Walter
"Cross the red wire here... Twist the leftmost bolt here..."

The artificers mutterings served as an intent way to ensure that she stays focused as she connected another line for her water bomb, making the number she has at the ships keel seven. She's done wire work like this hundreds of times below the ocean in the sunless sea. Scavenging through the wrecks of mighty ships like these, sent down here when the rabid dogs of Lazaroth first thought itself arrogant enough to plunder the seas and pillage its waters without consequence. It's what taught her all about the finer details of shipcraft and sailing. Something she learned a decade before she discovered that worrying about a light source in the same manner as one would food and shelter is mainly a Siren concern as her home was so deep into the sea sunlight never reached.

"One more should do it... The hull on warships are a lot stronger then the sloops I've done this on"

Hands stiff and focused reached into her pack to pull out the last water bomb she had on hand. The loud thud of heavy boots from above made the Siren jump to the point where she nearly dropped her device.

```"That sea devil's somewhere on this ship! Search this vessel top to bottom! By our queen, none leave here until that thing is dead!"```

They figured out where she was already? Nadia's whole body began to flow with adrenaline as she turned her attention back to her work. If the ship sank she'd have the good fortune of being able to breath underwater to keep her from drowning. But she couldn't help herself from dreading the suction of the ship when its belly burst into an explosion of splintered wood and salt water. Its carcass sinking down to the bottom of the ocean, a place that Nadia knew all too well. The place she worked so hard to escape from. If she didn't get out of here before then that's where she'd return to. Welcomed home by darkness, silence, and the cruel knights eager to drag her into the deepest hole on the ocean floor for h

Aving the temerity to abandon her home. To look at the goddess who banished them from the sun and the other deities who allowed it and think they're undeserving of worship. To see the proud members of nobility and royalty and call them despots who perpetuate this cruel fate that the Siren's endure. To call them just as evil as the Merfolk who work tirelessly to keep them in the dark.

Nadia's hands stopped as her mind wandered thinking of the cruel fate that may await her. A small moments pause that by the moment it ended it was already too late. She heard the door to the keel burst open as three Drow burst in. The one in front didn't have time to finish her sentence before the water bomb finally burst. The tidal wave sending Nadia crashing right into the deck as the world went dark around her.

Her dreams were empty. Her mind disheveled. Her time unconscious was only accompanied by the distorted sound of crashing waves and the deepest of dreads as her half awake mind was greeted with darkness. Despite not comprehending what she was seeing that darkness made her heart quicken. The only way to interpret her situation was the darkness of the cruel sea had reclaimed her. She rested at the bottom of the ocean where she'd be trapped forever.

Her mind wandered to her parents. Using every fiber of her being to call out to them. To beg them to help. Her father to swoop in, lantern in hand as her mother scooped the frail siren in her arms to carry her home. Her older sister, trident at the ready welcoming them back to that destitute hovel of stone and driftwood they called a home. It was when her mind let her remember that her family had been dead for years, slaughtered by the despotic knights of Volturis, that she finally tried to scream.

Her eyes were thrusted from absolute darkness to blinding light as she awoke on the beach. Spitting salt water out of her mouth, hand clutching her neck as she tried her best to breath. Her frail arm pushed her small body up off the sand as she caught her breath. Despite being able to breath both air and water Nadia's condition likely made her the only Siren who knows what it feels like to drown. Her head throbbed as she collected her surroundings. A collection of sea gulls pecked away at her legs, pulling the laces of her boots and on the fabric of her clothes as though she were a freshly bloated corpse that washed ashore.

The Siren grit her teeth as she willed her leg to give a stern kick, sending the scavengers fleeing into the sky as they cried out in disappointment. From what it looks like Nadia had washed up on a beach somewhere. Surrounding her were a collection of ship parts. From planks of driftwood to water stained sails to now rusted cannons littering the beach. It seemed the tide was merciful to her. But now she had no idea where she was. 

Rolling onto her side she got onto her hands and knees, using all her strength to stand to her feet. Her body weaker than normal she had to take a moment to catch her breath from the extraneous activity of just standing up. From what it looked like she still had all her gear which meant she wasn't entirely defenseless. Hopefully they would be enough, at the moment it feels like a strong enough breeze would do her in. But this was no place to linger, she had to go. And with that Nadia took her first step as she slowly but steadily began to walk down the beach.
Arthur
Whispers of a shattered ship washing ashore caught the Grey Oathbreaker's attention more than he thought it would, but then again, the day had been uneventful so far, so the talk of a ship broken apart by an apparent monster and being brought to the shores was much more interesting to him than anything else the day had to offer.

 So come sunrise, Brakteon walked the coastline, his heavy armored boots sinking into the pristine sands with every step he made, and the scent of the sea carried by lazy winds to his nose reminded him of fond memories with his parents. Before the curse of his birth brought about their separation, before his mother put the popularity of the family name over the wellness of their relationship. 

 Brakteon looked out to the sea, giant great blue waves lapped against themselves, beautifying the horrors that lived within its expanse. He once tried an ocean hunt when he was in the Adventurer Guild, and that day Brakteon learned how treacherous the waters could be. 

 But that was far from these waters, he had not heard of a beast capable of ripping apart a ship this close by, at least not recently. Then again, Lucidien was always changing, he could be walking inches away from a Drogon enclave for all he knew.

Drift wood. Brakteon picked off the small piece that laid by his feet then looked at the other much larger ones that were scattered about the beach. He tossed the smaller piece aside and knelt next to a larger one, inspecting it by brushing his clawed hand across the damp surface. 

 "Not a monster," He muttered to himself after checking four other pieces. No claw marks, no bite marks. The ship had been torn apart yes, but not by any beast. Magic perhaps?

 Brakteon frowned at his guess, if he was more inept with his sorcerer side he might have deduced whether it was truly magic that ripped the vessel asunder, but he never studied that well. His magic was more... Bloody. 

 He checked around more. So far he didn't believe it to be fire magic, no scorch marks. But maybe wind? He'd heard of great mages bringing about typhoons to sink enemy ships. Perhaps this was one such case. 

 Brakteon stood up straight and looked to the ocean once more, only this time with slight annoyance. He couldn't find any worthy goods, and so far couldn't even tell what brought about this thing. But when he was about to turn away from the scene something besides the scent of the sea caught his nose. 

 He looked around, following his nose, until he came across footprints in the sands. Small boot prints that traveled on for a while, swerving from side to side as though the owner was drunk beyond measure. Or greatly injured. 

 A survivor. 

 "Hmm." Brakteon pulled his cape closer and started following the footsteps with haste. If this person were injured chances are they wouldn't survive long. 

 And when he eventually saw the silhouette of a wandering person ahead he hailed them with a thunderous call. "Oi!"
Walter
The Siren's first few steps were no better than that of a newborn as she worked herself up onto her feet. How long had she been lying there in the sand? An hour? A day? However long it was it was long enough for her body to go completely numb. In recovery her entire body seemed to shut itself down and now she was moving again it was starting to work itself back up. Everything about her felt cumbersome. The swaying of her arms, the effort she put in just to position her leg correctly, it was slow going but eventually the numbness faded.

Only then did she feel a sharp pain shoot up her left leg, eyes widened as she near doubled over in pain stopping right in her tracks. 

"W-What?!?"

Nadia pressed her hand against the side of her left leg, brushing along until she felt a sizable bump and that pain coursed through her anew. Her pants, covered in salt water, had her clothes practically sticking to her. It's what kept her from noticing such a large gash and the piece of wood lodged into it. 

"Damn... I-I just... Hells I..."

She stammered out as her mind tried to make sense of it. Peeling back the wet cloth revealed the severity of her injury. The jagged wood was about the size of her hand. It piereced at an acute angle which suggested that it wasn't too far in to cause any serious bleeding. So long as she doesn't move it, of course. But if she didn't get this fixed there's no doubt it would get infected. And for a woman of her constitution her body wouldn't be able to fight it off while she rested in whatever ragged shelter she'd be able to find.

"C-Can't... I can't panic... I can't. These usually work worse then they actually are, I just need to find a healer and convince them to help me."

She thought aloud as she looked off toward the waves. 

"But... Am I on Lazaroth or Findara? Oh cursed gods, what if I'm on neither?"

She considered, standing in the sand plotting her next move. Right now her best option would be to stay on land. After all, Lazaroth couldn't follow her in the sea but if a Merfolk found a wounded Siren on the surface she'd be defenseless. Pressurized water wouldn't help in an underwater fight and all she'd have would be her dagger to keep herself safe. No, land would be where she'd find salvation.

Her planning would soon be cut short by the sudden shout that rang out further down the beach. Her heart quickened in her chest before she even turned around only to feel on the verge of bursting when she saw who was calling for her. An armored figure. She couldn't make out many details very well but it was hard to miss the gleaming sword he wielded. What was most apparent were his features. Nadia had never seen a wolf before. She knew of them but having spent most of her life in the ocean she's never seen one. During her time in Lazaroth she became very aware of their existence. Their armor, their emblems, Lazaroth itself is ruled by a wolf queen who calls it the Wolves Den.

As of right now this was the closest she came to seeing on in person.

"I landed in Lazaroth..."

And she was terrified.

*"Shit!"*

 The Artificer made her way for the water. Dragging her left leg behind her as she limped as quickly as she could. Her heart jackhammered against her chest in her attempt to escape this strange Lazarothi knight who managed to hunt her down. She knew she had to go inland but now she had to risk the waters and hope no Merfolk find her. Someone in armor like that would just sink the minute they got too deep, right?

The Siren barely made a few steps before she lost her footing and collapsed. Hands gripping the sand as the waves gently began to lap against her, she slowly attempted to crawl her way hoping she'd be quick enough before the wolf knight ends her.
Arthur
Fear. Brakteon knew that expression all too well, it was what showed on the faces of many who stood against him. Most times he never needed to show aggression before the other person seemed terrified, and he never blamed them for it. A towering Dire wolf shifter dressed in armor carrying a blade as wide as a person would warrant wary stares, however, he believed that someone who had been washed ashore from a wrecked ship would be more than thankful to see a person. 

 Yet when the lady got a look at him her eyes widened, her skin seemingly became paler, and she muttered something he couldn't hear against the sound of crashing waves beside them before she began limping desperately towards the sea. 

Brakteon watched her do so, his brows furrowed from confusion and slight amusement. If one runs at the sight of a stranger he deduced that they were either terrified of being alone with said stranger, or they were probably scared of being caught for something that the stranger would know about. Take a thief running from a city guard. 

 She was too injured to not seek help from a total stranger, he could see that from how she plopped to sand like a bird with a broken wing, and when she started crawling away, desperate to escape his unbeknownst wrath, he guessed it was most likely the latter situation. She was in trouble, in more ways than one. A pirate perhaps? One who's sink just sank. He was uncertain and very curious.

 Brakteon walked over to her and squatted, watching her crawl with the same interest one would have when seeing a snail struggling across the garden path. "You're hurt," He said towards the jagged wood jutting out of her leg. The blood... Called to him, he hated that he was still a victim of such a foolish part of his mind.

He ignored the ache and looked at her more closely. Not Triton or Merfolk, no, too pale. A Siren, she smelled more of the sea than the sea itself. Interesting. He looked out to the waters, far too shallow for a Siren, they were deep-sea folk, secluded. For one to be out here, bleeding, she must have been in deep shit. 

 She was well dressed, though the water and her current condition would have her seem otherwise. She could probably speak, maybe even alter his mind as he so heard. No, she was too hurt for that. Still, he was always careful. 

 "I am going to help you," He told her. "But if I feel a prick at my mind I would swing this claymore faster than you can blink." He stared at her for a moment, hoping the cold stare of his amber eyes would drive in his warning, then without even a hint of warning he ripped out the wood embedded in her leg and ignored whatever reaction came after.

 He bit his palm, drawing blood, then pressed it against the bleeding spot. The spell that followed, Sanguine Recovery, was a neat trick that came in handy often and when he was finished he tore off his cape, wrapped it around her, and lifted her from the beach. 

 He would not walk back into town with a siren, people were a superstitious lot, so rather he took her further inland, and set her down, then he furrowed through his sack and brought out some dry meat. "Here." He tossed it to her and sat opposite her. "You don't have to speak, just eat. You are not in danger."
Walter
It was an odd relationship Nadia had with the ocean. Born at the bottom of it only to rise to the surface and refuse to return while becoming the enemy of Lazaroth in the defense of it. And now here she was clawing through blood and sand to use it as a means of escape. Her surface clothes grew damp with salt water and weighed her down, her frail arms struggling to push herself upright at this point. 

From what she was able to tell she had gotten a decent amount of distance between her and the Lazarothite. If she just pushed herself a bit more she'd be able to be deep enough in the water to be safe before he arrives. Narrowly escaping the wolves that have been hounding her for so long. Her eyes drew over to her Monsoon Gauntlet. The device still adorned her left hand. The device still adorned her left hand. A helpful tool she's used to create as well as destroy. Powered by her own magic, the device is able to shoot pressurized water capable of drilling holes through metal. She seldom uses it for self defense, but her options are running low now.

Nadia's pulse pounded in her ears, a desperate rhythm urging her to the safety of the sea. She glanced at her Monsoon Gauntlet, a symbol of her strength and defiance, now seemingly her only ally. Her fingers twitched, preparing to summon the power to unleash a torrent of pressurized water, but the gauntlet sputtered. Her eyes widened as she examined closer to discover that it had been damaged from the previous ordeal. A simple break that would take only a few spare parts and minutes that she knew well she didn't have. A sinking feeling of vulnerability washed over her as she realized she was defenseless.

She felt the knight's presence before she saw him, a looming shadow that stirred a mix of fear and defiance within her. Rolling onto her side she looked up at the figure that loomed over her. The amber eyes that glared down at her. This was it. He was going to cleave her head from her body to show as proof of her death before hanging it on the side of a ship. The only reward she'd receive of living a life full of suffering would be that it would end. 

She shut her eyes, waiting for the strike that would end her only to receive not a death blow, but words from the wolf. 

