The Realms of Terra have forever been fractured lands, whether in outright war or on rarer occasions, tense and mistrustful ceasefires. The people and places of these lands ravaged by an endless struggle - the only struggle: Light against Dark, Nephilim against Revenant...

At the beginning of time, Alithe created the wild lands of Terra: At the time, the entire world reflected what was now the Wastelands: The entire world was devoid of life, instead populated by rock and flame. Alithe had created Terra to serve as her realm and residence, but unfortunately this wouldn't be the case: Raziel had created order out of her chaos, forging an iron-bound law to the land and sparking the creation of life, lighting the blinding fires of civilisation. Of course, this greatly displeased Alithe: In her eyes, Raziel had completely ruined her lands; instead of being bathed in darkness, the land was lit up lighter than the brightest of fires. Life had replaced the sweet company of silence and solitude, so of course Alithe had to fix this - she had to return the land to it's proper image.

Over time, Alithe had tempted Raziel's weaker souls to what little domain she had left, building up her army of Revenant to march against Raziel and destroy his disgusting world. Raziel, expecting such a move, granted great power to his most constitutional children, creating the Nephlim: His children held up the beacon, and enforced the laws upon all neutral races against the darkness of Alithe and her monstrous children.

500 years ago, a great war had finally sparked between the two factions, nearly destroying the land. Both sides had suffered great losses in the battles, better seen in history as slaughters: Barely a soul left the battle alive, and even less left in one piece. Eventually the numbers had dwindled down to the point where neither side could continue to fight, lest they send the races to extinction. This would have pleased Alithe, but she was unfortunately unable to strike a final attack on Raziel's army, for she knew that she would lose hers too. She instead retreated to her wasted lands, preserving her small army so she could later return to crush Raziel and his Nephlim children. Neither side has directly attacked the other since, not confident in their numbers and both fearing annihilation from a premature move.

Since the Great War, civilisation slowly rebuilt itself and the burnt lands regrew. The Nephlim and Revenant were viewed as religion and cult alike, the stories of the Great War passed down through the generations. While some sided with a faction and journeyed the great distances to prove themselves worthy to their chosen deity, some citizens refused to pick a side; either from simply not believing that the stories were true, and some out of sheer detestation or disinterest, not believing that the "Gods" should even have a place in the mortal realm.

While the races' favor of the Nephilim steadily declined, Raziel still maintains the position of the governing deity of Terra. They have always been few in number, and since the last great war, there are fewer than ever. It is only through a respectful fear and great personal power that they hold the accords and laws governing the tenuous peace among the distrusting neutral races going though now even this influence wavers as they are spread thinner and thinner.

On the other hand, Alithe had acquired a cult following: Many found living under Raziel and the Nephlim as a nightmare; from brutal martial law methods to the forced retirement of Terra's Council on many occasions. There are those among the Neutral races that believe the Nephilim no longer have the power needed or even the right to govern and protect the realms, and view Alithe as a freedom from a shackled existence. However, many feared the process of gaining Alithe's favour, and simply remain neutral out of cowardice.

Terra was currently in a state of an uneasy peace, but another Great, perhaps even greater War certainly is brewing...

Eric stood behind the bar counter, the tavern was quite full today and Eric was stuck listening to a man cry about his dog dying the night before. Sure, it was depressing but he just couldn't feel depressed for a dog after being crucified and watching his family die in a fire, Eric suppressed the thought.
"and when I came home he was just lying there, I mean, he wouldn't just lie on the ground when I come home, he'd usually...", Eric filled a tankard with ale and snapped his fingers next to the mans' ears.
"here, a pint on the house, it's a sad story but you've been telling us the same thing for the past hour, you've got to move on.", just as he passed the man his drink two men started pushing each other and ended up on the countertop, spilling the drink all over Erics' and the depressed mans' shirt. Eric grabbed the two by their collars and threw them out the double doors to the stony road, "we won't have any brawls here, the brute guard can deal with you without getting us involved again!", Eric walked back into the bar with an applause from the many men, women, adventurers and soldiers, behind the counter was Skye mouthing the words "thank you."

Instead of actually doing her job, the region's go-to farmhand had found herself wandering about the city of Wellborough. Sophia seldom visited the town itself, finding the magically-suppressed capital quite irritating: Sure, she herself didn't use magic, but Sophia found the fact that the Nephlim decided to block all magical power from the town, without even informing or asking the Grand Council for permission first.

Though the barrier protected the citizens from Alithe's dark forces with dangerous power, Sophia had to wonder about instances where some citizens would be safer with magic in town: Physically weak wages wouldn't be easy targets for thieves and muggers, healers wouldn't have to leave town with their patients in order to deal with a medical emergency - which of course put the injured at risk. Sure, Wellborough was heavily guarded by the council guard, but they couldn't be expected to stop every single crime from happening - it would just be impossible. Much of the population felt bitterness toward Raziel and his forced laws which honestly made day-to-day life a lot more difficult and tedious than need be.

Sophia was pulled from her thoughts when she had to suddenly stop in her tracks to avoid being bowled over by two drunken men hurtling towards her, obviously having been forcibly discharged from The Silver Swan. The poor girl had nearly overbalanced, which would have caused her to unintentionally join the human pile. She couldn't help but let out a wail as she, quite ridiculously, flailed about in attempts to re-balance herself. When she eventually did make it back to her feet, Sophia had to let out an irritated grunt as she stared at the Inn, which was now filled with applause. Dusting off her skirt, Sophia bitterly thought, applauded for nearly knocking a girl out? How noble.

The farmgirl hitched up her skirt as she trudged toward the tavern, before bursting into the sizely lodge with the most infuriated look plastered on her face. "Okay, who threw the drunks at me?" the normally sweet girl demanded, her knuckles white as she clasped firmly onto each of the tavern's door. Normally, Sophia was the friendliest soul around, but recently her fuze has been growing shorter and shorter; she wasn't sure why exactly, but her strange instability, along with her birthmark burning and seering itself in the most painful ways as possible, really didn't help her bitter mood.

@Emuxe
"Okay, who threw the drunks at me?", Eric turned to find a young girl covered in ale walking up to him, oh no, Eric thought, he'd accidentally thrown the drunks onto a poor farm girl, he guessed she was a farm girl from her old clothing, what a shame that he got them wet.
"oh, poor girl, come with me and I'll get cleaned up.", Eric lifted the girl into hsi arms and climbed the stairs to the second floor, they walked down a short hallway until they came upon a door marked "staff only", who'd know that this was actually all the staffs' bedroom, they entered into a candle lit room with a single window. Eric placed the girl down and sat her on a stool, he revealed a bucket of water and a towel, from behind in a wardrobe he pulled an extra shirt and long skirt, they would only just fit her. Eric wet the towel and wiped the alcohol from where her skin showed, "you can undress and wipe yourself off on your own right? or do I have to do that too?" he joked, he stood and began to walk out of the room.

---

---

"Aaarrrghh~" Nyle said loudly as he yawned before stretching and messing up the sheets of the bed as he looked to the sides of his bed and sighed when he saw neither of his partners from last night had slept in. The pretty girl was a hard catch and took some convincing to take her away from her friends before he could serenade her into his room. Of course, her boyfriend was furious at his attempts but with her trying to convince him and Nyle's own openness and careful sprinkle of flirtatious remarks got the handsome lad to join as well. It wasn't surprising that both of them didn't stay as they would have left together along with being a tad sore from the night's activities but it didn't matter to him. He was accustomed to having these dalliances with people that he met and was charmed by their appearances, of course, looks didn't go far for a relationship but for a single night was fine for each party. Nyle himself wasn't too bad from what he heard from the various people that he had taken into the night.

