"So," Hargreeve said, a rough and low voice. Like the crackling of coals. "We're playing at being a hero lately, are we?" 

"It isn't like that," Morgan said. 

They were inside Hargreeves shop at present, though the term may be used a tad too loosely for the facility at present. It was more like a wharehouse of tiny bits and pieces of armor. Weapons hung to walls, untouched in such as much time as when they were last placed there. Maps and bottles filled with strange objects littered shelves and hung from the ceiling. 

In truth, "Hargreeves Hardware" was simply that, a hardware store. He sold the neccessities needed for repairs to ones home. He had timber and nails, hammers, glue of a kind, and various other items. What had happened was, over the years of being the only hardware store around, he'd picked up a habit of taking in customers with a keen interst in selling things. Sometimes looking to just pawn them off for a little while, others selling them outright. He'd come to rely on this side business as a way of staying afloat during the off seasons of house consrtuction. 

Morgan had been one such customer, he'd sold his armor and sword to the man when he'd first arrived in the city. This had been when he was still young and with hope for the air that the new city could bring, yet unaware of the disgust and rancid falvor that permiated everything. 

"Then tell me," The man said, he leaned agianst the counter and searched Morgan over. Hargreeves was a shorter man, some would have called him a dwarf given the appearance, but he was Mardan alright. Just short, and with a long beard. Actually he did look rather like a dwarf now that Morgan thought about it. They were stories after all, like elves and orcs, just different names for the races that existed already. 

Though he'd never call a Hiander an Orc, nor would he call a mardan with sharp ears and elf. Even if they did meet the features described in the stories. Some say it as rude, he'd heard about that, but had never seen the interest in getting so worked up over something so minor. Not when there was so much to get upset over already. 

"I had a bad couple days, thats all." 

"Uh-huh," 

"Thats all!" 

"Bad couple days?"

"Yes," 

"Thats it?" 

"Yes," 

"So why're you buying the armor and weapon then?" 

"I..." He was stumped. He'd hoped that just saying things were bad would have excused him from explaining things further. "Come on Hargreeves. Just sell me back the armor. Look, I have the three silver I still owe you." 

Morgan produced the upfront payment and handed the small coins over to the man, who inspected them in his ham-sized fist. He turned the coins over and inspected the inscriptions on the faces, then made a solemn nod. 

"Suppose I sold it?" 

"Ha!" Morgan said "Fat chance of that," 

"What do you mean?" 

"Its bright red, what idiot would wear a bright red coat and carry around a dingy blade," he paused, then said "Besides me. That is." 

"So maybe I haven't sold it," He said slowly "Maybe its around here somewhere, but you still haven't told me what it is you want it for." 

"I'm gunna be doing some work as a guard for a while." 

"While?" 

"Couple months," He said. 

"Thats quite a bit." Hargreeves said, stroking his chin "Good pay I wager?" 

"Livable, maybe." 

"Eh?"

"I said maybe," Morgan said "I'm not sure how long it'll last." 

"Got yourself one of those then?" 

"One of whats?" He asked. 

Hargreeves scratched his chin and looked around sheepishly "Oh, just, well..." He fumbled with the words "A woman."

"How'd you know?" 

"Just a guess, rare to find a man who doesn't question how long the relationship will last." 

"It isn't like that," 

"Sure it ain't lad, sure it ain't." 

"Could you just give me the armor already? And the blade too, don't forget the blade." 

With a sigh of frustration, Hargreeves nodded and took the coins. He placed them in a small bin nearby, were they dropped onto an already existing pile that had been building up over the past few hours, and stepped into the back room. Morgan didn't see what took the man so long, but when he returned it lookes as if he'd nearly lost all his breathe. 

"What in the world happened to you?" 

"Boxes," He said wearily. 

"Boxes?" Morgan drew his head back in surprise. 

"Look heres the bloody box. Alright?" He threw the container onto the table before them and waddled, as he was want to do so these days with his legs being as they were, around to the other side. From there, he produced a crowbar with an angled tip, and began to pry open the nails that kept the smal sections of wood closed. 

Inside was a long red coat, a breastplate, and a ticket with the number: 950xlllx4 written in big black letters. The man sighed again and took the ticket, then returned to the back room. 

There was a loud crash. 

There was a shout. 

There was silence.  

Hargreeves emerged from the rear door once more, this time holding a long blade, nearly the length of Morgan himself, and placed it gingerly onto the table beside the armor. 

"There," He said, matter-of-factly 

"Thanks," Morgan muttered. He wasn't really paying attention to the man anymore. Instead, he was staring at the armor and the patch that still burned its sigil into the coat. The symbol of a small bird, like a pheonix in shape, gripping a bundle of sticks. Uselessness being saved and being reborn. 

"Need some help?" 

"Thats okay," He said. The breastplate always took the longest to get on. Getting the straps in place and tightening them was far harder with just one person, but he'd done it long enough now that he was aware of what the best way, for him, to go about it. Within ten minutes he was armed and armored and walking around the store. 

"How does it feel?" 