```"I am going to help you. But if I feel a prick at my mind I would swing this claymore faster than you can blink"```

This was enough to loosen her stiffened body enough to open one of her eyes before the burst of pain shot into her leg and ran up her body. The Siren failed to stifle a cry of pain as she rolled now onto her back, pressing her hands desperate to stop the bleeding. It wouldn't be long until the wolf used his own blood to somehow stop the flow of hers. 

For a brief moment there was silence between the two, Nadia now accepting that she wasn't going to be killed was now trying to find the answers as to what has happened. For the girl who had been alone for more than half her life, the concept of generosity was entirely alien to her. After all wasn't this a Lazarothi? Worse, a knight? She hasn't been on the surface for more than a year and she knows people with armor like that don't stroll around unless they're part of an order or nation.

As she tried to make sense of it she felt the cloth of his cape wrapped around her and without a word he lifted the Siren up and began to carry her. Her eyes grew wide, trying to push away the wolf who was now carrying her to away from the ocean. By then things finally clicked for her.

She was a captive. The was the only explanation that made sense. Seeing her wounded the Lazarothi approached the sea devil and made sure she wouldn't bleed out before being brought to the capital. Subjecting her to whatever foul punishments await one who has stirred up the wolves of the den. And Nadia, small and weak, was in no position to fight. No position to flee. No position to save herself. The only thing she could do now was wait and hope some opportunity would show itself. 

She couldn't remember how far they walked. Far enough to where the ocean was finally gone. The Siren's very home now out of sight. Granted, she planned to take this route herself. But to have it made for her, by a knight of all people, just made her all the more bitter.

By the time they finally sat she hadn't said a word. She looked up at him as he tossed her a piece of food. Like some animal being fed table scraps. The Siren didn't plan on accepting the knights pity. Even if she needed it, she certainly didn't want it. The two would sit in silence, her gaze directed to the ground as she wrapped her arms around her legs.
Arthur
Brakteon watched the Siren with a slight frown. The woman had denied his food and refused to utter a word, despite being rescued, it's not that he expected thanks and such, but he would not deny his curiosity as to why a siren was all the way out here, shipwrecked. She was being cautious, she had a right to be so, clearly not aware of where she currently was. Whatever she had done on the seas must have been quite the crime, or she might just be scared of him even after he helped her. 

 "If I wanted you dead, I would have left you to bleed out," He told her. "And if I wanted to capture you, I would have tied your limbs together, maybe sever an ankle for good measure. But I did not. You are not in any danger, that much I assure you." 

 He brought out another stick of dry meat and ripped it with his teeth, then brought out a water sack full of ale and took a swig before tossing it to her side. "Nothing is poisoned, that is a coward's way to kill. So eat and drink for fuck's sake, I can hear your stomach complaining."

Brakteon looked at the shipwreck for a moment then back at her. A lone survivor. He noticed the gauntlet from earlier, a craft he had never seen before, she seemed to have wanted to use it when he was approaching her, but nothing had come of it, he guessed it was damaged in some manner. 

 He knew nothing of the Artificer's way with metal, but he was always marveled by it regardless. He figured it was her way of defending himself, along with whatever sort of bits and pieces she might have on her person. 

 "Hm." Brakteon pulled out his sword, admired it in the sunlight, and then shoved it into the sand. If he showed he was unarmed, then maybe it would ease her more. He looked up the skied and sighed, the sound of waves and cries of the seagulls above brought peace to his mind. "You are lost, that much is clear. I don't know how far you are from where you call home, but this is Findara Kingdom. I am Brakteon Anteel Wealbrig, this is my... Home." He gestured to the ship scraps. "I do not know what brought our paths together, but for your sake, I hope it is not some sort of crime because then..." He glanced at his sword, its odd blue steel glistening with the sunshine.
Walter
The Siren fiddled with the end of her shoelace as her eyes slowly scanned the land around her. The clear blue sky which seemed to hang over her like another ocean of its own. The crashing waves of the ocean sinking into the beaches sands. The surface was a place she was still getting used to. A place where things were meant only to be seen never reached. Her eyes focused on the sky and its swirling clouds. The girl born at the bottom of the world was now higher than she ever had been. But it looked like this is as much height as she'd get.

Her musings would be interrupted by the wolf, speaking in an attempt to gain her trust. Her eyes pulled from the sky downward, letting out a quiet scoff under her breath. The knight seemed to think it was mistrust that was the reason she refused to partake. He wasn't entirely wrong, even if she wasn't in Lazaroth she had little love for paladins like him. Knights of the crown, champions of the land, enforces of whatever despot happens to be in power. Anyone has any success in trying to chance that fact its people like him that are called in to deal with the 'rebellious peasants' that for the crime of questioning the divine right they held.

Her family did when she did so, after all. And she's certain she's not the only one to be orphaned by the crown.

Her eyes would follow the water skin as it sailed through the air landing right next to the flesh she let fall onto the sands next to her. It was tempting, however long she'd been out laying in the scorching sun has made the Siren quite thirsty. A lack of fluids never being a good thing for a creature of the sea. But she chose not to partake in either. Motivated by an act of rebellious spite with the knight growing increasing agitated that she would not entertain his request.

Her eyes then darted to the large sword he buried in the earth. Perhaps an attempt at goodwill? Of disarming oneself? But how much can you truly disarm yourself to a 4'10 Siren, weak and exhausted as a wolven man who could lift her whole body with one hand if he desired? A child of Lazaroth especially.

Or was he?

What finally caught her attention was where they were. Findara. It was as though a heavy weight was lifted off her shoulders at the mention that she wasn't in Lazaroth with a clear look of attention in her eyes that she hasn't given the wolf since they sat down. He had a point about capturing her so this would be quite the elaborate lie. But while she had no qualms with Findara itself, she despised the kingdom itself. The kingdom this knight likely served.

"I didn't ask for your help, tyrant"

She finally spoke, quietly mumbling it under her breath as she drew her eyes away and toward the ground oncemore.
Arthur
"Tyrant," Brakteon repeated. He once used that word, it was when he was arguing with his mother before leaving to become an adventurer. He had meant it, even finding joy when he saw the harshness of his words pain her. 

 They did not speak for a long while after that, that was more difficult than he initially thought it would. It was not warranted then, she was not as cruel as she was now. "A tyrant has no regard for life, kid, and throwing that word at a person who just saved your life seems contradictory. But, I guess most people would be tyrants in the eyes of a pirate."

 It was a guess, one made from studying her. She wore no uniform from the other kingdoms but was still dressed for the sea. She was tight-lipped and stubborn, she also didn't seem too disoriented from being shipwrecked so this must not have been her first time. He could not find any popular flag emblem on her clothing, she might have been new to the life of a pirate. "I've met pirates, you are all like coins. Double-sided. One ship is always different from the one next to it." 

 He looked back towards the town, they were a good distance from it, but it wouldn't take long before other curious people came about looking for answers. "The people don't like pirates much, good or bad. Recently, there has been a rise in stolen goods, and they would take any chance to punish anyone affiliated with that life." 

