Fantasy TOTTDLMTH Episode 2

[Soviet Panda]

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Fealca Isern
Location: Isern Braede
Interactions: Pilgrim59 Huntertabbysandshark3 Celestial Speck ElenaIsCool
​

Fealca listened to the others as they spoke, the tea kettle's soft whistle getting louder and louder as they continued. When it was at it's crescendo, Fealca turned to attend to it, and partially to hide his face as he thought. Lord Sertek was alive, so says Hershey, and in Dragonsreach. What's more, the small lizard man was indeed Galious. An apology was in order for him, but later, there were some more pressing things to look into. Such as proof that the Demon Lord was alive.

"I'll be needing more than just your word, Dreamweaver. The death of Sertek was seen by all, that is why I am not fighting still. They won, and we lost, it is as simple as that." As he spoke, he finished making the tea. And with enough cups for everyone, he sets the tea kettle down on the table, quickly grabbing a rag for the hot metal container to sit on so as not to burn the varnish and leave a mark. He even brought over the sugar, not sure how much Galious would want and deciding it would just be best if the golemancer added it himself.

"But if Lord Sertek is still alive, and what's more here in Dragonsreach, why has he not sought me out himself? The people of Dragonsreach are stupid, they do not know the face of the general that commanded the legions that burned down their pathetically defended towns and can't remember any of the names less a book is open in front of them, that is why it is so easy for me to hide in plain sight. But Sertek? He would know who I am, what I've done, and what I am capable of. And if he were to ask, I would follow him once more without any hesitation."

Taking a cup of tea for himself, he leans back against the counter. "But it is not him that is asking. It is you four, and even then it would appear only half knew of Sertek even possibly being alive." Fealca took a gulp of his tea and looked his company over before he continued. "I will assist you in any way I can to get you all on your feet and to start a new life. But I'm done fighting."

 

[Celestial Speck]

Pilgrim59 | Huntertabbysandshark3 | ElenaIsCool | Soviet Panda

Hassan Nox I-Sen

Epirean District, Dragonsreach, Haven




"Lo-lord Sertek is in Dragonsreach?!"
​

Perhaps it was wise for the second in command to have focused his attention on the reveal of the fact that Lord Sertek not only was alive as he hoped- but much like all his companions so far, found himself on the very city they sought to destroy instead of Fealca's almost heretical words that went against everything he fought and believed so far. The Endless Swordsman's face was overtaken by emotion for but a long, long moment, his eyes wide and his jaw nearly dropping itself on the ground as if it was ready to unhinge itself there and now. Confusion and emotions rushed through his body- his hands shaking for long moments before he forcefully clenched them with force to stop his body from moving upon itself- he instantly regretting yelling, or at the very least speaking so loudly, but even so...!

"Hershey, why didn't you-!"

It was relief, it definitely was such an emotion he was feeling now- like the knowledge a long lost sibling he lost at some point in time woke up from a long, overextended sleep. But even so, there was...More then. It was a hint of hurt- like his heart was weighting more than it should, his lungs heavier. He wasn't crying, he couldn't cry- not because of some stupid self-image he wanted to uphold or anything of the sorts, but there was simply...Simply...

...Fealca was right. Why didn't he search for them? He- he still remembers his words. When he told them to live out their days peacefully, carry on with their lives like they never met him once, he still remembers the gaze Sertek gave him. It was one of pity, one of guilt. Like he saw something inside Hassan he never did by himself. Something confused and lost- something that sought for something that only brought him pain. At first, Hassan joined Sertek less for loyalty and more due to the fact he wanted to fulfill an objective and show his true worth to the world- to become something akin to a legend, much like his daemonic brother. The 'strongest swordsman.' A childish dream that was cheesy as cheese itself.

He knows why he sought after that dream. He knows very well why. The cold reality of the streets- that of never finding the warmth of someone you love, be it a family or a companion...

Yet when Sertek repeated his final words to him with much more emphasis and urgency to seek something that never came to his mind, he felt so hurt, like something was tearing out of him. Something that related to his views of Sertek, and the second in command that came before him, and in a way, all Harbingers in their own bizarre ways. That view of 'family.' That same view was that 'something' that was forcefully torn from him by the Iris Company.

"Hershey..." Hassan spoke, his body calming down and so was his heart, as he walked towards the woman, and with his eyes looking at Fealca for a moment, almost as if asking for him to wait while also keeping a certain scornful look at the general's words, he looked back at the woman.

"Hershey...Why didn't you tell me Sertek was alive? What...Happened to him?"

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
The Harbor, Epirean District
Worthlessplebian
​

Sylvia simply sighed when Preston inquired of Friedhelm's course of actions regarding the Hero's presence at the facility. Both of them knew of the Grandmaster of the Black Watch's natural reactions. A man, whose keen eyes and ears for order, was in fact solely driven by his personal disdains for Sylvia. She reflected on his words for the last five years, and could not bring herself to move on from the tragedy. Especially not when Friedhelm has to remind her of it every time they met. It was a melancholic development, to become spiteful acquaintances from comrades-in-arms.

After Preston was done with his tests, Sylvia was glad to have picked up Preston somewhere along the way. Neither an alchemist nor an ardent pursuer of the intricate arts, Sylvia had only ever relinquished her lance for botany and no more than that. With the advancement of medicine and proper understanding of the aetherian chemistry, Grozny had come far.

"Intriguing. A part of me wishes to honor the Company's disbandment, but it seems that I must bother a few of our comrades. I shall entrust you with this detail, Preston, only if you are willing. There is something more that I almost omitted. We still have yet to identify the target of the prison break. By now, the Black Watch must have scored those dossiers." Sylvia said to Preston, upon the latter's update on the residue testing.

Rising from her seat, Sylvia paced herself back and forth in deep contemplations. She then turned towards Preston with an answer.

"It's best to keep our course of actions discreet for the time being. I shall accompany you to procure the proper equipment for your alchemical endeavors."

Sylvia stood by, awaiting Preston to secure the vial and make ready to depart. They immediately parted for the Epirean District, with Sylvia contemplating upon her own perception of the situation at Nova Heights. Was it simply the lack of evidence and curious methods of aggressions that made it seems like the work of the Company's former enemies? Or perhaps it was the hero's instinctive sense to default it upon the Harbingers' head. Most of them were defeated and returned to the dust long since Saarema. The more recurring and perhaps resilient ones were either cut down or faded into oblivion. She had made it clear with her final blow atop that wintry peak that their master was undone by her lance. So why now, of all times? The only conclusion Sylvia could come to was that she had lacked the evidence to make sense of the situation. Perhaps with Preston's experimentation completed, all would be pieced together in due time.

The street became more and more congested, while shipping cranes towered over the two, as they entered the seaside of the Epirean District. Sylvia followed Preston's lead, shifting through the crowds and then towards a certain alley. What seemed like a mere crevice in the wall unveiled a bustling street, teeming with colorful stalls and market personnel. Marketable goods and wares from all around Grozny eventually ended up here at the harbor. Even the best spokesman of Dragonsreach would easily fall prey to the honeyed offers of the Harbor's spice market. Sylvia and Preston eventually arrived at their destination, a warehouse that housed all kinds of goods. The facility differed greatly inside compared to their outdoors surroundings. Despite the aged walls and the bustling forum that constituted much of the street's services, the facility was as hygienic as Preston's clinic, with abundant rooms for supplies and storage. It seemed that Preston preferred to deal straight with his equipment's source rather than going through the bigger firms' wares in the Aurelian District. Sylvia stood by, as Preston took charge in their shopping trip. The latter conversed with one of his contacts there, and managed to requisition half a box full of equipment. There was a prolonged talk between them, something too in-depth pertaining to specialized knowledge that Sylvia have yet to fully comprehend. The only thing she could make sense of was the fact that they needed a few more things before the two could return to the clinic.

"Out of stock they say? There resides some apothecary apprentices in the countryside, by Hasting's Creek. I once had the pleasure of foraging besides them in late Spring, perhaps they can be of service?" Sylvia suggested to Preston, as she carried the box of equipment.

Hershey
Isern Braede, Central District
Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3 Soviet Panda ElenaIsCool ​

The General was the same man as he was during the War. A man of proofs and due process. It only proved that he still kept his sanity in a blissfully ignorant city. A city so detached from the reckoning of the War, that they were twice as mad as a traumatized veteran. Hershey turned towards Hassan, whose eyes she felt the need to pity, but respected the man enough to spare him her reasons. Her leg had stopped swinging, with her hands upon the hot cup of tea.

"Hershey hath foretold of this very moment, milord. Dost thou not recall her words mere hours ago where we toom refuge beneath the blanketed bridge? This revelation hath cometh as the dawn upon our cause." she simply replied, with an expressionless face - devoid of the expected reaction to Hassan's urgent sentiments. Hershey then took a sip out of her tea with an eerily calm manner.

She then got up from her seat.

"T'was to be Hershey's quest in solitude. There are abundance in reasons why she did not impart her own knowledge. Yes, our Master is alive. But not the same powerful being they once were. Their memories in fragments, their powers sealed, and they have chosen to be a homemaker."

The Aries remarked, as she looked towards the wall in deep thoughts.

"Hershey had chosen not to broker words of air. Not when she had to be firm in her beliefs that her Master seeketh her this very moment. Hershey had to make sure this was truly our Master, and not a ruse to entrap us all. Thou will have thine answers soon enough, Grand General. Until then, Hershey can only abide by her personal principles for the Harbingers' survival, even if she must lose hers." Hershey spoke more than she wanted to, but Hassan's eyes beckoned her to not repeat the same mistakes she did in the past. Everything bottled up, and by the time the flames were extinguished, all that was left was the ashes of regrets.

Hershey turned back towards Hassan, pacing herself towards the door. As they were side-by-side, Hershey sighed slightly.

"Hershey comprehends her unspoken words hath wounded thee, milord. Alas, she will neither ask for forgiveness nor will she expect thee to comprehend her own volitions for the task at hand. Even sentimental accords must obey the instinctive nature of survival. Hershey is sure thou would understand."

Her amber eyes glowed brightly, as she promptly made her exit out the door, shutting it gently after herself. Her grimoire sat idly upon her empty, albeit still warm seat. It seemed that the aries simply needed some fresh air, lest she impart things that would otherwise damage their already fragile reunion.

Preston's Details ( Worthlessplebian ):
I. The initial testing upon the ashen residue proved inconclusive. Preston and Sylvia must now manually gather the proper ingredients in the countryside.

ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:
Preston - "Ion Get It"
Fealca, Galius, Bisila, Hassan, Hershey - "Fatally Fragile For Fraternal Five"
​

 

[Nessi]

Ra'el
Dragonsreach, Haven​

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Ra'el's search wasn't going as well as he had hoped it would go. So far, he hadn't had any luck finding the girl from last night. He tried his best to look for her as he went through the streets of Dragonsreach, but he couldn't find her, or any evidence of her existence. He was hoping that He would be able to find her, but was beginning to think that she had already left Dragonsreach. Ra'el cursed himself for letting a piece of his past go so effortlessly, that girl was the only lead he had on who he was before he woke up in this city, and now she was gone. "Perhaps...I simply imagined her. I did have a few drinks last night, maybe it truly was my imagination then." Ra'el said with a sigh.

While Ra'el was deep in thought, he stumbled into someone without even knowing. He was able to catch himself before face planting, but mentally cursed himself for not paying more attention. "Oh, I'm so sorry! here, let me help yo-" Ra'el caught himself when he realized who he had stumbled on. It was the girl from last night! She was real, very real in fact. Ra'el Had no idea how to even interact with her.

"Your the girl from last night, aren't you." He asked her, hoping he had the right person, otherwise this would be taking a very weird turn.

 

[Midrick]

Markas Vik
​

Markas was roused from a light sleep by the voice of his commanding officer. For a split second he could've sworn they were back in Onyx valley, he could smell dirt and body odors, constant companions in the barracks of the soldiers and men he fought with on the front. After Sylvia's small party Markas had kept his night of merriment going on, frequenting some of seedier pubs and clubs of the Aure' district, they reminded him of home in some sad way. At some point he must've caught the attention of a young noblewoman or some politician's daughter, because there was currently a woman he didn't recognize sleeping next to him. This had been his standard modus operandi ever since he came back from making war on the daemon lords armies. Late nights that often led to a singular instances of him sating his desires on whatever he thought looked appetizing at the time had been almost constant in the months he had been lauded as a war hero by the havenites and even more so after he became an adventurer of repute. Despite all of these things being the dreams of young men everywhere it just felt hollow to Markas, simply going through the motions in a vain attempt to feel some form of satisfaction was anathema to him. He pulled on a pair of pants and was listening to her tirade, he smiled to himself which in of itself was a rare occurrence, even in peacetime Laure was bent on hollering orders at him. His bare feet padded silently across the lacquered oak flooring. He reached down and gathered the parcels, despite his rough nature and brusque words deep down he was grateful that someone was willing to call someone like himself a friend.

