The roads of Urr came in all sorts of shapes and forms. Some roads lead to great places. Some roads took you from great places into wondrous lands. Some were lined with stone and, others, with rows of shops and carts. Some roads were patrolled by guards, well worn stones polished by the steps of man and beasts alike. Some roads even had names and stories of their own.<br/><br/>This road, however, wasn’t any of those.<br/><br/>Truth be told, it wasn't much of a road at all.<br/><br/>Little more than a deer path that had been trodden upon by a few horses and some lazy cows, the weeds agreed to stop covering over the dirt but looked ready to rise again given a night. Still, despite its state, a few rather ramshackle establishments had seen fit to try their unfortunate luck by building themselves along it here and there where the forest allowed. Mostly made for people who either couldn’t afford or couldn’t risk using the more proper roads, it lacked any sort of title or name. It was more less referred to commonly as ‘that muddy mess that cuts through the worst part of the forest, but got you out of there quick’. It was the type of road you took a horse on and then came out on foot the other side, and lucky for it.<br/><br/>Which is exactly what had happened to Dane. He’d only had the poor thing for a few nights, and it had been stolen at that. He’d never seen what actually took it and part of him felt grateful for that. He’d been far too busy trying to find somewhere to sleep where he wouldn’t wake up a few inches into the ground or, as it had happened before, up to his neck in the greenish-brown muck that made up most of the floor of the southern forest. It was a miserable place, he’d decided, and his opinion was only worsening the longer he spent in it. He tried to keep his mind set on his goal: the plains. They existed somewhere past all the miserable wood. Yellow grass  up to a man's waist as far as the eye could see, nearly endless as the opportunity that it represented. A far untamed land in need of guards, guides- anyone to welcome the caravans of settlers that had come from the three neighboring kingdoms.<br/><br/>It was the promise of a fresh start, the chance to arrive somewhere and make a name for himself as a champion. Again.<br/><br/>Jaw clenching, he bit back the anger that always swirled deep in his chest. Injustice had never set well on him, and even less when he was the center of it. But that fight was done, he convinced himself. He’d never win, no matter how hard he fought. Just like he’d wanted.  Just as their pl-<br/><br/>A flicker of light caught in his eye, dragging him out of his thoughts and back to the path. He’d rounded one snaking corner of the winding trail and, raising up out of no where and standing between crooked trees, stood a ramshackle inn that looked untamed, seeming less built and more grown wild like the world around it. And, yet, he was grateful to see it. As he closed in on it, one hand dug into one of the pouches stitched into the cheap leather of his armor. In the dim light of the early evening, he eyed the scrawled note in the leather scrap and compared it to the sign that hung by the one remaining metal clasp. Satisfied that the name fit, he stuffed it back into his pocket and strode out under the wooden outline of a cartoonish boar flat on its back with x’s for eyes.<br/><br/>Climbing the steps that sprang at an uneven angle from the dirt, Dane paused out of habit. Cocking his head to the side, he listened. Finding nothing sounding amiss in the muffled cacophony of the common tavern noises of cheap conversation and clinking cups, he pushed aside the dry rotted door slowly, the hinges giving a painful creak and breaking the barrier. As the sound rolled around him, he scanned the familiar scenery.<br/><br/>It was nothing special, or at least nothing that made it unique. In fact, that was he reason most of its patrons liked it. As far as taverns went, the Boar’s Belly was average in about every single way. It was dimly lit, poorly ventilated, and was built with the sort of architecture that made it feel cramped even while when most of the seats were empty. Currently, a thick layer of smoke curled along the ceiling with a stench that was a mixture of pipe tobacco and soot from the candles. It certainly added a flavor to the air which mixed with the constant oder of stale ale  that somehow left the skin feeling sticky.<br/><br/>After a groan, he quickly made the decision that a drink was much in order. Regardless of what it would taste like, he needed something to take the edge off of this place. Eyeing the bar, he made his way towards it and only stopped once to let a bumbling drunk stumble on by, a nimble backstep needed to avoid the splashing liquid from his cup. A deep sigh sounded before Dane took a tacky seat at the end of the bar, slipping precariously onto one of the stools. The muck of the marsh was starting to sound favorable as he flicked something crusted off the wood in front of him and dusted it off onto the floor. With a roll of his shoulders, an action that jarred the wrapped sword on his back, he raised one hand to summon the barkeep.<br/><br/><br/>From his perch across the room, a set of icy eyes watched one of his potential candidates order himself a drink and then drown himself in it. Caine couldn’t help but let the deep curve carve across his face; it was a satisfied grin. You could always spot someone with good rearing- places like this made them uncomfortable. Somehow, they never learned how to settle in with the grunge. Even though the man had dawned a set of shoddy leathers, there was no set of worn boots that would hide the stalking walk of a trained soldier that had carried him across the room. Even as he watched him at the bar, Dane's posture was far too fine to fit in with the slouching shoulders around him. With a clicking chuckle, Caine shook his head and sighed. The poor creature. Poverty and poor publicity didn’t wear well on him but, in the end, he was grateful for Dane's misfortune- he was never going to find such potential so cheap and easy for the picking, if it came to that. Rock bottom was the only place he was going to scoop up someone so lofty.<br/><br/>With one down and one to go, he twisted his gaze back around the open floor of the tavern. Scanning from the front door to the steps that led up to the second level where they housed a few grimy rooms fit for unsavory characters, Caine wondered when his second invited guest would arrive. He was quite sure he’d taken the bait- the pay that had been proposed by the ‘wealthy merchant’ was too good to pass up, not to mention the glory of clearing out such nefarious targets. The southern forest was full of them- beasts large and small that stood in the way of human expansion and progress. Any mercenary that wanted to make a name for themselves slaying beasts headed here first. If they could handle what went bump in the night in the southern forest, they could handle anything anywhere. Those who made a habit of hanging around were the ones who could go elsewhere and negotiate their pay.<br/><br/>Leaning back, he took in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair to smooth back the black locks. Caine had taken into consideration both parties’ history in order to craft his look today. His hair was recently cut, his black leather  armor freshly polished and his weapon clean but he also had left the scuffs on both to be seen. It gave the look of someone who could adhere to military rigor, someone who could appeal to Dane’s need for order, but someone who had also seen a great deal of battle. His long boots he’d done a little less shine on, wanting to make sure he looked like someone who was accustomed to being on his feet. While a noble would have fit in well with Dane, he was unsure about his secondary candidate and didn’t want to run the risk of putting him off with the normal attire and air he wore.<br/><br/>While some would have found that far too much effort to go to in order to bag himself a set of fighters, it was quite the contrary for Caine. He lived for the little details that let him sink his fangs into people, the tiniest additions that made others open wide. Whether it was their coin purses or their hearts, finding a way to work into them was simply what made the world interesting for the man. Most of the time it was strictly for pleasure, enjoying the tug of strings in a world full of puppets but this…well, this job had a little more riding on it than most.<br/><br/>With that reminder, he sat a bit straighter and reached for his mug. Hands coiling around it, he patiently awaited their next guest while keeping a close eye on the first. He wasn’t about to let either of them slip out of his grasp. Not with what was needed. Not with all he’d done to get them here. He only hoped that, in the end, at least one would have what he was so very in need of.