Well, that was nice. It seemed that Emmaline's ploy had worked well enough for the guards. Jaina was satisfied that she wouldn't need to find another group that didn't want her in chains anytime soon. It would be good to stay around sharp minded people, if only to get out of trouble easily. Running away felt tedious, and she had no coin.

Even as muddled thoughts swam about in her mind, she followed along with the rest of the group, dark eyes taking in their surroundings. She had to admit it was actually not a bad looking place at all, and perhaps it did make sense that the guards would be picky about whom they allowed in; troublemakers did tend to make... trouble. It would be a shame to have something happen here as well from simply being negligent. She'd bet money that they already had their share of miscreants and hardly needed more.

Well... she would bet if she had some money on her. Alas.

"I'll accompany you," Jaina decided after hearing what Raddek had to say. Hopefully they didn't charge for water at the Ubrico Solidati. In any case, she wanted someplace to sit for a bit and simply listen in on others. If nothing else, she could probably exchange her amulet for food, drink and a place to sleep. Sentimental attachment was something to set aside when you weren't sure where you'd be getting your next meal.

She sighed. She really didn't like being without gold...

---

Jaina would say she was a well traveled sort, but the fact was that she was well traveled in the desert lands and certainly nowhere like... here. Though her face kept her usual composed expression, her eyes were flitting to and fro as she walked with the group, taking in the beautiful buildings, the canals, actual boats in a city. It almost felt as if people were carefree here... perhaps there would be a chance to find a job where she could be hired as a mercenary?

She followed after Raddek, pausing slightly when the man spoke up. "Sure," she replied, turning to see if she could find a free table. Normally she would have found someplace in the corner, but since this was a new city, she preferred sitting someplace she could actually hear as well as observe. Pulling a chair at an empty table near some of the fancier looking folks, she raised a hand when she saw a maid nearby.

"Just some water for now," she instructed the pretty serving girl, giving her a brief smile before looking away, her eyes training between the men playing cards to the fellows with the weapons.

Retainers... retainers... retainers ?! That word alone probably would have been a far cry from being enough to trigger Lorcan's anger, and Emmaline's act of degrading him to a mere 'jester' could also be excused by the fact that she had indeed tried to get them out of trouble, but the Skayleigh's opinion was biased. She had tried things her way in the most reckless fashion imaginable before, so what the woman had done now felt more like a repetition of that than it really was.

Or, in other words, Lorcan was looking neither like a jester nor like a humble follower when he went after Emmaline's steps for the next couple of seconds, but his looks would have been more acceptable for the role of a maddened harlequin whose part of the overall performance was to murder the king and shove his still warm body down from the stage and into the audience. He would have lied by stating that he was not waiting for her to utterly fail with her kind of approach.

The larger part of Lorcan's irritation fell victim to oblivion though once he spotted that the Umbrico Soldati had some decent comfort to offer. After dozens of miles walking, the thing falling from the sky and the encounter with the bandits this was very much like the kind of change he needed. It would put a severe strain on his pocket, but maybe Raddek's friend would indeed be able to... 'manage' ? The other question was though how their de-facto leader did happen to have just the right kind of friend at the right spot in the first place. Maybe this was just a bit of paranoia, but Lorcan thought it certainly was good to never forget that the majority of the party was here for one reason alone: they had done bad things in the past.

Who could be trusted and who not had been more of a secondary concern as long as everyone's life had been in immediate danger from much more obvious, external sources. Now however that one could expect things to settle down a little bit with a fair degree of reason any malicious nature, human or not, would have the chance to come back to the surface and do its deed. There were predators that did not hesitate from going after their own kind... Therefore, the Skayleigh decided that it would be best to sit with his back not to the open street or the main hall, but as close to a solid piece of building as possible.

Having squeezed himself into what had looked like the piece of furniture better suited for a half-giant than the others, Lorcan observed his surroundings. The place clearly was fascinating, if not even outright luxurious, but still he couldn't do otherwise than to spend most of his time on the people here. What were they doing ? What were they talking ? The influx of unknown dialects and habits was bound to cause a headache, but for the moment the Skayleigh just felt a little safer that way.

Faeril silently thanked Fineki for Emmaline's ploy succeeding, despite the indignant look on Lorcan's face. They were fortunate enough to be ushered along by Emmaline's confidence and Raddek's swift action. With the guards behind them Faeril breathed a sigh of relief and put his money back in his pouch. Then, hearing Raddek's warning about city at large, he put the pouch in one of the interior pockets of his shirt. No sense in having the money stolen before he could use it. An inn sounded amazing, but there were things he needed to do first. As much as he was grateful for being out of his prisoner rags, he wasn't going to walk around in dirty brigand's clothes any longer. Even if they didn't smell like a dead man, they looked like he belonged skulking in a back alley, ready to stab an easy victim for their money. That was no way to prevent what happened at the gate from happening again. Emmaline's silver tongue wouldn't work twice in a row, and he wanted to hold onto what little money he had. It was needed for more important things.

None the less, he didn't know where this Ubico Soldati was. Finding it by himself would be impossible, and he was going to be damned if he would ask a someone where it was without at least knowing what the building looked like first. Even if he trusted the locals to point him in the right direction, which most assuredly did not, without seeing the building itself there was a significant chance that he was going to get lost anyway. And getting lost in a city this large was as dangerous as getting lost in the wilderness. If not more so. At least the beasts of the wild didn't ambush you out of cruelty or malice. So he followed Raddek and those who went with him to the Soldati, both to get a better idea of which direction to head to ifnd it again, and to make sure he would know the building when he came back there again.

