Devoid of plant life the hideous land that stretched under the Middle Land bridge was marred brown. A sickly dull color that made a person itch just to look upon it. Acres of decay kept going in all directions, going and going until the horizon blackened with its taint. At dusk, like now, the sun fell behind the black ridges of dirt to darken the ground. Such was then that the shadows of night crept out of their hiding places. Monstrous creatures howling into heavy winds. These winds brought with them choking particles of dust and bone. The smell of Middle Land was suffocating. Harrowing now at Liantis's throat. Tucking her head further to burrow a small pert nose into the confines of a thick black cloak, it was already bleeding from the shards of sharp bone in the terrible wind. It did little to keep her eyes open, they would soon begin to bleed as well. Instead she closed them tight, tawny eyelashes whispering against the smooth dirty flesh of such a young face. Knuckles whitened, gripping harder on the reins of the beast between her thighs. Though the past weeks spent traveling had helped the ache, she still grimaced at the pain rippling up her thighs. The horse pressed onward, a rope about his neck attached to a rider in front, and to the back of Liantis another rider. Hunkered down into a thick cloak like she. Helena, her childhood playmate and now maid, had let out such an outrageous wail of despair when Liantis had mentioned this trip. The maid knew her mistress had always wanted to travel. To go out and see such am enigmatic world. And had sincerely hoped that she one day would. But not like this. Not for some dream.

The dream was what pushed Liantis. It pushed and pulled. Prodded with a force into the mind of the Princess of Eladon. A dream that bespoke of magic, mystery, and a terrible fate of the world. Most humans would have tossed the dream aside; claiming lunacy and never utter a word of it. But Liantis was a Marked. She, believed that something far greater than mortals was out in the world. In Ter'Milera, the world of Four Corners. Lore was written about Chalise, the magic Corner. Filled with mythical creatures. Dragons that could speak. Unicorns that could fly. Elves resided in the Eden Corner. Together with the magic of their race, one so close to nature they thrived. Ho could such writings be all for naught? A dream, like any other is merely that, but this dream that had stolen the very breath from the seventeen year old Princess was real. A real look at the chaos to come into the world. Liantis knew she must find the place in her dreams, the one where towers burned and people screamed for mercy, yet no mercy was given. Not until death was served. A place in Chalise. Liantis believed. As long as the Mark were real, these dreams were real. Even now she felt a powerful surge of energy come from her forehead, and out of habit gloved fingers rose to press against the crimson marking there. The Mark from birth that gleamed like rubies.

Her horse slowed to a stop and Liantis looked up at the rider ahead of her. Brue, her bodyguard since she could walk, was a large man. Even unusually tall for the people of Argos. He had never spoke since the seventeen year she had known him. The man was a survivor. Back in the days when adventurers crossed the Middle Land in hopes of making it to another of the Corners. For what reason, that was their own. Brue had traveled to all Four Corners. Crossed the Middle Land each time to enter the next, and had lived. But not without tragedy. A tragedy so grave he dared not speak. Liantis in her childhood years used to pretend he had been cursed by an evil wizard. To never be able to relate the things he saw. So his words would never become stories. Even without speaking Brue had a ay of communication. Liantis had only to watch to understand him. With a fist thrust out ahead of them , she squinted through the terrible wind to see dark objects at what appeared to be the end of the bridge. Helena's whimper of relief was mirrored in Liantis's face when they noticed it was buildings. It had been her hope that they would make it somewhere before nightfall.

Before the hideous hounds of the Middle Land snapped twenty feet below the bridge. Wanting to consume human flesh. Their stench rivaled that of the rotten dead around the land, and their howls could shatter ear drums for days. A short ten minute trot to the end of the bridge seemed like hours from the harsh wind, but once dismounted and in the confines of the stable Liantis could feel her skin begin to tingle again. The aches and pains of weeks of traveling would show up again in moments. They had made record time because of Brue's resolve. Traveling all the way from the Eastern Sea Kingdom of Eladon to the Middle Land. A one eyed stable boy hobbled from his corner to take the reins of their horses. And Liantis nudged Helena when she began to stare. Pointing to the sign that swung loosely from the front of the building, she mouthed out the name. The Salivating Dog.

This sounded safe enough.

