Song of Heroes IC

[Turmenista]

Durge Firehearted
On the Run, Towards the Western Heartlands
__________________________________

CHUNK

Grinning, Durge stepped out of the shadows ominously, looming towards his kill. He let out a wolf whistle (no pun intended) to get the attention of the other guy, waving at him. "Oi. C'mere." Durge beckoned the shocked Lycan footsoldier to step forwards after recovering his ax from the body not too far away, who shook at the sight of his now-deceased comrade on the ground in a pool of his own blood. He had taken a powerful ax-throw to the back of his neck after they were tracking down the wanted Durge, only to get themselves caught up in an ambush from the same man they were trying to kill, which left most of their group dead. Now, he remained as the only survivor, and was now being beckoned forwards by the same man who killed his comrades... "Yeah, you. Come here."

Setting down his weapon, the young warrior slowly stepped towards the wanted marauder, who winked at him with his glowing violet eye. "I'll tell you what, youngster. I'll let you go," he gestured to himself, then to the Lycan, then away from the two for emphasis. "But you don't tell anyone I'm here. Okay?"

He flashed a stupidly fake smile. The Lycan turned tail and ran as fast as he could, but Durge extended his left arm out as if he were about to throw a javelin, using it to aim his ax throw. He leaned backwards and lobbed it towards the fleeing Lycan, watching it sail through the air for a couple of seconds. Finally, the ax came down and embedded itself in the Lycan warrior, making him let out a gak!—before he tumbled down onto the ground. Durge went into a disturbingly inappropriate fit of laughter as he jogged over to the Lycan, who had begun to crawl away. He grabbed him by his scalp with one hand, gripping his ax handle with the other. "Learn to hunt, before you take on the big game... ..gods, that was disturbing. Know any others I can use?"

Durge yanked the ax out of the Lycan, leaving his lifeless body in the dirt as he cleaned the blood off his ax. He dug through the fallen ranger's pocket to reveal a scroll, which depicted a recreation of his face that was drawn onto the paper—rather accurately, in fact—along with a hefty reward at the bottom of several thousand Ducats. Scoffing, Durge balled up the paper and threw it into the nearby pond, which, too, had been bloodied from the earlier fight and the bodies haphazardly lain about. "It seems they are getting rather restless in trying to find me, Erysivius. When'll they learn that sending guys like them is useless?"

PERHAPS YOU CAN TAKE ADVANTAGE OF WHAT IS NEAR YOU TO HIDE. An unknown force influenced Durge to look to the right, where he saw the lights of the city of Velathri in the background. Velathri was the home of the Paean Legion, a group of childish young mercenaries that he knew very little about, save for the fact that one of its members, Barnabus the Bard, was killed in Durge's fight for ownership of the eponymous gauntlet that he now wore, and that the Thane of Lycanmire was, apparently, a Legionnaire. However, Velathri was a big place, and despite the fact that Lycans were pretty much a rarity in these parts, he could still blend in and mask his smell from the Lycans tracking him down with all the people there.

Durge seemed to get Erysivius's point right. "I'll take I—oh." He immediately halted as a shadowy figure suddenly cast itself over the city, briefly blanketing Durge in darkness as it continued off towards the horizon. The last lights of the quickly darkening skies reflected off the onyx scales of the creature, giving it a brilliant opalescent sheen. The most notable parts were the horns and wings: a golden orange like the sun, and a bright violet, respectively. It continued on its flight off into the horizon, silent and quick as much as it was a beautiful sight to see.

Durge scoffed. "Huh. Never thought I would see a dragon here. Also, why is it traveling south? Why would anyone, in their right minds, travel south? Nothing's there but ugly orcs, and desert, and sand, and stupid mountains, and more sand."

Erysivius, however, had a different perspective on things, growling into Durge's ear lowly. IT APPEARS WE MAY NOT BE ALONE ON OUR QUEST TO MOUNT DORUHL, DURGE.

---

Qivantanth, the Eclipse-Bringer
Denning in Castle Talon, the Western Heartlands
__________________________________

Castle Talon, in essence, was built into the cliffs of the eponymous mountain itself, which was named so because of the claw-shaped rock structure that topped its highest, dominant peak. Legend said that the formation came to be when two gods fought over control of the mountain in their human form, thus giving the mountain its unique shape. The once huge towers that previously served as the domain to the king that made the castle his home that stretched into the sky, but were worn down with age and dust, and carried a stark smoky skeleton-like aesthetic. All the towers gave the city a spiky, uneven appearance. The city that was surrounded by the castle was also extremely vertical, with huge high rises stretching off into the sky and stairwells on nearly every street...

...but everything, still, was empty. Thousands of people once lived in the protected walls of Castle Talon. Now, it was a ghost town.

Ironically, it made for the perfect "rest and relaxation" spot for someone as regal as Qivantanth, the Eclipse-Bringer. The hollowed out interior of Castle Talon (and Mount Talon itself) was filled with mountainous piles of loot and other spoils of Qivantanth's adventures, which remained in such amounts that would make even the most veteran of dragons envious. At least, in her eyes, she saw it that way. All of her spoils could be safely kept here considering its remote, difficult-to-access location, while mountain was quiet and relaxing...almost too quiet and relaxing. She had been in here for quite some time, first idling around in what once was an impossibly massive royal hall for a king, now covered up by more ducats one could wish in their life, along with thousands of other riches.

She pondered on what she would do next in here—perhaps she would call it a day and sleep? Or, better yet, take a trip down to the cenote that was elsewhere in Mount Talon and take a refreshing dip in the water. As she moved up to finally decide, the dragoness accidentally stepped over a set of armor from one of her other plunders: it was a relatively recent one—a caped set of bronze human armor with a tattered purple cloak, perhaps looted from some adventurer or vagabond she'd slain earlier? Curious, Qivantanth leaned down to observe the armor, allowing a bundled-up map of Requiem to fall out of one of its pockets. Almost as if it was just for her, she observed the open map, noting the red markings and writing on the map indicating the importance of a strange city in the Southern Desert and Bog..

THE CITY OF FALLOWMIRE
I'll get filthy rich when I go to Mount Doruhl and solve the puzzle, I tell you! Nothing's a bad task for Barnabus the Bard!
I'll find whatever is hidden off in the vautls of Mount Doruhl and solve the mystery of Fallowmire. Maybe it's related to the Blight? Or some long lost empire? Who knows! I'm doing it!

"Fallowmire." Qivantanth said the name of the city to herself as she pushed away the map. If what this "Barnabus" said was true, Fallowmire had a vault that no one could be able to enter..until now. No wall, nor puzzle, nor man, would get in the way of her prize. "I think I shall pay this "Fallowmire" a visit."

[Absolon-7]

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

Edward Brunwulf

Roxana Ma'gonid
Roxana's vision started to degrade to a blur as she continued to chug at her glass of beer listening to Simion. Was the grandfatherclock in the corner always so bendy? thought Roxana squinting at the far off contraption. Her half closed gaze settled back on Simion as he made some comment trying alcohol to better her shooting. Her eyebrows scrunched up as she processed the statement analyzing it word after word. She took yet another swig of her beer and slammed it again at the table.

"How the blazes does drinking make you a better shot you dummy!," barked Roxana nearly tipped over the table's bench, "Might as well shoot your own foot."

Suddenly a twinkle in her eyes formed as she spotted an all too familiar blue cloak sit himself down next to her and Simion.

"Eddie! Are you calling me fat!" yelped Roxana as she leaned over to hug him by hooking her left arm around his neck and bringing him in. "How's it going? Haven't seen ya all week hiccup hiccup." Roxana released him from her to take another sip from her beer before she shook her head. She nudged Edward with her elbow and pointed at Simion. "Have you met Simion? He's got some super weird weapon called an arquebusy or something hiccup. Sounds like a dragon or manticore!"

Her eyes darted to the far off bulletin board and a gasp escaped her mouth. "Guys let's take a hiccup contract together. Imma just get out of this ben-" Roxana's own words were cut off by by her own effort once she swung her legs over the bench and not even getting to a second step she wobbled over and fell on her face.

Heading Back

The young red haired receptionist blinked blankly at the decapitated hobgoblin head that was plopped in front of her. She had seen goblins before although it was only once at her uncle's homestead when she visited him as a child but they mostly kept to trying to steal her uncle's chickens. The green diminutive men were simply unnerving. They looked like a mockery of humans but their green blood and how bizarre they looked on the inside were almost like mushrooms. She nodded along to the woman Legionnaire explaining that they had accomplished their goal. She opened up her ledger and scanned though the pages until her finger stopped at a particular bracket.

"Oh my how terrible. Hobgoblin's are just terrible," said the receptionist, "You guys are lucky. The city guard came in shortly after you left to clarify that they meant 100 Ducats for the pay and had incorrectly specified but the Guard Captain himself said that it was fine. One in a thousand chance that happening." She raised a pen and scribbled on the bracket's empty spaces. She swiveled her chair to lean over below the desk and after a few seconds of rummaging she "Alright then, here's the bank notes for the payment. 1000 Ducats each. Have a great day!"

