In a sleepy village near the coast Lucumbro, all would seem fine to an outsider. No stories, no rumors, no horrifying tales. It was just a hamlet close to Firebird territory. Even if some of the citizens were standoffish, most would regard this as a good place to live. Currently, it was sunny, clear skies, an hour before noon. There were a small amount of people wandering about outside, running errands or some such. Overall, the perfect place for vagrants.

---

One such travelers was Kait Arouraios, who was traveling through, still on the lookout for a master Magus to apprentice. This town seemed promising though, a master by the name of Vivian seemed like she could be convinced to allow Kait to study under her. For now though, she was just stepping out of the inn she had slept in the previous night. Though she didn't have much money, there were fairly large spiders and rats in the cellar, which the student took care of, obviously pointing out the irony in the situation before hand. After said job, she had a free night in the inn, and sleeping in her own bed again felt great.

Kait's first order of business was to get some food, which the inn she had stayed in sorely lacked. But this was a fisherman's town, so there was no way there wasn't some delicious fresh fish to be cooked here, even if she had to light the fire herself. The rat began wandering the streets to find some form of vendor, unsure if the city's layout but still willing to find food.

"Just another day on the job."

Morada grumbled through clenched teeth. She stood outside The Flopping Lightningfish, not that Morada could read the sign. A tavern filled with washed up fools and day drunks. Her least favorite kind of people. But the ale was good so she couldn't complain. Morada shoved the door open, causing it to swing against the adjacent wall. The bell above the door jingled cheerfully, contrasting sharply against the crash of the door. A barmaid with a plastered on smile, and cloth stuffed down her shirt, began to turn around to greet Morada. But as soon as she saw who, or what, was in the open door her smile quickly pressed into a hard line. Her eyes filled with fear.

Bright yellow eyes scanned over the crowded Tavern, those who were sober quickly looked away or appeared busy.

It didn't take Morada long to locate her target, sitting alone at the far end of the bar. He was a greasy looking human man, slicked back black hair with an ever present smirk on his face. Morada made her way down the bar, people eagerly moving to let the Half-Orc through. The man glanced up at Morada out of the corner of his eye, but made no reaction. Even as people around him were scrambling to move out of her way the man still looked confident.

"Oi." Morada finally spoke, her voice low and rough. "Pay up."

The man slowly turned his head upward, still smirking.

"I do believe that you have the wrong guy, Greenskin. And if I did owe money I certainly wouldn't trust it in your hands, so why don't you run back to whoever holds your leash and tell them to send someone more...civilized."

Morada saw red. Her upper lip curled up in a snarl as she moved with surprising speed for one her size. She grabbed, by the roots, a fist full of the mans hair. His expression turned, very quickly, from cockiness to fear. But it wasn't enough to satisfy Morada's rage.

With a roar Morada slammed the mans head, face first, into the bar. She pulled it back, only to slam it down a second time. She could hear his nose snap from the force, and the streaking and flying blood was a nice touch. On the third trip down Morada stopped this time, mere centimeters from the bar top. She felt him tense and brace for an impact that wasn't coming, and she smirked.

She leaned down next to his ear, smirking still.

"Hows abouts you pay early next month, and I won't have to find you again."

The man nodded feverishly, as far as he could nod with Morada still keeping her vice grip on his hair. Morada stood back up straight.

"Good." She grumbled, releasing her grip on his head and watching him smack face first into the bar.

As the man was still recovering from the beating, Morada tore his coin purse right off his belt.

"I'll be taking this. Thank you for your cooperation."

The sun’s scorching rays beat down relentlessly on Rane as he made his way through the street, sword held loosely in a gauntleted fist. His plate armour seemed particularly heavy in under the heat. Any other day, he’d have opted to be less conspicuous, but the task at hand would not be particularly difficult; besides, nothing parted the filthy, stinking throng like a bare blade, glinting maliciously in the sunlight.

The bustling street was lined with an assortment shops and buildings, and littered with peasants and craftsmen of all trades. The air was filled with a heavy stench of unwashed bodies and horse droppings. Beggars and hawkers gave him a wide berth upon seeing his sword. Those who were brave enough to approach him were sent scurrying away with a cold glare.

