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Chapter One

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Chapter One: Halamead
17th of Calder, 1032
Midsummer was always a good time of year. The refreshing breezes and warm sun putting the smile on many tired faces. Those with little income rarely had to worry about warmth and food, able to fish in the streams and the temperature never dropped enough to freeze the water. The animals roamed as if they owned the world, the insects fluttered by your face with every chance they got, and the crops were plentiful. Especially in the small town of Halamead. Their grains and fruits for making their ale were in their peak, those breezes making the fields of grains dance just like the ocean.

And today was a very special day. Music filled the streets of Halamead, the smells of delicious foods and ale mixing with the sweet scent of summer. They were having a party! The reason was...well, the reason was unknown. It was a simple town, but they loved having a festival or two. Maybe it was someone's birthday, or maybe it was an anniversary of some sort. Or maybe they were just celebrating their craft. Which, seeing as how the booze flowed freely and the fights were encouraged and bet upon, might be the real reason. Songs were sung loud and most of the time, badly, boasting about old battles or the popular songs from the boats. Baked goods were sold on stalls, a large fire roared in the center of town, various meats roasting above it. It was a good day to be in Halamead.

The locals weren't the only faces among the crowd. A few travelling merchants from Odelun sat with the warriors, drinking and sharing stories. Elves out to see the country sat with the local women, talking about the differences in scenery. And among the crowds, are you. It doesn't matter why your here, if you're perhaps just passing through or stopping for supplies, or maybe there for a job. No matter the reason, you may as well enjoy the festivities.
 
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When Lilia had told Merin that they would be heading to Halamead, he tried to make sure he wasn’t too excited. That he didn’t lift his expectations too high. Beer from Halamead was an expensive treat in Odelun, and he’d heard it was pleasant, pastoral, and an all around lovely place to be.

He was glad he’d tempered his expectations, because it was everything he’d imagined it to be! It was a pleasant surprise, and it lifted his heart to see a place like this. Where the children ran carelessly through the streets, the adults hardworking and kind. There was even a festival going on! It had been an honor to stop the Warg pack that had moved into the forest recently.
He would have done it for free. Any Candle Knight would have. But after he refused a monetary reward, they demanded he make liberal use of the Inn and Tavern. Merin refused this too, naturally, but they insisted. Merin put up a brief fight, but eventually relented. There was beer and then there was beer, and beer from Halamead was definitely beer. He’d take that over gold any day.
He just wished Lilia hadn’t been so foolhardy and gotten herself hurt. She’d used herself as bait, to draw the Wargs out of their den. It had allowed Merin to get the drop on the pack of eight horse sized wolves, but Lilia had almost been gutted from navel to sternum.

But she was alive, and back in castle Dragonheart. That’s what was important. When next he saw her he would give her hell for ‘relying on agility’ instead of good old armor.
So now he was here, in the Pig and Iron inn near the center of town. He was at the bar, nursing a mug of hoppy beer. It was good, but was from an older stock in the back of the tavern. He was hoping to stay long enough to partake of the first of the harvest before he went on his way. He could have been outside enjoying the festivities, but he preferred it here, where it was quiet, where he could listen to the festivities from a distance.

“So you killed the pack leader first?” Werla asked for the eighth time today.

Well, perhaps it wasn't completely quiet.

Werla, a thin, mousy human girl and her small gaggle of friends were sitting on stools all around Merin. They were some of the young adults of the village. Old enough that they had responsibilities around town, even during a festival, but young enough to shirk them in order to follow around the new and interesting stranger.
“I did.” Merin said, chuckling. “Lilia had the idea to get me to climb up on top of their den, drop down onto the Wargs when they came out. Nearly broke my legs, but fortunately I had a big fuzzy beast break my fall. Went poorly for the beast, of course.” He rapped his knuckles on his armor. “I’m a little heavy.”
The young men and women laughed and tittered to one another like they hadn’t heard him tell this story a dozen times. Merin smiled into his beer.
“Who would win in a fight? You or Lilia?” One of the young men asked. His name was Killian, Merin remembered.
“Merin would, of course!” One of the other young men snapped, a boy named Uren. “He’s not the one who almost got eaten!”
“Oh, I don’t know. Lilia is quite the fighter.” Merin said, “You can’t always judge by who made it out of the fight. How you fare in battle is a lot about skill, but it’s also a lot about luck. Lilia is fast and smart and knows just where to strike. I wouldn’t like to bet on that fight! Besides, it’ll never happen. Lilia is a good person. I don’t pick up my axe unless I need to. She would never make me need to.”

Merin had picked up his little fans when he'd wandered into town, a day after bringing Lilia to the healer, when he'd gone to pick up the dead Warg where he and Lilia had slain them. With everyone preparing for the festival, the stout Dwarf returning with the beasts that had plagued the town for the past few weeks just seemed to be another event to them. Rather than seen as a mercenary, the people in Hallamead seemed to have taken to him almost like he was performer who'd had a particularly good show. Merin didn't usually like the attention, but he didn't mind it now. It was better than the attention an unknown mercenary usually got in most towns, whatever intentions he claimed, or crest he bore.

"Hey, Merin." Uren suddenly asked, excited. "Do you mind if I look at your shield?"
Merin laughed, and motioned to the shield that he'd leaned up against the bar next to him.

"Holy..." The boy grunted. "It's heavy!"

Killian grabbed the other end of it, and they flipped it over, revealing the masterfully worked design that Hrist had engraved there. A dwarf, standing against a dragon. Men, women and children protected from the beasts flames by the oversized Dwarven hero interposing herself between them. The metal flames from the dragons breath fanned out over the rest of the shield, creating whirling, spiraling grooves that were both stunning to look at and capable of turning a blade. All of the figures, from the dragon to the the people the hero was protecting, were made of steel worked with silver, the silver somehow untarnished despite Merin's heavy use of the shield. Only the hero stood unadorned, a steel figure standing out against the rest for its starkness.
"Your shield is beautiful!" Werla said, her mouth hanging open.
"Thank you. My sister made it for me."
"Whose that?" Killian asked, pointing at the figure.

"Orta Openhand. Champion of Cignir." Merin said, "She's my favorite hero from the stories. Not the strongest or the smartest of heroes, but the bravest and the kindest."
Merin wondered if he should tell them about Orta, but decided against it. He loved those stories, but he was sure the young humans weren't interested in ancient history. So he just went back to sipping his drink, the chatter of the young adults as they discussed his shield a pleasant backdrop. It was nice to be around people. He'd head outside and participate in the festival when Werla and her friends got bored of him and went on to do their own thing.
 
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Magnus Khalason


"...is it true...?" a bright eyed, yet thoroughly drunk young man asked the much larger male orc sitting next to him at the bar stand, set up in the middle of the town square. magnus rose an eyebrow, a smirk popping up on his mouth. "That... You know..." the human lowered his voice, looking around him, Magnus wasn't certain if the blush on his face was from the drink or the choice of topic... Likely both from the way he was being so shy about it. "Know what? I know many things, like how I know theres many ways to skin a cat, but only one way to ask a question!" he punctuated with a heavy drink, ah...

Honeymead...

Simple and sweet, His sister Efyalla would have loved this. She loved honey and dancing. Shame she was too young to come with him, her being barely eight summers. Oh how she pouted and moaned.

Even tried sneaking off after him.

"About... orc ladies..." the young man finally spat out. "That you.. have to fight to... you know..." the younger lad was obviously curious... If.. Not quite knowledgeable.

"AH! Right to the fun bit eh? Well, my man i shall tell you here and now." Magnus smile grew tenfold, as he spoke higher. "That msot if not allladies of my kind have a fire in their heart, from weavers to huntresses! If you woo her you best be ready, for we orcs love as we fight, fiercely! And without foolishness!

If you desire something you reach for it!" he added, quickly pinching the rump of a passing maiden. "And if you fail!" he turned his face towards her, to get a hefty slap across the face, he paused, cracked his neck and turned back to the man.

"You get up and try again! For we know, that life can be short, it can be long, but if your life is filled with boredom and prohibition! Then it is not a life truely lived!" he patted the lad on the back, almost sending the boy barrelling over the bar. "If you want something, fight for it, just be sure to understand no means no in oft cases, don't tell no one i'm sending you down the path of a fool now! Remember! Live life to the fullest! And watch out for red heads, they will wring you dry." Magnus notes with a final speech, before slamming down a empty mug and sauntering off. The young man blinks a few times as the orc shaped hurricane of a man left the bar stand... "Red heads...?" he pauses, as if he was digesting some heavy wisdom.. Only for a gal with blazing locks to pass him by.

The young man's eyes lit up as he took a double take, emptied his mug and went after her.

-----------------------------------------

Magnus wasn't quite here on business, hell he had just got done with some on the way in. Traveling with a caravan certainly had it's benefits, caravans with merchant's daughters as well tends to have many more. But he had to take his leave once they had arrived, and with his leave he also had his pay. Pay, that helps him enjoy the festivities here. He could, he suppoused, browse the wares, taste the many types of ales, lagers and whatever drinks these people have masterfully distilled. Dare say they beat his tribe's own brews out of the water, less strong but these actually had TASTE! You know, besides burning.

The smell of baked goods however... Now THAT was a rare treat. Flatbread was common enough back home, but the bread they make here, with it's softness, its sweetness, the pure soul melting goodness that was a cinnamon roll.. The first time he tasted it he was hooked... Though, him lingering on the stall certainly wasn't helped by the baker selling it, a woman who was particularly... healthy... To say it in a way that is not meaning he is staring just beyond the large mounds of bread.

Though his nose... Drew him another way... AH! Meats! This is what he knew.

