Tiko

Draconic Administrator/Mentor
Administrator
Mentor
Nexus GM
as written by Kordera

The summer breeze blew through the plains and fields of Lohar with a good comfortable clip. Plants and trees swayed in the wind as workers tended the fields. Houses and barns and burrows littered the landscape with few clustered together in small complexes near a central market area.

A man of tall stature and venerable age with his face covered, as always, walks through the market picking vegetables and asking short questions to the local folk. Farmers and their families load and refresh their stock as the town square gets busier. Taking a step back and taking in the peaceful scene Drak smiles beneath his mask realizing how hard it was fought for and how much loss went into this gain.

Though a seemingly peaceful marketplace, the reaches of a past life could still be seen by those with an eye for such things. The rugged figure of a man smoking a pipe at the market corner, or the old fishmonger whose customers always seemed to come by in the dwindling hours of twilight. The Obsidian Ridge's reach was far, even this far south from the hustle and bustle of Tiria’s capital. On this day it was a young boy, scarcely more than seven years old that made his presence known to Drak. Shoving his way through the crowd, the lad forcefully bumped against Drak's arm, slipping a folded bit of parchment into his weathered hand. The seal upon it remained unbroken, but the parchment was stained and smudged with dirt; it had come a long ways to reach him.

Seeing the figure had taken his time in finding him, and then had made several blatant error to deliver the document, he quickly made his way out of town with his purchases. Instead of heading to his home he went to a small alcove in the hills. Entering a small dugout in the rock face nearing the woods, he took out a candle and it it. He trekked a while into the cave and lit a hooded lantern and sat in a small wooden chair he had left for himself. Perusing his knives and uniforms from a life seeming long past, he carefully opened the seal to the letter.

‘Blackadder. We regret to inform you that Gilnaes of Troubthorn has fallen. Circumstances unknown. You are most likely in peril. Arm and report.’

The letter was signed with a black dot and a gold scrawl in the shape of a nightingale. He closed the letter and sighed . He put his purchased food into a pack and then began to dress in the style which was more common to him than the dress of a farmer. Taking care to tuck each fold and a blade into each one of them, he then took his curved blades and strapped them to his back and took his pack from the floor. He loaded his kunai and his katars into his sleeves and then headed for the entrance with the hooded lantern in hand.

‘To what do I owe the honor?’ he asked.

A shrouded figure emerged from the shadows and looked at him past his own mask. The figure stood much shorter than him and was dressed accordingly. His robes were much darker than Drak’s showing his inexperience. The lighter the robe the better the assassin. Drak’s robes in comparison were pristine bright red with obsidian inlaid markings on the epaulets and wrists. The man’s robes were dark grey with no inlaid markings. Higher level field assassins were in white, showing their prowess in combat. Red was reserved for those in the higher part of the order and for trainers of assassins. The blood cloak, as it was called was always the highest honor one could receive in the Obsidian Ridge.

“You have been summoned Drakara Morvon Blackadder. But you were not permitted weapons,” said the man.

“A novice like you is willing to dictate than at old man should travel unarmed with all of the rumors of monsters and beasts?” Drak retorted.

“I am not to dictate to you what you do. But the Grand One is. Retired ones are not allowed to carry the katars and kunai of the order. You must remove them or I must remove you.”

“Remove me?” Drak snorted.

Drak made a quick gesture and then grabbed his lower back and groaned in pain for a moment. He began walking off as the man slumped to the floor in a bloody mess. The man’s throat was slashed in two places with clinical precision. Drak crouched down to the man and looked at him.

“You come to me with a recall order. Slip it into my possession and then tell me to come unarmed. Then this little thing. You are an un-donned novice with a sharp tongue. You are here to silence me as is our way. Your mistake was not killing me in the market. Sleep well with your knowledge.”

With that he slipped away tucking his kunai back into his sleeve. He needed to find his old companions soon, for now he was truly alone in the world with no support or communications. He started south with a decent pace heading to the ruined wastes known as the barrens. The only way he would be able to figure out what was going on was to get into the barrens to ask an old friend what was beginning to unfold.
 
as written by Tiko and Kordera

The hour was late, and the moon high as it cast its silvery glow over the barren landscape. The embers of Drak’s campfire had burned low, but they still cast their flickering glow over the vicinity, and it was from those dancing shadows that Maria stepped. She loomed ominously at the fridges of the dim light, her eyes glinting with an amber wolfish hue. Melding out of the darkness, her arrival was swift and silent, but no effort was made to conceal her presence. This man who pursued her wanted to be found, and so she had come to him, lured by the light of his campfire, and the acrid reek of tobacco.

