"What did I say, Milo?! What did I say?!" exclaimed the old man as he slapped his comrade on the back repeatedly while jumping up from his chair excitedly. "Just look at 'er!" He exclaimed to no one in particular, though most of the room had turned their attention to their table as the old man made a spectacle of himself. "Trust me, I know a Torbican! I have been to the mighty northern province and seen 'em with me own eyes! Look at 'er skin! As pale as snow! Look at 'er eyes! Cold and deep as the winter's sky! Look at her muscles!" The old man stopped, a sudden idea developing in his mind, reflected in his slowly widening eyes as his brain ticked. Milo was pleased by the sudden silence, glad he could finally enjoy his meal with peace.

"A wager!" yelled the old man suddenly, as he broke the silence once again, "Who do you think would win in an arm wrestling match?! This fierce Torbican lass? Or, my strapping associate, Milo, of Granden?"Milo sighed with slight annoyance as he finished the remainder of his meal. The crowd grew quite rambunctious, people taking quite an interest in the show that was playing before them. Some had thrown a few imperials onto the table, a few in front of Helle though most seemed to favour the man Milo. The old man in the meantime earnestly kept count of the money, completely ignoring the fact that he had not asked whether the girl would participate.

It was upon this raucous scene did Herlewin find himself as he entered the inn. A serving girl nearly bumped into him as she carried a wooden tray laden with food. She barely murmured an apology as she scurried away to her destination.

"What nonsense" muttered a portly man in fine merchant clothes who sat a short distance from the archer. He was dressed in bright green travelling clothes with silver embroidering and an orange wide-brimmed hat. It was a bit unseemly for travel, though it was assumed that he probably travelled in some sort of carriage. He had kept to himself throughout the old man's display, staying in the quieter part of the dining hall that had not been overtaken by the revelry.

"You, boy," snapped the merchant "Fetch me more ale!"



"By the light, this man is calling himself some sort of nature spirit" thought the princess with a sense of great misgiving. Evidently the staff bearing vagabond was either completely mad or some sort of rogue seeking to cheat them out of whatever wealth he perceived. Neither circumstance would be favourable in their quest. Nevertheless, this hustling vagrant was the first major lead Amelia had in finding her brother and she would not pass up on such an opportunity. If it meant having to get her sword bloody along the way, then so be it. Nothing would stop her from finding her brother.

Nodding at both Mitra and Jax, who tactically positioned themselves in an inconspicuous manner so that the princess was protected in the event that this had all been a means to lead them into a trap.

"Lead the way and your hunger shall be satisfied, spirit," she said cordially as they walked down the path. She made note of their approaching the wisps of smoke that she had noted in the air earlier.


OOC: Alborz and Toby will sit out this round of posting.

After the serving lady left, Jahan finally gave his full attention to what was happening with the old man and Helle. "An arm wrestling match?" Jahan thought aloud, quietly. "But aren't those less about strength and more about technique or whatever?...Hm..." Jahan thought about the mechanics of arm wrestling for a minute before seeing imperials getting thrown onto the table. It appears that everyone is placing bets. Who would I bet on?" Jahan thought about it before taking out some of his own, but he remembered that he really needed the money, since he didn't know how long he would be in Emeldia. Plus, whoever this Daniel guy is might want a fee for his troubles. "Well, might as well watch..."

After Helle had spoken, she immediately wondered if that had been a mistake. Now, the old man was spouting off to his poor friend about Torbicans and such. Helle knew she fit the Torbicans stereotype well, but she was tiring of his pointless words. Finally, he appeared to finish his exclamations, and Helle looked down once again, hoping his ranting had ceased for good.

"A wager!" A what? What was this guy playing at? "Who do you think would win in an arm wrestling match?! This fierce Torbican lass? Or, my strapping associate, Milo, of Granden?" Ah. So the old man figured he could make some money off of her? After remarking on how strong she looked, did he really think his friend could beat her?

Helle forgot entirely about her food and sized up Milo instead. Most of the others were betting on him, but they'd regret that. Helle had been challenged similarly before and if there was one thing she was good at, it was putting people in their place. Sure, it annoyed her to no end that the old man had put her in this position in the first place, but she wouldn't back down.

With a loud thunk, Helle dropped her right elbow on the table. She brushed her hair away from her face with her left hand, revealing an expression of utmost determination. "Fine. One match," she agreed, glaring at the old man for a moment before pointing towards Milo with her chin. "I can take him."

