The Higaard Plains Region was a sprawling open flat between the mountains surrounding Sciyanne and another yet larger range to the northwest. Dotting the plains were many small villages, some focused on growing crops, others on shepherding. Closer to the western mountains a different beast was herded, these were called dunsif. They were sturdy mountain cattle with sweet tasting meat and producers of large quantities of milk. While mostly docile, especially and perhaps surprisingly to those herding them, the males boasted a crown of sturdy horns that helped deter predatory monsters. Even still, the ranchers who herded the beasts weren't keen to stand by and let the herd males do all the work. Former mercenaries, whether by age or injury, tended to flock to this work. Making use of the knowledge gained by that experience, even mercenaries who couldn't walk could work together with the herd to chase off large threats. Though there was one threat that was the bane of ranchers, shepherds, and farmers alike on the plains: direwolves. They snuck out of the forests at the edges of the plains by night, did as they pleased under the light of Lurenne, and returned to the woods by morning leaving only chaos and corpses in their wake. The silver lining was that every now and again a direwolf pup could be taken in and trained as any other dog. Their status was hazy, some claimed the direwolves ferocious strength came from mana which would make them genuine monsters. The plainsfolk didn't have the resources to make this dilemma clear, and to some the idea of a ferocious wolf that could also use strange powers was too frightening to take so they tried to think of them in terms of just very strong wolves. For there were ordinary wolves, these the ancestors of the dogs kept as pets more commonly than tamed direwolves. Though direwolves weren't the only predator on the prowl in those woods who dared come out onto the plains at night. These silent prowlers where seldom tamed, and if they were it was on their terms for there was no debate over their monsterhood. They were far smaller than direwolves, but they were stealthy omnivores and therefore more of a nuisance for the farmers in the plains. Their common name was the snake-cat, for they were covered in silky soft fur and had pointed ears that stood up on their heads, but their faces and claws were like those of reptiles. Among the learned they were called regna-walkri, and on the roofs of their mouths they had patterns like eyes, subspecies differed in exact design but always present was the motif of staring eyes. Just like wyrms and the like the elemental affinities varied, some even used simple alchemy to transmute potent venom or poison. Territory squabbles between regna-walkri and direwolves weren't uncommon, and it was never clear who the victor of any such squabble would be. Direwolves had incredible stamina and tough pelts, but if they were capable of magic at all, it was a kind invisible to the eyes and acting on the wolf itself, which wasn't unheard of in the least, which is what kept it an active subject of debate. Regna-walkri were quick and intelligent, making shockingly strategic use of whatever abilities they possessed to overwhelm the larger opponent. Now introduce the bandit population into this violent tug of war in the plains, suddenly the direwolves and snake-cats had a common enemy who would slay either on sight to protect themselves and often leave their bodies to rot in the open air. This created an awkward peace between the two predators as they sized up the new threat. The Yvergnian humans were always careful to bury the slain and stuck to their villages, only venturing out to their fields or pastures to herd or plant which had created a balance of mutual understanding. Add to the mix the instances of taming and more common helping out an injured creature, that balance was one the beasts were willing to tolerate. With the Bantoleon bandits it was another matter entirely, it was war. The bandits were constantly under threat of attack by night, and the beasts of being hunted by day. Many smart bandit leaders had gone back to Bantol or tried their luck further south where the cover of the trees allowed both man and monster to size one another up through the undergrowth and canopy and avoid direct confrontation much of the time.

This particular band of bandits however, wasn't very bright. They were rather lucky though, they had managed to make it as far into Yvergn as the Higaard Plains without much in the way of obstacles. They were beginning to feel the squeeze however, as their supplies ran low and the howls of the direwolves prevented them from getting sound sleep, all in all tensions were high. They set their sights on a tiny plainsvillage with no mercenary presence, it was a relatively poor farming village but that made it a good target for a starved band of wretches looking for easy pickings.

It was here their luck ran out, for Jeroam's party spotted them as they broke from the cover of the forest rushing towards the undefended village.

