There was something peculiar about this city that made him feel non-existant. Maybe it was the fact that it was a Galbradian territory, or maybe it was possible that because this city was so alive with commerce, he could hide throughout the shuffling crowds and no one take notice. Either way, strolling along the sand-covered cobblestone ground, getting caught up in the masses of people and ultimately getting trapped in the clutter made Erlang vin Granthe sure of one thing: he felt as common as it could get. Which, to him wasn't a terrible thing at all; if anything, he wanted to trick people into believing he was a commoner. That way, he wouldn't be arrested or executed or worse. He could stumble through the crowds and not even be given a second glance from passersby. He was truly and undoubtedly a ghost in the flesh. The heavy air surrounding him made him feel a bit trapped, however, seeing as everyone had a place to be at this hour. It took all he had to refrain from running many of the rude city-dwellers through with his blade. However, he was forced to grit his teeth and scurry along the pathway between the markets. He observed his surroundings with a stupified awe. Although the city was Galbradian, he had to admire the aesthetics of the atmosphere.
The taller buildings, made from pressed and manufacted bronze, loomed about with a shimmer of glory, like a beacon that announced grandeur and wealth. Even the commonplace markets had some interesting physical value. The hard cut stone used to fashion the structures shined pearl white, with crimson drapes in the entrance frame. The windows of the markets, while just hollow holes in reality, gave the buildings a simplistic value of artwork. It was a nice touch to such a simple design. Hardly what one could expect from the richer cities, but Erlang wouldn't complain; he admired architecture in just about any form, ranging from the extravagant to the basic, so long as there was a nice twist in the plot of construction to be noticed.
The noises of many voices filled up the airwaves, entering his ears like rushing water. He kept his left hand on the grip of his sword, which sat at his left thigh, loosely buckled to his crimson pants. His brown duster billowed behind him as he strided through the crowd, trying his best to avoid running into anyone. He kept his face covered with his red and blue cloth head wrap so as not to breathe in the sand that was unavoidably being kicked up by the feet of many hurrying market men and women. Erlang could only press himself through, setting his eyes on his target: the building that read Hymna's Sundries.
He had become short on supplies, desperately needing a restock. He had plenty of gil in his purse, which he had kept carefully inside his split white shirt. He had been holding it as if his ribs were damaged, clinging to his left side torso. Beating his way past the brutality of the market crowd, he was finally able to proceed into the sundry shop.
His eyes were cast carefully around as he removed the cloth from his face. It stayed wrapped around his hair, keeping it styled up, protruding from an opening in the back. The shelves, which lined the polished wooden floor of the shop, were fully stocked with everything he could possibly need. Up a three stair stepway to his right were more items he'd never considered in his life buying, stocked on more shelves. Combing the aisles of the shop, Erlang spotted exactly what he'd been seeking: potions. The vibrant ocean blue bottles glistened in his eyes. He always found their design fascinating. He scooped up three, taking them to the clerk at the back, sitting behind a breem oak desk. As Erlang placed his items on the desk, he took note of the salesman: The man had white hair, slicked back as far as his roots would allow. He wore a thick monocle piece on his right eye, and was dressed in a blue vest with a white thick-sleeved shirt underneath. The man also wore black slacks and boots. Erlang reached into his purse for the appropriate gil: two-hundred fifty.
Placing the money on the counter, Erlang took his items and glided across the floor. "Have a nice day", the man called out in a gruff voice.
Erlang waved with the back of his left hand, not even bothering to face the man. Packing his things away, he strided out into the street once more.

A figure in white robes was walking the dusty streets. His dress was that of white robes accentuated with an olive green robe. His skin was that of one who was no stranger to the sun. Dove feathers adorned many of the tassels that hung from his robes. He walked through the streets confidently, taking one step after the other with his Ivory Staff in front of each step. The man strode with a air of zeal and purpose, and the prayer book he held in his other hand told of that purpose. He was a man of the Ancients.

Ashley had just arrived in Serbasta. Sure it was in Galbradia, though he held no affinity to either kingdom. If anything he would align himself with Azaria merely because that was where he was born. On the edge of a desert to be exact. That explained his skin tone and the way she strode through the dust without hesitation... Though, the slight magically use of "Protect" may have been a factor as well. The dust seemed to just pass by Ashley at about an inch in front of him, not striking his person. Along with being a priest, this man was also a Mage! Though why was he there in Serbasta?

