The wheels creaked and popped beneath the wagon, sending the occupants bouncing in agitating directions within. There was a thud as one of the members hit their head on the roof and gave a sudden, and rather unprofessional, curse. Udval, Baron of the region of the Hestria Desert that was least profitable and most inmbued with demonics, rubbed the space atop his head. 

"I just don't see why you had to come along." He said to the elderly man sitting across from him in the small chamber. Master Patin, sorcerer and uncle to the man, sighed. 

"You don't need to understand, nephew, you only need to do as you're instructed to do." 

"Thats just it, right?" Udval said. "Theres the truth of it. I've no matter of control of the world from your perspective." 

"You think you do?" Patin gave a wry grin that curled at the edges in unusual and obscene fashions. 

"I know I do." He stamped a foot down for emphasis. 

"Oh," The older man said, drawing the word into a painting with his inflection. It wasn't a pretty picture. "Is that so. You seem to think that you have some semblence of control over things, do you?" 

"Listen Uncle, I understand what it is that you all do. I understand how important things are for you at times, but I'm my own person. I make my own decisions. I'm not some child that you can lead around by the nose." 

"As you claim." He purred. "As you claim." 

Udval felt a vein in his forehead pulse. In a way, he wasn't sure what he had expected to happen, he certainly wasn't about to change the opinion of a man so many years over as his senior, still he didn't wish to be treated like some pup. Even if they reported to the Duke, Udval was still the one in the field, risking his life for the cause. That made him worth something, that gave him leverage. 

"As I claim..." He mulled the words over. "Look here, old man, you don't get to just walk in and out of my life and-" 

"Sir," a voice, the driver, called and broke his line of thought. 

"and, and... Where was I going with that? Well, it doesnt matter. What was it Fredric" 

"We're here sir." The driver said. 

"Go about your business then, Young man." Patin said "I'll be here, resting my aging body and thinking on what you've said."

"Will you now?" 

"Indeed." 

"Well," Udval said, a bit frustrated by the mans continued calm demeanor. "Good. I hope that you can consider what it is that I do and how I operate here. You know, I'm actually rather important if you think about it. In the hierarchy that is. Perhaps I should be intrusted with more-" 

"Baron." Fredric called again. "The Tax Collectors are here." 

"Oh alright, alright." He said. "I understand. Time to collect the money, eh?" 

It wasn't a particularly cloudy, actually it was rather pleasant. Birds swooped and sung in their traditional, bird-like fashion. Which is to say that they have no idea what they're doing, only that they can fly and that something about them demands they scream and mate. Other creatures, smaller ones and biggers ones, all cowered or hunted in the afternoon, a gentle breeze carrying the scents of the beings much farther than natural. It was a good day for a hunt. 

The Baron was not an avid hunter. He didn't know how to judge the distance with a bow, or skin a deer. He didn't know how to track or how to cover his scent. Worst of the lot was that the man, for all his faults, stepped with such noise that it was impossible not to hear him coming. If he had been given the last chance in his life to survive, and all he needed was to catch one rabbit, well the man would be picking out a very nice casket. 

Yet even without the experience of a true hunter or scout, this man moved about the small village like a monster on the prowel. He stooped slightly due to pain, and that gave him a lumbering gaite that could be mistaken for the movings of the nightmare beasts. His beady eyes tracked the movements of every person in the town as they passed. He watched them step, inspected their clothes, mentally noted which ones were most likely to cause trouble. He stood before the wagon with an eye on everything in his sight, watching his land with the eyes of a money-grubbing hawk. Then, without warning, he descended with his collectors and stormed up to the tax office. 

"Thats the taxes from the Advall region," Udval said to the scribe, who dutifully tallied the notes down in scribbled half-font

"Yes, my lord." The man said "And may I say well done as usual. Those barbarians have been giving the region no less than the uptmost of troubles." 