Getting up from the bed as he scrambled the rouge thoughts away as he looked around for his discarded clothes to toss on but decided against it, and searched for his bag that he hid. Reaching underneath the bed, he plucked it from its hiding space and looked through the clothes that he carried with him before finally choosing something to put on his bare form. Once he was done, he placed the bag once again in its spot, making sure not to hit his sword underneath there or his instrument case, before he exited his room and prepared to be bombarded with the patrons of Skye's inn.

Reaching out into the area where the smell of booze and noise of people talking in various levels was already prominent at this time of day. His eyes went out searching for Skye, who was the woman who ran the establishment and the person who rented out the room that he was currently staying in for a few nights. She was also kind enough to allow someone like him to play during some of the hours last night before he had caught his two fish from the sea. Remembering the requests that the patron themselves asked, which he played quite well considering his predicament in the city. Nyle always left Wellborough to be the first and last place to visit due to its ability to snuffle out magic which included his supernatural sensitivity to music. It to be quite honest it was disturbing not having the constant notes drifting in his head or a song sprung from nowhere- it was deathly silent in his mind. His unease within the city only grew as he got older, with the connection he had with that part of him growing so strong that he was almost barren without it. He was lucky that he had practice drilled into his very being that he could play marvelously without it but seemed to severely lack something that Nyle knew was missing.

Despite his unease with the city and his lack of abilities, he didn't show it while he was in the presence of other people as it wasn't a concern of there to be worried about. He would be fine without it and eventually get it back once he left town, that was how it always had been with Wellsborough. Eventually, he found his target as he saw Skye and motioned at her with a friendly smile as he approached her "Hey Skye, morning" He greeted her sheepishly with a joke as he came from his room before continuing his sentence "It seems like business it going well, look at everyone!" He commented with all the people in her inn were already getting ready for the night ahead and even starting early. His eyes scanned quickly among the small crowd before he waved to a patron who responded back, he remembered them last night as he was one of those who requested a song. " Anyways, do you have anything new on the board today if you don't mind me askin'?" He asked curiously as he asked her if she had any new requests had come in. While he was a musician, his physical abilities were something notable as well that could be offered and used in many cases. However, if nothing new was up then he would simply take the spot of playing in the inn again if Skye didn't mind.

---

---

"Ah, it is such a beautiful day out."

Wellborough was the forest capital through and through. A vast, winding city that went on as far as the eye could see with buildings that fully integrated themselves among the trees. Winding up and around the trunks of the massive trees that dotted the land. Even burrowing inside creating intricate winding passages that lead higher into the canopies. The lands outside constantly bustling with hundreds of Humani rushing to and fro taking care of whatever business they have on hand. In one section of a city was a large swath of land completely devoid of trees. Here you could find a complicated mess of buildings that appeared to have no order to it whatsoever almost as if they were just dumped there. To add to the mess Humani swarmed the Lower Markets--like insects--going from one building, stall, and shack to the next. Here Lark could be found strolling through the crowds with a self-complacent look on his face like he was some lord strolling through his own backyard.

"Say, these are some tasty apples ya got here," He said as he plucked an apple from a basket and proceeded to eat it gleefully in front of the vendor. "In fact I think I ought to have another." Lark glanced at the vendor as he casually leaned over to take another apple. The vendor--already staring at Lark with bloodshot eyes full of anger--stood up angrily and grabbed Lark's arm.

"Who do you think you are, huh? The lord of Wellborough himself," The vendor shouted, "If you ain't going to pay then you ought to fuck right off before I call the guards! In fact I think I should hold you here 'till they get here instead." A crowd had begun to gather around this particular stall. Some looked on with interest while others watched indifferently like it was something that happened far too often. Many even begun to whisper to each other with amusement while making bets. The Guard had already noticed the commotion, and some were already making their way through the crowd to resolve the situation whether or not the vendor called for them. The Lower Markets was an area with one of the highest levels of crime in all of Wellborough and as such the Guard were stationed all over to protect the merchants and citizens from thieves and muggers alike.

"Oi, oi, let go of my arm would ya," Lark cried out, "It's my favorite one and I can't replace it if you break it!" He attempted to push the vendor away weakly multiple times as the crowd watched on. "I'll leave like ya wanted, alright? So let me go!" Lark pulled with his restrained arm and rammed himself into the vendor sending the both of them toppling to the ground. A short scuffle ensued as both parties scrambled to get back on their feet. Rolling away from the vendor Lark got back up and gave the vendor one last look before scampering off clutching the previously restrained arm with the Guard running past the produce stand shortly after.

"That's right you better run! Run on out of Wellborough while you're at it, too. Give us all a great breath of relief. Can't even peddle my wares with you lot trying to cause trouble all the time. The Guard is dead useless too! Can't even catch one little rat, hmph." The vendor ranted as he watched Lark run off with a curious pleased look on his face that confused the produce vendor. Scowling he sat back down and grumbled to himself for a moment before freezing over as if he had been struck by ice. Shooting back up to his feet the vendor patted himself down while looking around frantically before looking back in the direction Lark had run off to.

"That little shit stole my money!"

Much further away in a small gap between buildings was Lark who was currently feeling very pleased with himself. Having just outran the Guard once more and hiding himself away he lifted his hand to view his ill gotten gains. Swinging in his hand was his latest gift from the produce vendor. A small woolen pouch from which a satisfying clinking sound could be heard as Lark shook the bag.

"Hah, what a freakin' moron. Who'd be scared of a damned produce vendor anyways? That's what he gets for thinkin' he can just do whatever he wants grabbin' me like that," He thought to himself as he opened up the pouch and dumped the coins into his hand, "Bah, and he was poor too! No wonder he was sellin' fruit. What a worthless find." Lark sighed as he slipped the coin into his own pouch tossing the empty one aside as he wandered back onto the busy dirt path. Looking side to side Lark debated internally where to go next as the day was his and there were no responsibilities he had to fulfill. He was a free man able to do whatever he wished whenever he wished. Not even the Guard were able to stop him as Lark was far too crafty on the run. If they had access to magic then it would have been a far different story, but thanks to the Nephilim the entire city was on complete magic lock down.

"Hey! Hey Sylv! Over 'ere ya stupid klepto!" A voice called out through the crowd. Looking in the direction the voice came from one would have difficulties spotting the source. There stood a child with features that'd remind one of a weasel dressed in nothing but rags. The child was so dirty he nearly blended in with the ground beneath him as he scampered his way over to Lark.

"I saw wha'cha did to that stupid vendor over there, Lark. Nice catch on the goods." The child laughed as he looked up at Lark with bright eyes, "You saw that, eh? Can't hide anythin' from ya, Mink," Lark said as he gave the child a pat on the head and held an apple in front of him, "I know ya saw me snag this, too, else ya'd never have come over. Ya can have it, but don't expect any more from me alright? Gotta learn to get your own grub. Now get outta here before the Guard spots me ya little shit." With a grin Lark dropped the apple into Mink's greedy little hands and watched as the child slinked back into the crowd. Every time Lark came upon some food Mink would always be around to mooch off of Lark, and Lark--Having a soft spot in his heart for children--would always give him some of whatever he found. Lark was popular with the Wellborough urchins as he would often gift them with coin and food whenever he could. They were all like brothers and sisters to him, and they treated him like a parent himself. Despite having already reached manhood himself Lark often scorns and distrusts other adults especially ones that he has seen looking down upon the little urchins as if they were nothing but the dirt beneath their feet.

Donning his self-content grin once more Lark set out once more through the Lower Markets eyeing the various wares for sale and ignoring the numerous venomous looks from those who knew him or those who had dealt with him in the past. Lark's name was well known for his kleptomanic ways and even more well known for his constant interactions with the Guard. In fact, in the past four years since his escape from the Farmlands he has had the most interactions with the Guard than anyone else in the city asides from Council themselves. It has gotten to the point where guards wont even bother chasing him on sight like they would do with any other wanted criminal. It was better to just let Lark brazenly draw the Guard to himself and surround him than to chase him through the crowds of the Lower Markets.