Considering the direction of his path, he seemed to be angle himself towards the sea. He wanted to see the sea! Of course, being born in raised in the desert, one wouldn't see a large mass of water every so often. Though, that wasn't the only thing he needed. He wanted some supplies for his pilgrimage. Some incense, ritual candles, and other things needed for prayer. He also needed a bit of food and drink for the traveling ahead. Not to mention he needed to stop by the temple and pay his respect and thanks to the Ancients. So the first place we went, was the market.

He was walking near the shops of the city in order to avoid the bustle of the market actual when one such man burst from one. It caught Ashley by surprise and he bumped into him, the Protect spell giving a little resistance to the man. "Ah... I'm sorry my good man. May the Gods be with you." Ashley apologized. He looked the man down for a moment, trying to gauge him. He was a young man, like himself. Average height and weight, maybe an inch taller than Ashley. A scar adorned his right eye. He wore a multicolored turban and a sword. Another warrior it seemed... Though he seemed to have been in the city longer than he had.

Ashley spoke once more to the man, this time a question. "Err... My Friend, I was wondering... Do you know where I may procure a set of incense and candles in this frenzy of a market?" He asked.

Having strode right into the frame of another person, Erlang felt a forecful thump erupt into him, nearly causing him to fall to the ground. He took note of the man he had just come into contact with: He had elegant white robes, adorned with feathers and many other tassles. The man's skin was tanned from the sun, to perfection actually. Erlang guessed he'd come from a desert province, or maybe an outpost village. Wherever he was from, manners were certainly taught there, as the man uttered his apologies quite speedily, not hesitating. Erlang couldn't expect the man to be apologetic, however, for he felt it was his own wrongdoing to end up colliding with the man.
"Ah... I'm sorry my good man. May the Gods be with you." he said.
It was strange to hear that. Of course the man looked the part of a priest, but it was hard to find a holy man who actually was that: holy. He had come into contact with several priests in Galbradia, and never had he met one that he could actually consider godly. This man however, even now wishing the blessings of the Ancients upon Erlang, seemed to give him a different opinion. Perhaps there were some genuine followers of the Ancients after all. Or maybe this man wasn't another false Galbradia priest who sought the gil of his worship committee. Perhaps this man wasn't Galbradian at all. Erlang wouldn't pry, and he bowed, uttering his own apologies in return, facing the crowd in order to walk away. However, his return to the blending of the crowd was interrupted once more by the priest.
"Err... My Friend, I was wondering... Do you know where I may procure a set of incense and candles in this frenzy of a market?" the mand inquired. Erlang turned to face the man, pondering on the question. Had there been such items in the shop he had just emerged from? He had to think.
Of course there were! He cleared his throat, addressing the priest promptly. "In there", he said pointing to the sundry shop, "Inside, to the right in the elevated portion of the shop, on the farthest wall. Why they keep such things out of sight is beyond me. Have a nice day ank'tur (priest). May the Ancients watch over you."
Erlang turned again, letting the rush of the crowd envelop him as he headed for the harbor.
All the while, Erlang's thoughts were on the holy man. He seemed somewha familiar, but didn't know how. Perhaps he'd seen him in Firiona? Maybe not. He couldn't be too sure. However, his task at hand was more important than troubling himself with a priest's identity. He made quick strides to the southern part of the city, making his heading to the harbor as quickly as the market craze would allow him.

Above the rooftops, he sat upon his haunches, stealthily surveying the bustling activity upon the streets below. The sandy winds swept by, the hems of his hemp cloak flapping wildly in an intricate dance with them. So far, he hadn't noticed any individuals of an excessively wealthy appearance... The boy scowled at this fact, scanning more intently and fixating on specific individuals, taking note of those with visible gil purses. Those were the careless ones whom couldn't care less if they lost a few from their flooded coffers. With his tail flicking wildly in frustration, he decided to take his search to the streets, standing to his full height of six feet. His padded fingers grazed across the hood as he drew it, covering his face. Not many Ser'jian were seen within Galbradian territory, and frankly he wanted to keep it that way. He made sure his tail was comfortably tucked upwards into the cloak, preventing its visibility. With a purr, he glanced to the edge of the building; an unoccupied alley in which he had utilized to get up on top of the roof in the first place. After a final glanced to the crowded streets, he jumped down, from wall to wall and nimbly landing with an inaudible thump.

