Jacques took note of everything he heard. So the queen was murdered at the princess's birthday party. And now she was maybe banished for some reason by her father? Oh well, that was enough for boy to know. But at the same time, it didn't feel right to know this. Tahra was a princess in danger, and she was just giving out her identity like that? It annoyed Jaques. "Excuse me! Miss!" He spoke up.

"I apologize for interrupting, but if you are in danger you shouldn't give out your identity like that. I know that it shouldn't be in my place to tell you, but it's just a fair warning." For some peasant boy, he seemed to feel strongly about what he was saying.

By the time Stephanie had loaded a crossbow, a powerful weapon that even the common militia could use well enough after a few days practice, her wagon had been jumped by a woman claiming to be a princess, an old man who seemed to have passed out, a young boy, and a man not much older than herself who the woman called Silver Fox. It was all so surreal, but given her profile of the king, the situation was sadly within the parameters of anticipation.

"Can't you nobles stop killing each other for one freaking day so I can make a living?" Stephanie spat, clambering back into the driver's seat and grabbing the reins, "I was counting on this deal! Stifling my business transaction, commandeering my wagon, and from the sounds of it you want me to risk my life to harbor a group of well-known fugitives. The freaking Silver Fox, you, and magic guy over here who I assume is famous in some way based on the power of the spell he just cast."

Then again, the communications were likely going fast. The other side had manpower, horses, and dogs more than likely. If she didn't allow them to use her wagon, it was almost a certainty that they would be caught. And this was a money-making opportunity. She cracked the reins, not stopping to see if the Dullahan was dead or not, and headed towards the city.

"You're asking me to risk my life, princess, and I don't even live in this kingdom. The term 'reimburse' doesn't even cut it. I'm expecting a payday so big that I can live the rest of my life like nobility. And you. Peasant boy," she said, glaring at the kid in the back of her cart, "mind your own business. Think I'd help some no-name in the same circumstance? If I hadn't gotten a name, I'd have been out of here. Remember that. And for God's sake, get yourselves under those blankets. We'll reach a checkpoint before we reach the city. I can talk my way out of just about anything besides actual fugitives in my wagon. And if they find you? I didn't know you were there."

"heh, well that's an incentive" Ian smirked at Tahra's response to him. While she talked to some of the others that turned up he stepped up and nonchalantly rummaged around the cart's contents until he found a plain traveling cloak, throwing it over him to cover his normal clothes. By then Tahra was talking to him again "hmm, I can imagine. Still, I think I can get us a safe hideaway, though if our group is to consist of this many it might be a bit tricky. And speaking of the mage, and you for that matter, I would recommend ditching the royal garb for awhile" with that he heading around to the front of the cart and hopped up next to it's driver.

"Well I hope you don't mind if I ride up here with you. I know a road without checkpoints up ahead and a way into the city that won't give us trouble" He settled into the seat next to her, silently wondering how everyone was able to recognize who he was. Maybe it was his hair, he never really made that connection until now...he undid the cloth mask from his face and retied it as a bandana instead to cover his silvery hair "I'll just pass myself of as a hired hand if we run into anyone" he looked at her sideways and held out a hand "Ian"

Vert was surprised to see the lightning bolt coming at her. "What the!" Vert yelled before dropping her head to the ground and then picking it up again. As she did this she just barely missed the lightning bolt. "I'm not trying to hurt you! Gods! I'm just trying to find a place to rest!" Vert yelled as she picked up her head and looked at them again. "If all humans are like this then I guess my kingdom can consider you all enemies." Vert said with a scowl.

"I mean we aren't all evil, most of us just want a place to belong." Vert added, at this point Steve her horse started to trot the group. However at this point he noticed the other horse, George. Without a second thought Steve trotted towards George and started to do a sort of greeting.

At this point Vert had over heard the groups need to find solace. "If your looking for somewhere safe, and are willing to deal with monsters who don't want to be attacked either, the kingdom of monsters may be willing to meet discuss." Vert said offering a path for the group if they would only stop attacking her.

Jaques sneered at the merchant and crossed his arms. "It's Jaques, not peasant boy, little miss merchant. And be careful who you call no names. You are just as big a no name as you call me. I'm just trying to give some helpful advice to the princess while you rant on about-" he began a mocking voice of her,"How you need a payday-" he went back to normal,"So maybe show a little respect to her. And to the Dullahan as well, who is trying to contribute as much as she can." He turned from the merchant woman that he had taken a strong disliking to so far.