Sausages, smoked ham, dried meat sticks, gods above it also smelled heavenly... How could people who cook for a living stand to not eat the precious food they sell!?

Ah but... A cinnamon roll... Or smoked meat...?

Theres also a fruit stand over yonder with a petite goblin woman selling melons bigger than her head.

His stomache was torn, he practically wept at the choices before him. Though he wasn't to much in his stupor, able to step out of the way of a rushing little boy who seemed to be doing work for the stalls. "Hmmph, just like home. Parents never stop with make kids work when they should be having fun."
 

Ophelia Barrows & Gaius de Leon
Location
: Halamead
Interaction:
Orikanyo Orikanyo (Magnus)
Mentioned: N/A
This was their first break in a long while. The lovely music and delicious smells had infiltrated their camp just inside the treeline backing the town and after an hour of badgering, pestering, and borderline begging the older man, Ophelia had successfully convinced the grumpy paladin to gather their things and enter the town. The festival made the young woman's eyes sparkle, she hadn't been to one in three years. The last festival she had enjoyed was the day she left Antiva. And that was just a big, last-minute party. In any case, this was exciting. But Gaius didn't seem too thrilled. As soon as they had reached the town center, he and Fen'dral picked a bench and sat down while Ophelia decided to not be a stick in the mud. With a sigh, Gaius reached down and picked up his waterskin, taking a few sips as he observed the people walking around. "How about it buddy, want to go make friends?" Gaius asked the large wold curled up in front of the bench and the partner's belongings. The dire wolf looking up at him, and huffed before lowering his head again. "Yeah...me neither."

Ophelia on the other hand was having the time of her life. After buying and quickly eating some kind of small beers tart, the half-elf found herself in the midst of a dance. Lively music filled the air, cheers, and claps from the men, woman, and children dancing; and in the middle of the spinning bodies was Ophelia. With a twirl, her hair whipped around before she sank down her hands touching the cobblestone before jumping up again. It didn't take long for her to pick up on the local dance, watching from afar for a few minutes as she ate, it was a simple few steps that the music would guide. A few of those dancing were singing as well, their voices an odd muddled chorus, but Ophelia thought it was lovely. She was home sick, and Antiva was too far away to visit so this...this was nice.

Gaius watched on as his charge had fun, keeping an eye on those who may do her harm. He may not have liked just how many non-humans were running around...or the fact that his own companion was a non-human, but having traveled with her three years meant he had grown...close. He didn't wish to see harm come to her, and her youthful energy did spark a small smile on his face...until she spun right into the back of an orcish man.

It was rare when she lost her footing, but to avoid falling into a child she spun awkwardly and had to over correct. Which sent her into the muscular back of a an orc. Giggling as she stood straight again, she looked up at his face with a small smile. "Oh, I'm sorry! Don't mind that, there was a wee lad in my way!" She explained, giving the man a gently pat on the back before turning back around to rejoin the dance, a twirling, swaying flash of chestnut brown hair and honeysuckle air.
 
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Vrogak Blackthorn

Beneath the shadow of an alleyway, a war hound stood at attention, discouraging any of the party goers looking to move to somewhere discreet. Roach watched the woman roll a cart of baked goods down to her stand, and basked in the pleasant smell of cinnamon. Based on experience, the war hound knows rewards would come after Vrogak finishes up his business, but the baker’s confections were tempting. Just as Roach was about to damn the consequences of leaving the post and steal a bite, a sharp “Hier!” demanded her presence.

Roach’s owner towered over a small sniveling man, his massive frame was covered in ill-fitting plate armor, with bits of metal welded, roped, and hobbled together to protect where the plate could not. Straps of reddish-brown leather cover his neck, biceps, and groin from damage, and a burlap sack stained over the years with dried blood hangs from his waist. Vrogak the Mirthful, was aptly named due to his ever-present and toothy grin, for his lips were removed so that his fearsome visage was constantly visible. And his tusks, long in his old age, jut out wickedly sharp. Without turning his gaze away from the man, the old bounty hunter held out a raggedy cloth for Roach to smell. Roach sniffed, and disappointingly for Vrogak, sneezed out a negative.

“Another dead-fucking-end, bastard must’ve skipped town before the festival, or a hunter nabbed him before us.” Sighing, Vrogak runs a hand against the metal plate on his forehead and leaves the man behind. They were on the hunt for one Darrel Parker, an information broker who made off with trade secrets he had no business knowing. Normally Vrogak would not take a job this far west of his traditional circuit, but the payment was worth risking the journey, or should have been had he actually gotten paid. Sounds of music, laughter, and merriment pulls the orc away from his thoughts, “No use griping when there’s a festival going on, let’s get some food, girl.”

A moment later, the orc walked away with cinnamon rolls in hand and war hound at hip, leaving the scared food vendor debating whether or not to call the guards.
 
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The air that blew through Elret's hair felt different. He had never been to a festival, never mind one hosted in human territory. With that said, such firsthand experience enlightened him; Elret couldn't help but let a smile form across his face. The happiness was truly contagious, in a strange way. This joy was accompanied by a stark sense of relief, stemming from the confirmation that he had, indeed, maintained his empathy. He was worried that he would lose himself in his solitude, like most would - though, the Faye provided Elret with more than enough company in between restless nights of studying and maintaining his skill with the dark arts.

Truly, Elret's favorite trait of the Empire so far was that there weren't many mages or elves. After all, only one properly educated in magic (or with a particularly keen eye) could tell that Elret had embraced the usage of the taboo Shadow Magic.. His appearance reflected that. Though, to the aforementioned humans, he would only resemble a snow-elf with dark hair. Even as he lived out many years in Valencia and maintained a positive reputation, the negative stigma just wouldn't wash away. Here, though? Everyone was minding their own business. Not only that, they probably didn't think of him as being anything more than "just another elf from somewhere far off." It allowed Elret a little bit of freedom, which he decided he would cherish. This freedom paired with the festival allowed Elret to convince himself that he was going to take a little break. He's been working his ass off for years, indulging in the local cultural phenomenon wasn't going to get in the way.

Strolling through the town square, the overwhelming aroma of baked goods beckoned him. How easily tempted Elret is. Approaching the vendor, an Apple Fritter caught his eye, prompting Elret to buy two of them. They seemed like they were made with heart, definitely due to the occasion. Interestingly enough, the second was not bought for himself, but for a little girl he had noticed eyeing the pastries from nearby. Holding one Fritter out to the young child, he kneeled down, greeting her with a smile. Her confused reaction turned to delight once she learned his intentions. "Don't eat it all in one sitting, okay? Wouldn't want to keep your parents up all night with a sugar rush." As Elret stood straight once more, he tousled the girl's hair with one of his gloved hands. "Enjoy the festival." The child immediately thanked him, jumping up in down with excitement before running off through the crowd, presumably to her parents. Such a simple gesture, but one that personally cherished. Taking a small bite of his own pastry, he was caught of guard. The flavor was entirely unique from what he would experience from Elven cuisine, blessing with an excellently crafted sweet good. Going into it, it wasn't like he was expecting to be let down. Elret has only ever consumed Elven food, as this was the first time he had ever left Elven territory. Unlike some other Elves, however, he did not possess a superiority complex that would blind him from qualities that the human-produced Fritter possessed. After having his eyes opened by a single bite of food, Elret decided to explore the rest of the square, briefly visiting each of the vendors to see what kind of products they were selling. He wasn't much of a drinker or dancer, meaning he was missing out on a good portion of the festivities presented to him. It didn't bother him much, luckily, as simply watching the others enjoy themselves was satiating enough for him.

Finding a bench in the middle of the square, Elret sat himself down to get his bearings. He wanted to write, so that's what he did. Elret not only removed the book from his belt to write in, but a decorated dip pen and a small container of ink. Coating the pen, Elret opened to a seemingly arbitrary page in the book more than halfway through. He wrote about his experiences outside of Elven territory so far. While having only been outside Valencia for a few days at most, his experiences thus far were positive. The festival, of course, being a massive highlight. He wrote down his admiration of the architecture and rich culture, how the people lived their lives as if every day would be their last - enjoying every second of it. Perhaps such a phenomenon has manifested due to the comparatively limited lifespan a human possesses? He jotted down, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb against his forehead in thought. He had already learned so much by experiencing things firsthand. While ingesting information about cultures what not his priority, it was something he would happily do. He began to tunnel in on his writing a bit, drowning out his surroundings even if unintentional.



ELRET


Location: A festival!

Mentions: N/A


code by yousmelldead



The air that blew through Elret's hair felt different. He had never been to a festival, never mind one hosted in human territory. With that said, such firsthand experience enlightened him; Elret couldn't help but let a smile form across his face. The happiness was truly contagious, in a strange way. This joy was accompanied by a stark sense of relief, stemming from the confirmation that he had, indeed, maintained his empathy. He was worried that he would lose himself in his solitude, like most would - though, the Faye provided Elret with more than enough company in between restless nights of studying and maintaining his skill with the dark arts.

Truly, Elret's favorite trait of the Empire so far was that there weren't many mages or elves. After all, only one properly educated in magic (or with a particularly keen eye) could tell that Elret had embraced the usage of the taboo Shadow Magic.. His appearance reflected that. Though, to the aforementioned humans, he would only resemble a snow-elf with dark hair. Even as he lived out many years in Valencia and maintained a positive reputation, the negative stigma just wouldn't wash away. Here, though? Everyone was minding their own business. Not only that, they probably didn't think of him as being anything more than "just another elf from somewhere far off." It allowed Elret a little bit of freedom, which he decided he would cherish. This freedom paired with the festival allowed Elret to convince himself that he was going to take a little break. He's been working his ass off for years, indulging in the local cultural phenomenon wasn't going to get in the way.

