Fantasy The Shifting Tides of Artheas

[Nirrim]

A man sat on the edge of a water fountain, his appearance mostly concealed beneath a hooded, tan cloak. His hand was half-submerged in the clear fountain water. His mind focused on the sound of flowing water, drowning out the noises of the bustling town square. His name - for the time being, was Vanlan. Vanlan lazily withdrew his hand from the liquid, watching the individual droplets as they fell, one by one back into the fountain. A thought occurred to him. How insignificant each drop was to the whole. He turned his eyes to the people as they came and went, each going about their business, men purchasing flowers for their wives, others heading to taverns to avoid them, women carrying fresh produce from the market. All of these lives were no more significant to the world than a single drop was to the fountain. That is what a leader should think and should believe, for he will need to perform a small evil for the sake of the greater good.

He was snapped out of his thoughtful trance at the appearance of a stocky individual, clad in crimson plate armour and carrying a handaxe at his side, a shield strapped to his back. The fierce-looking dwarf stood out far more from the crowded town square than his hooded companion, his face decorated with lines, some old scars, some new scars, others were lines that represented the resting scowl that made few wish to approach this particularly rough looking dwarf. A keen eye, however, might discern that some of the lines were a result of smiling and laughing.

"Everythin's set up, lad. But, I will tell ye' again, I ain't fond of this idea." The Dwarf said as he gestured toward the western gate of the city.

"Noted, Grimmwald. Don't mention it again." The hooded man responded as he wiped his hand into his cloak. He then adjusted his hood to best cover his face and made sure to wrap it tightly around him as to also conceal the gem-encrusted longsword at his side before walking past his stocky companion toward the western gate. There awaited them a small caravan with just three carts and a handful of guards. Grimmwald exchanged words with a man whose arms were so covered in tattoos that they resembled sleeves. Meanwhile, the cloaked man took a seat at the back of one of the wagons, he glanced at the people he would soon be sharing the road with, quickly coming to the conclusion that he should make himself as unapproachable as possible.

Within the hour, the caravan started on its way, Grimmwald falling in beside the wagon his hooded companion had chosen, his dark brown eyes settling on him disdainfully. Noticing this, the cloaked man let out a scoff. "You did not expect me to walk, did you?" He sneered. Grimmwald only rolled his eyes in response.

Sat at the back of the wagon, Vanlan looked out at his home as it gradually shrunk into the horizon. First, the stone walls, followed by the slightly taller watchtowers, soon there was only the marble spire of the city's chapel. As they left Ausona behind, Vanlan willed his lingering doubt to fade as he came to terms with the fact that there was no turning back from there. His doubts would still fester as he travelled through the Aquovian countryside. Seeing the characteristic golden rye fields, prospering farmsteads, meeting strangers on the road with no fear of being assailed. He became increasingly anxious over leaving his home, and how he had failed to properly appreciate the splendour of his homeland.

Noticing his wistful gaze, Grimmwald spoke up. "Beautiful, is it not?" He asked, neither looking nor gesturing at anything specific.

As if being startled from a particularly pleasant dream, Vanlan gave the dwarf an irritated look. "Difficult to think so, for this smell of shit in the air." He faced away from Grimmwald, giving no indication that he was going to continue the conversation.

The dwarf huffed through his nose and walked on ahead, leaving Vanlan to his sulking. Eventually, he found himself in conversation with one of the caravan guards, sharing stories of mostly embellishments with grains of truth.

The caravan travelled until dusk, then broke for camp. The process was efficient, taking no more than an hour for everyone to settle down for the night, by which time half of the caravan was sat around a bonfire, eating and exchanging tales. Vanlan sat with them for a little while as he ate but, after a particularly raunchy tale from one of the seasoned warriors, chose his own company instead. He found the boredom difficult to conquer on the road, paired with the fact that he was unwilling to share space for longer than necessary with the uncouth members of the caravan. He regretted not bringing his flute for the journey.

The schedule remained the same while the caravan travelled within the boundaries of Aquova, but at the foot of the mountain range between Mercovar and Aquova, they had to travel more cautiously. Occasionally scouts were sent ahead to make certain that there was no danger for the rest of the caravan. Orc and Ogre ambushes were quite common in these parts, and indeed throughout the rest of their journey. Progress from then out was slow and tedious. They passed by numerous villages and towns, never stopping for more than just restocking their supplies. In the quaint port town of Eora, Vanlan eventually found a docked merchant carrying a flute of adequate quality for his use. Grimmwald began to work at breaking him out of his reserved shell, and the two would eventually begin to speak at length throughout their journey. Still, Vanlan would spend most of his downtime avoiding the attention of those he travelled with, as well as occasionally playing the flute whenever he was sure none could hear.

Finally arriving at Hillcrest just short of two months from the day they departed, the caravan had avoided major calamities along the way. Now the caravan splintered, but Vanlan and Grimmwald had not yet reached their destination of Westlight. Vanlan was glad for a few days of downtime, time which he spent at the most expensive inn, leaving the task of finding their next caravan to Grimmwald.



Erica

 

[Erica]

The Flask and Talisman was a fine establishment. Or a moderately fine tavern. A perfectly passable place for the locals to unwind at the end of a long day.

Okay. It was a dive.

The owner watered down the ale, their wine selection bordered on vinegar, and the bread made a fine bludgeoning weapon. But it was cheap, the proprietor paid his dues to Greysin by hosting regular games of chance with locals that downed flagons of ale with abandon, it was the place to discreetly meet a contact, and—most importantly—it was the location named on the advertisement.

Damir Worback was taking on new guards. The merchant and caravan master catered to the best clientele in Mercovar (or at least the best paying customers), and thus paid his guards well. True, he was discerning, but he was also open to new blood, for, sadly, his regular hires had a high mortality rate. It was part of the deal, after all, to defend the cargo with your life.

But with great risk came great reward. Cassius firmly believed in that philosophy, as well as the benefit of traveling with a warrior who could heal.

Plus, Damir wasn’t just discerning, he was smart. He’d picked a mid-morning screening to weed out the lazy and inebriated.

Several men and women—mostly human, all of them armed and ornery—had gathered at the Flask today. Most of them were sober.

Still, the turnout was surprisingly light, considering. Cassius wondered how many guards Damir needed.

“Are you going to drink any of that?” Tahlia eyed the glass of wine on the bar between them suspiciously. She’d spent the last few days tending to a local merchant’s child, earning a tidy sum for her work, but not enough to last them forever. After a night's rest followed by several reminders that they needed work, she had foregone the loose clothes donned by healers for her more customary armor and weapons. Worn but well cared for, her armor, coupled with her longsword, longbow, and quiver, marked her one of the more experienced fighters in the room. Cassius had traveled with Tahlia Winters for nearly six years now and was fully aware that his dark elven features, coupled with her short black hair and faint indiscernible accent, marked them both as outsiders. Today would be no exception.

Cassius pushed the glass of wine toward the bar rail. “No. I may follow Greysin, but even I’m not that brave.”

As was typical, Tahlia wore an expression as serious as her blade as she looked over the occupants of the bar. “What do you think of the competition?”

The mercenaries varied greatly, ranging from brutes, to combat mages, to individuals that clearly believed any problem could be solved by stabbing things repeatedly, but they all had one thing in common: they all had the look. That hardened edge that came with years of fighting, whether on the streets or for coin.

While Tahlia's fighting skills weren't to be underestimated, healing was really where she shone. And Cassius considered himself a resourceful ally, using his two curved blades when necessary but not as a first choice. If Damir was only looking for brutes, though, they might have problems.

Cassius thanked Greysin silently for the limited number of competitors and offered a prayer to Jori for the insight to spot their weaknesses.

“I think you should let me do the talking,” he said.

Tahlia, who had just abandoned her bread to the bar with a resounding thunk, shot him a mock glare. “Are you going to use your intuition from what's-his-name?”

“Jori. His name is Jori, and He's saved us more than once.” Cassius stood up from his seat at the bar. “Just because you don't believe--”

Whispers scurried through the room as steps came from the stairs, accompanied by the jangle of coins. A large man stepped into the room wearing the blue and grey of Mercovar’s Merchant Alliance. Unlike the typical rotund businessmen that wore Alliance colors, he was trim and tan with a long face, angled green eyes, and a broad forehead. His brown hair was thinning, exposing the crown of his head, but he kept the rest of his locks long as if in defiance of their inevitable departure.

The newcomer looked over the room, pausing at the tension lingering in the air before he called out in a booming voice, “If you’re here for the job, listen up!” His gaze scanned the people assembled, full of skepticism and distaste. “I need four guards to travel to Westlight, and maybe back if you’re good enough. I’ll be seeing people here.” He paused briefly, noting Cassius and Tahlia were standing at the bar beside the table he was intending to use.

Cassius raised his glass of wine to the man in salute and ignored Tahlia’s eyeroll beside him.

A few minutes later, the group of adventurers had gathered (behind Cassius and Tahlia, of course) for their chance to make their case.

Damir opened a book in front of him and set the pouch of coins beside it before readying a quill and ink. It was a testament to his clout in the town⁠—or perhaps the man’s reflexes?⁠—that he left the coins within reach. The merchant looked over Cassius with his dark skin and thin build, then Tahlia. “You two together?”

Cassius nodded, ignoring the implication. “We’ve been fighting together for years. You’ll never find two more able guards.”

Damir Worback didn’t seem impressed. He glanced at the line of brutes and cutthroats behind Cassius. “And why are you more able than the rest of these … fine men?”

He paused, glad that Tahlia didn’t take the bait about her gender, and looked back at their competition. Then he smiled, turning so he could point to the tallest man with the largest weapon in the room. “Well, he seems a fine, strong man. I’ll grant you that.”

Damir’s eyebrows rose during the pause that followed. “But?”

Cassius shrugged. “His axe. It's still shiny. He probably just bought it. So… either he’s new to axes or… he broke his last one.”

The man stepped forward, growling at the insult. “I’ll show you where I’ll break my axe!”

Tahlia, knowing how this went, had an arrow nocked and ready before he took a step. He saw it on his second step and stopped in his tracks.

Cassius continued, unfazed by the tension unfolding behind him. “Seems he has a temper, too.” He shrugged, turning to face Cassius again. “I’m sure you’ve hired a hundred men to guard your goods. You’ve refined your judgement. You’re wise enough to know that strength alone is not enough to protect your valuables. You need observant guards who can spot trouble before it happens, and a few seconds can be the difference between life and death on the road.”

Behind him, the man stepped back in line and Tahlia released the tension on her bow.

Damir frowned. “Enough theatrics. Your names. I’ll consider you like anyone else.”

Cassius, never one to show his disappointment, nodded. “Cassius Tavel and Tahlia Winters.”

Tahlia put a hand on Cassius’ shoulder, ushering him away. The tall man with the axe smirked.

“Wait,” Damir said. “Winters?”

Tahlia turned, shoulders square as she faced the caravan owner. “Yes, sir. Tahlia Winters.”

“You worked for Josef Carasa?”

A tinge of pink visited Tahlia’s cheeks. Cassius knew how much she hated attention, and all eyes in the room were on her now. “Yes, Sir.”

“As a healer?” Damir continued, wrinkles appearing along his brow as he tried to puzzle out her silence on the matter.

“Yes, Sir.” She shifted uncomfortably, resting a hand on her sword hilt out of habit.

He eyed her sword and bow. “And you can use those?”

Cassius spoke up. “Sir, I’ve yet to see a better archer.”

Tahlia sighed, shaking her head. “I have seen my share of fighting, Sir.”

Damir nodded, looking her over, then looked to Cassius. “And you won’t hire on without him?”

Tahlia looked at Cassius, pausing long enough to make the room listen for the answer. Cassius had only a brief moment of doubt before she eventually said, “No, Sir.”

Damir made two checks in his book beside their names. “Day after tomorrow. South gate, be there after breakfast. We get an early start.”

+ + +​

Outside, Tahlia smirked as they walked the street toward the marketplace. The scent of meat pies wafted toward them, making her stomach growl.

“You could have been a little more forthcoming, you know.” Cassius said, sounding like a spoiled child. “‘Yes, Sir’, will only get you so far.”

Tahlia shrugged, again suppressing a smile. “Seemed to work.”

“Only because he’d heard about you.” Now he was sulking. When Tahlia remained silent, he walked for a few steps beside her, then chimed in again. “Not all of us have such admirable skills.”

Tahlia recognized the plea for help. Cassius talked a good game but his ego could be fragile at times. “Don’t undersell yourself. Your skills are very useful.”

“Thank you,” he said, straightening his shoulders from underneath his cloak.

“It’s just not obvious how you’d fight off an orc raid.”

He started sulking again. Tahlia resigned herself to buying him some higher quality wine tonight.

It was worth it.

+ + +​

The morning after next, Tahlia and Cassius arrived at Hillcrest’s south gate and checked in with the caravan master. Damir gave them a brief nod and motioned for them to wait with the other guards.

The caravan was impressive, three carts and four wagons loaded with goods and food stuffs, most of it hidden from the eye. Enough wealth to attract any raider. Cassius began to wonder if Greysin was testing his faith, for this seemed like bad luck, not good.

“Do you think they’ll stop often?” he asked Tahlia, watching a few people load onto the back of a wagon, apparently paying for personal transportation. They ranged from families to wealthy sods, to clandestine figures hiding their faces behind hoods.

Tahlia shrugged. “I think they’re paying us.”

She was busy scanning the other guards, and he followed suit. Most were human, jaded, but fair enough. A few looked young, untested, and he recognized the man with the axe from the day before.

Apparently Damir hadn’t taken Cassius’ assessment to heart.

There were twelve guards in total, enough to surround the caravan as they traveled. Cassius stood out as one of only two elves in the group, and the only one with darker skin. Tahlia was the only female warrior, but that wasn’t unusual. There was only one dwarf, which was surprising so close to the hills, and his armor was impressive. At least he looked like he knew how to fight.

As if reading his mind, she commented under her breath, “At least we know someone else has seen a battle or two.”

 

[Nirrim]

Finally, after a couple of arduous months on the road - well, perhaps not so arduous for Vanlan, given that he had hardly spent even a day's worth of time on his feet throughout their journey. Regardless, Vanlan was glad to let loose for an evening, and let loose he did. He found himself at an establishment called the Urbane Lounge, which was exclusive to those of a gentler creed. Given Vanlan's rather road-worn appearance, his previously pristine cloak marked by dust, he was hindered at the door by a man that to Vanlan looked like a brute dressed as a debonair.

