Joseph
Anyanka had been recounting the story of poor Dayveth and his seasickness. She'd tried her best to help keep the man distracted, including but not limited to keeping him in her bed for a majority of the journey. He'd still been sick though, and she couldn't quite pass up the irony of the doctor being the only one sick on the journey. 

Angelica, for some reason, hadn't scolded her for her time with the doctor either, which she found incredibly suspicious. She warned against every man that fell into her bed, and considering Doctor Coren's lack of nobility, she assumed she'd get an earful the moment they were home. 

However the blonde was surprisingly chipper, and they drank happily, telling stories of their adventures in the Isles before bed. With tomorrow would come work once more, Anya had planned a meeting with the council to inform them of the request Bradai Maith had made of her and to gain their opinion on it. The Queen was still torn herself on what she should do about it. Of course she wanted what was best for her son, and if a month away meant making him less of a zombie and feeling alive again, she wasn't opposed to it. However, after her last time away, she felt the council deserved to be aware of her options, and to be included in their decision.

A knock sounded on her office door, and she moved to answer it, finding herself before a gateguard. "Pardon the intrusion, Your Grace. I just thought you should know Master Haramattan has returned to the castle." 

"Already? That was fast." Angelica mused, finishing off her wine. Anya thanked the man, and looked to Angelica.

"I suppose I should go find him." 

"Isn't it his job to report to you?"

"Knowing him, he'll sulk for the rest of the night then find me tomorrow. I don't want him sulking and coming to the meeting tomorrow with a bad energy." 

Angelica nodded, and held out Anya's glass to her in offering, but the woman denied it, which caused the blonde to down it before standing, preparing to go to bed herself. 

They departed, and Anya headed for Zane's office, knocking on it twice with her knuckle before waiting for him to respond.
Miguel
Zane had finished a few of the letters to his agents, and had opened a bottle of wine and began to smoke a cigar, when he heard a knock on his office door. He shuffled the papers into his desk, and stretched out a bit as he stood and headed to the door. He didn't quite know who he was expecting when he opened it, but it wasn't Anyanka. He didn't expect her until the next day, to be honest.

"Madame." He greeted her, opening the door wider so as to allow her access. Extinguishing the cigar, he threw it onto his desk as they approached it. "I'm going to be honest, I wasn't expecting you to come for the report until tomorrow."
Joseph
"I didn't expect you home so early." She countered, and moved passed him. His office smelled of smoke, and she didn't mind the smell, it was oddly comforting. Her fingers grazed his desk as she walked towards it, and she turned to face him. There was a tang beneath the smell of smoke, but she couldn't quite place it yet. 

"So where did you disappear to? I thought we were going to have a nice family vacation in the Isles, and _someone_ disappears from the ship." She wasn't scolding, she was being playful, or at least trying to sound playful. "I hope it was important."
Miguel
"In my defense, I left a note, Mother." He replied, a small smile on his face. "Hopefully I didn't leave to much of a bad taste lingering for the family vacation."

"Honestly surprised anyone even noticed I was missing." He mumbled to himself, stretching a bit.

"I went to Araedia," He started, all pretenses of joking gone. "I was trying to find out why they paid Amalthea to attack Mikhail." He paused for a second, moving to the other side of the desk. He grabbed the bottle of wine, and offered it to her. "And I don't know if I'm glad that I found something out, or if I wished I didn't."
Joseph
Anya rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as he mumbled. "Enough, Zane. You're acting like a kicked puppy. You're my spymaster, it's your _job_ to disappear. Angelica and I expect it, and when you leave we don't whine about it because we are glad to know you're doing your _real_ job and not playing babysitter to a prisoner." She gave a small huff, and turned to place both her hands on the corner of his desk as he circled around it. 

"We notice. We miss you. But we don't complain." She raised a brow, wanting to continue more on the topic, but deciding to leave it when he mentioned Araedia. 

"What did you find?"
Miguel
"They wanted to keep Bradai off the continent, so they wanted Mikhail dead. The fact that both you and Mikhail are shitbloods didn't really help." He started, taking a small sip of the wine. "They hired me to kill Mikhail." He added on, shrugging a bit.