The few guards that dotted the streets lumbered about with their chests puffed out and weapons held high. The sun glinted off the rusted pieces of chain armour that dangled off their shoulders, framing an offensively bright symbol on their chests. Ridiculous pointed helmets sat atop their heads, giving them the appearance of a grounded flock of birds. Canned chickens, Rane thought.

Regardless, he sheathed his sword and turned his head whenever a group of them strutted by, beaks in the air and arses dragging on the ground. He had no doubt he could kill them all, but his employer had not mentioned them in his instructions. No need to tarnish his reputation over a scuffle like that.

“Sir, spare some gold,” a voice croaked from behind him.

Rane turned around, and found himself face to face with a short beggar. There wasn’t a single word that could adequately describe the pitiful excuse of a man hunched before him. A few wispy strands of white clung on to a sunburned head, sitting atop a body that resembled a leper’s skin stretched over a bundle of sticks. His face was covered entirely with bruises and wrinkles. A few colourless rags were draped over his sagging shoulders in a failed attempt at decency. His long, thin fingers clasped on to a worn leather pouch that had most likely belonged to someone else at some point. It was a surprise the beggar had not keeled over on the spot.

“No,” Rane replied. He turned around and continued walking, paying no more mind to the beggar.

He only made it a few steps before the voice chimed in again. “Sir, honour’ble, noble knight, surely, ye must have some gold in yer pocket for a poor soul,” the beggar rasped.

“No. Go away.”

Rane continued walking. The beggar followed him. He wasn’t sure if the man was brave, or just insane. Whichever one, he certainly was persistent. He would have continued ignoring him, until the beggar latched on to his elbow with his bony hands.

“Sir, please, sir, a man needs to eat,” the beggar piped up, “I’d be etern’ly grateful for some gold, sir.”

He continued walking, but the man pulled at his elbow, his incessant pleading an assault upon the ears. Rane tried shaking the man off, but his grip only tightened.

Rane sighed. “Tell you what,” he said grudgingly, “I may have a few spare coins. Let’s get behind this alley, I don’t want some thieves getting any ideas.”

“Oh, of course, noble sir,” the beggar exclaimed in delight, “There ain’t no thief brave ‘nough to steal yer gold, good sir, gen’rous sir, kind and noble . . .”

Rane brought the man between two buildings, quickly glancing around to make sure they were alone. He looked at the beggar one more time, and reached into his pouch, rummaging about. The beggar’s eyes followed with barely-concealed ecstasy, his mouth spread in a wide, toothless grin.

Without warning, his hand shot up and latched onto one of the beggar’s rags. The man looked up in surprise and indignation. Before he could speak, Rane jammed the rag into the beggar’s mouth and pushed his head into the brick wall, crushing his skull with a sickening crunch. The beggar’s scream was cut off by the rag. Slowly, he lifted the man’s head, peering at his bloodied face.

“S-sir, please,” the beggar mumbled between coughs, his voice stifled by the makeshift gag. Before he could finish, Rane tightened his grip and slammed the beggar’s face back onto the wall. He systematically repeated the action several times, until the beggar’s muffled wails quieted to nothing.

Rane let go, and the limp corpse slid to the ground. He picked the beggar’s pouch off the ground and opened it, to reveal a few bent coppers. He tossed the pouch beside the man and scattered the coins around it. Anyone stumbling upon the scene would believe the beggar had been mugged.

Calmly, he removed the saliva-covered rag from the what was left of the beggar’s mouth and wiped the blood off his gauntlet, careful not to leave any in the chinks. He cast the tattered cloth on the ground beside its owner, and left the alleyway, blending back into the busy streets.

---

Izerk Whitemane of Glimmerdale thought little of Lucumbro's roads, and even less of the bandits that infested them. It seemed quite apparent to the mighty warrior, true of heart as he was, and keen of mind, that the country's descent into civil war had driven both the desperate and the despicable to conduct heinous crimes against their own kinsmen.

