“I tell you, Boy. We can’t keep doing this forever. Tides are changin’. World’s a changin’. Wars are brewing and people just won’t tolerate our kind anymore. Our… filth. It’s unsightly. We’re dirt that needs to be swept up.”

“The hell are you talking about, old man?” A young, grizzled looking man said to his slightly older companion as the two sat in front of a small fire, eating what was left of their dinner in the middle of a forest clearing, heavy wooden walls, fences and barricades surrounding them as multiple armed men patrolled around them, as if guarding the area.

“I’m talking about us! Our way of life, Boy! Our way of crime! We’re bandits! Thieves! Murderers living in the gods damned forest! Eating whatever we can catch or kill out in the wilderness!” The older man said, their profession now revealed to be that of banditry. The lowest of the low when it came to crime. The walls surrounding their clearing revealed to be their fortress. Their home in the middle of the forest

“And your point is?” The grizzled man asked, quickly finishing his dinner, the empty bowl that once held a nice, hot stew now thrown onto the ground beside him.

“My point is that our kind. Our profession… It isn’t accepted anymore.”

“We’re bandits. Don’t think our profession was ever accepted.”

“Not like that way, you daft bastard!” The older man cursed, the grizzled one recoiling slightly at that, a small glare on his face. “I mean… Look at all the other things going on in the world. You got your wars between rivaling countries. Loyal lads and lasses, fools brainwashed and indoctrinated by their kings and queens, going out into the battlefield for no reason other than to take a sword for their country. You got noblemen and royalty sitting in their ivory towers and mansions, buying up everything under the sun. You got sellswords, assassins and mercenaries everywhere you go. Banditry! Robbery! Our line of work! It’s a thing of the past now. Our time is gone.” The older bandit sighed, exhausted from his long rant as he sat down on a tree stump by the fire, gazing into the flame. “Our time… My time… is gone.”

“Not this again” The grizzled one sighed in annoyance. “I swear, it’s every night with you. You get your ass dead drunk, don’t say you haven’t! I can smell it on you! And now you sit here, wasting my time and everyone else’s by ranting and raving about how ‘Our time is up. Our days are numbered. The big, bad world is gonna tear us apart’ and shit like that.”

“It’s the truth, Boy!” The older bandit stated. “Listen, you and I both know we’re not cut out for this life anymore. Now, don’t get me wrong. We make a fine pair of degenerate highwaymen. We’re strong, street smart and terrifying to boot. We could pat down and hold up peasants for coin all day. But… times are changing. The governments! The establishments! The law! They’re all working together to stomp us out! To get rid of us!”

“Here we go again…”

“And our Chief. Our beloved Chief. What’s he doing, huh? When’s the last time he raided a caravan with us? When’s the last time he walked right into a village and took someone hostage? When’s the last time he even left that little cabin he hides himself in?” The old bandit asked as he pointed to the west, to a small wooden cabin sitting at the very edge of camp. The bandit chief’s cabin. “All that fool does is sit in that cabin and count the coins we bring him. Coins which I don’t need to remind you… aren’t as easy to come by for us anymore.”

“Well… You got a point there. Berak and Tor died in the last raid on that merchant carriage. Chief didn’t even say anything. Oh, but he had plenty to say about the silvers we got for him at the end of it.” And now the grizzled bandit began a rant all of his own, slightly angered by the loss of his friends.

Well… not really friends… Those two fools couldn’t be trusted or confided in at all. Not in any way, shape or form. They were bandits. Thieves. Murderers. Their trust meant nothing. Still though… They were seen somewhat as… friends. Brethren, he guessed.

“You see? Now you’re starting to get it, Boy!” The older bandit exclaimed, happy his point was finally getting through.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ve seen the light and shit like that. But tell me, what exactly are you going to do to make things better around here, huh? Start a mutiny? Overthrow the chief? What would happen if I walked into that cabin and told him about this little conversation we’re having?” The grizzled bandit asked, a wicked grin suddenly coming onto his face as a dirty idea came to him. “How much do you think he’d pay to hear about all the shit you’ve been going on and on about? Do you think he’d give me gold? A promotion maybe? I could end up being his new right hand for informing him of a potential mutiny, right?” His grin grew ten larger, almost reaching the corners of his face.

“N-Now why would you do that, Boy?” The older bandit asked, a hitch in his voice, nervousness and fear clear on his face. “Th-This life… It’s got nothing for you. A bandit chief’s right hand?! More like a bandit chief’s shield! Do you want to take a sword for that fool?! A dagger?! An arrow?! Only to be immediately replaced by some other nameless grunt?! That will happen, I swear it!”

“Yeah… Well I don’t see any other way about it, sorry to say.” The grizzled bandit said as he unsheathed his sword. His old, brittle, rusted iron sword. A nasty, dirty and weak weapon in the hands of an even nastier, dirtier and weaker owner. A backstabber by nature. A traitor by heart. A criminal by default. A basic, average, low level bandit.

“T-That’s because you haven’t even heard me out! I-I got bigger plans, Boy! Actual plans! Just… just listen! Please!” The old bandit begged, and rather pathetically at that, getting on his knees, hands clutched as he looked up at his grizzled faced cohort, begging to be heard out.

“You have twenty seconds…” The grizzled bandit sheathed his sword. “Any longer and I stab you in the leg and carry you right into the boss’ cabin! Now… what do you have in mi-”

“The high seas!” The old bandit exclaimed heartily.

“The… The what? The ocean? What about it?”

“Think about it! The wide open, high seas! The salty sweet air! Banditry might be dying, Boy! But piracy is alive and well! Still will be too. The ocean… She’s too big for them. There ain’t no laws in the sea. No lawmen. No guards. No cities and towns we ain’t allowed in. Just us, the waves and the thousands of idiot merchant vessels that sail unguarded.”

“Pirates?” The grizzled bandit asked, a small amount of disappointment in his voice, as if he expected something more. Something… grander. “That’s your big offer? That’s your idea of moving up in the world? Becoming pirates?”

“That it is! I’ll have you know I sailed with one of the most fearsome pirate crews you’d ever seen. We were so fierce in fact, the merchant ships used to just stop and let us raid them out of fear!”

“Bull. Shit.”

“It’s true!” The old bandit shouted, slightly offended that his cohort didn’t believe him. “You don’t have to believe me, Boy. But I’m telling the truth. Either way, I already got a plan as to how we can go about roaming the waves.”