---

A few hours ago...

The unimaginably vast forests of Terra was home to all manner of wildlife, most of them benign and passive creatures. Despite the ever looming presence of war, Terra never ceased to feel...safe. Perhaps that was a sort of magic in itself; a land of everlasting sanctuary staring war right in the eye. Unfortunately, no small amount of nefarious individuals have taken advantage of the forest's sheer size. Criminals of every breed have been known to create encampments, temporary or permanent, deep in the secluded corners of Terra's woods. There, they hid from the strong arm of the law- Nephilim, guardsmen and bounty hunters-and planned their next moves carefully.

One such criminal was Glover 'Strong-Arm' Jackdaw. A petty thief turned murderous brigand, he was wanted for numerous counts of theft, murder, graverobbing, assault and battery, fraud and (most recently) attempted rape. The lowlife had narrowly evaded the guards after trying to get his hands on a poor farmer girl and was now laying low, awaiting a chance to strike again. His bounty had probably risen to ludicrous heights by now, what with his last crazy stunt. Sure, it meant more incompetent guards and idiotic bounty hunters would be on his tail, but Glover the Strong-Arm could take anyone on! His hands could kill men with but a grasp! His aim was truer than any man! Let the best come for him, for no one could ever best-

The sound of a twig snapping came into earshot.

Glover immediately grasped for his crossbow and looked for whatever piece of shit animal made that sound, hoping to kill it for breakfast. "Who's there?!" the man cried out. "Don't come any closer or I'll skin ye alive! You hear me!" Nothing replied, only the sound of distant flapping wings. He must have scared it away, the mongrel. "Yea, that's right, run along! Filthy critters..." He turned round to his slow-burning campfire...

...and was met with the leaping maw of a dire grey wolf that pushed him down and tore his chest open with its fangs. The immediate clearing was filled with the gruesome sounds of justice dealt, the desperate shrieking of a dead man as the wolf disemboweled the lowlife named Glover Jackdaw.

---

Gellert Formonde, feared bounty hunter and sellsword, slowly walked the streets of his hometown Wellborough, the mangled carcass of Glover Strong-Arm in tow, dragging it along like it weighed nothing. Citizens parted a way for the fearsome Grey Wolf and looked down and then away in disgust at the horribly gutted body he brought and the literal trail of blood he left. It felt like a disservice to his neighbors to do such a macabre thing within the city, but the proof of bounty had to be delivered, and if there ever was a way to send the message that crime never pays, this was it.

The Grey Wolf reached the Guard Barracks, the men of the law staring at him with equal parts respect, fear and admiration. At the risk of sounding overconfident, he has gotten used to such gazes. He called for the nearest Guard Captain and set the body at her feet.

"Glover Jackdaw, thirty one year old Humani male. Wanted 650 gold pieces alive, 500 dead," Gellert stated simply, his voice low and...ominous. "I want my payment, Alfie." The Guard Captain sighed at the pigheaded old man's antics and handed him the promised gold, placed in a convenient pouch that fit into his existing pouch for gold.

"There, I hope you choke on it, you old oaf," she said in an evidently exasperated tone. "You know, you could've brought us his head like a fuckin' normal person. Instead you do this. What are we supposed to do with a criminal's corpse?" She never failed to make an old man smile. Captain Alfie Tersk was not like most guards. For one, she saw Gellert as not an admirable and intimidating figure, but a nuisance. And that made pissing her off all the more satisfying.

Maybe...bury it like a normal person?"With nothing more than that, Gellert left the Guard Barracks, leaving them to deal with that bastard's corpse as they saw fit.

The Grey Wolf was next seen in the Markets, eyeing the many stalls and their offered wares. Most sold food, some peddled tools and trinkets, others still offered weapons. He has little need for more weapons; Dire and Kelen served him well enough and he was yet to find arms that could compare. Gellert notes the presence of a commotion, the remains of one anyway. A man at a fruit stall stood slumped, dishearted and probably angry to boot. The Grey Wolf approached this man, trying not to look intimidating....and failing at it.

"Blessings to your day, friend," he greeted with a smile that looked more like a grim sneer. Something seems to have happened recently. Do you know anything about it?"

The man slammed his fist into the stall in anger. "It was that damn Lark kid! He stole my money, right out of my pocket!" Ah, the Lark fellow. Gellert knew Wellborough had a thievery problem, mostly concerning one thief. How the Guards let him get away with it was beyond him. Maybe it was time he put a stop to it.

"I'll see what I can do." Gellert left the stall just like that, leaving the merchant confused, but he knew that he had encountered the Grey Wolf, and he was on the hunt. For there was a new bounty at hand, one long overdue. Lark Sylvsson, wanted alive. Reward irrelevant.

Always wondered what magpie tasted like.

The sound of absolute silence is bliss. His cold, frozen quarters are quiet enough to hear the pitter-patter of a mouse running across the ice. He studies in peace. He learns in peace. How else is a mage of his caliber to concentrate. A light from a high window illuminates whats on his desk. An empty glass, ink and quill, and the book he is studying, a journal on fire magics. The journal of that of an ancient, great wizard, who specialized in fire magics. Its significance, far beyond any other fire magic book one could find in the Institute's library. He has an amazing power for ice magic, but very basic for any other types. If he's to learn more than his northern inheritance will allow him, he must study the absolute best of its kind. This journal is exactly that. Nothing could be more informational and powerful in fire magic than this journal.
He lets out a deep sigh, "It's just so difficult to understand." His voice echoes through his vast and icy study. Along with the sound of the ink-filled paper in a book shutting closed. The language and symbols in the journal are archaic, and beyond Kaezira's understanding. Similar to what he can already understand and interpret, so deciphering what it means is possible, but not easy. He can't ask many for help reading the fire wizard's notes, all they would do is explain the obvious. He knows much more than any other magic user throughout Terra.
His open hand hovers near the empty drinking glass on his desk, and fills it's interior with ice. With the close of his hand, the ice melts into cold water, filling the glass. He takes a sip from the glass and gently places it back down on his desk. The sound so prominent in the silent room.
A three-time-over knock can be heard from his quarter's doors. "Come in." he calls out to the unknown visitor. He who enters is one of his brightest apprentices. "Welcome, my boy. Please, have a seat. Tell me, what has brought you to my quarters?" Kaezira gestures to an old, wooden chair nearing his desk when he offers a seat to his apprentice. The young man is wearing a thick white cloak, knowing that Kaezira's living space is as cold as his magic. A great temperature for that of a Vinterkin. Their voices echo throughout the lull room as they converse.
"I've come to speak to you about furthering my ice magic usage, sire."
Kaezira let out a closed mouth, amused chuckle. "So, you've come to speak to the master of the subject I see? Well, I'm honored, but I'm afraid neither of us have the time. Your apprenticeship brings you great amounts of study and practice, and I have other apprentices to teach, as well as studies of my own."
"But sire, I can handle it! I'm exceeding expectations of an apprentice already, am I not?"
"Yes, you very well are. But it's not up to you unfortunately. I am writing a book on the study of ice magic however, I can offer it to you once it's been completed."
"Alright. I would be grateful, sire. Thank you."
"Ah, not a problem my boy. Before you go, could I ask of you to spread word that I am looking for more apprentices to teach. The more powerful mages in the institute, the better."
"Yes, I will. Thank you once more sire. Farewell."
Kaezira escorts his apprentice out of his quarters, and shuts the door closed behind him. He sits once again at his desk to continue his studies.
A tension between Nephilim and Revenant can be sensed, and a raging battle between the factions is in the midst of preparations. Many powerful mages will be needed for the Nephilim to fight against and overcome the Revenant. At the moment, the Nephilim have few, and Kaezira has fewer apprentices studying to be. The numbers of the faction, let alone the number of mages, are suffering at a time of needed flourishing.

