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Mezzar, a city lost in time which has stuck to the old ways from when Humans had first arrived on Erith, was a land where any man had the right to be free. Many noble houses took root in such a city, upstarts and old blood alike who sought to profit off of such unlimited freedom. Those who have risen to prominence were appointed to the position of Senator, a member of the ruling class of Mezzar and capable of deciding how the city goes about its affairs. Sadly, that means that corruption runs wild in the Free City for there are none who would turn down honest coin and fewer even who would wish to be on the bad side of those with the coin to pay for them to simply… disappear. The Journeymen who have came to Mezzar can often leave as rich men, a few hundred coins in their pouch from the proper hand looking for the less legal kind of help.

However, the city still flowed on like a river, unaffected by the ripples which the Journeymen could make by ending someone’s life or taking part in extortion. Even now on the very week that five new Journeymen arrived in the city, the city seems practically filled to the brim with life, even more so than usual as the preparations for a festival has begun. But the festival nor a contract was why any of them had been ordered to go to the city of Mezzar. No, they were here to meet their new captain, the woman who would issue their contracts and occasionally battle with them. Their new captain was known to be a hardass, allowing none to stray from the path of the Order nor cause problems for the citizens of whatever town they visit for a contract. However, these five were misfits, known for causing trouble with those who they were suppose to serve, the villagers, or simply their comrades.

This festival period may just be a time to test their abilities, both in combat and outside of it, as forces stir and begin to pull the strings on their machinations.

---

Though the sun had risen only a few hours before the city of Mezzar had already been awake for many hours, most of its inhabitants prepping for the Harvest Festival and the hundreds of visitors which were sure to arrive for the week of feasting, dances, and games. But five men had come to Mezzar on this morning not for the Festival but for roll call and the first meeting they were to have with their captain, Veira Hawthorne. Whether it had been by pure natural means or having partaken in the drinking the night before, Veira had already been awake for several hours. The Journeymen had, of course, not yet arrived in the city's Order outpost, many of them had been weeks travel away in the northern lands of Gaelia and Haedrion.

However, this simply meant that their new captain had plenty of time to look over their profiles and try to gain an understanding of who they and what drives them, though that simply began to fill her a little with dread just at the thought of having the manage the misfits of the Order. Daveon, the Little Wolverine, was a man simply in it for the gold and glory of killing monsters, a high enough price could easily buy his blade. Shay was a Dust Elf from the savannah and desert to the east of Mezzar, the Feanor Asto, who had a tendency to put out candles and turn them on depending on the circumstances, though he wasn't much of a misfit as a special case due to his Elven heritage. Arthur was a lower night who seemed to once have a drinking problem, however many of the documents actually on him were not released to Veira for view. Hans was a difficult man who was mostly know for killing a witch during a contract, not much was known about what happened in the battle. Then there was Riance, a man with a deep rivalry with Dav, even extending from their time in the Pits.

None of them seemed like they'd ever work well with each other, nor did Veira even believe any of them would do anything but hound each other about anything that comes to their mind. However, she had to admit that they had each managed to complete over ten contracts, actually complete them, which was quite an accomplishment when compared to the multitude of Journeymen who never truly completed a contract and simply left them to the whim of whatever plagued them. But they'd truly be tested now, both by Veira and by the Free City. Already had a set of contracts piled up on her desk, leftovers from the Journeymen in town who didn't need a captain and simply were going to do the tasks which required little work.

The outdoor market district of Mezzar was always busy, always crowded, always… sort of smelly. Loud voices calling from stalls with merchants and farmers peddling their wares and food, children running through the streets playing with toys and knick knacks while close by, their mothers purchased dinner for the evening. It was a nice scene for most. Many people would consider this idyllic, not Daveon however. He was too busy arguing with a merchant over the price of a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. The normally cheery corner of this part of the market was quite handily disturbed by the small man, his gruff demeanor and loud voice making all around them very aware of the Little Wolverine’s fury.

”Ya means t’ tell me that yous are gonna charge me, ME! Daveon Axebane! You’re going to charge me fifteen copper for this shite wine and this stale bread?! Are you out of yer fuckin’ mind!” The little man stomped and was getting ready to climb over the display, a hand reaching instinctively to the handle of his axe, his rage bubbling up as he felt offended. Instead he simply spat at the merchant and tossed the coin at the man. ”Yer lucky I’m here of order business, else I’d be takin’ yer hand, ya sack o’ shit. Fuckin filthy humans ripping off good halffolk… Thinkin’ we less than them, over chargin’ us for fuckin’ bread…” Daveon grumbled to himself as he bit into the somewhat stale bread and walked through the rest of the market, curious about if there were a quality blacksmith in these parts, he’d never been to Mezzar before and wanted to find out what their quality and standards for weaponry would be and if there were pits to make some cash. He knew there was a mission ready for him, but he wanted fun… adventure… Blood. A swig of wine hear, a crunch of bread there, a casual insult tossed at a group of Free Elves.

Daveon was really just wasting time at this point, knowing that if he were to show up to the meeting on time… or even worse… first, then it would damage his reputation as a smart mouthed jackass that could careless about the team. He would die for any of them, he knew this deep down, even that shitty Dusty Knife-Ear, Shayzani. Daveon fought alongside of them for some time now and even against one of them. He never let people in, never let other races close enough to gain his trust, but this group had proven themselves capable and he knew in a pinch he could rely on any one of them to help him out of a tight spot, even if he did constantly say he hated them. ”Buncha filthy bastards, the whole lot of them…” He whispered to himself as he kept roaming the market square.

