[IC] The Shadows of Aeios

[Little Alice]

1302, 12th of February

The Rehonian Empire, often called the Empire by its population, is standing firm and strong. With decades and decades of peace, the Empire had only so far to fight off the barbaric tribes in the north. With the legions, strong and mighty, it managed to keep its borders intact to this very day. As the stability and peace is guarded by the Rangers, there is little to no trouble in these times. Many praise the House of Divini, who rule over the Empire from the Imperial Province of Rehon.

Though it seems there is something growing in these dark shadows. Ready to strike at the right time and place. What or who? Where and how? Questions like this will soon arise, but the shadows of Aeios are long and dark. And they hide many secrets.

Once revealed, you will be forced to make a decision. Only, what will you decide?

---

Chapter I
The Growth of the Shadows.

[SyrianHamster]

Another Afternoon At The Buckle

“’nother beer, Ted?” asked Jymson, reaching for Tedmin’s empty oaken tankard.

“Aye, Sonny, ‘at be grand,” said Tedmin, wiping froth from his mangy bracken beard.

“’ows Mary? Be a fine lass tha’ one,” Jymson inquired warmly, as he refilled the tankard and replaced it on the heavy-set bar.

“Ya know my Mary, Sonny, she’s as beautiful as the sun, but be scornin’ me all the same,” replied Tedmin, grinning his broken teeth.

Jymson raised his good eye. “Aye? What’cha dun this time ‘en?”

“Ain’t what I done, Sonny, It’s I didn’t do!”

“Womenfok for ya, Ted, always’s the same story,” concluded Jymson with a smirk.

It was midday, on Februari the 12th, and it was business as usual at The Boot Buckle. It was nearly a full house, a common thing for this time of day. Jymson surveyed his patrons curiously, trying to gage their business from studying attire and demeanor.

In the north end of the Buckle was a table of ten, all soldiers judging by their identical haircuts and lack of facial hair. By the fireplace, over to the east, were a small family – a ma, pa and two young boys., probably enjoying the pa’s day off from tending his trade. To the west, against the windows, were a rough assortment of no-one-in-particulars. A lowly merchant, a man out of work, a couple of over-the-hill women looking for lusty hands.

“Ayuh, business as usual,” grunted Jymson.

“I be thinkin’ them soldier lads got a thing for your Jess, so I do, Sonny,” added Tedmin, looking over his shoulder at the table of ten.

Jymson followed his gaze. Jess, the Buckle’s sole surviving beer wench, was busy trying to place a plate of fresh bread upon the table. As she bent over, one of the soldiers saw something he liked, and discreetly knocked a bread roll onto the floor. After offering his sincerest apologies, he invited her to pick it back up for him. She smiled innocently, like most young girls do, and did so.

The soldier grabbed her behind, and she whelped. Jymson reached under the bar.

“Now, now, Sonny, ‘ese are soldiers – ya kna’what happens when you quarrel with ‘ese bastods,” Tedmin intervened, placing a firm palm on Jymson’s wrist.

“She’s sixteen, Ted, and ‘m good friends with ‘er father,” muttered Jymson’s reponse.

Tedmin sighed. Jymson came from behind the bar with a large and hefty frying pan secured around his waist. Jess was trying to laugh off the soldier’s advances, but he had her midsection in an iron-tight clamp and obviously felt she was indebted to him. This enraged Jymson, who rather than see a petite and beautiful red headed young girl, saw a precious daughter, whom must be protected from a tavern’s filth at all costs.

“Keep ya hands to yourself, soldier boy, she’s not on the menu,” shouted Jymson, storming over with his white grimy apron seemingly bellowing in homage to his rage.

The solder was an ugly bastard; his face cut through and through by some barbarian blade. It was hard to judge his age as a result, but Jymson sensed the man knew his way around a fight. This was unfortunate, because it seemed to the aging tavern keep that the soldier’s company were all young boys fresh from the muster fields.

“Get back behind the bar, old man, I’ll send for you if I need you,” smirked the soldier; uglier now than ever he had been.

“Aye, I’ll get back behind the bar after you let go of the little lady there,” hissed Jymson. His lips trembled with anger.

The soldier took in Jymson’s size, and his apparent rage. After a few seconds of internal deliberation, he smiled a genuine warmth, patted Jess’s behind and shoved her towards Jymson.

“’at’ll do, thanks lad,” said Jymson, willing to let the situation slide now that Jess was free from harm. He turned to walk away.

“Besides, I bet you’d wanna fuck her more than me anyway, you look like the kind of old bastard that’d go around ruining ale wenches,” snickered the soldier. His companions added their amusement.

Jymson closed his eyes and sighed. Tedmin quickly downed his ale.

With a flash, Jymson had spun on the spot, with his fryingpan held tightly in both hands. He surged towards the soldier, who was trying to draw his sword, and brought the metal down upon the man’s head. There was a sickening crack, and the soldier went limp, falling to the floor. The other soldiers arose from their table, but only two of them carried weapons.

“Give me a fucking reason!” Screamed Jymson. “You want this kind of trouble, you can have it!”

The whole tavern had fallen deathly quiet. All eyes were on the soldiers, rather than Jymson. Tedmin came to the old oaf’s side, with his bar stool clenched firmly in both hands. It was apparent that the locals were rallying around their tavern keep; his Majesty be damned. A few of the patrons shuffled, edging closer towards the soldiers.

“Take ya friend, and leave. I see you boys in ‘ere again, and I won’t be stoppin’ with just one of ya, see?” said Jymson, his gravelly voice getting stonier with each syllable.

The soldiers seemed to way up their options, and then quietly nodded to each other. They picked up their fallen comrade, and made for the door.

“They’ll be back, Sonny,” whispered Tedmin.

“Aye, and it’ll be tha’ same result, Ted,” replied Jymson wistfully.

[Lesli]

Kimberly Perar.
In Hials, the halls of the fortress.

The halls were dark and cold, due the present of winter. Dressed in a dark brown dress, Kimberly calmly walked down the halls. Only nodding and mumbling good day to those who wished her one as well. Her blue eyes were half open, as she was thinking about something. It was a day that she would head to Deliar as she had planned something. And not many would suspect something strange, as it was her habit of visiting the capital of the province often. Already this morning, she had managed to get a carriage for tomorrow, but now she would need some capable guard. Brushing some strands of hair, Kimberly kept walking down the halls. As she turned around the corner, she thought she had seen some guards. But to request them to come with her would be odd. It was better if she would arrange something with the captain or maybe the Head of the Rynirs. It was a small favor and she could return such without suffering for it. Or to be more precise, her plans to suffer for it. Unless she could...

As she approached a door, one of the two guards standing near it opened for her. ''Good day, lady.'' The guard said, grinning as Kimberly passed him. Not paying attention to how they looked after her, she felt the cold chill of the winter breeze on her skin. But she loved it. While the spring was her favorite season, Kimberly was also fond to feel the cold and refreshing breeze of the winter on her skin. Walking through the snow, she used both her hands to lift her skirt a bit, trying to avoid it would become all wet and damp due the snow. Heading towards the small town that was within the fortress, where the shops and ''lower'' people of the social ladder lived. The servants and such. On her way, Kimberly noticed several children playing in the snow. Slowing down, she stared at the few children. They were making a snow man, cheering as one of them placed a carrot, that would ''function'' as his nose. Her hair being blown in her face, due the breeze, she managed to snap out of her thoughts. Turning around, she was heading towards a tailor shop.

[Roran Hawkins]

Robin Throckmorton
Deliar, right outside The Buckle.

Robin laughed as the recruits dragged their older companion out of the establishment. Recruits usually were a dirty bunch of rats, expecting that their arms and armour would make the ladies open their legs for them. The knuckle-headed fools always found out that that wasn't the case one way or another. "That'll teach that bastard Vincent for teaching recruits to be jerks! His ugly face now has somethin' else than his scar to worry about! He mused to his comrades, and walked inside the tavern after giving the recruits a heartfelt load of insults and mockeries. As they entered, clearly recognisable by the olive green hoses of the pikemen of the 16th Legion, the same men as those who had just rushed out of the tavern, the newly started conversations fell silent again.

Robin was still just a mere soldier, but he knew that he was inches away from his promotion to Tessarius. Their old one had been hit in the thigh by an arrow, and the wound had been infected. The man survived, but it remained to be seen if he would ever walk, nevermind march again. Even after 6 months of relaxation backhome, he still limped heavily. Next sortie he'd be a Tessarius for sure, so he had decided to improve on his usual behavior somewhat as to make sure he wouldn't miss out on the promotion. As a result, he dressed a tad nicer than usual, and the stern and serious look on his face he usually carried along with the uncharacteristical neat impression he left, made the people in the tavern terrified that their tavernkeeper's actions had gotten him on the bad side of the military.

"Gimme some wine, you bastard." He said once he reached the bar, shattering the deafening silence. It didn't help that he was grinning along with his companions, all veterans of previous campaigns. As the silence ensued he looked around and snickered, before turning to the innkeeper again. "Sometimes we wish the barbarians'd hit as hard as you, then we'd be rid of that bastard Vincent a long time ago!" He said with his heavy accent, accepting the cup of wine and emptying it in one big gulp, and releasing a statisfied sigh. "You sent those recruits running faster than I've ever seen a barbarian run away from us, perhaps we need more men like you fighting on the frontlines! We'd have won the war ages ago!"

[Lucius Cypher]

Leeson
City of Deliar inside the Boot Buckle

The sounds of soft hammering echoed in a dusty old forge. Aside from the lights that could shine through the faded storefront windows, it was dark, sans for the embers that warmed the bed of a forge. Beside the forge was a young man, hamming into shape a shovel's head. This one would go for seventy-five silvers; if he could get at least five more gold denars, he'd have enough money to pay off the store for this month. If he could finish these orders of shovels, he'd get at least two gold denars. And that's often how Leeson's life went; surviving from one tax day to the next, struggling to make ends meet. If someone broke into his forge right now, the only thing worth taking would be his hammer, tongs, and maybe some furniture. Before they used to put on display everything and anything they could make; axes, hammers, trowels, barrel bands, door locks, even some swords. But as Leeson began to lose more and more business, he had to sell many of his show pieces to the government. And now all he has to give is the forge itself.

Leeson's life at the forge was a complicated one. Honestly, he'd much rather be rid of it. His father would be turning over his grave to know that they lost it, but Leeson just couldn't find it within himself to settle down like this. Not without moving next towards the Boot Buckle so that he could drown his sorrows away at the end of each hour. But again, it's his family's forge; they've kept it for many generations now, and he'll be damned if he simply hands it over to them. It was a very love-hate relationship, like how one would feel that they should love their father for simply being their father, but hate the man due to their overbearing personality. Leeson is reminded of a turn used by one of his friends, who raises hounds: Imprinting. Children do it at a young age so that they know who their guardians were and who they should go to in their time of need. Well, Leeson lost his a while back, and has been lost ever since.

