Bloody, bruised, and lacking oxygen, Nafissa struggles to escape the gauntleted hand around her throat. She looks at him in terror, watching his other hand slowly rise to strike her face again. She already cannot see from one eye but through her other, she watches in what seems like slow motion as a white bird lands on his fist. Harold’s movement stops. His head turns away from her.

Over the sound of crying [Priestesses] and [Soldiers] doing their work, she hears the shout of skills.

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In the distance, he sees the caravan he needs to escort surrounded by a platoon of light cavalry. Inside the ring of soldiers, he sees a [Cavalry Knight] choking a [Priestess]. Draghenoss frowns, his escort mission is about to fail before it has even begun.

“[Double Step], [Perfect Footing], [Overwhelming Charge]!”

Dragkenoss roars, his body and armor begin to glow red. His speed, and the speed of the thirty [Heavy Cavalry] behind him doubles. His men roar into the wind whistling past their ears.

Dragkenoss braces his tower shield on his left arm and couches his massive glave. The centaurs behind him copy his movements.

They charge, and the earth trembles before their fury.

__________________________________________________________

Nafissa is tossed to the ground in a heap as Herald panics and dashes to his horse. She coughs and takes a long and shuddering breath. She wipes the blood from her good eye and looks forward. She watches Harold mount his horse and start shouting. For a moment, his men are organizing themselves, preparing for the oncoming storm.

Then a huge, crimson blur slams into him and the horse. She watches as flesh and bones not only break but dismember. Harold’s body flies, flailing like a ragdoll; His lower half flails through the air, discharging organs throughout the battlefield, his upper half trampled under rampaging hooves. Even the horse explodes into gore, riven in two. The armored blur continues, unslowed as it slams into another of Herald’s cavaliers.

Thirty more blurs rush past, and fifty more soldiers are rent asunder. All Nafissa can hear is the thunder of hooves, the riving of flesh, the wrecking of bone, and the rending of metal. The cacophony is so loud that she cannot hear the cries of pain and panic.

She stands on wobbly legs and surveys the carnage unfolding around her. Over half of Harold’s men are dead, and more are dying as the red blurs dash through the caravan, swinging their glaves, slaughtering men and mounts on each return.

Harold’s men panic and scatter, each man for himself. The savage assailants give no quarter and the assault continues till every [Mercenary] is dead or fled. After the rout, the centaurs slow down, sift through the caravan, and dispatch any surviving troops. Their gory enterprise complete, they take up a station around the caravan.

Nafissa looks around for her priestess, then releases a breath she did not realize she was holding when she finds them bloody but unhurt. With a sniff, she realizes that she is also covered in blood. The initial charge had been so brutal that pieces of meat alongside gallons of blood paint the carts and carriage.

After a moment, the largest and most heavily armored man trots up to her and presents arms. Blinking quickly, she realizes that these armored men are not actually mounted, but are the mounts themselves. They are horses… horsemen? She doesn’t know what to call them, but she knows they are dangerous.

The man raises his visor, revealing a black-furred humanoid face. He smiles, “I am Dragkenoss, leader of the Heavy Cavalry. My [King] informs me that you require an escort to Sanavil?”

Wait, [King]? Who… Was Quasi actually a [King]?

“I-I- Yes?” she says.

Dragkenoss frowns. He leans back and opens a bag. He takes out a potion and leans down towards her.

“You appear to be wounded. Drink, the potion will provide you with [Greater Regeneration].”

Nafissa blinks at the potion, immediately deferring at his words. A potion of [Regeneration] is something that a [Lord] would save for grave emergencies. A potion of [Greater Regeneration] is something a [Emperor] would use only when truly desperate. The cost to produce even one could very well bankrupt a smaller kingdom.

“Please, no! I am a [Priestess] of Eir. I may [Heal] such wounds myself. Do not waste such a valuable artifact on me.”

Dragkenoss is confused by the term artifact. He’s never heard the potions referred to as such, not even when he was provided with several dozen of them.

He shrugs and places the potion back into his bag. He looks at the carriages and carts. He then shakes his head at the… horses.

Disgusting creatures, unworthy of even pulling a broken down travois.

“Men,” he calls, “Unhitch the horses. They will slow us down.”

He then looks back to Nafissa. “Are you the leader here?”

She nods slowly.

“Good. Have your [Priestesses] dismount and climb on the carts. I wish to return to my army posthaste, and the horses will only slow us down.”

Nafissa watches in varying amounts of confusion, alarm, and surprise as an armored horse-man removes the harness from a horse and attaches it to himself.

“What are you?” she asks the burning question on her mind.

“What? Oh, we are centaurs,” he begins, but his face turns angry as he notices something. “Elevane, don’t even think about it! That carriage is mine!”

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“Tea.” a young girl, garbed in black states as she places a tray on the table. On the tray are two glasses of tea along with sugar and Cookies.

“Thanks,” he says, leaning forward. He takes the small spoon and puts two spoonfuls of sugar into the hot tea. He mixes the tea and sets the spoon on the saucer. He grabs a cookie and takes a bite. He pinches the handle of the teacup between fingers and thumb (pinky extended) and takes a sip.

Bo-Chenh shakes her head.

“Did you even consider it might be poisoned?” she asks.

Quasi shrugs.

“Good, high-class tea has an aroma to it. That aroma requires a very specific quantity of leaves steeped at the proper temperature in the correct volume of water for precisely 2 minutes, 25.4 seconds. Strong poison would ruin the smell before I would even taste it.”