The guard stationed at the Southern City gates gave the man a look. He was not precisely inconspicuous. Clearly not a knight of any kind of order, despite the fluted mail and his grotesquely shaped helmet - he bore no insignia. His papers indicated his membership with the Order of course, but that was not precisely reassuring. The man had not appeared on any of the posters in the barracks however, so unless he was running just ahead of news of his bounty he might possibly even be legitimate.

"Name?" He asked.

"Hans Iikka." Came the echoing reply. Then something clicked.

"Wait. I know you..." The guard cautioned, leaning forward ever so slightly. "You're that orphan from Gaelia what slew a, uh..." He trailed off awkwardly, momentarily afraid the man might take offense. The guard's memory was not the best, and Hans was wearing a tailored overcoat. It was possible he might have been a low baron.

"A slay a lot of things." Hans replied easily. "Just here to help."

"Huh. Well, alright." The guard grunted as he took another look down at Hans' papers. A member of the Order invited up North on official business...and a bounty hunter recognized by the regional House. "Though I have to say this seems a bit queer. You sure you can be both a bounty-hunter and a member of the Order?"

Hans shrugged, the metal in their mail-jack clinking faintly with the motion. "You know how it is with the Order these days. A few of my bounties tend to be other Order members, yeah? If my practice should be a little crooked, my quarry are more crooked still."

The guard grunted in vague affirmation in reply, handing the papers back. "I get it. Well, as long as it is not strictly Order business then, I do not suppose you might be interested in clearing some space on our hangman's wall? For a bit'o the Law's privilege, of course."

"Oh, not today." Hans replied as he tucked the papers away in a small courier's tube. "Wouldn't want to raise any undue tensions, you know?" He thumbed the side of his helmet's hooked nose. "But if you know any mages willing to weave a few enchantment runes on the quiet somewhere discrete, I would appreciate it. My blade could use the work." He reached nonchalantly into a pouch under his long-coat, drawing a handful of copper coins from it and pressing them into the guard's hand - which had opened up between them almost reflexively. "Your gate tax." Hans indicated in an offhand tone. The guard's eyes flickered briefly in understanding.

"Well, he's a bit on the shady side, but there is a warlock who works out of a butchery in the narrows. Does a bit of cleaning work, as it were. Everyone knows about him of course, but he can keep his mouth shut. There's also this lass in a nearby bordello, does a bit of spellery on the side in her downtime if you were looking for a more private setting..."

---

"Some of the chops, wrapped please." Hans indicated to the butcher, setting a handful of copper coins on the counter.

"Certainly." The thick, rotund man replied in a cool if low voice. Their eyes were narrowed and skeptical, but they went about the task willingly enough. "You said your name was Hans, yeah? That Journeyman that hunts mages?"

"I am he, but I only really fought mages over near the border a few times. Mostly I fight monsters, it's just cutting a few spell-wrights tends to get more attention. Also, Journeymen can't hunt bounties. Sign an oath and everything. Not really good for business."

"Do people even take that oath seriously?" The butcher asked as he finished wrapping the meat together in a thick bundle of waxed parchment.

"Some more than others, but as you've demonstrated I have a bit of a reputation. I wouldn't want to send out the wrong kind of message." Hans answered smoothly as he took the bundle. "Certain kinds of people keep a close eye and lookout for me."

"I get it. People get expectations because of what they've heard. Stuff like that goes around here in the narrows all the time. "

"I'll bet." Hans remarked idly as he stepped out of the shop.

---

Having conspicuously then made his way to a certain bordello, followed by pointed loitering and badgering of scholars at the city archives, and rounded out by malingering around a particularly rough part of the docks and exchanging words with the locals, Hans was content to let the misinformation he had uttered about propagate to the rest of the city's mage population. He the, finally, made his way back to the Order's outpost, having already passed by it twice as he went about his own business. With the better part of his initial groundwork out of the way, it was time to tolerate whatever inadequacy awaited him within its walls.

...Or at least, sit back and observe it. Rather than entering upon arrival, Hans decided to loiter at a nearby food-stand, removing his helmet and hiding it under his overcoat, held beneath one arm while pretending to flirt with the stall-woman and eating. For a man in his thirties, his appearance was not hard on the eyes - his hair was scraggly and unkempt, but his face had a roundness about the cheeks and a particularly slimness to it. It took the woman nearly a quarter-hour to realize what he was doing and indicate that he should probably buy something else to keep his appetite up, at which point the conversation turned to a more pointed conversation regarding her knowledge of Mezzar, all the while Hans looking out at the outpost's entrance.

It seemed these last five years had given him purpose. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, he truly believed the Order had given him some purpose in life. Though he missed the sand and his home, this felt like where he was supposed to be. Being in the Order meant a lot over the last five years. One of them meant compromise. At least now he was not always being hunting. Instead he had met many allies, he was looking forward to seeing Daveon again.

A man he owed his life to after he pulled him from the fires that took away not only lives of his people, but trust of his people surely. A man he had great respect for, even if he chose to use vulgar language at times. There were others Shayzani had met as well that he respected, admired. Hoped to be like some, someday.

Maksa groaned from boredom. Their journey uneventful. To maybe perhaps her disappointment more than his. Many on the roads didn’t know how to react to him. Some stared at him with little conviction, others terror. He supposed he understood.

Even without ears the bandages scared them. They did not understand the purpose of the veil of modesty either and that made them see him as suspicious. He did not meet their suspicions with ill thought, instead he met them with understanding as he understood when he there was elven fear. To understand and to forgive were very different concepts though.