His internal ramblings were interrupted when he heard knocking at his door. Having just finished up his last shovel the young smith got up from his spot and went to answer it. Opening the door he had expected to see someone of his height, but instead it was a small child. He recognized him as the youngest child of a forester. "S-sir, I need your help. I can't get inside my house!" Leeson than remembered who this child belonged to. A fairly rich forester, whom had placed an order to have a lock built into their main entrance. That made a pretty penny for Leeson, 10 gold denars. But it was unlikely that this child had any money to purchase his service. Grabbing his hat, staff, rope, and tucking his dagger underneath his robe, Leeson motioned for the child to lead.

Walking through lower Deliar was a familiar scene for Leeson. It was both parts pitiful and beautiful; the walls and buildings of Deliar were made by the skilled and caring hands of artisans many years ago, who's handiwork still outshine the sun itself even to this day. But that's from inside the walls; outside of it, in the commoner district, it was a little less pleasing. At best, it's cramp and has a strange stench. At worse, it may be the breeding ground for a plague and you could not see the street underneath the trash and litter. Usually however, it's simply not as clean or immaculate as within the city. It had it's charms of course; though hardly everyone in the lower districts could be called artist, they were quite capable of getting by without all the amenities provided like in the city. The fact that it wasn't suffering show to Leeson that it was not so bad. At least people would have an incentive to buy locks down here.

Leeson and the child reached the door of his home. Amongst the houses in the lower districts, this one was huge; two stories, thatched roof, solid stone walls, a few windows. The chimney shooting out from the side foretold that there is a fireplace or at even an oven within. And more importantly, a grand oaken door with a lock mechanism. Leeson got onto one knee and checked the device, but immediately noticed nothing was wrong with it. Aside from a few scratches that might have come from someone missing the keyhole. Curious, Lesson asked the child to open the door. But the child could not. Than it dawned to him why the kid couldn't open the door. "Does not have a key." Well, this is a bit of a predicament. On one hand, he could still open the door using some improvised tools. But what sort of an impression would that leave on the child? And what if someone mistook him for a burglar? So many questions, and Leeson didn't answer any of them. He looked around for a couple of twigs and got to work.

It took him about ten minutes but Leeson managed to get the door open on his first try. The child was giddy to be back in his home and ran inside, leaving Leeson outside to wonder if he should charge the kid for making him come all this way for him. He decided not to however and was about to leave before the boy walked out of the house with a bucket. Inside of it was a large collection of Oyster Mushrooms, Grande Wormwood, Green Anise, and Sweet Fennel. Or to Leeson, booze and a snack. Thanking the child for the payment, Leeson walked towards the Boot Buckle in hopes that he could get the barkeep there to make him some alcohol with this stuff, and to make stew for him using the mushrooms. Along the way Leeson passed a group of soldiers, one whom looked as though he had too much to drink as he was being carried away by his fellow soldiers. Ignoring them, Leeson soon made it to the Belt Buckle, the usual hollering for drink orders heard well outside it's walls. Leeson entered the establishment and looked for the brewmaster.

---

Lucilia Tinath
City of Hials patrolling the city

The snow had piled on thick thanks to the many days of winter here in Hials. It was nothing the street cleaners couldn't clear out within a week, and right now the snow wasn't so heavy that one could not simply walk through it. Lucilia certainly didn't need to, as she had Benedictus who allowed her to sit tall above the ground. In her hands was the tool of her trade, the mark of her station: Carnifex. It has butchered the likes of many barbarians, and hopefully she won't need to turn it on the people of Hials either. Even though it has been more than a month since it had last drawn blood, Lucilia kept her weapon sharpened and ready for any situation. But just because she was ready for trouble, doesn't mean that she was going to start any. Lucilia made sure to patrol every part of the city she could, typically the parts of the city that didn't have guards. The places of nobility didn't need her; they had entire legions at their beck and call. No, she was around the much more common parts of the city, where you'd find street vendors trying to sell aged vegetables, were beggars would nip at your heels for charity, and where knives were used to cut purses and hopefully not throats.

A breath of hot air escaped through the bottom of Lucilia's helmet. Even though she was here to rest and relax away from the horrors of war, she was always on edge. Anyone could be an enemy; everyone looked like a barbarian. Sure, they would tell you tales of how the men of the north dressed themselves in animal furs and had wild hair and so forth, but being there personally, a lot of those "Barbarians" wouldn't look out of place even here. Sure, some do have tribal markings and a particular style of dress, but Lucilia would hardly call it "Barbaric". Different was more accurate. The only thing that made the barbarians different than the people down here is that they weren't trying to kill Lucilia, but than again it's not as though she meets them under good circumstances. It should be no surprise that the barbarians would want to kill her if she came to them armed to the teeth and looking for war. But alas, regardless of her thoughts on them, they were still her enemies. If they could be reasoned with, they would have already. War was not enjoyable for anyone, at least not everyone as a whole. And her years spent warring still hasn't shaken her off the mindset that at any moment, violence would break out in the streets and Lucilia would need to begin cutting down anyone who so much as shot a vicious look at her.

Taking her horse down the a small down within the fortress, Lucilia resigned herself to quietly making her rounds while keeping a constant, vigilant eye on her surroundings.

[Enzayne]

Erin Farain
Evading Fate, Deliar

Few things were as bad as a midwinter day. The biting chill in the air meant people stayed home or sought out the warmth of a tavern instead of strolling the streets. Falling snow meant sleet and slush ended up all over an already dank-looking floor. Crisp papers seem to rip and tear easier in the fresh air, and there was no way mother was about to let there be any sort of fire made to keep the heat up. With a house full of flammable materials, it wasn't a hard to see why, but that meant the only option was to bunch up in all available blankets and sheets, like some kind of beggar. Huddling together for any last remnant of heat, all for the highly prestigious mission of watching the store - perhaps the very epitome of a waste of time. Ever since father had passed, mother had grown disinterested with remaining chained to store. It fell on the equally unwilling Erin to keep the family business alive, which would be fine were it not for the fact that noone ever came here.

'Farains Maps & Scripts' said the fading sign outside. During warmer months, they'd get one or two interested people from off the street a day. If they were lucky, at least one of them bought or commissioned something. Prices were too high, and whatever lustre the store had had in the past, it breathed its last with Father. In the last month, they'd got on by selling empty scrolls to scribes in other parts of the city. February showed no signs of being any different.

Now even Mother had stopped appearing in the store, out chasing down new contacts or trying to call in old debts, or just not spending time in the store. The result was the same; Erin found herself locked in place behind a musty old counter, with nothing to show for it. On the off chance that someone actually wanted a map drawn, she'd get a few days of interesting activity. Nothing compared to what she knew she was capable of, however.

She'd written a whole book on the stories of her ancestor, passed down through a long line of Farains to reach her ears. From the stories, she'd made maps and images of his great battles and travels. Chronicled the one thing that made her proud to be part of her family. Yet there was only so far you could go with writing about the glory days. By sitting here, she was throwing her life away, an argument she had made many a time to both of her parents, neither of whom had any mind to listen. Uncaring, they'd prefer to forget what heroes were in their blood. Forget the past, and throw their lives away maintaining a failing, decrepit storefront. It had already claimed Father, and Mother was invisible at this point.

It would not claim her as well. As she had done so many days before this one, Erin cast herself free of her blanketed prison cell behind the counter. After a quick claiming of her heavy, comforting cloak and the sword of her ancestor, the last link to a great time, fastened to her belt, she spectated herself as best she could. As good as any mercenary or hireling, surely. Maybe a little scrawny. Or young. But only fools let their limitations stop them. Erin was not a fool. She would see her name be the one that brought glory back onto their family. She would make all of them proud.

With that, Erin abandoned her posting, trodding out onto the streets in search of something greater. She had a pretty good idea of where to start.

[SyrianHamster]

Familiar Faces - The Boot Buckle

Jymson had resumed his position behind his bar, and manned it as if it were the parapets of his very own castle. The soldiers were gone, but there was plenty of commotion outside – mostly jeers and mocking cries. His patrons looked nervously at the door, and some started whispering after peering out of the smudged windows.

“More soldiers, Sonny, wha’ ya wanna do?” uttered Tedmin, nervous and fidgety.

“Nowt, Ted, these soldiers ain’t worth the armour my tax buys ‘em,” replied Jymson, indifferent.

The tavern doors bowled open with a creak of their rusted hinges. In walked a small group of soldiers, looking much the same as the ones who left moments prior, but somehow more refined. Jymson studied their faces; these were men, not boys. Their leader was a man he recognized instantly, but pretended not to notice. With Ted’s extreme disapproval, Jymson turned his back on the new arrivals and poured himself a drink.

"Gimme some wine, you bastard."

Jymson smiled to himself, and gulped away at his tankard.

"Sometimes we wish the barbarians'd hit as hard as you, then we'd be rid of that bastard Vincent a long time ago!"

The hulking tavern keeper lurched forwards, grabbing the wine racks behind the bar for support. He let out a booming laugh, that though full of warmth, sounded like ale barrels rolling around in a cellar

"You sent those recruits running faster than I've ever seen a barbarian run away from us, perhaps we need more men like you fighting on the frontlines! We'd have won the war ages ago!"

Jymson turned holding a bottle of Deliar Blues and grinning like a child who’d won his first race against his peers. He was faced with Robin, a true soldier, or so Jymson had thought so, and an even truer man. Robin was not an impressive figure, but he had a charm about him, and an eerie “mess with me and wake up without a throat” kind of appeal. He’d always been kind to Jymson, often paying more than he should for the beverages he consumed.

“There, it’s yours, on the house – I never drink the piss of high born, you little shit,” thundered Jymson. “Noxios’s bowels, you’ve gotten thinner. You want some sheep dung with that piss?”

Jymson cast a gaze over Robin’s shoulder as the tavern doors swung open again. He half expected another group of soldiers to enter – the ones he had seen off, although he was confident now that he had enough peers at his back to drive off a legion. Instead, a small fellow entered, with bound hair and a tired face. Jymson knew him as a blacksmith, but his name he couldn’t quite recall.

[Apokalipse]

Elora Nicholi
The Boot Buckle, Deliar

The long needle perforated the indigo satin, pulling the two ends together to form a Dolman sleeve. Elora instinctively sewed, her mind drifting to more engaging matters. Chubby, the ragged homeless cat Elora had adopted, leapt to the window sill and began licking the glass. It was a favorite venture of the queer cat and the redhead glanced at the queen to give her eyes something to do. Adopting Chubby was probably the best decision she had made as the long-haired offered much amusement for the often bored young woman.

“Are you thirsty, Chubby?” Elora hummed, her fingers still at work. The cat meowed in response that she took as a yes. Her fingers jerked as to move, but the needle was halfway through the fabric. The neb lurched through the material too fast and struck the tip of Elora’s finger.

