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The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime

Varnic Universe

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a part of The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime, by Entity of Sin.

An original universe concept created by Cryptic Legends.

Entity of Sin holds sovereignty over Varnic Universe, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

201 readers have been here.

Setting

The Varnic Universe is a concept that contains all kinds of fantasy worlds under one roof for everyone to be explore. The original universe that the regular Calitora Prime world is located in is the middle of the concept spectrum. This concept is much like a ladder. The further you go up the more righteous, divine, and holy Calitora Prime becomes and the opposite the further you go down. These steps on the ladder are considered to be realities within a single dimension of Varnic. There is no limit to the number of realities in a single dimension. They are merely steps on a ladder to measure how someone's character would be responded to by the inhabitance of that version of Calitora Prime.

With all that said, if a character is in the original reality of Calitora Prime on a ladder of 100 realities (reality 50 on the ladder would be the original Calitora Prime), it would be save to say that the ladder with the smaller amount of steps on it would make each reality below and above the original to be significantly changed for the worse, unless you're character is truly neutral. Characters of the opposite alignment of the majority of the inhabitance of a particular reality of Varnic will result in that character receiving very negative, usually borderline hostile, reaction.

On another note, the first dimension of Varnic is the original one and is considered to be fantasy by default. Any additional dimensions of Varnic are mixture of fantasy genre content with all sorts of other genres, such as sci-fi, steampunk, cyberpunk, modern, etc.

This concept is a product and creation of Cryptic Legends.
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Varnic Universe

An original universe concept created by Cryptic Legends.

Minimap

Varnic Universe is a part of The Chronicles of Varnic: Calitora Prime.

1 Places in Varnic Universe:

2 Characters Here

Mertan McDaffan [0] An overly energetic alchemist adept.
Artanis Nacadius Meridius [0] A charismatic elven champion that desires nothing more than a glorious death and to be honored for eternity.

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Mertan couldn't help but chant along. He was a captive of the arena's atmosphere.
"Ar-ta-nis! Ar-ta-nis! Ar-ta-nis!" He chanted, looking down at the elven champion.
Mertan had had a great deal of luck to get in. The arena had been filled up quite fast, and Mertan had had himself a front seat.
The last battle of the day, and what a fight it would be. He could actually feel the air buzz with anticipation.

People around him, were finer dressed than he, but he ignored the fact that he looked like a pig in a chicken coop.
Most of the people around him were a little overweight, and wore fine clothes.
Those who sat just besides him all had grimaces. Wrinkling their noses at something, although Mertan couldn't make out what.
Maybe they just allways looked like that... poor souls.

Mertan himself sat with his large backpack at his feet. No need to have it in his lap.
He was absent-mindedly biting at his thumbnail. A bad habit, which he had no intention of breaking.
His short blonde hair shone brightly golden in the sunlight. The source of a lot of dismay among the finer folks around him.
His hair actually DID smell like... goose-fat? And that wasn't the best of smells.
His clothes hanging slackly down, worn out and dirty from the long time on the road. Although his white linen shirt underneath was washed and clean, which of course couldn't be seen from the outside. His appearance was very much in the style of one, who'd won enough to see the fight, by gambling. Which might be true, for all they knew.
He sat there, enthralled by the spectacle, even though the battle hadn't started yet.
But he was interrupted. A sneeze was massing up in the back of his head, and he could but draw back his face in a grimace.
"A-a-a- - - WATCHU!!!" the spittle flew out of his mouth, but luckily for him, no one really noticed. Most were too busy chanting.
Mertan dried off his face, using his sleeve. Then focused back on the arena floor. Hoping that something would happen soon enough.
Time was passing by so slowly when you had to wait.