He kept his legs crossed on the wagon and looked to the dullahan woman. "I'm sorry if you haven't felt welcome..I barely know what's going on so I'm not exactly that patient with anything." He held out his hand for a handshake. "I'm Jaques, which I've probably said three times...I hope we can become well aquainted during whatever quest is about to come fourth."

"It's crowded back there." Sergei panted, squeezing himself out of the cart's bed and clambering up into the seat, opposite of Ian. Fortunately, he decided to sit on the right, hiding the scars on his face. "Crowded, hot, and loud. Not at all good for a poor old veteran like me."
Sergei subtly shifted his cape, revealing his arm stump.

"Tell me, merchant, won't you take pity and let a withered old soldier take a rest instead of a spry young lad? If you do, I'll reward you with a war story and hot cider."

Alvina was brushing her knight's horse when the stable-boy came running up.

"Have you heard?" he asked between gulps of air. "The princess killed the queen and fled the castle! The king has already stripped her of her title!"

Alvina's eyes widened. The princess, a murderer? It was impossible! Alvina's knight had trained the princess in combat, and she'd had no royal airs about her. She was the most authentic member of the nobility Alvina had ever met, and even less political than she was deceitful. No, there was absolutely no chance Tahra had done what they were saying. In fact, the king had probably killed his wife and blamed it on her! Alvina had never had a good feeling about the king.

"Does everyone believe that story?" Alvina asked.

"Obviously," the stable-boy said. "I mean, why would the princess run if she isn't guilty?"

Alvina rolled her eyes. The boy was a dolt. She gestured to the horse. "Okay, thanks. I gotta finish this up."

He looked confused. "Everyone's gathering in the square. The king is gonna make a speech. Finish it in the morning."

What the stable-boy didn't realize was that Alvina wouldn't be around by morning. She had already decided to go find the princess and help her. Nobody would listen if Alvina told them the princess was innocent, so there was no reason to stick around. Plus, it might give her an opportunity to prove herself.

"Fine," she said, stepping toward the boy. "Let's go."

The boy turned to leave, and Alvina slammed her fist into the back of his head. He dropped like a stone.

"Idiot," she said, throwing the saddle onto her knight's horse. By the time the boy woke up, Alvina would be long gone.

Stephanie narrowed her eyes at the famous thief, shaking his hand if for no other reason than to know that it wasn't taking her stuff at the moment.

"Caroline," said Stephanie flatly, knowing that her real name could potentially be leveraged to implicate her if they were somehow caught. A fake name would be more safe for the moment. Her face grew more pale as she saw that that awful Dullahan had continued to follow them, and she tried to look away from the thing. She mustn't believe the lies of the unseelie death spirit, though the creature did seem weirdly genuine. Perhaps she would have to see how things progressed. If she could be trusted, the horsewoman would make for a powerful ally. As Stephanie was contemplating, the good-natured George exchanged a friendly whinny with Steve, glad to have a friend. She ignored Jacques, however, for the time being. She had no idea what he was doing there, and was a child of little consequence as far as she was concerned. The brat should be grateful, though. She wasn't charging him for the ride, after all.

Then a war veteran she hadn't noticed before lumbered up to the front, and not-so-subtly tried to leverage his wounds for better treatment. She respected that, and wondered how much free crap he had gotten with that arm of his.

"Well, Ian, you heard the man. You can look up here and direct me from the back. The old codger needs this seat more, don't you think? We should support our vets."

Avad was floating in a black void of ache, wincing at the occasional flickers of light that shot through his unconscious state. His overtaxed mind was knitting itself back together, the æther in the air around him slowly filtering into his spirit. Finally, with a soft groan, he opened his eyes and found himself looking at the underside of a what seemed to be a blanket. Though his instincts told him to shove it to the side, his logical mind won out; he was now a fugitive from his dearest companion, and had no idea where he was. For all he knew by the bumping and jolting, he could've be in an executioner's wagon right then. Instead, slowly lifting a corner to peek underneath it, he squinted into the moonlight in an attempt to grasp his bearings.