“Ow!” she gasped, yanking her finger free and planting it in her mouth. It was only the slightest prick and little to no blood had poured from her veins. Sighing, too uninterested to seam, she placed the unfinished dress upon the stand next to her wooden chair and stood up.

She had decided that travelling to the tailoring shop could wait until later when she had worked the blasé from her indolent bones. Ever since they have entered the month of Februari, Elora had been restless and anxious for the day she morphs to a nineteen year old woman. Her fingers itched to cook, though she had no equipment, and most days she found herself shirking her responsibilities, moving to tavern to tavern. Edna and Edlund, her dismayed parents, had become annoyed and frustrated with her behavior. Too many times in the past twelve days have they sat her down to talk about responsibility. But Elora could not help it, she just could not sit still and had less will than usual to pay attention to mundane details.

Elora exited the Nicholi house, heading to the nearest tavern to drink her agitation away. Snow crunched underfoot and cold seeped through her expensive silken red dress in which her mother had sown herself. The blanket of snow soaked the hem of her skirt, leaving a dark border of crimson. The redhead passed by a group of soldiers whom dragged an unconscious colleague through the snow by his arms, leaving two trails behind him, and she stared in wonder. Soon, The Boot Buckle appeared and she shook her shawl free of precipitation before she entered. The tavern was filled with members of Deliar, drinking themselves to nirvana in which Elora expected to reach in an hour.

“Barkeep, I would appreciate a drink of sorts.” She called from the door, finding her way to a table.

[Roran Hawkins]

Robin Throckmorton
Inside the Boot Buckle

Laughing as his old friend did, he gave his cup back to Jymson with a meaningful gesture for more. His companions now started ordering their drinks aswell, and while Robin wiped off his mouth with his hand, after first undoing his gloves and placing them behind his belt. "Me? Thinner? What blasphemy are you talking about! I even got thicker last campaign! No Barbarian's gotten a slice of me! But look at you, you fat bastard! You barely fit between the wall and bar anymore!" He responded, pretending to be indignated by the remark. Shaking his head as he thought about the idea, him getting thinner, he responded on the innkeeper's offer.

"Well actually yeah, give me some good, nice Deliari sheep dung. You've got a reputation for it, in this shitty establishment yo've gotten yourself 'ere. Probably shouldn't have named it the Booth Buckle with all the crap you find on the streets these days." He told Jymson, his voice growing more enthousiastic as he spoke. He never ceased making puns of the name of this tavern, simply because of all the possibilities for amazing puns it offered, and the rather foul language of the tavernkeeper himself. It was a joke that always returned between the two of them, just like the one about him growing thinner each time he'd return.

It was strange howmany times that joke had been told by now. Having been in the 16th Legion for almost 26 years now, the innkeeper must have seen him literally grow up from a runaway village lad into a veteran soldier. Well, maybe he hadn't. Back as a boy he only visisted taverns when dragged along by other soldiers to prove he could drink, and drink he could! That aside, another man seemed to have tended the tavern back then, because the stout figure of Jymson didn't fit in those memories.Perhaps he had been less fat those days?

Turning around as two new persons entered the establishment, one, a young smith of sorts, judging on the apron he wore, filled with sootstains. The other person however was a fair lady in a fantastic and eye-catching red dress, and in that instant the smith was already forgotten. His eyebrows made a jump as his eyes traveled up and down the dress. Not bad, he mused to himself, before making room for the lady as she ordered a drink. Well, if he could ensure she got some more drinks than proper for a lady of her age, he might have some company tonight. He was perhaps 10 years older, judging by how she looked, but remembering how fast girls could age, he adjusted that image to 15 years at least. He might damn well be twice as old. Not that it actually mattered, but it did make him think about his age for a moment, untill that last thought melted away for her fair red hair. The barbarians up North often had red hair aswell. Not that you'd see it though, since only when you'd hit them so hard they'd lose their helmets is when you'd find the blond and red hairs they seemed to have in such unnatural amounts. He knew Jymson's bartender girl was off-limits, but anything else was fair game ofcourse. If you don't shoot you always miss!

"Well, if you could tell me what you want, I'll gladly pay you that drink, for your beautiful dress!"

[Gerontis]

Richard and Breena Tinath,
A regular day.

A collab between Shadowcatcher and Gerontis,

Summary :
Richard coming home from a hunt and Breena dealing with a customer.

The Collab

The snow was something he didn't mind, unlike some other hunters he knew. Mitch calmly was walking beside his master, his tongue out of his mouth. With a few rabbits, that they had managed to hunt down and even a badger, Richard was not all too disappointed. The season meant that his chance of a good profit by hunting or setting traps was lower than usual. But he had managed to catch a decent hunt with Mitch. ''Almost home.'' He mumbled as he kept walking through the snow. Soon the gates of the fortress of Hials was visible.

Breena took a deep breath as she fought back the urge to punch her client in the face. Despite the weather, which she loved, she was getting an abnormally high amount of requests and pickups today. She debated closing up shop early, but it was not her call to make. She sat back in her chair as she looked up at the angry man, her arms and legs crossed, she was the perfect picture of a woman at ease. "Are you done?" she asked him after he had seemed to have his fill of screaming at her. "Your wife asked me to have her clothes done by high noon, which i did. She asked me to add wildflowers to the bow at the back, which I did, and she also told me that when she would come pick them up, she would pay the price we agreed on. Now, i dont know what you plan to accomplish here...barging in like a brute with no home training, but let me tell you this." she stood then and leaned towards him, a hand placed on the table that seperated the two individuals.

"Get out of my shop. Do not return unless you bring me my money. If i see your face around here again, i'll have all the dresses burned do you understand? How do you think she would feel if that happened?" she asked. Her voice was soft, as she did well to mask her anger, though her eyes showed her true emotions. With a huff the man left, slamming the door behind him. Sighing, Breena turned around and laughed lightly. That was about the most fun i've had in a long time. she thought as she went to start on a different order.

Walking through the streets, that were cleaned of the snow, Richard was close on getting home. Seeing a man slamming the door of the building he was approaching, Richard bumped with his shoulder against the man, who seemed to be angry about something. Only turning around, Richard locked his eyes with the man, who was almost a head taller. After a moment, the man muttered something before walking away. Not directly turning around, Richard sighed as he then went towards the tailor shop. Opening the door, Mitch walked inside as his tail started to wiggle. ''Love?'' Richard said, closing the door behind him, as well trying to clean his boots from any snow that was still attached to them.

When she heard her husband walk in, Breena was in the back room working some fabric into a dye. She had on gloves that went up to her elbows, and though they had started off brown, there was not a place on the pair that showed the original color. She called a small "Hello." before returning to her work, careful not to let the liquid splash into the nearby barrels that held the other various colors. A few moments passed before she spoke again. "Did you see that bloke that stormed out of here? Please tell me you smashed in his head. You wouldn't believe the manner in which he spoke to me." she said shaking her head.

Hearing her voice, he assumed she was working in the back room. ''No, I haven't smashed his head in. Would a glare be enough?'' He called back, walking to through the shop, almost to the door that would give him enter to the back of the building, their living space. He would need to store the profit of his hunt so that he could later skin it and then see what he would save for themselves or sell to the market. "A glare?" she called. "I would have tripped him at least. I tell you, the men these days have such little respect for women." the last part was muttered to herself as she wrung out the fabric, twisting the dye out of it. She carefully brought it over to the back door which she pushed open with her shoulder. Squealing as a gust of air whipped at her face, she suddenly remembered it was winter and she couldn't hang the clothes outside. She turned to look at the clothes drying inside and scowled. They were still wet. "Honey...would you give me a hand when you get the chance?" she called.

Hearing her, his hand was at the door handle. Turning around, his hand still at the handle, he was chuckling. ''Only one hand?'' He called back, amused. Placing the bounty of the hunt on the ground, he glanced in the direction of Mitch. The Irish wolfhound simply lay down, looking at his owner with his big eyes. But Richard went towards where he had heard the sound of his wife. ''Coming.'' He more mumbled as he then noticed her with the clothes. ''What can I do for you, milady?'' Richard asked, trying to mask his amusement

She gestured with her head to the rope that sat on the floor. "Could you get that rope...attach it to the beam over there on the left, and tie it to the other rope where the clothes are hanging." she told him. "I forgot that i cannot hang the clothes out to dry so i need to cram them al in here." she said while looking around to see where else she could hang clothes.

Nodding, he moved to the rope. Picking up the rope, he looked at the beam that his wife mentioned. When she told that she had forgottent that she couldn't hang them outside, he chuckled, but said nothing. Doing as she wanted, Richard glanced at her. ''Where is Alicia?'' He asked her, wondering where she was. After he was done, he took a step back to give Breena the required space she would need, as well waiting for her answer.

"She has gone outside to play, though i have not seen her come back in a while. I'm sure she's alright." she said, standing on her toes to lay the dark blue fabric over the rope. She smiled and waitind for him to start worrying or something. "I think she should be close by if you want to go look for her." she said. Turning to face her husband, she was about to say something else when she heard the bell of the door opening. Sighing, she walked out past Richard and saw the man from before.

"I do hope you've returned with my money. My husband is home this time around and i'm sure he wouldn't like you using a tone with me." she warned. "I have your money. Now just hurry up give me my order." he mumbled something under his breath after throwing a sack of coins on the table. "Thank you. One moment." she said, walking back to a different room where the finished orders were kept. Grabbing the three dressed and wrapping them in a tarp, she returned and handed him the clothes. "Thank you. Please tell your wife i said hello." she added with a smirk, hands on her hips. She watched triumphantly as he left.

Hearing the bell, Richard let her pass him and kept out of sight as he did listened to the conversation. Mitch also kept himself quit, though his tail wasn't wiggling when Breena spoke to the customer. As soon as the man had left, Richard came around the corner as he saw how the man was walking away. ''So, how was your day so far?'' He asked, looking now in her direction. Though he wished to see where Alicia was hanging out or what kind of trouble she was stirring up, he would believe his wife when she told him that she was alright and nearby.

"My day has been rather busy, surprisingly. I wonder if its because Edlund and Edna stepped out for a bit. I'm sure when they returen, things will go a bit more smoothly." she said with a small smile. "How about you. Did you have a good hunt with Mitch? He appears to be in high spirits." The question of her made Mitch's tail wiggle again, but likely because he had heard his name. His head rose up from the ground as the lips revealed his wolfish grin, letting out his tongue. Richard sighed as he remembered he had placed down the bounty of the hunt. Picking it up, he answered her question. ''I am doing well. So far it went decent. Not too much I can complain about.'' He straighten his back as he looked back at her.

''So, what are your plans for today?'' He asked, being curious what she had on her list to do or if she had some free time.