Holding his hand up to halt Vanlan's approach, the brute shook his head. "Sorry friend, this is a members-only establishment."

Vanlan gave the man a blank stare. The brute was beginning to look more and more like a muscle-bound hog that someone decided to dress in finery for the purpose of a cheap laugh. He also thought of some unpleasant things he could say to the man but decided against it. These thoughts were all carefully concealed beneath a practised smile that seemed far too polite to be friendly. After all, having spent many years of his life making small-talk with minor nobles about their insignificant standing and problems, one learns to conceal contemptuous thoughts as readily as they appear.

"Indeed. I brought an invitation," Vanlan gave him a meaningful look before reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulling out his invitation in the form of a pouch that he then tossed to him.

The brute caught it, the pouch gave away a satisfying jingling noise, handled it a moment, and looked Vanlan over one last time before giving a satisfied nod, clearly content with the weight of the pouch. "My mistake, sir. I didn't recognize you," He opened the door and stepped aside, making a grand gesture of ushering him in.

The air inside was saturated with the pleasant scent of lavender and something else that Vanlan couldn't quite place. Numerous roundtables were spread throughout the common-room of the inn, each a generous distance away from the next, though the few patrons inside seemed to all flock to the same table.

Vanlan's entrance silenced the ongoing laughter and chatter and drew a few looks from nigh everyone. He pulled down his hood and removed his cloak, hanging it from a coathanger near the entrance. Underneath, he was dressed in fairly fine clothes, not the clothes one might expect the son of a duke to wear, but a fair middle-ground between practicality and elegance. He approached a few of the gentlemen gathered around a table, most of them had already resigned that he was well-dressed enough to belong, but obviously no-one recognized him.

"Ah, friends. I am roadworn and in need of some more refined company. I expect none of you take offence to me joining you?" The question had the men looking between themselves, but Vanlan did not stop to hear their answer before pulling up a chair and seating himself with them.

"Servant! A round of drinks for these refined gentlemen," He snapped his fingers twice for the servant to attend them. "Make that two." He smiled, this time it seemed a little more genuine. The gesture proved effective at loosening his company up, and soon enough, through the wonders of alcohol, the men were treating him as an old friend.

One of them spoke up, a short, fat man with hair only on the sides of his head. "Vanlan was it? From where do you hail?" His tone was friendly, but Vanlan could certainly discern there was a purpose to the question.

"Aquova." He replied briefly, finishing his glass of wine. A bit sour for his tastes... Far from the quality of Aquovian wine.

"Ah, that explains the accent. I couldn't quite place it. Tell me, Vanlan, what is your purpose on this side of the world?" He snapped his fingers, made a vague gesture, and a servant came over to their table to refill Vanlan's glass.

Vanlan raised his glass to the man and bowed his head. "My father has investments here, some of which have been underperforming. I am here to represent his interests."

"Your father, what is his name? I've been to Aquova a few times, perhaps I have met him?"

"Lord Keln Siegward of Fyria," Vanlan responded without hesitation, though he was now beginning to grow anxious over how deep this chain of questions would lead.

"Ah, you're Lord Keln's son? I've met him on several occasions... I seem to recall that he had been misfortunate enough to be given only daughters." A pause followed where there was nothing but a tense silence. "But that was years ago, I'm glad for him that his wife managed to finally birth a proper heir and a proper heir you are!" He raised his glass and gave a broad smile, everyone else followed suit.

+++
​

Early the following morning, Vanlan left discreetly. Not trying to go unseen, but he did not wish another encounter with his acquaintances from the night before. He found his cloak hanging neatly from the coathanger he had left it at the day before, yet it had obviously been washed and pressed. It was in pristine condition. Glad for it, he left a generous tip with the innkeeper and made his way out to find Grimmwald.

The two were reunited near the southern gate, Vanlan had his hood low, trying to shield his eyes from the sun's treacherous rays that stung at his fragile and dehydrated mind. His sensitive nose picked up the wafting scent of meat pies that made his stomach turn, threatening to expel last night's supper. His stride was also fairly sluggish, which was quite obvious to Grimmwald, who was used to seeing him carry himself with such elegance.

"Hope you had your fun last night, laddie. It'll be a while more before you get another chance at it." Grimmwald gave a sly smile, clearly enjoying himself at the expense of his companion.

"Ugh... Please Grimmwald, could you speak more quietly?" He rubbed at his temples in a futile attempt at soothing the aching. "Better yet, don't speak at all."

Deciding to the merciful, Grimmwald resorted to refrain from singing his numerous Dwarven chanties until they were on the road.

Grimmwald spotted Damir, the man he had spoken with to arrange passage on the caravan. On this short of a notice, it certainly hadn't been cheap, especially when catering to Vanlan's refusal to walk alongside the caravan, but gold was of no great worry for his patron. Grimmwald waved over to Damir and then approached, Vanlan followed suit but made himself appear as unapproachable as possible.

"There ye are, just about ready to leave, are we?" Grimmwald asked, looking over the multiple wagons and more than three dozen people preparing for the journey. He noticed that many wagons were packed to the brim with valuables, he also saw that based on the value of the goods that were being transported, there were not nearly enough guards. Specifically, there were almost exclusively mercenaries. He had a sinking feeling, but against his better instincts, chose to ignore it.

Damir gave a curt nod. He held a clipboard and was busy noting something down which Grimmwald assumed was related to the cargo.

Just short of an hour later, the last of the goods had been safely stashed and everyone on Damir's list was present. Damir exchanged words with two of his scouts that were to accompany the caravan to make sure they didn't accidentally walk into an ambush. He then tapped the side of the wagon at the front, setting off the chain of wagons and carts.

+++
​

Finally on the road, Vanlan shielded himself from the sun underneath the roofed wagon. It seemed he was not the only one that paid to be transported instead of walking alongside the caravan. He did not enjoy the company.

Meanwhile, Grimmwald went around to speak to some of the hired muscle. There was a man named Phinos who claimed he had been blessed by all of the Ascended so he could come to no harm, and that blessing would extend to the caravan as a whole, as for combat skills, none to speak of. Grimmwald hadn't taken Damir for a spiritual man, but he found the man's certainty quite humorous., even if it did make him wish to punch him in the face to test this blessing. After having gone around to speak to most of them, his concerns from before were only growing stronger, this caravan was hardly prepared should it come to combat.

He approached a pair that seemed to be travelling together, a dark-skinned elf as well as the only female warrior. He was hopeful for the two of them, they seemed a good mix of brawn and brain, unlike the rest of the group.

"Mornin', friends," He said as he fell in beside them, matching their pace. He said nothing for a moment as he studied the two, the elf had a pair of sharp eyes that Grimmwald deemed intelligent enough to make out the same things that he did. The woman at his side was clearly an outsider and there was certainly an enigma about her. He looked at her for a longer time than he had the elf, finding it difficult to read her face, stance, there was nothing.

"Hopeless lot, these," Grimmwald looked over the guards, then back to the pair. "I hope you've been paid well, for you will likely be facing the odds if it comes to it."

"I am Grimmwald, guardian of one of the passengers." He held out his right hand which, while a prosthetic, was made to match the gauntlet on his left hand.

 

[Erica]

"It’s like he purposefully chose the worst of the lot.” Soon after the caravan left Hillcrest, Cassius had begun his traditional appraisal of the other guards. He didn’t speak to them right away (that often ended in an altercation, especially if the other guards’ prejudice against elves surfaced), but he observed them and described them in detail.

Now, a little over two hours later, he was still commenting. “I mean, look at him,” he said, motioning to one of the guards walking ahead of them. The man in question had on a chainmail shirt and rested a warhammer on his shoulder. “He keeps fidgeting with his mail. It’s like he’s never worn it before.”

“Maybe he has a rash,” Tahlia said, mostly to keep Cassius talking. While the elf’s constant dialogue once irritated her to no end, now the mild annoyance of Cassius’ constant chatter was like a well-worn boot: it fit well even if it didn’t always serve its purpose as intended.

Still, this once, Cassius had a point. He often complained about the other guards, but usually that was about their obvious stupidity. (Fighters didn’t often come packaged with wits, and a lifetime of getting their heads bashed in didn’t improve one's intelligence.) This time, she hated to admit it, but he might be right.

“Is the rash making him change the shoulder where he’s carrying the warhammer every mile, too?”

Cassius was right. The scouts in the front of the caravan looked like they knew what they were doing, but most of the fighters looked young, inexperienced, or both. Damir chose some poor guards for the caravan. Except the dwarf, of course. She and Cassius both agreed he looked to be the most seasoned of the lot, by far. He was even making the rounds, assessing the others and perhaps planning strategy should things go south.

“No,” she finally admitted. “But there's not much we can do about the others. Sometimes you need to play out a bad hand.” Tahlia shrugged. Her armor made no sound at the motion: the enchantments dampened the plate’s normal rukus.

“Now you sound like one of Greysin’s followers,” Cassius said with a broad smile. Tahlia could sense he was about to launch into yet another pitch for her to worship Greysin and braced herself for the ensuing argument.

Luckily, the dwarf chose that moment to join them.

Cassius, robbed of his opportunity to argue for Greysin by—of all things—luck, managed not to pout, but only by a slim margin. Tahlia offered the dwarf a brief nod in grateful greeting.

They walked for a moment in silence, the coiled tension of strangers meeting for the first time hanging between them. Tahlia suspected there would be questions. It made her preemptively tired.

Only he didn't ask where they were from, or how long they'd been traveling together, or if the elf knew how to use those blades, or whether she'd been in a battle, nor even whether she favored her blade or her bow. Instead, he offered a summary conclusion: one they'd already reached, but that didn't make it any less refreshing. The corner of her mouth tugged upwards in response, if only briefly.

His name was well received, a perfectly dwarven moniker. That he was not hired by Damir was a little distressing, for it supported Cassius’ theory.

When he offered his “hand”, Tahlia hesitated, just a moment. Cassius stepped up and took it, “shaking” it as if it were not metal. “Cassius Tavel,” he offered, then stepped back to gesture to Tahlia. “And this is Tahlia Winters.”

By that point, Tahlia had recovered from her surprise. She'd never seen anything like the dwarf’s metal arm, but she shook it nonetheless, offering a curt nod of greeting. The small bend of her waist required due to the difference in their heights was corrected almost instantly, her shoulders square as they continued to walk with the caravan.

“Which passenger is your charge?” Cassius asked, his sharp gaze moving to the roofed wagon. As if he didn't know. The cloaked figure had already been a topic of much debate and conjecture, hiding his face behind the cowl of such a pristine cloak as he arrived with an armed dwarf by his side.

Tahlia had argued their simultaneous arrival might be a coincidence. It seemed Cassius’ instincts had been right. Again.
She'd never hear the end of it.

“Don't mind Cassius,” she interjected, “he sometimes forgets that patrons paying for personal protection generally prefer privacy,” oblivious to her alliteration. Even after all these years, she vividly remembered guard duty in Titrya, and how particular the royal family could be. Personal guard duty could be similar, with assholes and eccentric nobles treating their guards like servants or blatantly putting themselves in danger. It could be infuriating.

 

[Nirrim]

Grimmwald gave a short nod and a polite smile at their introductions, seemingly oblivious to their reaction to his unique hand. His gaze followed that of Cassius to the wagon that housed those willing to pay for keeping their feet off the ground. Grimmwald came to the conclusion that Cassius was likely the sort that didn't particularly like those of a higher-birth, perhaps he couldn't really blame him for that stance.

He then looked to Tahlia as she interjected before he could answer. "Aye. I think we could all do with a little privacy now and again, don't ye agree?" He studied both of them closely for a moment. "All of us have somethin' to hide, all a matter of how far we go to disguise it, or how much we care to," He didn't smile, merely continued to study the two of them. His tone didn't give anything away, and while it was most certainly not a direct threat, he did intend for them to consider the meaning of his words.

"Perhaps I will introduce ye at the end of the day, I'm sure ye'd like him," Grimmwald said, changing the subject before he could overstay his welcome. His smile at that betrayed his intentions, they were not going to like him.

Meanwhile, Vanlan was dealing with prying questions from those sharing his wagon. Specifically, a middle-aged woman, dressed in reasonably fine clothes that despite their quality, were obviously not fit for travel. He had caught her gaze a few times throughout their hours on the road, and she had clearly felt no shame in being caught staring. Vanlan resigned to spending the entire trip looking to his left, pretending that the stray rock and occasional boot that came into view were indeed quite interesting.

"What is your name, young man?" The woman asked, flashing a pearly-white smile. Her voice was pleasant in a motherly sort of way and while her face had an occasional line hinting at her age, she was fairly attractive.

In an attempt to avoid furthering the conversation, Vanlan did not look her way. "Vanlan."

"Vanlan." She tried his name and smiled, seemingly satisfied. "Nice to meet you, I am Genevieve. Where are you from?" She continued her line of questions, unbothered or oblivious of her conversation partner's comfort.

"Aquova."

"Ohh! I've heard such wonderful things about Aquova. Beautiful fields and the vibrant flora. Is it true that even the peasants are able to afford their own horse? It seemed far-fetched to me, even my husband could barely afford the two horses he uses to draw his wagon,"

Vanlan looked her way and felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His heart felt lighter at her words, yet heavier. He felt, for the first time since their departure, that he missed his home. Not to say that he hadn't longed for some aspects of his home, the luxury of the mansion, the hot baths, the servants. Those fleeting pleasures seemed so minuscule now when compared to the feeling of home.

"Mhm... You heard right." He raised his chin and allowed himself to smile with pride. "I was quite surprised to see what the poor eat in this part of the world... The sort of thing my servants wouldn't even feed to the dogs," He thought of the many things he had seen Grimmwald eat with pleasure that fit the same category but refrained from mentioning it.

Vanlan took a deep breath through his nose. He would never admit it, but he missed the smell of manure that wafted through the countryside of his home. More so than that, the aromatic smell of the herbs and flowers of the forests. He reached into his pocket to fetch his leather gloves, looking upon them fondly before raising them to his nose and taking a subtle whiff. Aquovian leather was yet another smell he missed.

Yet he found himself doing this in front of a total stranger, one whom he did not even know the name of. He was certain she had already introduced herself, but he hadn't cared to listen.

"I am travelling to Westlight to visit my daughter," She said, changing the subject. Vanlan could immediately tell by her tone and subtle shift in demeanour that she was going to reveal the reason behind her prying. She reached for a pocket watch that she carried around her neck, clicking a small button to open it up. "This is her," She revealed the image of a young woman with blonde hair and fair features, though what Vanlan immediately noticed was that she was rather rotund. Genevieve waited expectantly.