Neleh-Mariee may have traveled a bit to far. No way of contact either. She jumped out of the broken tree that she lay on before. Both her hands clutched on her machete, she crept along the darkened sides of a small pathway. Neleh-Mariee then finds out she has entered 'The Middle Land' for about thirty-five minutes without realizing it. Her eyebrows formed worried and she scattered the lands for a well hidden hiding space.

Marzathein sat in the back, cloak drawn neatly casting slight shadows over his eyes; a scarf had been drawn to cover the rest of his features. To his right was a well armed man, face covered similarly. They weren't too out of place here--mischievous characters were common around these parts, seeing as the Middle Land was the gateway for anyone traveling to another corner.

The man to his right was considerably larger, with bare, scarred, muscular black arms. Random handles to multiple weapons poked out all over that place; it was as though he expected enemies on every front and had no intention of reusing a single blade within his arsenal. This was Gurgaplex, Marzatheins childhood friend. Gurgaplex had been born larger than most of the stereotypical fiends, killing his bearer in the ordeal, and had been left in the slums to defend himself. That's where an isolated Marzathein found him on an outing, and insisted to his then bodyguards take him with them. The two grew up together, and when the time came, Gurgaplex killed the assigned honor guard, and assumed their positions. There was no one that Marzathein trusted more, and that was why he had handpicked him--his closest friend, far closer than is siblings--to accompany him on this rigorous travel. After all, it was Marzatheins first time outside of the southern most corner, or his cage, as he liked to call it.

The two men began to chatter over ale, their tolerance high, of exploits of old times. None of the other patrons could so much as make out a word they spoke, as it was spoken in a language of old. Something they'd picked up years back, to keep what was supposed to be private, private.

All was fine between a series of slight chuckles and random clicking sounds, until the sound of those rusty hinges and those creaky floorboards hit both mens ears like a bolt to the chest. Simultaneously, their movements like fluid, they braced their hands on weapons hidden. Eyes deadlocked on the door; Only to see a small woman and her companions pass through. Strangers to the land. One worn looking; a bodyguard, both Marzathein and Gurgaplex noted. The other two carried themselves with a certain air; as if beneath all the wear and tear of these badlands, they'd descended from the elite class; royalty.

Arige was perched on a tree, scanning the few towns that were near by through the eyes of Elbryan, his hawk. The connection between the two was very strong thanks to the Turquoise. The past few months had been pretty peaceful, with only a few attacks on smaller things like a farm, or a caravan. After finishing his patrols of the area Arige stood up and jumped off the thirty plus foot tree. As Arige gained speed, and was closing to the ground Arige whispered the words.

“Wyen’ayed,” As soon as Arige finished saying the word, the air around him rushed up around him, softening the fall dramatically. Arige stood up and brushed the dirt off of himself. Arige started walking towards the closest town, know around these parts as “Weedy Medlow”. This town was literately an hours ride from both the border of Eden and The Middle Lands. The Meddle Land was to the west, and Eden was towards the north west. Arige sat far in the back of the Howling Sheila (a tavern in Weedy Medlow), pushing his chair right into the corner that he might have the security of the walls on both his rear flanks. Arige was not expecting trouble---the people of Weedy Medlow might not like him, but they had never been openly hostile--- it was simply his training at work, always reminding him to place in the most defensible position. The crowd was loud this night, the tavern packed full, for a light snow was falling outside and people feared that it might intensify. A blizzard could effectively shut the folks in their home for a week straight.

The drinks were flowing, the conversation rowdy and mostly about the weather, except for one group of six men. Arige tuned in to their conversation, for they were only two tables away, and Arige could read lips for the little bits and pieces of information that his ears missed out on. “Yeah, I heard tha old fool’s leadin a score o’folks t’wards The Middle Lands!” One of the men said. “I heard dat tha King of Baridius emself is sendin dim on a quest, or sometin like dat.” One of the other men said. “Now why in tha depths of Hellfire would tha King send folks dat way?” A third man said. Arige leaned forward, and was paying more attention to these six now. He was not sure what was going on, but it did not sound good. But something else caught his attention. A man, not of this area, walking into the Howling Sheila with an odd uniform on. The strange man stood tall, towering over all in the Howling Sheila, his hair was shoulder length, and was gray with a greasy shine. His form resembled more that of a bears then a mans. His eyes were a strange dark green color, like that of a deep jungle. He bore a military uniform, but not one of Argos. There was a seal on his breastplate that resembled a half lion half bird beast. His stair was blank, but not that of a dumb stare. He wore a two-handed sword around his waste that was made of a black metal. Arige watched the man as he walked through the crowd, but he did so will balance and grace. Not how you would think a man with his brute like appearance would walk through a crowd. Arige decided that he would have to keep an eye on him as well as the other group.