The city of Varone was better built than he initially gave it credit for. While it didn't match the strong majesty of his home city, it was far better constructed than he expected. Good quality stone and marble was used, so far at least, and there seemed to be a balance between aesthetics and function. It was a welcome sight after the days of wilderness he had come through with the others. Perhaps there was a chance for them to make something of themselves here. Or at least do more than survive day to day. Pausing in the entrance he spoke to the group before they were out of ear shot. "I'll be back. Just wanted to see the building before I asked where it was. Don't trust the locals not to send me to their friends down an alley instead." Whether anyone heard him was a mystery, but he had spoken to them before heading out.

Heading back out into Varone at large, with a careful hand on his pouch and Odari Crossbow, Faeril kept his eyes peeled for a tailor, some shop to sell his spare crossbow, and anything or anyone that looked like they were hiring for help. He doubted that the group would want to or be suited to being regular workers, but a city as large as Varone was bound to have something that was more suited to their talents. And who knew? With a new set of clothes and some extra coin something might find him for a job instead.

Or try to rob him.

Emmaline decided to take a seat with Migi and Jaina figuring that the three of them together the constituted two and a half fully sized women. The air of aggrieved nobility had slid from her as soon as they were through the gate. It wasn't likely that the guards would spread the word of their party, odd as they were. How would that even go? Well your honors we were trying to shake down some travelers and... well the rest of that sentence had better be really good. Even though she was penniless and dressed in what amounted to rags, she was in considerably better spirits now that she was back in a city. Varone might not be her home turf but it was closer to home than she had been since she had been imprisoned.

"I'll have wine, whatever red you have," she told the serving woman as she took her seat beside the two women. Sitting next to Migi made her feel enormous and unwieldy as well as oddly self conscious for some reason..

"You can put it on Raddek's tab," she said blithely making a gesture towards the departing mercenary. It was a reasonable enough thing to say and if Raddek objected, well she would have already had some wine. It was time to think about how she might earn some gold of her own. She had no skill with a sword and no capital of her own to start with. That left the worlds oldest and second oldest professions. As yet she wasn't quite desperate enough to resort to the first, which left the second. The card game seemed the best place to start in that respect, though given this was the groups only haven in this strange city she had to reign in her natural enthusiasm while she got the lay of the land.

"I wonder how a girl can earn some coin here about?" she mused to her companions as she waited for her drink. The Blackmoon had seemed like her kind of place as they passed but she wasn't fool enough to wander in there with no money and no clue about how things worked in this strange city. A few ideas were already percolating in the back of her mind but she was worried she might trip over the local thieves guild if she decided to jump in with both feet.

Faeril and whoever chose to follow him headed east toward the center of the city, passing smaller shops set up for sellers of seafood, knick knacks, and a three story brothel called 'The Wet Siren' with the statue of a mermaid splayed out upon a wave in front of the door, chest thrust out and eyes wide. So far no tailor, though there were a few shops he stopped at that sold pre-made jackets, baldrics, and sacks to store items in. He had to move in further, passing over a vast canal, the bridge so long fruit vendors plied their wares on them. Faerli saw humans of all ethnicities; even some Shi'Ranese travelers with their curved swords and fierce eyed stares. An Elf swordsman in valdium chainmail passed them by, thin of body and blonde hair carefully groomed, he still moved like a serpent born with the sword.

Now on the center area of the city, the signs spoke of 'Old City,' where the buildings were made of swampstone and extravagant brick, couriers visible every now and then hustling about. The passerby's were of a richer sort, though he couldn't see any nobles save perhaps one or two with large retinues. Strangely, many of the buildings that were not shops or manors were connected by large causeways a dozen feet above the streets. On the southern street, a large crowd gathered before a wall Faeril would figure out was an estate, rocks being thrown at the windows. As he continued by, he saw men-at-arms sporting the city's colors approaching the crowd...

Finally, Faeril found a marketplace. A high end one, but one nonetheless. A Dwarven smith was beating his hammer upon the anvil, smithing a fresh piece of metal just as Faeril walked in. Across the way, people mingling and chatting, he finally saw a place that sold clothes of varying thread and styles, called 'Varone's weave.' An man dressed as a knight walked past the front, speaking to a woman who seemed perturbed, and strangest of all, a young boy approached Faeril, tugging at his jerkin and drawing his attention.

"Excuse me, sir Dwarf? May I speak to you?" The lad asked, his hair as brown as oak, his clothes nondescript but not entirely poor. He leaned in and whispered. "Would you be so kind as to kill me? I would pay sir..."

---

The slim barmaid smiled at them, more in a professionally polite manner, but it was clear she was happy to help the group. But when they mentioned Raddek, she blinked and did a doubletake, turning back to the door the ex-crusader had stalked into. "That...Galena, that was Raddek! I... Wow, I haven't seen Raddek in seven years! I was a wee lass but I remember that face. I hope he's been doing well." Impressively she set down the wine, cheap beer, water, and bread to match each of their orders despite her breathless bewilderment.

The card game Jaina and Emmaline honed in on was a 'combo' game of both cards and dice. 'Sabers & Shields' had a steep learning curve, but once you learned it there was real money to be made in underground competitions. The darkly beautiful woman watched the game with an idle curiosity as well, they would notice. The players looked to be dock workers, with a captain and a dockyard master judging by their emblems and uniforms. A laborer with a square jaw and an even squarer haircut threw down two bone dice, dagger cuts etched on the knuckle bones, coming up three. Dropping his hand, four shields and one greatsword hit the table. The captain slammed his fist on the table in frustration, but he laughed rather than yelled. "Two to one odds next round," he said, and the others followed suit, clearly not wanting to be seen as weak, though a few were sweating. Luckily for the others, the romantic couple, the whispering drinkers, even the sobbing man, the room was big enough to give everyone enough space, even with the commonors laughing and drinking between them.