[Radea]

Arden Rooke
Red Hill Company Caravan – Rest for the Weary
-------------------------------------------------------------
“Gods…” Rooke whispered low. He stuck his hand out, palm forward, gesturing as if warding Arialista off like a wounded bull would calm her and ease the situation. In truth, he was as frightened as anyone else. “Easy there… it’s gonna be alright.”

Refusing to lose eye-contact with the badly hurt battle mage, Arden got down to one knee and shrugged off the unconscious body on his shoulder. He replied to Corven without looking at him, “The only healer I know of is lost in the city somewhere and her healing ability might be too constrained to help us now,” The human rose to his feet, “We are on our own.”

True to her stubbornness, Arialista shuffled towards the two legionaries and collapsed shoulder first against them. Her voice was weak and dry, like someone who hadn’t drank water after days in the desert. It was hard to make out what she was saying. Her blood covered hand scraped at her belt. Secured in leather pouches were small flasks.

“Come on, you fucking….I really need….”

The growl in her voice was enough to convince Rooke to action. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder to hold her up, making sure to avoid her wounds. His other hand popped the strap on one of the pouches, freeing the opaque flask.

“Is this it?” Arden shook the bottle in front of her eyes. He undid the top with his teeth and then slid the neck of the container into the woman’s mouth.

[Absolon-7]

Caravan Contract
And lo and behold the caravan wagons were corralled and the remaining thugs quickly gave up the fight. The last thug cornered by the wood elf, Vul and the one known as Yvonne resigned himself to his fate. Arms up he got off the wagon and pleaded for mercy with a sweat of nervousness. The city sheriff and militia had by this time been called and assembled to administer all the while the crowds had mostly dispersed with a few clusters here and there observing the runaway horses of the second wagon. However, before them and their fury could befall the Legionnaires the head merchants, Pier and Guidantonio, had come running to scene from the alley and their previous impromptu stop at the Red Hill Caravan office. Pier came fuming and red faced as a Southern Bog macaque in contrast to Guidantonio who appeared as lackadaisical as ever.

The frustrated merchant Pier would have berated them then and there like a mad dog but at the suggestion of Guidantonio he relented to a more moderate approach. The Alias Sheriff and militia finally arrived and after a heavy verbal stand off with the merchants and Sylanna the matter was cleared up but not without a few nasty glances from the native lawmen. The thugs and their leader were to be handed over to the sheriff and the militiamen would clean up the mess the wagons had left behind. The original wagon drivers, a bit worse for wear but still able bodied, rounded up the horses and by the evening had reorganized the wagon train sans the third damaged one in which its contents had to be distributed among the rest. As their business was concluded the caravan exited the city in the morning and continued along its original route to the port city of Ostia. At this destination the original trade goods were sold and in their stead boxes of tea were bought. With the final destination accomplished, the caravan group headed back to Velathri to record a mission well done.

A few days later
Upon arrival in Velathri near evening at the city's Red Hill Company office all the Legionnaires were given their 800 Ducat bank notes by Pier and released from duty. Unfortunately, as proven by the clock tower at the plaza it was past seven'o'clock thus any bank would have closed its doors by now. This only left the motley crew of Legionnaires the duty of returning to the HQ and record a contract completed. At the group's arrival to the HQ's entrance area the sole red haired receptionists working late and waved at them to greet them over.

"Good evening Miss Sylanna," said the receptionist as she expertly flipped through the ledger to where this group had last signed in, "I assume it was a contract well done?"

Meanwhile past a small hallway to the HQ tavern the rowdy ruckus of the singing of mead headed by a particular Lycan could be heard as well as general merrymaking, music, servers handing out food, and roughhousing. It was almost a regular rhythm only disproven by irregular laughter and the waling rants of the only other purple cloak drinking that night. Outside the sunstone street lamps, provided by a donation to the city by the Tyranny of Thapsus began their wave of lighting up the growing darkness.

[New Finnish Republic]

Edward Brunwulf
Paen Legion Headquarters

---

Edward let out a small sigh as Roxana practically leaped out of her seat to grab ahold of him, making much more personal contact than he wanted, especially with the large crowd around them. However, he knew that this was how she was when she was drunk, so just allowed his face to be drawn towards hers as she gave him an ornery smile.

"How's it going? Haven't seen ya all week hiccup hiccup," she asked. He could smell the sweet aroma of the alcohol on her breath, every word spoken tickling his nose slightly. His eyes flashed towards the ground for a few moments, the memories of his past quest flashing before him for some time before finally he found the words to say.

"Busy," he replied, it seeming enough to sate Roxana's curiosity at the moment as she withdrew her hold around him and returned back to her seat, spilling some of her drink onto the table below in the process. That's why I always keep my drink in hand around her, Edward thought to himself, the lessons learned from many similar nights with Roxana automatically keeping his own alcohol out of harms way. He was about to ask Roxana about her own adventure, when her curiosity seemed to peek once more.

"Have you met Simion? He's got some super weird weapon called an arquebusy or something hiccup. Sounds like a dragon or manticore!" she said, an excited tone in her voice.

Edward's eyes turned to look over at the man in question, his gaze narrowing briefly in cold observation. "No, I suppose I have not," he answered. Taking a small sip from his own mug of alcohol, he continued his gaze towards the man. So the rumors are true about his choice in weapons, he thought to himself, a small amount of disgust swelling within him. Why someone would use such an untested and unwieldy weapon as that when the simple sword and shield had proven for ages to be more than reliable was past him, but for whatever reason, the fact that this man used it seemed to...irk him. "I hope she did not cause you too much trouble, nor you cause her too much to her."

Before things could continue, suddenly Roxana's excited voice chirped up once more, her attention seemingly far away from the one between Edward and Simion. "Guys let's take a hiccup contract together. Imma just get out of this ben-" Edward raised an eyebrow, his mouth already beginning to mouth out the warning for her to not try and stand up so suddenly. But it was too late, as in a bumbling crash that was rather spectacular for someone as normally agile on her feet as her, Roxana fell face first down towards to ground below. Cursing under his breath, Edward got up from his seat, this action much less clumsily than Roxana's, and reached down to pick the elven girl off of the ground.

That was, until he suddenly noticed another hand reaching for her. Turning his gaze over to the origin of the other hand, his eyes were met with Simion's, neither of their expressions being that of appreciation for the extra help. However, before the tense moment could continue, the sound of frustrated noises coming from Roxana made their attention snap back to what they had originally sought out to do. Once she was back in her feet, Edward's sharp tone from before had softened dramatically as he spoke over to Roxana.

"When will you ever learn, Roxana, that one mug is more than enough," he scolded her, shaking his head. How many times have I had to drag her drunken ass off the ground of a tavern, he thought to himself as they helped her back to her seat. Apparently not enough for her to learn her lesson.

Returning back to his own seat, he brought his attention away from the two sitting at the table and towards where Roxana's had been prior to her stumble. New contracts, Edward thought to himself, seeing the board rather full of requests for a change. His feelings mirrored Roxana's, albeit in a less drunken point of view. He was eager to get out of headquarters once more, a bitter taste still in his mouth over how the prior quest had ended.

"Another contract would be nice," Edward said plainly, the tension in his voice absent.

[Finland SSR]

Roxana Ma'gonid

Edward Brunwulf
Paen Legion Headquarters

---

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

---

"...you're not supposed to down it until you can barely speak, only have a few sips. Does wonders to reduce anxiety and relax if you're not overdosing it. That builds up tolerance..." Simion muttered under his breath in response to Roxana's surprise, but he quickly realized that the elven girl was no longer paying attention to what he was saying, instead redirecting to towards the new arrival - Edward Brunwulf, whom she was apparently already acquainted with and thus met like an old friend, complete with a hug and all.

After the initial hugs and word exchanges, Roxana introduced Simion to the adventurer as a man wielding the arquebus, the drunk Elven girl instantly starting to play around with the name. No introduction the other way around, however - though Simion hardly needed to be introduced to Edward. The marksman had already heard of the adventurer before, not much about what he is like or what his origin story is, but the story of a Red Cloak adventurer who learned the ability to communicate with wolves upon being promoted got etched into his mind for one reason or whatever.

Edward didn't seem too happy with Simion's presence, however, for reasons which the marksman could hardly dissert. He hasn't even spoken anything yet, and yet the way the adventurer replied to him, 'hoping' that Simion did not cause too much trouble to Roxana, was clearly confrontational. The marksman finished his glass and calmly replied:

"Don't worry, our teammates fulfilled the problem causing quota. Nice to meet you, Edward."

Speaking of problem raising... Roxana suddenly jumped up, apparently so delighted at Edward's presence that she even offered the three of them to take on a contract together. Although drunk contacts were... not good procedure in the Paean Legion, at least presumably, Simion was running low enough on ducats that he couldn't say no to the offer. The marksman was in the middle of standing up from his seat on the other side of the table when, suddenly, Roxana plopped straight to the ground.

"Shit..." Simion muttered under his breath as he scrambled to the other side of the table to help his fellow Legionnaire up, only to witness that he was too late. Not because something bad happened to the Elven archer or she simply stood up, but because Edward got to her first and helped her up before he could get there in time.