 He rose to his feet, pulling out his sword from the sand as he did. "I do not advise you to stay here longer than you should have." He began walking back the town, leaving his cape with her without mentioning it. He had helped her as much as he could, if she decided to follow then so be it, otherwise, so be it.
Walter
The Siren's eyes trailed up at the wolf as he repeated the words. A faint smirk at the silence that followed as the title she had bestowed hung in the air. A tyrant. She had plenty more she was willing to call him. A suppressor. A murderer. An authoritarian. But tyrant was concise enough to get her point across. With a life as perilous and full of loss as hers it was only her ideals that have proven to be her longest surviving companion. And she was stubborn, defensive, treating everyone at an arms length and with express caution. The armored wolf was no different.

Worse for him, she saw him as an extension of that she hates. A servant of the ruling class, the cruel blade of conformity, the killer of individuality. A jab at him is a jab at the establishment. Yet while she was mistaken on his allegiances, that small sense of glee vanished within the second of his rebuttal. She was about ready to double down on what she was saying. 'I know what I said' or 'That doesn't mean anything' or something along those lines.

Whatever words she'd chose died in her throat the moment he called her a pirate.

Nadia's eyes were wide, her body straightening at attention and abandoning the sulking posture of before. If calling him a tyrant was a like a slap to the back of the head he had just landed the cleanest verbal right hook in response.

*A pirate?!? Pirate?!? She was a freedom fighter! She didn't have a single coin to her name and he calls her that. She's slept in empty hovels and wherever she could find so she could continue her work in Lazaroth. Everything she used was hand made. Everything she ate and drank she had to procure herself. Nadia's mission was the only thing she had left in her life and was the most important thing to her. To refer to it all as simple piracy was the biggest insult one could make.*

Granted, he had no way of knowing this or who she was. But it was clear that he had hit quite the nerve.

"Don't you dare refer to me as-"

She was about to state in pure bitterness before the wolf suddenly stood to his feet and collected his sword. This was enough to silence the much smaller Siren for the short moment that followed. The reminder of her situation and defenseless putting her survival over her pride for the moment. The silent and involuntary threat of violence being enough to shut her up.

```I do not advise you to stay here longer than you should have```

And with that he stepped through the sands away from the beach and began to depart. Leaving the wounded artificer with some food, a drink, and something to keep her warm for the night. Something that she didn't ask for but would later find that she certainly would need. Still, Nadia couldn't at least be a little bit surprised. He showed up, carried her away and then left as suddenly as he came within the span of a few minutes.

*"Pirate... I've never even..."*

She mumbled under her breath to herself as she sat in the sand alone under the blazing sun.

"What I do matters. A knight would never understand what that's like, I don't need his approval. One day I'll have someone's..."

Nadia Laomedia, the sea devil of Lazaroth, had survived ordeal with the navy and found herself stranded on the beach of Findara. She needed to find a way to get back to continue her work, but most importantly she needed to heal. And she was far too stubborn to accept the one that was offered to her. While the wolf who helped her made his departure, Nadia went her own way back down to the beach to scavenge for supplies. After all, there was quite a bit she could do if she had enough driftwood to work with.
Vera
|| That is sooo much cooler
Walter
When Nadia first arrived on the surface the thing that amazed her the most was the sun. Having spent an entire childhood looking out into the darkness that covered her home, clutching a lantern as her only light source, the fact that light like that was readily available was her favorite thing about the surface. And the fact that everyone could enjoy it freely aside from the Sirens of the deep ocean just made her all the more bitter. With that sun beginning to set over the waves the surface began to resemble that lightless place she escaped from much more. Even away from the water she still dreaded the villains of the sea looming where the light does not reach.

The Siren tossed another piece of driftwood onto the fire she had crafted as she rested. Having taken shelter in the broken front hull of the ship she destroyed Nadia hid herself as best she could from the cold. Next to her was a waterskin, the one left by the knight from hours before and she bit down on the food he had left. Content enough with partaking when he had left, making it her own decision, not a command for her to follow. Petty? Possibly. But Nadia was a person who lived and died by her ideals. After all it was all she had left.

While the meat seemed to be enough to keep her for the night the drink the knight left was absolutely foul. She couldn't believe surface dwellers could stomach that amber colored swill. Thankfully, she had managed to fill it up with a decent amount of sea water to keep herself hydrated. When she finishes, she collects the tools she still had on her person and got back to work, using the dim light she had to fix her gauntlet. She'd spent hours on this now and it was clear that its damage was far more than she first expected.

The artificer scowled as the metal bolt she had placed falls into the sand once again. It had been the 5th time that one had fallen out. Had she an actual steady surface to work on she might have better luck. But for now, she'd have to put as much focus as she can into this if she wants any kind of results. And it's in this focus that keeps her attention away from the small ship making its way to the shore less than a quarter of a mile away. One that had seen the smoke of her campfire from more than half a mile away. And one full of occupants who have no qualms taking her many many miles away from here.
Arthur
Brakteon had returned to town after his little good deed at the beach. He had half expected the siren to follow him back, but she seemed adamant on staying there.

 He saw her picking through the driftwood from a distance, and though he was curious about what she was doing he decided it best to head back to town and have the meeting he had planned with his little sister, Juteon.

 When he met his sister at the small shop they frequently visited Juteon looked up at him with a smile, she had already gotten him some food ready for his arrival, which he appreciated, given that he had handed most of his rations to the stubborn siren earlier. 

 He sat across Juteon and greeted her with a solemn voice even though in his heart he was happy to see his sister, she was the second oldest amongst his half-siblings, and the one who wrote to him most. 

 She often tried to put a good word for him amongst her people in the high society, telling them that he was not as horrible as their mother painted him to be. It was irrelevant to Brakteon, but he found the act nice.

 Juteon told him about her week, speaking on how the Wealbrig Estate is pulling in more squires to the point that their mother is thinking of stretching a hand to the Mage Order to train Spell Blades under her influence. 

 She also told him about how she fears that she is falling for her riding partner, a young elf woman who can apparently wield a blade just as well as Juteon can, which makes her even more attractive. On that note, Brakteon told her it was best she told the riding partner rather than fawn over her from a distance.

Juteon promised to do that and then asked him how was his day. Not week, day, because she knew that whenever they arranged to meet Brakteon would aspire to do something different from his regular day of traveling about. 

 So Brakteon told her about his venture to the shipwreck and meet with the Siren, he did not tell Juteon about her being a possible pirate, but he did mention that he left her there, and was shocked by the frown on his sister's face.

 "What?" He asked her in between his bites of food. 

 "You left her out there by herself?" Juteon asked back. "She's lost, brother, surely she should be brought into town and helped."

 "Did you miss the part where I mentioned how she refused my help?" Brakteon leaned back into the chair and looked towards the ocean. "Besides, I think she is capable of defending herself. I left my ale."
 
 His sister gave him a look, and he gave her one back. The staring match went on in silence for about thirty seconds before Brakteon let out a long sigh in defeat and rose to his feet. "Fine, I will check if she is still there."

 "And if she is?"

 "I bring her back here," Brakteon grumbled. He hated the hold his siblings had on him. "Tell, Olteon I will see him by the training field tomorrow. Goodnight, sister."

🌕
 
 The walk back to the shipwreck was quiet. Brakteon often hummed to himself when walking, but he chose to not break the peaceful air and instead just admired the sound of waves hugging the shore. 

 He wondered whether the Siren had taken off, whether back to the depths or further into the kingdom, any of the two would result in him heading back to the inn he was lodged at, but when he noticed the smoke rising to the clouds he knew she was still there, making her self a camp.

 He sighed at the thought of having to deal with her attitude again but kept on walking only to stop when he looked further than the smoke trail at the shoreline. A ship was making land, which was odd because any proper captain would sail to the port, not this unmarked beach. 

 Realization dawned on Brakteon when he looked at the campfire again. The ones she had been running from. They were here. 

 Brakteon moved to unsheath his sword but stopped. What was to say these people chasing the Siren were not in the right? What if she was one of the bad pirates? The ones who smuggled and enslaved. Would it be right for him to interfere? 

 However, a small ship would be carrying a large number of soldiers. Was such necessary for just one woman? How about if they were pirates searching to finish what they started on the seas? Her death would be on his head for not stepping in. 

 "Kamara," He called to the goddess as he unsheathed the Claymore of Bright Moon. "Guide my blade to strike true."
Walter
The familiar sound of splashing water brought Nadia's attention away from her delicate work. The gauntlet she'd been tinkering with slipping from her hands and sinking right into the sand. Diving onto her hands and knees she brushed away sand to get it back, ignoring the pain that shot through her leg from such a sudden descent. The effort that it took to push herself off of the ground again was far greater than the average person, nearly toppling over herself as she waved her arms to keep her balance. Even in her normal state she was far weaker than the average person. To add on recovering from a deep gash on her leg and severe dehydration meant that she was as defenseless as one could possibly be. Hastily, she began putting on her gauntlet, her only means of defense aside from her knife as she saw those sailing the ship now right alongside the beach, make landfall.
Arthur
Brakteon watched from a distance as the one with a mask went separate and disappeared in a literal puff of smoke, whilst the others advanced towards the Siren's campfire. 

 He looked between the party and studied each one, they seemed competent enough to warrant a bit of caution, and if given the chance he would take on the large axe-wielding one in combat first. He seemed deadly, but overconfident as well, and Brakteon would have used that used it to his advantage. Unfortunately, those two around him, especially the woman, would have been troublesome to face. 

 There was also the archer hiding around, one with magic, and could do damage from a distance. Brakteon could deal with close combat, but an enemy out of range was never safe no matter how skilled he was.

 He would have to deal with that first and hoped the Siren would keep herself alive for the time being. 

 He also needs to cause a sense of unease amongst the group. They might be in the right, but that did not seem plausible from their approach. They flew no flag but they were clearly experienced in how to approach an enemy, and he wanted to ensure he was not killing innocents.

 Brakteon took a deep breath, tilted his head to the night sky, and let out a long terrible howl. It was so loud that it would probably heard all the way in town, and though it gave away his location he rather their attention was on him, rather than the Siren. To her, he hoped it would serve as a sign of his arrival and ease her despite the approaching danger.

Brakteon stopped his howl and tightened his grip on his sword. If he was in luck, this would be sorted out quickly, and if not, he was prepared to do what was necessary.
Walter
```"And what do we have here?```

The bladeswoman spoke as the three approached the Siren's camp, stopping a few feet away from her campfire. Nadia herself had stumbled backward until she found herself right up at the wall of her little shelter. Cornered in every sense of the word. She could see the predatory glee in her eyes, the look of a lion finding a wounded gazelle stumbling and limping about. 

```"Met a few Merfolk in my life time, never a Siren. Gotta say you're about as-"```

Interrupted by a jet of pressurized water from Nadia's gauntlet, strong enough to tunnel its way through steel. Unfortunately for her, a quick step to the side was all that it took to avoid having a hole burrowed into her skull.

