It has been three weeks since Captain Loger Kronis and Lieutenant Kali Reshma happened across the arrivals from Earth in the Capital city of Jarvaise. The two soldiers have since departed on seperate journeys for the same cause: Investigating the uprising in the Eastern Baronies.


Captain Loger Kronis, head of the town watch in Jarvaise, has traveled the perilous path through the mountain ranges to the frozen North after identifying hooded assailants as Northern warriors and shamans sentenced to death, whose release from prison was never reported to any officials.

Lieutenant Reshma, the Union army's star assassin and saboteur, has been given the task of accompanying a small group of strange visitors to the East after an attempt was made to kidnap them. While there she is under orders to gather intelligence under the guise of a merchant and has decided to utilize her assets by keeping the new arrivals in Eronnis close as an alibi. Little does she know that there is more at work here than the ordinary rebel and it is only a matter of time before she is recognized by an old acquaintance.


Amidst all the chaos and confusion of the rapidly growing stand against the Union are rumors across the land of activity in long abandoned temples, sightings of mythical beasts, disappearances of citizens and a surge in Monarchist values from the pre-Union era, and all in a time of revolutionary new undertakings in science and magic. These are treacherous times in Eronnis and more people than ever are questioning the hows and whys of the Union.

Add to this reports of strange people in odd clothing appearing from nowhere in every capital city across the land, plus the return of mysterious groups of hooded figures rumored to lurk in the shadows and you have yourself a land that begs for answers from those in control. For many those answers are not enough and the rebel cause recruits more bodies every week.





“I miss music.”

It was the first thing Sebastian had said that morning. After three weeks in a completely new environment he had come out of his shell a little but still tended to keep to himself. Over breakfast so far he had committed to his usual routine of propping a book up and reading as he ate, learning everything he could about where they were going today and what they would be doing. If being distant from the group had one advantage it was that he was rapidly becoming more knowledgeable than even the locals about his surroundings and the history of this strange land.

Of particular interest to him was the existence, in whatever realm this was, of dragons and other magical creatures, which caused him to question many things about his own universe. Were such things non-existent or had they simply died out? The resemblances were certainly there and here they were very much alive. He had experienced this fact first hand not 48 hours after arriving.

“I used to listen to the radio every morning before I left the house.”

After his first training session with a bow and arrow in preparation for combat Sebastian had entered a small, wooded area and been subsequently chased out by what he now knew to be a Black Verbernis, a relatively rare breed of dragon. It had pushed him to the ground, screeched and fled. While Sebastian had thought at first that he had had a narrow escape it turned out to be quite a different story, and one which their tour guide, Lieutenant Reshma, had neglected to tell him.

After much studying, the teacher-who-was discovered that dragons were widely known as both intelligent and highly territorial. While they were none too fond of humans in their chosen habitat they knew well that an attack would be met with retaliation and as such the number of dragon-related deaths fell with each passing year and had even led to attempts in the Southern Baronies to tame the great beasts. It was here, not surprisingly, that the mortality rate attributed directly to dragons was at it's greatest.

“I mean, I know Vestern isn't at it's most lively these days, what with the rebellion and all, but when we move out to the other towns what are our chances of seeing some music being performed in the local taverns?”

Sebastian, Flin and the few with them had been holed up in the mainland port city of Vestern for just over a fortnight now and their main daily activities involved fitness training, weapons training, trading training, gathering information from the markets and more weapons training. Sometimes they'd stop for lunch, sometimes they'd be on too much of a roll for that. A man who had trained for a classroom environment, and who had been moved out to this particular city to avoid detection from unknown assailants, was being subtly trained as a spy for Lieutenant Reshma's own convenience, as were they all. Despite feeling somewhat used, he could not deny enjoying the rush of adrenaline that came with unlocking something useful, something strictly 'off the record' as he liked to say. And why did he like to say it? Because no one here had heard the expression before. They hadn't heard any of the common sayings that he had and they worked hugely in his favor, made him seem that little bit more intelligent than your average citizen. To him it now seemed that 'the gift of the gab' was not what you said but how you said it.

“That hardly seems to be the most important of your worries, Pherson.” Kali, dismissing his wants as swiftly as ever, always so dutiful. He wished she'd lighten up a little sometimes. They were putting their own asses on the line here for her benefit after all. “Maybe you should concentrate on your book and read up on metalwork, that blacksmith you heard about arrives in town today.”

This sparked his attention. As each day seemed to melt into the other Sebastian had completely forgotten about this opportunity. As a man with a firm grasp of physics and chemistry he had spent his spare time designing and attempting to manufacture various tools and metal alloys to sell at market for a few extra coins so he could afford a few simple luxuries but his latest completed design was out of the skill range of any local smithy so he had needed to wait until the arrival of a metallurgist with the dexterity for such work.

Seeing as each member of the group had been granted a single weapon to learn to use in order to defend themselves and Sebastian was far from his physical peak, he had chosen to equip himself with a bow and arrow but found the limits of accuracy and velocity to be more prominent the more he practiced. And so, as time went by, he decided that as an advantage to himself he would design and construct a compound bow. The making and selling of tools of a higher quality than average enabled Sebastian to gather together enough local currency to buy the metals needed, which were particularly expensive here as the source of the rare metals was the great cliff mines located in the Cove of the Gods on the Western coast.

“Of course! How could I forget?” It was a rare enough moment to see Sebastian excited but this was one of them. “I'll get down there now and be back before training starts.” He closed his book and slipped it into the leather satchel he had acquired, popped the last of his breakfast into his mouth and stood up with a swirl of his cloak. After a large and somewhat painful gulp he addressed the group. “Does anyone else need anything while I'm there?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From a viewpoint atop the city walls the crowd would appear to be one huge, writhing, pulsing entity, pressing itself into every corner of the Jarvaise town square, squeezing itself down every alleyway and spilling on to every accessible rooftop. Cheers, shouts and the occasional outbreak of angry jeers accompanied the mass of spectators as the impatience began. In stark contrast to this was the solid wall, four soldiers deep, surrounding the stage which had been erected earlier in the week. This barrier of sharpened steel kept any and all potential insurgents at bay while keeping a stern stance and a professional stillness of which the Head of the Town Watch would be proud were he there to witness it.

Lining the flanks of the stage stood yet more, the finest archers in the Union Army. So too did they line the walls and take posts in many windows with views to cover every inch of the area. With reports of such a strong influence in the East, no chances were being taken for The High General's safety.

Just as the atmosphere reached an unsustainable level of activity, He arrived. Stepping up from behind the stage with a slow, confident stride and a single hand raised in an almost lazy gesture. Though the hand in question could just as easily been extinguishing a candle flame, the effect it had was incredible. Like a wave, calmness spread through the uneasy gathering of citizens, some of whom had come all the way from the coasts just to see this. High General Mattius Herne rarely made public speeches and to see him speak was surely something to shout about in the local tavern. So when that hand was raised, not a soul would break the silence that fell, especially as he had appeared to address the situation in the East.

He wore the garments of a Jarvaise soldier, but each item was trimmed in gold and polished to a mirror shine and on his head in place of a helmet sat a gleaming crown; the final relic of the Royal Family that had not been seen in years. It hid his straight, black hair, which was usually to be seen swept back from his face and tied neatly behind his head. His eyes were emeralds, enchantingly large and welcoming. And when he spoke,the words came from thin, pale lips which were framed by a perfectly trimmed goatee, which sat above a long, angular chin.

High General Herne approached the podium and cast his eyes slowly around the crowd. He rested both hands flat before him on the pale wood and cleared his throat, a momentary haze, not dissimilar to heat shimmer, rising before his face. When he spoke, he spoke to all, and there would not be one amongst the many who would not hear his words strong and clear. It was common knowledge that he possessed great magical skills though no one knew the extent or the disciplines he specialized in.

“People of Eronnis. We are at war.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I'm telling you Captain, I don't know a thing! They just disappeared! We locked up for the night and they were there, we opened up in the morning and they were gone!”

Captain Loger Kronis, at his full height, stood over a foot taller than the town guard who had been on watch over the inmates awaiting execution the night they escaped, so it could be considered an act of heroism to stand before the giant of a man and report with such a clear and steady voice as this guard did now.

“And if I don't believe you?” he answered slowly.

“Then I suggest you take it to a higher authority Sir, because I don't see how I can prove otherwise.”

“Oh, I think I have an idea...” A smirk, visible only a moment, glistened on Kronis' face before he swept around a gauntlet-adorned fist into the middle of the smaller man's stomach to knock him wheezing to the ground. “You see soldier, in Jarvaise I am the highest authority aside from the High General himself in matters such as these. Any question about the allegiance of any member of the Town Watch comes directly to me and I deal with it swiftly and efficiently.” His voice was as icy cold as the winds which howled and whistled through the edges of the thick, steel door which was the only entrance to the underground containment facility which held the most dangerous and disgusting of the criminals in the Barony.

Incapacitated now, the guard could little more than roll onto his side and attempt to crawl away, which only earned him a boot to the chest, cracking two ribs. He grunted in pain, unable to scream on account of the air being knocked from his lungs.

“Tell me why you let the Dead Men go!” The Captain was no stranger to inflicting pain and had on numerous occasions been forced to torture information out of a captive after a battle. It was not pleasant but it was a skill which was in high demand. “And if you keep lying to me I'll make sure you live to regret it!”

“I... Don't... Kn-” The guard's pitiful, desperate, choked words were cut short by the sole of the raging Captain's boot coming to rest on the side of his head. In an instant his blade was out and cutting through the air, stopping with the point at the front of the writhing soldier's shoulder.

“Last chance.” There was no questioning Kronis' voice, he meant to drive the blade down if he didn't hear what he wanted.

“Please...”

The shortsword moved with perfect precision through the skin and flesh to emerge from the top of the chest and slip between two slabs on the floor, effectively pinning the guard to the ground by his collarbone. No shortage of breath could prevent the poor man screaming in agony as the blade's edge grazed his right lung.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2 days earlier

“Is this your card?”

Kali sighed.

“No leech, that is not my card. Give up the tricks and stay away from the tavern card games.”

“How about... This one?”

“Do you really have nothing better to do with your time?”

“This one!”

“If you haven't got any information for me I'm leaving.”

“It's this one, isn't it?”

“It's not but I'll say yes just to put an end to this. Are we done here?”

Kali usually found people like Leech nothing more than an irritation. He was too personal and friendly for her liking and his approach to dealing with the rebellion could be seen as relaxed at best. Yet she knew that beneath that beat the heart of a soldier and that he as much as anyone else wanted to see a return to peace and he would stop at nothing to reach that goal. But how he found the time between the ventures he undertook was beyond her ability to fathom. Not that she had given it that much thought, he was a colleague who had been thrown into her world with the highest recommendation by Captain Kronis so she had no choice but to trust him. And frankly, it was a relief to be able to let go a little and relax, which she'd never let herself do in front of the strangers under her care.

“No, I have another trick, just pass me back that card.”

“How about I choke you with it?”

“Not much of a trick if you ask me.”

“I wasn't asking.”

Leech, whose name was still unknown to the young Lieutenant, pulled a small stack of papers out from beneath the table and slapped them down, sending the playing cards scattering.

“We still have no idea who is calling the shots around here but we managed to intercept a messenger carrying orders towards somewhere South-West of here. These are the documents he had on his person.”

“Where is he now?”

“Dead, poisoned himself. I guess they've cottoned on to us. You and I aren't exactly the most moral of interrogators and either they're scared of letting us get hold of the information or they're making a point and saying that this won't come to an end until every last one of them is dead and buried. I think it's a nice idea.”

“I'll have a look through and see if there's anything we can find out, maybe we can catch them out if we act quickly.”

“Too late Kali, I wouldn't have kept you occupied with impressive card tricks if there was anything to be had. All orders are days in advance, they would have changed their movements by now, presuming the documents weren't faked in the first place.”

This brought about silence as the pair acknowledged that they had useless documents from the rebellion in their possession.

“How are they always one step ahead of us? It's almost like they know what we're going to do next.”