"Play in the snow of course. And, i expect you to join me." she said as she went back to continue dyeing the fabrics. This time she went to a light pink colored dye and prepared to use it. "Why do you ask?" A chuckle was the first respons of Richard as he slowly walked away. ''Cause I was wondering if you were still up for that.'' He said back, walking to store the catch away, so that he could later spent the evening on skinning the animals.

[Grothnor]

Kareth
West Gate of Deliar

"Skelatia's tits, its cold."

Kareth the Legionnaire was soon to become Kareth of Deliar. It was a lengthy trek from the 10th Legion of Awom's camp at Roduma to Deliar, made lengthier by the snow. It was bad enough that he couldn't see the road half the way and sometimes wandered onto someone's land. Once he was even chased off by hounds; the landowner didn't give him any chance to explain himself. Bastard paid for that mistake: he lost two hounds and 3 more were mauled by the time Kareth had got away. He had sold his Legion shield to pay for a winter cloak at Roduma. Besides, he figured, if I manage to get a job as a guard, they'll want me to carry their crest and not that of the 10th. Besides, blasted thing weighed nearly half a ton. Being in a heavy infantry unit, his shield was a monster of a thing, nearly as tall as he. He was quite glad he didn't have to lug that bastard around anymore.

Finally, his long journey was soon to end. The city walls were in sight now. Kareth's sagging, frozen feet redoubled their efforts and brought him to the gates. He joined a guardsman warming himself by a brazier. "Good morrow, sir. Mind if I join you?"

The guardsman shook his head. "Where you from, traveler?"

"I came here from Roduma, but I'm looking to make a home here." Kareth began rubbing his hands by the fire.

"Aye?" The guardsman looked him over, noticing the mace hanging from his belt and the blade slung to his back. "You a Legionnaire?"

"Not anymore." Kareth pulled off his pack and set it on the ground. The guard tensed for a moment as Kareth reached inside, bur relaxed once he saw it was only papers. Kareth noticed the reaction when he looked up and didn't blame him. He'd had to deal with more than one deserter who managed to lie his way into a city. "My discharge papers." He offered them to the guard.

The Guard glanced them over and handed them back. "Welcome to Deliar, Tesserarius Kareth."

"I think I'd prefer Kareth of Deliar. By the way, is there anywhere in the city that an ex-legionnaire can get a decent room, and possibly a drink?"

"The best place I can think of is the Boot Buckle." Kareth thanked the guard after receiving directions and entered the city, post-haste. He needed a fire by his feet and a warmth in his belly.

[Lucius Cypher]

Leeson
City of Deliar just wondering around

As per usual, the Boot Buckle was almost packed to the brim. Even after those soldiers left, who Leeson only presumed came from the Boot Buckle, finding tables was a bit of a chore. Of course, so long as you came for drinks, you could be anywhere you'd like. Leeson himself didn't have the money to spend for drinking, but he had hoped he could trade his recent winnings to the Barkeep. Walking over to the jolly man and waiting for his current business to be done, Leeson showed him the contents of the basket and what he wanted done with it; make one devastating wine from it. Absinthe; less of a drink, more of a poison. But Leeson wouldn't want it any other way; he found the general taste of ale and beer to be disgusting, and drank them only because the water around the city can come from questionable sources. Absinthe was his favorite drink due to how quickly it can get him drunk; even a heavy set man would be feeling it's effects after the third drink. And while Leeson was a big man, just one cup of the stuff would make him loopy enough to mistake a barrel as his mother. The only thing Leeson didn't let the barkeep take was the mushrooms, as Leeson planned to make a soup from it.

The brewing itself will take some time, but even so Leeson did decide to stay for a drink or two, trading a few of his mushrooms for a single pint of ale. He managed to find himself a free stool to sit upon as he took a quick glance at the patrons. From that glance the first thing he noticed is the group of soldiers next to him. He had little idea of what life or culture was like in the Legion, so he couldn't really discern who amongst them was their leader. Leeson figured it'd be best not to make any of them angry though; no point in causing a conflict. One of the soldiers was seemed to be the leader of sorts, if only because he had the biggest voice. He spoke to a red hair lass with stunning features. But than again, plenty of those types in the city. She did seem somewhat familiar however, and Leeson tried to remember who she was. He couldn't pull out any names, only that from her dress and hands that she worked with clothing. A tailor, perhaps. Not much else to note aside from that. Leeson's eyes soon moved over to the barkeep. Large man, at least three times Leeson's size. Could likely throw a cow onto his roof. His name was Jymson Fletcher, owner of the Boot Buckle. Also a brew master; he's the only person Leeson would trust with making him ale out of the things he finds in the forest. Heck, Leeson could give the man his dirty laundry and he could turn it into something amazing. Leeson thinks he has a daughter or something, as last time Leeson had a drunken escapade and frisked one of the barmaids, Jymson hit him with a large metal object. Not enough to knock him out, just enough so that Leeson would have some incentive to go home. Since then Leeson learned to simply not harass the barmaids, and their relationship has gone swimmingly.

After finishing his pint, Leeson decided that now would be a good time to return back to the shop. He told the barkeep that he'd be back later to see about the alcohol as Leeson walked through the doors. He glanced at the red haired beauty for a moment, imprinting her face into his mind. He had a feeling he'd see her again. He certainly hoped so.

Back outside Leeson could feel his head getting a bit misty over the ale. He was sure he'd get over it before night fell however, and before that happened he needed to finish those shovels. So he walked along the familiar path towards home. His eyes were tired and heavy from the soot and flames, but he doubt he'd be in any mood to rest even after he finished work. It was a strange but common feeling; to be so exhausted that you can't even rest. One too many nights like that when he tried to get an order finished before it's due date. Luckily Leeson made it back home with no incident and finished off the shovels quickly. He had a total of fifty shovel heads packed into a wooden box. In a few days someone would come and pick it up, and he'd get his two gold Denars. But that's still three short of how much he needs, so after locking up his shop tight, he decided to wonder about the city looking for opportunities to offer his services. And because he was bored and wanted to find something to do.

[VoiD]

Haljon
Streets of Helias

Haljon rubbed his hands fiercely together, vainly trying to warm them. He had taken off his gloves, which had been damp at the time and were no doubt stiff from frost now. He mumbled a curse, wishing Noxios would move the damn sun out from the clouds. Haljon shivered involuntarily, and mumbled another curse at his mail hauberk for making him so damn cold. He lifted his head up from his hands, having been breathing on them, and took stock of his surroundings. Snow was everywhere, blanketing building and street alike. The stark white was contrasted in places by a grayish color, having been tainted by the filth of the city. He was at an intersection in some god-forsaken corner of the city. With a twist of regret, Haljon recalled the boy offering to guide him towards the North Gate—his destination—and him refusing.

Still, the price was outrageous.

The thought reminded him of his significant lack of funds. Enough to buy a horse, and perhaps a night's lodging at a half-decent inn. He snorted. What a sight he was, a Knight without a steed. Groaning, Haljon picked a random direction and started down the street. As he walked, he looked around towards the architecture. They were all dull colors of gray, brown and black; making the city seem even bleaker than it already had, with the sun covered by clouds and the streets filled with dirty snow. His stomach growled, reminding him that on top of freezing, he was also starving. Haljon found himself, not for the first time that day, fervently wishing he was in a tavern with a warm cup of wine, his stomach full of bread and a roaring fire in front of him.

He recalled the events that had brought him to Helias. The Head of House Perar had needed someone to give the Head of House Rynir a report about some such, and he was available, so of course he was sent. Araos knew why they decided to send him instead of one of the numerous courtiers. Haljon supposed they wanted someone who could defend himself against any highwaymen or bandits, but the roads had been fairly safe recently, so he wasn't too sure about that conclusion. Regardless, he had arrived in Helias and paid for lodgings in a nearby inn. He had led his horse into the inn's stables, foolishly leaving his saddle and pack on her as well. He awoke in the morning to find his horse gone, along with most of supplies and gold. Haljon cursed his stupidity and bad luck for the umpteenth time that day. He had reported in to House Rynir anyway, but was too ashamed to ask for a horse from their stables. Haljon knew it would be a while before he lived that one down. And now, here he was, roaming the gods-be-damned streets in the bitter cold, in search of a stables—which was supposedly near the North Gate—that would sell him a decent horse.

Clop, clop.

Haljon stopped. He had heard something, faint but growing louder. Clop, clop. Recalling the warnings given to him by the city guard regarding ambushes in the streets, he loosened his sword Limbcleaver in it's scabbard. The sound became louder. Clop, clop. Hoof-beats on cobblestone, he was certain. A large figure astride a horse rounded the bend, and Haljon relaxed as he recognized the figure to be a guard. "Ho, guardsman!" He boomed, and began trotting towards him when he realized, with a start, that it was not a him, but a her. Haljon shook his head, disregarding the revelation, and continued on his path towards her. As he approached, nearly as tall as she even atop the horse, he called out again: "Mighty cold day out, eh? Mayhaps you could point me towards the North Gate? I've no clue as to where I am." He let out a rumbling chuckle.

[Lucius Cypher]

Lucilia Tinath & Haljon Perar
Lending a helping hand
Summary:
Lucilia helps Haljon find his horse and delivers justice.

Collaboration

So far Lucilia's patrol was largely uneventful. She did take the time off her high horse to help an older woman get inside her home, as the snow made it impossible for a feeble old woman to go through. She also played a little game with some children, but aside from that no trouble at all. The peacefulness was nice, as she did not mind simply riding about on Benedictus. She simply regretted that her paranoia made it nearly impossible for her to relax. Constantly on guard, constantly vigilance, it takes a lot out of a person rather quickly. So she tried to relax, close her eyes, think on better times.

Mostly it was her childhood, training with her father and brothers. She fondly remembered playing games with her little sister, like dressing up their dolls and making houses out of pots and pans. She also remembered one time with her two brothers; being bigger than them, they would stand on each others shoulders and try to reach the ceiling. They would only do this after dragging many blankets to cushion their fall, but she remembered one time when they did this without cushions, and both her brothers tumbled off her shoulders. Despite landing hard on the stone floor, everyone could out no worse for ware. Such was the perceived immortality of children. A perception shattered when her thoughts sudden changed to the faces of those same children marred on the stone, the aftermath of the Legion's siege engines breaking down homes and walls.

Lucilia's attention was quickly changed when she heard someone call out to her. She had been so lost in thought that when she looked towards the man, she was unsure of what to tell him. She faintly remembered him saying something about the weather, to which Lucilia gave a general responds. "Ah, yes. Quite cold indeed.... What was it that you wanted?"

Haljon blinked at her response, and grunted. "Er, the North Gate. Could you point me towards it? Bit lost out here." He looked rather sheepish, and would not meet her eyes. Shivering again, he idly shuffled his feet and breathed into his hands to warm them while he awaited a response from the guardswoman.