“Go on…”

“First… we gotta get rid of the chief. He finds out what we’re doing, he’d never let us go through with it. Once you’re in with a group of turncoats and cutthroats, they’ll give you no way out. Gotta make your own. Second, after we get rid of him, We help ourselves to that little stash of golds he keeps locked in a chest under the floorboards, which I snagged the key for!” He said with a grin as he pulled it out, a rusted metal key held by a piece of string, hanging from his neck and hiding under his ale stained shirt.

“How did you…”

“Then, once we have the golds, we go to the nearest port and buy ourselves a ship. We hire a crew and we’re off on the waves! Simple as that! So, what do you say? First Mate?” The old bandit asked, his plan laid out and the details simplified and easy to follow, his hand presented towards his soon-to-be First Mate, expecting him to accept.

“You’re an idiot.” The grizzled bandit said as he suddenly pulled his sword back out from its sheath, stabbing the old bandit in the gut, hearing him groan and gasp loudly in pain as the grizzled bandit slowly pulled his blade out, leaving his elderly cohort on the floor to bleed out. “Locked chest under the floor boards…” The grizzled bandit said as he violently pulled the key from the body, the string it hung from making a slight twang-ish sound as it was ripped off the neck. “Thanks for the tip, Old Man.” He grinned as he began walking towards the chief. “Chief! Hey, Chief! I got to talk to you about something!”

-

“Ugh. How barbaric. Just killed him and left him to bleed out. Savages. They don’t even know what comradery is” A young woman said as she peered down at the bandit camp from atop a small hill to the east, using a small telescope to spy on the group of savage marauders from a safe distance.

“That’s the way bandit life is” A voice stated from behind, the young woman jolting slightly in surprise as she turned around, her arm instinctively moving to her hip, where her sword sat in its sheath, her hand gripping the hilt, only for her to release it as soon as she found out who the voice belonged to.

A man in his mid to late thirties, most likely. His face clean shaven, yet tempered and scarred slightly, giving him an experienced look. You could tell by his face that he’d seen a thing or two in his lifetime and they made deep impressions on him. His hair was ebony black, shoulder length yet combed back, giving him a sleek and slick sort of look. He wore a full suit of heavy armor, the insignia of the Warrior’s guild, a crimson red shield crested upon the breastplate. He also carried a large, two handed greatsword upon his back.

“S-Sir!” The young woman said as she stood at attention, saluting the man in front of her, him being an advanced member of the Warrior’s Guild. A group of mercenaries, sell swords and warriors of fortune. This man beared the rank of Guardian, placing him above most other members, him seen as a direct superior.

“Priscilla.” He said her name, a small bow of his head and a smile on his face to serve as his greeting to the young woman in front of him.

She was a young one, as already mentioned. No older than nineteen. Her face was pale and flawless, like that of a porcelain doll. Her eyes were an unnatural, piercing red, that being an indicator of powerful magic potential in this world. Her long blonde hair flowing down her back freely, unhindered by anything.

She wore a white trench coat with blue details along the trims. A simple steel breastplate and a single pauldron on her left arm serving as her armor, as well as the standard issue chain mail suit she wore underneath her clothing.

This was Priscilla. Priscilla Franchesca Avellion. Swordman rank in the Warrior’s guild. Only one rank up from trainee. She’d been in the ranks of the Warrior’s Guild for about a year, running contracts along the lines of beast slaying, caravan escorting, merchant guarding and so on. Typically low paying jobs, yet she took what she could get.

This contract though. This was the big one. A whole bandit camp. A bounty on a notorious bandit chief who’s marauders had been terrorizing the roads for weeks. The bounty was worthwhile and Priscilla was going to be the one to claim it.

This man, the one in front of her, went by the name of Rhys. As stated before, he was a Guardian of the Warrior’s Guild. A direct superior to her.

“Tackling a whole bandit’s camp by yourself? Tough job. They’re simple bandits, true. But numbers can overwhelm. Need help?” Rhys asked, a concerned look on his face, as if he was genuinely worried for Priscilla’s safety. “If it’s the bounty you’re concerned about, don’t worry. I won’t take a single piece from it. Promise.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” Priscilla asked, a slight scowl on her face as she looked at him cautiously. “I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.” She added.

“I know you, Girl.” Rhys said simply as he pulled out a copy of the contract Priscilla had ripped from the notice board back in town. He was a high ranking official of The Guild, so he had copies of almost every contract slip that would be pinned on the boards. “One of The receptionists told me about some young girl taking on the bandit camp contract. I figured it was you. Guess I figured right.” He grinned, his correct assumption giving him a nice boost to his ego. “Now you can stop being all shifty and cautious. I already told you I don’t care about the bounty.” He stated.

“Then what is it you want?” Priscilla asked, still cautious. Though she had no reason to suspect that Rhys would want to steal her work, since his own contracts pay out ten times better than hers, a little caution never hurts. That and it was fair to say that Rhys was more… involved in Priscilla’s employment than most other high rank officials were.

He trained her during her first few days. When she became trainee, she got her first few contracts from him. And now he’s following her around, offering help on her work? You could see why she was at the very least, suspicious.

“I’m bored.” He said simply. “Look, I’m offering you help in exchange for no reward in return. Just take it so you can get this job done and get paid.”

“Fine.” Priscilla reluctantly accepted, a small huff escaping her.

“Good girl.” Rhys said teasingly. “So, do you have a plan of attack?” He asked.

“Take a look through the telescope.” Priscilla instructed as she handed the small telescope to him, him looking though it and down at the bandit camp. “You see what I saw, right?” She asked.

“One. Two. Three. Four.” He counted to himself. “Four guards on patrol. They look tired, so I assume there’s no shift changing. That’s odd, especially when they’re camped by a main caravan road. They’re undermanned.” He observed keenly as he put the telescope down. “That’s interesting. The initial reports claimed there were a dozen men in this camp. Maybe they broke off? Died? The caravans usually have decent guards with them, but bandit presence still scares people away… Have you seen how many there are during the day?” He asked shortly after rambling.

“There’s about four others, not counting the chief. Two are his personal guards and the other two are just grunts. One of which just bled out and died” Priscilla stated.

“Poor old fool” Rhys chuckled slightly. “So eight in total? Pff. That’s too little, if you ask me. With the two of us, we can clear this camp easy” He said, smug and sure of himself. An aura of arrogant confidence in him. “At first, I thought we’d need an actual battle plan. But now that I see what we’re really up against, I think we can just plough right through them. Barge right in and cut down whichever one comes at us first.”

“Good idea.” Priscilla said, a grin on her face as she unsheathed her sword, clenching the hilt tightly in her left hand. “Ready?” She asked.

