Song of Heroes IC

[Zarkenis Ultima]

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The Snow Elf could only let out an amused chuckle at Simion's attempt to flirt with her, raising an eyebrow at the young man. "Heard of me, did you?" She began, casting a brief glance at Roxana. From her? No, most likely not. She's not too drunk to converse, but...

...Ah, doesn't matter.

"I'm not surprised you only heard about my battlefield exploits, though. I'm sure a warrior like you knows that plate can be a lot less flattering than silk." She smiled at Simion, before gesturing to the empty stools beside her. "But don't just stand there, come sit down and have a drink with me! I may be a terror on the battlefield, but not here. You know, unless you give me a reason to be." Her smile took on a mischievous quality.

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"Ever set sail, you ask?" Frey chuckled at his fellow legionnaire's question. "Why, I've spent half my life on the seas! I think I know just how beautiful and deadly the archipelago can be. Especially the pirates." He replied cheerfully. While he wasn't about to blurt out the less savory parts of his past to drinking fellows he had only just met, he was all too happy to share a few details and stories with them.

Having said his piece, Frey kicked back and watched as the only person left to act, Scitha, hesitated on giving her answer to the question. Judging by her expression, she quickly realized that she had run afoul of the rules set forth by Corven, and the rogue offered a sly smile as he watched his green-skinned companion take two drinks in quick succession. "Better luck next time." He teased, before listening to the next question, which came from none other than Scitha herself.

"Lovers, huh? I've had several over the course of my life, though none of those stories tends to end well. I have no one at the moment though, either back home or in the legion. Alone for the foreseeable future." He shrugged before looking straight at Scitha and winking at her. "Unless someone changes that."

[Absolon-7]

Sylanna

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

Roxana Ma'gonid
Roxana continued to lazily hang on to Sylanna as the Snow Elf reciprocated her warm greeting. Her head plopped down to Sylanna's shoulder as her as Simion and Edward came over and the trio greeted each other. Was Simion always that handsome or was it him being more glossy like a glass vase. Wasn't one of her father's friends a glass blower? Always made such pretty works of art. Even mundane things he made like windows were pretty. So shiny and they reflected light so stunningly. So radiantly. So pretty. So pretty like Sylanna. Her drooped eyes blinked once as she Sylanna's scent passively was wiffed by her nostrils. She was sure any male elf would fall head over heels for someone with her figure. Her aunt she had excellent hips but dumb guys always paid attention to a girl's buxom. Mithra, her head was feeling heavy like hammer and her wings as weighted curtains from colosseums. The stench of cold alcohol from her breath would have made her wince but she was too tired. She was always so tired after contracts. Whether it was retrieving some artifact or finding some wealthy junker's lost magical cat. She loved it. Oh so very much. But it could be so tiresome. So headbangingly irate when the client was a complete arse of himself. Speaking of arses, she had to remeber to give her donkey Methuselah a carrot sometime. He was such a good boy and so loyal too. If only she could meet a guy like that. A nice strapping elven merchant or crafstman or heck even a public servant or bureaucrat would be nice. Maybe some years down the line she can go back to Thapsus and buy a nice house somewhere on the mainland. Or she and her hypothetical husband could go to one of the island provinces or a exotic colony of Thapsus! Velathri was also nice. The river that cut the city in half was a tributary of the mighty Aria River so she could go anywhere from there when she pleased.

"attractive as you are a terror on the battlefield."

Her ear not squished against Syllana's shoulder immediately perked up at this rogue comment from Simion. Why couldn't she get a compliment like that! She bet even Edward would compliment Sylanna before him too! She wanted to bark out Simion but instead a small trail of drool was beginning its travel down her chin. It was if an entire draft horse was pressing down on each eyelid and every other second they began to twitch downwards bit by bit.

"Sylaaanaaaaaaa," groaned Roxana, "tell me not to drink so much in the morning. I hate these drunk thoughts."

[New Finnish Republic]

Edward Brunwulf
Paen Legion Headquarters

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Before either Simion or Edward could begin to bring Roxana back to the table, he saw the green haired elf suddenly draw here gaze across the tavern and in a flash took off in a drunken stampede towards another group of legionaries who were sitting down some distance away from their table. Edward watched as she nearly tackled a purple cloak, whom Roxana seemed eager to drunkingly greet. Glancing over Simion next to him, Edward could only let out a small sigh before he reluctantly began to walk over to where she was.

As they approached, Edward's eyes narrowed as he tried to recount on exactly who this purple cloak could be. While he himself was a blue cloak, he wasn't all that familiar with the leadership above him outside of Roxana. However, all it took was her name for him to realize just exactly who he was dealing with.

"Thank you," Edward said, giving the purple cloaked elf a small respective nod. "And it is good to see you," he responded to Annabelle with yet another nod. He would have attempted to explain that he already knew of her to Sylanna, considering it had not been that long ago that the two had fought together, when all of a sudden Simion decided to open his mouth. Edward had to stop himself from slapping the white haired deviant across the back of his head for saying something so inappropriate, but the elf seemed to not take any offense, much to his shock. Shaking his head, he glanced over to Annabelle, an apologetic expression on his face.

Upon the purple cloak's offering, Edward sat down on the table, making sure to not sit within arms reach of Simion so that he wouldn't do anything hasty should he open his idiot mouth once more. Making quick work to order yet another mug of ale, he was about to take a sip from the beverage when all of Roxana slurred out a drunken complaint to the other elf, which only caused Edward to roll his eyes.

"Yet you do love to speak them..." Edward said somewhat teasingly, somewhat annoyed. There had been more than one occasion in which he had been forced to step in between Roxana and someone she had pissed off in her drunken ramblings before, and it never failed that he'd always been the one to take the punishment in the end. And yet I always end up drinking with her, he thought to himself before taking a small sip from his mug.

[Finland SSR]

Second best SoH girl

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

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Simion had never considered himself to be much of a flirtatious person, or even all that outgoing - the adventurers he would occasionally tag along with before he found the Paean Legion would probably assert that this somewhat reclusive and self-centered gunslinger, who would spend much of his evenings next to the campfire drawing up weapon designs, is definitely no master seducer. Which meant that seeing himself not screw up completely and, despite a few less than satisfied looks from the people watching, Sylanna actually taking it pretty well was quite the boost to Simion's confidence.

The white-haired marksman cracked a smirk and sat down on the other side of the Elven warrior, speaking:

"Well, I can't claim to hold an encyclopedia's worth of knowledge on all the Legionnaires, but, at the very least, the events at Fellhollow are heard of in Nur, as well as your role there."

Simion snickered a little bit, and leaned back on his chair. "If you want a reason to be a terror, then I suppose I could interest you with an offer, even if this was not exactly the reason why we're here." he continued, offering a brief glance to Roxana and then suddenly tapping on Edward's shoulder. "Me and Edward here had been thinking of going on a some sort of large contract together, and we could certainly use additional swords in the field. Mundane work in Velathiri pays somewhat, but I don't think any one of us would mind adventuring somewhere more interesting, would we?"

[New Finnish Republic]

Edward Brunwulf
Paen Legion Headquarters

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Edward gave Simion a momentary sidewise glare at the sudden touch, but instead of commenting on the unwanted gesture he merely closed his eyes, rubbing gently rubbing the bridge of his nose before answering. "I would not complain. It would be nice to have someone more...experienced to accompany us," he replied, taking a small glance over at Simion once more before returning his gaze back to the others. "Of course, either Sylanna or Roxana would lead the team, given your rankings and such. I'll have no qualms with that, and I expect Simion won't have any either," he said, his tone of voice hinting the white haired red-cloak to realize his place amongst those in the conversation.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

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After responding to Simion's amusing attempt at flirting, Sylanna felt her High Elf friend revolving in her embrace before letting out a slurred complaint about being too drunk. At this, she could only laugh - one would think Roxana would learn her lesson after several instances of getting absolutely wasted with less than a single glass of beer, but it seemed she was more stubborn than her dear Methuselah. The blue-cloak's intervention only served to amuse her further, but the Snow Elf soon shook her head and looked at him. "Let's not give her any more trouble than she already has by not knowing how to hold her alcohol, Edward." She said, affectionately ruffling Roxana's hair. "That said, I would appreciate it if you got off and took a seat like everyone else."

Having addressed Roxana and Edward, the elven knight turned back to Simion, who brought up the battle of Fellhollow, where she had led a small army against the hordes of the necromancer. While it was perhaps her crowning achievement, it was also quite the somber tale, and though it didn't sour her mood, it did dim her smile. Fortunately, the conversation soon moved on from that.

"Hmm? Normally I wouldn't turn down such an offer, but I just got back from a long and somewhat exasperating caravan escort mission." She replied to the proposal of tagging along with Simion and Edward on a mission. "Are you planning on waiting until tomorrow before setting off? If so, I would be willing to come." She stated. Edward then interjected, mentioning that either she or Roxana would have to lead the party due to their higher ranking, to which she smiled mischievously. "Oh, certainly. And on that note, perhaps it would be best if we didn't put that weight on Roxana's shoulders. I heard her perfect record was recently marred by an ill-fated contract." She teased the High Elf, patting her on the back.

[Bentus]

Yvonne

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Yvonne greeted each of the needy souls who slowly made their way along the long line to her soup station with a warm smile. On more than one occasion she noticed their eyes widen in surprise at not only the new face at the charity kitchen, but the intimidating armour that still adorned her figure. This far out of the Church’s traditional heartlands, Yvonne doubted that many of them had seen a Paladin of the Divines before, although the thought of leaving her plates at the inn had never crossed her mind. As far as she was concerned, helping the poor and impoverished was as much her duty as fighting heathens and monsters in the countryside, and her armour was as much a uniform as a source of protection. She could only hope that her appearance wasn’t too off-putting to the men, women and children who approached her with nervous smiles and bowls in their hands.