“Miscreants!” Jeroam said upon seeing the bandit horde, “Roak, Alyse, with me!”

“On it!”

“Surely!”

The two dropped from Shyk and the wagon respectively and unsheathed their swords. Roak carried a large broadsword of Fey'rihn design, it had a large cross at the hilt that helped both protect the wielder's hands and catch opposing swords in hopes of disarming them. Alyse carried a lighter longsword that gave her decent reach while not being a hindrance to her speed. Jeroam made to dismount Shyk but the wyvern shook its head, and with Jeroam onboard rushed towards the bandits. Jeroam loosed his spear from its place at his side and swung it into position as Shyk bore down on sword wielding bandit. With a shriek the bandit was knocked on his back by a fierce blow from Shyk's snout, and then quickly silenced by a thrust of Jeroam's spear. Shyk let out an earsplitting roar, and for a moment the bandits were paralyzed in shock by the visage of a great black monster with four glowing amber eyes mounted by a dark shadow with six glowing blue ones.

In the village Shyk's roar was heard, as were the cries of the bandits. A young woman quickly lead an elderly man into their home.

“Grandfather hurry!”

“I am, I am dear Serenity,” the old timer said as he closed the door to their home behind him.

The woman, Serenity, had long silver hair that flowed past her waist and a soft complexion with freckles that ran across her nose from cheek to cheek.

“Oh dear what will become of our village...” she said softly.

The old timer looked thoughtfully into space, but didn't say anything for a while. The sounds of steel on steel and guttural roars from the wyvern came from outside. For those in the small village it was an almost apocalyptic circumstance.

Finally, the old man sighed “I had hoped to see you leave this village before something like this happened...You're such a bright girl, I'm sure you would find the world such an exciting place.”

“What do you mean, grandfather?”

“I mean I don't know what will happen to our little place here,” he said plainly.

“Grandfather...”

Serenity was an apprentice to the healer of the village, and she had a knack for it that surpassed her master's. Among the villagers she was thought to have healing hands, as anyone who had been treated by her had recovered more quickly and more wholly than by any other. She was the pride of Attrasdell. Even so, the old timer wanted her to see the world, not be stuck in little Attrasdell for her whole life. Plainsvillages like Attrasdell came about when larger towns split, whether from feuds or just a wish for change of career or pace. The downside to such splinter villagers was they started out poor and until they had been established for quite a while they remained that way, leaving them on the fringe and undefended. This was especially the case for Attrasdell, as years ago when they had set out to create the village the reasons had been conflict with the violent ways ingrained in the old town which seemed to have become one with the tug of war of nature on the plains. The old timer had been old enough to remember moving out of the old village and the building of Attrasdell's first houses. The young leader, now older even than this old timer, had been an idealist and wanted to live peacefully without the need for mercenaries or soldiers. Those who followed him agreed, thinking that even if bandits came they could simply pay them off. What they failed to account for was the real depravity rampant among the bandit hordes, these were distrustful greedy people who came from a country who had turned its back on them. The already poor village had been practically bled dry until a traveling caravan's hired mercenaries repelled, or more accurately exterminated, that bandit group. The village mourned both the fallen mercenaries and bandits but it had been a shocking lesson in reality, as once that horde had been dealt with the village began to prosper again, but it had been forbidden to say as much aloud as it was disrespectful to the dead. The old man knew this, and therefore wished for Serenity to see how much bigger the world was, and not to be stuck in the bubble that was Attrasdell.

Meanwhile on the streets of Attrasdell some of the brigands had avoided the blades of Jeroam and his companions and begun taking what they could.

“Take evryfin what ain't nailed down lads!” shouted what passed for a commander among them, a shabby looking bald man wielding an ax caked with rust and blood.

“You 'eard the boss! Get to it!” cried another man, this one wielding a lance.

The bandits ran around the village unimpeded, as the villagers locked themselves indoors, shrieking in terror. The bandits quickly realized that the only thing worth taking was the food and crops, and so they began loading up sacks roughly, making a mess of the once neatly organized fields.

