The world is ever changing. The world never stops for a single person. No matter how powerful someone gets; there is always someone more powerful. The powerful laud over those without power. While some try to hide this fact, it is just that, an undisputed fact of the world. And the most powerful in the world, is the world itself. Or so it seems at least. Whenever a country grows too powerful, something always seems to happen. The Ool incident, the Protectorate breakaway, the extinction of the dragons. Something disrupts and changes the balance of power so that it returns to equality. This strange balance seems to be kept out of nowhere, but it's absolute, or at least so far.

The biggest changes in recent memory are quite numerous and had big consequences to the world. Or at least in their part of the world. The Protectorate declaring independence with the assistance of Kron-Nesis' rivals. While Kron-Nesis refuses to acknowledge their independence and still call them rebels in their correspondence; it is a pretty established fact that the Protectorate acts and works like it's own country. The various guilds have been...reluctant to proclaim the Protectorate due to a lot of the guilds having their headquarters in Tarantis. However they don't denounce it either. The guilds have taken a neutral stance officially towards it all. But they've started to build establishments in the Protectorate just like any other country.



"Indeed." a male voice sounded in the hallway. A pair of boots clacking against the floor accompanied the voice. It was a slow stride with heavy footfalls echoing throughout the marble hallway. The sound of the footfall could tell you that it was a large figure, an imposing figure to behold. The voice itself carries the air of authority. A deep rumbling like thunder despite it's low tone. "Eamonvale has been...persuaded to grant our forces passage. As much as it loathes me to admit, we can't break through by force or farry our troops with the navy. Not without crushing losses at least." The person almost spat out the last few words.

A second pair of footsteps, these armoured and clanking against the marble floor. "While I trust in your wisdom, my King, is it wise to send our forces through those lands?" This voice sounded older, but no less powerful. "When we have sent scouts through before they've been met with open hostility, as you're fully aware, my King. Why would that change now?" The first person, stopped and was quickly followed by the second.

"Because I made them an offer which they could hardly refuse. After we're done with the rebels; we are to provide them with assistance in their own issues with the Crow King." He chuckled. "Not like we're actually going to do that. After we're done with the rebels; it'll be your task to subjugate Eamonvale under the pretence of allies and then proceed to Nyrae and bring them to heel too."

He turned towards his companion and handed him a sealed scroll. "These are your orders Grand Marshal. Do not fail me in this." He turned around again and started walking towards his chambers. "Oh..also...bring that daughter of your with you. A Knight of her...prowess needs to gain some experience on the front lines. The same goes for my dearest Azymn. She needs to experience the real world." And hopefully they both die there too. he thought to himself with a smirk. His daughter was too soft, and that blasted knight of her's was not making it any better. Luckily enough another heir was to be born soon. One he could groom from birth to become what the Grand Kingdom needed.



Rumours had been circulating the streets of the capital for weeks now. The army was gearing up for something. Everyone could tell. They conducted more exercises than normal. More and more troops flooded into the surroundings. Their prized knights were summoned and infantry followed. The army itself and its commanders had been kept out of the loop so far. They didn't even know that their sister legions had also been summoned until they saw the mass of tents, with accompanying banners, that littered the plains. No one knew the extent of the operation. Even the Grand Marshal himself, as he surveyed the armies gathering before him, had been kept out of the loop until earlier this morning.

He had to commend the King for being able to keep it so hush-hush until now. He once again looked over the scholl he had been given, sighing. This plan would lead to casualties, he knew that much. But unless the Protectorate got word of it or Eamonvale went back on their words, he also knew that the days of the Protectorate were numbered. What he didn't like though was that the order he had been given included verbal commands for his daughter to partake, along with the Princess in the campaign. If they survived, they would come out of it stronger than ever. But that was if..

"Adjutant...summon my daughter along with her Royal Princess. I'm sure our Highness has already sent word to them to report here, but just in case. Also, recruit willing hunters, builders, miners, and 'extra personnel' as per standard protocol." He said and threw the scroll into the fire. As per the customs he had to commit everything to heart then burn the orders lest they get stolen.

The order went out in quick haste. Orders were posted in the guilds that the army was recruiting their services. Even the unofficial guilds were sent letters. It was a stupid commander that didn't utilize every mean available to secure victory. As long as it didn't hurt the civilians Lenius wasn't above using the services of the guilds of ill repute. Most of the time though, he didn't even need to give them tasks because they'd win without them anyway.



Life in the small town was as peaceful as life could be in a bordertown between two countries which one was at war. Most had gotten used to how life was. They were mostly ignored. Neither side of the conflict saw great strategic value in the town itself and due to the location there were people from both sides meeting daily. No one really cared that one was from one side and one from the other. They were not soldiers. They were simple farmers and fishermen. Who cares what the countries did? Sure, they were a lot happier under the rulership of Eamonvale as their country was now called. The Crow King had a few screws loose and they all knew it. Neither did it bother their neighbouring neutral country.

Until the ruling bodies decided that their small town was worth the effort; they'd stay out of the war. With the exception of the drafted, no one really cared or were effected. They were far away from the main battlefields.

But even here the rumors of the movements in Kron-Nesis were starting to take ahold. Large convoys of grain and produce were heading south-west towards the Grand Kingdom. Everyone with some brain power could figure out that they were about to do something big. Even here in this small town barrels of salted fish were being shipped out.

Sure, all the shipments of grain, produce, fish and more had been sent out little by little and in unmarked trader wagons. But since most of it seemed to be heading towards the Grand Kingdom, it was not the hardest to deduce. It looked like the Grand Kingdom was going to try another push against the Protectorate. Which by itself wasn't that big of a surprise. What they didn't know though was that the shipment of supplies had been going on for months already. But with the coming storm soon approaching, secrecy wasn't as big of a factor any longer.

T R A I N I N G H A L L
S O U T H E R N J E W E L
K R O N N E S I S

A considerable strike knocks the Dark Knight back several feet. Boots slide against the floor, stopping their wearer from going over the red line that circled the arena. If she went beyond there, it would constitute as a loss.
And Maryvale hated losing.
She got to her feet. The layers of thick clothing and light armor helped her simulate her real armor, as did the dense wooden sword. It wasn't nearly as durable as her own blade -- one could tell from all the dents in it -- but a little durability enchantment could turn any stick into a durable weapon.

The crowd of soldiers each cheered for who they thought would win. On one end of the arena, a promising old challenger coming to reclaim their title of 'best soldier'. On the other, a young woman who has only ever traded place with the one she now faced. The two often fought over who would take the title, though so far, no duel had ended in a draw.
He charged, not relenting in his attack, intending on throwing the Dark Knight over the edge. However, she had more than enough time to keep her feet firmly planted, and countered with a sword-swing of her own. The two blades locked, wood grinding against wood, as tense muscles pushed to overwhelm the other.
One step.
Two steps.
Maryvale had begun pushing her rival back towards the center of the arena. Soldiers cheered and encouraged their fellow fighters, giving both words of encouragement. However, they were soon drowned out by the sounds of wood colliding with incredible force, going blow-for-blow either against the swords themselves or against the other. It seemed like they would enter a lock again, however her opponent got in another strong blow.

Then another. And another. She was losing strength, feeling the bruises beginning to form with each strike. To the calve, to the stomach, to the shoulder, and many more places. Though they only occurred now-and-then, it whittled Maryvale's strength to the point where she felt she could lose. Her legs were beginning to feel weak and her arms heavy; one leg faltered, and her opponent struck once more to send her down on one leg.
She used the chance to twist, avoiding the next strike, and gaining momentum as the blade swung all the way around, hitting her rival's mid-section full-force. The blow had clearly winded him, and even knocked him back somewhat. Though uncertain of herself, she took the opportunity to apply pressure and ran straight for him, locking blades and sending him back to the red line.
Her leg wouldn't hold for long.
Her footing was starting to falter as his stance became firmer, regaining the strength he'd lost from being winded. She could sense it wobbling beneath her, yet didn't dare look. In a desperate attempt to recuperate, she let one side weaken and used all her strength to push with the opposite.

He stumbled sideways, and she went for it. Redirecting his sword to the floor with her own, Maryvale jumped and slammed into her opponent, knocking him back over the red line and sending them both to the floor. They both used all that they had to win, but today, Maryvale would be crowned the strongest. Normally this would be accompanied by a trip to a healer and perhaps a party for those involved, though today was different. Little did anyone know, a messenger was banging furiously at the arena doors, with an urgent message for Lady Maryvale...

~abandoned well, secret meeting.
~Bradles Worth, Lake Victorine

Her name was Ouna. And she was late.

The girl had quite the limp. In fact, so bad was her leg that she could barely even walk long and meandering distances, let alone run. Her raven hued hair was braided as always, even lengthed and parted down the middle. Her cowl had flown off her head in the grand gusts of winds, exposing fully her ashen coloured face and yellow-orange eyes. Pretty, yes, but a bit dull by the looks of that constant awed expression. The one limp length of an elf’s pointed ear told the girl’s story in full; she was ‘special’ some might say. She hobbled along in her olive homesteader’s smock and beige homesteader’s dress. Boots that shuffled awkwardly neath her feet were cheaply made by any standard but they fit the bill; this was a simple cleaner and aid afterall.

