In the daytime this whole situation would have been suicidal Emmaline realized, rather belatedly. Darkness and confusion was the only ally they had. Well not quite the only ally. The insidious whisper in the back of her mind rumbled sub audibly like a distant crowd. Emmaline began to cry. Great racking sobs shook her chest and large tears welled up in her blue eyes. The bandit glanced at her for a moment and she flung herself into his arms still sobbing. Before her would be captor could react she gripped his face and pulled it down to her own pressing her lips to his. The scent of sweat and blood made her queasy but now was no time to pause and vomit. As their lips met she spoke a Word. Power coursed out of her body and into the confused bandit. A strange taste, like violets filled the back of her throat and she felt the hairs on the back of her next rise. She tore her lips away from her would be captor.

"Protect me!" she half squeaked and then turned and vomited into the mud. In the back of her mind The Whisperer was cackling with glee. Blood reddened her lips and she could taste its coppery flavor even over her own bile. She could only hope that the spell and whatever her dubious allies could accomplish would be enough to keep her alive, at least for the next few moments.

Very good... the Whisperer hissed in her ear.

"Shut up," Emmaline muttered, trying to push herself to her feet.

Faeril wanted to scream.

Everything was going exactly in the way he had specifically requested that it didn't. First, Lorcan once again proved his penchant and inability to shut the fuck up by giving him a long winded explanation of the risks and flaws of the plan to wait and scavenge what was left. No shit the bandits might stay in the town longer than they could stay in the woods, or they wouldn't find anything, or they would run into the bandits later. It was better than trying to fight armored men with crossbows while dressed in fucking rags and wielding nothing more than their guts and manacles. But at least the giant wasn't a complete idiot. He was trying to set up a distraction to overwhelm one or two of them. That at least had some merit.

Well, it did have some merit until Emmaline, the crazy bitch, went running out towards the bandits and wailed. Faeril reached out a hand a second too late as she sprinted out of the woods. All he did to let his incredulous anger be known was a vehemently whispered, "Fucking bitch." He stayed behind his tree, taking a deep breath.

That technically counted as a distraction, if you thought that bringing attention to where your entire group was and not giving them a chance to get in position to actually take advantage of anything you did was an actual distraction. But hey, maybe they would have gotten lucky and the bandits would have taken her off for some entertainment. Then they could have overwhelmed the remaining ones, if they were truly desperate. But no, of course they couldn't just let that happen. Lorcan had to display his apparent obsessive need to speak and make loud noises again. The giant started crawling as noisly as posssible, then stopped and yelled like a godsdamned idiot after Emmaline. Then he turned himself into a fucking tree, because apparently facing the consequences of his own actions were too much.

The burrahob realized as quickly as he had that they were going to have to fight the bandits now. He gave a small nod to her as she disappeared once again, presumably to go help out Emmaline. Or maybe to run away. That would be the smart thing to do, since they were all going to be dead in about five minutes. At least Reyvadin was getting ready to do something that wasn't completely stupid. Faeril got ready himself, picking up a fist sized rock from the ground around him. It wasn't much, but maybe he could stun one of the bandits and grab his knife. It was a shitty plan, but at least it was a plan.

Radek was providing an actual distraction. Faeril made a note to be on good terms with the burrahob and him. They were the only three that knew how to do things properly. The dual distractions worked out well enough. Two crossbowmen were heading into the woods towards Lorcan and Reyvadin, which was a good enough chance for the three of them to take them out with the element of surprise. Maybe the prisoners, all four of them that were left at anyrate, would be emboldened enough to attack when they did. Mutterings and shifting were good signs at least. Hopefully. Faeril sent a prayer to Woegrim to grant them strength and watched carefully from the shadows.

His eyebrows rose in confusion as Emmaline threw herself at the apparent leader and kissed him. She was crazy. The gods had cursed her with madness, and now they were all going to have to pay for it. There wasn't any time to focus on that, as the smaller of the two bandits was close. Faeril carefully pulled back and threw the rock with all his might at the head of his enemy. Without giving himself time to think and stop, he rushed forward and threw himself with all his might at the bandit and the knife he was carrying.

"Showtime."

As far as plans go, this wasn't the worse plan. They at least weren't getting ambushed. Certainly everything could go better, but Reyvadin knows that there's no such thing as a perfect plan, just one that works. The presume leader of these brigands cut down one of the prisoners, perhaps as a show of intimidation, and proceeded to take on Raddek. Two brigands were moving towards him and Lorcan, scanning the area with their crossbow. The big lug went on the offensive and tried to bash one of the brigands in the head with his cuffs. "Seriously, does no one here have even a branch as a weapon? I literally gave a few out. Bunch of savages." Reyvadin decided to capitalize on the distraction that Lorcan made and thrust his wooden spear towards the thug.

In a moment, Reyvadin would almost feel himself back at home. A much younger man, armed with a similarly crude spear, but attacking a straw dummy. The dummy was armored with metal plates and the young man was thrusting his weapon at the head and neck, though more often than not his spear struck the plates. He seemed to be having a fun time at it until a much older man stood behind him and struck his head with a solid fist. He scolded the youngling for trying to attack such an armored position: even if the foe would surely die if struck in the neck or head, it's also the part that he would defend the most. He needed to strike not just where it would be most effective, but also least defended. And so the man continued training, aiming his blows more carefully this time. While not quite as visceral, the young man was getting more accustomed to get his spear where it needs to be.