The volunteers running the weekly food handout had similarly been surprised at her appearance, and initially had even thought that she was part of the city guard come to shut them down. It hadn’t taken Yvonne long to explain that she was there to offer her assistance, however, and the small team were ill-equipped to turn down any help they found - not to mention the donation that she offered from her payment from the Caravan mission. The Paladin also genuinely enjoyed such work. If she were honest, it was a welcomed respite to be able to help people without using the edge of an axe or the tip of a sword. Not to mention that the occasional exchange of words, the insight that she could gain into the lives and histories of the people that she met, was a far better way to learn about the town than simply wandering its streets on her own.

Scooping another ladle of soup from her pot, Yvonne was suddenly pulled from her thoughts by an unexpected voice interrupting her from the side of the serving line. Glancing up from her work, the Paladin’s features lit up as she immediately recognised the legionnaire, the unmistakable red of his cloak causing some of the crowd’s eyes to drift towards him as whispered voices began to rise from the line. She couldn’t help but smile as he seemed to be shocked by her appearance, tripping over his own words as his nerves bubbled to the surface. Laughing as the young man stuttered and shifted awkwardly between his feet, Yvonne reached out to take his donation and put him out of his misery.

“Why thank you, Sir Legionnaire - I think I have to speak for everyone when I thank you for your charity!” Yvonne spoke with a grin, pretending for a moment not to recognise the warrior. Taking the coin purse, Yvonne was momentarily surprised at its heft. She didn’t know if Arden donated often or if this was a spur of the moment decision, but she knew that this amount of coin would be greatly appreciated by the volunteers. Placing the purse beside her soup pot, the Paladin looked up to see the legionnaire appearing increasingly uncomfortable as he stood awkwardly before her.

Rolling her eyes, Yvonne reached out to offer the man a friendly slap on the shoulder. “It is great to see you again, Arden. I see that you are recovering from your injuries well? I heard that you displayed your skills and prowess well on the battlefield. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to see it.”

Glancing behind her, Yvonne noticed one of the other volunteers moving to take over for her. The Paladin offered the other woman a smile of thanks before she turned back to Arden. “Although I would be eager to hear more about it and how the others are doing, I haven’t spoken to anyone since we returned to the city.”

[Segral]

Oberon Klask

While his decision to drink may have not been the best one overall, at least it was a quick decision. In this game, quick decisions were everything. You could not afford to be slow. If you hesitated even a second, you would be forced to drink twice, and the ales here were no watery wine. They were harsh, they were thick spirits, so thick that one sip could cause your head to spin and the floor to tilt beneath your feet. Scitha did not seem to know this though. Frey and Corden offered the information readily, but Scitha hesitated for precious seconds, forcing her into drinking twice. However, she appeared to come back with a vengeance, asking questions about...lovers.

Lovers. Lovers, passions, flames. Did Oberon have any? Perhaps there were some women he had found appealing or beautiful in the past, but he had no opportunity to pursue love. After all, he was a monk. He had sworn himself to celibacy since he was a young man, back when he was certain on pursuing a religious life. There was no woman he had ever pursued, ever come into close contact with. Perhaps it was something missing from his life. He had friends, he had drinking partners, but no family, no lovers. He had no knowledge of where his mother and father were, and he had no partner.

Deep in thought, he looked up, bemusedly staring at the other three as they stared expectantly back. And then it crossed his mind. He was slow, he had hesitated. Drat.

"Pity." he said calmly, throwing his head back and taking two long droughts, warm spirits soaking his throat. His head spun slightly, the toxicity of the alcohol practically luring him in. He was practically forced to grip the table to avoid falling. He must remain vigilant, force them to drink. If he was to win this game, he would need to force them all, especially Frey, to take a swig. Suddenly, an idea formed in his head, an evil grin slithering on his face. This would put them in a bind.

"My turn to ask you all a question," he said, pressing the mug down on the table. "Have you ever committed a crime in your life?" he asked, a knowing smile upon his face. The Legion did not approve of those who had committed crimes, especially if those crimes were dangerous. If they were to avoid drinking, they would have to spill a dirty secret out into the open. If they didn't want to give Oberon their secrets, they would need to drink. If they lied, they would need to drink. Of course, Oberon would never tell the Legion about this, but the facade was key to winning.

[The Republic of Atria]

Drinks

Aayla sat and listened to the pair of women talk and introduce themselves as Sieg and Aria and that they had no problems sharing a seat with her. "Aw, thanks! Anyways. You're from the desert, Sieg? I know a guy from there. He's over there talking to Sir Hat." She pointed back with her thumb. "We're new here, and yeah! We were on the Goblin contract. Got it done safe and sound, no thanks to our useless blue cloak. Had to do all the work." She grumbled and took a larger swig as one of them mentioned she was helping the other one around because she hurt her leg. "Y'know, if you'll give me a look at your leg, I can probably go whip something up for tomorrow and you'll be right as rain. We in the swamp see lots of leg injuries. Making a potion for that is easy so long as I know what the issue is." She offered.

Normally, she go ahead and take a look, but that was probably a bad idea given that she did just start drinking. "It's nice to meet you both! How was the caravan mission? Like I said, the Goblin one went off pretty easily. Lil' green bastards go down easy when you hit'em hard and fast. Before they knew it, half of them had their throats slit and the other half was on fire. There was a big ole' Hobbo, but we killed him. He got a couple good hits in though. Still a little sore, but I have his head in a flask in my room so who's laughing NOW?!" Already the booze was taking it's effect.

"So, how 'bout that leg?"

[Absolon-7]

Edward Brunwulf

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

Edward Brunwulf

Sylanna

Roxana Ma'gonid
It seemed tonight's rest was coming closer and closer as Roxana's eyelids felt like they had the weight of mammoths on them and the room's view was increasingly becoming distorted. Thankfully, her arms tightly clutched around Sylanna's shoulders with her head acting as an anchor. While hugging her friend was comfortable and leaning on her was convenient her legs started to feel like shaky timber posts after an earthquake. Her ears picked up Edward say something but her clouded head couldn't catch it. More drool left her mouth as Simion was explaining something to Sylanna. Oh right, they were supposed to pick up a contract for work. Hopefully there was a nice and easy one. Maybe find some lost animals from a zoo or hunt some goblins. Suddenly she could feel her hair being scuffled by Sylanna's hand.

That said, I would appreciate it if you got off and took a seat like everyone else."

"Aaaalrigh, aalright," slurred Roxana getting off her friend and stumbling a step or two away to a seat nearby but a surprise pat on the back doubled with a teasing remark reignited her eyes.

"I-I'll have you know I am perfectly capable of hiccup of recuperating that hiccup loss," slurred Roxana as she turned her face away in embarrassment..."But that would be nice hiccup." Roxana clumsily like a newborn foal walked and sat next beside Sylanna but she leaned over so the group would be in her sights. "You guys got preferences for work? hiccup I looooove exploration ones."

[Auropa]

Oberon encouraging death by alcohol

Corven Roche
Legion bar

Despite years of experiencing all sorts of banter in a of number of different taverns, Frey’s sudden attempt at flirting with Scitha caught Corven off guard. Partly because the man's unmatched confidence and clear lack of regret was enough to impress even him, but mostly from realizing how accustomed to far less pleasant interactions between man and orc he had become, by comparison, the sight before him almost felt surreal in nature. Curious to see how the Orc at the table would react, and not one to be out done, Corven decided to push it further in an attempt to egg-on some sort of response.
“That might just be one of the worst lines I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” He stated matter-of-factly as his gaze passed between Frey and Scitha “Sappy like a tree with all the subtlety of a raging ogre. Plenty of confidence but leave it to a sailor to forget the hook. You wanna get close to anyone, then you can't focus on yourself, for example." He said as he leaned forward and turned his gaze towards the orc "If I were to say anything about you, I'd say that your skin shimmers like the finest of emeralds and that your eyes shine brighter than any star in night sky could ever dream to. Of course, being the honest man that I am, I'd also have to say that you're the second, best looking in the tavern and on this table." he added in with a smirk as he leaned back and took a short swig from his drink.

Soon enough though, the next question came around, though this time it came from the up till now, mostly quiet monk. After a slight delay for his words to reform in Corven’s ever more intoxicated mind, a burst of laughter sprang from his chest
“Have we ever committed a crime? You complete and utter bastard! Brilliant! Though brace yourself monk, for this inebriated Roche lives in loopholes. Now I'm not sure if we have enough hours left in the night but les see how far we can get eh?” he chuckled as he stifled a hiccup and prepared to list his many transgressions like they were glorious victories.
“There’s arson, burglary, smuggling, drunken disorder, regular disorder, breaking curfew, the worst forgery attempt in history, conspiracy, robbery, insulting a lord, perjury, resisting the guard, brawling, attempted camel theft, mostly successful horse theft and if I’m remembering right, there’s also a case of stolen identity after I 'borrowed’ a lord’s cloak and called myself 'Sir Roeterdike of Mathinor' for a week. So how’s that for a fun childhood ey?” He said crossing his arms over his proudly puffed out chest and doing his best to not slur more than a few words every sentence.

“Course, after a wall of honorable endeavors like that, I bet you're wondering how the hell I was allowed ‘ere. Lucky me, the south runs off coin and intrigue so other than a few fines, most of the blame fell on my mas-*arckk* urgh gods that burns just as much coming up.” He added stopping himself mid-sentence with a feigned cough and groan as he noticed his wording.
“Who needs a throat anyways?" he half joked before continuing "Long story short, turns out that since I was technically working under my lord at the time, most of the crimes counted as his by extension. He got most of the blame and after paying a few fines I got a record clean enough for the leigion to accept. Though lets be honest, if the legion turned down every troublemaker, they'd have no capable members to speak of." After a slight pause though, Corven reached forward, grabbed his drink and took a double swing before slamming the mug down hard on the now seemingly free-flowing table.