"About as good as the day you gave it to me." 

"Shh, hush up lad." 

"Theres no one-" 

"That doesn't mean I want you blathering on about things just out in the open." anger welled in the mans voice and Morgan raised a hand in defense. 

"Okay, okay." He stepped back into the center of the room and gave the sword a few tentative swings. The building was just tall enough that he could stand in stance and not scratch the roof, and it was just wide enough to follow through the first few motions before sliding the blade back into the sheathe and resting it on the table. 

The coat felt heavy. Morgan adjusted the arm. Some of the pressure vanished. Morgan gave a satisfied nod and strapped the blade to his side then turned. 

"Thank you kindly." 

"You coming back from this?" 

"Of course," Morgan said. "I live here, after all. Why wouldn't I come back?" 

The man gave him a wave of dismissal as he stepped out of the store and into the light of the day. 

With his armor aquired and the stunning realization that, and this was becoming clearer with each minute, perhaps he'd been kicked out of his house the other morning, Morgan made his way through the city of Anun-Felrid and past its longer, darker alleyways. The tight corners and scheming branches of paths that spread out from the center. He darted along the road and dodged through the crowds, heading for the Ash Gate. 

It didn't take him long to get everything in order and find Artessa, so by the time that he arrived, she was still deep in conversation about the rates of the caravan. Things were getting fairly heated between the two.

"But you said-"

"Miss, I don't care what you heard. Those are the rates now," The taller man said. He brushed the long and thin mustache that ran from below his nose and down to his chest. 

"Who'd pay that?" She demaneded "Its outrageous, its robbery." 

"Care to elaborate?" Morgan asked 

"There you are!" She snapped "Where were you?" 

"You said to get my stuff and thats what I did." He said, placing his hands on his hips. She suddenly seemed to take in the appearance of the armor and whistled. 

"You look better, more suited to the job anyway." 

"Thank you." He said "It was an old-" 

The clerk cleared his throat. 

"Thats all well and good," He said "But would you care to make a decision so that I may help the next customers in line." There was no one behind them. 

"How much is it?" 

"One silver a person," The clerk offered, rather bored of the situation

"Thats not so bad." 

"And 4 silver more for any luggage that need be stowed." 

"What?" Morgan tried to clean out his ears. "What was that?" 

"Its five silver for me to ride!" Artessa cried "Thats robbery!" 

"So you said, miss." 

"Look there has to be some mistake," Morgan said. "Surely the prices are wrong, thats four times the price of the ticket." 

"Oh," Said the man "Look who can do maths." 

Morgan said nothing. 

"Fine." Artessa, grumbling the whole while, pulled the correct number of coins from a pouch and handed them over. They were swapped for a pair of tickets bearing the name "Spirit of the Southwestern Delta, Carvan." 

"Great." She said. 

"Anything else that we need?" Morgan asked. 

"Not really," Artessa turned, grabbed her back and quickly stomped off, followed closely behind by a confused Morgan. "I can't believe this place!

"What? What about it?" He said, he hated the city more than anyone, but it was still his home. There was some pride in that, he supposed. 

"That clerk was a bastard!" She snapped "Down right a nasty bastard." 

"So?" 

"So?" She turned on him, rounding and pointing an accusing finger at him "You're okay with being ripped off so blatantly?" 

"Its just the way of things," Morgan said. He wasn't sure who he was defending here, but it seemed he was defending something. Perhaps it was capitalism that he sought to defend. That was stupid, he hadn't even paid for the honor. "Not much you can do, not unless you start a business to compete." 

A light of an idea flashed on her face and Morgan frowned. 

"No." 

"But I didn't-" 

"I saw it in your eyes." 

She folded her arms again and sat atop her luggage. "Youre rather a spoil sport, arent you?" 

Morgan did his best to keep the smile plastered on his face, but inwardly he was regretting the decision to follow the woman. He needed the money, that was true, and he had nowhere to go to, so he... What was the point of all that? He knew he had been following a train of thought, but it had just seemed to fizzle out. He tried again. He needed money and he had nowhere to go...

Still nothing. There was nothing that followed the words. They danced around in his mind like soldiers performing cadences. Screaming their reminders in his head. He could stay, but there was no chance he'd ever have an opportunity to earn so much money again. He had to take it right? He couldn't seem to think of anything else, and he'd tried now. 

"Right." He said, after an uncomfortably long silence had passed between them. 

"Well," She said "We have the tickets and thats all that matters." 

"What exactly is the plan to get there. I imagine we'll need to take a ship, but certainly theres more to it than that." 

"We're going to take the caravan as far as we can go, and get to the coastal cities, where we'll board a boat for Flarda or the other Bonsuian cities nearby." 

"So that really is it?" He asked 

She nodded, "Of course." 

"And what are you heading to Flarda for?" 

"Personal business." She said. "Something to do, I suppose." 

"You suppose?" 

"Well, it doesn't matter for right now. You're not being paid to ask questions." 

"Hey," 

"Listen," she pressed a hand to her head, supressing a rising headache. "Lets just get to the caravan and find out cart. It'll be a while on the road when we eventually leave anyway." 

