Zaino peered at the other half of the fruit in Ambra with careful eyes, even though he knew that it was just an ordinary pomegranate. With just a little more rest, he could finally detach himself from this company and set off for Regna Ferox to inform the Khans of Helena's death and make sure that his mother was well. These people were not Shepherds; the ruckus that was underway in the room next to his was all the proof he need. However, before he would take his leave, he had to find the answer to the question that continually burned inside him. In the first time of the long week, his voice felt rejuvenated and healthy, and he could finally speak normally and not sound like a trapped animal. "I've been waiting for you so I can ask,"

Zaino sat upright, seeing that his upper body was exposed once more, and this time, he couldn't find the bloodied clothing anywhere else in the room. He could only assume that it was Ambra's doing, again. He couldn't understand why she still insisted on tending to him, as hostile as he'd been and still was. He raised a hand up to his forehead as the painful headache continued. "Why are you trying so hard to help me? I don't understand."

---

The image of Darrian meeting his potential bastard children who all in someplace possessed the Mark of the Exalt and claimed that he was their father at once produced hearty laughter from Xanxus, intoxicated at this point. While his friend explained the plight of marriage, he wrapped an arm around the back of Darrian's neck and held up the index finger of his free hand as if he were preparing to explain something extremely complicated in the most simplest method possible. "I wouldn't do it; I think that Lantus fellow is bad news, man. He's kinda fishy, man."

Xanxux hiccuped involuntarily, which caused his body to recoil backwards dramatically. He leaned back in to continue talking. "I don't know though. I'm just trying to be a good friend and give you advice, brother."

Ambra continued to hold the fruit even if the man didn’t accept or reject it. She kept it close to her, looking out the window to quickly check what time of day it was before she looked back at him. He had… been waiting for her? His voice, though. Ambra expected his voice to be gruff, dark, and menacing. She found that it was the exact opposite: it was indeed enough to make a young lady such as herself melt. She pushed the thoughts to the back of her head and listened. He said that he had something to ask her, and she knew it had to be important. Probably something about another member of the Shepherds. Maybe he had suspicions? The thought worried her. What if someone was a spy? What if the reason that the Ylissean army had found them so soon was because they had someone on the inside? Her smile faded as she thought this. Who would it be, if there was an inside man? Maybe it was Talbot? His disappearance could mean that he hadn’t died, just went with the army on his merry way.

The question came and she stared at him for a long while. It was an unexpected query, and it left her with her head tipped to the side as she thought. The answer was obvious, of course. ”I’m a healer. I’m supposed to tend to wounds, no matter if the person is hostile or not. I have to admit, it is tiring. However, the feeling of accomplishment is left undaunted. It makes me happy when I see people up and about after their wounds have healed.” she paused for a moment, and thought some more. ”Your wounds have been shut and you are no longer starving or parched. Your voice is much stronger than before, and that fact makes me joyous. I believe that a master in the art of swordplay should not be struck down by hunger and thirst.”

---

Darrian wasn’t surprised when Xanxus brought him close. The drink had made him mellow like his friend, and so, he did not care about the bodily contact. His words struck a nerve, but his anger did not surface yet. ”Xanxus, Lantus is a good general, almost or as strong as you. I trust him—and you –with my life. I shouldn’t let my trust in him waver.” he drank deeply from a freshly filled flagon and sighed. ”His words unnerve me, I have to admit. Perhaps he does not believe I am as good as a fighter as I think I am. I can defend myself, I don’t need a wife.” he drowned that statement in another swig. ”I’m telling you, I don’t need one.”

Death comes for everyone, eventually. Darrian shuddered at the thought. ”Maybe it is the best choice. I do not want to be on my death bed, worrying if some mere mongrel will take the throne.” then, Lantus was right. He should marry as soon as he could, then. ”When I get married and the bitch whelps, I can name you my child’s uncle. They will know the true art of the sword with you and I teaching them.”

Well, it was somewhat refreshing to see someone as concerned about their loot as herself, but it did seem like that man's reaction was going a teensy-bit too far, with all the talk about human sacrifices in front of a practitioner of magic's gentler arts. If it wasn't for the fact that she had yet to actually sap any money from her investment, she would probably just hit him on the head with a hard object a few times and take him down before he goes through with his empty threats. Then, she caught something in his words and thought for a moment.

Instrument. He was referring to his 'loot' as an instrument. Wait...a 'lute'? He was getting this angry over a musical instrument? Was it made out of gold or something? Because if this mage's 'berserk' button was the loss of a musical instrument...no words, Aelitha had no words for this uneconomic person. No wonder he had no money on him when she first stripped him of his wet clothes and rifled through his pockets. That was a pretty unimpressive moment, if nothing else.