And to whom did this short, simple servant girl belong? Oh, but to none other than Jonathan of the Percullin Groves. She was property of the winery and orchard of the Percullin family. Such a grand family but due to pneumonia and other such complications of poor-immune systems, the family had whittled down to but two: Jonathan—Jono, if you were friendly enough, and his daughter, Enna-Leigh. Yet even though there were but two Percullins, their labour force was in the dozens, such was the pull of an affluent and wealthy family.

So here at the Orchard was this servant girl stationed. Oh, but quite the situation they found themselves. Jono, the owner and proprietor was blind as the moonless midnight sky, and, this ashen skinned servant girl was not only lame but mute as well. Such a pair. And so enter Enna-Leigh, this teen girl was the backbone and go between for her father and such base subjects; the teen girl was effectively the quartermistress of this fine ship. But ever since the ashen skinned servant girl had arrived here but 7 months ago, they had all hit it off and a strange yet wondrous chemistry they had between the three. And as such, in private, Jono had called the ‘special’ girl, Ouna, his long lost daughter, twice removed and several bloodlines shy of the Orchard; in other words, he basically accepted her as kin now.

~~~

But she was late! She was supposed to be at the Ol’ Man Scritchard Well, oh, but a good hour ago. But damn, this limp…

Suddenly the girl stopped dead in her tracks, closed her eyes and took a nerve-steeling breath. Off went the worker boots. Up went the frock. And gone was the limp. Just like lightning striking towards an unmistakable target did she go.

There was no other here to bear witness of such an act. She was skilled, attuned and expertised enough to know such things. This ‘girl’ was nearly 100 years old after all. And if not obvious by now, she was not lame. Not even close. It was like she was born in the forest; just a mere glance to bear witness to her movements with liquid ease and confidence through the woods would tell even the most naïve that she was no mere servant girl. And so she finally reached the well in but mere minutes.

“I am here, Gianna…” her breath was heavy and her voice was gruff. But aye, this ‘special’ and mute girl was not mute and more special than any would ever suspect, “’tis I; Mercie… you know my other name as I do know yours.”

If any were to just happen to catch the lone girl, eyes closed and slowly turning in a circle, speaking into thin air, one may mistaken her for a mad lass, hopelessly lost and desperate for help. But that was not the truth. Nay and forever again, nay. This ashen skinned woman was ‘sensing out.’ If she did not, she would be dead where she stood—

An arrow streaked right at her heart in near silence. This ashen skinned woman’s orange-yellow eyes burst open and faster than the arrow, she slid to the right. Instantly, she crouched down as another arrow whispered past her scalp. Another arrow sped at her heart and she caught it. She actually caught it. This ashen skinned woman named Mercie was now armed.

The lame ear was now perked up and swivelling in the opposite direction of her other perked up ear. And now she caught the sounds of the invisible assailant. The sound of a blade being drawn had given away her opponent’s position. Mercie dodged left, ducked down, crossed her arms right in front of her face and caught the sword arm. A grasp, a twist and a spin of the body. When all was said and done, Mercie had the assailant at her mercy, the tip of the poisoned arrow but a hair’s breadth away from piercing the invisible opponents fine, sweat-sheened skin.

“Again, I know your namesake, Gianna, and if you do not know my name right now, then so long and goodnight—”

“Yield…! Yield, do I, Mercaidi. I know your name…” said the invisible assailant. And even though she was but a heartbeat away from being slain, there was a small giggle in that voice, “…miss me, sister…?”

The arrow spun expertly between Mercie’s dusky hued fingertips. A smile now broke the stoic visage. The submission chokehold now turned into a full on embrace. “No. You miss me, sister…?”

“Never…” said Gianna and the embrace was returned. The cowl of her cloak fell away and the invisibility enchantment dissipated. Into view now was revealed a svelte, fair-skinned and lovely blonde-headed Fae-Elf. A kiss the Elf planted on the cheek of her shorter ashen skinned, mix-blood, Underhanded brethren. “You know how much I hate you, little Miss Thing…”

For several welcome heartbeats more they held the embrace. Mercie even sighed into the taller female’s neck, hinting to times past and times they should not relive again. A nervous swallow was the tall blonde Elf’s response; perhaps the matter still had more than words that still needed to be addressed?

A clearing of the throat smothered out a moment of weakness that would have had repercussions ripping blood red right through the Assassin’s Guild. “Ahem... and sooooo…?” said Mercaidi, a tightness in her voice, but nothing releasing the lovely blonde could not cure.

Orange-yellow eyes met sky-blue ones for the first time in years and Mercaidi almost lost the steel in her nerves and almost fell victim to the beat in her heart and the heat ‘tween her thighs.

Almost. But not quite. For she then noted the symbolic twisted charm hung by a chain between Gianna’s ample breasts and also noted now the shining gem planted front and centre of her blonde Underhanded brethren’s forehead. Gianna was betrothed. Dammit.

Another clearing of her throat. Then with thinly veiled indignance in her voice, Mercie asked for what had brought the two together here in the first place; a trade.

“So, then, Ms. Gianna Mahanne delOrdani, what news have you of my hidden passage North to the Barrows? What would the Guild have in return for such favour, sister…?”

Such hustle and bustle this week. From the information he could gather from the spoken word of the outside bars and cafes was yet another push into the Protectorate. Upon hearing the news, he quickly concluded that this wasn't news at all. It was like clockwork really. Every few months, go to the capitol. There's work there. A nice little war that brings a plethora of need for someone of his skills. He puffed rolling his eyes from behind his resin lens. He could never quite understand these royal types. Always got to be fighting about something. The Crow King was the worst offender. The youngish Apothecary saw what the king's 'decrees' often meant for thousands of people. May the Fires illuminate the way. A short prayer he commonly stated when he had to deal with the flaws of others. Maybe if they actually were a bit more studied, a bit more diplomatic, maybe the Apothecary wouldn't have so many wounds to mend and alot more sparklers and fireworks to construct. It was less profitable sure but smiles are worth more than the occasional marinated duck. He ends up sharing them anyway.

So in this instance, he went through the usual routine, making his way to the arena to offer his services to those who actively sought to get hurt. He always took this way from the inn and his favorite eating parlors where he could meet with clients before making his house calls. He stood out in the crowd, a black bird amongst a sea of tittering pingeons and sparrows. A walking outsider among them. He wondered to himself when the word would reach him directly. He played this little song and dance twice before. He knew that there was a few officials whom begrudgingly owed him a favor for saving their lives. In fact they'd be eager to be the one to share this with him, offering him maybe a special contract with a general or politician fearing assassins. And Pox would just smile and nod and say...

"Message for you." Came a rather skiddish looking child. He could see it in the boys eyes. He shoke. He knew, probably was intentionally scared by it. Those Vultures they are riddled with the plagues that fell a hundred kingdoms. Don't touch them or you'll surely die. It was a rumor that didn't make any sense when you thought about it. Pox was much more entertained by the word that he takes badly behaved children to his basement of horrors and raises them as they grisly undead or pulping the poor child into his red tinctures. It was quite a hoot, if a little sad. He held out a shaking scroll held tightly with the wax seal of some nobleman.

"Thank you my lad." he said happily. "Please, some coins for your fine work." The boy quickly rejected and fled. Pox just rolled his eyes. "HAVE A GREAT DAY!" He called after him.

Pox cracked the wax and opened the scroll, skimming through it before reading aloud.

"Your presence is requested for a matter of great importance. The nation needs the skills of all capable hands for honor, glory, and gold. This is a call to all knights, guildsmen..." He suddenly feigned a gasp. "Hey I'm a member of a guild!" He shouted in a happy commemoration to himself. As a person constantly starved for intelligent conversation, Pox continually gave into this peculiar habit. Invitation in hand, he turned from the arena and headed to the street of criers at the edge of the city, no doubt the lines are forming for would be adventures whom will be given a helmet and spear and sent out to the forts for practical training. If anything the Kingdom was at least orderly.

He approached the makeshift tents of officials, the crowds forming as people clammered to be registered. There was public men, yelling the importance of this call to arms and promising a bag of silver to every one who signs up. They put on quite a show, making war sound as a thing of glory, of heroic deeds, and that coming home makes you a warrior worthy of legend. It was not Pox's place to shatter this illusion. Even a lie can make someone brave and just.

As pox approached, his backpack almost as big as he was, his form clanking and tinking with glass vials and and various buckles he hummed as he just walked forward. Then something rather mystifying happened. With a sudden urp and jolt, the crowd parted before him. Scared eyes gave a glance and then quickly made themselves scarce along his path. Indeed, he just walked, the sea of people giving him a berth of atleast three yards on all sides. Countless eyes stalked him as he passed by. He tried to ignore the repugnation, but again, this was just all part of the process. He even dined to turn his beak a little, giving soft waves in the faces that held looks of fear, of hate. Several people spit in his path. He didn't break his stride.

"NEXT!" Came the voice followed by the sound one makes if they just stepped on a cat. There was a second of uneasy pause as the sun was blotted out by his darkened form, the green of his lenses staring back at him.

Pox held out the unfastened scroll to the official, showing his reasons. "Good day. I'm here to enlist."

The messenger was visibly excited about his given task. A noble squire through and through. Normally he would consider being a runner beneath his standing and would had called for a peasant to do this task. A footslugger so to speak. However this task was given to him by his uncle himself, and to deliver a message to his esteemed cousin and the princess no less. Despite what his father told him, the young man secretly admired his cousin. Like a child starstruck and what could only be described as a crush on the Dark Knight. She was cool, kind, she had the princess ear, strong, pretty... The boy, no older than 14 lost himself in his thoughts and before he knew it he was at the training hall.