Strolling through the town square, the overwhelming aroma of baked goods beckoned him. How easily tempted Elret is. Approaching the vendor, an Apple Fritter caught his eye, prompting Elret to buy two of them. They seemed like they were made with heart, definitely due to the occasion. Interestingly enough, the second was not bought for himself, but for a little girl he had noticed eyeing the pastries from nearby. Holding one Fritter out to the young child, he kneeled down, greeting her with a smile. Her confused reaction turned to delight once she learned his intentions. "Don't eat it all in one sitting, okay? Wouldn't want to keep your parents up all night with a sugar rush." As Elret stood straight once more, he tousled the girl's hair with one of his gloved hands. "Enjoy the festival." The child immediately thanked him, jumping up in down with excitement before running off through the crowd, presumably to her parents. Such a simple gesture, but one that personally cherished. Taking a small bite of his own pastry, he was caught of guard. The flavor was entirely unique from what he would experience from Elven cuisine, blessing with an excellently crafted sweet good. Going into it, it wasn't like he was expecting to be let down. Elret has only ever consumed Elven food, as this was the first time he had ever left Elven territory. Unlike some other Elves, however, he did not possess a superiority complex that would blind him from qualities that the human-produced Fritter possessed. After having his eyes opened by a single bite of food, Elret decided to explore the rest of the square, briefly visiting each of the vendors to see what kind of products they were selling. He wasn't much of a drinker or dancer, meaning he was missing out on a good portion of the festivities presented to him. It didn't bother him much, luckily, as simply watching the others enjoy themselves was satiating enough for him.

Finding a bench in the middle of the square, Elret sat himself down to get his bearings. He wanted to write, so that's what he did. Elret not only removed the book from his belt to write in, but a decorated dip pen and a small container of ink. Coating the pen, Elret opened to a seemingly arbitrary page in the book more than halfway through. He wrote about his experiences outside of Elven territory so far. While having only been outside Valencia for a few days at most, his experiences thus far were positive. The festival, of course, being a massive highlight. He wrote down his admiration of the architecture and rich culture, how the people lived their lives as if every day would be their last - enjoying every second of it. Perhaps such a phenomenon has manifested due to the comparatively limited lifespan a human possesses? He jotted down, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb against his forehead in thought. He had already learned so much by experiencing things firsthand. While ingesting information about cultures what not his priority, it was something he would happily do. He began to tunnel in on his writing a bit, drowning out his surroundings even if unintentional.
 
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Zeinab Almasi
The clatter of wooden beads on an abacus sprung forth from the shadows under an awning where a dark-skinned merchant sat counting money. It was a rather large stall sitting in the center of Halamead’s market chaos and it advertised an assortment of elven spices held in brown, earthen-ware pots along with an assortment of porcelains, fabrics, and scented elven oils. Business was good, the large purse under the stall filled with money. The merchant mumbled something under her breath as she slipped a coin into the bag, moved another bead, inked a tally in a small accounts book. The cycle was constant and it had begun along with the festival, customers pouring into the markets to enjoy the sun and the goods being sold. The merchant was startled out of her meditative state by a loud cough and she stood quickly, the tally book falling out of her lap and landing haphazardly on the ground.

“How may I be of service?” She studied the young woman in front of her, a fake smile stirring a normally passive expression. The young woman inclined her head backwards, waving someone over. “Over here Otis! I found scented oils!” A young man appeared out of the crowd, a mug of beer in one hand and a pastry in the other, and made his way over to the stall. The woman hooked her arm through his and the man bit into the pastry, giving the merchant a sheepish smile, particles of powdered sugar stuck to his face. The merchant’s smile grew tighter, an attempt to hide her distaste at his sloppy appearance. She turned to the woman, whose eyes scanned the array of colorful glass bottles filled with aromatic oils.

“How much for a small bottle of citrus scented oil?” The girl smiled widely, voice pitched high. “50 copper,” the merchant said tonelessly, watching as the woman buried her hand in a cotton purse the color of the sky. She held out the required amount and the merchant took the coins into her own, muttering something under her breath before reaching down to retrieve the requested vial and handing it to the customer. Watching the customers merge the crowd once more, she leaned down, picking up the book strewn on the floor. Then the cycle began once more: a coin in the bag, another bead moved, a tally inked onto a fresh page.

“Zeinab!” The merchant looked up from her book to see her father’s friend walking towards her stall, dressed gaily in blue silk and gold. Putting the book away neatly this time, she put the remaining stack of coins away safely before standing to greet him.

“Uncle Iqbal. How are you today?” Her voice held a forced sense of sweetness, but Iqbal seemed not to notice it, giving her a large smile. “Very good, may Enone be praised. How are you my child? Why are you not enjoying the festival?” He leaned against one of the wooden support beams, fitting himself into the small square of shade next to it. Zeinab let out a short breath, a mixture between a chuckle and a sigh. “With the city being this busy, why would I miss the opportunity to make a profit from it Uncle?” She leaned forward, gesturing towards the chaotic crowd, the golden rings on her fingers sparkling in the sun. Iqbal shook his head. “You are still young, child. Why do you busy yourself as if you are an old man?”
“And risk losing time to further my family’s business?” Zeinab handed a set of porcelain cups to a customer, taking the money into her hand, “Uncle Iqbal, I’m afraid I don’t enjoy wasting my time with useless things.” The older man let out a sigh, ducking down into the space next to the woman. He said nothing for a few moments, watching her hand a young girl a pouch of red spice from one of the clay pots. Then with a smile, he pushed the merchant out from under the shade into the heat and dust of the road. His fingers moved with practiced grace and he placed a ward between her and the side entrance of the stall.

“Uncle!” Zeinab gawked, though she was quick to conceal it, her clothes coated with a thin layer of dust. Iqbal grinned, leaning out of the stall. “Have fun my child! I’ll keep watch of this for you.” Zeinab stood, silently fuming as she made her way towards him, only to be hit by the ward. Muttering under her breath, she schooled her expression, and dusted off her clothes.

“Thank you Uncle. I will spend my time well,” she said cooly, joining the pulsing throng of people crowding the street.
مال
و
قوة

coded by reveriee.
 
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Aielwin Caiharice

Sitting spread out on a patch of plush grass, Aielwin watched the people and the festival go out. The commotion and the revelry was grand, he smile having a small picnic to himself. Everything he bought from the market of course; fresh bread, a few sausages, and pieces of cheese, fresh and dried fruits, with a roll covered in cinnamon and sugar. He was saving that for last, in his journey to find a spot to sit someone shoved a pint of beer into his hands and disappeared. Unexcepted but a welcomed addition to his meal.

The day was sunny Ale was happy he picked up the straw hat he wore, it gave him comfort from the sun and hid his elven ears. Not like anyone cared to notice either way, he finished off another one of his sausages, and bits of cheeses, washing it down in the beer. It was all great tasting, but he knew the beer was good, Ale had been here before on his way north to Odelun. Through his journey through dwarven lands were eventful he came back to Halamead in hope to head south to the islands.

Finally he finished off the food, and beer standing up started on the cinnamon roll. The flavors were divine, almost overpowering his palate yet he enjoy every bite. Taking to a stroll, Ale took in the fresh air and busyness. Ale looked around hoping to find a good pub or tavern to fill his tanker with more beer.
 
Cavilina Rabityth

Some way from the festive bustle of Halamead—a league perhaps, maybe more—a lone man paced along a battered dirt trail unhelpfully marred by the advancing underbrush and entirely shadowed by the tall oaks that loomed above. A druid, was he, one rather easily identifiable thanks to his wild attire of pelts and the jingling little fetishes of bone that hung from every pocket. He was a little thing—perhaps sharing some long-forgotten lineage with the dwarves or goblins of the world; though he was, to his knowledge, entirely human—nevertheless, his’ was a backbone forged from steel; one that left him unshaken even as a sudden snapping of branch and fluttering of wings drew a surprised yelp from his thin lips. Before him stood the slight form of Cavilina, her grand wings spread wide—well and truly blockading what had just been an open path.

“Hail, sister of the wilds.” The man spoke, his voice an uncertain twist of caution and warmth. He knew well that he would already be in dire straits had the Faye wished him harm, but he had always disliked being on the back foot in an encounter with the unpredictable wildlings. “How might I be of service?”

“Hail, brother.” Cavilina cooed, dipping her head and tilting her knees in a faint curtsey. The wizard was no wildling and, as such, deserved no such greeting, but he was certainly no city-dweller—and that counted for enough in Cav’s mind. She’d never been too opposed to the civil races, though Man and his great stone walls always left her on edge, and she could tell this one was of no real threat. After all, if she had been alarmed by him, she would have slipped past him just as she had so many others. She raised an arm and, in turn, a talon to point perhaps a half-dozen paces to his left, collapsing her wings upon themselves as she did so—leaving the path once more open, though she remained steadily in the center of the narrow road. “There!” She called, for they were still some distance apart. “There is a… Town. Have you… Been there?” The man nodded his assent, for he had just left the very village she spoke of no more than a few hours earlier. “Will you te-tell me about it?”

“There lies Halamead, sister. Today, it is a place of festivities. I know not what they celebrate, but you would be welcome there, should you wish to find out. They live in great harmony with the children of the wilds, there.”

“Harmony?” She prodded.

“Peace.” He suggested.

“Truly?” She asked; for she had thought her kind a monster feared by the world at large—the idea of a town inhabited by both the civil and the free races had never crossed her mind. She was certain of that. Nevertheless, the man insisted that was, indeed, the case. Such promises. Still, perhaps there was a grain of truth to the man’s words? Before, the town had been little more than a would-be hunting ground in the Harpy’s sharp eyes. After all, the sprawling farms that always marred the plains near villages like this were often crawling with plump vermin, and Cavilina had not eaten her fill in some time thanks to the local pack of Wargs—though, now that she thought of them, she wasn’t sure she’d seen the salivating brutes in a few days; perhaps they’d moved on? In any case; now, this Halamead was a curiosity, indeed.