"Sounds fair to me." Morgan said. "Want me to carry the bag?" 

"Do I also have to pay you four silver?" 

Morgan laughed "Consider it part of the fee you paid already. I'll just make sure to add on other expenses later," He winked and grabbed the small container. 

Baron Udvel of the Hestria was not a pleasant man to look at. He had far too many chins and not enough cheek, his nose was sharp and his green eyes seemed to pierce into your very heart. He was rude, crass, horribly dressed, and smelled like several day rotted cheese. Which all combines to say that he was true royalty and a member of one of the oldest families in the whole of the empire. It was a family so old, that its name need not ever be spoken and the wealth would remain the same. 

So we won't.

He turned the wilting paper over in his hand and let its contents flicker by the firelight. It contained little more than a few paragraphs. Just a quick bit of information passed along by sparrow in the night. He'd been expecting it for some time now, but it wasn't until it had arrived that he realized exactly what he was going to do. 

"Befoon," He said to the air. 

A sharp dressed man in a white suit entered, clicking his heels together as he stopped. 

"Yes, my lord." 

"Have you seen this?" 

"No, my lord." 

"Its a letter, from the governor of Anun-Felrid. Its says that young Artessa has made it to the city, and that shes on her way out of town, towards the coasts."

"Yes, my lord." 

"Do you understand what that means?" 

"No, my lord." 

Udval turned the paper over again and then threw it onto the table before him. It crumpled and curled as it bounded around on the wood before coming to a stop. It bended. Udval gave Befoon a very long look. The man wasn't unattractive, just a bit too gaunt, Like a well fed corpse. Befoon gave a bow,

"Was that all, my lord." 

"No," He said. "No, it wasn't. I'll need you to do something for me." 

"Anything, my lord." 

"If this, Artessa, plans to head for the coasts, then that means she'll be passing by some of the smaller cities along the way. Theres a chance that we can stop her before she gets too far." 

"What would you have me do, my lord." 

"Hire some mercenaries to handle her." He said, then added "Better yet, make it the assassins. If you want a job done right." 

"As you wish, my lord." 

The man departed. Udval gave a sigh of discontentment and thought to himself that perhaps he shouldn't have fired the last servant he'd had. This one seemed a bit too quiet for his liking, there was nothing fun about talking to a brick wall. 

Udval grabbed a pipe from nearby and packed it with a combination of brown and green grindings. He snapped his fingers and produced a small flame from above the point of his thumb and lit the pipe. He took a long pull. He coughed. 

"Master Udval," Came a voice that flared through the octives. The owner, or rather perpetrator, was an older man with a long greying beard and a robe nearly to match. "So she has evaded you as of yet." 

"Young Master Patin," He said. "Your youth potions do you well sir, you seem not a day past two hundred and six." 

"You are too kind," The wrinkled voice said "But I feel my age today. All two hundred and seven years of them." 

"Quite a, er, long life. Don't you suppose?" 

"Oh hardly," The man said. "Death itself is immortal. I'm but a child in comparison." 

"But are any of us really a comparison for Death?" 

The two paused to consider this. Neither had an answer, but it was Patin that broke the silence first. 

"Whats this I hear of a young woman evading you again? Hm? She has, outwitted you, as it were." 

"She hasn't outsmarted me. She just escaped to a city is all. We'll have her back in no time, and then we can continue as planned." 

"I do hope you're right, Master Udval, I'd hate to hear how you managed to ruin another-" 

"Was there something that you needed, Master Patin?" 

"Oh, not especially," The old man said. He fished around inside a pouch and produced a long thin cigarette and struck up using his finger. the combination of smoke billowing from the pipe and stick filled the space in a miasma of fog and unyielding gasps. 

"Then perhaps," Udval said with a tone of annoyance, "You can tell me why you're here."

"Can't an old man come and visit his nephew?" The man strode further into the room, which is to say that the creaking indicated movement, but physically he seemed to glide across the room and towards the heavier set man sitting behind the desk. 

"You're too kind." Udval placed a hand on the desk "But as you can see, I'm rather-"

"Busy?" The old man said "Surely you jest. I've seen your calendar. It's empty." 

"There are things that have come up." 

"This woman is one of them," 

"There are other matters I must attend to." Udval gave him a stern look and added "Not all of them require my attention. This is just one that does." 

"So it would seem." The man seemed to put all manner of doubt and deciet into the phrase, but Udval was unyeilding in his resolve. He wouldn't let his uncle bother him. "Well, I just hope that you manage to handle this. The others would be so dissapointed if I had to tell them you've failed." 

Failure. The word hardly existed in his lexicon. Similar to "no" and "Not for you" as phrases rarely ever spoken to him. Hearing it drove him up a wall in anger. He was a baron, he meant something damn it. He got to get his way. He wouldn't fail. Not from this, not from anything. 

"No need." Udval said finally, a air of silence falling between them "Artessa will be dealt with, and the project will comence as normal." 

"I do hope so." Patin said "So much is riding on this, after all."