“I swear I heard they would come through here within the hour!” Another man said. This man seemed to have a higher intelligence then the others. “I say we should take a look at any goods they may be bringing through here.” He said to his companions while looking around to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. The six men then finished their drinks and left the tavern. Arige watched them leave, then decided he would soon follow them, after he could determine what this new strangers intentions were. Arige scanned the area inside the tavern, looking for the man. Arige finally spotted him sitting at the bar, speaking to the barkeep, Belster O’Comely. Arige gave the two a minute to talk, and then signaled Belster to come to his table. Belster nodded his head and walked over to Arige shortly after. “What can I do for you?” Belster asked. “Who is he, and what does he want in these parts?” Arige asked while nodding his head in the direction of the stranger. “Ah. He calls himself Juraviel, and he says he is just passing by, and thought to use the Howling Sheila as a shelter from the weather.” Belster said giving a Arige a small smile, trying to ease some of his tension. Belster O’Comely was one of the very few people in the area that Arige actually considered to be a friend. Arige nodded, and with that nod Belster went back to his evening duties around the tavern. Arige studied the man for a few more minutes, not seeing anything truly troubling about the man, Arige stood up and walked out of the Howling Sheila.

Helsety groaned as she paced the stone floors inside the castle's feasting hall. Delamor was known for it's grand and fabulous feasts, but this is not why she waited here. The hall was currently empty, countless chairs and an almost dead silence (save for the fire burning at the other end of the hall). She brushed her palid green hair from her face, combing through it with her hand. She looked down to the silvered platter set in front of a seat. The shimmering metal reflected her youthful face back up to her, earning a smile. "Aahhh.... I should not be in such a hurry. I remember in my true youth how slothful I was sometimes...." She said, looking earnestly into her reflection, before chuckling. "Or the oppisite rather. I wonder what is taking the Prince so long? I requested his audience over an hour ago! If I knew I was going to be growing ancient again, I would have at least brought a book!" She said lightly, crossing her arms. Her almost orange eyes shot towards the door, squinting lightly. It's hinges would creak open and the door swung open lightly.
"It's about bloody..." Helsety started, before she saw that it was not the Prince. A nervous looking man stepped through the door, adjusting his rather gaudy looking purple and white suit. "Oh. Sorry." Helsety laughed lightly, as the man looked at her oddly, before walking out, with a rather confused look on his face.

"Traveling merchants....I'd believe that the King would tire of all of them coming to his city asking to peddle their goods in his kingdom." She reasoned with herself, placing her hands on her hips, and turning to look at the picture of the man above the fireplace. "Not, however, as quickly as my patience is tiring! If that boy doesn't hurry, I'll have to scold him something harsh!" She said with a very light chuckle.

Nicholas took his time getting out of bed and finding something appropriate to wear for his meeting with the young and charming witch, Helsety Aymoira. Nicholas was always confused with her because he thought witchs were supposed to be old wretched woman, but this witch was not that at all, she was in a teenage looking state with hair they hasn't grayed a bit. Nicholas always took his time, for he was the Prince of Delamor, and not even a witch as powerful as herself should have to be angry waiting for his glorious presence.

Nicholas chose a classy red cloak to go with his glorious red hair that runs down to his shoulders. He also chose out his 3rd best dress shoes which shone with a sky blue radiance. After all was done for the morning dressing he waltzed done his father's castle staircase that was dressed with gold. Nicholas walked through the giant halls that he has been walking through since he was a mere toddler. Nicholas pushed open the gargantuan silver doors to find a certain young witch waiting for him.

"Good morning, what do I owe to be in the presence of such a powerful, yet charming and young, witch?", Nicholas asked making his signature bow.

Guardsman Karthas woke up in his bed, fully prepared for another day of diligently doing his duty as the Warden of The Child. The morbid little bugger (as the guards often referred to the Marked youngster) was expected by the Inquisition.

Karthas pulled back his strangely dirty bed sheets, only to uncover a set of thin, pale, and inexplicably hairless legs. His arms, too, were not the soldier’s limbs he had built up over the years. Something must be wrong with his vision – what was this bandage doing over his left eye? He’d hurt it in training yesterday, but had The Child not healed it? And most importantly… why was he locked in The Child’s jail cell?