She bowed once more to the fragile-looking man, eyes never once leaving his sallow face, before stretching her wings again and glancing skyward. “Go well into the wilds, brother...” She called. “And good luck in the World.” He finished, giving a little bow of his own as the arrhythmic beat of Cavilina’s bent wings sent leaf and dirt alike scattering as she took to the air.

Halamead lay in wait, and it would not be long before its citizens would meet her circling shadow. A town of peace? Perhaps it could be true, but she would not believe the word of a Man—even one dedicated to nature’s whims—until she had seen it for herself. A few rounds above the village would tell her all she needed to know. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? She knew how to dodge an arrow or two. Well, in theory anyway. How hard could it be, really?
 
The day wore on and as the festival progressed, one by one, the young adults were called away to work at stands, clean up or simply join family and friends at the festival. Merin drank slow, and a half hour after the last of the group had left, got up out of his seat, gave a smile and a nod to the barkeep, and headed out.

He took a brief stop in his room, removed an oil cloth from his pack, fetched a bucket of water from downstairs, and rubbed down his armor, making sure it shone. He lifted a gauntlet in front of his face and the slate grey armor caught the candle-light and sent it skittering across the room. He didn’t have any festival attire, so hopefully his armor would do. It certainly would at any dwarven festival. A well made, well kept suit of armor made by a master smith was more enviable than the most elegant of gowns. But there were different customs in human lands, of course, and it was important to respect that. Perhaps he could purchase something more appropriate at one of the stands if he stood out too much in his armor. There were a wide variety of folk from all over, he was sure they had something in his size.

He wouldn’t leave Gudrid, Karli or his shield behind, of course. There was being polite and then there was being unprepared. So his greathammer and shield on his back, his axe on his hip, Merin stomped back down to the ground floor of the Pig and Iron tavern in his armor and then headed out in search of nice, dwarven festival clothes.
The festival was in full swing, now. Merin laughed, as he watched a thin wisp of a half elf bump into a large orcish man and then spin away, still dancing. So too did he see a number of people with cinnamon buns in hand, so many that he had no choice but to purchase one himself.

The shop owner recognized Merin. She seemed flustered, almost like she’d been scared, but shook her head and gave him a smile.
“Ho, mercenary!” She said, “Afraid the Wargs will come back?” Looking his armor up and down. “Though with some of the people I’ve seen at the festival, perhaps that armor is a good idea.”

Merin put a coin on the table.

“No. No. This is the nicest outfit I have!” Merin laughed, “I’ll have one of your seemingly irresistible cinnamon buns, please.” Merin leaned on the counter of the stall and watched the innkeep fuss about with her oven, getting the buns ready.”By the way, do you know if I could get any clothes in my size? Something appropriate for a festival?”
“I’m not sure. A number of caravans rolled into town, you could try one of them.” A short time later, she put a pair of cinnamon buns in front of Merin. “One on the house!”
“I truly appreciate it. The advice and the food.” Merin said, before giving a slight bow and walking in the direction the shopkeeper had indicated.

Scanning the stands, he didn’t immediately spot any dwarven festival clothes. That made sense, it probably wasn’t an item in high demand. He hadn’t seen many other dwarves around.
Merin stopped and turned as a young woman was pushed out into the road next to him with an angry cry of ‘Uncle!’ and then, apparently, locked out of her caravan.
“Magic.” Merin said. It was a much more commonplace thing outside of the mountains, even his friend Lilia knew a little, and Lord Artur was quite skilled in it, but it still surprised him to see it so commonly used by even merchants.

The woman was tall, even for a human woman, with dark skin and tattoos working their way down her arms and to her hands. She seemed more annoyed than distressed, and then when the man in the store bade her have fun at the festival Merin smiled deciding it was just a little family spat, nothing dangerous.

“Excuse me, miss.” Merin said as she began to leave in a bit of a huff, putting a fist to his chest and giving a slight bow. “I was wondering, since you seem to be one of the merchants here, if you could tell me where to find festival clothes that might fit me. I haven’t seen any, I'm a bit shorter and wider at the shoulder than most humans, and my armor doesn’t seem terribly appropriate for human festivals.” He looked up and grinned at her underneath his blond beard. “Hopefully giving me a few directions won't interfere with your uncles orders to ‘have fun'."

Interacting: The Smiling Monkey The Smiling Monkey
Mentions: Hexblood Bandit Hexblood Bandit (sorta) Orikanyo Orikanyo FireMaiden FireMaiden
 

Gaius de Leon
Location
: Halamead
Interaction:
The Smiling Monkey The Smiling Monkey (Zeinab) Fred Colon Fred Colon (Merin)
Mentioned: N/A
His interest in this...festival was quickly draining. Not that the dancing, music, and food had much of his attention in the first place. His companion's mutt was off entertaining some children, chasing after a stick they would throw. "Oh come on, you're a wolf," He sighed, shifting a bit on the bench. He never liked the festivals in Raycaster either, so this wasn't too out of the ordinary for him. Of course, nobody here knew that, so he probably just looked like a stick in the mud sitting on the bench the way he was. But, nearby, a voice stirred a spark of recognition from him. Sitting up straighter, he looked around. Eyes narrowed as he looked for the source, a very slight smile graced his lips as he spotted the familiar caravan.

Gaius didn't remember how they met. Nor when, or how exactly the night had unfolded, but Zeinab was a woman he knew. In the sea of peasants, there was at least one person who understood. Looking around once more, he whistled, beckoning the wolf back to guard his and Ophelia's belongings as he stood. Running a hand through his hair to smooth it, Gaius began his approach to the dark skinned woman. It had been a while since he had last seen her and, in all honesty, he didn't remember how their last encounter ended. Hopefully it was pleasant? In any case, Gaius prepared himself as he got closer, watching as she huffed for being locked.out of her caravan when a small, stout man approached her.

Out of all the non-humans, dwarves were the ones that Gaius actually respected the most. Or at least, the most he was able to. A study people who supplied all of Astoria with their most valuable metals, Gaius still found he wasn't find of the fact this one had the audacity to talk to Zeinab like that. A dwarf so callously approaching a human...Gaius quickened his pace. "Lady Almasi, this is a surprise," He spoke, his voice covered in honey as he gave her a polite bow. "This is the last place one would expect to see a woman like you. Having any trouble?"
 
Magnus, the green?

A bump, and a pat on his back, a not so very odd occurance really, alot of folks are distracted while they walk around, but more often than not they give folks their space. Much more than they used to in his tribe. You were practically walking over one another at times back there. bumps, sliding, occasional pinches on the rump on accident or on purpose were common.

But here? not very often do you have folks blunder into one another, and typically it's done without grace.

His gaze turned around to see the perso0n who smacked right into him, a girl with chestnut brown hair and a bright smile. She was there, then gone the next. he quick get away lit sparks in his mind, so he could only follow instincts and follow the girl in turn. "hey hey! yea can't just leave a fellah hangin haha!" Dancing, now thats what he knew how to do, it worked to help with quick footwork, strong legs and quick feet were crucial in a deadly hunt. it kept your strikes far in reach, and out of enemy hands.

But above all.

IT WAS FUN AS HELL!

With a twirl the tails upon his belt spun with him, the dirt kicked up the heart began to race. "Come on! See your moves!"

A backflip! Ending with a landing upon but one hand! he pushed his inverted body up and down with ease before bouncing right back up.

"Quick feet love! show me!' he clasped his hands for emphasis, smile showing his pearly tusks and tooth.

FireMaiden FireMaiden
 
Vrogak explored what was to be had in the Halamead's streets vendors with Roach, and few items piqued his interests. Beautiful golden jewelry crafted by one of the apprentices from Roalon, delicious bite-sized cuts of beef speared on a stick (which he bought a couple to stop Roach from drooling), and, of course, all kinds of alcohol and spirits brewed in Halamead. After spending a fair amount time seeing the festivities, Vrogak retired to a nearby bench to ease the aches from his old wounds. Typically, he wouldn't be above intimidating others to leave, but at a festival, it was more trouble than it was worth.

The odd elf seemed absorbed with writing in his book, which suited Vrogak fine as he wanted to simply enjoy his Hale-root cigar. He remembered this brand clearly, though it had been some time since he last smoked it, about thirteen years in fact. This was his former captain and friend's favorite brand of cigar, which ironically for an orc was a half-elf. Bluish-white smoke with a foul aroma similar to manure and old leather escaped from the corners of his mouth. Smoking wasn't exactly an easy hobby nor a necessarily enjoyable one for that matter, his lips, or rather lack of them, ensured that the smoke was difficult to trap properly. Vrogak was more or less, noisily inhaling the smoke, and coughing it right back out. After a few puffs more, he lowers the cigar, and stares up lazily at the sky, reminiscing about the glorious past. Is that strange bird creature up there? Cigar must be stronger than I thought.

Dismissing the creature from his thoughts, Vrogak turned his attention back to the elf, which vaguely resembled his former captain, in build if nothing else. "Are you some kind of halfie? Never seen any of you elves with black hair before." His voice was deep and calm, his sitting posture lax from rest, but his eyes still held that cold intelligence of a seasoned warrior, discerning the threat of the elf sitting beside him.


kasigi kasigi
 
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Aielwin Caiharice


After realizing the inn he was in served beer, Ale drank his fair share of the brew. Understanding his limits stopped at his fourth, leaving with a great beaming smile on his face. He didn't know if it was the elf half or the human half that aided in his ability to be as sober as he was. He did for a moment consider if he was actually a dwarf but rubbing his chin and feeling no beard made quick work of that thought. Still the people of the town reveled, as he tried not to be like many others. Slumped on walls, either passed out from the drink or drinking still working their ways to being passed out.