For a second, the gazes of the two men locked with each other, and for the first time in a long, long time, maybe in his whole life, the marksman could see himself experience feelings he couldn't have imagined himself feeling towards a Legionnaire he had only met face to face a few minutes ago. None of which were pleasant, at all.

Simion snapped out of it, however, when Edward brought up the idea of taking on a contract again. The marksman folded his arms and cracked a faint smirk, speaking:

"If you're thinking of going on a contract, then you can count on having ranged support. Roxana offered all three of us to sign up for a contract, after all." Tapping on the Elven archer's shoulder slightly, Simion snickered and continued. "Maybe not with this goofball around, though. Unless Roxana's Wisp also includes the never before seen power of shooting accurately while smashed, that is."

[The Rebel Alliances]

Scitha Rivers-Velathri, Paean Legion Mead Hall

I wasn't sitting there long when a stranger decided to join me in my drinking. The figre was a bald human male with a body which was cultivated for combat it seemed. But his dress and mannerisms were not befitting that of a warrior, at least not as I knew them. It was his approach which interested me most of all. It was without intimidation, fear or hostility. It was a strange feeling to be addressed without such feelings tainting the words. He even extended courtesy to me, something which has become almost a foreign concept in the time which it has been a rare comodity. I towered over the bald man which was not unusual for me. My voice carried with it a hint of caution as I spoke to him.

"Scitha." I responded simply, only giving my own name before I looked around the sight he had described to me. It was certainly a rowdy bunch and his explanation made sense. After all, men went to great lengths to drown their misfortunes. And I could understand the feeling, after having been refused payment a few times for my being an Orc.

"I understand their feelings. It hurts to be denied what was promised to you." I added as I took another drink from the bttle of ale. My eyes then traced back to the man as I wondered more about him. He had shown an interest in me it seemed, it appeared rude to not return the favor.

"So, Oberon...how is it that you have come upon this band of mercenaries? You do not seem the type to be seeking fortune or fame. It was too early to judge, but if this first impression was anything to consider then it seems I may have made a good choice in coming here. Or perhaps this Oberon was truly an anomoly. Either way, drink is always better with pleasant company. And after having riding so long to get here, this counted as more than pleasant for me.

[Auropa]

Corven Roche
Paean Legion Headquarters

It had been a few days since the conflict with the mercenaries and while his last-minute heroics didn’t warrant a wage in the eyes of the unhappy merchants, he was happy to have some travel companions for the journey back. After their chaotic first encounter, the colourful group had managed to grab his interest. There weren't many that could make it through a fight outnumbered and caught off guard without a single casualty. More accustomed to being with less experienced fighters, he found having everyone accounted for at the battle’s end a strange but not unpleasant way to finish things.

After going back for his mount, Corven set off with the larger group, glad to journey with people capable of more conversation than neighs, snorts and silence. On the trip, he did what he could to help, volunteering for watch, making meals and sharing his stories as they went. Some were almost true, most were significantly less so, with more than a few seemingly grounded tales of struggle and survival taking sudden turns to the fantastical with dragons, demons and kings releasing their own brand of impossible events. Though in time, familiar hills started to dot the landscape and before long, the Caravan returned home. Corven for one, was happy to be back. He had set out short on coin and came back with stories, companions and just enough gold from his courier job to pay off his debts and possibly earn a few more. He still hadn’t been in the Heartlands long but the more he stayed, the more he felt at home here. The endless greenery, the peaceful lakes and winding roads, Corven felt it suited him nicely.

After arriving and seeing the all too familiar signs of paperwork as their purple cloak began to address a clerk of the guild, Corven ducked out from the group and set about completing his own tasks. Some compliments and a bit of flirting later, his payment, debts and horse’s feed were all accounted for, logged and registered in the guild’s records. Now he walked through the lamp lit streets and off towards the stable enjoying the cold air and his own one sided conversation as he went.
“So starting at the top. Sylanna, scary purple cloak with the glowing spear and heavenly eyes. What do you think?” He asked his mount, and after a brief delay, the horse let out a soft neigh and gently tossed its head its head in response.
“Hoarse. You my friend, are messed up and quite frankly I’m disappointed in your vulgar choice of words. I mean you’re not wrong, but still. Me though, I’d give her 6 to a full 10, she can fight damn well but she’s not exactly subtle. She'd do well for a while but when she gets too out numbered…” Then mimicking an archer pulling back a bowstring he let out a quick ‘fwip’ noise before giving Hoarse a gentle rub through his mane. “But hey, that’s better than most.” Corven added with a shrug.
“Okay, next one. Lord punch-a-lot himself Rooke. I’d guess 4 to 6. Tough, strong and quick but did you see how he reacted to that girl? One injured teammate and he’s all ‘by the gods’ and ‘have mercy on us’. I mean, kudos for being a team player and all but if I had a ducal for every bleeding heart I’ve seen go down, well I mean I guess we’d only have a few dozen or so more but that’s still a nice few meals worth right?” After a brief snort from Hoarse, Corven went on.
“Well aren’t you the optimist.” He said with a quick pat to his mount’s neck “We both know I’m right though. But ball rolling. how about little miss bleed’s a lot? What’s her name Aree- something? Areil? Arial! Anyways, I’m going 2-4. Powerful and ruthless but I know a berserker when I see one and as strong as they are, they don’t last long... And what is so damned interesting that you’re ignoring me!” Corven added in a slightly louder tone as Hoarse stopped in its tracks to gaze to the stables where a recent addition now peacefully rested.
“Really?” Corven half chuckled as he followed Hoarse’s gaze and connected the dots “You realise that’s a proper steed you’re eyeballing? She’s noble, graceful and ever ready to run. You meanwhile, are more of a misshapen barrel of hay that happened to sprout legs and being honest, I don't think I've ever seen your lazy hide move faster than a trot.” Neighing and tossing its head a little, Hoarse the horse promptly ignored its smaller master and started to slowly make its way to the stables.
“Well, I wish you luck” Corven added with a smile and one last pat as it went. As for him, he went off in search of a drink and with the sound of celebration, revelry and off-key singing, it didn't take him long to reach the tavern.

When he entered, a wave of welcoming warmth rushed past him and more than happy to enjoy the feeling, he took a few seconds to survey the nostalgic and wondrous mess before him. There was a purple cloak who drunk herself to death’s door, a duo surrounding her trying to decide on whether to help or kill each other, the strangest rug he’d ever seen, a disturbingly buff monk and ‘holy hells now that’s a rather out of place tint’ he thought as his eyes passed over a certain green woman. Corven had seen more than a fair number of orcs in his time, he had even trained, drunk and fought with a few but this woman, whatever she was, was not an orc. The fangs weren’t sharp enough, the hands were almost human in size and the fact she wasn’t drinking or beating someone under a table were all reasonable hints but the real give away was her face. Soft and almost gentle, with eyes too round and lips too small. The sight intrigued him.
‘To bad choices and short lives’ he thought to himself as he made his way to the bar.

“What can I get you?” The barkeep asked upon Corven’s arrival
“Give me three mugs of the strongest thing you have. If one knocks me out before night’s end I’ll pay double come morning.” He said as he slid a few deucats across the table. Seeing the cocky newcomer and used to making drinks for warriors without equal, a sly smirk crossed the man’s face as he accepted the challenge and set to work. One short minute later, he returned and passed over three sweet smelling tankards. Taking a quick swig, Corven choked back a cough at the sudden impactful hit and gave a quick nod of thanks to the barkeep as he passed over a few more coins “You sir, are my favourite person here.”
Then with practiced ease, Corven grabbed the three large drinks and made his way over to the hairless monk and the almost-orc. He couldn’t hear their conversation over the tavern’s noise, but he rarely ever couldn’t recognise the signs of concern, doubt and regret.

“My friends, you both look far too serious and tragically sober.” he heartily called out as he placed two drinks between them and leaned back against a stool “Now I’ll be honest, I haven’t a clue what the hell this is, but it burns hot enough for my ancestors to feel. To another day lived!” He shouted back to the tavern earning a few drunken cheers as he took a swig of the concoction “Gods you can start fires with this.” He said to himself as he felt his head start to spin.
“Now then, I don't think I recognize either of you two. Well, my name is Corven and I’ve always found that a series of alcohol ridden, poorly thought through decisions worked wonders to brighten any day and make fast friends. Either of you up for a round of ‘A Life Long Lived?” he asked.
The game was as simple as it was well known, someone asked the table a question and the others would either answer or drink. Though whenever someone stayed silent, the others could try to guess the truth. If they got it right, the drinker downs his mug if not whoever guessed wrong would take a swig. It was an old pass time and an exceptional method for getting wasted in company but for Corven, it had also proved to be the perfect way of learning what went on in the heads of others

[Bentus]

Yvonne

---

“YVONNE, DUCK!”

Yvonne didn’t hesitate for a moment as Sylanna’s voice boomed out from behind her. In an instant, the Paladin had thrown herself to the wagon’s floor as the elf’s spear flew only inches above her head. Narrowly diving out of the way of her comrade’s attack, Yvonne knew that her opponent would have been taken entirely by surprise. The sickening sound of the metal spear-tip piercing through armour and crunching bone confirmed the Paladin’s suspicions, and she felt an unexpected hand of fear grip at her heart. With so little warning of an attack coming, she doubted that the mercenary would have even realised what was happening before it was too late.