Not just three hours past, as the Sun arose in the east, did Izerk enter the burned out hollow ruin of Timberlane. Scorched scaffold marked the skeletal remains of once sturdy hovels, and swarms of flies ran riots around the piles of heavily decayed flesh that dotted the main thoroughfare. The Gorilla surmised a war party had paid the little settlement a visit, and that no defence was a waged - no battle fought. What happened at Timberlane was a slaughter, and such things did not sit well with the son of Goria.

War was not common under the lush canopies of Glimmerdale Forest - but it did happen - and when it did happen, there were certain rules one was expected to abide by. There were notions of dignity, of honour. Life was valued above most things, and the taking of it was not something done without a large amount of forethought. Children were never to be harmed, regardless of their blood; women too, for what was Goria without those who selflessly gave life unto the world? And the very idea of burning an entire settlement was tantamount to excommunication, no matter what banner you fought under.

In Lucumbro though, Izerk had rapidly surmised that Man and Elf paid little heed to the rules of war, or the values of honour and nobility. They were apparently a pair of selfish races, wholly concerned with fulfilling their own futile desires.

Six Men had accosted Izerk not long after he left the ruin of Timberlane. They were a pitiful bunch, with scarred faces and ridden with disease. They waved crude blades at him, and spat curses through cracked and blackened teeth. Initially, the Crown Prince of Glimmerdale attempted to talk them down from their folly, but his tongue's beastial handling of the Lucumbro language drove them towards a mixture of fear and anger, rather than reason and sanity. They charged him with what passed for Men as "war cries".

Now there were six broken - no - shattered bodies beneath the canopy of some random copse. A just price the would-be bandits had paid, for threatening the Crown Prince of Glimmerdale.

And now, as he crested yet another hill laden with the vegetation of Lucumbro's countryside, Izerk looked down upon a body of water so large that it took him several moments to convince himself that what he saw was real. Nothing larger than a lake existed in Glimmerdale Forest, and Lucumbro's bordering ocean was a sight to behold for the Crown Prince. For some minutes, he noted the beauty and sheer enormity of nature's work.

"So, this is what a sea is," he mumbled in the Gora tongue. "Scrolls and tales of the Elders do the reality little justice."

His eyes fell upon the distinctive outline of a human settlement, far off and a few miles east along the coast. It seemed intact, though it was hard to tell from his vantage point. He'd entered many such places, and had found no one to aid him in his mission. In fact, most of visits to Lucumbro settlements had been met with deep-seated scrutiny, sometimes with fear and once or twice with violence.

"Perhaps this little Sea-Town will be different," Izerk grunted, before making towards the settlement at a slow yet inevitable pace.

"Two of those hard breads, an 'alf wheel of cheese and three of those fine smokeys if you please" Shamus spoke to the young shop girl that worked at the local shop.

She ran through the list again and then bustled off to fill his order. The owner of the shop was leaning on the low table like he always did, smoking his foul smelling tobacco. He looked over to Shamus with a wry smile and gave one of his little nods, you knew that you were really accepted in a town from little gestures like this. Shamus gave a little nod back and turned back as the shop girl came over with his order.

"That will be two and six Mr O'Conner" The smile never leaving her pretty face.

"That seems a tad more expensive than it was last week Jezzy" His face showed he was not pleased by this recent price hike but he was routing around in his purse for the coins.

The owner tapped out his pipe and looked at Shamus,

"Price of war I am afraid. The harvest failed again down in the Yoe Valley, foreign armies are abroad and they are still rebuilding most of the fleet after that last storm. If I was of a religious disposition I would say that the Gods had forsaken these lands" Despite his claim at faithlessness he still gave himself a little cross across the chest, a common trait of the locals in the town.

He placed three coins on the counter and took the change back in his hand.

"Well we can just hope that our 'betters' sort it out and we can continue with our little lives" Shamus spat out the phrase 'betters'. He never made any attempts to hide his contempt for any of the gentry in the local area, it was something that had earned his fair share of trouble.

Taking his goods he nodded to the shop girl and the owner and headed back to the forge.

Shamus liked the town more than most. The people had been very welcoming, even more so once they had found out that he had the skills to help in the forge. The town had been ravaged by an unseasonably strong storm which had damaged a number of the fishing vessels. In order to return them all to seaworthiness they needed nails, rivets, rings and needles, and they needed more than the local blacksmith and farrier could provide.

