The relatively cramped conditions of the guild hall were what struck Alison first. The air was thick with the smell of parchment and a hint of ale. The Brass Monkey was more of a bar establishment first and foremost while the Guild seemed to encompass all the support needs of the official adventure apparatus of the state. It was bemusing to Alison, to see themselves referred to as "adventures". Suppose it was a better phrase than "Semi-state-sanctioned Mercenaries".

That said, the atmosphere of the guild hall was about the same as the Brass Monkey. A handful of adventures that made up the patrons were tense with stress. The siege was coming to a head soon, the preparations in the streets showed that much. Through her Whispers, Alison had caught up on what was going around town during their walk to the guild. The preparations seemed to be proceeding smoothly, but she wondered how much of the city could truly held when the walls finally were breached.

Pulled away from her dark thoughts, a little dog-like creature came bounding up to them, yapping and excited to see James. However, when Alison leaned over from behind, she watched the dog shy away and flee back to its owner.

That hurt a little.

The owner behind the desk spoke with James before finally turning her attention to her. A local with sharp ears must be one of the more exotic races Alison had heard about in this world.

"Afternoon, Alison." She gave Alison a nod and then looked back at James. Alison gave a curt nod and a smile, letting James do the talking. After confirming their intentions, she gestured to the Source Crystal scanner. It was a strange device, almost looking like some sort of crystal ball with bits of brass sticking out. Again, it confused Alison how all out of the place the world seemed in its development.

She wondered if they could set up some sort of wireless surveillance system...

She placed her hand on the crystal and smirked internally when it displayed an alias. Not even the magic ball seemed to see through her facade! That, or she was so in deep that "Alison Walker" might as well be her real name at this point.

"Alison Walker," The Guildmaster read on the system, checking a few other details before looking at Alison "You're not from here," she noted. "Have you been in Valhiem long?" she asked,

Alison simply shrugged. "I've been around for only a little bit. Lucky me to get caught up in all this." Alison joked. After a few motions on the monitor, the Guildmaster finished.

"Alright, you are now officially a member of Second Chance." The Guildmaster said and left the display up for Alison to read this auspicious message. Though she picked up on the shift in the Guildmasters demeanor. Some sort of piece of information she had seen caused her to look at Alison differently. Alison didn't like it. She may have been able to hide her real name, but clearly, she couldn't hide what she was. Cursing internally at the damn computer, she looked at the screen and began to read.

---

"Figures..." was all Alison said when she finished reading the message. It had finally confirmed her suspicions. They were being used as some sort of interdimensional last resort. Otherworld Volkstorm soldiers were drafted at random to fight in a war they didn't understand or had any stake in. Anger threatened to warp her otherwise calm demeanor, but she pushed it back down.

It was all so absurd.

Alison sighed and closed the message before turning to James. "I take it you didn't accept Miss "Rightful Empress"'s offer? Good call. So far she either isn't in control enough of her minions as she says she is or just wants to remove a potential threat in the easiest way possible. Why bother with using whatever crazy amounts of energy it took to bring us here to send us back when you could just snuff us out with a well-placed dagger or arrow?" Alison mused, crossing her arms. "Yeah, don't worry, I'm not buying what she's selling."

However, once they left the guild and away from prying ears, she leaned close to James as they walked. "That said, I think we can't entirely trust this Empire either. I think something bigger might be at play, and while they might treat us nicely while we're useful, nothing is stopping them from dropping us as well. We gotta stay close and watch our backs, kid. Take it from me, Más sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo..." she finished with a wink.

James’ reaction to being praised was comforting. Now Adam knew his friend was at least aware that he had the support of his team, and that was the point of it all. It was a nice time in general, really - everyone together, enjoying a nice meal. No battles, just pleasant conversation.

Upon hearing Zell's compliment to him, Adam humbly waved it off. “It was nothing, anyone else would have done the same.” The Fighter's suggestion of a feast, however, elicited more of a response from the caster. “That sounds like a great idea. They're lovely people, all of them. Isabelle is precious and adorable, Tyrion is like a little Barracker junior - in the best sense, of course - and Eren will make a great Druid someday. I'm sure they would all be happy to meet everyone. You too, Alison.” The red-eyed man even was considering visiting before Second Chance descended upon the orphans.

Speaking of the Rogue, Adam would have wanted to help her register for the Guild…if he didn't remember his conversation with Lucy yesterday. James had the political understanding to make this emergency Guild registration thing happen; he did not. Therefore, he deferred to their team leader in this regard.

-----

Upon saying his goodbyes and exiting the Mended Drum, Adam thought he would return to Golden Tree Park right away to resume his work. However, this would end up not being the case. Instead, he ended up running into someone he did not expect…

MacKensie enjoyed the flavours and the gentle burn of the stew as she listened to Alison speak on her favourite foods. While she did not have much experience with airport food, she had been to at least half a dozen famous restaurants across the world. Italy had it's fair share of high-end dining establishments, however what specifically came to mind when Alison mentioned the country was cities like Rome and Venice - famously romantic locations. And there was only one experience that MacKensie could relate to such a fine-dining tale and that was the very recent evening at The Nightingale.

Butterflies. Mentally, she tried to shoo away the memories and she forced herself to actively listen to the American woman, letting out a light chuckle as Alison recalled wearing a dress for the first time in years.

"...Everything about it..." Alison went on. MacKensie remembered how Zell had complimented her earrings. How it made her feel.

"...the food..." How he'd put his knife and fork down and randomly ambushed her with the most poetic and romantic soliloquy anyone had ever said to her.

"...the atmosphere..." How she'd taught him a basic version of the Waltz that she'd learned when she was ten. How that had been more enjoyable than the most advanced ballroom dance, with the most advanced partner, in the most opulant social event she'd ever been to.

"...it was... "

Magical. Alison briefly went silent and MacKensie's gaze fell to the table as she sank into her own thoughts. Involuntarily, her eyes went across the table to find Zell looking back and she was wrenched back to reality with alarm, turning her head away immediately. Fortunately, at the same time, Alison spoke again so the attention was on her and it was unlikely anyone noticed MacKensie's suspcious behaviour.

That evening was nothing to remember fondly. It was not magical. It was lies - One lie and empty platitude after another. One big moral failing. She hated Zell for it. She hated that it had to be him that she'd bumped into at the blacksmith, of all people. She would never forgive him. She may not ever forgive herself. I have forgotten the face of my father.