“Took you long enough,” Drak said calmly. “Found a deer on the way here. I hope you do not mind venison stew.”

He stepped from some rocks with a pot and ladle and put it on the fire to warm. His hands still slightly bloodied from carving up the kill. He looked at her with his face still masked like always. His grey eyebrows and blue eyes the only visible thing on his face.

“Drak,” Maria replied. Her voice was almost a low growl, her words thick with her northern accent.

Maria cast the pot a glance, knowing well how rare such a meal was to come by south of the Koramyr river. Drak was spared a hard look as she assessed his presence before she finally approached. Wild locks of unkempt hair framed her steely gaze, and there was something almost feral to the way she moved, the way she looked at him. Clothed in the remnants of tattered hides and animal pelts, it was evident that she hadn't frequented civilization in a very long time; though she had always had a wild streak to her even in the days of old.

“The years catch up quickly, don't they,” she remarked.

“They had caught up with me twenty years ago. It just advances worse with time,” he said with a hushed tone. “How are you these days?”

Maria shook her head at his inquiry. “Twenty years and now you seek me out to ask how I have been?” she asked with a touch of reproach. “What brings you here, Drak.”

“The Ridge sent a cleaner for me and also gave me a note telling me that Gilnaes has fallen,” he said as his tone grew icy.

“Gilnaes was always soft,” Maria remarked dryly.

“Soft but skilled with a blade and mace. I do not see him falling easily. Something is amiss.”

Maria snorted. “If that's all you came to tell me, your time might have been better spent elsewhere.”

“I guess then that Bharash being dead means nothing to you either,” he said looking over to her. He ladled the stew into a handcrafted bowl and handed it to her.

A touch of a frown reached Maria's eyes at that revelation. “I'm sorry,” Maria offered. “He was a good man, and a fierce warrior.” Accepting the bowl, the hostility in her was slowly warming towards something more neutral and she took a seat. “I warned him,” she muttered to herself.

“Warned him of what. I do not know of any warnings,” he stated with a normal tone. For Drak to raise his voice to a normal persons tone was not normal at all. This was distress for him. His eyes locked on Maria and he sat looking at her with the ladle paused in the stew in mid action of pouring himself a bowl.

“That no good would come of things. Nothrak have been crawling their way down out of those mountains for years now,” she growled lowly. “Do you think I'm out here for my own health?” She spat then. “He said it was over, the war was done. Go home he said.” She snorted her disdain over her bowl of stew.

“What is a nothrak. I am unfamiliar with that term.”

“Shadow beasts.”

“I thought the shadow beasts were dealt with. Thats what Gilnaes said, Bharash too. The said that releasing the urn would take all of that out. I only agreed based on their recommendations,” he stated in a low but purposeful tone.

He then ladled the stew into his own bowl and for the first time lowered his mask in front of Maria. She could see his weathered face and skin as he lifted the bowl to his lips. In times past he would always leave to eat so he did not reveal his face even to those who were supposed to be his friends. The years had been rather unkind to his skin but his eyes pierced through nonetheless.

“Bharash knew,” Maria remarked bitterly. “He just didn't want to accept it. None of them did. The rumors? The attacks along the borderlands?” she asked. “Wild animals.” She snorted in disgust at the thought.

Drak sat there silently and sipped his stew. He knew that tactically at the time their decision was sound. The aftermath was unknown and untold to him. He sat contemplating the new issues. He set the bowl down and then put the mask back over the majority of his face.

‘“Then I will be leaving soon to correct this,” he said with a short icy quip.

“Leave where?” Maria asked with an abrupt arch of her brow. “Back there? You'll never make it. Even I don't venture that far south, and the years haven’t been near as hard on me. That place is crawling with worse than nothrak.”

“North. To Volos Prison in Tiria. I need to findhim. I will probably go by ways of Lorandor and then a trip farther north. I’m old. I will take the scenic route.”

With this his shoulders rolled back with amusement and he sat back looking over to Maria. He took the ladle and stirred the pot of stew. He ladled up some more and offered it to Maria with a slight lean of the spoon towards her bowl.

“North? How north are you talking?” Maria asked suspiciously while waving away the offered stew. North was the complete opposite direction she would have expected him to be headed.