As he walked past The Flopping Lightningfish he noted the crashing that seemed to becoming from within. It seemed that things were getting very lively earlier than usual. He had been in the pub a few times but he and the other smiths tended to drink in The Duke of Yoe further up the village, old rivalries that needed to be observed.

A person heard the forge before they saw it, the iconic crashing and banging could be heard two streets before you came up on the forge. He was set upon by the other smiths, not unlike the gulls that waited for the fisherman down at the docks. They took the food off him and whisked it off to the long table and set the places. As he was about to sit the Master of the forge came over and spoke to him.

The Master was a good man, he walked with a stoop to his back and needed a stick if he was going any great distance but Shamus had seen few better at the forge.

"So do you still mean to leave us? I wish you would take up me offer." The Master was stood next to him now looking back into the smithy.

"I wish I could Master but I have done all I can here. I came here by happenstance and I used what little skills I have to help the people but I have others that now need my help more."

The Master sank a little at this.

"But don't worry Master I ain't planning on leaving today. I don't plan on going until the New Moon, which isn't for at least five days yet."

These seemed to appease the Master, for now at least. He beckoned for him to follow him and they went and sat with the others for their lunch before they carried on with the days work.

The typical life of a mercenary necessarily involves a fair amount of battle and bloodshed, and most likely the early death of those who partake of it. Evidently, most aren't willing to do so at all, let alone at the tender age of fifteen, when one has not fully developed and is nominally too weak to defend themselves, let alone fight against others. Not so Akella, who saw it as a way to escape the stress of her life before then- especially if she took jobs necessitating minimal warfare under normal conditions- in a way she had the skills to do well in. Too well, in fact, for by the time she was eighteen, it seemed that wherever she went, people recognised her for her armour, or her hair, or her weaponry, or her prior work, and praised her for it despite its brutal nature. She didn't want praise. Praise meant pressure. Running away had been meant to escape the pressure of her life. Instead, it brought more and more of it, with every job she took seeming to be replaced by two, or three, or four more offers the moment her contract ended, and she couldn't exactly turn them down in good conscience, if it meant innocent people might die for her negligence. And so the cycle continued, until she felt she might break in two. She could not put out infinite effort.

Which led to current events. This time, she had been offered a comparatively simple task which she'd accepted with gusto: escort a noblewoman by the name of Snow, and her five-man retinue of servants, from one city to another, Balfrust to Andore, over a couple of hundred miles of mostly-safe territory. Lady Snow herself was not particularly well-known amongst the commoners along the chosen route, making a raid against her unlikely, and yet in the same stroke she was rich enough to pay Akella well, maybe even allowing the mercenary to take herself off the market for a few weeks whilst she recovered. Until then, the journey involved passing through a few smaller towns and villages to sleep in, most of which the fair Lady complained bitterly about, the conditions of course not being up to her more refined tastes, and Fynn was no different, possibly worse for the minor detour taken to reach it the evening prior. She seemed nice enough to her usual entourage, and perhaps Akella might have made friends with her if they'd met by chance, but alas, one doesn't befriend one's bodyguard. And, well, her attitude toward most of her inferiors was offputting for Akella anyway.

Indeed, preparations had been made to leave as soon as possible, which of course meant a mere hour before noon. Sloppy planning, but not unforgivable considering that the next nearest town was only a three hour ride away. "Just in time for a presumably sub-par luncheon," as the Lady had put it mere minutes ago. Yet even now, Akella was drawing attention from the locals to herself...

'I say, ma'am,' an old woman asked politely as Akella prepared her horse for another day of riding, 'but aren't you that lovely young lady who I've heard about? The, erm, "the girl with hair like fire", or what have you? You certainly look the part...'

'Ah... yes, that would be me,' Akella acquiesced, 'hello, though I wouldn't say it's quite like fire. Too, um, red for that.'

'Well, I suppose fire's a more orangey colour...' the woman said, more to herself than anyone else. 'But, well, I noticed you were leaving, and wanted to offer my home for a night or two's rest, if you ever return here again.'