Vanlan considered his words cautiously, opened his mouth to speak, then didn't.

"Ah, Grimmwald!" Vanlan called out after having spotted his dwarven companion mid-conversation with a few of the guards, an elf and a human female.

Grimmwald looked over his shoulder, mouth slightly agape. "Speaking of which..."

Vanlan hurried up to them and regarded the two strangers, acknowledging them with little more than a look. "I have decided to walk with you some of the way."

"Aye lad," Grimmwald looked over to the wagon, certain that he hadn't chosen to accompany him on a whim. Shaking off his suspicions, Grimmwald looked over to his two new acquaintances, a sly smirk revealing itself. "This is-.."

"Vanlan," He cut Grimmwald off. Vanlan had hoped to avoid being introduced at all, but since his companion had taken the initiative, he regarded the two once more. The elf he saw as nothing more than a common mercenary, he seemed no different from any of the other hired muscle, though this one was clearly not hired for his muscles. He did notice that both of them carried themselves with a level of grace that a common warrior wouldn't, though he noticed this more from the female. She was well armed and armoured, yet her movements were silent. It was a difficult thing to attain Vanlan's curiosity, especially when it came to a mere mercenary, but she had certainly earned it for the time being.

"My lady," Vanlan gave a grand, formal bow, having reached the conclusion that the woman must be a noble. He looked to the elf, giving a somewhat respectful nod that had nowhere near the same impact. "I apologize for my ignorance, but is it customary in Mercovar for nobility to employ elven servants as guards?" His brows furrowed, displaying his confusion. Aquova certainly had their share of elves, though not so many as their neighbours to the east, however, usually they were never afforded such a respected position.

Grimmwald's mouth became a flat line as he fought against laughter. He looked up at Tahlia and Cassius with apologetic eyes.

 

[Erica]

Cassius had been grinning, ready to point out—politely, of course—how he had been correct about Grimmwald traveling with the cloaked figure when the dwarf had to ruin his fun.

Grimmwald’s talk of secrets snuffed out any burgeoning camaraderie. Cassius watched as Tahlia’s expression settled back on sulky neutrality, her shoulders stiffening and her step quickening. As long as he’d known her, he still didn’t know her full story, which didn’t bother him (much), but he did genuinely dislike her skittishness when people spoke of secrets or asked about her past. It hurt him to see her evade connection.

Especially when it meant he couldn’t build contacts, either.

As the dwarf attempted to wrap up their conversation with far more grace, Cassius shifted his path enough to get closer to the dwarf, preparing to ask about their origin or his hand, something to build a rapport. Should things go south on the trip, he preferred being on good terms with the dwarf.

But he never got the chance to ask. Instead, a young man called Grimmwald’s name, much to the surprise of the dwarf in question, and jogged up to join their part of the procession. Cassius’ lips quirked into a small smile, not minding one bit when the noble ignored him. It provided an opportunity to study the newcomer. Cassius noted the human’s finely cut clothes beneath that pristine cloak, the cleanliness of his skin, the lack of wear on his boots, and the flash of something that caught the light better than steel at his hip.

Interesting, indeed. The auburn-haired youth looked like he had more coin than sense and was unaccustomed to traveling. Undoubtedly he had business of some sort in Westlight. But what? No calloused hands, no ink-stained fingers. Perhaps he was a merchant, but then he might have had his own caravan. Was he idle rich, traveling for whim and enjoyment? Unlikely.

The young man offered his name (only his first name, Cassius noted: odd for nobility, who tossed their surnames around like currency) and looked over Tahlia appraisingly. Tahlia stiffened beneath that assessment, her head turning toward the young nobleman.

Cassius was about to intercede in what would likely be a regrettable exchange when Vanlan (no last name, or was “Vanlan” his last name?) bowed to Tahlia and addressed her as “my lady”.

For the first time in a long time, the situation caught Cassius unprepared. His mouth fell slack even as he smiled, resulting in what must have been a comical expression.

Tahlia turned her full attention to the nobleman, her hand resting on her sword hilt out of habit—or perhaps comfort—as her eyebrows pinched together. She’d even put some distance between herself and that expertly executed bow, walking a semicircle around it as if it were a weapon to be feared.

The elf returned Vanlan’s brusque nod with a stunned one. The following question, addressed to Tahlia, needled him. A servant? Did he look like a servant?

Tahlia, dumbstruck by the question, looked at the man as if he had sprouted eight heads. She flushed pink under her dark hair, uncomfortable with the continued attention as the group awaited her answer.

Cassius, gathering himself to intercede, made the mistake of looking at Grimmwald. When he spotted the dwarf’s apologetic expression, he couldn’t help it any longer. Laughter bubbled upwards, spilling out in the form of a stifled chuckle.

Tahlia glared at him. He ignored it.

“I can understand your mistaking her for nobility, My Lord,” Cassius said to Vanlan, hoping the amusement in his voice didn’t spoil the intended effect. He assumed the man didn’t expect anyone to actually use the name he had given; it was far too familiar. “But Tahlia and I were both hired by Damir to help guard the caravan and its goods.”

Tahlia, finally recovered enough to speak, nodded. “He’s right. I’m no noble.” Her accent was light and elusive, its Titryan core smudged and warped by years of traveling throughout Mercovar. “Just a hired guard.”

After an awkward pause, she added, “Tahlia Winters. And this is Cassius Tavel.”

Cassius took over, his battle with his amusement almost won. “Don’t let her undersell herself, My Lord. A finer archer you’ve never met, and she’s—”

“—and Cassius here has the sharpest eyes,” Tahlia flashed him a warning glance, “and tongue.”

Cassius executed a small bow in Tahlia’s direction as they walked, careful that it did not resemble Vanlan’s in any way. It wouldn’t do to offend a noble who clearly had money. There might be a job in it down the line.

“Don’t forget mind,” he replied before looking back at Vanlan, then the cart behind them, where a middle-aged woman had poked her head out to seek the young lord. He smiled, ignoring the woman’s frantic waving. “So. What brings you to Westlight?” He glanced at Grimmwald before meeting the young man’s gaze with a deferential tilt of his head. “If it’s not too forward of me to ask.”

 

[Nirrim]

Vanlan rose from his bow and stood straight, his intense gaze boring expectantly into Tahlia for a few brief moments as he waited for his gesture to be returned. Instead, there was laughter, and not from the noblewoman. Vanlan's brows furrowed beneath his cowl and his gaze turned to the woman's servant, who proceeded to explain that her blood ran red, not blue.

"Ah," Vanlan exclaimed softly, seemingly taking no offence to Cassius' crassness, perhaps even enjoying the fact that he had referred to him by 'my lord'. His eyes once more turned to Tahlia, assessing her entirely differently. Perhaps he seemed a little disappointed, but mostly his expression relayed disdain as if the stranger had been virtuous before and was now sullied.

After a second assessment, he regarded her as no more or less important than who he previously believed was her elven servant. This was mostly represented with a cold shoulder or expressionless glances, all equally condescending in their intention. The fact that he, the son of a Duke, was practically forced into the company of exclusively lowborn individuals... And an elf at that. He felt like the only adult at a table reserved for children.

As Cassius began to expedite their introductions in a manner that Vanlan thought resembled a merchant on the streets peddling goods worth far less than he sold them for, Vanlan was immediately regretting his decision to leave his wagon. Then he noticed Cassius' eyes trail to the wagon and looked over his shoulder to see the same woman waving to him. His reaction was in no way discreet, the way he immediately looked straight ahead and veered slightly off to the side in a futile attempt at hiding from the woman. No, these three were certainly the better choice.

"My father has investments in Westlight that I am to see to on his behalf," Vanlan replied in a practised manner, Grimmwald nodded along.

"And you?" Vanlan asked without looking their way, his way of diverting attention away from himself. "You don't have the look of a mercenary. Well... She doesn't." He briefly eyed Cassius, who to him seemed no different from any of the other sort he was travelling with. Well... he did seem to understand his place better than the others, at least so far.

"Aye, that I am curious about as well," Grimmwald agreed, his expression a friendly alternative to the indifferent one of Vanlan. Grimmwald did have a sly grin on his face, he had already made his guess as to who they were. One thing he was certain of: they were lovers. His guess as to what they were doing... Perhaps on the road to avoid Tahlia's angry father, a city elf and the daughter of a... merchant. He toyed with a few different ideas, nodding along, satisfied at the outcome.

"That conversation might best be saved for when we settle down for the night. I'm sure the two of you have a tale or two to exchange for one of our own. And I'll be the one to tell you that this one here could use the company," Grimmwald playfully nudged Vanlan with his shoulder, which pushed him a bit further than intended. "Join us this evening. Vanlan likes his privacy so you'll find us camped near the edge of the camp."

Grimmwald lowered his voice - though he didn't really care if Vanlan overheard or not, and leaned in closer to Cassius. "Between the three of us, I don't think the lad's really spoken to anyone but myself the last few weeks we've been on the road."

Vanlan looked down at Grimmwald through the corner of his eye, indifference turned to cold anger. He didn't regard him with a look the rest of their journey that day, fully willing to excuse himself from the conversation entirely, but he did walk alongside them. His feet were already beginning to ache an hour in.

+++
​

The caravan stopped just before nightfall, leaving about an hour of daylight to set up camp and dividing rations among everyone. There were always at least two guards on watch duty, while the majority of the caravan was gathered around a large campfire, a few stragglers that wanted private conversation had their own smaller fires. As was usual, Grimmwald did all the work setting up his and Vanlan's sleeping arrangement. He put down the bedrolls, arranged the rocks neatly in a circle and dumped a scarce amount of wood in the middle. He used a flint and steel as well as tinder in the form of dry moss that he carried with him, though he was quite adept at using his steel prosthetic, it did lack dexterity. He always struggled a bit to start a fire, but he was a patient man.

Vanlan chose the spot, it was right next to a fallen tree that he could rest against while he watched Grimmwald slave away. The tree was also perfectly suited to shield him from the wind, which allowed him a chance to play his flute. A suitable payment, allowing Grimmwald to listen to the beautiful tune as he worked.

Grimmwald didn't seem to mind their arrangement, he and Vanlan knew one another, and this was merely how things were. The flute, however, he could do without. He never audibly complained, but he had never had an ear for such delicate instruments, especially the way Vanlan would play it.

"Right! Are ye hungry, lad?" Grimmwald asked, dusting his hands off against his armour. He pulled the sack that he had fetched from the wagon, carrying mostly the luxurious food supplies that Vanlan was accustomed to. A choice of dried meats from prime cuts, the tender kind, cheese. Even some smoked bacon. Foods that most would never be able to afford in their lifetimes, foods that Vanlan would consider tolerable at best.

Though didn't really have much of an appetite, Vanlan nodded and tucked his flute into a pocket of his cloak. He pulled down his hood, his generally unruly amber hair was restrained by a ribbon in a loose ponytail. He undid the ribbon, allowing the shoulder-length waves to frame his face. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, massaging his scalp, grown sore from having his hair up all day. He leaned his head against the log and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of distant chatter and crackling flames.

 

[Erica]

The day, long but uneventful, passed easily. There was something about walking that put Tahlia at ease, especially when the weather proved cooperative. The repetitive task of placing one foot in front of the other allowed her mind to wander, and a distant expression generally kept the talkative at bay. Today, though, it was her company that spared her from the other guards’ chatter or teasing.

After their odd introduction and an awkward moment where the foppish young man seemed to imply she couldn’t fight, things settled out nicely. Cassius offered their standard deferential answer, stating that they were traveling wherever the work took them, and Tahlia ignored Vanlan’s insult.

It wasn’t the first time a man implied she couldn’t fight, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. She knew that actions spoke louder than words, and in that same vein, she was grateful to Grimmwald for deferring any discussion for a later time.

Based on the dwarf’s smirk, she had better ensure they prepared one of their more detailed explanations for how she ended up a mercenary. If she talked to them at all.

After that, Vanlan fell quiet, sulking as Cassius and Grimmwald chatted about nothing in particular for an hour or so, until they naturally drifted apart. The quiet gave her time to think, both about the story she would offer, should it come up again, and Cassius’ earlier observations.

He was right: they were short on competent guards. Luckily the road to Westlight was generally safe. Maybe that was what Damir had counted on.

Eventually, the caravan stopped for the night.

Vanlan and Grimmwald split off when the caravan stopped for the night, tending to their own affairs. Meanwhile, Cassius volunteered them for first watch the next night and—much to Tahlia’s continued amazement—actually won the argument for the coveted spot. Setting up camp was little more than performing a check of the wagons and horses to ensure everything was secured, making a quick sweep of the area, then obtaining their rations and finding a good spot to lay down their bedrolls.

As they gnawed at their hardtack and dried meat, Cassius’ eyes went to the small fire where Vanlan and Grimmwald had made camp. Or, more specifically, where Grimmwald had set up camp for Vanlan. The young man hadn’t lifted a finger except to play his flute.

The melody was haunting, and annoyed Tahlia if only because she knew she would never play that well. Skill with any musical instrument had always eluded her, and she found herself unreasonably irritated by the dulcet tones the fop produced.

Cassius spit out a particularly solid chunk of hardtack. “Shall we? Grimmwald invited us, after all.”

The thought of walking into a conversation about their past made Tahlia tired. “Didn’t you get enough of their company today?”

“I think that’s bacon!” Cassius whispered, his sharp eyes fixed on the pair’s rations.

In a clear act of betrayal, Tahlia’s mouth began to water. “That’s playing dirty.” She had a weakness for bacon, and Cassius knew it. It was a rare treat, one she hadn’t had in years. “They won’t share anyway.”

Cassius flashed a bright smile. “How will you know unless we join them?” He was already walking toward the small fire.

Resigned, Talhia followed Cassius, spotting the hunk of meat that might be bacon.

Cassius grinned as they approached, lowering his voice in case Vanlan was truly asleep. Tahlia doubted it, unless the fop was exhausted from walking.

She paused, studying the man’s auburn hair for a long moment. Vanlan looked familiar, though she couldn’t place where she might have seen him.

Meanwhile, Cassius was intruding. (Or so Tahlia assumed.) “You mentioned a tale to tell, Grimmwald. I suspect you have few. Like how you lost—and gained—your hand?”