“I think I will travel first to the wild lands of Terra for a while. I think a trip to the eastern lands. I have never seen the east. Once I have located a few people and maybe some more supplies and knowledge I will go to Volos Prison for one last person,” he said while lost in his own thoughts.

“We need to take a trip first off however to a small village about two days from here. There is a certain old codger who loves lighting things on fire we will need to expedite our travel a bit,” Drak stated knowing this would probably not sit well with Maria.

“The Eastlands?” Maria asked with no effort to conceal the utter incredulity within her voice. “What in Skall's name could you possibly want to do in the Eastlands? The void has taken your mind, old man.” Maria snorted.

“Fine fine.. I have always wanted to see them with other people but I guess we can stick to the west. I know how you prefer your cover of trees and such. Best not to drag you through the desert. You would never forgive me.”

“You forget the last time we traveled together,” Maria remarked. Turning her head to one side, the ragged scar that ran down the length of her neck from ear to sternum was visible in the campfire light.

Drak thinks and pulls a katar from his sleeve. The mithrill filligre designs over the folding parts of the punch dagger were ornate and pulling the handle spread the blades and gave way to a ornate designed knife inside of it.

“They would not do for men in armor but I think it might give me a couple of seconds. My knee still remembers you every time it gets cold like this,” he stated pointing around at the sky motioning everywhere. “‘I think I will be fine. I am sure you may have learned a modicum of control in the many years since our last scuffle. If not I have brought curatives for both of us,” Drak stated plainly.

Maria snorted derisively, but offered no further answer.

“In the three to four years we traveled together you injured me once. You awoke in restraints the rest of the times. Except that one time when we just let you do your thing on an enemy encampment. That was amusing.”

“It was reckless,” she retorted with a grunt.

“It worked,” he said back matter of factly.

“I need to patrol the east ridge,” Maria remarked abruptly. “There's been a lot of activity out that way. Something has the nothrak riled up these past few weeks.” Discarding the empty bowl, she rose to her feet and departed as abruptly as she had arrived.

“Then gods help them. Because no one can contend with your spirit Maria,” Drak said grabbing a knife from a fold of his cloak and leaning back. He lowered his cowl slightly and let the fire dance in his eyes till he drifted to sleep.
 
as written by Kordera and Tiko

The next morning he rose and looked over the barrens and looked for the haze of smoke rising in small fingers and started towards the area he thought to be a village. He walked at a decent pace until he reached a small settlement on the edge of the barrens. He took a brown overcloak from his backpack. Donning it outside of town, he then walked into the village calmly. He looked around the area for a while before going to the trade side of the town.

He looked over to a townsperson and asked, “Do you know where I might purchase a couple of trail horses?”

The man gestured towards the eastern end of town. “Best of luck finding one for a fair price though,” he remarked gruffly. “Them damn beasts have killed half our livestock this year.”

He simply walked towards the east end and into a large barn. He looked around and at some yearlings before looking to the farm hand. He kept his hands at his sides calmly and then spoke to him.

“Do you have a couple of trail horses for sale? If so then name your price please,” Drak said.

‘De Ye know how wes been gettin’ hit ye gad!” Exclaimed the man in broken common.

‘I have heard of the problems with your livestock,” he returned.

“Twenty ounces of gold,” said the man to Drak, with a steely glare.

“That would be a fair price if you were under attack and siege but for just some wilderness problems with your livestock..”

“A piece!” exclaimed the man.

Drak’s eyes narrowed at the man as he stepped forward, his hands hidden under his cloak. His steps were slow and purposeful as he drew within striking distance. He towered over the man who was now looking at all of the blades hidden under his cloak. The farmer started to sweat a little.

“What you mean by gettin’ close like a sneak thief ye git! You think killin me going to change th price for yeh?! It would just increase it to ferty ounces per!”, he said as he bowed out his chest and blustered towards Drak.

Drak motioned a second and the brown cloak gave way to the rest of the knives hidden behind his back and in the folds of his belt and legs . The man quickly took a step back. He looked at him and began to try to backpedal his speech.

“Peace to you,” Drak stated as his hand went forward with a small ruby the size of a dime. “I believe this should carry any charges for these horses as well as saddles and saddle bags. Yes?”

The man simply nodded and pointed to a couple farm hands.

‘B- Be right with ye, yer.. uh.. Be right with ye!” he said quickly stepping away.