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= Gamaliel of Merkhava =

Clouds of dust plumed along the Via Vantia, cluttering the roads with dirt as the sun reached its apogee. It was late noon and the fires of the burning sun's signaled the end of another day. Most arriving traffic proved light as much of the day’s business had concluded and save for the large wagon train occupying the road, few other travelers trekked through this direction of the Vantian way. As the wagons rolled past, the occupant commodities were visible from the iron bars forming around the cages. A towering, cloaked figure watched as the wagons rolled, staring into the frightened pairs of eyes looking back at him from behind the wagon’s cage bars. From their looks of despair and youthful features, the occupants could not have been more than eleven years of age. The figure merely looked on, watching helplessly as the drivers cracked their whips, urging their mounts forwards as several armed escorts flanked the cages.

Slave traders returning from another successful slave run and no doubt setting their eyes upon the Vantian marketplace. Once the precious stock had reached the markets, profits would burden their pouches enough for drink, women, dice, and lavish souvenirs. As the escorts moved past, most eyed his modest entourage of loyal followers, gripping their blades with suspicion as they proceeded further down the Via Vantia. Gamaliel Fureidis, leader of the mounted entourage looked back, returning the favor with a piercingly stare, unyielding to their intimidating stares.

Such a waste … he thought.

Though slavery proved a common aspect of life, the mention of selling living humans to better one’s fortunes disgusted Gamaliel. Shackling an innocent to a life of forced servitude ranked amongst the lowest of scum and for what? Coin? Shifty women? Indulgences of gluttony at the expense of another’s livelihood? Where was law when Riv’Nar’s subjects needed them most? Gamaliel could do nothing for the slaves lest he summon wrath of the Vantian urban constable or the might of a dozen Riv’Narian cohorts snapping at his heels. No, he knew better than to risk upon the pursuance of foolish gallantries and he couldn’t afford to right the countless injustices committed by an army of criminals.

“Sir,” said a voice behind him, “The games commence within the hour; best blood sport of the century.”

Gamaliel turned to find his armored adjutant riding behind himself. Shifting within his saddle, the towering horseman glanced up towards the late noon sun and nodded, rubbing his rust colored beard with acknowledgement.

“We’d best be off then, Maximinius,” he answered firmly, “Alert the guard of our arrival and inform the others we ride for the arena.”

The armored companion nodded and saluted before wheeling the mount around and kicking off in the opposite direction. The retinue of rear following mounted guards set off a moment later, trailing a mountain of dust as they veered off the Via Vantia, following the composed horseman and he galloped off into the setting sun. The bustling town of Vantia stood only a few miles away and further journeying down the Vantian highway proved all that was necessary to reach the Vantian arena.

--------

The Arena with erupted with electricity as the last round of gladiatorial games commenced. Artanis, the legendary elven gladiator emerged amidst cries of approval to his continued presence.

Ta-nis, Ta-nis, Ta-nis, Ta-nis,” the crowd screamed, many pumping their fists into the air, others stamping their feet in favor.

Even members of the Arena guard clacked their spear butts at the crowd’s direction, lending support to the undefeated gladiator champion. A figure cloaked in sky blue sat in his seat a few dozen meters away, watching patiently and waiting for the final round’s commencement. The sneeze of a young blonde haired man brought about renewed attention to Artanis and gently retrieving the knots of his silver neck chain, Gamaliel pinned the sapphire embedded ring to his head, offering a blessing from the God of Harmony to guide the elven gladiator to victory. His blessing wadded through a sea of commotion, delivering his words in concentrated grace. When he'd finished, the cloaked man turned and gazed at the sun again, watching and waiting. The sun was setting and the last rays of light shone down near the elf’s position, amplified his presence with a mist of moving dust. The day was good as any to fight glorious battle and there could be only one victor …

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Double Post, many apologies.