The crowd within the inn roared with excitement as the Torbican woman accepted the crazy old man's offer. Violet, who had been carefully observing the proceedings from a distance, actively turned her attention to the events that were unfolding. Her presence was enough to ensure that the crowd did not become too rowdy, lest they be removed from her establishment. She ran an inn, not a lowly tavern.

Milo had not expected the woman to actually accept the old man's challenge. In fact, he was a bit insulted that this girl thought that she could defeat him. Regardless of whether she were Torbican or not, he was not about to lose to a girl. Milo casually stretched and put his elbow onto the table clasping his hand with the girl's. He intentionally squeezed her hand hard, though feigned an expression of surprise.

The old man had collected most of the bets from each side, apparently the odds were not in Helle's favour. He put up his hands with from which two sacks were filled with the sound of coins from the bettors.

"E'nuf! The time fer placin' yer bets is done!" the old man called out above the din of the crowd, he looked over at Violet who wore an even sterner expression than usual. This of course did little to dissuade the old man from continuing. "Miss Violet," he said as respectfully as he could "If you would please begin the match." The crowd looked over at the innkeeper who's patience seemed to be wearing thin. Nevertheless she relented, and the woman walked over to the table where Helle and Milo were waiting to begin. The sound of her shoes clicking on the worn wood floor as she made her way were all that could be heard as the room had grown very quiet with anticipation.

"Prepare yourselves," she said with very little emotion "You will begin on my count of three; one, two, three!"

Immediately the crowd began to cheer for either side as the match began. Milo apparently had underestimated Helle, for he had initially stared with very little effort on his part. He quickly found that he nearly lost at that very moment, a scene that was met with gasps of dismay, though he quickly tightened his muscles and swung their hands back into the middle position. The majority of the crowd cheered at Milo's recovery. The girl was definitely strong, he was not afraid to admit that to himself, but he was stronger. Their hands were locked as their arms swung back and forth slightly as they contended with each other. Sweat dripped down both of their faces as they struggle to get the advantage over the other, though Milo's initial slip up had cost him dearly. He had used a good amount of strength to recover, so he did not have the endurance to outlast the Torbican. Feeling the Grandish man's strength wavering, Torbican through what extra strength she had into her arms and slammed the man's into the table.

The crowd was stunned for a few minutes, even Violet seemed quite shocked. Few had met an actual Torbican, though this proved the many rumours surrounding their supposed legendary strength. As the awe wore off the crowd, it erupted with astonishment: some were cheering at Helle's victory; others claimed it was a scam, or that it had been fixed; others still tried to argue that they had betted in error accidentally.

Ignoring the ensuing chaos, the old man turned to Helle with a broad grin and slapped her on the back fondly. Pouring some of the imperials from the bag into a smaller pouch, he handed the pouch to the girl.

"Here ye go lass" said the old man "Ye earned it! The name's Cornelius,"

Before Cornelius could continue however, their revelry was interrupted by a sharp scream from outside.

GM: Helle +120 imperials




Tobias breathed in deeply, letting the sounds of the world disappear from around him as he focused his energy. Due to the revelry from the floor below however, it was proving to be quite difficult for the prince. It was only after a few moments of tuning out the world around him that he was finally able to reach the point of inner silence as instructed by his teacher. Once he reached that point, Mr. Boris watching closely, handed the boy the midnight coloured tome. Tobias slowly opened his eyes as he read the ancient script as he had been taught, the words lighting up with violet energy as he spoke them.

The room grew darker as energy coalesced within the room; this was the power of dark magic. Alborz noticed that even the light produced by the fire had diminished as the room grew darker. Coils of twisting energy from the void rose around the young prince's hands as a ring of energy began to form in front of the boy.

A sharp scream from outside suddenly interrupted the boy's concentration, and the spell dissipated in a matter of seconds.

"What's going on?" asked Tobias with a frustrated expression, he had been so close to completing the spell. Mr. Boris approached the window, and glanced out the window. His eyes widened as he witnessed the scene below, closing the curtains quickly as he withdrew from the window.

"My lord, bandits are attacking the village! I must depart at once!" he said while picking up a staff that was leaning against the wall.

"Let me help!" exclaimed the prince.

"You know I cannot do that, my lord" replied the old man.

"Then at least let Alborz aid you!" he exclaimed "I shall stay with Mrs. Joyce; I promise!" The old man looked to the captain, leaving the choice up to him, though he could not wait forever as his people were attacked.