He looked his attire over before banging on the door to try to get heard over the clamour of fighting. Much to his disappointment though the fight was already over by the time he entered. Young Konrad bowed deeply towards the knights before telling his piece. "My Lords, My Lady. The esteemed Grand Marshal Lenius requests your presences most urgently for the upcoming expedition." He raised his head and looked towards Maryvale. "That includes My Lady Maryvale and the esteemed Royal Princess as well. I was sent here to request that My Lady bring The Royal Princess along with My Lady herself to the Grand Marshal per haste, by the orders of His Royal Highness."

The young boy bowed again before slowly walking backwards and turned around and walked out of the arena.



"Of that I do not know," a playful smirk on her face. "At least not more than I was supposed to know." She reached between her bosom and withdrew a parchment. "Here, dear sister, all you need to know." A smile was on her lips as she reminisced about past events before handing over the paper. "It's the usual procedure, blood seal." She looked at Mercie and waited for her to read the scroll. This was only part of her task. Should things come to pass, she was supposed to backstab Mercie. Better to lose one asset than to have one turn against you.





The officer grunted when he saw who entered the tent. He didn't like these Vultures. But he could not argue against that they were extremely handy to have around. Better with you than against you. There were only so many things magic could heal. Sometimes you needed a proper 'doctor' at your side. "Hello Pox. You know the drill. Sign here," he said and pointed towards a paper, "write down your skills and what you can contribute to the effort. The pay is the usual mercenary pay with extra added on for special contributions." He let out a sigh. "Even I don't know more than that we are going to give them damn rebels a beating. Now, move aside, you're scaring the rookies. NEXT!"

~abandoned well, secret meeting.
~Bradles Worth, Lake Victorine

And so she broke the seal and read over the letter. It truly was the Matron's hand writing, she had seen it countless times before and in fact, she had seen the Matron herself write. There was no mistaking the upward strokes in those certain vowels.

Upon full read and digesting of the contents, of course, there were things that did not sit well with Mercie; they never did when she receeived a hand-written scroll from the Matron. The ones that stood out most were one; The Grand Duke of Estorna's involvement, especially with 'twisting the arm' of such an prolific figure head. And two; Mercie was to be accompanied with a lone member of her Underhanded group. Why not just meet there? Mercaidi Kin'Myla needed no babysitter and no reminder of past heart-aches. But alas, such was the Matron's will. And such was it necessary for Mercie to look non-plussed even though she was seething inside.

The scroll she rolled up and tucked into her garments; it would disposed of properly in time. Yellow-orange eyes looked off into the distance momentarily, then shifted back in the direction of Gianna, meeting the taller woman's gaze. "Then you already know where we are headed and what the mark is, sister," a single step closer she came, chin lowered slightly now, "you may lead the expedition there. I will lead the execution of our task. Dearest Sister..."

This was not a warning nor threat, no, it was just how things were in the Underhanded; Mercie 'out-ranked' Gianna and thusly was able to demand such things. But as to if they were played out as such or not? Well...

"Allow me some time to fittingly dispose of my life as a servant girl here, Gianna. One day's time we shall meet at the shed near Darlington Bridge. We leave under cover of night."

After a moment's pause to gauge the blonde Fae-Elf's reaction and disposition, Mercie then slowly reached for the blonde's hand to gently hold and caress it.

"I'm sure we shall have much time to catch up, Gianna... and I'm sure you shall have much to tell about that gemstone in your forehead, the trinket at your breast," a teasing smile now broke free from Mercie's lips and a fond glint was found now in her eye, "and just who this unlucky person is and just why you would ever consider such madness as to get hitched up for life with them..."

"Sergeant Rook. Always a pleasure to see you. I hope the kids are doing well." They had a spotty history, but Pox was observant, and people talk, even if its not to him. His beak bobbed in a nod as he listened to the direction and then he leaned over for the agreement. He put a finger on the lenses of his mask in an attempt to read everything. He already knew what it would say but you never know. He signed his name on the bottom before sliding it back over. "Pretty standard then. I hope we take prisoners this time. What an awful mess Krispin Village ended up being. I'll get my things and head right over." Pox saluted him and then went on his merry way.

He wanted to stop by the arena. He had a friend there that commonly needed doctors to help with some of the training sessions the fighters sometimes got embroiled into. What would be the point of a sparring match if someone got killed in the process. It was a pretty mild source of coin and on occasion he was able to get a conversation going. It was quite relaxing while he penned his journals or read his books.

Just then he remembered he still had the particular summons. He wondered if he was supposed to leave it with the sergeant. He was so excited for the process of work, he didn't realize there was more too it... alot more. In fact the hand writing seemed to change halfway through the scroll. Pox then read on to himself, the vellum rolling through his fingers as he gripped it.

"You are tasked with keeping Her Royal Highness alive... Royal Highness?" He made sure to keep his voice down.

It was a direct hiring request. He was to be enlisted into her retinue as a doctor. He had dealings with nobles but a direct member of the royal family!? This was too good to be true. He picked up his pace, he had to get way more done now, so his trip to the arena sould have to be quick. Preparations needed to be perfect. He absolutely must get the best foot forward.

Pain. Zakhul could feel a sharp pain in his left abdomen. His mind was surprised at this strange feeling, he hasn't felt this since he was last awake. Zakhul tried to ignore the pain before he came to a realization.

He was awake.

Light blinded Zakhul as he opened his eyes. Quickly closing his eyes he brought his hands up to cover his eyes. He could hear his shoulders and elbows crack in stress after being dormant for so long. Before he could cause himself anymore pain he stopped moving. Prepared this time he slowly moved his hands away and opened his eyes slightly. He gradually opened his eyes more and more until they became accustomed to the light.

Once Zakhul could see he looked around at his surroundings. He was in the master bedroom of the fortress he had claimed as his own. Looking upwards he could see that the roof had collapsed. Looking down at the area of pain he could see that some of the rubble had landed directly on him. Grimacing in pain he tried to wiggle out from under the rubble. Unable to move, all he accomplished was shifting more rubble onto himself. Grunting at the impact he put his hands up to the rocks and tested their weight. They were heavy, but not too much so for him. Zakhul began applying force, gradually increasing so he wouldn't shock his new awakened muscles. A deep groaning sound could be heard as the rubble began to rise inch by inch. Once he got the rubble high enough, Zakhul pushed off with his hands sliding away from the rubble as it came crashing back into the ground.

Now able to move his legs he slowly came to his feet. The blood began to rush back to his feet and feeling returned to him. Wiggling his toes Zakhul felt a sense of relief that everything seemed to be working correctly. Walking unsteadily to a window Zakhul looked out into the surrounding wilderness. Nothing seemed to out of place except for the smoke rising in the distance. From the look of things it was a fairly productive village a few leagues away. Cracking his neck Zakhul began thinking about his next course of action. Coming to a decision he took a deep breath then stepped out of the window falling to the ground. Landing heavily he heard his knees crack from the unexpected stress.

Zakhul began to walk towards the area where he had seen the village was at. While walking he began to layer an extensive web of illusion spell around himself. Causing himself to be more human. He became a bit smaller and much less fierce looking. Finally he cast a simple spell to change his eye color, shifting the blood red into a calm blue. As he neared the village he suddenly remembered he hasn't spoken in centuries. Unsure of his speaking ability he began to sound out syllables and remember words. As he came upon the edge of the village he stooped for a minute to watch. The people seemed to speak a slightly different version of the language he was. As he watched he noticed a building where many of the townsfolk seemed to congregate at. There was a loud ruckus coming from the building and the people leaving seem to be delirious.

Zakhul set out towards the building hoping to find some answers. Striding confidently through the doors he searched for someone who seemed like they might know something. Seeing a man serving drinks, Zakhul headed over to him. Coming up to the bartender Zakhul paused for a second while formulating his words then spoke.

“Hello, I seem to have gotten lost. Could you perhaps tell me where I am?”

T R A I N I N G H A L L
S O U T H E R N J E W E L
K R O N N E S I S

Maryvale groaned at hearing her name, rising as though she'd been summoned from the dead. In truth it was her ribs. They'd taken a nasty hit from the fall, and ached like the Nine Hells. Her leg wasn't faring any better, so she lay propped up on one arm, mentally noting Konrad's message. She had seen him many a time before now, and he was always quite talkative, once he got started. Not that it was a bad thing, as often she found their talks to be pleasant. He did like to show his admiration of her, though she often would reply humbly, stating it was only through a lot of hard work that she got to where she is today.

Well, maybe a little luck, too.
As Konrad went to leave, however, Maryvale called his name.
"Konrad..."
Her voice, though pained, was gentle, and her deep blue eyes spoke of kindness. Her black hair was a total mess from the fight, and there were a couple visible bruises. And yet, despite the pain, she called his name and smiled.
"Thank you..."