The road long. The heat barely bothered him, while others toil away in fields wiping sweat from their brows. The Asto far hotter in the dry season than this subtle coolness in the air. The wetter season though was troublesome, always had been. Maksa made the most of it through complaining. Though he eventually came to where he was meant to be Mezzar city.

He heard the stories and the things they said about this city. Though he did not chase stories without their merit. He tried not to enter cities often, even as an Order member they made him nervous unless he was with a group who could stand for his honor. Especially when his common could not always convey the complexities of language as those born to speak the common language could.

They stood at the gates, Maksa and him prepared to enter. Till two guards stared at him. He could only assume they were looking at him. Their helmets made it hard for him to track their eyes. Getting off of Maksa he bowed to them.

“Aaye,” he told them.

One of them huffed in his helmet.

“You’re not permitted to pass,” he said through his helm.

Ah this was something he should have expected. Honestly it was something that should have been expected from the others who summoned him here. He would try to navigate this misunderstanding though he feared for the worse circumstances.

“Amin no harm,” he tells them, “Amin here to work. With Order.”

The guard laughs.

“You work for the Order?” the second one questions with skepticism.

“Yes,” Shayzani tells them with another bow, they seem on edge when he walks to Maksa to take his sigal out.

“Lemme take a look at that,” the second one walks up and stares into the sigal of his bandaged hands.

Both helmed guards look at each other and turn to the other side facing their backs to him. This didn’t seem to be going as well as he had hoped. He simply waited, already understanding where this might go. It was a disappointment. He didn’t like to be late to his affairs. Neither did he like to be made to be some liar.

The guards finally turned back to him. The first one to talk on the right walked forward in order to clear the gap between their distance.

“It is clear to me this is a forgery,” the guard told him.

It wasn’t. He would not argue though. He only gave a humble bow.

“You’re hereby placed into custody for impersonating an Order member until someone can vouch for your identification, if they can,” the guard on the left said.

Shayzani gave them another bow.

“Understand,” he said to at least acknowledge their decision. He would respect it. It being their city. Living his life with the prejudice of others he knew not to fight it. Defensism only made you look like what you are already not to them. The truth would come out eventually if in fact his Order members came for him. He trusted they would because he would for them. He hoped his year of service meant something to whom he was to meet, or else the purpose he so felt on the way here may feel lost or misplaced of all things.

The guards merely huffed and sighed. His understanding also made him suspicious. Though he had faith in his Order. He also saw no need to argue with them, as he understood what he looked to them. Their reaction valid, because he may once have had the same opinion about himself.

He wished he had the reputation Hans had. Though that came out of admiration from the man who showed few admiration to others. At times Shay believed them to hate each other, though he hated few, but feared those who earned the reputation to be feared.

He stuck his hands out to allow them to place the shackles on his bandaged arms. One of the guards made a noise.

“Pretending to be on our side isn’t going to make us change our minds,” he told him.

“Arguing helps little,” Shayzani told them with a simple bow of his head.

Slinging on the irons, he felt little shame for this moment. It was bound to happen here and there, that he got use to the quick judgment.

The guard at least gave the courtesy of leading him by his shackles without dragging him. Now to walk the city. He wished he didn’t have to do so in shackles.



People were quick to assume things. They see a man pass the markets in prison and assume he done something wrong. They believe their observations without observing. Still quite the spot to be in where he needed to be wasn’t too far to where he ended up. In a tight narrow row of cells. They went from a large security checkpoint, through a gate and down some stairs in a dimly lit, tight narrow hallway. It smelled of mildew, mold, there was perhaps the faint smell of blood, and urine.

“In there,” told one of the guards from the security checkpoint.

Shoved into a cramped prison with the door closing fast behind him and the sound of a lock. They were sending an envoy to ask his Commander at the Order to confirm his identity. He didn’t like strange roundabout detours to getting where he needed to be, but he supposed this is what he would have to do for now.

It became clear to him he wasn’t alone. A human man sat in the corner, with hair missing atop his head, he had a few scabs, he was barefoot, in nothing, but rags for clothes. He gives him a toothy grin.

“In ‘ere for spreadin’ shit too?” he ask.

“Excuse?” Shayzani responded.

“Aye,” the man showed his hands which appeared dirty, and indeed there was the scent of feces coming from his corner of the cell, “Took sum horsey manure. Spread it all over a merchant’s cart. He be trying to cheat me I tell ya. But the guards wanna ‘ere nothin’ ‘bout it.”

Shayzani wasn’t sure what to respond with. He simply nodded in acknowledgment.

“Amin Common not good,” Shayzani told him.

“Aye, names Kraven, figure if wes goin’ be in ‘ere together we should know each other’s names, you elfy people won’t make it ‘round here,”

Shayzani once again nodded his head. How else is should he respond? There was ratherly due process in this world.

“Zani,”

“Weird name innit, but I don’t knock ‘nother man’s name,” Kraven tells him, “So. Watcha in for?”

“Nothing,”

“Ooo one of thems stories. I like a good mystery,”

He hoped his commander would get here soon. He trusted she would. He trusted in her word. He wasn't sure how to navigate talking with this human.

Waiting for her crew to appear was keeping Veira on edge, though there wasn’t much she could do about it since the misfits would arrive whenever they saw fit. As such, she decided to use her time to train with the recruits in the yard. Though, her training session was cut short when a messenger dressed in the Free City’s colors ran through the gates. “You there, I am looking for a Order Captain named,” the young man looked down at his note in hesitation, “Veira? We have a damned Elf who claims to be a Journeymen and the guards demand that he is verified by his supposed captain.” The young man instantly shrank away from the woman at the look of utter disgust and anger she had on her face.