"Is that right?" Udval gave a half grin and thought of something, as it passed her turned to face the other man in the room. "Befoon." 

"Yes, My lord." 

"Have we recieved word yet of the capture of Artessa, that whole debacle as it were." 

"Yes, my lord." 

"Well spit it out then," He said. "I haven't got all day. These are the taxes from the Qualasa, may they be cursed for their impudence." 

"A letter, my lord." Befoon, ever the dutiful servant, produced a tray of silver with a single tarnished envelope atop it. 

"Bring it here, bring it here." Udval waved a pudgy fist and motioned for him to approach

"What about the Water taxes from the corner of Aful?" The accountant asked. 

"Those are atop the piles from the later line of fishing villages, I assumed to sort them with what made sense." 

"Of course, my lord." The accountant made a mental note that, if the Baron were to have his way, his job would be much harder than present. This was a problem for the man. It wasn't that he was lazy, but instead had come to expect a certain manner of life from the job he'd dedicated some 10 years too. "I'll make the final tallies, shall I?" 

"Yes," The baron spoke the word, but it barely left his lips. He was distracted pulling apart the envelope and inspecting its contents. The Letter. The one he'd been hoping for. 

"What is this?" He asked after a moment." 

"Hmm?" Master Patin had been seated, and asleep, nearby in a chair by a roaring fire. The weather was warm enough outside that the windows needed been open, Udval never understood the need for a fire as well. 

"They've failed us. The assassins of Anun-Felrid failed to kill the girl." 

"Isn't that a shame." Patin modulated. "Surely they were the best at the time." 

"Indeed." The baron put the letter down and pinched his brow. "Hmm, I'll need a new plan." 

"That you will." Patin chuckled 

"One that doesn't rely on something as ephemeral as assassins not wanting to kill eachother." 

"Is that what happened? Poor times these, assassins so worried with traversing thier hierarchy that the job falls to the way-side." 

"Elloquently put, master." The accountant remarked. 

"So it was," Baron Udval was growing annoyed with the coterie of idiots he was beginning to surround himself with. His uncle had been speding more time around in his vicinity and that was erksome. "Did you have a suggestion then, oh wise wizard." 

"Please," He said. "I'm nothing so special as to need the schooling of years. I'm merely a sorceror, but you know this Udval." 

"It was only a saying, Uncle." Literalism was the mans fault at times. Sometimes Udval wondered if he just did it to bother him. In reality, that was exactly the case. 

The nature of Baron Udvals Uncle was one of extreme pleasure in the general annoyance of those around him. He'd grown old and wise in the process of making sure that all those around him were as distraught and displeased as possible. He'd made it something of a goal in his life, and he was rather good at it. This wasn't to say that he was a poor caster, on the contrary he was infuriatingly good at it. Which made the fact that he used all that power for the simple act of self-derived-fulfilment all the more distressing when compared to the work he could have done. Still, that isn't the story at hand. 

"Did you have a suggestion?" Udval asked again. 

"Perhaps a magical solution." The man offered.

"So we're to rely on magic to solve this problem then, shall we?" Udval gave a skeptical glance and then rolled his eyes. "Aren't you the one always saying that magic can't solve everything?" 

"I am, and normally it would be the case, but I happen to have an idea." 

"Oh?" Udval perked up a bit, if this was real magic, then he might be in for a treat. "And whats that?" 

"The wizards of the desert sea." He spoke the words with an almost mystic air about them, which, when they landed on the barons rather large ears, were unpleasant. 

"So we are to rely on magic."

"As it so happens," Patin continued, "A branch has opened within the region of Gehen, and currently operates with a success rate of ninety-eight." 

"Thats a two percent chance of failure." The accountant added, 

"Thank you, yes. I can do the math." The baron said. "Wizards eh?" 

"They could be quite the useful group," Patin added, "And should they fail, well magic always finds a way to deliver." 