'Oh... w-well, I wouldn't want to be a bother, uh...'

'Akella!' a voice called to the mercenary, unmistakable as anything other than aristocratic in bearing. 'Are you still accommodating the peasantry, or can we get on with our travels?'

'Uh- just one moment, my Lady!' Akella called back to the oddly white-haired noblewoman, before turning to the old lady once again, her expression already apologetic. 'I-I'm sorry, I need to, uh...'

'Oh, don't you worry, I know what nobles are like, ma'am. Remember, if you're in Fynn again, find me!'

'Ah, thank you, much obliged,' Akella said quickly, hopping on to her steed and riding off to the side of her current hirer. It'd take at least another five minutes to reach the edge of the village even at trotting pace, and every second counts when your employer is a member of the upper class.

As Kait wandered throughout the town, she took note of many things. Firstly, the smell of the town. Very earthy and dewey, but with a distinct sea-salt tinge added to it, that would surely get stronger the closer you came to the sea. Secondly, was the heat. Port towns were quite hot, apparently, and without her wide brimmed hat and coat, Kait would have been sweating like a dog. The last thing she consciously noticed was that there weren't a lot of people here. The Inn keeper had mentioned that this was about the edge of town last night (though wouldn't speak to her in the morning, oddly). She'd have to continue on a bit further into the village.

Deeper into Fynn, Kait encountered more people, and more shops as well, but the shops all had odd names. "Rosewood", "Flopping Lightning Fish", "Horus's". As much as she wanted to browse the shops personally, that would take a long time, and she needed food. She made way to ask a few citizens of the town, but they all ignored her question. She didn't quite understand why they would ignore her, the spear strapped to her back maybe? If so, then it would be wise to go talk to those who didn't mind weaponry. Blacksmiths.

Kait followed the simple rhythmic bang of the hammer to get there. It seemed the forge was going sun up to sun down and maybe even beyond here. Kait had assumed it was because the country was in war times, but she never bothered to ask. Now would be the time to do so. Approaching the building, she noticed many of the workers having lunch. "Ah, seems I've come at the perfect time." Kait mumbled to herself as she approached. She quickly made her way over to one of the men and asked him where he had gotten the food. He just responded by pointing at a human and telling her "Travel'r Shamus got us grub today." She walked over to the appointed man.

Looking him over, Shamus was an average man. Not old or young looking, but very gruff. He was scarred and calloused, as well as quite well built, a result of him working the forge all day most likely. Overall, he looked quite approachable, so that's exactly what Kait did. "Hello, Sir Shamus. I was wondering if you could tell me where you have gotten this food. To feed so many men it must be cheap, hm?"

"A raid like any other: short, swift, and sweet."

The Masquerade Thief was hardly wrong there. Arriving in the back alley of a local confectionery, Addisson shuffles into a small gap between the confectionery and a goods store, crouching and staring at the assembled wealth within the simple rucksack. He grins to herself as he opens the rather packed container, revealing enough stolen sweets to start her own sweet shop! It would be a nice little treat, however unfortunately Addisson knew what would happen to him if the store owner got wind of her little heist. Again. And it wasn't quite something he was especially fond of having to deal with for a second time.

Though... one little cupcake couldn't hu-

A figure descends, and Addisson is forced to zip up her bag. 'Always the worst timing...' Thought the Thieves Guild Leader as aforementioned figure huddles into the corner alongside Addisson, carrying the same bag but much less full...

"I see you got away without a trace, at least. Not bad. Most beginner thieves tend to get greedy and take too much." The older thief spoke with a reassuring smile as the younger thief revealed herself to Addisson. She was barely entering her teens, and already the young lass was getting into the fine art of becoming a professional thief.

'What's the world coming to...?' Addisson thought to himself as she gazed upon the young girl. She had a soft complexion, one that almost matched Addisson's lower half to a scary degree. Pointed jaw, soft cheeks, crimson red lips, and eyes that one could just melt in, Addisson knew this little rosebud was ripe for the picking as a new edition to the Guild.

So far, she was right.