She felt sick.

After looking forward, all morning, to this lunch date, MacKensie now found herself glad when it was over. Outwardly, she maintained good form and was cordial throughout the goodbyes. When Zell was at the bar, MacKensie wished everyone a good afternoon and made a sharp getaway to her room, facepalming the moment she was far enough up the stairs to be out of sight.

She had worked so hard to forget that night and restore a level head, so that she might actually concentrate on the priority that was the imminent threat of destruction. And she had been doing so well until today. But now the wounds were fully reopened.

I hate him. She went in her room and sat on the bed, burying her head in her hands. I hate him so much.

After the round of cheers, tipped glasses and all the cheery back-and-forth had not to mention the amount of alcohol imbibed the day's end in sight all in all Clive was left in good spirits, yet there was something that kept nagging at him like a pesky little fly buzzing round' a stable horses head "Now I hate to break up such a fine little 'swah-ray' such as this but I'm thinkin' I need to get some air.." the southerner put the word 'soiree' in air quotes, wiggling his fingers jokingly with a good natured chuckle excusing himself from the table.

"Oh and before I mosey on for a bit-" Clive spoke up regarding the newcomer Alison as his chair squeaked when he got up, habitually reaching for where he would normally hang his hat before snorting and remembering he in fact lost it awhile ago.

Clive clicked his tongue, shaking his head slightly at his own forgetfulness "Glad to see a new face, specially' one from the land o' the free..We'll have to chat sometime bout things never been to the big city myself so hearin' it from you sure would be nice...Nice to talk bout home at least." with that said Clive bid the rest of his friends goodbye for the time being leaving the tavern and stepping into the street, where he wandered for awhile alone with his thoughts...

His nagging thoughts, thoughts of what had become of him...Of what had become of those pale faces he saw...Alone, looking up at the sky Clive breathed a ragged sigh "God...I dunno if you can hear me but why?" he muttered running a hand through his hair "Why can't I just forget." he just wanted to go back to being himself, before he died twice now. Before he'd fought Zigmund...Seen all those ghosts, before experiencing the nothingness of the void.

His mind wandered like the rugged heels of his boots as he made his way through the lonely road he walked upon, he wondered for a second remembering strangers around him when he awoke 'In my own grave...' Clive thought to himself with a quick shudder, whoever they were there must have been a reason for whatever the heck they did. Folks out and about were giving him some odd looks so with a shake of his head and a deep breath the Texan pushed aside the thoughts he was having for another time.

The whole group was together, meeting another from Earth. When she showed what her item could do, Fenna was astonished at first, but it soon made her think about all the items everyone had received and how well they fit with the class they had. Magic has brought them here, but it didn't seem random. Had the people casting the magic known what kind of people they needed, or had the magic picked up on their needs and made the choice for them? There was a lot she didn't know, but for now it wasn't the most pressing of matters. They had a battle ahead of them and that's what she had to focus on.

Now that they sat together Fenna realised it had been a while since they had last done that. They had all been busy with their appointed tasks, some leaving early in the morning and others returning late in the evening. She too hadn't spent much time just sitting here with the others. She saluted Zell when he tapped her drink and there was some small talk with those sitting at her table.
When Barracker talked to her she turned to him. She laughed when he talked about Tyron making a skateboard. Whatever would happen to her, she had introduced something from home here and that was a nice thought. "I will visit Mother Anne soon," Fenna promised. She definitely wanted to see the skateboard Tyson had made and how he was doing with it.

When people were leaving - James and Alison to the guild, Barracker to retrieve some books and take them away, Adam and Clive outside and MacKensie upstairs - Fenna remained seated for a moment to think about what she would do. Just like that, the moment they were all together was over and she needed to do something. She did need to check up on her soldiers. With some delegation she didn't need to oversee them as much as before, but it was still good to be present for most of the day when they were active. They also loved seeing their mascot Sil.

"Back to work I guess," she said to Zell, the only one remaining at the bar.

Fenna went outside and Sil soon joined her. She first went to the training grounds; after some intense training at the beginning, nowadays they had two moments they would all gather and do a couple of training exercises and she would relay the latest information if she had any, before everyone went on their way for their individual tasks. Those who were below average with their weapon handling would do extra training sessions, others helped with building the defences of the city, especially around the area they would be stationed at.

The Falcons cheered when Sil soared over their heads and Fenna congratulated them all on their progress and in few words encouraged them to keep it up and that she had faith in every single one of them. Soon they would have to show their worth in actual battle. How many would survive? She looked at the faces before her. Some were willing, some were ready, most were afraid of what was to come. The best she could offer them was to keep them busy. It worked well for her to not think too much of home.

The process was easy enough and in no time he was once more on the receiving end of that accursed message.

Despite having seen it before it still gave him the ick, like a piece of ice touching his spine and slowly grasping his throat, oppressive and ruthless until it was satisfied -but it never was. It wasn't until Alison talked to him that he managed to tear himself away from it.

He gave her a nod to confirm her rhetorical question

"Yah, we more or less thought along those lines too, plus the fact that she sent people to kill us kind of soured the deal"

He followed as they left the guild, from what little he had seen then it was likely the people there were going to become very busy soon enough and frankly he didn't have the time to delay, the ritual still needed preparation and he had to gather some regents.

Still, it was nice talking to Alison, even more so as she sprung an old saying as they walked together.

"Ah!" He chuckled, the sudden use of Spanish was surprising but perhaps it should have been considering how common it was across the globe, but saying that it was nice hearing a piece of home so far away "Truer words have never been spoken, but yeah you are right, I am not a fan of becoming some disposable asset or tool after we are done" He gave her a shook of the head "Frankly I would prefer to get everyone back home as soon as possible, some would wish to help I know but I would choose their lives over people I don't know without hesitation"

It was callous of him and he wasn't sure he would have been able to do what had to be done before the 'incident'. But now he knew deep inside his heart to what extent he was willing to go.

"So, I have an errand to run in the Academy, do you want to go too? I could present you some of the peeps I know there" If his read on Alison was correct so far she was the kind of person who seeks connections like a gambler seeks a roulette.

“It's a calamity, a horrible thing!”

This was not the first time this sentiment had been expressed during the walk of two adventurers to their destination. Considering the loud tone, one might think the speaker was talking about the current siege of Valheim and the danger Saladin's forces represented to its citizens. Or maybe even just a description of the war in general. However, it was not; instead, it was a certain gnome complaining about a different group entirely.