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= Gamaliel of Merkhava =

After the last arena round had concluded, Gamaliel quietly departed as did much of the crowd. The Colisseum grounds required cleaning and there was little reason for remaining with the main spectacles having exhausted their main attracting tenures. With the fading light, the looming darkness signaled the day’s end, prompting most Vantian street goers, both visitors and residents to return home or run about their evening activities. Naturally, Gamaliel and his retinue retired to the Bronze Inn; an ordinary tavern along Vantia’s market district and a popular destination to Vantia’s out of town visitors. Not sixty yards away, another Inn, named ‘The Talon’s Nest’, rivalled the Bronze, attracting higher end customers, yet times were hard and for a tavern, the Bronze Inn served adequately as customary to its location and purpose. The cheap ale, affordable rooming, low grade whores, busty serving girls, decent evening troubadours, and warm meals were adequate enough and it’d been a long day for Gamaliel and his men. Tired, hungry, and in need of rest, the guard took relief in finally reaching civilization again. Though much was at stake, the weary retinue had spent the better course of a week travelling the countryside and it’d been some time since they’d encountered civilization or rest under a proper roof. Gamaliel’s gambit had paid off and an excessive forced ride through the past two nights had brought them to Vantia.

They were rewarded the privilege of a warm meal and fine drafts afforded by the Inn’s stockades. Gamaliel set about discussing matters with Maximinius and Ennodius and plotting their objectives for coming months. The very existence of the Rivian state became a matter of discussion and aside from their oaths of sworn purpose, the matter of affairs concerning rapid declines in grain harvesting and the sharp rise in food prices also came to bear. It didn’t require much forethought to know that Riv’Nar was floundering and conditions would surely worsen as the months and years progressed. Gamaliel had sat in court circles, listening and watching as the aristocracy sat about their estates, levying exhausting taxes while the Rivian common folk barely scraped enough to survive. Pleas for aid came on deaf ears as the royal family ignored the state of affairs. They built gardens and emptied the treasury, filling the royal palace in wasteful squalor. Even in Vantia, where coin promised comfort, the hardship became evident as more and more beggars roamed the streets.

Enough was enough and the times called for ...

"Hey! Get your dirty fingers out of my satchel!" a voice yelled, over the evening commotion. Gamaliel turned as all chatter ground to a halt.

Customers froze, eyes leaped, and all attention averted in the general direction of a greasy haired teenager standing near the doorway. Many of the dwarves simply rolled their eyes, returning to their drinks as if nothing had ever happened, yet the gaze of many humans remained transfixed upon the greasy haired youth.

"He's a liar,” shouted another voice, pointing towards the greasy youth, “It's my belongings! That little brat stole them from me on the marketplace!"

"WHAT!?" the youth cried, attracting additional odd stares from the evening crowd.

Maximinius eyed Gamaliel, flickering his pugio in readiness, yet the older man raised his arm, ordering the adjutant down in wisdom. The man was clearly lying as evidenced through his suspicious ruffling of the youth’s satchel not several moments ago and it shamed the bearded leader to witness such lowly acts of larcenous crimes. This, however, was not the time for attention, and in silence, Gamaliel looked on; watching and waiting while youth decided his next course of action ...

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#, as written by Raize
The shady figure in the corner of the building had not spoken as it watched the odd commotion. It seemed that this tavern could not be peaceful for more than a few minutes before a drunken rogue would begin to stir up trouble. A calloused and rough hand slid out of the dark colored cloak to pick up the glass half filled with amber colored liquid that sparkled in the dim light.

Clink, clink, clink. the slow, tapping against the sparkling glass filled the room. Rhythmically, the shadowed figure jabbed it with a short, clipped finger nail. What had been a filled glass but a few seconds before was nearly half empty, or half full depending upon the way you look at it. The hand slowly let the glass drop, though it was quite a ways away from the table top.

Thump

The glass landed perfectly flat against the wooden table, the liquid not even shaking as the fingers withdrew into the burgundy cloak. It shifted slightly, the figure that is, watching, and waiting. Though, what as there to wait for? A low chuckle slipped from the hooded figure's unseen lips as the other hand slid out to drop a single silver coin onto the table top, the small ding! could be heard as it hit against the side of the crystal glass.