Tahlia shot Cassius an incredulous look and hissed his name, “Cass!” She looked at Grimmwald, turning pink as she shook her head and kissed her slim dreams of bacon goodbye. “I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

 

[Nirrim]

The chunk of bacon sizzled nicely, shrivelling slightly as the fat oozed out and coated the pan. The smell was heavenly. Grimmwald left the pan and fetched a few mushrooms, tossing them in with the bacon. He tossed it all a few times, allowing the pork fat to generously coat the mushrooms. Grimmwald would never really admit it, but he was a fairly decent cook - or, as he himself would say: 'I'm nothin' like those cooks you'll find in palaces or mansions. I cook things as I would want to eat them, not to make it all pretty-like.' Based on Grimmwald's slack jaw and lust-filled eyes as if he were drooling over a particularly busty bar wench, he quite clearly enjoyed his own food.

Footsteps approaching roused the dwarf from his scent-induced trance and he looked up to see two familiar faces approaching. He gave them each a welcoming nod, glad that they had taken him up on his offer.

"Ah! Welcome. Take a seat by the fire," Grimmwald removed the pan from the flames and set it off to the side to cool while he fetched a knife.

Vanlan opened his eyes and languidly glanced at their two new guests. He didn't motion a welcome or say anything, but it was very clear that he wasn't particularly happy about them joining them. He looked over at Grimmwald, though the dwarf couldn't see, the young man's eyes burrowed into him all of his irritation at him having invited them.

"Curious about that, are ye?" Grimmwald asked as he began to portion the bacon into thin slices.

He shook his head firmly at Tahlia's suggestion. "Nonsense, I will gladly exchange my tale for one of yours. Perhaps one that explains how an elf and human ended up together," He grinned playfully and gave them a suggestive look. "I suppose all the half-elves must come from somewhere," He added a chuckle.

Vanlan sat up at Grimmwald's crude attempt at humour. "I would appreciate less candour from you, Grimmwald."

The dwarf shrugged his comment off and having finished slicing the meat into thin strips, transferred them and the mushrooms back to the wax paper that was initially used to store the bacon. "The two of ye must be hungry. Can't imagine the rations they've been handing out settled well with ye Unless ye're the sort that hates good food." He offered Cassius the wax paper, motioning for him to pass it around and, of course, to take some for himself - much to Vanlan's dismay.

Grimmwald wasted no time before devouring his share of the meal, voracious and barbaric, Vanlan thought. Vanlan, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. He held the greasy slice of bacon in a handkerchief, all the while wishing for a plate and some cutlery. He hated getting grease on his hands - he hated getting anything on his hands, but grease was among the worst. At least it was tasty, not too salty and the smoked Maplewood did it justice.

"So!" Grimmwald exclaimed excitedly as he wiped the grease off his one organic hand onto his armour. Vanlan visibly cringed. "My hand, you say. It isn't all that interesting of a story, I have some better ones. But as good as any to start us off." He smiled a different smile, his entire expression was different. This was what Vanlan called his 'storyteller' face. Somehow whenever Grimmwald would tell a story, everything about him became more lively, his expressions always managed to resemble the characters in his stories, be they monsters or people he knew. And his voice shifted with the tone of the story.

"Many summers ago, back when I was but a sapling, freshly sprouted from the earth - still older than some among us..." He looked briefly to Vanlan before continuing on. "As a young warrior, one has yet to develop the patience that comes with experience, sometimes this can be seen as a good thing. Take for example orc berserkers. Never do they live for long, and yet they are some of the fiercest warriors in the world. Certainly not known for their patience. Also not known for longevity. I was part of an expedition of only six into the mountain-range of Northvale. I was merely hired muscle, so not privy to the purpose of our being there. Now, if you've never been to those mountains, I'll warn you to stay as far away as you possibly can. They are infested with all manner of dangerous beasts, though few more frightening than the gigantic Rocs that soar through the skies. Do you know what a Roc is?" He paused, giving all three a chance to respond.

Vanlan rolled his eyes, he didn't believe the story for a second. Not that he didn't enjoy it. Some of the details were always different between tellings, the last time he had told it there were two expeditions, eight men in each. At least the creature responsible was always the Roc.

"Gigantic birds of prey. When I say gigantic, I mean gigantic. So large that it could pick up an elephant in each of its talons." By this point, Grimmwald was beginning to tell the tale with his whole body, his arms taking the form of the Roc's wings and sometimes its talons, he made a clawing motion as he mentioned the elephants.

Despite his efforts against it, Vanlan allowed himself to smile. It was an uncharacteristic smile, a pleasant and strangely innocent one. Grimmwald noticed, which only served to urge him on as he told his story.

"Now these sorts of creatures generally don't much care for us small-folk. That includes the lot of you, not just us dwarves! We did spot the Roc every now and again, but it left us alone. That is until we climbed too high," His tone became more dramatic and the liveliness from before left him. "I was slow to realize, but our task was taking us high into the mountains. Specifically, into the Roc's nest. We had hoped to find eggs, but instead, we found hatchlings. One could be forgiven to think that a hatchling would be no threat, but they would be wrong. While they might not have the strength to fly, they were still twice the size of a man, that means three times my size!" He laughed for a moment and allowed a lingering moment of tension to build as he reached for his waterskin and took a hearty swig.

"The hatchlings... They went berserk as soon as they saw us. No doubt immediately thinking it was feeding time. They weren't wrong. Despite our party being filled with veteran warriors, most of us were ripped apart within a minute. I was left to fight alone against three of the hatchlings, pecking and clawing at me from three directions." He pointed at a few different scars on his face and body that possibly matched those of large bird beaks. Though they could just as easily have been from something else. "All it took was one well-placed hack from my axe and I cut the head off one of the hatchlings clean off. I was confident after that, driving them back. I roared and charged with my shield, forcing another off the cliff!" He reached for his shield, describing the motion as he mimicked it, as well as a muffled battle-roar.

"Then... I met their mother," He dropped down onto his rear, a little out of breath. "Her landing shook the mountain... and as much as I would've liked to say that I slew the creature, no mortal being could do such a thing. She reached for me with her massive talon, and while I tried to dodge, there was no chance. She then took flight and brought me with her. I wriggled to no avail, she was far stronger. All I could do was fruitlessly bash at her with my free hand and shield. I figured, even if I got loose, the fall would kill me... But then she flew over a bit of water, and I saw my opportunity. There was only one way for me to escape with my life. I turned my shield.." He grabbed his shield again and showed them the sharp front of it, which could possibly be used to cut. "With all my might I began to hack at my own arm, desperate to keep my life. I felt no pain in the moment, overtaken by a will to survive."

"As for my new hand." Grimmwald continued after taking a deep breath, resuming the tale as he looked a bit more light-hearted. Though in reality, it had all been an act, and quite a good one at that. Even Vanlan seemed to sympathise.

"I owe that to Pahl, as well as a friend of mine, who is the most skilled smith in all of Artheas." He held up his prosthetic arm and began to move the digits. The movement wasn't totally organic, though it would be difficult to ascertain that fact without knowing it beforehand. It was similar to the movements of a clockwork bird, hectic and uneven.

Finally, Grimmwald looked to Cassius. "Well then, your turn."

 

[Erica]

Nothing beat the scent of bacon cooking. It was decadent, salty, meaty goodness. It was heaven.

It was enough to keep Tahlia from walking away from this impromptu meeting. Cassius could practically see her salivating, and grinned at the prospect of visiting with the dwarf for a time. He already liked Grimmwald, as much as he ever liked a dwarf, anyway. His newfound friend was jovial and quick witted, and likely to survive a fight.

The last bit being the most important, of course. Cassius could hold his own with his blades, if it came to it, and even had a few tricks up his sleeves (literally: they were scrolls, for emergencies only), but he was acutely aware that his skills were best suited to a city. Someplace he could make connections and leverage the ones he had, win coin off a drunken braggart in a mostly-honest game of chance, or even swipe a low-hanging purse or two.

On the road, he was useful, but it helped to surround himself with warriors. Like Grimmwald. Like Tahlia.

And Grimmwald was as welcoming as he expected. Cassius was just settling down by the fire when the dwarf implied that Cassius and Tahlia were lovers. As he choked back a laugh, Cassius glanced at Tahlia, who did not look nearly as amused. Her eyes had gone wide, her neck and cheeks flushed.

Vanlan stifled the thought with a summary phrase, and if it hadn’t been for the bacon, Cassius was sure Tahlia would have left. Instead, she settled a quick glare at Cassius for letting the assumption stand, but the bacon and mushrooms in his hand won out.

She only took a small sample, but her smile and her thanks were genuine.

Cassius had only taken a small bite for himself, which he consumed almost immediately, though without as much noise as the dwarf. For her part, Tahlia took small bites, savoring the meal and opening her mouth—likely to compliment Grimmwald’s cooking—but the dwarf was ready to spin a tale.

And what a tale he spun.

When he paused to ask if they knew what a Roc was, Cassius both nodded, Tahlia’s brows lined with concern while the elf was enthusiastic for the next part of the story. He’d heard of them, but never seen one.

Tahlia had paled, however slightly, and Cassius made a note to ask her more later.

It was hard not to be pulled into the dwarf’s story. He was a consummate storyteller, a wizard with words and voices. Cassius leaned forward as the story progressed, pulled into the tale as sure as the tide. Vanlan didn’t seem immune to it, the boy smiling as the story unfolded. Tahlia did the same, her bright blue eyes shining in the firelight as she rested her elbows on her knees, her breath catching as Grimmwald spoke of his companions’ death, then gasping and wincing as he spoke of cutting off his own arm.

Only when the dwarf spoke of Pahl did her expression turn skeptical, wary. Still, the hand was a feat of magic and engineering combined, and Cassius grinned at the sight of it.

When the dwarf shifted attention to Cassius, requiring a story, he grinned. “There’s no way I can beat a story like that. Monsters, peril, death, and a hero’s ending, indeed!” he said with a grin.

Tahlia sat up, finishing off her bacon. (Her delay in eating testifying to Grimmwald’s skills.) She looked wary, unsure. As she always did when people asked for details of her past. So Cassius pushed on, before anyone might ask her to share.

“But I’ll try,” he said with a grin. “Not to spoil it, but this one has dismemberment as well, with another happy ending.”

Tahlia squirmed, looking uncomfortable.

Cassius ignored it. “Tahlia and I met on a job a little over ten years ago. Simple caravan work, guarding some rich man’s belongings between Lakeland and Highport. We’d competed the first trip, a five day journey, and stayed on for the return trip, then another round trip assignment.

“Tahlia had been hired before me, kept to herself. She barely said anything to me that first trip, mind you. She stayed on the edge of the conversation around the camp. All business.”

Tahlia rolled her eyes.

“Probably because the other guards were all human men, the best of them only suspicious a woman fighter and the worst? Well, let’s just say she had reason to be careful.”

As Cassius spoke, Tahlia’s increasing discomfort manifested in her wiping her hands on the grass to clean them of the grease. Cassius continued, “Still, she was a good scout, and a better archer. Spotted an ambush before the bandits could spring it, found us high ground along another route and plucked off the scoundrels, simple as one, two, three.” He snapped with the last number, a broad smile on his face. “They never knew what happened until it was over, and then it didn’t matter.”

As Cassius spoke, Tahlia’s gaze locked on the fire, her mouth a firm line. In contrast, Cassius grinned, “Plus, she felled a deer that night, and the camp ate well. After that, the human guards didn’t bother her. Not more than the usual teasing, of course, and when she didn’t react to their teasing, they let it go.

“On the second trip, on the way back, we picked up some new guards. Humans, the kind that hate anything other—elf, dwarf, half-elf, whatever, if it wasn’t human, they thought it was foul. I have no idea why Marksley—the merchant—took them on. Probably desperate, or maybe he didn’t care. Most merchants don’t care for those they hire. We’re disposable, at best.”

He paused, looking at Vanlan. “No offense.

“In any case…” Cassius shrugged, glad his mild blush on his dark skin wasn’t likely to be seen in the pink cast of the setting sun. “They didn't like me. At all. I got a little too drunk, and… didn’t take well to their prejudice.”

He cleared his throat, deciding to omit the story of his attempt to rig a game of dice to teach them a lesson. Wine had made him far too confident that night, a mistake that nearly cost him dearly. That part of the story wouldn't serve the fragile trust of a fledgling companionship, however, so he applied Jori’s wisdom in the form of discretion.

“Things turned sour quickly one night,” he said, flexing his right hand. “In a drunken rage, the newcomers attacked me. Said they'd carve me up.” He held up his hand, his index and middle finger pointing to the sky. “Started with these two fingers.”

He shuddered at the memory, falling silent for a few heartbeats. Beside him, Tahlia looked at him with sad, compassionate eyes.

At the time, he'd thought his life ruined. Maybe it would have been.

Tonight, though, Cassius flashed a bright conspiratorial smile. “Tahlia knocked one out, started pulling the others off me. The other guards acted once she did, I think. I don't remember much of it, except seeing her fish my fingers from the dirt… I think that's when I passed out.” Cassius chuckled dryly under his breath as he looked down at his hand, whole and fully functioning. “When I woke up, we were in the next city, the other guards were gone, and I had all my fingers.”

Tahlia looked down at the earth between her feet, shaking her head. She hated when Cassius told this story. She never liked being the center of attention.

Cassius flexed his hand a few more times, mesmerized by the motion. It was easy to take things for granted, but the memory of his severed fingers still lingered as an effective reminder. “I've traveled with her since.” He paused, locking eyes with Grimmwald. “As a fellow mercenary, nothing more.”

Tahlia looked up long enough to reinforce that statement with a half-chuckle and a nod of her head.

“At first she tolerated me, let me travel with her as long as I promised not to tell that story.”

“And he always tells it anyway,” Tahlia muttered good-naturedly under her breath.

Cassius talked over the mutter. “Says she doesn't want the attention, that people get stupid when they know a healer can put them back together.”

“They do,” Tahlia said.

“But we’ve been through a lot together,” Cassius added, his tone bordering on proud. He added, suddenly, “But not like that.” He shook his head quickly.

He turned his attention to Vanlan. “So what’s your story? You and Grimmwald seem to know each other well. Has he been a friend of your family for some time?”

Tahlia turned to face the young man as well, curiosity plain on her features as something about the young man continued to tickle her memory. It was probably nothing, a simple case of meeting someone along her travels with a similar set of features.

 

[Nirrim]

Grimmwald gave an encouraging grin as Cassius stepped up to tell his tale while Vanlan played his part of an uninterested nobleman too important for the tales of the lowborn, but following the previous story, Cassius had earned his attention just as much as Grimmwalds, if not more so.