```"That's not going to work, especially if I'm looking right at you. From what the admiral told us you had more luck doing that trick on Lazarothites who just aren't looking."```

She belittled.

```"We shouldn't linger here, Thalia. We're in Findara, remember?"```

```"We're not staying to find out. Whatever that thing was it sounds mad. Grab her and lets go"```

She ordered before cupping both hands over her mouth.

```"Syrus! Forget the last order, get back here now!"```

She called out into the night as the goliath began to approach Nadia.

"G-Get away from me!"

She shouted in vain in an attempt to threaten her future captor. But she wasn't even half this mans height and all she had was a dagger? What could she possibly do?
Arthur
Brakteon looked at where the campfire was, he had heard sounds of struggle, and what sounded like a cannon, so he figured that the Siren had managed to get that weird gauntlet of hers working again. 

 However, they were far too many for such an attack to work in her favor, she would be captured. 

 He frowned at the thought of this altercation, he still did not know what was going on, and he always tried to know the facts of a conflict, or rather he always knew the facts because his conflicts were simple. Freeing slaves, stopping thieves, fighting off assassins, these were straightforward, but he did not know this person. 

 What is to say he was not helping someone dangerous?

 *Worry about that later, Brakteon. You might have left the Order, but you are still a Knight. You save people, Brakteon. Ulpheri would have wanted you to save her.* 

 Brakteon sighed and looked at the ship they sailed in, and he decided that would be where he would confront them. He walked over to the beached vessel, stood in front of the ramp they used to get down, and drove his sword into the sand in front of him. 

 He did not wear the banner of the Kingdom, but he believed his armor would be enough to have them be wary, that and his previous howl. 

 "What a fool you are, Brakteon," He muttered to himself and looked ahead, waiting to confront these strangers for the sake of a stubborn siren.
Walter
Nadia's grip on the handle of her blade tightened as she pressed her entire body against the rotting wood behind her. In hopes that it was brittle enough by the ceaseless sea she rammed her elbow against one of the planks again and again. She felt the pain shoot up through her forearm from each thrust. Had she been stronger she might have shattered one of the boards by the time she ran out of space. But even then it wouldn't have saved her as the Goliath's hand gripped at the dress shirt beneath her coat and hoisted the Siren up into the air, slamming her against those very boards she failed to break as she felt the wind get knocked right out of her.

The goliath's laugh rumbled beneath his iron helm.

```"You ain't so tough now are ya, little fish"```

He mocked, turning around with the stunned Siren now slung over his shoulder as he made his exit.

Nadia's vision blurred as her mind attempted to collect its bearings. The pain pounding in her skull, each breath of air bringing its own agony with every breath. Already wounded, the strike she had taken would be enough to deal some real damage to the average person. To her it felt like her entire body had to rebuild itself before she acted. And if she didn't she could imagine the fate that awaited her. Brought before the royals, set before the public and executed as a warning to any who would question their rule of the seas. If Nadia was gone, would there be anyone who'd be able to stop them? Would anyone care?

No. She couldn't let it end just yet.

`Nad: ``"Gotta say, this-"```

Was all the goliath was able to get out before he stopped right in place. The giant who strode down the beach now motionless with his companions beginning to take notice.

```"D-Doran? Doran what're you-"```

The mage Ezra was about to ask before Doran suddenly put both hands to his head and doubled over as Nadia slipped from his shoulders and onto the sand below. It was seldom Nadia had the chance to use her abilities. Even less so that sh

E'd deem a situation as deserving enough to use them. For a being who values autonomy and free will more than anything, mind control was something she abhorred. But flooding the mind of her captor with enough thought to give him the worst migraine of his life? Unorthodox. But it'll do.

The Siren grimaced as she landed on her hands and knees. The adrenaline in her body now the only thing that was keeping her going. This was her opportunity to escape and if she wasted it she knew she wouldn't get another one. A simple transmutation spell came to mind, Expeditious Retreat. A handy speed boost she's used plenty of times. Although now with a fresh leg wound, moving like that would only make it worse, but she didn't have much choice to worry about that now.

With a quick wave of the hands and magic words she felt the winds flow through her body. It was now or never. She took her first step, aiming for the sea to try and sink beneath the waves. Her boot pressing into the sand as she prepared her next step forward. Only to find the ground itself begin to shift before her, suddenly growing and rising until she landed face first in the sand. Did she lose her balance? Doesn't matter, she had to keep going. Only as she tried to get up she found the force between arms to push herself off the ground were uneven and simply threw herself onto her side.

The mage breathed a sigh of relief, shaking away the mana from his hands from a freshly cast spell.

```"Confusion spells working wonders, ma'am!"```

He called out to the swordswoman who was already helping the Goliath get back to his feet, the mental agony already fading from his mind.

```"Crafty thing... Keep that up, I'll-"

She began to order before the words died in her throat at the sound of heavy boots walking across the sand.
Arthur
It was not the first time Brakteon had been called a lycan, wolf children from the Wealbrig lineage were all from Dire Wolf stock so they tended to be bigger than the average shifter. 

 Still, it was amusing when someone did call him that, it meant he did not have to put in too much effort to scaring them, but the other person was smart enough to point out Brakteon's composure and attire, traits not often seen amongst werewolves in their wolf form. 

 Being called a Lazarothite however, was not amusing. He knew of his family's resemblance to that Kingdom's emblem, how he looked like a Lazaroth's knight armor brought to life, it didn't help that he was grey as well, it made him have to explain himself every time he left the borders of Findara.

 He had once considered putting the Wealbrig emblem on his armor just because of this dilemma, his siblings had suggested it many times, but he was against that. 

 His job was not done. He still had bodies to bury. 

 Brakteon focused on the swordswoman, she was clearly the head of this little band, and she was confident in her blade from her tone. She stated that they were leaving and he should move, but he did not so much as shift his feet in the sand. 

 Instead, he looked over to the Siren, the young woman seemed out of it, confused by what was going on rather than the aggression that he expected her to show.

"I do not know you people," He started. "But the fact that you called Lazaroth an ally means that your work in Findara is most likely nefarious. However, I will not judge you based on your origins, rather on the actions you take today. Tell me why you have come this far to capture this Siren, and if it is in good faith then I will step aside and leave you be. If not, then it would be in your best interest to drop the lady, leave these shores, and never return. And if you decide to draw your blade, I must warn you." 

 He pulled his claymore free from the sand, leaned it against his shoulder, and stared at them as he eyes slowly turned red. "We Wealbrigs are not eager to forgiving transgressions."
Walter
Silence followed the wolfs declaration. His warning left hanging in the cold air as the three hunters surrounded Brakteon. The sound of crackling lightning could be heard bouncing between Ezra's palms, stepping to the Shifter's left. Doran, the brute, could be heard grinding the blades of his axes together as he took them from his back and stepped to the Shifter's right. From behind him, Brakteon would hear the twang of a bowstring and metal impacting wood. If he turned, or had any other way of knowing, he'd see the 4th hunter. The owl masked ranger, Syrus, and an arrow lodged into the ramp he stood in front of, not too far from his foot. An odd place to aim if they were looking to harm him. A warning shot, close enough to announce their presence without so much as a word. And of course in the front was their emerald haired leader. Thalia, from what the mage had called her. 

All 4 surrounding him on all sides. A move that they seemed to have done plenty of times given how natural this formation seemed to come. A dull blade could cut the tension in the air. The question was who of the 4 would strike first? 

But the bladeswoman didn't seem as on edge as the other three were. Her eyes never leaving the wolf until the other three were in position. The quiet was broken by a dismissive chuckle as she turned around and began walking toward the water. Over where the floundering Nadia was, still trying to escape while under the effects of the spell placed upon her.

```"Knew I recognized that blade. The Bright Moon Claymore, wielded by the disowned son of house Wealbrig. I like to keep informed on the most notable people in Lucidien, especially if they've gotta price over their head. Never saw a bounty placed on a sword though. Lady Wealbrig's paying a kings ransom to get that back and there's a trail of bodies you've left behind of those who tried."```

It was around the last sentence that there would be a reaction from Doran and Ezra. Particularly at the mention of Brak

Teon's kill count.

```"He ki- He... What the fuck???"```

The mage muttered under his breath. The Goliath's helmet could be heard clattering as he looked the wolf up and down several times, even adjusting his stance as his foolhardy attitude quickly vanished when he learned just who he was dealing with.

Thalia stopped right before Nadia, trying in vain to push herself out of the sand before sending a decisive kick crashing right into her forehead. Her skin cracked easy as a large gash soon appeared as blood began to stream down her face as it twisted in pain, landing on her back with salt water washing over her. The hunter would grab her by the shirt collar and drag her to where she was standing earlier. A trail of blood staining the sand as Nadia's body hung lump before crumpling to the ground as Thalia placed her foot upon her chest.