But something felt off. Maybe it was a foul flavour to the air, or an unnatural rocking in the wagon’s movements. Yvonne felt goosebumps being to form on her exposed forearms, a feeling of unease steadily rising in her chest for a reason that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The sound of blood gurgling in a dying man’s throat caused the Paladin to glance up from where she lay, and the sight that greeted her plunged into her chest like an icy dagger.

Oh no. No, no, no - this isn’t right.

A pair of stunned eyes stared back at Yvonne, the face behind the mercenary’s garb instantly recognisable as his shaking arms weakly tried to reach for the spear protruding from his chest. He had youthful features, and would have been handsome had a look of fear not marred his expression. The man’s eyes met Yvonne’s as if to plead with her, the light behind them fading steadily as his life slowly seeped away from him. The man’s mouth opened and closed, but the sound of gurgling air escaping from his lungs and a trickle of blood obscured any words that he was trying to form. And then, before he could force through whatever it was that he was trying to say, a deep breath passed through his lips as the man’s arms fell limp by his sides and his body collapsed backwards onto the floor.

The sound of the armoured figure impacting onto the ground seemed to jolt Yvonne out of her paralysis and she leapt to her feet as quickly as she could. In a panic, she closed the distance to the dying man as any thought of leaving the wagon to join the other legionnaires left her mind. Crouching by his side, Yvonne hesitated as she held her hands over the horrifying wound that had been gorged into his chest by Sylanna’s spear. She couldn’t heal it. After using so much of her magic, just trying to could come at a severe cost to herself; but more than that, she felt no comforting flow of mana towards her fingertips, as if the Gods themselves had forsaken her in her moment of need. As desperation began to creep over her, Yvonne plunged her hands around the wound in an effort to slow the building by applying physical pressure. The contact caused the man - a fellow Paladin - to shudder in evident pain.

“Marcel, please hold on! I can get you to a healer, I know I can.” Even as she spoke, Yvonne could hear the desperation in her voice. How could she stabilise a wound this bad for long enough, and where would she even find a trained healer in the city? “I - I am so sorry, I didn’t realise it was you and - merde! - why didn’t you say anything?!” She could feel the tears threatening to breach the corners of her eyes at this point, and it was all Yvonne could do to turn away to hide them from her old friend.

“Ms. Sylanna, please come quick! I need to get to a healer as quickly as - “ Suddenly, the Paladin’s words trailed off as memories began to shift into focus from the haze that was obscuring her mind. She released the pressure on her hands - both of them at this point drenched in Marcel’s blood - as a realisation slowly dawned on her. “You can’t really be here, Marcel. Can you?”

Turning back to the faux-mercenary’s body, Yvonne was instead met by an image of herself staring lifelessly at the ceiling. She was wearing her full set of armour, but it was beaten and worn around the same gruesome impalement in her chest. And then, she heard another spear flying through the air towards her.

---

Waking with a start, Yvonne’s eyes shot open to the sound of a rooster greeting the morning Sun. Staring at the thatch ceiling above her head, the Paladin remained motionless for a few seconds as she felt her heart rate gradually begin to slow to a more normal pace. There were a few heavy breaths before the vivid images in her mind faded and allowed her to recall where she was and what she was doing. It had been a while since she had had a dream like that, and she couldn’t help but frown as she mulled over the unwelcomed memories that had played out in her head.

Scowling, Yvonne tossed aside the thin sheet that the local innkeeper had generously provided her. Sitting up on her bedside, she was determined to push the blurred memories from her conscious thoughts - the past was the past, and she couldn’t allow it to weigh her down for the rest of the day. Wiping a hand across her forehead, Yvonne sighed as she felt a thin sheen of cold sweat coating her features, deciding that she would have to ask the innkeeper for a bucket of water to wash herself with this morning. Pulling herself to her feet with a determined effort to thank the Divines for another bright day, the Paladin seemed to have been unphased by the basic straw mattress which she had slept on the night before.

The small room that she had eventually rented for the night was really little more than a shed set aside by the small, modest inn on the outskirts of the city. Located beyond the protective walls, the inn was a humble affair that tended to cater to peasant farmers who travelled in to sell their produce at market. A few chickens or occasionally even one of the goats or cows which the local neighbours kept in their small garden paddocks would wander the roads outside, and Yvonne couldn’t help but appreciate the simpler atmosphere that the community offered. The hustle-and-bustle of the city could be intoxicating with its crowds and dynamism, and often Yvonne found herself put off by the promises of luxury and comfort that the more prominent inns tried to spin. It also didn’t help that they charged such exorbitant rates for even a simple bed and room. She could have easily afforded it with the pay from the Caravan mission, but to spend money so frivolously would have been irresponsible.

No, Yvonne was happy to have surprised the local innkeeper and her husband with a late night arrival. They had been more than accommodating - if not taken aback by the sight of her in her plate armour and with an axe carried effortlessly on her back. Despite having been full, they offered to prepare a spare room separate from the main building, and Yvonne had graciously accepted their kindness.

Her spirits had buoyed significantly after they had completed the mission. Her fears and concerns about how to find and contact the Legion had been overcome and now she felt a brimming determination to make good on her good fortunes. She had organised a meeting with one of the organisation’s recruiters to offer her services to the renowned guild, which gave her a full day to dedicate to her own devices. With the generous bounty from the Caravan mission, Yvonne had no trouble in deciding how best to spend her time. According to the innkeeper, there was a local charity that tended to some of the poorer inhabitants of the city, and the Paladin had vowed long ago to donate at least half of her earnings whenever she could. All the better, apparently the group was always looking for volunteers to help prepare and distribute food for lunch and dinner. The prospect of performing such noble work was exciting, and Yvonne couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend her limited free time. Glancing outside the window to see the position of the early morning Sun, the Paladin smiled faintly as she took a deep breath in a new town, already looking forward to what the coming day would bring.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

---

---

There are many ways sapient beings can react to adversity. Some, upon being wronged, seethe in silence, allowing resentment to rot them from the inside out as they await a chance for payback that will likely never come; others seek refuge in distraction, seeking to clear their mind of thoughts related to that which ails them and even going as far as to drown their sorrows in drink, or worse in some cases - the High Elf archer who could barely stand on her own was a good example of this.

Then, of course, there are those who simply shrug and move on, or even take adversity as a challenge and work twice as hard. One such person walked into the tavern at the heart of the Paean Legion's headquarters, living proof that it was not faith, but a sunny disposition combined with a good amount of greed, which could move mountains. The Legionnaire strode into the establishment proudly draped in his red cloak, wearing a pair of quartz lenses that obscured his eyes and a set of polished leather armor. A staggering total of six scabbards hung from his sides, with the latest in his collection of swords being an enchanted estoc he received from a dying Byron a week prior - he only found out about its ability to discharge lightning after a rather embarrassing incident involving what would come to be known as Velathri Fried Chicken.

After the utter disappointment that was not receiving full pay for a job that got him drenched in disgusting purple fluids, Frey refused to stay down like some of his comrades, and poured all of his efforts into earning enough ducats to make up for it. While there had been no new big jobs the past week, there were always odd jobs and small tasks available for those willing, and though the pay was nothing compared to that of the heirloom retrieval quest and similar contracts, these tasks were numerous. With dedication, a bit of dumb luck, and a healthy amount of guile earning him some coin on the side, the former pirate was able to finish enough contracts to earn close to 500 ducats per day - far more than the heirloom retrieval mission earned him, all things considered.

Given his lucky streak, the act of magnanimity that followed was unsurprising.

"Alright you lowlifes, I want to see you all three sheets to the wind! Drinks on me!" He said, slipping into some of the vocabulary he'd often use in his old life. Immediately, he grabbed a rather heavy pouch from his belt and dropped it on the counter; there was an unmistakable clink coming from within, and the glint of gold was easy to notice. The tavern's crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and rapturous applause, and the bartender weighed the pouch, shrugged, and began serving drinks to all the thirsty patrons whose next round of drinks had just been paid.

With his generous display over with, Frey grabbed a drink for himself and walked to a nearby table, where the monk he had worked with during Byron's contract sat alongside a scarred young man and a not unattractive green-skinned woman - his mind briefly flashed back to the many occasions he'd butted heads with orcish pirates in the Archipelago, but none of their women had soft features like those. More importantly, while walking past their table earlier, he'd heard the unfamiliar man talk about a drinking game, which sounded like the exact kind of fun he needed right now.

"A Life Long Lived, you say? You don't mind if I join in, do you?" He addressed the man, who seemed by far the liveliest member of his little group - the orc girl and the bald monk looked anything but pumped. "Sounds like the exact kind of fun I need right now."

---

---

---

"Thank the ancestors. If I had been forced to spend another second with that merchant I might have punched his greedy face." The Snow Elf complained once she was well out of earshot. While it had been a fairly pleasant experience to become acquainted with some of the people who had joined the quest, like Vul, Rooke and Yvonne, she hadn't enjoyed working with Pier in the slightest.