Outside, all of them saw a strange occurrence: A tall blonde man clad in the tabard of a cavalier had stripped his swordbelt and armor off, barking something at a younger man who stood between him and a departing Elf in the robes of a scholarly nature. The younger man was dark of hair and caramel of skin, with a handsome albeit youthful visage, and even with his baggy white linen shirt, he was clearly muscled in a noticeably sculpted manner. He had in his arms a large crate that he looked to have been carrying toward the Ubrico Soldati. What they said to one another wasn't heard, but soon a group of sailors passed the window and blotted out their line of sight, and once they had passed, the knight was on the ground with a bleeding nose as the tanned fellow picked the crate back up, bringing it into the tavern.

The door opened with a bump of the younger man's hip, gracefully holding the heavy crate easily, drawing the attention of the barmaid as if it brought her back to reality.

"Wow, you did it!" She congratulated him, holding her arms out as if to help and then drawing them away, knowing full well it would just squish her. "Go in the back and show Garnor. That will last us another week, thanks. There was no trouble right?"

"Not really," he said, his face flushing behind the crate. He glanced at the table with Migi, Emmaline, Lorcan, and Jaina. He smiled awkwardly and said "Hi," as he stepped past them and did his best to fit the crate into the doorway. It was just after he squeezed it in that Raddek stepped out, looking relieved in a way from his little meeting in the back.

"So, we've got rooms. Three of them, provided we help the tavernkeeper out with a few things." He remarked curtly, his deep baritone prompting attention. He sat down between Migi and Jaina, calling for some mead of his own. The barmaid looked like she wanted to speak up, but simply nodded and skipped off to get his drink without saying a word to him. Raddek leaned in, motioning for the others to as well. As he did, the fighter that had bloodied the nose of the knight stepped out and sat at the counter, giving curious a look at everyone in the common room whilst waiting for something; likely food.

"Looks like there's been a shortage of beer. Some blockade on the south seas cutting off the sea trade supply, and with the cataclysm up north, that keeps more from coming into the city. Which means we need to find a Dark Auction shipper. That... or there's another task we can do for Garnor... we can find information on Balyxtra Dal'draig. The desposed Sultana of Varone."

As the minutes passed, Lorcan found it increasingly easy to truly watch what was going on despite the room being so busy. No headache yet, but that could still come despite the fact that his mind had apparently adapted to the plethora of information and successfully started to just skip everything of obvious non-importance. Therefore, pretty much the only thing left on his observation schedule was the table where 'Sabers & Shields' was played. An interesting game, but just like any other game primarily based on chance it was prone to one or more of its players not being able to stand a series of bad luck. The outburst would come, sooner or later, that was what the Skayleigh expected. If not now than later on when the stakes were even higher and, more importantly, more alcohol was in the players' heads, too.

Someone barking something made the half-giant turn his heads away from the game and towards the window, They had knights down here ? At least that was his very first impression of the blonde man. Then the other maybe was his squire or the like ? The two consumed so much of Lorcan's attention that he didn't realize the elven scholar until the latter was almost out of sight around the next corner. Then the sailors passed by and destroyed all his assumptions about the muscled boy being some sort of 'squire'. That was... unless servants not serving a knight but a tavern were called 'squires' down here, too!

Some of the barmaid's words did reach his pointy hears and burned into his head. Trouble ? Why should there be any significant trouble with some food and beverages that would merely last for another week anyway ? Except for the greedy guards Valorne so far had given the impression of a rather civilized place. It probably was nothing, but Lorcan felt some kind of eagerness to take a look behind the scenes.

It would be rather unappropriate to even try that as long as Raddek was gesturing him to come towards the others though. Rooms for them sounded good, but helping the innkeeper out 'with a few things' did not. And then, as the half-elf had come closer and could listen their so-far-leader's other words, things started to merge and fall into place. So that crate had likely contained nothing but... beer ? That felt a little hilarious in the first moment.

"Erm... What exactly is a 'dark auction shipper' ? Sounds like a special term local to this place for me. And do we need to fine one, or do we need to find a specific one ?" he asked, trying to keep his tone low and the need for discretion about this information was pretty obvious.

After getting into the city, Reyvadin shadowed the group, quietly observing and following along. He didn't know as much about this place as he would've liked: had they been in the north Reyvadin could probably blend in as a local, but he stood out like a sword wound here, which was all the more reason he needed to stay low less he attracted unwanted attention. He mainly stayed with the group as a sort of smoke screen: anyone with ill intent would likely focus on the more colorful and talkative members than himself. But that doesn't mean Reyvadin didn't keep track of where he was and where he was going. He wasn't sure how long he'd stay in this city or even with this group, but it would be important for him to know the ins and outs. It was something taught to him while he was being a knight. Young men may think winning battles is about being a skillful fighter, but that was merely a part of it. Knowing your terrain was just as important, because anywhere could be your battlefield. Considering how lowly Reyvadin's current status was, he should be prepared to know his escape routes if he has to resort to some sort of petty thievery and make an escape: last thing he wants to do is turn towards a dead end which will lead to his end.

When the group found an inn to stay at, Reyvadin made a note of it's location but didn't enter. Tired as he was, there was still some things he needed to do. The first being to get a proper spear. He's no doubt that he'll have to start using his weapon for more mercenary endeavors henceforth. With the rapid increase of refugees there's no doubt crime and banditry in the countryside, which will no doubt keep the city's soldiers busy. This was an opportunity for sellswords to sell their expertise for buyers to reclaim or secure interests outside of the city that have now been abandoned, and Reyvadin wants in on that action. But he won't be finding many clients if he's dressed little more than a looter armed with a stick. A proper spear will at least keep him armed, and maybe a solid set of boots too. The wrappings around his feet were wearing out from all the walking he had to do just to get here.

