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The Learanian-Adlian border is largely composed of a wide river that winds along through the forests and valleys, cutting the green with its sparkling, clear surface. For the most part, it is quite deep, and the current can be dangerously quick, necessitating fences near the road to keep small children from playing too near, but in a few places, where the river widens, it becomes shallow, gentle, and its banks form beaches popular with vacationing merchants and their mistresses.

In one or two places, it is in fact shallow enough that a small patrol of Learanian soldiers could wade across it without getting their groins wet.

The Learanian border guard was easily the most diverse of any country, with the various races that appeared looking for work in the country. Dressed in one-size-doesn't-fit-anybody blue uniforms with their black leather boots and face-covering helmets, a patrol of Learanian soldiers forded the Adlian River; a man on a wyvern flew ahead of them with a girl with snow-white wings clinging to him as she sat behind him in the saddle. The others, including two women, one of whom had folded up one empty sleeve so it wouldn't flap about, made their way through the river on foot, complaining of water in their boots all the way across the sandy riverbed. Only one below refused to wear his helmet, as his leonine red mane and beard were too thick to wear one comfortably, and the heron went without simply because she couldn't walk straight with it on.

Once across, they vanished into the woods. It was an hour's long march to their destination, but they walked with purpose, with intent, and with dangerous weapons at their disposal until they came upon a large nomadic camp, home to an entire tribe of Adlian nomads.

Siegell removed his helmet, smirking, as they waited in the woods, and put on his mask. "Aha... that's better. Make sure one of them gets away, at least. Preferably on a horse. We need someone to deliver news to the capitol, after all." He turned, smiling vaguely at the sight of the everyday activities of a nomad camp. People washing clothes, others cooking over open fire, some still unpacking their things and moving them into their ger.

This sun would not set on the Aishyu tribe. Shastah pushed into the air as Siegell drew an axe in one hand and a long torch in the other, then swung it down to let Scar light it. "Right, then," he said, smiling as he rose upward. "Baldric? Go do your thing." He prepared to fly in, then paused thoughtfully. Nomads were... infamous archers, and so he stopped to turn his head toward Elise. "Elise, would you like a nice audience for one of your songs? I bet all those people would love to hear you sing. They might give you cookies afterward if you can sing the whole time we're burning things, okay?" He smiled. "Can you do that for me?"

It was painful, quite literally painful for him to ask that without saturating it with sarcasm.

Baldric was quite chipper, despite the assignment he was sent to do. He didn't have to coat himself in as much of the beorc armor that the others did. ...did armor big enough for him even exist? Whether it did or not, Baldric didn't care. It made the uncomfortably small armor no more bearable. And having to walk through some water in it? They couldn't have made Baldric more uncomfortable if they starting calling him something like "Mr Kitty".

Siegell's order to "do his thing" made all of the arduous, awkward torture worth it. The laguz hadn't gotten into a good fight in far, far too long! With a small cheer, he reached around to his back, unclasping the shoddy piece of steel that was forcibly attached to his body. Before it even fell to the ground, the man was already enveloped by a red aura that faded with a breeze, revealing a massive, blood-red lion in his place. Baldric gave his best attempt at a Cheshire grin. He never did work on expressing his emotions while he was a lion, since that was his "kill things" form.

With a small growl, Baldric began to stride across the plains, going right towards the collection of little huts a short distance away. He angled his path towards the largest collection of the gers, if only to give him an increased element of surprise. Closer, closer, closer...

He could see a gathering of women around a fire. Ashera knew what they were doing. For all he knew, they were talking about books, or preparing for their underwater basket weaving, or something outlandish like that. Baldric was never one to care for beorc culture, let alone from some country he hardly knew the name of. Still, the women would make a fantastic entrance...

Baldric smiled, going into a sprint. Moments later, he went into a leap, soaring over a pile of bags as a few of the ladies began to notice him. With a relatively graceful impact, Baldric sent dirt flying right into the fire, grinning as the women began to shriek. The moment some began to flee in terror, he let out a roar, delighting in the additional screams. They would only bring those who could actually fight to his view, after all. A bunch of simple women, children and craftsmen wouldn't be worth his time, not at all! The moment their leader would show himself would be the moment that he went on an offensive. Until then, Baldric would only stand there and look intimidating, ending the lives of any fledgling warriors who had the gall to get close to him.