Fortunately, she was disciplined enough not to act impulsively and give in to her anger, despite what she'd said. She had met her fair share of obnoxious soldiers while serving the Issgardian guardsmen in the North, and her fair share of obnoxious contractors during her three years in service to the Legion, so she was more than used to it.

Still, she was happy to see that it was over with. That only left the matter of recording a job well done.

"Good evening to you, miss." The purple-cloak smiled at the young redhead who was currently on receptionist duty. "We ran into a few nasty setbacks, but nothing we couldn't overcome."

A brief conversation and a short while later, Sylanna walked into the tavern at the Legion's headquarters, having rid herself of both her weapons and her hefty armor plates - though she kept the winged headband on, fond of the way it looked on her - and instead wearing a simple yet elegant red and white dress, the dyed fabric far better suited to showing off the elven knight's slender curves than her armor could ever be. Fortunately for her, few would even think of messing with a purple-cloak, and the less savory types that populated the tavern had long since learned to leave her alone, so she walked up to the bar unharassed and ordered a drink for herself, a strong mead imported from the North. Luckily, some idiot looking to show off had paid drinks for the entire tavern, which meant she would save up on quite a bit of coin.

She was just about done with her second mug of mead when she noticed a woman a few years younger than her, with long black hair and lonely eyes, gracefully weaving her way past the crowd of drunken Legionnaires. After a few moments, Sylanna recognized her: one of the older red-cloaks in the Legion, who refused to be promoted to a higher rank despite clearly possessing the skill to justify it.

"Annabelle, right?" The Snow Elf addressed the human with a friendly smile. "You don't look like you're having a lot of fun by yourself. Why don't you have a drink with me?"

[Radea]

Arden Rooke
Paean Legion Headquarters – Velathri
--------------------------------------------------------
The door to the tavern swung open with speed and ferocity. Without introduction, Arden Rooke shouted to no one in particular, “We came, we saw, we knocked it flat on its ass!” He gestured with a vigorous fist pump and swung banknotes in the air clenched tightly between his fingers. His face had two black eyes and a greenish nose, remnants of getting walloped in the face by an iron gauntlet, but seemed nonplussed. Clearly, he was drunk on victory, not liquor. Though that may come later. The tables had already been claimed by many in the Paean Legion, with many already deep in their cups. Noticing the inebriated wolf-like man, Arden restrained making a ‘hair-of-the-dog’ jest.

Before he noticed any friendly faces from the caravan contract, he overheard a smart-ass one. The wise-cracking scoundrel was sitting next to a clean-shaved man who had an air of restraint about him, a green-skinned woman of curious descent and looked well pleased with his choice of beverage. As Rooke advanced on the bar he greeted heartily, “Corven Roche, you miserable ruffian.”

Arden put his back to the bar and rested his elbows on the counter. “Whatever he is selling you, I wouldn’t buy it. This man will cause you nothing but grief.” The tall heartlander guffawed at his mild teasing, gesturing to the other two legionaries present. Tapping his finger on the counter, the barkeep served up the standard fare, nothing too strong. Rooke had spent a few years as a trader and merchant and although he had 800 ducats on paper, those banknotes were only as good as long as the bank had the coin. The bank could collapse by a sudden run on the savings stored there, a bad fire, or investments not panning out. No, the former merchantman intended to rise early to get his coin in hard gold, lest he lose out.

As the mug of ale slid into his hand, Arden tipped the barkeep his due. Despite all the danger and near-misses, the novice legionnaire had a lot to celebrate. They had overcome monsters and bandits and gotten paid handsomely. The trip back had been thankfully uneventful as well. Rooke had shared a wagon with Vul again and talked his ear off. Though, the wood elf didn’t seem to talk much around him or perhaps Arden never gave him a chance to talk. In between that, he slept off his minor injuries in the warm sun, lulled to sleep by the rocking of the wooden cart. He glanced at the banknotes in his hand, still bruised on the knuckles, before folding them into his belt. A small smirk crept up on Arden’s face. Maybe he was finally getting good at something.

Despite all the revelry, something seemed amiss. No, it wasn’t the drunk elf passed out on the floor. Rooke scanned the hearth room, his blue eyes flowing from right to left in a gentle wave. His gaze eventually was drawn to Sylanna. The Purple Cloak was chatting with another woman. “Always the leader, eh Sylanna? Even off the battlefield.” Arden thought to himself.

Without her armor on, she was less imposing. Beautiful, even. Beyond human description. Her winged crown gave her more of an angelic aura. Though, Rooke admired her for man than that. The snow elf was level-headed, clever, and brought courage out of those around her. At least that was his experience. Arden shrugged to himself; it didn’t matter. She was outside his realm in every way. His blue eyes drew back the wings on the headband.

“Angels…” The word pulled thoughts of Yvonne, the Paladin who had been so instrumental on their success, to the fore of his mind. They hadn’t talked much on the caravan home. Rooke searched the guild hall from his perch at the bar and did not see her anywhere. Of course not. She wasn’t part of the Legion. Likely got her due and set out.

The young Heartlander was being frowned at by the reflection in his murky beverage. Taking one last sip, he placed the mug half-full back on the counter. “I’ll catch up with you all later. Have a good evening.”

By sunrise, Rooke had already escaped the sleepy barracks of the Paean grounds for novice recruits. His heavy boots had almost kicked over a shield, causing him to suck air through his teeth and await roiling all his bunkmates from their drunken slumber. Thankfully, the Gods were merciful.

The bank clerk had been similarly groggy but handed over the significant sum of coin when the notes were turned in. Arden spent most of the daylight hours walking around the city, looking at weapon vendors, armor traders, and more. He took some time discussing a warhammer with a gruff fellow from the North, but passed on it. Nothing interested him; despite the clear, blue sky a cloud seemed to shroud him. Like his path through the city, his steps were aimless. It was nearing the sunset hours when the Heartlander stumbles across some sort of bread line. Those present were the usual fare: orphans, street urchins, folks on hard times. They were lucky to have a charity offering food to those in need. Rooke would have begged for such a service to his town village of Gelsten during the bad times of his early years.

The Crimson Winter had been especially hard. The memories of that season made his stomach ache and then caused his heart to sink into it. Rooke’s hand drifted to the coin pouch at his hip. Without thought, his feet shuffled up to those providing the rations. His hands, moving independently, tumbled some coins into his palm.

“Pardon me, I just wanted to…” Rooke’s eyes rose slowly from his palm as he spoke but his speech came to a halt abruptly. Like Holy Seers of legend, he had been struck mute. Who stood before him was none other than Yvonne. Some part of his mind believed his malaise was playing tricks on him. It was impossible she was still here, in Velathri, wasn’t it?

His words stuttered, “T-to… To… donate.” The dark-haired lad shifted his weight on his feet and extended the coins, about 200 in all.

[Auropa]

Corven Roche
Legion Headquarters

‘Perfect!’ Corven thought to himself as the newcomer approached the trio. If there was one thing that was helped move things along nice and quickly, it was a good old fashioned mob mentality with a dash of peer pressure. Though the new, and evidently generous, redcloak was still an interesting character to consider. As far as Corven knew, there were only three types of mercenaries that would willingly give out their gold. Those who just need an excuse to kill, those who are running from something and the few odd crazies driven by something above coin. ‘Now which are you?’ Corven wondered to himself as he tried to size up the legionnaire.

“Let it never be said I left another without reason to drink!” He cheerfully called out after the smallest of pauses “Now, join us! Gods know this is not nearly as fun if anyone gets out of sober.” He said as he gestured to an open chair “I’m Corven by the way, don’t think we’ve had the pleasure” he added while raising his drink in greeting. ‘This group really is the gift that keeps on giving isn’t it?’ he figured, while the arguable main goal of the game was still to get everyone pleasantly wasted, Corven would be lying if he didn’t say he also wanted to try and learn a bit more about his fellow legionnaires. Curiosity had always been a double-edged trait of his, sure it had its uses from time to time but no matter the race or work, Corven found that people rarely enjoyed to have some stranger start asking questions about their life or history. Though games, everyone loved games. Throw in some liquid courage, a few choice words and suddenly people can start clambering over one another to share their tales and deeds. Though this group looked particularly more interesting than most. For one thing, seeing two others willing to sit down and drink with an orc was almost as surprising as seeing one this far into the Heartlands, her being far from a normal green skin though, that was just another layer on the growing mystery. The fact that each cloaked figure was also some sort of accomplished killer, hero or fighter only went to further Corven’s already piqued interest.

“Alright then, southern rules.” Corven said before anyone could interject or stop him “Someone asks a question, everyone else answers honestly or drinks. You hesitate, deflect or lie and you drink double.” He added as he leaned forward and reached for his mug. “And of course, I’ll go first since I’m already well on my way to blacking out from whatever the hell the bartender made us. So nice and easy start on account of our shared choice of industry. What lead you lot to the legion and why’d you sign up?”