As he moved to the kitchen to satisfy his now rumbling stomach, a white hot flash of pain stabbed at his head, suprising him enough to where he cried out and brought his hand to his head. It felt as if an iron spike was being driven through the back of his head and out his eye and causing him clench his. The initial pain subsided, dull waves replaced it as he bent over the table. He heard the barely audible splash as a warm liquid dripped onto his right hand on the table. His eyes which had been squeezed shut opened, he saw a singular dot of scarlet. The single drop was joined by another lonesome tear of red. His eye and cheek suddenly felt warm as well, Markas lowered his left hand to confirm what he already knew what was happening. When he brought his fingers into view he saw his fingers in a thin coat blood. He felt he wasn't alone anymore in the kitchen, his personal demon was back, emerging from the shadows was a black shape that quickly focused into a lupine form that had baleful red slits for eyes. The beasts manifestation caused another stabbing pain to shoot through his head as he dropped to his forearms on the table. After he had recovered again he looked to the beast, its stoic form was more unnerving then when it mocked him, or made the snide remarks it loved so. " What did you do to me... " Markas accosted it as it licked at itself, like a twisted imitation of a pet. " As much as you love to blame me for any misfortune that befalls you, whatever is happening is not my doing. " The beast tentatively walked towards him and sniffed at Markas, and then the blood. " You're getting worse, Markas. " it said as it lowered itself to its haunches. Markas had mostly recovered from the random spasms of pain as it made its extremely obvious observation, his nose and eye had ceased bleeding as well. He wiped the now drying blood from his face, and ignored the beast as he ate angrily. The beast simply shook its head as it padded away and disappeared back into the recesses of his mind. Markas dressed in simple street clothes, his movements hadn't disturbed his companion of the previous night. He looked at her from her unblemished skin to golden hair and beautiful figure, It made him sick.

Markas stuffed the pass for the seminar into a coat pocket, he doubted that anyone would wear bloused boots with denim pants in the Aurelian district, but he didn't care what the bourgeois thought of his fashion sense. He left the door unlocked, most likely she would be gone by the time he returned, if she wasn't she was braver than most, or just stupid. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and began His walk towards the aforementioned location of the seminar.


Pilgrim59

 

[Celestial Speck]

Pilgrim59 | Huntertabbysandshark3 | ElenaIsCool | Soviet Panda | Nessi

Hassan Nox I-Sen

Dragonsreach, Haven

​

The truth that Hershey thereby revealed to him and in extension the rest of the Harbingers hit like a thousand swords burning through his back.

Hassan's eyes widened in momentary shock and confusion as the true reason Sertek hadn't reached out to them in any meaningful way was revealed to him. 'Memories broken, his power sealed...' such an idea felt asinine and almost illogical to even say in the face of the first Harbinger. Sertek? The one beyond the veil of reality, who reached out beyond the stars with his might to one such as himself, and all the rest here present? Who gifted him not only purpose but power? That Sertek? Lost and confused with the memories of a 'homemaker' and his powers sealed like one of the many rats that wander this city, unaware of the terrors of the war, that the very enemy they vowed to destroy stood here?

It all felt so illogical. The Demon Lord, much like Gallius and Fealca, living a simple life but taking a step even further by actually forgetting everything that could once be considered his past. To Hassan, Hershey's words were like...They were like telling a sibling of his who he watched die with his own two eyes was actually alive but crippled beyond belief. It hurt, it hurt and it still hurt for months to come after that day.

Hassan took a step back, words being filtered out and simply becoming faint suggestions carried by the wind as his mind rushed with thoughts. What the hell, what were they meant to do now?! He couldn't- he couldn't just lead them by himself. He wasn't a leader- he had their respect and Sertek that trusted him with a position as one of his most trusted, but this- that was basically meaningless now. He knew Fealca didn't respect him enough to simply follow him if he asked, and he had a feeling even Hershey's own loyalty had a limit. Of course, not that he'd even dare suggest such a thing, after all, his own loyalty led to Sertek at the end of the day. The thought of the Endless Swordsman leading the Harbingers and whatever remains of the Demon Lord's once-mighty military was not only baffling but reeked of betrayal.

Hershey- she had a plan, he knew she did. Out of all of them, she had the abilities and skill to possibly fix this, right? He had to-

The sudden sound of the door closing as the very same lamb he was thinking about exited Fealca's shop was enough to knock Hassan out of his stupor. The Endless blinked once, before gently grinding his teeth against one another and placing a hand over his forehead. He wasn't angry at her, he wasn't angry at one here- he was just angry at this situation- everything felt so easy like the entire puzzle was laid out in front of him in big chunks, and he just needed to reach out to the pieces and place them together. But at the same time, it was so, incredibly difficult. Principally with this new piece of information, it just felt like the final piece was suddenly shattered and there were no spares left.

"Damn it!" Hassan cursed loudly so everyone could hear, he really didn't like ignoring others like this, in fact, he hated it, he respected his companions, but this was so personal it simply couldn't be helped. He paced against the room in quick movements, breathing through his nose, a low hiss coming under his breath- before he decided simply.

"I'm going after her." He stated more to himself than anyone currently present, but it was a statement, either way. His eyes turned to look at the two reunited Harbingers, Bisi and Gallius before he spoke. "Bisi, Gallius, you both talk with Fealca and come with some sort of agreement with him. I trust you both won't make this more difficult than it already is." His words oozed authority and a lack of patience that one might apply to the stereotypical Harbinger- cruel, authoritarian, but it was with good reason. Or at the very least, in his eyes own, it was. "I'll be back before the sun falls over the horizon."

Without any other words, or anything else, Hassan exited through the door he came through, leaving only three other of his companions behind, as not very long after, his walk became a full-on sprint as he ran towards Hershey.

Perhaps it was luck being by his side then that he found her not much time after he exited Fealca's state where he made a living for himself. Perhaps whatever higher beings that stood over the stars decided that he should find the other before long, or perhaps Hassan's own willpower managed to find her before much longer. The unmistakably familiar sight of the girl with blonde hair and pajama-like outfits being one he can't simply miss as a mistake of his eyes. What he did however almost miss was the man that stood before her- and his eyes widened as memories of a past that happened a long time ago rushed through his mind.

He was the trusted second in command of Sertek. He had seen the man up close- he talked to the man about life, about death, about many things. Sometimes he was like a father to him while others he was more akin to a brother. He gave him blades and told him to fight and so he did in hopes of one day surpassing him and earning the title of the 'very strongest.' So when he saw the white-haired man in front of Bisi with such a calm air to him...

He almost wanted to draw his blades and cut him down for even looking like him. But he knew that the man he looked at, was, in fact, Sertek, The One Beyond the Stars, and the first friend he truly had.

"...Hershey!"
​

There was no stepping back now.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Preston Saytzeff Pacer, Preston of Met Di Plurida
Mentions: Pilgrim59

The duo travelled through twisting thoroughfares and tight alleyways until reaching the Epirean district. The sea's smell penetrated to the arachnoid's nose hairs, prompting a feeling of wariness as if the sea itself was attempting to warn the man of impending doom. Eyes from passersby glanced at the spider as they had always done, as they always will, such is life. His clawed hands tucked themselves within deep pockets. He would, on occasion, glance towards the market stalls to survey their wares and deals. Their destination was in view, Preston picked up his pace.

The insides of the facility gave off the feeling of comfort to Preston. The receptionist, a Solarian woman with ash-blonde hair dressed in a lab coat that is not too dissimilar to the one Preston wore, had greeted them. He once again took charge, stepping up to the desk to converse with the woman. "Hello," The arachnid spoke, monotone professionalism seeped out of his orifice. "Master of Surgery, Medical Doctor Preston Saytzeff Pacer, current and only resident of the Web Clinic on 29th Street." He mouthed off his titles and occupation to the receptionist whilst reaching for his wallet. Out of the leathery thing, he pulled out a thin rectangular piece of metal. On one side, the little sheet had inscriptions while the other held a streak of black with a speck of red in the centre. She took the sheet then ran it through a machine with twin lights, green and red lights on top of it. While the machine processed the license, Preston searched the inner-pockets of his coat. He procured a folded sheet of paper then slipped it to the receptionist. The machine beeped twice then emerald lights blinked. His license was returned to him. The woman with keen eyes began to scour the paper that Preston gave her. She opened a thick book that was beside her on the desk then flicked through pages. She reached the section where Preston's clinic was registered then compared the information. Once satisfied with the authenticity of the document, she returned it and began to speak. "Doctor Preston, a pleasure to serve you again. Tell me, how can this establishment satisfy your needs?" She queried the spider. "Glassware. A single set of five test tubes, a chromatographic liquid-liquid column, a retort flask, and a gas syringe. I'll also need ten milligrams of lithium diamminetriaquapentafluoroplatinat four." At the behest of the arachnid, the receptionist lifted the anprac then repeated Preston's request to the quartermaster.

A minute later, the carefully packaged instruments arrived. He handed them off to Sylvia. However, his eyes did not seem to find the ten milligrams of the aforementioned chemical. "Pardon my inquiry but do you have the chemical in stock? Because its absence from the delivered items is concerning." The woman then began speaking with an apologetic tone. "Ah, sadly, the chemical you mentioned hasn't been in our storage since last summer." The answer disappointed Preston but accepted the reality of the situation. "I appreciate your efforts, regardless."

Outside Sylvia suggested to Preston about visiting apothecaries near the countryside. "An interesting proposal, Sylvia however we need not go that far." The spider began walking. "Our options are thusly. Wait until next month for my reagent requisition form to be renewed so I can order the reagents needed to concoct the chemical. Or I could acquire the material needed in other ways." He gestured to Sylvia to follow him with a clawed hand.

"The fluorine, ammonia, and obviously the water will be the easiest to obtain. Our present task remains the acquisition of platinum and lithium." He told Sylvia with a peeved tone. "I can extract the lithium from brine albeit it may be of lower quality than a mineral ore source whilst the mineral ore will produce higher quality lithium than brine but is more expensive and the process is partially longer than the former." He mused aloud, weighing the options then waiting for Sylvia to respond. "The platinum can be acquired in a pure form or the alloy platiniridium. Hhhmmm, upon consideration, it would be more suitable if we acquire the alloy as it can easily be extracted then transform into a solution than pure platinum."

 

[ElenaIsCool]

Bisila Nzo

Isern Braede, Epirean District

The White Wolf simply grinned at Galious’s outburst, having gotten the reaction she wanted and more. She knew that threat wouldn’t go through, mostly because he couldn’t drag her there and that she wouldn’t let him.

“Aww, that’s cute but it won’t happen, boop snoot”

She chuckled at his attempt to pull her shirt and booped the salamanderian on the nose before sipping her tea like sophisticates do as the others conversed. Fealca’s point made her frown as she thought on his words. She didn't want to but a part of her doubted Hershey. If Sertek really was alive then she was really sure she wouldn't have been jailed as long as she was, hell she was sure that none of them would be trying to convince Fealca to join them in the first place. Bisila sighed and poured herself some more tea despite hers not really finishing, just because it had grown cold. Start a new life..How was she going to do that? She was pretty much still an inmate and a wanted criminal and living a 'normal' life seemed boring. She wasn't the trype to settle down and maybe open a cute little shop for future pranksters, she lived for the thrill. Being on the run was pretty exciting and she didn't want to settle down, atleast not yet.

Hassan was, of course, not taking the news well. Bisila had shot the swordsman a concerned glance with a raised eyebrow as she drank her tea. It was no secret that he and Sertek were close, he was the first Harbinger afterall. They were all close to Sertek but Hassan was definately the closest. It was understandable he'd have some convoluted, mixed feeling over the sudden news. Not even she was still over it. But Hassan's reaction still shook her somewhat, since she hadn't seen him so..Vurnerable before. The White Wolf simply drank her tea in silcence as she listened to Hershey, almost spitting out her beloved drink at the other baggage of news Hershey decided to drop on them, leading to a coughing fit.

Sertek had forgotten them

And became a homemaker of all things. Homemaker for who's home? No idea

Bisila had been numb to anything else Hershey said, partly because she was recovering from almost choking on her tea and the news. That made some sense as to why and how he wasn't with them but for how long had he been..Well, not Sertek?

"...I'm guessing he fell on his head then, maybe caused amnesia"

Bisila's words didn't quite have their usual jesting tone.