Banners hanging from the stalls flew in the wind as a warm spring breeze blew through the humble square. The small marketplace had begun to stir with activity as the villagers and travellers began to buy from the vendors who had set up at dawn. Fish mongers, weavers, butchers, and the like yelled from their stalls offering various deals to the travellers. A medley of aromas and sounds rose into the air, making the humble village seem so much more livelier and larger than it actually was. Carriages rumbled along the dirt path that ran through the square as those who had to depart early left to their next destination. Children weaved around the stalls laughing as they chased each other, while the ever-busy serving girls ran errands throughout the village, glaring at the children who got in their way, fearing the reprimand of Miss Violet for being slow.

It was upon this scene that a group of ruffians marched out from the surrounding forest. Their presence was duly noticed by the travellers and the inhabitants of the village, taking note that these were unsavory folk, and cautiously avoiding them as they walked towards the square unabated. The atmosphere of the marketplace grew uneasy with the new arrivals and the cheerful happenings were quieted as the group walked into the centre of the square. Parents silently sent their children home, instructing them to lock their doors behind them. Those travelling in carriages spurred their horses to move faster in their departure. They watched warily as the group made their way to the inn, though before they could enter, a serving girl rushed out of the doors without looking and bumped into the leader of the group, a short-statured, yet imposing, woman with a pixie cut.

The serving girl fell to the ground, as did the woman, whose face was red with annoyance. Dusting herself off, she quickly got up with cat-like reflexes and looked down at the girl with an annoyed expression. The serving girl, realizing that she had just bumped into someone hostile, began to apologize profusely, causing a twisted grin to spread across her face as she violently yanked the girl up from the ground by her elbow.

"Have you no manners, girl?" asked the woman in a deceptively sweet voice "One cannot go running about without regard for their betters"

"I am most sorry, my lady" replied the girl in a quivering voice. The woman laughed; as dud the rest of her companions.

"Hear that, lads?!" called out the woman "She thinks me to be a lady!" She twisted the girl's arm behind her back and put a knife to the girl's throat "I ain't no bloody lady" She pressed the knife on the girl's neck, though not with enough pressure to draw blood, " Now tell me, girl" she said icily "I am looking for a prince, and I have been told that he was travelling in this direction. Have you seen him?"

"A prince?" asked the girl, tears streaming down her cheeks "From where?"

The woman sighed, having forgotten that she was in some backwater village. Of course they did not know which prince they were referring to, though that would not stop her from being cruel. She threw the girl onto the ground with a sneer and turned to face the entire market.

"It seems you all do not know the current state of affairs within our fair empire," she said with a cruel grin "Emperor Tobias is dead" The crowd murmured as they could not believe what they were being told, though the convincing manner in which the woman spoke told them that it was true. "The emperor wanted his cur-children with their Torbican blood to sit upon the imperial throne," she smiled to herself "Fortunately, the supposed heir apparent was rightfully put down, and now, I have come to put down the next in line myself." The crowd gasped in response to the woman's brazen threat to kill the imperial prince.

"What is this?" she said with mock surprise "A village filled with Torbican sympathisers?" she turned to her armed comrades "I suppose then, that this village must be razed to the ground as all Torbica ought to be."

Her troops unsheathed their weapons and the archers knocked their bows. The woman nodded and the archers loosed their arrows into the serving girl, who screamed as the arrows pierced her back. The marketplace was moved to chaos as the soldiers began to attack the villagers while the woman watched gleefully.



OOC: Savy can unwittingly lead our heroes into the middle of a massacre

“Girly, you’re about as composed as a drunkard’s poorly-improvised love song.”

Barrett, for that was the name by which the forest man called himself, had answered the feisty girl’s apology with a raised eyebrow and that unsavory retort before heading to the front of the pack to lead the way into town. While he was happy at the prospect of a free meal, he could not help but feel that there was more to be pilfered from these witless travellers. The sandal-tosser seemed both a warrior and the most irritable of the trio, so he would attempt to wear down her self-restraint to the point at which she would be tempted to cause him bodily harm. Granted, it would be an unpleasant experience, but the money to be gained as compensation for the wounds incurred would be most appreciated after a swift healing to negate any lasting effects. It was a long game, and naturally such a scheme was foolhardy without assurance of wealth on the part of the attacker, but Barrett had reason enough to believe that he was walking in moneyed company. If not through this scheme, then by another he would find a way to walk away with both his stomach and his pockets filled to the brim.