"The thing that confuses me the most though is that a servant told me this. So she wasn't able to tell me why they wanted him to stay off the continent, but only that they did." He yawned after he said this, shaking his head slightly. "I plan on sending some of my agents in, see if they can get any information from there. They'll be under orders to not interfere with the kingdom, but I want them to figure this out for us."
Joseph
Her brow knitted. "Why would they hire you to kill Mikhail? What the hell does Mikhail have to do with Araedia?" She questioned. Wanting to keep Bradai away from the continent was one thing, but he's only ever come here to drop Mikhail off, he wasn't intending to stay. And he wasn't the kind to travel anyway, at least not in her experience. Mikhail would be going to see him, if anything, not Bradai to Astoria. She pressed her lips into a line regardless. 

"Maith isn't on the continent anyway, why do they still want him dead? What did _Maith_ do that means they want _my_ son dead?"
Miguel
"They hired me to kill Mikhail, cause it was either I convinced them we were mercenaries, or we would possibly be executed. So I took the safe option." He started, another yawn breaking through him. "As for what he's done, I don't know at this current point in time."

He gestured to the letters on his desk, and sighed. "Questions like that are why I'm sending my agents there. I'm going to try to get anything I can. Hopefully we can find something out, but that's all we can do now, unless you want to try to get the information out of Bradai himself." He told her, a tired look on his face. Shaking his head, took another sip of wine. It was helping him stay awake, and that's what mattered right now.
Joseph
"Well you're not killing Mikhail, if that wasn't already obvious." She warned him. "I'll personally rip your balls from your body if you touch a single hair on that boy." It was already fucked enough when Maith let him chop his own hair. She really needed to fix it next time she saw him. 

"I can ask Bradai about it, I'll be seeing him again soon enough." She mused, and pushed a hand through her hair. The smoke had finally cleared, and the smell beneath it finally was recognizable. "You were hurt in Araedia, weren't you?" She asked, noting the blood smell in the air. "How badly, who else was?"
Miguel
He rolled his eyes at her telling him he wasn't killing Mikhail. "Wasn't planning on killing him, had to say I was to escape."

Rolling his shoulder a bit, he gestured to the cut off sleeve, the tiniest bit of bandage peeking out from underneath it. "It was only me that got hurt, and all honesty, the only reason I may be alive is because I had Nero there to watch my back." He sighed at that, and pulled his shirt up towards his shoulders, showing off the rest of the bandages. "It didn't seem too deep, but it got a good length to it. Went from about my navel to my right shoulder." Looking down at the bandages, he grimaced. "Though it seems to be a bit of a bleeder." The bandages he got in The Blazing Bull had already been ruined by his blood, and the smell hitting him was how Zane figured that was how Anya had found out about it.
Joseph
He raised his shirt and she inhaled deeply. The sigils on her arms itched at the sight, and she moved around his desk to examine them better. Anya crouched before him, more concerned about the wound that crossed his navel and torso than his shoulder. If he'd gotten sliced through entrails, he'd be dead before the week was out. Her fingers rolled the bandage upwards, and a fresh wave of blood coated her fingertips as the bandage was moved aside. Once more she made an unpleasant face, not having expected it to happen, but the itching turned to pulsing at the contact. The sigils flared to life, and her skin flushed a bit at the heat that came with it as she tried not to focus on the white hot glow and instead on Zane's wounds. 

"Who has looked at these, anyone?" The question was quiet, and she lifted her gaze to him, not wanting to pull the bandage up further with him standing.
Miguel
"Nero looked at it in the field, and Azule looked at it when we returned to Zahrada." He told her, rolling his shoulders. Zane moved his gaze to hers, and a small smile grew on his face. "I've taken worse. This won't kill me. I threw some alcohol on it to clean it, and I plan on having it bandaged and wrapped at all times."

"Be careful though," He told her, gesturing to her hands, even though he made no attempt to move them."I don't think you'd want me to stain your dress."
Joseph
"Shut up, Zane. I can get a new dress, I can't get a new spymaster." She murmured, and stood from her place before him. "Come with me, we're going to fix you up." She told him plainly, her fingers rubbing together the blood on her hands. Magic flickered in her veins and over her skin, and she was for some reason very aware of how to go about fixing him. 