The girl nods and smiles. "Yeah... I couldn't get as much as you, Miss...ter? But I got enough t' feed!" Her tone came with a thick fisherman's accent - the kind of gritty sound accompanied by pirates, but lacking the emphasis on the "r". It was oddly charming to the Bandit Thief, and suddenly he was thinking up ways on how she could twist that girl's voice to pull off all sorts of intricate deals. Addisson was rather fond of the idea of an apprentice, though making sure they understood morality and didn't betray the Guild would be a major factor in determining if they were good material...

... For now, though, Addisson would focus on the community service.

He grins and brushes the girl's hair softly, patting her head. "Nice work," she said with a smile, "just make sure you can get them to the kids. They need the energy."

"Mmhmm! See you later, Miss-ter...?"

"Addisson." From behind the mask, Addisson grinned. "You may call me Addisson."

---

---

The rooftops were fun to walk along. Nobody really paid much attention to them, and even if you were spotted, it didn't take much to get out of sight. Duck into a window, go to the opposite roof, slide down to the ground floor via pole before making another ascent. It was all pretty simple to Addisson; it was a skill he had somehow acquired, yet, for whatever reason...

... did not quite know why she had said skill...

This wasn't exclusive to this skill however, oh no! Addisson's entire life for the past year had been but a mystery fueled by instinct. He couldn't remember why or how the one known as Addisson became known as the Masquerade Thief, yet she couldn't help but let his own actions be determined purely by instinct. It was as though she had a great many adventures in order to become the thief he was today, yet for the life of her, Addisson couldn't even comprehend how he had these gifts. It was as though her memory had been wiped clean. His body knew what to do, but her mind...

Addisson often spent much of his free time trying to get a grasp on her thoughts. She couldn't remember a single detail from his past, and that really intrigued him. He had his own story, his own legacy just waiting to be uncovered, yet she couldn't bring about any sort of details to jog her memory. It wasn't a haze or anything - her mind was completely devoid of memory.

In fact... Addisson wasn't even entirely sure if he was a she, or if she was in fact a he.

He was too scared to take off the mask; she was also too afraid to look down when it came to noting more obvious characteristics. The unknown, as much as he hated to admit it, frightened her, and Addisson wasn't quite a fan of being... indecent.

Yet, something was holding Addisson back from removing the mask. Whatever it was, it wasn't being subtle about it, either.

So, Addisson did the only thing someone with a lack of identity could think of:

Wait and see.

That said, in a time which was supposed to be spent alone in thought, Addisson found a rather snobbish looking noblewoman roaming the streets below. She looked to be in a hurry, and that interested the Bandit Thief terribly! Why, one might ask? Well it didn't take a genius to think something fishy was up. 'Pardon the pun.' He thought with a grin as she followed the noblewoman like a hawk. Just think: a noblewoman in a hurry in a backwater fishing town. Obviously she was on some important errand, and those always meant you could get one of two things from them:

Money and-or power.

From Addisson's understanding, there wasn't any rich folk who lived in the area, which meant this person either had said money or powerful purpose on-hand, or they'd lead the Masquerade Thief straight to it! 'Ahh, when am I ever not a genius?' He thought proudly as she followed close behind from the rooftops, making sure not to be seen. In order to do that, Addisson made sure his Lapi Necklace of Shadow was in view, and she was keeping to the darker sides of the rooftops. Of course, one couldn't rely on a lapi all the time, and Addisson was well aware of this fact, so she made sure to keep his presence low when following, prioritizing stealth over speed.

Of course, neither was much of an issue for a master thief such as Addisson.

"Akella! Are you still accommodating the peasantry, or can we get on with our travels?"

The noblewoman had an escort, it seemed. By pure guesstimation, Addisson concluded said escort was a woman of strength and morals, favouring brawn over brain. That being said, it would be best not to agitate the redhead with a thief's presence, and Addisson knew that patience would be everything in the coming heist.

'I do hope they plan on sleeping.'

Although the food was simple fare Shamus was enjoying it. It reminded him of the sort of food that he had gotten at home, thick, hearty the sort of food a working man needed. The fish was rich and smokey, the cheese hard and salty, the bread was fresh and fluffy. The meal brought a big smile to his face. Best of all he was taking great pleasure in watching everyone else eat. Shamus often bought the lunch as he didn't really need the money, the Master provided him a roof over his head and he only kept the possessions he could carry. The other men in the forge had families and this often meant that they didn't get enough to eat and the forge was hot, tiring work. A few well placed loaves, smoked fish and wheels of cheese kept the men working at the forge and maybe a bit more food on the table at their own homes.