She once again became an audience of Hassan losing his marbles at Hershey's leave which she didn't notice, as funny as it seemed but the situation wasn't exactly ideal. The woman instead forcused on her tea, her only relief. While others prefered wine and beer and it was honestly fun to see drunk people, she considered tea the most superior drink to all and liked it to a rather disturbing degree. It was better when served hot. Before she could take another sip, she and Galious got hit with a most unexpecting announcement, leading Bisila to give Hassan the most 'What the hell did you just say' look she could muster but too late, the man was gone.

Bisila glanced at Galious with pure confusion before looking back at the door. She had been idling away because she thought Hassan and Hershey could do the convincing. Now she and Galious had to do it. The White Wolf's look of confusion delved into a more neutral one as she sipped her tea. Only one sentence could round up what she felt about this whole matter. Her voice was eerily calm, her eyes were closed and she lacked her iconic grin as she put down the tea cup.

"With everyone like this, I'm guessing you can see why we need you Fealca. We're screwed if someone else doesn't take the reins when Hassan is busy and Sertek isn't here to lead us"

Hassan wasn't exactly the leader of their little group but hey, she was used to him being some kind of leader figure so why not?

"Nobody said you'd have to fight anything but you will have to eventually. It's kinda inevitable. And here I thought you all had a solid plan when you busted me out but turns out I give y'all too much credit."

The woman took the kettle and poured herself the last drop of tea and sighed as she put down the empty container

"Even if we don't have anything else to fight for, we should atleast stick together, try to make the most of it even though we lost. I'll say that a normal, peaceful life doesn't appeal to me but what else can we do? I can go back home..Or not. I'm still a fugitive"

She scowled at herself for even thinking that. That estate, those people. They were no longer related, she was no longer with them. She preferred the Harbingers more than them. Chaotic and not really functional? She preffered that. They gave her more freedom than she could ever get. Bisila took her teacup and had a long sip of the drink, enjoying the hot feeling of the drink before putting it down

"Dunno what Hershey and Hassan have in mind but we need atleast a sane one here to keep things in check. Yer choice if ya wanna be that"

Bisila didn't seem to realize that she had let her accent slip, instead gesturing to Galious as she drank the last drop on her cup.

"I've got nothin' more t' say. You take center stage now, Galious"

The White Wolf closed her eyes once more and sipped her now empty cup. It lacked the hot warmth of her favourite drink and forced her to think. She needed to sort out the storm that had developed in her thoughts​

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
31st Street, Central District
Worthlessplebian Larry
​

The Commander felt a physical pinch upon her emotional state when Preston brought forth a need for time. Any sense of urgency was quickly subsided, despite the immediate ardor that she was led to believe. To her, the arachnoid's verbose statements were all but gibberish. The very same jargon that helped save lives time and again. She trusted his judgment, as she did with Irelia's abrupt, albeit voiced exodus the night before. While she hated to admit it, Sylvia must adhere to the simple fact that these things took time, now that they were no longer a part of the Imperial's vast-resource expenditures.

"I must profess my shortsighted expertise in this particular field that you are, undoubtedly, more familiar with. If this endeavor of ours requires patience, then so be it. Although I must confess, I despise time as our opposition. No matter, let us recollect our thoughts at your clinic." Sylvia shook her head with a hint of repressed agitation.

The two kept one another company regarding the matter, as they headed back to the Central District. Upon their arrival, Sylvia reflected on what they learnt thus far, while sorting out what they had on hand in Preston's clinic. An impeded progress, but it was better than coming back empty handed. If there was something the Hero learnt out of the war, it was being calm under fire, or rather, to be able to suppress her urge to press on certain matters. Despite her composed façade, the woman thrived on the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The mindset of a thrill-seeking warrior, only chained by the creeds of her morality. When she had done unpacking the equipment they had gathered down at the harbor, Sylvia turned to Preston once again.

"I appreciate the lengths you would go for this selfish adventure of mine, Preston. But it seems the Creator has other plans for us today. I must tend to my own affairs, lest silence invites distance." Sylvia concluded, with her last words veering towards Ra'el's recent behaviors.

"Update me should you achieve a breakthrough. I will be on my way now. May Aerilia bless your day, Preston, and thank you once again." she gave him a slight nod.

As Sylvia took off, she pondered on other possible leads that could be looked into. These thoughts were quickly cast aside when she reminded herself of Ra'el's well-being. She made a long stroll down 30th then 31st, where the busy streets began to fade. They were eventually replaced with tailor shops and boutiques. Fancy displays of the latest suits passed her by. It did not take them long to implement the latest trends of light-magic identifications. As she neared a certain shop, the mannequin quickly registered her face and replicated it. Sylvia stared at her mannequin doppelganger beyond the glass panels, of which had on an immaculately white mink coat. It was not exactly what she had in mind, but Sylvia entertained herself with the idea. The prize for her, however, was a certain royal blue cravat beyond the lines of her doppelganger mannequins. The Hero, rarely pleased enough to crack a smile at most things, quickly drew a bright, yet scheming grin upon her face. A quick door chime, some exchanges of words and Ryns, followed by a swift caching of her bargained plunder in a neatly wrapped up bag, the Hero made it out of the shop feeling more lively than she did this morning. It was now, only a matter of time before she presents her earnest feelings.

Before long, a certain figure caught her by surprise. A face she had not seen since they parted one another at a small village of Killeshandra. A drunken night of revel alongside the other Companions before the morning boat from Loudona took them beyond the foamy channel. Beneath the descending snow, the wintry Hero stood on the frozen sidewalk, eyeing a familiar visage before her.

Hershey
Isern Braede, Central District
Nessi Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3 Soviet Panda ElenaIsCool
​

Despite her calculations, she did not expect them to so blatantly showed up in broad daylight. If anything, it contradicted the usual dim lit background filled with skulls, accompanied by the need to share her lantern due to the Necromancer's poor decision to refrain from investing in lights. To this day, Hershey despises having to attend a gathering in the darkest place on this earth known as the "Necropolis". It was a disastrous attempt at being intimidating, followed closely by poor fire-safety and abysmal interior-lighting design, thought Hershey to herself. Even so, she missed the eccentric, but accommodating Lord of the Undead. A story to recount for another time.

Hershey's eyes teared up just a little, as her ears lowered beneath her horns.

"Hershey's Master now perceives her as a mere girl. O' THE DISHONOR!~" the aries remarked aloud, putting her hand upon her forehead, and leaned back in a dramatic manner.

She quickly turned to her side and gave Hassan a blank face instead. It was rather awkward having to step outside, only to have her amnesiac Master and Lord Hassan to simply gawk at one another in the streets. The dreamweaver wasted little time, as she mustered the best of her physical abilities to drag the white-haired homemaker and a certain homeless Ronin into the Isern Braede.

Stepping aside, she threw her hands with purpose to present the already-confused stranger as proof of her latest endeavors.

"Behold, ye of little faith. Our Master returns! All hail our Exalted Master Sertek!" Hershey exclaimed, raising her lantern slightly, as she bowed before the man.

She turned back at the lantern quizzically, slapping the device a couple of times. Finally, her lantern glowed and unleashed a hail of confetti. Somehow, the woman was able to keep a straight face throughout the entire thing, as if it was a surprise birthday party. In fact, this traditional practice was only recently imparted unto her by the Necromancer. This was the first time she was able to pull off such a feat with her lantern. Especially now that the Harbingers were gathered and not at all busy with a war.

"Thou must possess an array of questions, Master. Thou need worry not, for we Harbingers are at thy disposal to dispel thy state of bemusement. Bound unto thee our undying loyalty and soul. Thine own Blood-Sworns." Hershey's eyes glowed as she presented herself and the rest of the Harbingers to the man. A grand moment of renewal for the Shadowed Ones.

Abruptly, a whaling noise erupted, beckoning Hershey to crawl up to Sertek's feet with an agitated expression.

"Forgive Hershey, O' Astral One, for she hath consumed her life force." explained Hershey, this time with a rather squeaky tone.

Markas's Details ( Midrick ):
Markas's journey was impeded with traffic, leading him to defer to the less-congested avenues. As he made his way towards Maretto Boulevard, the Dragon Slayer noticed a derogative decline in crowds, accompanied by a few individuals that paralleled his paces. On the road, was a certain horse-drawn carriage that had parked to the right, right in front of a certain boutique. The individuals appeared to don the same type of shoes that resembled Squareback's gaiter boots. While it all seems like coincidence for these men to simply be making their way down the streets, Markas's innate nature begged to differ. Even when he had readied himself to give them the benefit of doubts, there was one particular discrepancy that irked him - those suspicious personnel of interest were converging on the transport in a textbook squareback maneuver. The man continued onwards, blissfully neglecting the bloody intentions between these armed individuals and the poor victim of their demise. That was the case, until the carriage went up in flames, followed by a loud piercing shriek that swept a hail of debris in Markas's way. The Dragon Slayer quickly got up, as he witnessed the individuals converging on the blown transport, making ready with their Mark Ninety-Fives tow. Within seconds, the security details that were standing outside the shop were quickly dropped by their assailants. The gunmen then quickly breached into the shop, searching for what Markas assumed was their main high-value-target.



ACHIEVEMENTS UNLOCKED:
Markas - "Hammer Down"
​

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Galious Meeples
interaction: Pilgrim59 Celestial Speck ElenaIsCool Soviet Panda Nessi​

“if you continue to antagonize me you will find yourself sealed inside a golem for the rest of your existence“ Galious squeaked in angry retort to Bisi’s insults and snoot boop’s it was undignified IT WAS WHY HE WANTED TO SEE THE WORLD BURN. thusly the salamanderian would add more teaspoons of sugar to his tea threatening to saturate the tea with the sweet white powered. the rage of Galious was soon calmed by chugging what was essentially sugary heated water. however it was what Hershey said next that totally broke the golemancers fragile calmness... apparently, he was right.. there was something wrong with lord Sertek... he’d lost his memories... because of course, he would it would just make too much sense. Whatever cosmic force that had it out for Galious had spited him once again. Balling his fist up an angry scowl growing on his face. It seemed Hassan was sharing a similar if not worse feeling to the news though he was far closer to Sertek than most of them.

This didn’t stop Galious form punching the wall repeatedly and ineffectually. “if course he would forget us of course that would happen it just makes sense it’s all my fault if wasn‘t here I bet he’d remember but not the universe hates me so boom the worst possible thing happens” Galious angrily mumbled to himself blocking out a lot of whatever conversation was going on as he continued to hit the wall Till he was exhausted of doing so. admittedly it didn’t take all that long As he had finished venting his rage just before Hassan had left both himself and Bisi in charge of trying to convince Fealca to rejoin them. Pouring himself another cup of tea Galious looked up at Bisi with an adorable glance that was just as confused as the look she‘d given him he’d let out a little sigh. Hopefully, they could do it though if Galious was being honest he wasn’t the most convincing of people at least when it was no demeaning himself in the process. How would they of all people convince the grand general?

Galious took another sip of his tea almost sitting it out when Bisi made a speech that he'd not thought the annoying trickster possible of it. Well, it was... inspiring and now.. she‘d put him on the spot. curses, letting out a squeak Galious gaze would dart around the room for a moment. Then climbing up onto a table so he'd look taller as he stared up at Fealca Taking a deep breath before speaking. “Look, Fealca... both of us have seen a lot more of this world then most of the others, we been through a lot, followed every order to the last for our lord Sertek, even if it hurt... but if there is just a chance we can return to how it was before.. even if it’s slim I’d take it... hell the only reason I decided to go along with this wacky plan of Hershey's was that I simply wanted one last chance one last relive that feeling of crushing insolent fools under legions of automatons... wouldn’t it feel great to be back to that as well grand general? to command and conquer one last time? Because no matter what we do... we are Harbingers.. and we made the choice that we must l-“ Galious long rambling speech that was fairly self-indulgent, was cut off by the door opening. turning towards The source of the disturbance Galious was about to complain about his speech being cut short when upon seeing the figure Hershey had dragged in he‘d respectfully bow alongside Hershey. He’d not bother with any introductions himself if lord Sertek truly didn’t remember other such as Hassan Or Hershey he’d certainly not have the foggiest of himself, especially without his ubiquitous armor.