A nervous server tiptoed up to the table, his eyes darting warily as he quickly grabbed the cool metal circle and the half filled glass, scurrying away as fast as a mouse being chased by a cat. As soon as the server's back was turned, the Cloaked one drew itself up, standing slowly, but steadily, not at all tall, nor intimidating. Though the other tavern patrons around it quickly dispersed.

With a flick of the wrist, the hood was shaken off to reveal bright eyes that took everything in what seemed to be a matter of a few moments. The woman who owned these keen visionary tools settled herself at the bar, shaking back her mane of tousled locks, and shoving back what seemed to be the irritating wool of the cloak itself.

"Oi, bartender." She spoke in a crisp voice, no-nonsense type as she banged her fist against the bar's counter, impatient to get on with the day. "Gimme the strongest you've got, I've been goin' easy all night." She drawled softly, perhaps an after effect of the previous drink, or perhaps not.

The bartender poured her a strong smelling drink, shoving it her direction with an annoyed look on his face, sending his hand towards her, palm up, which she graced with another four silver coins which clinked joyfully. The bartender gave a satisfied smirk at this, rushing away for fear that it was too much.

The woman gave a satisfied grunt at this, draining the glass in a single gulp, relishing the nauseating flavor as she slammed the glass back onto the bar counter, shaking it roughly. Her hands quivered after this as she leaned back, sighing, her whole body trembling as she turned her curious gaze about the bar, though she saw nothing in the state she was in.

Pivoting back to the glass she had struck onto the bar counter, she examined it closely, bringing it to her face as she withdrew her hands into her cloak, pulling out a small hammer, smaller than the palm of her hand. She set the glass onto the bar counter once more, drawing her finger along an invisible flaw in the pretty glass.

....Smash! She tapped the hammer against a specific point onto the glass, causing it to break into two neat halves. She grinned at this, slowly sliding the pieces of glass into the folds of her cloak, hooking the hammer back into her belt.

She recieved many stares at this, which she promptly ignored as she heard the bustling voice of someone who sounded less than happy. With a quick gait she turned around, leaning her back against the bar counter, and her elbows propping her upper body weight.

“What the fuck! I'd have words with the fucking cunt that did that!” The obviously angry man seemed to scream at the..Could that be? The victor that had been set free today..What was his name, Artanis. A beast at his side.

“Hey you little fuck!” The man yelled yet again, getting an angry glare from Llyr, her hand sliding down onto her toolbelt, grasping what seemed to be a dagger-like object, an over sized nail. But the beast seemed to have it covered, growling and snarling furiously as the man took a few steps towards Artanis.

Hm..I'm sure he can handle himself.. She reasoned with herself, still watching, waiting. Though her hand hadn't untightened around the nail, razor sharp as she had scraped it against a wall for hours and hours on end to entertain herself.

She'd make herself comfortable washing. Llyr didn't like to get into fights, it brought her adrenaline too high. She prefered to be the amused onlooker, though, sometimes it wasn't too amusing. With a deep sigh, she crossed her ankles, leaning the palms of her hands against her hips, the calloused fingers wiggling gently as she let a small chuckle slide out.

"Hm..This is the reason I don't get out much.." She mused softly as she watched, slightly uneasy, but playing it cool, to a certain extent, the palms of her hands were already sweating, and she'd begun to fidget, a nervous habit. She didn't like suspense..
At all.

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When the door hit the thief, Mertan was more than relieved. The thief had dropped the bag, and had turned around in anger. Mertan didn't stop to think twice, he grabbed his bag and backed away from the thief, up to the counter, and against the wall. Trying to stay a little incognito.
He could feel his hands shake, and a little sweat run down his neck, but else he was fine. That was, untill the thief came up to the counter at the bar, and began sneering at the man who'd opened the door into his back. Mertan was afraid he'd be caught at a tavern brawl, but luckily a ... DOG! The blood drained from Mertan's face, as the massive dog sneered at the thief, you could see the fear painted in the face of the smalltime thief. He backed off, which was more than Mertan could. He was paralyzed by fear.
He began hyperventilating, trying to get some air. Looking around the room in panic.
"Why am I allways caught up in this kind of situations? It's not like I've done anything wrong is it? I've not hit anyone, I behave... mostly well and I haven't drugged anyone... yet." he babbled out loud, then caught himself in doing so, and looked down at the floor, although he held an eye on the dog.