Faeril left, and Reyvadin figured he'd follow. He didn't ask permission of course, but Faeril didn't ask not to be followed, and Reyvadin at least had the courtesy to have his presence be known to him. They went through the city, wandering about various shops and brothels. Were he a youngerman Reyvadin would be tempted to partake in vices and women even with his meager coin, however he knew not to waste his money on such frivolous things when he had actual priorities to be had. There was a large crowd, a mob really, seemingly discontent with someone's manor. A familiar sight to Reyvadin: peasants back at home were quick to cause a ruckus, and Reyvadin was often there to see them put down. Made him wonder if maybe that's why his family was so quickly disposed that fateful day. But he moved on as he arrived to an actual market place.

It was no Yruma, but this market was better kept than your typical townsquare. Which isn't saying much, but it's better than nothing. An artisan district with various workers and craftsman hard at work. Reyvadin wondered if any of them knew what had just happened outside of the city, or if they were satisfied with their tiny lives within their shops. More things for him to ponder. It was here that Reyvadin split of from Faeril, looking to find a smith who wasn't currently occupied. Ideally, he could find an affordable spear for a silver or three. He might try to haggle if it's worth more. But if not, Reyvadin would simply see if he could find a smith who has the time to set the current knife he has into the spear shaft he's already carrying. A deceptively simple job perhaps, but Reyvadin knows to let more skilled people do it than try it himself. Simply tying a knife to a staff was something a desperate brigand does, and such weapons were not nearly as reliable as they seemed. Better to get a smith who can properly notch wood and set the screws. If Reyvadin had anything else left, he'll see about investing in some footwear.

Emmaline cocked an eyebrow at Migi, even as her gaze tried to follow the tanned newcomer into the back room with his crate. Whoever he was he clearly wasn't anyone to be trifled with. Given the way he had handled the knight he was clearly a man with skills and enough importance that he wasn't worried about the ass sat, bloody nosed, noble making trouble for him.

"That was nearly very disturbing," she admitted to the burrowhob. Despite her best efforts she was momentarily overwhelmed with visions of cities and forests in flame and felt an alien thrill tremble through her body. It left an odd taste in her mouth that she associated with the strange voice in her head. The thought triggered a mental chuckle that made her more uncomfortable that the words and the visions had done.

"Excuse me for a minute," she said standing up and brushing herself off. She realised as she did so that she still looked like she was one step away from taking up begging, whoring, or more probably both. Perhaps it would have made more sense to look for clothing, though following the Dwarf still seemed like about as much fun as throwing herself into one of Varone's canals.

"We should keep an ear open for this Sultana thing too," she opined, "always money to be made with rumors like that." With a quick step she followed the tanned man back into the kitchen, attempting to get a look at whatever it was he had taken so much trouble to get into the inn.

Faeril headed through the city, giving Reyvadin a nod as he saw the human man begin to follow him. He could handle himself if a situation called for it, but it was always better to have an ally he could rely on if things got ugly. While Reyvadin wasn't as practical as Migi or Raddek, he was competent in a fight and that's all that really mattered. As they went farther into the city, they passed by a variety of people. Most of whom, Faeril noticed, were armed and armored. With that many non-guardsmen brandishing weapons either the city was particularly dangerous or there would be plenty of work for their little band of budding mercenaries. Hopefully it was the latter but they would be ready for the former. He made note of the brothel for later. He didn't have enough money now, but when he did it'd be a good thing to keep in mind.

As they went farther in, they reached the self-proclaimed 'Old City' where evidently the rich citizens of Varone lived. The buildings and the people all got nicer, though they were connected in strange ways. Who would want to live where your neighbors could easily walk into your home? Perhaps it was for city defense, if an enemy breached the outer walls they could be fired at from the walkways, he supposed. Of course, with richer citizens came those seeking to tear them down. They passed by the mob throwing rocks at an estate and Faeril picked up his pace as he saw the guards marching in to disrupt them. He didn't want to be dragged into the fight, or slaughter depending on how brave the mob was, and lumped in with the mob by the guards. At least somethings never changed. The guards were more concerned with the rich part of town than the poor, that was true of everywhere.

Finally they found a marketplace that had what he was looking for. A fellow dwarf would doubtlessly offer him some coin for the normal crossbow, and Varone's Weave sounded like just the place to get properly fitted clothes so that he no longer looked like a brigand. Faeril made a note of Reyvadin heading to the smiths and then continued on his way. They didn't need to be attached at the hip but Faeril wanted to know where his allies were. As Faeril was looking around, seeing if there was anything else he could spend his money on, a tug was suddenly felt at his jerkin.

Faeril looked over to see a boy. Before he could tell the annoying child to leave him be, the boy requested to die. Faeril blinked, caught off-guard by the request, before leaning in and whispering. "Money first, I'm not killing someone and then searching a corpse to find nothing. And why would a child like you want to die so badly?" As he spoke he felt for his coins and equipment and looked around. This could very easily be a trap for the boy's gang to mug him or for the boy to try to pickpocket his money or possessions. If either were true, Faeril would grant his request whether it was real or not.

Varone's fate seemed to stray upon the edge of a blade. Like the great city of Basilos to the east, the pomp and glory of this 'Diamond of The Coast' was just loud enough to draw eyes away from the still-bleeding wound beneath its ostentatious cloak. Whether the return of the Sultana could herald in a new age, or the Senator-Lords of the Golden Book were already in the process of healing their fair Varone remained to be seen. The fall of a city so great and prosperous was not unknown to the north, particularly after the Wars of Brutality. As for now, it seemed it was in all of their best interests to vote on how these recently released cutthroats could have a bed at night and food in their bellies, and so they did.