He was just finishing off a particularly tasty smokey when a young beastwomen came into the forge and was pointed in his direction. He assumed that she was female, the cut of her clothing and the way she held herself seemed to suggest female. He would continue with that assumption until corrected.

"Hello, Sir Shamus. I was wondering if you could tell me where you have gotten this food. To feed so many men it must be cheap, hm?"

It was a peculiar question for a number of reasons. She didn't look like a beggar, her clothes were well kept and she was clean, the spear on her back suggest she had at least some martial training. Why should she single Shamus out amongst all of the others for directions. His curiosity was piqued but he reminded himself to stay vigilant, he had traveled for a long time and he had not always made friends on the road.

"Firstly I ain't no Sir, I ain't been knighted nor do I claim lordship over any lands..."

Shamus was a republican to his core and held a lot of contempt for those of 'noble birth' to possibly be mistaken for one peeved him slightly,

"...second the food was bought from a local merchants, as for the cost, well we are helping to fix the fishes boats that were damaged in the last storm; Folks need the boats so they are being very accommodating regarding prices for certain goods."

Shamus placed an emphasis on the fact that the food had been bought and not stolen. With all of the politics, war and rebellions of late it was always wise to show that you were following the rules.

"Now if I may ask ye a questions, what brings a young beastwomen to this humble smithy? You looking for something particular?"

The blacksmith looked Kait over like she had him, his curiosity obviously flaring a bit. Around these port towns, one would assume you'd get all sorts of odd characters walking around. But, then again, she didn't see many ships coming to and fro the port. Had something happened around the time she came into town? There were a lot of blacksmiths and the forge was pounding away just as hard as it was last night...

"Firstly I ain't no Sir, I ain't been knighted nor do I claim lordship over any lands..."

A small noise escaped Kait's mouth, halfway between an "Ah" of confirmation and a "Huh?" of confusion. Not many people outright refused to be called sir where she was from. In fact, most insisted on being called sir, or lady should the case be. But she'd let it lie, and just call him 'Shamus'. He also emphasized that the food was bought, and they got a discount for helping out. That certainly answered her question on where the boats were, in the shop, but the more pressing matter was if he thought she was a thief. She thought she was dressed fine, did the spear on her back make it look like she was a highwayman?

"I'm just a traveling Magus. I was hoping to get some cheap food..." She explained, holding up her light coin purse. "As I said, I'd assumed the food would be cheap. I suppose I'll check the shop though. What is it's name?" She asked. Unfortunately, Shamus wouldn't get a chance to respond, as rhythmic marching tore the beastwoman's attention away.

Throughout the streets the town's guards marched, spears and swords at the backs of men, women, and children. Those in the line looked as if they were about to cry, either from their own fate, or others. A few stood strong, facing their fate with honor though. The townspeople gave the group a grim look, but resumed their activities as if nothing had happened. The rat looked to Shamus with a worried look. "What's going on? Why are the knights escorting those people? Where are they taking them?" She inquired. As this was going on she looked into the sky and noticed it was noon. If any people had things they needed to do, now would be the time to get in position.

The steady beat of boots upon cobble was accompanied by subdued wails and stifled moans, mixing in a disturbing sort of symphony as the parade marched through the town. The peasants littering the sides of the street made way, pretending not to notice as their friends and neighbours were herded away from them like pigs to the slaughterhouse. A young girl cried out, screaming and crying, wriggling out from her mother's protective grip and running at the group. One of the guards shoved her away, leaving her sobbing on the side of the street as her mother desperately tried to soothe her.

Rane took one last swig of his drink, setting the mug aside and standing up from his stool. A long, oversized brown cloak he had borrowed from a napping peasant hung around his shoulders, the hood thrown over his head and helmet. His sword and purse hung at his belt beneath the cloak. Awkwardly, he dug his hands into his clothes and rummaged through his purse for a moment, before presenting a few dull, rusting coins to the barkeep. The old man sifted through the coins with his gnarled fingers, examining each one carefully, before giving him a grudging nod.