Amber was strolling through the forest, playing her pipes to herself, and watching all the small flowers on the forest floor, usually starved of light or nutrients by the larger trees, grow healthy and larger from the effects of her melody. She stopped. Being a creature of the forest, and understanding its ecosystem, she could sense whenever a presence was approaching who was higher up in the food chain. She hid, and listened. Sure enough, there was a humani confidently strolling through the woods, yet he still looked like his eyes and ears were everywhere. Amber watched him pass out of sight from her hiding place, and then followed his trail. The humani looked like a criminal. Somebody who had been up to know good. Maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine, and Amber was in a playful mood. She even skipped across the ground as she followed the path paved from his footsteps.

She heard the man's gruff voice shout out as she carried on approaching. "Who's there?!" It bellowed. "Don't come any closer or I'll skin ye alive! You hear me?!"

Amber once again, hid, actually shaking from the effect of the man's threats. Had he seen her? How did he know she was following him? That's when she sensed another, more dangerous predator, and realized that the man hadn't been addressing her. Knowing what course nature usually took in these situations, she curled up in a ball at the base of a tree and covered her ears.

When she could no longer hear the screams of humani pain, she listened out for the sound of ripping, chewing and devouring. But it didn't come. That was strange. Maybe the humani had achieved victory despite his cries, and if that was the case, she wouldn't feel safe sleeping or relaxing in this forest with that foul man. She hovered over the ground until she reached the scene of the battle. No sign of either of them. Just a trail of blood. She swallowed, and followed it.

A few hours past of Amber following the trail, making sure not to get close enough to risk being spotted. Humani had better vision. Beasts had better smell. Being far back enough to avoid both but close enough to know, to sense that they were ahead, was the fine line she walked for all this time. At least she knew from the trail that the beast has been the victor. This set her mind at ease. At least she could outsmart a beast. Humani were crafty...

She eventually reached the boundaries of a large city, that she had never seen or known about! She'd never traveled so far in this direction, away from the mountains. She could see that it was rife with humani. Maybe she'd get to have a little fun after all. However, the moment she hovered through the runes, her wings stopped working, and she fell to the floor. She tried to fly again. Nothing. She played her pan pipes, but felt no magic coarse through her. Panicked, she left he city, and tried her wings and pipes there, relieved to find that they still worked. It was only in the city that they did not.

She folded her wings flat against her back, and walked into the city. The outskirts were quiet, but once she started to get past the houses, it got a lot busier. Humani would push and barge past her as if she was not there. At one point she even saw a man turn and glare at her. "Watch where you're going, little girl," he spat at her. This gave her an idea. She could pass for human in this city now that she wasn't using her wings, and she didn't need magic to play some mischief.

She had witnessed enough of humani society in villages to know that you needed money to buy things, and she recalled that she was once given a coin while she played once in a small village east of here, so she tried the same tactic here, standing in place and just playing the pipes. After ten minutes she had received a few more coins. She took these to a very disgruntled looking vendor. "I'd like an onion, please!" she exclaimed innocently.

"That will be ten gold pieces." the vendor replied, shaking his head. "It's good to finally make a sale today, I can tell you."

"I'm afraid I don't have ten coins. I just have these..." she replied, holding out her hand and displaying four coins, adding up to 45 gp. The vendor chuckled and tussled her hair, taking the ten coin, and giving her an onion. Amber just looked confused, but she had an onion now. She sniffed it. It smelled nice and potent. Perfect.

Finding a quiet alley, she peeled the onion, and then bit her own finger enough to draw blood and bled on the onion. The red and white blended to make it look like an apple. Perfect. She licked her finger clean, and wiped in on the cloth of a nearby stall. It should heal soon. Now to find a mark...

Sh spotted a serious-looking, grizzled grey-haired man, which wasn't overly remarkable, but there was, however, something familiar about him. She felt drawn to him. Not knowing what she would later know, this choice would turn out to be both the best and the worse of her entire life. She reached the man, offered the blood-soaked onion to him and innocently smiled and said "Care for an apple, mister?"

It had been a long day, a very...very long day. His ashen cloak still glowed with singe marks from the fires hurled at him not hours before. Two of his brothers had accompanied him on a mission to seek out one of the increasing number of Revenant worshiping cultists that had sparked up in recent years. A simple task, or at least it should have been, yet when they arrived it became clear that these were no lowly mageling scum but wielded magics beyond what they should that. The resulting fight had left one of his brothers so battered he had to be dragged by the other back to the institute leaving him to survey the burnt out hovel that these creeps had called home. The last of the cult lay before him, multiple mortal wounds scattered across his body.. It was a pitiful sight that left a disgusted remorse within him. These people could have lived a good life, but they were tainted beyond repair. The fear within the cultist's eyes grew with each limping step that Crow took towards him. The gashes and burns inflicted by the cultist on him knitting themselves slowly together as he did. "You can't win this! There will always be more where we come from" the pitiful creature screeched as blood flew from his mouth in flecks. With a great sigh, Crow rested his rune covered palm against the cultist's head. "Make your peace.." the words sounded tired, ever to himself as Crow said them. The cultist was right, the would always be more. For 100 years he had fought them, and there were always more. Light flared so brilliantly it lit up the surrounding skies as he tried to push the thoughts to the back of his mind and when the light dimmed again, the burnt out husk that was once this dark creature fell back against the stones, eyes empty and skin cracked. Such a long day.

With a crack of thunder and light that played across the windows of the famous Tavern, Carlisle slammed in a kneel before the gates of the drinking house, nearly cracking the stones beneath him from the teleport. It was a bit of a rough landing but better than he had hoped. Nephilim weren't really meant to drink, but these days Crow didn't think there was any other way to make it to the next day. Gritting his teeth against a groan, Crow raised to his feet as the still only half healed wounds pulled against his motion. The Braidh in sword form played silvery light even in the growing evening and he rested a hand on the comforting pummel. After a final look to the sky, he pushed open the doors to the waiting bar, readying himself for the expected responses to his entry. He looked ragged as the doors swung open before him, the blood from the fight before drying over lessening wounds and his cloak still glowing faintly with the dying embers of hellfire. A jolly group of civilians parted ways with voices hushing to whispers from previous boisterous shouts, allowing him a corridor towards the bar itself and although he cast his eyes about, it seemed few of them were eager to meet his eye. Oh the glory it is to be among our ranks, behold the joyous greetings to our cause. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, forcing his back straight and proud. He did his job because it had to be done, not for the thanks, but to hell if he was going to look as weary as he did before these people. Instead, he nodded curtly to the barkeep and headed there, ensuring no limp in his step.

"Whiskey if you have it, ale if you don't", the relatively young Nephilim asked the barkeep before raising his voice to the crowd around him, "Please, no need to halt the festivities on my account, enjoy". He simply hoped his presense wouldn't send too many people running from the backdoor and ruining business for the night as he had already seen a couple of shadier fellows do. Upon having his drink past to him, Crow offered what he attempted to make of an Apologetic smile to the girl behind the bar.