“Pause is a pause" he managed to say as he fought to keep his organs internal "And the game’s shno fun if we can walk back” He added as the drink started to settle.
“Though my moral still shtands! if you’re gunna do something stupud get someone else to do it with ya!”

[New Finnish Republic]

Edward Brunwulf
Paen Legion Headquarters

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Hearing Roxana's question, Edward took a few moments to recollect what he had heard from others on the more notable quests. While there was a signficicant amount available from what he last saw, really only two potentially crossed his mind as suitable options to take place in. Rubbing his chin for a few moments as he tried recollect his memories, he finally spoke up.

"I saw two that looked worth our time. One mentioned something about remote village being struck with some sort of comet the other night. Apparently there have been some odd reports of what has become of the citizens since the impact, so much in fact that I've heard of traders not even daring to go near the place. The other option, of which I'd rather attend, would be to hunt a wild beast that's been terrorizing some villages up to the North," he said, waiting for the others to consider the options he presented. "You'd probably like the first option more," he said, turning his attention over to Roxana. "More room for things to go terribly wrong as they often do," he said both somewhat sarcastically and more dreadfully.

[Absolon-7]

Edward Brunwulf

Roxana Ma'gonid
Roxana's ears perked up and wiggled as Edward was the first to answer her question. Wait what contracts was he talking about? She'd been so intent on drinking away her sorrows today about her broken record and those penny-pincher Legion bureaucrats. Must have escaped her notice. Once again her eyes felt heavier and heavier and her bobbed up once and then down again. There was something about a dumb comet and another about hunting a creature in the North. Hey, she could use her Purplecloak privilege to get them there by way of the Legion's teleportation method.

"Oh Eddie, if you behave I'll buy you your favorite treat! Was it poppy-seed bread....wait that was uhm someone elses.." mumbled Roxana as she leaned further into her seat like a limp rag. Her eyes fluttered in a closer descent to sleep until a certain set of dots were connected in her head."Oi! What do you mean I'll like the first one...."

Her voice began with a loud protest but with each syllable it slurred off to a quiet sequence until finally she slumped over on her seat. A quiet exchange of breath escaped her mouth as she softly breathed into a deep drunken sleep. Hopefully one of her group knew the way to her home in Velathri. It wasn't too faraway from Legion headquarters fortunately.

[Turmenista]

Luca Greyfoot
Velathri, Paean Legion HQ
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Sometime...much, much, later, long after he'd apparently passed out drunker than a dwarf on his birthday right on the tavern floor, Luca’s body seemingly underwent a resurrection, standing upright slowly upon hearing about some probable quests and contracts available to be taken by the Legionnaires. Initially, he sulked it off and moved back over to the bar to keep on drinking, but paused suddenly, considering his options for a moment. Another means of getting that delicious promotion to blue cloak and Boon upgrade I’ve been working so hard for, He thought to himself, setting down the glass bottle of whatever alcoholic concoction he'd picked up without thinking on his way to the bar.

After all, a promotion to the illustrious rank of blue cloak was just the thing that Luca needed to get that extra “boost” up on the imaginary “leadership ladder” that others like Simion, Frey, and Roxana enjoyed high positions on. In addition to that bonus in clout, becoming a blue cloak would improve his Heroic Boon, giving him access to more refined abilities and better control over his powerful but risky True Form, and would finally allow him to get out of that tattered red hooded thing he wore, which, aside from being stupid and old, was the exact opposite of what he needed to express his leadership skills and prowess in combat to the other Legionnaires. The way he saw it, a Lycan like himself who had taken on many possessed armors alone—and won—while the others simply relied on cowardly ranged weapons, was worthy of this promotion. Some of Luca’s friends that were blue cloaks, like Edward, often commented that he was a “red and blue cloak” to humorously describe his seniority in the position. The very few Lycans that were in the Legion and Velathri itself also poked fun about Luca’s rank. They said that he’d come down to Velathri and joined the Legion with gray fur. Now, he’d worn that red cloak for so long, he was practically getting red fur, like a fox’s. Come to think of it.. was it true?

But, back to those missions, and the worst case scenarios.. What if these missions turned out to be something like the previous mission with Byron? What if his plans backfired? What if he had to wait even longer for a contract, just to go through this vicious cycle of going on missions, seemingly doing good, but not receiving a promotion?

You're setting too many expectations for yourself, Luca. The Lycan warrior flattened his ears and pushed away the half-full bottle of mead from his side, leaning slightly on the bar to keep himself from falling over. If what he heard was true—and it likely was, due to his heightened hearing—then there were two options for missions that were available for him to take. Option number one was a sort of "intrigue" style contract—investigating reports of a strange "rock" or comet that had fallen from the sky and struck a remote village somewhere not too long ago. This mission was especially interesting considering that much of the details regarding the incident had been expunged, save for the fact that the rock had come in unannounced, and most contact with the village had been lost or cut ever since. While he wasn't too sure about what became of the village itself, the report said that the villagers had..changed, from the impact, whatever that meant, so much so that traders wouldn't even go near it due to fears of their own safety. It almost reminded him a little of the origin story of The Blight, which he had read about in the Paean Legion HQ's vast library whenever he had the chance and learned from his elders in Lycanmire, though something like The Blight afflicting Anthem—let alone Requiem again—was practically unheard of. The last time a threat of that magnitude had arose, it took the efforts of every ancient hero to stop it. Maybe it truly wasn’t gone for good.

Option number two was much more closer to home, that is, his home: there were reports of some horrible beast terrorizing, again, remote and small villages up in the North, which particularly interested Luca due to Lycanmire's stance on their people entering their true form for banditry purposes. He thought of the ancient Lycan marauder Cain and his bloodthirsty warbands who were defeated by the warrior-queen Enfys, the first Jarl of Lycanmire. What if all this fuss about a "terrible creature" was just a Lycan going postal, or, in a more simpler example, just being a marauder like his ancestors?

...Option number three immediately came to mind as something he'd heard about before he, well, became inebriated. It was simple, but by the Gods, were those damn High Elves vague as High Hell when it came to details of missions! It was a relatively simple job that had a relatively hefty price tag along with it, and involved transporting a package to a senior military official in Thapsus. Why the pretentious High Elves couldn't just pay for their own expensive mercenaries or use their own soldiers for a mission like this was beyond him. But, it was a good "third option" to anyone who was willing to put up with the Elves and their shenanigans, and made good pay. Personally, he wasn’t too interested in doing jobs for those knife-eared pansies.

"Hey.." Luca spoke up to the rest of the group in the bar, his speech still slightly slurred. "I hear there’s a third contract, too...just, no one bothered to mention it. Probably for good reason, too. Damn elves and their lusty women and creepy, lanky men. Apparently, some fancy pants in Thapsus wants a package delivered to him by us. Thanks to typical Elven bureaucracy, I don't know the contents of the package or why the Elves couldn't deliver it themselves, or any other details for that matter, but they're paying big, I hear...To anyone who's asking, I'll just do this one with the village and the rock. Should be a breeze. For now, though, I'm too DRUNK to think straight. I’ll see you in the morning if you’re goin’ with me.”

Luca started for the door, his steps heavy and wobbly as he meandered out of the tavern. Velathri was home to a burgeoning "Lycan quarter" that was in the lower end of the city, like most other minority racial groups in the small and primarily human-dominated Republic, mostly comprised of immigrants and traders who had come south for whatever reason. He figured he'd head there to probably collapse in some inn's bed, hopefully refreshed enough to get back to the Legion headquarters for his mission.

Secretly, Luca was hoping it'd be at night or early in the morning, as he never truly had the chance to show off his true form. Maybe that will give them a reason to bump me up to a blue cloak. Hmmph.

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Durge Firehearted
Velathri, home of the Paean Legion
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There was really nothing stopping Durge from doing whatever he so pleased in Velathri so long as he wasn't caught. So, he did exactly that—he moved into the city discreetly and under the cover of the approaching night, easily losing the Lycanmire patrols sent to hunt him down among the hodgepodge of sights and smells in Velathri. Once it became evident to him that his threat level had decreased, Durge felt that he could finally relax and rest easy, free of the anxiety that came with, well, running from the authorities. Velathri was a big place—it may have seemed small on any old map you could find in any old shop, but it was deceptively larger once you got in. In a human-dominated city that had a dense lower district with racial minority quarters and, like most cities, a criminal-ridden "Dark Sector” hiding its criminal underworld, it was relatively easy for someone like him to, say, "blend in."

Despite being a Lycan in a human-dominated city, he didn't feel that out of place. After all, there was apparently a couple of Lycans in the Paean Legion, whose headquarters were in Velathri, and not too far away from where he currently was. Speaking of which...

Get to cover.

"Hm? Okay." Prepared to hit the dirt, Durge suddenly hid himself discreetly in an alley, closing his glowing Blight-afflicted eye and pulling his hood on as to not draw attention to himself, as he watched a group pass by. More specifically, he saw a Lycan pass by, but not any ordinary Lycan. Light brown fur, amber eyes, and an indifferent frown were all familiar signs. He dragged along a red Paean Legion hooded cloak, but wore it over a simple tunic, trousers, and a feather necklace, while his tail swept to his side as he walked along, staggered in his step. The hardened leather armguards with studs of steel on the knuckles for added punching power, the feather necklace, and the scabbard carrying an oversized, rune-covered greatsword on his back—more familiar signs. It didn't take long for him to figure that this was a Legion member, and one he knew fairly well.