“You fools can’t do your jobs properly can you? Not only did I message your Captain about my incoming Journeymen, I explicitly stated that he is to let anybody who has the proper papers and sigil in. I’ll have to have a word with him later but for now, let’s go have a word with the prison guards before I cut your fucking tongue out in anger,” She said with her hand on her sword. Veira knew full well that the guards stopped the man, who was most likely Shayzani, purely because he was an elf. However, she also knew that she had to calm down unless she wanted to make a tense situation even worse. The guards were already on edge with the Festival and she had no desire to get on their bad side.

She and the messenger marched out of the Outpost, heading straight for the prison, when she noticed a man milling around the Outpost. He worse the sigil of the Order yet obviously wasn’t working, the perfect person for her to drag along to be backup in case things go sour in the prison. “You there, Journeyman!” Her shout startled the crowd milling in the streets, drawing more than a few stares though they only lasted a few seconds. “You are going to come with me since you aren’t busy. I’ve got some business to take care of at the Prison and I’d prefer to have somebody with me while I’m doing it. Hurry up.” She turned heel and followed the messenger once more, leaving the Journeyman behind as she moved on.



The Market was bustling as usual and, though it was only morning, a few stalls had sold out of their normal stock and begun pressing into their backup stock. Many bought food and drinks, rushing to watch the combat in the arena, met with friends to talk about how time had passed, and trade their wares from outside the city. The tight crowds created a terrible smell, the smell of unwashed men and women who were too busy working the fields to care about washing. But it also created a prime setting for thieves and scoundrels to swindle the common folk. It didn’t take long before the scream for the guards erupted from the crowd. “Stop that man, Guards! He has stolen something of great value from me!” Whoever it was that was yelling was hidden among the crowd but the thief certainly wasn’t as men and women stumbled out of the way to avoid him.

It was by luck that the man had actually managed to steal from a rich person mingling among the common folk. However, it was certainly not their luck which drew them into the path of Daveon. The halfling was directly in the path of the thief, both unaware of the other until the thief narrowly avoided completely running over him. Instead, he managed to knock into Daveon’s left side and cause the bread which he had been eating to fall into the dry dirt of the market. “Watch where you are going you fucking midget,” Was the only response the thief had as he once again broke into a full run.

@Terminal@LeoricAquila

The guards stick their noses where they shouldn't be. Always. 'We don't know shit about any Journeyman in the city' or 'Scram ya bandit filth". He'd rather stay away from being seen by the guards and loitered until an opportunity presents itself with the appearance of a horse-drawn carriage.

The steed let out a weary neigh and the merchant was restless... Seated on the shotgun of the well-worn cart wiping the sweat that dribbled softly along his tanned face as the guard approached him with their weapons stowed on their shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. This just the normal goods I be bringing from the South. Here's your damn papers..." The man continued to babble on as the guards seemed to contently allow the cart to pass. With a swift yoke of his reins, the horse carried on into the city and took a street towards the stables.

Mezzar. City's damn well crowded. Cities are always crowded. Center of trade, business and fuck-all partnership that ends with a pointy stick up your arse. He wasn't sure exactly why they chose this city in the first place-- but I guess it being a 'Free City', guess jobs are aplenty. The carriage finally arrived at its desired destination-- a stable structurally held together by a few misplaced rocks that supported the ceiling competently. He relaxed his limbs and allowed his fingers to leap away from the bottom of the merchant's cart, resting onto the stable's dry dirt floor tattered with hay and rolled to the side quickly. The merchant took notice.

"Hey... Hey you!" The tanned man called to him. Riance paid him no mind and continued walking as he frantically went to check his goods-- whom the man believe that he stole something.

---

It didn't take him long to stumble upon a busy market where people are strewn about with the attractions of merchants across the land. Baubles and trinkets that shine steal the eye... Almost a perfect set up for pickpockets and thieves to operate in. Problem was, most of the folk who were interested were poor, ragged and smelled like piss. Perhaps their pockets even have piss in it. Occasionally you could spot a wealthy man; surrounded by a group of guards who made the way for'em by forcefully pushing others aside. Then there's the wise rich men who dressed themselves the part of common folk. If only they don't smell so clean or have pale complexions.

He pushed people gently along their shoulders trying to cover some distance. The stream of people walking against his direction were vast. His pace doubled as he found a break among the wandering men and realised that people began to voluntarily open a path. Someone was coming. Riance took notice of the man running frantically with great strides. No doubt a thief based on the speed in which he ran and the body language he displayed. He was unsure if he had gotten away judging from his quick head turn. Should he leap into action? The Journeyman's code would suggest that he does. Then maybe...

He took hold of the neck of his spear and began his own stride. The man was running towards his direction; all Riance had to do was intercept. He swiftly slipped and slithered along the crowd, sliding the spear gently as to not cut any innocent man he passed. It wasn't exactly the thick forestry he was used to navigate but people make for good cushioning than trees or dirt. He was able to reach the runner just in time in front of him and swung the shaft of his spear towards the running man's chest. That's when he underestimated the man. He was able to duck under the shaft... Despite losing balance but quickly gathered his pace as he slipped away from Riance. "Athletic. Or at least good enough to have anticipated that." He gathered his breath and stowed the spear away. Riance had lost interest in the thief... He got away.

