Lavender eyes peered over the horizon of Veloen, the night sky from hours before replaced with the twilight of sun arising from its slumber and the moon giving its farewells to its celestial sibling. The long night wore heavily on the armed mistress, sitting aboard the wooden cart that just a moment ago was nearly besieged. Her hair that nearly matched her eyes swayed with every rock the wheels trampled, the few segments of armor on her being showed no signs of luster, and did not shine with the sun's greeting. The somewhat bright green color of her garb contrasted the dull grey of her iron breastplate, and the tabard that matched her outfit blew gently against the wind fighting the momentum of the transport.<br/><br/>Sigrun had just finished another job, a simple one of guarding a supply of miscellaneous goods from point A to point B. It was a bandit attack like any other, since sometimes it seems like they have nothing to do but to attempt to ambush passengers riding anything drawn by a horse. Of course, not drawn by a horse, because that would be a pretty terrible drawing that holds no value. But neither do things drawn in the other sense, since all the merchant sold were empty bottles, nails, and decorative gnomes placed on nobles' lawns used to scare away tax collectors. Why do they bother doing these things when they know it is wrong, and that it ends with an arrow lodged in their larynx?  Did they step on a nail one day and curse to the spirits that they will slaughter everyone who provides others these horrible foot-penetrating pieces of iron? Thoughts like these run through Sigrun's mind every day, thoughts about nothing important. Still, the other mercenaries hired to protect the caravan took care of it in as brutal and grotesque a fashion as they could, and the knight had to do nothing but sit with the merchant. Speaking with the purple headed woman usually doesn't lead anywhere relevant.<br/><br/>The carriage entered within the fences surrounding the small rural village. Sigrun hopped off the side of the cart and turned to the man she escorted. Promptly, a small bag of money was shoved directly in her face.<br/><br/>"Those mercenaries ran around like chickens with their heads cut off, and thankfully they cut off everyone's head but ours. But that is what I was paying you for, insurance for insurance," said the old merchant.<br/>Sigrun gave a confused reply, "But their heads were still on their shoulders, and they didn't have any feathers..."<br/>"It's a metaphor," he explained.<br/>"Meta for what?"<br/><br/>The conversation obviously wasn't heading anywhere, and the merchant proceeded to simply ride into the center of town, abandoning the perplexed confusion-inducing knight without a word. The sun was now overhead, and the woman was left with nothing to do but to find more employment, or fall asleep hunched on the side of a building. It saved money to sleep in the open where everyone could trip over you as opposed to an inn room, it was a technique she has practiced and perfected over the years.