"Luca Greyfoot." Durge growled the name under his breath in disgust. The younger Lycan was apparently too drunk to hear him—normally, he'd immediately detect Durge by smell and hearing, though he seemed to be lucky now. It was at this moment that Durge slowly loosened his grip on one of his axes, sliding the fingers of of Barnabus's Fury—specifically the index finger and thumb—along each other, producing what otherwise amounted to a slicing noise. "I should've known. He’s the Thane of Lycanmire, too. What a runt.”

Consider yourself lucky that the fool was too inebriated to find you. Erysivius's dark voice boomed in his ear, persuading Durge to keep moving towards the criminal underworld of the city. Down here, spaces were tighter, the light from the outside world even darker as old-timey candles replaced magical lamps and sunstone street lamps, giving the area an ominous orange glow to it. All the while, shady-looking merchants in alleys tried to swoon him into "trying delicious sugars from the far East" that he knew would seriously mess him up, while large mercenaries in front of some of the more reputable buildings sharpened their swords and axes on the fly, as if they were flaunting their firepower to any potential thief. As if it really mattered, Durge snorted to himself, prideful in his strength. Still, he didn't want anyone reporting him to the Lycan authorities down here—or, rather, the Velathri authorities, where he'd likely be turned over to the Lycans currently looking for him.

You need a place to rest your mind and body, Durge. Erysivius's voice appeared in his head again. Look for a building here with a white sun emblem on the cover. That is where you will go and follow my instructions.

"Well. That's easy." The Lycan marauder growled sarcastically, his eyes darting among many of the people and buildings in this quarter...many of whom also bore similar markings either as tattoos or paraphernalia. "Very easy, Erysivius. Thank you for making it so easy. There's sun symbolism fuckin' everywhere."

He suddenly felt his gaze snap forwards without his control, towards a large saloon-looking establishment at the end of the narrow, dimly-lit street, wedged between two smaller businesses, a blacksmith and a bakery. The building was black in color and looked ominous, but, judging by the lights on the inside, it seemed to be open. Look ahead. Go.

He walked towards the building in question. Sure enough, the store was emblazoned with a large white sign indicating its name: "THE PALE WHITE HORSE BROTHEL," though, the "O" was decorated in the fashion of a white sun—the same symbol he'd seen on many people around here as tattoos or markings, and the same one he was tasked with looking for here. The white sun here had a strange quality to it, that being it seemed to shine when light was exposed to it, so when Durge looked at the sign, it was almost as if it were twinkling at him...twinkling a strange invitation, even.

Durge gave a chuckle as he read the name out aloud to himself. "Well, I knew you were a conqueror and mystic in your days, but I never knew you were a fan of brothels, Erysivius."

Oh, you poor, naive creature. The White Sun Syndicate was historically one of my greatest allies in the Final Wars! They haven't forgotten about me at all, Durge, even in their thousands of years of existence. Go inside.

"I'll take your word for it." Durge stepped into the building, his nose and ears immediately welcomed by the sweet and distracting scents of perfume, alcohol, food, lust, and females — as well as the sounds of fine music and singers. People of all race, creed, and origin were here in this illustrious building, indulging in sins no one should indulge in, but that Durge chose to anyways. Immediately, one of the scantily-clad and nice-smelling "stewardesses" threw her hand tight around his right arm as he did the same around her lower waist, practically not being able to control himself. She smelled lovely and looked nice enough, so.. Don't mind if I do. He was also offered a drink in a small class cup, which he promptly downed and returned to the servant that gave it to him, identifying it by taste as some unknown but delicious alcoholic beverage that was useless in light of his high alcohol tolerance, but was ironically just the refreshment he needed after a long day. Were it not for Erysivius's constant cryptic reminders and beckoning with illusions, he would've been a goner for the rest of that night, so he tugged along the "stewardess" with him to wherever Erysivius was giving him a mental "ping."

Durge walked through the brothel, noting the many paintings on the walls and esoteric markings of runes and white sun glyphs hidden in plain sight, before eventually coming across a long gambling table that was occupied: a dwarf with a prosthetic arm and eyepatch, a dark-skinned human covered in tattoos, and a seemingly ordinary kobold bureaucrat—a creature he'd practically never seen in his life until now—all stood by the table playing some card game, small stacks of ducats by their sides as they gambled. Evidently, it was a magical game in origin: each action the men made with their cards moved their little armies of miniature golems on the table, which corresponded to their moves with various actions, like fighting each other and guarding. "Someone in charge. Need to find them. Right here?" He thought of the question in his head, when, really, he was just talking to Erysivius.

Ask them where you can find "The Great Seyfert," Durge.

"I'm looking for The Great Seyfert." Durge said aloud. "Know where a guy like me can find him or her?"

"You're holdin' her, baby." The tan-skinned woman Durge had thrown his arm around and brought along with him giggled, much to his chagrin as all three of the men gambling, all bearing the White Sun marking on the top of their hands, reached for their weapons, before the woman waved them away. "No weapons here, please.. This is a very special guest, you see." She looked at the Lycan with her violet eyes, holding herself close to him as if she were trying to sleep on his arm, much to his chagrin. "I'm glad you find my biceps to be comfortable, woman, but I'm looking for The Great Seyfert."

"I know. You're talking to her." Her eyes twinkled persuasively at Durge—whatever that meant, it sure as hell was working. "What?"

Ask her about services — second coming. Exactly how I said it.

"Oh, uh. Services — Second Coming." He mimicked Erysivius's voice to the best of his ability, to which she nodded and proceeded to lead him up the stairs of the tavern. Durge's good eye darted around the area as the decorative halls from downstairs turned into those more adorned with esoteric symbols upstairs, including a rune he could recognize anywhere: a Blight Summoning rune, put together in one of the rooms. He was led into a kingly room, complete with a large bed, good view out to Velathri from their area, various racks for storing things like weapons, and even a small magical pool. How this was all managed to be packed in this tight of a space, he didn't know. But, if it was apparently free, it was a damn good deal.

The door behind him closed shut with a light thump, causing Durge to perk up slightly. Seyfert was looking at him, flashing a smile at Durge, and the over-sized gauntlet he wore. Like most of the other women in the Pale White Horse, she had a sultry aura to her, but one which, at least to Durge, strangely emanated vibes of authority and power. For all he cared, she could've been some expert practitioner in the Blight's esoteric ways and sorcery—a former mage who had devoted her life to the dark energy of the Blight. "So. You're the Blight Proxy who killed that Legionnaire, Barnabus The Bard. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Durge." She stepped towards him, helping him take off much of his armor and Barnabus's Fury, taking the large gauntlet with care as she set it beside the bed. "I'm impressed. You're even using his own weapon as a trophy.. and as a weapon of your own. I see you've made some modifications to it, even."

"Alright, lady. Seems like you've been expectin' me or something, huh?" Durge raised an eyebrow, setting most of his remaining belongings—save for his clothes—down onto a rack or cabinet in the room. Seyfert shook her head. "Not quite. The Blight can give visions to powerful sorcerers like myself, and I saw one of a herald of Erysivius himself—a practical living extension of his will, even." She eyed him up and down for a moment, causing him to fold his arms, now uncomfortable by her invasive eyes as they assessed him. "I wasn't expecting a Lycan of all people to be his herald, to be honest."

"What were you expecting, then, an elf?"

"...In all honesty, yes."

"Figures.. I get it." Durge grumbled to himself. "I really do."

"Well, a Lycan is fine, too. I hear you're—"

Erysivius's voice suddenly drowned out what she was saying. This is getting NOWHERE. Ask the woman about the Thapsus Package. Mention the 'Pariah,' Durge. It is related to our quest south to Fallowmire.

"Oh, right." Durge nodded. "So, Seyfert. I'm currently traveling south to the city of Fallowmire, but I needed to stop here for R&R and escape those bastard Lycan patrols sent after me. My master, Erysivius, he—yes, that one. He wants me to ask you about a Thapsus Package. Something about a 'Pariah'. What are the details you have about it, since I'm completely out of the loop right now?"

“That package is something those bloody High Elves in Thapsus aren’t supposed to have, Durge. It belongs to me, but it technically belongs to your master, too." Seyfert explained, stepping towards him as she guided him over to one of the tables in the room, which coincidentally had a map on it held down by an ink bottle and respective quill. She pointed towards the city near the peninsula, then to Velathri. "It’s supposed to be delivered from Velathri to a senior Thapsus military officer tomorrow morning, but I want it. You know I do.” She seductively grinned, tugging him closer by his collar. “I can’t tell you quite yet what the contents are, so, let’s just say, it was something of a parting gift from your master, hm? The Elves may have their use for it, but we have ours, too. Just like how he wants you to go down south, baby, I want that package here. Your master’s got big things planned, things even I can’t quite tell you about, so don't worry about me. Retrieve it, and I can fill you in on whatever you need to know.”

“Hm.” Durge grunted in acknowledgement. “So, it’s simple. Find this package, intercept it from the elves. I got it. What’s the catch for me?”

“Catch?” She giggled. “There’s no catch, darling. No hidden contracts, no double-crossings. The only thing you need to worry about is getting that package and delivering it to me. If you do it, I’ll help you get to your destination in no time. One small thing, though: Legionnaires are supposed to be escorting it. You’ve killed one yourself—and a purple cloak at that—so I see you as an expert in this field.” She placed a finger on his chest, as if to emphasize her point. Durge slowly nodded, locking his gaze with her violet eyes. “I’m in. Consider it a deal.”

“Good. Good." Seyfert grinned cheekily, assuming what Durge liked to call the “bedroom gaze,” which meant only good things were going to happen following this, and he probably would have to find a way to wake up on time, after what was about to happen. She placed a hand on her hips as she looked up at the imposing Lycan, biting her lip. “Now, Mr. Durge, tell me. Is this the only reason your cranky old master called you here? To get this mission from me? To learn more about the Blight, perhaps?”