“Ready.” Rhys said as he drew his massive, two handed greatsword from his back, gripping his own blade tightly with both hands, the two of them walking slowly down the hill, quietly approaching the front gates of the bandit camp, the gates and walls made crudely out of wood cut from the surrounding forest. “Hmm. Guards didn’t seem to see us approach the front gate. Aww, they must be too sleepy” Rhys chuckled to himself. “Say, you’re an Elementalist, right?” He asked.

“Ye-Yeah… Fire and Water. Why?” Priscilla asked.

“Hows about a little fireball on the front gate? Give it a nice boom too. Loud enough to wake the camp. Let’s give these boys a nice surprise.”

“Sure thing. Just… gimme a second.” Priscilla said as she started breathing, channeling her energy as she held her hand out, imagining the ball of fire she’d soon conjure in her hand. The flame of it. The burning heat. The explosion. And as she exhaled, she sent her right arm forward, as if throwing a punch, the ball of fire appearing in her palm, leaving it as it traveled forward, colliding with the wooden gate and exploding, a massive boom heard for what must have been miles, even though the actual explosion was minimal. Small. Weak. Only powerful enough to destroy the front gate and only the front gate.

That was by design, mind you. Should Priscilla actually desire it, she could set the whole forest on fire, albeit at the cost of a great deal of her mental energy. The power and strength of her mind.

With the loud blast echoing deeply through the forest, the exhausted guards sprung to their feet, now aware of the intruders presence, the four of them immediately rushing to the now destroyed front gate and preparing to attack their intruders, Priscilla and Rhys ready and willing to face them.

They both stood stationary as the guards charged them, preparing to intercept and counter attack, just as their standard training taught them, Rhys easily taking down two of the bandits, one charging at him with a crude, old spear and the other with a simple broadsword, Rhys keeping his stance firm as he dodged the spear’s thrusts skillfully, only to then bring his greatsword down, the guard panicking at the sight of the weapon coming down on him, trying to use the spear to brace for the attack, only for it to be cut right through the shaft before cleaving into the bandit.

Rhys then lifted his greatsword back up from his recently cleaved attacker and swung at the bandit with the broadsword, him trying to deflect the massive two-hander with his own weapon. However, the force in Rhy’s attack was too great and the bandit was not swift enough to deflect or dodge. The blade cleaved through the brigand with little resistance. His sword could not deflect the killing blow.

While Rhys was dealing with the first two bandits, Priscilla fought the other two. One came at her with a heavy mace and another wielded a two-hander very similar to Rhys’, yet not as… sturdy looking. It was crude. Cheap. Old. Made out of most likely scrap iron.

Where do these bandits get these types of crudely made weapons anyways? Do they make their own? That’d make sense, seeing as how a bandit wouldn’t really be able to waltz into a blacksmiths shop and buy a sword.

Anyways, Priscilla focused on the bandit with the greatsword, trying her best to block, deflect and evade his many blows. Though the weapon looked heavy and crude, the bandit wielding it was strong, muscular. His skin a dark tan, making him look like an outright barbarian.

While Priscilla was engaged with the barbarian, the second bandit had flanked her, her so focused on this one enemy that she didn’t even see the other. Her mind didn’t even register him. Didn’t pay him attention, seeing it more fit to set the large barbarian as the primary target, as he was the bigger threat.

The bandit that she’d foolishly ignored had come up from behind her and rammed his heavy mace into her side, her gasping and grunting in pain as she felt the blunt weapon make contact with her ribs, most likely breaking one or two of them, the force of the attack staggering her, throwing Priscilla off balance and leaving her open to attack by not only one, but two thugs, each of them able to hit from her front and her back.

She was barely able to regain her footing, even then, she was no match for both of these brutes at once. She wasn’t an experienced veteran like Rhys. She was powerful in her own right, yes. But not at the level he was.

She couldn’t handle and dispatch them with ease like he did. She couldn’t stand there and let them rush her like he did. She couldn’t read out their every move and plan an effective counter attack like he did.

He was a veteran. Had been doing this most likely long before Priscilla was even born. And she… She was just a rookie. A novice. Too green to handle them in the same way Rhys could.

She had to watch herself. She had to be careful. She had to be alert. He didn’t.

Still though, that didn’t mean Priscilla couldn’t take these lowly bandits by herself. Rhys might have years of experience and practice, which technically makes him the better fighter than her, yes. But Priscilla had something else. She had a much more… raw form of power. Something much greater than a sword. Greater than brute strength. Much more dangerous than any other weapon in the world.

And in those short seconds of tension, the adrenaline in her system making time feel as if it was moving at a crawl, Priscilla called upon that power. She could feel it already building as the temperature of her body dropped, her breath fogging as it escaped her mouth, much like it would do on a cold winter’s day. However, this breath held no moisture in it like that.

This wasn’t the heat of her body escaping her. This breath was not hot or warm. It was ice cold. It was ice itself, Priscilla continuing to breathe out as her head began to swivel, spreading the icy mist around her as her hands swung and moved around it, spreading it out even further as her forearms began to frost over, small icicles forming on the sleeves of her long coat.

All the while, the two bandits were preparing their killing blow, unaware of Priscilla’s abilities, her covering the whole area around her with this icy mist in less than a second, and with a great and powerful force, she clenched her hands into fists and tensed her body, the icy mist quickly crystallizing in response, causing a small frost explosion to trigger in the small area around her, the force of the frost explosion sending the two bandits flying back a short distance, their bodies cold to the touch, covered in small flakes of snow as their skin turned a shade paler.

“A witch! A witch!” The barbarian cried out as he quickly stood to his feet, anger and hatred obvious in his voice, no doubt due to some incredible prejudice against magic and those who use it. “Filthy magic user! I’ll see you burn, you demon fucking whore!” He shouted in pure rage as he charged her, Priscilla quick to prepare a counter attack, her holding out her hand in front of him, a small whirlpool forming in her open palm, blasts of water shooting out, only to freeze midair, turning into sharp and deadly icicle spikes, launched at her attacker at amazingly fast speeds.

She fired three from her hand, all three hitting the barbarian bandit square in his exposed chest. Though he definitely felt their cold sting as they impaled him, he continued his charge, unfaltering. No doubt, his rage and hatred for all things magic was what kept him going. Lesser men would have died from such magic.

The barbarian had soon closed the distance, him charging right up to Priscilla with the intent to ram her with his body. Force his weight and strength on this tiny, young woman and beat her to the ground with his sheer might, Priscilla’s eyes going wide in shock at the thought of him actually doing such a thing, her now desperate to stop him as she prepared another magical attack.