Humans were always funny in their drinking, but who was he to say anything he was technically human. Walking about Ale wondered if he sent the letter to his grandparents yet and if the last one he sent made it too. As much as he wanted he could never stay anywhere long enough to get a letter back. It was one of those things that reminded him of his mother. He shook the thought the out and looked around from something to do.

His eyes gazed around until he saw an orc dancing. The thought in it of itself was baffling but their it was happening before his eyes. The orc was fairly handsome for what he thought. Looking over to who he was dancing at as well call his attention. An elf, no a half-human like him. Ale was surprised by this, even in all his travels he barely had seen any others like him and if he did they tried their best to hid it. Walking over, Ale tried to interject himself to whatever was going on. "Excuse me, sir orc... May I..." Ale cut off seeing the orc's bright smile and turned away. "Well okay then..." He muttered to himself.

"Umm... Sorry, but may I ask you something." Tapping the girl on the shoulder and removing his hat. "Are you a half-human...? Or half-elf? Which ever you prefer?" Ale was solemn in tone, mainly to control the drink he recently finished.

FireMaiden FireMaiden (Ophelia) Orikanyo Orikanyo (Magnus)
 
Zeinab Almasi

Zeinab squared her shoulders and prepared to push through the crowd towards the town square when a rather gruff, yet warm, voice called out to her amongst the din. She turned to the sight of a dwarf, or a member of the little-folk, though dwarves disliked the term as they felt it belittling. He was broad and sturdy, like most dwarfs, with a massive beard that hid half of his rather squashed face and a ruddy complexion whose features sported a cheerful expression with a sort of relaxation that could only be derived from alcohol. Heavily clad in armor, he looked more prepared for battle than a festival, though Zeinab knew that it was dwarf-custom to wear such things to celebrations. Zeinab bowed in reply, her expression pleasant and friendly, though her demeanour betrayed an unnoticeable air of reluctance and slight distaste towards the dwarf. “I am Zeinab, daughter of the house of Almasi. How may I be of service?”

The dwarf bowed slightly and cheerfully voiced his question.“I was wondering, since you seem to be one of the merchants here, if you could tell me where to find festival clothes that might fit me. I haven’t seen any, I'm a bit shorter and wider at the shoulder than most humans, and my armor doesn’t seem terribly appropriate for human festivals. Hopefully giving me a few directions won't interfere with your uncles orders to ‘have fun'." Zeinab’s easy smile tightened at the reminder of her unbecoming incident, choosing to ignore the annoyance threatening to resurface once more. “Of course. My shop is open to you. If you would like, you may choose what you like from the fabrics that we sell and take it to the tailor down the street. They provide excellent service and cater towards-” Zeinab hesitated, biting down the urge to say ‘little-folk’ and risk offending the dwarf, “-all races alike.”

She was about to walk the dwarf towards her stall when she heard another, more familiar voice call out her name, or more specifically, her title. She stood there for a moment, back turned to the voice, searching through buried memories to identify it.

"This is the last place one would expect to see a woman like you. Having any trouble?"

Gaius de Leon! She turned quickly, acknowledging the higher ranking noble with the proper etiquette. “Lord Leon. I’m surprised to see you as well,” her voice was sweet and friendly, though it lacked any actual sentiment. “I face no trouble; I am simply helping this good sir find attire for the festival.” She gestured towards the dwarf that she had been talking to. “But, if I may ask, what brings your lordship to a place like this? Festivals here are certainly no comfortable place in comparison to those in Raycaster.”
مال
و
قوة

coded by reveriee.
 



While he could easily drown out the sound of the crowd, his writing stupor faded away as the stability of the bench was disturbed. The way the bench responded to the weight tipped Elret off to the individual's heft, though he hadn't turned to acknowledge who he had the pleasure of meeting. His thumb met his tongue briefly before it was sent to turn the page, continuing to write on the . He had rather peculiar handwriting - at a glance it may looked like skilled calligraphy, before the onlooker realizes that they can't make out a damn thing that's written down. Only Elret could make out what he wrote, most of the time. So far, such an "issue" had worked out in his favor, as people have to strain to read his print. Most usually give up.

Elret noticed as the pleasant cinnamon aroma that tickled his nostrils slowly began to turn sour, accompanied by huffing reminiscent of a pig inhaling scraps of food. This sour turned into shit. Elret's eyes widened a bit, his nose scrunching up briefly. It was intense, but it wasn't something that he could handle. There were some pretty crazy Faye out there - this includes scents as well. While some Faye may possess a scent akin to a bouquet of flowers, others may reek of feces left to fester in the boiling sun for months straight. With his many years of experience handling such beings, he has built up a bit of a tolerance. This is when he finally looked over at his company.

He was a little surprised to see an Orc here, especially one clad in armor. Seeing this, indeed, sparked his curiosity - though, he knew better than to barrage someone with questions about their heritage and intentions. Without context, it would look pretty sketchy. After seeing him, Elret was able to sympathize. While he had lips of his own, he imagined trying to smoke without them would prove to be a skill worth honing. This lip-less maw, paired with everything else, granted the orc a rather intimidating demeanor. If put to use, Elret imagined most fights were won before they either started. His attention towards to Orc shifted as Elret looked skyward, feeling something in the air. It wasn't a shitty odor, but rather the presence of a source of magic - a Faye. Elret craned his neck to look skywards, gazing upon the Faye that so carelessly appeared before so many people. Perhaps it was familiar with locals? "Showing yourself without worry? How peculiar." Elret spoke, mostly to himself, wondering how the citizens would react. He desired to meet the Faye, as interactions with them can only prove to be positive.

As his book snapped shut, the Orc beside Elret spoke. "Are you some kind of halfie? Never seen any of you elves with black hair before." Elret returned the question with a broad smile, jesting to the Orc with a relaxed tone. "If I start telling people that, maybe the Elven braggarts would stop being so sore. It would make my life a lot easier." Letting out a brief chortle, Elret clipped his book back onto his belt, shifting into an even more relaxed position. "In my youth, it was as white as the fluffy snow that peppers the landscape each winter. I miss it, sometimes. Even so, I knew the risks that certain magics pose." He paused momentarily, his tone becoming more sentimental. "Luckily, my hair changing wasn't the worst consequence possible." His mind once more turned towards the Faye, prompting Elret to ask question of his own. "I don't suppose you fancy this area often, do you? Are the folk here friendly with the Faye?" Elret brought his arm towards the sky, pointing in the direction of the being in flight. "A Faye? Here? I've never seen such lax behavior in a town like this."



ELRET


Location: A festival!

Mentions: Lord Mitmar Lord Mitmar
Interactions: Hexblood Bandit Hexblood Bandit


code by yousmelldead



While he could easily drown out the sound of the crowd, his writing stupor faded away as the stability of the bench was disturbed. The way the bench responded to the weight tipped Elret off to the individual's heft, though he hadn't turned to acknowledge who he had the pleasure of meeting. His thumb met his tongue briefly before it was sent to turn the page, continuing to write on the . He had rather peculiar handwriting - at a glance it may looked like skilled calligraphy, before the onlooker realizes that they can't make out a damn thing that's written down. Only Elret could make out what he wrote, most of the time. So far, such an "issue" had worked out in his favor, as people have to strain to read his print. Most usually give up.

Elret noticed as the pleasant cinnamon aroma that tickled his nostrils slowly began to turn sour, accompanied by huffing reminiscent of a pig inhaling scraps of food. This sour turned into shit. Elret's eyes widened a bit, his nose scrunching up briefly. It was intense, but it wasn't something that he could handle. There were some pretty crazy Faye out there - this includes scents as well. While some Faye may possess a scent akin to a bouquet of flowers, others may reek of feces left to fester in the boiling sun for months straight. With his many years of experience handling such beings, he has built up a bit of a tolerance. This is when he finally looked over at his company.

He was a little surprised to see an Orc here, especially one clad in armor. Seeing this, indeed, sparked his curiosity - though, he knew better than to barrage someone with questions about their heritage and intentions. Without context, it would look pretty sketchy. After seeing him, Elret was able to sympathize. While he had lips of his own, he imagined trying to smoke without them would prove to be a skill worth honing. This lip-less maw, paired with everything else, granted the orc a rather intimidating demeanor. If put to use, Elret imagined most fights were won before they either started. His attention towards to Orc shifted as Elret looked skyward, feeling something in the air. It wasn't a shitty odor, but rather the presence of a source of magic - a Faye. Elret craned his neck to look skywards, gazing upon the Faye that so carelessly appeared before so many people. Perhaps it was familiar with locals? "Showing yourself without worry? How peculiar." Elret spoke, mostly to himself, wondering how the citizens would react. He desired to meet the Faye, as interactions with them can only prove to be positive.

As his book snapped shut, the Orc beside Elret spoke. "Are you some kind of halfie? Never seen any of you elves with black hair before." Elret returned the question with a broad smile, jesting to the Orc with a relaxed tone. "If I start telling people that, maybe the Elven braggarts would stop being so sore. It would make my life a lot easier." Letting out a brief chortle, Elret clipped his book back onto his belt, shifting into an even more relaxed position. "In my youth, it was as white as the fluffy snow that peppers the landscape each winter. I miss it, sometimes. Even so, I knew the risks that certain magics pose." He paused momentarily, his tone becoming more sentimental. "Luckily, my hair changing wasn't the worst consequence possible." His mind once more turned towards the Faye, prompting Elret to ask question of his own. "I don't suppose you fancy this area often, do you? Are the folk here friendly with the Faye?" Elret brought his arm towards the sky, pointing in the direction of the being in flight. "A Faye? Here? I've never seen such lax behavior in a town like this."
 