"I am for the beer too. I want no part in political struggles, and this one became a mess since last I was here," Raddek told them, crossing his arms as he sat back. A few of the patrons had now left the inn, as it was moving past early afternoon and those that stayed were either on drinking binges or wished for a pleasant place to converse rather than a noonday meal. At the corner of the room, a small band of three minstrels had begun to play, now that there was less laughter and yelling to make their presence redundant. It was a soothing, homey rendition of an older, northern tune. Raddek cleared his throat and glanced Lorcan's way. "The 'Dark Auction' is a..." he seemed to be trying to find the right words. "I'm not a criminal-" he cursed, remembering they all got shipped here because they were exiled by the law. "Ok I might be, but I'm not a thief. The 'Dark Auction' is an underground market for stolen goods. Most other people would know more than I do, but it's a large organization made up of many smaller organizations that steal and then trade, and they have a lot of smugglers working for them. If we could find a contact, we might be able to get a smuggler to help us ship in some ale. But that's only one option. We could find a smuggler or gang not affiliated with it, or find someone reputable, though that's looking more unlikely." He ended his thought with a sigh, taking a swig of his flagon.

The card players shoved their chairs back, the sound of the legs were audible as they scraped over the tile. The frequent victor, who appeared to be a layman sailor, squeezed by Migi and Jaina on his way out of the tavern as the Captain and the other seadogs walked out in a rough mass to leave, passing Raddek and Lorcan. Raddek notably kept himself quiet as they walked by. Once they filtered out, Raddek placed his flagon done and watched the door. "So I'll tell Jonathan we're going after the alcohol. Fuck his sympathies for the queen. I'll get the room keys once we do, and when we get them, we've got three days to get him something or we'll need to start paying."

---

Concurrently, Emmaline had sashayed her way behind the bar door, back through the swinging door where Beren had entered. The kitchen had an iron boiler, a relic of a past age when Gnomes had yet to be slaughtered en masse and Dwarves traded with men more freely. The device was on and generating heat, but it was likely just barely the hottest thing in the room. The kitchen was a fair size with a built-in drain on the floor and cupboards galore, and four doors. Two leading to the common room, one leading into a backhall, and another one that fed into a small business room. The muscled youth rapped on the last room with his knuckles twice, the heavy crate set by the door. He seemed to be singing something under his breath, but stopped when he noticed Emmaline in the room, looking at him.

"Uh, hi," he said, looking at her with chocolate eyes and then glancing around the room. His confusion was likely justified. "Are you...a new girl here?"

Before she was able to respond, the door opened. A man in business attire, contrasting the stained apron he wore over it stepped out. He had two chins that were scraggly with coarse facial hair and a tired disposition. He was most likely the fellow Raddek had come back there to meet. "You're saving us by a few days, boy. I'll be sure to compensate you. I-" He stopped, his words dying when he noticed Emmaline. The muscled man she had followed idly pointed her way.

"She new?"

"She doesn't bloody work here. She came in early. Hey girl! You can't be back here." He warned, making no moves but clearly used to being listened to. He gestured to Emmaline. "Get her out of here, Beren. Thanks for the stock."

As the door closed, Beren gave a sarcastic. "Oh of course," before turning to regard the buxom blonde that had followed curiously. He approached her, hesitating with what to do. He lifted his arms to grab her, but lowered them immediately and paused, clearly having no real idea how to move a woman politely. He had an embarrassed smile. "Here, let me show you out. We can't really be back here?"

---

Meanwhile, Faeril stood in the midst of the crowd with the apparently suicidal boy and his request of death. Faeril examined him, and long years in schemes of skullduggery told him that the boy wasn't lying, nor did he think it a trap. However, there was something odd about the lad. He spoke someone monotonously, but was also very clearly stressed. He seemed devoid of hope, but reluctant. Perhaps it was merely the common fear of death most have, or perhaps he was in some weird situation he did not let on. As it were, he reached into his pocket and fished out five gold royals and held it up for Faeril to see.

"To save my brother's life, sir. I can't tell you more than that." he explained, and then looked around. "Could you promise to make it quick, sir Dwarf? I don't want to hurt."

Reyvadin, on the other hand, had a more elucidating experience, though it was an expensive prospect, it seemed. The exiled noble had a few options, having found a vendor that did business with the smith, selling the wares while the smith made them. Of course, smiths did not merely make spears. They made the spear heads and had an assistant find the ash, yew, or oak trees to make the hafts, as the same with any weapon. Amongst the piles were various melee weapons and arrows, fresh from the fletcher. But there were sixteen spears available, and four types of varying quality.

There were simple spears, with oak hafts and iron leaf heads. They looked roughly two and a half meters in length, made for any guardsmen or soldiers in need of a good thrusting weapon. Next were partisans, with three prong heads. Slightly shorter but slightly more robust, reinforced with bronze at its sides. Pikes stood near twice as long as the partisans, with heads made of iron. Finally, the winged spears. A soldier's weapon, with steel leaf heads that could perhaps cut as well as thrust if used particularly well.

The spears and pikes were four lordling silvers, the winged spears were six lordlings, and the partisans were seven in total. Though haggling might be allowed were one smooth enough.

A mustachioed Vrettonian stood, mumbling in his native tongue as he spoke accented Andredian to the customers, as that and Dre-Costan were the common tongue in these parts.

Emmaline stood on her tiptoes attempting to peer over Beren's shoulder to look at the crate and not making any immediate mood to leave. She was interested to see what was so in demand that a man would risk attacking an armed knight for it. Whenever something was in demand it was likely there was money to be made and she would dearly like to be able to afford something better than the rags she was currently dressed in.