“No idea Kali, but maybe we'd be better off figuring it out over an ale, I'm parched.”

“I have things to do Leech, as should you. You know where I am if there's any updates.”

“Your loss Lieutenant. Hey, what's that on your lap?”

With another sigh Kali turned over the single playing card which had landed on her thigh and only managed to disguise the shocked smile that came to her face with a scowl, before spluttering out laughter.

“You can't be serious?”

The lone Iraqi sentry stood unawares, leaning against a ruined pillar that marked the entrance to the ruin. Off in the distance there was a muffled thudding sound. Before the insurgent could get off the wall to go investigate, his head exploded like a blood filled balloon, leaving only a stain on the wall as his body slumped to the ground.

“Damn Reaper, you do realize you just shot an Iraqi with a fifty cal right? They are gonna put you up for time in the brig for sure this time,” said the young corporal as he began packing up the sighting scope.

“Shut the hell up Landers, I was trying to destroy his weapon…. My aim is just off,” replied James with a malicious smile.

“Whatever, Gunny we all know better,” replied, the sergeant accompanying them.

The three man force recon team swept across the dunes, fast and low to the ground. Gunnery Sergeant James “Grim Jim” Reaper led on point and the men stacked up next to the bloodstain that used to be an Iraqi. A nudge rippled through the group from front to back and up again. The signal was passed and the fire team swept into the ruin.

Within moments they had cleared the immediate interior of the building. “Looks clear Reaper,” grunted the sergeant.

“Sweep forward, chem. light trails, I’ll take the center you take the left, Landers you take right, if it moves kill it,” ordered James.

The three men split ways and Reaper ventured into the darkness of the tunnel. The worn stone muffled the already near silent step of his boots as he descended into the musty interior, leaving a trail of red chem. lights in his wake. The muffled sound of his boots began to echo off the walls, but the weak crimson glow of the chem. lights offered little more than a three foot circle of dim light. ‘A phosphorus flare will take care of that’ thought James. He dropped his M4 carbine to swing freely in the tactical sling and pulled a flare from his web gear. He sparked the flare and tossed it to the center of the room. As the flare caught the room was bathed in harsh white light. Square columns soared up into the darkness above and marched away to the end of the chamber. It was there on an elevated pedestal; James had never seen anything like it. The hammer seemed to glow in the harsh light, three feet long from head to pommel, with a riveted silver head. As he neared he saw there was a strange symbol etched on the side of the head. He cast about, looking for anyone that may be guarding it; did they not know it was here? As the flare burned out James lifted the hammer from its resting place and carefully slid it underneath his body armor. He should have just left it but it seemed to call to him and he could not leave it behind. He returned to the entry point, where his comrades were waiting.

“We are moving out.” Stated James

“We need to establish a base and wait for reinforcements,” said Landers

“No, We are moving out, It’s a pile of fucking rocks with not one tactical advantage to be offered, now load your shit and Move!” replied James, his voice rising to nearly a scream at the end of his sentence. The vein throbbing in his forehead said that he was not to be argued with. The three men tracked across the dunes and loaded back into their paladin assault vehicle. The ride, just like the walk passed in complete silence. Upon their return to FOB Anaconda Reaper’s superior officer demanded a debriefing. At that point in time James promptly told him to piss off, punched him in the face, and went straight to his rack. He leaned his M4 against his head board and stripped down, choosing to replace his fatigues with a more comfortable set of jungle combat pants and well worn black combat boots. He laid down on his rack and grabbed the hammer from where it lay next to his IBA, he looked at it for a long moment and drifted off to sleep while holding it close to his chest. The next thing he knew there were the sounds of angry voices as a scuffle broke out near him. He opened his eyes just in time to see a large and angry man wearing furs fall on top of him.


James started awake with a gasp, ‘the same dream again,’ he thought to himself. He pushed himself up off of his mat by the forge, rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his long raven hair. He gazed up at the window across the room and observed the sun’s first weak rays seeping through, and sighed.
“No matter, Wren will be here soon to open up shop, I may as well fire the forge,” he muttered to no one in particular. He pulled on his leather forging apron, choosing to forgo a shirt beneath despite the winter chill, and set about his normal day’s activities. As the bellows fanned the ignited coal, there was one thought that kept replaying in Reaper’s head,

‘Vestern, they were last seen heading to Vestern’

Wren had told him that in the taverns his son had heard of people that wore clothes that were out of character for the people here. At first it seemed nothing, but then as the days progressed the thought repeated just before and after sleep. Just like a nagging itch, “They were last seen heading to Vestern,” said James aloud.
“Yah lad, dat dey wos,” said a burly bearded man, who just entered the shop.
“Good morning Wren,” said James without turning around.
“Aye good morning lad, you don’ even need ta boder wit’ da forge, yous’ leavin t’day.”
James turned and smiled at the old smith, “I guess I have rather worn out my welcome,” he sighed, offering his hand he added, “You’ve been good to me Wren I can’t thank you enough,”
“Ha! You’s da won wot’s been gud to me, gud fer business dat is,” replied Wren, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly, “Dere’s a bag fer ya by da door, sumpin I made speshul fer ya. Be safe ya hear.”

James gathered his modest belongings and readied himself for travel; he elected to wait to look in the bag that Wren had given him. Everything was collected and placed in a small, single horse drawn wagon. The final goodbyes were said and James struck out under the winter sun. Leaving wren and his temporary home behind.

The wagon rattled abominably over the rutted road. Rhiannon could feel every jolt. Her leg was mostly healed, but she was still acutely aware every last damn pebble.

The soldiers around her were Unionists. Little different from any other soldiers, or so she supposed. At least this lot behaved decently enough. They were 'escorting' her, but they hadn't been rough or offered any gibes or insults. In fact, she only knew four of them by name. It seemed almost that they were nervous of her, and certainly that they were under orders not to fraternise.

That perplexed her. The farmstead she'd found herself in had been mostly Unionist, less out of any political feeling and more because it lay in the regions still held by the Union. The farmers had told her that, like most farmers, they didn't much care as long as they got the harvest in - though it was generally agreed in low voices that the Union 'was a bit heavy-handed'. She frowned faintly as she thought of that harvest, wondering what the war would do to ravage these lands and whether there would be a proper harvest next year. Already the land they were travelling through was showing signs of being war torn. A burnt out cart here, a rusting spear there...nothing of great note yet, but she noticed how on edge the soldiers became as they neared the city.

Insofar as she understood it, the Unionists were communists, and the Rebels wanted to revert to a monarchy. Probably disillusioned and dreaming of 'the grand old days' that never existed, she thought wryly. Dictatorship by one or many, it was all the same to her. People would die.

Perched atop of the supplies that the squad had obtained and were bringing into the northern side of the city, Rhiannon studied the city with interest. Just then she felt a tugging from below. It was the sergeant, and he was tugging at the grey, mildewed blanket she was sitting on. "Best you get underneath this, miss," he said, but however respectfully he spoke it wasn't a suggestion. Now that was interesting. Was it for her own safety, so she wouldn't be a target...or so that she would be hidden when she arrived?

Part of her question was answered at least a short while later when she heard a loud 'thunk', and then sudden yelling. Whilst the sergeant had spoken confidently about their likelihood of encountering Rebel patrols on the road, it seemed that they were nonetheless under attack...

Sharp eyes, edged with fatigue, watched the amber liquid glide smoothly into the glass with no observable feeling, but all the same the thing was in a pale, long-fingered hand the moment it was placed down upon the smooth wood of the counter. Three hearty gulps later, and the man tending bar was chuckling to himself and shaking his head at the brunette woman across from him.

“Easy there, Quicksilver. A’fore ya know it, you’ll be drinkin’ Phoenix under th’ table, and he donna like tha’ much.” He flashed a crooked grin, but the woman made hardly any discernible move to respond, letting the clink of the empty glass on the table speak for itself. She wasn’t much fond of her new moniker, but apparently when Phoenix decided you were to be called something, his people no longer remembered what your actual name was. She was a bit envious; her own well-known habit of nicknaming never seemed to gain much ground.

Then again, she supposed the whole situation could have been worse. That man might have killed her instead of deciding she was amusing enough to drink with instead. There weren’t many people she would admit had the strength to do that regardless of her will, but he was one of them. Him and that damn Kronis, uppity bastard that he was. They were pretty much it, though, and interestingly enough, she wasn’t afraid of either of them.

She’d heard stories, that people sometimes changed upon arriving in Eronnis, but from what she understood, those changes were mostly physical. Sure, she felt a bit stronger and faster than she had been, and others had actually physically altered, but sometimes she wondered if it was possible to lose the ability to fear, or if she’d finally reached such a profound state of apathy that she didn’t really give a shit whether she lived or died.

“Wanna ‘nother?” the barman asked, raising a bushy black brow in inquiry. Leander considered for a moment, then shook her head.

“Nn. I’m off.” Laying her coin on the table, she slid out of her chair and made for the exit. For the five she’d knocked back in the last two hours, she wasn’t at all unsteady, and found her way back to where the group was staying without difficulty.

There’d been no interesting developments tonight; Phoenix hadn’t even shown himself. Apparently, the man was a serious enough threat that Kali (and hence the Union) wanted him watched, just in case the former Union soldier chose to take sides against them. Leander didn’t really give a damn about politics of any kind, but she’d figured it had to be better than sitting around waiting to be ordered to do something less interesting. They probably wouldn’t have even set her on the task at all, save that she’d happened to run into the man at the tavern his people ran a few nights before. She’d insulted him in a way that her old barman would have called “Classic Leander” and the whole thing had ended in a rather embarrassing barfight which she’d lost handily.

Instead of actually finishing the job, though, the tall man the others had called Phoenix had offered her a hand up and bought her a drink. The next couple of hours were spent in half-sober conversation, with her mostly trying to dodge the questions that revolved around her current affiliations, and him doing much the same. It had gotten nowhere, but been rather entertaining along the way, and apparently she was now welcome in the place.

Well, shit. She never said no to an alcohol discount.

Shoving some of Eronnis’s tobacco equivalent into the bowl of a wooden pipe, Leander lit the thing with a match, which she then shook out and pocketed, drawing deeply from the contraption as she walked. It was a clear night, one of those that made it much easier to think, not that this was necessarily a good thing. She wondered briefly how Blondie was doing, then discarded the thought as unimportant. The sounds of a couple scuffled filtered out of darkened alleyways, but she wasn’t much in the mood for confrontation this evening, and didn’t interfere or even slow in her brisk procession.

---

The next morning, Leander was up bright and early, outside the inn at which they were currently boarded and performing some stretching exercises that she’d recently started doing again. Admittedly, she was still quite out of practice, but old pieces of muscle memory were starting to come back to her. As someone who relied almost exclusively on her own body for both attack and defense, the extra work was, to her mind, necessary. She told nobody of it, of course, for it seemed untoward to give off the impression that she might actually care about anything that was going on around her. After this and some jogging, she returned to her lodging, bathed, and made her way down to breakfast.

The only ones there when she arrived were Shadow and the Professor, as she tended to call Kali and Sebastian. “Morning,” she greeted tersely, though not entirely unkindly. She just wasn’t very sociable, though it was a different kind of introvertedness than the teacher displayed. Hers was recalcitrance, and perhaps a bit of residual misanthropy from her teenage years.

She was tucking into her meal when the Professor seemed to remember that he was due a trip to the blacksmith, but she shook her head in response to his inquiry. The only thing she was running low on was smoke-stuff (she’d have to figure out the name for it at some point), but she wasn’t a chimney and she wasn’t going to ask him to take care of it, besides.