((OOC note: I will be adding the to the abilities a central ability that I completely forgot: that of the light beam teleport. Apologies for not having it written up sooner))

"We're lost aren't we?" A male sighed, crossing his arms as he looked at his female companion, who held a map a bit tighter in her grasp at the accusation.
"NO!" She said with a little too much emphasis, "Sh-shut it, Wyn, I totally know where we're going!" she said and turned and stamped her feet a bit as she trudged forwards down the path, holding the map a bit closer to her face.
Wyn smirked as he followed after his determined young companion. She had insisted when they packed up camp that morning that she would lead them to Wellborough, show she was capable of navigating a map just as well as he did. He realized she was probably doing it just cause she wanted to be "the leader" for once and he decided to entertain the idea. It didn't hurt, she realized wasn't that bad with a map. He just really liked to get her goat when she was getting all flustered and watch her flail a little bit.
He looked up as they kept walking and uncrossed his arms as the town came into view before looking at her to see she was walking in the wrong direction, her face still against the vellum of the map. He reached over and caught her by her braid, causing her to yank back and yelp in surprise.
"What the hell, Wyn-"
"Surely you are not as deaf as you are blind," he taunted and pointed at the town.
She growled at him before removing her hair from his grasp, "Why didn't you just say that rather than yank my hair?" she grumbled as he took the map, carefully smoothing out where she'd gripped it before folding it back up properly. Wyn just gave a smile that made her kind of want to punch him before he started into town.
"Come on, then, Sybil, let's get something to eat. I'll be quite busy going forward, so this is basically our last chance for conversation at the moment," he said as he looked around, his eyes being drawn towards the ruckus at the tavern as they entered the town properly, "Why does that not surprise me?"
"Seems like perfect place to me," Sybil said and he raised a brow at her, wondering what made her say so, "There's food, drinks, and a barkeep. The first and the last usually lead to information as to where to get good information, don't they?" she crossed her arms.
Wyn gave a smirk, ruffling her hair and earning another growl from her, "Look at you being the inquisitive type. Little Sybil, growing up so fast," he put his hand to his chest and gave a sniff.
"I'm not a kid...." she grumbled.
"Ah, but age has nothing to do with maturity, my dear," he said before heading towards the tavern with her right behind him. She knew he was making a point about her decided reactions to his antagonistic actions, but sometimes they just really frustrated her. As far as she knew he hadn't had any siblings, though she'd never met his immediate family to confirm or deny that fact, only his aunt and she met his uncle Nero once. Sybil glanced in the direction of hearing someone yelling about someone getting robbed and her hand went to her coin purse on her hip. Wyn kept his on the inside of his shirt, which usually was loose fitting with long, wide sleeves. She swore he wore them just so he could put his hands in them and that he was under the impression it made him look more intelligent or something. She thought they looked kind of girly, but had kept those comments to herself.
"This is why I don't like towns. People are sketchy," she grumbled and he just smirked, not commenting on it. Both of their attention was drawn to the praise of the man as he entered the bar and then the actions that lead to the woman getting two men thrown at her, "Huh....maybe not a good place to go after all...."
"It's a tavern, Sybil, not a church, people are going to be rowdy. If you don't like it wait outside," he said. She considered it for a moment but blushed as her stomach growled and gave away her ulterior motive for suggesting they go to the tavern- the first place that hopefully served some semblance of food. He smirked, "We can see if they serve any food here, and then you can take your chances with the vendors," he said, looking towards where those might be. He wanted to wait until after the scene in the doorway was handled before trying to enter the establishment, not wanting to get caught up in the midst of something that was none of his business.

@SanaChan@Arkaotic
Eric walked down the steps and stepped back in his place as a barkeeper when a nephilim appeared and asked for whiskey, a nephilim? here? "Hmph, a nephilim eh, you don't see many of your folk around... yeah, we have whiskey, do you want to pay or should I donate to your holy self.", Eric pulled a grim face, he then burst out laughing, "I'm joking boy, here.", Eric revealed a crystal bottle and poured the whiskey inside into a small glass. Eric saw the two outside the door struggling to enter, "you two! come in! Those two won't hurt you, that is, unless you get too close!" He joked again, "just walk around them!"

Windleaf trotted along to Wellborough with more than a little distaste in her mouth. She despised cities. In fact, when she set out from her safe fortress into the harsh world, two years prior, she swore to herself to hide away in them as little as possible. Those insults against nature get far too much credit.

But, while she herself could last in the wilds indefinitely, her equipment was another story. A very sad story. Her sword was cloaked in rust. Her backpack was slogging itself into a glorified loincloth tied to her ass. She didn't even want to think about the state of her clothes.

So, she'd have to swallow her centaurian pride and buy from a damn city.

She clutched the necklace against herself and prayed a silent prayer, to Espeeria, that Wellborough will be different. It had, afterall, earned itself a staying reputation as the grand palace of diversity. To say nothing of how fun it might be to visit a humanoid settlement and tower over all the short little two-legs.

Human-founded or not, the town seemed peaceful. Tranquil.

Well, it did until she heard two elves up ahead, bickering with eachother about maps. A nice reminder of why she traveled alone, if nothing else.

Before she could judge the elves any more than she already had, her ears were assaulted with some unholy cry from just beyond the gates.

Welcome to Wellborough!, she thought.

---

Shertul the Unnatural, abomination on the run. That's exactly how he felt sprinting towards Wellborough that evening. He, the Fleshspinner that he was, had to hide himself constantly. Most of the lowly peasants about these parts did not even know the glory of the Monastery. They could not handle the sight of him! So he was forced to suffer the humiliation of wearing a humongous black cloak, and leather gloves that his claws wouldn't burst at the seams. A scarf to hide his gills, over-sized shoes to hide his large feet. He looked like a gothic clown dressed for winter. "Fear me, mortals!" wasn't half so frightening anymore.

But sometimes, even that masterfully conceived disguise would not hide such a handsomely devilish frame. A few miles into the forestal territory of Wellborough, two oafish patrol guards "accidentally" bumped into him, revealing his twisted form.

He knew exactly what to do: he threw open his cloak, spread his many arms about, and hissed "I shall consume your souls!" He put on a good old show.

And then he ran. Oh, he ran like lightening. He ran and he ran and he didn't stop running.

He has no doubt that he could have easily disposed of them, but that means someone finds the shredded bodies, and someone sees him bathed in their blood. Even a farmhand would make the connection. Shertul wasn't ready to deal with a pitchforks-and-torches riot. "Git outter oar town, monster!"

He only slowed his pace ten miles down the road, when sweat oozed down his forehead. No need to exhaust myself over a couple of cowardly guards, he tried to assure himself. The first buildings of Wellborough were rising over the horizon. Funnily enough, they reminded him a bit of the spires of the Monastery. Intimidating, stone mingled with wood, rising and rising...

Shertul was pulled from his daydream over an hour later, by a painful itch growing under his skin. He tried, yet he couldn't scratch it away. It started as a queasiness just after he walked beyond the gates to Wellborough, but now it was becoming... more. If he was superstitious, he would have sworn that his body was trying to tell him something.

He ignored it. Surely a Wastelander can shake off a little discomfort.

But then he made the grave mistake of gazing up at stone pillars scattered around the city's edges. Anti-magic runes adorned them, and as soon as his eyes made contact, the itching turned to an aching, the aching to a burning, the burning to agony.

Then heat drove down to the core of his bones.

What kind of place is this? His whole body felt ablaze. His eyes were consumed in blinding light. The thick rush of blood deafened him. He couldn't see, he couldn't move, he couldn't think.

What little senses he had left told him that he was falling down to the road of hard, merciless stone. He reached out to catch himself, but there was nothing there.

His scream was demonic. Ear-piercing.

People were crowding, now. A passing man tried to lift him to his feet, but Shertul's cloak slipped open, exposing a third arm, then a fourth. The ex-friendly stranger gasped in shock and dropped him quicker than if he really were on fire.

Shertul could only barely point one crooked finger to the exitway.

The Fleshspinner was alone in a crowd, dying.