 

[Larry]

Ódhran von Starkenburg
Location: 31st Street, Central District, Dragonsreach.
Mood: Slightly nervous, but excited at the same time.
Interactions: Pilgrim59 | Worthlessplebian ​

It's hard to believe it's almost been a year, Ódhran thought to himself as he hopped off the ferry, arriving from the island of Iona. With the amount of work that had to be done in re-organising the administration of the Kreise following the end of the war, Ódhran was delighted to have some time to himself after a year of near-constant work as the secretary of Lord Bruatar. It also didn't help that the consulate happened to revolve around to the self-same Bruatar for the year, so in addition to the rudimentary work associated with with the latter's island, there was the addition of noting down the minutes of assemblies, travelling with Lord Bruatar to ensure the security and proper development of the Drakenreich research and domestication centres (a duty imposed on the presiding consul) amongst a raft of other tasks to be done. Still, though at times it seemed to be quite travailous, Ódhran was grateful for Lord Bruatar's hospitality in offering such a position to the son of a man involved so deeply in the conspiracy of 1185. Though he often ruminated about his appointment, Ódhran felt that he was making up for the disgrace his father brought on the family fifteen years and, given that he was able to support his mother and siblings, one of whom Ódhran was visiting as a part of his leave, Ódhran was pleased that he was able to effect a better position for his family considering the abject position they found themselves after the fervour surrounding the incident subsided.

Taking his bags in hand, the young man ambled his way out onto the pier along with the other passengers, the surrounding landscape blanketed with a soft layer of snow. Ódhran was lucky that the ferry fare also included the cost of a single train journey into Dragonsreach itself, even if it was a relatively short journey, a measly seven miles, compared to what himself and the rest of Iris Company might march in a conventional day. Plopping himself down into the sight nearest to the inside door of the carriage, showing the necessary documentation to the inspector before retreating once again to his thoughts. Though Ódhran was delighted to see Saoirse again, despite it only being a number of months, the former soldier also had other issues on his mind to sort out whilst he was in Dragonsreach. He was going to confer with Sylvia about the status of Iris Company. Now that the war was over, it seemed all for certain that the company would be disbanded, which will inevitably mean the withdrawal of the benefits that had been accorded its members.

The rattling of the train hearkened the young man's mind back to the revelry of the night in Killeshandra, a day prior to his return to Arán and then-onto Iona. Over the course of the war and subsequently after his incorporation into Iris Company after the battle of Cannstatt, Ódhran made it a policy of drinking very little whilst on campaign, if not at all, given his responsibilities as logistics commander as well as the task of bi-monthly reporting (something he did rather perfunctorily) to Friedhelm of Brecourt, in his capacity as aide-de-camp. So when his colleagues made it clear that he was going to be abjuring that particular practice of his, Ódhran, if he was to let it go, was going to renounce in as a permissibly-debauched state as he possibly could. With the state he found himself the morning after, that promise he kept with himself wasn't what you'd call...'fulfilled'. Ódhran was lucky to find himself able enough to actually board the ferry, with his companions giggling at the way their usually sober, officious comrade stumbled his way along the pier with a rank smell wafting off his breath.

As the train lurched to a halt, Ódhran quickly grabbed his bags and a period of time had elapsed, Ódhran found himself amongst the throngs of people dotting 31st Street in the Central District. Though Ódhran found Clocmacnoise in Iona to be nauseatingly busy, compared to Arán, there truly was nothing to compare to the splendour of Dragonsreach, effusive in it's display of wealth and power as it was in the number of people strewn across its various districts. As he re-adjusted his spectacles more securely along the bridge of his nose, the young man spotted a familiar figure, exiting what seemed to be a clothes shop, clasping a bag in hand. Despite not haranguing her subordinates to greater feats of bravery, or initiating operations with a degree of élan that few commanders in history could compare with, there was no doubt in his mind who this person was: the Angel of Verdan, Sylvia.

"It's been a while Sylvia," Ódhran declaimed, pacing up to his former commander with a degree of excitableness that surprised even him, "You'll have to forgive me not writing to all of you over the past year. How have you been faring?"

 

[Midrick]

​

It would seem for the Dragon slayer nothing could ever be easy, ever. What was supposed to be a day of relaxation and leisure was rudely interrupted by some bad actors with extensive training in small unit tactics, Markas would've been content with letting them continue with whatever heinous acts they were up to for today's itinerary, that was until they exploded a carriage. Now that a particularly obvious example of their intentions had just alerted most of the authorities in the area, it would be more resource and time intensive for the proper authority to deal with the situation. So Markas decided to expedite the process, he was also a bit miffed about his clothes being dirtied from the blast.

The beast walked beside him as he approached the now breached storefront, bodies slumped on the now red stained glass of the security detail that had been unceremoniously executed by the gunmen. "Finally, some action... I've been getting so bored lately." it chittered in what could've passed for glee. Markas ignored its comment as he discreetly peeked a corner. He counted four gunmen, standard imperial fireteam, all using standard gear. Something didn't smell right about this, but he didn't have time to muse on the possibilities of who and what the perpetrators served. Markas quickly shed his overcoat and rolled his sleeves to the point below his elbows. He clenched his right fist as dark aetherial energy coalesced around it, he felt the warm trickle start from his nose as he prepared his ace in the hole. He was outnumbered and outgunned, good, now it would be a fair fight.

Markas used a shrill whistle to attract the attention of each gunmen, their faces were occluded by masks, but he could see the confusion in their eyes as they stared down the line challenger, the one closest to Markas shouldered his rifle and prepared to fire, luckily for him the masked men hadn't noticed the magic he was about to use, Markas flexed the muscles in his right arm causing it to tense and the energy to be summarily expended, four aetherial shackles descended from the ceiling, coiling themselves around the rifles like phantom pythons, and retracted to the ceiling, disarming all five of his soon to be assailants. The man who had initially aimed at Markas was to distracted by the surreal moment to notice the Albian springing towards him with a flying knee, the crack of bone on bone contact echoed throughout the boutique like a thunderclap, the lead man was out on his feet, crumpling backwards into a display case. It took only a heartbeat for the other four men to spring into action after Markas's assault. Markas saw two come from his front and assume fighting stances akin to havenite styles of boxing. He could tell from the way they kept their weight on the flats of their feet that they weren't particularly mobile, a weakness he would need to exploit if he wanted to avoid being swarmed. Markas threw a quick left jab at The man on the left, they were surrounded by two shelves on each side, which limited where he could move. His target retreated out of range while his accomplice simultaneously attacked with a punch of his own, Markas bobbed to his left and brought his right arm on level with his face to assist in deflecting the blow, Markas stepped in after His sidestep with a rear right, connecting with the nose of his opponent, while the man was stunned he grabbed the lapel of the man's overcoat with his left hand and slammed the outside of his right forearm into the mans breastbone while pivoting on his left foot, slamming him into the shelf. Markas cocked his right arm back and threw another punch into the mans face with the added affect of slamming his head against the shelf. His accomplice had not been idle however and had threw a haymaker into Markas's jaw. The impact and dull pain registered and Markas stumbled backwards Allowing his formerly pinned target to collapse and bring hands up to his now broken nose.

Markas had resumed his previous stance of holding his body at a 45 degree angle towards his opponent left hand leading and right held back closer to his body. All the sudden he was half tackled from behind, with the wind knocked out of him. The third attacker had immobilized him and the second man from the shelves was now charging him. Markas jumped up using the man bear hugging him as support to deliver a twin foot front kick into the center of the chargers torso, doubling him over, the man coughing and sputtering. The force of the kick sent both Markas and his new friend toppling over, both recovering at about tue same time. This one was much more sloppy than the other two, throwing a wide haymaker, Markas had noticed they were back towards the front of the store after their topple. He intercepted the punch with A forearm block while simultaneously driving the heel of his palm into the mans face, his new opponent grunted in pain as Markas quickly reached around the mans front, grabbing his attackers left shoulder with Markas's previously blocking hand, and pulling him down into a knee strike to the body. Another deeper grunt sounded as Markas followed up with a right downward elbow, deciding his opponent was sufficiently stunned, he grabbed the back of the masked gunman's collar and waistband, charging the man straight into the plate glass window. The sound of shattered glass sounded with the tinkling of the falling of the broken fragments, but he wasn't finished. Markas grabbed the back of the mans head and drove his neck down onto the jagged remains of the window, then placing both hands on his head and dragging it sideways over the glass. A choked gurgling sounded from his former assailant as his blood frothed over the glass and onto the flooring of the store. The adrenaline from the fight was exhilarating and a shout of rage roused him from his stupor. The formerly neutralized charger had pulled a knife and resumed his attack with quick swings of the blade. Markas brought the outsides of his forearms up and retreated from the frenzied assault. His last opponent had begun combining unarmed strikes with one hand and bladed strikes with the other.

Markas was being hemmed into the corner of the store. He had been lacerated multiple times already and was bleeding from a horizontal cut on his midsection and multiple cuts on his arms. He brought his arms up in an x pattern after the man had switched to an ice pick grip and aimed for a downward stab, Markas gritted his teeth with the effort of preventing a fatal stab now the that the last rifleman had placed his left hand on the knife's pommel to drive with, Markas aimed a kick at the Mans shin, causing Him to howl in pain and drop to a knee, not before grabbing Markas's hair and dragging the right side of his face Along the tip of the blade across the right side of Markas's face, creating a deep cut. Markas's Anger flared as he grunted and Brought a hand to his now profusely bleed face. The man pressed his attacked but underestimate the Albian, Markas quickly sidestepped to the outside of the man's right. Causing the man to overextend and lose his balance. Markas pounced on the opportunity grabbing the man's wrist with his right hand and crushing his attackers jaw with a left inward elbow strike. Markas brought His left hand to the man's own right hand, where he grasped the blade. And pried it out of the rifle man's grip. Markas flipped the knife into an ice pick grip and slammed the blade into the mans midsection causing him to scream and fall backwards. Markas followed Him down to the ground and pulled the knife from what he assumed was the mans liver with his stronger, right hand, and repeatedly stabbed him in the upper torso. The first two screams afterwards were his victims, but after the sixth, seventh, and eighth plunge of the now blood soaked blade, he realized the noise was his own shouts of anger and rage, and the last gunman had gone silent, Markas slowly got to his feet, panting as his battle rush and adrenaline wore off and all of his aches and pains were becoming intimately apparent, he looked down at his blood caked hand that held the knife, he lazily threw it away underhanded as he surveyed the damaged and now bloodied storefront. Hopefully they wouldn't want any reparations for the damage he caused. The rifles that had been suspended on the ceiling were lowered to the ground by his shackles. The beast appeared from behind one of the waist high display cases, grinning savagely at Markas. "Hahahaha, now this I could get used to. Good to know you still got it Markas." it said with a cruel cackle. "Says you, you're not the one who feels the repercussions of these little exchange's now are you." Markas replied, annoyance and irritation clearly conveyed. Markas looked around the store suddenly wondering why the men were here in the first place, they moved to well to be normal two bit thieves, and if they were their former talents were being wasted in such a small store robbery. Curiosity stoked, Markas preceded to move towards the back of the store where the gun men were converging before his intervention.


Pilgrim59

 

[Soviet Panda]

Fealca Isern
Location: Isern Braede
Mentions: Pilgrim59 Nessi Celestial Speck Huntertabbysandshark3 ElenaIsCool
​

Fealca calmly observed the others as Hershey told them all why Sertek had not looked for them. Broken memories and their power sealed, seemed a bit to convenient if you asked him. No one could've survived that fall, not even the Demon Lord. But he did not have time to voice this thought, as in quick order the small Aeries left, followed by the Endless Swordsman, leaving only the White Wolf and the Dragon left to apparently convince him to rejoin them.

The first to start was Bisila. He snorted softly into his cup at the mention of Hassan leading them. No offense to him, but calling Hassan a leader was like calling a tiger a herding dog. While, yes, it was possible for him to do so, it was simply not in his nature. He was Sertek's second, true, but he was not Sertek's General. Hassan belonged where he had his two swords in hand, and carving a bloody path through anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. Which, come to think of it, could very soon be Fealca. Next she mentioned how he would have to fight eventually. He agreed with her on that, but how he would fight he will leave up to himself. And finally, she told him how they should stick together. He had offered them help in getting them started to support themselves, had he not?

Once Bisila was finished, Galious was next to go, downing his tea and getting up on the table to stare eye to chest with Fealca. He had half a mind to pick him up off the table and put him down onto the ground, it was his table after all not a stool, but he resisted the urge. Galious' speech was much more self indulgent than Bisila's, with the small reptile wanting to simply relive the glory days where he could break and burn to his heart's content. Fealca did not want to do that, he wanted to live peacefully, running his shop and warding off Mrs. Seolfur's constant attempts to marry him to one of her many family members.