In the first chapter of our story, Jack Seer (Pitchblack Jack to connaiseurs) dared to go on a suicidal mission that brought him both fame and fortune like no other rebel before him has ever known. Unfortunately for him, the fame he received was of the wrong kind and the fortune he gained with hard work and really bad muscle tension slipped through his tanned slender fingers right into the Rebel’s Army main safehouse.
Jack managed to steel from the Trade Confederacy a lot of gold with the help of a few rebels - sturdy soldiers under the orders of Rowan Harper and her right hand man, Colvon. The whole thing looked like magic, really, as Jack’s body couldn’t possibly handle such a tough job at that point of time (just the night before he had been forced to climb up a pole and stay there for as long as his muscles would allow it). The whole plan was simple: find an entrance to the building, search the merchandise, find a safe way out and take the supplies after knocking out some guards and taking their uniforms. It would have never worked without a miracle and Jack’s overconfidence wasn’t exactly one. Yet something like a miracle did took place that night.
The Trade Confederacy gathered as much gold as the port town of Vestern could make over the past three months, keeping it hidden in the large basement of the main building. So it happened that in that same night Jack and Rowan agreed to try doing such a reckless job, that part of Vestern has been attacked by a dragon. While the guards were busy trying to put out the fires, Jack and his fellow rebels took as much gold as they could carry using the small wooden carts in which it was placed.