A half hour later the man came to Drak with two broken painted geldings whose splotches were black and white. they had nice brown trail saddles and stirrups. The saddle bags were nice and spacious and had good locking clasps on them. Drak nodded and handed the man a sapphire. The older gentleman took it with a smile and a nod.

“I hope th beasties serves ye well. T’ain’t no refundin’ them now. Y’hear?”

“I do not think that will be an issue,” Drak states in his normal hushed tones.

He off loaded his pack into the saddle bags on both horses and then folded the backpack neatly and lashed it behind the saddle. He took his scrip from one of the saddle bags which was heavily laden with his life savings and tucked it in above his belt and under his robes so it would be secure and not empty its contents during the ride.

He mounted one of the horses and tied the reins of the other to the horn of his saddle and headed from the barn. Surveying the land and looking at the sky he then headed north. He got the horses into a fair trot and wondered if Maria would catch him before he moved into the small fishing village where his old pyromaniac companion Vestul lived.
 
as written by Kordera and Tiko

Drakara kept the pace up for a few hours and then went into a general trail walk. After a quick stop for some food and some water, from his water skin, he remounted the horse and kept on towards the north. A day and a half through the wilderness with only short stops for the horses and he made it to the end of a small hamlet town surrounded by tall towers at it’s corners.

One tower at the end of the town stood far above the others and shown out to sea. This lighthouse was ivory white with a black and bronze beacon atop it. Its beacon light was thrown far into the horizon for the safety of ships navigating the rocky waters.

The village bustled with families and merchants the pace of the town seemed lively enough. Drakara seeing it was getting closed to dusk stopped from coming into town and found a spot in the tree line to camp for the night. He built a small fire pit and went hunting. An hour in he found a small feral pig. He made the kill and made a dinner and drifted off to sleep. His mind raced with thoughts of the past and twitched in his sleep at the thoughts of the Wizards fire.

He rose early the next morning and went by the creek. Taking his soap, he had a quick trail bath and then went into town with both horses. He stopped at a small cottage house with mud walls and a thatched roof. It was quaint, but seemed comfortable for a mage. He dismounted the painted horse and made way to the door. Making sure to cover as much of himself with the hooded robe, he knocked on the door.

Despite the seemingly pleasant exterior of the cottage, the faint sounds of shouts and crashing could be heard from within as Drak awaited a response. The commotion was momentarily broken by the brief shout of a woman's voice. “What do you want?”

A moments time passed before the door opened to a familiar figure, though perhaps not the one Drak had come to expect. Scarcely reaching past Drak's midsection in height was a small felinoid woman with white fur and a long mane of silver hair.

Blinking up at the robed figure of Drak, it took Wren a few moments time before recognition dawned on her. “Drak! What in the blazes are you doing here!” she exclaimed to the backdrop of more screaming and the audible sound of glass shattering. Partially closing the door, she shouted loudly. “If you don't put your brother down right now, I swear by my ancestors that I'll have a new carpet in the morning!” Turning back to Drak her the utter exasperation was evident. “By the gods, please tell me that the world is in peril?”

He simply nodded to Wren and peered over her and past. “I assume the carpet would belong to you by blood relation”, He stated looking down to her. Drak took his hands out of his pockets and cracked his fingers, making his hands feel much better.

“Have you seen Vestul?”

“Vestul?” Wren asked. “Damned if I know. He left over a month ago. Watch the house for him he says! Doesn’t he know I have kids to feed?! Six of them you know! Six of them and every one as bad as the last!” Scowling she stepped outside and closed the door behind her to drown out the noise from within. “At least they're not wrecking myhouse. Good gods.”

Drakara let out a strained and quieted laugh. He looked to his old companion and then took a knee coming down to a better conversing level. He pulled the cowl up looking at her with his ice blues.

“I would think you could do to get away from this place for a bit. Have anyone to watch your rug rats?”

“Hell if you have to ask me twice,” Wren exclaimed. She cracking the door long just long enough to grab her cloak from inside. “Their father will be back at some point, and if fortune smiles on me I'll be leagues away from here by the time he does.”

Drakara arched an eyebrow and then motioned towards the horses. He mounted up and then looked around town. He looked over at Wren and motioned for her to take the lead.

“Please. We need to head in the direction Vestul went. And If you know anyone who can help us to destroy some big bad evil things that would be nice.”