[Confederation of the Equator]

[minecraft villager sound]

[Segral]

Oberon Klask

The woman seemed surprised that Oberon had spoken to her. Likely so, as most men were deathly afraid of and quite hostile towards Orcs of any kind, and courtesy to Orcs was rare nowadays. Oberon simply did not care enough to discriminate. If he was attacked, he would fight and slaughter any Orc that stood in his way, but he saw no reason to treat the Orcish woman with any unordinary suspicion. If suspicion was necessary, she would prove it in due time. Until she proved herself to be a character of malice and cruelty, he would treat her with the same courtesy he would treat any newcomer with.

The Orcish woman, who introduced herself as Scitha, also appeared somewhat bemused by the hysterics that the tavern had come to. Such a shame it was for a high-ranking, well-respected official like Roxana to be brought down to beer-sodden drunk in the bar of the Legion. It hurt to lose what was within grasp, to be disappointed on promises. Oberon had experienced this many times. Besides the...events in his life, he had been rejected from employment and salary many times. Sometimes it was his lack of grooming, or his refusal to wear certain garments, or his giant stature (he was on eye-level, if not taller than Scitha, who was quite large owing to her Orcish heritage), or even his body inkings. It was what had put him in the sewer-dump he was in now. Sometimes, he yearned for the clean white of the monastery, the warm sheets, the peaceful solitude being a monk had given him. Even if it was quite drab, at least it was comfortable, and he was never threatened with the prospect of no food, no heat, no money to make a living. Although, it certainly didn't match up to the Legion when it came to adventure!

Amused by this thought, Oberon chuckled, a deep bassy rumble that practically shook the bar. "Very true, Ms. Scitha! Aye, many here do not have much patience when it comes to losing their payments. Neither do I, if we're being truthful!" he exclaimed, leaning back as he continued to drink. Small, conservative sips. Don't want to end up slumped on the floor with Luca.

"How I came upon these mercenaries, you ask?" he said, pondering aloud as to the answer to Scitha's question. "Well, I was originally a monk in the States of Nur, serving under the Church. However, I was...unhappy with my position there, and I decided to leave the Church to travel the world, camping as a nomad and doing odd labor jobs for money. Eventually, I grew tired of sleeping in bogs and staring at insects all day, so I decided to move to the Legion. More steady money, better jobs, a solid bed...and plenty of alcohol to go around!" he said with a wan smile. Of course, he had...other reasons that he was not mentioning, but what he had said was not a complete lie. Part of it was very true. Lying and omitting part of the truth were very different things.

Suddenly, a jovial yell came round as a young, scarred man, carrying enough alcohol to sate the entire bar and a few more, slid into a seat near Oberon and Scitha, introducing himself as Corven. According to his own very enthusiastic description, he was a believer in the joys of drinking, was proposing a strange game Oberon had never heard of, and had a nice tankard full of the strongest drink around. Well, he couldn't pass that up. Taking the mug with a murmured thanks, he lifted it to his lips...and immediately recoiled.

"Agh! What a concoction!" Oberon rumbled, grimacing as the drink practically burned his throat from the inside out. immediately, he felt his head knock out of position for a brief second as the vile drink infused itself within him. What power! Spluttering, Oberon weakly smiled, looking at the other man, who was clearly sent dizzy as well. "Very powerful. Thank you. And what is--"

However, he did not get a chance to finish his question before Frey flamboyantly strode to the bar, sending gold practically scuttling across the counter and buying more drinks for half the tavern. This day would end in a brawl, Oberon was sure of it. Hopefully, he would remain sober enough to help try and clean up the mess. For now, it couldn't hurt to entertain. Especially with Frey sauntering over to their table, attempting to join in on Corven's game. He remained tight-lipped as Corven enthusiastically accepted, explaining the rules with gusto. They appeared simple; someone asks a question, answer or drink. If you fail to answer, drink double. At least it seemed simple before Corven also decided to ask what had brought him to the Legion. And he didn't feel much like answering.

And so, with a smile and a hearty laugh, it was bottoms up.

[Solisian Union]

Amigos

---

Arialista Sejangec Cyneberg grunted as she woke up and found herself lying down on her own bed back in the Legion Headquarters. The first thought that came to her mind was a simple one:

Have I failed?

Any further thoughts were interrupted by Sieglind Datarrok, a woman who stood over her with a small bowl of warm water and a white towel hanging off the side. The woman smiled at the one lying down and told her, "Good day. I hope sleeping allowed you to recover faster."

Something was off about her accent. She sounded like a voice that was tested by sand and polished by cloth. The Eastern lady watched her as she opened her mouth but closed it again and simply continued to study her caretaker.

The desert woman giggled and put a hand to her own lips just as she put down the water bowl by the table close to the bed.

She said to Arialista, "My apologies. I'm Sieglind Datarrok. I'm from the deserts. You must be..."

"I'm Arialista. Call me Arial or Aria. I'm from the Archipelago."

The woman raised an eyebrow at her and said, "From the east?" she smiled at the information and nodded to the one she was taking care of. She said, "It is nice to meet you."

"And you as well. I owe you for taking care of me, I suppose."

"Don't owe me much, please." She nodded to the closed door, her eyes of glowing blue turned to the outdoors. She said, "The gentlemen who helped you on your mission brought you to your room. I volunteered to help you recover. It appears the work of the local healers in the headquarters was not in vain."

"You're right about that." Arialista slowly sat up, groaning as she felt her muscles ache, her bones pop and her body strain to get up. She muttered, "めちゃくちゃ地獄、それはとても痛い。"

The desert woman reached out to her with one hand and urged her, "Whoa. Slowly, صديقي الجديد, don't push yourself. You're still healing. The healers said you must rest for just a few more hours."

"I'm fine. I just want to sit up. I don't like lying down all day, 親切な女性"

The desert lady just nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. She opened them and told her, "So...does this make us friends? It would be easier to work with you if we were."

"Of course. You did this for me and I owe you. But more importantly, why not?"

Instantly, the two reached out with their hands and shook them in agreement. To that, one said firmly...

"あなたは私の友達です。That means you are my friend."

"و انت ايضا. And so are you."

[Tomia]

Annabelle
Once Annabelle had reached the bar, the person sitting to her right began to speak to her. Annabelle had hoped she'd be able to get another glass of wine and slink back to her table undisturbed but it seemed that wouldn't be the case. When she turned to see who had called her name, she saw Sylanna Sundancer, a purple ranked member of the legionaries. She was two ranks above Annabelle's own, and had quite a reputation around the legion. "No thank you, it's better if I'm alone." Annabelle said politely, she turned back and forgetting about her drink to avoid further conversation, but Sylanna put a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Hey, it's okay. One drink won't hurt right? I promise I don't bite." She said with a friendly smile. The former ruthless leader turned exile paused for a moment. She didn't want to risk getting close with anyone at the Legion, but a part of her did miss the comradery of her past and Sylanna didn't seem like a typical mercenary. "Okay." She ended up replying simply, taking the seat next to Sylanna.

Annabelle looked at Sylanna and noticed she was wearing a flattering dress, something that didn't often see in a legion bar. Annabelle ordered a glass of wine, and sat kind of awkwardly. It had been a while since she had any kind of personal conversation with someone, let alone at a bar.

[Absolon-7]

Edward Brunwulf

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

Sylanna

Roxana Ma'gonid
The next few moments from her tragic fall on her face all blended together in a spinning blur. She felt a hand pick her up from behind and then Edward saying something. Something familiar as if she'd heard it several times before. Well whatever it was important she'd have knew what it was. Truly the alcohol had an iron grip on her mind. The skin on her face felt red and hot from the hard and sudden fall she took. She brought both hands up to her nose to rub her nose in some vain effort to soothe it. As she wobbled from side to side a out of the blue tap on her shoulder she recognized the signature wisecrack of Simion and promptly her ears pointed upwards in anger.

"Idiot! I'll have you know hiccup that elven wisps are majestic creatures," drunkly growled Roxana at Simion pouting, "And I'm sure there's some that have wisps that do that hiccup. I don't know..."

Roxana slouched and her half opened eyes wandered around the tavern. The outer limits of her vision increasingly becoming blurred up. Her ears drooped down as a lingering sleepiness began crawling into her mind. Sounds and music from the tavern droned on and on but her attention was nonexistent. As if a groundhog had spotted a curiosity over a hill, Roxana suddenly gasped as she saw a familiar tall, blonde elf woman across the tavern near the bar. The green haired elf abruptly broke into a run towards her and then leaped upwards embracing Sylanna in a hug.

"Syly its been...to..o long!," spoke Roxana in a drunken slur, "We need to catch up...Those Mithra-damned bureaucrats penny-pinchers robbed me of my last contracts money! It marred my record!" Her head bobbed up and down as she seemed to lose focus. "Oh have you met Simion and Edward? Boys come here! "

[The Republic of Atria]

Well, she at least made her voice heard. It almost certainly wouldn't amount to anything, at most Edward would get a slap on the wrist, but it felt good to at least get it off her chest. Plus the money helped her forget her troubles. Since she and Valan were sharing the room, and the rent by extension, they had more than enough to go celebrate with everyone else at the bar later on. And so they did. They paid off the little bit of debt that they had and still were quite well off enough to go deep into the bar and still have a considerable amount of money left over. Which was good, she needed to go shopping for some better ingredients at some point.