Back to reality, as Lorcan struck at the man's head Reyvadin burst from his hiding spot to attack the man. Though a bandit he may be, this thug still had some armor on him. A padded jacket wasn't the strongest but against this crude wooden spear it would be enough that Reyvadin won't be able to inflict a lethal blow against him through his body. So instead the exiled prince aimed lower: into the back of the brigand's knee. Reyvadin struck hard and fast, putting his full body into the attack before pulling his body away and staying on the move. Reyvadin had no armor to speak of so standing still would be a death sentence. He'll let Lorcan attract the bolts: he was a bigger target and likely scarier to these rogues than a much smaller, somewhat lithe Reyvadin. He made a dash for some trees to serve as cover from both errant bolts and the enemy's eyes. Hopefully the others are handling their threats: Reyvadin can't be bothered to watch over them and focus on his own fight. If things are looking that bad Reyvadin will just have to cut his loses, stealing what he can and running back into the woods.

The time for subtleties had come to an abrupt end.

Lorcan's fist struck the bandit's head right on his iron cap, the force and suddenness of the blow sending him stumbling and groaning, immediately trying to right himself. His companion gaped at the tree that had sprung to life! He reared his crossbow around and realized it was yet unloaded, so he held it high above his head like a makeshift club. It might damage the weapon, but crossbows weren't light either.
"You're just an elfspawn!" He cried, wailing away at Lorcan until a spear was rammed into his companion's knee, the scream frightening the man so violently he halted his attack for a moment. Just then, a rock struck him at the base of the neck from behind, knocking him out cold mid-combat. Faeril ran over in triumph, taking the man's knife and kicking him while he was down.

The battle was no less confusing elsewhere, as Emmaline's spell began to take effect on the bedazzled man, who seemed lost as to who he was. Migi took his blade with almost no effort, like he wanted her to. For his part, he fell over onto his ass and gazed around in confused wonder, even as someone might be ready to strike! Raddek stormed forward to finish the bastard Migi stood over, but a sudden, blazing light that burned as a glowing star broke through the clouds that lingered high in the sky.

As the exiles and bandits fought for their lives and scrambled through the dirt and debris amongst the devastation of the town, the clouds opened afar, and all eyes turned to see the thing that pierced reddish light upon the land, making the ruins they waded within look like a slice of hell. Through the dirt and grime, Emmaline and Lorcan could only just see its trajectory as it sent flames cascading out of its wake, but all of the others could make out what it was clearly. It was an object unlike any had ever seen, engulfed in flames that burned into the retina of any that looked it's way.

The ball of flame was no comet or asteroid, but a titanic struggle of flesh, talons, and hellfire. One could go a thousand years without seeing either beast, but now the party bore witness to a behemoth of a Dragon locked in vicious combat with a Greater Daemon of the Hellrealm, both plummeting to the ground faster and faster as they tore at one another, biting and tearing and striking. From so far away their cries sounded like bird screeches and the grinding of wagon wheels.

As a shooting star would, they disappeared past the tree line and faded into memory, leaving the sky overcast as if they had never been...

Until the flash of white, the roar of the wind, and even their screams were drowned out until naught was there but darkness.

---

Alas, the final days of the cataclysm were filled with debauchery and violence. The once tranquil, pretty landscape above the Peninsula of the Seven Cities was now all but ash and barren wasteland, from the reaches of the pass to the borders of Varone. Fraught with peril had been these lands, but now something even darker began to take shape amid the ruins. Such rumors and foul thoughts hearkened back to the time before time.
Before there had been a beginning, there had been an end. A violent end of destruction with beings beyond count and conception, where all the mortal souls battled over the heart of eternity. They fought until there was but the one whom made it all, who made it again. Who made a world both like and unlike the old. A new world now encroaching upon a new age. An Age of Heroes...if one could ever find them.

---

---

A dog barked, snapping the group back to reality.

"Ssssh Horace!" An old woman scolded the thing, pulling it out of the street and out of the path of the group of refugees trickling in from the countryside, escaping the land of blight where no living thing could subsist. Men with their graven faces walked like the awakened dead as women sobbed, holding their children as if they were their one last grip on this mortal plane. The land had been sparsely populated closer to the foot of the mountains, and yet those that came southward were still so few. It had seemed an eternity to the lot, but it had only been two days.

The impact of the fiery struggle had shattered mountain stone and flattened miles of rock. It's gales scythed through the leaves and toppled the flimsy construction of the buildings around them. The prisoners had died from flying debris or being lifted off to sail into the trees, breaking their necks and backs. Most of the group could grab a hold on a tree or stone, but some of the lighter members were lifted off their feet. Luckily for Emmaline and Migi, they had been flung right into Raddek who had managed to grab them, though all three were sent rolling until a lone wall kept them in place. The wind howled like an ancient god until it pittered to a stop, leaving merely no prisoners. Just the combatants to continue to fight and die through the catastrophe, simply having waited for the wind and flame to abate.

What bandits had been left at the end were butchered, their armaments and food, or what could be found, were taken. Their bodies were left to rot in the forest where the village had once stood, with only the souls of their victims to keep them company. Some of the forest around them was wrecked or cut, but most of the trees were still intact where they had been, and once the village was destroyed, only the tower they had once seen remained. It was there they made camp, and they were joined by three others who had survived the fallout of the area. Jaina, Falfer, and Francisco, having seen the tower from afar to find shelter within as the ash began to rain from the sky.

All night the ash fell, but the morning brought hope and sunlight. Once they were well fed, the group traveled southwards through the woods at Raddek's bearing, until they made it to the stone and carmines walls of Varone, joining with what little peasantry amongst the hills had decided it was safer in the city walls than staying on their farms, if they even had a farm left to them. Whispers and rumors floated past their ears as they trudged into the gates, the guards and beak-masked physicians checking the refugees for any signs of the plague or corruption.

Raddek stood at the head of the group, crossing his arms over his chest. With the cloak around him, it just made him look like a hulking figure.

"Welcome to Varone, the Diamond of the Blood Coast."