It was the reaver that had tipped him off, though she was not herself the carrier of wealth. However, he found peculiar the way in which she seemed both protective and differential towards the other woman, even going so far as to pick up the fallen sandal so that her travelling companion would not have to soil her hands. And though it was evident that she could not bear the sight of him, she had bowed to the redhead’s decision to humour a strange singing man without objection. In fact, the leader had consulted neither of her companions about this, and both had accepted her word as command. Ladybird was obviously someone of importance, and these two were her servants - or her body guards. Furthermore, a wealthy lady, armed and on foot, accompanied by only two companions meant that whatever her purpose was, it was more than likely meant to be shrouded in secrecy. With importance came money, and with secrecy came even more. Barrett had hit the jackpot.

The quartet, lead by Barrett, walked in silence for the most part, though their guide broke out into song every now and again. The diddies were mostly nonsense, but were one to listen to the words closely enough, chances were that they would find something therein by which to be personally insulted. As they approached the village, Barrett slowed. He clutched his staff and leaned forward, eyes to the ground, as if he were trying to concentrate the whole of his sensory capabilities into his ears. There was a ruckus up ahead, of that he was certain. It was not unusual for a village to announce itself by the din of a marketplace before it came into view, but this cacophony sounded altogether different from the town’s usual market bustle. There was a sense of tension to the air, and clangs of metal on metal. There were screams.

Barrett was in no mood to jeopardize his own well-being. Sad as he was to let go of his golden goose, he comforted himself with the thought that, were there any survivors left in town after the battle that was no doubt ensuing at the moment, he could make a killing patching them up. He turned to his followers, and, bowing, made them aware of the situation.

“It is no business of forest spirits to intervene in the affairs of man, I am afraid,” he spoke gravely, shaking his head in mock sadness. “However, should you choose to go on to the village ahead, I will gladly accept a monetary offering in lieu of the meal that you would have provided me.”

Mitra shrugged at Barrett's reply, falling in line as he lead the group onward. She kept a close eye on the lump as he walked, noticing the stick in the back of his robe swinging rhythmically as he moved.
Ah, that's right. He dropped two staves when he jumped down from the tree. Perhaps he's a healer?
Mitra pondered. Then the man began singing again.
Yeah. He's certainly no bard. Wait... oooh, composed! I get it. As Barrett sang, Mitra turned to the others, made a motion as if tying a noose, and then pretended to hang herself.

When Mitra turned her attention back to their guide, he'd stopped in his tracks.
"Hey, what's the hold up?" She inquired, only to be ignored. The reaver reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, but stopped when he spoke suddenly.

“It is no business of forest spirits to intervene in the affairs of man, I am afraid. However, should you choose to go on to the village ahead, I will gladly accept a monetary offering in lieu of the meal that you would have provided me.”

Mitra raised an eyebrow for a second, unsure what to make of Barrett's words. He hadn't really explained anything. Before she could ask, however, her ears were met with a distant clamor. She was familiar with the sound. Something was wrong. After exchanging a brief glance with Amelia, the reaver bolted ahead, making for the source of the noise at full speed. The princess would undoubtedly be right behind her.

Jahan watched the arm wrestling match, and wondered if a girl could beat such a strong, and loud, guy. "If Torbicans are as strong as he said, then this should be over in a couple seconds... Jahan thought "I need to do some research after this adven- Before Jahan could finish his thought, Helle had already won. Or Jahan was thinking really slowly. He didn't know. "Oh, not even letting me finish my thought, isn't that rude." Jahan thought.

Then, an idea suddenly crept into Jahan's mind. If this girl was that strong, maybe he could ask her how to get stronger! Jahan didn't really know how the extra arm strength would help him, being an archer, or how he'd find time for it, but he would work it out later. Jahan was about to interrupt Helle's and the old man's conversation a blood-curdling scream did it for him. "DEAR CHEESE, WHAT WAS THAT!" Jahan immediately yelled, startled.


(OOC: For future reference, before Jahan interacts with Helle, should I call her Helle in these posts?)

Amelia was too focused at the prospect of finding her brother to be concerned with the odd behaviour of the vagrant or his singing. Rather, she found herself planning the next stage of her unplanned quest. Rescuing her brother was just the beginning, for she would have to ensure that he was protected afterwards. She had kept the note that had been given to her back in the palace, reading it every night before she had gone to bed; Toby would not be safe in the palace if its contents were true.