As a minute had passed, and the thief had withdrawn, and people seemed to be loosing interest in everything, but the champion, Mertan began to relax slightly, although he was still afraid of the dog.
"You ought to say thanks to the elf... Are you serious? ... Absolutely! He did save your belonging didn't he? ... I suppose you're right. God how awful... I know, how can it be that your morals actually tells you to do something nice? ... It was you, who attacked that merchant you moron!" Mertan thought, taking an unexpected turn.
"Who do you call a blustering moron you selfrighteous little asshole!" He burst out, fortunately not getting as much attention now, as he had had with the thief. Only a pair of curious, or reproachful stares from the surrounding guests, who happened to be a table of dwarves and some satyrs...
"Sorry." muttered to the table, and then turned to look at the elf. He'd have to say something to the elf, anything would do. As long as he didn't make a fool of himself.

On and on went the time, it felt like years, although it was seconds. Mertan had finally built up the courage to go say something, actually he'd like to say anything.
He took a pair of insecure steps over to Artanis, he was scared of the dog, so he kept a little back from Artanis.

"Uhmm excuse me. I'd like to thank you for helping me with that thief back at the door..." Mertan said, looking everywhere but at Artanis, Mertan could actually feel his face reddening. This must've been his worst idea EVER.

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The elf stood to address the thief behind him as his dog continued to snarl at the man. Turning around, the tall well built warrior stared down at the thief who happened to be shorter. A glare from the elven warrior pierced through the thief's conviction of stabbing the elf. He had backed down quickly and walked out of the tavern cursing under his breath in anger. It did not take long for the mangy black dog to turn its attention towards the young boy who wanted to thank him for dealing with the thief. A hand was placed on the dog's head and the animal instantly corrected the behavior and went back to drinking from the water bowl.

“Gratitude is not required. My eyes and ears were absent of events between you and that man.” said Artanis with a deep bass filled voice that seemed to thunder out.

Silence fell over the two of them for a moment or two before an oversized man bursts from the depths of the kitchen chasing after a small scampering rodent with meat cleaver in hand. It was a comical scene at best and the dog at elf's feet was getting extremely angry at all the unnecessary noise and snarled at everyone that was contributing to the disturbance.

The event quickly ended with the rodent finding refuge near a woman at the bar. A smirk of amusement sweep across the elf's face as he pointed at the aged soldier that stood erect ,like a barrier, in between the mob and the woman. Smirk of amusement quickly transformed into a flush of admiration towards the man to place himself in harms way for another through the creation of a grin.

“Boy, stay here.” demanded Artanis of the boy while taking steps towards the man who has come to the defense of a woman.

It did not take long for the champion to be standing next to the armed soldier. Eyes shimmering for the blood of anyone who dares step forward and declare their challenge. Hand held firmly on the hilt of his sheathed sword on his back that is shielded by his broad shield. The choice to stand in a situation that would warrant unnecessary combat was a choice he could make at this point with his newly acquired freedom. Even the animal prize stood next to its master and snarled viciously at the mob of patrons.

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#, as written by Raize
The volume of the tavern seemed to up to a roar as Llyr sat quietly, observing the bar in her appropriate, and habitual silence. She hadn't had a lot to drink, meaning she was sober enough to grasp that something was obviously wrong in the room, unlike the man next to her, who seemed to be slobbering drunk, and fast asleep. The snores distracted her, Llyr shot the sleeping, grungy looking man a look that was filled with distaste as well as annoyance, but was unfortunately unnoticed by the slumbering bar patron.