While he waited, he only hoped that he would be able to fight a powerful opponent, and everyone else would do the terrible acts surrounding the rest of the massacre...

The women screeched. "W-what is this thing?!" They began to flee instinctively into their gers, to alert the men. Lions were not something nomadic people were too aware of- not this kind of lion, at least. Mountain lions existed along in the hills within the land, but the creature before them was huge and had a thick mane. So, they could only refer to it as anything odd that people cannot understand. "Monster!"

Adliana is very traditional and set in their culture. Men go out and hunt while the women tend to the home. Both are seen as important, they just have different roles. Though, there are women who do more than what a traditional role would be. In recent years, the outlook on roles have become more broad and accepted. Even the elders are willing to see it as progression. While most women ran, one stayed, drawing a sword at the beast, but keeping a more than safe distance. When the other women reached their dwellings, they alerted the men who had not yet been startled. The tribesmen were soon out and looking to where the commotion was.

Several of the nomads joined the woman and began to surround the beast, but did not charge in, fearing that the monster would be too overwhelming. Nomads were generally fearless toward their enemies, which is why they even dared to hold a blade before the lion, but running in to fight a creature they have never before fought was foolish.

More men proceeded to come out to where the others were, when suddenly they were stopped. White orbs of pure energy had crashed into several of the nomads, sending them tumbling along the ground. During this, the leader had come out with several other nomads. Some of them had swords, and others had bows. The leader looked around and saw that not only was there some horrid creature in their encampment, but they were being attacked by some sort of light magic user as well. Intruding upon a nomadic tribe was dealt with without hesitation and remorse; the intruders were slain.

"Attack! Rid this place of the intruders! They will learn our laws the hard way." However, even after the order was given, no action was taken. The leader looked around and saw that many of his tribesmen were letting down their guard. The expressions on the men behind him seemed peaceful and relaxed, which was simply astounding, given the circumstance. Their fighting spirit was completely gone! (and of course, the female with silly female emotions was the first one affected) "What is this?! Attack, brethren! These are intruders the same as any other! We will not let down our..."

The leader paused and was able to hear a faint melodious voice. It was soothing, but did not seem to have any effect on him. It was the only odd thing out, and the most likely candidate for the strange behavior of his fellow tribesmen. Such things in music were not foreign to the nomadic culture. "Who are these people..." He turned and saw that there were still those who were able to fight. He called to a bowman and told him to fire out to where the light magic had come from. After that, he headed over to where the beast was, sword drawn, and readied for a fight with it. "You will not be allowed to remain here, alive."

Skrimir, Lion Prince of Gallia, was annoyed. Annoyed was a gentle term for the emotion he experienced, batting his way through the evergreen forest in the mountains. The annoyance was coupled with extreme exasperation, frustration, anger, and a somewhat flat hatred for those annoying pine needles that get stuck in a man's hair. He was also hungry, thirsty, and a little tired after a full week's aimless travel. Not that he would admit that last one to anyone, if he so encountered anyone else crazy enough to whack so far into the wilderness between Gallia and Goldoa.

But yes, he was annoyed. Annoyed with the strange disappearances that had been going on lately, even in the upper echelon of... well, nearly everywhere. That was the baffling part. At first, he'd just thought it was those under him, and under Caineghis. Skrimir could see Lyre somehow vanishing, then turning up later. And most definitely not Lethe. And it wasn't just within Gallia. Tibarn himself had vanished without a trace. And while it took a little digging, Soren of the Greil Mercenaries was also nowhere to be found.

This was troubling.

This was troubling because all of this somehow had to do with being a good future king. Some kind of nonsense about it building character, or something like that. Absurd! He had faced armies! He had warred against a goddess, and sending him on a wild goose chase was supposed to build character?

When he found Tibarn, there was going to be a serious exchange of words. And maybe claws, if it came to that. The united bird nations were nearly in a panic, and while Reyson was a brilliant diplomat the hawks could only be contained for so long. And bearing in mind that the last Tibarn had been seen, he'd been flying over Gallia...