The story began, and Grimmwald was immediately engrossed within it. He sat patiently, making sure that Cassius knew that he had all of his attention. As good of a storyteller that he was, he seemed an even better listener. Vanlan's ears were trained on the tale, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye the way Tahlia reacted to some of the things Cassius said, the way she squirmed uncomfortably when he mentioned her in the tale, the way her eyes trained so intently on the fire. It was as if he were watching a silent tale being told right beside him, only this tale was one that was incredibly difficult to interpret. As she stared into the fire, Vanlan observed her with no discretion. He felt a strange feeling of sympathy, strange both in the sense that Vanlan was not especially sympathetic to begin with as well as in the sense that Cassius himself was telling a story that deserved sympathy. As Vanlan looked at her, he was reminded of a moment in his youth where he wore a similar expression. A moment of vulnerability, and of wishing that he was elsewhere... somewhere comforting. His place of comfort as a child was usually by the fireside with a book.

Vanlan was snapped from the vivid memory as he was suddenly, but briefly, at the centre of attention. He immediately looked away from Tahlia and pretended to not have been looking her way to begin with. He looked as if he had let his guard down entirely and Grimmwald seemed puzzled at seeing his ward, who was known for his unwavering composure, so flustered. At first, Vanlan only gave Cassius a blank look, still clearly a little flabbergasted, 'No offence'? What did he mean by that? Was he assuming that he was a merchant, or was it that he was racist? Vanlan's blank expression turned into a confused one as he looked on, and he was still clearly quite flustered, enough so that he couldn't quite think of a response. He did not end up responding before Cassius resumed his story.

Grimmwald's face was serious as Cassius' story went on. Discriminating humans was something most, if not all non-humans were familiar with to different extents. His thick brows furrowed angrily and he tried to stifle his anger from reaching the surface. He only hoped that Tahlia had slaughtered the men for what they did, but when his head began to cool, he hoped that she had spared them. Not for the fact that they deserved to keep their lives, he himself would not hesitate to execute every one of them. But he had developed a certain view of the young, kind-hearted woman, and he did not want to sully her image with the thought.

"Cowards." Grimmwald muttered seriously, his eyes were hard but also sympathetic.

Vanlan sat, eyeing the elf a little differently now. He had never especially liked elves from those he had dealings with in Ausona. Then again, he had only really dealt with the thieves that had been caught and brought to his father to determine their fate. Mostly they were a shady sort, and while Cassius did not exactly disprove any of his prejudices, this was the first time he felt genuine commiseration for an elf.

At the conclusion of the story, Grimmwald stood and approached Cassius, holding out his steel hand to shake his once-dismembered hand. "Thank ye for that tale, lad. And from one cripple to the next, I'd have done the same thing, even if it had cost me my fingers permanently," Grimmwald's expression resembled that of a father praising his son for a job well done.

Next, he approached Tahlia. He looked strangely serious, like a father about to scold a child for a minor misdeed. He stopped a polite distance away from her and held out his hand, waiting for her to stand. The whole exchange seemed especially formal, and Vanlan was growing quite suspicious of it as it seemed very unlike Grimmwald.

Instead of shaking her hand, however, the dwarf stepped in with surprising speed and forced her into his tight embrace, even lifting her slightly off the ground. All the while he was laughing at his successful ruse. He did not keep her for long, merely meaning to catch her off-guard. "I'm proud of ye both! But especially ye, lass for standing up to those crack-gnats," He gave Tahlia a praising nod.

Vanlan kept himself out of the whole exchange, but he gave Cassius a nod. It was vague, perhaps an expression of growing respect, perhaps an expression of sympathy. Certainly meant as a gesture of goodwill one way or another.

Something of more interest had come into play, however, Vanlan thought. He looked to Tahlia, this time making sure to be discreet in his appraisal of her. A healer... He wasn't quite sure what to think of this information, but the woman was certainly more interesting now than before.

As everyone settled down after the previous story, Cassius turned his curiosity toward Vanlan, who thus far had been the least involved. This time, Vanlan was prepared for the question that followed.

"He has served my father for many years," Vanlan said and did not look like he was going to elaborate further.

"Come on lad... ye can do better than that," Grimmwald chimed in.

Vanlan rolled his eyes and sighed, shifting into a more comfortable position. He looked over everyone as if making sure they were serious in their desire to put him into the limelight. For a moment, his expression softened and he seemed to reminisce on the things he would say, but it was a brief glimpse only.

"I am tired, I suggest you make your way to your bedrolls," He said, waving a dismissive hand in a gesture that was oh so common among nobility. He then reached for his cloak, wrapping himself tightly in it and pulling the hood over his face.

Grimmwald's enthusiasm was silenced and after a brief moment of doubt, he gave their two guests a nod to affirm Vanlan's command. Though it was clear Grimmwald was not happy with it. As the two were leaving, he followed them a bit of the way, just until they were out of earshot.

"I hope ye will spend the next evenin' with us as well. We have plenty of bacon and other goodies... And as much as ye might doubt it, I think the lad really did enjoy yer company," He had the same apologetic expression on his face as before.

 

[Erica]

Morning came quickly, keeping both Cassius and Tahlia busy with the unending tasks required to get a caravan moving. The haze across the morning horizon promised a hot and muggy day, and they wanted to get some distance behind them before the sun crested in the sky.

“You could tell a different story,” Tahlia muttered to Cassius as they were helping to load the supplies into the back of a wagon.

Cassius had always struggled with the morning, and today was no exception. He looked at her beneath bedraggled locks and smirked. “You’d rather I let the dwarf assume we were together?”

Tahlia lifted the last crate full of pans, setting it onto the wagon’s floorboards a little harder than she intended. The young man rearranging the crates from inside the wagon turned on her quickly. “Watch it!”

“Sorry,” she said sullenly. Turning back to Cassius, she continued their conversation as they moved away from the wagon. “Telling how we met wasn’t necessary to clarify that we’re not a couple. You know I don’t like advertising that I’m…” her voice dropped to a whisper, “a healer.”

“You treat it as if it’s a curse. It’s not. I don’t know why—”

“You know exactly why.”

“—you don’t like others knowing what you can do. If I do could what you can, I would—”

“You’d sell yourself to the highest bidder.”

Cassius grinned and held out his hands. “You’re not wrong. But that’s not the point.”

With the last of their inspections complete and the other guards confirming the rest of the line was secured, the caravan started moving. The friends resumed their walk, keeping pace with the steady procession.

“What is your point then?” Tahlia asked, eyeing Grimmwald, who was walking beside the covered wagon of paying passengers. Apparently Vanalan had decided to rest his feet, at least for the start of the journey.

“My point,” Cassius said, “is that you need to trust someone.”

“I trust you.”

Cassius snorted. When Tahlia flashed an angry look at him, he smiled. “I’m sorry. Sure, you trust me. With some things. You trust me in a fight, to have your back. But it’s been ten years and I still don’t know much about your past, or your family.”

Tahlia bristled. “The past isn’t as important as the present. The choices we make now are all we have.”

Cassius rolled his eyes. “You might have said that once or twice over the years.” The sting of the words dissipated in the warmth of the smile that followed as he rested a hand on Tahlia’s shoulder. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be cautious. And you know I respect your privacy. I’m just saying you could relax a little.”

Tahlia’s eyes went to Grimmwald again, remembering the dwarf’s animated story and the compliments he’d doled out at the end of the night, coupled with a surprise hug. It had been mortifying at the time, stiff and awkward, but in recollection, she found herself smiling at it. His unsolicited praise had stuck with her like a hearty meal. “You think they’re trustworthy?”

Cassius released her shoulder and laughed. “Hell, no. Everyone has secrets, and those two are brimming with them. Plus, only good liars can tell stories that well.” He paused, shielding his eyes from the glare of the rising sun. “But you seemed to like them.”

Tahlia didn’t know what to think of Vanlan and Grimmwald. All she knew was that they would be traveling together for a time, and the pair were—so far—better than the other guards with their sneers and drunken boasting about fictitious sexual conquests.

Sometimes it was tiring being a mercenary woman.

“I like their bacon,” she said with a grin.

“I know!” Cassius said quietly, glancing at Grimmwald out of the corner of his eye as if the dwarf might overhear. “I think I’d suffer a dozen snooty glares from Vanlan to get another taste of that.”

Tahlia nodded, wondering how Vanlan was weathering the travel today. As stiff and off-putting as the boy was, for a fleeting moment the night before, Tahlia had thought he might actually say something that wasn’t pompous.

Maybe tonight, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath.

+++​

The humidity coalesced into rain, drenching the caravan for most of the day and curtailing any meaningful conversation. Muddy and soaked, the guards all crowded around the wagons in a tighter formation out of necessity. The procession slowed, progress difficult with the muck dragging on the wheels of the carts and wagons.

Mid-afternoon, the sun came out again, not quite high or hot enough to dry the group or the ground fully but raising the caravan’s spirits. The spot they chose to camp was set off the road at a slight incline, a set of rocks, large and small, surrounding them and providing small patches of mud-free rest. It wasn’t their target stopping point, and the thick wood to the east was a little close for Tahlia’s comfort, but there was no helping it: they had gone as far as they could for the day.

Yet again, Grimmwald established a spot away from the main group, though not as far as the night before due to the mud.

Cassius and Tahlia were slated to cover the last watch before the morning, but both of them were willing to sacrifice sleep to sample Grimmwald’s cooking of Vanlan’s impressive food stores again. As they made their way to the pair’s chosen spot, some of the other guards glared at them, clearly having smelled the decadent bacon the night before.

Cassius tossed them a small salute.

Dry wood was in short supply, so starting the fires was proving difficult for everyone. As they approached, Tahlia nodded toward the pile of moss and kindling, speaking to Grimmwald with a small smile. “Care for some help?”

 

[Nirrim]

Between Grimmwald and Vanlan, most would make the assumption that the snooty, entitled young man that had no reservations about letting his complaints be heard would be vocal in his aversion to the rain, but it was not so. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The usually jovial and light-hearted Grimmwald seemed vexed by the rain, while Vanlan seemed not merely to be unbothered, but to enjoy it. It might have been the difference in their apparel, one who wore a waterproof cloak with a hood that kept his hair dry, the other wearing a full suit of plate armour with padding underneath that was no doubt going to be soaked through at the end of the day. Aside from that, the rain was always a good omen in Aquova. For the commoners, it guaranteed food for the winter. For the middle-class, it meant a taste of luxury, for the prices would certainly drop. For the gentry, content subjects. The rain was one of the reasons for Aquova's famed prosperity and rich fields, and it was something no Aquovian would be unhappy to see.

The mud that followed soon showed Vanlan that it was not entirely positive, and soon enough his complaints were heard and irritation ensued. All it took was a bit of mud on his clothes and he fled under the cover of the roofed wagon, suffering another conversation with the same middle-aged woman from the day before.

At the end of the day, Grimmwald was in a bit of a mood. It usually took a lot to sour his general demeanour, but Vanlan's complaints alongside the events of the day were enough this time.

"Are these really the best accommodations you could acquire for us to Westlight? The wagons are cramped and creaky, the company is a step below the wasteland barbarians... To think I have to tolerate this another few days," Vanlan went on a bit of a monologue as if the lack of complaints from the day had all been caught in a net that grew too full and ripped. He had his 'dirty' set of clothes hanging on a branch to dry and was wearing his other set, which was far from being fit for long days on the road. The shirt alone was likely as expensive as Grimmwald's entire set of armour, dyed purple as to signify his status. He had intended to save these clothes for his meeting with the merchant lords of Mercovar.

Grimmwald was entirely uninterested in whatever it was that Vanlan was saying, his attention directed on the food he was preparing. This time it was dried venison that he rehydrated in a brine mixture, manchet bread, and some brie.

With food preparations done, it came time for starting the fire. As usual, Grimmwald fetched dry moss from his belongings and set it underneath a scarce amount of branches and sticks, with more to the side to add in as soon as the fire had started. Gripping the steel in his right hand and the flint in his left, he went through the motions of creating an ember.

The sight of two familiar faces seemed to brighten the dwarf's mood a little. He returned Cassius' salute with a friendly, but eager wave - as if to say 'please save me from this annoying lil' shite'.

Tahlia offered to aid him in starting the fire and Grimmwald did not hesitate a moment before giving up his flint and steel with a defeated look.

Vanlan offered the pair an indifferent wave, though otherwise did not seem to be averse to their presence. While the two were taking their seat, Vanlan was rummaging through his own bag in search of a wineskin. He wasn't to get drunk, but tonight he planned to.

Tahlia managed where Grimmwald had not. Her fully organic hands moving with far more grace than his equivalent. Once the fire was sufficiently ablaze, Grimmwald began to cook their meal. The four spent the evening eating and chatting away, though mostly just Cassius and Grimmwald. They exchanged tales of varying grandeur and questionable reliability, every now and then attempting in vain to bring Tahlia and Vanlan into the conversation. Even as Vanlan drank his way through most of his wineskin, the alcohol seemed to only further stunt his sociability. At least Grimmwald was glad to have someone to speak to that didn't roll their eyes at every other word.

Half-drunk on his wine and soothed by the soft-spoken conversation between Grimmwald and Cassius - one which he had stopped listening to half an hour ago - Vanlan was beginning to doze off early in the evening. The rest of the camp was also beginning to grow silent, with only the occasional laughter bubbling from the one campfire most of the mercenaries had gathered around. (No doubt getting drunk for the second night in a row).

The conversation slowly died down and soon there was a moment of silence accompanied by crackling flames and leaves fluttering in the wind. The relative silence left the presence of a void that was briefly filled with an unexpected sound, rapid footsteps nearing the camp. Grimmwald heard it, though he could not ascertain where the sound was coming from. He looked Cassius' way for confirmation. The elf looked to the east.

"Ambush!" An alarmed shout from the east pierced the silence.

Grimmwald grabbed his axe and shield, readying himself alongside his companions. Vanlan was beginning to wake as the whole camp was in a panic.

The footsteps drew rapidly nearer to their position and out of the darkness came one of their scouts. Only one.

He was panting heavily, and his wide, panicked eyes spoke volumes where his words failed him.

"Th-th-they're coming!" He stammered far too slowly.

"Who's comin!?" Grimmwald responded impatiently.

The scout did not stop long enough to answer, and in his absence, the sound of distant footsteps resumed. This time it did not pierce the silent void left by a lack of conversation, they overwhelmed the noise of a camp in panic. They were heavy thuds that carried a distance and shook the earth beneath them.

Grimmwald rushed over to Vanlan and, with considerable force and determination, pulled the young man to his feet and then out in front of him toward the main camp - hoping to find the mercenaries assembling a defence. He did not.