And he was about to tell him so before the door was opened and a distinctly familiar, yet so very strange, face presented itself to him. It was him, Sertek, it really was him. But it was clear on the once Lord of Demon's face, he did not recognize any of them. Acting quickly, a huge hand came down to grab the collar of the small lizard and stand him up, he would have done the same with Hershey had she not straightened out almost as quickly as she had bowed. He stared at her in silent horror as she addressed him as 'Exalted Master Sertek' and referred to everyone gathered as his 'Blood sworn'. Was she blind? Was she dumber than everyone in this city? She had said so herself, the man couldn't remember a thing, and yet she had dragged him into his shop and began calling him by his name. Who knew how long Sertek had been taken in as a homemaker, but it had most definitely been long enough to get a different name and to be taught all the wrong that Sertek had done, in their eyes anyways.

"Humble apologies, kind Master," he said, quickly bobbing his head in a small bow and letting his accent thickly cover his words. "The little one, she is impatient. We were having a slow day, no customers, she got bored and left saying she would get some. I did not think she would drag someone back. Apologies, perhaps the kind Master would like some of my product, at a discount for disturbing your day. I will leave you to examine and choose from what I have. I just got in dire deer, needs to be prepared, but finest specimen I have seen in years. If you'll excuse me." Giving another bobbing bow, he turns to go to the backroom where the carcass of the dire deer hung. As he turned, his immense reach managed to grab onto Hershey and begin to drag her with him. And looking towards Hassan, he says one last thing. "I will be needing your assistance with the deer, Beorn." The look said volumes, chief among these being 'look with your eyes you damn fool he doesn't remember us.'

Bisila and Galious were spared from coming to the back room with him, however, before he fully left, he said one last thing. "Efeta, Hwelp, please clean up our meal, I'm sure the kind master doesn't care to see what we had," looking at Galious and Bisila respectively as he said the names. There, that'd show the small reptile to stand on other people's tables, and Bisila would be paid for her work.

Once he was out of sight, he set Hershey in front of him. "What do you think you are doing bringing him here?" he hissed out to her. "He doesn't remember any of us, is that not what you said? And yet there he stands, before all of us, with you calling him by his old name. I had thought you were smarter than this." Turning towards Hassan, he continues. "And you, get your jaw off the damn floor and think. He may have the face of our Lord, but he isn't him." Looking between the two with a small fire in his eyes, he takes a deep, calming breath. "So Sertek lives, but like I said, he is not the same man as he was on Mt. Onyx. He is Sertek no more. I stand by what I have said, I will assist you in any way I can. I will provide you with lodging, I can give you a steady job, but I will not fight for a dead nation."

 

[Celestial Speck]

Nessi | Pilgrim59 | Soviet Panda | ElenaIsCool | Huntertabbysandshark3

Hassan Nox I-Sen

Isern Braede, Haven

​

Maybe it was a good thing that Hershey quickly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back to the Isern Braede, because any moment more in that sheer, heavy silence where he was simply staring at Sertek with wide eyes and gritted teeth- but what he did not think was a good idea was when Hershey brought Sertek along with him. Hassan knew better than to panic, years in the front lines of the many campaigns in the name of Sertek made him know better than to give in to such emotions like soldiers under him. But at the same time, he felt simply powerless to do anything else- to swat Hershey away, to come up with a lie and avoid Sertek once more, to stop this madness-! It was maddening, it was...

...The world seemed to shatter and play a little tune at the same time when Hershey did the worst possible thing she could have done in the name of loyalty. Announce Sertek's return.

Right, it was the worst.

Somehow, in some sort of miracle, Bisi and Gallius were both either too shocked or too unsure of what to do like him to follow Hershey's footsteps in confusing the very likely law-abiding man that once was the complete opposite of such- and likely fucking them over even more. His brain was running a thousand miles per second, a thousand different plans on what to do- one of them involved hitting Sertek really hard at the back of the head, the other involved running away, the other involved coming up with a lie- something that Fealca thankfully seemed to do it before him in an almost amusing irony that just proved how unlikely it was for Hassan to be a proper leader- at least, a leader when it came to non-combat scenarios.

"Indeed, she has a bit of...A curious way to attract customers. Our deepest apologies if she scared you in any way. Youth these days..." He let out a sigh, following right after Fealca's lie- and when their eyes met, the Endless's gaze almost seemed to reply to Fealca with a very much pained expression the words, 'I know.'

"Ah, of course. Please excuse us for a second."

Giving Sertek a bow to avoid looking into his face for too long, Hassan was quick to follow after Fealca, closing the door to the backroom behind him- and a long, pained sigh escaped his lips as he cleaned sweat off his forehead. His heartbeat slowed down to a more pleasant rate- and he no longer had that extremely shocked expression on his otherwise stony face. But unfortunately, it wasn't quick enough of a chance for Fealca to overlook or not notice. Gritting his teeth- he almost was tempted to yell at Fealca, but quickly bottling up everything that was eating him alive thus far, he looked to the ground, and once more, sighed- this time it being more akin to a pained groan.

"I know...! I...Know." Shaking his head before rising his head once more, he continued. "I saw it the moment I looked into his eyes. His clothes, hell, even his hair. He is truly the same as every man that walks these streets. Following the laws, looking down on the war- it felt less like I was looking into a man who had his mind locked, and more like..."

Hassan gulped quietly enough so neither man nor woman heard him. He didn't want to finish his sentence.

"...Fealca is right, Hershey." Hassan replied, deciding to move subjects before the one involving his loyalty and faith came into discussion. "I'm not sure if this is some sort of plan of yours or some sort of act of loyalty. Whatever it may be, you should have known better. If it doesn't work...And that m- If Sertek doesn't buy into the show we put up, our group may be put into jeopardy. And you know they would be after us, after our little heist for Bisi yesterday."

His voice was low and emotionless- but he didn't stop, even if it hurt, annoyed, or even maddened Hershey.

"...I'm not even sure what we're fighting for, at this point," Hassan admitted, his gaze dropping. "I want to save him, I want to bring him back, but-" His gaze, it was the happiest he's ever seen Sertek. What changed? What changed in this year, that allowed him to have clothes, proper clothes, etiquette, and likely a job? And...Homemaker...Who the hell...Who the hell did he marry to? Was that where that gaze came from? Was that where...Was what where this immense wanting and conflicted emotions came from? The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to draw his blade through his own chest.

"...You're doing more than enough, Fealca." Hassan breathed out, as if suddenly calm. It's okay. "I sincerely thank you for helping us so far, even now. Even if you're not an ally in battle any longer, I am glad to have you as an ally overall. We probably need time to think things over. I'm not even sure, honestly."

 

[ElenaIsCool]

Bisila Nzo

Isern Braede, Epirean District

Celestial Speck | Soviet Panda | Pilgrim59 | Huntertabbysandshark3 | Nessi

Bisila's eye twitched slightly in annoyance at Galious's turn. When he hopped on the table, it had made her cup fall, among other things. How come she had to talk about teamwork and stuff and he went on to be self indulgent? This wasn't about him, anyways. Fealca had to be convinced and that wouldn't cut it. Before the woman could cut the reptile's words with a well planned, witty comment, she heard the door open and looked over to the arrivals, thinking it was maybe Hassan or Hershey. It was the both of them, both with different expressions. Hassan had one of shock and Hershey's was a a mix of different ones. The reason for said expressions was right between them; Sertek.

A very confused Sertek.

"...Hershey, did you spike my drink?.."

People can't say they've managed to surprise Bisila before enough to make her silent in shock or anything, those who accomplished that were very, very few and had bragging rights about it. Hershey had become one of those people as the White Wolf was taken away by this surprise, more than the news Hershey had delivered to them. It was him, really him standing right there and looking very confused. Bisila's eyes narrowed slightly. Despite it being him, he lacked the authority, the inmense power his precense gave off. He looked like Sertek but he most definately wasn't. That was one of the reasons that made the woman stop herself from showing any reverence, which she rarely gave to anyone, other than him. Bisi snapped herself out of her daze when she heard Fealca make some exuses. Normally she would laugh at Hershey being called a child but this wasn't really the situation. and by the looks of it, she and Galious were left with taking care of something important. Again. She would have a chat with the three of them later on, considering Galious liked to shout his status and everything to anyone who was dumb enough to listen.

"A-Aye, Right-o, sir!"

She let her accent completely cover her voice as Fealca gave them orders, making her sound completely different from her usual voice, and got to work. First off venting slightly by grabbing Galious by the shoulders and dropping him on the floor, off the table with a glare that was somewhat filled with the intent of shooting him many times as she muttered

"That was for spilling the tea, you little cute thing"

Despite her upbringing, she had seen the servants and been taught so many times how to do things like clearing a table so it was nothing new to her. She spared Sertek a glance and an apologetic smile before quickly taking the tea cups and handing the still hot kettle to Galious before heading to the kitchen and putting them in the counter, taking a moment to calm herself before peeking her head through the room and faced Sertek with a slightly forced smile as she walked over to close the door and then Galious before casually dragging him over to the kitchen, where she knelt down to his level and grabbed him by the shoulders with a small, unsettling smile as she glared at him and spoke in a low, hushed voice

"What do you think you're doing? Didn't ya hear what Hershey said? I know your pride is taller than you are but use that brain of yours for a second; He doesn't remember us. If you go on introducing yourself, we have no way of knowing whether or not he'll report us or something. If I need to stress this further, I'm still a fugitive so compose yourself for a moment and resist the urge to call him Lord, will you? Don't engage until we've figured something out. Seriously, what were they thinking.."





​

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
Ortolan Cafe, Central District
Larry
​

The Hero was elated to see Odhran again, one of the few Companions that parted ways with Sylvia at the end of Operation Aquila. Many chose to seek out their own post-war destinies, while others remained in Dragonsreach with Sylvia. The silver-haired lady smiled.

"Odhran! It's sure been a while, my friend. I'm sure you have been busy since we last saw one another. I am well and worked up. From the looks of it, you seem hale and hearty compared to our time on Saarema." Sylvia exclaimed, as she instinctively hugged Odhran closely.

All her immediate thoughts about Ra'el and the Nova Heights were quickly sidelined to make room for their sudden reunion. The day had barely progressed, and with Odhran's arrival, perhaps it was some divine intervention or sheer luck to distract Sylvia from the heavy day.

"Come, there is a cozy bistro just two blocks down. Let us take refuge there and recoup with some tea." Sylvia invited Odhran.

The two quickly found themselves within the comforts of a small lounge. A humble business that Sylvia had grown fond of for the past year, when milk tea suddenly saw a rise in popularity again. The cold zephyr that surrounded them was quickly replaced by a warm fireplace. The stoked embers carried the aroma of Agrippian brew and Basrani spiced tea. A few spots taken by those of the same mind within Central District, sporadically seated around Sylvia and Odhran. They had a nice view of the streets besides the clear windows that catered to those with a preference for Neo-Cobaldi glassworks. Among a reticent multitude of regulars, Sylvia studied Odhran briefly before turning towards the waiter.

"The usual Feinte Chouchen, and some Osterian donuts please. Thank you." she said to their attendant, then eyed Odhran again.

"Will you be having the usual Squareback's Chennai? Or have you developed a different taste since Killeshandra?" Sylvia inquired, weighing Odhran's past preference for the Chennai-style of tea. The common brew that was quite popular among the officers during the war - affectionately named after the city that it originated from in Marethia.

 

[Pilgrim59]

???
Talian Tailor, Aurelian District
Midrick
​

Upon Markas's entry towards the backroom of the tailor shop, a certain figure sat across from him. A delicate creature whose fair skin and silky butterscotch hair emnanated an aura of a poised individual. She sported an elegantly tactile attire dyed in red, complemented by an immaculate evening shawl that clung between her chelidons. The Dragon Slayer's presence came as a surprise to the woman, albeit a welcoming one. It seemed that Markas's work had spoken in his stead, now that the recent commotions were put to a halt. Her apex obeyed her curious honeyed optics. They locked eyes for a brief while that felt to her as an eternity of thoughtless leisure. The Dragon Slayer's immediate point of extraordinary feature was that of his long hair. A derelict trait that was foreign for a clear killer. Yet, despite his intimidating eyes that was apparent of an ominous pair of dark vortices, the man's body gesture was in great contrast to his malevolent gaze. Her soft-glossed lips parted, giving way to a calm, sultry voice.

"I knew this day would come, but... this is most unexpected. I must say, that was quite a feat for a lone law enforcer. Yet, your steeled eyes discern you from the average law enforcers..." the lady finally said to Markas. Her dialect mirrored that of a Karelian.

It took her a split second to notice the crimson faults that oozed from his body. His tainted attire, and that of his nonconforming glare drew the lady to him. Her eyes widened with immediate concerns, breaking away from the truce of silence that befell them for a long solid minute.

"Oh my, you're bleeding..." she muttered softly to herself, while fetching a first aid kit from across the room.

