Phyllis
```Kiril Bloom
Araedia, Delekou```

Kiril had been traveling the Araedian countryside for some months since meeting the Witch in Red. His hand had been partially healed: not painful anymore, with no pinkness or angry flesh but plenty of scar tissue and enough damage for him to have partially lost feeling. The Azaryan man had also grown more accustomed to his cover as an Araedian. He'd taken in the local sights, spoken to every guide or bard he met, and had a decent understanding of the area. Enough to pose as a native, if need be.

He was dressed in a modest outfit of brown pants, a light floral top that was pleasingly indicative of his new-found citizenship in the nation, and comfortable black boots for the traveling he was wont to do every waking moment of his life. 

Currently he was sat in the garden of a tavern on the outskirts of Delekou. It was a place that commonly had travelers and workers the various assorted jobs that the farms and vineyards in the surrounding countryside seemed to attract. There were numerous caravans taking the foodstuffs in and out of Delekou, either to seaports or to the numerous cities that dotted the nation. From rich merchants to skilled craftsmen to humble farmhands, there was all manner of different faces. But one stuck out as different from the rest.

She seemed exceedingly uncomfortable, out of place in her own skin from what he could tell. She was also notably singing a Northern verse. He hadn't heard anything of the sort for months, and especially not this far south. It was a curious thing. The black-haired man had been minding his own business at a table not too far from her, enjoying the outdoors and admiring his new tan despite the fact that he still had gloves on and he burned in the sun just as easily as he tanned.

"Excuse me, Miss, where is that song from?"

Posing the part of an honest bard and wanderer, questions were naturally in order. The table was empty apart from him. A chair sat empty across from where he sat, though they were close enough to easily speak in a level tone to one another.

Kiril had made the journey through the Northern Mountains and into Erillia a couple months ago. It had been a relatively peaceful journey, though the mountains did give him the distinct impression of being trapped; he wasn't exactly sure why, given that they were days away from him. He had pointedly kept his gloves on since he'd arrived. He had no delusions that Araedia would be so welcoming to his ilk as Astoria had been, and he wasn't about to take a chance.
Sergio
Jora Sylgritte,
Araedia, Delekou

At first, the man's words didn't fully register. She was so used to trying to piece together foreign dialects that hearing her native tongue spoken aloud was almost surreal—an echo of familiarity superimposed upon a backdrop of extrinsic, meaningless chatter.

Using her shoulders, Jora pushed herself away from the cobblestone wall and turned her head towards the stranger. That one stray lock that she had just tucked away was freed by the sudden motion. There he sat, looking back at her. In stark contrast to Jora, who stood out like a blemish, the unknown man seemed far more accustomed to his surroundings. Whether he was playing the part of a chameleon or he simply happened to know Coldtongue, she couldn't tell. He certainly didn't look like your typical burly, light-haired Northlander, but then again, she wasn't too acquainted with other cultures outside of her home region.

Her stiff joints popped as she stood up, simultaneously picking up her weapon. The hefty bearded axe was more akin to a hatchet in her hand; her fist alone was the size of a child's skull. She made her way over to the man's table, flipped the empty seat around and sat back down, her forearms resting on the chair's back.

"Just an old battle-cry. "When steel sings, so do I. Death to kings; the end is nigh.". It's a shitblood thing." 

An unambiguous explanation, befitting of her straightforward demeanour.

Now that the distance between them was shortened, Jora took the time to fully inspect the man. His attire didn't scream "Obscene wealth", but wasn't too shabby either—it was fair to assume that he had a handful of the ol' shinies lining his pocket. Her icy blue eyes briefly acknowledged his gloved hands. She was certainly no expert in Araedian, or any kind of fashion, but unless he just got back from working the forge, donning gloves in such a weather seemed somewhat excessive.

"Guessing you ain't local either" Jora said, her assumption doubling as a question.

She drew another healthy gulp from her tankard, only to immediately cringe right after:

"I don't recommend the ale. The warmbloods know their wines, but their brew is piss."
Phyllis
```Kiril Bloom
Araedia, Delekou```

Kiril's eyebrows rose as Jora spoke to him in the Coldtongue. It had been a while since he'd heard it spoken to him, and even longer since he'd had a real conversation in it. He had a mental battle with himself. He could continue speaking Coldtongue, lean into his character, and hope that he didn't fall too deep to recover. He could otherwise speak a more common tongue and hope that Jora could match him. He decided that the former was a welcome enough diversion from his norm that it was worth the risk.