The boy fixed his hood again, and quickly set out into the streets, instantly buffeted by the motion of the public. He was bumped and shoved a few times by many a people trying to get to wherever the hell it was they had to go, causing him to growl and snarl a few times in a rather feral manner. His bare feet padded lightly against the sand, his eyes darting from side to side in an attempt to find a suitable target. After a few minutes of searching, his gaze fixated upon the bulging satchel neath a male humana's white cloak. He smirked cockily, baring his sharp teeth from under the shade of his hood. His movement was swift and accurate, his step quickening so as to catch up with the man, until he was directly behind him. In one agile motion, the boy bumped the man, at the same time swiping his hand and grasping the satchel, yanking it up and out of its lodgings, and pocketed it quickly beneath his cloak. He didn't bother to apologize when the gruff-looking man turned his ugly head towards him in anger; such mannerisms were lost amongst these people. Instead he kept in step with him for a good time, before turning off and traveling down an alley.

In another elegant motion, the boy leaped up the side of the building, crouching behind a large protrusion and lowering his hood. A grin crept across his face as he pulled forth his loot, and loosened its drawstring. A look of elated accomplishment quickly replaced his already blissful expression as his golden eyes drifted over the gleaming gil. There had to be at least five-thousand within the purse! That would definitely be enough for the boy to eat well tonight, and still leave plenty for a few lucky Azarians. With a clawed finger, he counted out one thousand of the golden coins and placed them amongst his own dwindling supply. He placed the two satchels back into their places upon his belt, and pulled up his hood again, hopping down from the building.

The Ser'jian boy morphed into the flowing crowd upon the opposite side, passing by two men conversing politely. One seemed to be a man of the Ancients, while the other seemed to be a traveler of sorts... He was most certainly not Galbradian... Not with his attitude. There seemed to be something more about this man... something he couldn't quite place a finger upon. He shrugged slightly, turning his attention back towards the direction he was traveling. If he was lucky, he might reach Azaria by morning...

Looking passed the shoulder of the man, Ashley spied the shop the man spoke of. The name "Hymna's Sundries" read clearly on the store. "Ah, imagine that... So close." Ashley said, eyes lighting up. "Thank you, sir. May you have a pleasant day," Ashley said with a bow. The man then turned and strode off. Ash stood his ground for a moment and mulled on the man. He seemed familiar, but different at the same time. Had they met before? No, what could be the chances of meeting in a Galbradian city like that... Then Ashley raised his head to the heavens with a curious glance. No such thing as chances... Only divine intervention. However, the divine work in mysterious ways...

"What do you have in store for me?" He asked the Gods. Though no answer came, Ash shrugged his shoulders and strode into the store. He gave the shopkeep a passing wave on his way to the elevated portion of the store as indicated by the man. He perused the shelves, looking for a bundle of candles and incense. There were plumes of golden feathers, softening needles, at which Ash shivered to, potions of varying sizes and strengths, and other items. At the very top of the shelves he found his prize. A rough patchy set of candles that were flattened on one side and a bundle of incense which has lost much of their fragrance. It was clear the people in the city did not worship as dutiful as they should...

Ash brought his items to the counter as the shop keep counted up the products the cost came to around one-hundred gil. Ashley happly paid the man, while the man commented, "These here are prayer items, have a bit of worshipping today?" He asked. Ash nodded and added, "Every day." With that, Ash laid his Gil on the counter and left. Outside the store, the dust had began to settle and made traversing the crowded market bearable. He then walked off towards the harbor, where he hoped to find a church.

Minutes and a few gentle pushes later, Ash came upon the church near the harbor. Smells of salty sea air, oaken and pine wood boats, and the occasional shout of someone offloading or loading a boat were abundant. The church itself however, while large, seemed ill-cared for. The stones were moss covered and the mortar was crumbling. The steeple was crooked and the pane-glass were dusty and unadorned. He was appalled at the keep of the church, yet still strode into the poor building. It was dark and musty, with dust visable in the air thanks to the sun barely shining through musty stained glass. Ash at first thought it was empty, but as he walked to the alter, a portly priest turned a bend and stood in Ash's way.

"Oh, we have a worshipper? Don't have many of those these days. 'Tis a shame, really. If only..." The man kept talking and Ash paid him no mind, only irritated that the man was still in his way. "Err.. Excuse me? May I get to the alter? I must pay my respects." Ash interrupted.