It took some incredible willpower just to get to her feet again, though once she found them she found she could walk, or more accurately, limp. Her competitor, Marcus, wasn't doing so good either. They decided to go their separate ways for now and catch up later when they could. There was no use trying to exert themselves in conversation when neither could barely walk.
Some kindly soldiers helped the Dark Knight in navigating the castle, seeing as her poor sense of direction meant she could wind up anywhere if left unattended. They also gave her their shoulder when she felt her legs beginning to give out, to which she appreciated greatly. Yet as they got closer and closer to Azymn's chambers, Maryvale couldn't help but feel an impending sense of doom:
That of a concerned friend.

The two soldiers bow and take their leave, Maryvale thanking them for their assistance. She still hadn't changed out of her training gear. She only hoped Azymn wouldn't be too worried.
She raps three times.
"Come in!" Came a familiar, refined voice.
Maryvale opened the doors, revealing the elegance of Azymn's bedroom. As tall and wide as some houses, it seemed like a young girl's fantasy: a bed so large it could squeeze a dozen people, a massive wardrobe filled with dresses and other wear, a fireplace, a huge bookcase, and a carpet so soft one could easily sleep on it. Not to mention the paintings, chairs, tea table; there seemed to be a clear distinction between nobility and royalty, not that Maryvale was against Azymn having nice things. They made her happy, after all.

It was impossible to not spot the beautiful Marble Princess. She seemed ready for battle, what with her light armor glistening against the sun's rays. Yet even then she managed to portray herself as a voice of peace, gently nurturing an exotic-looking flower, humming a light tune, water pouring unto its leaves. The breeze from atop the castle was remarkably still today, barely passing by as though to play with the princess' hair. Maryvale took a step inside.
"My liege."



As soon as Azymn laid eyes on her retainer, her eyes narrowed. "I-I, uhh, we have a message from-"
"What happened?"

Maryvale lowered her head in defeat instantly.
"Competition. Fought Marcus. Might've broke a rib and my leg."
Azymn sighed and shook her head. Maryvale almost flinched when she began walking towards her, however it seemed the princess was willing to forgive her retainer for being so reckless. The Marble Princess guided Maryvale over to her bed, where she was made to sit. "I'm not going to tell you to stop fighting, but that doesn't mean I have to like seeing you hurt, either. That Marcus really needs to take it easy. In fact, so do you." Azymn puts both hands over Maryvale's leg, concentrating immensely to produce a radiant light to heal the bruises. Thankfully she hadn't broken anything, so her healing magic helped the Dark Knight recover far more quickly. She'd still be a little sore, however.
"Thankfully it's only bruises." Sighed the princess once more, standing up straight again. "What am I going to do with you, Maryvale?"

Maryvale herself looked as guilty as a puppy. "Sorry..." She trailed off, head bowed, though not for long. Azymn lifted her friend's chin with a more supportive face, offering a hand to help her up.
"It is fine. I know you enjoy it, and I know you do it to protect me, so I can't say it's all bad. However you need to look out for yourself more. Try to be careful, OK?"
Maryvale nodded.
"Good. Would you like some tea?"
"Actually, we're needed."

Azymn seemed surprised by this, eyebrows raised. She'd seen there were a lot more military exercises going on from her window, however she hadn't the opportunity to tell if it was a difference in training or something else. Without a response, Maryvale continued. Grand Marshal Lenius -- my father -- has summoned us. I believe an expedition is to take place soon. It seems likely we're going along."
Azymn could only nod in understanding.
"I suggest we go as soon as possible. I don't like keeping father waiting, especially for important matters. I'll need to stop by the armory, firstly."

The Marble Princess seemed lost in thought, though snapped out of her state pretty quickly. With a cautious confidence she agreed; a mask for nervousness?
"Then we shall head there. I will need to collect my sword, too. It's only fair if we both look presentable."
The two shared a short chuckle. There was no sense in keeping her father waiting, Maryvale thought, so the two decided to get going as soon as they could. It wouldn't take long, assuming Lenius was where Maryvale thought he was, and the armory was on the way, so it only made sense to stop there first.

Illayrion frowned as he and his small retinue rode through the streets of the capital. Even though neither the king or the Grand Marshal had informed anyone that they were going to war, it didn't take a military genius to realize that Kron-Nesis was preparing for war, however, he questioned the logic of the king. How different would it be from the skirmishes in the mountains now, neither side would have the advantage and the war would end in a bloody stalemate, decided only by attrition rather than actual war, unless...

His frown grew even more as he realized the possibilities and if he were honest, he liked these as much as he like the war in the mountains idea. The most viable of these solutions would be to circumvent the mountains entirely and pass through Eamonvale, that in itself posed more problems than it did solutions. Eamonvale had been very much hostile to them and unless the king planned to declare war towards Eamonvale as well, there was not much that he could do to be able to pass through their territories.

The retinue that accompanied him walked silently as they followed him, his Ravenguard, as he called them. Currently formed only out of his companions from his previous mercenary company, he planned to expand it by introducing veterans from the men that his holdings could muster, though since that number was zero at the moment, he had to make due with what he had at the moment.

Illayrion looked on at the palace proper and where one might have been awed by the size and beauty of it, he simply glanced at it and kept walking, he had been in courts all over the continent and though Kron-Nesis was arguably one of the strongest and richest kingdoms, he had seen courts far more beautiful, far more decorated than this one. He simply nodded to the palace guards as he was allowed entry inside and went to search his dear friend, the Grand Marshal throughout the entirety of palace itself.

However, as he walked through the corridors of the palace, he ran into the Marble Princess Azmyn and her bodyguard, Maryvale. His frown evaporated as he saw them, partly because he had to be respectful to royalty and partly because he was quite pleased to see the young knight once again.

"My Princess, it is an honor." Both he and his retinue knelt before the princess for a few moments before rising back to their feet. "And Maryvale, it is great to see you as well. Though might I ask where you have all of these bruises, because if you tell me from fighting, then I'll be disappointed in you." he asked smiling towards her, however, he shook his head, though he liked Maryvale, he had more pressing issues at the moment. "Anyway, do you know where your father is at the moment?" he asked "He and I have some pressing issues to discuss at the moment."

"I do indeed know who the marks are and where they are located. It's actually not too far away from here. I bribed a kind merchant to take us to their location. After that we are to link up into a slightly bigger one before splitting off with our prize." It was a simple plan that she had come up with. Least conspicuous at least. As expected her dearest sister wanted to do the execution herself. It was no big surprise really. "My orders are to be more of an observer than an actor. However I am yours to command." Gianna didn't give up much more than that. She tried to stay neutral in all of this. The matron suspects something and had sent her to observe her dearest sister. Despite that though she could feel her heartstrings pull slightly from seeing her past flame.

She chuckled softly. "Yes, we have plenty to talk about on the road. It's been a while since we last saw each other after all. And I see from the lack of ornaments that the madness have not yet claimed you." Gianna giggled and with a playful smile on her face she poked Mercie's skin gently under the collarbone. "If I were you I'd find someone to get a little mad with before you grow old and withered." She winked before turning around and started walking away with a wave of her hand. "Same spot tomorrow!"



"Lost? 'Tis a weird place to be lost my friend. You're in the glorious town of Everton, the bulwark against the evil of the Barrows. We are what keeps the evil away from the southern lands. You're in the town of monster hunters! How can you not know this and just stumble in here?" The man shook his head and signed. "I guess knowledge isn't as wide spread as we hoped." The conversation had attracted quite a bit of attention in the smaller Inn. While the town was relatively small, and not too many people lived there, almost everyone was armed to the teeth. They made their living from hunting monsters and the undead that roamed the lands. It was a quite widespread fact and the bartender seemed honestly surprised that the man didn't know this.

"I know what you're thinking."

Having received the news of his client it was in good form that he introduce himself to her immediately. Upon signing his paper to join the expedition he had agreed to looking after Princess Azmyn. She was at that point onward, become his client at the behest of the wishes instated by his Lordship Volk, whom upon hearing the Grand Marshal's call for aid to the Guild's, had contacted Pox directly as he had done twice before when such calls were issued for battle. Still this was the first time it was for a member of the royal family. It was doubly important that he get to his duties right away. If the princess stubbed her toe right now, it would be his fault if it got infected. This was a matter OF LIFE AND DEATH!

But because his agreement didn't specifically bare the seal of any noble currently living in the palace, his letter of notice and employment wasn't getting him anywhere with the guards at the front gate. They knew of the Apothecary reputation and they didn't need someone of his ilk disturbing anyone. Plus the whole problem with keeping the riff raff out. Still Pox couldn't just give up either. So there he was, drawing a ruckus at the gate, not merely because he stood out against the bright day, but his mouth... beak was constantly talking.

"This is how we work. We are doctors. We need to be with our patients, just in case something goes wrong. We're always available. What if the unthinkable happened?" Pox made a swooning tragedy pose. "What if majesty chokes? Or gets the Sunspot Flu? Or even gets a papercut. Infections are life threatening you know. It's my job to see that any problem that arises is fixed. So I need to see... oh oh hold on one sec."

Pox went from the two scowling guards and went to a woman in a fancy dress with her two vallets. She nearly shrieked when his face and hat came into you. "Very sorry Madame, are you Princess Azmyn. Your highness I-" He tried even taking off his hat to her as she simply picked up the pace, a flash of fear in her eyes. He scuttled back. "My apologies, have a good day."