Faeril hurt. His feet hurt from travelling fifteen miles a day. His palms hurt from where he had scraped them against the tree, desperately holding on to it to avoid being flung like the poor bastards that the bandits had taken prisoners, sent flying through the air to die painful deaths. The rest of his body hurt from the rough sleeping he had been doing the past couple of days. While it was better than sleeping upright in the cart, sleeping on the cold ground was never comfortable. Sleeping on the cold ground with ill-fitting clothing was worse. Sleeping on the could ground, with ill-fitting clothing, while ash fell from the sky as a symbol of the wrath of the gods about to crash upon the peninsula that you happened to be trapped on was even worse.

Faeril had spent much of the past two days offering prayers to the gods, hoping that they'd at least spare him and most of his companions when they brought their judgement down. He would not have believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes, and then had what he had seen confirmed by those all around him. A dragon, bigger than some cities, battling some sort of demonic creature. The battle cries were loud enough that he could hear them clearly as they tore each other apart. Faeril had watched in a horrified awe, pausing in his attempt to stab one of the bandits too death. He had to shield his eyes from the flash as the two titanic beings crashed, and then was thrown into a nearby tree by the force of their collison. The wrath of the gods was all to easily felt as he clung desperately to that same tree and rode out the violent winds and fires.

The gods were not angry at him, at the very least. After finishing off the remaining bandits, he had been able to find one of the crossbows that they had been using. Much to his delight it was even in good condition. He had expected the bandits to have been using and abusing their crossbows to the point of uselessness. The bandit hadn't been taking perfect care of it, of course, but that was something a couple of days of proper care and treatment was able to fix. The crossbow had barely left his hands and never left his side since had found it. It made him feel whole and complete again. It made him feel like he was ready to take on whatever the Blood Coast had to offer.

He had even discovered a dwarven bandit amongst the corpses. While the other dwarf had been a little taller and wider than Faeril, his clothes were better than the tattered rags he had been given in while a prisoner. Besides, clothes that were too big on him was a problem a semi-decent tailor could fix. If he could ever find one in this city.

The gods had even seen fit to send him more allies. Two of them seemed like they would be more hinderances than they would be helpful, but the girl was quiet and observant and that was more than enough to put her in Faeril's good graces. He didn't need or want another person that would talk more than necessary. They needed someone who could kill without qualm, and that seemed to be what they got. Plus, the trio seemed to have just enough morals so as not to be an issue. They hadn't attempted to murder Faeril in his sleep, or at least try to kill him while he was pretending to be asleep. They hadn't even tried to run off with their hard earned weapons and supplies which was a good sign. They still weren't fully trustworthy, of course, but they had proven that they were at least willing to stay around and help out. If only for a little while longer.

Faeril looked around at the city walls adn the people around them, before looking back at Raddek. "Not much of a diamond, is it? I'd hate to see what the other cities look like." In comparison to the Thundrim of his home, this was nothing more than a sprawling hovel filled with dirt and-. Faeril scowled, his back aching as the memories were cut off. It didn't matter what this city looked like in comparison to his home city. This was the only place he could go now. Especially since the gods had cut off any chance at returning with the crash and ashfall. Faeril allowed himself a grim smile at the thought that maybe, just maybe, the guards who had brought them down had all been killed by the impact and the ash soon after.

"Well. Shall we head in then? I don't want to be caught out here any longer than I have to be, and I'd guess anything we need is going to be inside the walls rather than outside of it."

If anyone had told Reyvadin that he was going to meet god, he would consider you a madman at best, or potentially an assassin at worst. If you told him that the devil was going to come to earth and bring upon a reckoning the likes that he’s never seen, the young noble would’ve already been twenty paces away. But reality was far stranger than fiction. A good book, a good story, has a sense of progression, pacing, and logic that seems obvious once you read the whole book. Even surprises can feel natural once you’ve seen what has been happening in the background.

So what the hells happened that day, that a demon and dragon would do battle on the mortal realm and with such power it could wipe out a mountain?

Nothing Reyvadin has witnessed or read before could’ve explained it to him. He’s seen blizzards bury towns in snow and ice. He’s seen ocean storms destroy a nord fleet in minutes. He’s even once witnessed the ground split open and swallow up a fortress (he later learned these things are called “Earthquakes”). But what he witnessed that day was none of that and more. For all the stories he read of demons and dragons they’ve been just that: stories. Creatures of fantasy meant to represent aspects of man that are often thought too powerful for mere mortals to handle. Indeed, the world doesn’t need the likes of demons and dragons to represent humanity's cruelty when humans are more than capable of turning into monsters themselves. So to see them in the flesh, and see them literally shape the world with their cataclysm clash… It was a stark reminder of Reyvadin's insignificance in this world.

”There's always bigger fish.”

Reyvadin survival during that disaster could only be attributed to either the gods' blessing or the devil’s luck. Like many he was flung into the air by the sheer force of the winds. And while most were broken by being smashed against the ground or impaled in trees, Reyvadin fortunately had only been slammed into a nearby tree, which he then was able to use as cover as more debris and bodies were thrown around. Even as his tree was uprooted, Reyvadin was able to find a sturdier tree to hang onto until winds had died. What was left was nothing, the ruined village they had found was reduced to a dirt lot, and even the forest nearby became at best naked trees and broken branches. This was well beyond the ability any human could bring forth.

Alas as awe-inspiring as that calamity was, Reyvadin needed to keep moving. He found one of the dead brigands and managed to take their knife, some of their supplies, and their clothing. A new cloak and some armor would go a long way to making it in this world. He managed to find some silver lordings among the ruins, and even a bent spear. While the spear blade itself was useless, Reyvadin simply removed the blade and kept the shaft. It was in much better quality than the previous sharpen branch he had previously.