“Quick, be quick, ye worthless layabouts!” the ax wielder shouted, delivering kicks to bandits he deemed to be working too slowly. He cast paranoid glances over his shoulder towards the sounds of fighting a little ways off.

A bandit shriek came from nearby, and the ax wielder turned quickly and found a woman with purple hair baring down on him with extreme speed. Suddenly the lancer was between them, using the haft of his lance to take the sword blow intended for the bandit boss.

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“I don't think so, missy!” the lancer said with a sneer, “Go'wan boss, get the others out of 'ere!”

Alyse leered back at the lancer, jumping back nimbly.

“Yer a quick one, ain'tcha?” the lancer drawled.

Alyse said nothing, she wasn't in a particularly great position. Accustomed to working in teams, she found herself alone having broken through the bandit ranks before Jeroam and Roak, on top of that she was starting to feel the fatigue of constant vigilance and her own rapid movements. On top of that, the lancer's weapon had much greater reach than her longsword, it wouldn't be easy to close the distance needed to get a good hit in.

For a moment the two stood facing each other, eyes locked. Alyse's green eyes shone with determination, while the bandit's gray ones desperation and condescension.

SHANG! CLANG! CRACK!

Lance and sword flashed through the air, three blow were exchanged. With the first blow Alyse knocked aside the lance and sped into close quarters with the bandit. The second the bandit drew back the lance and its metal head stuck the metal of Alyse' sword. The third shattered the lance's wooden haft, but both fighters had momentum, and though Alyse' sword found the bandit lancer's side, his lance tip found her unguarded shoulder. Wounded, both scurried in opposite directions. The lancer chased after the ax wielder, Alyse retreated down the lane she had cleared of bandits. Her breath was ragged and blood poured from the wound in her shoulder.

Alyse slumped down in front of the door of a village house and leaned against it. She grit her teeth, and tried to do some basic first aid, but her vision swam. Fatigue and bloodloss were catching up to her.

“Serenity no, it's dangerous!” came an elderly voice from behind the door.

“But I heard something outside!” answered a soft feminine voice.

Alyse called back weakly, “Nah, you should listen to the old man, there're still bandits about...”

Taking heed of neither, Serenity threw open the door, Alyse who was still leaning against it fell into the silver haired girl's arms.

“Ah, now you've done it,” Alyse said with a pained smile.

“You're hurt!” Serenity cried, then pulled Alyse into the house and with her grandfather's help put her onto the sofa.

“It'll get better, I'm a mercenary I can handle this much easy!”

“Hush you silly, grandfather get my things will you?”

“Of course,” the old timer glanced uneasily at Alyse, checked that the door was properly closed and locked again, and went to fetch Serenity's healing supplies.

Alyse was surprised, she had been taken care of by the healer in Eutho many times, but never had the pain receded so quickly as when Serenity began applying her craft. As the healer worked, Alyse gave the pair a report of the situation in the village.

Roak had found himself in quite the predicament. After cutting down several bandits, his sword had snapped. It was by no means because it was too old or of bad make, but simply so fierce was the northern warrior's onslaught that the weapon's metal couldn't take it. Using what was left of it he fended off the bandit's hesitant attacks, as after seeing what short work he had made of their compatriots he had made they were loath to engage with the large Outer Bantoleon, as he made his way back to Katrina's wagon. Katrina saw Roak, and noticed his plight.

“Roak! Here!”

Hearing Katrina's shout, Roak looked back only to see a sword of Yvergnian make whizzing towards him from the direction of the cart. He dropped the remnants of his former blade and caught the new one.

“Many thanks!”

“Go get 'em big guy!”

Roak narrowed his eyes with a ferocious smile, “Very well, who is first?”

The bandits who had been working up their nerves again, and had begun thinking of targeting Katrina's wagon lost all vigor and ran off towards the village, hoping to reunite with the rest of their company.