The ale that dripped from her skirt hardly bothered her - she worked on a farm and was rare that she would be seen not covered in mud. The only thing that bothered her about her situation was the stench of ale; Sophia despised drunks, useless men who would always smell of stale vomit and ale, and she would be damned if she'd smell like one.

Strangely enough, though, a rugged man had immediately approached her. "Oh, poor girl, come with me and I'll get you cleaned up," he spoke, and before she could protest, the man had lifted her into his arms, and was already carrying her toward the stairwell up to the rooms upstairs. "Hey, wait-!" she wailed, squirming and flailing about. Before she knew it, she was placed on a stool in the middle of a dimly lit room. Of course her mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, and her eyes filled with fear.

As she started to lift herself to run when he'd turned his back to her, the stranger had turned back toward her, a dry set of clothes in hand. Sophia simply blinked a few times in disbelief, her hands gripping tight to the char that she barely sat on. Even stranger, the man had wet the towel he'd set for her and started wiping the alcohol from her face and chest - honestly she felt violated, and her face was bright red. She simply sat there shuddering, too shocked to do anything else. "You can undress and wipe yourself off on your own right? or do I have to do that too?" the man joked, causing Sophia to finally gain the courage to move and speak. The girl flailed, hugging her arms tight around her chest. "I can handle myself, thank you!" she stammered. She was relieved that the man left, leaving her to clean herself up.

She later returned downstairs, wearing a smaller and much tighter version of clothes; her own folded over her arms. The girl looked embarassed, and couldn't leave the bar far enough; she avoided the eyes of the people around her, and had accidentally bumped into two elves in the doorway. "Sorry," she quietly said as she ducked under the two taller being's arms and back out into the street.

She was ripped from her embarrassment by the most soul ripping scream; it startled her, causing her to jump and drop her sticky clothes. Sophia looked about the street, trying to find the source of the scream. A crowd drew her attention, and cautiously, Sophia approached the crowd, slithering through the bodies to see what had they were all staring at: It was the strangest looking creature spasming about on the ground. It had skin white as paste, multiple arms and strange red markings - of course people were terrified.

Sophia too stared for a moment, before she'd finally become fully aware of the situation - the runes were killing him. She knew that she couldn't just let that happen, so Sophia only did the moral thing: The girl rushed forward, tucking her arms under the upper two of his, and pulling as hard as she could back toward the entrance of town. The creature was heavy, but it was no different to her chores on the various farms she worked on.

Within a minute, the girl and elvish-looking creature were back outside of town, beyond the magic-blocking barrier. Sophia had to drop the strange-looking man the few inches to the ground, before dropping to the ground herself, panting hard.

"A-Are you okay? You're not gonna die on me, are you?" she panted out, her exhausted voice filled with concern.

---

[New Bounties Available]

It was never a dull day in The Silver Swan, and Skye often debated if it was a good or bad thing: Sure, it proved entertaining at times, however, it exhausted the poor woman. The 26-year-old had owned the tavern for 7 years, inheriting it from her late grandfather's will. She stared after the man and girl who had suddenly disappeared upstairs, a brow raised as she wondered if she should go intervene. But before she could leave the back of the bar, the man had returned, immediately clearing her suspicions.

Skye was snapped back to attention by the bard that had been frequenting her bar for the past few nights; she liked the man who filled her inn with the sweetest sound of music. She had zoned out and had completely missed the entire first half of what he'd said to her, only zoning back in when he'd asked if any new bounties had come in. Unfortunately, Skye didn't have the longest of attention spans, and could sometimes even be viewed as scatter-brained.

The barmaid ducked under the counter, flicking through a few pages of papers before straightening up with two wanted posters in her hand:



"Take your pick," Skye happily cooed as she placed the bounties on the bar in front of the bard, before darting down to the other end of the bar to the Nephlim man. On her travel over, Skye had plucked a crystal bottle of bourbon and a short glass from the shelves behind the bar, stopping before the man and placing the glass on the bar. Before she knew it, the glass bottle was suddenly pulled from her hand by the loud and friendly man; Skye simply opened and closed her hand a few times, as if in disbelief that it had actually happened.

The boy had poured the Nephlim's drink for him, chivalrous, but Skye still silently pouted as she snatched the bottle back from the boy before extending a dainty hand toward the older man. "That'll be 6 gold pieces," she said gently.

---

They often said that the work of a sellsword never ceased, for as long as gold and hatred of mortals for other mortals existed, mercenaries would forever be employed. That said, Gellert thought that was a load of shit; a sellsword was only as tireless as he let himself to be. Right now, he was stoically sitting on a discarded pile of empty crates. Tracking down a thief required said thief to make the first move, and thieves rarely struck shortly after a previous heist. The urchins of Wellborough seemed to be reluctant in pointing the Grey Wolf to his prey as well. No doubt they of all people would provide asylum for the thieving bastard. Which meant that he was mostly on his own.

Stirring him from his rest, Gellert caught the unpleasant scent of onions (and...blood?) and amidst it, a strangely familiar presence. Looking up, he witnessed a small girl-a miniature woman, if you will-approach him. Undoubtedly a Fae, she offered him an 'apple'. Apple, his ass. The Grey Wolf took the 'cleverly' disguised onion and pulverized it with the just the curling of his gloved hand into a fist.

"Nice try," Gellert uttered, his voice dry as the Wasteland itself. This would-be prankster's face didn't register anything in his memory, but he was sure he had caught her scent once before, but when and where? Frustrated at his time-weathered memory, the Grey Wolf lived up to his name and let out a low growl of irritation. If this Fae was smarter than him, she could make the connection between his wolf-like demeanor and the scent of blood about him.

His head now buried in his forearms, relaxed on his desk. The entirety of each day for Kaezira is spent reading, studying, learning, teaching, demonstrating, answering the most outlandish questions his apprentices have for him. Its hard being most knowledgeable. So many people want so many things from you, as if you're able to funnel information out to anyone, constantly. A nice, cold drink is much reward for the brain straining work of arch-mage of the Nephilim. The Silver Swan, oh, how lovely it is. The sweet music, the rich drinks. That's where he needs to be.
The travels to Wellborough are short for Kaezira. He rides his horse subconsciously, while his mind is lost in thought of magic and his studies. But relaxation is what's on his mind right now. Approaching the arcane walls of Wellborough, a commotion can be seen near the entrance. High pitched screeching wasn't the relaxing music Kaezira had in mind. His cold breath could be felt by the crowd as he drew near. They began whispering amongst themselves, one angry woman openly descriminating against him. "If it isn't the arch-mage of the Neph'lim. 'ere to save our day again are you?" Kaezira simply ignored her, and carried on. Many people were not fond the Nephilim, and he often received redundant hate in public. He saw a young girl holding an unnatural creature in her arms in the middle of the crowd, it seems to be dying. Ah, a Fleshspinner, fantastic. Of all the types of magic Kaezira desired to learn, fleshspinning was most definitely not one of them. Altering your body in such a horrid way was not appealing, how could anyone desire such an ugly transformation for themselves.
"Don't worry yourself over its poor existence, young one. If it dies, it dies. If it lives, it will be taken care of later. I have not much care for those monstrosities who call themselves mages."

Shertul was loosely aware of being dragged across a hard surface, or at least he thought he was. He could only barely feel someone's grip around his arms. His heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. He tried to open his eyes, but all the world was painted like blurred watercolor. He tried to hear, but the voices of a crowd came through as slow, dripping echoes. Everything was distorted. He wanted to escape. He couldn't remember where he was. Is this real?

Time passed. He didn't tell how long or how short, nor could he hear and see in more than fragments.

"Don't worry..."

Was someone comforting him?

"... If it dies, it dies.... I have not much care for... monstrosities..."

Apparently not.