Throwing her cloak about her shoulders, Wren swung up into the saddle of the offered horse. The animal stamped and whinnied at the suddenness of her movements, but she quickly reined it under control. “Couldn't have brought something smaller, eh?” she asked. “And I haven't a clue where he's off to. Said something about dragons and pork chops. Really, I don't have the faintest idea what he was on about.”

“There were horses and I did not expect to find you here. If you feel more comfortable with it, I am sure I could find you a miniature pony. I know how vertically challenged you are”, Drak stated with a smirk under his mask.

“I think the word you want is vertically gifted,” Wren replied with a wry grin. “So what's the great peril this time? And why are we looking for Vestul again?”

“Gilnaes and Barash were killed and my order is out for my head. The barrens are crawling with nothrak. I feel our job from twenty years ago may not be complete.”

Wren's mood sobered at the news and her grin turned to a scowl. Looking away, she took a moment to absorb the news, before she offered a response. “Northrak? You're sure of this?" she asked, but she already knew the answer. "Well if it's fire power you want, we can always head to Lorandor. They're never lacking of mage sorts up that way,” she remarked. After a brief pause she quirked her head to one side. “Hey, do you remember that foppish fellow we picked up once? Petros? I think his nephew owns an enchantment shop up that way. He passes through here a few times a year. Knows his trade.”

“As I remember him, he was with us for about half a moon cycle and Vestul lit him on fire, you almost robbed him blind for comments against you, and he almost became werewolf food.”

Drak looked around and then smiled. If they would be able to find more people that would make it all the easier to travel. Younger folk could do the things too strenuous for the aging adventurer. He nodded approvingly at the thought. Drak looked to Wren and simply asked, “Can you find this person?”

“Hah. Do you ever need to ask?” Wren asked with a grin. With that, she wheeled her horse about, and gave it a swift kick to urge it into a gallop.
 
as written by Kordera and Tiko

Wren and Dark's travels northward towards the city of Lorandor proved uneventful, with the only point of note being Maria's rather abrupt return about a days travel outside of the hamlet. She hadn't offered a word of explanation as to her whereabouts, nor a word of conversation since her return, opting instead to travel in silence. Wren had made several attempts to entice her less sociable traveling companions into conversation, but her efforts were met with little cooperation and soon she grew as silent as they. By the time they had reached the gates of Lorandor they might as well have been marching onward to a funeral for all the talk that had ensued.

As the trio approached the city gates, Maria drew her horse up short allowed the others to move on ahead as she gazed upon the looming city. Her unease was evident in her stiffened posture and watchful gaze, but her moment of wariness passed as she kicked her horse back into motion, trailing behind Wren and Drak by several paces.

Up ahead there was a crowd collected at the gates with impatient men and women jostling one another as they awaited questioning to gain entry into the city. Wagons of goods and clusters of livestock lined the roadside, and through the gates the congestion was all the worse. Wagons were backed up down the length of the street and were being searched by guards before they could depart the city.

Drak piped up in his usual hushed tone, ‘I guess we'll find out what has this place in such a tizzy very soon. I just hope your friend is not at the heart of it, Wren.”

At his side, Wren let out a low laugh. “I think it's safe to say they're not searching half the city for mage enchantments. I'll have a listen around and see what I can find out. His shop should be down in the mage district, Quillion's Magical Emporium I think.” Sliding down off her horse, she passed the reigns to Drak before slipping off into the crowd.
 
as written by Kordera and Tiko

Quillion Marcarius Barthus sat behind a desk, pouring over a manuscript that explained the for a complex growth enchantment. His mind picked through the diagram, trying to figure out where he could combine it with a nourishment spell. A bell sounded at his side and he jerked his attention away from his pet project and tucked the manuscript into a hollow space under the furniture just in time for his door to open and the little simple bell over the door to ring.

Drakara walked into the shop with the jingle of the bell and began to peruse its shelves. He looked over the odds and ends that would make any novice sorcerer drool and more experienced ones would smile at it’s selection. Drak walked around noticing some things a bit out of place from rude and messy shoppers. After a few minutes of looking he then stepped up to the counter.

“You are Quillion, I presume,” stated Drak.

“I am, sir. How might I help you today?” Quillion asked.

“Are you the nephew of Petros the mage?”

After a moment of thought, Quillion asked, “Which Petros?”