Despite her supposed savior's initial disdains, the woman persisted on treating him. It was unusual for a mere Solarian to cope with such pain in a tranquil manner. Upon closer examination, it was a curious case for her, as if the man had soaked himself in a literal blood bath. While she did not understood it fully, one thing was certain to her - the man meant well to go out of his way to delay her death. Right when she thought her life was at a dead end, the self-drawn walls that she backed herself to was simply destroyed and broken down by the sheer will of this monstrous might beneath his glare. That fact alone was enough to entrust her life to the man before her. A complete stranger. It was best not to press the matter that did not concern her, she thought to herself.

Having cleaned and stemmed the man's bleeding, she quickly wrapped up the bandages around his hands. A tight knot upon his ring finger to secure the bandages. Her wound dress-ups were done skillfully and timely, as if a force of habit. In a swiftly decisive motion, the woman licked her thumb before pressing it against the cut upon the man's face. An unspoken gesture of her gratitude. In the end, she mustered her courage and finally put into words her earnest feelings.

"Thank you, handsome stranger, in more ways than you could possibly imagined. Will you tell me your name, my bloodied hero?" she expressed her gratitude and inquired of the man's name. Surely, the least she could do was acquire the name of her savior, of whom she owed her life to in this moment.

Another factor caught her attention, as she dusted off the man's jacket and handed it to him. An invitation parchment fell from his pocket, one that she recognized immediately even when it was soiled by the seeping blood.

"I see. It seems that the strings of fate has brought you to me." she stated, just as another figure entered the shop.

A young girl, whose black and white attires bespoke her status as the woman's aide.

"What happened here? Are you alright, milady?" inquired the girl with a concerned expression, while they reached for the anprac across the counter.

"Thanks to our hero here, I am now." the blonde woman replied softly with a smile.

"The enforcers are on their way. I highly recommend taking your guest to a hospital, milady."

"Yes. I concur. Those bandages will need to be changed." the woman nodded at her attendant's remarks, as she turned to Markas.

Markas's Details ( Midrick ):
Markas successfully thwarted a blatant assassination attempt in broad daylight. He is received with much gratitude by a lady of presumed nobility, whose perceptively-lenient observation of his abilities gave way to her profound faith. With law enforcement en route, and the immediate threat neutralized, the woman offered to take Markas to the hospital.

Go to the hospital or Persist to attend the seminar

​

 

[Zariel]

​

Though it'd been mere moments since Irelia arrived outside the East Dragon restaurant, her eyes immediately surveyed the area in search of the one who called her. The aroma of traditional cooking entranced Irelia, but she did not allow herself to become distracted.

"Greetings, Miss. May I be of assistance?" said the elderly worker stood at the entrance.

Irelia nodded and then handed the man her invitation card that was kept safely in the envelope she'd received. Looking through his glasses, the old man scrutinized the small card and hummed approvingly.

"Ah, right this way, Miss," he said.

The two exchanged smiles before the restaurant employee guided Irelia through the inside of the building. As they ascended several flights of stairs, Irelia appraised the authenticity of the oriental decor and architectonics. Doubtless, the building was heavily inspired by Jianki architecture, while simultaneously being slightly altered for the convenience of westerners.

When they reached the top, the worker courteously opened the door to the rooftop. As the door opened, a brisk gust of wind rushed passed Irelia and then she stepped outside.

​

"Here you are, Miss. I hope you enjoy your meal." said the old man.

"Thank you," Irelia nodded, which the worker took as a signal to leave.

The rooftop floor was quiet and empty. There was no one else around but Irelia. Strange. Here was definitely the location mentioned in the letter. Deciding to wait, Irelia walked past some tables and towards the fence enclosing the entire space.

In time, the candles spaced equidistantly apart along the fence flickered... wrongly. The wind whistled seconds before the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching Irelia from behind.

"I see you made it." a voice said.

"It's unlike you to be late. Did something happen?" Irelia replied calmly, still looking down at the wealthy streets of the Aurelion district.

"I got caught up in something, but it's been taken care of. Thank you for waiting."

"Of course, Yevnai."

Finally, Irelia turned to face the new arrival. The latter was a bit shorter in height and boasted a lean build. Her irises were a stunning, vermillion red and her hair an equally beautiful lilac. Judging solely from her dress, it was evident that she wasn't from Dragonsreach. The silk and embroidery suggested that the young woman from Jianki, just like Irelia.

​

"It's been quite some time, Sister. How have you been?" Irelia politely asked.

"Well... enough," Yevnai answered.

"And the others?"

"The last of us have recovered, for the most part. Some are still a little shaken up by the war. It would have been nice having you around, you know."

Irelia remained silent. Her head drooped as painful memories of her lost kin flooded her mind.

Yevnai's countenance became one of sad disappointment. "You're not going to say anything? Irelia? Sister?"

Still, no words left the Dawnbringer's mouth. How was she supposed to respond? How was she supposed to explain? It wasn't like she left the Oeki in favour of a better fate—her battle against the Demon Lord continued, right up until the enemy's doorstep.

"Well, I'll get straight to the point about why I'm here. Why didn't you come back, Sister? We all needed you." Yevnai revealed.

"Hmph, I figured that's why you'd come," Irelia uttered softly but somewhat insensitively.

"Is that what you think? How could you just leave us? How can you just ignore your mother's sacrifice? Your mother gave up her life to save us all when she revitalised the petrified tree. Without her, all of us would've been finished back then. She mentioned on countless occasions how she wished to entrust her role to you. Irelia, you are the custodian of Amaterasu, one of the Three Sacred Blades, the sword which belonged to your mother. Amaterasu chose you, Irelia, not just anyone can wield its power."

"I... I'm not like my mother. I was weak. Even now, after all this time it pains me to grab ahold of Amaterasu. Whenever the blade is within my grasp, I'm afflicted by the surging flames trapped within. It makes me questions whether I'm truly worthy to bear the burden of the Sun's power. If I'm truly worthy to assume my mother's mantle as the Eye of Dawn."

"If that was true you would have been reduced to dust by now, just like any other unworthy soul who tries to harness Amaterasu's power."

"Then why, when I crossed paths with that man-"

"Man?! Don't tell me you've fallen. Romantic relations with any man is forbidden, you know that. Yielding to our heart's desire does nothing but distract us from our duty. Something which history has proven to be a fatal mistake. A man is to be used for his seed and nothing more."

"You jumped to conclusions. Fear not, for I am not in love, nor have I fallen victim to it. I am also well aware of the stories we were told as children. That being said, my perception of the meaning of love has significantly changed since I left Hirana. It's not as destructive as I once believed."

"So you're questioning the ancient teachings? I beg your answer, you haven't become a proselyte have you?"

"No," Irelia said with a stern response. "I'm merely saying that times are changing, maybe it's time for the Oeki to as well."

"Preposterous!" Yevnai snapped.

Irelia sighed, smiling gently. "Perhaps. But then maybe It's best I don't return to the Oeki after all. Someone else would be a better candidate to complete the triumvirate. Why don't you try for the position, Yevnai?"

Yevnai crossed her arms and spoke nonchalantly, "Such a role doesn't interest me. Besides, I don't think I'm suited for such a job."

"You're right, it doesn't suit you." Irelia agreed, covering her mouth as she chuckled.

"Though it's funny you mention it, considering that's one of the other reasons I called you here. I feel this may be of interest to you."

"Oh?"

"After several hundred years, Tsukuyomi has finally selected a wielder."

"What?!" Irelia's head immediately perked, her mind alerted, her body tensed, and her eyes widened by the unexpected news.

Yevnai smirked at Irelia's apparent shock.

"Who is it?" Irelia said curiously.

"A young talent, her name is Akeno. She is the daughter of a martyred acolyte." Yevnai disclosed.

"Hmm, Akeno? I believe I know someone by that name, but we mustn't have been close."

"I myself had only previously met her on occasion, more so now that I have taken her under my wing."

"You're training Akeno?"

"Indeed, and for a sixteen-year-old, she's showing a lot of promise. She's advancing ahead of her class incredibly quickly, though she can be quite rebellious at times. But if I'm being honest, I think that's why I like her, she reminds me of you back when we were younger."

"Is that so?" Irelia smiled.

Yevnai averted her gaze, avoiding eye contact with the other woman. Clearing her throat, she continued, "In any case, this is the true reason I sought for you. I didn't actually think you'd come back to us. It may be true that I can teach the young girl our rules, our creed, and our martial arts. But I cannot teach her how to control the power of a Sacred Blade. Thus, I was hoping that maybe you could give the young neophyte some guidance. Given that we have no clue about Susano or its wielder's, if there even is one in the present day, whereabouts, you're the only person who's still alive that I can ask."

"I see. Very well, but I cannot give you an answer this instant. I will need time to consider," Irelia said. She walked closer to Yevnai and placed her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Fear not, Sister, we will come up with a solution. I promise. But for now, how about we treat ourselves to a meal? I'd hate for you to have journeyed all the way to Dragonsreach, step foot in the esteemed East Dragon restaurant and not try a single dish. I'm sure there are many of your favourites from back home on their menu."

"Fine, I will not refuse." Yevnai agreed. "But you have less than _____ moons to give me an answer before I must return to Jianki."

"Understood."

 

[Malphaestus]

???​

Time had passed him by quickly, rapidly even, whilst his mind and body was engaged within Barley's Keep. Friedhelm had been a difficult individual to posture and convince, forcing an abrupt end to any plans he entertained in silence whilst their meeting prolonged. Perhaps only because of his ascended position, within the Empire's administration and intelligence sphere, was he able to make it out of there with an advantage. Still, to him, it was an utmostly strange sensation, to be locked in one place with only one set of eyes with which to witness the progression of happenings. Though he had no other option, whilst he was certainly the one chosen, he was not omnipotent yet, and he was not naïve enough to work his mastery whilst underestimating the fooled. He was good at this not because he held any innate and obvious advantage, though of course he did, but because he looked upon people without the fog of bias to guide him towards the wrong path.

Whilst he walked across the paths of Dragonsreach's illustrious boulevards, passing by the meandering civilians on their daily tasks of acquiring bread, working their meager jobs, and passing by the downtrodden soldiery upon their daily commutes, he couldn't help but look back on the meeting. Having convinced Friedhelm of Sylvia's potential involvement, be it direct or indirect, the national heroine would most likely face herself, and her posse, with difficulty. The information leak would certainly end up turning into a fascinating development, now that Friedhelm was involved. One which he would certainly follow with keen interest. Perhaps she had turned traitor, in truth, Alister could not know which seed he'd planted within Friedhelm would take root, but he certainly presented many, and knew that there was progress. Perhaps, even, the Black Watch would turn the capital upside-down in fury as they attempt to capture the nation's very own archnemesis, the Harbingers. After all, Friedhelm was now aware that the secret prisoner was none other than one.

Perhaps, the rowdy trio he witnessed a few hundred meters to his front were those very ones, the Harbingers. One of them certainly seemed the part. He stopped himself from entertaining the impossible, after all only lunatics of a very different caliber would wander the streets of their enemy's national capital in broad daylight. He certainly didn't view the Harbingers kindly, but that would be a mockery of his own intellect should he even pursue the plausibility. No, instead he would be innocuous, like a no-one, as he slipped into the interior of 56th street's third best café. Taking his seat along the windows, third from the door, only after having spent a veritable eternity lining up to order his mundane and ordinary shot of black alba-bean coffee.

In truth, Friedhelm had behaved in many manners which deemed suspicion, his gaze would flare with that tinge more excessively whenever Sylvia would be brought up in their prolonged conversations. A most dubious detail, considering their closely-tied relations throughout the entire course of the War against the Daemon Lord. It piqued his interest. Whatever better time than now to gather information, perhaps incriminating, perhaps not, he thought. Truly, the nature of the information didn't matter, because should he learn why, it would be enough to maneuver into Friedhelm's psyche, to toy and toy, and puppet him all the better. All the simpler.

After all, he is a Grandmaster, an individual of equal repute to the Hero should you look upon how the Empire's administration values an individual. He was sat confidently in his seat of power, and was eased into being the one who used others. Alister held the advantage of experience over him.

With a cool sense of confidence, he closed his eyes, and allowed the aether within him to broaden, and the network which had been closed during his ventures in Barley's Keep to re-open, and re-align. His mind broadened to its natural state, and once everything was as ordained, his eyes opened once more, and his sinister oculi reddened all the grimmer.

DRAGONSREACH
'NEATHWOLD, DRAGONSREACH UNDERGROUND​

Water trickled down from the 'above,' slithering through the cracks of the daylight-painted streets of the above-world much like the refuse who mixed and gathered here down below where not even the stars shine light during the night. This was the world of the scarred, those who's faces were maligned by the dark sorcery of distant nations now no more, those who stepped in front of their brothers to protect, and paid the price for their bravery in blood. Those who's faces speak, and not their words. Those who fostered civilization here, where no one but they would venture, were victors. But victors who were never acknowledged for their greatness. Those who gathered here were those who would scare the kind away with their mere presence should they sit at a road crossing where so many veterans earn their meagre keep. The land of the lost and the forlorn, the land of the bottom-rung and the painfully kind. The land of so much kindness that evil roots itself in their acceptance.