Then the fun started. A stable boy had seen Jack climbing up the walls of the building and the very next day all of Vestern’s trees and tavern doors were full of wanted posters depicting a young man with ruffled black hair. By the time Jack and his new companions were getting near Rowan’s camp, rumors of a new dragon master had started to spread. Everyone believed that the wanted rebel was controlling the dragon that covered half of Vestern city in flames. The stories were everywhere, so much so that even Rowan’s men started to believe them. Some of his companions started to think of Jack as a hero, while others envied his incredible luck. The only one who didn’t enjoy any of these was Jack himself, who now had no hope of ever seeing his wife and daughters again. Not only was he a wanted thief in his glory days, but now he was also a wanted rebel which was much worse. His only hope of ever leaving the cause and starting a peaceful life with the money he never got to steal for himself was now in ruins.

~~~~~~~~~~~

-I don’t know how much longer I can stand this...the flies, the stench, not to mention the stains on his shirt. Karlile, can I switch places with you?

The brown eyed man yawned heavily, not bothering to answer. Instead, he looked over to his companion on the left, a tall man with red hair and freckles. He was in a bad mood and the look in his eyes demanded that he be left alone. The one named Karlile couldn’t restrain himself and poked him with his sheathed sword. The red haired man let out a growl which amused the other greatly.

- Come on Geko, switch places with Linus. He’ll die if he rides with Jabba ten more minutes, the brown eyed man said laughing.
Linus was a skinny old priest who couldn’t stand to be near Jabba, the cook. Truth be told, Jabba didn’t smell that bad, but Linus had a problem with chubby people. He just couldn’t imagine how anyone can possibly eat so much to gain weight in this time and age. Of course he was blind to his own greed for wine and considered heavy drinking to be just as natural for a human as the need for air. Karlile and Geko were brothers, farmers born and raised in the Central Baronies. Along with Nathaniel, a young boy of 14, these were Jack Seer’s closest companions. They were riding toward Rowan’s camp together with the other rebels which were under Jack’s command. All of them carried their tents and supplies with them, abandoning their former position in order to join their leader under Rowan Harper’s protection. At first only the five of them were supposed to join the vampire’s unit, but since Jack was their leader, all the others decided to join in. This, and the fact that they were always low on supplies helped a great deal in taking this decision.
By the time they arrived in their new camp, Jack was already starting to get famous.

It was one hell of a reunion. There was wine and plenty of food to go around, stories to be told. Taking advantage of the attention, Jack let himself go and bragged like a child, speaking both truths and lies about himself. Little did he know that others were listening with more interest than usual.

So that was the reason the scouts had taken so long in returning. Rhiannon could barely see anything, trapped under the blanket as she was.

Someone watching might have just made out a single eye peering out, the white showing up against the gloom. Nobody was watching, though, because battle had now been joined.

Forced to peer out of the back of the wagon, Rhiannon couldn’t make out much of what was happening. There were battle cries; shouting and yelling. The clash of metal on metal. Suddenly she saw men in front of her, pushed back by the ebb and swell of the fighting. Heavy steel glinted in the light before smashing down into a shoulder, the trauma severing the chainmail links with the weight of the blow and sinking into flesh. The soldier in question yelled, but followed up with a short stabbing thrust that dispatched his enemy. Then there were too many bodies in front of her vision for her to make out anything in the confusion of melee.

It wasn’t long before she heard someone shouting a retreat. The rebel soldiers melted into the surrounding countryside. Unbidden, Rhiannon slithered out from underneath the blanket to try to treat the wounded.

The casualties weren’t too many – the assault had been a hasty clash followed by an equally hasty withdrawal – but Rhiannon’s heart sank. Two soldiers had been driving the wagon, and had been struck with arrows in the instant of surprise. One of them was turning pale, gasping like a fish, his lips tinged blue except for where they were pink with dribbles of blood. It didn’t take a genius to diagnose a traumatic pneumothorax, probably a tension hemopneumothorax by the way his jugular was starting to bulge. In a modern hospital, triage would rush him to x-ray to see just where the blasted thing had ended up, and then to surgery.

Out here, he was almost certainly going to die and should probably be placed at the bottom of any triage list.

Clinically she considered that she could probably have some sort of metal pipe made in the future, sharpened to allow her to try to evacuate the air and blood from around his collapsed lung. For now, though...the arrow was still embedded in him, and amongst the stray missiles still scattered about on the ground she could see barbed tips. Their eyes met. His eyes were young, and blue-grey...and filled with immense pain, terror, and the complete understanding that he was a dead man. She could try to seal the sucking entry wound, but there was nothing around that would suffice short of clay...and that would increase the likelihood of worsening the pressure in the cavity.

The other had been stuck in the chest by an arrow from behind. He was twisted where he’d fallen, and his eyes were already starting to roll back in his head. Marking the transition between living person and dead flesh, most likely. The arrow had almost certainly struck the heart from the angle, probably grazing it from the fact he hadn’t immediately passed out. He would be struggling with a myocardial rupture or cardiac tamponade, and there was just no way that she could attempt successful heart surgery out here.

And there was a third, staggering to sit down but bleeding copiously from a leg. By the colour, that was arterial blood. There were other injuries too. Two more arrows, lesser injuries but still potentially fatal. One man had had his wrist pinned to the wagon with an arrow, another had taken a stray shot to the thigh. The man she’d seen being struck was wincing, and another was clutching his leather armor, blood welling between his fingers. The rebel soldier he’d been fighting was lying in the dirt. A ruptured renal artery and spleen, nothing she could do. Mercifully, he’d already passed out. There were more rebels on the ground, their comrades having evidently left them behind in their retreat.

”All right!” she yelled. They might be the military here, but she was the doctor. ”I need someone to find me a clean reed, please! I also need some strong alcohol and some blankets for the wounded.” No blood transfusions would be happening here. Constructing even a crude method of transferral, such as a length of cleaned gut and a pair of sharpened metal tubes, would take time enough. Not to mention the risks of transfusion reactions.

No pain relief...

Her fury and frustration at the situation had to be converted into something useful. The sergeant, trained to command, was already picking up where she left off. ”You heard the lady! Pell, go search for what she needs. Everyone else, starting picking up the wounded. I want us moving again as soon as possible!”

”Sir, what about them, sir?” someone ventured to ask, nodding at the nearest fallen rebel. The sergeant shrugged, and walked over, blade in hand. His intent was obvious.

”No!” she all but squeaked, launching herself up immediately. ”They’re wounded now. That means they’re my patients.” She gave him her most flinty look, formerly reserved for staff who forgot procedure scrubbing up, and people who used their mobile phones in cinemas.

She could see the irritation in his eyes. The healer contradicting him in front of his men, without the least idea of the necessities of warfare. Carrying them would add to their burdens in dangerous territory, and then they would have to be kept prisoner, with all the expense that would entail, or executed. To his credit though, he capitulated. ”All right, ma’am. We might as well take ‘em for questioning.” She tried not to think about what that meant.

Instead, she headed over to the man clutching his stomach. Thankfully, as she peeled away his leathers, it turned out that he’d only received a gash across the belly, not opening up the abdominal cavity. He could be hastily bandaged now, and sewn up later. She sent another soldier to fetch the pathetic medical kit she’d cobbled together. The gash to the leg was pumping arterial blood, and had to be bound tightly. The arrows to the wrist and thigh would have to wait serious treatment until she could get somewhere she could deal with them with care. All she could do now was snap off the shafts and wrap them in wadding to keep them still. As she went on treating the injured, eventually Pell came hurrying back. ”Nothing but brush by the stream,” he said breathlessly, partly to her and partly to his sergeant. ”Mard has a pipe, though...” He seemed somewhat confused, but a little hopeful.

”Will that do?” the sergeant asked her. He seemed to have no idea what she wanted it for.

No, it wouldn’t. She needed chest tubes, not grimy smoking pipes. But the alternative was just leaving him to die, and giving up altogether. ”Clean, I said,” she said severely. She moved over towards the man whose whistling breathing was becoming more ever more ragged.

”It’s a new pipe, ma’am. That’s what I meant,” he stuttered. Another soldier, on hearing this, grumbled and came over. Fishing around under his leathers, he took out a small pipe. Shaking her head, she took out the wooden ear trumpet she’d had whittled for her back at the farmstead. She pressed it to the chest of the man with the arrow in his lung, listening to the sound and trying her hardest to make out if it was whistling or bubbling, how much blood and how much air. It sounded like it was predominantly air. She felt down his ribs. ”I need someone to hold him, please.”

The sergeant looked rather surprised. It was clear that he had filed the soldier away in his mind as ‘dead’ and hadn’t expected her to try to save him. Nonetheless, within moments several burly soldiers had headed over and were holding him. She cleaned the skin and pipe with the rotgut she’d been handed. Then, using a sharp, wooden-handled knife, she widened the puncture in his intercostal muscles. He screamed, or tried to. Laying a gentle hand on him to calm him, for what good it would do, she then pushed the pipe through. That brought not a scream, but a groan that seemed to come from deep inside. Probably he didn't have enough air left to yell out.

Now she had to lean down, sucking the air out, holding a finger over it to draw another breath. She could taste flecks of his blood in her mouth, in the back of her throat. He seemed to be shaking, but also regaining a little colour. Which probably meant that she’d restored at least some lung function, and relieved the pressure on his heart and lungs so that they weren't in immediate danger of failing completely. She stopped, plugging the end of the pipe with clay. Damn it, she was supposed to save her patients, not subject them to torture like this. ”We need to get moving,” she confirmed to the sergeant, and he nodded.

Her eyes sparkled like rubies in the night. She was beautiful to look at, beautiful and frightening like a storm in the middle of summer.

“Rowan!”

Jack welcomed the vampire with a smile, leaving his wine and roasted boar on the table. She looked more attractive than ever, the way she always looked after a hunt. He was a married man who loved his wife and dreamt about her almost every night, but even a faithful husband like himself couldn’t deny that Rowan Harper was one charming leader. Charming and deadly, as he often saw her many times before.
“Welcome home, my lady!” he said humorously and bowed. “Your humble servant brought gifts for his queen, very shiny gifts.”

Rowan’s grin revealed white pearly fangs between firey red lips. Jack wanted to tell her everything about that night in Vestern at the Trade Confederacy, but this was not the time. It either meant for him to tell the truth in front of everyone, that he wasn’t really the cunning hero everybody thought he was, or to lie to Rowan which was even worse. So he decided to change the subject instead and offered her a mug of wine.
“You know I always enjoy a good job.” He said drinking his share with thirst. “I told you that it’s no sweat, didn’t I?” he concluded as an answer to her question. Even he had doubts about getting back from there in one piece, but as it proved once again, luck was on his side. “Never thought I’t get this much gold though, I was only hoping for a chest or two actually.”

He pulled up his red leather pants, it was obvious he lost some weight over the last months before he came to join her group once more.
“Would’ve done it a lot better if I had them with me!” he bragged pointing to his group.

Karlile and Geko, the two brothers, grinned at the same time upon hearing his words. Karlile had a playful smile on his lips, while Geko’s was rather fierce. Linus, the former priest, was already asleep on the table while Jabba was teasing the young Nathaniel with jokes about dragons taking virgins from their homes, be them boys or girls. Everyone in the camp doubted Jack’s words. The others only took them in because Rowan allowed it. Jack’s men were undisciplined, poorly trained and they ate a lot. The only thing it seemed they were good at was keeping the fun alive, but the rebellion needed good fighters, not clowns.

Jack lowered his voice and took advantage of the chaos around them. He drew closer to his vampire leader as he spoke.
“Listen, I know I made a big fuss and now everyone is searching for me and I’m sorry, but you know very well I couldn’t have brought that dragon even if I wanted to. And the gods know I wanted...” he laughed. “I just got lucky, that’s all. There is one thing that is on my mind though..and you’re the only one I can speak to about it. Somebody must have sent that beast to the port, dragons don’t go to crowded places unless they’re forced to. “ He looked into her eyes hoping to see a sign of agreement.

“There are also rumors about a group of foreigners travelling with some of the Union’s soldiers. Do you think they ‘re on to us or somethin’? I mean, I can handle anyone or anything that I know , but foreigners? They might use unknown magic and we don’t have anyone to help us in that. “

He took a deep breath. Jack Seer was now being serious, a rare thing to see in a man such as him. One might think he was scared, a natural state after all that commotion in his life, but the truth was that for the first time in his life he was worried. He never got so much attention in one blow and things were getting wilder by the day. Much more than it already was. As if a storm was approaching...as if a new war was about to start.

The ale was cold as it always was, simply put. His seating arrangement wasn't all that bad either, the second floor loft gave him a view of the area, not that he needed to be cautious here anyway, there had been lack of jobs since he had left the guild, it seemed that fewer and fewer missions were being sent to him, thus his only ruse was to find work himself. He got lucky from a merchant. The man needed a courier to run his business numbers to the merchants quarter in Verstern. It wasn't his first choice in jobs, but it would get him out of the Capital and into a new sight.

The tavern in the area was his first stop upon entering town, a drink before the completion, since there wasn't a time limit for the mission, it was just a drop off in a sense. The tavern in the merchants quarter seemed busy, the talk of a festival coming was the biggest topic, a few mutters of the Union and the Rebels, to him it seemed to be a ruse for the Union to possibly get a stronger foothold. He flipped through his bingo book thoughtlessly as he listened in on the conversations around him, other than that, nothing special. He put away his boot taking the last gulp of ale with a little haste, great way to the future finish of a job. He didn't have a lot of coin, but hopefully this job would bring some in, waving a hand he flagged down a tavern girl, paid, and left.

The hustle of the people outside, even at this hour was astounding, though he had his mind set on finishing his drop off before anything else. Stands, people shouting, littering the streets, it was a sight compared to the last city, where harvesting the last crop before the cold hit. As he walked he had more than enough merchandise shoved in his face, cast assortments of jewelry, wood works, blades, and such, but he continued walking, lifting his hood to cover his face, to pass that he didn't want to be bothered; it didn't really work but he tried.

He approached the building, it was fair in size, and looked the part of a possible HQ, though they were just merchants, and this could be considered their guild hall, though words like those were simply in the past. This building just served its purpose simply as a meeting place, to turn in numbers and see what others owed. He through the front doors, greeted by a few smiling faces and what looked like a squire.