Her body temperature, instead of dropping, began increasing. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as the heat in her body built up, her hands moving into position, being put right where the barbarian’s chest would be, should he take one step further. And that one step further, he did take, Priscilla discharging the heat she built in herself, her palms spewing hot fire like dragon’s breath, the barbarian cowering and panicking as his body was set ablaze. Engulfed by flames.

The burning of his bare, exposed flesh was no doubt excruciatingly painful as he fumbled away from Priscilla and dropped to the ground, beginning to roll on the grass below in an attempt to put himself out, Priscilla taking this chance to bring her sword down on the fallen bandit, it impaling him in the chest, much deeper than the ice spikes did, going straight through his heart and killing him.

“You little bitch! That was my friend!” The other bandit cried, Priscilla turning around in shock, again having forgotten that there were two foes to fight. Before she could do anything to defend herself though, Rhys came to her rescue, regardless of whether she needed it or not, getting right between her and the bandit, taking the blow from his mace before delivering a powerful downward slash, cleaving through the bandit and easily dispatching him.

Rhys then turned to Priscilla, letting out a slight scoff. “Sloppy.” He stated. “I counted not once, but three times you got thrown off guard. Had it not been for that magic, you’d be dead, Girl.” He chided.

“I could have taken him!” She said loudly, feeling as if she was being talked down to by a scolding parent. Like she was a little kid being told she was too small to do this and couldn’t do that.

“It’s not a matter of if.” Rhys stated, authority in his voice. “You shouldn’t have needed to. He should have been already dead.” He explained. “That’s the problem with you. You’re too quick to dismiss threats. You focus on the big targets, but what you don’t know about. What you dismiss and ignore, can be just as dangerous, if not worse. The assassin with the poisoned dagger is ten times as deadly as the armor clad warrior. Always!”

“Yes, yes. I get it! Look, I made a mistake. I understand that, but we’re all fine now. And even then, I could have dealt with him. Why do you even care so much anyways? Tons of recruits get slaughtered on these kinds of jobs and you don’t bat an eye at that. You don’t show any concern and neither does any other Guardian. You all just brush it off and send the next one in line to do the same thing! We’re just… disposable to you.” Priscilla glared slightly, Rhys matching that glare as he looked down at her. “Why am I different? Why do you care what happens to me? I’m just another Swordsman. I’m only one level up from the bottom. I’m no different.” Priscilla stated.

“You’re wrong, but if you want to feel that way, by all means.” Rhys chuckled to himself as he walked ahead, a puzzled look coming to Priscilla, obviously confused.

“What do you mean by that?” She asked.

“Later. It’s not important now.” Rhys dismissed. “We’ve still got a job to do. You think this bandit fort’s cleared after we only took out the guards? Gotta deal with the boss, else he just gets more men.”

“But what about-”

“Just come on. Get the job done, then you can talk my ear off”

“F-fine…” Priscilla scoffed in annoyance, aggravated by the fact that Rhys ignored her questioning. Ignored her concern. Ignored her. Still though, that didn’t change the situation at hand. The camp still needed clearing in order for Priscilla to obtain her coin.“I’m right behind… I’m… right… behind… I…”

“Priscilla?” Rhys asked as he turned around to face her, seeing Priscilla suddenly go pale, her eyes fogged over and her body swaying as if she was struggling to keep balance. She felt so… woozy. Her eyes saw double. The world around her lost a shade in its color and echos could be heard in her head. Odd whispers she couldn’t understand. A head rush followed by the feeling of fainting as the world around her suddenly darkened. “Priscilla! Girl, you answer me when I talk to you!” Rhys shouted as he grabbed Priscilla by her shoulders, her using him as a support so she wouldn’t lose her balance.

“Who… Who are you?” She asked, her voice light, soft. Like a whisper. Like a very hoarse, tired whisper. “Where am I? Who… Who am I? I don’t… I don’t understand… I…” She struggled to speak, her soon grunting in pain as a light headache pulsed through her skull, a small pounding, but a pounding nonetheless, Priscilla instinctively clutching at her skull, her nails digging into her scalp.

And then… clarity came to her. As quickly as it came, whatever bothered Priscilla so much was… gone. Her eyes lit back up again. Looked lively and energized. Her skin shortly regained its color and she looked to have regained her balance, her removing herself from Rhys as she looked around.

“Priscilla?” He asked in concern as he looked at her.

“I… What? What happened? Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked as she regained her senses, the tone and volume in her voice returning to normal, her looking perfectly fine and healthy, if a little dazed, as if nothing had happened to her at all.

“You had one of those episodes, didn’t you? The mental strain. You used too much magic and now your mind’s struggling to handle the aftermath of the power you summoned.”

“Wh-what? No, that’s not what-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Girl.” Rhys interrupted her, shutting down whatever excuse she was about to come up with before she even came up with it. “I might not be able to do any of that flashy spell casting, but I’ve worked with enough mages, wizards, witches and warlocks to know how it works, especially Academic mages like you. The strain got too high and your brain freaked out. For a few seconds, you didn’t even remember your own name, Priscilla.”

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“I… Okay. Maybe I pushed myself a little too hard, but I don’t think that matters anymore. I’m better now. I just… needed a few seconds to calm down. I’m alright now.” She stated, a somewhat defeated look on her face, Rhys perhaps thinking he might have been too hard in scolding the girl. Still though, for all that raw power inside her body, it was just that. Raw. Untamed. Untaught. No discipline. No training. No control.

And if the girl was going to survive on her own in the Warrior’s Guild, she needed these. Needed to be tamed. Needed to be taught. Needed to be disciplined, trained and controlled. Think of it in the same way one would train an animal.

Those who let their pets run wild will find them unresponsive, disobedient and rebellious. Then it’s only a matter of time before the pet, in its ignorance of right and wrong, what it should and shouldn’t do, hurts itself as well as someone else.

Priscilla was no pet, true. But Rhys liked to use this analogy when it came to training new bloods in general. He felt it was very accurate. Helped get his point across. And even then, for what Rhys had planned for the girl, it’d be fitting she be branded as a pet. Were Rhys less considerate of her feelings, he may have slapped a dog collar around her neck for comedic effect alone.

Okay… Don’t take that last part too seriously. He meant no ill intent and held no malevolence towards the girl. It was just a joke in his mind. A bad joke, true. But a joke nonetheless, Rhys fully knowing that his particular brand of humor was… distasteful at best, even to himself.

“Look, you’re a capable fighter and an above average mage. Not many can do what you do. Not many have the power you have. But you need to understand that this power is raw and untamed. Unless you wanna end up in a magic induced coma from all the strain you put on your mind, you need proper training from experienced casters. As well as better basic combat training. You’ve got potential, Girl. So much potential” Rhys stated, Priscilla perking her head up slightly as she looked at him, remaining silent while listening intently. “I don’t want to see that potential go to waste, okay?” Rhys finished.