“Don't touch your head,” Aelitha replied, dead-panned, “I had to shave you bald to get a better look at the wound on your head. Skull fractured, remember? Anyways, it'll grow back over time.”

Of course, she really just shaved it because there was a market for human hair amongst the barbarian communities of Plegian. Something about substitution human-sacrifices, the type of backwater magic mumbo-jumbo that she didn't understood and stayed well away from. It was only worth a few gold in the end, but then again, it wasn't like her patient's hair was that luscious and silky the first place.

Talbot huffed at Misani, grinding his teeth under his jaw. The sorcerer couldn’t believe that this… this wench had his lute, and he had it as a hostage. This was idiotic. She wanted him to talk to someone before she gave him his lute? Talbot wondered who he had to actually speak to before he would be able to get his lute back. ”Damn you…” the man said, glowering at Misani. The instrument was very important to him. ”It better be for a good reason, or I’ll string you up to Andrew’s tail and make him gallop miles and miles with you dragging behind him.”

His eyes darted back to Aelitha. ”Skull fracture.” Talbot muttered, obviously miffed. ”I’m starting to doubt all that you’re saying. I might be happy and friendly, but I don’t like it when people mess with me.” he grunted as he rolled on his side, turning his back on the two women. ”Leave me alone.”

"As strong as me? Bahahahahaha!" Xanxus nearly doubled over in laughter, barely keeping himself balanced from the edge of his seat. He had nearly taken Darrian down with him, leaning in a bit closer to whisper. His speech had become slurred yet understandable, his voice deepened as it lowered and he placed the most serious look a drunk man could do. "I'm telling you, schlumy; that waitress been lookin' at us since we came in. You can have her, unless she can cook some good food-"

"Xanxus?" A new figure approached the table, standing behind Xanxus as the drunken man turned around to see who it was. The man, whose body save for his head and several other portions around his elbows and knees was encased within armor denoting him as a Wyvern Lord patterned differently than the Ylissean standard and bore a different coat of arms, possessed midnight green eyes and black hair. On his back were two lances; a Spear and a Brave Lance, respectively. "The force is requesting for your orders-"

Before the man could continue, Xanxus raised both of his hands in a giddy greeting and rose, briefly hugging him as he placed his hands on the man's shoulders. "Garrett! It feels like it's been a week since I last spoke with you!"

Garrett shifted uncomfortably. "Uhm, it has been a week."

"Really?!" Xanxus exclaimed, confused. He scratched his head and, already forgetting what Garrett had said, grinned as he began to gently push Garrett towards their table. "Come on, let's have a drink! You remember Darrian, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I do remember." Garrett nodded, keeping his eyes fixated on Xanxus instead of looking to Darrian. He backed away from Xanxus and the table, indirectly refusing the offer of drinking and returning to his previous inquiry. "Anyway, the force grows tired of idling around and requests for your orders. Shall we assist you in the hunt for the remaining Shepherds?"

Xanxus mumbled an 'aaawwwww' and sat back down in his seat, looking truly disappointed. "What say I put you in charge until I come back? Tell them to sit a little while back at the headquarters for now and get ready for a major operation when I return."

"Understood." Garrett nodded again, not speaking out against Xanxus and quickly taking his leave after bidding farewell. Xanxus turned back to Darrian, a wide smile on his face. "He's a good soldier, that Garrett. We go back before I was old enough to enter a bar by my lonesome."

After a momentary pause, the subject from before re-crossed Xanxus' mind. "Heh, the proclaimed uncle of the next Exalt. Might as well make me King already!"

---

Zaino thought that Ambra was trying too hard to sound like a 'proper person'.

In his lifetime, there had only been few instances where the way a person spoke irritated the swordsman, and for the most part, they were all of noble birth. He had used to always take a casual approach when it came to speaking and typically disregarded the formalities unless it was a figure of noteworthy respect like his mother, and he could tell that this woman hid an identical trait of speech as well. Then again, he did try to kill her twice, and most people who are held at the end of a sword's blade tend to not act casual around the aggressor afterwards. During the period of silence, it had occurred to him that Ambra had been staring at him for a prolonged amount of time, causing him to grow somewhat uneasy before she spoke up.

"A master of swordplay?" Zaino laughed, shaking his head. "You're mistaken. I'm no master like my master. I'm just a disciple, prosper or ruin."