"How may i help you?" The boys voice was a little withered, maybe from yelling maybe it was natural to him, it was an odd voice when compared to the body and age. "I have a satchel from Jarvaise..., I need to speak to the man who holds the books." He was calm as he said it, though he wasn't willing to hand it off to anyone other than the man in charge. "Give me a moment." Simple enough he stepped to the side to get out of the way as a few others entered and seemed to know where they wanted to be. He watched and listened, a mix of races, all doing something, some having heated conversations others peaceful exchanges, it was all entertaining. There was a hustle suddenly, a door opened and it seemed to get silent a moment before everything continued as normal. A human approached him, arm extended, giving him a gesture the could be taken as come at me, though that didn't seem to be a proper gesture here, Artemis stood there a moment looking at his hand.

"Give me the satchel already...." He seemed a little irritated. Artemis produced the satchel and held it out. The man attempted to snatch it from him but he didn't let it go; it seemed to cause a little more irritation from the foreman, if that was indeed who this was. "Paymen..." He was cut off. "I swear to the gods that if i hear something about payments again, I'm gonna kill someone." Even so Artemis didn't let go, he wouldn't talk about the payment but he was going to receive it before handing over the package. "Boy!" That was all that was said, the young man that had greeted him stepped forward, tossing a bag. Artemis released the package and caught the coin bag, it was heavier than he thought, but he wasn't one to complain. He simply turned around and walked out, mission complete.

Food, that's what was needed at this time, his rations had run out on the way over, so that, a drink or two, and a good gamble seemed like a decent plan of action for the time being, though he didn't want to visit the same place twice, so the inner city had its points even though it was overrun with guards most of the time, not an issue, he didn't plan on doing anything wrong. That and the idea of overhearing something interesting from the soldiers.

Being just outside of the main city centre, the building that Sebastian and his companions called home had the advantage of being large enough for them all and away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life in the market. Keeping inconspicuous was key and the fewer people there were to catch sight of them the better. Still, most days required walking in to visit a guild or two or the regular food stands. The advice given was to frequent as many different places as possible so as not to become overfamiliar. Sebastian thought Kali probably had trust issues, but that may well have been what kept her alive much of the time. However, he was not so wise to the ways of the world and he trusted far too easily. The justification for himself was that gaining the trust of some locals would lead him to getting better information and more help which would, hopefully, contribute to getting him home. Not a day went by that he didn't feel the pangs of loss and hurt; that stabbing in the stomach that threatened to bring a tear to his eye. He missed home so much...

Stepping around the corner and into a secluded alleyway that would lead pretty much directly into the market, Sebastian stopped and shook his head, attempting to clear the sorrow that seemed to wash over him like a wave whenever he allowed his mind to drift.

"Concentrate, you've got work to do." He had taken to speaking aloud in situations like this, mental words were of little comfort. It rarely worked but it helped to steady him and helped to focus his mind on the rest of the day ahead. It was no wonder that he spent every waking moment doing something or other. In his old life he had enjoyed the comfort of relaxing in the evenings, without a care in the world. Now though, he was forced to keep himself busy to ocupy his mind.

He set off at a quick pace, talking a moment to enjoy the cold breeze that flowed down the alley from behind him. Their 'home' was located just North-West of the main marketplace and this particular alleyway always felt the wind that rolled in from the sea. Really, had there not been a war going on in the city, it would have been an ideal location. Easy access to both the town and the port, only five minutes in either direction by walk. Unfortunately, these ideal facilities were controlled by the opposing factions. The Union still held the town centre by the Rebels had control of the port. Good for gathering information, bad for the chance of getting caught in the crossfire.


When Sebastian reached the marketplace he was instantly met by a familiar sight, one which never failed to dispel the homesick blues. As he passed out of the alley a thousand people passed him by, each intent on either reaching their destination or stopping to admire the wares on sale. Vendors shouted at the top of their lungs, declaring their goods to be the best, taverns lined the outer rim and housed drunks, even at this time of the morning. He already knew which were goldmines for any service you cared ask for in this town. Whether hiring a killer, a woman for the night, a local expert, each had their own unique customers. But not all of these buildings could be seen, for the marketplace stretched on as far as the eye could see. Even for him, who had wandered these stalls for days at a time, there were things he had missed, items of rarity and value beyond mere currency. He would continue the thrill of his search for the next big scoop after his rendezvous on the other side of the market. But that didn't mean he couldn't take his time and cast his eyes over the items for sale.

The marketplace was a gigantic town square, with a main entrance at each corner and a series of alleyways branching off and twisting through the surrounding buildings like capillaries. It was close to the East side that Sebastian had emerged and he had to cross through the hundreds of stands to reach the North-Western corner where he had arranged a meeting with the blacksmith. As he ambled his way through he could feel the tense atmosphere of the coming festival. There was an electricity in the air caused by a combination of excitement, trepidation and anger. Whatever your affiliation, this festival was big news and he had personally witnessed no fewer than half a dozen barfights caused by disareements between Union loyalists and those empathetic towards the Rebellion in the past week alone. Three of those had been yesterday, he assumed there would be even more today as the final preparations were being planned. Tomorrow, this entire area would be evacuated and stanges would be erected, tents planted and guards posted at every main entrance, while the alleyways would be barricaded and regular patrols would circle the perimeter. It was no wonder the merchants were so desperate today, it would be the final day for a week that they could flog their goods publicly, save for the hundred or so who had been granted the privaledge of setting up a stall in the main area of the festival here in the town square. But it was not just here that had been planned, the jubilations were set to extend right up to the Northern limits of the city, contained within the Union controlled zones.

Blades, arrows, herbs and spices, trinkets, magical scrolls, foods from the furthest corners of Eronnis, novelty items, medicines, tools, exotic clothing and everything else imaginable was practically hurled at him as he moved with the flow of the crowd. Many times he was tempted to stop and examine an item in particular but he had a schedule to keep. It took the best part of 20 minutes to reach his destination but when he got there he saw a new face lit from below by the forge within the blacksmiths that was flanked by a tavern and a weapon outlet that sold the produce of the men who worked hard here. It was clear, by the intensity in his eyes and the almost delicate way he hammered at the metal, that this was the Master Blacksmith he had come to see. Sebastian swung his bag around on to his right hip and stepped across the threshold, instantly greeted by a blast of searing hot air.

"Master Sholtane, I presume?"

The man looked up and studied Sebastian.

"Guildsman Pherson, yah? I reckon yer got some fiddly work fer me, tha' right?"

"I have something that I hear only you can help me out with, if that's what you mean." Sebastian stepped forward, sweat already breaking out on his face, and pulled out a few pieces of paper knitted together with twine. They depicted every piece of the bow that he would need, as well as the nuts and bolts required to put it together. From looking at each individual component it would be impossible to discern what the final product would be, which was entirely the point of the matter. He intended to have the upper hand as far as weaponry went. His only advantage in combat would be superior equipment, oweing to his extremely average marksmanship, so he did not intend to let the final plans fall into the wrong hands.

"Don't look like much ter me..." Sebastian opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by a raise of the massive man's grizzled hand. "But tha's what ah'm used ter. People wanna keep things to 'emself. 'S no business of me to ask for nowt but some coin in return."

The way the man spoke and the state of his gnarled hands left Sebastian doubting his skill and intelligence, left him questioning whether this man was right for the job. But, by all accounts, he was one of the greatest blacksmiths ever to leave the Northern Baronies and he could handle anything thrown at him, be it smithy work or combat.

"Just name your price." Sebastian reached into his bag and pulled out a substantially weighty bag of coins, which he tossed to Sholtane. "If you need more, let me know later. He also pulled out a neatly rolled package and deposited it on the table beside him. "There are metals in there, each labelled and corresponding to particular pieces you will forge for me." He hesitated. "You can read, can't you?"

This was clearly a mistake, as Sholtane raised himself to his full height, easily brushing close to 7 foot, and strode forward, closing the gap between them in a second, eyes narrowing.

"Ah may not be th' smartes' smith goin' but don' dare mistake me for an idiot. I know every metal off by 'eart and ah can read as well as most." He reached past Sebastian, who was trying very hard to keep his composure, and unrolled the fabric. His eyes instantly widened as he saw the variety of composites spread before him, most of which were new to his eyes. He stood speechless.

"I can give you the directions for forging them all, but I need your promise that you can do what I've asked."

The wagon rattled and jolted unbearably as it was pulled hurriedly on. The soldiers had caught the animal that had bolted... and by the determined mood in the air wanted to reach their destination as quickly as they could.

Rhiannon point-blank refused to get under the blanket again - a near impossibility anyway since so many bodies, some moaning, others still, lay on top. As they finally passed under the city gate, she could see people staring. Hands were raised to whisper to one another the rumour, the sign of an assault on a supply wagon by Rebel hands.

One of the worst injured men died before they reached the barracks. A foul stench began to rise up - thankfully it was only moments later that they reached the guardhouse outside. The sergeant was clearly recognised, and waved through after a few brief words exchanged. They rattled through the training yard, and there drew to a halt.

Rhiannon hopped off, wincing at the pain flaring up in her leg. "Where's your infirmary?" she demanded of the nearest soldier.

"I'll show you," the man replied, as the sergeant began to bawl orders and then hurried off, presumably to make his report.

Soon the healthy were helping carry the injured in on stretchers. Rhiannon had expected the infirmary healers, but she hadn't really expected the rushes strewn on the floor, or the gloom. Or the smell. To their credit, they started moving at once, helping to take the injured men over to the crude cots within that were lined with straw. Rhiannon assisted as best she could in that business. Soon they were at least somewhat settled, with various men and women busying themselves in the effort to see to the wounded.

One of them, a middle-aged woman with soft-looking dark hair peeping out under a neat hood, approached her. "You're a healer?" she asked Rhiannon at once.

"I am," she replied, trying to keep the dismay out of her voice at the dismal surroundings.

"Good!" the woman said fervently. "What with Master Ezar and Mistress Com being out at present, we could do with the extra hands. I'm Tannie, by the way." As she spoke, she didn't stop unfolding and throwing out the linen sheets over another cot.

"Rhiannon," Rhiannon said, grinning. She felt at home. "What do you have? she asked authoritatively.

Tannie pointed a thick arm at the shelf behind her. "All Master Ezar's herbs are over there. Shall I get the irons heating?" She seemed to have assumed Rhiannon knew more than her, which was all to the good.

Rhiannon winced, but nodded. If cauterisation was all they had, it would have to suffice. In the meantime she started to run her eyes over the pots on the shelves.

Some of them were labelled with runes and letters she didn't recognise, but some were written in the alphabet she knew, and labelled. Now that puzzle for another time. She sneered at the directions - something about the planets and spheres best used in - and then opened first one and then the other. She smelled them, trying to identify their likely properties.

Rhiannon was hardly a herbalist - the drugs she prescribed were usually heavily processed from their natural sources or derived from other ingredients. Still, she found one vial that seemed to be laudanum or an opiate something like it, and another, an ointment which was mixed with honey, and so surely an antiseptic. Since the healers already on duty didn't bat an eyelid, she felt confident enough in her choices.

Over in one corner, the coals were being heated and the irons that would cauterise the more serious wounds were beginning to heat to a dull red glow. This is ridiculous, Rhiannon thought, all over again. "When were these rushes last changed? she said aloud.

"Oh, in the last week, uh, ma'am," a pretty blonde girl whose pink cheeks were flushed with rushing said hurriedly, seeing her expression. Rhiannon closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "All right. You at least have alcohol to clean with, don't you? Being Rhiannon, she spoke rather sharply, her irritation rising to the fore.

There were several exchanged glances, and then alcohol was found. It was not long before Rhiannon was telling the unfortunate healers in no uncertain terms to clean their hands, change their aprons and tie clean linen strips about their faces. One young man dared to argue, and recieved a dressing down about 'bad air' so stern that he backed off without further comment.

The lesser wounds could probably be seen to by these healers, but the arrows would need to be cut out. The array of instruments brought to her was appalling, though at least the poor quality iron had been kept free of rust. Don't forget the vices and saws, she thought dismally. She demanded a bellows, which was brought, and tubing. They brought her, as she'd expected, a length of gut.

Then she told one of the men to go find the blacksmith and told him in no uncertain terms to go and get some tools made right now. She knew full well she was usurping authority she didn't rightfully have , but she was fairly sure that if she spoke with a tone of command they would acqueisce now and only ask questions afterwards.

And at last, she turned back to her patients, and got to work.



Lavar had had the sense to hold his tongue with that old baggage around. Not that all the master healers weren't the same, he reflected. Still, all in all, it got him out of the infirmary and into the fresh air, even if there might be endless trouble over the release dockets later.

She'd insisted he find 'the best smith you people have', and from the way she'd described the work she wanted it'd have to be a skilled smith indeed. This was why Lavar was ambling over the bridge towards the marketplace. On the other side, he knew, was the forge where he could find Master Sholtane.

He was with a customer already when Lavar arrived, a man all in black and wearing the incal of the Trade Confederacy. Lavar drew close just to hear the man's closing words, or at least he hoped they were closing.

"... but I need your promise that you can do what I've asked."

Lavar looked down at the scrawled not furled in his hand. The list was long, but only a few items were marked 'urgent'. They included a tube made from iron called a 'cannula' that should be 'forged with 'chrome', a rare metal whose ore is used sometimes for paint colours, or whichever is the cleanest steel alloy he has', and a 'trocar', which was an extremely slender rod with a knife at one end. She also wanted a 'hemostatic clamp', which was a pair of slender rods as levers on a pivot with interlocking teeth to adjust their tension.

He looked back up at the men, and clutched the parchment and then unclutched it in his fingers. Then he decided - the dragon you know is worse than the dragon you don't. "Begging your pardon, sirs," he said nervously, with an extra obesquious nod at the Trader gentleman, "and not wantin' to interrupt, but I've an order from the barracks infirmary. The new healer says she's wanting these tools made... right now." He cleared his throat. "Uh, she was very clear about that."

