Daniel
"And look what we have here." Leered one of the soldiers. "It's the man who started the Black Swan legend. *Such* An honor to be in your presence!"

The scholar was silent as he quickly surveyed the situation. They were heavily outnumbered. He supposed he could use the trees as cover, but it wasn't reliable. Furthermore, Marsila was injured and could not run in this state. Even if Eotum were to somehow persuade them not to kill him, he would suspect that the other man, Rekkan, would kill him for letting her die.

Eotum was, by all accounts, an ordinary man. He wasn't exactly strong, but at least he was quick in wit and somewhat fast. But he certainly would not be fast enough to even load a bolt in his own crossbow before getting shot himself.

What could Eotum do? What could he even say? 

That was when realized something.

These soldiers probably did not know anything about shifters. In fact, they did not seem to know that shifters, if coming into contact with silver, would show burn marks on their skin and transform into their other form.

He could tell that Marsila was doing her best to stave it off for a while. He would have to act quickly.

"I do have something to say." Eotum spoke up. "You see, I am a scholar, and I know a wide variety of subjects. But that's not the matter. You see, shifters are sensitive to silver, and I assume that's what your bolts are made of."

"However, a moment has long passed, and this lady here has not transformed yet." Eotum added. "After coming into contact, they would show burns and quickly transform. But she has no burn marks. And she has not transformed."

"Not a very good idea to shoot a random civilian." Eotum finished.
David
The town was bending to the demands of the mercenary force. Atovar learned that the large man was still around and that they had come in a wagon. The villagers helped the group of four when they arrived a few days ago, considering the man had sustained heavy injuries. That kept true to the report the man had received from his network in the underworld. It seemed that the Alchemist had gotten to him first, but was repelled. That was what made Atovar bring silver weapons in the first place. That and the knowledge that one of the other two was the magical being, a shapeshifter. 

Atovar also knew that the other one was his former hostage's wife. Bran sat limp on the chair, his face sullied and turned into a pulp of blood and openings by the knuckles of the brutal man. He ordered the search on other houses, demanding full cooperation as if searching for an actually wanted man by authorities. He used the sigil of his forgotten family, which counted for proof enough for frightened peasants. The sight of swords and arrows made them turn their backs on people they sheltered. They couldn't do more.

Rekkan was carrying Priscilla out of town when he came across one of the kids. He was no older than twelve and had a broad grin on his trickster face. The unruly boy pointed his finger as if to mark the man, but shook his hand with it held to him. "You're in big trouble. Now I get to see if the rumors are really true!" A little tale of two might have been created by the imaginative minds of the boys. They had seen his size and wondered just what kind of big man he was. He looked like a fighter with how he came bare, bloodied on his bandages. He definitely was a warrior. But what kind? "This isn't a game, boy. People will die. Do you know what dying means?" Rekkan had a deep and singed voice. It was an odd rumble. The boys eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Hks arm fell dangling to the side of his body. "Woooaaaah, that was so cool!"

Rekkan sneered and walked a past the boy. Priscilla, for how many fragments of her mind were jumbling around in her brain, curled her lips into a smile and placed her index finger in front of the same tender flesh that radiated a plea. The boy, gazing at her soft frown and luminescent eyes, was raptured by that strange moment and nodded once with a gulp. He remembered that same frown from another person and realized it was too adult to get caught up in. He did think about telling others he was with the wanderer. Hopefully after he had ridden the village from the soldiers that came to walk over them. Playing wasn't the same thing with men shouting how much of a wuss your possy is. He was just a kid after all.

Rekkan lowered his body to let Priscilla slide down and off his back. She had a sad frown that didn't let go when she smiled up at the man. "Marsila should be showing up any time soon. Though I suggest you find a place to hide until the storm settles. I will come back for you." He crouched to gather a single leaf from the ground, it was still green. Rekkan applied some spit as he tore some of its veins to spill its floral blood. The two fluids mixed in a cold fusion that his tongue lathered the leaf with. He then folded it in half and sealed it, giving it to the woman. His rough features stretched to outline a smirk. "This will help me find you." Priscilla gulped as she held folded leaf in her hands. It was cold, though not like ice. She wrapped it in some of her clothing and tried to say something, but when her gaze wandered from the leaf to the man, he was gone. She must have stayed looking at it for a while. With nothing else to cling to, Priscilla heeds Rekkan's advice and wanders into the woods. She disappears in the treeline and finds a good spot to hide, under the uproot of a large tree. She adds twigs and leaves to obscure her hiding spot, clearly knowing a bit, or having read from her old books. It was unfortunate that she didn't have them anymore. It might be possible for her to listen to Marsila being attacked by that group and check it out. Who knows?

Rekkan wandered off, skirting the village uphill. He was counting heads, mostly surveying how the soldiers felt entitled to apply some kind of tax on the peasants. This wasn't even truly sanctioned. What a joke. It was a peeve of the man to see this, but to charge without a plan and backup would be bad. To turn the tide of this battle, Rekkan counted heads, coming up to twenty-six. This was the number of armed men going in and out of houses and stores. There were still six others that Rekkan spied with his third eye. He nestled his body on a cross legged seat at one of the peaks, surrounded by leaves branches of bushes and flowers, between two trees and before a cliff. Close to the edge, he closed his browns and opened his red, forehead poking an orb. It didn't see the souls, it felt them, dozens of men and women grouped up in the square, being turned by others that were aforementioned as the bandits disguised as soldiers. He felt the pull of a fading spirit, a man he knew well the past few days if only by sight alone. Bran was saying goodbye in angst. His screams were bellows, odd and twisted. Rekkan nodded and rose his spirit from its vessel. The world was no longer the physical, no longer the prime. "It was a bad end to a good life. My regret, Bran. Now, you have to get going." He chanted in the strange melody, blurring the atmosphere and the area around him, making things blurry and fuzzy. Bran saw something there, a twisting opening into a spiral. It was always like that. The right hand of the spirit touched the right hand of the wanderer. The spiral tattoo whirled and pulled the soul into it, then releasing it to the river below. Far in the distant bottom.