I AM NOT CRANKY AND OLD, YOU DEPRAVED WITCH! DURGE, TELL HER I WILL-

But, it was too late. Durge had cut out his master's voice in his head with his mental willpower, turning around to the sultry witch, his tail swaying side to side behind him as if to show his excitement. “Nah, darling. You know my kind. Us Lycans—we take what we want, when we want to do it, and wherever we want to do it, without question. Kind of like how I'm going to take that package from those pansy elves." Durge grunted as if to chuckle, placing a hand on her chin as he moved closer to her, his bushy dark gray tail wrapping around her legs. "But, as for right now, I know what I'm going to take right now, and I like it very much." He chuckled for real, his eyes meeting with hers once more. "Of course, love, I'm not here just for this job—no. I heard that this place was the best in Velathri when it came to ‘rest and relaxation.' Since we're both in on this, I'm sure you know how the Blight works on your body just as much as I do. That strength comes with a cost.. Every once and a while, you need some good old 'sustenance' to reverse the Blight Rot on your body and keep your strength up."

HAVE IT YOUR WAY. I WILL WAKE YOU IN THE MORNING. FOOL.

Her grin seemed to widen as the Lycan continued, his hands slowly making their way to her hips. "Now... Seyfert... I figured you're a smart cookie. How do you suppose a Lycan like me would go about doing that? Satiating the Blight's appetite, if you would...”

"I think we both know the answer to that." Seyfert whispered into his ear, waving the sunstone lamps in the room off, plunging it into total darkness, save the orange glow of the lamps outside, Durge's glowing afflicted eye, and Seyfert's long, jet-black hair, which seemed to sheen a ghostly silver as the moonlight illuminated her body.

"That's what I want to hear." Durge also lowered his voice and smiled as well, toning out the panicked mumbling of Erysivius in the background as he used his impressive strength to playfully hoist the woman up and onto his shoulder, moving towards the large bed in their room, where he set her down onto the bed and loomed over her, holding her arms down with his hands as they both smiled at each other. “And.. as for a total psychopath like myself, love... you'll find my definition of ‘rest and relaxation’ is a little...exciting.”

[Absolon-7]

City of Velathri, Republic of Velathri

Roxana Ma'gonid
Oh dear oh dear her hangover was pounding against her skull and the shame of how'd she acted last night was unbearable. Wait how did she even get to her house? Last thing Roxana remembered was her drunken self making a fool of themselves acting all silly and lcingy towards Sylana. By Mithra she's gonna lord over that over me isn't she? The sun was bright in the sky in the fresh crisp morning air and grass along the street leading to the Paean Legion base was covered in shiny dew. The magnificent building itself welcomed her in as she walked up the stairs to its lobby entrance. She gave a little wave at the front desk receptionists before she made a left turn and walked down a hallway to the Legion's private tavern. It was morning so it was mostly empty sans a few early birds and the tavern kitchen smelled of eggs and bagels. The contract board was right around the corner of the hallway leading to the tavern and its contents were free to be seen by all. Her curious expression scanned the board looking for one she liked. There were a few mundane ones such as helping maintain the city walls, another called for helping build some stands for a nearby festival, but suddenly three contracts in particular caught her eyes.

A secret package is to be delivered to an official representative of the Thapsian military currently stationed in the port city of Antheia by the Madrigal River. The package originally came from the Mage Conclave in the central mountains and a native courier was assigned to transport it to Velathri and from there it must fall to Legionnaires to bring it in the next leg of the journey. The package is a large trunk sealed with multiple locks and upmost care must be taken that its contents must not be disturbed at at cost as it is described as being incredibly fragile. The trunk is located in the Legion warehouse and can be picked up by checking in with the Warehouse Quartermaster. A mule and small cart will be provided free of charge.
Pay: 550 Ducats in total

Several days ago a sky-blue meteor flashed across the sky and reportedly landed not too far from the village of VanLoon located some distance upriver of the Aria River. Recommended mode of travel is renting a river barge and then travel upriver to a nearby fishing village. Reports of strange incidents include large crystal growths circling the village's perimeter and some say that they spread outwards more by the day. Local animals have been seen with blue crystals embedded into their hide and reports by local rangers even say that the former denizens of the village are encrusted in crystals as well. At night a enormous beam of light can be seen erupting from the center of town and the colors are described as nothing ever seen before by mortals. The main duty of Legionnaires would be to investigate these strange occurrences and to deal with the issue before it escalates.
Pay: 508 Ducats in total

The past few months the County of Margeride in the Kingdom of Soissons has been ravaged by a viscous predator responsible for 210 attacks; resulting in 113 deaths and 49 injuries; 98 of the victims killed were partly eaten. There are several conflicting reports by eyewitnesses with some describing it as an enormous wolf, some say a hyena from the Tejis Desert, and others say a malnourished troll but all have one trait in common: a black cross on their forehead. Whatever it may be the Legion has been outreached to deal with it as countless local hunters have failed and even died trying to catch the beast and even the King of Soisson's own Royal Forest Warden was nearly killed in hunting it. However the beast was injured in the confrontation and a Court Mage was able to put a tracking spell on it. Somehow in a day's time it ended up in the Northern Reaches in the small Kingdom of Lietuva. Purplecloak required. Accommodations for travel will be handled in the front desk.
Pay:808 Ducats in total

Roxana grabbed the third contract she had been considering and gave it one more look over. Eddie's gonna love this one but by Mithra all those poor people!. Roxana pivoted around and walked towards an empty table. She placed the contract down on its surface and took a chair for her to sit in. This contract would be a dangerous one as the sheer number of victims was jawdropping. Something like this would never happen in Thapsus! As this was supposed to occur in the Northern Reaches it meant she would get to use the Legion's secret way of teleportation. It was a long range form of teleportation that the Legion held a monopoly in that it wouldn't even let Thapsus know how to use. It had been a while since she used it so she hoped she wouldn't get sick like last time. Roxana propped her head up on of her hands letting her cheek rest on her palm. With her other hand she traced around the ornate artistic border of the contract and thus she waited for her party to arrive this crisp morning.

[Finland SSR]

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

---

Yesterday night came and went. Simion, having only drunk very lightly during the whole crash at the bar - lightly for his size and alcohol tolerance, at least - eventually ended up in his quarters and slept until late morning. Recollecting the memory of everything which happened back then wasn't... difficult - he talked to Roxana about his artifact, the two of them met Edward and Sylanna, both interactions having quite a story to tell, and eventually the whole squad decided upon taking on a mission together.

A mission with him, Roxana, Edward and Sylanna on the same team. Out of the squad of super-stars, he couldn't help but feel that he was the odd one out.

Eh, don't worry too much about it. It's gonna be an adventure, and you need a lot of support in a fight to make it work, anyway.

Pushing himself off of his bed and jumping into his dark Nurian military uniform, Simion left his room and, after making his way across several corridors and stairs, made his way outside, his sights immediately focusing on the training grounds. It was a morning routine of his to always start out by releasing a few shots at the Legion's training targets both to continue improving his skills, inch by inch, and also to calm himself down if the night before left him particularly angry or thoughtful.

This one did not, but training awaits regardless.

Before Simion could even release his first shot, the corner of his eyes caught the sight of a dark-skinned woman making her way through the front gate of the Legion HQ's front yard. Doesn't hurt to say hi, right?

"Heya! Good morning!" Simion exclaimed, briefly waving his hand, only to receive no answer. Guess it does hurt sometimes.

---

Dido Ricine, the Elven swordsmaster!

---

The Legion's tavern was as empty as it always is in these slow mornings - aside for a few early birds, the hall and the tables dispersed around it were empty and barren. I knew I should have slept that additional hour. For some reason, she must have thought that the three weeks she spent on a contract in Tevar will have somehow changed the Legion's lifestyle.

Well, something certainly must have changed. Dido had only returned to Velathiri late yesterday, cashing in her completed contract, and yet news about the Legion's life instantly bombarded her. Rumors were afloat about several Legionnaires who took on a large contract and promptly got ripped off on the lump payment for failing to complete all of the mission's objectives, a few familiar names floating around among the poor bastards. Dido made her way across the tavern and stopped in front of the contract board.

"Boring... Boring... Boring... Thapsus? Why in Mithra's name would I ever head there?.. Hmmm..."

Several days ago a sky-blue meteor flashed across the sky and reportedly landed not too far from the village of VanLoon located some distance upriver of the Aria River...

Sounds like an interesting mystery to solve, with potential to put her skills to use - some of those crystal-infested animals will probably need to be cut down, right? Either them or whoever is responsible for the whole ordeal... Figuring to keep the contract in mind and consider it if any more Legionnaires volunteer for it, Dido pushed herself off the board, her eyes instantly noting a familiar light-haired head sitting by one of the tables of the tavern. Roxana Ma'gonid. Rotten high elf.

She seemed to be reading a yet another contract, having selfishly hogged the description all to herself - and it looked even more fun than the previous one, who could say no to hunting monsters, but the High Elf's presence tainted it immediately.

"A hundred and thirteen deaths, oh my..." the Dark Elf swordswoman muttered with false worry as her eyes glanced over Roxana's shoulder from behind to read the first lines of the contract. "Wishing to push it to a hundred and fourteen, Roxana?"

[Sudbrazil]

Walter Schaefer von Eisenach
Velathri, Paean Legion ~ early morning

His gamberson jacket, which had shielded him from spears and arrows afore now shielded his chest from the morning chill. Walter had spent less than a week among the ranks of the Legion, but he had already a good idea of the great building's layout. He directed himself with a brisk pace towards a place which was already familiar to him.