Back home, in her youth, she'd practiced minor magics. Durkhans were said to have it in their veins, and she'd never really believed it. Her father was never able to preform any kind of magics, and she'd never met another Durkhan. It was just a fairy tale to her until she was able to preform her first heeling on a broken arm of a stable boy. It had exhausted her, and she'd slept for a week afterwards. It took a few years to find the trick for her wasn't in heeling, but in prevention. She'd shown Heath once, when they first started their affair. A kiss left on his forearm, leaving the perfect imprint of her lips, had kept her blade from puncturing the skin as she drew it firmly over him. He'd asked if there was a way to make it permanent, and she really should have looked into it before.

Maybe it would have helped Mikhail. 

But she had the heirloom now, and with time she might make it work. Spell her sigil so those wearing it were protected, she didn't know what it was capable of, and didn't have time to research it just yet. She intended to task Dayveth with it soon.
Miguel
He nodded softly as he saw her stand, and he began fidgeting a bit with the bandages. Peering out at the wine and cigar left on his desk, he almost wanted to sigh, buy knew that those small luxuries would be waiting for him when he returned. Although, his recent travels had left him without them, so he was slightly saddened by the knowledge he had to leave just as he began to enjoy. Zane made for the door, and opened it for her. "After you, Madame." Was all he said, a small smile on his face.
Joseph
She led him down the hall, to Dayveth's infirmary. Technically, it was Mara's, but the woman had cut back significantly as Dayveth finished his apprenticeship. It wasn't her job to begin with, and the older woman was looking forward to being able to retire and live with her daughter a few miles from Zahrada. Mara hard;y stopped talking about being a grandmother, and already traveled to see the new baby as much as possible. Anya was happy to grant her the ability to go help with her family. 

They found an empty cot, and Anya gestured to it. Before he went to lay down, she instructed his shirt come off, and she laid it aside on the small chest that sat by the foot of the bed. From it, she pulled a new set of bandages and something to clean the wound with, as well as a metal bowl to hold the old soiled ones.
Miguel
Zane followed closely behind her, and almost audibly sighed as he entered the infirmary. It was easily one of his least favorite spots in the estate, only due to how often he's been in there. It didn't help that Mara was slightly handsy.

He pulled his shirt off with no complaint, and began to unwrap the bandages as he went to lay down. He wasn't going to take them all the way off, but he was willing to loosen them up for her. The cot was uncomfortable, and he had to move around a bit to find a comfortable position to lay in.
Joseph
When he laid down, she went to work removing the rest of the bandages from the man. They were soaked, and made a wet sound as they found their new home in the metal bowl. Blood coated her fingertips after she was finished, and a curious press to his abdomen found more flowing freely. 

"Zane are you _sure_ this isn't as bad as it looks?" She questioned him, and the burn on her arms started to hurt as the sigils flared, excited by the blood. It was new, and she turned one arm absently to look at them. Out of habit, she ran her hand over them, forgetting about the blood until it was too late and she'd smeared it over the sigil. It cooled immediately, but the places where her skin was scarred turned black beneath the swatch of red. She felt the magic on her fingertips, and her eyes rolled back for a moment before she closed them, trying to not let the feeling overwhelm her. 

Without intention, her hands found themselves placing over the would, pressing firmly. Blood welled around her hands, seeping between her fingers at the motion, and she lifted them after a moment. She opened her eyes, the silver of them now a molten gold as her hands smeared the blood of the man over both sets of sigils. Her fingertips burned at the sensation, and her whole body felt hot to the touch with energy that wasn't hers and she wasn't quite able to contain. 

Curiously she pressed a finger to the very end of the wound, near his navel, and the skin sizzled beneath the pad of her finger, cauterizing the wound in that spot.
Miguel
"I'm sure." Zane groaned out, feeling her push along the wound. He watched in slight awe as she began to run the blood along the sigils on one of her arms, but that awe faded away as he saw the black beneath the blood. When her eyes rolled, he was afraid that something wrong had happened, and he was prepared to catch her and bring her to her room, even with his blood pouring freely.

Although when she damn near threw her hands into the wound, a sharp gasp left Zane, and he saw stars for a brief moment, the pain becoming a bit harsh. When his vision returned to him, both of her arms were coated in blood, and she was lowering her finger to his navel, right where his wound had started.