In the black of the night, Grimmwald saw but the massive silhouettes as they stormed the camp from the treeline. The mercenaries had barely managed to gather before they were already upon them. A few of them had formed the vanguard and braced themselves for the charge, but not nearly enough.

Drawing nearer, the silhouettes were illuminated faintly by the combined light of the campfire. Ogres. In the chaos, it was difficult to count, but there were at least a dozen of them. All of them were charging as a cohesive unit, a frightening stampede. Most carried clubs and spears, but one of them had a massive greatsword.

The guards armed with bows shot their volleys that found their marks but did little more than slow the charge.

The ogres returned fire with their massive spears, fit for hunting boars... or humans. Where they lacked in accuracy they made up for in the form of pure force. Three spears missed, one sailed straight for its target that stood on top of one of the wagons, breaking effortlessly through flesh, bone and chainmail and knocking him off the roof. The charge that followed was far more devastating. The soldiers had failed to form a line with their spears, so the ogres scattered, with half of them chasing after fleeing civilians. The caravan guards were too few in number to halt them.

The first ogre into the fray was met with two spears, one in the neck and the other in its gut. It let out a gargled roar of defiance and pressed on in sheer anger, further impaling itself on the spears. One of the spears broke from the force, giving the ogre enough leeway to swing its club for one of the guards, clobbering him over the head and shattering his skull. The ogre toppled over.

Clubs swung mercilessly, bludgeoning anything and everything in their path. Those without spears to keep them at bay had little chance against the onslaught that followed. Arrows continued to pepper the ogres, but they were shot in panic and without precision.

"Everyone flee!" Someone shouted needlessly, as a full retreat had already begun.

The ogres scattered into different directions, facing off against lone defenders trying to stall their advance for the civilians to escape. None ran faster than an ogre.

Grimmwald had arrived too late. The defence had been crushed, the field of battle bathed in blood and lined with the corpses of the soldiers that had likely never faced anything other than a human opponent.

Vanlan looked helplessly upon the carnage, his hand rested on the hilt of his blade that had never been wielded in combat before.

A lone ogre spotted the two and immediately charged. Grimmwald stepped forward and steeled himself, holding his axe tight and shield tighter. Another two followed but instead charged down a man that ran into the direction of Cassius and Tahlia.

As the ogre closed the gap between them, Grimmwald stepped in, displaying surprising agility for a dwarf in heavy plate. But Vanlan was quicker. He caught both the ogre and Grimmwald off-guard as he stepped in, drawing his gem-encrusted longsword and thrusting with his entire body in a single flowing motion. The blade pierced deep but did not kill. The ogre was quick to recover and swung its massive club at Vanlan, who had left himself wide open in his hubris.

Grimmwald reacted in time, shoving Vanlan aside. The club thunked uselessly against the ground where Vanlan once stood.

The ogre drew its club back and swung again, this time at Grimmwald. He anticipated it and dodged to the side, holding his shield close as a failsafe. His short stature proved invaluable against the massive creature as he stepped around it and sliced his axe across the creature's hamstring, forcing it down to one knee and severely limiting its mobility. Once it was down, it attempted another swing, too slow. He slammed his shield into the ogre's face as it fell to a knee. The familiar sound of bones cracking signalled the end of the fight as the ogre fell limp to the ground.

Grimmwald looked to Vanlan, his face contorted in a furious glare. "Get out of here!" His command was something Vanlan had not experienced before, and the intense emotion on his face left Vanlan feeling like a useless child.

Grimmwald's attention was stolen away as a second ogre spotted them. This one was larger than the other and carried a greatsword. Vanlan lay frozen, watching on as Grimmwald took the initiative and charged alone. He thought about leaving, running for the nearest farm or village, of leaving Grimmwald as he gave his life to defend him. Whether it was compassion or self-perseverance that guided his decision to stay he did not know.

Grimmwald met the ogre and immediately side-stepped the massive downward cut of the greatsword. It cut deep into the ground, but not deep enough to stick. Grimmwald tried to close in, but this one was far more prepared for the dwarf's tactics. The ogre took a single step back, its long and lanky legs carrying it further than the dwarf could reach with his short limbs. The sword swung again, this time Grimmwald could only block.

It clashed against his shield with such force that it knocked him off his feet. Had his hand not been of steel, it would certainly have shattered from the impact.

Vanlan rushed up behind the ogre, stealing its attention from Grimmwald. He went for an immediate thrust that the ogre managed to step back from, just out of reach. Vanlan took an aggressive step forward and slashed upward, which the ogre just barely managed to parry. Vanlan took another confident step forward, certain of his advantage and another slash that was sure to connect. The ogre dropped its greatsword and instead of trying to dodge, caught the swing with its hand. The blade cut deep, digging into the bone of its palm. Blood dripped down the length of the blade and the creature gave a fierce grunt as it held the sword stuck and with its free hand, grabbed Vanlan by the throat and lifted him effortlessly off his feet.

Grimmwald was slow to recover his footing but charged nonetheless. Too slow.

The ogre threw Vanlan aside. He landed back first against a nearby tree and felt a sharp, intense pain upon the impact. He hadn't immediately lost consciousness, but his vision blurred and all of his senses were overwhelmed by the sharp pain radiating up and down his spine. Warmth trickled down his back, soaking into his new shirt. Then his vision blackened and there was nothing.

 

[Erica]

The night started pleasantly. Though she would never admit it to Cassius, Tahlia enjoyed hearing him spin tales with Grimmwald. Her elven friend lit up with the challenge of spinning a better tale, and the dwarf had a knack for telling a story. He could probably read a merchant’s inventory and make it interesting.

Vanlan remained silent and sullen, drinking at his wine skin in a shirt in a royal purple. Either he was unaware of the implications, exceptionally full of himself, or descended from royalty. Probably some fifth cousin three times removed from the king of Titrya or something.

Which meant she should be cautious, though she wasn’t exceptionally worried. Vanlan was too young to remember the assassination attempt except as a history lesson.

Even mildly wary, she found herself full of venison and cheese, drifting off as the stars winked to life in the night sky.

Then hell broke loose.

She was on her feet nearly instantly, grabbing her bow and an arrow as the three tried to identify and assess the threat. (She’d already classified Vanlan as a liability, someone to be protected or ordered to safety.) Cassius was the first to detect the direction of the trouble, but the other guards were not a fighting unit. They never stood a chance.

She tried. She honestly tried, rushing forward and calling for the group to form a line. Only one word passed her lips before the ogres broke from the trees and descended upon the camp.

Tahlia felt the familiar heat of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she heard Cassius swear beside her. She drew an arrow, the action seeming torturously slow in the shadow of their approaching foes, and aimed for a random ogre’s eye.

The other guards fired first, chaotic and ineffective. Her arrow flew a moment later, catching her target up the nose when it lifted its head at the last moment as part of its swing. It cried out, clutching its nose.

She lost track of it in the chaos that followed.

Spears flew with deadly force, decimating the laughable defense. Tahlia had to jump to the side to avoid one that effectively segregated her and Cassius from Grimmwald and Vanlan. She didn’t have time to mourn the lost opportunity. And ogre was coming for her and Cassius.

“Go!” she cried, and Cassius, with a scroll in hand, listened. They ran a short distance, enough to put a set of rocks between them and the ogres.

She drew another arrow as the ogre crossed the camp in four long strides. Only years of facing tough odds with the Titryan rangers kept her feet planted and hand steady—or steady enough for the shot.

The arrow flew true, striking the ogre where his neck met his chin and lodging into the roof of its mouth. Their attacker staggered, still trying to target the pests that had stung him. Tahlia abandoned her bow and drew her sword, hopping up on the rock as the ogre swung wide with his club. Even the haphazard swing could be deadly, though. She had to hop to another rock, nearly losing her footing, before she could swing at its neck.

She missed.

“A little help!” she called as the ogre pulled the arrow free, threw it away, then gripped its club and tried to focus on her.

Cassius nodded from behind the rock, muttering something under his breath. She hoped whatever he was doing would kick in quickly.

The ogre swatted at her with its free hand, landing a glancing strike that still knocked her to the ground and stole her breath. Based on the pain and how much it hurt to breathe, it had broken a couple of ribs. She danced to the side, away from Cassius, leading the ogre with her, and grinned.

Healing had always come easy to her. Like breathing. But it had a cost. She had discovered that she could pass that cost onto others the hard way, and avoided doing so in almost every situation.

This was not one of them.

The spell was rote to her now, mending of bone and flesh. Warmth spread between her fingers, seeping into her side. As she felt depletion wash over her from the effort, she focused on the ogre. The weight pulling her to the ground lessened as the ogre looked at her quizzically with its deep-set eyes. Then it stumbled: hard enough to take a knee.

This time her blade found its eye. It reached for the blade, too slowly, wrapping a rough hand around her hand before it twitched.

She pushed the blade forward until she felt the tip hit the back of the ogre’s skull.

The ogre twitched a few more times before collapsing in a heap.

Pulling the blade free was a challenge, and by then another ogre was coming their way. “Tell me you have something ready,” she hissed.

“Trust me,” said Cassius, his blades now in hand.

The ogre approached, his club at the ready.

“Not yet,” Cassius whispered.

The ogre paid no attention to Cassius or Tahlia. Instead, he bent down, reaching with his free hand to pinch at the rocks, its face distorted in an increasingly frustrated scowl. Grunting, he tried to pick up a rock, his head hovering at their level. Cassius approached the rock slowly, standing directly in front of the ogre, and with one swift movement, sunk his blades into the ogre’s skull.

Or tried to.

The ogre’s skull was thick, and the blades didn’t quite pierce it. Cassius cried out as he was dragged upwards. The ogre blinked rapidly, surprised by the elf that had suddenly appeared on his face.

The ogre started to swat at Cassius, but Tahlia rushed in, slicing the tendons of the ogre’s right ankle. It howled in pain, and Cassius freed one of his blades, then sunk it into the ogre’s eye socket and twisted.

Cassius fell with the ogre as it howled again, and Tahlia rushed over to slash its neck and check on Cassius. The elf had rolled with the fall and was likely bruised, but not badly, considering the fall he took. “What did you make it see?” she asked.

Cassius pulled his blade from the eye with a sickening sound. “Babies. Three wriggling little ogre treats.”

Tahlia smiled. As she scanned the area, she saw something go flying to their left. Belatedly, she realized it was a flash of purple.

She swore as she spotted the ogre Grimmwald faced. The one with the greatsword. Most of the rest of the caravan was dead or scattered, running from the remaining ogres. She hurried to retrieve her bow and drew a new arrow.

“That’s the leader. Kill him and the others will scatter.” Cassius said, quite unnecessarily.

Tahlia took a breath, holding it as she aimed for the creature’s wrist. She couldn’t get its neck or eyes from here, but with luck, she might make it drop its weapon long enough to give Grimmwald an opening to exploit.

She let the arrow fly.

 

[Nirrim]

The greatsword-wielding ogre wore a frightening smile, brandishing pointed yellow teeth. It laughed as Vanlan thunked against the tree and it laughed again when it saw him cough up blood. As he lost consciousness, the ogre turned to face Grimmwald. Fearless in the face of his next opponent.

Despite his sluggish leg, Grimmwald stood. Despite his own injuries, Grimmwald charged. His shield remained on the ground, his only weapon was his battleaxe.

The ogre raised its greatsword again and swung confidently. Grimmwald knew he couldn't dodge and he knew his shield would not save him a second time, yet he pressed on, counting on his thick armour to save him - a vain hope.

An arrow whizzed through the air just in time, finding its mark in the ogre's wrist. It had not disabled the attack, but it stalled long enough for Grimmwald to close in on the ogre to where the reach of its weapon proved a disadvantage against a much shorter opponent.

Grimmwald claimed the first strike, and his fury took shape in the onslaught that ensued. Again and again, he struck, cutting deep into the flesh of the ogre's legs until it could no longer stand. It fell and he discarded his axe that had gone blunt from repeated clashes against bone. His fists would suffice. He pounced before the ogre could recover and began pummeling the ogre. He felt the resistance of the thick bone in his left hand, his right made short work of it as the face began to cave in. The ogre was soon reduced to nothing but a bloodied mess, and Grimmwald was awash in gore.

The remaining ogres either fled at the sight of their leader's gruesome death or were already away, chasing the remainder of the caravan that had fled.

The adrenaline faded and Grimmwald struggled against his body's exhaustion. He battled to his feet and limped his way to Vanlan.

"Lad?" Grimmwald's voice was a ghost of its former self, a weak and hoarse comparison. Yet despite the dwarf's alarming appearance, Vanlan was worse off.

The young man was not covered in gore, unlike his dwarven companion but massive bruises had already formed along most of his torso. Grimmwald had only barely to touch him to realize that his ribs were broken in multiple places. The back of his shirt was wet with blood, and Grimmwald wasted no time in tearing the shirt to reveal the injury. One of the broken ribs had pierced the skin. Judging by the blood around his lips, one of the ribs had also pierced his lung. Were it not for faint and laboured breathing, Grimmwald would have assumed him dead on the spot.

Grimmwald took a step back, face contorted with worry and desperation. Vanlan was a step from death, and there was nothing he could do.

 

[Erica]

Cassius cringed as the ogre’s greatsword descended directly toward Grimmwald. The blow would surely kill the dwarf. The twang of Tahlia’s bow sounded in his ear a heartbeat before he saw the ogre’s arm twitch, ever so slightly, hindering the greatsword’s momentum, if only for a moment.

The blade struck ground directly behind Grimmwald as he rushed the ogre. The dwarf cut at the brute’s legs, leaving the ogre crying out in pain and frustration as it couldn’t hit its attacker.

With his blades still out, Cassius started to move in to help, ignoring the bruises along his back and the protest from the arm he’d used to roll with his fall. Tahlia’s hand gripped his shoulder. When he turned to her, he saw her looking from the tree Vanlan’s body had hit back to the dwarf. She held her bow casually at her side.

“Not unless he asks or is in trouble,” she said quietly. As if an ogre wasn't trouble.

As it turned out, Grimmwald didn’t need the help. Rage and frustration personified, he took all his anger out on the ogre, leaving little but a large, bloody husk where the ogre’s head had been.

Cassius took a moment to survey the campsite. It was a wreck, bloodied bodies strewn about with the smashed wood and metal. The others, guards and civilians alike, were all dead or driven away. The fight had scattered cargo—mostly rugs, furniture, and other household items—across the muddy clearing. Tahlia had already turned, bow in hand, to face any other threats while Grimmwald dealt with Vanlan’s murderer.