The sun barely started to touch the horizon when the long, lonely shadow stopped, quietly moving towards a tree to her left, when Lilith’s shadow mixed with the tree’s the sensation of pain slowly started to spread on her left leg, continuously moving to her knee as she breathed. The air was light and cold, a breeze moving to the West lasted a few seconds, bringing the salty smell from the eastern sea. The pain diminished as Lilith closed her eyes, trying to focus herself on the woods; a bird landed on a tree a few meters away from her, a couple small animals, possibly squirrels, hid on a tree, the woods were growing quieter than usual, as if something agressive moved between the shadows, a long chill crossed her back when she heard it. The sound of a dry, small tree branch breaking due to weight and the heavy caracteristic breathing; knowing what she would see, Lilith opened her eyes after moving her face to the South. Five meters away, on a small clearance, the black wolf faced the sky with his eyes closed, smelling the air, his abdomen contracted when Lilith started to analise the animal, the wolf had an average size, being smaller than her only by a few inches, the tail aggressively moved on the ground. His abdomen contracted again, although the wolf had a strong appearance, it apparently did not ate in days. As Lilith's right hand moved inside the cape, meeting the second sword's grip, the wolf's left ear moved, his eyes opened quickly, demonstrating an animalistic expression of excitement. He promptly ran to the South, hastily fading between the trees.

Lilith waited several minutes before releasing the sword's grip, being sure than the wolf wouldn't return, she started moving again to East as she felt again the cold, salty breeze from the sea. A few animal dared to look the outside from their hideouts, only to meet an almost endless shadow calmly walking, an illusion created by the black cape, the angle of the sun and the many umbras from the trees. Every two dozens steps the woods started to fade a bit, half an hour passed, the sun was about to disappear on the West, when the eastern sea and the city of Vestern appeared. Lilith smiled and started to walk slowly, eventually joining the road than leaded to the city, the pain on her leg was nothing but an ignored memory now, lost among the thoughts about the city she last saw when she was nothing but a kid. While she travelled to Vestern, Lilith asked many merchants and farmers about the city, and apparently, they were right. The presence of the Union military increased as she moved to the inner city, Lilith calmly walked between the people, being ignored or unnoticed by most of them. As she reached the very center from the inner city, she found the bar than her father used to go when he was alive, she removed the hood a few moments before entering the bar.

Many people were in the bar, many strangers talking to strangers about their strange lifes, there were four rectangular wooden tables close to the four windows, a few circular tables were located between the rectangular ones and the wooden balcony, and there was the balcony itself, the barman, being the only human behind it, frequently gave drinks to the customers, quietly writing how many they already have drank on his notebook. A few wooden chairs were in front of the balcony, one of these gently disappeared inside Lilith's black cape when she there sat. A burst of laugh from a drunken man could be heard on one of the circular table less than two meters away from Lilith.

"Look at'hat Jo! A w'man on te pub! Let's enjoy te night a bit, shall we?"

The pale skinned woman looked to the young man’s eyes as she heard his words, they somehow remembered her they eyes of a bird than was imprisoned for a long time and was, finally, free. She smiled, wondering from where that strange comparison appeared. The man named Klidous tried to take a step forward, almost falling to the ground; Lilith smiled, whispering to the man named Flin “Just a minute, and I’ll talk to you... Flin”. The woman gently stood up, and started to walk toward the drunk man, the expression of happiness on her face, “I’ll purpose you something, I’ll punch you once, if nothing happens, then I’ll go out with you...” the drunk man smiled, his red face demonstrated something than could be a smile of joy, many men in the bar started to laugh, some thinking than that was a pathetic purpose, others thinking than the Klidous won the night. “But, if you fall to the ground, your friend there” she pointed to Jo “and you, will give me a nice amount of gold coins, what you say?”

Klidous quickly nodded, he was known to be though in fights, specially when he was drunk, most people on the bar stopped whatever they were doing to watch the spectacle. “Gimme ya bes’punch la-” were his words before he was unable to speak; the pale hand hit the man on the left side of his chest. It has been a long time since a man allowed her to punch him, and she quite enjoyed the feeling of breaking ribs, that feeling always made two words appear on her mind, mission accomplished. Klidous’ face met the ground, Lilith reached the man’s coin bag, retrieving seven gold coins from the amount within. She turned to his friend, Jo, “My money?”. The man nervously gave a nice amount of coins to her, the men than were playing poker tried to pick Klidous up to move him to an infirmary, Jo helped them after he was sure than the woman wouldn’t punch his head. She turned and sat next to Flin, kindly speaking to the barman, “You wouldn’t be willing to sell me a coin bag, would you?” He nodded and after a few seconds he returned with a small black leathered bag, “I though’ than this one would combine wit’ya”.

Lilith smiled back to the man, putting three gold coins over the table, “One of them is for the bag, the others are for a nice drink for me and my friend here”, the barman once again nodded, leaving to pick up some clean glasses, Lilith turned her head to the left as she put the coins inside her new bag, only to meet Flin light brown eyes, something on them tended to give the the sensation than she could trust him. “As you can see, I travelled for a few weeks, I’ve heard than a few nice things were happening here, but frankly, I came here to see if the barman over there knew a cheap inn so I could stay there for the night”, she smiled, “Guess I can pay a pretty good one now.”

The tavern wasn't anything special it had its vast array of tables both circular and squared, the main bar area with its stools and the loud boars that frequented this place. The talk of this tavern was much like that other one, mostly on the festival that was coming up, and then again there were the more personalized ones that didn't interest him much. He had his ale and a side of whatever they had today as simple finger foods, didn't cost that much but it entailed him to have a seat and stay as long as he liked; being in a back corner of the tavern gave him a good vantage point to see those coming in and out as well.

The bartender still sifting out drinks left and right having this look as if he were about to kick out some of the patrons that may or may not have pissed him off or have had to many to drink.

“Yee put ‘er cards down, ‘yee out, ya bastard!” That was audible enough for him to look in the direction of the voice. Three men playing cards and the loud one seemed to be calling out a younger one. The man in question though as he looked over was the one being called out, he looked like a normal being in all aspects but he looked different, compared to the men around him. “What’dya know! You got me!” was all that the man had to say in reply, not a good liar he thought to himself. It spiked his interest in the man, he had a dull purple haze in his hair, that could only be seen when the light hit it just right, he hadn't seen that before, with anyone from this world.

The door opened, the sound almost inaudible to the dull roar of talking in the tavern, though if the sound hadn't caught his attention, the sight of the woman walking in would have made him wonder as it was. She was decked in all black, though her skin was almost a marble white, the look of someone who has seen battles in the past, and also someone who moved with a purpose. She took a seat at the bar; one of the men playing cards not taking too long to point her out.

Look at’hat Jo! A w’man on te pub! Let’s enjoy te night a bit, shall we?”

The younger man looked between the two men and then seemed to take action getting up and taking a seat next to the woman that had just come in a little while ago, point for him, anyone who could approach someone with that look about them, had to have balls. Though then again a lot of men and women didn't have the eye to point out those that were battle hardened unless they had the visible scars to show off. The man seemed to daze off into thought after he sat down, the barmaid coming in his sight only to ask if he needed anything, he pointed to his drink which needed refilling, but otherwise blew her off, keeping his attention on the man and woman at the bar.

“Name is Spu-,” he stopped himself a moment as to think, “Flin, you can call me Flin. What brings you in this old joint?” So his name was Flin, that was an interesting name as well to go with the look. He noticed something hanging from his pants, they looked like glasses, which were nothing special, expensive, but these ones were a little different, they were all black, the lenses as well; just another thing to add to the interest in the man in the bar.

The thing that happened next was just a confirmation on his thought on the woman. She got up and walked over to the two that were left playing cards. She seemed to talk with them a moment though it was drowned out by all the other noises, Artemis had wanted to listen in but the punch that the woman threw said it all. She laid the guy out in a single punch, and it didn't sound too friendly at that, he had heard something crack, just a sickening sound of something breaking that went through and over the dull sounds of the tavern, he didn't wince at the sound nor feel bad for the man that had called her out earlier, but he thought twice about picking a fight with her now, not that he had the idea before. She returned to the bar moments after.

Artemis had been watching the two since he had noticed them, time to stop people watching and possibly taking action, his hood was still up, it was just a comfort thing, people could only see his face if they were close up, which was a good thing in his line of work, just in case there was someone who knew him. He finished his drink, and stood up walking in their direction, taking a seat near the one called Flin.

"That is a pretty interesting get-up you have there, Flin." He looked towards the man enough to catch the look on his face. "Those glasses something you can get around here?"

His intention was to see how the man reacted, maybe give something on him away, though that was still yet to be seen. That and to not piss off the woman that he was talking with, because that would be bad news altogether.

Sebastian clocked the rather timid looking man as soon as he entered the heat of the smithy. He certainly did not seem the type to interrupt, which meant he could continue enjoying the shocked silence of the Smith. He imagined it was rare that Master Sholtane was surprised in his line of work, least of all by metals, so there was a smug satisfaction that came with catching him off guard.

"Begging your pardon, sirs," Sebastian looked at him and returned the nod quickly with an impatient look.

"And not wantin' to interrupt, but I've an order from the barracks infirmary. The new healer says she's wanting these tools made... right now." About to interrupt, Sebastian was cut short. "Uh, she was very clear about that."

"Well be equally clear when you tell her that Master Sholtane here does not take orders without an appointment. So good day, we'll be sure to pass her requirements on as soon as he finishes the work we have agreed upon." It was most unlike Sebastian to be so assertive since settling into this new world of his, but he was annoyed that someone would have the stones to request the skills of someone who was clearly busy. And, perhaps, there was something else that he fished around for in his mind. As he reached out and took the list from the lad he clocked it. A flashback to his old life. An image repeated countless times of taking late work from a nervous pupil and giving them a stern set of words. Perhaps through old habits he glanced at the note before passing it over to Sholtane.

As the Master Smith reached for it however, Sebastian snapped it away, an act that further surprised the larger man, who now seemed to be overcoming his marvel and reaching a stage of irritation that bordered on anger. The teacher-who-was, however, did not see. His eyes were wide and fixed on the words before him. His hand shook and he felt his heart race as he recognised words that were most certainly not a part of this land, familiar though it could seem at times.

His breathing deepened and quickened, his eyelids opened and closed in disbelief and his stomach dropped. Before anyone could ask what was wrong he practically threw the paper at Sholtane.

"This comes first. Use..." He fished around the unrolled packing. "... This, as a clean steel alloy. Finish the urgent items as quickly as you can, then start on my own components." He practically shouted the orders, becoming manic in his excitement. "And you!" He pointed at the nervous man, who seemed to shrink away from the apprently insane trader. "Take me to the healer." He didn't even wait for a response. "NOW!"


Sebastian's quest was always, and always would be, to get home. Another person here may hold vital clues to doing that. He knew it could not be a coincidence, Eronnis was far from advanced enough for the names of the medical equipment he had seen on the list, even if they arrived at the same names in time at all. It had to be another of the unfortunate souls transported here against their will, it just had to be.

The run, as insisted by Sebastian, to the infirmary did not take long, but was cut short as he entered. The stench alone was enough to send him reeling, and the sights were enough to turn his stomach. For a moment his head spun and he had to fight to open his eyes and look around as the man set off to fetch the healer who had sent him on the errand to the blacksmith. He saw blood and bones and stumps and death. Wounds that could only be fatal, and those that soon would be once infection set in. He saw tools that resembled instruments of torture rather than healing and his ears were filled with the screams of those who suffered. The assault on all his senses was enough to send him off balance and he leant to the side, only to recoil when his hand met with something soft. Dreading to look, he soon saw that his leaning post was a blood-covered corpse that had yet to be removed from the area. Fingers crimson and face growing ever closer to white, Sebastian swallowed hard and tried to remain focused on the reason he was here in the first place, all the while aware that should he be injured he would end up in a place not dissimilar to this.

It had all had the potential to go so well.

When Master Ezar had returned from his break, he’d been introduced to Rhiannon. He was evidently a highly intelligent man, and they’d gotten along swimmingly for two physicians who’d learned techniques from different technological eras. Rhiannon happily deferred to his expertise in herblore and the medicine he could perform with the resources he had to hand. She’d helped him with two of the extractions, discussing the instruments needed to retrieve arrowheads without losing them in the flesh to fester. He’d approved of her purchase of new equipment, with an air that suggested he felt it only right that the Union invest in the treatment of their soldiers.

It was then he had suggested the course of bleeding.

“Master Ezar, whilst I respect your skills in the matters of herblore, I’d ask you respect mine in surgery,” she’d said quietly. “The reason men spill other men’s blood in the first place is to kill them.”

Their argument had gone on for quite some time, in fact, though quietly so as not to alarm the patients. Even after a young man had been summoned and circulation duly demonstrated on him, Master Ezar was having none of it. They had almost come to blows, with Rhiannon swearing that it was ‘only her Hippocratic Oath’ that was protecting him. Master Ezar had stalked off to the other end of the ward, muttering imprecations. In the end, the patients being more important than their ire, he was overseeing the treatment of all those she deemed capable of surviving such madness – and she was overseeing the treatment of the patients he either believed needed only basic treatment or were sure to die anyway.

He was now carefully trying to pull the arrowhead from the wrist of the soldier who’d been injured. The man was being held down by two men, and had been clamped as well. It was he that was doing the screaming that Sebastian had heard. Rhiannon meanwhile was assisting several of the nurses in bandaging, whilst looking anxiously over towards the man at intervals, ready to rush over if need be. It was unbelievable. If Master Ezar managed to nick an artery, would he somehow be glad of the blood flow leaking the man’s life out?

The horrible, revolting, sickeningly appetising smell of burning flesh made her gag as the wound was cauterised. She turned back to the pneumothorax. His name, she’d learned, was Jed. He was in incredible pain, despite the fact that she’d given him a fair dose of what painkillers they had. It was a series of ‘if’s’. If she managed the pain, and if the instruments were finished quickly enough, and if she could dose him up on penicillin, if she was lucky enough to get a culture on bread...

Well, young men were of their nature hardy. There was a chance. She wiped his brow, sticky with sweat, and held his hand. For now, it was all she could do.