Clang, clang, clang. The cold sound of metal meeting metal. Karthas knew the sound well. It announced the arrival of the Warden – his arrival!

Two guards, dressed in full armour and equipped with swords, halted in front of the cell. Karthas recognised one of them – the one with the stubbly, strong-featured face. He saw it every single time he looked into a mirror.
“Oy, you morbid little bugger,” the guard said as he unlocked the door. “Are you awake yet?”
“YOU-!” Karthas shouted. “You’re me! Why are yo-“
The guard firmly planted his boot in Karthas’ chest, forcing the air out of his lungs and Karthas out of The Child’s mind.
“The little bugger thinks he’s me. I thought this might happen when I allowed it to heal my eye.”
“That… must be disturbing,” the other guard commented.
“Eh, I’ll just consider it a compliment. Only powerful personalities manage to take over completely, you know. Anyway, let me introduce you to our charge. We call it bugger. Remarkably sturdy for such a frail thing, but keep the abuse verbal only.”
“Didn’t you just kick him?”
“It. I kicked it. Do you have a problem with that, newcomer?”
“Not at all, sir.”

…abomination…
The voices. They returned.
…she waits for me…
…father…
…I know you…
…get out get out get out get out get out…
That last voice may have been his own. The Child did not know. He curled up into a ball, desperately clasping his head. Too many. There were too many.
…monster…
…release me…
…release us…

“Is he- I mean, is it okay?” the new guard asked.
“It’s been used quite a lot this mooncycle.” Guardsman Karthas shrugged. “There must be dozens of things swimming around in that head. Do not concern yourself with it. Come on, the inquisitors await us.”

The Child was carried, surprisingly gently, through the stone hallways of his home – the dungeon he had lived in all his life.
… my body…
…our bodies…
The Child felt the cold touch of the floor when he was put down.
“Ah, Warden, you’ve come,” a male voice, high-pitched and smooth as satin, spoke. “We’re getting nowhere with this spy. If you would.”
“Yes, high Inquisitor, sir.” The sound of a sword being drawn – moments later, an anguished howl. The Child opened his eyes at the obvious agony audible in the voice – he had come to associate it with his purpose. He looked up and saw who had screamed – a man, blindfolded, firmly chained to a chair. There was a fresh, heavily-bleeding gash carved across the man’s chest. Blood was forming a small pool under the chair. The Child pushed himself to his feet and slowly approached the injured man, stumbling every few steps, mouth salivating in anticipation.
“Aaahhhh,” he sighed as he mounted the man’s lap. A hot, warm, and welcoming feeling spread through his body. The Child tenderly traced the slash wound with his bony fingers, with his chapped lips. The wounded man quivered under his touch, confused and in pain.

“I’ve heard about this,” the newcomer guard said, “it’s unnerving to see in person. Does it have to do this every time?”
“Don’t look away, newcomer. You’ll want to see this.”

The Child gently extended his tongue into the wound. An incomparable joy occupied his mind, and for only an instant, he was at peace. With every inch of the gash he healed, his mind became a little clearer. The skin on his own chest split open, and he did not care. The Child was lost in the feeling. He would gladly die like this.

But he would not die. In a moment of clarity, he realized one of the guards was suturing his wound.
…my wife…
…why…
“Steady hand, newcomer,” Karthas complimented. “Now, we wait. The spirit absorbed by The Child will think it’s dead, and surprisingly, dead men do tell tales.”
“Couldn’t we just have a magician peer into its mind?” the new guard wondered while working in another stitch.
Karthas laughed. “The King’s sorcerers assured me that any magicians reckless enough to venture into this thing’s mind, are magicians who die long before mastering mental magic.”
“Why did this happen,” The Child murmured, half-conscious. “I wasn’t a spy, oh God, my wife is pregnant… why did this happen…”
“Oh my, he was telling the truth,” the head inquisitor chirped.
"I told you I wasn't a spy! I'm a simple merchant!" the blind-folded man shouted. "I don't understand what just happened, but do you believe me now?!"
“Yes, you're certainly innocent. Isn’t that just the most embarrassing thing? Now we’ll have to kill you for real."
"W- what?"
"Warden, I will leave things to you. Ah, I forgot to mention, orders have come down for you travel to the Middle Lands. Bring four of your men, and meet me for the briefing at noon.”
“The Middle Lands, sir? The Child's current state-”
“Did I stutter, soldier Karthas? Tonight is the eve of a new moon. The Child will be healed by dawn. Do not disappoint me.”