At that moment, Zaino was hit by another revelation: what happened to his master, a former Shepherd, after the massacre? Was he still safe behind Regna Ferox' borders, or had he heard of the dire situation and went to impede their genocide? No, he's wise, he wouldn't do that. Even if he did, he's strong, he couldn't have possibly...

The idea of his master as one of the many casualties bothered him visibly, only serving to worsen Zaino's already-painful and present headache. "Even so, I refuse to stay in the company of impostors."

Xanxus laughed so much that Darrian thought he was to fall off of his seat. His laughter was loud, boisterous, and very contagious, and so the drunken Exalt laughed along with him as if he actually knew what he was laughing about. If he were in his sober state he would have become offended; his son- or daughter – was going to become as strong as, if not stronger, than Lantus, Xanxus, and him combined. There was no doubt about it. Yet, Darrian was intoxicated, and grinned broadly at Xanxus’s words. So the woman was looking at them ever since they came? Ah, then he had a new target. He supposed he could fool around a bit more before he would return back to Ylisstol and have a wife.

Someone spoke behind them, and Darrian looked up to see who it was. It was a soldier, one that Xanxus knew by heart, it seemed. The man actually went so far as to hug the guy, and invite him for a drink. Yet he didn’t seem interested. Shame. He would have liked to have known this man more. If Xanxus truly liked him, then he was a worthy enough person to be around. When Xanxus sat down beside him, and spoke about this Garrett, he listened. He wished that he could talk about his men the same way that he had. To him, his army were all scum; lazy, stupid, whimpering worms in a puddle of mood.

”I wouldn’t know who else to have my child call uncle.” Darrian told him, the grin still plastered on his face as he drank more. The flagon was empty once again and the waitress came over to pour him some more of the whiskey, but he grabbed her wrist and dragged her onto his lap. ”Lookie what I have here!” he boomed. ”Such a pretty face. Tell me, what is a delicate little thing doing in this horrible country of ruffians?” the woman stared at him with wide eyes, obviously shocked. She was a bit shy, but… ”Do you mind if she drinks with us, Xanxus? I’m sure she’ll be honored. Serving girls do not usually sit with men such as ourselves. She will have many stories to tell her friends if she does.” he looked over at him.

---

Ambra thought it heartening when Zaino said that he was nothing compared to his master. That was what she thought apprenticeships should be liked; a young man or woman that loved their master and wanted to learn everything they could from them. Yet, that was not always the case. Luckily, she was one of those who did. Scipio was a good man, one who was gentle and strong with his teachings and words.

”Are you leaving without us? Where are you going?” Ambra questioned. She was on her toes with him, she had to admit. She had never seen a man so brash. He had been poisoned, and instead of going to a village to ask for aid, he continued trudging on in the desert. Then, when she had mended his wounds, he went and reopened them. And now it seemed like he was about to leave again. That is, if that was what he meant by refusing to stay in the company of imposters.

She supposed that she could let him go if he decided to leave. Even though he was still weak, he would have enough willpower to keep on walking for miles and miles. He was like a stallion, a free soul bound by nothing. He, no one else, knew what he had to do. Even if she tried to stop him, she knew it would be futile. Zaino was just that type of man.

"Regna Ferox, my home. You might recall that somebody important has died over the last few days," Zaino answered, referring to Helena as he slammed a fist into the wall when their rowdy neighbors got too loud for the moment. Almost every single one of these people, he felt an animosity towards, and to Ambra, all he could see was him being used like a tool and thrown away when it rusted. "The daughter of the East Khan, somebody I met just before I joined the Shepherds, now a memory for the tears to come."

Other than delivering the news of Helena's death to the Khans, Zaino also held another responsibility despite the situation that he was in; representing the west in the battle for power over Ferox. He had won and beaten the east champion four years ago, and regardless if he was being hunted down or not, he had to fulfill his duty as the West Khan's champion. "I've also got something important to do before I go to kill my brother, anyway."

Wherever Xanxus was, Zaino hoped his brother knew that he was still alive, and hell bent on avenging the people he had killed. The person whom he had once looked up to and the only other family he had other than his mother, gone for the last thirteen years of his life until he suddenly reappears and murders all of his friends right in front of him. His hatred would never stop festering; it would only continue to grow and grow until it consumed him and everything in his way.

"I don't see why you care about someone leaving who, as you said, adores trouble, when you've got these dogs to keep you company."