"Wasting my time thinking about him." Riance continued to walk towards his destination from the market, to the Journeyman's Headquarters.

This was a peculiar situation. The guards had probably gotten in contact with the Order by now, as the Order’s official headquarters wasn't too far from the prisons. Kraven seemed oddly chipper in a cell and seemed oddly friendly for a man who picked horse dung off the market floor and flung it at a merchant trying to cheat him.

If that was the true story. Trying to adjust himself in the small corners, Shayzani ended up backing too far into the corner into another person. It was clear to him it was another person. A hardy built guy, with a warrior stripe mohawk, bulging muscles, and a single braid. His jaw alone looked like it could cut steel.

Shayzani bowed.

“Excuse,” Shayzani told the man in hopes that he could appease the man with a simple kind gesture.

“You should watch where you are going next time,” the man replied gruffly, “else you may very well bump into someone more likely to break your fuckin’ neck mate. However, I ain’t lookin’ to get a murder charge added to the list, elf.” The man pushed a small stool over into the corner and sat down, trying his best to not get too near to Kraven and the smell of shit.

Shayzani bowed one more time. It was odd being in this circumstance. Normally he was an outsider looking into cells. Not stepping into one. This felt like an odd world, a world he didn’t fully understand and he barely understood the human’s world in the first place. This seemed a place to gather experience. To look at another’s view.

“Yes, I should have,” Shayzani paused, “to look.” he added with a nod of his head, “Would you lend insight? How did you come to this circumstance?”

The man sighed audibly and crossed his arms with a bored look. “Normally I ain’t much of one to talk to people but since we are in this nice and cozy room,” He said with a wide gesture, “I might as well be so kind as to tell you. Now, I work hard all year round just to pay for my wife and son. Come the Harvest Festival and I says to myself ‘I’m gonna go into town and drink for the night.’ And I drink for the night. Got in a fight with a man over the tab and now I’m ‘ere. Happy?”

Happy? He never understood this expression well. Daveon says people mean it sardonically, when they are jesting when you ask a probing question. It just seemed like an odd turn of phrase didn’t it. Then again everything in Common had extra words that didn’t connect with another. Shayzani only nods his head as he processes the story.

“Ah,” Shayzani says in thought, “Less happy. More understand. To understand you. So you’d say the guards are?” he pauses for a second what was the word again, “corrupt? Or ah to pick on a certain group of people?”

“The guards don’t care about anybody but the ones who foot their bills,” He said as he leaned forward. “If you pay them a little extra then they’ll do whatever they can to make your day better. Dwarves, Elves, they might have it worse. If they get caught in the wrong kind of business like you have, they can end up in the slave trade. ‘Course, ain’t nobody going to admit that there is a slave trade at all. But we all know it. We all see the men and women who go to the docks to never come back.”

Shayzani nodded. Though the statement harbored a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Elven people as slaves. Ever since he entered more close to this world, proud to be in the Order feeling like he has done something to represent his people, the more close he had gotten to their politics. It saddened him with sorrow deeply to know elven people were suffering.

Though at the same time there was nothing his people or other Elven people could do for them. They were warned centuries ago that humans would betray them. And what ended up happening? Humans betrayed them. Enslaved the working men. Some women were sold off to unsavory acts for their exotic beauties.

His own caravans attacked by prejudice and frightened humans. He knew the reason why he was thrown in here. Not enough people looking for other people’s perspectives. They were taught to look outside a dirty glass and never thought to clean it off to see a better picture.

Cockroaches. Bred. Kill one. More cropped out of the cracks.

“Isn’t bribery,” Shayzani paused, “illegal? Amin thought guards not allowed to take money.”

“Take money or not, they have to pay their bills some way,” He sighed. He seemed conflicted for a while in his choice of words, silently looking at the guard’s shadow on the wall across the way. “Bein’ a guard is dangerous. Someone could kill ya any day over somethin’ small. You choose the life but you don’t choose yer death, ya know? I’d take the money if I were them. I’d need it, for my wife and child. So that I can retire early and not risk dyin’ every day. Illegal to bribe them, yes. Can I blame them, not really.”

What a flimsy reason. Most likely because he had seen death already that he was willing to accept a job that paid little and he may die, but he would not take money he didn’t rightfully earn. A loose lack of morals and ethics it seemed on their side.

And to excuse it away with just the simple words of family. In the Dust you worked hard everyday to ensure survival. Not just the adults. Children as well. If they didn’t make it, they were not strong to live in this cycle.

He didn’t understand that perspective. It was hard for him to put himself in their minds when he lived his life in the Dust, as the Dust, by the Dust.

“Death is,” Shayzani didn’t know how to word it in common too well, “kirma lithlad. Great cycle. Val gwaith.”

He would not understand that. Shayzani looked at the man.

“One grain of sand,” Shayzani uses his hand, “is one person. If one person thinks for itself. No desert. Sand is stronger together. Bribes. Rich. Make sand separate.”

“I’m not sure how to make o’ that but I ain’t one to question how an Elf was raised. Here in the human empires though, money is what makes you strong. Money can buy anything. A home, food, water. It can even buy you a wife in some places!” The man seemed amused by his attempt at a joke but sighed once more after a brief smile. “You see, money can and will buy you anything. Here, it can buy you the less self righteous guards. It can buy you a nice woman to sleep in your bed at night. It can also lead to you being an idiot and endin’ up right here in the jail like we ‘ave. If you think that is bad then I don’t know if you want to get involved with them noble houses and their politics.”