He seemed to be was lying on the bed of a cart rattling down the road. Lying beside him was the princess, and in the dim half-light of the night sky, he mouthed at her, where are we? The last thing he remembered was casting a six-span bolt of lightning, then the sensation of falling. His temples still ached, though less so from before, and letting a bit of magic drip through him, he found that his fingertip lit up with the bead of magic used in drawing glyphs, faintly illuminating the blanket's interior with the dimmest of dim gray glows, without making his head feel fit to burst.

He suddenly became painfully aware that he was still wearing the official robes of a High Battlemage and hissed softly in displeasure at the realization that it would be dangerous for him to show off the position he worked so hard for. Not only that, but free inn rooms were a thing of the past. He began to regret giving Sergei three gold crowns.

Tahra was lying down in the back of the wagon, staying close to Avad, wanting to make sure he was ok. He had come to and was wondering where they were. She wasn’t sure exactly but she knew they were close. “We are going somewhere safe. I don’t know where. The thief knew of the place.”

Without incident the group made it to Ian’s hideaway, an abandoned noble’s house, no one had lived here for years. It had never occurred to Tahra that the criminal underground would take advantage of the family’s absence for their own purposes. It was pitch black outside by the time they had arrived at the mansion, Tahra thanking the Gods that she had elven eyesight.

She helped Avad out of the wagon, offering her shoulder for him to lean upon. Even though she could see as though it were daylight she wanted to be inside, she felt exposed. Someone lit a candelabra and led the group to what would have been the parlor. It had once been exquisitely decorated but now only vestiges of nobility remained. Weapons and makeshift cots filled the room. It was evident that this room was often used as a bit of a safe house.

Tahra helped Avad get to one of the cots before digging through the equipment in the room. She found dark green leather armor that looked like it would fit her along with a short bow, quiver, and a steel long sword. She slipped out when no one was paying her any attention and quickly changed, leaving her royal armor behind.

She sat on the floor and took a moment to just breathe. Tears silently falling down her face, the death of her mother finally overwhelming her now that she was alone.

Ian nodded when the stage driver gave him a name, he's been in this business enough to know when someone's not being completely straight with him but he wasn't about to press for a real name right now. He was prepared to settle for the short journey when the fisher merc came up wanting to take a seat in front as well, which got him shunted. He only chuckled "Well I suppose he could take the seat if you insist, though in the interest of not dying at the city's walls I'm going to need to stay up here somewhere, thankfully, I do not mind walking" with that he hopped down and walked alongside the cart and guided them through a route to the western merchant entrance of the city.

Ian flashed a small silver coin at one of the guards before pocketing in again, The guard gave a slight nod before waving them through, getting them around the currently heightened security. It wasn't long from there to the safehouse, once there he and a man named Darius, the "steward" of the house, opened the gate for the cart and quickly shut it when they got in. Darius then went to help hide the cart from prying eyes while Ian headed into the house to find Tahra. When he did find her he hesitated for a moment, seeing the state of her, he considered leaving her alone for the moment but decided to just talked to her now and she could have the night to herself if she wanted. He walked in to the room she was in and kneeled next to her "we should be safe here for a night or two at least but we should probably get a plan and head out in the morning...and hey, I already broke you out of that dungeon so it would be a shame to leave you now, so for what it's worth...I'm with you" He put a hand on her shoulder for a moment before standing back up "I'll let you grieve in peace, see you in the morning"

Stephanie eyed Ian warily as they approached the gate, half certain she had been betrayed and that the man would sell the princess out for money and try to implicate her, at which point her identification for the merchant guild would be checked and the thief would be shown to be a liar. On the other hand, he could legitimately have a way into the city and she wouldn't have to pay an entrance fee. Either way, Stephanie wins. Just how it should be.

Ian ended up flashing the guard a silver coin, but kept it and the man let them through.

"Thieves' cant," she murmured to herself. How odd. She hadn't imagined something so simple would work in so large a town with so many rotations of guards, much less how Ian would have known at what time and place a guard on the take would be. Perhaps he had something like this planned all along? But really. The Silver Fox. Only crappy thieves get so well-known. The best ones take what they want and vanish into the night. No witnesses, and certainly no notoriety.