---

"Three's a party!" Xanxus barely chanted coherently, having already drunken nearly a dozen flagons of brandy. He was no longer thinking normally, and the alcohol was now speaking for him. He accidentally burped while letting out a long yawn, cradling his head within his arms atop of the table and knocking down several of his flagons, some of which still contained drink, in the process. Though, he didn't seem to notice, and his eyes fixated on the waitress on Darrian's lap. "Oi, yo-you got'ne otha wuhka friends heya?"

The waitress, turning to look at her fellow co-workers, looked between Darrian and Xanxus, nodding. This prompted Xanxus to rocket from his chair and pick up all the flagons haphazardly, nearly fumbling them and almost falling over from the spilled brandy. He slowly trotted over to the workers and, running into one of the inn's support beams beforehand, began to hand out the empty flagons to each one of them.

"Deh night's still young! Our tayyybel's oppaaaaan!" Xanxus shouted as he insisted the workers on joining the fiasco, even handing a flagon to the innkeeper themselves. With Xanxus and the men seemingly growing too wild to keep in check, they gave in to the influence and shrugged as they began to pour drinks for themselves, with Xanxus and Darrian's table now surrounded by waitresses. With two women at both his sides, Xanxus' vision faded to black as he lost what little control he had over his intoxicated self for the night.

Logan's eyes darted over the last page of the scorched tome, slightly perturbed that there was nothing more to read, and thus, nothing more he could gain from this book. He suddenly closed the 'Dying Blaze', a motion accompanied by the loud slap of a flat weight on paper, and began to take in whatever he could of the surrounding area. The Plegian noted that the two men he had spotted previously were still at a standstill in their no doubt essential conversation. Making a small note in the back of his mind to talk to either when he got the chance, Logan's eyes danced around the room once more, lingering on the stairway to the upper floors for a moment or two. There would definitely be more interesting things up there. Perhaps a large group of bandits, or a renowned mage? Either would be wonderful learning experience. The dark mage pulled his eyelids shut, concentrating next on the constant background chatter. There had been shouting before, muffled by the floorboards, but nothing seemed to stand out from the crowd as much as it should have, revealing only the blandest of background noise. He frowned. That wasn't very interesting. Not at all.

Logan's head twisted toward the bar before his eyes barely cracked open, examining the duo that he had spotted previously as he took a deep breath, sucking in as much air and scents as he could, attempting to place each one. Distinctly there was the heavy scent of alcohol laying over everything else like a thick blanket, with the scent of sweat and a faint metallic tang that the dark mage couldn't place. With a faint sigh, he dismissed it, and stood up sharply, feeling the pins and needles set in as he stumbled toward the bar. Putting on his biggest smile(A rather disturbing one that showed most of his teeth), Logan sidled up to the blonde man and the hooded one who gave of more of the metallic stink than anything else in the room, and pronounced, without a care: "Good day, gentlemen! Am I interrupting something?" Without a moments pause, he continued. "No? Good. I'd love to know what brings the two of you together. I enjoy knowing things, you see."

Regna Ferox? All she knew about Regna Ferox was that it was a cold place and that Chrom and his men once went there to gain the favor of the khan there. Then, the weakened man said that there was someone dead. The daughter of the East Khan? Really? … Helena. she didn’t know until now. When had she died? How did she not know? Ambra looked away, biting the inside of her mouth as she fought against the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks. No, she wouldn’t cry. Zaino would probably sneer at her and then she would cry more. Why are so many people dying, Scipio? she asked internally, but there was no answer. There would never be another answer from the tall, strong archer man that reminded her of the ferocity of a swooping eagle.

Zaino also said something about killing his brother. Ambra allowed her eyes to flit back up to him and light up with alarm. Why… oh. His brother. He was a bad person, from what she understood. He had been the one to send someone to harm Zaino. Which they clearly did… He has so much anger in him. Perhaps… just perhaps… she had anger in her as well? Besides the sorrow clawing at her heart, the worry chewing at her mind, there was something smaller, yet with much more potential to cause harm. It was dark, something she could keep inside. What it was, she didn’t know. But she had her suspicions, now that she looked at Zaino. Rage is borne from grief.

Ambra remained quiet before Zaino called the rest of the Shepherds dogs. At that, her frustration flared. ”You call men who risk their lives dogs?” she questioned briskly. ”How about that musician? Was he a dog, too? Am I a dog? Did you think Helena as one?” okay, maybe she was going overboard. But Ambra did not like these types of assumptions. ”I don’t know about you, but if you think those men and women are dogs, who raise their swords for their lives and cause, then you consider yourself one as well. Don’t you dare say they’re dogs, because I see them as people who are frightened for their lives.”