```"Siren's, you know? Can't be too careful"```

She cruelly joked, wiping off the blood which now stained her hands on Nadia's overcoat.

```"My name is Thalia Kharsis. To your left is Doran, to your right is Ezra, and Sirus has taken point right behind you. Technically speaking we're adventurers belonging to the guild, but honestly we do so much work in bounties that we're practically hunters ourselves. Not sure what the name of this thing is beneath me but the navy in Lazaroth have called her The Sea Devil of Inyelion. To put it bluntly, she's single handedly sunk 4 caravels, 12 sloops, 2 galleon's and most recently a Lazarothi man-o-war. I'll admit her body count has been near none until the stunt she pulled that washed her up here. 3 members of the guard who were tracking her got pulled under when the ship sank. The admiral who hired us spent the whole night combing the seas for her corpse.

Of course when it wasn't found he hired us to scower the coast of Findara to find it. He'd check himself but sending Lazarothi soldiers onto Findaran soil really isn't something that would look real good on them. And just our luck, look who's windpipe I've got my foot on right now. Not sure what the admiralty has in store for her but I really don't care. We fully plan on getting back in our ship and getting out of here before things get more complicated then they already are.

Now, as much as I'm willing to get my hands on that luxury sword you're carrying around, seems like a pretty big risk taking on a man of your reputation. So if you'd be so kind as to get out of our way, I'm willing to forget I even saw you. Live and let live and all that. Of course, if you want to die for the saboteur then I have no qualms with making another fortune with that blade you of yours.```
Arthur
Three things came to Brakteon's mind at the end of Thalia's speech. The first thing he noticed, now more than earlier, is that they were organized.

 The group had surrounded him with a formation used to take on a target from all points, preventing his escape, while also keeping close enough to support one another if Brakteon decided to focus on one of them rather than all, which meant they were well-versed in combat and no matter how skilled Brakteon was he would have a problem, and it would not come from the brute, Doran, but rather the archer, Syrus, who had strategically set himself behind him and already notched an arrow at his head.

 The second thing he noticed was that they were afraid of him because of his reputation, and all aside from Thalia were cautious of him. His Father always said that the first advantage in combat was had without ever swinging a sword, him scaring them would be to his advantage. Despite what most believed, being overly cautious in combat was often a fault.

 He looked at each of them, ensuring his red eyes met theirs. He was outnumbered, but he had been outnumbered many times before and survived with little injury, and they knew that. 

 But that all brought him to his third observation. He wasn't alone in this fight.

 Brakteon had withheld a growl when Thalia cruelly kicked the Siren, he did not want to show a sliver of emotion because that could be used to their advantage, instead, he had calculated the risk and decided to go by the words of his Mother.

 The Charge's protection comes first, and the battle comes after.

If he were to fight them, he could win, but they could easily attack the Siren and force him to submit. He might not truly, but he wasn't certain of that. He needed to ensure her safety before any such fight commenced. And with that decision, Brakteon's plan commenced. 

 Brakteon drops to a lower crouch, aims his sights on the Siren, and speaks his spell. "**THUNDERWAVE**." A great blast of thunder instantly emitted from Brakteon, and as he planned, the spell kicked up all the sand around him into the air causing even him to be blinded by it. 

 However, he had already set his sight on the siren, and hoping that the distraction would disorient the hunters Brakteon dashed forward, being surprisingly fast for his size, snatched the Siren from the ground beside Thalia, and took off running down the beach. 

 "You better be worth it!" Brakteon snapped at her, even though she was unconscious, and after a short sprint, he drifted to a stop. He knew they would follow, he knew he would fight. That thunder wave took a bit of his energy, so he would have to play this smart and avoid a full-on fight against all four. 

 "If you can hear me, which I do hope you can, wake up." And with those words, he tossed the Siren into the shallow waters hoping that would do something, he would have healed her, but he needed his mana for the fight.

"**CRIMSON STRIKE**." Brakteon muttered and ran his claymore across his palm, and its odd glowing blade gained a thin red coating as his blood obeyed his command. It was not a guaranteed hit spell, he would have to actually strike a foe for it to happen, and he hoped his luck would be kind enough to send the barely armored brute up first.

 If his attack wouldn't hit then it meant he just wasted mana, which was not good because he could tell he had maybe two more good spells in him before fatigue sets in.

 *Worry about that later, Brakteon. Now, we fight.*

 Brakteon slid into a fighting stance, raised his sword, and hoped his sister's sense of righteousness would not be the reason for another scar on his body.
Leona
The sound of lapping waves was all that could be heard as the five stood on the Findarian beach. The four hunters surrounding the wolf who wielded the blade of his exiled home. To him it was his prized weapon. His instrument of the justice he intends to deliver upon the wicked. To Thalia and her crew it was simply a prize to be won and traded for a mountain of coin. And they were far from novices either. Their formation, their composition, everything about them made it clear they've fought plenty of warriors and have beaten them all. Ser Wealbrig would have to use everything he has if he wants a chance at coming out on top. 

```"I don't doubt your skills, Wealbrig, I'd even admit that I'd struggle if we came to blows. But the thing is I'm sure you know it doesn't matter how good you are if you're outnumbered like this. You still care about justice, right? So why not let us back on out ship so we can-"```

The first to notice the flow of mana emanating from his palm would be Ezra, but would have nowhere near enough time to warn the others before their newest quarry vanished beneath a cloud of sand.

Panic gripped the hearts of the hunters like a plague with Ezra placing the ends of his thumbs together to cast ***Burning Hands***, spraying a plume of fire where Brakteon was standing earlier. Doran stumbled backwards as that very fire began to burn his skin.

```"H-He's spittin' out fire!"```

He calls out, unaware that the source was his own ally. Sirus was the only one of the three who seemed to keep a level head enough to begin climbing the mast of the ship to get into a better position. One which would place them firmly off the ground and away from the vicious dog which had begun to run rampant through the beach.

It was even enough to catch Thalia off guard who immediately jumped back, preparing for an attack as she saw the wolf dash out from the cloud right at her. A battle hungry grin grew on her face as she prepared her stance.

```"Wrong choice, dog!"```

She exclaimed, preparing for the strike which would never come. Only to see him stop where she was standing moments ago and grasping the Siren she had held captive. Her eyes widened as she watched him begin to dash right around her, just out of range of her blade before tossing her into the shallows. Her body landing in the wet sand face down, slowly moving with the tide. The oathbroken knight would finish by lining his blade with his very own blood. A spell which meant the first of them to be struck first with that spell would be in for some bad news. 

There would be no gloating from Thalia now, her face awash with the grim realization that all four of them had just been outwitted, their advantageous position gone, and now entertaining the prospect of the Siren fleeing into the sea.

```"Shit... Doran! Ezra!"```

She called out as she stepped toward the waters, the two already sallying up close to her. 

```"I'll make the grab, you two are making a Blind Pauper"```

She ordered, already trudging through the sand. It wasn't clear what a 'Blind Pauper' was or what that meant, but there wasn't any confusion on the mages or barbarians face. Ezra held up his hands as more mana began to flow through, perhaps for a fireball? A cone of ice? A blade of shadow? But for Brakteon he'd find that no bright color of evocation magic would be seen. In fact, he'd struggle to differentiate colors at all. 

***Hypnotic Pattern***

The same illusion spell they used to stun Nadia before beating her to a bloody pulp. Brakteon's perception would rapidly begin to shift as though he were looking through a kaleidoscope. His balance, his posture, he'd have to put effort to keep that up as the world around him seemed to melt. Hopefully, he'd be able to come back to his senses somehow, or at least adjust with these new senses in time. For Doran, with twin battleaxes, was already charging Brakteon. Ready to complete the Blind Pauper. A move they've done plenty of times.
Arthur
*Blind Pauper?* Brakteon's confusion was met with a blast of nausea as a set of colors filled his vision, he stumbled backward blinking profusely to get his sight back, but the colors just got wilder, as though a rainbow had come to life and began dancing in his mind scrambling every one of his senses in a horrible stampede. 

 He had been too focused on hoping the barbarian would approach with bravado, eager to have himself as the one to take him down, but they were still a team, and because Brakteon played them, he should have expected them to take him more seriously. 

 *Move, you fool!* 

 Brakteon could not completely perceive what was going on around him. The last thing he saw was Thalia heading for the Siren and Doran standing close by. If they blinded him then that meant an attack was imminent, he could not defend against a strike he could not see nor hear, and he certainly needed to move fast otherwise, he would be injured. Maybe even killed. 

 Two more spells. It was risky to spend his mana, clearly their mage was more skilled at magic than he was, but Brakteon needed his sight back, and he still had Crimson Strike in play. He also now knew who was a bigger threat to him.

"**BLOOD SENSE**" Brakteon regained his vision, but not in the sense that he had previously, rather he could see the life force of everyone within three hundred feet.

 He could also tell the health of anyone within this radius, but that wasn't relevant, what was useful was that he could see Doran charging at him. 

 Brakteon regained his footing and in a burst of speed charged at Doran, but rather than bringing his blade to clash with the goliath the Oathbreaker sidestepped completely. 

 He dropped to his knees, using his momentum and the looseness of the sand to propel himself forward a bit, and as he rose to his feet he swung his Claymore straight for the Mage's face
Leona
In another burst of speed the wolf lunged toward the illusionist. Teeth bared and ready it was in a matter of seconds that he was able to close the distance between him and his target. Using every ounce of focus he has on not only maintaining his magic but also his balance with his senses still warped, he rose his blade high with the clear intent on maiming the young hunter, if not completely severing his head from his body. The fear that Ezra had felt from the wolf at a distance grew into full on terror with his vision blinded by the moonlight blade just inches from his face. With self preservation taking hold, the spell which bewitched Brakteon would quickly fade as their concentration was broken.

His blade would soon meet the resistance of another spell. ***Shield***. A transparent sphere tinged in a light blue would envelop Ezra as the blade swung toward him would crash against the force of his mana. In this moment it was a battle of strength. The strength of ones magic against the strength of ones body as blue fractals began to spray in all directions as the shield began to crack under the strain. Gritted teeth and motivated by the primal, desperate need to survive, the illusionist planted his feet and put all his might into maintaining that shield. Only to find that his magic would be found lacking.

Had this been a normal strike, while the shield would shatter, with how much momentum it took it would be likely the mage would still be standing. Wounded, but still standing. But as the blade shattered the shield all the necrotic magic which lined the blade from the ***Crimson Strike*** Prior seeped into him. The mage would be sent into the air before crashing down several feet to the right of the dishonored knight. The only sound escaping from his broken body would be quiet gasps of air while Brakteon's cruel magic ate away at him as he lay powerless.

```"GODS NO, EZRA!"```

Roared Doran at the sight of the very mage he had been arguing with moments ago now laying motionless and in agony in the sand. His fury now directed toward the wolf man who's armor was now stained in blood.

```"You rabid fucking dog!"```

He roared, greataxes at the ready. But while he seemed the biggest threat, Brakteon would find he wasn't the most immediate.

The conflict would mask the twang of the bowstring. The body of Ezra would block Brakteon's view of the arrow sailing right toward him. And only an experienced ranger like Sirus would be able to time an attack just perfectly enough to make it not only unable to be noticed, but unable to be avoided by timing it perfectly with their companions demise. One may think an arrow would do little in the ways of harm to one dressed in full armor from the neck down. One would have to target the head, and at that distance would be near impossible. Which is why the arrow clanged right against the warriors chest. 

Before bursting in a conflagration of fire.

An explosive arrow, one the ranger seldom had a need for except in extraneous circumstance. And by the gods this monster certainly constituted extraneous circumstance. Even if it didn't kill him, it would certainly hurt as the force of the explosion and the flames all erupted just mere inches away from the dishonored son of house Wealbrig.
Arthur
Brakteon had forgotten about the Archer.

 In his haze and need to free himself of the Mage, Brakteon had forgotten about the archer whom he had initially put as the first threat due to the distance between them. 