"Hmm," He pondered the options. Without the assassins, he'd have to rely on mercenaries. Or worse yet, a hero without a moral compass. He didn't really enjoying handing over his money to the grungy, dirty, and degenerate ranks of the mercenaries, and heroes... Well, they were little more than natural disasters that could summon the worst luck, you only turned to them if you truly ran out of options. 

"Shall I make the arrangements then?" 

"How will they be able to find her?" Udval asked "Some sort of scrying spell no doubt." 

"No doubt," Patin nodded "I'm certain they'll have no difficult in tracking the woman down." 

"Theres also something in the letter about a traveling companion. Some soldier with skill insurmountable. A hero, perhaps?" 

"Unlikely, there aren't that many that would take the task of escorting a single person, especially not in this economy." 

"But there are a few..." the Baron thought through his mental roladex of all the heroes he'd either betrayed or paid, or both. There was a surprising number of them that still lived, and he hoped he wasn't on any of their lists, though he knew for a fact that he was. "Perhaps a level of concern should be put upon the wizards. That there may be a chance for actual conflict at the heart of the issue." 

"Oh, yes, yes." Patin curled his toes by the fire and let the heat wash over his aching bones. The mansion was drafty most days, and he longed for the heat of youth. "I'll make sure they know to strike first. Who is this soldier anyway?" 

"They don't say. Only that he escaped with her after being attacked by a cockatrice." 

"What were they doing around one of those?" Patin asked

"Running, apparently." 

"Ah, yes." 

Morgan took the plates, one in each hand, and walked back through the hall towards the table. Artessa sat there, book in hand and reading through the pages at an abnormal rate of intake that Morgan was surprised by. He placed the plate down before her, and set his own beside the drink he'd prepared before. 

"So this is what qualifies as food then?" Artessa said, nose peering over the tome.

"Be nice," Morgan said, "The cook didn't seem too bad, and it all looks edible at the least." 

"That sounds fair," She said. Artessa placed a bookmark into the tome and set it down beside her before picking up the fork and poking the strange meat on her plate. "It is edible, right?" 

"As far as I can tell." Morgan said. 

They shared a content silence between them as each pulled a utensil of food up to their mouth, hoping to all the world that the food would taste better than the gristle of the caravan not long before. Each were sorely dissapointed when they bit into the meat and, for lack of a better term, winced at the flavor. 

"Well, Perhaps I was wrong..." Morgan said reproachfully. 

The pair had traveled the past few days bouncing between the various villages and towns along the road, choosing to stay only as a last resort and spending their other nights camping beneath the three moons and stars. It hadn't been particularly hard traveling, just uncomfortable at times. Artessa wasn't accustomed to the harsh realities of staying under the stars, and Morgan had spent so much time in the city that things were far more difficult than he remembered. 

Eventually they'd decided to travel to the far off coastal city of Dragons Roost, a magical convelesence of casters and enchanters that had made their way through the world and eventually combined their strength to creature a magical utopia. Allegedly anyway. 

The actual matter of fact was that Dragons Roost was a massive city that had, at one point, been the fulcrum of the majority of magical advancements within the Gehenian region. That is, until one day when the pooling of magical strength became so strong that, without proper care, could lead to the city being destroyed by the action of simply casting a fire. The resulting society was one that followed and loved magic, but feared and refused to use it. 

This is, of course, completely unknown to the pair sitting at the table some days before their arrival to the city, uncomfortably devouring a meal that could very well be the worst they'd ever experienced. However, they would soon find out. 

Morgan winced as the wound on his wrist sprung to life with a string of pain. He dropped the fork and gripped the injury, putting pressure onto the wound had always relieved the pain before. This was different however, the wound hadn't been as severe as he'd assumed and though Artessa had offered to heal him, he'd refused to let nature take its course. 

"You okay?" She asked, geuine concern and worry in her voice. 