There had been very few contracts since his entrance into the organisation, but as he went along his way, he was pleased to see that a couple of papers adornerd the billboard. They were both quite interesting, but the second one seemed to call him, after all, escorting a package could be done by anyone with an ostensibly sharp blade and a frightening face to scare away reckless ruffians.

By the wooden tables of the tavern, two elves read a parchment suspiciously akin to the others posted at the reception. He had never seen that many knife-eared cumberworlds afore coming into Velathri, though if his old mentors' words were true, those were a Dark and High elves, and they mixed like sulphur and saltpetre in a coal mine. Nevertheless, this didn't mean that he should throw his manners out the window.

"Greetings fair ladies," he asked as he positioned himself behind them, "would you mind if I were to have a look at your parchment?" It was a hideous matter indeed, which smelled of magic most foul, but would provide any participant with a handsome amount of Ducats. Unfortunately it would mean a journey longer than the distance any peasant could hope to travel his whole life, and he was quite indisposed to make another such trip to whence he had come from so soon. Besides, he was not a purple cloak, nor did he know any.

[Auropa]

Corven Roche
Outside the Legion Bar

Half submerged beneath a pile of hay and a layer of empty mugs, Corven happily rested on his back as he enjoyed the sensation of the sun steadily washing over him.
Last night's drinking game went longer than he had originally expected it to and paired with the bartender’s concoction doing more damage than he ever could’ve expected, he was cheerful and somewhat surprised at being conscious this morning. Adding to his victory, was how despite the odds against him and the mortality of his organs, he not only managed to survive last night's game but also carry on through the night. And it proved to be a good night, some drinks here, a toast there, more than a few pleasant conversations and all topped off with a card game ending in a small brawl. He didn’t remember who won the drunken fight but considering he was laying in the hay instead of the gutter, he was figured his chances were good. But even so, none of the groups quite matched his first drinking buddies in terms of uniqueness. ‘Definitely an interesting bunch…’ he thought to himself.

Sensing his owner coming to consciousness, Hoarse the horse calmly walked over to the pile of hay Corven was temporarily calling home and promptly started eating the straw with less than no concern for its current inhabitant and his protests. A few tense moments later and Corven had successfully separated himself from his ignoble steed’s jaws and after close to a dozen donkey themed insults, left in search of his own breakfast and a early start to the job postings. ‘Definitely not going to let some she-elf beat me to the punch again’ he thought to himself as he remembered how not more than a few days ago, his own tardiness ended up costing him a spot on any of the real jobs and left him with a simple courier’s wage instead. True, it was better than nothing but it wasn’t the work he came for.

Upon arriving at the tavern, one thought immediately struck him as he entered. ‘Holy shit the rug was alive!’ Standing at the opposite side of the hall and crowding the job postings stood a colourful assortment of different figures. The largest was unmistakably Lycan and the one he had mistakenly believed to be a decoration not more than a few hours ago. His kind weren’t all that common down south but Corven had still met them enough times to know not to pick fights against them lightly so last night's mistake was probably best kept to himself. Next was a green haired elf who, if memory served, was ranting and tripping over herself for half the night before promptly falling unconscious. He didn’t have a name for her but the tell-tale purple cloak did give him some sense of her skill and for some reason he couldn’t look at her without his mind practically shouting ‘danger’ at him. Effectively backing up his mind’s conclusion, a dark elf stood close by and while he didn’t arrive in time to hear her words, it didn’t take a genius to figure out the intent behind them. Finally, there stood an older looking fellow, or at least someone with too much interest in grooming their own beard. The man seemed to be the only standard human in the group but experience made Corven doubt he was anywhere close to ordinary. ‘Well that's probably enough snooping.’ He figured as he passed a few coins to the barkeep in exchange for a warm plate of eggs and bacon.

As he merrily shoveled food into his mouth, Corven moved up to join the rest of the group around the contracts and listened as best he could to the others talking about the jobs. From what he could tell, three options stood above the rest. A delivery job, an investigation and a monster hunt. Though call it what you will, he wasn’t a fan of fighting monsters. People were predictable. Sure, most if not all, all are sadistic, greedy and selfish, but predictably so. Monsters on the other hand, he had no idea how or why they killed so much. Maybe it was for food, territory or even just plain boredom, but whatever the answer was, something about not knowing tended to throw him off in the heat of battle. The second option was out the moment he learned the fate of the villagers. ‘I’ve killed more than enough innocents for one life’ he decided as his eyes narrowed, and his ever-present smile faltered for the briefest of seconds. That left him with option three. And from how it sounded, the job seemed simple, easy and profitable. It was technically another delivery job but something about escorting a mysterious, secret passage for the military made it feel more impressive. ‘Nothing quite like a little bit intrigue and speculation to help pass the time’.

““Well, I guess I’m on delivery duty. Where's everyone else going?” he added as he wiped an oily gloved hand across his red cloak and set down the empty plate behind him.

[Confederation of the Equator]

[minecraft villager sound]

[Turmenista]

Luca Greyfoot
Velathri, Paean Legion HQ
__________________________________

To say the least, his night was uneventful, save for the fact that it took him longer to actually get to the Lycan quarter of Velathri than it took him to check in to one of the inns, hop in a bed, and sleep. There was a moment that he felt like he was being watched while on his way to the Lycan quarter, perhaps even by another Lycan he didn’t know, but that was aside from the point.

There was this old saying that was passed around for generations, and was practically the same no matter where you were or what racial group you identified with: The early bird catches the worm. Sadly, this didn’t apply here, as Luca immediately noticed he wasn’t the only guy up this early headed to the Paean Legion HQ. Some familiar faces and a few new ones were all agglomerated in the tavern, looking upon the three contracts that had been posted up on the bulletin board. As he’d said the night before, Contract Number 1 and Number 3 were all out of his tastes, mostly because of personal preferences regarding the third option and "just not being in the mood for it", while the first option...well.. It was self-explanatory, really. He didn’t want to deal with those High Elf dorks at all, or babysit a mule carrying a large, fat target for bandits.

So. Contract Number 2: The Crystal Village Investigation. As the name suggested, it was quite literally investigating a village that had been overrun with strange crystals, involving getting there, dispatching any of the afflicted fauna, and taking notes. It was a nice, easy mission that paid 608 Ducats in total, which would be distributed among anyone who chose the job. That meant, as of now, he’d be getting most of the cut since no one was signing up. Luca happily signed his name under the contract and folded his arms. The mission itself involved getting to the village by renting a barge, where the crew would then travel upstream to a nearby fishing village from the village of Vanloon, located up the Aria River. Personally, he wasn’t a fan of deep water, but he could handle navigating rivers. Local reports about the anomaly included crystals being embedded into the animals and some villagers, while a huge beam of light emerges from the town every night.

So—simple, really. Go to village, put down affected animals and try to help the villagers, with the added bonus of dismantling any of the crystal growths in the village and looking cool while doing it. The best part was the prospect of what he could do at night when the crazy light show happened—in his true form, anything that was bigger than him would surely be in for a surprise when he transformed.

“Alright.” Luca said aloud as he adjusted his armor, intending on taking up a leadership role this time by addressing any of the probable candidates for the village investigation mission, as well as the veritable crowd of Legionnaires that had formed in the tavern itself. “I said before that I’m takin’ this mission, so to any milk drinkers who want to smash some pretty crystals, now’s your chance to come with me. We can start heading out in an hour to rent out the barge that’ll take us to VanLoon, so that gives us some time for anyone who’s interested to join in as well.”

He turned away from the board for a moment. “Oh. One last thing.. If we end up doing this job at night, make sure you can deal with a Lycan in his true form.”

---

Durge Firehearted
The Pale White Horse Brothel, Velathri
__________________________________

One moment, he was frolicking in the fields of his dreams, a beautiful damsel in distress in tow around one arm, making some noise he couldn’t really identify at first as the tower burned in the background...and the armies of those silly elves chased him far in the background. She seemed happy enough about her rescue—unless, of course, she was screaming. That was okay, too, at least in his perspective.

Yep. My kind of dream..

Wake. Up. You fool. Do you want to be late for this mission? Do you want to lose your chance at gaining more power? Durge?

...Cretin.. Let me do this, then...

Erysivius’s constant mental “pinging” and intrusions into Durge’s splendid lucid dreaming came in the form of visual anomalies and warping reality, which finally did their job in awakening the Blight-afflicted Lycan warrior. Durge rose as peacefully as a monk in the morning, completely refreshed from last night’s shenanigans and any injuries he had acquired on his way to Velathri, though much of the bed was covered in sweat for some reason. The other side of the large bed he was sprawled out on was vacant—Durge’s “guest” apparently had left well before he awoke, causing him to frown in disappointment about being awoken by his master, but not a splendid feminine face smiling at him.

His senses kicked in as he regained his sense of where he was. While he could hear the muffled sounds of voices on the lower floors, he also heard sizzling and clicking of cutlery, accompanied by the sounds and smells of a well-trained chef preparing food. The aromas of eggs, meats, and freshly baked bread infiltrated his nostrils, his acute sense of smell identifying it to be smoked sausages, poppy seed bread, and poached eggs. A breakfast of champions was being prepared...

Durge stepped up from the bed and inspected himself in the nearby mirror, immediately seeing that his muscular frame, crisscrossed by since-healed battle scars from years prior, was notably less afflicted by the Blight’s corruption effect than it was from the previous night, where it was covered in violet boils and dark splotches. And while his left eye remained afflicted and glowing still, his overall appearance seemed better than ever, his usually matted dark fur glimmering and soft like a youthful Lycan. Many of his more recent scars, too, had since healed, something he’d learned from the Blight from Erysivius himself.

Durge scoffed. “Huh. If I’d known that coitus with Blight witches and eating and drinking all I wanted would reverse this Blight Rot on me, I woulda done it more often in the past. Maybe that’s the secret ingredients to the Fountain of Youth—mead, meat, and maidens. Hah!”