“Okay…” Priscilla sighed.

“I’m not scolding you. I’m teaching you. If you can’t handle being called out when you do something wrong, sheathe that sword and go back to living with your parents in their fancy mansion. Go back to living the care free, noble’s life” Rhys said, teasing Priscilla’s upbringing while knowing fully well that even the mention of her parents infuriated her, her now glaring at Rhys silently. “No? Good. Then stop getting upset and defensive and start doing your job. Speaking of which, take the lead. The bandit chief’s in the cabin over there.”

“And we’re just going to kick the door down and charge in?” Priscilla asked as she walked ahead, taking the lead.

“That’s the plan.” Rhys said confidently. “They already heard the fighting outside, no doubt. They know we’re here. Most likely got an ambush set up for us, so be ready.”

“Right.” Priscilla said as the two approached the cabin at the back of the camp. Small. One room only. Priscilla and Rhys approaching the wooden front door slowly. Calmly.

“We can do this any way you want. Don’t care what happens to the bounty, long as he gets dealt with” Rhys whispered. “Remember though, you just went through an episode. No magic unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Right… No magic” Priscilla sighed, slightly nervous as to what was behind the door, her mind imagining the entire scene play out before it even started. How many more were behind this one door? What weapons did they have? What armor? Would Rhys’ and Priscilla’s swords be enough to deal with them? Or would Priscilla need to call on her magic again, only to suffer a second stain on her mind? A strain that may or may not be worse than the one she just got over”

“On your go, kick the door open” Rhys instructed. “I’m ready” He added, giving a confident nod to Priscilla, her gulping in slight nervousness before moving in front of the door, her armored boot coming into contact with the door, the blow forcing the door open with a loud bang

“There’s a bounty on your heads! And we’re here to collect!” Priscilla shouted as she and Rhys stood in the doorway, swords drawn and at the ready as they saw the three other bandits huddled behind a small, cheaply made wooden desk, the one in the middle being their chief. Their leader. The boss of the camp.

He wore a suit of what looked to be steel armor, the various parts such as the breastplate, pauldrons, boots and gauntlets consisting of vastly different appearances and styles. Everything from basic human armor styles, to even ancient elven styled armor! These most likely being banded and gathered from pieces of various armors taken from raids, showing that this bandit was experienced. Fought and raided many different people.

The men behind him however were not as impressive. One of them was the bandit Priscilla had observed earlier. The grizzled one who stabbed the elderly pirate. The other was what looked to be the chief’s right hand man. His second in command. His armor being a simple set of humanoid styled iron. Cheap, but for a bandit, he was more equipped than most.

“Well well well” The chief grinned as he sat at his desk, a small yet sinister smirk on his face. Him taking a relaxed position, slouching in his chair, despite the fact that he had two mercenaries break down his door with the intent to kill him. “What have we here? Two sellswords breaking down my door. Mercs come to take a shot at the price on my head. Cute.” He chuckled quietly, Priscilla glaring at him, not finding the humor in… whatever this was. Was this some sort of joke to him? These two had assaulted his camp, killed his men and had him cornered and he was… chuckling?! Laughing at them?!

“I don’t get what’s so funny!” Priscilla shouted in an angered tone, offense obvious in her voice, causing the bandit chief’s chuckle to turn into a small laugh.

“It’s nothing. I apologize if I’ve offended you, Girl. It’s just that I’ve seen and done this all before. Gets to a point where it becomes… humorous.” He said with a grin. “Now then, we’ve had our laugh. Let’s get down to business.” The chief said as he pulled open the drawer of his desk, Priscilla and Rhys readying themselves for whatever he was pulling out of there.

It could have been a flintlock! A crossbow with a poisoned bolt! A knife that could be thrown with deadly precision! Or… A pouch of coins?

“I assume you two are only in it for the money. I know that warriors guild likes to play the whole honor and pride routine, but come on. We all know how it really goes. You’re mercenaries. Not knights. You live by one thing and one thing only. Coin. And I got coin” The chief grinned as he put down a decent sized pouch on his desk. A purse that was most likely stuffed with coin.

“Are you bribing us to let you go?” Priscilla asked, disgust in her tone. Truly a lowly piece of filth, hiding behind his money, his coin, hoping it could save him from facing justice. This chief was a coward Priscilla was more than eager to feed to her sword. To let it cut into him and have it painted with his blood. “You’re pathetic” She spat, the chief simply rolling his eyes.

“Inside this pouch is exactly five hundred golds. Not coppers. Not silvers. Golds. That’s the price on my head, right?” The chief asked, Rhys’ brows rising slightly at the mention of such a large sum, impressed that a bandit could have that kind of money. “I don’t know how coin savvy you are, Girl. But you could buy yourself a decent sized house for this amount. Maybe a nice new sword. One of those fancy elven blades. Would you like that, Princess?” The chief chuckled again, Priscilla growling lowly at that.

“Wait. What the hell?” The grizzled bandit from earlier shouted, interrupting his chief. “Boss, when the hell did you get that kind of money! Last pay day, we were fighting over a bunch of coppers! And you’re sitting here with golds?! Offering it to mercs too?!” He practically screamed, his voice obviously filled with frustration and anger at the fact that while him and the other bandits fought over pocket change, their leader had more than enough gold for everyone.

“Now’s really not the time to be complaining, Marik.” The chief said, obviously annoyed by his underling’s whining. “Let me deal with the mercenaries, and we can talk about this later. You’re my right hand man now. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

“Oh right. You’ll take care of me like you took care of Jarad? Your last right hand guy? What about Berak and Tor?! The two who died on the last raid! The last raid you weren’t in! What about them?!” The grizzled bandit continued to rant, regardless of the fact that his leader was obviously annoyed.

“I don’t have time for this” The chief said as he stood up from the desk and faced the grizzled bandit, him jumping back as he saw the size of his leader, him towering over the simple, lowly bandit. The chief then pulled a heavy, serrated knife from his belt and stabbed his underling in the neck, blood spewing and leaking from his neck as the chief pulled out his knife, the body falling to the floor, its blood forming a small pool around it. “Idiot. All you had to do was be quiet and let me do my business. I could have given you whatever you wanted, but you just had to get all teary eyed and sentimental towards your friends. Fool. There’s no friends in bandit life.” The chief spoke lowly, it sounding almost like the growl of an animal.

“Oh my god…” Priscilla recoiled, horrified at the sight before her. At the sight of a leader killing his own.