“Everywhere I go, it's Second Rate this, and Zeros of the Sky that. What did they do to deserve all that praise?”

Xavier Johnson's question went unanswered by his unfortunate walking cohort. Vaella knew from bitter experience that it was rhetorical and that he would answer it in due time.

“Nothing, that's what!”

Due time = not even a second, in this case.

“First red-eyes harasses me, then when I called out the disgrace of Hades and his slack-jawed sidekick for their evil ways, the thug almost attacked me!”

The elf offered a rare smile at this, knowing that this was not what actually happened. The oblivious gnome continued.

“Oh, and now supposedly their Ranger is some athletic expert now, according to the Thieve's Guild. Like a group of grade school dropouts is credible? Please. MacKensie Trydant? More like MacKensie Try harder next time.”

And with that, the elf was grateful that Xavier did not handle the Silver Arrow's diplomacy needs. Annoying that group was one way to end up in a shallow grave, never knowing how it happened. Oh, hopefully no one from there heard that, she thought.

“And don't get me started on their so-called leader.” 

Oh, how Vaella wished the speaker would not get started on anything, ever.

“They say that lames is some kind of tactical genius. Well if he's such a genius, why doesn't he ever-”

The mustached man paused for a moment, seeing Adam Phillips as the gnome and elf approached the Mended Drum. “See? They never leave me alone!”  Following this angry outburst, Xavier started walking more quickly away from that establishment, apparently forgetting it was their destination in the first place.

“What’s his problem?” The fisherman asked Vaella, clearly confused by the exclamation.

“I wish I knew,” she responded with a heavy sigh.

Room 103 at ‘The Academy’. The room was a lecture hall, used for studies and the learning of magic uses. The room layout consisted of a stage at the front with seats curving round like an auditorium. The rows went higher and higher up as they got closer to the back of the room. The place was decorated with pots of greenery, vases stood on stools potted about, marking the end of each row. There were even paintings of students who had reached the level of mastery and fame among their fields, also marking the start of each row on the wall. The windows were tall but narrow, beautifully decorated with a fine art of stained glass.

Barracker and Neebs were sat on the centre of the stage, Barracker in a state of concentration, his eyes closed. With one palm placed over the ceramic bowl of water, he let his thoughts drown away and the source flow through his body. “Well look at you, you're doing it,” Neebs lit up with excitement, the mage leaned up over the table, rising from his seat. Barracker let his eyes open, his muscles started to twist as if he was straining to lift the water. His face going from a calm state of steadiness to scrunched up as if the pain was too much to bear. “You’ve got this,” the friendly teacher insisted.

The water rises, droplets begin to spit out, more formed then the water starts to try and take shape. The water began to vibrate underneath but then the surface began toppling over the sides of the bowl, swaying before beginning to fade into nothing. The Paladin’s face began to screw not with pain but frustration, this was not working. Barracker looked to his teacher as if words would bring a new found lesson, a nugget of information he had not been using throughout the lesson. But the words were not what Barracker had expected. “I am thoroughly impressed, that was some sweet tricks there. I told you when we started just stay calm, concentrate and do what you can with the water. I just needed to see what sort of stage you were at.”

Barracker’s face did not seem totally convinced by the words, and he didn’t mean to show such a lack of faith in Neeb’s teaching methods. “Barracker, look, any level of an average water domain user does not have a talent or can bring down whole bodies of water down upon their foes. Forget mastery for a moment, to do expert level things like raising water or creating shapes, these are expert level things, you do understand that right.” He looked at Barracker and then pointed to the bowl. “This right here, isn’t beginner level. Beginner level takes many lessons to overcome and you told me you gave up on your studies to control your domain. You must try and try again, that is the only answer. Failing is only part of achieving something, so now I know where you are at, try parting the water, and if you find that manageable try to create a little whirlpool in the bowl.”

Barracker sighed heavily, he nodded in understanding and agreed with what was said. He would try this. First relax.

Frederick was back behind the bar. On arrival, the old man gave a curt little nod to Zell who returned the gesture with a bounce of his eyebrows. Frederick's assistant was sent off to other duties. As Zell drank from his glass, he caught a visual of gold in his peripherial and looked in time to see a blue cape and blonde hair disappear up the stairs. Zell sighed and turned about to his lean back against the bar with glass in hand. Only him and Fenna were left, but the Dutchwoman soon decided to be off aswell.

"Back to work I guess," she said to him as she made to leave.

"Alright mate," Zell nodded. "Catch ye later, yeah."

He absently watched her go until Frederick, who was buffing down the bar with a rag, piped up. "And then there was one."

With a smirk and a slight turn of his head, Zell acknowledged the barkeep, but his mind was soon back on MacKensie. He was deciding wether or not he should try to speak to her. There was a chance he could make things worse (Zell being Zell, this chance was not insignificant) but at least he could say he tried. The Englishman had lived his life boldly. The very opposite of risk-averse. But here he was, stumbling, fumbling and bumbling.

He finally came to a decision. "You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take," he said to himself - a phrase not uncommon from his mouth.

He took a deep draught of his ice water and put it down on the bar, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve and headed for the stairs. He arrived at MacKensie's room and knocked on the door, deciding against calling out, as he knew that she may not even open the door if she knew it was him. When she opened the door, he knew he'd have to be quick.

"Mac, can we talk? Please," he asked, ready to put his foot in the doorway so she couldn't slam the door in his face. "Come on, doll. We can't go on like this. It's killin me - not being able to have a laugh with you, like normal. The banter between you, me n James is half of what keeps me sane in this shitshow." His one-sided grin was soft, hopeful. Anything but the usual cocksure. "Everyone's gone. Let's just talk."

It was the feeling of his hair that had done it. When she'd found Barracker and Zell injured. When she'd gone to Zell and attempted to locate the source of his bleeding head. That unique sensation of her fingers running through his hair. That had set all of this off. Alison's description of her Italian restaurant experience - this had merely spurred on MacKensie's tormenting memories.

To throw her honour so easily by the wayside showed a distinct weakness of character, on her part, but she still blamed Zell for almost everything. His unabashed absence of morality and decorum was apparent from the moment the group had all met. He was far more cunning than he liked to let on, and shameless in his pursuit of anything he desired, regardless of the consequences, riding on roguish charm the whole way.