Arriving at an abandoned noble's manse, the party disembarked. Well, most did she guessed. Stephanie stayed out by her wagon, taking a couple of apples from her cargo and stroking George's head as he calmly chomped at the fruit. She also offered one to the Dullahan's horse, which had traipsed alongside hers all the way to town. Even if commanded by an evil fae, a horse was just a horse after all.

"You put in a hard day's work," she said softly, "you deserve it."

Now to get drunk, which would probably end up being the best part of her day considering how crappy the whole ordeal was.

"Idiot nobility," she hissed under her breath.

Sergei let out a long moan, lying back in the driver's seat of Stephanie's parked wagon. He took a long swig from his glass flask of liquor, wiping away what dribbled out of his cheek-hole.
"Suppose it's comfy enough." he sighed, cracking his neck. "Hey, girl. The hell do you sleep? Wagon bed? It's made of wood; your back must be sore every morning."

He scratched his head. "For that matter, whaddya sell? I got cash, so d'you sell grape wine? Cider? I don't suppose you have beds for sell; I'd sooner spend the night in an alley than with a thief. Y'ask me, nobody needs to go around, stealing from people that earned their piece fair and square."

Vert was confused, she had been riding along on Steve for the trip and hadn't even expected to be going with this group. But an enemy of Vlastand would be an ally to her kingdom as the kingdom of monsters had long believed that Vlastand would attack them the moment it found their kingdom.

"I can't believe I'm sticking my nose in this.." Vert said to herself as she got off of Steve who was happily eating an apple given to him by the Merchant. "Steve appreciates that." Vert said with a smile while petting Steve. Her sense of naming really was showing as Steve was not the best name for a horse.

"You don't seem like the kind to want anything to do with this adventure. Course neither do I, I'm not even human like the rest of you." Vert said to the merchant inquiring about why they should even bother with this adventure. "What would any of you do I wonder if I said I was here to look for weaknesses of Valstand I wonder... But aside from that question I must ask: you got any beer I could buy off you?" Vert asked giving her wide grin that went from ear to ear. It was creepy smile, but something that she couldn't help.

Vert wasn't just grinning at the merchant but also the old man who seemed to have a similar interest as her in the way of drinking when doing something new like this.

Stephanie sighed and looked up at the old man, who seemed to have started the party without her.

"I sleep on a makeshift bed of hay and blankets. Not much worse than you'll do at the nearest inn, and it doubles as a food source for George or to sell if I get in real trouble. As for my wares-"

But Stephanie squeaked in terror as the Dullahan descended, flinching and taking a few quivering steps backwards. If the woman was almost any other creature, she might have seemed pleasant, but Stephanie had heard the tales and none of them painted the Dullahan in a positive light. Then again, if all the tales were true, she'd probably be dead at the moment. No, she'd most certainly be dead if the Dullahan desired her life. With this in mind, she gathered up her courage and spoke back.

"...H-honestly, I couldn't care less about Valstand. Everyone's hopes were banking on Nathaniel losing his hold soon. With this development, investors will pull out left and right and the currency value will dip. Hard. Valstand is dead, but if you plan on invading, tell me. I can hook you up with some nice weapons if you have the coin."

Stephanie hopped into the back of her wagon and retrieved a keg of beer and a bottle of wine. The beer, of course, was to get her drunk. The wine was going to be for when she made her big peppercorn sale. But that apparently wasn't happening.

"Anyways, I sell a lot of things old man. After a transaction went sour, I learned to diversify. You can make a lot of coin if you buy and sell a lot of one thing, but if it doesn't pan out, you're dead in the water. One gold for the wine, if you want it. It's good. It was supposed to be celebratory for when I made my big sale here."

She tapped the beer keg and filled a couple of mugs to the brim, sliding one across the ground to the Dullahan, still wary.

"Six copper on that. Drink up," said Stephanie, hastily grabbing her own mug and managing to down the contents in one continuous drink. She let out a satisfied groan and licked her lips, already feeling the warm embrace of her best friend: copious amounts of beer.

"Ech... wine is celebratory. Maybe another day." he tugged open his coin purse with his teeth. The damned wizard only gave him gold and silver pieces.

"Tell you what. A gold for the beer, and tell me a story while you're at it. You're a traveler, so you should be able to tell at least one good story, bard or n-" he stopped himself as he picked up the mug. The merchant had just downed an entire pint in one go.