It was no prison, at least officially. It was simply drainage, cobble-built pathways to deliver the torrents of heavy rain away from the storefronts and traffic-ways so that 'true' civilization may function unhindered. It was a wet world, mixed with soot and gunk and rot. An eroded realm where the potentiality of collapse was merely another aspect of normal, daily struggle. It was no prison, even though they could never leave, for here they were free. Here was the place where many sought protection during the day whilst they slipped into the wilderness of urbanity during the dusk to scavenge garbage and hope upon treasure. A place of realists, grizzled and gutted, bent and broken, grasping for anything to validate their senseless struggling.

It was here, in the free-world of they with faces covered, that movements ordinarily mocked and dismissed, made their homes. Across the central underway, an explicitly bigger drainage tunnel whose ultimate destination ended itself into a harbour outfall gate, meant to channel the water drain from the entire city into a central outlet, was the center of this subterranean community. From the warships and long-voyage liners, never would one venture the thought that deep within that black hole in the embankment where water gushed out from deep within there dwelled so many. Never would those who wandered the streets and passed the manholes which seem so irrelevant figure that there were so grand a people that made the rest of their lives there beneath. Those were the thoughts of one simple man, sat at the elevated edge of a ramschackled bridge between the two sides of the muddied 'crossroads.'

He had returned with a great find after the night's heist of a jewelry-makers discarded dust and excess metals, one he'd done many-a-times, but never succeeded. Until today. Within his mind, behind his last-remaining eye and below his bullet-scarred scalp, deeply embedded, he had dreamed of jewelry. It was such a typical thing to change one's fortunes with. The under-tunnels were filled with rumours of distant friends who they were tossed into the depths with, finding their ways back into society with the singular find of one thing valuable. Often jewelry. They would go on to live the rest of their lives out in peace on the countryside, within comfortable cottages of wood within the deep-wilderness. Using their war-forged talents to hunt wolf and deer, happen upon a beer, slay it, and feast for months thereafter. Purchasing salt to keep the flesh, all the luxuries impossible to afford here.

It was these dreams that held the man now sat, looking upon a single, moderate fragment of a finely cut diamond, upright. But he was afraid, not of loss, but of what the future would give him. Here in the depths, in the 'Neathwold, there were customs, rituals, and traditions in excess of what little he remembered of that wretched world above which stamped at his head whenever they passed their mindless journeys from street to street above him. Down here there was honour, justice, and fairness. They would not steal from eachother, only from those wretched surface-dwellers. They held eachother to good esteem, and made eachother better as they shared their stories around the mildly chilling caverns carved out from the cobblestone. The young'uns, those who came here only recently, fighting in whatever war was the next one, would not know of the value found here in the tombs where dead-men like him walk. And it is because of this that they would find themselves embroiled within the vengeful hands of Goliathan executioners and arbiters clad in nether-plated steel and night-painted robes.

'We call them Vultures,' he'd said once, after a newcomer had chanced upon a particularly dark passage caked in the deep-crimson of someone formerly living plastered across the cobble like fine paint, a trail of red cloaking the boring grey of stone as it stretched ever-further into the darkness, 'they take those who do not abide by the iron-law by the neck.' Newcomers would never understand the many facets of life here in the 'Neathwold lest they live it themselves. There were no families here, only the man or woman who happens to sit besides you when the weather cools and the water rises, only the infinite stories of the past which kept them all grounded in the moment, and the possibilities held in the future. Just like there was crime on the surface, there were the Vultures in the 'Neathwold.

But they were not unjust or irrational, they wandered amongst them all just the same as any other denizen here below. Sure, they seldom spoke, but when they did they spoke of ideals and a future which all of us deserved but never received. They are seldom present, but they meandre through the passages like any one of them. They policed the Wold and made sure to pay for slight with a greater slight. Someone who would speak of the thunderous applause of distant artillery across the trenchlines of war, to be bombarded by world-rending might of explosives no one could possibly consider real until it arrived at your doorstep, could find themselves vanish into the depths of the 'Neathwold, but the legend of the Vultures was never delivered with opposition in the teller's intent. That same man had most likely robbed his fellow dweller, and thus deserved the 'ever-dark' of death.

All who live in the Wold are bound in blood, from where it stems is of no consequence. To slight that bond, is to bring the 'Neath against you. That is what all who slither believe, and it is what this old, grizzled veteran has been molded into thinking by the will of the 'Neath. Still, they were not a constant like the 'Neath. The 'Neath's always been there, generations born and raised, to die and procreate, within its expanse. These Vultures are merely visitors in comparison to the Wold's presence. Still, they had been there long enough.

The old, grizzled veteran's thoughts were rustled, this was how he spent his time of day, thinking time away, but not now. His shoulder was shook by a fellow journeyman of the 'Neath. In fact, the ordinarily busy 'Crossroads' was halted by an almost foresought presence. One thing to know about the Wold is that there is no light, and were it not for the lit candles lining every wall of the ever-complex of the 'Neath, dwellers would have had to make due with feeling their way across the surfaces. These candles are not kept by any one man or woman, but by those who can afford to do so when they pass one by that should be lit, but isn't. More than any others, those who are clad in a darkness darker than night, the Vultures, patrol the 'Neath to light these wayfinding candles.

The man saw, much like the more-than-a-dozen others around the 'Crossroads' a towering silhouette in the darkness, visible only because it was darker than the darkness. Wholly covered in the nether-plate, which some individually poetically named in their story about their first witnessing, and robed in their night-sky cloak. There were three of them, trailing behind eachother as they split the crowds. Their heavy-metalled steps echoing through the caverns like nothing else could in the 'Neathwold. They were a procession, the old man knew, for he saw the second bear the iron-banner of their cause within their steely grasp.

Having lived long enough in the 'Neath, the old man was one of few who prided himself in being able to tell one Vulture from another. In fact, he was one of few in the 'Neath who peoples sought when their taste for mystery grew too great, and they desired stories of the Knights below the Surface. Nevertheless, no matter his merit, he was assured in one thing. As he scanned the expanse of their regalia, and their uniform appearance for those small diverging aspects which he used to differentiate them, he found out that these were none he'd seen before. Whilst he could not tell distance as well as he could before, ever since he lost his eye, he was proud in his sense of detail. And these three Vultures were none he'd ever witnessed.

He was so fixated on identifying them, so that he could add to his own stories, that he missed the rather obvious sign of something amiss.

Because upon that iron-banner was hung a corpse clad in rags. The procession stopped before the Crossroads' central bridge, obviously they would be unable to pass, lest they destroy it beneath their weight, but their purpose was different. The central Vulture, bearing the iron-banner, took a step forwards, as the two others stood besides him, ushering the Dwellers who were a step too brave to distance themselves from their dark gospel. There were murmurings, and noise which drifted and bounced across the walls of the crossroads, but they were quickly ceased as the Dark Gospeller rammed the Iron-Banner into the stone, and the corpse held aloft across their nightly symbol shook ferociously.

"Behold, 'Neathlings," the Dark Gospeller growled in their iconic metallic roar, a voice which no ordinary throat could possibly utter, muffled and distorted by the thick metal plate they were entombed within. "The Stellar Court enacts the Pact of Death. Crusaders who spilled the blood of siblings upon the soil of Saarema gather to this Corpse-Banner!" The old man widened his last remaining eye at the lifeless howl which the Dark Gospeller delivered their brutish word with. The pact of death, a vaguely understood concept which manifested within the 'Neath at the appearance of the Vultures. Should one seek to grasp at his own wisened mind, he'd propose that it is a concept of 'Neathly kinship. After all, they were all dead to the world above. Before he could begin to decypher what these metal giants spoke of to the common tongue, so that he could explain to those standing besides him, the Dark Gospeller continued.

"Crusaders who answered the call of the false empire and it's false idols gather to this Corpse-Banner," the Dark Gospeller gospelled, slamming the 'corpse-banner' against the cobble once more, sending a chilling thud through many fathoms of deep tunnel. Their roaring did not cease, their dark metal voice simply continuing ever onward. "Crusaders who were muddied by the false empire's heroes, crusaders who can speak for their darkness at Saarema, gather to this Corpse-Banner!" Needless to say, the man who grasped on to his fragment diamond could do little but witness the occasion. Never had he seen anything like this, at least on the Crossroads. He'd heard of 'the procession' from fellow veteran storytellers, but until now, he'd never assumed there was depth to their claims. Still, no way that dwellers would oblige to their summons, surely. The Stellar Court, as they've called themselves for long, were the Vultures. Gruesome legends meant to highlight the warped reality and struggle of those who make do in the 'Neathwold. Not something that people would aid. Surely.

He thought that to himself, as he was baffled repeatedly with each turn he edged his eyes further and further to his sides. There were not many, but there were some, who rose from their seats at the muddied and wet sides of the Crossroads, making the journey across the ramschackled bridge, and nearing the Dark Gospeller and their duo of guards. Save for those few, most of the dwellers had, since the utterance of the Dark Gospeller's gospel, edged away from the group. But now there were some who stood close by. They were young, newcomers surely. They exuded an air of a different kind of neglect than most of the 'Neath's older inhabitants. They had 'spirit,' perhaps. Whatever they had, they were the complete opposite to those whom they were trying to court. Even so, the Dark Gospeller raised the iron-banner, dragging the fragmented cobble which had been fragmented under the vicious battering of the 'Corpse-Banner' during the speech.

"Phantoms of your nation, wander in my steps and ye shall walk the path of the true constellation. Your wrath, your fury, your ruin shall be used to mete out fairness upon those bathed in the false sun of the Empire. Speak your truth to us and we shall deliver you," ghoulish words clung like noise which fought with brutish vigour to remain amidst the air, the corpse-banner rose and was carried away by the Vulture's procession, as they wandered with a small fellowship in tow, into deeper, darker, caverns.

 

[Larry]

Ódhran von Starkenburg
Location: Ortolan Cafe, Central District.
Mood: Surprised but happy.
Interactions: Pilgrim59 ​

"I doubt there's anything that could really change my preference for Squareback," Ódhran chuckled, as the waiter arrived with their order. With a few tentative breaths to cool the liquid, the former soldier sipped the familiar tea at even intervals. To be consuming this nostalgic beverage in such a relaxed setting seemed nearly surreal for the young man, when, the night before the commencement of Operation Aquilia, he remembered himself gulping down reams and reams of the stuff. And to think that the commander of that operation, the ever-fierce and commanding Angel of Verdan, the first to charge into battle and the last to withdraw, was sitting opposite him in an ever more relaxed manner than himself. Who was it that said that peace does not matter, but it's conditions? the young man mused to himself before taking another greedy sip of Squareback before looking back over at Sylvia, who likewise was nibbling away at her Osterian donuts with intermittent sups of her Feinte Chouchon. It was in the course of her drinking that Ódhran noticed the presence of a ring on her finger; despite her tenacity on the battlefield, it never ceased to amaze Ódhran that Syvlia was almost five years younger than himself but, in terms of more intimate things, was well beyond the islander in terms of maturity.

"It seems that you were quick to adapt to civilian life Sylvia," Ódhran said, nodding to the latter's ring, "When did you get married? Was it after I returned to the Outer Parallel? I suppose it's another thing that I have to apologise for."

Ódhran paused for a moment before turning his mind to the more pertinent matters he wished to discuss with Sylvia, finding no better moment than the present.

"I suppose it was fortunate that I chanced upon you when I did," he explained, changing the subject, before adopting something of a more officious manner with his comrade, "Even though the main purpose of my leave was to check up on Saoirse, I've talked to you about her before, I also thought it was in my best interest to inquire as to the status of the company, mainly to see whether the pension reserved for us would be retained in the instance of the units disbandment." The young man mentally chided himself for having to bring up such a question for Sylvia who, prior to his arrival, seemed to be going about a relatively normal day. Though he didn't want to seem as though he were money-minded or that his interest in the Iris Company hinged on his being given a receipt for his service as a part of it, Ódhran could see how it would come across as such.

"I'm far from being impecunious, but it's moreso for my siblings, with most of them soon to be entering universities, some here in Dragonsreach, that I worry for," Ódhran explained before drinking the last vestiges of tea still left in the cup.