It was then that she realized that her temper had reached its boiling point. She blushed and looked away, sinking her teeth into the inside of her mouth again. ”Sorry.” she let out in an exasperated sigh. She raised the fruit toward him once more. ”If you’re leaving, at least take this. It’ll provide somewhat of a full belly until you can hunt for more.”

Seeing that the room around them had gotten rambunctious, Kalar turned from his newest client to see a dark-haired man walking into their deal, wondering why they were together. Kalar felt that his hand was clenched into a fist and was slowly dropping down towards one of his swords beneath his cloak, hoping to avoid the detection of this movement. When such a character simply walks up, asking for information, it usually meant trouble.

Talking in a low voice to avoid others from hearing, but loud enough to be heard by the intruder:

"And knowing things can lead to a body floating down the nearest river. Do not presume this as a threat, but many times, knowing of some secrets can lead to death of thousands. If you should know, I am asking for supplies from this gentleman, as I have need to carry myself and a young lady back to her family. I have need of two horses, food rations for a unknown amount of time, and waterskins. If you know where to purchase such things, please lead me to them."

While he was speaking to the stranger, Kalar had been writing on a piece of paper until he nonchalantly passed it to the young man, leaving the paper there.

On it, it states:
"Young master, come to the stables in two hours. Ensure you are not followed, for the shadows carry many dangers. I will have gathered several weeks worth of rations and the horses required. Burn this after reading it. Make sure there is no way to interpret it.

-Kalar"

Finishing her second drink Trin pulled her books to her chest. A sigh of contentment at the fuzzy feeling in her head escaped her lips. Today felt like a day that needed a drink before bed. She eyed the two cups, deciding if a third was needed. Letting out an annoyed breath she wrapped both arms tightly around the books and nodded goodnight to her father and uncle. Or, maybe she was just seeing two of her father. She wasn't really sure. Getting to her feet, there was a slight stumble when she walked. Finding the stairs almost became a chore as well, her balance thrown off quite a bit. When she reached the top Trin thanked the gods she didn't fall down. With so many rooms in the hallway and with her senses being... distracted, for lack of a better word, Trin had a tough time finding her room.

Going to a random door she pushed it open and stared dully at the occupants for a moment. "Hello Ambra. Zaino. Why am I always running into your room? I thought this was my -hiccup - room. Excuse me. One too many..." she mumbled to herself. Dear Naga, she got herself into awkward predicaments. "How're you holding up?" she asked the swordsman of infinity injuries. "heh heh... 'infinity injuries'. I think I have a new title for you."

---

"Fuck, wrong room!" he said, walking in on a partially naked man. That wasn't what he wanted to see today. He'd already drank more than his brother and niece together, so walking was a privilege from the gods right now. With a stumble he found himself opening the door to another room, this one containing what could only be a monk, a priestess, and a prostitute. If he wasn't so blasted out of his gourd, maybe he would have recognized one of them, but that time was quick to come and go. "A monk, a nun and a whore shack up in a room... yup, this'd be a good joke if I cared enough to finish it." he said before slamming the door and continuing his quest for an open bed. Not his room, just any open bed.

With a turn of the knob he found another room, but there was no noise coming from it. Sighing to himself, Leon quickly took of his coat and shirt, not bothering to shut the door all the way. His clothes joined some others on the floor, but that was probably just his from earlier in the day or maybe Neo's. Falling down shirtless into the bed, Leon was startled for a moment when he felt another lumpy figure in his bed. Looking over, he found the drunken Wyvern Knight in the bed, but couldn't see any farther over than that. "Lumara? Whaddayadoinginmybed!" he whined, not wanting to get up to figure out what was going on.

---

Neo continued to sip his latest drink slowly. The bread on his plate was almost gone, but there were still a few fine chunks left. Picking one up and popping it into his mouth, Neo heard a whine from the floor. The Grandmaster looked down to find a mutt looking back at him. It was skinny, but not starving. It must've lived at the inn, maybe the keepers dog. The shaggy thing continued to stare at Neo, but the face alone made him buckle. Taking the last piece of cheese from his plate, he held it open palm for the dog. It gingerly took the piece from his hand and chewed it down in front of him.

"Your manners already beat my brother's...." Neo was quickly distracted by a single man acting overly friendly and invasive with two other men. Straining his hearing over the distractions that easily came over him with alchohol, Neo tried to understand what they were talking about. Acting that obviously aloof either meant you were avoiding something by having a large presence or you were too stupid to know to lay low. At the same moment a piece of paper traveled between the two who were already talking. "Hm. This is usually how bad things start happening... " Getting up from his seat and giving the dog a pat on the head, Neo quickly made his way over to the counter near the three men. Waving down the bartender he nodded to him. "I could use another ale." he murmured, trying to keep the appearance of a demi-drunk. When he got his drink, Neo stayed standing next to the men and continued taking long sips to listen in.