Rekkan returned to the flesh and awoke his body from its quick slumber. He closed his third eye and opened his dark brown eyes. After the full review, there were around thirty enemies in this battle. At night was the best time and dusk was underway. They were going to finish turning the place upside down and then... What were they going to do? He saw the pile of wood and thought that could mean many things. The main one being a cheap shot. Shock value in the burning of a man, perhaps Bran's body. At least they will give him a funeral pyre, even if they have other intentions for its purpose. Sickening bastards, but no less ignorant. Rekkan couldn't blame them. But he antagonized them. He had to in order to want to murder them all.

The wanderer's mind was forming some plans. He needed a bit of an edge, so he started applying his magic. Rekkan lifted his hand in front of his chest and rubbed his index finger's tip against his thumb. They created an ember from smoldering smoke that made his skin sweat at the arm. That little shard, he placed it in his mouth, then swallowed it. Another shard was created and tucked away in his pocket. Then another little piece of ember was placed in his other pocket. He had two. Rekkan added two embers to each pocket and then stretched his right arm. He wobbled it a bit to relax the muscles before stretching from one side to the other. His breathing was regulated before he looked down and then sighed. He would have to wait for now, so he rested while in that vantage point. Eyes watching for the perfect opportunity to strike at the head after deciphering it.

It didn't take long to discover the leader. He was either issuing orders to his lieutenants or anyone else. That type of commander was always easy to find. He looked to be fit about him, and Rekkan read him as a man of skill. Atovar had the feeling the wanderer would already be watching the town and he wasn't wrong. He sent two groups to scout the outskirts. Five men each, equipped with crossbows and mainly blade weapons. They began their search from the north down, meaning they were headed towards Rekkan. He found the chance to wipe out ten men, his embers already crackling for the fire that churned his core. He gathered their positions at a glance and moved to set his trap. Rekkan also knew that the mercenaries would be aware of where he was and might go there with the bulk of their numbers. That meant the town was safe and he could probably hunt them in the woods. To add to his arsenal, he had the idea of calling an old acquaintance. His tattoo whirled on his right palm and pressed onto the ground. From the sundered earth erupted Vicious, the size of a large hound. The black furred creature was clad in chains that began to dance to its whim, shackling about to his sides.

If they saw a black monster, the mercenaries could be infused with fear and Atovar could think the shapeshifter was with Rekkan. But before any of that was even a possibility, the creature began its trot into the bushes, cutting through gaps in the coiled growth of the foliage. As for the wanderer, he grabbed an ember from his right pocket and tossed it onto the ground. He let it lay there and "Cook" While he also vanished past the vines.
Leon
The men looked towards the Scholar, none of them spoke as they stared in his direction until they suddenly broke out into a fit of laughter. Marsila on the other hand was doing her best to block out the pain in her leg with great difficulty, whilst looking towards Eotum doubtfully. Did he honestly think he could talk their way out of this situation? 

"I think you're misten kiddo." The man wielding the sword cocked his head slightly to the side, looking towards Marsila with a grin. The other Bounty Hunters continued to aim there crossbows in Marsila and the Scholar's direction as the bulked man continued to speak. 

"I shot her because she is refusing to answer my question." He paused momentarily when a thought occurred in his head before his eyes began to narrow towards Eotum. "I never mentioned that we were after a shifter nor did we accuse your friend of being one."

Marsila took a deep breath and released an annoyed sigh. There was a reason she had refused to answer his question and why she continued to remain silent. One of the men took a couple steps towards the Shifter's direction, making sure to keep his weapon aimed at the female as the other continued to speak. "It does interest me why you suddenly brought that topic up. Anthony check her wound."

The shifter watched the man who walked towards her with a threatening glare. The two remaining men with the crossbows made sure to keep their weapons pointed towards her, ready to shoot if she was to move. "Don't you dare touch me." She snapped out which resulted in him chuckling. 

"Girl, if you move, you're just going to get more arrows in places that won't immediately kill you." He threatened before lowering his crossbow behind him, away from the shifter's reach and in the firing range of his men with the crossbows incase the Scholar decided to try anything. Before he had the chance to tear the material where the arrow had penetrated her leg, Marsila wrapped her fingers around the arrow's shaft that stuck out. With quick movements, the men didn't have time to react as the shifter snapped off the end of the arrow and buried it into his eye socket. "I said don't touch me!" She was acting like a cornered animal as the silver weapons had installed fear into her. 

Marsila felt sick to her stomach as the man dropped like sacked potatoes, realising her quick thinking brought on by her fear of being found out had blinded her of her actions. The nauseated feeling didn't last as two arrows landed themselves in her shoulder and the thigh on her injured leg, causing her to scream out in pain. Meanwhile, the man who seemed to call the shots sighed in disappointment, though didn't seem majorly upset about his companion. "He did tell you that would happen, did he not?"