Now focused on the man, Lucilia listened as he wanted to know where the North Gate was. Obviously not native to this city, otherwise he'd know that the North Gate was due north. She was considering simply giving him directions, but under the assumption that he has no idea how the city is laid out, she sighed. Lucilia would need to guide this man. While she would have much preferred to keep on her patrols, she supposed that it should not take long for her to take this man to the North Gate, even if he had to walk. "Follow me than."

Lucilia turned her horse around and began to walk down the street. The first "Landmark" she took him to was a large road; it least thirty or so yards long. Normally filled with crowds of people, however the weather made most of them stay inside. "This is the North-South Line. One of the largest roads in the city, going due North and South. All the major and some minor roads lead back to the North-South Line. Often, it will be completely filled with citizens and merchants. Sometimes however it serves to allow Legions of soldiers to move through the city in large formation. Or for parades." Lucilia led the man onto the North-South Line, her horse going slowly enough for the man to follow.

Haljon followed attentively behind the guardswomen, nodding at her comments and giving an appreciative smile when he could. He considered for a moment, then shrugged. "I h-heard there were stables near the North Gate, which is w-why I need to get there. There are s-stables there, r-right? Of decent q-quality?" Haljon's teeth chattered as he spoke, breaking up the exchange to make it somewhat incoherent. "Name's H-haljon, by the way. T-thanks again for g-guiding me." He muttered something about a boy and an outrageous price under his breath as he followed.

"Stable for horses? Sure. Most are good if you need to haul a wagon or even ride upon. But they're not trained for war or long runs if you're hoping to take it to the next city. At least, not unless you're willing to spend some many denars." Lucilia could tell the man was a soldier, if only because most normal citizens don't walk around with armor and a sword on their back. Though she was curious as to why he was here. If he was heading towards the North Gate for horses, than perhaps he was a messenger. But she doesn't see any parcels or packages on his person. Strange for a messenger to not have any papers on him, especially in these times. She could hardly leave to use the water closet without showing the guards that she was not a spy. But perhaps he simply left his papers back at his place of lodging. Lucilia didn't ask, so she didn't know any answers.

"It is no trouble. My name is Lucilia, a simple guard of this fair city. What does bring you here, if I may ask?"

Haljon let out a sigh of relief at Lucilia's answer, his breath clouding in front of him. "I was supposed to deliver a report to House Rynir." He paused, frowned, and continued. "Lodged at the inn near the West Gate, forget the name. I stupidly trusted that they had some kind of security, and left most of my supplies and my steed in their stables. Woke up the next morning to find Grendel - my warhorse - gone, and most everything I brought with me on this trip with him." Haljon scowled deeply, his visage growing darker. He was clearly still angry about his bad luck, but he shook his head, sick of the self-pity he had heaped upon himself that day. Haljon glanced up at the guardswoman - not having to raise his head much - and appraised her again. He concluded that she was not, in fact, a simple guard, but held his tongue and returned his attention to following her.

Suddenly, Lucilia stopped. "Is that so?" It was one thing if this man was simply a traveling messenger; she would drop him off at the stables and be done with him. But to have his horse stolen from him as well... Lucilia knew what lengths she would have gone to save Benedictus. Most guards would have simply thought of Haljon's horse as long gone, but Lucilia was not most guards. "How long ago did this happen?"

Haljon frowned. "As far as I can tell? Just this morning, perhaps a half hour or so before I woke." He rubbed his hand through his beard, scratching his chin. "Left a fair bit behind too. My spare coin purse was on the ground, and so were my gloves. Whoever stole Grendel left in a hurry." He briefly recalled the scene in his mind's eye, somewhat bitterly noting that his gloves had gotten damp as a result of them being on the ground.

"Down." Lucilia whispered into Benedictus ear, and indeed he seemed to get low onto the ground. Low enough for Haljon to get on. "Ride with me. I know this city well, but what I do not know is what your horse looks like. There are very little places for a horse thief to hide if it has only been that long ago. We shall find Grendel, and apprehend the criminal responsible." Though it would be a bit of a tight squeeze for the two of them, but even so Benedictus seemed to show no signs of distress, right now anyways. Once Haljon was on and holding Lucilia tightly, the horse rose. "We ride, Benedictus!" Suddenly her horse shot out and turned around. Moving swiftly through the streets, Lucilia held onto both her reins and Carnifelx tightly, looking for any horses hitched around the city. "Be sure to tell me if you see your horse! What does he look like?"

Keenly aware that it was a woman whose waist he had his arms wrapped around, and not a man's, Haljon's cheeks flushed. Although, they couldn't exactly get much redder, given the cold. Brown, white socks and a dappled black head. He has a scar along his side, it zig-zags a bit." He answered, somewhat tersely.

Lucilia gave Haljon a grunt as he described the horse. Sure enough, after about half an hour or so of searching, the two of them saw a horse of that description in the slums. It was hitched to a post next to a dilapidated building, and from the stench, it was some sort of drug den. The thief was no where in sight, which could mean that he was either inside the den or simply had his horse hitched near by. Lucilia allowed Haljon to get off Benedictus so he could go retrieve his horse, but Lucilia stayed out of sight. With any luck, the thief would show up and try to accuse Haljon of stealing, and that's when she'll reveal herself and make the arrest. But for now she simply tried her best to stay out of sight as Haljon when to get Grendel.

After Haljon dismounted, he quickly took in his surroundings before making his way to Grendel. His steed immediately recognized him, giving a snort and stepping in place. Haljon whispered in his ear calmly as he unsheathed his belt knife to cut Grendel's lead. Suddenly a clatter and clash erupted from the den, and a burly, shirtless man stumbled out. He appeared to be on his way to being drunk, but not quite there yet. The man quickly spotted Haljon, and let out a slurred "Hey!" before unsheathing an arming sword and charging at Haljon, who took a few step backwards to allow himself time to draw his large longsword. Haljon parried the attack with the flat of his blade effortlessly, it having been poorly aimed and sloppy at best. He automatically followed up by stepping on the man's foot and driving an elbow into the man's face, dropping him like a sack of rocks. More noise came from the den, and three more men emerged from inside. Haljon glanced behind him, thinking it would be an excellent time for Lucilia to show herself.

Lucilia watched as the scene quickly escalated. First the large man from the den emerged and attacked Haljon. She couldn't really tell if it was because he was the thief of the horse or simply so addled that he attacked any man. Either way, Haljon defeated the burly man, but three more arrived. Lucilia quickly rode up to minimize any casualties, but also to assist Haljon if this turned into a fight. "Halt! In Brafald name, this horse matches the description of the horse that was stolen earlier today. This man before you is it's rightful owner. Now, who is the thief to took it from him? Step forward now and you may receive mercy." However, Lucilia was not really expecting any of them to admit guilt. If anything, she was expecting them to flee. And, while she secretly tells herself otherwise, she hoped that these men would try to attack. "Well!? Who is the thief?!" Lucilia spoke in a loud and commanding tone.

Just than, a man ran out from the alley. He was a fairly small man, smaller than the brute who walked out of the den. "Halt!" The man did not respond however. One of the three men who walked outside remarked that they saw him come in with the horse, and while Lucilia did not exactly trust the words of someone who still smells fresh of the poppy seeds, the man was fleeing the scene of the crime nonetheless. Lucilia kicked her horse into action and gave chase, though the chase soon came to an end when he ran into an alley that was much too narrow and cluttered for Benedictus to enter. Knowing fully well that her horse can fend for himself, Noelle dismounted and chased after the horse thief.

Giving one last glance at the three men who had left the den, Haljon mounted Grendel and followed swiftly after Lucilia, only to find the alley too narrow for either of their horses. He dismounted Grendel, praying silently he would not be stolen again, and followed after Lucilia. His long strides allowed him to catch up to her after a time, but he dropped back a little and let her take the lead in the chase for the fleeing man. She was a guard, after all.

Lucilia noted that Haljon was following her. Good, she could use backup. While she did trusted in her skills in battle, it was always a good idea to work in pairs. Soon the two soldiers emerged from the alley and came into a large lot. There was a few other alleys entering this lot, but most of them were blocked off by some rubble or boxes. But at the center of the lot was four mean including the one who ran. They were standing around a table, and on that table were bags of silver and gold plates, goblets, and other kitchenware. There was even a few caged animals and bags of food. All of them likely stolen. "A gang of thieves huh... Halt in the name of Brafald! For fleeing the scene of a crime, you are now under arrest for suspicion of horse theft! All of you will come with me to a guard outpost and relinquish those possessions you have with you. Comply and you may see mercy. Resist and you will face death!"

Unfortunately, Lucilia's speech didn't exactly strike fear into their hearts. Well, it sort of did, but not enough that they would surrender. Instead they drew their weapons. The horse thief had only a dagger with him, but two men drew short swords, and one had a wood cutting axe. Seeing that a fight was approaching, Lucilia gave Haljon space to enter the lot as she readied Carnifex. "This is your last warning! Drop your weapons and surrender peacefully, or you will be executed right here and now!" Of course, that still didn't happen. The two men with swords charged, roaring off the top of their lungs with their weapons above them, planning to bring it down onto the two soldiers.

One went towards Lucilia while the other attacked Haljon. For the one Lucilia fought, the man was pathetically predictable. He charged strait towards her, allowing her to simply put her bardiche in front of her, causing him to come to a halt before he would impale himself on her blade. The moment he stopped, Lucilia stepped forward. Wanting to at least try to disarm the man, she raised her weapon up by only a foot up, and brought the blade down onto the man's wrist. The man dodged this attack just barely and tried to get into a defensive stance, but it was obvious to everyone watching that this man was untrained with a sword. Lucilia wondered where he even got it. Regardless, she moved on forward, stabbing her Carnifex in the man's direction and pushing him back.

The thief tried to run right past the blade to stab Lucilia, but again, this man was painfully predictable. She actually allowed him to get close to her so that she could brash him in the face with her helmeted head as his sword bounced off her armor. Blood shot out from the man's nose as he stumbled back. Bracing her feet onto the ground, Lucilia aimed her weapon with years of practice, and swung downwards at the man's shoulder and neck. While not a perfect decapitation, Carnifex was buried deep into the man's neck, deep enough to cut through the spine.

Haljon had taken in the situation at a glance as soon as he had arrived. Unsheathing Limbcleaver, he quickly took up a defensive stance as his opponent charged him. He had the good sense to expect a swing from the right side, and brought up his sword in time to parry - albeit poorly - Haljon's counter. The blow knocked the man off his feet, and he landed heavily on the ground a foot or so away. Haljon instinctively followed up by stepping on the man's sword hand and plunging his longsword into the man's chest, piercing his heart. His mind was in a state of battle, and thus he felt no immediate remorse, nor did he hesitate. "You are no worthy foes!" He boomed, as he turned towards the other men.