Llyr craned her neck to see what the commotion was about, unable to see in the mass of people that seemed to be screaming, running, ducking, jumping, and hacking away at anything in sight. Llyr sat back to study the situation, though the ruccus around her was proving to be rather distracting to her train of thought. Seeing the cook, with his, blood splattered and rusty cleaver in hand gave Llyr a fine idea on why he would be running around screaming bloody murder.

A mouse. Really? Llyr shook her head ruefully, the hood flapping at her neckline as she shifted into a more adequate position, legs spread, appropriately of course beneath her cloak as her sharp, intelligent eyes pierced the room with a somewhat secretive fashion. The mouse scampered about the room, squeaking in what seemed to be it's own language, though you could tell by the way it squealed that it wasn't too happy about the turn of events, from dinner time to murder.

Llyr felt a bit of sympathy for the mouse as she winced at each bang the wooden tables made when the cook's meat cleaver failed to reach the prospective--rather frazzled and furry--target the mouse. She sighed in sympathy for it, of course not knowing what was to come for herself as she watched it, her hands clenched beneath the cloak in agony for the poor creature.

Llyr analyzed the way the cook held the cooking knife in the palm of his hand and moaned at the waste of energy he used to swing that thing around like a maniac. She positioned her own hand beneath her cloak, keeping her wrist up straight, and her fingers curled gently around the imaginary handle as she swung downwards in a chopping motion towards her left knee. It was a perfectly aimed swing, and she smiled at this, still happy that she had it in her, but her thoughts strayed elsewhere as she caught the flick of the mouse's brown tufted tail.

Poor creature..she thought to herself, though if she were to be true to herself she was bluntly amused. As the cook flung the cleaver in his hand dangerously, it whacked through a lady's blouse, causing it to hang low for all to see, whilst the mouse dashed away once more. Llyr could not help but let a small bout of laughter over take her frame as she watched the lady screech, but the chase was on as the mouse, with the cook in pursuit, ran away once more, coming towards her.

The young maiden--Llyr that is-- felt a rustle of fabric between her crisscrossed calves and let out a squeak of her own as she saw what appeared to be two, bright, onyx colored beads staring back at her. The mouse, and the maiden, were one for but a second as Llyr's heart softened at the sight of the small forbidden creature. Soft, velvety, pinkish ears poked out, straight up, whilst the bristly black whiskers quivered. The small paws shaking gently as it stared out at Llyr forlornly, as though hoping against hope that this youthful face did not want to destroy it like everyone else did.

Llyr scooped it up quickly, surprised that the mouse seemed to consent, huddling in her hands, a little creature that seemed to be full of pure fear. She figured that it was petrified, or paralyzed by the huge amount of stress put onto it's little mind, and little body. Llyr was so entranced by it's tiny perfect features, from its shiny black button eyes, to its long, whip-like tail most likely used for balance and better running. She marveled at its tiny paws, she could have looked at it, studied it forever except--

"Kill it!" The scream broke through Llyr's fast moving thoughts as she looked up to see a mob of rather angry, rather frightening people. Her mind went on fast forward, as though someone had pushed the button that caused Llyr to panic. Jerking backwards, though still cradling the mouse within her open palms she gaped at the crowd of people obviously set on killing the mouse, and not minding chopping off her limbs in the process!

The broad was surprised by the one who stood between her and the highly irritated group of people, a single raise of Llyr's delicate brows would have stated the curiousity, and the surprise that went well with it. Her hands trembled, still cupping over the small, and nearly paralyzed mouth within their vicinity as she watched in wonder as the man, well into his years took charge of the pitiless, and rather chaotic situation, while she hovered in the back of the area.

Yet, even more surprised at the quick turning of events, she recognized the former gladiator Artanis stand, straight, dignified, right next to Gamaliel, but he, she knew who he was. The animal at his side, she did not however. She shuddered as she watched it snarl, it's muscles bunching and quivering, it was a strong creature, she could say that much. She watched it, slightly entranced by those powerful legs, and sharp teeth, before snapping out of it as quickly as it had come. If only she could replicate that power.