After scavenging what he could, Reyvadin eventually found the others as well. While they weren’t looking great they were alive. And as scuffed their tactics were they lived, their enemies died, and thus they were the victors. Reyvadin wasn’t going to be too caught up in the what-ifs and should-haves. As the group traveled, they were soon joined by three strangers. They didn’t seem to be brigands (or if they were they were at least well mannered). The woman seemed to be a mercenary, and the elf-man seemed to be another criminal. Who caught Reyvadin’s eye was the burrowfolk. Unlike Migi, he seemed more polite. But it was the sort of politeness that Reyvadin gets from slave traders: hospitable and gregarious to their customers, and still wholly willing to profit off another man’s struggles and suffering. It made Reyvadin’s nostalgic.

Travel was grueling. Reyvadin was no stranger to marches but he had little more than threadbare shoes he stole off the dead, and they were already getting worn down. Thus his feet were getting sore and blistered, and with their cloaks as the only form of comfort at night they often slept on cold, hard ground. It made Reyvadin miss a simple pair of good boots or a bedroll. But after two days of travel they finally managed to make it to civilization. Varone.

“Aye, Skywatcher, let’s head on in. And watch your pockets. No doubt thieves are out and about to prey on the weak and naive today.”

"And the sea is probably wet and politician probably lie," Emmaline observed. Since the battle with the bandits she had felt oddly elated. The magical power still tingled beneath her skin filling her with a seemingly boundless energy. Deep down inside she felt a little spec of pride at having been able to save the villagers from the bandits. It wasn't the kind of thing which fit with her internal sense of being completely self centered and uninterested in others. She found that dwelling on the memory of the the incident seemed to irritate the voice that lurked in the back of her head, and that was worth it in and of itself.

"Also, I will be very surprised if we have enough to attract the attention of any serious thieves," she continued with an air of authority borne of having known more than her share of thieves back in her old life. Still her spirits were high. Varone might not be the greatest city in the world, but it was still a city, with beds and wine and, in theory, all the comforts of her lost home. Maybe she could even find a bath if she put her mind to it!

"Do you suppose we should tell someone... you know... what we have seen?" she asked, unwilling to put words to what the group had seen in the night sky. This way at least she could pretend she was talking about the bandits, a thought which didn't make her guts twist in such an unpleasant way.

Lying to yourself wont help - The voice in the back of her head whispered. Emmaline narrowed her eyes and focused on saving innocent villagers from bandits. The voice seemed to withdraw to... wherever it went and her smile brightened even further. For the first time since she had been tied up in that ritual circle she felt like she had some control.

In Lorcan's humble opinion, the usage of the attribute 'good' in combination with the noun 'mood' should be forbidden. If not permanently then at least until he'd have forgotten about the events of the past few days, even if there was only very little hope of that happening!

First of all his feet hurt. There was an old trick known among many Skayleigh that involved wrapping the large leaves of a distinct bush around one's feet so something in the plant's sap would either anaesthetize the irritated skin or even help healing it, but Lorcan was anything but certain that he had picked the right bush... Maybe in the South there were bushes that looked almost the same, but didn't have this beneficial property ?

Then there was that girl called Emmaline he had kept staring at from behind for quite a bunch of miles. Because of their curves ? Certainly not! Actually seeing the real person did help however with the imagination of his wooden stick behing shoved up her rear until her internals would be blatantly exposed to the crows above! Yes, they all had survived, but probably more due to luck than anything else. It could have come different if he had not decided to take action and distract two of the bandits, but apparently that had only helped that dwarf to believe that he was an idiot! It was only fair if he'd forward this bad opinion about him to the real root cause, right ?

Last but not least he had not been able to see for himself what really had come down from the skies above. Oh what he would have given for actually seeing a real dragon, even combined with a real demon! The Skayleigh had been looking at an entirely different direction at the wrong moment though, so by the time he had found out where the bright flash had come from the meteor had already descended below the horizon. It was a story he would not be able to tell once back home, simply because nobody would believe him if he couldn't actually describe any details. Maybe just claim he had seen a big rock coming down ? There were educated Skayleigh who knew this was possible. Some of the best swords were even made out of meteoric iron!

And now he was standing in front of those big gates, silently involved in a competition with Raddek about who looked more hulking in these makeshift cloaks. At least there he did have a quite literally big advantage though. On the other hand... that thing was a bit tight to say the least as none of the bandits had been a seven feet tall one. It was to be found out whether Varone was home to some sort of tailor who could fix this for the most modest price imaginable.

Maybe he could even use the opportunity and actually make some coin by going back to the roots, entertaining people with a simple melody, a poem or maybe both combined into some sort of song ? He had had two days to think of one, but it dawned upon him he'd have to recite that openly far away from the others...

The idea of a dragon and a demon fighting each other was something that seemed utterly preposterous to the halfling as his feet trudged along the ash-covered roads. They ached from the days of travel and he made sure that everyone knew, groaning and complaining with what seemed to be every few moments. However, this complaining of feet did eventually give way to him complaining about getting much upon his clothing and stopping to desperately slap the dirt off only to run back to stay with the group after realizing that no one was going to stop and wait for him to clean himself. This group of ruffians seemed to lack that common decency and Falfer would merely not allow it!

Then again, a few of them seemed a little more willing to stab another, so the outcast merchant put his reservations to the side as he inspected them each, assessing them. Falfer kept his eyes close, to the other of his own kind, knowing that if she was amongst this group of ruffians as well then she may well have done something underhanded as well. That said, when they reached the city, Falfer could almost feel himself being at peace in a somewhat familiar environment once more. The thoughts of what could be done quickly burrowed into his mind, schemes of gaining coin and rebuilding what he lost sent happiness through his soul. Then, he saw the state of it, and what started as a smile almost quickly turned to tears as he uttered to himself, “I miss my manor.”

Looking to Raddek, Falfer asked a simple question, “Why could you not have brought us to some place of at least a modicum of dignity?”