"Yeah." He let out a sharp exhale. "Just the wound acting up," 

"I can take care of it." She said "I told you before that you don't have to-" 

"No, no." The pain subsided and he picked up the fork with the other hand. "Its fine, I'm used to dealing with wounds. Just been a while since I've suffered one." 

"You don't have to. You got it defending me after all, and it wouldn't take long." 

"Thank you, but its alright. Doesn't even hurt anymore, and the wounds mostly healed over. Benefits of armor." 

"I guess." 

"So what got you into the soldiering life?" 

"Oh?" 

"What?" 

"Just," Morgan paused "Do you want to talk about this? I've made my point clear that I'll talk but I want answers too." 

"Well, you risked your arm for me." 

"Wrist," Morgan corrected, "But yes. I understand." 

"I think its alright to share some information with you." She said. "You don't seem like the worst person I've ever met." 

"Oh, gee, thanks." 

"You know what I mean." 

Morgan brought a hand up to this chin and scratched at the stuble. His beard had begun to grow out, he hadn't had one since the Desert. 

"I suppose then, I guess I don't mind. What was it you asked?" 

"What got you into the soldier life?" 

"Oh, that." He said. "I guess then, Where to begin..." 

"You said you were in the Rushala, right? From my memory they were an intense group that worked in the Desert and performed some dangerous operations for the Empire." 

"Thats some of the story," He said. "The Rushala were criminals, like I said before. I was a criminal too." 

"But not always, right?" 

"No, not always. I was a mercenary with dreams of being a Pere at one point. Then things happened as they do, and that dream died along with my freedom." 

"You were arrested?" 

"You have to be in prison to be selected for the Rusala. They only go after those that were already convicted, and give them a chance to earn their freedom in exchange for service." 

"What did you do that earned you a place in prison?" 

"I was apart of a group that was defending a caravan. We were attacked and the cargo was stolen, there were too many of them and it didn't matter how much we tried. When we returned, the Baron we'd been hired by had the entire group brought in on charges and arrested, though most of the group had passed during the fight." 

"A Baron?" 

"Some Baron of the Desert, we were delivering stock for him and things turned sour. Anyway, I was in prison for some year or two, lost track of time in there a bit, when I was approached by a former comrade. He'd been hired by the Rushala and was a commander, he needed soldiers and people he could trust, I guess I was one of them." 

"You accepted?" 

"I was in prison, it was a chance to get out and see the world again. Of course I accepted, there wasn't anyway that I could refuse. I took the job and became a soldier in the Rushala, a second in command of a small team responsible for the defense of the occassional strikes on desert tribes. It wasn't clean work, nor am I proud of it, not really, but its what I did." 

"I see." 

Morgan took a sip from his cup and let the cool ale filter down his throat and fill him with a growing warmth. Artessa nodded and took a sip from her own cup. Silence filled the space. 

A server came by to check on them, then left. 

"I guess I should tell you a bit about myself then." Artessa said. 

"I'd approach that as something close to acceptable." Morgan smiled. 

"I said I was a caster and I believe I mentioned that I was an engineer. Well, my father worked for a Baron of the Desert and wound up dead. At least, I think he's dead. Its been some months since I last from heard from him in any form and that doesn't bode well. I'm traveling to Flarda in hope that I can find the Pere Headmasters and turn in the Baron responsible for it." 

"So you're searching for you father then?" 

"I'm hoping the Pere can bring down the Baron, and if I'm lucky I'll find out what happened to my father in the process."

"Sounds reasonable enough." Morgan said with a slight tilt to his voice. "Why Flarda though?" 

"Theres a meeting of the Heads of the Pere around that time, with luck we should make it in time for me to turn him in."

"Do you really believe that?" 

"I do."  

Silence.

"So," Morgan eventually said, "Where to next?" 

"Well, last I checked, the final city along this road is the Coastal city of Dragons Roost. A proud magical city." 

"Right, well, for now lets just enjoy the... food?"