He was a bit more aware now. He felt himself freed when he was carried away from the power of those stone spires. One sharp, deep, painful breath brought life back to him. The watercolors drained away from his sight, and he could feel the grainy road beneath his back again.

A woman spoke through a young voice. "A-Are you okay? You're not gonna die on me, are you?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but ended up spewing out slimy blood instead. Half landed at the girl's feet, half stayed to glue his throat shut. He was forced to rip off the short scarf and let his backup organs take over. Normally he would hide the blood-red, fish-like slits running along his neck, but if this woman was willing to save him, certainly she could handle his appearance for a few moments.

He drew the deepest breath his gills could draw, for the energy to slam a fist into his sternum with monumental force. The wall of blood caught in his throat reluctantly broke and oozed out. If he were younger, or more human, the blow would have felt hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. But after over seventy years of slow and agonizing bone growth, there was little left that could cause Shertul real pain.

Except, obviously, whatever those runes did to him.

He felt like such a fool. How many classes this the Monastery instruct on rune magic? How many books had he read on the Nephilim? He should have recognized the runic symbol for "magic" paired so close to the one meaning "cease".

Fleshspinners imbue magic into their very being: they fuse it with their flesh and bone and muscle. When he stepped into a magic-killing barrier, it tried to kill him. He's practically made of magic, as it were. It is in his body.

He was still shaken, but he would never show it.

Shertul briefly wondered if Raziel knew what his monoliths had done to him. He briefly wondered if Raziel cared.

More importantly, he realized that the whole world was suddenly brighter- he was taking in all the light. The rune's torture must have turned his eyes into black. How frightening that surely looked! He turned his gaze to his savior for the first time, a young girl with tight clothes and the body of a farmer, and let them fade into a gentler pink. Who would have thought that a Wastelander would have such a love of pink? With some effort, he managed to recede his claws just a bit.

Speaking was still more difficult than he thought it would be. He croaked out a rough "Thayngou, uh". He cleared his throat. Tried again. "Thankyou."

Unless this girl had a secret past at the Monastery, and her body was far too "normal" for that, she would probably ask for a bit of explanation.

Speaking of her body: it was wrong. Shertul was still disoriented, and he couldn't put his finger on it, but it was if there was some presence about her. Something that shouldn't be there. Something wrong.

He leaped up to his feet in a motion far too fluid to be humani.

"Thankyou," he repeated for the second-and-a-half time "You saved more from more pain than... than you can possibly realize. I... I suppose you have questions? Or at least," he coughed out the last bit of flim-mingled blood, "I hope you do. There's something very strange going on if a teenage farmgirl knows what I am."

Her clothes were a little revealing, he noticed. Bar clothes. Sights like this one always made him wonder. Afterall, he was prepubescent when he became a Fleshspinner, and the bodily distortions stopped him from ever hitting puberty. He has never felt physical attraction.

Either way, he looked her up and down: he wanted to know who it was that rescued him from death. Whore or not.

Then he noticed something strange.

Down on her thigh, just barely exposed, was the mark of the Revenant.

"Or maybe... you've already heard of the Fleshspinners."

As Sybil and Wyn lifted their arms, she glanced over feeling someone staring at them. Wyn knew she was as well, but he didn't particularly care what some centaur thought. Her wondering of the being was cut short, however, as both of them cringed at the sound that filled their ears, "What in the actual hell?" she growled angrily.
Wyn decided that was a good a cue as any to take up the barkeep on his invitation, coming in and looking around for a place for them to gain a moment's peace as he walked towards the bar, not realizing his young companion was still outside, investigating the source of the noise, "Whatever happens to be your strongest drink, I don't care what it is, I'll buy the whole bottle," he said as he pulled his coin purse from within his sleeve, his scarred hands covered with gloves. He couldn't do much about the ones on his face and neck but he didn't want anyone getting the wrong impressions if they saw the rest of them.
Sybil walked towards the source of the noise and made a face of astonishment hearing the person saying to just let the poor thing die, "And what makes you so high and mighty that you get to say such a thing?!", she put her hands on her hips as she looked at him, but she jumped as the Fleshspinner jumped up and was talking to the girl who had come to his aid. She had a vague understanding of what a Fleshspinner was, having glimpse at a passage of a book Wyn left open when sleeping one night. Books bored her, she much preferred to experience it anyways. She wasn't afraid of he, she just hadn't expected him to get back up so quickly. She looked at the girl, wondering what he saw that made him change his conversational direction. Then she realized she was probably being rude by following a conversation she wasn't a part of, which lead her to realize she wasn't with Wyn. She turned to look at the tavern realizing he must have gone that way, and she got a cold chill down her spine, looking back the way they came into the wilderness. It was like something had been waiting for her to get separated, but she still wasn't alone so it couldn't act. She swallowed, glancing back towards the others, kind of curious as to the direction things would go, plus she didn't want to seem like a coward after challenging the guy on the horses's rude comments.

"I can't wait for the Nephilim to get their hands on you one day, Sylv! Just you wait. Karma will settle everything."

At a certain pottery shop in the Lower Markets was a certain shop keep, by the name of Earl, who was a frequent target of Lark's. Earl was a spineless fellow who was all bark and no bite. In the beginning all it took was a few threatening words and a broken vase to coerce Earl into giving up his hard earned coin. While Earl had started out cooperative over the years he had begun to become more and more violent with Lark as his frequent extortions had run most of his business away. Things had yet to come to blows between the two of them, but Earl could only hold on for so long. Lark didn't mind Earl's foul diction or increasingly violent temper as the man's coin was good and he was one of his easier marks to handle. Thus Lark would often come around to extort coin from Earl whenever the mood took him.

"Oh Earl why d'ya have to be like that, eh? Best friends can't go around wishing such dreadful things on each other. Especially not when this best friend helps promote your business," Lark mused as he paced the shop with a beautifully crafted urn in hand, "Plus those Ghosts wouldn't lift a finger for a lowly commoner like you." He spat as he gently placed the urn back on the shelf.

"Promote? If you call stealing my wares to give to those nasty street rats promoting then I'm Raziel himself!" Earl stood there gripping the counter-top until his knuckles turned white and glared at the smug fiend wishing nothing more to beat him to a bloody pulp. Instead he watched as all his business sneak out the doors while some petty thief had his way with him. There was nobody that was going to help him as the Guard were useless when it came to handling Lark. The only thing he could do was glare and spew more and more profanities out of his mouth until his face turned blue.

"How about this," Lark chuckled as he walked up to the counter, "I'm feeling rather generous. I wont take half your sales today like I normally do. Instead I'll only take, oh, one hundred pieces of gold. How's that sound? Today has been oh so busy after all so I can imagine you have made quite a few sales. We commoners oh so love our trinkets and yours are quite beautiful."

Earl, close to his breaking point, slammed his hands viciously on the counter, "One hundred pieces! Why don't you just rob me blind already. You, of all people, should know just how poor business has gotten for me especially when you take nearly all the coin I earn!"

Lark frowned as he listened to the man rant and rave. It was true that he knew Earl's business was faltering, but he cared not one whit. In fact he had begun resorting to heavier extortions due to boredom. When Lark had first come to Wellborough the Lower Markets had started out as an enormous wonderland of opportunity for him. During the few years he had spent in the markets, however, Lark's appetite for thievery had not lessened one bit and instead continued to grow more. Presently Lark felt that the Lower Markets was, in fact, rather small and its prospects seemingly smaller. There was no challenge anymore for him. No sense of thrill or accomplishment when he stole. His main purpose for staying in the Lower Markets were the children abandoned much like he was when he was young. Long ago he once held a burning passion to see Raziel crushed, his hope shattered, and his soul forever dispersed. His desires for revenge were still there, but they no longer burned like the sun at its highest. Instead they smoldered inside his heart as the Lower Markers continued to turn him more and more complacent.