He then walked right back to the guards. "Princess Azmyn. I need to speak to her as soon as she is able."

A pause passed before the guards went for their weapons. They pushed him back, his babbling and muttering to try to explain his situation falling on deaf ears as they simply used their halbreds to keep shoving him. "Beat it!" "No seal no deal! Get out of here freak!"

Pox nearly stumbled back with the weight of his backpack but caught himself just in time to steady himself. He bristled behind his mask. "Grrr... If I wasn't so worried about first impressions."

@Claw2k11

And then opportunity arose. A crowd, soldiers, exotic dress and garb. Their leader, an elf at a glance, definitely impressive and hard looking was approaching. Wouldn't work to convince him, but the dark bulk of his retinue. Their armor. Hmm, it would take a little prep work but it could work and he had to do this fast. He went into a pouch and palmed some Halo Dust. He looked to the guards he talked to and took a deep breath. "Maker watch over me." he prayed.

Approaching the guards again, they got in the defense but Pox merely waved his hand in front of his beak and blew, the cloud of sand casting upon them, making them blink and sneeze, and their eyes squint. When they opened them again, the elf would be on them with his retinue. They would wave him and his party in with the recognition of his seal but the effects would make it hard for them to keep a straight face, and more importantly, hard to notice say the fact that another had added themselves to the crowd of guards as they walked inside, crouching just behind them.

It was only those two he had to get passed, he hoped he wouldn't run into anymore trouble but a few more steps, he was through the archway and into the palace courtyard. He then side stepped the crowd and went to the nearest wall, hoping to not have been noticed. A moment later he nodded. Pox made it, the first hurdle. He tried to stay out of the open, make himself standout as little as possible from now on. He looked at the palace above and gauged his options. He couldn't do that trick again as the elf and his retinue had already moved on into the palace.

He slipped in through a servants entrance, walking through like he belonged there, passing gasping servants and confused staff. He had his letter in his hand, just to show them he was under some kind of official buisness. The only thing the onlookers could guess at was he was there to make sure there was no diseased wheat or rye which no doubt would make some scary rumors but they would pass.

@Delta44

Beyond that, he would be stopped again when actually entering the palace halls. He was spotted knocking on doors and peaking inside, whispering the Princess' name. The ones that discovered him were on standby for the Grandmarshal's meeting and they were able to call more to see what the weird intruder was up to. This time, Pox turned his head to see four scowling faces.

He knew this was an eventuality. He wiped his apron, adjusted his hat and mask and spoke, his hands as behind his back as he could manage with his chest puffed out. "Good day gentlemen. Might you be so kind as to direct me to her majesty? The Princess Azymn? I have been ordered to act as her personal doctor until further notice. I would like to address my duties as soon as I am able so if you could help me, I would be quite grateful." He tried to sound congenial, official.

And then he would be escorted out by sword point, Pox walking with his hands up, not a one of them actually touched the Apothecary as he was moved back out the front door towards the courtyard, his case echoing the halls. "Im under request by Lord Volt! He hired me at the behest of the Grand Marshal! Just read my credentials! I'm to be the Princess' Apothecary! Come on, it's standard practice I be with my charge! Don't be-Ouch! Watch it with those things!"

Zakhul nodded his head as the human informed him of his location. Everton? Barrows? I have no idea what any of these are. How long have I been asleep? Zakhul scanned behind the bar hoping there was some kind of map within sight. Zakhul kept looking around until the man said “monster hunters.” Snapping back to attention Zakhul quickly worked to hide any of his demonic presence that might have been seeping out. If any of the hunter were to sense what he was it would cause him quite some trouble. Realizing the human in front of him had stopped talking he quickly tried to think of a response.

“Do you happen to have a map with you, for I have been asleep for a very long time and have no idea what you are talking about.” thinking for a second that maybe he shouldn't mention his full situation he brushed the inkling of worry aside and continued on. “Where are we compared to the Grand Kingdom, they are likely still around and throwing their wealth in everyone's faces.”

After the other patrons in the bar heard his remarks they began to get very suspicious. Slowly loosening their weapons to make sure they wouldn't get stuck while being drawn the hunters began to stand up and surround Zakhul. The daemon turned to face the hunters and backed up against the bar. “I would appreciate it if you would all back up.” Accidentally letting his anger flare up a bit of his demonic presence became unveiled and visible to the hunters. One of the hunters whispered “Daemon!” and they lunged into action. All moving in tandem they moved with blistering speed to kill the daemon quickly.

As the hunters rushed him Zakhul calmly watched what each one of the was doing for a bit. While for the hunters they were moving quite fast, they were nowhere near fast enough. As the closest of the blades almost touched him Zakhul stepped past the blade and drew the hunters dagger. With the same dagger he slit the owner’s throat. Stepping past the man before he could even register what happened to him Zakhul spun around and stabbed another in the back of the neck. Leaving the dagger in this one he continued on his path and broke the neck of the next man. While turning around he felt a slight pain in his stomach and looked down. A sword was slowly pushing itself through his abdomen and would soon exit through his back. Looking up at the man pushing the sword through he could tell this fighter was a step above the rest. This man had been able to track Zakhul’s movement and guess where the demon would go. Admirable, but insignificant nonetheless. Stepping to the side Zakhul let the blade cut through him and lunged towards the skilled hunter. Grabbing the front of the fighters face he shoved the man backwards causing him to go hurtling towards the wall of the tavern. Turning towards the last three he kicked the middle one away and smashed the other two together by their heads. Before he could relax an arrow pierced through his right bicep and a strike of lighting hit him square in the back. Turning around he saw a mage and an archer barricaded behind an overturned table. Noticing another arrow flying through the air he reached up to catch it. Mistiming it slightly he cut his hand on the head of the arrow. Ignoring the pain he rushed the table and slammed into it. The archer was hit by the table, but the mage managed to jump out of the way. Before the mage could even get up Zakhul had pulled the arrow from his bicep and stabbed it into the heart of the mage.

Finishing the entire fight in seconds he focused on the last human in the room. Turning back towards the bartender he grabbed the shocked man by his collar and pulled him close. “Make a single noise and you die. Now show me a map.” Zakhul knew his presence could be felt across the continent by anyone with a drop of magical ability in them. They would know an elder daemon had woken.

“’More of an observer than an actor…’” said Mercie neath her breath.

That statement of course did not sit well with the mix-blood. That kind of statement sounded like Gianna was to be some kind of consultant; which may or may not be worse than the role of babysitter. But one things was for certain, Matron had her claws in deep in this one. Matron wanted to know what Mercie was up to.

Or maybe Matron already knew…?

“I always knew you as more of a hands-on kinda’ lass, Gianna—” Mercie had laughed then cut herself short when she suddenly realized the double-entendre and very bedroom innuendo sounding her statement was, “—not like that though, sister. What I meant was that as long as I have known you, you would rather do it with me, rather than just watch—not what I meant. I—I… uh…”

Was it true? Was the grand Mercaidi Kin-Myla, cold-blooded assassin, spiritualist of Shadow and Mists, ass-kicking, ball-breaking, curse-bearing member of the infamous Underhanded blushing and stammering and acting like a little girl with huge crush?

Was it true?

It took every nerve in her body to stop from jumping when Gianna poked her there. Not like that…! No, not like that, but Gianna had poked Mercie where the mix-blood female was most ticklish. Mercaidi Kin-Myla, also known as her deadly and feared alter-ego, Wicked One, giggled along like a little school girl as Gianna kept teasing her.

Yes, it was true.

A wry smile hung from her lips as she found her eyes following the beat of the back and forth swishing motion of Gianna’s hips. “Aye… same spot, Gia…”

For a few moments more she gawked, then as soon as Gianna pulled her invisibility cloak over her head and disappeared, Mercie shook her head several times to free herself from her stupor.

“Oh, but damn you, Matron…” said the assassin rather gruffly, yet affectionately, “but do you ever know how to work your subjects. To all hells then, MotherGrand-Assassin…”



It was nightfall when she had climbed the giant tree overlooking the homesteader mansion. Yellow-orange eyes stared out at the large house of her ‘owner’ Master Jono Percullin. Aye, ‘Master.’ But over time, Master Jono was only her owner by tradition. Such was the ways of being a servant in Bradles Worth. And even though she was technically was his property, he never treated her as such. Nay, he had learned to love her and treat her as a daughter.

But Mercie was the cold-blooded assassin. She cared not deeply for such sentiment. She cared not for this kind of life. And so true to form, when the time came, she would dispose of such a life. This did not mean killing all here, no, this only meant killing her ‘persona’ here at the Percullin Orchard. And here, her persona was that of Ouna, limp and mute, yet kindly and hardworking orchard servant girl. And today, Ouna was going to die in a fire in the servant quarters.

Mercie would set it up so that no other collateral damages would take place. Meaning; no other would die here as necessary; and no other death was necessary. She would need a body, a sacrifice, to lay into the fire and she had just the one subject. He was a male, but one of a similar height and stature. And one that would not be sorely missed. In fact, this particular male had been missing for 11 years to date. And Mercie had kept the poor, poor soul in the dimension of her Shadow Cloak and like so many others, ‘lost’ in there; pity be their state, but deserved was their imprisonment. You see, this one fellow in particular—