“There are skills that could fix that problem.”

“True, but I doubt a [Tea Thief] would have such specific skills,” he muses while winking at the garbed girl.

Bo-Chenh doesn’t answer. She eschews the sugar and sips her tea.

“So, now that we are in a properly civilized setting, are we going to talk about the,” he waves his hand at the huge room, “Thieves Guild, or are there other customs with precedence?”

Bo-Chenh takes another sip.

“Custom? Is that what I said? I just wanted to have tea.”

Quasi groans and shakes his head.

“Fine, whatever. Just answer my questions. Who are you and how did you figure out I’m a [Hero]? My stats alone shouldn’t be a give-away.”

She takes another sip before placing the cup down on the table.

“[Laverna’s Nihility] protects you from directly being [Scryed] or [Analyzed]. No direct method to discern your class exists; indirect methods do.”

She leans back into her chair. “The skill [Level Estimation] approximates the average level of a target. The skill also reveals the number of classes that were averaged. Five classes with an average level in the mid-hundreds, alongside your perception, is enough information to deduce that you indeed are a [Hero].”

“And you used the skill on me… why?”

“Because all the [Analyse] skills did not just fail, they did not even activate. The only ability I know of that could do that is [Laverna’s Nihility], and that can only be received as a gift from our Goddess. Though I must admit, you being a [Necromancer] is rather startling.”

“I am full of surprises,” he answers.

“You indeed are, which begs my own questions: Who are you? What is it you want and why has my goddess chosen you?”

“Me? I am just a fabulous man on a fabulous mission to destroy the world through the lovingly tender touch of chaos, anarchy, and lots of fluffy tail.”

“Chaos? Anarchy?” the [Guildmistress] voices in surprise. “Did you start the wars and release the demons?”

“No, but those both sound like fantastic ideas. Why?” Quasi asks.

Bo-Chenh starts to get a little confused. “Have you not been following the news? The Aesir kingdoms are now at war with the Olympian kingdoms. The [Jarls] of the north have declared war against [Emperor] Flavion and the seal that has been keeping the demon realm closed has just been broken!”

Quasi blinks as he processes this new information. “Oh, well, that’s great. That makes things easier.”

Bo-Chenh stares at the young man in surprise.

“What in Laverna’s name are you trying to accomplish?”

“Nothing, actually, but her lover asked me to screw 500 Kitsune. I am, however, trying to take over the world!”

“What? How?” she asks in growing confusion.

“One at a time? Actually, foursomes have been working pretty well.”

“With what army?” the [Guildmistress] asks while rubbing her head and trying to understand what he is saying.

“A big army!”

“Of undead?”

“No… maybe a few of those? Not really. You can’t exactly conquer the world with the undead. Too mindless.”

Quasi watches Bo-Chenh grab her tea and chug it all down.

“Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll figure them out in time. For now, we need to come to an agreement.”

“Agreement? What agreement?”

“Why, your class card and ranking, of course. Your levels and classes must be recorded on your card and the information will be sent to Camelot.”

Quasi nods, understanding what she is offering. She is legally obligated to record his classes and their levels, which would ruin his anonymity. But, she is the one responsible for putting that information on the card.

“Alright, what is it you want?”

“Nothing complicated. I just need you to do the occasional job for me.”

Quasi scratches his chin.

“Thievery?”

She rolls her eyes.

“If I need something stolen, I have plenty of people who can do so. No, What I need is a competent [Mercenary].”

“Which you don’t have?”

“None ranked Mithril or above.”

Quasi tilts his head. “So, why does that matter? Actually, better question, what do you get out of this?”

She sighs.

“I’m not sure if you know, but most [Mercenary] teams work near their guild of origin. They take jobs and return back to the same guild. My guild serves as a base for several teams whose members are native to this town. We guild leaders are ranked and funded based on the quality of the [Mercenaries] we produce. I can give you a Mithril ranking, and as long as you prove yourself deserving of the rank, my standing in the Guild will increase, and this guild gets more money.”

Quasi raises an eyebrow.

“You know, if you want my help, you have to be a bit more honest than that.

She grumbles.

“Fine. The administration is thinking about replacing me with some younger [Guildmaster] and I cannot allow that to happen.”

“Because you have the Thieves Guild hiding inside the Mercenary Guild.”

She nods slowly.

“Huh. Simple enough. It’s a deal! What’s my first mission?”

“[King] Enderan sent a request for protection.”

“You want me to play [Bodyguard]? Arent the [Mercenaries] downstairs sufficient for that job?”

“I would never let those idiots do the job. They can kill alright, but they don’t have the skills to protect the [King]’s children properly. No, I will be sending you to assist a different team. They will rendezvous with you in Camelot when they finish their current objective.”

“That’s kinda vague. What’s the team’s name?” Quasi asks.

“Bladed Thorns. They are a silver-four ranked team. If they succeed in this mission, I will be able to promote them to silver-five.”

Quasi leans forward and picks up his tea. He gulps it down.

“Sounds like a plan! I just want you to know, after the mission, I need to travel.”

She waves her arm. “Just stop by a Mercenary guild and do missions from time to time. Your success is important to me.”

“Can do.”

Bo-Chenh stands and grabs her staff. “I will have your card ready tomorrow. What levels and classes do you want on it?”

Quasi smiles.

“Level 171 [Necromancer] and level 16 [Gentleman].”

“[Gentleman]?” Bo-Chenh asks.

Quasi nods.