"From the Witherlands, isn't it? Maybe I'm misremembering. Regardless, no, I'm not a local. Not anymore I suppose. I was born here - my name is Kiril Bloom - but I've traveled all over the continent to learn and collect."

He smiled widely at the woman, who was physically his opposite. He was lean, relatively tall and lithe, with a handsome face and bright blue eyes that matched her own. His eyes did not match those of most of Araedia, nor did his jet-black hair that was currently tied up in a loose knot, but his hair didn't exactly match the typical northern description either. It was hard to pin him down exactly.

"I thought that the North was less interested in Shitblood, Mercantileblood, all of that. Harder to care about rank when you can die so easily. Again, though, perhaps I'm mistaken."

He shrugged and looked at her battle axe. It was large enough to cleave him in two if he sufficiently upset her. He idly touched the ring hanging about his neck by a simple silver chain, gloved fingers gliding across the etched messages in a language unfamiliar. His head canted to the side, he thought for a moment, and then he took a drink of his wine as it sat in a quaint glass. The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day today.

"No, but I suppose it's a fair trade for fine wine. What brings you all the way south like this? Araedia is far from your home. Work, pleasure, both or neither?"
Loretta
Levi Cortez
Araedia

Levi grit his teeth together. The tale that the woman sitting beside him told him twisted itself in his brain, and he didn't know whether to feel anguish or feel furious. His knuckles turned white as his fingernails dug into his palms. His vision darkened, and Rhesa backed up, crying as she spoke the last few words of her story. 

"You were gone Levi. I had no choice. I was going to lose the farm. I was going to lose our home. Your son's home. What choice did I have?" Rhesa cried out, before Levi sneered. He stood up, his scarred shoulders rising and falling slowly as his body tensed, before he pulled the dark leather over his head. 

"Where are you going?" She asked, grabbing his hand. He looked over at her, before snatching his hand away.

"You give him your body, my bed, and you expect him to leave with his life?" He asked, before the sound of the door opening shook him out of his fury. A mess of dark hair peeked through, and the broad man stepped inside, calling out Rhesa's name. 

"Oh. Who are you? And what are you doing in my fucking house?" The man asked, his rotting teeth oozing breath that smelled like ale and shit. Levi reeled back, before standing up and wiping his nose. 

"You ever heard of a fucking bath?" He asked, before the man lunged at him. Levi smiled darkly, before being slammed into the wooden chest behind him. He groaned, before a blow to his ribs shook him out of his stupor. The smell around the man made Levi gag, but he forced himself to push the man back, before catching the leg coming towards his right side. Levi swung, but the man wildly fell back, dodging Levi's fist before catching Levi with his own hook that made him see stars. 

"So you are the useless shit that gave my Rhesa her son Eradius. It seems like father, like son." The man said, before Levi roared and tackled the man. They wrestled, slamming into chairs before the man rolled Levi underneath him. Levi immediately flipped the pair back over, before striking the man with his elbow, stunning the man for a moment before striking the man again and again. The man's face replaced itself with Tharn's sneering yellow eyes, and Levi reeled back, falling as the now hulking Tharn stood over him.

"What? Is the useless shit scared now?" Tharn asked, spitting blood onto the ground and standing up, before putting his foot onto Levi's chest. Levi coughed as the man's foot began to crush his ribs, but as his vision began to flicker, he reached out to grab the leg of a nearby table. 