With a sigh, the Burrowfolk turned and watched the other of his kind enter the city only for himself to begrudgingly follow, feigning pleasantries as he dusted off some of the collected dirt in his form. His arms folded behind his back as the look of underlying dissatisfaction gave way to a professional front. His eyes scanned the streets, intent on looking for anyone who matched his own status as a true proper merchant, someone with wealth. Though, given the nature of the city, he dared not look closely just in case the group he traveled with strayed too far. After all, the folk he entered with would prove to be adequate protection in such a hive of scum that he did not truly care for.

Two days had passed since Jaina had found herself amongst a group of strangers who didn't really seem to have much in common with the others. From the way they interacted with one another, she didn't think they were comrades in arms, at least not by choice. Fate had probably forced them together, just as it had forced her to find her way to their camp after chaos struck in the form of a flaming ball from the skies. She didn't know what it was, but it had destroyed most of the camp she had been held captive in. Perhaps she should thank it? She had been able to escape, and she doubted anyone would now care that she had a mark on her head. Figuratively speaking, of course- the tattoo was there to stay.

She stood by herself at the back of the group, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she looked at the walls before them. Varone, the Diamond of the Blood Coast, her mind echoed. She hadn't been here before, but if this was where the group she had joined was heading, then she would stay. There was safety in numbers, something she grew up to learn in her ragtag mercenary family. From the looks of them, she figured these people knew how to take care of themselves. There were those who may have thought that perhaps the females in the group might be weaker or less prone to survival, but Jaina herself was proof that wasn't true. She was curious if it was the same for the one called Emmaline, or the small burrowfolk Migi.

The dwarf named Faeril seemed to have the look of someone who not only survived but thrived, and she was willing to bet it was the same for the tall one, the one they called Lorcan. Size did matter... sometimes, and this man had a lot of it to him. Jaina was quite sure if she stood next to him, her neck would hurt just from having to look up and talk.

Well, if she was being quite honest with herself, aside from the dwarf and the borrowfolks, she was probably going to have to do a lot of looking up- even the half elf was taller than her. She rubbed the back of her neck for a moment, then paused, pulling off the small choker and amulet she had on- a memento from a life before she became a runaway. Sentimental drivel, but she didn't wish to lose it... yet. Stuffing it in her pocket, she took a small step forward. A dark eyebrow rose for a fraction when she heard what the male Burrowfolk had to say.

"To be fair," she commented, voice quiet as per her usual habit, "I feel after the last couple of days we should be happy to find a city at all." She raised a shoulder in the smallest of shrugs before following after the others as well, entering the city.

The refugees that streamed in were a constant trickle; not the overwhelming tide of desperate survivors, but still very much adding up to a crowd. The city's gates were impressive and thick, despite the apparent lack of recent maintenance. Even on the other side of the city, the smell of the sea was evident in the air, clearing their sinuses and reminding them of the potential possibilities that lay within Varone itself. As it were, they first had to get in the city, and from the looks of the guards pulling people out of the crowd, it might be easier said than done. Judging by Raddek's expression watching the crowd, it was clear he hadn't seen this sort of thing the last time he had come here. Images of his contingent marching to the walls flashed through his mind, being welcomed with open arms by the Grand Duchess, the ambitious woman having some agreement with the Order's Lord Commander. It seemed such a gorgeous city then. The backdrop was granted some manner of a tune as Lorcan burst out into song, and it was hard to gauge just what the group thought of their descriptions as he went. The serfs and travelers passing by stared; some even stopping to watch and listen, though he only received 2 copper commons for his trouble from a wander merchant that seemed well off on his own, chuckling at the performance.

"Let's keep as low of a profile as we can," Raddek said to Emmaline, though he gave Lorcan a sideways glance. "If there's a reason to tell people about it, then sure. But right now, I don't know how it might help anyone."

Reyvadin and Jaina had good points, though before Raddek could step forward he felt Migi slap his rump and talked about going someplace with a roof over their heads. Raddek flushed in surprise, not entirely sure how to take that, but he agreed with her sentiment wholeheartedly. As the big man moved, he spoke to Falfer. "Believe me, this is...or was, the most lavish city in seven hundred miles. But it's seen better days, definitely."

The group began to move, gathering closer together so they weren't swept away by any of the other coalesced groups of victims and wanderers packed together between the gates. With their cloaks, they were able to move closer unmolested, but once there, it was inevitable they were to be seen passing by. With kettle helms to help guard the face from falling arrows and fine mail armor, the guards held billhooks like staves and lifted hoods off of those they thought suspicious. Most of the group moved without fear, but Faeril, Reyvadin, Raddek, and Lorcan were halted, a guardsman with his hand out blocking their entry.

"Hold! Halt strangers. These are dangerous times." He declared, and two of his subordinates removed the hoods from their heads if they had them donned. "If you wish to enter the city, you will give us a gate tax of two silver lordlings for the new High Council. Your friends seem reasonable sorts, and though we see no taint on you, we have little tolerance for any more ruffians. Fork over two lordlings or be cast out!"

The rest of the group within could stay near, just on the other side. Past the milling throng of people, the city of Varone was veritably romantic in design and formidable in structure, as most of the larger buildings were made of fine white stone, as were the bridges that bisected the various lagoons that paralleled the busy streets. The city itself looked vast, but even from a tall man's vantage point, they could get a glimpse of the wharves that rose above the lower built, southern portion of the 'island' they were on. An immaculate palace with only a few noticeable flaws rose into a towering spire at the center to the north west, reaching above the rest of the city like a great tree amongst the bushes, in someone like Lorcan's view.

It seemed only a few of their group were allowed in at the moment, however. Would they pay, or would their comrades help them out? Glancing around, there were a dozen soldiers manning the gates from below, and who knew how many stalking the walls above just waiting to be called to action?