Fortunately, Captain Xerxes had departed with Tobias when he left the capital. His presence would be a valuable asset in protecting her brother. If they continued to Imdalor they could meet with the Sage King Edmund, who was a friend of her father. Hopefully he'd be able to shelter them until they could get word to her sister in Relia. There, they would also be able to find out what was going on at home since they had left. All she knew was that Lord Marlin was ruling as regent in Toby's absence; if she could get word to him as well, then perhaps he could send imperial troops to protect them as they travelled, and hopefully expunge the traitor in their midst who had assassinated her Mathias. Her heart cringed at the thought, she still had not had time to fully grasp his death.

Still, it seemed that such thoughts would have to wait, for she could hear the familiar sounds of metal clashing against metal, and the much less familiar sounds of distressed screaming. Her hand was already on the hilt of her sword, when the vagrant had stopped to listen.

"It is no business of forest spirits to intervene in the affairs of man, I am afraid. However, should you choose to go on to the village ahead, I will gladly accept a monetary offering in lieu of the meal that you would have provided me."

Amelia had no time to balk at the vagabond's cowardly response as her eyes met with Mitra's. Immediately she bolted following Mitra along the path leading toward the small village.

The scene before them was quite grim. Villagers ran screaming, some holding swaddled babies or pulling small children as they fled from burning homes. Looking up, Amelia could see that the thin wisps of grey smoke she had seen earlier in the sky were now menacing black clouds of smoke from the small huts. It was clear that as they moved toward the marketplace that they would find where most of the carnage was occurring. However as they walked along the path, a menacing man with long shaggy hair, and well-worn clothes exited one of the huts. He was stuffing something into his pants before he noticed the girls, though as he saw them, he smiled with a sinister grin.

"Come 'ere lassies!" he called out while waving his axe playfully "I wern't 'urt chya...much"

GM: Amelia & Mitra have entered the skirmish

Amelia: 32/32
Mitra: 32/32
------------------------------------------
Enemy Reaver: 25/25

As the match started, Helle realized immediately that the man had vastly underestimated her. Offense sparked within her, but she shoved that aside for later and instead used it to her advantage, very nearly winning in that moment. Unfortunately, it was not that easy, and Milo recovered. As time passed, Helle realized that Milo's strength was waning, and once she believed she had the opportunity, she moved. Surging forward with the energy she had remaining, Helle gritted her teeth and finally slammed Milo's fist into the table. After the loud thunk there was silence.

Helle retrieved her hand and grinned, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead. The crowd recovered from shock and became a hive of noise and clamor, cheering, accusing her of cheating, and other such things. A glance at Milo showed that his pride had taken a hit being defeated by a girl. Really, it was his underestimating her that had cost him the match in the first place.

The old man who had started it all had no such reaction. Rather, he congratulated her and handed her a small pouch of imperials. "Here ye go lass. Ye earned it!" A bit belatedly, he finally introduced himself. "The name's Cornelius."

Helle was about to respond, only for a scream to split the air. Even though the crowd had been in a fervor, the sound came through loud and clear, and afterwards everything in the inn became eerily still, other than a boy yelling "DEAR CHEESE, WHAT WAS THAT?!" (a strange exclamation, but not important at the moment). Now she could pick up more noise from outside; yelling, fighting, nothing good.

Realizing that wherever the scream had come from, it had to be nearby, Helle stood up from her chair with urgency. Something was clearly wrong. Gripping her newly obtained imperials in her hand, she pushed through the crowd to make her way to the door. She opened it, holding the hilt of her sword tightly, and stepped through.

She was greeted by chaos, running and screaming, the foul smell of smoke filling the air. The village was under attack. Helle couldn't conceive why, but that was a matter to be figured out later. Right now she needed to know what was going on. At random, she chose a girl running past and started after her.

"Hey!" she called out, reaching out to catch the girl by the shoulder. "What in the world happened here?"

Jax took the rear as the party strolled through the woods, every weary of the surrounding. It wouldn't do no good to be ambushed again because some wanderer had called out to bandits like a canary to a cat. It was only natural after all, Mitra already having her eye on the vagrant and the princess lost in her own thoughts. She did it often in their travels, so Jax had wondered from time to time whether she was lamenting her loses or planning on how to best avenge them.