“Aye, ‘eir a lot worse ‘an anythin’ you’d ‘ve seen,” Kraven chimed in, “what with all ‘eir lyin’, cheatin’, and not to mention payin’ for people to die. Just last year one o’ ‘em supposedly paid a woman to lay with the son of ‘nother house just to cause a scene. Gossip says he was askin’ for it, was too hot headed and didn’t want none o’ the trade split between his house and the others. Next thing ya know, kid was run outta the Council and they had the spot all to ‘em selves.”

Shayzani looked between the two men. Taking a second he was distracted by the sound of a guard dragging a man to another cell. He watched for a second. Money bought everything. Humans willing to eat their own straight from the womb. Value money over community. It was hard sometimes to clean these windows to understand. He tried to understand.

Shayzani turned back to Kraven.

“What made,” Shayzani paused, “merchant cheat you?”

“Likely what makes all o’ ‘em do it. The coin. Bein’ a merchant is no easier than working in a field. Just as he worries about crops growin’, the merchant worries about his supplies running out. He gotta pay the men to guard them. He gotta pay ‘em to not steal from him. And then he gotta sell ‘em to people like me. People who work hard to get food. Doesn’t change that he is a dirty fuckin’ cheat for overchargin’ me but the world ain’t pure ‘nough to undercharge. Lest ya want to be broke and homeless,” He said with a toothless chuckle.

Shayzani shuffles. Their lives seemed sad. To be concerned about things like life. Which was so virtually important more than goods. Death and life were to be honored and respected as part of the great cycle that weaved them all into one net. He looks around the cells. How does Daveon word it? How would Hans ask the question?

“What,” Shayzan pauses, “to happen. If say neither of us are cleared. Where do we go?”

“If yer like me,” The man in the corner said with a shake of his head, “Then you just spend a few days in here and then go. Shit hands over there probably will only spend the night. You though, you might end up in the arena. To fight to the death for your crimes. Many end up being thrown to rabid wolves and rare bears in the arena. All for the laughs of others.”

Shayzani nods. He looks outside the cell again. Where could there Commander be? He gave an oath and owed some debt to Daveon. He could not go to this human arena. Not just yet. Not when he felt close to achieving something. He rather die in achieving something or not. But not locked in a cell.

Moving to the cell door with a humble bow to Kraven and the man he didn’t catch his name before turning to the guard.

“Has my commander been found?” Shayzani asked the guard in hopes that he could give him the answer.

“As if I’d know whether or not your commander has been found. The messenger was sent, yeah but it ain’t my business if he takes his sweet time gettin’ there. As far as we care, he can just not come back at all and you can rot in there,” The guard said as he approached the door. “I’d rather ‘em take their sweet time getting here so that you can learn a lesson from the rest of the scum in here, Elf.”

Shayzani had heard it all before. Poison spat from the mouth because of what he is. It spoken so harshly. Yet Shayzani closed his eyes and nodded his head.

“Kyremcoia antvarna. Heren uummali ten loth,” Shayzani told the guard, “We are sand. Together we are powerful. Individually we are a speck. Karma is cruel.”

“I don’t care about none of yer talk about karma you fuckin’ elf. Come the end of the day, you are no different than anybody in this city. Nobody will think twice about your death in the arena. I’m sure you’ll make a beautiful scene with the bears,” He replied with a cruel laugh before walking down the hall.

This city seemed filled with sorrow. That is how Shayzani felt. Poison from the mouth. Value of material over people. And everyone seemed in peace with this because they could not change it. He felt like clearing the mind would be better than simply waiting with uncertainty. Turning to his new cell mates, hopefully temporary and not permanently.

“Would you,” Shayzani “to meditate with me. Helps clear mind. Gains new perspective.”

“Don’t think I am much o’ one for meditating,” the man in the corner said, “but if it passes the time then I might as well. Show me the way.” Kraven simply nodded his head in agreement and smiled at Shay with a slightly toothless grin.

Shay sat down on the cold stone and stared at the man. Silently instructing them to do the same. They tried to sit on the stone as well, the man he still had no name for was much bigger and his knees extended out stabbing Kraven in the thigh. Though Shayzani didn’t allow that be his distraction.

“My common not good,” Shayzani told them “Think of vastness. A forest with whispering trees. A desert with sand blowing in swirls. A sea crashing on crags. Hold onto this image. This image is seere. Ah peace. Let this image be the guide. Now close your eyes. With image in mind.”

He demonstrates. Back in the heat of the desert. The cell walls fading. He wasn’t sure if the other two had actually fallen suit. But he continued.

“Now this is your peace,” Shayzani said, “Your inner mind. Embrace this peace.”

He waited for four seconds.

“Now in your soul is conflict,” Shayzani told them more trance like, “This conflict. This problem. Disrupts your inner peace. The goal is to figure how to make that conflict resolved. Mental. Then in physical you know how to resolve it.”

Prejudice. Hate. Greed. These things disturbed him about this world he entered. The Order a second chance, but the world seemed to be a void of darkness. It was not a problem so easily and readily resolved through just words of humility. It meant he had to let go of his own thoughts he harbored on. Today he gave into his resentment. That was something he could pass to the desert winds. Let it swirl. To fight cruelty. You fought with modesty. You fought with the opposites. If it is cruel, it is love. It is hate, it is care.

“Your weapon is changing the environment,” Shayzani told them.

To the Plains of Ashes. He would be the model of behavior for his kind. The ambassador. A message. A symbol. He would not let the humans darkness birth an evil germ in his heart. He would not let prejudice become a toxin in his system. To the Dust it would go.