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At first, he was silently impressed with the elf, not many of their kind could reply with ease to an orc, and even fewer to Vrogak. He scanned the neighbor once more, taking in the pale skin complexion and the green eyes that beheld confidence, not arrogance. Here was an elf with a past, likely as dark as his hair, but one that nonetheless would be interesting. The comment about magic was slightly disappointing, warriors he could respect, but from his experience spellcasters were by and large bothersome to be around. Vrogak glanced away from the elf, his eyebrows creasing from disapproval. He could remember a time when an uppity academy mage singed Roach's fur for offending his senses, or some other trite nonsense. Other times, a spellcaster had burned down the hamlet she was trying to save after a spell went awry. Got paid for bringing her in though, so it wasn't that unfortunate for Vrogak.

Vrogak took a long draw from the foul cigar again as he squinted up at the now apparent Faye he noticed earlier. In between the puffing and huffing he wheezed out, "Fancy? No, I usually keep to the east of Halamead. From what I've gathered the Faye are tolerated down here, if not respected. Don't know much about lax behavior, or admittedly much else about the Faye. Seems to be a bunch of shit-stirrers more than anything, so I keep clear of them when I could." Not that he ever interacted them when he signed on with the company, or even after he became a bounty hunter, however rumors tend to have kernels of truth within them. As different as orcs could be from humans, or elves for that matter, faye supposedly operate on different type of logic, alien to most people except maybe spellcasters. "Festival draws attention from all sorts of people, bugger is probably looking to swoop in and grab some food. Maybe nab a child or two. Those books of yours teach you anything about them?"

kasigi kasigi
 

Gaius de Leon
Location
: Halamead
Interaction:
The Smiling Monkey The Smiling Monkey (Zeinab) Fred Colon Fred Colon (Merin)
Mentioned: N/A
The man raised his hands slightly, a pleasant smile on his face as he dismissed the formalities. "Gaius is fine, please. I hate to trouble you with such titles out here." However, it was by good fortune she called him that. His family was well known throughout the kingdoms, and this dwarf should he not live under the proverbial rock, would know the name. However, Gaius was raised to treat noblewomen with respect. The memory of a switch across the knuckles enough to remind him to wait until she permitted him to drop her formal title as well. "Lady Almasi, I never cared for the festivals in Raycaster either. It's a little quieter here, however," The man spoke, ignoring her comment about no trouble for now as he gestured to the dancing crowd.

"For the past three years, I've been traveling with a young elven maiden. She insisted we stopped the moment she heard the music. And running into you proves it was a good thing we did," Gaius smiled slightly, glancing at the dwarf again before focusing back on the woman. "I only asked if there was trouble because...well, I must be honest, you're traveling caravan slipped my mind. I was afraid you had gotten trapped here in Halamead under less than ideal circumstances. And if you and the gentleman here," Gaius spoke, gesturing to the dwarf. "Doesn't mind, I would love to accompany you until you are allowed to take over your shop again. Perhaps sell the idea you're enjoying yourself"


Ophelia Barrows
Location
: Halamead
Interaction:
Orikanyo Orikanyo (Magnus) KennethPhoenix18 KennethPhoenix18 (Aielwin)
Mentioned:
N/A
Hearing the orc call after her, Ophelia spun around, her feet effortlessly gliding over the cobblestone as a bright giggle fell from her lips. She watched as he danced through the crowd with much more grace than she had expected. Though, the only orc Ophelia had ever met was a grumpy blacksmith who passed through Antiva a few years back. Wasn't much for dancing that one. "You make a habit of chasing after young women?" She called to him over the music as he twirled, another silver-belled giggle mixing into the words. Ophelia was excited, however! This was during a late of the dance most people were doing what they wanted. And like this orc, many of the men were trying to show off, it was quite funny.

As the orc flipped, Ophelia came to a pause, clapping her hands a few times to show her approval. "Oh wow that was great!" She beamed, noting a few looks from the men and women surrounding them. But this orc he wanted to see her skills in return, a challenge Ophelia was happily going to oblige. Taking note of the music, Ophelia took a half step forward which turned in a series of three twirls. As she got closer to the orc, on the final twirl once her back was to him, she dipped back and smiled up at him. But no sooner than she was in front of him, she straightened up and sent off in a series of three flips back to her original place. On the last one, in what may have seemed like a fumble in her footwork, Ophelia slipped down into a split. The chainmail under her tunic didn't seem to restrain her movements at all, especially as she pulled her legs back together and hoisted herself up into a handstand before flipping back onto her feet. With a smile, she bowed to the orc just as someone tapped on her shoulder.

The question that was asked caused her smile to quickly fade, glancing around to the surrounding people before she focused on the other half-elf. "Here we're just elves. You must be careful asking that and announcing what you are." Ophelia scolded quietly, the music making it so only the other half-elf could hear. "Most people don't take kindly to us, you should know that."
 
Merin couldn't help himself, he sighed deeply through his nose. Merin liked to be polite, but there was polite, and there was formal. He had never liked formal. Dwarves were formal in their own way, but even in their most convoluted ceremonies, there was always a purpose, there was no beating around the bush like in human circles. These M'ladies and M'Lords were a little tiring. And their voices! So pleasant, but so... empty. Even when the man asked Zeinab to address him more informally there was still a stiffness that he couldn't shake, a stiffness he wasn't sure the man could shake.

Merin could take it all in stride, of course, if he hadn't also noticed that the two humans didn't really seem to be looking at him. Not looking at Merin, anyway. They were looking at 'A Dwarf'. Which was fine. Really. They hadn't been rude to him, though there was an edge to the mans voice he wasn't sure of, and the woman, Zeinab hadn't paused more than a beat before immediately agreeing to help. Yet he thought it would be best if he moved on. He didn't want to make the two uncomfortable. Not during a festival! And he certainly didn't want to be a third wheel.

Merin turned his smile on the newcomer, though it had faded slightly. Gaius De Leon. Artur had mentioned the De Leon's in passing, and he'd seen their crest here and there during his travels. He wondered what one of their scions was doing here? What elf was he traveling with? He hadn't heard Artur say anything particularly nice about the family, but Artur had a general disdain for other nobles, so it probably didn't mean much.

"Hello." Merin said, and realized he hadn't even introduced himself to Zeinab, much less this nobleman! Perhaps he'd been unfair. It might be easier to see him as more than a strange Dwarf if they had his name!

He gave Gaius the same bow that he'd given Zeinab. His fist to his heart, inclining his head and shoulders a few degrees. "How fortunate it is that two old friends can find each other at a festival like this! If you want to catch up with one another, I'll rejoin the throng of party goers." Merin said, waving a gauntleted hand in the air at the dance floor where the elf and orc seem to have found one another again. His eyebrows rose, and his smile widened as he watched the orc with fox tails do a flip and stand on one hand.

"You've already told me where to find the tailor and the materials, Zeinab. I can make do on my own." Though if he had to go to the tailor, it was unlikely that the clothes would be finished before the party ended, even if the tailor wasn't out celebrating with everyone else. But he'd manage somehow.

"My name is Merin, by the by. Merin Twostone. I don't know why you'd have reason to call on me, but if you ever do there's the name to call with. It was a pleasure meeting you, Zeinab, Gaius. If you want to share a drink, I won't mind buying one for either of you a little later. But for now, I need to find something to wear that won't break someone's foot if I take a wrong step while dancing." He laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling and the edges of his moustache twitching upwards in a grin. "And if you've ever seen my poor dancing you'd know that me stepping on a foot is a tragically common occurrence."

Interaction: FireMaiden FireMaiden The Smiling Monkey The Smiling Monkey

Mentions (Albeit briefly): Orikanyo Orikanyo
 

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Chapter One: Halamead
17th of Calder, 1032
The festivities had not yet reached their peak, but as the smell of meats and stew, fresh ale and wine started breaching through the smell of baked goods and summer, the locals all knew what was coming. This festival had no name, but it was to celebrate a hearty harvest. A feast had been being prepared for the day, showcasing the various talents of the bakers and cooks. The skills of their hunters. The proficiency of their brewers. The music picked up once more as carts moved from the town square, making room for a large coordinated number. The movements were easy to pick up, and all those present were invited to join in a celebration. Halamead was such a lively place, friendly and open, it would be hard to resist the call of the crowd. Even the most grumpy of the town's members would rise from their seats, ancient bones popping and creaking as they joined the crowd to show the youngins how it was done.

The music would drown out the distant sounds of horse hooves thundering against the grass. Emerald and gold banners holding the Liomura royal seal crested the nearby hill, breaking the tree line. An older man upon an intimidating white steed raised his hand, fingers extended upward as he told the platoon behind him to hold. Narrowed eyes peered through a few strands of salt and pepper hair. "This is Halamead, correct?" He spoke, turning his head just enough to watch a young man fumble with a map to quickly check.

"Yessir," The young man answered, having double, and the triple checked the parchment clutched in his hands. With a grunt of affirmation, the man upon the horse closed his hand and signaled for his men to continue forward. The closer they got to the town, the more they could hear. The more they could smell. Glancing around, the man waved his hand again, sending half of his men to the left and the other half to the right, while he and his squire remainder on a straight course. As horse hooves met cobblestone, the music once more picked up as the song nearly reached its end. It was still too loud to notice the sounds of horses and the clinking of armor until the music cut off with a satisfying burst. Cheers and applause then filled the air as the older man watched on, patiently waiting for his presence to be noticed.