It was then that Lazar hurried over to whisper hastily that a man from the Trade Confederacy wanted to see her, jerking a thumb backwards.

She looked over to see a man dressed all in black, something which she considered irritably in her present mood to be all too pretentious. She was dressed simply herself, wearing a white linen nursing cap to cover her hair and a clean apron over the peasant dress so kindly given to her at the farmstead. He looked horribly out of place, and appeared to be getting queasy. ”Who let him in here?” she demanded sharply, and saw the answer on Lazar's face. What had the man been thinking?

Meanwhile the Trader backed away from one patient, only to end up leaning his hand onto a dead soldier. She saw him recoil, and sighed inwardly. No doubt he was some bigshot who’d learned about the alloys and wanted to know about them...or had come reprimand her for encroaching on their financial territory.

”I won’t be long,” she whispered to Jed. He moaned, panicking, obviously reasoning as a man in pain and not wanting to be left alone to die. Once again she wondered if it wouldn’t have been kinder to let him perish on the road. To Lazar she muttered, “If you could send for his family, that would be great.” She didn’t need to say more. Although she intended to do everything possible to save his life, it was only fair that they at least had a chance to say farewell if she couldn’t.

She got up, striding as purposefully towards the man as she could whilst walking with a limp. Another healer hurried over as she left to tend to Jed. ”I’m sorry,” she said to Sebastian, firmly but with a polite smile, ”but we don’t allow guests on this ward.” Actually she had no idea of the infirmary’s policy, having arrived here only a few hours ago, but few hospitals needed random strangers walking around where surgery was taking place. She started walking on towards the entrance, clearly expecting him to follow her out. ”I understand you wanted to speak with me?” she said neutrally, in her best officious manner.

The ride to Vestern was a long and lonely one. With only the horse and the clatter of iron shod wheels to keep him company, James reflected on his plans. He really didn’t know what it was he would do when he arrived there but first on the list would surely be to find an inn, and then a job. After the first day he had made it a fair distance. As twilight fell he set a series of toe-catch traps, baiting them with wild mint. By the time his camp fire was good and caught, rustles and squeaks told him that dinner time was near. The marines may have taught him to live in the war zone, but the medicine woman Blue-Wolf taught him to live everywhere else. As he butchered the rabbits to put on the roasting spit he had a minor flashback to his childhood on the reservation.

“Nay-gah haute, Mountain-Bear, thank the spirits of your brothers for the nourishment you take. Take nourishment from their flesh, make clothing from their skins, and make tools from their bones,” said Blue-Wolf as she lined rabbits on a spit.

“Yes mother Blue-Wolf,” answered the voice of a much younger James.

He smiled to himself as the memory faded back into his subconscious. The brace of Rabbits made for a satisfying meal and a good night’s sleep. At dawn’s first light he was packed up and on the move again, all traces of his campsite were erased from the land.

‘Old habits die hard it seems’ he thought to himself. Dusk had found him at the city gates and Nightfall at a local dive in the city. With his horse and wagon stowed for the night he hefted his bag over his shoulder and strode through the front door of the establishment with a simple list in mind. Room first, food and drink second and third sleep.

He approached the bar as two men carried another between them, who seemed to be having some difficulty breathing. James just shook his head and paid the barkeep. After handing off his bag and receiving a key to his room he surveyed the situation. There was a woman talking to a young man at the bar nearby, and judging by the strange looks she was getting she was the cause of the injured man. He just smiled and shook his head. Even here men still underestimated women. His amusement was short lived however, when he noted a hooded figure approaching the two.

“Those glasses something you can get around here?” he heard over the dull roar in the air.

It was then that he took a closer look at the young man.

‘Glasses’ he thought ‘defiantly not from here’

In a moment he had decided exactly what he was going to do, the man at the bar was from back home and the other one was going to cause trouble. He grabbed a half empty tankard and stumbled over to the small group.

“Aye Lad! Dem ish framesh I made fer da lad meshelf,” he slurred, he flashed a quick wink to the young man in glasses. He hoped he would play along. “Is yew needin a pair of gigglesh, err gogglesh, err glassesh I mean,” he asked, then promptly began to giggle uncontrollably. He forcibly shouldered his way inbetween the two men and waved the sloshing tankard in the air and cried “Bar Keep! Ah needsh anudder drink I fink!”
He turned to the hooded man and gave him a lopsided drunken smile, then turned back to the spectacled man and silently mouthed the words “Go with it”

As his eyes scanned the building's interior Sebastian realised he had no idea what kind of a person he was looking for, or what he might say when they met. However he soon found that was not to be a problem when he clocked the woman striding towards him looking very official, despite walking on what could have either been a fresh wound or chronic pain. She was dressed modestly but her slender frame, pale complexion and dark hair suggested the possibility of elvish family.

Which is absurd Sebastian, she's from Earth. Get you head out of Eronnis or you'll end up stuck here for the rest of your life.

Mentally scolding himself was a part of his daily routine and what kept him driven to leave this place, he needed order and structure in his life, he needed someone to tell him what to do. Lately he had made the decision to be that person himself. A quick conversation with oneself was not so far-fetched in his opinion and it helped to keep an objective view of the world he currently inhabited so that he did not become too attached. But things never worked quite as well as he thought and as much as he tried to keep his distance from people his naturally quick-to-trust nature had formed a bond with his companions back at home - The lodge, Sebastian, this is not your home - even if they themselves did not see it.

The woman approaching looked polite but he could tell instantly that she did not approve of his presence.

"I'm sorry" she said to him, the tone of her voice implying her next few words before they had been spoken, "but we don’t allow guests on this ward." She then walked directly past him and headed for the exit at a brisk pace, clearly intending him to follow her, which he would do for a few steps. "I understand you wanted to speak with me?" she asked, clearly a little irritated at being disturbed. The accent was not hidden and roused his interest further when he heard that she was not only from Earth but from England too, the South by the sounds of it.

Honestly, people who can't deal with other people shouldn't be allowed to practise medicine.

At this point he stopped and spoke, eager not only to start following another lead in his neverending quest but to see whether her reaction to him would be anything like his to her. He doubted it greatly, she already seemed out of tune with those around her and the liklihood of showing emotion in public was probably low.

"Yes, you heard correctly. My name is Sebastian Pherson, I am a Physics teacher from London." He allowed a second or two for the statements to be processed before continuing. "I would appreciate it if you could spare me some time so we can discuss exactly how I'm getting back there and whether you might wish to join me."

One of Sebastian's companions had already succumbed to the lure of a life anew and departed them during the journey. It was a shame as Sebastian knew the man had been very intelligent and he needed all the brains he could gather if he stood any chance at all of making it back to merry old England. But if his replacement was to be a doctor, that was some serious thinking power on his side.

"There are others too," he started, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard. "We have a safehouse not a mile from here, we could talk there." He did not expect her to trust him immediately but he was feeling rushed by his own mind and became excited at the prospect of maybe learning something new and useful from this woman, whoever she might have been.

"Yes, you heard correctly. My name is Sebastian Pherson, I am a Physics teacher from London."

It wasn't simply the name 'London', although that was what sank in second. Immediately there was a rush of emotion as the all-too-familiar accent hit her, bringing with it that longing for home that strikes everyone dropped into an alien culture. Home, where people thought like her, talked as she did, and shared her values. Then the name sank in. London. What were the odds, she thought distantly, that two people had travelled...whatever they had travelled, from the same city? It was just like meeting an Englishman in a foreign country in which no one else spoke English... only more so.

Her brows had shot up without her noticing, and he continued, "I would appreciate it if you could spare me some time so we can discuss exactly how I'm getting back there and whether you might wish to join me. There are others too..." She could hear the note of excitement in her voice. "We have a safehouse not a mile from here, we could talk there."

Rhiannon certainly wasn't reeling, at least not as much as she might have been. Too much had happened to her, and all of it too strange, for her to be much astounded at the idea that more people from Earth could be here. It was absorbed as merely a particular of the phenomenon, filed away as information. Her next consideration was to wonder at his profession. When he'd said 'Physics', her mind had started to careen suddenly down a new path, only to be halted by 'teacher'. That made it rather less likely, she thought wryly, that he had been involved in an obscure experiment that had caused all this.

Perhaps it was the familiarity of meeting a fellow Englishman that influenced her, but it was rather more likely to do with his appearance. Having had a better glimpse of his features, despite the ridiculous black, he had what she would have described as a face belonging to a decent sort. This judgement was made on instinct and without thinking, and was nothing to do with attractiveness - she'd known beautiful people whose perfect features were continually etched in faint sneers or somehow hard, and cheerfully ugly people whose bulbous noses and mismatched features were softened by a tendency to a kindly smile.

Of course, she also knew too well that her own features were harder than she'd have liked...

Also keeping her voice low, she murmured, "I think you misunderstand the situation, Mr. Pherson." She chanced a glance over her shoulder, looking at the door behind her, before looking back. "My name is Rhiannon. Rhiannon Bartlett. I assume by the fact that you introduced yourself as a Londoner that the others are not all from London... I was studying at UCL Medical School, myself." She shook her head. "I'm not altogether sure if I'm a guest here or a prisoner, and I haven't tried to test it and find out. The soldiers brought me here. They'd heard about me at the market, or so I understand, and for some reason had orders to detain me." It occurred to her all of a sudden that this man, as a Physicist, had likely recognised the alloys she'd suggested and almost certainly knew more about them than she.

"I don't know how you got into the barracks, Mr. Pherson," she said emphatically. "I don't know much about the Traders. I assume you were allowed to pass into the military quarters because you were accompanied by Lavar, perhaps because you have some esteem in the city. I haven't been subjected to any particular guard... but then with a recently fractured tibia I'd be an unlikely escapee. If you can think of a solution, I'd be - " The words 'happy to accompany you' almost escaped her lips, but despite her eagerness to learn more of her predicament, she most certainly didn't want to abandon her patients. Her frown, rarely long gone, returned. " - certainly willing to accompany you, so long as there are no significant developments in the conditions of my patients." Most of them would probably do well enough here for now, but those that would not...

There was an edge of desperation to her voice as she fixed her gaze on Sebastien, "I'm trying to practice medicine with equipment that wouldn't meet third-world standards," she hissed, her anxiety over her patients rushing to the fore.

City: Vestern
Location: The Bent Sickle Inn
Mood: Nostalgic, Happy, Slightly Intoxicated


Dante stood outside of the Bent Sickle, looking to the sky as the sun began it's final descent. He'd arrived in Vestern just a day before, having made the journey from Jervaise with the only person close enough to be called a friend. The man's name was Samuel; entrepreneur, proprietor of the Cracked Shovel in Jervaise, and trader of any odd or end that ended in profit for him.

What a journey it'd been though, these last few weeks in this strange, new land. Dante had spent the first two days and nights in Jervaise, begging and sleeping in the street. Finally Dante had made his way into the Shovel, desperately needing a beer and some decent food after two days of scraps and water.
Dante sat on the nearest stool, still dressed in the clothes from home and dirty as hell. Sam had been standing a few feet from where he sat, absently whittling at a piece of wood. "Get somethin' fer ya son?" Sam had asked, to which Dante had fished out a handful of copper and silver coins from his pocket. "A beer, or ale, or whatever the hell you've got. And something to eat; again I don't care. As long as it's hot." Dante had started scooting forward the entire pile of money. 'Boy ain't from around here, to be sure..' Sam thought to himself, as he plucked a few coppers and a silver coin from the pile. The coppers would buy him a big mug and plate, the silver would buy him a bath and a room. By Samuel's assessment, the boy could use all of it.
"Aye, keep the rest of your coin son. This isn't the 'Inn on the Palace Garden', to be sure! But you look lost, and by the gods ya stink like the pens." Samuel handed him his beer and a room key. "Take your time, I'll have some bath water ready for ya in about a half hour. Give ya enough time ta get somethin' in your belly first." Dante just looked back and forth between him, the mug, the pile of money, and all around. "Thanks.." Dante said quietly as he put the rest of the coin back into his pocket.
As Dante looked up at the man again though, he saw him grinning from ear to ear. "What?" Dante asked, trying to hold down the sound of irritation starting to rise. The man was being kind to him after all, obviously not allowing him to over-spend on anything. Dante knew that everyone around him knew he was a foreigner, to say the least. The fact that he'd been lucky enough to not fall victim because of that thus far was a miracle.
Samuel responded, "Aye, not to be rude, but where the hell are you from? I can't say I've ever witnessed such dress as you've got, and the way you speak sounds very foreign.. I'd venture to say that, you're a very far way away from home, aye?" Dante just took a long pull off his mug, and after swallowing said, "Yep.. Or, aye, as you say." Sam grinned and said, "Haha, well that's a start."
Just then, a shout was heard from the back, and Sam turned around. "A plate's ready for ya. Let's get ya fixed up there lad."
That night, Dante was fed and bathed, with a decent bed to sleep in. Of course, it was no Tempur Pedic or anything of the sort; a simple straw mattress with a wool blanket, and some kind of animal skin on top of that. But it sure beat the cold stones of a street underneath him, and Dante slept better than he had in years.
The next morning, Dante arose and found that the chest he'd stored his clothes in was empty. Standing in nothing but a pair of socks and boxers, Dante was quickly becoming agitated. Before he could voice his irritation with a string of swears though, he spotted folded clothes on a chair sitting next to a small wash basin. A note had been left in the bowl, and it read, 'Some clothes that won't make ye look like a sore thumb. Holler for washing water. -Sam' Dante sat the note down, then unfolded and examined the clothes. Some pants, a few shirts of varying sizes, a pair of boots, all he'd need to be fully dressed as a 'local'. Dante pulled the pants on and tied the drawstring, then opened the door and called for water.
A young lady, probably no more than sixteen or seventeen, came striding up the stairs with a pitcher of warm, steamy water a minute later. She wasn't ugly, but her smile was a bit crooked and her brown hair had many split ends and looked like a wreck. Even though she'd obviously tried with pulling it up into a bun of some kind. 'Such is life without dentists, stylists, and conditioner I guess..' Dante thought to himself, smiling and thanking the girl. "Mister Sam said to have ye come on dow' when ye're up. Anything else I can bring ye?" she asked, slightly nervous of the foreigner but eager to serve. "No, but thanks hon." Dante responded, smiling and then shutting the door as she gave a slight bow and made her way off.