“Oh…” The chief regained his composer after seeing Priscilla, remembering the business at hand. “Oh, my dear. I am so sorry you had to see that, Princess. I just had to… take care of business. You both understand, right? Now then. Your pouch. Take your golds and go. I have a mess to clean up.” He said dismissively, waving his hand out towards the door, motioning for Rhys and Priscilla to leave. “Buh bye! You can take your golds and leave!” The chief added, getting impatient.

“No!” Priscilla shouted in protest, gripping her sword tightly in her hands, Rhys at her back, doing the same. “After seeing the kind of monster you are, I could care less about your bounty. Now I just want you dead!” She proclaimed as she got into a defensive stance, ready and willing to fight, even in the bounds of such a small cabin.

The bandit chief sighed. “Fine then. I guess we’re doing this” He said as he reached for the ornate shortsword on his hip, drawing it and pointing it towards Priscilla and Rhys. “I must admit, I’ve never fought a swordswoman before. But don’t worry, Girl. I won’t kill you. A sweet little thing like you will get me good money on the slave market.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Priscilla stated, a hateful glare coming to her face as she gripped her sword tight, so much so that, were it not for her gloves, you’d see her knuckles whiten, due to how intense her grip on the blade’s hilt was. How angered and enraged the mere mention of slave trading, the sick profession that it is, made her.

“We’ll see!” The chief shouted as he and his second in command charged at Priscilla and Rhys, the both of them ready and waiting to intercept.

Fighting in such a small space was no doubt difficult, Priscilla and Rhys struggling greatly as they held back their attackers, the heavy clangs and clacks, the slashes and bangs of sword meeting sword in combat. Of armor tanking through heavy blows to protect its wearer. Metal making contact with metal.

While Rhys fought the bandit chief head on, that large, heavy greatsword making contact with that ornate, masterfully crafted shortsword, Priscilla held off the chief’s second in command, her longsword coming into contact with the sharp end of the second in command’s battle axe, blocking and guarding its heavy yet powerful blows.

She knew she couldn’t do so forever. It was the walls. The room. Too small for her to fight in properly.

No room for dodging or ducking. No room for jumping or evading, Priscilla no doubt knowing that it was only a matter of time before her guard was broken, either through the bandit’s use of sheer force or from Priscilla’s fatigue.

“Yes! Yes!” The bandit chief shouted in joy as he and Rhys clashed, their blades against each other as they both tried to overwhelm one another. “I was getting so sick and tired of fighting pathetic little merchants and caravan guards. But you… You’re something different. Something stronger. War veteran, right? No doubt about it. I know that look in your eyes! You’re a soldier boy! A real, trained warrior! Yes! Finally, a real fight!” The bandit chief exclaimed in pure excitement at the fact that he was fighting a real, true warrior. A person who fought against countless foes in not just combat, but even war. “Come on, Soldier boy! Strike the enemy! Do it just like they teach you in The King’s armies! Don’t think! Don’t empathize! Don’t sympathize! I’m not a person to you! I’m not a fellow human being! I’m the enemy! And it’s your duty to kill the enemy! Kill me just like you probably killed all those elves back in the last war! Do it! Do it now! THAT’S AN ORDER, SOLDIER BOY!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” Rhys screamed in pure rage as a near demon like strength overwhelmed him, his sword’s weight coming down on and overpowering the bandit chief, him gasping in surprise and fear when he saw that his taunting had only made his opponent stronger, his guard breaking as the shortsword broke into two under the force of Rhys’ greatsword.

“W-wait! Wait, hold on! Don’t hurt me! I surrender! I said I surren-!” The chief never got to finish his sentence as Rhys forced his weight over the bandit chief, him falling to the ground as Rhys stood over him, his hands releasing the greatsword and gripping the chief's neck, strangling and suffocating the lowly bandit, Rhys watching in an uncontrollable rage as the bandit’s face lost color. As his struggling weakened and weakened, eventually ceasing, the bandit chief dying of strangulation, Rhys soon releasing the neck of his opponent, breathing deeply as he stared into those now lifeless eyes.

“Rhys?” A voice echoed in his head. “Rhys? Rhys!” Priscilla called out from behind, Rhys snapping out of the rage induced trance he found himself in, soon coming back to the world around him as he stood up from the chief’s corpse.

There was a moment or two of silence in the air as Rhys regained his composure, Priscilla simply looking at him worriedly before speaking.

“Don’t you think it would have been faster to kill him with your sword?” She asked as she looked down at the body, seeing the marks Rhys’ grip left on its neck.

“My blade doesn’t deserve to taste blood that foul.” He answered as he retrieved his weapon, it returning to its rightful place on his back. “Scum. Utter scum.” Was the only words Rhys had to say. “What happened to the other one?” He asked.

“I took care of it.” Priscilla stated as she stepped aside, revealing the corpse of the chief’s second in command, lying dead against the wall, a gash in his chest, most likely due to impalement, allowing his blood to leak over the floor, forming a large puddle.

“Good girl.” Rhys said, praising Priscilla for being able to handle such a foe herself, without the need for magic too. “So, we assaulted a bandit fort with just the two of us. Put a stop to their raiding on a major trade road and killed a slaver. Good night’s work.” Rhys stated, Priscilla nodding once in agreement. “Now then, let’s you and me get out of here. We’ll head back into the city and celebrate with a few drinks. On me.”

“W-wait! What about the golds?” Priscilla said as she looked towards the bandit chief’s desk, seeing the pouch filled golds still lying there. Undisturbed by the battle that had just taken place.

“If you’re thinking of touching even a single coin, don’t.” Rhys ordered. “That coin was made from selling someone into slavery. From taking away a person’s freedom. It’s coin you want no part of, I assure you. Besides, the bounty for this job is big enough that you won’t need it. Five hundred golds. Clean golds. And it all goes to you. I won’t take a single coin.” He stated, Priscilla looking at him oddly, as if she almost didn’t believe that.

“Okay. So where’s my golds?” She asked.

“We’ll get to that. There’s some things you and I need to talk about first. And the best place to do that is in a nice, warm tavern in the city. A place with hot food and stiff drinks. Come on.” Rhys said as he walked out of the cabin, Priscilla following him. The two passing by the bodies they’d left behind, walking through the gate Priscilla had blown open and back up the hill where they met initially.

Two horses were tied to a small tree atop that hill. One a porcelain white and the other, a deep shade of brown, Priscilla mounting the brown one as Rhys mounted his white one, the two of them riding east, towards the city known as Novrid, a small merchant city on the eastern side of the kingdom. Small yet rich, with many goods and services to be found and bought there. As well as a port for overseas shipping and transport by boat.