Oh, how she hated him. If it wasn't for the task set before Second Chance, she would never speak to him again.

Knock knock.

She jumped as her head snapped to her bedroom door, so engrossed in her own thoughts that her senses, which had been heightened by her Source Crystal, did not even pick up someone approaching.

It must be Emma, MacKensie assumed, thinking that the maid maybe used this early afternoon time to clean up.

She got up and on the handful of steps to the door, took a sharp breath and straightened her face, then smiled before opening the door to see the last person in the world she wanted to, at this moment. Her smile soon faded.

"Zell." She couldn't completely mute the suprise in her tone, but civility managed to keep all other involuntary feelings from her face.

"Mac, can we talk?"

"Ye- No!" Well, civility managed to delay the outpour for a short second. "No. We cannot talk."

"Please."

She tried to shut the door but he stopped her attempt with his foot. She noted it with anger and looked back up at him, frustratedly with nought else to do but deal with the problem in front of her. "Talking is what got us into this mess. Leave me be. You've done enough."

"Come on, doll. We can't go on like this. It's killin me - not being able to have a laugh with you, like normal." It took effort to stay angry as she felt his words. She too missed how it was before - before romantic feelings had formed something of a messy love triangle between her, Zell and Adam. Definitely before the thrice-cursed 'non-date' of a few nights past. "The banter between you, me n James is half of what keeps me sane in this shitshow."

That smile. That stupid one-sided grin of his. She hated it. Those lips. She hated them. Her brow furrowed weirdly as indignation and anger was mixed with other feelings, and she fought to control her gaze and fix it on his but could not stop peeking at his lips. Why was his foot in the door!?! Why was he here at the worst possible time? He really was a devil. An evil tempter and seducer. She was innocent - doing so well in life until that plane crashed and left her stuck with this horrible man. Why; she would not even give someone like him the time of day, in her last life. He wouldn't have had a chance to corrupt her sensibilities. Curse that plane. Curse him. Curse everything!

"Everyone's gone. Let's just talk."

Gone? she thought, her eyes still having to be constantly pulled up to meet his. She bit the inside of her mouth. Then she looked both ways down the hallway, saw the coast was clear and gave in.

MacKensie grabbed a handful of Zell's shirt, near the collar, yanked him into her room and slammed the door shut.

It was an old tattered thing, nothing more than a span of linen with a star painted haphazardly on the cloth it was red and blue with white bordering the single symbol of the star in the center... 'Not too shabby if'n I do say so myself...' the farmer smiled faintly as he looked at the plain cloth in his hands before draping it over his broad shoulders, Clive hadn't slept nor rested all through the night too fearful of having the nightmares again when all had gone to rest he had been sitting alone in the darkness of his room head in hands thinking, endlessly...

Clive’s eyes were heavy with fatigue, dark circles forming beneath them—a stark reminder that he hadn’t slept in days now. He had experienced death not once but twice, the weight of those memories lingering like a shadow over his heart. Resurrected in what felt like an eternity for him but what was all but days, he still felt the cold echoes of his life, and it troubled him.

Yet, he forced a smile as he gazed at his recruits, feeling a flicker of warmth amid the unease but still the heavy weight on his heart he put on a brave face - like he'd been doing since even the very beginning and unveiled the shabby banner, the simple cloth that was frayed and tattered at the edges "Heh, we're true rangers now lone star and all..." Clive mused out loud voice steady despite carrying the weight of exhaustion upon his shoulders "And just like the one's back home we're gonna fight for what's right."

"First things first," he said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his tired bones calling upon what energy he had, “You gotta learn to ride a horse. If we’re gonna charge into battle, you’ll need to stay on top.” the shimmer of the ghostly apparition flickered as the spirit of his horse appeared drawn from somewhere past where the naked eye could see, the peasants awed gasps and whispers unfazed the weathered and tired farmer but when laughter erupted as he swung into the saddle of a sturdy mare Clive faintly smirked the southerners tired bones despite the years of farming experience instilled in him. Still needed to handle the spirited beast yet the energy to do so felt drawn out.

"Alright you lot, show me how ya'll mount a horse then?" silence fell when he spoke in a firm voice, he spoke in a less relaxed tone though still not all there but he tried to compose himself a bit he hadn't ever really spoke like that for a long time but a voice piped up from his lot "Ya think ridins' hard eh? Try swinging a hammer all day!" the voice belonged to the daughter of the local merchant one that Clive could not for the life of him remember least of all in the state he was in but the voice belonged to Mara, a fiery red-head who fancied herself a smith.

Though initially he snapped he felt slightly more at ease letting out a brief chuckle trying to smile, though it didn’t quite reach his weary eyes "Well now I reckon both them skills are pretty useful in a fight." he himself only knew the way of the land, and maybe a bit about firing a gun but there wasn't no rifles in these parts nor would plowing a field teach these people anything useful to fight, but he knew they weren't unskilled they had their own practical experiences so he played to their own skills those that had no experience with a blade and those who did would show others how to hone such skills.

Zell was forced out of MacKensie's room by way of being poked repeatedly in the waist and hissed at. "Go, go, go, go..."

"Ow - alright - ow - I'm going, jeez..."

Zell stumbled out of the room and quickly made his way down the corridor to his own room. When he got to his door, he looked back in time to see MacKensie's door shut. A little in shock, Zell shook his head bewilderedly and went inside.

He was soon in the shower, feeling sorry for himself as the water blasted on the top of his head.

"She's ashamed of me," he muttered to himself.

Zell, for the first time, had found himself on the short end of what he and his friends liked to call, 'Surfed n Turfed.' Most of the time, when hooking up, both parties understood what the deal was. One night - maybe a week or two at most - just a bit of fun, no problem. Occasionally though, there were those girls who had much higher expectations of the engagement. This kind of problem often led to hurt feelings, emotions toyed with etc. Now Zell understood what it felt like to be one of those girls. It was not nice.

...

Dressed and ready to head out, Zell left his room and walked down the corridor. Sadly, he looked upon MacKensie's door as he passed it, half-hoping she would open it. She didn't. By the time he was once more facing front, his expression was rearranged to a more typical carefree, content and confident vibe.

Stepping outside the Mended Drum, Zell put his hands on his hips, took a whiff of the air and looked around. Setting off down the street, he walked as if ten feet tall and king of everything, nodding an occasional greeting to a passing stranger.

"Hi."

"Afternoon, miss."