Mercie’s keen ears perked up. Something was just about to go awry in her plans. Slowly her head swivelled and locked in on the direction of Jono’s study. The master was crying. But not just any cry. This was the cry of one whose heart had been ripped out from their chest and the cry of one who could still feel the pain and anguish as Fate continued to stab said heart with a glowing orange, fireplace poker. The plans to dispose of her life here were temporarily set in respite.



The window set of the orchard owner flew open and the Wicked One descended into Mister Jonothan Percucllin’s study and abode.



“Who’s there?! What’s that then—”

An expertly timed and practiced manoeuver found the Wicked One subduing the blind man and keeping him in a vice grip and painful lock. “I could be a thief. I could be a rival’s hired blade. I could be merely one afflicted with a madness and set to torture, rape and murder all of your subjects and make you watch, old man. It matters not. Just know that what has entered your home is worse than you can imagine. All that you know. All that you own. All that you are ceased to exist as soon as I descended into your life—”

Jono should not know her voice. No one would know the person behind this voice.

The mask of the Wicked One sent the speakers voice into the ventilation openings, yes, but they passed more than mere slots. They passed the realms of Shadow and Mists as Wicked One spoke. The sound was both unique and unnerving. The sound of the voice was that of a soul in torment, yet soft and calming like a newborn hearing mama’s sounds. One’s hackles would raise as electricity shot down their spine, tears would well up as emotions and memories unremembered would come to the forefront of one’s mind.

“Hahahahahah…” laughed the orchard owner sardonically and painfully, “nothing you could do now could ever hurt me… take it…! Take it all damn you to all known hells, you ignoble intruder…! Take it all for nothing can hurt me anymore… NOTHING, I SAY!!”

In the heart of the Wicked One, Mercie stirred for she knew the reason, the one and only reason Jono would act with such madness.

“And what hurt could hurt you more than I, merchant—”

“THEY TOOK HER!!! BY ALL GODS, THEY TOOK HER, AND SHE IS GONE!! MY BELOVED ENNA-LEIGH IS TAKEN FROM ME!!!” Jono broke down into incoherent sobs. Wicked One could hear the servants crying and sobbing along with their master from behind locked doors. What kind of owned servants should take pity upon master…?

The ones with a kind, compassionate master whose daughter matches, if not exceeds, such kindness, compassion and care.

“And what would you have then, mister. If there was a single Mercie in this world…” it was a direct double entendre but one that he would not know. But one that would allow Wicked One to act if he asked something of Mercie(mercy), “What then? What would you have that Mercie do?”

This was the ultimate skewer that would throw her plans awry. A skewer tossed into the mix by her own hand. A welcome skewer nonetheless. For Mercaidi Kin-Myla too loved the master’s daughter with all her icy heart. The painful submission hold acutely tightened as she spoke next.

“Speak, cur! What would you have Mercie do for this beloved, this one named ENNA-LEIGH ? Your life here you say matters not, but this one is only interested in that which strikes you down and hard. Speak, cur so that your prize may be retrieved and defiled in front of your own eyes.

“A single Mercie. What would you have that Mercie do for this pain and anguish? Who took your prize? And where did they go? And what are you willing to give up to see your prize again… only to be defiled in front of your own eyes…?”

She knew he was blind. She knew he was in his most vulnerable state. But most of all, she knew he would do anything to get Enna back.

And so would Mercie.

P A L A C E H A L L S
S O U T H E R N J E W E L
K R O N - N E S I S

Maryvale had to rely on the princess to direct her to the armory, much to her displeasure. She wished she could be the one leading the charge but, Gods above, her memory was beyond terrible. Lenius had never taught her much outside of being a bodyguard. And yet, retainer or no, she knew she had to do something about her own weaknesses. One of these days she would shame her princess, and that was something Maryvale didn't want to do.
It was quite clear to Azymn what Maryvale was thinking, and the Marble Princess could only offer a comforting smile, which did help put her heart at ease. "You're fine the way you are now, Maryvale. You're more than capable as a warrior, and we are making progress in your learning, are we not?"
Maryvale nodded.
"It will take time, just like how you learned to master your strength. However, that time will come, and during which you will improve. There's no need to worry."

They continued traversing the palace hallways in silence, for the most part. The armory was close by now, near the entrance to the palace itself, so it was a fair distance from the princess' room. Yet before they could arrive, a familiar voice came to greet the two.
As well as the entirety of his guard, it would seem.
The princess gave a short bow of courtship, and Maryvale a soldier's bow. "Sir Myriavin, it is a pleasure indeed." She, too, returned the polite smile. Maryvale gave a short chuckle at his challenge, however refrained from speaking at the moment. "We are headed to the armory as of this moment, and will be meeting with the Grand Marshal immediately after. Come, walk with us."

"I wasn't allowed to use my magic, Sir. Marcus makes for a formidable foe, with or without his powers." Explained the Dark Knight, as she followed her princess closely, Illyarion presumably in tow. The armory was directly across from them now, the entrance right beside them. Maryvale noted the wails of a man -- presumably a peasant -- stating he had business with the princess, though didn't take as much note of it as Azymn did. Swiftly, the Marble Princess changed course towards the entrance of the palace, where a man, apparently a witch doctor, was being forcefully removed from palace grounds. She quite clearly saw the note in his hand, and fully redirected their course, at least for the moment.

"Guards, halt!" Her tone, authoritative yet sweet, carried with it the presence one would expect of the upper class - risen words, as opposed to voice. It was a common saying Azymn liked to say, and often used it help those unable to speak their mind. "I have been informed by my father himself that I would be having a doctor of high esteem as part of my retinue. I thought that a man, no matter his odd disposition, would be at least granted an audience with me, given that his letter of entitlement is, in fact, legitimate."
Maryvale took a few steps forward to retrieve the letter from the witch doctor, giving nothing but a wary glance at both the doctor and guards. She passed it to Azymn, who then read the note aloud.

The man was stunned. Shaken and shocked. He had seen death before, so had they all, but now he was the only one standing. This encounter had not proceeded like he had expected. He had expected to brag a little bit for this traveller before sending him on his way. Who knew that it was a daemon? It didn't leak like most of their kind did. And from the looks of things this one was quite the powerful one. He started considering his options before he was grabbed by the man and shook like a ragdoll.

He wanted to retort that how could he show the man where the map was if he could not make sounds. But he refrained from doing such and gritted his teeth. "It's over there, on that wall," he said and pointed towards a corner in the inn. As Zakhul turned to look the man quickly placed his hands over the daemon's and channeled magic into his hands. Magic that would cause excruciating pain in daemons. He then fled out the backdoor after being released, shouting.

"A DAEMONS IS LOOSE IN TOWN!"



Jono was quiet for a few moments before he spoke up, voice quivering of fear, rage and pain. "I do not know who they are, but I have my suspicions. They just left a note. Probably one of your friends!" He tried to push up against the hold, but it was less than futile and instead hurt him more. Jono started sobbing again and shivered for a few minutes before he spoke up again.

"The note read; I've taken your daughter as insurance that our orders are followed. We asked you so kindly last time, but you sadly refused our request. Since I was passing by here anyway, I took your daughter in exchange for your allegiance. Orders will follow in the coming days. Do as asked, and you'll get your daughter back. If not, I'll send back body part after body part until you agree." Jono sobbed and his voice broke multiple times when he read out the letter that his servant had read out to him before. "It was signed by a Gia...."

A quick look around and Mercie could quickly spot the letter and immediately recognize the handwriting as Gianna's, leaving no doubts in her mind who had written it.



𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝕻𝖔𝖝, 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖎𝖓 𝖓𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖈𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖉𝖆𝖞. 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕲𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗. 𝕳𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖉𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖞𝖛𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖗𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝕬𝖟𝖞𝖒𝖓, 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖊𝖝𝖕𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖞 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖐. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖋𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖋𝖊𝖜 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖆𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖆 𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖍 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 𝖏𝖔𝖇. 𝕻𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖙𝖍𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊.

"It's signed by Lord Volt and has both his and your father's seal on it," Azymn said and turned towards Maryvale and nodded. "While I know of your reputation, dear Pox, I still request that you list your credentials and accomplishments and provides some form of proof as per protocol before being enlisted by the Royal Family."

@Zhaliora@Delta44

And with that he was finally let go to to adjust his packs and smooth out his leathery coat before he waited nearby for the Princess to read him his orders. Behind his green tinted lenses he was smiling broadly and he showed it outworldly with a bit of a bounce to his step. He couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride in being recognized for his skills and being invited, again to such an important task. "Aww that was nice of him." He said under his breath before the Princess addressed him.