“You there, Journeyman! You are going to come with me since you aren’t busy. I’ve got some business to take care of at the Prison and I’d prefer to have somebody with me while I’m doing it. Hurry up.”

Hans froze mid-query about the relative slant of drainage ditches in the Mid-western Narrows when a tense woman with long, dirty blonde hair wearing red cloth over armor stormed out of the outpost and called out to him out of the blue, picking him out of the crowd like a cuckoo egg. She did it with naught but a single irritated glance after looking over the crowd once and then looking back to him.

After hastily tipping the woman at the market-stall, Hans hurriedly adorned his helmet once more and then looked himself up and down, trying to figure out what had given him away. Without his occasionally thrice-damned distinctive helmet on, there was no way she should have been able to pick him out from-

As he patted himself down, Hans' hand hit the dirtied and battered Journeyman's sigil still pinned to his overcoat, and he swore as he looked at the grimy, partly corroded badge. He had not coated it with enough dirt! Whoever the blonde woman in red was, she had probably been able to just make out enough of its color and contour to identify him!

_{"Traveler fucking damn a son of a harpy..."} He swore under his breath as he jogged in order to catch up with Veira. Giving her a quick twice-over, he hastily brushed the crusts of filth off of his Journeyman insignia before falling into step with her. He opened his mouth to speak as he turned to look at her, and then stopped, subconsciously thankful that his grotesque helmet obscured his face and saved him from appearing as a star-struck idiot. Something about the way Veira held herself commanded attention. Her face had a sort of light to, a sort of striking grace and firmness to it despite the scars that demanded both respect and obedience. He was left staring at her for a full two seconds before he managed to shake the haze from his eyes, chastising himself for being so easily caught-up by the first striking face he had seen in weeks. Attempting to sound casual, he broached the subject of what the hell they were doing.

"You mentioned the prison. Are we interrogating someone? Carrying out a proscription? Are we remunerating the guards to aid their blind and deaf veterans-" His voice briefly caught as he glanced at Veira's scars again. "-or are we taking a cut from them?"

“If he is here, then someone will have gotten him already; the bounty you have on his head is certainly big enough.”
Adrianna was on the trail of an old associate of her father’s. She had heard through the city gossip that he had wound up losing the Emperor’s graces. While that alone meant little more than the occasional government harassment, it barely took a little bribery and blackmail to engineer a scandal that deposed him from his lands. The bounty on his head was just laziness on her part.

“Politics can be violent and ruthless, even in peacetime. Those who stand against you can and will use every blunder you make against you however they can.” Adrianna recalled her mentor's lessons on politics, corruption, and morality.
“Isn’t that illegal?” younger Adrianna asked.
“All is fair in love and war, child. Make no mistake that politic is a war ... a war of word and of wit.”

To that end, the Travelers’ insignia stitched loosely onto her cloak served a similar purpose. It commanded power, authority, and sometimes fear without having to initiate with a threat of force. Here it was all she needed to get a lowly merchant talking. She had flushed the rat and set an abundance of traps. All that was needed now was for the trap to be sprung. She just sat back and waited for word he may have been caught. She had arrived in Mezzar to follow up on one such lead.

“Where would someone hold him if they captured him? How would I find that captor?” she questioned the merchant.
“If the soldiers knew how much you made his head worth, then he would be kept at the prison.”
“And what if someone else got to him first?”
“It wouldn’t matter. They’d make up a reason to seize him and claim the bounty themselves. They’re not paid enough to pass that by.”
“Right. Where is the prison?”

---

She approached the prison gate. Four guards stood fairly laxly at their posts. One who she presumed to be in charge amongst them noticed her approach first. The rather inhospitable response she received was hardly to be blamed. She had on her breastpiece, tassets, and bracers - the bracers not being visible beneath her cloak however - and a bladed staff slung across her back. She was far from the picture of innocence. “Halt! You are not permitted to enter!”
She tugged on her cloak just slightly, enough for the insignia on her shoulder to become visible. “I’m looking for a fugitive. I’m here to collect him and deliver the bounty owed.”
She extended a rolled parchment from inside her cloak. The guard took it and examined the wanted poster. “You can’t possibly be able to pay that much. What kind of trickery is this?” the guard demanded.
“I most certainly can. Now I would like you to show me to the warden of this facility so I may speak with him instead,” Adrianna replied calmly though her expression grew impatient, so she pulled a gold coin that she started twiddling between her fingers, “now let me pass.”
“You dare expect me to take a bribe?!” the guard bellowed, “I am not some dishonest pig for you to insult as such!”
Adrianna had put away the gold coin, instead thumbing the sling of her staff. She could easily take these four without unsheathing her blade, but that would just be the start of her problems should she need to strike.

Ah yes, Mezzar. You had to love a good city like the free city. He chuckles to himself. Such a thought was amusing to him really. He loved cities like this because they tended to cover up what was screwed up about the city with nice looking homes, laws, and rules that made them look civilize. Then they had the place like an arena for a man who may not have gotten any due process.

He knew how the system worked. Granted he might have deserved to be placed behind bars if you’re going by the laws of these civil savages, but back in the day he would have, and had been praised for many of his actions. Look at these penises in their helmets, guarding a god damn gate like they were important somehow because they barked orders at the common folk.

He stuck to not being seen. Despite being part of the Order there was some mixture of resentment that he didn’t fooking hang that day and reverence because he was part of the Order. They needed him for some reason. He didn’t really see how. Maybe he would have perhaps seen the purposes of keeping him around if they didn’t already have their own alchemist or assassins. But really he was being kept around because he knew boats.