"I'm Emmaline," she said with a bright smile by way of introduction, given that the man hadn't just shoved her back into the taproom she suspected she could use his own manners against him, at least for a few moments.

"I came in with some refugees, you probably saw us on the way through," she continued making a vague gesture back towards those members of her little party who had not yet left the tavern.

"Your name is Beren? I saw you attack that knight," she continued to bubble finally allowing the youth to shift her backwards towards the door now that she had used the time to get a good look at the crate. She turned slightly making it more difficult than it needed to be to put the young man off balance.

"Do you go around attacking knight's all the time? That is very bold of you, did he want that crate?" she prattled on.

Faeril took the five coins and pocketed them, looking around again. Nothing seemed amiss, and money was money. They were in no position to turn down something this easy. “You’ve got a place in mind for this? I’ll make it quick, but killing you in the middle of a market isn’t going to do me any good. No matter how much money you pay, I can’t spend it if the guards have arrested me or worse.” Faeril looked around to make sure there weren't any guards in the area, and to see if they were being watched by anyone. They needed to move without looking suspicious to the guards and the normal citizens. The kid might not care what happens after his death, but Faeril certainly did.

The child nodded dejectedly, clearly having lost all hope yet still unhappy about his situation. He looked about, and Faeril would be able to tell he was nervous. Hard to blame him, considering. He waved the dwarf to follow him down the street a few dozen paces to the east, past the furthest fruit vendor where the more expensive, non-aristocratic housing was located. There was a three way alley, obstructed by various used carts and merchandise men had not used in days. Clearly this was the sparsely used storage area.

Faeril looked around once more, his paranoia making him triple check the situation. It looked clear of anything that could cause problems. Empty area that no one used too much, if at all. Good choice for a killing. The kid had obviously put some thought into it. Faeril looked around and found a cart that looked like it had been untouched for the past few days, and a tarp haphazardly thrown over another cart. Those would both be useful.

He gestured over for the child to stand behind it, facing the wall. As the boy did so, Faeril grabbed the tarp and pulled it over there with him. It wouldn’t stop the smell from getting out once the body had been left long enough, but it would delay the discovery at least for a day. Provided no one went around investigating things they shouldn’t, of course.

Faeril got into position behind him, crossbow out. “Just pray to whatever god you want to kid, it’ll be over soon.” As he spoke he loaded the crossbow and took careful aim. Faeril murmured a prayer to Gaerim as he aimed at the center of the boy's head. Quick and clean. The boy paid for that much, and if he was sacrificing himself for his brother that was worthy of a prayer to Gaerim. Faeril didn’t know why the boy didn’t just exile himself to the north, or save his brother the five royals and kill himself. But Faeril hadn’t been paid to ask those questions, so he pulled the trigger. A quick hiss and a quiet thud later, and it was over. Faeril took a few crates and stacked them around the body before covering it with the tarp. The crossbow bolt could stay. Not like he wouldn’t be able to buy more with the money he just received.

Putting up his crossbow, Faeril left the alleyway a different way than he had come before working his way back to the marketplace. He still needed to buy new clothes and sell the bandit’s crossbow after all, and it just got a lot easier to do that.

Lorcan's eyes watched Raddek as he leaned back in his chair and his ears picked up what appeared to be more of a monologue than anything else. No criminal, huh ? And then admitting that he actually was, but still trying to find some relief in the fact that he was not a thief. For the Skayleigh, the attempt felt humble at best, but 'ludicrous' would have been a more appropriate description. So if Raddek was not a thief, what kind of thing had he then done in the past that had got him here that was less serious than being a thief ? Or was it just on the Caelic Isles that murder was considered worse than stealing something, maybe ?

Lorcan found it hard not to continue endulging himself in these thoughts and this even more so when he remembered his own situation: The Skayleigh did not deem himself to be a criminal at all. Someone who had made a grave mistake, yes, but there was a difference between an accident and an intentional killing out of some ulterior motive. It had only been due to... diplomatic issues... that he had ended up here. And now he should dabble with some underground organization that was even more unknown to him than the whole city it was situated in ? Aside from the not so negligible fact that this would only make him susceptible to more accusations even he could no longer deny to be criminal, there was the potential that his lack of experience with black markets and the like would screw up things.

So, to cut a long story short, the half-giant member of the party did not like the idea at all. And yet even before he could try to say anything about it Raddek already announced what felt like a definitive decision to accept the job and get it done. Anyone spending a sufficient amount of attention would notice that Lorcan did not touch his alcoholic beverage. The mood to do so had vanished in a very profound way -- he'd have to deal with that kind of liquid shit soon enough in quantities large enough for sure.

"Given that the city guard does not refrain from openly trying to draw money from newcomers into their very own pockets one should assume that the concept of bribery is more common here. I'm surprised that it does need the help of a bunch of strangers without any coin to keep things moving here." For Lorcan, the conclusion was clear: There was some very dirty work ahead of them, and most likely nobody would tell them it advance. Great.

It was clear Emmaline rambling was something that was completely out of his element. He seemed more the type to be more comfortable in a scrap than a bubbly blonde that couldn't take a hint. He insistently tried to move her, and eventually he managed to grab her by the shoulders and hustle her to the exit. "Hi Emmaline, I- uh yes that is my name. I just-" He stopped, trying to speak past her. They reached the door. He placed his hands on his hips. "I didn't attack him, and no. He threatene- wait you saw that? Hold on just... ok wait, we can talk about this and I'll tell you everything tomorrow at breakfast if you want to know, but you can't be in here, ok?"

---

8 hours later...