Helsety smirked as the large doors were breached yet again. However, this time they did reveal to her the person she wanted to see. "Aha! So the dead do walk in this castle! There must be another sorcerer in this place than I!" She said, unfolding her arms, and placing them behind her back. She would only offer a sarcastic, cheezy smirk to the Prince as she walked forward. "I assume that you took your sweet time removing yourself from a comfortable bed this morning? Not that it matters. What does, however, is that you are here." Helsety said, nodding in return to the prince's bow, her face flushing as his words didn't cease to do her justice. "You are too kind, my Prince...." She said, giggling. Her smile withered into her young face, being replaced with a look of serious inquiry.

"Normally, I'd offer small talk for a while longer. But I know my Prince: Straight to business. A very serious man indeed. Repsectable.....anyway! What I came to speak to you about is nothing of grand importance....simply that of excitement. I am quite sure that even your patience's limit has been reached. Nothing bold or adventurious happens around here! And perchance, I was wondering if you would like to join me in something a little more such." She said, looking up at him with a smirk.

“Tis way!” The yell came from a slim man walking through the light snow. Several grumbles came from behind the man. Mostly complaints about how cold the weather was. “Stop your whining! Don’t forget why we are out here! The King said this is of the upmost importance!” The words came from an old and frail voice. Arige was crouched within bushes beside the path that the caravan was taking. The caravan was close to the way the six men from the tavern had described it. There was indeed a caravan of about a score of men, but what they did not know, or did not say, was that these men were armed to the teeth. The caravan consisted of two wagons, pulled by total of four horses. Arige took a closer look at the wagons, he could not make out to much though, for the sun had already set behind the hills, and the moon was already beginning to gain height in the night’s sky. Arige got a better look at the wagons, and the men walking beside them when they started to pass him, utterly unaware that he was within six running strides of them. Arige saw many months worth of supplies in the lead wagon. In the second wagon though, Arige could make out the forms of seven men, but there was something odd about the seventh man. Arige saw chains reflecting what little bit of the moons light that made it into the wagon, through the tree limbs above. Arige moved closer to the second wagon, moving from cover to cover. Arige stopped barely three running strides from the second wagon. Inside the wagon, sat a man in chains. Arige could not make out very many features of the man. All that Arige could really tell was that he was indeed a man, and that he was under thirty winters old. Arige was about to move in closer when a shout stopped him dead in his tracks. “Halt!” Called a voice that was about twenty yards ahead of the caravan.

“What fool would dare stop a caravan of the Kings?!” The words came from the older and frail voice. This time though, Arige was able to see the man, riding on a horse. The mans voice much matched that of his appearance. He was easily in his sixties, he had ear length grey hair, and his face was covered in wrinkles. His belly was plump and round, showing that he was wealthy. He was wearing fine fabrics, and on his shirt was the Dragon seal of Baridius. “The fools that be wanting your valuables!” The voice yelled back at the man. Shortly after there was a brief hum, then utter silence. A brief second later one of the armed men that had been walking alongside the front wagon let out a scream of pain that was quickly followed by an outraged yell. “Archer!” The man yelled after seeing that a bolt had pierced his right leg. Arige then recognized the one voice as one of the six men from the Howling Sheila. Now Arige, for a brief second really did not know what he should do. Should he help out the caravan, who had a prisoner, but of which Arige had no idea as to why he was being imprisoned, or should he help the six men who all lived in, or near Weedy Medlow. It did not matter where these men lived, Arige decided, they were attacking the King’s men, for no other reason than greed, and because of that Arige had to go against them.

Nicholas listened to the witch as she talked, but like always he didn't just listen to her words he also sensed the voice in her mind. Whenever the witch voiced a compliment he could sense there was no truth behind it, but he did not care because if he did call her out he would be the creature for being able to read thoughts. Nicholas had to be careful of his powers because all that his family, and the entire castle knows about his Mark is that it is just an odd birthmark. "A blessing", as his mother would call it, but if only she knew how much of a blessing it really is.

As the witch started to get into her question Nicholas sensed a peak of interest in her thoughts, and he also sensed anxiousness.

"Too true, too true, too true", Nicholas would say commenting on the lack of adventure in this old castle. "So, what kind of excitment are you talking about?", Nicholas said sensing an already coming answer in the witch's mind.