While he had been cauterized before, this was unlike anything else he had experienced. It burnt hotter then any item used on his body, and it showed in them small, pained gasp that left him. He choked it down though, not wanting to interrupt her work.
Joseph
Anya sat back a bit in surprise, and reached for the wet cloth she'd soaked to clean him. It steamed under her touch, and she worried it would dry before she could get the wound cleaned. Working quickly, she wiped away the excess, and gritted her teeth at the burn of her arms. It was starting to become uncomfortable, and she felt a thin sheen of sweat on her skin already. 

Unsure how much longer she'd be able to contain it, she turned her hand, pressing the pad of her thumb against the would where she had started before. It sizzled in the same way, and she moved her thumb carefully up and over the wound to seal it. As soon as she reached the other end she let out a whimper and stood, snatching the rag to wipe furiously at her arms to get the blood off the sigils. 

They burned like they never had before, and she was starting to panic at the sensation, feeling it in her veins. The rag did nothing, and she moved to the water basin at the edge of the room, plunging both her arms to the elbow into it without regard for contamination. She'd replace it later, for now, she needed the burn to stop. Steam rose from the waters, and the lukewarm basin turned boiling around her arms. The movement of the water washed the blood, and it turned the clear water a dirty color. With the blood gone, the boil died into an uncomfortable heat before the water settled, and she pulled her arms out, dripping on the tile, to find her skin bright red from the water, and blistering in places around the sigils and her fingertips.
Miguel
Zane's eyes widened as she worked fast, and it seemed as if she was getting worse and worse as time went on. Once she finished cauterizing his wound, he tried to get up as she worked hard to wipe the blood from her hands, but a sharp pain shot across his chest as he moved. When she threw her arms into the water bowl across the room, Zane managed to stumble up a bit, and he tried to move to her. The skin around his chest protested, but he moved closer, leaning against the wall as he did so.

"Anya." He called softly, moving closer to her, grabbing her elbows. "Anya, what happened? Are you okay?" His voice was soft, and despite the pain in his voice, he was more worried about the burns and blisters surrounding her arms.
Joseph
"It's fine, it's fine." She repeated her voice a low rush. "Sit down it's fine you shouldn't be standing it's fine, _it's fine_." She insisted though he had only asked once. 

"Are you okay did I hurt you I didn't intend to do any of that it just happened and I figured it _might_ be best to use it and seal the wound at least. I didn't really get to clean it like I intended but you said you'd done so before and-" She cut herself off, knowing she was rambling. 

"You need to sit back down for a while." She told him finally.
Leon
Saying Marsila was having a bad day would have been an understatement. The young woman had gone out for the night almost immediately after storing all her belongings in the room she had paid for. She wanted to explore the town that was unknown to her, search for anyone who seemed distressed that she could gain a possible job from. She was gone for a few hours and returned late in the night to all her belongings missing. 
She wasn't furious about the stolen money or weapons. What pissed her off most was the necklace they had stolen as it use to belong to her mother. It was all she had that reminded her of her parents, she missed them dearly even though it had only been a few years since she left them behind. She knew it had been more than one person as multiple scents were left behind and attempted to track them down, but was lead to multiple dead ends. 
She was now sitting down at one of the circular wooden tables in the tavern. Fortunately for Marsila, she had paid for three nights in advance and the tavern keeper owed her a favour or two, so she didn't have to worry about keeping a roof over her head. It was only early in the evening so the tavern was still buzzing with activity as Marsila began to eye down and observe anyone who seemed even the slightest bit suspicious. Since she wasn't able to track down the thieves, she could only hope they would return.
David
How long has it been without a cold drink and proper rest? How long has it been on the road, wandering from woods to mountains, from plains to marshes, without ever setting foot on a town or even a tavern on the side of the road? The main path is often not the path chosen by the man, but today he feels hollow. A cold beer would warm his soul, a soft bedding would do his body good. And those are the simple reasons that lead his whimsical nature to civilization, pressing a hand against the wooden frame of an open establishment.


It is only early evening, but the man is already a slight of weary in his shape and baggy under his eyes. It is not exhaustion that cripples him, even if he has spent barely an hour in the last two to three days with his eyes closed.