Perhaps out of fear or foolishness, the man with the axe charged towards Haljon. The thief with the dagger followed the axe-wielding thug, hoping that together they could kill Haljon.That could have been the case if he was alone, but Lucilia was not going to allow it. She moved in soon enough that she was able to bring down Carniflex at the dagger thief, who dodged at the last second. And while Lucilia did miss, now the axeman was alone as Haljon would deal with him. The dagger thief looked scared, tears rolling down his eyes. If Lucilia had a calmer state of mind she might have hesitated, wondering what she was doing and trying to stop this. But right now she was in the state of mind meant for killing; these men would die, regardless of their cries or their pleads. "Cast in the name of god..." Raising her weapon above the thief, he could barely hold onto his own dagger as she watched in despair what was about to happen to him. "...Ye not guilty." The last thing he tried to do was raise his arms in a vain attempt to save himself. But Lucilia brought down Carnifex with enough force to cleave strait through his arms and deep into his skull. A heavily used motion which she knows as the "Helm Splitter". And against a man without any protection against her strength, it was more than enough to split through his arms and into his head.

All the while, the axeman swung madly at Haljon. While no more skilled a fighter than the other three, what he lacked in training he tried to make up for in rage and raw strength. In classic Krumphau technique, Haljon parried the axeman's blows, Haljon's strength more than a match for him. With each successive blow, Haljon would twist his sword just so, so that it moved from an upwards parrying position into a downwards swinging position, all while pinned against the man's axe. This technique cut into the man's stomach, thighs, and arm, and soon Haljon's foe collapsed in agony. Haljon promptly planted his longsword deep into the axeman's throat, twisted, and pulled it out. He calmly wiped the blood off his blade on the man's tunic, then stood to face Lucilia. "Well, I cannot say I was expecting that," He rumbles. "But what is done is done."

Her breath heavy, Lucilia surveyed the scene. Four mean dead. One with barely a head, another without hands. Haljon's kills were much cleaner in the sense that he didn't chop them apart, but they're still quite bloody. Luckily neither soldier suffered much if any injuries. A bit dirty due to their foes blood spilling onto them, but aside from that fairly well off. Mentally, Lucilia was sort of numb. This wouldn't be the first time she's killed men, and this wouldn't the first time she did so under similar circumstances. All her mind was focused on right now was checking on what the items on the tables were all about. Putting Carnifex out from the thief's head, she cleaned the blade with his shirt. She went over to the goods on the table, and given the mishmash collection, she was fairly certain they were all stolen. Various fruits and vegetables, even some finely carved meats, as well as two chickens. One sack contained at least a full dinner table worth of dishes and utensils, all made of precious metals. And lastly, a small bag containing a gemstones and jewelry. She even found a box that she recognized as locksmith tools; the very thing you would need to break into locks. "Thieves."

Soon the two soldiers did what they could to clean up the mess and take the stolen goods. Lucilia would lead Haljon to a guardhouse where they could drop off the stolen items to be returned to their rightful owners. Their horses went undisturbed luckily, though there was a few people nearby watching. No doubt they'll loot the bodies and spread word on their deaths, so the friends and family of the thieves would know to reclaim their bodies. All in all, quite exciting for what originally started as merely helping a man with directions. As the two rode out from the slums towards a guardhouse, Lucilia spoke. "That was some good fighting you did back there. I've yet to see some soldiers fight with the same skills you have. Where did you learn how to use your weapon?"

Haljon smiled. He also liked it when people complimented him on his fighting skills, as he believed they were his greatest talent. "The courtyard of House Perar. My surname is Perar; I am a Knight in service of that House as well as House Rynir." He gestured to her bardiche. "I have not seen such a weapon used so efficiently before myself. Where did you learn your skills, if you do not mind me asking?"

"My father. He is a knight of House Tinath. He felt that it was more becoming for a lady to learn how to use a polearm, though I favored the Bardiche myself over the pike. Of course, he only trained me in it. I mastered the weapon.... Well, I used it often against the Barbarians in the north. Many quite skilled and armed. Had to learn how to use it efficiently, otherwise I'd be dead." Riding along side Haljon, she showed him a closer look at her weapon. The edge had a few notches and the blade itself was scratched up, a sign of heavy use. But the blade was well kept and sharpen nonetheless. And still readable on one side was an engraving. "Cast in the name of God, ye not guilty. Just something that helps me keep my spirits up after a long day of war. It reminds me that... That what I'm doing is..." She didn't really finish her sentence. Closing her eyes, the soldier's mind drifted back towards the memories of before. Faces of men and women who, by all rights, were innocent. In a way they all were. Their only flaws were fighting for what they believed in.

But it wasn't a matter of who was truly the hero and who was truly the villain. There was only victims and survivors.

Haljon's eyes widened. "You tell me true? You are of House Tinath?" His face broke into a large smile, and he let out a light laugh. "Quite the coincidence, eh?" He said, though his voice quieted after he saw her expression. He quickly surmised that she was still haunted by her times as a legionnaire, and he spoke softly. "'Tis hard, the life of a soldier. You must grow with your regrets, and accept them." He seemed to look into the distance then, as if recollecting similar memories as Lucilia, before shaking his head and continuing. "You have a fine weapon there, by the way. I see you take good care of it." Haljon pauses briefly. "So, now what? I assume we are going to the Guard House?"

"Yes, of course.... Simply... It feels strange, to be proud of killing. Almost wrong even. Tis a shame I'm quite good at it." Opening her eyes Lucilia put those thoughts behind her like so many times before. Now was not the time to dwell on such things. They still had this small fortune of stolen goods to turn in before she would resume her patrol, and surely Haljon needs to be on his way as well. "Yes. There is one not to far away from the North-South Line. However, I will have to stay there for a long while in order to inform them of what had happened. You don't need to stay if you do not want to, I imagine that you still have much to do today."

Haljon shook his head. "It is not the act of killing itself you should be proud of. It is the purpose you kill you should be proud of; defending the innocent and your country." He says, then appears somewhat abashed. "At least, that is how I've always looked at it. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for some of my kinsmen." Haljon cracked his neck and spine, letting out a soft groan. "Yes, I still have to find my way to Deliar at some point today. Truthfully, I am not looking forward to the trip." He grinned at Lucilia. "Though now, thanks to you, I need not worry about the temperament of a strange steed some greasy merchant sold me." He laughs at this, and then lapsed back into silence.

Lucilia gave Haljon a half-smirk; like she was authentically amused by his words, but at the same time doesn't agree with them. But she made no further comments as they rode towards the guardhouse. Once there they dismounted and dropped off the stolen goods. And as Lucilia hitched Benedictus to a post, Haljon was back onto Grendel. "Well than, I suppose this is where we part. Twas a fine time fighting alongside you, Sir Haljon. Perhaps during better times, we could go have an ale together, or perhaps go on a hunt? Well, no matter. I wish you good fortunes on your journey to Deliar. I've only been there a few times, but when you make it I'd suggest the Boot Buckle. A fine establishment with good drinks, hot food, and pleasant company." Lucilia walked toward the door and was about to enter, before turning around one more time towards the fellow soldier. "Good bye, Haljon of House Perar. I hope to meet you again." As they had their final farewells, Lucilia entered the guard house and gave her debriefing on what had occurred.

[The Psychic Refugee]

Valfunde Perar,
City of Deliar, on patrol

Scowling through his helmet at the peasants openly glaring at the small unit of Guardsmen as they made a quick beat through the streets, Valfunde only thought of the rest of the morn' spent and wasted, anxiously, in the Council chambers. They hadn't even had real matters to discuss, he reflected sardonically. The clip-clop of mailed boots in fresh shit was a funny sound; one of the Perar warriors before him halted, grunting as he knelt to inspect his shoe. "Good step there, sergeant." Valfunde said with a light note of humor in his otherwise deadpan voice. The warrior only responded with a grunt, before grabbing a cloth from his belt to wipe at his shoe. "Hold here a moment," the nobleman added, smirking.

He took advantage of the pause to examine again the faces of the passerby. Commoners. Lots of brown, dirty hides, leather. Everything dirtied, scuffed, or held together with patches and more dirty cloth. This district was one of the lower ones, a place where before the Guard had been unusually lax, allowing a flow-in of illegal visitors and an increase in poverty that always followed. This was also the former home of many of the commoners serving in this Guard detachment, somewhere they had been glad to have risen out of. He sniffed in dank air through his helm and relaxed a bit. A hard place, surely, but not all these people were low-brow scum, even if they made it harder. Meanwhile, the patrol continued, Valfunde simply putting his hands slowly around his sword's pommel where it sat low in his belt, the men paying attention to their captain's subtle movements.

As they walked, they were recognized by soldiers headed back the other way, and exchanged salutes for a moment before breaking back into their own stride. Neither group seemed particularly on-guard, since an ambush or attack was hardly to be expected on an armed detachment of the Guard, especially not with Valfunde Perar at their head. Likely they'd end their patrol at the pub, or maybe he'd let his men go whoring for the night after making his own way to the tavern, alone. The stress of the sealed chambers meeting earlier faded a little, but he was still distracting himself with these refreshingly honorless thoughts as he made his way down the street. A night of not-absolutely-shit beer at the Buckle seemed most ideal.

[Fat Boy Kyle]

Calais Cousland
In a vineyard between Deliar and Hials


Calais kept low on his horse, his head almost resting on hers, as they trotted through the last of the trees. It was an uncomfortable position to sit in but at least it kept him slightly warmer as the icy breeze bit at his back and any exposed skin. Given the colour of his horse it also helped them keep some measure of stealth, as not only were they a smaller target this way but Calais snow laden cloak was able to drape over a large section of the horses mid section. As he exited the tree-line Calais came into one of the large open fields of the Vineyard, its crop having of course withered under the columns of heavy snow. “Come on girl, we’re almost there now.” He said as he patted his horse, sat upright and pushed into a gallop. As he arrived at the large building he caught sight of a couple of silhouettes peering through misty window and within moments one of the workers came out to meet him.

“Good tidings Ranger. Would you like me to tend to your horse? Wilson and his apprentice have been waiting a day or so for your arrival.” Greeted the worker, one who Calais recognised but whose name completely skipped him. “I’m afraid Tanvir went with some of the other workers to Deliar this morning, but he met your friends and he said to greet you and offer lodgings.” continued the worker as he patted the tired horse. The vineyard sat at the furthest reach of Calais’ watch and had begun to serve as a meeting point between him and another Ranger named Wilson who patrolled to the South-West of Deliar. Tanvir was the owner of the vineyard and had grown accustomed to the Rangers; whilst many were cautious and even sometimes of the Rangers, Tanvir took comfort in knowing that should he or the vineyard come to harm that the Rangers might assist.