He felt another welling of pride as the Princess addressed him. He immediately stood at attention as if in the military to show that he was giving her his pure and undivided attention. He was to say that her majesty was too kind but his spirit seemed awkwardly stopped when she asked that he show of his credentials. The bird mask was steady and then tilted to the left just a little bit as if questioningly. He wanted to ask her Right here? Right now? but that would be imprudent to the situation. He then bowed low, his gloved hands dipping to his chest as he bowed. "Of course your Grace. I might humbly ask for a moment to prepare." He raised his beak back up and looked to all the onlookers, as if gauging what he would need.

Pox then turned and raised his hands in a shooing motion. "Gentleman please, for your safety some space please." It seemed to work as they stepped back a few feet. Pox took off his massive backpack, setting it upright before he unlatched a pouch. He then took a table sheet of sorts, white and set it on the floor befor him. Upon it, in a flourish and oddly mechanical practiced motions, he laid a worn journal, a satchel, unrolled to reveal a number of vials, each of different colors, some of them capped with a syringe of polished brass, a bag opened to reveal medical instrumentation, some quite benign, others looking more like tortuous implements. And a single candle in a dish. A match lit it and the flame burned a bright pink before the smell of rosmary filled the air around him.

Pox then took a step back from this, cupping his hands together. He muttered something, a prayer maybe, with "-just like we rehearsed..." was audible before he threw his hands out as if presenting a show.

"Good afternoon Your Majesty, Lords, and Ladies! Thank you for taking the time to put your life into the hands of those who know to care for it best! My name is Pox, The Many Hands of the Maker, The Scourer of the Targeist Blight, Saint of the Red Rivers Massacre, and Field Chirurgeon of the Apothecaries humbly bow before you! He does so again before standing back up and folding his hands together. It was definitely something he had done before as every word and gesture seemed to be practiced and deliberate. He was a showman at this moment, peddling his wares, which in this case was himself.

"As my position as your Apothecary it is my duty to see to your health and care as well as to the well-being of your staff and entourage. This will include things that are mundane. Your meals, medicines, and comfort. For instance, this candle that has been burning is specially treated to help clear your sinuses."

One of the guards behind him made a very audible sniff before taking a few short deep breaths. He remarked aloud pleasantly surprised. "Hey he's right."

Pox tilted his head and claps his hands. "Joy. Now then, should you or anyone of your party become so inflicted with any diseases, I have express knowledge of herbs and techniques from around the world to cure what ails you. Sunburned, I have ointment for that. Sniffles, theres a pulped tree sap with your name on it. Flu, some bed rest and boiled snake oil and you'll be right as rain. And even if we come across something that even I don't know about, which I must laugh aloud. Hah Hah. He opened his hands to them, venomous green energy leaking and smoking from over his gloves. "I've got magic spells... and magic hands."

Clapping his hands again. "But perhaps you aren't so worried about that, maybe you strive for adventure or fear an assasins blade. Have you ever heard of the Assasination of the Court Forsair? You shouldn't have. I was the one patched him after a vicious attack with a barbed arrow to the throat. Of anything, wounds happen to be my speciality. For instance, it was three year prior that we ended up in a triage situation. So there we were, me, another medic of the church, two nurses adepts, and six score of men screaming in agony, limbs hacked and mangled, covered in the filthy mud wringed with the blood of friend and foe. It was a place ripe with gangreen, and infection pulsating through every tear and wound." He made cruel claws as he retold the tale, his voice salavating as if telling a story of great horror, before going back to his chipper mood with a complete inflection change. "But you probably don't want to hear about the gory details, so lets forget that. Saving those men from the cruelitis of conflict, saving those limbs is how I got Lord Volt's attention and why I was hired for the next foray into battle and the next and the next."

Pox then went to one of the vials, a syringe that he held aloft in his hand. "If my medical skills are still in question, please allow me to show you what I am capable of. Those of weak constitutions should probably avert their eyes." He turned up his hand and seemed to inject a clear, but reddish tinged liquid into an imperfection in his leather robe. An indentation and ringed with metal as if it was there for that purpose. Pox showed no motion of the pain if there was any. Placing it down, he then took a large curved knife into his hand and held up his free hand. He raised his blade back about to bring it down on the upswing, actually slicing at his entire hand at the wrist. The blade came down-

@Claw2k11

"Arion, Syrael, take this raving fool with us, our dear Grand Marshal will have to confirm if this man is truly the one he sent for... among other more important things!" Pox had been so focused he didn't notice that he had a pretty sizable audience by now. The sudden yelling did cause him to stop his explanation.

A pair of hands seized him at his arms and pulled him to his feet. "Wha? Hey, what gives? I was getting to the good part. Well the gross part. I was getting to a grossly good part! Goodly gross? Hmm?" Pox then realized what was said. Take him with them? Oh of course, he must have been accepted. "Oh, I see, straight from the gentlemen's mouth. A field test then, very wise sir. I will not let any of you down I assure you." He had to fight against the strong men just to gather his things. They almost didn't let him do so so the struggle was quite awkward and clumsy as he attempted to follow the lead of his ward and company.

_{E V E R T O N}

A slim, cloaked individual walked the road of trade leading to Everton, in his hands an extensive map of the southern-most kingdoms and his place of origin, Vesh. On the map itself were inconspicuous notes of ink signifying his planned stops and route to Ithell. Bringing a hand and tracing his planned course on the map with a single lithe index finger, he ran the route through his head again as he continued walking along the road, occasionally looking up from his map to see if there was anything ahead. The silhouette of the town could be seen in the distance, a welcome sight to Uriel's golden eyes. He broke in to a smile, knowing that rest would be coming to him soon. He could feel it now; a nice, cozy bed with covers, a private room, resting his tense back... it was soothing to imagine. He let out a contented sigh as he looked back down to his map, folding it and placing it back in his satchel.

"Has it really only been a few days?" Uriel whispered under his breath to himself, in quiet amazement of how the trip had felt like months had passed. Time seemed to slow down when he was on the road, although the feeling was petering out as that very time ticked away from him. He could remember the day he left his home in Vesh so clearly, having been excited for the first time in many weeks then for the adventure he had planned to go on. He hadn't told his parents, instead leaving a written letter for them in his study. He already knew what they would say, their disapproval would be expected, nay, required of their roles. His decision to leave without his bodyguard, however, was the most unexpected decision he had made. He longed for the intellectual conversations he had with Ethelia, and he didn't need to see her replacement to know that that was lost to him.

Hearing the telltale signs of civilization in his immediate vicinity, Uriel stopped, raised his head and looked around his environment to find that he had entered Everton just a few moments ago, having been too absorbed in his own thoughts to realize the fact sooner. Billows of smoke flowed out of the chimney of the tavern across from him, the solace of the lighting inside calming his nerves. The eccentric scholar walked across the road and towards the front door of the tavern, entering inside and attempting to take in what would have been his abode for the night. He could scarcely believe his eyes as an intense fight between a strange being and monster hunters took place, his own feet frozen on the spot. An elegant display of speed, power, and ferocity had taken center stage, and in the matter of a minute, nearly the full squad of experienced monster hunters was slaughtered. The crimson blood of the hunters, their limp bodies on the floor were all seared in to his memory as he covered his mouth with a hand, to prevent himself from screaming.

His entire body shook with fear as he saw the daemon, mentioned as such by the deceased hunters themselves, holding up the last member of the squad by the neck. He couldn't make out the words it had spoken to him as he was hardly able to keep control of his senses as it was, but the hunter had distracted him, zapped him with some form of magic, and bolted out the back door. It left the terrified Uriel in the tavern with the very disgruntled, annoyed daemon. Thoughts began to come to his mind again as his fear reached a crescendo. Without the food and rest he should have had at Everton, he wouldn't be able to continue his journey with confidence. He couldn't defend himself from the powerful creature with a simple dagger, and even the hunters the daemon had killed had more experience then he did in fighting techniques. The only option he had here was diplomacy, and that was if it could listen to reason. A wave of dread flowed over his body as he removed the hand from his mouth and tried to open his mouth to speak, to say anything. He was only able to make meek whimpering noises for a minute or two, his eyes glancing to the dead owner, slumped behind the counter with blood dribbling down his chest.

"W-what do you want... from all this?" Uriel was able to weakly question, dragging out his words as he looked over the aftermath of the death the daemon had wrought. A terrifying thought that occurred to him in that moment was that if Everton fell, then a great deal of the south would be threatened as a result; including his home. With what little courage he was able to muster, he brought his hands down to his steel dagger, pulling it from its sheath to grasp it with both of his hands for stability, and positioning it in front of him, pointing it towards the demon. It wouldn't look threatening in the slightest as the young man could hardly keep the dagger straight, his hands shaking horribly from the situation he had found himself in. "I-I can't..." He spoke as some tears went down his face, feeling as if he was about to sentence himself to death by declaring these next words, "...allow you to go any further."

"My pleasure, my lady." He said, nodding towards the princess and walking by her and Maryvale's side. The two warriors part of his retinue moved in front of them to guard them, despite the palace probably being the safest place they could be in right now, the two were still on the alert even now.