Lorcan let go of an internal sigh. So exactly what part about them had put them above the threshold from which on the guards of this place considered an individual to be a potential 'ruffian' ? The Skayleigh darted a quick glance over towards those of their party that had been allowed to enter without harm and a spontaneous suspicion came into mind:

"Erm... excuse me, but is it a mere coincidence that we four clearly represent the more muscular part of our group ? Is that the criterion for you to decide who's to pay the tax and who isn't ?"

He had been a bard long enough to have some training in spontaneous talking, even though this time it was not so much meant for entertainment but for an actual conversation with some degree of sincerity.

"As someone who clearly is on the less agile side of things I can tell you that small people have their own methods for causing turmoil that are on equal terms with what 'ruffians' can do: A foul word here, a dagger there, a well placed spit in one's face or maybe even some scheming and you have people go after each other just as well. Of course you are not the city council, but I want to be honest and express my doubt about the validity of the chosen method. I do not believe it brings more security, but on the contrary..."

When referencing to 'foul words', Lorcan had a bit of a hard time not to look at a certain Burrahob. He did not want to cast anybody in a negative light here, but maybe for the others it was already obvious enough whom he was talking about.

"You are depriving the city of able bodied men and women since not everyone of them might be willing or able to pay the tax others do not have to pay in the first place. Yet at the same time you do not look at anybody's mental state or personality which, in my opinion, is the very first thing to check if you want to scan for potential troublemakers."

Lorcan took a deep breath before he continued.

"So, how long do you think will the city's economy be able to feed off such an imbalanced, greatly biased workforce ? And how long do you think will it take until the city council realizes that the current tax system does hardly improve security at all ?"

There were a few other things in Lorcan's mind still. That they could just wait for the next shift and make another attempt, speculating on none of the new guards having been told about their ugly faces, for example. Or that maybe he'd be able to convince Raddek and Reyvadin to carry him into the city in a plant tub in order to save 2 silver lordlings. Or did potentially malicious plants have to pay taxes in this place as well ?

Emmaline nearly walked on. She paused in mid stride beneath the gates staring longingly at the streets beyond. All she had to do was take two more steps and she could leave her fellow prisoners to deal with there own problems. Cursing herself for a fool she turned around and walked back towards the guard with all the offended dignity she could muster.

"A jester," she began with a despairing glance at Lorcan, "is supposed to be funny." She turned an apologetic look upon the guard, rolling her blew eyes in a long suffering fashion.

"I apologize for our wretched condition, it has been a long march, I am Lady Emmaline Von Morganstern and these," she paused to sweep her hand over the rest of the group, "are my retainers."

"We were set upon by bandits not a days march for your walls, oh not to worry, we won't blame you for such misfortunes when we report the matter to the city council," she continued, the slight stress on 'blame' was hardly noticeable. She didn't know precisely what political conditions prevailed within the city but the tendency of those in power to pass blame down to the lowest member of a food chain was a human universal.

"I am afraid that our valuables were mostly lost in the bandit attack, even my clothes!" she bemoaned, eyes indignant with the injustice of it all.

"We were forced to flee with nothing but what we were carrying, I had nothing but my sleeping shift!"

"Captain Raddek," she barked, turning to the mercenary, "Please take these men's names so we can assure they are suitably rewarded for speeding our way into the city once I have spoken to my Guest Friends in the city. Raddek managed to keep his eyes from bulging though his lips moved silently. Emmaline thought he might be mouthing the words 'low profile' probably followed by something obscene.

Faeril gave a rude gesture in response to Migi's pointed look. Being prudently respectful of the gods was not being a zealot, however many godless people thought otherwise. The others were right though, particularly Jaina and Migi. They should head in to the city, as dirty as it was, and be thankful for it. A roof over their heads and air that wasn't filled with ash would do them good. They could figure out whatever it was they were going to do after that, and perhaps be able to spend some of the coins they had 'earned' from the bandits. He'd keep his pouch close, but Faeril was inclined to agree with Emmaline. They did not look nearly wealthy enough to be worthy of any proper thief's time, and there were many other people who looked like easier targets around them anyways. As they moved towards the gates, Faeril only chuckled grimly at Falfer's complaint. If the burrahob was looking for decency, he was certainly in the wrong place to find it. Decency got you killed out here. The villagers from before were decent.

They were stopped suddenly in their progress by a guard with a smarmy voice and his two friends. Listening to the bullshit spew from the man's mouth, Faeril rolled his eyes. It was an obvious sham, just a politer version of what the the bandits were doing. Not that he wasn't going to pay them. They were new in this city, with no allies. If they angered this guard they would have an enemy with some degree of power. If they really angered this guard they would be cut down in the gates of Varone, and no one would even blink. Sometimes you just had to grease the wheels, no matter how annoying it was. Faeril jerked back before the guards could get too close to him with their billhooks, pulling his own hood off. He didn't like having a weapon that close to his face at the best of times, and he hadn't been in the best of times for a long while.

Faeril nodded at the guards, not wanting to alarm them any further with sudden movements, and slowly reached for his coin pouch to pay the two silver lordings. It would be nothing compared to the overall money their group had gotten from the bandits, and this truly wasn't worth arguing over.

At least, that's what Faeril had thought. Lorcan obviously thought differently, launching into a small tirade. As the giant of a man continued to talk, Faeril looked at him incredulously. Personality checks? Economy imbalance? None of these guards gave a flying fuck about that. Why was the giant incapable of being quiet? A curse from the gods? A nervous tick? Whatever it was, it was proving to be more and more of a nuiscance with every situation the group found themselves in. Faeril shook his head, pulling the two coins requested from his pouch. Before he could speak or move forward to end the situation before it grew worse, the crazy woman stepped forward.

Gods how he wished they could simply pay the guard his requested bribe.