Of the few who bothered to respond, not a single citizen mirrored Zell's energy, which made sense considering the suspense and despair of the siege had been increasing with each passing day. Zell was overcompensating anyway. Underneath his social mask, he considered that he was in no fit state, mentally, to go to the Military Centre and see The Lions. It was honestly a good job that his drill sergeants were extremely competent trainers. Between Baphomet pecking his head, almost abandoning Valhiem with the Ambassador, and complications with MacKensie - Zell had been an absentee Captain of the Garrison. Even when he was there, he wasn't all there. And speaking of Baphomet; the bastard was quiet at the moment, but Zell could just imagine the devil laughing his ass off at Zell right now. The self-loathing part of Zell's brain, albeit small, was rather loud right now. The Englishman mocked himself for being such a pussy and skirting every opportunity to be ultra-clear with his feelings to MacKensie. Ego bruised and insecurity at an all-time high, Zell simply tried to ignore his thoughts and push his feelings deep, deep down in the abyss with the rest of them. It was easier said than done.

"Fuck, I need a beer."

“And again, I'm really sorry about Xavier.”

Adam didn't have any preconceived notions regarding Vaella, hardly knowing her at all, but he didn't expect her to be so apologetic regarding her gnome coworker. It made sense on some level though; she had to know what he was like from being on the same team, right?

“Please don’t beat yourself up over it. It's not like you’re the one insulting my friends.”

He also did not expect to be talking with her outside the Drum at length like this. It was pleasant conversation, unlike his interactions with the mustached man. She seemed oddly touchy-feely, but this was probably nothing unusual. What did he know about elven culture? 

“Really, I think he's jealous,” the elf replied, “the fact that you're this strong magical prodigy really bothers him.”

This was not the first time she complimented the red-eyed man along these or other lines either. It felt so conceited to acknowledge these things even once, let alone go on about himself like Vaella seemed to do. Maybe she was just hopeful about his impact on the upcoming battle? Adam shrugged, not really sure how to respond without seeming arrogant.

She took that as a prompt to go on. “Still, I feel bad. You know…” suddenly, a smile appeared on the elf’s face, as if she had thought of something at that instant, “maybe I could make it up to you by buying you dinner tonight?”

And suddenly, like being hit by a freight train, it all made sense. The Druid was not expecting to be asked out and he was visibly surprised, with his face even going beet-red as well. Even so, it wasn't like he didn't know what his answer would be.

“Thank you for the offer. You are a nice person, but there's someone else, sorry. Please excuse me, I have to get to work.” After this response, Adam began walking towards Golden Tree Park. He felt bad for Vaella, but knew that he still wanted to talk to someone important to him and ask them something. The fisherman would not neglect his duty to the city for his personal needs though.

After all, there would be more time before the siege, right?

Alison silently thanked Hernandez for teaching her Spanish. The one smart choice she made in high school. Jame's features brightened and he laughed at the sudden use of the proverb.

"Truer words have never been spoken, but yeah you are right, I am not a fan of becoming some disposable asset or tool after we are done," He said, shaking his head, "Frankly I would prefer to get everyone back home as soon as possible, some would wish to help I know but I would choose their lives over people I don't know without hesitation."

At this, she nodded. Good. He seemed to have his priorities straight then. Of course, Alison cared much for the team she had assembled during her arrival here, but if there was even the slimmest of chances of figuring a way back home, there would be zero hesitation. There was a dark, deep new threat to reality. People's very "souls" could be grabbed by unknown parties and pulled into entirely different worlds. Who knows what could come the other way?

"That's what it takes James. I can see why they picked you. In that regard, you have my full agreement and support. I have a team, like I mentioned earlier, that is in alignment with that goal." she paused and stopped walking, turning to him and holding out a hand. "Let's do what we can to get everyone home in one piece. I promise you that I will do whatever I can to get us there." she finished.

After the handshake, Alison considered excusing herself to go to the Thieves Guild and catch up on any preparations or intel she missed out on, but James piped up before she could say anything.

"So, I have an errand to run in the Academy, do you want to go too? I could present you some of the peeps I know there" he suggested.

Considering she didn't have anything completely pressing at the moment, she agreed. Seemed like an opportunity to start meeting and greeting the intelligentsia of the city. Usually, the lab coat people were the kind she thought the least about outside what fancy toy they cooked up with at Raytheon, but in this world, academics seem to correlate well with incredible magical powers beyond human imagination, so getting this free foot in the door was something Alison would not pass up. "By all means, lead the way."

As they continued to the Academy, Pete caught up with them. James may or may not have even noticed as Pete smoothly fell in beside Alison after emerging from a street corner. "Well, notice anything while I was in the meeting?" she asked. Pete gave a casual shrug.

"Nothin boss, all quiet likes in the streets round the pub. Olaf ad to deal with some fools trying to rough up some other fool, the noble knight he likes to be. Kerensa ad nothin worth reportin and my glorious self nearly was able to catch a nap. Though before I could gets some shut-eye like, then boom! Loudest gnome in all of the fackin country comes strolling up to the pub. Bastard kept me from enjoying a mid day snooze on the roof. Anyways, one em from the people you was meetin, the red eye un, scared im off and starts chattin up the elf that was with the bastard. But then the dumb kid turns down a dinner date and makes a run for it! Stood her up and left er hanging right there in front of the damn pub!" Pete said in his usual exaggerated flair.

A deep, annoyed sigh escaped Alison's lips as she was given 10% of a report and 90% of Pete's sitcom drama. She turned to James and gestured to Pete. "James, this is Pete. Pete, James. Pete here is a member of my crew. He may seem about as inbred as the rest of his fellow peasants... and he is, but enough brain cells rubbed together in there to make him useful." she said. Pete made a gesture of jabbing a threatening finger in her face before giving his crooked smile and nod to James.

"Nice to meet ya fella. Boss is a cruel woman, so you best watch yourself round her." Pete finished before expertly dodging the low elbow and fading back into the crowd. Alison shook her head, a disapproving frown on her face.

"Asshole. Anyway, I have them right now combing the town for anyone with an uncanny interest in us. I'm sure you'll get a chance to meet the other two later today. Either way, glad that my intuition was right, cause if the Witch already tried to get you assassinated, she's liable to try again. Speaking of which, you gotta tell me sometime about that. What the hell is a water ninja?"

@Zapdos@Teyao

Well... so much for putting all of the blame on him. That lie was no longer an option.