An ogre looked their way, then, with a glance at the bloody dwarf and their dead leader, turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction.

They were alone on a bloody battlefield.

Tahlia followed in Grimmwald’s wake toward Vanlan’s body, silent observer and support. Keeping to an unspoken agreement, Cassius kept an eye out for any returning threats.

For her part, Tahlia was watching Vanlan carefully. Like Grimmwald and Cassius, she had initially assumed the young man dead. But the shallow, staggered rise and fall of his marred chest signaled that he still clung to life.

As soon as Grimmwald stepped back, she set her bow down and knelt beside Vanlan, feeling for injuries beyond the obvious with sure hands. She felt his pulse at his throat, wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and turned it gently, wincing as she found it looser than it should be, likely fractured—and she doubted the rest of his spine had escaped injury. She prodded his chest, noting where he winced, and pressed her ear to his chest, frowning as she heard the telltale gurgle with each labored breath. Although she couldn’t know for certain, she was confident he had other internal injuries.

He was hanging on to life by a stubborn thread. Healing him would deplete her, requiring her to flirt with death herself and rest for days to recover.

They didn’t have days.

She looked back at Grimmwald. Grief and worry were etched upon the bloodied and injured dwarf’s face. Normally she would ask if he was willing to care for the boy as he recovered—if she managed to heal him. She didn’t bother asking the question. For all his grumbling and eye-rolling about his ward, it was clear the dwarf cared deeply for Vanlan.

And she couldn’t let him die. Not with Grimmwald watching. Not when she could help.

But neither should she attempt the spells required. Not here. She would be unable to help Cassius, unable to protect herself. So she reached for her neck, grasping a heavy chain necklace beneath the padding of her surcoat. Pulling it out, she revealed a large oval sapphire pendant set in silver and surrounded by tiny silver thorns. The sapphire glowed with an inner light.

Cassius gasped as she pulled it out, knowing what it was. He’d only seen her use it once before. “Tahlia…”

She ignored him, closing her eyes as she wrapped her left hand around the pendant and placed her right on Vanlan’s chest. Her fingers turned white around the pendant, the tiny thorns drawing blood. Not much, but enough to allow her access to the health stored within the gem.

The pendant was a failsafe. Every night for years, she had pricked herself with the thorns and stored her own health into it, saving it should she need it. The sapphire held enough energy to bring her back from death twice over, only it could not be used partially.

Power and health flowed through her. She funneled it into Vanlan, repairing his spine, his broken ribs, his torn lungs, feeding him vitality until she felt the power ebb.

She opened the hand holding the pendant, looking down at the now dark blue stone.

Vanlan would still be bruised and sore and she might have missed other minor injuries. But he would live.

Her hand was bleeding from the thorns’ bite. She retracted her right hand from Vanlan’s chest and sat back on her heels, slowly placing the necklace back over her head and breathing deeply as a wave of dizziness washed over her from the minor spell required to access the stored health.

“Tahlia?” Cassius asked.

She waved a hand to dismiss his concern and opened her eyes to look to Vanlan.

 

[Nirrim]

Healing magic was rare. So rare that in his years as a seasoned warrior and traveller, Grimmwald had only encountered it once before. To call it healing compared to what Tahlia had accomplished was a laughable offence. The power she had was what one might expect from an Ascended, not a human.

Grimmwald only watched in awe as Tahlia utilized her gifts, an amulet. It was a subtle thing with drastic effects as life was returned to Vanlan. Warmth and colour returned to pale, lifeless skin. Haggard and laboured breathing renewed as the slow, comforting breaths of one in a deep slumber. Her magic cheated death as well as time, in the span of mere moments she had accomplished what would have taken years with time, but Vanlan was already in the hands of death. Grimmwald said nothing.

A moment, another. Vanlan's eyes remained closed. Then he coughed, a raspy breath followed by a fit of coughs to rid himself of the blood that had pooled in his lung expelled onto his closed fist. His eyes opened soon after. He looked simultaneously weak and healthy, perhaps it was just fatigue. The first thing he saw was a pair of inquisitive eyes, so impossibly bright - as if they were a shade of blue he had never encountered before. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, and then he recognized that the eyes belonged to Tahlia.

"Lad!" Grimmwald exclaimed with immense relief, a smile showing underneath his beard.

Vanlan's confusion was apparent by his frantic glances back and forth between the two that had gathered before him. He was only now beginning to feel the aftermath of his injuries. Merely the action of sitting up straight seemed to sap him of his entire strength as if every corner of his body was being weighed down.

"Ye absolute moron!" Grimmwald's happiness was quick to sour, replaced by a sample of the same fury he had displayed against the ogre moments before. "I would smack ya upside the head if ye hadn't been half-dead a second ago!"

The dwarf stood with a huff and felt his knees nearly buckle as he stood. Though he wasn't keen to show it, he had suffered considerably in the fighting himself.

Vanlan merely sat, speechless.

"Ye owe her your life! And then some!" Grimmwald pointed at Tahlia in a manner that might instil some humility in Vanlan, however unlikely.

Grimmwald's scowl only grew worse as he continued to look down at Vanlan, fury bubbling like magma. The dwarf turned on his heels, muttering a few harsh-sounding Dwarvish curse words in his wake as he made his way to collect the shield he had discarded.

Vanlan looked mortified, wearing the face of one who had so rarely before been at the receiving end of such a scolding, whether the apparent remorse was a front or if it was genuine was disguised by the confusion that lingered. And with Grimmwald gone, only Tahlia remained to witness the dramatic change in his demeanour.

He caught her gaze again and felt strangely unnerved by it. His eyes displayed his uncertainty so readily, an uncharacteristic front from the proud noble. Where once there was an emanating aura of superiority and a facade of certainty, now remained only emotions and vulnerabilities stripped bare that were once so easy to disguise behind walls that he had not known existed. Walls whose absence he had never done without before, especially not in the eyes of others. He felt her eyes pierce him like an arrow, and he was without his shield capable of deflecting it. He had to speak, to divert.

"I-... What happened?" His voice wavered, further evidence of neglected insecurities that now began to bubble to the surface.

Having retrieved his shield, Grimmwald waddled over to Cassius. His anger seemed to have fizzled out, at least as he spoke to the elf.

"Well fought," He said seriously and gave a respectful nod. "We need to go. Should find a spot to rest that doesn't smell like death."

Grimmwald looked toward Tahlia and Vanlan, expression now entirely free of anger, but not of frustration. He would have to properly thank her later.

 

[Erica]

The seconds before Vanlan opened his eyes and coughed were torture. Tahlia wondered if she had healed the young man's body only to have his soul depart before she could finish.

Then he awoke, and she released the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. She smiled at Vanlan's state, weak but whole, and Grimmwald's joy.

When it soured, she frowned, then felt heat creep across her skin when he pointed at her. His anger was clearly born out of love, but it was difficult to weather, even as an observer. As the dwarf stood, she noted Grimmwald's limp with a frown and debated offering him assistance.

In the end, she decided it was better to let the dwarf cool off.

Whatever else the young man was, he was also her patient, at least for the moment. She felt Vanlan's confusion and distress as clearly as if it were her own.

When Vanlan looked at her, he wasn't a haughty ass trying to put her in her place. He was simply lost, stripped vulnerable by his brush with death and Grimmwald's reprimand.

She offered a small smile when he asked what happened. Telling people how broken their body had been rarely helped. “Nevermind that. I didn't see much anyway, and Grimmwald can tell the tale when he's recovered from the pain of almost losing you.” She looked him over. His shirt was torn open, revealing his bare chest, but she didn't show any sign of embarrassment.

She watched his breathing with a cool, practiced eye, seeking any sign of injuries she might have missed. “How are you feeling?” She stood and offered her hand. “Can you stand?”

If he accepted her offer, she would encourage him to go slow and steady him as needed.

Meanwhile, Cassius frowned at Tahlia. He didn't hold anything specific against Vanlan, but he doubted the young human was worth what she'd just given him. She had wasted her healing reserves on someone who could possibly pay for her services, but likely would find an ego-drenched reason not to.

Grimmwald, at least, seemed grateful. Cassius returned his nod, looking at the ogre the dwarf had pulverized when Grimmwald studied Vanlan and Tahlia. “Agreed. Let's see what we can salvage,” he replied, urging the dwarf to come with him. “Tahlia will make sure he's ready to come with us.”

 

[Nirrim]

Vanlan didn't press for further answers regarding his injuries or what had caused them. Her answer had failed to calm his anxiety, only sowing the seeds of further guilt at having nearly gotten himself killed.

He gave her an uncertain look at her apparent concern for his well-being as if appraising her candidness. He couldn't discern her intentions, but compassion was, in his experience, something to doubt. It was a tool to be used by the manipulative against the naive, a manner of deception. Or so he had often been told by his father and his political advisors when dealing with the snakes of the court. This time, however, he had more cause to trust than doubt - she had earned a modicum of it.

"I am... alright. But weary," An understatement.

"Yes... I believe so," Her words prompted him to stand, or try to. He placed a hand against the tree and carefully began to raise himself, then took hold of Tahlia's outstretched hand once he felt his legs begin to strain.

As he reached his hand out, he noticed that it was shaking far more than usual.

With her aid, he managed to stand but was quick to overestimate his rejuvenation. As soon as he shifted his weight and took his first step, his legs buckled and he toppled forward. Tahlia's intervention saved him a second time.

"I-... Sorry," He gripped her hand tighter and clenched his jaw, struggling even to walk. Vanlan's face flushed in an amalgam of frustration and embarrassment. Embarrassment born from having been injured, as well as remaining so weak, frustrated at not even being able to coordinate his movement. He couldn't even begin to think of facing Grimmwald as he was, let alone complete his journey to Whitelight. A flurry of strong emotions danced across his face like the northern lights on a winter night, emotions that he tried to stifle so at to not further inconvenience the woman that had already saved his life.

Grimmwald walked with Cassius, surveying the remains of the caravan. The ogres had gone, as well as much of their supplies. Crates lay shattered in the dirt, contents spilt. One of the wagons had been flipped and the two horses slaughtered. Grimmwald sifted through the toppled wagon for something useful. Mostly clothes and other such belongings. One of the sacks had a variety of fruits and vegetables, apples, berries, carrots and two heads of cabbage. Grimmwald slung the sack over his shoulder and continued sifting through, this time searching for Vanlan's belongings. The search came to a fruitless end, but he found a few fur blankets that would no doubt be useful on their journey.

Grimmwald approached Cassius a few minutes later, giving a shrug. "Hardly anythin' left," He nodded to the sack he had over his right shoulder. "Found some food, at least. And something to keep us warm. Anything on your end?"

 

[Erica]

Cassius’ frown deepened with every step he took alongside Grimmwald. The caravan was—quite literally—a bloody mess. What the ogres hadn’t destroyed or trampled, smashed, or beaten to death, the fleeing people and horses had finished off. The mud only made things worse, ruining anything potentially useful or edible that had tumbled during the battle.

He split off from Grimmwald, looking through the few boxes clinging to structural integrity and making quick work of searching the bodies he found. The boxes contained rugs, dirty but whole and of no use for their upcoming journey. Oddly, he found no money, jewels, or silver among the wreckage. Usually a trip to Westlight would mean transporting something of true value. Maybe Damir had chosen the lighter, less experienced guards because of the lack of expensive wares.

The people were no better: bloody, horrible messes, wrecked and torn—sometimes literally in two. After pocketing any coin he found out of habit, he paused when he spotted a familiar axe. The pulpy, unrecognizable body must belong to the boy they had met at their interview with Damir. He sighed, picking up the axe. It was still shiny save for the mud where it had landed.

When he met up with Grimmwald, he shook his head at Grimmwald’s question. “A coil of rope and some flint, but this,” he said, holding the axe aloft, “was the only thing of value. I know many people are attached to their weapons, but would you have any use for it?”

Meanwhile, Tahlia practiced patience. Vanlan seemed determined to push himself, and she let him—while staying nearby to help before he landed back in the dirt. He must have brushed closer to death than she had originally thought. With a sharp eye, she caught the shakiness of his hand and legs, the tremble in his form as his muscles tried to remember how to respond. It wasn’t unusual, after such a considerable healing, for a patient to need time to recover. In a perfect world, she would have told him to rest for three days.

They didn’t have that luxury.

So she caught him when he stumbled, her hands rough and calloused in his but her grip sure and steady. His discomfort with weakness was as evident as his need for rest. “Don’t push yourself too hard,” she said. “Your body’s had a shock, and it needs time. What you’re feeling is normal, given the circumstances.

“So go slow.” Her eyes flitted to her bow still on the ground, then back up to him. “One step at a time. Don’t go undoing all my work, now.” Despite her smile, the joke landed flat. Cassius would tell a story or a joke to distract Vanlan from his situation. Tahlia wasn’t good at jokes or stories, so she usually chose to stay silent.

 

[Nirrim]

Vanlan continued to push one step at a time, as Tahlia had instructed. His stride was slow to return, but it got better as he practised. However, he felt the strain of each step was thrice of what it once was. He quickly found himself short of breath and opted to yield to that indulgent voice inside his head that called for a break. He found a small boulder to sit on as he and Tahlia waited for Grimmwald and Cassius to return.

During their wait, Vanlan became suddenly conscious of his indecent appearance. He was bloody and mired but more importantly, his best shirt was ruined. Now that he was stationary, he felt the chilling touch of the night breeze graze up and around his torso, sapping whatever warmth remained.

Grimmwald wrapped his thick dwarven fingers around the axe offered to him and spent a moment appraising the craftsmanship. The edge was perfectly straight as if it had either recently been sharpened or not seen use. The handle was a tad too long for use as a regular hand-axe, at least for someone of his stature, but he seemed pleased enough with it and stowed it alongside his other axe.

The two returned to find Vanlan and Tahlia waiting for them. Grimmwald handed out a fur blanket to everyone to keep them warm through the night, as he was fully planning on marching a decent while into the night.

Vanlan took his blanket and immediately wrapped it around himself, but as everyone was getting ready to leave, he stopped. "Wait," The weakness of his voice was as plain to see as a bed of roses in a field of snow.

He looked over to where the four of them had been camped prior to the attack - the fire was still blazing, radiating faint light through the darkness. "I need my cloak."

Grimmwald's brow shot up, followed by a hesitant nod.