Drak crossed his arms and tapped his foot a couple times looking at the human behind the counter. He turned over a coin and the end of his kunai in one sleeve with his right hand. He wondered if he was amused enough to pay the man or offended enough to threaten him. He was not exactly sure which suited his fancy.

“The Petros who went adventuring twenty years ago with Gilnaes of Troubthorn.”

Quillion tapped his fingers on the countertop as he listened to Drak. They paused as he said, “I do have an uncle named Petros. I hear that he did some adventuring. Who it was with? I only remember a thief named Wren being mentioned... also a slavering monster he called Maria... when he wasn’t calling her less savory things. My mother said he was never the same after that... adventure.” He smiled faintly.

“So no mention of me then. The tall human who saved him from said slavering beast named Maria,” Drak said relaxing his stance a little.

He tapped his fingers on the countertop again as he mulled over his memories. “Ah, you are Drak then. An assassin, if memory serves. I do not remember much else, sadly. He did not remember the days fondly.”

‘“When you complain about your food being cold, and then have a pyromancer heat it for you with a fireball at close proximity, anger a thief, and then get half eaten by someone afflicted with the condition of a werewolf, do you expect them to be normal?”

With a slow, deliberate shrug Quillion said, “What can you expect from a wealthy merchant’s son that never rode a horse outside of a city before? But if you are looking for my uncle, I am afraid he passed some time ago.”

“I was actually looking for you. Wren said I could find you here. Would you mind coming along with us on an adventure, young man?”

A dark brown eyebrow arched slowly. “Where exactly would we be going and for how long?” Quillion asked.

“Many different places and we will potentially be gone several years,” Drak stated plainly. His eyes locked with Quillion’s just for a moment. Drakara was hoping to show his sincerity.

Quillion took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Years is a long time to leave my shop without an owner. My assistant is a promising young journeyman. To ask him to maintain my home for so long might be a little much. What need do you have of an enchanter?”

“Do you not trust in your own skill set? It should be obvious why we need an enchanter. We’re going to be going against things that are not of the physical realm and we need experts to help us survive. You are up to helping us identify magical things and spells, aren’t you.”

Quillion passively watched Drakara and let silence hang in the air as he studied the assassin. “I’m afraid that why you need me is not obvious, as you have not told me what it is we are facing. Forgive me if I do not have the ability to read minds. I am currently not equipped with that circlet.”

“Even if you were, It would be of no good. I do not know what we are facing, where we are headed in exact locations, nor do I know how long this will all take. This is why it is called an adventure,” Drakara said with a sharp nod of his head.

Quillion sighed. “That is not entirely helpful.”

“I do not know what we would be facing. I do however give you a rare opportunity to meet Wren and Maria both. Today.”

“How delightful,” he drawled. “I have met Wren, and I do believe you’ll have to do better to entice me on a journey. However, I might go and travel with you to field test some of my latest enhancements. Highly experimental, probably volatile. Possibly. Safety in numbers and some such nonsense.”

“Safety in numbers. I agree. Testing enchantments. Fine. Do not test them on us however unless it is dire for our survival and you have a greater than fifty percent chance it would work. I would not like to see anyone turned into anything,” Drak paused. “Unnatural.”

“I do not test my enchantments on people. That would be inappropriate.”

“How soon can you be prepared to leave?”

“A few hours, I suppose. However, the city is on high alert. Something dreadfully exciting happened last night at the palace. Rumors are flying, but I imagine it was a robbery of sorts.”

‘Any ideas who might have been so brazen and bold to go after a well defended mark like that?”

“A thief,” Quillion said plainly, as if that were all that needed to be said.

“We are staying at the Gold Stallion and would like for you to join us there when you are prepared,” Drak stated avoiding the snarky remark.

“I hear good things about the Gold Stallion. I have even had their roasted veal stew. Quite good, actually.”

Drakara nodded and then looked to the younger man. He nodded his head and then turned to leave. He paused mid stride and looked to him. With a single hand he pulled his cowl back down a little lower.

“I hope to see you there when you get prepared. I will make sure that provisions are provided for the trip. In the meantime I will be procuring a cart for us to carry additional traveling supplies. Something with a small cover so we have shelter from very stormy nights. Please meet me mid day or soon after when you have prepared yourself,” Drak said with a smile under his mask.

“I already have a cart and a good horse to pull it,” Quillion said. “I simply need to speak to my assistant and let him know that I will be away for an undetermined amount of time. He may need to find new work....” Quillion stared into nothing as they thought.