"Oh, yes, of course my child. Though first you must pay me." The portly priest said with a wicked grin, rubbing his fingers together. Appalled, Ash spoke in a stern tone, "You wicked man. You require payment to worship!? The Gods will settle you... I am leaving. I will worship on my own, as this is no place of the Gods." With that, Ash spun on his heel strode out of the church and into the harbor. He found a nice spot facing the sea in the sight of anyone who was watching. He lit two candles and an incense and placed the items in front of him. He then began to recite his prayers on his knees and his eyes closes...

Despite the clamour of the harbor, Erlang was easily able to navigate his way around. He hadn't been to the harbor since his father was killed, and has since been indefinately out of contact with one of his more sensitive associates: A sky pirate named Guran Leonnas. Guran was a very helpful supporter in the fear-of-war era, helping Azaria obtain supplies that were normally impossible to retrieve. Thanks to Guran's smuggling business with Azaria, the kingdom was able to establish dominant Galbradian goods inside its own territory. Despite his best efforts to return to Serbasta and pay Guran a visit, Erlang had always been impeded by his father, who warned him that such a thing was too dangerous for him. Now that his father was gone and he fled into exile, it was his decision to make. He no longer considered himself the prince of Azaria, only a failure who could not protect his father from what should have been an obvious attempt at his life.
Still, he bore the burden and pressed on, vowing to spill the blood of anyone or thing, man, woman or beast, that stood in his way.

The harbor was active with much activity: soldiers patrolled the docks, sailmen unloaded and reloaded their cargo, set out for another voyage. It really amused Erlang that, what with the development of airships, people were still travelling by sea ship. He only assumed it was due to restrictions of the Galbradian Empire, seeing as special qualifications had to be met to become an airship pilot. How Garun was able to fly under the Empire's noses was beyond him.

The sea air smelled like bliss, the salty waters kissing his senses lightly. Heavy footsteps were heard all around, people commercing all over. He simply glided past them all, perfectly invisible to their eyes and concerns. He was a spectre in the flesh, living and breathing, yet unseen with interest. Not even the soldiers cared enough to pay him heed. So, as his footsteps landed on the wooden dock, towards his sky pirate associate's seaside store-tent, he couldn't help but smile at how innocently oblivious the denizens of the harbor were to his presence.
He was the prince of their enemy, after all.

A Distant swordsman had made his way into the market of Serbasta. He seemed to push through the traffic of people, he didn't seem to much care for the people he moved out of his way. His face held no real expression, empty as if all the emotion in his soul had been sucked clean out of his person. He stopped just short of an armor shop. He marched in placing a few finds from the western plains, several pelts among other things and gathered the gil that was deserved for the amount that was appropriate for the amount of loot he had just sold. He placed it in small purse hidden away between his chest and his tunic.

Once that was finished he left, there was not much left to do. He stopped just outside of the shop leaning against a wall as he began to plot his next course of action, when a child wandered up to him. The boy seemed to be plagued with dirt, nothing about him wasn't covered his clothes tattered. He watched the boy over out a hand, and without a second to waste he placed the small amount he had earned from the loot into the child's hand, watching as he ran off into the crowd and disappeared. He closed his eyes and slowly pushed off the wall, and began to walk. He felt that the western plains weren't offering him anything more then small challenges, he felt that he needed to leave this area and find somewhere, he wasn't sure right now but he needed a place where he could train his skills beyond the limitations of the western plains and Serbasta.

He stopped his walking momentarily, only to change direction and head for the harbor. The air always seemed to help clear his head nearest to the water. stopping just short of the docks, and out of the way of the crowds movements, he sat down crossing his legs, he felt that with meditation his mind would be set on a destination. He settled into a state of silence, both physically and mentally. His mind clear of everything, including his hunger for revenge, everything faded from his mind and only the darkness left in seclusion of the mind was left.

The sun barely peaked through the clouds, the air was moist, and the clouds were growing darker. The chance of rain was high, but that didn’t bother her as she made her way through the large garden. Every where she went, she was greeted by luscious green leaves and lovely red roses. Fresh water droplets covered the roses, the sweet smell graced her nostrils sending a shiver down her spine. She approached a rose that looked like it was withering, she placed her hand on the rose and was quickly cut by a thorn. The young woman barely flinched at the feeling, she brought her hand up to her face and saw blood dripping from her finger. She stuck the blood drenched finger in her mouth and licked some of the blood away. She stared at the rose, then smiled with a very sadistic and twisted expression on her face. She was contemplating what to do with this withering rose, it would be an eyesore and would need to be destroyed. Her contemplation was interrupted by the sound of a monstrous roar that shook her to her core.