Vanlan made his way to the camp, brushing off any objections there might have been. Their little haven away from the bustle of the rest of the camp proved to be the only surviving thing left of the camp. It had escaped the stampede and was as such bereft of any of the large, oafish footprints that now littered much of the campsite. Vanlan noticed his discarded wineskin and wondered if things had gone differently had he not been so indulgent. He found his cloak draped over the log that he had meant to be his bed for the night and returned to the others only after having wrapped it tightly, protectively around himself. Grimmwald wondered if the cloak was meant to protect him, or if he was meant to protect the cloak.

After that, Vanlan followed the party to the best of his ability. It proved a challenge for him, and Cassius' attempts at lightening the mood were met with stout silence on Vanlan's part. For once it was not contempt that fueled his silence but that even just keeping up with the others left him too drained to give a response.

Every now and again, Grimmwald would slow his pace to allow for Vanlan to catch up. It ended up being a slow progression but despite Vanlan's struggle, or perhaps even because of it, he did not hear a single word of protest from the young noble.

Dawn was fast approaching and exhaustion was more readily apparent in some than others. Grimmwald held up his hand for a halt, a brief respite that Vanlan immediately used to sit and catch his breath.

"We should find a place to rest and speak of what comes next. I'm sure we all have something we need to discuss," He looked Vanlan's way only briefly, for the most part. there had been a tense silence between the two.

 

[Erica]

“So… do you believe him?” Cassius whispered over the sound of Grimmwald’s snoring. After nearly a week on the road, he’d tried every method he knew to get the pair to speak of their past, their goals. They’d remained stubbornly silent or infuriatingly elusive.

“Which one?” Annoyance laced Tahlia’s tone, making it heavy and slow. She always kept her back to the fire when keeping watch. Deceptive shadows danced across her face, making Cassius shiver.

“Both of them,” he said, moving closer. He glanced at Vanlan, who was curled up with his fur blanket. To his credit, the young nobleman had complained less than Cassius expected, though he was still stubbornly tight-lipped about answering questions.

Tahlia’s shrugged, and her shadow wriggled against the trees around them. “What does it matter? No one owes you answers, Cassius.”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“And everyone lies,” Tahlia turned her face, her blue eyes locking on him. “You’re the one who taught me that, remember?” She sucked the last of the marrow from the small bone in her hand, then tossed it over her shoulder into the fire. They’d eaten rabbit tonight, enough to fill their bellies. Their travel since the raid had been uneventful if slow and chock full of long, awkward silences. The meat had improved everyone’s spirits when even Grimmwald’s stories couldn’t bouy them any longer.

“Yes. Everyone lies. But it’s what they care to lie about that matters.”

“No. It doesn’t,” Tahlia said, looking back out into the woods. He got the impression she wasn’t talking about them anymore. “Maybe they’re here on Vanlan’s father’s business, like he said.”

“You’ve been to Titrya,” Cassius said, trying to ease into the topic. Tahlia’s shoulders stiffened, but he pressed on. “What about Aquova? Do you know this Lord Ram Ottosson?”

Tahlia ran a hand down her face and sighed. “I don’t.” Then, just as Cassius was about to press the topic, she threw him a bone. “But I’ve heard the Ottosson name. They’re a wealthy family in Aquova.”

Cassius grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Maybe you served there?” He knew Tahlia had served in the military somewhere in Titrya, but not which area or division. Maybe it had been in the peaceful land of Aquova, where he imagined their worst threat was locusts. “Do they⁠—”

His longtime friend held up a hand, cutting off his hopes of prying more details out of her. “Please. Cassius. Just be grateful. We’re lucky to have survived.”

Unfazed by the excruciatingly slow process that was learning about Tahlia’s pass, Cassius looked at Vanlan’s apparently sleeping form. “Some luckier than most.”

“I couldn’t let him die.” Her face was cast in shadow again, but she sounded upset. Defensive.

“Of course you couldn’t,” he said gently, mostly to avoid an argument. “Though it is strange behavior for a mercenary, you have to admit. You should have at least charged him,” he added with a grin.

She only shrugged again, her tone petulant. “He wasn’t in any shape to agree to a fee.”

Wisely, Cassius changed the topic. “Another thing. That attack. It was… odd. Why would ogres be this far west?”

“Sometimes you’re just in the wrong place, Cassius. Don’t overthink it.” Tahlia stood up, brushing herself off and keeping her face away from the fire. “I’m going to do a quick sweep.”

Recognizing her signal that she didn’t want to talk anymore, Cassius nodded. As she went about her not-so-necessary sweep of the area, he wondered if he’d tripped over another part of her past she didn’t like to discuss. Her accent had been thicker when he met her and obviously Titryan. This was another piece of the puzzle, one he’d store away for later, to examine and match up against other facts, to see if they fit.

They all had their secrets. Grimmwald was right about that.

As he looked at Vanlan, he wondered what the young man’s secret was. He’d probably never know, but guessing helped pass the time.

+++​

The next day, they were near enough to Westlight to use the road. Everyone's step seemed lighter, even Grimmwald’s, who still nursed a slight limp.

The dwarf had refused Tahlia’s offer to help for reasons unknown, but it wasn’t as if Grimmwald was slowing them down. Vanlan was the slowest of the bunch and still irritated at something. He seemed perpetually bothered, finding something to frown at. Like being unable to play his flute.

At least he suffered his woes in silence.

Nestled along the edge of the Thrip River, the city of Westlight should have been a few day’s journey for the caravan. Mercovar didn’t have a capital⁠—not officially, anyway⁠—but if there were a capital, Westlight would at least be in the running. The Merchant Council often met here, and that brought a whole economy with it. Craftsmen, trade shops, markets, inns, taverns, brothels, stables, merchant’s residences, counting houses, and, of course, a thieves' network. Cassius was looking forward to making some connections and getting some fresh information.

It had been nearly a week since they’d left Hillcrest, and everyone in their ragtag group could use a bath. So they were lucky when a farmer paused his cart on the road to ask after them.

A short while later, after some painful banter about the oddity of their group, they hopped into the back of his cart. Tahlia barely caught a watermelon that tried to roll out of the back as she opened the back latch.

“That was close,” Cassius said cheerfully, hoping they hadn’t lost their chance for a ride.

“Good catch! Now, mind the rest. We had a large crop this year,” the farmer said over his shoulder. “Thanks be to Faest.”

Tahlia, who had secured the watermelon with its companions behind a divider in the back of the cart, and was now offering Grimmwald a hand up, stiffened. She shot Cassius a frown before hopping into the back with the others, and her eyes scanned the treeline as they were underway.

“So,” Cassius said, hoping to distract from her odd behavior. He was used to it, but didn’t have a great explanation, and he was still curious about their companions. “Tahlia and I probably should report the attack when we get to town. It will help us if you,” he looked to Vanlan, “as a paying passenger, were there to give weight to our story.” He grinned, leaning toward the man. “I know you’d find it hard to believe, but some mercenaries lie, and it wouldn’t be the first time a merchant tried to blame the guards for their troubles.”

 

[Nirrim]

During their time on the road, Vanlan struggled with even the simplest tasks. The act of setting up camp was generally delegated equally, but whether on the basis of his standing as the only noble or as a correlation of his injuries, Vanlan was mostly left to himself. To evade perpetual boredom, he had taken up the task of gathering wood and kindling for a flame. A task that, before his injuries, he would've handled with ease. Not that he would ever have taken such a task upon himself. Each branch he collected emphasized his weakness. When he returned with a meagre bundle of sticks that could hardly keep a fire going for more than an hour, no one said anything. Perhaps it was due to his failed attempts at hiding his heavy breathing, or the fact that his hands were shaking more than before. Regardless, the night was a fairly cold one.

Now they were faced with a farmer and his cart, and Vanlan's legs were yearning for a reprieve. Cassius spoke to the man while Vanlan stood uselessly behind the three, feeling himself disappearing into the background. Even the farmer regarded him with only a brief glance and nothing more. Aside from Cassius' stray questions aimed to involve him in a roadside conversation, he couldn't recall the last proper discussion he had participated in.

The wagon resumed down the road in what could not have been described as a pleasant ride. While a welcome change from being on their feet, Vanlan, who had positioned himself as far back in the wagon as he could as if to emphasize his disinterest in any ensuing conversation, felt the heft of each bump. He figured one of the front wheels had been damaged and hurriedly repaired. Sitting as close as he did to all the fresh produce being carried, his eyes would often wander and his stomach stirred a protest to their monotonous and scarce diet.

"Aye. We owe you that much at the very least," Grimmwald responded to Cassius' question when Vanlan did not. "I wonder if we will be the first survivors to arrive in Whitelight, or if we'll be the only ones."

"What do you plan to do once you reach Whitelight?" Vanlan said in what seemed like the first time in hours, if not days, that he willingly contributed to the conversation. He looked to Cassius specifically, but he sought to meet Tahlia's gaze as well. His eyes had an unusual vigour. "Your presence as guards on this caravan was equally as suspicious as our supposed business in Whitelight. Tell me that you will seek out another caravan to join and I will call you a liar."

"We are all hiding something, that much is obvious," His eyes trained more intently on Tahlia now. "Some more than others."

"Regardless, it is irrelevant. I will speak plainly, you are both useful, and since you insist on calling yourselves mercenaries, I will pay for your services. You will not refuse me for my offer will beat any other."

Grimmwald said nothing, but it was quite clear that he had not been privy to Vanlan's plans.

"You will have time to consider my offer, as well as to discuss privately between yourselves once we reach Whitelight." Vanlan finished.

+++

​

The remainder of their time on the road was as pleasant as one might expect. Aside from the unpredictable bumps as a result of a faulty wheel and the occasional game of catching the flying fruit, it went flawlessly. After a night's rest, the driver told them they would be in Whitelight by dusk. The prediction proved accurate enough as soon enough they would begin to see farmsteads on either side of the road as well as the occasional straggling villager that passed by, even a village along the way. They had finally made it back to civilization.

Whitelight. A city built around a massive obelisk dedicated as a monument to Jeraymee, the ascended of strength and protection, as well as to Faest, the ascended of the moon and harvest. Atop the obelisk was a white crystal that reflected and amplified the light of the moon and stars, acting as a landmark and a beacon. It is said the obelisk protects those under it, which is why Whitelight is a place where the merchant lords of Mercovar gather whenever the shifting tides of Artheas call them together. It is a place free of schemes and thus a place of unity, for none of them would dare defy the ascended.

The wagon came to a halt before the gates of Whitelight. Vanlan waited until his three companions had left the wagon and then followed suit. Another wagon had been stopped before the gates sometime before theirs, the guards had dumped most of the wagon's burden out onto the road and were rummaging through what remained, another was sharing words with someone who Vanlan assumed was the driver.

A pair of guards approached the group and the farmer paled after having seen the fate of the previous wagon.

"Well? What is your haul?" The guard asked impatiently, his black moustache had breadcrumbs in it from what must have been his lunch... Hopefully.

"Eh... Just some produce from my farm, fruits and vegetables. As well as these stragglers I picked up on the road," His wavering voice did little to sway the guard.

"Stragglers, eh?" The guard without a moustache chimed in, studying the four. "Seem like mercenaries, and you don't seem like you could afford mercenaries if all you're hauling is vegetables and fruit," He hawked and spat on the ground.

Vanlan stepped forward with renewed confidence, or perhaps just irritation at the potential of being turned away from his destination when he was so close. He pulled down the hood of his cloak in what might have been a meaningful display had his previously regal appearance not been severely diminished by over a week on the road without a wash.

"I am here on important business. I am in no way affiliated with this man, but he was helpful enough to drive us this far without asking for payment, so I will vouch for him,"

The guard seemed surprised for a moment, then seemed to debate whether or not to arrest Vanlan.

"As you can see, the road has not been kind to us. And if you keep insisting on delaying me further from my business in the city, then I will need to contact my father, Lord Ram of Quinholt. What is your name, exactly? He would certainly appreciate knowing who exactly it was that inconvenienced him so."

Whether it was the convincing, practised efficiency of Vanlan's delivery or merely the fact that the guards didn't wish to try their chances with the potential of him being a nobleman, they both took a step back and gave a half-hearted bow.

"S-sorry my lord, go on and let them inside,"

 

[Erica]

Cassius gave silent thanks to Greysin then exchanged a curious look with Tahlia as the guard folded beneath Vanlan’s blustering bravado. Whitelight had never been his favorite destination. The guards were far too enthusiastic in their application of the law, and the frequency of high-profile visitors meant that they swept up the undesirables from the main streets on a regular basis.

The prosperous guilds here were for merchants and spies. The local thieves’ guild, known as The Company to prevent any mention of them catching the ears of the many merchants in Whitelight, focused on smuggling and trading in the secrets of the nobility and merchant class.

It wasn’t easy for an elf like him to blend in or make any coin. But at least the many guards required to tend to the wealthy visitors and residents liked to gamble.

Still, the town was uptight, but not this militant. Either something big was scheduled or something had happened for the guards to ransack small merchant carts at the gate.

Tahlia said nothing. She’d withdrawn⁠—well, more than usual⁠—after Vanlan’s “offer” of employment.

As they moved through the gate behind Vanlan and Grimmwald, he caught her looking toward the obelisk in the center of the town. Although multiple alleyways and buildings stood between their position on the edge of town and the landmark, it was tall enough to peek out from between the buildings as they walked, moonlight glimmering off the crystal at the top. “You okay?” he asked. “Lots of followers of Faest here.”

Tahlia’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“What?” he shrugged. “I pay attention. You always try to avoid Faest festivals.”

Her eyes darted about the streets, then to Vanlan and Grimmwald ahead of them. “Harvest festivals leave hay everywhere. And they kept shoving dishes made with squash in your face.”

Cassius nodded as if he accepted that excuse. “So… the Minstrel or the Chalice? I doubt the merchants guild will be open this late.”

The Wayward Minstrel was an affordable inn, if a bit run-down and on the wrong side of the town⁠—as much as Whitelight had a wrong side of town. Sitting on the border of the warehouse district and the town proper, it was the inn of choice for mercenaries and visitors seeking to avoid interaction with the nobility. Further into the warehouse district, the Crimson Chalice as a step down from the Minstrel, with a few rooms out back that felt more like a stable than an inn, but it was cheap. Thieves only made a cursory pass of the rooms there because the tenants were usually too poor to have anything of worth. But it might be all they could afford.

“We need to report now.” Tahlia’s face was set. “They need to know about the attack, not that the town guard can do anything about it now.” She looked at Vanlan and Grimmwald, who looked ready to leave for the night. “We need to tell the local merchant’s guild about the attack on the caravan. I know it’s late and you probably want to settle in for the night. Where can we tell them to find you if they have questions?”

Beside her, Cassius sighed heavily.