Finally, something in Llyr snapped. To say it was good would be a lie, but to say it was bad would also be something less preferable, somewhat of a fib. Her body began to move once more, in a not so robotic way, fluid and graceful as she shifted her weight off of the barstool and onto her feet, gliding to the side of Gamaliel. (Whom she did not know, yet, obviously.) With a swift glance at the taller, rather looming males she cleared her throat, thrusting the mouse roughly back beneath the cloak, while the small mouse didn't seem to protest all too much.

"I'll take care of the mouse, it'll be gone before..Err..It'll be gone." She spoke hesitantly, but proudly, each word pronounced, and accentuated with a slight shaking her head, the noble, defined chin that could only come from a arrogant personality bobbing up and down numerous times before coming to a stop, the straggly and stringy locks of hair that were attached to her head brushing against her cheeks as she faced the crowd, with Gamaliel at her side, though she felt alone once more, as she always did.

A lone farmer pushed his way through the crowd, eyeing Llyr with an intensity that made her very, very uncomfortable. She took a step back, taken aback by this strange twist on events as she stared at him, though he leered at her, an eye closed, his face grizzled and his porkbelly sticking out of his trousers.

"Lady, give me the damn rat and I won't stick my pitchfork in yah'!" He grinned at her again, his mouth filled with yellowed and an assortment of crooked teeth, though it looked like most of them had fallen out. Llyr winced at the wave of bad breathe that washed over her face as she took another step back, lightly tripping over what appeared to be a rock of somesort and tumbling to the ground, still backing away uneasily.

"N-no!" She said, a bit louder this time. The farmer looked taken aback at this, frowning somewhat as he pulled out what looked like a broken piece of glass from his back pocket and holding it at a rather menacing angle from Llyr's perspective. Though she stayed level headed as she glanced at down at her hands. She couldn't do combat at all, she couldn't do anything like that, even to an old man. She was useless in the face of fighting to be sure.

A thousand different scenarious flickered through her mind as she examined the sharp, jagged edge of the makeshift dagger he held possessively in his hand, she felt her brain turn on again, out of its hibernation as she guessed that this had probably been from a broken window, or perhaps something else rather fragile, yet still deadly and wickedly sharp. The farmer grinned menacingly at the girl as he took another step forward, a small, low chuckle slipping out of his cracked chapped lips. Llyr didn't say anything, but if she died by a broken piece of glass, she would never forgive herself.

Ever. But then again, she'd be dead.

The mouse burrowed into her cloak, not sure of what was to come, it was just relieved that there was no cat near by, or anything. But it did smell another animal. Peeking its head out, it squeaked in fright! Diving back into the cloak and huddling there, hoping the animal wouldn't eat it. (The animal being Artanis' creature of course.) With a soft gasp, her breathe slightly less stable than she wanted it to be, Llyr waited for what was to come, because that old farmer looked a lot meaner with a sharp serated edge, than with a bundle of hay in his arms.

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Mertan looked at the elder paladin-like man, who stood up, speaking to the crowd. Not that the speech was very interesting to Mertan, he'd never really heard of the massacre they were talking about, neither did he really care about it. His world was here and now, and not what once were.
He turned around, to look at his bag. It seemed just as full as allways. The crowd seemed to be calming down, so Mertan felt that he should utilize this great opportunity, to sneak out the backdoor. Even though fighting had been avoided, blood would enevitably be shed, and he wasn't going to stand there and wait for it.
If the farmers did indeed rebel, they'd get trampled down by imperial legionaires, and if they didn't they'd see Artanis, the old man, the lady with the mouse and Mertan himself, as the enemies, and a knife in the back didn't sound like a nice thing.

