Scott
**Melkaire Amarth
City of Erillia, Araedia**

The warrior's moment of contemplation soon became interrupted by scoffing sounds that came from two men that stood nearby. They were the rough looking sort, covered in dirt and grime, possessing visible scars along their scruffy features. One man, bald and lean scoffed at Melkaire, laughing mockingly at the man. "Oi, lookit a' dis one!" He spoke to the man of tanned complexion and scraggly sandy blonde curls that spilled over his head. "He tryin' ta read, how adorable!" The bald man teased while the other merely chortled along in amusement. 

Azure colored eyes turned to their corners, gazing upon the duo. Lips pressed firm formed the downward curve of frown. A slow, deep breath was drawn in while eyebrows furrowed above an angry glare. With jutting jaw, his teeth began to grind, a low growl emanated from the depths of his throat before he shook his head in an attempt to dismiss their childish behavior, and returned his focus back to the parchment. 

Not wishing to drop it, both of the men sauntered closer towards the warrior, an arrogant stride in their steps accompanied their smug expressions. "Heh, must be a mute too!" The other man finally chimed in, joining his comrade in insulting the much larger man. It was apparent that they were never told the cautionary expression of 'don't poke the bear.' 

"I do not want to fight." Said Melkaire plainly, his head turning to the side to afford a direct glare upon both of them. It was not his desire to engage in an altercation, but the man was no coward, and there would be only so much ignorance he would be able to tolerate. The shift of his left boot moved slowly across the ground, rotating on heel while his opposing appendage moved just slight to grant Melkaire a well-balanced stance.

"Oh?" The bald man scoffed, looking over towards his comrade and giving a nudge of his elbow. "Check out ol' mountain man, 'ere!" A motioning tilt of his head gestured to Melkaire's direction, "Seems like the imbecile *Can* Talk, after all!" The bald man's counterpart eyed Melkaire up and down, a slight upward curve at the corner of his lips, adding to his challenging glare. "He don't look like much to me." Boasted the man, "Just some misbegotten spawn from a union between a bear and some drunken whore." A laugh was shared between the two men, closing distance between themselves and Melkaire. 

"Ye know..." The bald man's features grew stern, clicking his teeth, "...It's too damn bad. Ya see, I dun' very much care fer da way ye lookin' at my friend an' I, 'ere. So I'm's thinkin' we fixin' ta teach ye a lesson!" 

Hands balled into fists were quickly brought up, guarding the man's jaw. With a smile, he pulled his right arm back, sending his fist barreling towards Melkaire, throwing the weight of his body behind it. Melkaire's hand lifted, digits sprawled away from his palm that caught the blow. Immediately, the pressure from Melkaire's weathered, callused fingers quickly enclosed around the bald man's hand. With a quick and sudden jerk of the arm, Melkaire yanked the man towards him as Melkaire shifted his body forward, bringing his left arm upward to bend, striking the bald man in the nose, causing a eruption of the man's vitae to come spilling forth.

From the side, his companion lunged, bellowing out a screeching war cry, only to be silenced nigh immediate by the thunderous force of the warrior's right, booted foot that collided solely into his chest. The blow came with such strength, that it had sent the man flying back, crashing to the cobblestone path, wheezing for air.

Melkaire sighed, knowing that this petty little squabble was a waste of time and was ultimately pointless. With a groan, he shook his head, glancing back and forth between the two men. "I told you that I did not want to fight!" He stated. Eyes turned with a wrathful glare to the bald man, the one who started the whole commotion. "Fools." He hissed, driving his fist to the side of the man's jaw, causing him to go limp and fall to the ground. 

The altercation, though brief, was enough to merit some attention from the gathering crowds- the last thing he wanted to happen. With a look of visible irritation, Melkaire gazed upon the faces that looked back at him, shaking his head once more before he pressed forward, pushing his way through the onlookers towards tavern. It was best to get out of the open as quick as he could, hoping the crowd of the tavern would be enough to mask him for the time being.