Vanyel turned around on the heels of her crimson red boots and made her way through the maze of a garden. Upon reaching the exit of the garden, she found the beast that dared interrupt her contemplation with its roar. She then looked out of the corner of her left eye and saw a strand of her red hair. She let out a sigh and took the strand and pulled it back behind her ear. After fixing her hair, she walked over to the beast and placed her hand under its chin and forced it to look her in the eyes. The beast’s face was like that feline, it had dark yellow eyes, ears that erect and long fangs that were sharp like blades, its body was orange, it looked like it was plated like a knights armor, It had spikes protruding from its back and parts of its legs, and its tail had a curve on the end making it look similar to a scythe blade. This beast was a Lyco and Vanyel’s companion She then looked to her right and saw a soldier standing next to the beast. The soldier’s face was covered with dirt and blood, he wore iron armor that had fresh blood sliding down its plates. He had a sheathed sword that was attached to the left side of his belt, he carried a broken spear in his right hand and there was a shattered helmet on the ground next to him. The soldier had his head down like a child who had just been scolded. He looked up at Vanyel and said “I trained with the beast like you said, but it seems our battle got to heated and I stabbed it accidentally.” Vanyel looked at the beast’s back leg and saw the other half of the broken spear embedded between the orange plates of the beast’s skin. Vanyel quickly pulled out the broken spear piece without hesitation. The beast growled and she ran her hand along its plated skin, she examined the spear piece and saw no blood. She then turned to the soldier and threw the spear piece at the soldier. He caught the piece and said “captain, I’m sorry for harming your pet.” Vanyel smiled and said “You didn’t hurt him, he is just bored of you.”

Vanyel motioned for the solider to leave, he nodded and walked off. She then looked in front of her and in the distance she saw the building, she called her home. This building was not elevated like most buildings in Viamna, but its width was of mammoth proportions. Even though her home was not at big as the tower like buildings, her home towered over most of the homes of those who didn’t work for the emperor directly. Vanyel began making her way to her home, when she arrived at her abode she unlaced her red boots and let the lay in front of her door. She walked inside and was greeted by an older gentlemen standing in her foyer that had a hallway to the left, a set of stairs in the middle and an opening to the living room like area to the right. The man was carrying a silver chalice, the man had a beard that looked like it had recently been trimmed, he had a scar on his left cheek, short hair that barely graced his eyebrows, he had slightly pale skin, dark brown eyes and he wore slightly elegant robes that made him look like a servant, but a respected servant. The man smiled at Vanyel and said “welcome home, I have your water for you mistress.” Vanyel took the cup and replied “Thank you, Jirith. Please see to it that Dyaron is taken care of, he has had a hard day.” she then turned and kissed the feline like beast on its forehead and it grunted like a child being kissed by their mother in public. Jirith took the beast and lead him down the hallway on the left, while Vanyel mde her way up the staircase. As she ascended the stairs she looked at all the paintings on the wall. None of them were of her or people she knew, the paintings were just to decorate her home to make it look normal.

When she reached the top of the stairs, there were two hallways to her right and left and a set of double doors that lead out to a balcony. She made her way to the doors and opened them, cold wind touched her tan skin as she walked out to the balcony. She walked to the edge and leaned over looking at the cliff below her. Her home sat on a hill that over looked the market district of Viamna. She could just barely see the people shopping, trading and bartering. She looked out into the distance where she could see all of the buildings and the palace directly in the center. A second cold gust of wind hit her and sent a chill down her body. She turned on the soles of her bare cold feet and made her way back to the double doors, after entering the doorway she closed the doors behind her.