The two of them left their horses in the stables outside before coming in through the main city gates, only to be greeted by a large plaza, a water fountain in the center of it. During the day, many different merchants would set up stalls and booths to sell their wares. However, during the night it was no more than an empty plaza, the major city services such as guildhalls, outposts for things such as courier services and many, many shops littering the very edge of the plaza, this being your one stop shop for everything in this city of coin.

“Come on. Tavern’s this way” Rhys said as he walked off to the left, Priscilla following as Rhys led her through the city. “I like this place. The merchants may be cutthroats who peddle cheap trash and it’s a little small for a city, but the actual people here are polite and fair” He stated, a small, content smile on his face, showing that he was somewhat happy to be back in the city. That said a lot to Priscilla about this place, mainly because she knew Rhys wasn’t one for… crowded areas like this.

“Ah! E-excuse me, Miss! Please, Miss! Forgive me to ask, but please! A copper! A single copper! I got no food! I’m starving! I haven’t eaten in days! A single copper coin is all I ask!” A sickly looking beggar shouted from the other side of the street, dressed in dirty robes stained with gods knew what.

The robes didn’t do much to hide his incredibly thin figure, so much so that you could see his rib cage under his skin, him barely having any muscle at all.

“Absolutely not! Away from me, you filth! Before I call the guards!” The woman he was begging to shouted rather loudly, her no doubt having coin to spare, judging by the clothing she was wearing. A purple city dress with gold accents and details. Very expensive looking. And yet this woman, this spoiled noble couldn’t share one coin? Not even to a man who was all skin and bone? Priscilla shook her head in disgust.

“Well… maybe not all of them are polite” Rhys corrected himself, him seeing the exact same thing.

“Oh… Oh please, Milady! Don’t do that! I-I was just asking for a copper! A simple copper! Surely you can-”

“Filth” The noblewoman spat at the ground in front of him, the beggar left speechless at the rude gesture as he watched her walk away.

“Hey!” Priscilla shouted angrily, deeply offended by what she just saw. A noble, spoiled and pompous, looking down a poor, unfortunate beggar who was probably about to die of starvation. And this noble, having seen this herself, couldn’t even bother to do so much as acknowledge his plight. His misfortune. Rather, she threatened to call guards on him! For what? Asking for charity? To help those in need?

The very sight of someone so… disgusting enraged Priscilla greatly, her unconsciously reaching for her hip, gripping the hilt of her sword, only to then feel Rhys’ hand grip over her arm, him pulling her back gently, as if to stop her. “What are you-”

“Don’t try to be a hero for the downtrodden” Rhys shook his head at her, a look of disapproval on his face as he looked Priscilla eye to eye, him eventually releasing her. “It’s not worth it, Girl. Never works out in your favor. Just… let it go. Forget about it” He said.

“Forget about it? He’s starved half to death! She threatened to call the guards on him and-”

“And you were going to draw your weapon on her and demand she hand over her coin?”

“I… No!” Priscilla shouted, Rhys chuckling a little at that as he saw Priscilla’s face flush with a light red, the girl no doubt embarrassed by her actions after being called out.

“Alright. Then what were you going to do?” Rhys asked, a smug look on his face as he crossed his arms, Priscilla simply glaring at him, not saying a word. “Listen, I get why you acted like that. That whole… scene was hard to watch, even for me. But you have to get used to it when you work in the Warrior’s Guild. Those… people. Those self interested, upper class snobs. They’re going to be your best clients, like that or not. You have to learn to tolerate them.” He stated, explaining this all to Priscilla like she was an idiot child that didn’t know better. Her again feeling like she was being talked down to.

“And what if I don’t want them to be my clients?” She asked, a somewhat defiant tone in her voice as she looked up at Rhys, hands on her hips and a slight pout on her face.

To Rhys, she actually looked kinda cute like that.

“Then by all means, deny the coin. Deny your services. Sell yourself to only the poor farmers and the lowly peasants.” He said with a chuckle. “Only thing you’ll get out of doing that is an empty stomach at the end of a hard day’s work. No. Those kinds of clients aren’t enough for our lifestyle. You ignore the nobles and lords… and you end up sitting next to that man on the street, begging with him.” He warned, Priscilla turning around to look at the beggar, him simply sitting on the street, looking around for other people, him hoping to at least find one generous soul.

“It’s not right…” Priscilla sighed.

“I know you don’t like it, Girl. But this is the life you chose when you left your family. You became a mercenary. A sellsword. Not a hero.” Rhys stated, only for Priscilla to sigh again as she continued looking across the street, towards the lowly, starving beggar. “H-hey… Don’t let it get to you too much. C’mon. We haven’t made it to the tavern yet. When we get there, I’ll buy you a drink. You’ll feel better.” Rhys said as he put his hand on Priscilla’s shoulder, trying his best to comfort her.

He admitted to himself that he was better at flirting with and picking up women, rather than consoling and comforting them. Even though Rhys has seen plenty of distressed women. Seen more than his fair share of crying and sadness. He was just… never good at dealing with it. He was a warrior, not a counselor.

“Yeah… Okay…” Priscilla sighed again as she gently pushed Rhys’ arm away. “Let me do something first though.” She said as she began crossing the stone paved street, Rhys calling out to her as he watched her walk up to the beggar, Priscilla seeing his eyes immediately lock onto her, only instead of begging for coin, he just looked at her. Silent. He… seemed a little fearful. Was he scared of her? “Hi There.” She greeted in as friendly of a tone as possible, waving her hand slightly. The beggar seemed to ease a little at that. At such a simple gesture. “I saw what happened and… Here. Just take these.” She added as she held a small pouch in her hand, the beggar cautiously reaching for it, opening the pouch and looking inside.

“Silvers?” he asked in surprise, his face lighting up at the act of charity done to him. “Twenty five whole silvers! Oh, milady! I thank you! Thank you!” He shouted in joy, humbling thanking Priscilla.

“I-it’s no big deal, really. Just… spend them wisely. Goodbye” She waved as she walked away, returning to Rhys.

“G-goodbye! Thank you! Bless you!” She heard him shout as she and Rhys walked away, making their way through the city and to the tavern.

A simple three floor building in the middle of the residential area. The light from the inside shining brightly through the windows as the sounds of cheers and yelling could be heard inside, Priscilla looking up at the sign above the door as she and Rhys approached the tavern.

The Sleeping Basilisk, it was called. The sign hanging above the door depicting one of the winged serpents resting peacefully.

“This is the place.” Rhys stated. “You’ll like it. They serve the best rye I’ve ever tasted.” He added as he opened the door, him and Priscilla walking in on quite the busy night for the simple tavern.