“I would greatly appreciate it, thank you.” replied Calais. Not standing around to wait for the worker who now led Ebony into the stable, Calais made his way into building. The inside was warmly lit by the fireplace and by candle, probably more-so than it would be were the owner here. By the fire sat a couple of children and to their side a young woman who smiled at the newcomer. With a quiet nod of her head she directed him into one of the other rooms where he found two rangers sitting in the corner.

“Well met Calais, have you been rolling around in the snow?” mused Wilson, the elder of the two Rangers, as he took notice of the snow melting off his colleague. Wilson was a stocky man beyond his prime with long scruffy grey hair, a heavy beard, and scars which bore testament to hard lived life.

Calais shook his head as he undid his cloak and found somewhere to hang it. “No, I think I’ll leave such childish things to your young apprentice!” he said in an almost serious voice, earning a smirk from Wilson and a less than pleased glare from his apprentice Baldrick.

“And are you not a good enough Ranger to take on an apprentice of your own? Is that why you come running to us now? Because you are unable to fulfil your duties?” retorted Baldrick. Baldrick was around 16 of age and was overconfident, especially for someone of his age. He held true to his noble origins and it was not hard to notice the sense of entitlement that the young man carried with him. In truth Calais truly hated the boy and felt that before long his recklessness would likely get Wilson killed.

“Still a better Ranger than you’re ever likely to become. Unfortunately I’ve been made weary of getting an apprentice due to the likes of a certain little shit-bag.” replied Calais as he turned back to Wilson, “Irtan has not been kind to you has he? Was possessed you to take on such a brat?”

By this point Baldrick had gone red and his hand rested on the hilt of his knife. Calais noticed but ignored it, knowing that even if the kid had the balls that he wouldn’t get very far. Wilson however was oblivious and laughed whole-heartedly at the banter between the two, “What can I say friend? I like the challenge! But am I right in guessing that you’ve not come so far to meet us just to wind up the lad?”

Calais’ slightly amused demeanour quickly faded into that of a serious one as he took a seat. “No, you’re right. For little over a week now I’ve been tracking a small group of bandits. I was put on their tail after a farm outside of Hials was attacked. It looks like they were just after a couple of the farmers livestock, probably due to hunger, but the farmer was a hot-headed man and went after them pitchfork in hand.”

“Then rather than running away they decided to kill the silly bugger?” guessed Wilson who had heard the same story many times before.

“Correct. In anger they then returned to the farm and had their way with the famers wife. Fortunately some farmhands took the children and hid in the woods. They claimed there were only three of the bastards, but since I’ve been following them I’ve counted ten, so they probably belonged to a larger group. They’ve not caused any additional harm since, in great part due to the fact they’ve not had the opportunity to; not many homesteads to be found out in the forests. They have been travelling north-westerly roughly towards Deliar, but have perhaps strayed too far North. I last had sight of them down over at Cragsire Ridge and by my estimate they’ve probably found themselves near the loch by now.” explained Calais.

“Hmmm… that is concerning. If they are heading towards Deliar then I imagine they took to the wild for fear of coming across the legions or guards on the main roads, so perhaps we’re dealing with deserters? In this weather they must be nearing exhaustion and I imagine they will be desperate for food. The fishermen may find themselves at the mercy of fillet knifes.” Wilson stroked his beard in a thoughtful manner before continuing, “If your estimate is true then we cannot afford time to warn the guard. We’ll have to deal with this ourselves, even if it doesn’t fall within either or our patrols.”

[SyrianHamster]

The Lord of The Boot Buckle

Jymson used the woman in red’s distraction of Robin to excuse himself from the conversation-melee. Things were getting busy, and customers were arriving in their droves. This was more than likely due to the weather; Jymson always reasoned that the best thing for a snow-pregnant sky was a stout ale and a warm bit of chicken to boot. He poured a few drinks for a few familiar faces, and then looked around as if something was amiss.

“Jess, where’re ya at lass?” called Jymson’s booming voice over the building commotion.

Tedmin pushed his way through the throng of people that had steadily built around the bar. “Saw ‘er go out back, Sonny.”

Jymson nodded, and left the bar unattended. He didn’t need to issue a warning about people reaching over and serving themselves; not with Peace Keeper hooked around his waist. Besides, he recognised all but a few of the faces, and the loyalty of his patrons always kept him from any serious loss. Being a one man, one girl business was tough in Deliar, especially when one was dealing in alcohol. It paid to have loyal customers, just as much as it cost to earn them.

“Jess lass, y’right?” Jymson grumbled as he entered the kitchen.

It was a small, dismal room of wooden panels and stone hearths from which several small fires cracked away merrily. The sweet smell of fresh bread, and the even sweet smell of cooking meats, brought a smile to the oaf’s ugly face. If it were up to him, he’d spend all of his days working the kitchen, the heat be damned, but things weren’t that simple. He was chef, brew master, bouncer, judge, jury and executioner when it came to The Boot Buckle. Not that he’d executed anyone of course – not that he knew of anyways. Head wounds were a hard one to judge, but even so, they all deserved what they were given.

Jymson tore off a piece of bread from a roll left over from one of the tables, and stuffed it into his mouth. He wasn’t hungry, he just loved the taste of it. He loved the taste of many things, indeed. He was brought from his reverie by the sound of Jess crying away, off to the corner of the kitchen, where there were some stairs leading down to the meat cellar.

“What’s up, princess?” Jymson asked, the gravel in his voice hastily making way for a softer, almost womanlike tone.

Jess was a state. All tears and snot. Jymson knew why; the life of a young girl working around a bunch of drunk horny men was not a pleasant one, and if it wasn’t for her father being one of Jymson’s better patrons, he’d of turned her down on the job on that point alone.

“Head on home lass, I got the rest of this no problem,” said Jymson, smiling. He was lying of course, he needed to be left alone in a peak period like he needed an axe in the belly.

“If,” she sobbed messily, “if you wasn’-“

“I was ther, ‘n you know I’m always there. Ya be thinkin’ old boy Jimmy be letting his bar maids come to harm, you thinkin’ things all wrong lass. Go home, ya look tired,” replied Jymson, smiling his hideous grin.

Jess wiped her face with her sleeves, and hugged the big oaf. He was slow returning the gesture, feeling more like a pervert than a father-figure of any kind. If someone else was there, they may have seen him blushing. Unable to take any more of the awkwardness, he broke the embrace and walked over to a wooden rack of seasoning pots.

Reaching behind an old jar of Kingsbury spice, he pulled out a small purse and handed it to the girl.

“Be a bit extra in there, for ya girlie, for ya troubles n’all that,” he said. “Ya gonna be alright gettin’ home?”

Jess nodded, still sniffing. Jymson hated to admit it to himself, but one of the most annoying things he had found in life, was that pathetic and grinding noise of a kid’s stupid crying. Not that he showed the irritation however.

“Alright – oh, ‘n er Jess,” Jymson said clumsily, “wear baggier clothes; the less ‘hem vultas see, the ‘etter, know what I be sayin’ lass?”

The girl gave an embarrassed smile, nodded her understanding, and then left through The Boot Buckle’s backdoor. That was that dealt with; now it was time for a recruitment drive – no way was old boy Jymson being smothered to death by customers all night.

Walking back into the bar room, he was relieved to see that Tedmin, with his unkempt hair and his mangy beard, had taken up the honourable role of Bar Steward, and was serving people drinks. Jymson placed his meaty paw on his friend’s shoulder, and whispered a swear-filled thanks into his ear.

“Fuck you, ya fat fuck,” sneered Tedmin, “the moneys under the counter, where I always stuff it, kind ‘o man you think I am?”

“Tha’ worst kind, you stinking gob shite,” chuckled Jymson as he poured himself a mug of Legion Ale.

[Enzayne]

Erin Farain
Streets of Deliar, and the entrance to The Boot Buckle

A cloak and padded clothes weren't enough. The biting cold was invasive, unfriendly enough to ward away any cheer both Erin and any others she could see out on the winding streets. A few guard patrols, even if they rarely came down this way. A lone man hammering away at a door, pleading to his 'honey' to let him in. Maybe Erin was lucky to have somewhere at all. A house. Occasional heat, relatively average food. She'd heard more than a few horror stories of people coming to the capitol to make it big, or find adventure. Most of those stories end with the protagonist finding death's door, rather than any reward. Still, they were stories, and she could not simply sit at home and wait for a change that would never come. That, if anything, would be naive. She could brave any chill. A little cold - she pondered with a shudder - is a mere trial for any true challenge.

The rumble of her stomache, however, was a challenge best heeded. It might be good to eat something tasteful, for once. Or at least warm. Ever since the turn of the new year, she'd snuck out ever so often to partake of the life her parents so desperately intended to keep from her. She'd gone to taverns to listen to the ruckus and catch herself up on the news, participated in a small betting ring, and helped a local farmer investigate a few thefts. The occasional store customers never were interested in sharing their tales, at least not with her, and it made good practice for when she finally got her chance to show what she was worth. Not to mention that it was absolutely thrilling. Something deep in her belly flushed with warmth whenever she'd received a compliment for her work, or been acknowledged as the potentially clever gambler she was. She knew she was made for greater things. And it felt good to be free.

The feeling dissipated just as quickly, following another dissatisfied rumble of her stomache. Definately not pride that time. The unpleasant ache of skipping breakfast and glossing over the rest of the day has begun to set in. She needed to find something as quickly as possible, after a cursory exploration of the massive savings in her beltpouch. A lonely silver denar, and two inches' worth of crumpled thread. No wait, that's from the lining of her pouch. Great. It ought to buy her something, at least.

The embittered murmurs of a passing group of soldiers rips her from her chilled reverie. They're practically carrying one of their own. Good to see the city is lively despite the friendly weather. Not often she'd see guards or soldiers actually harmed, though. Couldn't matter less though, they knew what they were risking, no?

Erin presses onwards with cold shivers and the modest desperation that comes with a setting sense of hunger. She knew there was a place around here somewhere, she'd been inside once or twice since the turn of the new year. It was just the right kind of place for what she was after.. And they had to serve food too, right? Rounding another corner and a few hasty steps brings her to just the right place. The Boot Buckle. Not a terrible name, though personally she'd have preferred something a little less commonplace. The Gilded Dragon, perhaps? Or would that be too fanciful a name?

Hiding her shivers with a clutched cloak and rubbing her cheeks with leather gloves for warmth, Erin pushes inside to be a part of the heat at last. The atmosphere is equally inspiring and terrifying. Boisterous men - soldiers or guards by the looks of them - having a good time. People going about their own lives with good cheer. Why couldn't her part of the city be alive like this?

She stands by the door for a few moments, peering about in quiet observation. Sucking in the atmosphere, looking for faces that'd stick in her mind. It's only when she turns her head to peer at a patron who stares right back that she jolts out of her investigative apprehension and clears her throat to herself. She mosies on up to busy-looking fella behind the bar and boldly demands some of his best food. The gathered courage turns to halfway terror when she realizes that her grand request sounded more akin to a murmur.