The groaning of the derelict caravel was the only forewarning the city received that cool spring night. Floating by the slowly rippling sails, shredded by some unseen foe, the ship glided through the waters of the near-empty docks of Varone. The ship's starboard side spilled dark crimson liquid into the harbor, the bloodstream untold miles out to sea; drawing in every manner of sharks in its wake. The Varone harbor had not seen the fins of Great Whites for eighty years, but they followed the caravel too to slake their lust for blood. Slowly, the ship rode the water, tearing through the flimsy wooden walkway and cracking into the stone of the quay. No sailors called or woke, for none were alive or present to do so. Instead, the only inhabitant onboard awoke.

A dockyard worker stumbled down the wharves, the moonlight glinting off the bottle he carried in his hand. His hair waving about lazily from a drunken brawl, he had handily decked a Norgardian foreigner and taken his drink, and now he consumed the reward for victory. The warnings of strange happenings at the edge of the wilderness past Varone's walls scare the drunkard, even were he outside the great gates. But here he was, at the very heart of the city where none may attack except by sea and the only danger being pitiful street toughs. He was safe and enjoying the kiss of the air on his skin. But his attention was drawn when the caravel collided with the stone of the docks not a dozen paces away, sending the vessel, looming under the moonlight like a great phantasm from the deeps, into a shudder. The ship slid backwards, its momentum lost. But something dropped off of it; something man-sized. The thing looked like a mere shadow at first, and its sleek but powerful form moved like a serpent, its back muscles rippling like a flowing river. Though it crawled as if it was merely prowling, its movements were impossible rapid. The man blinked, trying to push away the haze of the moving shadow, realizing a moment later that it was moving towards him.

Meanwhile...

The group that chose to, slept soundly. The lights of the Ubrico Soldati snuffed out, it's duelist and sailor clientele having long left for their respective (or disreputable) homes. Jonathan Albrieco had first envisioned his establishment to be a haven for the soldiers of the great city state, but their modest means and his expensive rent had led the prices to disagree with them, even with the discounts he had attempted to garner. Despite the costs, Jonathan was glad to hold a group of newcomers if they were reliable enough to get him a steady stream of alcohol for the place.

As it were, the groups had managed to come to an agreement on their rooming situations, which was had Jaina, Emmaline, and Migi in room 26, Reyvadin and Lorcan in room 27, and Raddek and Faeril in room 28. Migi slept on the couch, which wasn't so bad considering it was as large as a queen size for her. Whether they had done much more than eat, drink, or party for being in civilization was irrelevant. What was relevant was the ruckus that began past midnight at room 25.

Suddenly, the door was kicked open. Inside, the occupant was jolted awake. It was difficult to gauge all that happened, or for how long. But the women's room, room 26, heard so much crashing that each and every one of them, if they had been asleep, would not be any longer. Outside of their door, there was a demon. No, not a demon. But not truly a man, either. He wore the rags of a desperate vagabond, his chest sunken and his stomach deprived of food. His skin was pale and sallow, sickly. His left arm was the most grotesque aspect of him; with veins glowing red and skin cracked like dry magma, it looked like burning blood dripping from the cracks, searing into the wooden tile of the corridor. He had an aura of fear surrounding him, but it was slightly dashed when a booted foot crashed into his face, snapping his head back violently. Another kick from Beren caused the abomination to stumble back. The door at the far end of the hall opened, Raddek stepping out in ne'er but his trousers, brown hair wild and iron eyes glinting. One look between Beren, who's shoulder and left pectorals were badly burned, and the monster, was all he needed. He hadn't his weapon, but a chair was in his hands and he swung it like a maul, breaking it over the assassin-thing's head, staggering it again and sending it to the floor. Beren strode after the thing, his bewildered look Emmaline was accustomed to gone, replaced by the hard gaze of a warrior. His bare caramel chest was even more herculean than Raddek's, though the Thaegar was an slightly taller and just as imposing when wrathful.

Yesterday wasn't too bad. Despite some difficulties in the morning, Reyvadin was able to get a nice deal on a Winged Spear, getting it for three lordlings. Practically a steal short of a plunder, and Reyvadin certainly felt more comfortable with a proper weapon instead of everything else he's been improvising. He kept the blade wrapped up, paid his coin, and would head back to the inn alone to rest. He spent most of that afternoon just cleaning himself and treating his blisters, but for once he fell asleep comfortably. It's been a long time since that happened, not since he had lost everything back in Yruma. He slept a dreamless sleep, which was considerably better than most nights he's had so far.

But perhaps his sleep was too peaceful, for Reyvadin had a deep sleep that night. Having filled his belly with food and ale, in a bed that wasn't made of lice and straw, Reyvadin would hardly hear the commotion happening a few rooms down. And even if he did, his mind would not recognize it as an immediate danger: it was simply a noise, an annoyance, and someone else's problem. For the brief moment that he heard it Reyvadin was groggy and trying to make sense of the noise, but his head ached from the booze and honestly, he figured that this noise was simply the ale doing a number on his head. It was, after all, ale paid for by the others, so Reyvadin could not attest to it's quality beyond it's wonderful price tag. He tossed and turned as the fighting went on, his mind still trying to comprehend what it was hearing when Reyvadin simply wanted to sleep.

Emmaline poked her head out into the hallway long enough to assimilate what was happening. She gripped the cotton shift she had borrowed close to her as her blue eyes widened. Drunken brawls and violent men were the norm in taverns but this was something else beyond that. The glowing veins of the man-thing's arms shouldered in the darkness as both Beren and Raddek advanced on it. Emmaline was not inclined to risk her own skin to provide dubious aid to the obviously seasoned fighters, even if she had a weapon she would have been as much of a risk as a help. Instead she stared intently at the creature trying to determine what manner of threat it might be. Behind her eyes something seemed to move greasily and suddenly the hallway was painted in her minds eye with twisting strands of golden light...