The door is swung open with the force of a push and the heavy caress of the chilling wind. Inadvertently the door is opened wide and hits the wall with a large thunk, though it is barely enough to capture the gaze of most patrons. Thuds of heavy steps are muffled by the loud music, laughing and cheering of merry men raising tankards together. This is a fragile scene, for a single misunderstanding can lead to less savory conducts. It matters little.

Rekkan closes the door behind him to steer off the cold and keep the heat inside. Dark brown orbs shimmer red as they scan the whole of the main room, with circular tables scattered and packed with all kinds of characters, though the large man does not seem to seek any particular company. In fact, out of all the tables, the one with but a single soul catches his attention. He shuffles his feet, walking hardened boots on the rough wooden surface. His long, red cloak shifts over most of his body, but the wanderer already removes the wrapping from around his rugged face. He slides between the table and a chair and sits, unannounced and uninvited. His back rests against the chair and his lips crack open to let out a sigh. One of the wenches comes around to serve, prompted to get a tankard of the coldest beverage. In the end, Rekkan eyes the woman sitting opposite to him and finally acknowledges her with a smooth nod. A moment later, he receives his requested drink and refreshes himself with a swig. He does not break eye contact.
Leon
It was impossible to say the least for her to ignore the man who made himself comfortable in one of the chairs in front of her. Her eyes resembled the same shade as storm clouds as Marsila observed the giant lump of muscle in front of her, refusing to show any signs of emotion as they stared eachother down. She knew he wasn't one of the men who had broken into her room, his scent was completely different. She couldn't exactly describe it, it was never her forte to describe anything accurately, she was only able to seperate one scent from another. 

Once he received his drink, Marsila leaned her taut frame over the table and rested her arms against the surface while remaining seated on the wooden chair. It would look like she was trying to understand why this man was sitting in front of her. Her defined brow raised as if to question him for inviting himself to the table she was at. "There are other tables available, you do understand that right?" She asked with annoyance visible in her tone. This man was distracting her from finding the people responsible for her missing items.
David
The mead is quite cold and it does wonders to the burning core of the man. It makes him settle and pacify rumble, making his rough expressions soften. The woman does not seem overjoyed about his nonchalant arrival, just taking a seat wherever he wants to. But isn't that the case for her as well?

"This seat was empty." He states cold and plain, with a deep voice and gravel tone.

Across the room, some touched characters revel in the thought of starting something less enjoyable for others while they believe to be the most entertaining for them. While they gawk at possible victims for their drunken whims, the fighter look a likes eye that barely empty table. Three, nay, four men rise from their chairs and casually stride to the same table Rekkan and Marsila are in. Two on each side, they seat and wave their tankards.

"Oi! Why dun' we cheer for the kin' and queen, ya dastardly bastar's?!" Shouts one, quite close to the wanderer's ear.

Another is rather infatuated in his drunken stupor by the woman, seeing two fold but not enough to miss a grab of the left arm if she does not react to his reach. "Tha' yer boyfrien' or sum rascal try'n'a tach yer fanny?"

And the evening was just getting good, wasn't it? Rekkan ignores them, his eyes on Marsila, his left brow a-rising, arching.
Leon
His answer was good enough for her as she casually brought her shoulders towards her ears in a shrug. She couldn't argue with the man. She hadn't claimed the table, let alone the seat he sat comfortably in. "Well I can't argue with that now, can I?" She asked the rhetorical question, her voice holding a silvery tone that she used on most men. 

In her peripheral vision, Marsila noticed four drunken idiots stumble their way towards the table. A heavy breath of annoyance left her lips as she leaned herself away from the table, using her arms to push herself back along with the chair she was in. This gave her enough room between her and the table so she could stand easily if a fight was to start. Though most of her weapons had been stolen, Marsila still had a dagger hidden away in her boot. It was the one thing she had taken with her to explore the kingdom. 