"Now I'll have ya listen real close, alright? All I want is ya coin not your tongue so it'd be best if ya kept it locked up in that hole of yours before I completely lose my patience with ya," Feeling annoyed Lark grabbed the man by his wool-spun tunic, "If ya don't want to hand over any coin that's fine. I can just take everything, and break whatever it is I can't carry. I'll personally carve your precious little pottery shop into pieces and watch ya starve out on the streets! Maybe you'll turn to thievery just to survive, who knows, but you and I both know just how scary I can be when I want to be."

This was the reason for why many of the merchants who've been able to set up permanent businesses in Wellborough were all willing to deal with Lark's extortions. Even if they wanted nothing more than to see him tortured in the Wellborough dungeons they all stayed their hands for it wasn't Lark they feared. His power alone meant very little. It was his deep connections he had set up in the Lower Markets they feared. If Lark wanted he could have an entire business dismantled by the end of the month by starving them of the one thing a business needed, customers. Just by spreading the word he could have any would be criminal targeting Earl's pottery shop; Accosting anyone who came in or out and causing property damages at any time of the day. The Guard is capable of stopping the criminals from completely wrecking his shop, but in the end the most painful hit would be to his reputation. People would be far too scared to even approach his shop let alone enter it. In the end Lark and his gang of thieves, muggers, and any other petty criminal in the Lower Market area would get away scotch free. With exception to any who were caught in the process.

Earl, completely scared out of his wits, quickly snatched a wooden box from under his counter, "Fine! Fine I'll pay, I'll play! Just, please, don't send those murderers after me. I beg of you just take this coin and leave me be!" Thrusting the box at Lark, Earl backed away from the counter ashen faced and trembling. With a frown Lark opened up the box and pulled out an assortment of coins that added up to one hundred pieces of gold leaving behind a meager amount of coins and some dust. "I am a man of my word, you know, and as such I will only be taking one hundred pieces of gold." With that Lark strode from the shop leaving the frightened Earl behind with a feeling of distaste in his mouth.

"Tch, that was far too easy. These useless, spineless, scumbags are all too easy to push around. At least there are still some interesting marks out there, but how long will it be before I've exhausted them all?" Lark thought to himself as he strode through the markets ignoring the many looks of scorn and fear aimed his way. Suddenly a thought came to mind that brought a smile to his face.

"Oh I know! I'll go visit Mink and the other little ones. See if I can't get any information out of 'em." Visiting the children always put a smile on his face and Lark immediately sped up his pace.

At the eastern border of the clearing of the Lower Markets was what was essentially a "Lawless Zone." Here crime was at its highest, and the presence of the Guard was nearly non-existent with exception of the few who stayed in disguise. It wasn't just common thieves who called this place a haven. From bandits, looking to spend their plundered coin, to murderers looking to take advantage of the lack of guards to hide. There rest an old, dilapidated building that was once a great tavern before the Silver Swan was built and promptly ran them out of business. They weren't the only ones, however, and thus the building was completely abandoned to nature as nobody cared enough to take up business in such a remote and dangerous region of the markets. It was here that many orphaned children called their home along with other criminals who populated these lawless lands. Here they set up their own tavern where they could all eat, drink, and be merry away from the prying eyes of the Guard. The Rogues' Gallery; Home to anyone willing to call it such.

"Uncle Lark! Uncle Lark!" Cried many of the children as Lark walked into the Rogues' Gallery, "What have you brought this time? Any gifts, any gifts?" Smiling, Lark made his way over to a table and sat down on a creaky chair as he looked over the children. "Of course I have gifts! How could I not bring any to my favorite group of troublemakers?" Lark chuckled as he hefted a bag off the ground and opened it up. Inside were many various objects he had picked up on his way to the tavern. There were small pieces of jewelry such as bracelets and necklaces as well as balls and wooden figures for the children to play with. The children's eyes all began to glow as they scrambled forward to accept Lark's gifts each one trying their best to be the first.

"Easy, easy! One at a time ya lot! Don't go makin' me angry now else I'll take these all back," he chided at the children as they apologized and lined up, "Hey where's Mink?" Lark asked as he gave the last child in the line an amethyst which shone with a deep purple light. "'Unno. He left this mornin' and hasn't come back yet." With a sigh Lark shook his head and tossed the empty bag aside.

"Now, kiddos, I have deal for you all. For every piece of interesting information you tell me I'll give you one piece of gold. Sound interesting?" He didn't even need to confirm their interest as each child immediately began to vomit out anything and everything they could to earn that piece of gold. It may not represent much in general, but to them it meant being able to eat when Lark wasn't around. Much of the information was useless bits of gossip such as rowdy drunks being tossed out of the Silver Swan or whatever queer races entered through the gates of Wellborough. This sort of information was all old news as far as he was concerned. Despite all the useless gossip there were a few things that stood out to Lark. He was far more interested in the report of a Nephilim, or 'Ghosts' as they're called behind their backs, sighting in Wellborough. These was even rumors of a monstrous creature that had attempted to sneak into the city, but was thwarted by the anti-magic structures and was self howling and screeching in the road. Giving out coins to the children who had provided him with important information he was about to stand head back out when suddenly the door crashed open letting bright sunlight illuminate the world inside the tavern.

"Lark! Lark! Terrible news!" Shouted a voice as a small weasely child ran at Lark eyes full of terror. Getting up from his chair and rushing to Mink Lark tried his best to calm the frantic child down, "Mink what has gotten into ya, calm down. Grab some booze and take a seat." Snapping his fingers at one of the tavern wenches Lark had her run off to grab a dusty bottle of some unknown alcohol that was kept in stock.

"There's no time for drinking you stupid Klepto! I spotted the Grey Wolf in Lower Market!" Cried Mink as he shook his head and dragged on Lark's sleeve.

"Gellert? That old sellsword? So what if he's in Lower Market. He's probably just come back after killin' some fool outside the city." It was at this point the woman returned with bottle in hand setting it down on the table with a scowl as Lark paid her.

"You don't get it at all! He's not here to shop he's here for you. The Grey Wolf's been asking around for you. He wanted me to tell him where you were, but there's no way I'd talk. The bastard would have to kill me first." Mink said with a proud look in his eyes and he continued to urge Lark to leave, "You have to go. Get out of here, Lark. That Grey Wolf is sure to come by here eventually."

Lark frowned as he slowly sat back down in his chair. He, like most others in Wellborough, was well versed in the stories that surrounded the Grey Wolf. Each one described him in an even bloodier tone not a single one left Lark feeling confident about his well being. Ripping out the cork in the bottle and taking a deep swig of the foul liquid inside Lark repressed his nervousness and smiled at Mink and the others, "Oh please as if there was a soul alive that could even hope to catch me here. Let him come. If he wants a chase then he's going to get one. I'll show you all that the rumors surrounding this Grey Wolf are just that, rumors."

@SanaChan
"I got a whole keg of it mate, but I can give you a bottle, sure... just, no refunds.", Eric was annoyed that people didn't actually want food and his cooking skills were going to waste, he walked into the storage room just next to the kitchen, the keg of their strongest lay untouched, mostly because nobody wanted it, secondly because it's the strongest alcohol in the world. Eric reappeared with a dark bottle full of what he likes to call the "quencher" and a small glass, "here you are mate, be sure to tell me what it tastes like... right boys! this guy's taken the 'quencher challenge'! and it's a whole bottle!" eric exclaimed everyone in the room gasped, no one took the quencher challenge, let alone a whole bottle, "hope you don't mind me tellin', everyone's been waitn' for this for days.", he slammed the glass and bottle on the bench, he grinned a huge grin as everyone gathered around...