She couldn't leave her room. She'd tried on two occassions but always ended up back on the bed, hidden under the quilt, face buried in the pillow. She'd cried a little, here and there - so ashamed of her actions that she was unable to face the world - but her tears were not of shame or guilt, but that of enormous loneliness. While at University in Paris, when the rare bout of homesickness hit her, she was always, at most, a few weeks away from getting a quick flight home to Lyon where she could spend some time with her family and old friends. And so, while being in a whole new city, her first time living away from her parents, her ability to go back was probably the reason that she never felt truly lonely. But now...

It was astonishing just how far from home she was. She was stranded an entire cosmos away. Not to mention; she was dead. And in spite of being just about as far away as one could possibly be from home, she was still drifting further away. With every day and every action, she was less 'MacKensie Trydant' and more 'MacKensie the Ranger.'

'MacKensie the Killer.' A horrible thought. 'MacKensie the Harlot.'

That day in the Temple of Hades when she'd crept up and slit the throat of the unsuspecting cultist, she'd lost a piece of herself that she could never get back. It was one thing to kill monsters and beasts in self-defence, but what she'd done in the temple was unequivocally murder. In that moment, she'd strangely thought of her mother and wondered what she would think of 'Ranger MacKensie.' Over the days she'd come to understand why it was that random thought that had entered her mind as the fight in the library began. She was losing them. Losing her parents. First in the physical. Now in the spiritual. And it all amounted to an incredible loneliness that she found impossible to resolve.

Zell. Beyond the multitude of reasons she was attracted to him - feelings amplified by a flirtatious rivalry, sparks and chemistry, and an unbelievable combat synergy in the face of danger - she knew that he was not serious about her. Zell was a suave, smooth-talking heartbreaker. Well-practiced in telling a girl everything she wanted to hear. And sure, she was a complete novice in love - gullible and happy to feel special, even if it was fake - but she could have stopped herself from making that mistake, that evening at The Nightingale. The truth was that; she was just lonely and seeking not to be. And it had worked. In addition to all of the pleasures that came with... the mistake (now, she finally knew what all the fuss was about and boy, did it live up to expectation!) ... in addition to those pleasures; for that span of time, the physical and emotional closeness to Zell had truly banished the loneliness. But when sobriety and clarity returned... guilt, shame and regret followed.

Her honour cut down in the Temple of Hades, and killed off in hotel room of The Nightingale. And now she was more lonely than ever. And while she could pretend that it was all Zell's fault - that he'd swept her off her feet with his lies and charm. Preyed on her vulnerability, knowing that she was just another conquest of many - how could she blame him for this afternoon? That was all her. Wanting that pleasure again. That closeness. Wanting to forget the pressure that she would soon be fighting not just for her own life, but the lives of thousands of people - children, elderly and all. And wanting that loneliness gone for a while.

She was no longer innocent, pure, irreproachable MacKensie Trydant, adored and admired by all. She was something different now. And she would have to accept this.







After skipping swiftly and vertically up the side of the tower with the help of her magical grapplehook, MacKensie was sat on the edge of the roof, one leg crossed over the other, absently watching her foot make little figure-of-eights.

When she was finally able to freshen up and leave The Mended Drum, she still was not ready to see anyone she knew and most certainly did not want to bump into Zell, or worse, Adam. So she made the most of her agility and acrobatics and found this secluded spot to get some fresh air. There was an argument, within her, that would vouch for a sense of honour that was still very-much alive. It was hard to take on-board, but she did not entirely dismiss it, even if her guilt and shame still outweighed everything else. She had killed, yes, but in her doing so, she had helped free a local region from the tyranny and wanton destruction of a demonic Greater Wraith and it's growing cult. And yes, she had slept with another man, with no hope of a serious relationship in sight, let alone marriage, but was it really the end of the world? She was dead - and now in a world where her Christian God did not exist, nor her family, nor anything she ever knew. It was not an inhumane mistake. Quite the opposite.

This was the argument that she would hope, one day, to convince herself of. But for now, guilt or not - shame or not - she had no choice but to move forward. For a hope that Fenna might be able to get home. For the lives of Valhiem's citizens. For the fate of Mytheria.

Qui n'avance pas, recule.

MacKensie's lips pursed hard, her eyes hardening with determination.

Qui n'avance pas, recule.

The man introduced himself as Harold, he stood to attention before Mother Anne and the workers. This was the soldier who would let them know that it was time to evacuate up the hill. Tyrion and the other children, especially some of the older ones, gave their full attention to this man. This was a crucial moment. The man’s instructions were announced to everyone and projected with a loud but calm boom to his voice.

The younger kids knew that there would be a battle soon and nearby, but they were unaware of the true gravity of the situation. Their smiles were met with a solemn response from the orphanage workers but behind the brave faces of the adults, Tyrion could tell that they were scared. The eyes never lied. He wanted to reach out to the other older kids and let everyone know that he felt vulnerable and sick just as they must, but he did not dare to blurt out all to see. Tyrion remained strong with an inner voice saying one thing.

What would Barracker do?

The kids must come first. He looked at them and wondered what to say. He imagined that Mother Anne would say something playful to distract them as they did not understand. They would just miss the orphanage, and their wonderland of a playground to play on, even the skateboard, his own little constructed project he had made for the kids to play on. To be honest, even he wanted to just go back to the temple and try out the skateboard. Sixteen years old and responsible with a job but he was still a kid too. His stomach did somersaults, a nauseated feeling overcame him. His mind went on the horrors of war, and not just war but what would happen if they lost the battle for Valhiem. It was unthinkable. His mind tried to stay on the now, in the moment he thought back on doing his paper round, his side job where he could be part of the community. He felt like he could escape any worry by daydreaming about mythic warriors of history, saving all of Mytheria from any threat. Now was the realisation, that the threat was knocking on the door of Valhiem, for real this time. He had heard mutters of the likes of Eredge and Dantuin being taken over and lost to the witchQueen, from the gossip he got on his paper round. This notion of thoughts that came after were riddled with bits of fear, but naivety that the war would not reach where he was living. This was the thinking from the young mind of someone whose life was focused purely on Valhiem and not beyond these walls. Maybe there was the rare thought of seeing the big city one day, Capitol City, the stuff made by legends. The residence of the ‘Council Of Heroes’ and the likes of Dante Valeron, Rufus Fletcher and other Diamond Tier legends.