One by one as the applause died out, the townsfolk and those visiting slowly began to notice his presence and fell silent. Only when nothing but the sound of rustling leaves filled the streets did the man spoke. "Greetings citizens of Halamead. I do not wish to disturb your festival any further than I must, but I am here on behalf of his Majesty King Sebastian. Where is your mayor?" His voice was calm but loud. Pronounced, as if he had done this a million times before. And in a way, you would be correct in that assumption. His eyes narrowed once again as the crowd seemed to hesitate. "Your mayor, please. This does not have to be difficult."

"One moment please good sir!" A voice from the back of the crowd called out. The people parted slightly as a shorter, portly man with gray hair hurried forward, hobbling along with his cane the best he could manage. Upon seeing the state of him, the man on a white steed was calmed slightly and waited as the mayor finally reached his horse. "Mayor Gerald Oswald at your service General, to what do we owe the pleasure?" He asked, a polite yet worried smile curling his lips upward. Wordlessly, the General produced a scroll sealed with red wax. The mayor reached up and took it, taking a step or two back as he broke the seal and read. Her expression quickly dropped, brows furrowing. "N-no, this can't be right..." He spoke, voice wavering. "There-there has to be some mistake."

"You challenge orders from his majesty?" The general asked, anger briefly breathing his calm tone. With a huff, he reached down and snatched the scroll back, focusing on the crowd ahead of him. "By order of King Sebastian, I am here to take into custody a rebel mage. He will be taken to Teberis and tried. His fate will be in the hands of the king himself." A collective gasp left the audience, eyes glued to the General, praying this was a mistake. That he was in the wrong town. "Where is Malaki Shire?" Another collective gasp left the locals, a woman's single sob following right after. "Hand him over, and your festival can continue." You would expect the crowd to part and single him out, handing over the rebel mage to save their town...but nobody moved.

It seemed like forever they were frozen, eyes glued on the General as they watched his patience quickly deplete. The mayor had slowly hobbled back into the crowd, an attempt to hide the stray tears threatening to fall down his cheek as the General finally spoke. "You all choose to protect a fugitive over your town?" He asked, and yet again was met with silence. "Citizens of Halamead, you have made the wrong decision." He threatened, raising his hand to his lips, a loud whistle filled the air. "Burn their homes to the ground! And don't stop until Malaki Shire makes himself known!" No sooner then he gave the order, torches arched over the roofs, landing on the straw and wood that held them together. They caught fire within seconds, screams leaving the members of the crowd as more torches arched over the homes and businesses. "Lieutenant! You're in charge of the search." The general commanded once again as his soldiers started to fill the streets, their attention turned to the townsfolks. The general and his squire both turned away from the panic and flames, leaving the town behind.

"Get to the town hall! Hurry!" The mayor called out, a few seconds of frozen terror passing before the townsfolks turned to flee in panic. Only those brave or stupid enough, the old retired warriors and hunters arming themselves with anything they could find stayed behind to buy those who couldn't fight precious seconds. But they wouldn't hold their own against trained soldiers for long...they just needed long enough.
 
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As Merin prepared to step away, he was interrupted by the voice of a newcomer in emerald and gold, surrounded by soldiers, his bearing grim. Merin took this, at first, to be some sort of representative of the human king arriving. Perhaps a guest of honor at this festival? But the expressions of the people around him quickly told him otherwise.

The way this old soldier demanded the mayor, claiming things 'didn't have to be difficult' put Merin's teeth on edge. As the mayor read the missive he was given, his face falling, Merin worried that the festival might be disrupted. But it was, as it turned out, much, much worse than that.

"Burn their homes down! And don't stop until Malaki Shire makes himself known!" The leader of the soldiers trumpeted. His minions fanned out on every side, and it turned out that another group of them had positioned themselves on the other side of town. The people were surrounded!

Merin wouldn't usually step in the way of human 'justice'. He didn't know the laws or the customs. He didn't know the circumstances surrounding who had done what. But this was clearly wrong! They hadn't even given the townsfolk a chance to explain themselves. Merin didn't know who this Malaki Shire was, but he couldn't rely on the conscience of a supposed criminal to save the town.

"Go." Merin said to his companions, noticing that neither one of them were armed." I don't know what's going on but the mayor seems to think the town hall will be safe. It's safest if I distract them. You two go. Seems like not having festival clothes was lucky, today."

He didn't wait for their response. He charged through the crowd, scanning for Werla or her friends, but he didn't spot any of them. Fine. He would just make sure everyone had enough time to make it out. He sent up a quick prayer to Cignir that he would survive the attempt.


Merin spotted a few men who were casually lighting torches, surrounding a house whose occupants were currently fleeing up the street. The men had let them go, laughing.

Merin took up running, gaining a fair bit of speed and momentum. He hit the first one hard and low. Not with his axe, but with his shoulder. He felt bones snap, but it shouldn’t have been a lethal blow. The man he struck dropped the torch he was carrying and was knocked five feet backwards. Merin’s booted foot crushed the head of the torch, snuffing it out while the man groaned on the floor ahead of him.

Merin smashed his axe on his shield once, twice, thrice. The good dwarven metalwork rang clear, like a church bell, reverberating up and down the street. He had to get their attention, but the sound of metal smashing against metal wasn't enough. He had to do something more. So he sucked in a deep breath, filling his expansive dwarven lungs,

and began to sing.

"Walking with the burning sun, As the morning calls my name, I feel it invite me, To accept a share of pain."

It was an old ritual, really more of a trick, that Merin's clan used on the battlefield. Dwarven voices were loud, but on a battlefield shouts and screams just blended in to all the other shouts and screams. To be noticed, by allies and enemies both, The Hands of The Earth sang while they fought. They were the wall, they were the Dwarven shock force. They wanted the enemy to focus on them, and for their allies to know where they were at all times. It was a scare tactic, as well. It was terrifying to watch a steel plated dwarf unflinchingly sing as he or she cut down your companions. The song rose above the screams and cries, simply because it was so different. People couldn't help but notice. But instead of a grim Dwarven War Chant, Merin chose a song he'd heard during his travels. A human or an elvish tune, no one could agree on who had sung it first. But either way, it was one of his favorites.

"And to work to shape my destiny, That my future days be happy, The summer and the daylight, Bring me struggle, love and grief." Merin roared, his deep dwarven basso changing a song meant to be high and light into a battle chant.

The soldiers in front of him had drawn their weapons. Merin launched himself forwards at another one. To their credit, these soldiers knew how to fight, and knew how to fight together. They didn’t fight separately, they fought as a team. Unfortunately for them, they obviously didn’t have experience with dwarves, or dwarven made armor.

The first sword broke on Merin’s shield. Shoddy. They needed to take better care of their weapons.

The second blade, angled for a gap in Merin’s armor, he knocked aside with his shield. The third man managed to strike Merin’s helmeted head, but wasn’t that what a helmet was for? Merin’s armor turned the blade, though the man was strong, and the force of the blow hurt, the armor not stopping the sheer brutish force of it, even if it did stop it from piercing him. He’d have a nice lump on his head tomorrow.

"Lasting through the waning sun, As it calls again my name, I feel it invite me, To stay strong despite the pain."

Merin’s axe lashed out, sinking into the offending soldiers arm. The man screamed as Gudrid bit half way through his arm, forcing him to drop his blade, as Merin whirled around to smash the back of his axe into the face of one of the other soldiers that was trying to take another shot at him.

Gudrid’s solid head crushed the man’s nose and upper cheek, blood spattering onto the axes beautifully worked haft, blood that matched the blood on it’s bladed head. The soldier dropped like a log. Merin hoped he hadn’t killed him, but he didn’t have time to be nice. If he held back it would probably be him who died. These soldiers weren’t the kind he could fight with kids gloves on, he didn’t think.

"And to persevere along the road, Though turning back would tempt me, The autumn and the evening, Make me hidden in my grieving." More soldiers had notice him, now. Good. He just had to deal with the last of these before they got here.

The third soldier was wary of him now. Wary and scared. Merin used that. He didn’t give him time to work up courage, to set his head straight. Merin charged him, smashing his shield into him and ramming the soldier into the wall of the building they were about to set on fire. When the soldier was pinned, Merin hit the man with the haft of his axe once, twice, thrice until he was, hopefully, unconscious.

The Soldier whose arm Merin had cleaved halfway through retreated without his sword.

"Through the year, the seasons, Calling me, changing me. Do not fear, persevere." Merin continued to bellow, lifting his axe and shield to face the other soldiers. There were a lot of them. He didn't like his chances of surviving the hour. But like the song said, he wouldn't turn his back. He would persevere. This was wrong and he couldn't stand by. Not if he wanted to call himself a Candle Knight. Not if he wanted to be a warrior of Cignir.
 



Elret could sympathize with the Orc's hesitancy when it came to the Faye. After all, he wasn't entirely wrong - some Faye were mischievous, or generally could end up being a nuisance. Nevertheless, Elret had grown appreciate all kinds of Faye, no matter their origins or intentions. Since Faye weren't necessarily bound by any kind of principles or morality, a lot of the time they could be unpredictable - that's what made them so interesting.

Luckily, his nose had gotten used to the foul cigar, especially now that his mind wandered onto more pressing matters. "Festival draws attention from all sorts of people, bugger is probably looking to swoop in and grab some food. Maybe nab a child or two. Those books of yours teach you anything about them?" After the Orc spoke, Elret patted the cover of his book, providing affirmation with a nod. "I doubt that the Faye will be taking any children, though depending on the Faye.. you might end up being right about the food. Luckily, I don't think that one has any malicious intentions." Elret was honestly surprised that the Faye here were comfortable with the humans. Maybe he was uninformed or generally just biased, but Elret didn't expect there to be any towns like this in human territory. Perhaps since it was so far on the outskirts, they were much more in tune with the natural Faye? "If what you say is true about the townsfolk, I believe that the Faye is simply paying a visit. The behavior of the Faye, in most cases, will correlate with the reputation of the area. If the Faye are respected, the Faye will show respect in return." After spending so much time with the Faye, Elret knew what to expect a majority of the time.