After cleaning up and fully dressing, Dante made his way downstairs to find Sam sitting at one of the dining room tables. He was reading a small book, with a pipe in his free hand. He sat across the table from Samuel, at which time Sam put down his book. Sam could see Dante looking back and forth at the pipe, and offered it to him along with a small wooden figurine. It was of a dragon. "Stroke the back of the ol' wyrm's head. Beats a boring ol' match, to be sure!" Sam said with a grin. Dante did as he bade, and was astounded when a small, gentle stream of flame spouted from the figurine's open mouth. He lit the pipe, taking a pull of the contents. He sputtered a bit, but didn't make a fool of himself. The herbs tasted of a mostly tobacco, although very strong tobacco taste; but there was another hint of flavor that Dante couldn't recognize. But of course, this being somewhere 'far from home', it made sense that things wouldn't be the same. Not even the tobacco.
Sam couldn't help but chuckle as Dante sputtered a bit. "What's that called?" Dante asked. Sam replied, "Called Dragon's Hair by most." Dante smiled, saying simply, "Back home, we have something that tastes alot like that. Called tobacco." "Toe-back-oh?" Sam inquired slowly, after which both of them laughed a bit. "Aye, well you're a long ways from home laddie... That's to be sure."

It was from that day forward that things had been alright for Dante. Sam had agreed to give him a job helping around the Inn, in exchange for a place to stay and a reduced wage. He'd schooled Dante so to speak, in the mornings and late nights when others weren't about to interrupt. Dante obtained a understanding of the money, what city he was in, a feel for the current events; nearly any question he could've had, was answered by Sam.
When Dante finally asked him, "Why do you help me? Why did you take me in?" Sam replied simply, "Because son, I'm supposed to." He refused to go into further detail in his reasoning.

Which brings us to the now. Sam had been speaking of a festival or fair happening in a city a ways away. Vestern, where Sam's cousin Marcus lived. Sam had scored himself a coveted merchant reservation for the fair, where he'd set up a stall and sell food and drink to the crowds of the festival. With a place to stay with Marcus at the Bent Sickle, and nothing but profit to be made from going to Vestern, Sam had offered to take Dante with him. "I could use the help anyways, loading and unloading that damned wagon. Besides, be good for you to stretch your legs beyond Jervaise.. And I'm not as young and fit as I'd like to say, so if there's trouble on the road I'll need someone more able bodied than I to be at my back."
Dante agreed to go with him. He had been saving his wages and the tips he occasionally got, and took his earnings and purchased equipment. It was a hodge-podge of varying types, styles, and grades of equipment; but it would do for now. A iron dagger and a short mace for weapons, with cloth armor and a chain-mail vest for body cover. The rest of the money was used to buy various random things and some basic survival gear, should he get separated from Samuel along the journey. Or for when he might need them in the future.
The trip was quite uneventful, except for when they'd gotten a wheel stuck crossing through the mountain range. No bandits, no giants or tree people from Lord of the Rings, nothing. Sometimes, Dante didn't know what to make of this world. It was all like a crazy fantasy book come to life. But he wasn't being harassed by figures in dark cloaks, or being robbed by bandits on every stretch of country highway.
It was just like, a normal life.. Aside from the setting, of course.

So much in so little time. So many thoughts in but one man's head. Dante wasn't sure of everything still, but he was enjoying this new place. This new life. He had started shifting his thinking from, 'This'll be a cool vacation, a cool story for when I figure out how to get back.' to, 'I could get used to this..'

"Ah, fuck it.." Dante mumbled to himself, putting his small pipe back into one of his belt's many little holding pouches. He strode back into the Sickle through the side door, making his way through the kitchen back to the main hall of the Inn. It was in a bigger building than the Broken Shovel, and was very evident from the main hall. A dozen tables with four to six chairs each, along with benches and the bar to seat customers. A large hearth, with a stage at the far end of the room. It was a pretty packed house tonight, more people coming into Vestern daily for the coming festival.
"Excuse me, 'scuse me.." Dante said, as he made his way through the crowd to where Sam, Marcus, and a couple of their old friends sat at one of the tables. They'd been teaching Dante some card games, with Dante making mostly a miserable attempt at victory. But it being a friendly game, he didn't get too upset when he kept losing. They gave him a hard time for it, but they took it just as well when Dante let out a shout of victory when his hand was sound. "'Ey there youngin'!" Sam cried out as Dante sat down once again. A fresh round had just been brought, and Dante grabbed the mug that was at his place. "Hey old-school!" Dante cried back, clapping him on the shoulder. Sam liked that monicker of Dante's, 'Old-School'. It was funny; things he'd said on a daily basis back home, were completely new sayings and words in this place. It made Dante obviously different, but that much more endearing to the people he'd met thus far.
Dante jumped right into the small talk taking place, and also began shuffling the cards idly.

The conversation had started off, a little before Artemis had spoken he had gotten a wide eyed expression momentarily before the color had bled from his face, he now looked a little more like the woman at his other side. That was a little odd, someone could have that much fear put in them just simply by a look? There had to be a devastating story behind that reaction, one that he would probably not be told at this time. He noticed Flinn take hold of the glasses, as almost if he thought they would be taken. The man looked as if he were going to make a run for it, though before anything was done another man entered the picture.

"Aye Lad! Dem ish framesh I made fer da lad meshelf, Is yew needin a pair of gigglesh, err gogglesh, err glassesh I mean," The man placed himself between the two. “Bar Keep! Ah needsh anudder drink I fink!”

The man was acting, there was not that much alcohol on his breath as he was trying to make it look like, the drunken smile only made Artemis laugh under his breath. The man had tried, and more than likely would have succeeded in fooling him if he was an idiot. Though the man had done one thing right, he had held his attention long enough to give Flinn the edge.

Artemis heard the copper hit the bar counter, he maneuvered himself to look behind the acting man, to see that Flinn wasn't there, in fact he had made his way to the door, only by luck had Artemis caught a glimpse of his hair through the crowd. He wouldn't be able to catch him now if he wanted, there were too many people between him and Flinn, but then again there was always another time for questions; that and he didn't really feel like tracking right now, following someone through a city was fun and all, but not at the moment, the opportunity had presented itself, and faded just as fast.

He sighed as he saw the door fling open and the man named Flinn dart outside. He slumped on his stool a moment before turning himself back towards the counter, taking another drink of his ale, he forced himself to swallow the now piss warm liquid, before sliding the tankard towards the bar keep and motioning for a new one. Without looking over at the other two that were left.

"You can drop the act, it takes someone with more finesse than you to even try to pretend that you're that drunk. That and your accent is off, something you might have picked up along the way, but it isn't natural."

He had hoped that the man would just drop the act, there wasn't a use to continue it any longer, that and what was his story, why had he come to the aid of Flinn, and why hadn't the girl done anything? She had taken out one of the men earlier, maybe she had no reason to get involved? He had gotten his fresh mug and motioned for two more for the others, he might not know them but whats more friendly than a mug of ale?

He turned to the man that had interjected himself into this whole ideal situation. "So whats your story?" He looked beyond him to the girl as well. "And yours, if you don't mind my asking." He watched the bar keep set the other two drinks down, he motioned for the others to have at them as he took a gulp of his own.

"You took away one interesting thing, by interjecting yourself, so now it is your turn to entertain me." That saying brought a devilish smile to Artemis' face, one that would probably not go unseen, but it was true, it was this mans fault that Flinn had gotten away, the woman though, he just wanted some information on her, as to keep her at bay if at a later time she became an obstacle or something of the sort.

You can drop the act, it takes someone with more finesse than you to even try to pretend that you're that drunk. That and your accent is off, something you might have picked up along the way, but it isn't natural," said the hooded man

"You took away one interesting thing, by interjecting yourself, so now it is your turn to entertain me."

James instantly dropped the goofy look and adapted one of cold calculation. He righted himself from his half stooped position at the bar, and stood straight and tall. He took a pull from the tankard that the barkeep placed in front of him and said, “If you thought he was interesting, you’ll think I’m all kinds of shiny, friend.” His natural southern drawl dashed with Cherokee shown through in his speech. He offered his right hand and added, “Name’s James Reaper, most call me Grim Jim, or just Grim, whichever you prefer.”

He glanced to the pale woman, who had yet to say a word or move a muscle, then returned his cold blue eyes to the hooded man before him. It was a risk to give his decidedly outlandish name in this land but one that he had calculated with the tactical part of his mind. If this man was hunting people from back home, his body language would confirm it. The damnable part of the equation was the fact that he couldn’t see his face. The glint of teeth in the poor light said that the stranger was smiling. He couldn’t imagine from the interaction thus far that the smile was a happy one.

“What’s your interest in the kid, Shah-leh-nah?” he asked, choosing to add in the Stone People’s word for stranger, just to try to provoke a further reaction. James was fighting a terrible urge to turn back to the woman at his back. She was the main wild card in all of this; he had no idea what she would do. Of course it didn’t help matters that she wasn’t unpleasant to look at. Hell maybe he’d offer to buy her a drink after this little incident panned itself out.

He thought back to the equipment the Wren gave him, by now it was stored in a room upstairs by the stable boy. He hadn’t wanted to adorn himself in the shiny steel plates contained within because he didn’t want to attract attention to himself. Now he realized that he would have been of interest to someone at some point because he had chosen to travel in his fatigue pants and trusty, shiny, black combat boots.

‘Perhaps not the wisest thing you’ve ever done Jimmy, but it’s too late now, gotta roll with it,’ he thought to himself. The time had come to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and as luck would have it he was all out of gum. He allowed himself a mirthless smile. This was going to be fun.

“With those gold coins, trust me, you’ll be able to stay a handful of nights in the most luxurious inn in town,” the woman still smiled when the man named Flin spoke those words, surely many thoughts about her crossed his mind, his hands showed that, somehow he was more than interesting, many would have ran from she by now. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t caught your name?”, the barman dropped the drinks in front of them as the man spoke.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t enjoy to tell my name in pla-“ her voice faded as she spoke the last word, her eyes quickly moved to the hooded man than just reach them, thoughts crossing her mind, many of them analyzing the size of the man, although Lilith couldn’t see his face, he could be a problem, somehow. Flin’s face grew paler as the man spoke few words. “That is a pretty interesting get-up you have there, Flin. Those glasses something you can get around here?”. Lilith knew that accent from the mountains, he was an elf, which probably meant even more problem. He could be over one hundred years old. This could mean that he was an incredible swordsman. ‘Way too many coulds for a simple situation’, her eyes flowed to Flin, his face revealed few things, but the terror could easily be seen. Maybe he already met someone like the hooded individual once or twice.

The situation worsened when another man jumped into it, he tried to act like a drunk but his odor showed something different. ”Aye Lad! Dem ish framesh I made fer da lad meshelf,” the man horribly tried to fake the accent, probably accomplishing the intent, if it was showing than he was acting. The sober man separated the hooded one and Flin, the latter’s face expressed something close to true terror, that expression somehow managed to double when he spoke to Flin, words than Lilith didn’t understood, but would only be spoken from an ally to another. Flin managed to move and touch her shoulder “I don’t have time to explain, but that hooded guy is bad news. I suggest getting out of here while there is still time”, Lilith was about to move her lips when he left, disappearing between people. ‘Great, I’ll have to find him later’ but the situation was a bit more urgent than following him. She knew he was important. She knew he was one from the people than would guide her to her brother, and even better, she didn’t understood why she was so certain about those things. ‘Guess that will be answered later.’

She saw the hooded man drink, and by his face, that tasted horribly. "You can drop the act, it takes someone with more finesse than you to even try to pretend that you're that drunk. That and your accent is off, something you might have picked up along the way, but it isn't natural”, he ordered more drinks while the man took a more serious position. "So whats your story?" he managed to look at the woman "And yours, if you don't mind my asking."

‘If you don’t mind my asking… was he that impressed when I broke the man’s ribs?’ Lilith’s smile faded long ago, revealing a serious, almost analytic expression. He drank and started to speak. "You took away one interesting thing, by interjecting yourself, so now it is your turn to entertain me.”

“If you thought he was interesting, you’ll think I’m all kinds of shiny, friend”, he drank a bit before speaking; the man’s accent was different from Flin’s, but it brought the same feeling than Lilith felt with Flin. “Name’s James Reaper, most call me Grim Jim, or just Grim, whichever you prefer.” The alabaster skinned woman didn’t move a muscle, that wasn’t the moment, but her mind worked nonstop ‘An interesting name.’

“What’s your interest in the kid, Shah-leh-nah?”, Lilith didn’t understood the last word, but that wasn’t important for the moment. ‘Maybe now is the right time to make my move’ were the words in Lilith’s mind when she stood up from the chair, giggling in the act, loud enough so both would hear. She picked up the tankard the barman left over the table with her right hand, “Oh, come on you two, no one here wants to start a serious fight… breaking ribs in a bar fight is something far acceptable for the Union, but if you are about to get serious, maybe I get…” She walked a few steps, standing at the right side of the man named James, her left hand touching his left shoulder, almost creating a hug. She drank a bit, the drink tasted horribly, but her faced showed nothing, she giggled again. Her eyes fixed in the hood “I’m not sure than anyone in the bar would…” she took a long pause “survive, my elf friend.” Lilith started to smile and speak louder, “Since we all know how the Union greatly maintains situations and keeps the peace in our land in a fair price of course.”

Her face slowly moved to the left, getting closer to James’ right ear. In that movement she saw most people in the bar, most of them stopped again whatever they were doing when she spoke the last sentence. The reaction she wanted them to have. She could hear some whispers, speaking the Union’s name in a bar fight should create the exact situation she wanted. “I’m in your team, that boy is important for me and you, questions later, it should begin in any moment, and you better follow me.” She knew that the hooded man wouldn’t hear what she said, and he probably wouldn’t have a single chance to make a move. A man punched another in the face, screaming incoherent things about the Union and the past, another throwed a tankard that almost hit the trio that watched the situation, many were now screaming their ideals against the others’ while the punching did not stop, the ones than were not in the mood of fighting already started to or already escaped.

Lilith held Grim’s shoulder and started to walk away from the hooded elf, she wondered if he was looking at both or at the ‘situation’ she just created. She threw her almost full tankard against someone, in a manner than it would look like the elf threw it. When that person looked she pointed to the elf and he already started to walk with an angered face to him. She giggled ‘By the Gods, can’t he see than his still with his tankard?’

“We should be going now” were the words to Grim that she spoke, and started to move to the door. She knew that he would follow her, she faced the first row of fighters than were willing to fight against her and then… she started to make her path.