 He had faced the Berserker after landing **Crimson Strike** On the Mage, hoping that the rage from seeing a teammate fall would blind his skills, only to look down when the arrow slammed against his armor chest plate and erupted before he could grasp what was happening. 

 *Shit.* 

 The explosion threw Brakteon from his feet, and he tumbled through the air before crashing face-first into the sand. He laid there for a moment, dazed and in great pain, although his armor had taken most of the brunt of the explosion, he knew that the attack had injured him. 

 The flames from the arrow had singed his fur, covering his face in soot, but fortunately, everything else seemed in place. 

 Brakteon grunted as he slowly rose to his feet. He looked towards where the arrow had come from and saw the archer was still perched on the ship. It took skill for that kind of shot, and it pained Brakteon that he probably had to kill him for that disrespect. 

 He pointed a sword at Sirus, a warning or a promise, then turned his attention back to those closest to him.

The Siren was still unconscious, doing nothing as Thalia approached her, while Doran was ready with his axes. If he had not been hit with that arrow, Brakteon would have been confident enough to face him even with Thalia backing him, but he was now injured. 

 He could heal himself, but that would be his last spell and that would only refill his stamina, not his mana, and he might need to do something more extreme at a moment's notice. 

 He needed to play this differently, and he hoped their reaction to their ally's pain was enough for his plan to work.

 "Your friend is in danger," Brakteon told them. He stood straight, trying to hide the pain that he was in, and gestured to Ezra. 

 "If we drag this out, he will die a horrible death, or at the very least, be greatly injured for the rest of his short life. Leave the Siren alone, and I heal him well enough for you to sail off and get help before he dies. Continue this bout, and while I might not win, only one of you will leave this beach alive. And you will not get very far, that howl I made was to alert my sister. She will ride here with reinforcements, and kill you."

 That last part was a lie, well not completely. If his sister was still in town, she would have heard his howl and come to help, but she had not shown up yet, so she probably had not heard him. 

 These bounty hunters did not need to know that, so far nobody seemed to be a shifter, they might not call his bluff on that.

 However, the dying friend was true and in front of them. He looked to Thalia with a raised brow.

 "What is your choice, bounty hunter?"
Leona
The oathbroken wolf began his attempts at parlay with the brute after recovering from the inferno he had undergone. His silver armor now coated in spots of black from both bits of gunpowder and the heating of metal. His words were indeed true. Mostly, at least. Even if he was outnumbered he was the superior fighter. Had it been a duel he would be the winner, even if sustaining more injuries. Numbers was their biggest advantage that they had. If they lost that it meant that there odds of winning would go down substantially.

However, while there was truth in his words, Brakteon spoke them to the only one who could hear. Doran the Berserker. Sirus was too far to hear, as was Thalia who was hunting down the Siren. Doran's rage fulled roars louder than any words he could have spoke Had he spoke this to any of the others perhaps they might have listened. Or even before they came to blows when he was given his ultimatum. But that has passed, reputation be damned, blood had been spilt and there was no coming back from that. 

Brakteon would only get halfway through his warning before Doran would be upon him, greataxes swinging in a whirlwind, every single second focused entirely on attacking without giving the wolf a second to breath. Defense thrown asunder as he bared the weight of all his anger he has cultivated down upon the knight.

Thalia herself would finally grab the Siren by the leg as she pulled the both of them out of the shallow waters. Both covered in salt water as she tossed the limb body of Nadia onto the sand.

```"Nobodies leaving here until that wolf is dead! Get me that sword!"```

She ordered, leaving the Siren to trudge her way over to Doran to aid in the melee. Fortunately for Brakteon, clambering through the waves has made her exhausted, walking on over rather than a full sprint to catch her breath. This meant that there was still an opportunity to act before he would be overwhelmed.

What started off in the wolf's favor quickly began to turn in the hunters favor. Injured, outnumbered and now about to endure the force of a raging goliath, things were bad. Really bad.
Arthur
Brakteon was never good with diplomacy, despite living in high society, he never got around to knowing when and how to strike deals. This was a clear sign of his failure in that field. Then again, he never liked diplomacy, he was never one for politics. 

 No. Brakteon was a fighter, a knight who trusted in his sword that he used to kill those who stood in his way, and this was no different.

 He had tried to show mercy and grant them a way out of this, but they were now determined to have him dead and take his sword. And by this sword, they would all die.

 One last spell. 

 Brakteon dodged the berserker's incoming attacks by leaping away from reach. He stumbled upon landing, almost falling even, but that was expected in his condition. 

 He then took a deep breath, placed a hand on his chest, and focused on his heartbeat, on the blood flowing through every vein in his body. 

 He could feel it rushing with power, begging to be used against the enemies before him, but instead, the knight focused his mana inwards, casting the first spell he had used today on himself.

**SANGUINE RECOVERY** 

 A simple spell, one of the first he ever learned, but oh so very useful. Instantly, all signs of injury faded from him, though his armor was still scorched, and his fur still singed, the Shifter stood straighter now, the pain fading into obscurity and replaced with newfound strength and stamina. 

 No more spells, only the grace of his family's sword, and the Bright Moon Claymore has never glowed brighter.

 "Fine then. Bleed." 

 Brakteon charged at the Berserker, and seeing that Doran had decided to forsake defending himself, swung the claymore straight for the Goliath's midsection, hoping that whatever injury he would receive from the wild axe swings would dwarf the damage his sword would accomplish on the bare skin of his opponent.
Leona
Berserkers like Doran seldom faced warriors who could come close to matching their strength. Their talents were intimidation, and if needed, obliteration. The Goliath's enemies were smaller, with lighter weapons or basic spells. It was the benefit of working with the rest of the hunters. Thalia's planning always put him far away from anyone who could deal actual damage and left him to mop up collections of lesser warriors, or to gang up on a stronger one if need be. As was the plan before Ezra was taken out of the fight and it became a proper duel. And as both warriors struck one another it was clear that ones armor proved much stronger than ones rage.

Brakteon's blade dug into deep into Doran's waist. The thick skin he had cultivated from over a dozen stab wounds and cuts would cave before the might of the legendary blade of house Wealbrig as for a brief moment his insides would light with its azure light. A torrent of blood began to spill out onto the sands before he was even halfway done, only to be followed by a bundle of intestines spilling out as the warrior who towered over him crumpled onto the ground, the anger and life leaving him as his last moments would be frighteningly aware of his demise before collapsing onto the sand. By the time he hit the ground he'd have a few seconds of agonizing consciousness left before finally succumbing from shock.

Two down. Two to go.

It seems Brakteon's focus entirely on offense seems to have won him a critical blow. Despite being outnumbered and facing a raging berserker he fell the giant with a single strike. Yes, he was able to land a blow on him in exchange but with the armor he wore it would mean nothing. Right?

**Snap**

Two heavy axes would crash down onto the wolfs left arm as he was midswing. His armor protecting him from the force of having the arm severed buy did nothing to stop the impact of the giants dying strike. His arm bent upwards at an improper angle as his grip on the blade loosened. He'd have to finish disemboweling the man with one arm as a vibrant agony began to radiate from the impact site.

By the time that the adrenaline of the attack began to fade it became increasingly clear what had happened.

In his dying moment, Doran had entirely shattered Brakteon's left arm.

An injury far greater than that he had sustained since the fight began. And now out of magic, what had once seemed a victory for him had come at a horrible price as he was left to face two hunters with only one arm for his giant blade.

Thalia's eyes watched Doran collapse to the ground. A cold look of analytical recognition that remained until the life finally left him. And the leader of the hunters let out a chuckle at her companions demise.

```"Oh well. Makes splitting the gold I'll make much simpler"```

She remarks, stepping over Doran's corpse only stopping a swords length and a half before the wolf. Behind her, in a flash of magical smoke was the ranger, Sirus. A quick ***Misty Step*** Was all that was needed, bow aimed at the wolf before Thalia shook her head.

```"I don't want that Siren to sneak off during this. I can handle him, just get her on that boat and wait for me"```

She ordered, the ranger silently nodding as they made their way over to the beaten Siren.

```"You look tired, Wealbrig. It's not too late to leave here with your life. Hand me that sword and I'll be too busy with my fortune to even remember what happened here. Unless you think you can still win, with one arm, mind you."```
Arthur
*Well... Shit*

 Brakteon fell to his knees as the pain of his left arm overwhelmed him and only kept from falling completely by driving the claymore into the sand. He could feel his consciousness slipping with every rapid heartbeat, and black spots formed in his vision as he tried his best to focus on the woman in front of him. 

 He could hear her clearly though, because even though he was in slight panic, his mind raced to find a way out of this. 

 He knew a full-on attack would result in some consequence, but he had overestimated his already damaged armor, and now his left arm was shattered. 

 Killing the Berserler was a necessary move, but he had expected himself capable of facing Thalia immediately after, and now, here he was barely able to wield his sword.

 Gods... Why had he done this? For some stubborn Siren he just met? He could have been halfway across Findara sleeping in the manor now, but no, he came back here to help an ungrateful person, and now he might die on this stupid beach.
 
 Maybe he didn't need to die, maybe he just needed to give her the sword, and she would leave him alone. So what if he treasured the sword? He was disowned by his own mother, he is only Wealbrig by name, and he could not claim the Estate. Was it worth his life? 

 *No. Not the sword. Never the sword.*

 Fine, if he did not want to part with the blade, maybe he could lie about surrendering. A false surrender, have her think she has the upper hand, and get her in... Close.

Brakteon looked up as the realization struck him, and after a moment of silence, the Shifter began to laugh. He laughed as though he was not bleeding to death, and then he slowly rose to his feet using his sword for leverage. 

 "You are afraid."

 He pointed at Thalia with his broken arm. "I am bleeding, I can barely stand, and yet you still stand out of my sword's reach, because you are afraid. But what should I expect from a coward? You send your men to weaken me and then think yourself the victor as you stand over their corpses. Only a coward hides behind their soldiers." 

 "What were Doran's last moments like I wonder, as he realised he had died for an ungrateful leader? And this one?" He gestured to the Mage who was still suffering. "As his mind sinks further, does he grasp that you will do nothing to help him? Not even bury him?" 

 Brakteon tightened his grip on his sword and kicked it, causing it to swing upwards and land on his shoulder. The weight almost knocks him back to the ground, but with gritted teeth, he stays upright and stares at Thalia. 