But first, it was time to unwind. The rest of the other legionaries had arrived from their other quests and were also celebrating their success. There was quite the number of unique people there. "Ooooh. Alright Valan, let's split up. I'm gonna go find me some girlfriends and you're gonna go talk to someone. We're both gonna get very drunk and half a good time. You ever been drunk before?" She asked as they entered the bar. She had removed her all too familiar skull headwear and opted to go into the bar only wearing the many bandages that covered her private regions. She had only brought one knife with her, for protection, knife games, or some weird combination of the two. Her long white hair was no longer tied up and she looked... decently attractive for all the hiding of her face she did.

Valan had cleaned up nicely, wearing more causal clothes, there was still notable heat coming off of him, and the faint glow of flame, but he looked fine. "I don't drink often." Or at all really. Back when he was still a novice, his teacher was quite firm in that he avoid alcohol until he was absolutely certain it would affect him, and even then to be careful. "See you later." He nodded as she bounced off to go find some other girls to chat with. Meanwhile, A very loud, and pleased, legionnaire was buying drinks for everyone, intending to seem them all drunk as could be. He wasn't one to turn down free beer, so after he acquired his free beverage, he spotted an older one eye'd man with a rather dapper looking hat with a beer. He looked rather reserved, so hopefully it would be the safest option. "Greetings." He spoke in a cordial tone. "I'm quite new here, and you seem to be rather experienced."

Wow, he's bad at this. Gods help him. Aayla spied as she get her hands on one of the many free drinks being passed out by a very generous and loud man. "WOOOOOOO! You heard him!" She replied, grabbing her drinks and looking around for some people who were in dire need of her unique personality. Which she found quite quickly, two girls sitting and chatting about whatever. Clearly she needed to intervene. She drank a sizable amount of her drink and pranced over to the pair. "Hope this seat's not taken because it's mine now." She spoke, grinning. "Nice to meet you. New here, did the goblin cleanup not too long ago. Name is Aayla and I am here to drink and meet people. Since you two look like people, you're stuck with me!"

[Zarkenis Ultima]

---

---

Lucky for him, Frey was readily welcomed by the legionnaires at the table and sat down on an empty seat that the scarred man - who promptly introduced himself as Corven - gestured towards. "Frey's the name, earning money is my game. Good to meet you, Corven! This is the first time indeed, but hopefully not the last." The blond man replied cheerfully before taking a swig of his drink; sure he was only supposed to do that if he screwed up during the drinking game, but he hadn't come to Bacchus' Dirty Lamb or whatever it was called to be sober. Plus, the game hadn't even started yet.

Corven went on to explain the rules of the game for those who were unfamiliar, and the former pirate listened with interest - not because he was unfamiliar, but because these so-called 'southern rules' differed quite a bit from the ones used in various taverns in the Archipelago, where lying was very much encouraged as long as you didn't get caught, among other things. Still, it was no wonder that a game that spread to places as far apart as the Archipelago and Tejis would change from place to place, and he didn't mind these rules.

Before long, the game was underway, with the scarred man asking the others why they had joined the Paean Legion. While the bald monk next to him either wasn't inclined to share or was eager to drink, Frey himself supposed he could play along for now. "After I left my home in the Archipelago, I was looking for some way to use my talents to earn some coin and do a little bit of good while at it. When I learned that I could do both of those things and get other nifty benefits by joining the Legion here, well, the choice was easy." He shrugged, a smile on his face.

---

---

---

Sylanna smirked to herself with satisfaction upon managing to convince the normally unsociable red-cloak to sit down and share a drink with her. It wasn't often that she went out of her way to spend time with others if it was clear they preferred to be left alone, but the opportunity to talk with the elusive red-cloak veteran was even rarer. That, and perhaps the mead was already affecting her, though she could still continue drinking for a long time yet, she was no lightweight.

Taking a swig from her mug of mead, she looked at Annabelle. "Not a very talkative girl, are you?" She commented, seeking to make some small talk. "Tell me, how come you haven't moved on from being a red-cloak by now? It's been a while since you joined the Paean Legion, hasn't it?"

Before she could say anything more or receive a response from her current companion, she detected something moving towards her from the corner of her eye and turned around just in time to watch as a familiar green-haired High Elf leaped up and threw her arms around her. Surprised, Sylanna nonetheless calmly placed her mug on the counter to keep it from spilling and then returned Roxana's affection.

"Well if it isn't Roxana! You sure know how to make an entrance." The Snow Elf spoke with a laugh, clearly amused at the fact that her friend was completely wasted. Knowing her, this is likely just from her first drink... Wait, her record? She made a mental note to ask about it later, but for now, she doubted bringing up something like that was the best idea. Instead, she glanced at the two men that Roxana had called over, both of them humans. The first, a blue-cloak, had bright orange hair, while the second's was a glossy white, contrasting with the red of his cloak. Hm... not bad. Certainly not the worst. I wonder if she has her eye on one of them?

"My name is Sylanna. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Edward and Simion. Thanks for looking after Roxy here, she really can't hold her alcohol at all." She said with a friendly smile, before gesturing towards Tira. "This here is Annabelle, a friend." She added in an attempt to try and bring the red-cloak to interact with some of her peers, unaware that she and Edward had already met.

[Union Princes]

Valan had cleaned up nicely, wearing more casual clothes, there was still notable heat coming off of him, and the faint glow of flame, but he looked fine. "I don't drink often." Or at all really. Back when he was still a novice, his teacher was quite firm in that he avoid alcohol until he was absolutely certain it would affect him, and even then to be careful. "See you later." He nodded as she bounced off to go find some other girls to chat with. Meanwhile, A very loud, and pleased, legionnaire was buying drinks for everyone, intending to seem them all drunk as could be. He wasn't one to turn down free beer, so after he acquired his free beverage, he spotted an older one eye'd man with a rather dapper looking hat with a beer. He looked rather reserved, so hopefully it would be the safest option. "Greetings." He spoke in a cordial tone. "I'm quite new here, and you seem to be rather experienced."

Witch Hunter Wilhard

The noise was starting to annoy him but he should be used to din such as this. After all, this is no different than what Strauch had grew up with back in the Free City of Faith. And yet, the commotion is somewhat distracting him from writing his letter to send to his comrades in the Inquisition.

Salutations- "No," Strauch grumbled as he struggled to find the proper words to write on this parchment of paper. "That's not it."

He used his falchion to slice off the section of the paper that he written his first word on. A waste really but what can he do? He took a gulp of fresh beer paid for by one of the more enthusiastic members of the Legion. Quite Generous.

Strauch picked up his quill again, dipped it in ink, and proceed to write again, grumbling along every word.

Dearest Alice, the letter began.

I hope this letter reached to you and that you are still alive to read it. If not, I hope you have died fighting the heretical forces of damnation. The Heavens will always be open to the faithful. My first quest in the Legion has been completed and have been rewarded 800 Ducats. A small fortune for a man like me.

I grant a donation of 200 Ducats to you, Alice. Spend it well. Death arrives to every hoard of wealth. I already donated a 100 Ducats to the Inquisition through an envoy stationed in a nearby area. You don't to donate for this instance.

Tell the fellow bastards of the Twin Tailed Comet that I'm still alive. Keep the coin if you made the bet as well. I'm not old yet-

Strauch paused his writing and looked up to see an new face that approached his table. A recruit, fresh one by the looks of it. Young and new, poor sop the Witch Hunter thought. His one eye studied him for a while after the boy made his greetings.

Nodding slightly at his words, Strauch took another sip of beer. "Take a seat." the old man gestured towards an empty chair near the table. "And do not worry about being new. I had just completed my first mission here as a legionnaire. So no need to panic, yet. As of now, relax. You will need it."

[Finland SSR]

Roxana Ma'gonid

Sylanna

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

---

Roxana getting mad and complaining at Simion's comments was a better indication than any that he was successful - although he didn't originally mean to poke at the drunken Elven archer. It's collateral damage, but it's collateral damage in a good way, and the white-haired marksman snickered at her comments. At least until Roxana suddenly ran off, and before anyone could warn her to not break into a chase when she could probably stumble and fall on perfectly flat ground, the woman was already hugging a blonde knight on the other side of the bar.

And calling both Simion and Edward to come meet Sylanna. Sylanna?

Sylanna Sundancer? The same purple-cloak who's already making waves among the Paean Legion? She's here too? By the gods, it's like this is a meet-up of all the people Simion has heard of mentioned here and there ever since joining the Legion... Without a second thought, the marksman pushed himself forward, making his way through the crowded bar, occassionally bending or swiping past to not hit anyone with the long barrel of his musket sticking out from behind his back. Simion arrived to the table where Sylanna and Roxana were exchanging warms words to each other just in time for the Snow Elf to introduce herself, as well as gesture towards her drinking buddy whom she introduced as Annabelle.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well," the while-haired marksman responded after a brief polite nod. "I had actually heard of you before Sylanna, though I wouldn't have figured that you'd be as much... attractive as you are a terror on the battlefield." He punctuated his sentence with a faint wink.