As they were walking, he turned towards Maryvale with a sly smile. "Yes, Marcus is a great warrior, I don't deny that, but I seem to remember that for the past few times the two of us trained, I tried teaching you to try and not get hit in the first place. You don't seem to have followed through on my lessons very well, have you?" he asked with a rather amused expression. "Still, you must be very careful, in real combat, even one hit could make the difference and kill you." His expression hardened slightly as they walked, even so, there was still a slight smile on face.

However, when they reached the palace entrance, they saw a man dressed in odd garbs being dragged out by force out of the palace. Illayrion said nothing as the princess read the letter out loud, then asked the apothecary before them for his credentials as a form of proof that the man's skills were good enough to serve the Royal Family. However, as the man started to speak of his deeds and promoting his skills, Illayrion did not pay attention the man for the most part.

He instead furrowed his brows as the princess had read the letter out loud. This man had been hired to attend to Maryvale and the Princess should they get harmed in this expedition. That meant that both the princess and Maryvale would fight in this war. While he was worried about Maryvale, he knew her capable to handle combat and she would desensitize herself to the carnage of war in time, however, not only was princess Azmyn not skilled in combat, he doubted that she would be able to handle all the blood and carnage that war represented.

And even with Maryvale by her side, it would take only one stray bolt to kill her, or if the enemy found out who she was, it would be an assassins bolt that would kill her. The king had gone mad, and Lenius was even madder for accepting this mad proposition, surely they could see the danger that this would mean for the princess.

Unless...

As he came to again, the apothecary was still rambling on about his credentials. However much he wished to simply leave the man behind here with the guards, if the princess was truly going to war, then she would need an apothecary like this man.

@ShwiggityShwah

"Arion, Syrael, take this raving fool with us, our dear Grand Marshal will have to confirm if this man is truly the one he sent for... among other more important things!" He said, with a visibly annoyed expression on his face. "My lady, we'll have to hurry to the armory, and then we'll have a long discussion with Grand Marshal Lenius about..." He wanted to say "his and the king's idiocy" before he was able to stop himself. "... things!" he said through gritted teeth.

The two people part of his retinue pushed past the palace guards and each clamped a hand on Pox's wrists like two vices and dragged the man alongside, or rather behind the group as they advanced onwards to the armory.

Recoiling in pain Zakhul dropped the bartender and stumbled away. As the man ran out of the building screaming bloody murder Zakhul stretched backward letting his back crack. After that, he slowly bent his neck each way allowing the tension to be released by them.
"W-what do you want... from all this?" Zakhul froze in surprise, he hadn’t sensed the other human in the room. Slowly turning to look at the boy on the other side of the building Zakhul narrowed his eyes. He began walking forward ever so slowly, staying wary of this human. "I-I can't...allow you to go any further." Zakhul tilted his head slightly, studying the human. As he examined the boy he noticed the eyes. In a display of blistering speed, Zakhul nearly seemed to teleport right in front of the human. Staring into the boy’s eyes Zakhul let some illusion magic fade away, causing his eyes to shift to a crimson red. The daemon closely examined the boy’s golden eyes, curiosity overwhelming him. “A God’s child? No…you would have a much stronger presence. An ancestor then. Interesting.”

Looking down Zakhul noticed the dagger being pointed at his midsection. “Oh, are you going to kill me then? Why would you ever want to do that?” A wolfish grin came to the daemon's face and he stepped forward, letting the dagger prick his flesh. “Strike now young one, save the world and become a hero.”

The scholar had been startled by its speed of movement, it was far greater then he could hope to track or predict, serving to hammer home how hopeless he was in this situation. He saw the daemon's true eyes, red as blood, staring back at him. Now, he could hear it speaking clearly as it wasn't at a distance, rather, it was analyzing him. His knife pressed against the elder daemon's skin, as it tried to goad him in to action. Before he made the decision to press the knife further in or not, with their eyes intent on eachothers and the focus Uriel was attempting to call in to action, he ended up inadvertently triggering his ability. Uriel's eyes shined for but a split second, and his hands, taut on his knife, wouldn't stop shaking even as he witnessed the nature of the being in front of him.

"You're no devil at all..." The young man had spoken, a stutter to his voice as he did, the look on his face not one of fear as it had been before, but rather of interest. In that moment, he had found himself staring at the daemon with the same amount of curiosity that it had shown him. "You're lost... like a child." He whispered under his unsteady breath, taking a few steps back from the daemon to get the support of the wall behind him, the adrenaline in his body beginning to pass.

Zakhul scowled at the boy and clenched his fist as the human walked away. “I am no child human. I was alive long before your bloodline even took its first breaths. I have been on this world longer than most nations.” Stopping himself from further ranting Zakhul thought for a second. “So… sight. It has been very long since I met someone so blessed by the gods.”

“I am not lost, just merely in need of directions. I have just woken after a long slumber and it seems to me that the politics of this world has changed.” walking over to the bar Zakhul reached over and grabbed two mugs. Filling them both with mead he brought them over to the boy. Handing one of the drinks to the boy, he took a long drink out of the other one. “Now you are my hostage. No harm will come to you if you comply with my requests. First what is your name, and second where am I?”

Uriel, with the support of the wall behind him, let out a sigh of relief as he heard that he was a hostage. Much to his surprise, he found he wasn't quivering in fear as much after the use of his ability. He sheathed his meek dagger, bringing a hand up to his forehead to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated there, and to pull back the hood of his cloak. He took a couple of long breaths to calm himself down, and took the drink from the daemon's hand, nodding to show that he understood before he had spoken. "A spiritual child, not a physical one." He hastily corrected, more for his sake then the daemon's, before continuing his line of dialogue. "My name is Uriel Aethyn, and you're in Everton, near the border of Estorna. Allow me to get you my map." He spoke as he carefully walked over to a nearby table, painstakingly showing his every move to Zakhul so as to not arouse any sudden action. The scholar placed his mug on the table and angled his body to the side to show his captor what he was doing. He took off his satchel, and placed it next to his cup of mead, opening it and pulling out his map of the southern regions, unfurling it as he did.

With his map in hand, he turned to face Zakhul, holding it out for him to take. Once it was taken out of his hands, he dared to continue talking with him. "We can't stay here in town, the other monster hunter has alerted their best and brightest by now..." He trailed off as he came to the pallid realization that by working with the daemon, the other townspeople may come after him, thinking of him as some form of agent. It left a bitter taste in his mouth as he picked up where he left off in his conversation with Zakhul. "... and so we must keep moving to prevent them from bearing down on you. You could be able to kill them all, but the town would never recover, and the south would be threatened as a result. These hunters, they curb the monster population in the area. If all of them die, then many others unrelated to this incident will die too."

Zakhul looked closely at the map recognizing only a few of the nations on the map. Of course, the Grand Kingdom was still there. Still unsure of where to go Zakhul wasn’t looking for anything in particular on the map. Just trying to get the lay of the land he didn’t bother looking at the smaller city markers because they were of little significance to him. “My name is Zakhul, and you are correct about needing to get moving. I am not sure where to go, so I will let you decide where we will be heading.” Giving the map back to Uriel he walked over to a window and looked out into the town. A large group of monster hunters had formed a semicircle in front of the building waiting for the daemon to attack them. Walking to the back of the building he stopped and listened. Zakhul could hear rushed breaths and the creaking of leather on the other side of the door.

Walking back to Uriel he grabbed his mug and took another drink. “We will have to wait to decide where we are heading until we escape from here. Do as I say and you will live.” Walking over to the wall facing the closest to the edge of the city he pressed a hand to it. After waiting a few seconds he pushed hard until the wood began to creak. Quickly he hit it with immense force causing the wood to splinter outwards. Turning back towards Uriel he gestured towards the hole in the wall and waved his hand. “Quick now!!”

Having taken the map from Zakhul, he folded it and put it back in to his bag, before picking his satchel up and putting it on himself. As the daemon looked out the window, the hostage's own eyes were drawn to the aftermath of his captor's slaughter a couple feet away from him, the blood from its previous attackers beginning to seep in to the wood. Their corpses served as a sharp reminder for him not to forget the situation he had found himself in, regardless of the mercy it had shown him. He had seen in to its nature; yes, he was calmed by his understanding of the elder daemon, yet this doesn't excuse the sin of murder. Uriel was snapped out of his thoughts as Zakhul walked towards him, urging his attention with every step he had taken towards the scholar.

Uriel offered a curt nod in response to Zakhul's demands. He took mental notes of how the daemon was utilizing his strength, stretched his legs as a few agonizing seconds passed, preparing for something of a sprint. He held a breath and as soon as the hole was blown through the wall, rushed through it to the outside world. The tavern was poised near the edge of the town, and the escape that Zakhul had made for them both gave them quick access to the road leading south. A careful glance was given to the route ahead, reminding him that this was the direction he had came from when he had entered Everton.

collab with @Denduris