The door creaked open just far enough for Vellia to get a look inside the room that the voices were coming from. There, arguing between each other, were the theif, some woman Vellia didn't recognize, and . . . a practically bald, very beat up Talbot. Vellia's jaw dropped. He was alive after all! Not in the best of shape, but he was alive.

Suddenly, Vellia felt torn between what she should do. She could run in and scold him for running off, or just tell him she was thankful he hadn't been killed. Or she could go tell the others. She stumbled away from the door and scrambled toward Ambra's room, but when she arrived there, she found that Ambra had left, so she instead began thinking of one of the first places she would go. Zaino was beat up pretty bad, wasn't he? Maybe she would be in his room.

Vellia found Trin standing in the doorway of Zaino's room, and inside, just as she had guessed, was Ambra. "Hey, Ambra!" she shouted. "You're not going to believe this, um, that is, if you haven't stumbled across him already, but, um, Talbot is . . . he's not dead! He's here. And I'm sure it's him!" Vellia felt like a young child; she could hardly contain her excitement. Despite that, though, she still stuttered. Why did she have to be so socially inept?

Risked their lives?

Zaino contained the urge to laugh at the idea of these people 'risking' their lives. He couldn't believe the words coming from Ambra's mouth, speaking as if she had a single clue of what she was talking about. "Then mongrels and cowards they are, willingly dragged by the leashes of hopelessness. The men and women who stood beside me, offering up their hearts to preserve the peace of the continent for what years would've come, have all perished before my very eyes until I was the last man standing. To compare and group me with these cowards is the very antithesis of the word itself."

"And don't you dare speak her name," Mentioning Helena once more pressed the emotional triggers inside Zaino, channeling it into a fist and trying to look more angry than sorrowful, not sure if it was convincing. "Throwing names of the dead as if they don't matter, have you no respect?"

Zaino glared at the fruit resting in Ambra's hand, his brief period of aggression dissipating. He laid his back against the wall, and sat with a melancholy expression. He hated how his emotions continued to conflict with one another; one moment, he would be full of anger and prepared to argue, and the next, he would return to a calm and subtle, almost a bit depressing, state. There was only one thing he was sure about, and that was the fact that nobody was trustworthy; he'd learned his lesson well after what happened. Shaking his head, he spoke back in his casual tone, "I just don't know anymore."

When the two other women entered his room, Zaino did not greet them with hostility; in fact, he didn't greet them at all. He just stared blankly into the air, voluntarily reaching his hand to detach one of the seeds from the fruit and placing it into his mouth, gently chewing. He had been unconscious for the last few hours (or had it already been a day?), the mention of the 'Talbot' fellow being alive actually made him feel slightly disappointed. From what he remembered, it was the mage whom he had smacked upside the head with his sword for calling him Shepherd Bandit, the one with hair styled like an octopus. Still, he was curious as to what had happened, but kept the curiosity to himself.

Her blue eyes looked away, growing very depressed at the words that he said. Ambra couldn’t deal with the strong man calling them dogs and cowards. Perhaps she was a dog. Perhaps she was a coward. But the red haired woman did not think that everyone else were cowards and hounds. She was the one that abandoned their cause first. Yet, she could not look at Zaino in the eye and tell him. How could she tell anyone? They would hate her, they would all hate her. A hot lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed roughly. Perhaps… perhaps she should just leave… they didn’t need a weakly such as her.

”I don’t know anything anymore either.” she breathed out, closing her eyes and just… breathed for a moment. This was troubling. She supposed that she understood Zaino… ”Perhaps it’s just best to…”

Someone stepped into the room and she looked up to see the blue haired woman that called herself Trina. The odor of alcohol hung around her, and she hiccupped loudly. Ambra allowed a small smile to cross her lips as she watched Trina. Maybe she should drink a little one day. Get as happy as her. Feel cheerful and aloof even if it only lasted for a few hours. Another woman stepped in, and she perked. Talbot. That musician? He was alive? Ambra wanted to look over his wounds, make sure that he was well, but she didn’t want to abandon Zaino—he seemed lonely and angry and she wanted to make sure that he didn’t rush out of the inn.

”Talbot’s alive. I wonder what happened, exactly.” Ambra wondered out loud, her eyebrows arching slightly. ”I would love to see his wounds but it seems that a lot of people are in his room.”