As he backed a little back, he realized that people weren't noticing him. Who would care for an orphaned teenager anyways?
Mertan picked up his bag, and as if by a miracle, it didn't even rattle as it usually did. So with an abnormal stealth, he began sneaking back out, through the kitchen, and out into the yard. From there he'd get his mule, and get the hell out of town.

He looked around in the kitchen. Things were pretty neatly stacked, and everything was in good order. The chef was obviously a perfectionist, and when he'd seen the mouse he'd wanted to clear out the rodent. He must be a chef of great skill, because most cooks didn't care if there was a pair of rodents in the food supply.
Mertan actually regretted that he hadn't ordered something in the tavern, but things had of course changed, so he felt it was best to leave.

As he wandered through the kitchen, his eyes caught sight of a wooden cabinet, with the sign "Spices". He was instantly on the track, he wanted to see if the chef was in possesion of some of the more rare herbs, or even some of the herbs that have magical propeties...
A quick glance at the cabinet, revealed that the side wasn't reinforced very well, or actually made by good southern woodworker. Northern bunch of crap, was the best way to describe it.
He quickly went through his neatly packed satchel, and found his hammer, and a wooden nail. He placed the nail on the slight crack between the side of the cabinet, and the front. A quick hard slam with the hammer, and the first side of the cabinet was loose. Quickly Mertan made sure to do the same with the other sides of the cabinet, and then took of the side panel. He was well trained in woodworking, so it only took him a pair of seconds, as he realised he could just use his chisel, and spare his good wooden nails.

The soothing smell of spices filled the room, as he looked at the many cheramic containers, with both foreign and common spices. Mertan made sure to snatch the ones he allready knew the properties of, and then looked at the topshelf.
As he'd been suspecting, a dozen containers were set there, and they were properly sealed. Mertan quickly made sure to stove them down in his satchel. Now he'd just have to get out of the backdoor, and get to his magnificent steed!

But as destiny has it, there was 2 big dogs in the yard. When he opened the door, he quickly closed it again. He'd have to go out of the main door then.

Again, he sneaked back to the door to the main oom, and opened it up, slightly so he could see what was going on.
"Consider your welfare ... or not" The elder man said, and turned to walk away.
Quickly, Mertan made sure to step up closer to him and Artanis, people seemed to be well entertained by the knights with gleaming swords, that they didn't catch sight of him. Luckily for Mertan. So he quickly paced up behind the old man, to make sure that he could get out of the tavern. The man seemed to be influential, and thus, a good human shield.

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The fire was crackling with a homely sound. The darkness outside the grove seemed to be even darker now that he had a campfire. His pot were already over the fire, warming some of the swampwater. Mertan had picked the trick of boiling swampwater before drinking it from an old man he'd been travelling with. In fact it had been the very same man who introduced him to alchemy.

His water had been boiling for a pair of seconds, before he moved it away from the fire. It was pretty hot, but he'd made sure to take the cloth from his satchel and used it to take the pot. He poured up some of the hot water into one of his earthenware cups, then he strew a few leafs into the water. "I wish I had some camomille..." he muttered to himself. Again he looked in his satchel and took out a spoon. It took a little of stirring, but eventually his tea was well distributed and a faint scent of strawberry began to rise from the cup.

As he finnished his cup of tea and the 3 slices of bread with butter and salt, he could feel his fingers itch. The satchel besides him was open, and he could see the small jars of ingredients. Especially the ones with half-magical properties caught his eyes.
As soon as he was all finnished, he poured out most of the water, so only a little reamined on the bottom of his pot. He quickly retrieved a pair of pouches of these potent spices. A dip of his finger into each, told him that his normal supply would be greatly enchanced by this cooks spices.

After a pair of moments of experimenting with small portions of the spices, Mertan decided to go big and make a vial of the strong Palisphaat. Surely it'd be good against a cold or flu. He began mixing the red spice, and soon the air around him were hard to breathe, and his eyes were watering while his nose was running. Simply a cruel way to be using ones evening, but he'd chosen himself...