 "I am Brakteon fucking Wealbrig. I do not have much honor left, and I might die a fool, but I will never die a coward. I promised that only one of you would leave this place if I met my end here. So come, Thalia Kharsis, and let us meet death together if you are not afraid."
Leona
The head hunter stood as Brakteon made his remarks about her cowardess. The distance that she decided to keep. The callousness for her companions. That look of excitement for the fight ahead slowly fading the more he went on. She paced back and forth, her sword skimming against the sand as Brakteon defiantly tossed his blade over his shoulder and challenged her to battle. A bold display that certainly seems to have an effect on the bladeswoman. Was it anger? Was she moved by his bravery? Was she disheartened.

But with a scoff and a shake of the head it was clear. She was bored.

"Gods is this how you got your reputation, talking people to death?"

She remarked tilting her head to the side, her neck cracking, her shoulders rolling, a short little warm-up before blades would cross.

"Gotta say though this... Whatever you call this, makes me want to kill you quicker just to shut you up!"

Her blade swung to the side, her feet pressing against the sand as she rushed toward Brakteon in a sprint.

Sirus themselves had finally made their way over to Nadia. Bow placed snug with string across their chest. The Siren lay facedown in the sand, still as unconscious as ever since the fight had begun. The ranger knelt down to roll the girl over, planning to toss her over their shoulder. Only the minute that they had gotten her onto her back her hand slammed right against the side of their head.
Walter
***Shocking Grasp***

A deception that the ranger had fallen for as magical lightning corsed through their body. A muffled scream could be heard beneath their mask as they tried to pull away, only for Nadia to use her other hand to grab onto the rangers wrist. The ranger would be on their feet for a little over a second before finally collapsing on their back, twitching and spasming. Nadia fell onto her hands and knees catching her breath. Blood from her wounded forehead streaming down her face as she tried her best to stand.

While this would be excellent for Brakteon, now having one more hunter to deal with. He was injured, exhumed, and dealing with the strongest hunter of them all. How was the dishonoed son of house Wealbrig going to get oufit of this one?
Arthur
A broken arm, bleeding wounds, damaged armor, yet Brakteon Wealbrig stood. He could feel the cold arms of death hanging over his neck, and he could hear its whispers as his consciousness threatened to vanish, but Brakteon was born with fur so the cold never bothered him anyway. He was a knight, injured yes, gruesomely even, but he could still swing a sword... In a sense. 

 From the corner of his vision, he noticed Nadia finally waking up and defying her supposed fate. Despite her injuries, she had taken down the archer, so what stopped Brakteon from doing the same? It was just a shattered arm, he still had his favored arm. 

 Brakteon took a deep breath and steadied his mind. If he could not kill this enemy, he would ensure that she was injured enough for the Siren to escape this place.

 *NO! WE WILL NOT DIE THIS DAY. WE STILL HAVE BODIES TO BURY! FIGHT, WEALBRIG!*

 With the declaration in his mind, Brakteon abandoned any sense of sacrificing his life. He promised his fallen friend vengeance, and vengeance was not on this beach. 

 He dropped to a low crouch, as he had done at the beginning of this whole encounter, but he cast no spell, instead, the Shifter did something entirely different.

Brakteon jumped. 

 Putting whatever strength he had left into his legs, the knight leaped from the beach, earning a height advantage on the hunter, and on the way back down, he let gravity add to the force of his swing because there was no more power left in his bleeding body. 

 A gamble, it was an unorthodox approach to a fight, one he hoped would catch the huntress by surprise enough to land a hit, but he knew her skills, he had swung with his left in case she would strike at him. 

 The already injured arm would take whatever consequence came with this move, and he prayed to whatever god was listening he would be granted luck for his deeds tonight.
Leona
The warrior stood defiant. Battered in body but still vigorous in mind. Despite starting this battle off drastically outnumbered his choices, his skill, his martial prowess has helped him overcome every challenge that he has faced. Only now, he faced the biggest challenge yet. With every other hunter now incapacitated or dead, all that was left was to deal with the leader and Brakteon will have claimed the glory the comes with a victory like this. It was much easier said than done. His prized weapon, that mighty greatsword who's weight proved capable of felling the strongest of his opponents now had its size become its biggest disadvantage.

With no lighter weapon within reach, it would have to do. The huntress Thalia already sprinting at him as his mind raced for what he could do to secure victory. For a brief moment though, when he crouched down with blade over his shoulder, he could see the faint look of recognition in the eyes of Thalia before he had taken to the air. Only to see that she had stopped her charge and now stood right to the side of where his blade would collide. Unfortunately, that pose was the exact same one he used when the fight began, the one he used to advance right in front of Thalia at blinding speed. By now the huntress knew to be on guard when he adopts that stance, and while she wasn't expecting him to leap she was able to react appropriately.

An upward slash would be sent toward Brakteon's neck. A clear attempt to decapitate the wolf as he descended, his headless body landing on the ground with a heavy thud. Yet this wouldn't be the end of the wolves tactics, his damaged arm boldly swung before him as it collided with the blade. The swordswoman eyes grew wide as the blade clanged against the metal arm. A rush of pain would shoot through the broken limb but the armor would mean such an injury was simply superficial. 

But just as it seemed that Brakteon had avoided any and all damage, a heavy impact would land right beneath his maw, crushing right into his throat. Thalia, while maintaining perfect balance, had delivered a devastating high kick aiming at the wolfs neck. To make an attack like that right after the first before Brakteon even had the chance to touch the ground made one thing clear. Thalia was fast. Very fast. Brakteon might have struggled hitting her before with both arms, but with just the one what hope did he have now.

The wolf would collapse onto the ground, but with his head intact. The bladeswoman confidently standing over him, a swordlength away. Of course, this would be a fine time to finish the job. What better time to strike with the opponent dazed and battered on the cold sand? But she didn't seem all to keen just yet. For the huntress was so assured of her victory she used the time to gloat.

```"You and the squid over there. Do you both just forget that I have eyes when you pull moves and magic like that right in front of me? I-"```

*Clang*
Walter
The sound of Brakteon's armor being struck would ring out as an aquatic dagger would bounce right off his leg. Thalia turned to see an exhaused Nadia, arm extended after throwing her dagger, her last reliable weapon she had on hand.

*Gods what am I doing?*

She questioned staring down the hunter who had just stomped her face into the sand moments ago. Truth be told she wouldn't mind seeing this knight get cut down right where he lay. He was a tyrant, an oppressor, how many innocents had he killed before those two right there? He was just boasting about killing them earlier while she faked being unconsciousness. The body of Sirus twitched and spasmed as faint sparks of lighting flowed. But he was still alive. Despite being one who called for the elimination of all gods and monarchs, Nadia was highly averse to death. Murder was the tool of those who don't value life. It's why knights distribute death so easily, so liberally, so callously. Like Brakteon.

That's what she said his name was, right? Of course he was a noble too, as if being a knight wasn't enough. His kind would be those she didn't mind seeing dead, even if she wouldn't kill them herself. People like him deserved it.

But why now did she just do that? Why not flee to the ocean and leave the knight to his fate? It goes against everything she stands for. But fact of the matter is, if he hadn't been here she'd be on the boat back to Lazaroth for execution. Even if he was a despicable deathmonger, she owed him this much.

```"Did... Did you have your eyes closed? That wasn't even near me"```

Thalia mocked, turning to face Nadia as she took a step forward.

```"Gods I can't believe I have to do everything myself. Ah well. Not going to matter when I have enough gold to make a mountain out of when I bring you back to Lazaroth. After getting that luxury sword of the wolf."```

As Brakteon's sense would return, he'd see the dagger which now lay on the ground near him. The Siren's eyes looking at him with dreadful expectation before looking back at the dagger. 

It was clear, she certainly hit her target.

Could a wounded knight with a dagger really beat a swordswoman who beat him in speed? Unlikely.

But, a dagger is a far easier weapon to use single handedly than his greatsword. 

Brakteon was wounded, but he was still armored. As many strikes as he took Thalia's sword couldn't pierce him from the neck down. And now with a new weapon, the question remained.

What will you do with it? Son of House Wealbrig?
Arthur
Stars. Brakteon saw stars above as his mind attempted to gain control of his body. The kick had come as a surprise, one that had done more damage than he thought it would. 

 His gamble had failed. The huntress had seen his iconic crouch and had countered his move, and now he lay in the sand, barely understanding what occurred around him.

 Everything hurt. From head to toe, brakteon felt an ungodly ache. His shattered arm had taken even more damage, his vision was blurry, and his grip on the claymore was loosening. He was having no luck in this fight. He was too injured to fight on.

 He rolled his head to look at Thalia. She was gloating over his takedown, and he could feel his conscience slipping, but then something struck his leg.

 Brakteon looked further down the beach and saw the Siren, she had thrown her dagger and hit his leg, causing both his and Thalia's attention to focus on her.

 Why in the name of the moon had she done that? What horrid aim did she have to strike him rather than the huntress' neck when she was distracted with him? 

 It was only when their eyes met that he would understand that she intended for him to use it. She had dragged Thalia's attention so that Brakteon could muster strength and use her weapon. A good plan, but the fault was that Brakteon never swung another blade. No daggers, no throwing knives, if the Brightmoon Claymore was not in his hands then his claws would have to do. 

 Also, he had no more strength to muster. He could move, but at a pace slower than a turtle. His joints pained him severely, and as Thalia approached the Siren, he did not know what else to do.

 Until the stench of blood filled his nose. 

 Not his. No. The brute and the mage that lay in the sand with him.

Many believed Henomancy to be sacrilegious. The art of commanding blood, the very life essence of beings, was disturbing to most. Even to Brakteon. 

 But it was also powerful. Ever since he trained in the art he knew. So, despite what others said, he used the magic whenever necessary. 

 The goliath was dead and gone, his soul now on the plain beyond this one. But the mage, the unfortunate mage, he was dancing at the edge of the afterlife. So Brakteon pushed him over it. 

 "**DRAIN**." The word left his mouth as a whisper, but it was a command nonetheless, and being that the victim was already suffering, he could not fight back against the spell. 

 Brakteon's breath hitched as the energy began flowing through him, stealing whatever life force was within the dying man. 

 He felt his bruises begin to heal, and his stamina replenish, and although his broken arm remained the same, Brakteon was more interested in getting back on his feet, which he eventually did after the spell's completion. 

 The vampiric drain only healed half his injuries. He could still feel a little sting coming from where her kick had hit him, but what mattered was he was standing again. His left arm hung by his side, useless. 

 At this point, he was probably noticed. He was standing again, which probably annoyed Thalia because how many times could a man fall? And the answer to that was until he was dead. 

 "Oi," He called to the Siren and kicked the dagger across the beach. "If you cannot fight your battles, then you will lose all the wars. And you." He turned his attention back to Thalia. "I apologize for pulling such a predictable move on you. I will now fight you properly,"

Brakteon slid his broadsword up and rested it on his shoulder, he did not crouch, instead, the knight took a deep breath and charged at the swordswoman. 

 He was moving at half his speed, more than enough time for the Thalia to relax, but what she probably would not expect was how Brakteon decided to swing his sword.

 Brakteon had taken her speed into account, she was superior to him, and she could use that if she got in close, so he swung his sword with the flat side facing her. Unorthodox, which was a tactic he had now had to use twice. 

 Her chance of escaping the wide blade would be narrow, and though he was half healed his strength was still formidable if she decided to parry. 

 He was not expecting this to do much damage, he was down on his luck, down one arm, and out of spells. 

 This was a last effort, a final wind, and his only prayer was that his words reached the Siren, that she would follow up to finish this all, otherwise they lose. He did not want to lose tonight.
Walter
*Pick it up, pick it up... Come on, you're a knight and I'm handing you a weapon this should come natural to you*

Nadia's thoughts raced as she took a step back with the untouchable huntress continuing her approach. A look of predatory glee lining her face, her fingers curling around the handle as moonlight danced off the blades edge. While Nadia was still capable of more than Brakteon at the moment, there was little of it that would help her. She wasn't a warrior, she was just an artificer. She stumbled back, her hand brought up to her face to wipe away the stream of blood from her head wound, smearing the substance across the side of her face. 

She took another glance at Brakteon, hoping to see him try to stand, to prepare an attack, something with her dagger. But her eyes grew wide at the sight of what he had been doing during this time. A stream of red mana escaped the mouth of the dying mage, his choking breaths barely audible as the knight put an end to his suffering. Nadia, who was entirely unfamiliar with the magic at play was not only shocked but absolutely furious. As it seemed, the knight was using this time to prey upon the weak instead of helping her. The hunter was part of the crew out to get her, certainly. But it just seemed he couldn't help himself but slaughter someone who couldn't fight back.

Regardless, this was just the thing the wolf needed to get back onto his feet. Kicking her dagger back toward her as he called both their attention.

"I..."

She quietly muttered in absolute shock. 

Thalia on the other hand craned her head over her shoulder to see the son of house Wealbrig still standing. A look of joyful surprise as she let the tip of her blade sink into the sand.