“I can cover his wages while he finds new work if that is your wish. Let me know, so you and he are not negatively affected with this sudden switch. Come see me at the Gold Stallion, I leave you to your preparations.”

With that he simply gave a slight nod and headed directly for the door. Upon exiting the small shop he then mounted his horse. He headed over to the Gold Stallion and met with the stable boy and paid him to take care of the horse before walking in and waiting for the rest to arrive.
 
As Drakara reached the Gold Stallion he was met with an abrupt splinter of wood as a rather beefy looking man went sailing past to land in a groaning, crumpled heap on the side of the street. From inside there was the sound of raised voices.

"What's your fucking problem?"

"Fuck, is Toryn alright?"

"I don't know, check on him!"



Inside the Gold Stallion Maria was standing facing four men, while a fifth had broken away to run after his comrade outside. Her eyes were a blaze of amber as she stared them each down.

"Lay a hand on me and lose it," she warned them.

The feral look in her eyes warned of her full intentions to follow through on her threat, and they kept their distance, hands on sword hilts. All of them wore the garb of local guardsmen.

"There's four of us, don't make this difficult," one of them warned her.

"Fucking northern barbarians, they belong -" another began. Whatever insult he was about to spew was met with the palm of Maria's hand into his nose as blood splattered and he crumpled to the floor clutching his face.

Her abrupt attack spurred the others into action. The first to reach her was hoisted up and dropped through the nearest table, but the other two were quick to restrain her. One grabbed her arms from behind, while the other leveled his sword at her throat.

"That's enough he growled."

Maria knew she could dismember the lot of them without breaking a sweat, but the crumpled man on the floor scooting away nursing a broken nose was satisfaction enough for her. These were just men, humans. They weren't the strakken she had been hunting all these years, killing them was murder. She wasn't a murderer. And while maiming them held some lure to her, engaging them further would only bring more. She wasn't of the mind to be fighting her way through the entire city because a couple of drunk guardsmen were running their mouths off and giving her a hard time.

Her solitary efforts out there in the barrens had been to protect shit-heads like these ones she reminded herself as she was roughly shoved towards the door at sword point as Drakara arrived. She threw him a look in passing that clearly expressed her mind. 'This is clearly your fault,' the look said.

It was difficult to say what Maria had done to provoke the guardsman, but for one familiar with her volatile nature it wasn't difficult to imagine the possibilities.
 
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Drakkara dismounted his horse and entered the tavern tucking his hands neatly into the opposing sleeves if his robes. He appraised the situation and then looked at Maria with a knowing look. He knew her pride and honor would never let even the lightest slight stand.

"Since when does it take six men, three armed and three injured, to subdue one angry middle aged woman? Wouldn't you have been better served being polite? The world does hate rude people and im sure you could find better uses of your time than accosting this woman over a simple alcohol induced misunderstanding."

Drakkara waited for the guards response and looked at Maria again amused by her never-ending ability to cause chaos merely by breathing. He adjusted his head slightly keeping an eye on the rest of the patrons and possible threats the tavern had to offer. His shoulders set aback and he took a step forward so slight as to not be noticed, making sure all the while to block any egress from the tavern by the guards until they replied.
 
"This isn't any business of yours," the guardsman told Drakkara. "Let us pass unless you want to be joining her for the night."

Maria snorted and shook her head at Drakkara.

Engaging the men further wasn't worth it. It would only escalate the situation, and bring more men and compromise what they came to the city for. Drakkara needed to be rounding up the others, not hiding from the law over a tavern scrap.

"You know where to find me," she told him

She had no doubt he would come retrieve her later, and frankly the solitude of a jail cell for the night was preferable to the noise and crowds of the city. It all had her on edge after so many years of solitude in the Barrens.

No one seemed an immediate threat as Drakkara surveyed the situation, and the guards seemed intent on arresting Maria, not harming her.
 
Drakkara waited and then stepped out of their way. He loitered by the door watching the guards escort Maria down the narrow cobblestone path. With a sigh he then mounted his horse and headed for the market.

The market was that if any fanning town. Finding the specialty tables and potions brewers wasn't difficult due to the inordinately large collection of bottles and hastily scrawled notes next to them detailing their contents. After a minute or so he found a few items of note and paid for them in silver.

The hooded man then tucked away the three bottles of sedatives and strong aromatic jasmine tea and waited for nightfall, all the while keeping an eye on the guardhouse.
 
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