[Little Alice]

center]A meeting
Owen Fenix and Alicia of Tinath

A collab between Chromehound and Little Alice,[/center]

summary :
Alicia is ''honing'' her skills outside, but is then surprised by somebody who approaches her.

Owen and Alicia

A thud sounded as the steel impaled the wood. Clenching her hands into fist, Alicia pumped her right into the cold winter air. She had her jacket on, but even without she wouldn't likely suffer the cold breeze. At least, she assumed not. After all, she was training. Training to become just as cool and strong as her father. Walking towards the board, that she had decorated with a bulls mark, she had a grin on her lips. The little girl grabbed the hilt of her knife. Though she had missed the center from several meters, she noticed she was becoming better at it. As result, she felt proud when she yanked out the knife and glanced at the steel.

Sarah, her hound, was laying in the snow behind her. The curious dark coloured eyes of the animal never went away from her owner. As Alicia turned around and started to walk back, the tail started to wiggle a bit. ''One more time. I will hit it.'' Alicia muttered, very enthoustastic. Taking some deep breaths, she narrowed her eyes as she took the knife and tried to aim as good as she could. Then, as fast and strong as she could, she suddenly moved forward with her body as she threw the knife. Another thud was heard as the steel pierced the wooden board. The eyes of the little girl widened as the head of the dog lifted from the snow. ''Do.. do you see that? Sarah?'' Alicia became hyped as she pointed to the board. Whether luck or not, she had managed to finally hit the mark! Running towards the board, her loyal companion jumped up and ran after her. With a big and proud smile, Alicia yanked the knife once more out of the wood as she looked at her own reflection from it. ''What do you think?'' Alicia asked, looking at Sarah, who looked back with her tongue out of her mouth and wiggling tail.

Watching from the shadows as the girl hit her mark, Owen nodded to himself. He had been watching the girl for some time now; observing her skills and seeing how she acted around other people. He had remained in the background during this time, not drawing attention to himself. The Corps had increased their demand that he find himself an apprentice and though he was loath to admit it, Owen had begun to think that they might be right.

Alicia Tanith had drawn his attention during his many visits through the city. The girl was smart, determined, and skilled in many ways that a Ranger needed to be. Even after watching her for some time, Owen was hesitant. He had to be sure. The life of a Ranger could be a difficult one, and though Owen understood the necessity, he did not want to drag the girl into a life that would make her miserable. On the other hand... She was already very skilled, and with the proper training Owen knew that she would make an excellent Ranger. Watching her for a moment longer, he finally made his decision.

Owen approached the girl silently, moving while she was distracted by her dog. He crossed the distance between them quickly, aware that the dog would most likely detect him before the girl would. Deciding to at least attempt to not startle the girl, Owen tried to sound friendly as he spoke. It was a strange thing for him to do. "That is quite the arm you have there. Who taught you?"

Hearing and smelling the man, Sarah turned her head to look at the stranger. Alicia heard his voice and turned around as well, still holding the knife. Her eyes examined the man quickly. He didn't look as anybody she knew. When he asked who had taught her that, the natural distrust she had kicked in. Though she didn't had the knife up, she felt a bit threatened. The man was bigger than her and unknown. ''Nobody did, mister. I taught it myself.''' She answered, being honest about it. Sarah lowered her head, but the young hound didn't yet see a threat in the man. Though the tail was down and her owner a bit surprised, none of them showed any hostile reactions to Owen.

His eyes widened a little, impressed. Realizing that he still had the hood of his cloak up, Owen reached up and pulled it back. The girl was most likely not aware of who or what he was. He did not wish to make a bad first impression, and so he tried to continue with the friendly tone. "Well you should be proud. That is not an easy skill to pick up. Especially not by yourself." Crossing his arms he eyed the girl, a small smile on his face. "How long have you been throwing knives for?"

Looking briefly at her knife, given by her father, Alicia returned her gaze to the stranger. ''Father always say that I shouldn't trust strangers, mister.'' Alicia said back with her voice a bit shaken. This person seemed to be friendly, but without anybody that she knew around her, she couldn't help but to feel a bit intimidated. Smelling the fear of her owner, Sarah whined only once before her tail went between her legs. Though Sarah was a big hound, she was nowhere in the size of Mitch nor actually being dangerous. ''Though I am a bit proud, mister. Thank you.''

"Your father sounds like a wise man then. You should indeed be wary around strangers. But I am not a stranger, not really. Tell me girl, are you familiar with the Rangers?" He made no attempt to move, or do anything that would make him appear any more intimidating. His goal was not to scare the girl, yet he knew that it would be difficult to avoid doing so without explaining who he was first.

The Rangers? Who didn't know about them?! Trying to look more confident as she felt that looking scared wouldn't help her, Alicia responded to his question as if she was offended. ''I know the rangers from the stories I have read and been told. They are most of the time heroes or helpers of heroes. And they know a lot about the forest, like father does.'' She said, feeling proud she could relate her father to a hero. Actually he was a hero! Just not a ranger. Or maybe, he was?

His smile widened. Owen was glad that her perception of Rangers was a good one. This would have been much more challenging if she was afraid of them. "That is a very nice description of the Corps. My name is Owen Fenix, and I am the Ranger whose job it is to oversee this place. What is your name?" Though he already knew her name, it would not serve his purposes to let her know that. In fact, he was fairly certain it would do the opposite.

Wait, he was a ranger? Again, she examined him quickly. How could she test if he was speaking the truth? Rangers were craft people, so far she knew. Maybe he was saying to be a Ranger to impress her. But why would he want that? ''A ranger knows many things, doesn't he?'' Alicia replied, staying cautious of this very friendly stranger. But she got interested as well. He had a certain aura around him. Or it was just likely her wish to meet a ranger and then tell all of her friends about it.

Nodding his head slightly, Owen spoke. "They do yes." Noticing that the girl had not yet introduced herself, he wondered if perhaps he would have to prove his mettle. "I sense that you are a little hesitant. So how about I prove what I am saying? Do you think that would be fair? He asked, wondering how the girl would respond. Nodding slowly, Alicia tigthen her grip on the hilt of her knfie. She was unsure why she did that as the man kept staying friendly. ''I would like to see some prove, mister Owen.'' Alicia said, her eyes briefly scanning the surroundings around her. For a moment, she debated if if it would be possible to run. The snow would slow her down adn though she was fast, he had longer legs. But there was no reason yet why she would have to run, so she tried to calm down herself.

"Hmm..." He mused. Owen's initial reaction was to want to make a display, but he realized that would probably scare the girl. "Perhaps I could show you my skill with a throwing knife?" He asked. Hoping that he hadn't sounded strange. ''Would you?'' Alicia asked in a enthoustastic manner, before calming herself down. She then spoke once more. ''Go ahead, mister Owen.''

Smiling, Owen moved into a position where he had a clear sight to the target. In one smooth move he pulled out three throwing knives and whipped them towards the target. All three struck the center with only a small gap between them.

[Shadowcatcher]

Melisa Rynir - Last Day in Hials

"I promise...this is the last time I will cry over you..."

"'Go on vacation', he said. 'Come home to Hials', he said. 'It will be fun', he said. Damn that Girvus...he just wanted me to suffer and fuel the fire to his amusement, hmph. How heartless... is there no one else he can terrorize? Out of all my siblings... And...he did not say that there would be mountains of SNOW PILING UP TO MY KNEES!!" the bitter woman growled as she stomped through the streets of Hials. She hated winter... anyone who knew who she was, understood that Melisa was not a fan of cold weather. Here she was, ripped from the warmer Aledel providence in Rehon to come and do what, freeze to death? She should be back home working!? Training her useless soldiers and preparing for war! This was so pointless, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs right at a baby. Maybe then she would be calm.

It is only one more day. Then I can return home and all will be well.

All she had brought with her was a thin hood to protect her from the weather, and it was obvious it wasent enough with the wind whipping her hair around and blasting snow in her face. As she walked she could hear the squeals of children playing in the snow, tossing it in soft balls that did little damage. Seeing them alive and happy, living life to the fullest, it almost made her think about smiling. Almost. All day she had been out in search of a place to get a warm meal and a drink, but she was unfamiliar with the streets of Hials now...it had been to long since she'd been home. Far...far too long. But maybe it was better that way...Melisa turned her head as a child, a little boy bumped into her as he ran from his friend.

"Oh, sowie miss. I didn't see yew dere." he said looking up at her with a set of warm brown eyes. She had prepared to push him away from her, but when her amber eyes met his, she froze. The soft cries of a baby rang in her head before they were cut off abrubtly followed by screaming. Her screaming. "Miss why are yew cryin, i didn't mean ta hert yew." Her eyes widened and she turned around and left the area quickly. In her head she could still hear the screaming. The memories came rushing back as she desperately tried to find a place to hide, somewhere, anywhere...a place where maybe no one could find her and see what was about to happen.

The blood....so much blood...

The blood of thousands of soldiers couldn't compare to the amout that spilled out of her little boy...

"No! No!" she shouted as she came to a bridge that was built to cross a small river. She ducked under it and huddled in the snow there, holding herself as she crouched and weeped. This was why she had never returned. Back in Aledel she worked with grownups. Men and women around her age... She did not have to see the eyes of her son in every child that walked the streets. He should be here...he should be amongst them, growing up, being happy....

"Jamie....my baby i'm so sorry. I miss you..." she was siezed by a onslaught of sobs. Her entire body shook as she wept. "Adam...i'm so sorry. I'm trying to forget... but I can't." she spoke softly. She hoped her dead husband would answer her, but it was all just lost hope. After a few moments she reached for the ring that clung to a chain dangling around her neck. She looked at it as she remembered the short time she had spent with him, as a family. Bringing the icy gold band to her lips, she sat still for what seemed like an eternity. She could no longer feel her hands or her feet. Her bottom was going numb, but still she didn't move. "I promise...this is the last time I will cry over you..." she said softly, lowering her head to her knees. It was an idle promise...one she'd given many times before in situations such as this. Why was it always here she felt like this? As though in every child's eyes she saw her son's, and in every man who embraced his woman, she imagined her own man's arms around her. It was a bitter realization, coming to terms with the fact that they are gone...and she could never get them back.

It was why Melisa was so angry...so mean...so bitter to everyone. She pitied herself like a child. Continued to hold on like the rays of sun as it dips over the horizon. With each step she took Melisa would dig herself into a deeper and deeper hole, screaming at innocents and rebels alike. Often times she would hear the sound of laugher and it would trigger something in her head that told her to run, run and cry and hurt anyone who dared to come near her. So far, in battle it hadent happened...but it was only a matter of time... Only a matter of time before she gazed into the eyes of someone she would kill, and find herself looking back. As her victims eyes would fade...so would her sanity.

It was only a matter of time....

Eventually, the sun has to set. And all that follows...is darkness.