the Chief as well, and her hand went out to gently scratch it behind one of the ears as they walked.

"I'm counting on that, but you shouldn't have to. Not with Badain and Mizra still up for hire."

Thuraya nodded and gave a small grin. "Of course. Still, I won't let you down." She'd been taught not to underestimate an enemy, and she didn't. But that didn't change her views. If it came down to it, she would fight them all her self, that was no lie on her behalf. She owed Seryosa a great deal, though that was barely reasoning to why she would throw her life in danger for the woman.

Drosil had remained silent and rather distant from the group, essentially throwing a tantrum as far as anyone else was concerned. And while, yes, the entire confrontation had left him with a bit of a bruised ego, it wasn't a grudge he was currently nursing. While he had no desire to apologize to the man, as he didn't feel even the slightest bit beholden to such a deed, nor did he feel that what he said or did, even in an inebriated state as he was, was wrong or deserving of such rude actions. He was aware, however, that his actions had reflected badly on the prince, and he did feel some guilt for that. If he plays the fool at his own expense, that's one thing, but if someone else get's called a fool because of something he did, then that was a problem. But he was left with the issue of just how to apologize for his failing. Sure he could just say it, but he felt the gesture would lack meaning, as they were just words that could be said with hardly any meaning to them. He wished to show Cyril how sorry he was, but couldn't come up with anyway he felt sufficient.

As they finally approached Gurata, Drosil stayed in the back paying only half attention to events until the sound of drawn steel reached his ears. As people suddenly got ready for a clash, he raised his staff in readiness, unsure of what was happening. The situation calmed down swiftly, however, as Cyril revealed his intention for a Decision by combat, and as the groups parted in preparation, Drosil saw both his chance for reconciliation and a way to prove his arcane power in one fell swoop. As his eyes fell over the others that they'd possibly be fighting against, his eyes would swirl slightly in anticipation, an aching for the coming battle starting in his heart and working it's way through him with a slow burning. While never the first to start a fight, and always looking for a way to avoid it, Drosil couldn't help but feel a certain excitement when ever battle was to be had. It's truly a glorious state of mind to be in, but one that most spellcasters can't experience in full, as castings of true measure take much time and preparation, something which is in short supply on the battlefield. Still, it would matter not, as he had a plan for such things, for now, he had to secure his position in the coming battle. Turning to follow the Prince, he'd quickly make his way to the man's free side, clearing his throat in order to make his presence known. Once he had the man's attention, he'd give a slight tilt of his head, a ready glint in his eyes as he spoke in a fast, excited tone.

"Cyril, I couldn't help but notice you challenge that woman over their with the beautiful specimen of Snow Leopard pver their to some form of combat. While I do admit to having paid little attention to the general proceedings as of late, i would assume that she is some obstacle in the way of gaining Gurata's assistance in dealing with the H'kelan hordes threatening your home, yes? Whether that be the case or not, I'd like to recommend my services in the coming battle, as well as that of my brother, who I'll have to convince, but I don't think it'll take much convincing. Also, if I am selected, I'll need an area of my own to prepare a few things needed to assist me in facing foes in close-quarters. It needn't be big, a simple tent of marginal size would be perfect for what I need. If something like that be obtained, then simply a place isolated from prying eyes would be sufficient. I do hope I'm not being presumptious in my asking, or hoping that you'd allow me to fight on your behalf in order to assist your noble cause?"

Dalious awoke to the sun at his face. It was a displeasing feeling, though it was quickly covered by the shade of a massive structure. He cracked his neck forward, realizing he was saddled upon a horse with a large man tending the reins behind him. He took a moment to glance at the company he was currently and somehow within, noting the different faces and such. None of it made much sense to him until his memory had started to return. He was wounded, and somewhere along the way everything went dark. Reaching back with an aching free arm, he felt the bandages behind his shoulder. Whoever they were, they patched him up and took care of him. It was a nauseating feeling to be in one's debt, but he had always stuck to a pirate code and wasn't about to give up his morals just yet.

The man burdened with riding him along was at the rear of the company, not saying a word to him even though he must have already realized he was awake now. Dalious remained quiet for awhile as he watched them lead into this arena. Perhaps they weren't as kind as he initially thought, maybe he was their prisoner and they were about to give him up to some authority. The pirate tilted his head back and rested it on Gortul's shoulder, awkwardly staring at him direct in his eyes.

"Would it be possible to drop me off at the local tavern, mate?" he asked in a pleading manner. "I'm not so big on group meetings. Anxiety and all."

He gave off a smile, but kept his head against the man's shoulder as it was surprisingly comfortable. He had only just now realized that his head was aching more so than his shoulder wound, which currently wasn't a problem at the moment. The gaze from the large man told Dalious everything he needed to know, be silent. Either that, or this man just naturally gave off the intimidating factor. Dalious huffed and tilted his head back upright.

Being ignored, the rider brought him in at the rear of the company, where Dalious quickly realized he was not even an issue to these people. A few politicians of whatever city they were in came forward, and some words were had. 'What the hell is going on?' he wondered. Then he heard it, coming from the apparent leader of said group.

"I am Cyril Serio, the Prince of Barcea."

What would be the odds of that? Being rescued and cared for by the great prince of Barcea himself! He had never thought to come across royalty in all his days, but then again, he had never thought a dwarf could ever get the best of him either. Strange how life unfolds, but such is the way in war times.

As the company moved together into the arena, Dalious was halted by one of the guards and left to stay where he was. He gave off another huff, though he didn't much care for politics anyway. He leaned back and crossed his arms, unsure of where he stood in all of this. The only thoughts that came to his mind were that he owed these people a favor, and that the prince must of had a lot of coin. To aid a prince in war time surely could help the pirate's financial status. He turned his attention back toward Gortul.

"So, how did a man like yourself come to be a sentinel?" he asked, having already known about the famous soldiers. "Must be quite the ladies man with such a title?" He impatiently waited for a response that never came, at least not quickly enough. "Don't tell me you're a bloody mute?...I need a drink."