That is the cost of this power, Durge. With great power also comes significant risks: while the Blight energy within you will sustain you for a while if you do not eat or drink, at some point, the Blight itself will hunger, and it will begin to eat away your body to satiate itself, like the body’s own cells will do to a malnourished host. Thus, constant consumption will preserve your mind and body, else you feel like indulging yourself in more Blight energy to accelerate the process, or risk your body withering away… unless, of course, you want to dedicate yourself fully to the Blight and become my personal harbinger of death, which I am certainly capable of doing.

“I’m fine where I am, but thank you for your offer.” Durge grunted at that uncomfortable suggestion, quickly pulling on his clothes, armor, and other contraband that he had collected over his many antics, which had all been scattered on the floor in contrast to their neat condition before the events from the night before transpired. After finishing gearing up, he saved the best for last and slid on Barnabus’s Fury onto his right arm, giving the fallen Legionnaire’s prized Dwarven gauntlet a big, humorous kiss, like a kid celebrating his trophy. “Today, buddy, you’re going to taste Legionnaire blood. We’re gonna have some fun today. Let’s go.”

Before he left the room, Durge saw that there was a note pinned to the door by an ornate serrated dagger, which carried the White Sun Syndicate’s emblem engraved into its blade. He took the note and the dagger, the latter of which balanced itself quite well even in his large hands, inspecting the piece of paper curiously.

To my good friend, Durge,

Thank you for visiting my establishment. I was delighted to serve such a notorious man like yourself—and one who the great Erysivius chose as his herald, at that. Last night was great, but today, your services will be used for something even greater. Whether you are successful or not, we are both making large steps towards unlocking the secrets behind the Blight’s power and its esoteric mysteries. When you embark on your adventure south and help Erysivius return to his full power, we will be lauded as champions and generals of the Blight’s armies. For now, save this for later.

As for the mission, it is imperative that you retrieve the package by any means necessary, and dispatch any witnesses. If the Thapsians somehow gain word of our intentions, it would complicate both of our operations, knowing how thorough those High Elves are. They do not know the true nature of this package. I do.

My recommendation to you is to intercept the package in the mountains, but you may choose to accomplish this however way you see fit. Know that by the time you awake, it may already be on its way to Thapsus, so make sure you get to the mountains before midday to ambush the shipment. Legionnaires will be escorting it out of Velathri, but you have plenty experience in dealing with them, of course. Know also that the contents of the package are delicate, so take them with as best care as you can. Return it to this building in the room next to ours as soon as you have it. I will be in by then, awaiting your arrival.

When you have completed the mission, come see me, preferably with the package. There, I will explain to you its contents and help you on your journey to Fallowmire. In the future, you may come here to reinvigorate yourself at any time and as many times as you like, free of charge. Consider this my bonus to your services. Conversely, you can come back to have some more fun with me again.

— Seyfert

Durge grinned slyly, stuffing the note in one of his pockets for safe keeping as he twirled the dagger in his fingers. “Say, Erysivius, I think there’s some stables near here. Whaddya say I take some of the horses and blast ‘em with Blight energy? Get us some ‘extra firepower’ on this job.”

He heard his master’s chuckling in his head, his shadowy figure appearing behind the Lycan in the mirror, although this was invisible to anyone that wasn’t Durge. That sounds like the beginnings to a wonderful plan, my friend.

---

Qivantanth, the Eclipse-Bringer
Somewhere in the Southern Bog and Desert
__________________________________

Barnabus the Bard and his irritating illiteracy… Qivantanth, with all of her wisdom and experience, so far was unable to find where this so-called “Mount Doruhl” was—and thus was unable to plunder the mysterious mountain’s riches that lay buried under a mile of rock and dirt, nothing she couldn’t excavate in an off day. This made no sense. What was the difference between Fallowmire and Mount Doruhl? If she was correct, Fallowmire was the city..though it did not exist on any conventional map, whereas Mount Doruhl was hidden somewhere in the city...that, again, didn’t exist on any maps.

She let out a frustrated grunt as she landed on the ground, searching the sands for any mountains within sight—or any signs of life, for that matter. All of these actions came up inconclusive as she finally spotted the peaks of some range due south. Hopefully there’d be some promising answers down there, but she was too tired to keep flying. Unless…

She suddenly brought up a mental image of the map in her head, taking out the real thing that had inadvertently been embedded between her scales. Holding the Barnabus’s weathered parchment up into the sky, the hidden lines on the map illuminated itself as a strange black cover under the sun. If her sense of judgement was correct—which it always was—then the city of Fallowmire was..right on top of her.

Her wings unfolded as she shot into the air, the ground crackling slightly beneath her as she uttered an ancient word, a plume of fire blasting out from her mouth that turned the sands into a charred glassy substance..and illuminated the existence of a massive gate right beneath her feet.

She landed softly on the ground, folding her wings in as she inspected the gate. “You ancients and your mysteries.. Besting me yet again. Mount Doruhl and Fallowmire aren’t above ground.. no. The ground is hollow.. Meaning the city is below ground.”

Looking at the ancient weathered gate, she placed a claw onto it—specifically, a keyhole on its surface. “Now, to find a way in.”

[Radea]

Arden Rooke
Paean Legion Headquarters – Velathri
----------------------------------------------------------------

The heartland merchant turned mercenary tied his coin purse back to his belt, feeling the lessened tug of the weight on his hip. In his nervousness, Arden hadn’t really counted how much he had donated. It felt like more than he had ever given, but he also had never had so much coin at one time before. Still plenty to go aroun--

A firm gauntlet clasped his shoulder. His eyes glanced at the hand and then shimmied up the appendage to the face of the Paladin. A boulder plummeted into his stomach. A pat on the shoulder was the friendliest of gestures, but the quickest to kill romance. Yvonne might as well have said he was like a brother to her.

“It is great to see you again, Arden. I see that you are recovering from your injuries well? I heard that you displayed your skills and prowess well on the battlefield. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to see it.”

Rooke scoffed ruefully, “I wouldn’t call it battlefield skill. Always had more luck in back alley rumbles than with blades. I’m glad you’re well too, Yvonne. After the wagons took off, I got worried.”

A mental palm slapped the young man on the forehead. Like a novice gambler, he had tipped his hand too soon once again. Pivoting on his foot and his train of thought, Arden took the opportunity that Yvonne had provided.

“Quite right, I was only briefly at the tavern with the lot briefly and they’ll be overjoyed to see you. Who knows, maybe some new contracts might have been posted.” Jaw muscles tightened before boyish flirtations could flutter away like startled butterflies. Rooke bowed teasingly, as if a servant, and gestured Yvonne down the cobblestone road towards the Legion Headquarters. From almost anywhere in the city, you could see the inspiring towers and works of the legendary organization.

For a little while, Rooke didn’t say anything. Only the sounds of his heavy boots scuffing against the well worn stones beneath his steps emanated from the human legionary. The polished and inviolable plate armor that adorned the Paladin glimmered in the light out of the corner of his eye.

”Does she always wear that steel fortress? Is that part of the Paladin oath or a personal choice?”

The silence grew to intolerable length, a discomfort akin to holding one's breath. “So…,” Arden began, “Would you be taking a contract with the Legion…? If there were any, I mean.”

A less-than-suave dismount, but it would have to do. The Heartlander’s time with the Legion had been short and he had met a carrack’s worth of impressive soldiers, hunters, and mages. Above all though, Yvonne the Paladin had proven to be enrapturing. Her fighting ability was unassailable and the very order of nature followed her command as wounds bound themselves. How could someone who had only seen the cruel march of time and fate from the viewpoint of a commoner not be enchanted by such things? Being a young woman about his age didn’t hurt either.

Rooke shook that last thought away. A phantom of Yvonne’s hand patted his shoulder again. He almost chuckled to himself. How foolish.

After holding one of the weathered tavern doors open for his armored companion, Rooke couldn’t help but notice the colorful tapestry of legionnaires who had gathered around the notice board like fish around floating bread.

“I guess that means jobs are up.” He said to no one in particular. Luckily, Rooke was taller than a handful of others and was able to get a squinting read of the contracts on the board, pinned dutifully by the overworked receptionists.

Most of the chatter was about the great beast with a body count high enough for some military skirmishes. It was all there - glory and gold. What else would a mercenary want?

“To live another day.” Rooke grumbled under his breath, answering his own thoughts. He had tumbled into victory against the abominations in the Tarchuna Forest. A human couldn’t count on luck in every battle; eventually they need skill and experience to win against the superhuman and supernatural. Arden wasn’t even quite sure how to swing a sword. He swung better now than he did two weeks ago, but was that enough to hunt a monstrous slayer of men? Doubtful.

Sitting at a nearby table, Corven claimed the intent on the delivery contract. Rooke cocked an eyebrow at that. From where he stood, Corven was a swordsman of note. Was guarding a bolted trunk his style? Maybe he had his reasons.

Though… the village besieged by ominous crystals seemed to keep drawing the young Heartlander’s gaze, like a winter fire to a child. This village of VanLoon, would it be any different than his home? See one helpless peasant hovel, see ‘em all.

Folding his arms, indecision pulled at his chest. “What do you think?” Arden mused to the stout Paladin.

[Absolon-7]

Dido Ricine, the Elven swordsmaster!

Walter Schaefer von Eisenach

Vulluin Berryann

Roxana Ma'gonid
Wishing to push it to a hundred and fourteen, Roxana?

What a day today would prove to be. Roxana furrowed her brow at the new voice directed at her and it proved to be none other then Dido the Bitch. Not only was she a Solfataran Elf she was also Empress Bitch of Bitchania of House vonBitchberg. Nearly every single encounter with the woman felt like she had swallowed a toad from some stagnant pond. It was as if her blood was one hundred percent giant desert scorpion venom mixed with manticore spit. Roxana clenched her fist and gave off a haughty sigh at the Dark Ef's direction.