That or they were worried the alchemist were getting their tips stuck in their bottles and the assassins were using their grappling hooks for some unsavory business back where the sun don’t shine. He jest to himself with such depravity.

He didn’t really think much of these knobheads. They’ll always tell you in their finery for clothes, their well constructed buildings, their civil manners, and law abiding citizens that they don’t have some dirt. But everyone had dirt. The ones who tried to cover it with the nicer shit were often the ones with more blood to hide than the ones who were earnest about skull fooking you.

The rampants thoughts he was currently experience would not be the for the faint of heart in this city. The free city. The name got a laugh out of him. It seemed ironic to him that a city be called free, but that freedom was paid the price of fear. Free and fear were similar in their contextual sums.

Just like that they didn’t really check the back very well. Probably underpaid, they just lifted the flap up of the merchant’s caravan. Did a quick scan of the goods and sent the merchant on their way. For sure he could have been a gob shitter showing off his Order badge and waving around that he was a freed man. When civil savages would contest that he should have ever been freed.

He cracked his knuckles. He was looking forward to this. If you’re going to free a man and give him a sense of purpose he supposed it should be in the Order. Who took on more stray cats than old woman in a leaky hut. He had been working with them for what seemed like ages now. On some hand he resented the Order. He prefered the liberty of leaving and coming when he pleased. On another hand he had met some interesting folks.

Hans was the type of man someone on the islands he hailed from he would have been asked to kill. While Daveon would have probably been given an offer, not too much unlike the Order, to join the high seas and do some overseas plundering and murdering especially in spring time.

While that elf, Shay, how the fuk was it pronounced? Well he had nothing against elves. Some fled the mainland to join the Fellows in the past. But he did have a problem with an elf that forced him to sit in a way that his legs didn’t go and to think of god damn daisies and meadows.

He wondered which pricks he would be working with this time around. He meant that as a compliment. Though few would probably see the compliment in it. He looked forward to working with whomever, as long as they were capable or had proved themselves capable.

Stepping out of the caravan and careful to not be seen, Clive shuffled off with his bag of ingredients and slipped into the crowd. He took in a deep breath. The free city. Got a chuckle out of him every time. Free city his ass.

He scanned the market. Busy and crowded, but the Order’s outpost wasn’t too far from this location. As he continued to skulk around the crowds, little pockets of market commotion. Broken up by a wandering soldiers presence.

It wasn’t too hard for Clive to pick out the one thing that didn’t fit. Daveon making his way through the market as well. Clive just wore a crooked smile and meandered through the crowds as if it were a natural thing anyone knew how to do.

Clive cleared his throat, “Daveon.” was all he greeted with.

“I wouldn’t blame you for thinking that we are here to take a bribe,” Veira said with a brief sigh, “However, that is not what we are here for at all. Rather, a member was put in the prison this morning, likely because he is and Elf and a member of the Order. Such things are not common down in here in Mezzar as you may have noticed.” She looked over to Hans and assessed him. He looked to be a strong man, though not one she had ever met in her years with the Order. Though, there was something vaguely familiar about him that she couldn’t quite figure out but that would have to wait for another time. “Also, I wouldn’t suggest pointing out the corruption to any of the higher ups here. They don’t quite like it when we meddle in their business.

As they got closer to the prison, Veira noticed the two figures standing at its entrance. One was a guard in the Free City’s normal garb, the other a woman with a staff on and a cloak with the insignia of the Traveler. “What goes on here, guard,” Veira called out as he huffed over, “I get called here to pull one of my men out of your damned prison and I find you halting the progress of another member of the Order. Are you all dunces or do you simply not give two shits about the orders I gave your commander?” The guard shrank back at Veria’s reprisal, sliding closer to the wall and door to the prison.

“I.. uh… sorry but we were given orders to only allow select people into the prisons. I know she is a member of the Order but I couldn’t just let her in even if she is here on business. It is my ass if she kills someone while she is in there,” The guard said as he moved to the door. “I-I didn’t mean anything of it. You all can go right on ahead if you are here on business. I don’t want no trouble.” With that, the guard opened the door for Veira and the others to go in, taking a position behind the door so as to avoid Veira’s glare.

She motioned for the other two to follow her in, taking the lead into the antechamber of the prison and standing before a desk. “I’m looking for a prisoner, brought in today for supposedly impersonating a member of the Order. He’s an Elf.” Veira paused in thought for a moment so see if there were anymore details that were truly important to the guard. It took her a moment before she found one however she was cut off before she was able to say it.

“He’ll be down the hall to your left, fifth cell on the right. Warning that he is with a man who smells like shit and a dude who got in a drunken brawl,” Was all the guard said as he pointed down the hall. Veira nodded in thanks and turned towards the woman she had brought in with her from outside.

“We’ll handle whatever business you have here later once we are done with my business. I don’t know who you are or whether you are new to the city but you don’t act alone in the prisons of Mezzar,” She said as she leaned in close to the two, “The prisoners aren’t who you have to worry about here.” With that, she lead them all down the hall to the cell she was told. It was a small place, like all of the other cells of the prison. However, the silence which came from it seemed to be the most unusual thing. That is, until they arrived to find the Elf sitting in meditation along with the two other humans in the cell. “Guard, get over here and unlock this cell. This is definitely my man,” She said with a yell before turning to address Shay, “So you get yourself arrested on your way into the city to attend the meeting with your new commander, wait for me to arrive, and I find you fucking meditating with two bums. No wonder they said you were a misfit if this is the kind of shit you do.”