"Oh, but what else is there to be? The ones of glinting steel and clash of arms. Ones that would be sang of by bards of the future, tales that would definte the word 'Epic'." She started, smirking. "Of course.... I've no idea where on earth we could find a place that would offer us such. How about you, my Prince?" She asked, grinning. She turned away and began to walk towards the fireplace, somewhat hoping that the prince would follow her. "I've talked it over with your father already...and he didn't seem to mind on my part. So, if you happen to know a place where it's not as dull as a wooden spoon, then please, let me know." She added, spinning around to face him.

Nicholas stepped torward Helsety as she walked away and he sensed more excitment in her as she said her voice. "Well, if my father is fine with the matter, then so be it", Nicholas said as she turned around and their gazes met. Although she seemed to be totally truthful Nicholas sensed some demon behind the words."Haha, Helsety, you make me laugh, your truthfully asking me where we can find a place with ancient lore?", Nicholas asked laughing. "Just take a look around Ter'Milera and pick a spot there is bound to be adventure somewhere! And what better place to start than The Middleland", Nicholas asked now even more intrigued into adventure than ever before."And with you on my side we won't have to worry about too much danger because for one: I am the Prince of Delamor, and two: you are the most powerful sorceress alive!", he said about ready to take her hand and run out of the castle.

Helsety would laugh. "Most powerful sorceress alive? Now, I'm not sure about that...but that means much to me that you say this, my Prince." She said, scratching her arm nervously. "And if you say the Middlelands, then we'd best be packing at once! I honestly need not pack anything. If I need something then I can simply move between here and the castle..." She said, thinking aloud. "But you might want to bring something more adventure-worth. Regal clothes of nobility do not make clothes for travel, Prince!" She said with a thoughtful nod.

"Yes! We shall begin our journy as soon as I give the call that my outdoors attire are finished", Nicholas said while running back torwards the door. Nicholas didnt bother to take much time picking out this dressing considering how excited he was. This time he got out his old boots he uses when he rides his father's horses. A more sturdy hooded cloak made from the hide of a chimera, and dragon scaled leggings. Although Nicholas barly knew how to fight he took the sword that was above his fireplace. The sword was carved and made from the Dwarve's most expensive ore found in a cave where an ancient dragon resides.

"Alright, Helsety, what do you think?", Nicholas said as he walked back into the room.

Helsety watched as the Prince leave the room, only to return in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. He must have been looking towards this very eagerly. He came back in in much more rugged looking clothing, though he still had an air of nobility around him. Perhaps it was just the one that was in her mind. She simply couldn't put anything other than a crown upon his head, mentally. "That looks much more suitable for traveling, Mi'lord." She said reassuringly. "But it seems I've told somewhat of a fib. I'd guess I might need to get packing as well. And mind you, I've got many things to carry!" She said, somewhat laughing. She moved past the prince, and began out towards her quarters in the castle, which bore many things of her possession. She went to her bed, reaching under it to withdraw a knapsack with plentiful magical resources in it, along with her silver blade. She made sure she had all the regants she needed, and all the supplies that she had packed were still so. With affermation, she nodded, and began to walk back down into the dining hall.

Once she returned, she smiled. "Much better, my prince. Now! Shall we ride?"

"I'm ready as long as you are which you just got ready, so that kind of ruins the whole saying", Nicholas said chuckling to himself. "Helsety, this way", Nicholas said leading her through the mazes of the castle. Outside they went torwards the stables. "We shall pick out our most noble steed!", he said walking through the stables they were kept like any other room in the castle. He picked out a white horse that looked the most sturdiest and most noble of all the other horses. "Here we are", he said helping Helsety onto the horse. Nicholas then jumped onto the horse himself. He then looked back, "Are you ready, Helsety?"

Helsety was helped up onto the horse, giggling lightly as she was picked up as a small child would be. She was rather short...and light for that matter. She kind of liked the prince; dispite being bold and straight-forward, he had his nice points. She watched as the prince himself pulled himself up onto the horse, and she leant back against him. "Oh, so lead the way, Prince."

Nicholas smiled lightly as Helsety leant back against him. "Alright make yourself comfortable because this will be a long journy to the Middlelands", Nicholas said as he began to move the horse. "We will decide what to do once we reach our destination. In the meantime we can just relax until we get there", he said. They soon began thier long journy as the horse slowly trotted away from the giant castle.