Inside, the tavern was lively enough. Albeit small, the cacophony of voices and diversity of patrons was believed to be sufficient cover— at least until the commotion regarding the brief fight outside was settled. Taking great care not to further bring attention to himself, his pace was cautious as he attempted to navigate the crowd. Excusing himself as well as making apologies for those he brushed by.
Douglas
Lady Vivian Agate 
City of Erillia, town tavern 

The young lady has sat herself down at a rusty small table, her hands gently tugging themselves out of the restricting gloves she bored. She let an elegant finger slide over the words, letting what the flimsy paper had informed her. She hummed quietly as a man walked up to her, his scruffy bearded face catching her attention as he leaned on the table, causing a slight whine from the boards. "Well would you look at that, how come there is such a beautiful las in a grungy old place like this hm?" He hummed, his blue pale eyes traveling her form, hungry and desperate, until he saw the flier." Now why do you have that?" He rumbled, his face twisting into confusion. She scoffed at his remark," Obviously I have no intention to continue the conversation you are trying to start. Please leave me be." She stated, her tone was firm and harsh. Little slivers of strains fell onto her face, outlining her heart shaped face. Her viridescent eyes snapping to his, the dark green pools in her eyes shifting and forming into a tsunami. 
.

The man didn't budge, he just tilted his head, giving her a cocky tone," Only men are needed, you would get eaten alive so don't worry about us big folk." He informed her, her response was rolling her eyes. " I'm quite aware who I look like but you underestimate me and what I'm capable of. Now leave me be before I inform someone of your harassment." She glared into his blue eyes, her warning coming out as a sneer and threat for she did not want some air head man telling her what to do. The man grumbled and left but not without letting his eyes linger on her, she shivered. She let a sigh of relief out before ordering a small drink, a woman came shortly after with her glass and apologizing for the wait. Vivian took small sips and analyzed the paper, looking over every detail to know exactly what she would be putting herself into.

She never was someone to do dangerous things but with this opportunity she was over joyed, her body shook with anticipation and anxiety, and she loved it. She had a small smile on her plump flushed lips, her hand gently resting under her chin. She always thought of going on an adventure, to seek out what her father forbid her, to disobey. She was filled with curiosity and determination as she made up her mind, she was going to travel with the group.
James
'The Raven' Anguri, Caravan Leader, Corporal of the 3rd Plume Wing
City of Erillia, Observing the Tavern

A man stood poised at the very edgy of the tavern dining hall. Laughter flooded inwards from one end while serious-toned conversations about the mysterious flier came from the other. The Eetmoch house name hadn't been spoken in years and had remained in relative quiet. Some had figured that the house had simply crumbled and the family behind it had died. The true story is that Otwin was watching and waiting for a moment like this— a time where chaos reigned. A time where calling men to arms would prove to be the most clarion. The Raven watched, counting the men and women that were talking amongst themselves about the paper. 

The Raven was called into action by Otwin himself and was sent to watch for those that were interested in the fliers that were 'accidentally' spilled everywhere. It seemed a little too perfect to be coincidental, but it worked. It was his goal to gather these people and safely escort them to the fortress. He was identifiable by caramel-colored skin, straight black hair that fell to his earlobes and a small patch of fuzz upon his chin. His eyes were nearly a sheer black and dangerous as they moved from one side of the tavern to another. He wore a green arming jock and cotton underpants beneath a quilted skirt. On his right pectoral was an iron badge of the Eetmoch coat-of-arms. If anyone was an extension of Otwin, this would be the man. He was temporary and silent with functionality coming forth as needed. His eyes narrowed as they settled on a man harassingly speaking to a much younger looking woman. Even from where he stood he could hear his bitter tones.

He pushed himself away from the wall and marched forwards towards the assaulter.

Anguri was not a man to stand and watch when things got serious. He set a firm hand on the man that was talking to the woman and by a swift motion he spun the man around to face him. His eyes were stern and unfriendly as they focused on his face. Anguri was a young and threateningly charming looking man; dangerously roguish in the face with a professional flair. He cocked a brow at the man and said in a growl, "I suggest you either leave, or I leave with your scalp in my hand." He said. He stepped close to the man to where their pectorals touched— they were almost the same height and their eyes burned as they crossed gazes.

Yes, it was a tavern, and yes, he felt the eyes of tavern patrons slowly turn and look at him. He was here on one mission and that was it; to gather people interested in the flier and go. This was admittedly more present— his Sergeant would understand and that's all that mattered. He was familiar of the harassments for his skin color and he stood by this woman fiercely for that fact alone— he related to that pain. His eyes moved from the face of the man to glance at her in a moment of comfort, then locking back on the perpetrator.