As the bench they rested upon was situated in the square, they were provided front row seats to the incoming carnage. Elret fell into silence as the man upon the steed began to spoke, replacing the boisterous music that had filled the streets only moments earlier. Most of the time, such military figures making their presence known at towns like this could only have two possible outcomes. A majority of the time, said outcomes were negative. The tension began to grow so overwhelming, you could practically reach out and grab hold of it. When the mayor's demeanor turned to one of worry, Elret knew that the festival was going to come to an abrupt ending. The man's booming voice became much more threatening when he began accusing the townsfolk of housing a fugitive. "Citizens of Halamead, you have made the wrong decision."

Within mere moments, soldiers began to fill the streets with torches, tossing them onto housing. Simultaneously, the general that had commanded such an order had already left the area upon his steed - leaving the foot soldiers to do his dirty-work for him. The mere idea that they were so ready to ruin the lives of simple townsfolk. Surely, it was just an excuse to cause destruction. Elret was quick to shift his weight, standing from the bench and considering his options. "I'm no hero. Even so, I don't think I can just walk away from an injustice on this scale." Elret was disappointed. Why isn't there a single kingdom that treats their people with respect? The cycle never ends. If Elret had a blade, he would have drawn it from his scabbard right about now. He head turned to the Orc, meeting his eyes. "I'm sure you're not one to mind getting your hands a little dirty, are you?"



ELRET


Location: A festival!

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Interactions: Hexblood Bandit Hexblood Bandit


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Elret could sympathize with the Orc's hesitancy when it came to the Faye. After all, he wasn't entirely wrong - some Faye were mischievous, or generally could end up being a nuisance. Nevertheless, Elret had grown appreciate all kinds of Faye, no matter their origins or intentions. Since Faye weren't necessarily bound by any kind of principles or morality, a lot of the time they could be unpredictable - that's what made them so interesting.

Luckily, his nose had gotten used to the foul cigar, especially now that his mind wandered onto more pressing matters. "Festival draws attention from all sorts of people, bugger is probably looking to swoop in and grab some food. Maybe nab a child or two. Those books of yours teach you anything about them?" After the Orc spoke, Elret patted the cover of his book, providing affirmation with a nod. "I doubt that the Faye will be taking any children, though depending on the Faye.. you might end up being right about the food. Luckily, I don't think that one has any malicious intentions." Elret was honestly surprised that the Faye here were comfortable with the humans. Maybe he was uninformed or generally just biased, but Elret didn't expect there to be any towns like this in human territory. Perhaps since it was so far on the outskirts, they were much more in tune with the natural Faye? "If what you say is true about the townsfolk, I believe that the Faye is simply paying a visit. The behavior of the Faye, in most cases, will correlate with the reputation of the area. If the Faye are respected, the Faye will show respect in return." After spending so much time with the Faye, Elret knew what to expect a majority of the time.

As the bench they rested upon was situated in the square, they were provided front row seats to the incoming carnage. Elret fell into silence as the man upon the steed began to spoke, replacing the boisterous music that had filled the streets only moments earlier. Most of the time, such military figures making their presence known at towns like this could only have two possible outcomes. A majority of the time, said outcomes were negative. The tension began to grow so overwhelming, you could practically reach out and grab hold of it. When the mayor's demeanor turned to one of worry, Elret knew that the festival was going to come to an abrupt ending. The man's booming voice became much more threatening when he began accusing the townsfolk of housing a fugitive. "Citizens of Halamead, you have made the wrong decision."

Within mere moments, soldiers began to fill the streets with torches, tossing them onto housing. Simultaneously, the general that had commanded such an order had already left the area upon his steed - leaving the foot soldiers to do his dirty-work for him. The mere idea that they were so ready to ruin the lives of simple townsfolk. Surely, it was just an excuse to cause destruction. Elret was quick to shift his weight, standing from the bench and considering his options. "I'm no hero. Even so, I don't think I can just walk away from an injustice on this scale." Elret was disappointed. Why isn't there a single kingdom that treats their people with respect? The cycle never ends. If Elret had a blade, he would have drawn it from his scabbard right about now. He head turned to the Orc, meeting his eyes. "I'm sure you're not one to mind getting your hands a little dirty, are you?"
 
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Magnus

The joyous roar of the crowd, the serving of drinks and food, spinning, twirling and laughing. A true festival! It was like one back home, but with definitly more than what his tribe could bring out! The smells of this new world was the best part. the food, the liquor, even the ladies smelled good enough to eat!

And this one? myshe was a flexible one alright, chase after every gal he meets though? Well he'd deny it... If... He hadn't at least tried getting into bed with quite a few...

Though, he also watched as a fellow seemed to disturb the gal abit, he was just about to try and pull some more moves when they started whispering... Hmmph.. Whats so important to hide in all this? bah, not his business, it was time to...

...To...

A shiver up his spine.

Before the soldiers even made their presence noted his hackles were raised, teeth grit and eyes watching the world. Instinct, the body knows more than what the mind can see, a finely tuned instinct can tell a trap long before it trips or bites flesh. And at this moment.. he could feel one being laid all around him... The priestess, she oft said the heightened instinct was a gift from the goddess, to know a battle before it even began, is to be ready for it.

He wished to be kind to these folks, so he had left his braces of hachets back in his room, it was far off, but he was a warrior and, more so than the former, an Orc.

A armored cadre of humans came from the shadows... Even when in armored regiments and fighting together, they never stop their lurking in the shadows, they were dangerous warriors to be certain. For every blade in the light there were three in the shadows.

Its why when the man in charge of the group didn't bother to wait but a few breaths... They had no intention of truely waiting, fire was on the homes within a heartbeat, truely the human leigons make Odena seem merciful. But what they gained in subterfuge... They lose in ferocity...

He didn't wait, he rushed forwards and leapt, a mid air kick to a soldier straight into a empty barrel, flipping him inside he stole the blade from his hand and grasped from the nearby meats stall a brilliantly sharpened cleaver, which didn't stay long in his hand as he tossed it, not at the other soldier coming to face him, but straight into the back calf of the soldier facing from him. The man yelled out in pain, Magnus smiled, a hamstringing was all thats needed to take a man out, and another to drag him from the fray as well.

His victory was swept from his mind as a sword wielding soldier approached on him, he would oblige. "Come on then, if you aim to kill, don't do it half assed! Full assed all the way!" he rushed the arms bareing man, beginning a clash of steel on steel.
 
”Heh, what’s a little more dirt to an old warrior like me. Sebastian’s pissin' all over common folk and bounty hunters for some time now, and there ain’t nothing proper ‘bout that. I’d say we crush these shameless wretches into the dirt,” Vrogak said with a glint of madness in his eyes. “They’re undoubtedly an organized unit, but even the best of soldiers have problems maintaining order amidst smoke and fire. Me and Roach here will see about shaking up the command to buy people a chance to flee towards town hall.” Vrogak briefly pauses conversation in order to set his helmet on straight and check the condition of his current equipment.

Buckler secured. Battleaxe sharp. Billhook left at the damn inn. Dagger best be given to the delicate elf, needs a proper weapon should he fight in close combat. Roach is presently unarmored, she could shepherd the city folk away from the action.

Cries of pain, of outrage, and of an odd song returned the orc’s attention to the current task at hand. From where the orc and elf were positioned, he saw a great deal. A heavily armored dwarf managed to attract the attention of a good portion of the soldiers at the square, and without timely aid it would not be long before he would fall. An orc, far younger than himself stood tall, brandishing a blade against an armored cadre of humans. Cityfolk armed with pitchforks and other makeshift weapons, fought using simple desperation and adrenaline.

Vrogak offered his rondel dagger to the elf by laying it on the bench, and upon realizing he never caught his name, offered his, “My name is Vrogak, Vrogak Blackthorn. That spirited dwarf over there has the right of it, but must be downright suicidal to take them on alone. I will see to it that he makes it out, while you should use your magicks to provide cover from afar, or rally together the city’s defenders. Best be getting to it, Komm Roach!

The troop of soldiers pinned in the dwarf from all sides, and they were quick to wizen up to any more potential assailants. Three soldiers—two armed with swords and one with spear, readied themselves into formation as Vrogak whirled towards them. The spearman lunged forward with a stab, telegraphed by a tad amount.

He saw the tip of the spear glance off of a pauldron, and immediately corrected himself. The swordsmen moved forward to flank the sides of the orc.

A steel buckler smashed into the spearman's face, nose crushed despite the protective guard. He crumpled to the ground from the powerful blow. The other soldiers paused for a moment. Enough for the huge pitbull to take advantage of their hesitation and barrel one of them over.

“To Odena be the glory!”

Vrogak raised the battleaxe dangerously high. Discipline allowed the still-standing soldier to recover, and he quickly sliced into the orc’s side.

The bounty hunter swung the battleaxe, biting deep into the collarbone of the soldier. Merciless, he brought it down again, and again.

“I shall dash them all into pieces!”

The orc stomped the soldier being mauled by Roach. His screams were quickly silenced.

“RENDER EVERYONE TO DUST!”

They looked upon him howling his orcish fury. And then the orc laughed maniacally in spite of the blood running down his side.

kasigi kasigi Fred Colon Fred Colon
 
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