Said company was currently smoldering in a heap, as Jeroam and Shyk had worked mechanically, skewering bandits with spear and tailblade and talon, tossing the bodies outside of the village, and then burning them with a blue fireball from Shyk's savage maw.

Jeroam and Roak regrouped, routing the group that had fled from Katrina's wagon.

“Have you seen Alyse?”

“As yet no. Mayhaps more thieving scum in village?”

Jeroam nodded, and urged Shyk to take to the skies. From the air, Jeroam saw a small company of the bandits making off towards the edges of the plains carrying off sacks of stolen crops, and a pair of bandits conversing in the village square. They seemed to come to some kind of agreement, and set off in the direction of more well-off seeming houses.

Jeroam didn't even need to think about what this meant, and had Shyk take him down. Together they descended like a shroud.

Roak seeing Shyk descending inferred there was still work to be done, and ran into the village proper, and caught sight of the ax wielding bandit about to force open a door.

“What is big idea, eh?” he taunted the bandit.

The ax wielder jumped in surprise, and upon seeing Roak immediately made to bolt.

“I think not!” Roak retorted rushing full tilt at the bandit boss.

The bandit boss was most unceremoniously cut down. After confirming he was slain, Roak dashed out of the village on the trail of the bandits fleeing with their loot.

Alyse finished explaining the situation to Serenity and her grandfather, when suddenly the door of their house shuddered violently.

“Open up you lot! I know ye've got goodies in there! Hand 'em over!”

It was the lancer. Alyse made to get up, but Serenity held her down.

“You're still injured!”

“We'll be a lot worse than injured if that brigand gets in here,” Alyse warned.

“W-we won't give in to the likes of you!” the old timer cried at the bandit.

“Ho ho? Well don't you 'ave a lotta spunk gramps! Too bad, in this world he who takes makes!” the door shuddered again, splinters beginning to show.

Alyse forced Serenity off of herself and unsheathed her sword, facing the door, “Get back old timer,” she hissed quietly so that the lancer didn't catch on to the fact she as there.

But the old man shook his head and stood in the doorway, “I'm not going to put the young in harm's way!”

“Old man please!” Alyse said, a bad feeling coming over her.

The door burst open, and with it the lancer lunged in. Alyse shoved the old man aside, but it was too late, the lancer struck true, skewering the old timer through the kidneys.

Alyse and Serenity paused in shock, and the lancer gloated.

“See! The strong gets what they wants!”

From behind him a bass voice spoke up.

“Really, then I suppose you have no complaints? Those who live by the lance, die by it.”

The lancer looked down, the smug grin on his face replaced by confusion as a silvered spear head had sprouted from his chest.

He turned and stared into the face death, six blue eyes and four amber stared out of darkness in spite of it being midday.

“Jeroam!” Alyse cried with relief.

Serenity however quickly went to her grandfather's side.

“Grandfather!”

The old timer however was staring at Jeroam and Shyk framed in the doorway as they disposed of the lancer's corpse. His eyes were full of awe.

“Serenity my dear, leave this village!” he gasped out.

“But the bandits are all gone now,” Serenity said in confusion.

Her grandfather grasped her hands, trembling terribly, and pointed her towards Jeroam, “Go with him! Do whatever you need to, get him to take you away from here! It is too late for me, but you have your whole life ahead of you, go! This must be fate! I can feel the hand at work!”

Jeroam entered the house and stood by Alyse reverently watching over the pair.

“If you wish it, I will make it so,” he said quietly to Serenity.

Serenity was too grieved to make a reply, for which Jeroam did not fault her in the least.

“I'll go see how Roak and Katrina are holding up. Will you stay with the girl Alyse?”

“Got it,” Alyse replied, herself trying to sort out her feelings. Why had the old man been so stubborn?

Jeroam found Roak in the middle of taking back the stolen crops, and lent him a hand in finishing up the last gaggle of bandits and then hauling back the sacks of produce. They then met up with Katrina and found a place to park the wagon and feed the vanasheara. Together the three went back to Serenity's house, where by their return the old timer had breathed his last.