"Cheap bastard," Rane muttered under his breath, perhaps a little louder than he had intended, as he picked up his belongings and turned to leave. Just four jugs of the watered-down piss they served as wine had cost him a good day's pay. He had always hated small towns for the sole reason that there were never any good taverns or brothels.

He tripped on the threshold as he left the bar, banging his head on the wooden door frame. Cursing silently, he stumbled out into the streets, easing the pain with his ring. The street seemed to suddenly lurch to the left, then slowly tilt back until it was flat, but overshot, and began leaning to the right. Perhaps he had hit himself a little too hard. Grunting, he threw off the cloak, revealing his full set of plate armour and his ridiculous winged helmet. He tossed the old rag aside dramatically, drawing his sword, holding it loosely in one hand, while the other fumbled to untangle his grappling hook from his belt. One foot in front of the other, sword held in front and chain swinging behind, he waited for the guards to come to him. The time for subtlety was over; it was time to finish the job.

Except the guards didn't come, because they had already moved away with their prisoners. Rane looked around for them, as confused as the townsmen who had paused their work to gape at this drunken mercenary, seemingly waiting to fight an enemy that did not exist.

Embarrassed, and a little outraged, Rane sheathed his sword and hooked his grappling hook back onto his belt, glaring at the townsmen. He looked to his left, where the prisoners were already being lined up in the town square. Cursing quietly, he began to make his way around to the center of the town.

It didn't take too long for Akella and the Lady Snow to come across the marching guardsmen, and the imprisoned civilians they had with them. It seemed as though the other peasants in the vicinity were either doing their best to ignore the marching group, or unduly fascinated by it in a way that they'd likely regret later on; Snow herself seemed to be very uncomfortable with the situation, at least in the first moment of glancing at it, but then deliberately turned her horse away, putting on a cool facade as she began to ride off. Akella, by contrast, could not bring herself to just leave. These people... she tried to tell herself that, maybe they were all criminals, maybe they deserved this. But that was surely impossible; at least a third of the village's people were being herded like animals, to who knows what fate, and nobody was doing a thing about it! This could not, would not-!

'Akella, let's go.'

The Lady's voice in her ear made her jump a little, and she turned to her employer, who by now had erased any trace of upset from her features. The mercenary gritted her teeth, and tried to appeal to the noblewoman's better nature: 'This is barbaric. We can't just stand by, surely?'

'This is not our concern. It's not our job to be concerned.' Her voice was as cold as her features.

'Then whose is it?' Akella replied, anger starting to tint her voice. 'There's no way something like this is going to end well, and I can't in good conscience do nothing about it.' For a moment, the Lady seemed cowed, bowing her head and once more showing what seemed to be distress, only to raise her head again, herself angered... but not with the events unfolding before them.

'What do you think you'll accomplish? Hm?' the Lady asked. 'Judging by the numbers here, there are probably guards all over the village. Are you planning to fight all of them, Akella? Is that your plan?'

'If I have to.'

'You will die trying. You are not one of those heroes from legend. Maybe you think otherwise, but you are mortal. You are a mercenary. You would do well to remember that, and you would do well to remember that you've been hired to protect me, not anyone ELSE.'

In truth, and even as she glanced to the crowd and back, Akella knew the noble was right. It wasn't her job to fight in larger battles; it wasn't her job to try and protect the larger mass of life, but those who could pay her. Such was the lot of a mercenary.

...and it was the job of the guards to protect said life. When they failed to do their jobs, who else could?

'Hide somewhere.'

'...pardon you?' Lady Snow asked, mildly incredulous.

'Find somewhere to hide, and stay there until I come back for you.' She turned her horse, and began following after the crowd, staying out of sight of the guards as she moved.

'...are you joking? Akella... Akella!'

Akella had stopped listening. If the Lady would not let her take this detour, she would have to go against orders for once. It seemed like the crowd was moving toward the town center, as a general rule; if whatever was happening would take place there, then she'd be there too, no matter what.