Jax had just caught the faintest familiar sound before the man that could loosely be called a guide, began to ask for money. Had he missed something? The princess was tense, yet Mitra seemed dumbstruck, then a very clear scream rang in the knight's armor. The party's Reaver instantly sprang into action, and the princess shadowed her to near perfection. Slower to start, even once Jax started to hurry after, he knew after only a few steps he couldn't keep up, so he stopped. Running into a situation like that was always dangerous with knowing what was going on. Had it been just him it wouldn't matter all that much, but if the princess was to be harmed... no, that would not be acceptable. The great knight's helm turned back slightly and caught sight of the parasite, a staff wielder. It was likely he had a healing staff in that case to at least recover his own injuries.

"If you expect to be paid then you must live up to your end of the bargain and tell my companions all you know about the yellow wyvern. Until then, our business is concluded." He turned back to head to the battlefield, throwing in one last thought. "Since you did offer to help us once I won't believe you are adverse to humanity as you say, so I'll let you change your right mind now. Otherwise, I expect you to remain true to your words, so I shouldn't find you in this town after the battle is over."

The last part was said as Jax readied his axe for battle and stormed off, not caring if the man replied with mere words. Hopefully as he entered the town he could find the two girls nearby, otherwise he would begin to help any civilians he could see, maybe learning from them his companion's whereabouts.

Mitra clenched her teeth as she arrived on the scene, quickly evaluating the carnage before her. It was a relatively small skirmish, the kind that would likely resolve itself shortly due to the meager number of attackers. However, by that time, a great deal of damage would be done, and several lives potentially lost. The fires were always the worst. Without a magic user present, there was little that could be done about them. Still, Mitra could at least help expedite the passing of these marauders before they could do any more harm. The reaver didn't even have to look at her friend to know that Amelia was on the warpath.
Light have mercy on any bandits who cross her now.

Mitra had hardly finished the thought when a bedraggled, axe-toting ruffian appeared from a nearby hut. Speak of the devil.

"Uuugh." Mitra groaned aloud, drawing twin hatchets from her sash. "Why does it always have to be reavers?"

"Come 'ere lassies! I wern't 'urt chya... much." Said the bandit politely. The sentiment was not mutual.

Mitra habitually moved to stand between Amelia and the enemy, but quickly corrected herself. Experience had proved that to be a very, very bad idea. Instead, she brough up her left arm, twisted her torso and flung an axe at the bandit's center mass.

Jahan rushed over to a window to see what's going on. Jahan saw people running away in panic. He knew that the reason for that probably wasn't pretty, to say the least. "Oh no, no, no, That can't be good." Jahan thought in horror. "Wait. I have a bow, I can ACTUALLY do something!" Jahan ran out of the inn, never getting to eat the food he ordered, but he wasn't concerned with that now.

Halfway down the stairs, Jahan realized something. "Wait." Jahan said aloud "Master said that I wasn't allowed to use my bow on humans yet.... Hm... Well, I'll just saw that multiple animals attacked me on the way... Yeah. This is probably an emergency, I can't follow Master's rules right now" Jahan ran the rest of the way downstairs, bow in hand, and jumped through the door. He saw the girl who just won the arm wrestling match outside, a sword in her hand, talking to a another girl he didn't know. Jahan casually scooted closer to them in order to hear their conversation, while watching for anything trying to kill them at the same time.

Alborz stood strong allowing the prince to conduct his daily routine. It was only when the scream echoed that Alborz began to pay attention. He looked about as he was told about the bandits. He began quickly moving towards the door before placing his hand on the elder man's shoulder.

"Sir, I will do everything within my power to defend your people. However I must request that whilst I am away that you protect the highness with the same amount of vigor." With that the captain gently nudged his way past and moved out into the streets. As chaos was erupting around him Alborz walked over to the stables. Within was Ignavus. The Wyvern was quickly saddled and prepared for combat. Then the two rode out.

As Ignavus exploded out of the stable door he dashed high into the air. The wind rushed against the rider's armor and Ignavus's wings as they passed through clouds. The sunlight beamed off of scales and armor alike. I was moments like this when master and beast were truly one. As much as Alborz loved being in the air, he had more pressing matters than just a euphoric flight. Alborz needed info, he began to survey the town. He wanted to have a target before he engaged.

Herlewin quickly understood the situation unfolding before him. An agitator, his partner, a target. Get the people excited, bet hard against your deliberately underperforming partner, rake in a tidy profit. Classic. Effective, too: An inn full of passersby on their way to the city was prime harvesting ground. The people weren’t likely to be familiar enough with the swindlers’ game to avoid it, and they likely had some cash reserves on them if they were travelling. It was a clever tactic, and the pair had played the crowd like a violin. If it weren’t for the inherent dishonesty of their act, it really would have been a commendable piece of showmanship.