Without even waiting to see if anyone was following, Vellia began running back to the room she had seen Talbot in. Realizing that the people were still arguing, Vellia walked in the room and grabbed the thief. "Give Talbot his instrument back," she demanded, having heard enough bits of their conversation to understand what had been going on. "That isn't a request this time."

Then she let go and turned toward the girl with the stave in her hand. "And you," Vellia stated firmly, stomping her foot. "If you ever shave his head again, or any of our heads, for that matter, I'll make sure yours is turned into a flag decoration. For crying out loud, you two, can't you see he's in bad enough shape without being picked on and tormented?" Vellia huffed, then sat on the side of the bed that Talbot's back was toward.

"You're not allowed to try to be the hero anymore, Tal," she said, softer now, "I . . . I felt like I should have . . . um . . . stopped you. I thought you had . . . you know . . . died, and . . . The group had already lost one of their . . . er . . . one person, and you could have been another . . . and I thought it was because . . . I thought it was my fault." She suddenly realized how quickly she had grown attached to Talbot, all because he had offered friendship. All because he was the first person she had been able to actually have a conversation with in a long time. She felt childish, but only cared at this point that she hadn't been the cause for another death in the party.

Before either women could reply, Talbot looked up when a third woman stepped in. What was it with women and coming into his room? This one, however, was just as pretty as the other two, but this one he knew rather… well. Vellia. She was a good woman, with her red hair and light eyes. She was the one who had actually spoken to him and hummed along when he was singing. He looked up at her as she threatened the two others, demanding the instrument back from one and threatening the other. The sorcerer wanted to jump up and join in the threats, but he really did feel sick. He felt like he was going to pass out soon, and the pain continued to run up and down and across his rib cage. Even though they were not broken, he could still feel the pain of where they had snapped in half.

Vellia sat down next to him and told him that he wasn’t allowed to play hero anymore. Playing hero? Who said he was planning hero? He didn’t want anyone to get hurt, even if defending them cost him his life. Talbot narrowed his eyes and listened to what she said. Was that… concern in her voice? His eyes darted back to her, and he frowned even deeper. He was grumpy, but now he was calmed by her words. At least someone did care and wasn’t some sort of siren that was hovering over his bed. Between those two women, he felt like taking an arrow to the head.

”I wasn’t playing hero.” he croaked. ”I was doing what I had to do for the Shepherds. I knew that the army was coming and that we would be killed on the spot if we all stood up to fight. So I thought and thought and decided to give myself up.” he heaved a sigh, but coughed when the pain made his breath get stuck in his throat. The bard’s body was being racked by the bout of coughing, and he struggled to sit up, damning himself for his uselessness.

Happy and friendly? This lute-loving buffoon? The one who thought that it was a good idea to threaten a HEALER? The same healer that saved his life, instead of stabbing him in the throat and just looting him for everything he had? And now he was doubting her words as well. Great. This was great. Yes, next time, she'll just heal them up enough that they can live a few days longer and leave them alone. God knows what she was thinking when she patched him up and carried that meatsack around with her for a few days.

Aelitha, understandably, was not pleased. But she wasn't a violent person by nature, other than when she felt like being violent, and so, she closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and eventually managed to push her irritation regarding the whole scenario down inside her mind. It was going to be alright. She can still get paid for this. Maybe the rest of the Shephards won't be this bad. Maybe there will be some justification later on. Maybe, just maybe, there still might be something interesting that'll pop up. Maybe he's just like this because he's cranky, and that lute-hostage-taker is just like this because she's an amoral criminal! With those not-so pleasant thoughts in mind, Aelitha managed to stop herself from doing anything rash.

Then another bitch busted in her room and stated some very nasty threats.

Aelitha took another deep breath and then let it all out in one long sigh. There were three Shephard-related people that she had met. Not a single one of them had a shred of logic, rationality, understanding, or anything else that would make her think that they were worth working with. What a shame. What a pain in the arse. What a waste of time.

And look, now that Talbot person was coughing again, his recently healed ribs heaving in a manner that definitely would not be very helpful at all. And to think that she had just healed him as well. Why does she even bother sometimes? Ah, no, she can't do her job if she's still like this. Healing magic wasn't something that was improved by anger, unlike destructive magic. If she kept on feeling like she should just abandon these lost causes, Aelitha wouldn't be able to do much.

So she walked to her bags, took out her skinning knife, and stabbed the table three times, her face void of expression. Three deep scars appeared on the rough wood, the knife left stuck in it. For good measure, she clenched her spare hand and slammed it against her knee, before letting out an even longer, exaggerated sigh.