As she felt a hand grab onto her forearm, Marsila closed her eyes and drew in her breath so she could focus on his scent. It was similar to one of the scents left in her room and raised her leg so her knee was pressing against her chest while her foot rested against the edge of the chair. Her eyes slowly re-opened as the she used her free hand to quickly slide into her boot. Within a second, Marsila twisted her body out of the seat she was in, causing his hand to rip away as she ducked under the arm he had been using to hold on to her. The man furrowed his brow in a drunken, confused state due to her sudden vanishing act, not realising she was now behind him. The shifter used her strength and forced the rounded end against the back of his head but made sure to not use enough pressure to crack his skull. The large male's body collapsed against the table's surface as she turned to the other male closest to her. 

Taking in his scent, she found it to be unfamiliar, meaning he had no connection to her missing belongings. "Look, we're not asking for trouble."
David
The conversation develops to a dead end, though Rekkan wasn't pushing to any kind of social banter to happen. He just sat and tried to enjoy his drink. Looking at the scene unfolding before him now, the harsh wild turns out to be more comforting than the edginess of the civilized parts of this world. The wanderer simply watches as one of the men tries to harass Marsila, only to find himself in a swift jerk onto the surface of the table. This offensive action is mixed in with a passive comment, though the soup has already been stirred in the boiling cauldron. The group does not seem happy that their friend is being pinned. 

In their drunken state, they shout and rise from their seats, moving onto Marsila. The one to the left of his buddy throws a wide and miserable punch with his right arm swinging from the side. It is a lousy hook, without even so much as a turn from the waist. It lacks effort and strength, though it might hurt nonetheless. The other two go about doing similar fits of stupidity. The one closest to Rekkan, to his left, throws his tankard, but misses entirely and has the mead filled container smack the back of another patron. Thus, the chain of violent reaction begins. The one that was once to Marsila's right tries to climb up the table to plant the sole of his boot on her face, but he is met with a tankard sliding across the round and wooden furniture. It smacks the side of his foot and his ankle, making it tilt and his body trip flat on the shoulder and flank of his ribs.

A large, callused hand grasps the man's shirt on the region of the shoulders and yanks him off, to fly above the ground and against the wall behind Rekkan. "That's one way of saying it." He barks at Marsila in a mocking manner.

As for the tavern itself, it begins a cliche of bar brawl, with tankards flying by and drunkards punching each other round.
Leon
As a hand was being thrown in her direction, Marlisa was able to watch it fly towards her in a slow motion, allowing her to raise her palm up to shield her face. Using her strength to her advantage along with their sloppy movements, the shifter was able to stop his fist from connecting with her and wrapped her fingers around his knuckles. The man wasn't able to move his hand in time to escape her blade from piercing into his forearm, between the two bones so it would appear out the other side of his arm before twisting the dagger until she heard multiple snaps. As quick as the blade had gone in, it had been removed and wiped clean against her pants. 

She hadn't noticed the man to her right climbing the table as she landed her knee between her current opponent between his legs. He fell to his knees in pain as she connected her foot with his temple, knocking him out. 

Hearing the large male mock her, one corner of her lips raised into a smirk. It amused her that he found humour in all this. Turning to her right, she noticed the male she had knocked out was no longer beside her and clenched her jaw, irritated. Her eyes searched the tavern, finding it hard to locate him due to the brawl that had broken out until they landed on the male in front of her. 

"Where did that guy go!?" Marsila asked in a slightly panicked state while pointing to the empty spot beside her. "I need him to tell me something."
David
Vicious. Rekkan watches on as the woman makes short work of one of her assailants, namely that which was throwing a punch at her. The way she deals with the rascal is excessive, but what is excessive in this dark and unforgiving world? Lacking better judgment, the man made poor decision after poor decision, leading to a severe injury on his right forearm. Time will tell if it heals, but Marsila is more interested on the man that she had pinned down just moments ago.

Not one to be eluded by the confusion of this petty brawl, the battle hardened swordsman leaps onto the table, takes two long running steps along its length and jumps off and above the crowd. One foot is driven on the back of the man crawling away while his broad frame and taut, muscled arms push the participants of the fight away, knocking them over chairs, tables and even each other. His foot forces the man to fall flat from the attempted crawl. A whimpering sound is muffled by a face facing ground.

"You mean this guy?" He asks, twisting his waist and turning his back around it to face Marsila with a haughty smirk.

Sooner rather than later, the brawl will be tore apart by incoming guards. The onlookers and participants do not realize it yet, but one more moment or two and the place is stormed by the protectors of the people. Or so they say.