Faeril woke up to the crashing with a start and was immediately on his feet, long knife out and pointed towards the door. He'd made sure to keep his knife under his pillow and his crossbow nearby, paranoid from killing the boy. He'd done his business in the marketplace as quickly as possible, selling the basic crossbow he had had and turning the coins from that into clothing that wasn't filthy, a sturdy pair of boots, and a sturdy cloak. All of those things would be needed for if they went back out into the wilderness, and even if they didn't it was better to have clothes that didn't look like something a bandit would wear. Throughout all of the transactions, Reyvadin's included, he found himself looking over his shoulder. He kept expecting guards, thugs, or something else to show up looking for the boy. Or, worse, looking for whomeer had killed him. He wasted no time leading the way back to the Ubrico Soldati at a rapid pace.

Faeril couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on with the job. It looked like a simple job on the surface, but something about it made him nervous. He'd learned to trust his instincts long ago. So he made sure that he had a weapon that he could use immediately and that his crossbow was on hand, just in case something followed him back to the inn and wanted to seek revenge or justice or whatever for killing the boy. That was the first thought that went through his head as he followed Raddek through the door, similarly dressed in only his trousers. That he had been followed and the assassins had mistaken which room he was sleeping in.

The monster that he saw, being pummeled by both Beren and Raddek, was certainly not what he had been expecting. At seeing the grotesque thing, Faeril felt his bile rising and forced it down with some effort. Prayers to Morimando and Hildegur ran through his head, for surely it was a corrupted spirit that needed to be laid to rest. Shaking himself out of his disgust and his stupor, Faeril looked at the cramped quarters with the two humans fighting the monster, and then at his knife. He wouldn't do anything but get in the way at this point. "Raddek! Stab the fucking thing!" He yelled at the human, tossing the knife to him as soon as Raddek was paying attention. He ran back into their room and grabbed the crossbow and a quiver of bolts. He back up towards Lorcan and Reyvadin's room, slamming his fist on the door. "Reyvadin! Lorcan! Get up! We've got trouble!" Turning his head to the side, carefully keeping the fight in his peripheral, he yelled at their burrahob companion. "Migi! Get up! There's trouble!"

Hopefully they were just sleeping, and hadn't already been murdered by whatever this thing was. Faeril moved forward again, muttering prayers to Morimando and Hildegur, aiming his crossbow at the monstrosity. He fired and cursed as he saw it miss. The darkness and moving shapes didn't do him any favors, and he could only hope that while he missed the monster he hadn't hit one of the two humans trying ot kill it instead.

All of this commotion brought the thing's head up like a serpent, sinuous and undeniably quick. Even as the knife Faeril had thrown sailed above its head, Raddek grabbed the hilt just before the demon-man kicked out at his shin, buckling him. Raddek was an experienced warrior, grimacing but using his fall to add to the momentum of his next stab. Had it been anyone else, he would have impaled the thing, but this opponent wasn't human, at least not fully. The rags it wore rippled as its body twisted grotesquely, bones snapping and cartilage ripping as it invariably snaked out of the way of the knife and coincidentally, Faeril's bolt. The blade bit into the timber, the thing rearing its arm back to strike. Raddek attacked like a cornered animal, swinging his off-hand arm like a club, striking the thing in the chest and sending it careening down the stairway.

Beren didn't wait. He sprang over Raddek's prone form like a hunting cat, pushing off the wall with his feet and speeding after the creature like a dwarven steam train. He wasn't seen for another hour, evidently having slayed the thing on the streets, but in that time, Emmaline's magical eyes saw something strange. Something with horrifying implications.

On the mutant, there was a vibrant aura of magic ensconcing him, but a kind that hurt the eye to look upon. Once she looked at Raddek, or Faeril, or even down at herself, she would see a smaller version of the same aura, and a mark on her hand that glowed like hellflame. It had the visage of a gaping maw wrought in blood, and though it couldn't be seen with normal eyes, her glowing vision caught it as easily as a lighthouse seen from a ship at midnight.

---

The next morning...

The Ubrico Soldati was closed.

Not for the patrons, of course. But for any outsiders. Jonathan Albrieco had been woken up quiet rudely in the night, and wailed like a ghost when he saw the broken tiles upstairs and the overthrown chairs and broken tables from the mutant's flight. The crew spent a good hour speaking to the innkeeper and convincing him of what happened and that they weren't vandals. Eventually he believed them, but until they found him some beer, they were paying full price for breakfast and keeping out of trouble or they would find a different place to sleep.

The slim barmaid from yesterday, who's name was Isolde, came into the establishment with her face white with shock. Explaining she had found a large group at the site of a ravaged corpse, and then another just like it with a similar group of onlookers. This one merely a mile away, towards the docks. She did not explain the details, but as she began to help cook everyone breakfast, she was free to speak to after she served the food. Raddek had risen first, sitting alone to ponder, though there were four chairs around him to fill. He watched the window as he sipped his drink, waiting for his food and Isolde, who arrived to place it down before him.

Beren sat at another table, further down the room on the otherside of the door. Knowing he wouldn't see any strange faces today, he also hadn't expected everyone else to be up so early, his shirt stripped off and his ass on the chair. A clay pot of cold water and a cloth lay on the table, and he winced as he tried to clean his burns, until Emmaline pulled up a chair next to him to help, which surprised him. "Sorry, I thought we- I didn't know we were going to do this so soon."

The statement had an innuendo he hadn't caught until he said it, which colored his face. He wasn't embarrassed in such a state last night, but during a social situation, once could tell he was a bit abashed. He tried to find his tongue. "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"