"Oh how sweet of you to think I'd be as careless as you, Dido," said Roxana flipping one of her tassels of hair, "I appreciate you attempt to look up to be and think we'd ever be the same at something."

Suddenly a human legionnaire came up to them asking to see if he could read the contract for himself. Roxana was confused but at least he was polite so it's not like there'd be any harm in letting him. Roxana scooted aside a few to let the man inspect the contract and the ealier vitriol in her speech against Dido began to ebb. "Uhm, go ahead....mind telling me your name?"

Misfortune upon misfortune came once again as some Wood Elf reeking of some illicit substances came up to her and began to complain about apparently taking the contract for herself. Typical Redcloak complaining a typical complaint. By Mithra how long does it take to get used to how things work around here? She wasn't this dunderheaded when she was a Redcloak nor was anyone else who was worth their weight.

"Contracts are first come first serve, Redcloak, get used to it. Especially if you already have a pre-organized party for it like I do for example," grumbled Roxana at the Wood Elf. Oh why couldn't this morning start off with people I actually like?

[Sudbrazil]

Walter con Eisenach
Paean Legion Hall

"Walter von Eisenach, at your service," he replied, bowing slightly and taking his off his Tudor bonnet.

As predicted, the elves soon started to trade sharp words, and he expected the conversation to degenerate into muck-spouting. As a wood elf came in to aggravate the situation, he quickly turned to make his escape before he could be dragged into the brewing fight. He would gladly participate in any dignified melee or political argument, but petty infighting would be too low for his taste.

"I am sorry to abandon you so quickly, but I must sign an important contract," he concluded before leaving at an accelerated pace, "I hope we shall meet to talk again."

But by the billboard the situation was no better, as a crooked-nose-knave with a rank not higher nor lower than his claimed to be the leader of the expedition towards the village. Indeed, as he pursued his bragging about his true form coming at night (a kind of speech he hadn't heard among even the lowest and least inexperienced of landsknechte recruits), Walter concluded that he had seen greater cohesion and esprit de corps among goblin warbands. Hesitantly, he took the plume and signed under the parchment.

Unfortunately, his stomach reminded him that he still had a fast to break, and the closest place to procure food would be the tavern, which he had just left. Avoiding the escalating fight over the contract parchment, he spotted a blue-haired man accompanied by an armoured maiden. Perhaps there were decent folk around these parts. After claiming a nice pint of beer, he directed himself towards their table.

"Good morning, would you mind if I were to sit here?"

[Finland SSR]

Roxana Ma'gonid

Luca Greyfoot
Velathri, Paean Legion HQ
__________________________________

Dido Ricine, the Elven swordsmaster!

---

Ah, little Roxana was being the same as always. She didn't even try to hide the resentment built up in her mind as Dido spoke to her, everything in that small frame of hers screaming that the High Elf would rather shove a couple arrows down her throat. And that was oh so lovely. Something within Dido's psyche enjoyed the feeling of causing mischief and negative feelings, especially within those sodding High Elves such as Roxana - and the Elven archer's frustration was like music to her ears in that regard.

Dido cackled a little bit upon hearing her response - again, she was resigned to hiding behind her prettier cloak as a way to confirm her superiority.

"Oh, dear Roxana, have I ever implied that we're anywhere near equal?" the Dark Elf replied. "Maybe if I threw myself into a pile of dung and suddenly obtained the brain of a donkey... then we could make that point..."

Dido leapt up, turning back towards the contact board. "But as much as I would like to discuss donkey dung and you underneath it, I've got a contract to solve." Besides, the High Elf seemed to be just as irritated by pretty much everything else in the Universe at this point, so it wasn't even fun to share the fortune with a fellow elf and some human who happened to show up at the wrong time. She was thinking of Mission 2, right? The one with a crystal village? Yeah, so, she's gonna be signing up for that one, the matter's settled.

Speaking of the crystal village mission, someone was already loudly talking about it. An armored Lycan warrior suddenly spoke up to the crowd, including Dido, declaring his intention to join the mission as well as explaining his plan for how they're going to gather together in one place to reach the mission. Really now? Isn't this guy a redcloak? The crimson red hanging off his back indicated just that...

"Alright, Lycan, Imma let you finish, but I'd like you to take a break, I'll handle the leadership matters from here on out. Name's Dido Ricine, Legionnaire from the island of Solfatara." Dido spoke up as she pushed herself off the crowd and stopped next to Luca, then, with a faint smirk, began to repeat exactly what he had just said. "We'll start heading out in an hour to rent out a barge which will take us to VanLoon, so that gives us some time for anyone who’s interested to join in. You might deal with a Lycan in their true form... as well as a really pissed off elf if you dare to screw something up."

---

Simion Valerin, the marksman from Nur!

---

After his morning routine, Simion stepped into the tavern to witness it already half-full with Legionnaires seeking to apply for contracts and gathering the teams to take them on with. Some familiar faces - Luca speaking to the crowd stood out almost instantly, for example - but many others were new to the white-haired marksman. Strapping his musket to his back, Simion pushed forward, trying to avoid bumping into any of his fellow Legionnaires, until a familiar light-haired head stuck out from the crowd, sitting at one of the tavern's tables.

They were planning to take on a mission together last night, right? Him, Roxana, Sylanna and Edward, that is. Already a formidable core for a team - and if Roxana is here, she must have already found something for that core to do. Simion sat down on the other side on the table, instantly noticing the paper in her hands as well as a far from happy expression on her face. What's up with that?

"Something wrong, Roxana? You look like you just drank a cup of saltwater." the marksman spoke up, with slight worry. It could just be her hangover, right? Even though she, at best, drank one full glass yesterday... "And whatcha got on that contract paper?"

[Solisian Union]

Drinks

"So, how 'bout that leg?"

---

Arialista and Sieglind

---

The two ladies were getting used to the drunk woman. They allowed her to chat like that, the ladies going along as she spoke to them about Sir Hat, about the Goblin contract, about the useless blue cloak, about her offer to look at her leg (which disturbed Aria because she didn't trust a drunk woman to look after her wounded leg), about the swamp, about making potions (which obviously interested Aria because she made her own potions and which caused Sieg to look up from her drink because the desert lady wanted potions to keep her stamina in check and her magical energy reserves) and about her question on the caravan mission.

Naturally, Aria answered, "The caravan mission went well. I managed to, with the permission of the elf, may the heavens bless her for her leadership, destroy several foolish bandits with my weapons. I split their heads, I ruined their bodies, I made quick work out of them." She stopped to give a smile of naughty brutality. "And, of course, I got hit pretty damned hard. Some bastard hit me with a spell, knocked me against a wall and gave me a bunch of injuries. I thought I'd lose my arm to a broken bone and all if not for my experiences and my magic and the help of the healers. Oh yeah, I almost died thanks to the fucking spell. Got me very well in the chest. I think I broke a rib."

Sieg, naturally, like Aria, were disturbed at the news that a lady like her kept a goblin's head in a flask in her room, her OWN room. The booze was probably killing her mind slowly and silently.

So Sieg, in an effort to keep the lady from doing something that might end up with Aria's leg being made worse ESPECIALLY when a drunk lady might, MIGHT, work on her, spoke up to the lady, "Um, actually, let's have the healers take care of her leg, all right? I mean, no offense, my friend, yeah, but, uh, you're drunk. You're drinking a really nice drink and that really nice drink is making you really, really nice but also a little dangerous." She then chuckled nervously, hoping that the drunk woman won't, hopefully, just bloody hopefully, won't attempt to smash something against her head and take away Aria screaming and kicking into an operating room that is probably as filthy as a slaughterhouse for swine. She said, "Please don't take any offense to that."

---

Susan Ravager

---

The female half dragon entered the room where the legionnaires were drinking and resting and howling and laughing and sitting and dancing and shouting and moaning and playing and waiting. She walked in a manner that had the dignity of a dragon, the humility of a village girl and the swagger of an experienced healer. She looked to left and to right, searching for other red cloaks like her. Of course, there were no half dragons like her for they were all such rare things to behold and most of all, they were quite the catch if they appeared.

Susan Ravager was her name and she kept it to herself as she walked from the entrance of the vast room that was full of noise, full of joy, full of drinking and full of flirting, towards a table occupied by seemingly two sober ladies plus an incredibly drunk as all hell on earth human rogue dressed in bandages over her darkish skin.

The half dragon cleared her throat which attracted the attention of the two ladies and she told them both, "Hello. Are you two the ladies Sieglind and Arialista?" She reached out one hand to the both of them, in hopes of shaking their hands, as she reduced her voice to a whisper as she realized she had spoken to them loudly, "I'm Susan. Susan Ravager. Pleased to meet you two." She then blushed as she turned to the other lady, the drunkard, and told her, "You too."

And the first to welcome her was Aria. She smiled brightly and told the half dragon lady, "You are welcome to join us, Lady Susan." Being called a lady made her blush more madly as the Easterner told her, "Please, " She patted the vacant space on her side, "Sit with us."

And so she did, adjusting so that her tail wouldn't bother the ones sitting close to them. She still blushed as she sat with Aria and Sieg told her, "So you're the new one, the half dragon Susan?"

The lady nodded and said, "Ye-yes, I'm from Aeredale, the village in the Lesser Atrium."

"Pleased to have you with us!" Sieg said as she took Susan's arm and shook her hand with both of her hands over Susan's hand. She giggled as she let go and introduced herself and then Aria. Sieg then took the liberty to nod to Aayla and say to Susan, "This drunk but happy girl is Aayla."