```"What's this now, dog? Your second wind or your dying gasp?"```

Blades poised, the two dashed toward one another, ready to bring this brawl to its blood conclusion. Nadia herself, now with the huntress's back turned to her, aimed her gauntlet, a jet of pressurized water shooting out before the two could clash.

Brakteon's feigned weakness was believable enough for the overconfident duelist who eagerly shifted her focus on her attack. Her blade unable to pierce his armor, she put all her focus toward the only open spot she had. The neck up, hoping for a swift decapitation. She could easily strike first and even if she couldn't he wasn't fast enough to hit her. The sudden glimmer of moonlight in the corner of her eye being the indication that Brakteon's speed had suddenly increased. No matter, she's simply parry the blade over her and-

By the time she realized the blade was turned would be too late as the metal crashed into Thalia's body like a solid right hook. Her speed doing her no favors as she would be sent sprawling onto the beach. Bruised and now with her own head wound to match Nadia. The first solid strike Brakteon had gotten since this fight started.

Although, this would be short lived.

Wounded, certainly. But Thalia seemed tougher than expected. Now weilding her blade in one hand, her foot dug into the sand as the momentum that sent her would pass as she shot herself forward for a second charge. Her eyes wide, smiling through gritted teeth and a body that screamed out in pain. She swung her blade sideways, too fast for the wolf to act, putting an end to his journey he had undergone for so many years.

Only, that blade wouldn't touch him. Wouldn't even graze his neck.

By the time the both realized that the other wasn't dead would be about the time they saw Thalia's blade had been snapped in half. 

"Be judged for your misdeeds, murtherer"

The Siren muttered, her blast of water slicing the blade in two during the first charge, the wielder only noticing its shortened size by the time she was now within less than a sword length from the wolf.

At the distance they were at now, in that brief moment before the both of them could act. The look of sadistic glee was gone from Thalia Kharsis's face. Now replaced by the dread and terror every warrior knows in those brief moments before their opponent strikes.

```"Shit..."```

If Brakteon had anything left in him, now was the time to end this.
Arthur
The Oathbreaker was tired. He'd been blown up, kicked, beaten, and enchanted. He was bleeding still, his arm shattered, and his knees on the verge of collapsing. 

 But he was still angry. 

 This night could have been so simple, he gave them a chance to walk away from this, to survive his wrath, but they didn't listen. No. Stubborn fuckers, stupid people who thought themselves stronger than him, and it almost proved true. 

 He needed to do better, be stronger. There had to be a way to grow stronger so that idiots would not bother him anymore. That was for later though. 

 For tonight, there was a target suited for his rage. 

 He could not swing the sword anymore, it was far too heavy for his one arm now. However, as his father often said, when the blade could not be swung one must become a weapon. 

 "I gave you a chance, Thalia," He told her.

Brakteon dropped his sword and grabbed Thalia's torso, stabbing his claws into her skin, ignoring whatever retaliation she put up as he stared right at her. 

 "Know that as you stand before your gods, that you ignored my mercy." 

 The wolf she had been calling dog throughout the night finally bit her like one, sinking his fangs into her neck with horrid strength, ripping through her as she screamed out in pain. 

 He didn't stop, even when she went limp the Knight tore out her throat and spat the mound of flesh onto the sand before tossing her corpse aside. 

 Brakteon turned to the Siren, the cause of all this. "Finally decided to fight," He said. "Good." He picked up his claymore and dragged it along because he was far too tired to even sheathe it. 

 He took slow heavy steps to reach her, his amber eyes locking with her for a long moment of silence, then they fell on the fallen archer. 

 He promised if he was to die that only one of them were to die. But he has not died tonight, and so his promise was null. 

 So without stressing he simply let go of the sword allowing its blade to cleave straight through the archer's neck, killing them without struggle.

It was cruel, yes, but necessary. From the Siren's recent actions Brakteon guessed she was against this all, but death was a consequence of life and the actions of these people have brought death upon themselves as he had almost done countless times. 

 Brakteon looked towards the town, where civilisation stood at a distance. He won't make the walk back. He was too beaten for that and so he turned back to the Siren. 

 "Listen to me carefully, I do not know who you are, and I only hope my actions were right, but I want answers. You can run and you can hide, but if you do, know that I will hunt you. Go into town and ask for Juteon Wealbrig, she is my sister, tell her I am on the beach and tell her what happened. Follow her, she will take us to my home where we will be taken care of. Run and you will not get far."

 Brakteon walked over to a small boulder, sat against it, and he sighed in relief, the dread of death now fleeting. The first son of the Wealbrig House has survived again. 

 But gods was he tired.
Leona
The wolves claws dug deep into Thalia's chest as her blade dropped onto the sand. All the adrenaline in her body spilling out with her blood which colored the sand beneath the two of them red. All her experience, all her skill, all she's done. She was so close to getting that sword. To be rich beyond her wildest dreams. She had Brakteon dead to rights had that Siren not intervened. One clean swing and his head would tumble off his shoulders, a move she's done countless times. 

Funny how things work out.

In her final moments, Thalia let out a quiet chuckle. Blood now spilling from her mouth as the wolfs claws dug deeper into her torso.

```"Want to know something, Wealbrig?"```

She asked, a blood stained palm now resting on his shoulder as she leaned in next to his ear.

```"You killed me, not going to pretend you didn't... But you know what I learned about you from all this? You're ridged, rusty, and alone. So long as you carry that blade of yours death is gonna follow your every step. Plenty of others like me in the world. All with their own little desires that sword'll grant them while you wander around Findara like some vagabond spending the rest of your days feeling sorry for yourself until someone finally ki-"```

The wolves teeth digging into her neck would be what stopped her farewell to Brakteon as blood began to fill her windpipe before being torn entirely from her throat. The swordswoman falling onto the sand wide eyed and staring at the stars in the sky. By the time that Brakteon had let his blade behead Sirus in the way she tried to behead him she had finally died. Whether it be choking on her own blood or from losing so much of it.
Walter
The young Siren had grown at the bottom of the ocean. That tyrannical city that she called home. She knew cruelty was a tool that is common to knights of the surface as well. But the kind she'd seen was always for intimidation, for ensuring obedience with any who would question the regime. Nadia had seen nothing like this. Her blood soaked savior stepping over the woman who he just maimed to execute the unconscious ranger.

There was no joy or hate, just a simple raising of his arm and letting the blade do the rest. To end a life so casually. She could understand why, they tried to kill him and kidnap her. But they were defenseless, unconscious, at the very least wait for them to wake up, have the decency to look them in the eyes and let them know their end was coming. Life was a valuable thing. And Brakteon ended that one like he was casually snuffing out a candle.

She immediately stumbled backward when he approached her. Raising her gauntlet, ready to drill a hole through him if he took a step closer. She saved his life but he doubted he'd care much about that. Fortunately, he didn't try anything, but simply gave her orders. Go inland, find his sister, tell her to get him and wait. If she didn't, he'd hunt her down.

She had to admit, the prospect of that frightened her given the massacre he had left. Even if she was feigning unconsciousness for half of it she could hear the screams, the tearing of flesh. He was a monster. Maybe that's why he kept that sword, so he'll have the opportunity to kill more fools who try to take it from him. 

Nadia herself was physically weak, prone to sickness, still recovering from her injuries and not even 5 feet tall. Brakteon could easily kill her if he wanted. 

She watched as he stumbled off to a nearby rock, leaning up against it as he let his head hang low. Perhaps passing out from exhaustion?

Regardless, Nadia had no intention of going to his home. She couldn't trust him and had no way of knowing his intentions with her. P

Robably still thinking she was some pirate. And she knew explaining would be a waste of breath, he'd never understand. She was now debating if saving his life was the right now.

The siren trudged along the beach as she climbed abord the ship that the 4 hunters had arrived in. Focusing her magic on a ***Control Water*** Spell the tides began to extend further inland, pulling the ship out of the sand as it now floated along the waters. Turning the wheel she directed the vessel further out to sea as she sailed from Findaran shores. She likely wouldn't be coming back here for quite some time while Brakteon was still roaming about.

But for now, she had more work to do. She was going to sail her way back to Inyelion to continue her work against the tyrants of Lazaroth. 

Despite what had happened, she was not disuaded in her mission. 

If anything, she was now more emboldened then she was before.