One of the first things they heard was the loud music of the band in the corner. Lutes. Drums. Violins. Flutes. All in perfect harmony and rhythm as they played upbeat and energetic music, a young woman in front of the band, singing merrily and clearly like a trained professional as many of the tavern goers danced and enjoyed the music.

The smell of hot, delicious food hit their senses immediately as the waitresses carried platters, plates and bowls of soups, stews and steaks, Priscilla’s stomach growling loudly as she smelled this, her remembering that she’d barely eaten all night.

“Let’s find a table” Rhys said as he walked ahead, him and Priscilla soon finding a nice table close to the area where the band had been performing, a waitress soon coming up to them to take their orders.

“Welcome, My Lord. My lady. What can I get you tonight?”

“A bottle of your rye. That’s all for me.” Rhys ordered.

“And My Lady?”

“Uhh… Elven lemon, please. And a steak. Well done.” Priscilla ordered, Rhys scoffing slightly at her choice of drink.

“Elf wine? Never seen you drink that before. Can’t stomach it myself. Maybe it’s because I don’t have that noble’s palette, I guess.” He joked, Priscilla rolling her eyes at him.

“Very well. I’ll be back shortly” The waitress said before walking off.

“Well then. While we wait, let’s you and me talk business” Rhys started as he sat upright in his chair, him previously slouching. He then dug into his satchel and pulled out a large pouch, a heavy clank coming from it as it was set on the table lazily. “Your pay for a job well done. Five hundred golds all there. Good work, Girl.” He praised as Priscilla took her pay.

“Thank you.” She said respectfully after peeking into the pouch, finding her golds all present.

The waitress then returned with their orders, setting down Priscilla’s steak, cooked well done as well as both her and Rhys’ drinks.

“Enjoy.” She said with a bow before leaving.

“Now then, onto something more important. As of right now, I’m promoting you to the rank of Protector. As you know, Protectors are unique in that they take their work directly from their superiors. For you, that means me. As of now, you get your contracts and assignments from me and only me. No more odd jobs. No more tearing contracts off of notice boards or checking in with receptionists at guild halls. I give you all your work.” Rhys explained. “Best part is that I deal with the clients too. So you don’t have to deal with the snobby nobles after all. You just do the work I give you. Sound fair?”

“Sounds more than fair.” Priscilla nodded in agreement, happy to finally advance past her low rank in the Warrior’s Guild. Now was where the real work began for her. And with real work came real coin. Real money.

“Well alright. I’ll be pleased to work with you. We can start tomorrow morning. I got a client who’s family sword was stolen from his old man’s house a few weeks ago. He seems to think it was stolen by his twin brother’s son out of spite or hatred for his uncle. The weird thing is, two months before the sword goes missing, the son vanishes without a trace and nobody-”

“Help! Thief!” A cry came from outside, Priscilla and Rhys’s conversation cut short as they both stood up from their table, racing out of the tavern to see a woman wrestling with a cloaked man over a coin purse, Priscilla immediately jumping in between the two, trying to push the thief away from the woman, only to end up punching him in the face, the thief falling to the ground as he released the purse, Priscilla returning it to the woman.

“Here you go, My Lady.” Priscilla said as she handed the woman back her purse.

“Oh thank you, Dear. Thank you.” The woman said as she took her purse back, happy to have assistance in defending herself from such a low, dirty thief. “Is… something okay, Dear? You look a bit spooked.” The woman stated as Priscilla saw her face, recognizing it.

“You… You’re the woman from earlier. The one who spit on the beggar!” She shouted in surprise.

“Ah… My jaw. You hit me in my jaw, you bitch!” The thief shouted in anger as he lay on the floor, Priscilla gasping in shock as she recognized his voice, turning to face him in utter disgust.

“You’re… You’re the beggar I just gave my money to! I gave you a whole pouch of silvers and you’re stealing?!” She shouted in complete and utter disgust, unable to believe that such an innocent and helpless looking beggar could do such a thing.

“Twenty five whole silvers. Good for one meal, but what about my next? What about the one after that? Or the one after that? I saw you get handed a whole pouch of golds! Why can’t I have some of that?! You nobles are all the same! You keep all your money to yourself and leave behind only the change for us!” The beggar, now a thief, shouted angrily at Priscilla, her still unable to fathom how her act of kindness and generosity could be twisted to seem like an act of greed and selfishness.

“Guard! Call the guards!” The noblewoman shouted, a guardsman having heard her call as he walked down the corner, racing towards the scene

“Please no! Not again!” The thief screamed in horror as he ran away, only to be chased down by the guardsman before being brutally kicked and pummeled before being arrested, Priscilla watching all of this with a look of pure and utter disgust.

“And that’s why you shouldn’t be a hero of the downtrodden” Rhys said as he approached Priscilla from behind, her turning around to face him, an angered and frustrated look on her face. “Are you okay?” Rhys asked.

“I… I’m fine.” Priscilla replied. “I just… I thought what I did was a good thing.” She sighed as she hung her head down low.

“It was. It’s just that you did good things for bad people.” Rhys stated, only to then sigh when he saw that Priscilla didn’t raise her head to look at him. “Maybe you should just call it a night, okay? Tavern’s got rooms. Rent a nice one and get a good night’s rest. Then report in to the guildhall first thing in the morning. I have jobs for you. Goodnight, Priscilla.” Rhys said before walking off, leaving Priscilla to herself for the rest of tonight.

“Goodnight.” She sighed as she began walking back into the tavern, only to be stopped when she heard her name called. Her full name. Priscilla Franchesca Avellion. Turning around to find who called her, she saw a young boy, no older than eleven approaching her, a heavy looking satchel at his side.

A courier? This late?

“Priscilla Franchesca Avellion?” The boy asked.

“Yes. That’s me.” She said as she looked down at the boy.

“Letter for you.”

“Thank you. Here you go.” Priscilla took the letter, tipping the courier ten coppers. He nodded in thanks and then walked off, leaving Priscilla alone once more, only now with a mysterious letter addressed to her.

She examined the letter a bit before reading it, clean parchment, written in fine ink and sealed in an envelope with a wax stamp placed over it. Whoever sent this must have been fairly wealthy or at least had some measure of nobility, as common letters are not often sealed by envelopes.

She then opened it and began to read through the letter, her eyes darting back and forth, scanning the letter diligently, Priscilla giving her total focus and attention to it. Her jaw soon fell in shock once she found out who had sent it. Someone she utterly hated and despised. A person she never wanted to see or hear from again. A person who was the embodiment of disgust and shamelessness in her eyes.

Her mother…