"You've got quite the throat on you, girl. You might be an entertainer yet."

Avad's eyes opened and he sat up, stretching and yawning. He looked around at his surroundings; a cot, a derelict house...familiar architecture. City architecture. He sighed and flopped back down, tossing his arm over his eyes. "Damnation," he growled in annoyance, "I told him not to come here."

Scattered about him about the seemingly-abandoned house—Westering District, he decided, based on the strangely contradictory opulence and state of decay—were various articles of clothing in various states of repair. Sighing regretfully, he stripped the military robe, complete with his stars of decoration and honour, off, folding it carefully and placing it to the side, leaving him wearing only a light belted tunic.

In lieu of the wondrously crafted robe, he tossed on a thick, deeply-cowled cloak of deep gray wool. Scowling slightly at the itchy fabric, he readjusted the garment until it was comfortable, then placed the folded robe into one of the cloak's several deep pockets—cloaks did have advantages, after all—and rose, grabbing his spellbook from its place at his side and placing it into a second pocket, fingering the pages fondly for a moment.

Navigating outside and tossing back the gray hood, he mussed his gray brown hair until it was suitably disorganized. In the ragged cloak, he was fairly confident he no longer reeked of nobility. Hearing a collection of sounds from off to one side, he veered off and found a collection of three sitting by the cart: Sergei, the old soldier; the Dullahan that he had so ill-advisedly thrown a sixfold bolt of lightning at; and finally, a rather unremarkable—at least compared to present company—half-elf woman, somewhere around her early-to-mid twenties, if his eyes told him right. Stepping into their circle of booze, he nodded at her.

"I assume you're the owner of the wagon that got us here." He gave a curt nod. "Thank you. You saved us much trouble." With that said, he turned to the Dullahan, though she clearly still made him uncomfortable. "And...I apologize for, well, trying to kill you without provocation. After the events of the night, I was a bit rattled. Understandably so, I'd like to think."

Then he laughed, relaxing visibly. The complete lack of headache had put him into a considerably better mood. "Now that the formalities are over," he chuckled, pulling out a few silver coins and turning to the cart owner again, "how many mugs do you have left in that barrel? I could...really...use a drink."

The young boy currently was alone, in his own world. He was clearly much younger than everybody who had been drinking, and didn't want to get into that mess...Or maybe...No. It was much to irresponsible. But then again...He was in the heady part of town..He was nothing but a nobody peasant boy to everyone..
Maybe, just maybe..He could get himself a drink once everyone was drunk enough to not care about it.

He got up. Wait, no. He could get himself in some trouble if he wasn't careful. Being a young adult, and never really getting drunk before, what could happen? he could reveal secrets. He could-No. He deserved this. He had been away from his home, in a setting he was never put into, and in clothes that he had never belonged in. He had ran into danger on every corner. He need a break.

He waited until everyone seemed to be drunk enough. He straightened his shoulders and walked up to the merchant woman with a sweet grin. "I'm very sorry for having treated you like I did miss. I'm sure you are working very hard here. I should have been more greatful.....A mug please."

"Bah, that was just the first one old man. Wait until I'm on my third and then compliment me," Stephanie replied smugly as she poured another drink, "but a story, is it? Stories I can do. Action, drama, comedy. I can tell a bawdy tale as well as the most despicable miller, or a romance as well as the most starry-eyed maiden. What would you like to hear?"

Just as she was awaiting her answer, however, the mage from earlier stumbled up to them. He thanked her and requested a drink, flashing some welcome silver in her eyes. She hopped back into her wagon and came out with more mugs and her backup keg.

"Saved you some trouble, wizard? Perhaps the trouble of living. If not for me, you would no doubt be dead in the water, which I'm gathering isn't exactly the type of drink you'd like," she said slyly, taking his money and filling up another mug to the brim. She handed one to the wizard and slid another to the Dullahan.

Then the boy from earlier approached, suddenly behaving like less of a brat than before. She poured him a mug too, because she was a magnanimous beer goddess.

"Good lad. That's the respectful tone I like to hear," she said, nodding to herself as she poured another drink, "kids these days need to listen more. Speaking of which-"

She turned back to Sergei.

"It seems like we have a crowd. Any sort of story you want. One gold. I'm- wait a second," she said, downing yet another drink greedily, "alright, now I'm drunk enough. Inhibitions at zero. Ask and you shall receive."