The bet being over, the boy shifted his attention away from the gamblers and towards the corpulent mound of green sitting beside him. Herlewin resented the man for speaking to him with such disdain, but the merchant was undoubtedly well off judging by the craftsmanship of his attire. It really wouldn’t do to be on the bad side of a potentially well-paying audience member. Swallowing his pride, the archer decided to feign servitude in the interest of getting in the wealthy man’s good graces.

“Straight away, mister.” he said, answering as he imagined a waiter would. Moving past the crowd and on to the bar, Herlewin placed himself in line to order a pint of ale. It was at this moment that a piercing scream rang through the air. The shriek seemed to cause a panic in the inn, but the showman concerned himself little with the sound. He'd heard worse in his travels; as long as the whole town didn't erupt in a ruckus, he had little reason to worry. There was business to be done.

She was like a rush of wind. A hurtling tempest that had come, gone, and taken Barrett’s hopes of free meals with it. Oh, how he hated reavers, and their disgusting lust for battle. And oh, how he now especially loathed this quick-acting, payment-snuffing battle-axe that had robbed him of his supper. Light’s curses upon her.

Soaring highs and crushing lows, Barrett mused to himself, still standing where the troupe had left him, dumbstruck in the dust. Thus was the life of a con man, this was true. Yet never before had fate so callously snatched the wandering cleric’s prey from between his fingers. Hah, prey? Hardly! For once in his life he had tried making an honest quick buck, tried to sate his hunger as a working man would. Had he, the guardian spirit of the forest, not lead this band directly to the town in which he had last seen the yellow wyvern that they so earnestly sought? Certainly, he had hoped to take further advantage of the trio later on, but up until this point he had done nothing wrong! Was he being punished in advance for crimes not yet committed? This was a new low.

“Black dawn,” Barrett cursed under his breath. Only then did he realize that the trio’s walking pile of armour had stopped a mere few yards in front of him, left behind by his more agile companions. Ech. The dirty axe-wielder could rust in a puddle of his own sweat for all Barret carre- Wait. Was metalface threatening him?

“...so I’ll let you change your mind right now. Otherwise, I expect you to remain true to your words, so I shouldn’t find you in this town after the battle is over.”

Huh. So the scrapheap could speak after all. Not that it mattered much. Barrett had no intention of being anywhere near a battle. Battles were places in which lives went to end, and, pointless though it was, Barrett was still rather attached to his. He would rather not lose it.

The cleric had turned heel-face and begun walking back the way that the group had come, resigning himself to having expended needless effort for no reward, when a bright streak in the clouds caught his eye. His head snapped back, his black eyes mercilessly scrutinizing the sky until they landed upon what he has just seen. It was a yellow wyvern. Now he was angry.

Here he was, a man who had disturbed his own busy life to help a group of strangers. He had spent his own precious time helping a band of filthy fighters directly to their goal, and they had left him without the slightest thanks. Worse, the big one had threatened to kill him! Nevermind that they likely would have stumbled upon the town without his help. That wasn’t important. What mattered is that he had guided them, and his belly was no more full, nor his purse any heavier than it had been when he was lying comfortably in his tree! By all the forces of the lifestream, these rats were going to pay.

Barrett leaned forward on his staff and scanned the path up ahead, like a fox staring intently into a rabbit’s hole. The man in armour was still in sight, and not terribly distant. Perfect. Barrett took off in a sprint, leaves and moss flying from his mud-caked robes as he ran, marking a trail that would have a hunter thinking that a tree had uprooted itself to go for a jog. Amusingly, that was not far from the truth. For one that appeared as mobile as a birch, Barrett could move surprisingly quickly. His speed, of course, was not possessed as a result of rigorous self-discipline, but rather thanks to forced practice at the hands of those who had threatened to kill him for his deceptions rather than pay him for his healing. It appeared that even those experiences had some merit, in their own way. At the very least, the coward could run. It was not long before he had caught up to the plodding guardian knight. He slowed his pace to match.

“If only your feet were as quick as your tongue is sharp, oh man of steel,” Barrett taunted, giving his new companion a tap of his staff on the back for good measure. “Then we might at least be there by the ‘morrow.”