[Solisian Union]

Wow, he's bad at this. Gods help him. Aayla spied as she get her hands on one of the many free drinks being passed out by a very generous and loud man. "WOOOOOOO! You heard him!" She replied, grabbing her drinks and looking around for some people who were in dire need of her unique personality. Which she found quite quickly, two girls sitting and chatting about whatever. Clearly she needed to intervene. She drank a sizable amount of her drink and pranced over to the pair. "Hope this seat's not taken because it's mine now." She spoke, grinning. "Nice to meet you. New here, did the goblin cleanup not too long ago. Name is Aayla and I am here to drink and meet people. Since you two look like people, you're stuck with me!"

Arialista and Sieglind

---

It was...interesting, to say the least. Both of them had left the room to get some drinks and to simply find a way out of the headquarters so they could buy new things for their own personal use and for future missions. Both already quietly agreed on that.

Along the way here, Sieglind was helping Arialista walk. Her legs were recovering and the rest of her body too but she still was unsteady. Her balance was shot to shit, after all. The shock of the magic spell used against her was a reminder that she had to start getting back into fighting.

Another thing that Sieglind did for her new companion was to get the drinks they both wanted. For Arialista, all she wanted was a large glass of water. For Sieglind, it looked like that she wanted to taste the favorite drink that the place had to offer. She was genuinely surprised when a kind man gave her the drink. She thanked him quietly and walked over to the table that Arialista had saved for both of them, ignoring the loud, annoying girl for now. She started to chat with Arialista about what things they were going to buy later when the girl called after them.

Both their heads turned to the girl and they decided to be polite about it. Arialista smiled and waved as she said, “Hello, Aayla. I’m Arialista. Just call me Aria or Arial.” she then nodded over to the drinking desert woman. Her glowing eyes were already on Aayla.

The desert woman said, “Name’s Sieglind. Call me Sieg. I’m with her. We’re fresh friends.”

The eastern lady nodded and sipped some of her water. She put it away and faced Aayla to say, “Aye. We’re from different places. She’s from the deserts and I’m from the eastern islands. We were about to go buy some equipment and other things later after a drink.” she paused to think about what else to say when Sieg decided it for her.

She told Aayla, “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you too. You’re welcome to share our table with us. Don’t feel guilty about it.”

Arial then picked her head up and said, “You said you came from the goblin mission, right? Tell me about it. I came from doing the caravan mission. That is why Sieg here is taking care of me as I recover.”

[The Rebel Alliances]

Scitha Rivers-Half Orc-Velathri, Paean Legion Mead Hall

I hardly had time to respond to the newcomer Corven before another Leagionnaire appeared and tossed coin on the table and offered drinks all around. As it turned out this man's name was Frey and he eagerly joined in on our little game. Corven himself seemed pleased to have another comrade to drain mugs with. And while such activity around me was unusual it was quickly becoming infectious. After all this was why I was here, I only hoped it did not all fade away once they sobered up tomorrow. I smiled at the newcomer Frey and then to Corven. "The names Scitha, pleasure to meet both of you, Corven and Frey. Normally I would protest against a game meant to drain mead more than needed...but..." I trailed off as I took another swig of my own bottle and wiped the liquid from my lips. "I suppose one night will not be much harm!" I eagerly exclaimed as I slammed the bottle back on the bar and smashing it to pieces on complete accident. I shook my hand to dry it from the alcoholic liquid as I took possession of one of the mugs Corven supplied.

"Sorry, an Orc's strength I suppose. Now whats say we get on with the games eh?" I announced as I sampled the ale. Corven wasn't bluffing, it was indeed a strong drink. Of course, I have had stronger on occasion before. Anyone who has tasted authentic Orcish Ale would know that it wasn't to be taken lightly. Few non orcs could handle even a small quantity of it. And the any Elf who got drunk off a mere half glass of the water served here would be out cold from a spoon full of Orcish Ale.

I then listened carefully as Corven explained the 'Southern Rules' of his game. It was simple enough and so when he started with his first question and I saw Oberon swiftly take a drink and Frew answer instinctively I seemed at a loss of what to do. On the one hand I wanted to 'win' this game. Which to me meant being the only one not passed out on a tavern floor to be stepped over until morning. But on the other hand, my answer would not be quite as...typical as maybe Frey's. The legion was an excellent place to make coin, everyone knew that. And nothing wrong with it should that be your goal. I do not want to start my first friendly exchange with fellow legionnaires here with stories about how I am seeking 'comraderie or companionship'. I preferred to start off with something less lonely.

It wasn't until three pairs of eyes all converged on me that I realized what I had done. I hesitated. Slowly raising my mug up I growled under my breath.

"Damned southern rules..." As I threw my head back and took two long swigs before setting the mug back down. I waited another moment and saw that I was the last one to answer, or in this case not answer Corven's question I decided it must mean it's my turn to ask a question. I pondered for a moment as I wanted to ask a question in which all three of them would be tempted to lie or hesitate at least. And the goal of the game is to get people to open up about their lives, but few were willing to talk about their love lives with adventurers they just met. A sly smile formed across my lips.

"So do any of you have any lovers? Someone you have eyes for at home or in the legion?" I asked in confidence. There, that should do it. I suspect that Frey may just be willing to share such intimite details but was fairly certain that the monk Oberon and Corven could be drinking double.

[Tomia]

Sylanna

"It's not personal, its just easier to keep to myself." Annabelle said simply when Sylanna pointed out the silence. She was kind of relieved it was broken, sitting there awkwardly wasn't much fun for her either. She was still trying to figure Sylanna out. This was far from the first time that someone at the legion had approached her wanting to figure out her deal, but usually it was curious newbies or drunk men looking for action. Rarely had someone as high ranking and well known as a purple rank. Annabelle stiffened a bit at her new acquaintance's next question. It wasn't surprising that people had noticed, it wasn't exactly common for people in the legion to refuse promotions. Still, she didn't like being questioned about it, as that risked more attention being brought to her unique position. The more people asking questions about her meant she was more likely to be discovered. Luckily another purple cloak named Roxana came up to them, and Sylanna seemed friendly with her and that drew her attention way.

Sylanna introduced her to the newly arrived group and Annabelle gave a polite wave in response. She turned to Edward, remembering the time they had spent fighting goblins. "Nice to see you again Edward." She said simply. Her wine had come by now and she sipped it casually. It served as a convenient excuse to not make small talk. Rather she decided to just sit back and let the others talk. She heard Simone's attempts to flirt with Sylanna and stifled an eye roll. While she had thrived on this kind of boisterous comradery during her days with the Kal, but that kind of behavior felt inappropriate given her past. Still, she wouldn't object to the others engaging in it so she decided to merely sit back and observe for now.

[Auropa]

Corven Roche
Legionnaire Tavern

‘So you are an orc then.’ Corven thought to himself as Scitha dried her hand and brushed off the last few shards of the once whole bottle ‘definitely not lacking in the strength department’. Though while her comment did answer a few of his questions, it still left him with plenty unanswered. ‘But then again, that’s where the game comes in.’

Oberon was the first to react and before anyone could utter so much as a syllable, the bald monk gave a smirk then brought the drink to his mouth. “Not a bad start Robes. Didn’t expect a man of faith to take to the drink so well.” Corven chuckled as the monk finished his swig.

Frey came next and like a true veteran of the tavern, didn’t let a single second go by before giving his answer. ‘He makes a damn fine point about those benefits’ Corven decided as he took a glance around the tavern. Calling it nice would’ve felt like an insult, it wasn’t exactly classy and it definitely wasn’t pretty but somehow, something about it, maybe the smell, the song or the drinks, made it feel warm and almost homely. ‘Not a bad benefit at all’
“So you’re from the islands then, ever sail?" He asked "Never made it that far east myself but I’ve heard its meant to be as beautiful as it is deadly. Then again everything I know about it came from some ex-sailor I bunked with who just couldn’t clam up about pirates and how they’ve ‘infested the waters down there’.”

Finally came Scitha and of all the three she actually seemed the most straightforward and readable. Unlike the other two, he could almost see how hard she was thinking and just how deep in thought she was over her answer. But as the seconds ticked on a sly smile grew on Corven's face and when she finally looked up to see a trio of eyes on her, he couldn’t hold back a laugh as she groaned about the rules and took a double swig herself.
“Gods I love this game!” He happily called out. He was a little disappointed not to get an answer but her expression was already more than rewarding enough to make up for it. Plus, at least for now he was still sober enough to be picking up on little things and putting some pieces together as they went.

“Well, two out of three isn’t a bad start” Corven said to the group as he listened for the next question, which, interestingly enough, came from Scitha.

"So do any of you have any lovers? Someone you have eyes for at home or in the legion?"

Now that was a good one Corven admitted to himself as he leaned back on his chair’s two back legs and took a swig, instantly feeling the world spin just a little faster as he went.
“Well someone doesn’t want us walking by nights end.” He said, fighting the urge to slur and lowering his drink back to the table. Love was always a bit of an awkward topic for him. Suffice to say his ‘exploits’ never seemed to have the bright, heart-warming endings he liked for his stories. Though as much as he enjoyed spinning his own tales for occasions just like this, he still had plenty of questions and wasn’t quite ready to risk blacking out from a double just yet.