He wished to fade into the background like a shadow just so he could compose himself, as his breathing was becoming erratic. He felt his heart beating as loud as the church's bells.

What Barracker would do?

He would not fear this moment, help Mother Anne and anyone struggling. Of course the young ones and even the workers needed attending too, he thought. Life was not standing still for him on this one. Barracker always told him that in a dangerous situation, if you lose your head then you lose your life and it was always important to stop yourself from holding your breath. Breath, breath, in and out, slowly so no one can see.

Tyrion was the first to stand and salute, “Sir it will be done, I will make sure everyone is alright heading up the mountain.”

Harold smiled and gave a salute of his own, with his arms hitting his sides with a clap, his chest pushing out.

“Very well young master,” Harold turned to Mother Anne and the rest of the workers. “I can see you are in capable hands, I will let you all be off, I have others I need to direct my orders too. I will be back later to see if help is needed, after.”

Tyrion saluted him and bid the man farewell, his body now running on autopilot, mirroring Barracker Kassel’s movements and even the words he would say. Every person is faced with challenges, every person has to act, sometimes that is the only answer in overcoming the challenge. Sometimes making a bad decision is better than freezing up and doing nothing. You must have the courage to act. Tyrion inhaled a sharp breath this time, he felt his words less quivering with every word spoken, an illusion of composure, his posture became stable and calm. He went to one knee and spoke to the kids as one, his words marked for everyone to hear. “Everyone go and get your favourite thing. You have five quick minutes before we all have to leave.” Once again he thought that Mother Anne would make it a fun distraction. “Kids, I need you all to help pack up for this adventure, this time we all will go to the top of Citadel mountain and we will participate in a sleepover with the Mayor and the whole city, telling of stories, a big game but I cannot say anymore, we must take what we will need for the adventure.” He was paranoid that he slipped up with his words or body language and brought on confusion and panic, but Eren and Isabella rose up, battling for the first words.

“I’m taking the skateboard!”

“I’ve not had a turn yet, the skateboard’s my pick. Eren you pick something else.”

Then Tyrion raised his hand, grateful for their arguing for once. “Everyone can have the skateboard, I made it for everyone,” he smiled at this moment, it was a warm one, the first of the day under the pressing circumstances. “Kids, help each other. Whoever is last smells as foul as Barrackers feet.” It was a risky call hanging around for any minute longer but the workers went off, making sure no kid was lost among the chaos and they all worked in harmony so that no one would be last. This was the selfless plan of Isabella too as she went to help others, Eren on the other hand ran to get the skateboard and was first to stand to attention in front of Tyrion. Tyrion gave a friendly wink. After just fifteen minutes all kids were counted and workers stood before Mother Anne.

“The children's clothes are packed and we are all ready to go, Tyrion,” Mother Anne said, playing into Tyrion being the leader. “We will follow you to the Mountain.” She gave a smile of her own, all workers followed in suit even the caretaker of the Temple gave a thumbs up with a tear in his eye, the first one to show any watery eyes, he was sure it wasn't due to the war brewing but maybe some respect growing for the kid. Tyrion would normally rub the back of his head with slight embarrassment, a habit he got from Barracker, but there was no embarrassment. This was his duty right now. Everyone needed him at his best, and they needed caring for as usual and directed to the top of Citadel Mountain.

He realised in advance that the journey would be a nightmare for mother Anne to get to the top of the mountain road. He stopped everyone as they were ready to go and ran off to get his hands on a wheelchair. He gave himself the task of pushing the old elf lady, who had lived twenty times his life and four or five times the average age of any non-elf senior living in Valhiem. Pushing the wheelchair up the steep road would be a tough, physical task, but he thought of the much tougher task that the soldiers, conscripts and adventurers would have to do. With a determined look on his face, he wheeled Mother Anne out, leading everyone to the mountain.

“...But before that, he was your age,” Mother finished her story about Barracker. There was a pause amongst them until out of nowhere she reached over her shoulder and grabbed his hand. Warm and loving hands, he thought, mother to the community of Valhiem, he thought. Our Mother. “You show signs of a Paladin, Tyrion, and I am sure you have made Barracker proud today.”

The second tear of today, now shed by himself, one of adrenaline, stress, but joy and also sorrow, for many more would be shed by the end of all this.

The last rays of sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as the farmer watched the men and womenfolk go their separate ways, as the last few trickled out of sight and all was relatively still he breathed out a long weary sigh "God, dang it all." Clive cursed smacking his own forehead as his head lulled, eyes getting heavy from the sheer weight of sleeplessness that bore down on him. His body wanted to rest but Clive's mind refused to allow him the reprieve too scared of the nightmares and the thought of darkness that seemed to pervade his mind.

Clive massaged the bridge of his nose, rubbing the sleeplessness from his tired eyes or trying to at the very least "Ugh...I-I need a gosh darn drink." with a groan the southerner blinked looking around with a bit of strain trying to catch a grain of what might be a saloon or something but none were nearby, grumbling he turned sluggishly his legs leaden with fatigue he moved stiffly in no particular direction to find somewhere to rest. He didn't bother with the fancy polished inns, with their bright lights and austere facades lilting the cheery music in the dusk light almost seemingly mocking his exhaustion.

Instead his aching bones carried him into the dark of the night to some dimly lit place nearly at the edge of the city, it's unassuming quiet exterior a beacon of repose in the face of his tired body and conflicted mind he said nothing as he entered through the creaky wooden door stepping into the bar the smell of ale and stale sweat washed over him, the interior had a smoky atmosphere with rickety wooden chairs and chipped clay mugs that various patrons drank from the bartender was a short broad shouldered man with a long grey beard and a pair of black beady eyes beneath two big bushy eyebrows.

The grumpy looking old fellow grunted, giving the farmer a gruff nod in greeting before returning to wiping at a chipped dirty old mug with a dirty rag, their wasn't much to this place though sitting with one arm leaning on the wooden counter of the bar was a familiar face that he hadn't expected to see "I ain't even gonna ask what in the devil brought you out here..." he said gruffly to the roguish man he came to see as a bit of a closer friend, though he was exhausted and sleep deprived he knew the look of a man that's got something eating at him.

Clive put a hand on his friends shoulder, sighing "Y'know you and I, we look like shit right now...Reckon we might as well drink to make us feel like it too." though Clive already felt and looked like he was dragged through a pigpen he felt like drinking away whatever he was feeling was if not the brightest of ideas the only thing that he could really muster at that very moment.