"Aside from that," the young man muttered softly, fetching a number of ryns from his wallet and sliding them across to Sylvia for his side of the order, "How have the others been doing? Have you seen them since I parted ways with you all at Loudona? If at all possible, I would like to see the rest of them, as well as to meet your husband, by the time I have to return to Iona."

 

[Nessi]

Ra'el​

One moment, Ra'el was staring at the lamb child that had come to him at the dead of night, and attacked him. The next moment, he was dragged into a shop, and brought into a room with a small lizard man. As he looked at everyone's face, he somehow was familiar with them, it was the same feeling that he had when he saw Sylvia, he knew her, and at the same time, he didn't. It was like a small voice in his head saying that these people were important to him, but he couldn't figure out why. Some of them looked at him in disbelief, others seemed to be hurt just by his presence in the room. Ra'el was regretting trying to chase his past, because it seemed that it was doing more damage than it was fixing. He felt even more strange when the lamb child, who called herself Hershey, had called him Sertek once again. And judging from the lack of people disagreeing with her, it seemed to be the truth.

Ra'el was brought out from his own world when what seemed to be the shop owner begun to speak to him. He explained that it was a slow day, and that Hershey was simply trying to bring back customers. While Ra'el felt that he was being lied too, he didn't contest what the man told him, partly because he felt that he was already causing enough trouble for him today. Soon after the shop owner dragged Hershey and the other man to the back room to work on the supposed deer that was in that room, the lizard man, and another person that Ra'el couldn't remember left the room, leaving him all by himself.

"What am I even doing here?" Ra'el muttered to himself. He considered just getting up and leaving the butcher shop, but decided that he would just stay, and maybe even buy something. He wanted to cook something tonight anyways, and fresh meat is the best type of meat.

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Galious
interaction: Nessi ElenaIsCool​

Things seemed to have quickly and suddenly gone downhill as soon as sertek arrived his little bow and Hershey own antics had prompted fealca to immediately go on the defensive with explaining that this could very well have been a simple miss understanding. Leaving the little salamdanrian somewhat confused For the first few moments until the realization that sertek could very well just rat them out to then guard popped into his mind. but he could certainly play along hopefully.. unless the universe as it often did conspire against him. Fealca pulling Hershey and Hassan to the back room again leaving himself and Bisi the important task.. of dealing with someone important... was this some prank he was unaware of at this point? “Ok sir” Galious quickly replied to Fealca with a little squeak. He’d not have time to get off the table before Bisi lifted him by the shoulders only to drop him off onto the floor. Galious, of course, landed on his feet glaring back up at Bisi but making no move to comment at this moment.. while the gecko man was a boastful self-centred he did know when he should stay quiet this was one of those rare times.

Bisi Handed him the kettle as she dealt with the cups Galious cringing a little the damn thing still piping hot. giving sertek a cute goofy grin. Only for him to be suddenly dragged away into the kitchen hot kettle still clucked in his arms, it was starting to hurt at this point, and everything was a complete farce at this point. Quickly finding a convenient low counter to relieve himself of the kettle. within only a moment Bisi would lean down and seize him by the shoulders. Galious could only think that she’d mostly likely warm him against being as boastful as normal. Indeed that was exactly what she did promoting Galious to shake his head. “Me really? What do you think I was doing? I wasn’t going to say anything if he can’t remember Hassan them what hope does sertek have of recognizing me? None at all I wasn’t even going to bother with it. but your right iv got no clue what that sheep was thinking as if just showing up would suddenly fix everything” Galious let out an exasperated sigh. “look just let me handle this situation while I hate to admit this sometimes my.... cuteness has its advantages.. and it will likely help in this moment, just follow my lead we should at least make sure we don’t leave him totally confused.. and alone otherwise not interacting will make things worse” Galious added. the geckos mans feature softening to a more adorable goofy expression that was Galious had been showing. Slipping out of Bisi grip he‘d waddle up to the kitchen door opening it back into the room where Sertek was now standing alone.

putting on his best cuties grin not that it was too hard for the small salamanderain. “Terribly sorry about this whole mess mister, and thank you for your patients” Galious spoke with cheerful squeaky chirping. Galious would reach into his pocket to offer Sertek a wrapped hard candy as a show of goodwill. “since our still here I assume you do want to buy some of our products?” Galious added a goofy grin to his cheery demeanor. Though pn the inside he so hated what he was doing.... god this was utterly degrading but a neccesary sacrifice to defuse the situation.. he just hoped Bisis would follow his lead or at the very least stay out of the way and he could send sertek off confused.. but not too concerned.

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sylvia
Ortolan Cafe, Central District
Larry ​

Sylvia fiddled with the silvery band upon Odhran's observed statement.

"Ah, this. Yes. Undoubtedly, it was he who found me. I will make sure to acquaint you with him soon enough." Sylvia remarked, with a subtle smile.

Sylvia refrained from talking about Ra'el for the time being, choosing to lend an ear to Odhran's case. A part of her wanted to keep Ra'el among the fonder memories, lest she grow restless at her husband's odd demeanor. The hero tended to their Feinte Chouchon, a beverage reminiscent of the Verdanian Chouchon. Despite its mirrored form, the apparent namesake was true in its intention by the "Feinte". A non-alcoholic honey brew with a hint of citrus zest on the rocks, as opposed to the more enabling Chouchon. She took a sip out of the ivory mug, while eyeing the miniature Osterian donuts laid out before her. Despite this, she never partook in its sweet delights.


"Saoirse? I do wonder what became of them. As for the Company's situation, the Keep has deemed us non-essential now that the war has ended. Our post-service pensions were agreed on good terms with the Chancellor himself. It is the least we are blessed with, in order to be 'normal' again. Alas, it is up to us to not fail the citizens of Grozny, and put those funds to good use."

Sylvia's tone deepened, as if suffering from a cut that no bandage could address. Pained thoughts, hidden beneath the nonchalant, metaphysical words. Superficial gestures would blend with the hazy norms of comforts. Malevolence and benevolence as one. Reality and simulacrum intertwine, teasing the hero's sanity at every waking hour. When she heard of Odhran's concerns for their relatives, it calmed Sylvia's heart, albeit for a brief moment. It did not take long for the darkness to encroach upon her thoughts.

"Even so... it had only dawned upon me that my fighting abilities are unsuitable and irrelevant in this peaceful world. A part of me clung onto the ideals of preached peace and destined adjustments. Blissfully omitting my pent-up afflictions of the mind, falsely reinforcing myself with lies. But with every days counted since Hornet... I am slowly recognizing the curse of our Dragon Slayer is very much so a shared sentiment."

"My apologies. That was an odd thing to say." Sylvia shook her head with a nervous smile, extending her hand as she gestured Odhran to stand down. She eventually called the waiter over and took charge of the bill, while having them box-up the donuts that have yet to be finished.

"Pertaining to our Companions..." Sylvia continued, catching Odhran up with the latest happenings in the city, of which included her recent endeavors with Preston to look into the Nova Heights incident.

"...And so, Preston and I have chosen to look into it of our own volition, despite our inevitable diaspora. I only hope that I am wrong, to dissuade us of my adventurous illusions. Tell me, Odhran, am I... a broken vessel?" Sylvia eyed Odhran with a pair of faded crimson optics. Neither a sense of hope nor vigor to champion a cause. What was present, here and now, was that of a hopeless woman hanging onto a weathered sinew that reaffirmed her place in this world. A sharpened blade within a rainbow boutique.

 

[Larry]

Ódhran von Starkenburg
Location: Ortolan Cafe, Central District.
Mood: Pensive.
Interactions: Pilgrim59 | Midrick (mentioned).​

Ódhran was surprised by the depth of feeling around Sylvia's question, her ever-fierce, though now softened eyes looking at him wonderingly. And it would be odd of him not to feel, in some degree, a semblance of what she was going through. Even though the young man would have been conscripted, somewhat against his will to fight in the war, the everyday feel of the march with your companions, the roughness of bivouacking a day before battle, the exhilaration of driving the enemy from a well-fortified position: there's nothing in the course of daily life that can even compare to such experiences, no matter how intense they may be. And if someone as nigh-impassable as Ódhran would feel the pangs of military life on an odd occasion, the islander could only imagine the aching that a consummate warrior like Sylvia would feel in such a pacific time.

"No...no I don't think you're a broken vessel Sylvia," Ódhran responded, turning to meet his former commander's gaze. The young man steadied himself, closing his eyes in concentration, mentally constructing what he wanted to say with a degree of circumspection, so that he may say isn't misinterpreted. "I would find it hard to admonish you for wanting something akin to the feelings we often had when on campaign. And for you especially Sylvia, a prophesised hero that would help to drive off the armies of Sertek and free the continent from his grasp, those martial feelings must be incredibly difficult to temper."

Ódhran glowered at his attempt to ease Sylvia's worries, realising that, in contrast to the rest of his companions in Iris Company, his transition to civilian life was relatively seamless.

Was it due to a fundamental difference in their personalities, that the likes of Markas and Sylvia were so dissimilar to himself, that they feel so unsuitable for post-war life? Ódhran would say so; even though he was a soldier, he was no warrior, not if that bracket included Sylvia, Markas and numerous other members of Iris Company. The islander never inspired his fellow troops to enter the fray, nor did he ever singlehandedly turn the tide of a battle. For him to be of any use, it was in allowing these warriors to exert their strength as freely as possible, that it be co-ordinated as minutely as it could be, to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. Who I am to talk to a person like this about their pent-up need to fight? To restrain something so guttural, the only thing that gave them a sense of purpose?

The islander turned to face Sylvia.

"Forgive me for going so silent, I...I just had to think about you were really going through," Ódhran explained. "I was more than a bit arrogant to assume that I could just explain your feelings, not knowing how deep-seated they must be. That fervour you have for the military way of life, your capacity to excel in it, it really isn't the most translatable in terms of adapting to life when the war has passed. I think, if you're to at least ease the tumult you feel about all of this, talking about it is probably the best thing to do, starting off at least."

Ódhran eased himself out of the black coat he was wearing, wrapping it around the frame in one motion. The young islander wore a white shirt with a pattern of miniscule blue dots all over the piece underneath a navy-blue jumper, topped off by a emerald-green tie snaking its way underneath the collar of the jumper. The man gestured over to the waiter, indicating that he'd like to order another round of what they were drinking before turning to Sylvia.

"Assuming you have the time," he said, "Would you like to talk now?"

 

[Midrick]

Markas arched an eyebrow while he wore a slightly suprised expression, apparently the four men were after a woman. "Oooooh I think she likes yoooou~" the Beast said from behind him, sitting itself on top the counter "And judging from the quality of her dress, she definitely has some money, Could be good for a quick buck." it said trying to suggest demanding a reward. Markas tuned from the Beast and focused on the woman he had saved from a probable firing squad, her attire was interesting to say the least, definitely part of the upper class as the beast had stated, despite his need he wouldn't attempt to strong arm her, wasn't how he operated and he didn't intend to start.

"Oi! What're ye doin?" Markas's voice had risen from his usual growl, her forward actions had caught him off guard. He observed her work as she binded his wounds, she moved fast and efficiently, definitely a practiced hand in field dressing, he was interest was piqued now, her medical skills were on par with a practiced imperial field medic as far as he could tell, the sudden contact of her thumb against his face caused him to flinch away, most physical contact had been of the negative connotation for the longest time, so long in fact that it was the only thing he was used too. After her second attempt he stood still and allowed her to wipe the drying blood from his cheek. He looked back at her when she asked for his name, his gut told him to reject her request, getting involved any deeper than in whatever plot had transpired could me future ramifications for him. After a brief moment of deliberation he sighed and decided against his better judgement to reveal his identity. "Name's Markas Vik." he said, praying that she wasn't one of the rabid followers of the Iris company, undoubtedly Markas wasn't as popular as some of the other companions like Laure or sylvia, but some of the more fanatic followers knew him well enough, especially when some damn artist decided to turn one of his battles into a painting.

His attention snapped back to reality when he heard the front door open. Couldn't rule out that his previous friends in the store didn't have other accomplices lying in wait if anything went wrong, fortunately only a startled young girl that seemed to be an assistant of some sort. He heard mumble something as she handed him his coat, something about fate and some strings. "Eh?" something seemed off about the mystery woman, but he couldn't exactly judge with his unique condition now could he.

When both expressed concern for his condition he sniffed and shook his head. "'Naught but a flaesh woun' lass, no need ta worry about me. I've had much worse than this." he said, the his Albian accent making itself apparent, if they already couldn't tell. "An' on the subject of names, I don't think I caught yours." he said as he nodded towards the noblewoman. It would be better to know, just in case he heard any rumblings on a job put out on his damsel in distress from any mercs or adventurers, just in case he had to keep his head down and make himself scarce.

Pilgrim59​