<div style="text-align: center;">The leather rubbed taunt against his wrists, sending shooting pains along the nerves of his arms. He had to remember to breathe, slowly and calmly. This would all be over soon, and he would be free to wander his own path again. His feet still free, he kicked at the poisoned water that had been offered to him, spilling it's contents across the bare-dirt floor. The soft soil absorbed it quickly. <br/>The sounds of drunken laughter wafted in from outside, and he felt his spine stiffen. Through the tent entrance came the two fools that had done this to him. "Mother send me some added help," he silent asked the Earth about him as he was lifted to his feet by a few strands of hair. On an impulse his unshod foot struck out, hitting it's mark on the temple of the one across from him. With a cuss word and the sound of his body hitting the ground, he rested. The man holding him up slapped him across the face, though much good it did him as the small grey snake bit into his ankle. A Psar snake, the deadliest in the region. <br/>Denver felt no fear of the snake, as the man's body slipped away from him. He reached down, offering thanks to the snake in the form of some smoked meat. Quietly as it came, it slithered away to whatever hole it lived in. <br/><br/>The leather binds came apart quite easily once he'd obtained his pack with his knives. Luckily his shoes had remained untouched, by his bag, and he hastily pulled them on. One man was dead, the other wasn't.<br/>They were simply bandits, roaming the forests and the borders to snare the unprepared. Denver kicked himself mentally, normally he was not so unprepared, but many things had plagued his mind in the passing days, such as the coming of Gavin, again. Strength was in his fire, and the only thing Denver feared without shame was the destructive power of fire. <br/><br/>With his pack reacquired and his feet well shod, he briskly walked down the well worn path, wondering where it would bring him. <br/>Incidentally it bought him to a lovely clearing, such a thing he was quite fond of. Only one sight greeted his eyes, and that was the image of a man of priesthood seated in the clearing. Denver's senses told him others were about, but that they posed no immediate threat. He approached the lone man slowly, so not as to startle him. The monk's eyes met his the moment he took a step forward, and a smile lit his mouth. "It is Denver correct?" The wise man asked, his eyes brightened but he nodded slowly, he knew this had been coming. "Some call me by that," he replied softly, moving closer to the gentleman. "Shall you come as you are called?" asked the soft voice. "Aye," replied Denver as they began to walk towards the caravan of priests together, on their way to the fabled and feared Temple.</div>