Despite his growing frustration, at least Emmaline's attempt was better than whatever the fuck Lorcan had just said. Faeril was pleasantly surprised. Her words were all outright lies that could very easily backfire, sure, but he wasn't about to undercut her. Not when she was proving to be actually useful. She made a very convincing noblewoman, Faeril had to admit. He might have bought it when he was a guard. Early on in his career of course.

Even if posing as a noblewoman was the exact opposite of the low profile that Raddek had requested, Faeril hoped it worked. He just wanted this entire ordeal to be overwith. With Emmaline acting more competently than he had given her credit for, Faeril simply took a step so that he was behind her and kept the two coins closed in his fist. If the guards didn't buy this, he would give them their bribe and apologize for his friends. Maybe make up a lie about ash poisoning.

Even though he looked more like a dirty brigand, and barely that of a hired sword, Reyvadin knew the importance of looking good. He did his best to comb out his hair and wipe away the sweat and grime on his face. Contrary to popular belief, looking like a poor peasant isn't going to protect you from thieves and low lives. This wasn't some sort of fantasy game where cutpurses and psychopaths prey on able bodied heroes who wandered into the wrong alley. No, they often go for those who are most vulnerable but may have even just a few silvers to spare. After all, if these thugs were willing to throw themselves against someone who looked mildly rich, what made one think they wouldn't be above harassing someone they know is weaker than them? Thus Reyvadin must make sure he looked as good as he could, to make it known he wasn't just some unfortunate peasant among the mass of distroden refugees. Or at least not look the part.

Still if there was anything Reyvadin has learned these past few hours, it was the importance of subtly. And while he did his best to look decent, he didn't try to look too good either. Not just because of a lack of basic necessities such as water, but because Reyvadin was trying to intentionally cultivate a certain level of nondescript about himself. Clean enough that anyone who may talk to him might think him decent, but not so immaculate that they wonder why such a noble is slumming it with the poor. Because the unfortunate truth is that Reyvadin is poor right now, and trying to act like he isn't won't help at all. So while he needed to prove himself better than the common rabble humility is a virtue, and hopefully it'll keep him beneath notice while he's out and about.

Not that it always goes according to plan. But no plan ever does. When the group reached the gates they were halted by the guards. Decently armed men but Reyvadin knows that guards don't merely pick out "random" people for tolls. Either everyone pays, or no one does, and this was obviously a shake down. As Reyvadin had mentally noted, thugs would have no shame in shaking down those who obviously don't have much to give. He eyed the men, knowing that he was far too out numbered to bother trying to fight, though he also noted that the crowds where thick enough that escape wasn't entirely impossibly. These men were armed with billhooks, suitably for fighting against different types of foes, but no so great if they had to slash and stab into a crowd of people. And as Reyvadin was thinking of his next plan of action, the more mouthy ones of the group decided to make their presence known.

Frankly, Reyvadin expected this to happen. If nothing else he's quick to adapt to what he has instead of bemoaning what he doesn't. As the crowd continued to move and jostle around Reyvadin would subtly melt into the crowd, bending low at the knee to seem shorter as Emmaline and Lorcan went on some diatribe that Reyvadin honestly did not care to listen for. But he did want them to keep talking so while the guards were focused on the pretty face and the giant of a man, a relatively normal looking human could just slip by unnoticed. Save him the silver and ensure that these guards don't recognize his face too much.

It seemed as if this decrepit city was to be the safest place that they’d be able to reside in for the time being, a fact that did not sit well with Falfer’s posh bottom. The burrahob, began to make his way into the city, until he heard the sound of orders being barked, not at himself of course, but to the taller of the people of their group. It seemed as if they were being asked to pay a fee if he could hear them correctly over the throngs of people talking. Yet, it was none of his true concern as to what they would do, so long as they did not get themselves killed in some horrific turn of events. He was sure that they would be able to manage without his help, without any guidance from his own intelligence. A mere stop for this group would be nothing, even if such tolls were more than likely just a scam set up by the city watch.

However, Falfer felt such hope be diminished as Lorcan spoke of workforces and the city’s economy, forcing the Burrowfolk to put his fingers to the ridge of his nose as he let out an audible sigh. An act that forced itself upon him further when Emmaline took her turn to try and avoid the toll. After a brief moment of respite he looked back up at the group before letting another disgruntled sigh. He looked over the Migi and loosed a few words, “Why must everyone try to avoid the tolls? I get that this is likely just some weird shakedown by the guard but it’s so odd seeing it in person. I swear, this nonsense was nowhere near my mind in Pumpkinhollow. “

Falfer let out a light chuckle as he finally got to see it in person, often having to hear about the other side of it when he was still living the high life at home. He is often heard about people coming up with absurd reasons to avoid paying something but it was something to actually see it entirely. In fact, the humor was actually genuine in the mind of Falfer, for one time distracted from his aching feet and desire of going home as watched with intensity as to what the guard would respond with in regards to both of the people in front of him. It was a veritable ride of emotions, much like a well acted comedy that was playing out in front of him.

He didn’t turn to Migi this time to address her, a smile almost creeping across his lips as he spoke with a stifled chuckle, “I bet that the guard is going to either double down on his scam, what do you think?” He seemed utterly transfixed upon the interaction, the worries he previously complained about seeming behind him as his eyes scanned the guard for what he was going to do next, secretly hoping that he was going to double down. Falfer could almost taste the reactions of the group having to deal with further hassle that would have been avoided all too easily in his own eyes.

If Jaina had been by herself, she would have probably continued her way through the city and not really given much of a care about some random men being held outside. After all, who knew what people actually were? Thieves, murderers, rapists, all of the above- there were enough of those in the world; she had dealt with many of the like. However, in the two days she had spent with this group, while perhaps not the most ideal company, she knew they were the sort that were probably good to have on ones side during trying times like these.