Leaning in his rickety old chair at the bar Clive tapped the wood with his knuckle "I been running all over hell's half acre and I'm fixin' for a drink. Two o' whatever you got for me and my friend here. And keep em' comin I reckon it's gonna be one of those nights."

He had to wonder, what had the people of the Academy been thinking when they founded it? Lately he had been reading things about the city but he had yet to come across that particular story. He could ask Chief Shield for it but knowing her she would either launch into a detailed lecture with a quiz at the end or would expect him to research it on his own depending on her mood.

Maybe after the siege he would investigate it, would be a fun way to kill an afternoon after everything was resolved.

As he walked beside Alison he looked at the architecture around them, so unlike back home it was startling sometimes. [i][s]He wondered if Mom and the others would like it[/i][/s]. It was nice allowing himself to be distracted, with so much going on lately God(s) know he needs it.

He was startled by Alison's voice, pulling him from his thoughts.

"James, this is Pete. Pete, James. Pete here is a member of my crew. He may seem about as inbred as the rest of his fellow peasants... and he is, but enough brain cells rubbed together in there to make him useful." she said. Pete made a gesture of jabbing a threatening finger in her face before giving his crooked smile and nod to James.

"Nice to meet ya fella. Boss is a cruel woman, so you best watch yourself round her." Pete finished before expertly dodging the low elbow and fading back into the crowd. Alison shook her head, a disapproving frown on her face.

"Asshole. Anyway, I have them right now combing the town for anyone with an uncanny interest in us. I'm sure you'll get a chance to meet the other two later today. Either way, glad that my intuition was right, cause if the Witch already tried to get you assassinated, she's liable to try again. Speaking of which, you gotta tell me sometime about that. What the hell is a water ninja?"

He watched as Alison and Pete bickered, a smile coming to his face even as he chimed with a "Nice to meet you", it was perhaps strange for him to feel better knowing Alison was getting along with someone but perhaps he had associated her with his party in his mind, so there was a certain feeling of responsibility there despite the fact she was older, practically an stranger and definitely more competent.

But all things come to an end and as her question left her lips so did his smile.

For some reason, his mind reminded him of that one meme about a serial killer being discovered 'It's over, she knows' but then he pulled himself back on track.

"That's..." A deep breath "Okay, shit, you caught me off guard, sorry, sorry, just let me think a little" He wasn't being very inconspicuous "Okay, okay, the 'Water Ninja' was one Zigmund" You don't the surnames, you don't know the surnames "Some robot looking asshole who could turn into water to dodge blows and could make weapons out of water, he was the one who killed Clive and Arthur. We killed him" We killed me "but he was some sort of scout or assassin, I don't think he ever revealed his exact orders but he decided to take care of us permanently"

He was rambling he knew.

He couldn't help it, when was the last time James had been asked about Zigmund? It was throwing his thoughts in disarray and he wasn't a fan of it.

He needed to pull himself together.

"I think the Academy may know more about him, let me introduce you to Chief Shield, she is the head honcho of the Academy and a friend, if you ever need info about something just tell her you know me and she should hook you up with something"

Too much James and not enough Zigmund, pull back, she is going to suspect, calm down, you are you, you are you.

You are you.

The 3 largest towers in Capitol City represented the 3 branches of the Imperium, able to be seen from almost anywhere in the city. Largest of them all, the Central Tower was The Sword of Ileandra, representing the Divine Bloodline. To the east of that was The Spire of Mytheria, representing the Senate. To the west, The Spear of The Source, representing the Church. All three were feats of great beauty and craftsmanship, but they were not just mere symbols of power and decorations of magnaminty. They were also powerful conduit towers reserved for the most powerful magical rituals and ceremonies.

The Spire of Mytheria connected to The Atrium Supra Magus, office of the highest magical authority in the Empire. Archmage Teclis was stood in the highest room of the tower, a room with missing walls, no glass in the windows, allowing the winds of altitude to rush throughout. The Archmage’s robes rippled with the gale as he stood dangerously close to the edge, only a hand on the stone column next to him for balance. He would always come here to think, when a problem or puzzle seemed insurmountable.

The prediction that The Wellsprings would remain asleep for several months was wrong. They had stirred already. Not quite awake yet definitely on their way back to full power. To be so incorrect was concerning on it’s own. The Free People’s ability to interpret the Source Code correctly and have faith in academic journals from The Mythic Age, was a fundamental pillar upon which The Empire leaned. But something else had also happened. In addition to their miscalculations: Yesterday, the moment that the Wellspring stirred was marked by a surge of Source that almost killed one of the city’s best Code Readers, leaving the woman permanently blind to boot.

“It is all so irregular,” Teclis mused as he went over the pieces to the puzzle. Academics were not known for tolerating inconsistencies.

His thoughts were interrupted by none other than Dante Valeron, leader of the Adventurer Party, The Good Fight, and Chairman of The Council of Heroes.

“Archmage.” Teclis returned the greeting but did not turn around. Dante came to stand next to him, the man’s silver hair and polished silver armour both glistening in the sun. “Valhiem is under attack.”

The Archmage bristled. “An unfortunate development. What do we know?”

“Nothing,” was the reply, Dante’s tone and expression as if the very word tasted foul. “It hasn’t been confirmed yet, but I feel it in my bones. Contact with the city has been magically blockaded. I have put in requests for Code Readings on the city and surrounding area.”

“I will go to The Basilica Magna Decoris at once. Expedite the process and make sure that our very best are on the job.”

“There is something else too,” Dante added. “I have received word from Fornost, from the party True Grade, who were at Valhiem only weeks ago, that there is a strange and uniquely powerful party that have seemingly appeared out of nowhere.”

Teclis’ eyes grew wide. Dante nodded knowingly.

“They call themselves Second Chance.”

“Could it be…?”

“I think so. We know that the The Summoning was completed. They had to turn up somewhere. It stands to reason that they would land perfectly between here and Azeroth.” There were no more than a dozen people who knew about The Summoning. All of them were in Capitol City, with the exception of The Witch Queen, of course. Which meant that if this really was the heroes that had been brought from another world, Valhiem would not have a clue. “Whatever is happening in Central Mytheria, we must pray that they survive it.”

“We have gambled so much on them. May The Mother protect their souls and The Warrior smile on their battles.”