2 Days Before the Queen’s Death

Sir Logan MacNair had been Princess Tahra’s personal guard since she was sixteen years old. He had shown great promise as a squire and shortly after being officially knighted at seventeen years old he had become solely responsible for putting down the rebellion in the southern part of the country. Recognized for his skill in battle and his keen mind the Queen personally asked him to look after her daughter. Tahra and Logan became fast friends but Logan was always aware of his place in society and in the Princess’s life.

It was mid-morning when Logan knocked on Tahra’s bed chamber door. The door had been hand carved from the woods of the Selden forest, home of the Seldenese Elves – the very same elves that the Queen had come from. The door looked like interlocking tree branches with minute carvings of woodland animals speckling its surface.

“I thought you were never going to come, you’re late, Logan,” Tahra crossed her armored arms over her chest and playfully pouted.

Logan bowed deeply, resting his hand lightly on the hilt of his sword. “My apologies, Princess.” His coffee colored eyes shined with mirth as he straightened himself back to his full height, just a head taller than the Princess.

Tahra and Logan headed to the training yard. “Logan, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Tahra? You have been my body guard for going on five years now, I believe that allows for a certain amount of familiarity.”

Logan flashed her a sheepish smile, he was a mild mannered man for the most part. “At least once more, as always, my Princess.”

Logan started every day the same with the Princess, he took her to train with the Knights of the kingdom, and she was quite skilled at combat, especially since she was the Princess and not expected to learn how to hold her own in combat. She was even more skilled than most of the knights in the King’s service. If she were not royalty she would have been slated for knighthood from her skills just as he had been.

Tahra was in the pit, sparring with a few knights while Logan observed, correcting her form and giving her pointers. He heard something cracking and looked around, that’s when he saw that the wooden beam directly over Tahra’s head was cracking and was moments away from crushing the Princess.

Logan shouted, “Move!”

It had the opposite effect of what he’d wanted, Tahra and the knights she was sparring with stopped to figure out where the danger was coming from. Logan at a full on sprint collided with Tahra, the beam narrowly missing them.

“And here I thought you didn’t want to be close to me, Logan.”

Logan scrambled to his feet, pulling Tahra up behind him. His eyes searching her body for any sign of an injury. “Are you alright, Princess? I don’t know how that happened.”

---

The Day of the Queen’s Murder/The Day Before the Princess’ Birthday

Logan was forbidden from accompanying Tahra to see the King and Queen, it made Logan uneasy, he had never liked the King. News spread quickly of the Queen’s death and that the Princess was responsible for the murder. As soon as he could, Logan made his way to the dungeons – to free his princess. He knew there was no way she had done this. He was making his way down the stairs when he heard glass shattering. He began to run down the stairs but had to slow down as a thick fog rolled over him.

He waited for the magic to pass before running into the dungeon, the cell where he had been told he would find the Princess was empty, the window at the end of the hall broken. Glass crunching beneath his steel boots, he peered out and saw the Princess along with a large group of people gathered on the river bank. He saw them get into a covered wagon and head east. Already knowing what he was going to do, Logan headed to the King.

“What do you mean she escaped?” Spit was flying from the King’s snarling mouth, landing on Logan’s face as he knelt before the King in fealty.

“She headed north, out of the city, she was on foot and by the looks of it, injured, she was limping.

“That was quite the fall. The King ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think of what he wanted to do next. “MacNair, she trusts you. Find her and bring her to me. I want her alive, she will answer for her crimes!

---

Logan tracked the wagon to the abandoned noble estate, cautiously looking for a way in. Despite wearing heavy armor his footfalls were near silent. He waited for the man with silver hair to leave Tahra alone before entering the room. She was crying, dressed in leather armor he did not recognize. He snuck up behind her and placed his hand over her mouth.

“It’s me! It’s me! Princess, I’m so glad I found you! Are you alright?”

“Logan! I thought I would never see you again. How did you find us?” Tahra launched herself into Logan’s arms who awkwardly held her.

He explained everything before just letting her cry in his arms. “Sleep Princess, I’ll keep watch. In the morning we can decide what to do from here.”

Tahra was almost asleep when she heard him softly say, “Happy Birthday, Princess.”