Besides, she was quite sure these guards didn't really care much about what they were, just what they had on them. Greedy bastards, though as a runway mercenary with a mark on her head, she wasn't one to judge too much. Still, it was an annoyance that people from her group were stuck being bullied. It didn't seem as if Lorcan's words made much of a difference to the guards, and while she could certainly give credit that he tried, it wasn't surprising to her that it had been in vain.

Truth be told, if she'd had a silver or two she would have flung it at them and let them be happy. However, runaway prisoners didn't normally carry much in the way of coins, and she certainly hadn't had the time to procure any in the two days she'd been free. She sighed softly, hearing what the blond woman had to say. Her ploy could work, that was for sure, though if it backfired, the guards would probably think the Lady had goods on her that they could take in lieu of coin.

For the time being, Jaina would simply observe. There was nothing she could do without further agitating the situations, and if luck was on their side, Emmaline's lie would be sufficient for the unfortunate ones in their group to move forward. And if not... well, they would worry about that then, she supposed. She'd bet there were plenty of ways to sneak in if someone how an imaginative and creative mind. Perhaps she would help as well?

Had it been less turbulent times, the sentries might have asked for papers and credentials. Even the lowest born aristocrat had an emblem or proof of identification in heraldric papers. But the crowd was burgeoning, and Emmaline carried herself with an imperious air, cleverly utilizing every asset of her body to seem peerless in their presence. The other members of the group played along perfectly, with the notable absence of Reyvadin who seemed to be missing for a minute. Still, while apparently aristocratic, to the guards it was clear Emmaline was not above a petty baroness, if even that. Raddek sped the process along to keep them from asking too many questions, barking at the men to grant them their names double time. Five were taken; Holton, Borgund, Kurt, Rogelo, and Anthonie.

"My lady, you and your...guards clearly have not been in the region long." The one called Kurt said, eyeing Lorcan for a moment and snorting derisively. "Orders are orders, and had you not been highborn we would have had to execute them without bias. As it stands, the city council has far larger concerns that us, even without the calamity. My advice, stay safe and keep your purse with you. Some men here only speak the language of money, if you get my meaning."

Raddek elbowed past the other men with purpose, though Emmaline and perhaps another observer would see he cocked his eyebrow at the guardsman's statement. He bowed before her, his eyes now level with hers and moving erratically to indicate they should make haste out of the gateway.

"Your retainers are waiting, my lady." He told her, and with that he stepped forward and lead the group deeper into the street, making sure to find a nice corner where the refugees and citizenry were not packed so thickly. Judging by the short, stout tower that cast a shadow across their crew of miscreants, they were beside a miller or a storage building of some kind. Once everyone was gathered, Raddek crossed his thick arms and gave one last look down the street for good measure before he felt safe enough to speak. In the shadows, his iron eyes were grim.

"I don't know about any of you, but I'm going to get a drink and to find somewhere to sleep. Luckily I know someone that might help ease the price on something like that. Migi, me, and anyone else who wants to follow are going to the Ubrico Soldati. It's only a few miles southwest of here, close to the docks. It's fairly cheap for being in one of the smaller areas of the city, and if my friend is still there we can probably manage. Everyone else, do your thing. Just take care. Varone is still probably one of the wonders of the coast, but it's fallen on hard times so watch your purse and your necks. Let's all meet at the Ubrico tonight anyhow."

Not one to mince words, Raddek merely gave a nod and started moving back up the street from whence they had come, Migi and whoever else was going in tow.

---

1 hour later...

Despite the steady flow of fleeing civilians and countryside immigrants, the city of Varone proved to be as cosmopolitan as its reputation gave. Most of the buildings were made of stone or marble, and there were not two streets without some great work of art or statue on display amidst fountains or lavish trees. Carriages of rare Mulgrave Wood weren't uncommon, horses cantering past the group in perfect step. Canals crisscrossed along the streets nearly every mile, patrolled by guardsmen in rafts or the odd rich citizen in longboats of their own. Some couples wanting a romantic day on the town rented out smaller crafts, snogging in the back of the boats as local oarsmen tilled them about. Most were content with staying in the larger channels between the three great 'islands' that made up Varone, but some traversed the smaller canals and slipped under the bridges, ignoring those on the street.

They passed a few taverns and breweries, including the Blackmoon Dive, one of the more raunchy locations west of the palace that would have likely suited them had they been able to get in. Raddek informed them you either had to be in league with one of the thieves guilds or be willing to pay a pretty penny to enter. Across another bridge and down a lane that led into a concrete jungle of tunnels and walkways beneath a guildhouse for the Brewer's guild, they stepped out into another street and found themselves right in front of a stone alehouse and inn, its front consisting of four archways that led to a patio where people could drink and feast outside without fear or rain. Raddek had enough of trekking outside, so he moved in.

Inside, the establishment seemed clean and well ordered. Serving maids and manservants in aprons, tan tops and striped loose trousers gave calls in Dre Costan and served food and drink with the swiftness of professionals. In the center of the dining area was a large rock of obsidian, and two rusty cutlasses were stuck fast in it, crisscrossing due to their curved blades. Next to the rock, recently emptied bottles were placed there in what looked to be some strange ritual or contest. Various men and women were being served, including a few very odd people. A tanned, sumptuous woman with dangerous eyes and dark jewelry drank a bottle greedily as a rotund Andredian sobbed into a bowl of porridge three tables away, comforted by a perhaps not fully-human lass with unruly red hair. A cloaked figure ate quietly in the back, two tables from two men in matching robes speaking quietly over their hardly-touched dinners. Scattered among them were either well dressed citizens in fine satins, silks, and linens, a table deep in a tense card game; or hard men armed with daggers and swords, sporting at least three different brooches with varying marks signifying different mercenary companies.

"Get a table, I'll be back." Raddek told those that followed him, and he stepped past the counter into the back kitchen as if he owned the place.