The atmosphere inside of the dark cluttered tent was that of much stillness. Upon entering, Erlang saw in lantern-light, sitting on a pillow behind a low wooden table was a man with his back turned to the entrance. He seemed as if he were meditating, his head bowed low, sitting cross-legged on a pillow. He also seemed to wear a blindfold around his eyes. Erlang took note of the inside of the musty old tent.
The tent walls were lined with stacks of paper and other junk, never cleared out. Under the low table was a delecate blue and gold satin rug that seemed to give off the impression that the owner had at least tried to decorate. On top of the low table was a gun, a Gatler Breechfire, single-shot pistol to be exact. The long elegant firearm was highly decorated: the barrel was a finely polished bronze with intricate floral designs made into the bronzework itself, while the handle was a delicate sharpoak finish, brown in color with many different colored crystals embedded into the grip. The barrel opened up only a little more than slightly, for the gun fired a rather small, but still powerfully devastating round. The hammer of the device was of curved fashion, as was custom, but this particular model's hammer was placed in the middle of the grip rather than to the right. It was an elegant piece of firepower, one that Erlang had personally paid for as a reward to Guran for his service many years ago. Now the sky pirate sat before him, meditating for some unknown reason. Erlang took a step forward quietly, so as not to disturb Guran's preoccupation.
"Something you want here, pal?" a gruff voice erupted from the illuminated darkness. Guran had spoken finally not even turning to face his guest. Erlang was quite startled and also a little surprised at Guran's behavior. The man had always greeted guests with the utmost kindness. He wondered what was different about now. "Well?" Guran said, his voice a measure of his increasing irritation.
Erlang cleared his throat. "Guran, it's me. Do you not remember?" the prince questioned. Guran cocked his head to the left, not even bothering to remove the blindfold. "I don't remember too much these days, pal. Ever since then, it's been kinda hard to. Whaddaya want anyway?" Erlang raised a curious eyebrow, tilting his head to the right, baffled at what he was hearing. "Guran, it's me, Erlang", he had to lower his voice, "Erlang vin Granthe. You know me, sky pirate. You used to aid me and my kingdom many years ago." Guran grumbled to himself in contemplation. "Yeah, of course". A smile escaped Guran, and Erlang caught notice. However, his grin was not one of memories of old times with a friend, but that of a malicious thought of malice itself. Guran was in the midst of standing, rearing his right hand around to grasp the gun on the table, and when he stood, he had whipped around with his arm outstretched, aiming the firearm strictly at Erlang's visage.
However, Erlang had managed to grip his sword at his left hip in the same side hand, unsheathing it in time to point it at the sky pirate, his reach just long enough to skewer the potential threat if need be. Erlang's brow sank hard into his temple in angered surprise. Erlang stared at the man's face, his features sharp; all but his eyes which were concealed by the cloth. His brown hair was cut short and slicked back. His face was still strong as it had ever been. Erlang, however, only saw betrayal in his friend's face now. "Guran, what is the meaning of this? Have you gone daft?" The sky pirate matched his wicked grin with an even more wicked cackle. "You just don't understand do you, 'your highness'?" His mouth collapsed into a frown. "It's because of what I did for Azaria that I'm like this!" He pointed at the tattered black blindfold with his whole left hand, still training the gun on Erlang. "Because of my involvement with your ilk, I lost something priceless! All the beauty in the world was taken from me, replaced with an eternal blackness that I'm forced to bear in any place I wander, day or night it makes no difference. I'm cursed with the sight of the Abyss, and all for what? Your king is the victim of assassination, and your kingdom is on the verge of falling at the hands of Galbradia. I did what I felt was right, and now this! Spare my life but keep me from seeing all that matters in it! I was found a traitor all because your kingdom couldn't help itself, so you", he jabbed the gun in the air at Erlang, "Dragged me into your affairs, promising nothing of ill-fortune would come upon me. I'm lucky to be alive, prince of Azaria, but at what cost? I see nothing, yet I hear all: the children's play, the market's clamour, even the sky's stillness I swear I can hear!"
Erlang's expression set itself to shock, his feelings of horror betraying themselves on his face.
"Guran, I don't know what to say...." Erlang stated. The sky pirate grunted. "Now that you face the utter brutalities of your plight, of course not! I'd expect nothing less." Guran dropped his steady aim at the prince, turning his back on Erlang. His coat was elegant royal blue, with gold cuffs and stitching, silver buttons lining the front side. He wore a white frilled shirt underneath, as well as black breeches and boots that ended at his shins. He held his weapon down by his side, but suddenly let it slip from his hand and let it clatter to the ground. Erlang took this moment to unarm himself, sliding his elegant blade into the brown sheathe at his hip. Guran let out a hefty sigh at that moment, his shoulders dropping. "They've ruined me, Erlang. Irrevocably. I was an airship captain for the sake of the Ancients! And they took it away from me! Now all I can do is sit and sell what smuggled goods are delivered to me by sea from Shege'non. Marzi is growing weary of such a thing, however, and threatens termination of our pact. And if so, I am out of business and dead for sure....."
Erlang had no words of reconcilliation. He could only stand there, heart heavy in sympathy for his spiritually felled ally.