He grunted in pain as he vision exploded with stars, the man's leather shoe connecting with Levi's temple. He heard Rhesa scream, and the man bent down to Levi's face. 

"You know what I'm going to do with her after I kill you? First, I'm going to-" He said, before his voice dropped to a whisper. Levi roared out as the man whispered his plans, before grabbing the leg of the man and put his full strength into pulling the man onto the ground with him. Levi immediately pounced onto the man, slamming his fists into the man's dirty face.

"You... Will... Never... Touch... Her... Again..." Levi said, as the man groaned. Levi kept hitting the man, before standing up slowly and grabbing his sword from beside the door. With a deep breath, he placed the point onto the man's neck. 

"Do it, you useless... Shit" The man said, laughing as blood trickled down his chin. Levi sneered, before bringing the blade down into the man's chest. The man's dying breaths ended slowly, Tharn's smiling face disappearing and replacing it was the man. 

Rhesa screamed, running at Levi before Levi turned to face her. 

"You didn't need him anyways." Levi said, sagging into her arms as he closed his eyes.
George
Marcus Thevenet
Bladeguarden 

How long has it been since I've been home? Marcus had plenty of time to think about it as he made his way through the Lower Cast Crestward further into Bladeguarden. His home. A home he was thinking about if it had been three, or two and a half years since he had returned to. Maybe if he turned back now he could make it to four, it couldn't be so bad after all. Just give up on the mission from Juliana and settle for a low standing position in nobility, it would be better than what's coming next. 

The sun was already falling when he had arrived, and as he dismounted his horse and sent it away to be tended to, what little light was left was hidden behind buildings that towered above. Small lanterns lit the way forwards and made shadows dance with joy across the cobbled streets. People still ducked and weaved around eachother finishing up their days and heading back to their homes, or left to find some enjoyment outside of them leaving the streets a slow flowing river of bodies. Marcus watched them go by, wondering what each man and woman who passed him was thinking. Did they care about the pilgrimage? How much did they really know? Did they have responsibilities to fulfill?

It was thoughts like these that had drawn Marcus so heavily into reading when he was young. Everyone had stories, and a good book could sometimes explain those of many. Memories of his childhood stirred Marcus to look beyond him towards the gate that he knew would lead him to the heart of the city. In there was his past and his future. If he managed to prove himself he might just be able to make enough of a name that he could strike out on his own. But first was a meeting, one he knew he couldn't avoid. Juliana's words once again mixed with those of his father in his mind and he recalled what both had said to him before departure, one years prior and one so recently he could still remember the pitch in her voice. "You are dismissed." Even now he hated to think about it. 

Marcus made the journey through the rest of the city streets and once it had become fully dark he found himself in front of the impressive building that he grew up in. The massive stone walls and beautiful archways, the flowers that seemed to glow in the low light coming from windows, and most of all the crest that hung from the main entranceway letting all who entered know who's eye they drew. Marcus looked up at the Falcon that sat perched on a shield above him. Two swords crossed behind it, and Roses intertwined to make a piece of art he was sure cost more than the average house an hours walk away. The Falcon seemed to stare into him as he stood in the entranceway. Its massive eye judged him silently, the raptor watching the young man returning to its gaze for the first time in a long time.

It was late, but he was almost sure if he hurried he could catch Elroy before he went to bed. He could have a talk with him, and everything would be fine. His father was a diligent man, he might even still be in his study tirelessly working. If he walked in now this could all be over with. He was a man now, and he had a mission assigned to him by the Queen herself. He was ready to do this, ready to tell his family he wanted to forge his own path forwards, all it took was him to step past the threshold. Just one step. 

Marcus waited until all signs of life had disappeared from the streets and he was left alone in the dark. Lantern light shone across the entrance deepening the shadows cast by the feathers of the bird above. It almost seemed to breathe and twist, its single eye asking a question that should have been easy to answer. "Will you come in?" 

It had its answer moments later as it watched silently, its glare bearing into the young man's back as he walked back towards the town and an Inn he knew was a few blocks away.