“Two things I dislike as a healer,” she said, not bothering to turn around, “Patients that don't know when to rest, and visitors that don't know how to knock. Please don't make my job any more annoying than it is with all this. Can you all just keep your flirting brief? Preferably fetch some water on the way, to moisten his throat? Make yourself useful? Beheading girl, roll him over to his side, in case he chokes on his spit or something. Make sure he's still lying down though. Spines don't heal quite as well, you see, so it's probably in the late stage of mending. Try not to move upwards too much.”

Why exactly did she do this job again? In this situation, she couldn't even feel GOOD about doing it.

It was like some stupid puppeteer was directing her decisions towards doing things that she wouldn't do, making her put up with things that she wouldn't put up with, dealing with people that she didn't want to deal with.

Ah, it would be great if she could just pack up and leave, but nope, that mysterious cosmic force kept her in the room, recasting Mend as a pain-numbing agent on this idiotic patient.

It would be so great to just find that bishie rich person who was hiring mercenaries and offer her services, wouldn't it?

Healer? Patient? Oh, no. But she shaved his hair! It wasn't like his hair was necessarily beautiful or anything, but that just seemed like an awful practical joke you pulled on someone. Something you did to be mean. Granted, it grows back, but that takes time, and in while you're waiting, you can turn out being very . . . unattractive, and the person could easily be the butt of many jokes.

Vellia was conflicted. "Y-you've been . . . taking care of him?" Vel stammered. "I thought you had . . . um . . . forget it. I'll get him some water, or maybe something warm would be better, maybe? I . . . I don't know for sure, but . . ." she trailed off. "You know, we've got a . . . uh, traditional healer with us, um, as well. There are a few of the other Shepherds, though, who are . . . um . . . they're not in very good shape, but she might be able to . . . uh, maybe she could lend a hand."

Vellia almost wanted to stab the table in frustration now, though she was more angry with herself than with other people. She needed to learn to not stutter all the time. It wasn't the best way to introduce herself.

"I, uh, I'm sorry, I guess," Vellia offered to the healer. She was still annoyed that the thief-girl had been using the lute like a bartering tool against its owner. She was beginning to wonder if bringing this girl along had been a good idea. But she stilled her tongue. "I . . . I should have been the one in his place, so . . . um . . . I feel like . . . I feel like I should be the one to take care of him. Um. . . . Listen, if you need . . . I can help if it's needed. I mean, I can't use magic or anything, but I, uh . . . I can try to do some of the more physical labor."

"Shouldn't you go check up on Octopus Head?" Zaino said to Ambra, referring to Talbot and his hair. He thought that she would've went to check on her 'comrade' and left the room by now, and besides that, he wanted to continue resting so that he was fully energized in the morning before he would leave for Regna Ferox. The mind-numbing headache had finally stopped bothering him, at least, for the time being. He sighed and crawled under the sheets, placing his hands under the back of his head and blinking at the ceiling, speaking before closing his eyes to sleep, "I'm gonna go back to resting up, it's late. You should, too."

Laius began to sip away at the tankard of cider before him. All was well. He would socialize with some of the lovely young ladies of this town, have a nice night of rest and leave by noon the next day if all things went well. The mercenary he had just hired seemed to have other plans for him, but he would learn to work around Laius' schedule sooner or later. The young prince turned to his newly gained accomplice and went to speak.. before a toothy dark mage suddenly plopped down next to him and rudely interrupted him. He detested being interrupted. Resisting the urge to bludgeon the dark mage with his heaviest tome, he instead took another long drink of his cider. Slamming the now empty metal cup down on the counter, he focused his attention on the nosy newcomer while the barkeep went about refilling his cup. "Business." He answered simply. A very social person by nature, Laius had to also hold back the urge to make conversation with this gentleman. He was supposed to be slipping through the countryside undetected, after all, and scholars tended to know more of royalty than peasants did.

As he turned to get his fresh cup of drink, he noted the mercenary sliding a note to him. Leaving in the middle of the night? No! He had just marched through a desert for a day. He wasn't going to go anywhere but a nice warm bed possibly belonging to the fairer sex that night. He idly placed the tip of his finger on the parchment, magical energy heating his finger as he traced the word 'nope' across it in charred paper. He flicked the note back to the mercenary, returning his attention to the mage. Maybe some interaction wouldn't tip him off. "What brings you here? Other than poking your nose into others business?" He asked, his tone playful and friendly.