It made Skrimir's head hurt. He decided not to think about that thicket of nettles and instead put his energy into crunching through a bush. Surely the dragons had to know what in hell was going on. Of course, that would have been made easier if Goldoa had been easier to get to. And that he had not gotten turned around in that windstorm. And if he knew where he was in the first place, if he wasn't lost.

Enough, he thought! I am not lost! I know exactly where I am going. How I get there isn't an issue. In fact, I will make a new way there! A better way there! The dragons will have to ask how I managed to get in so easily.

Thunder cracked overhead through the dark sky. The wind was suspiciously wintery for not having a frost in weeks. The idea of rain and cold wind was unpleasant, and it wasn't made any more pleasant than experiencing the sudden downpour that at once drenched Skrimir, even through the trees.

He cursed; it was just too much trouble. After a minute of trudging through the freezing cold, he came upon a wide fissure in a rock face that opened up into a large cave. It was clammy, but at least dry. Skrimir wrung his hair out dejectedly.

Ugh. Wet. I'd sooner swim.

No sooner had he decided to wait the storm out did a loud sound echo through the cavern walls. It wasn't a sound from a throat, more like an angry wind screaming through an enormous glass bottle. It bristled every hair on his body, startling him so completely that on instinct he immediately transformed, claws out.

Nothing. There was nothing, not even a wall at the back of the cave. As his eyes accustomed to the dark, the black cave had become a smooth-walled tunnel cavern, leading down and bearing to the left. It exhaled a cold draft, chilling wet fur.

It cried out again, wailing in the wind. There were three possible options. One, leave the cave because caves just should not do that. Two, stay where he was and ignore the eerie breath that hissed from out of the earth. Three, run headfirst and see what could possibly be down there.

Of course Skrimir took the third option, bounding down the hole. It was thick in the air, not exactly a scent, but an instinct. One of slight revulsion and wariness, but all the more reason to investigate. Skrimir would not back down from such a challenge, such a mystery.

He did not like it, however, when he could no longer turn around and see the light of the entrance, or smell the rain outside. Or when no matter how far he backtracked, all that he could find was more dark, winding stone.

I am not lost.

There is no way I could be lost.

…

…

…

Fine. I might be lost.

A monster? Him? Whyever would Baldric of Gallia be a monster? The very thought was inconceivable! So inconceivable, really, that Baldric was prompted to roar in rage at their shouts! Why, if they wanted to see a monster, all they had to do was ask!

He paused for a moment, surveying the enemies surrounding him. They were dropping their guard, they were becoming lax. Perfect. Baldric used a quick burst of speed to let him leap directly towards the woman with the sword. She was shorter, after all, which let the lion soar (as gracefully as those massive guys can) directly past her, raking his claws through her shoulder and neck. Baldric was even going at such an angle that, before the woman could even fall, the lion was already landing on another fighter, knocking him onto the ground. Chances are, the fall backwards wouldn't be pleasant, and the impact would be even worse.

While he was killing foolish beorc who thought it intelligent to attack him, Baldric almost thought that he heard a threat! Some puny beorc was threatening him! You will not be allowed to leave here, alive, it said. What kind of silly threat was that, to say that a mighty lion of Gallia wouldn't be able to do what he pleased? The people of this land, they had no respect for mighty laguz!

The rage caused Baldric's body to tense, making his claws dig into the body of the man he collided with. Slowly and calmly, the lion turned to face the leader, staring at the sword. Puny beorc and their puny metal weapons. Why would none of them just use their bodies, like the laguz? These tribal types were weak. He thought they might finally have been the types brave enough to use their bodies as weapons, but no. Even if he had to take the entire non-magical population of Mordache to do it, he would come across a civilization of beorc who didn't use weapons.

Baldric gestured towards the man with a shake of his head. The least he could do was give the beorc nomad the thought that he would be able to kill a fearsome lion laguz! Well, until Baldric would kill the man. But he had to try to be nice to the enemy while they were being massacred! If he wouldn't, then who would be? Granted, it might be nicer to just kill this guy. He looked like their leader, and if he died, they might stop fighting. Plus, he had a sword and looked like he knew how to use it. Baldric would finally have a nice, interesting battle!

He started out by shooting into a run, weaving around the various bewitched enemies, and directing his strides around the enemy's side. With a slight skid of his paws, his facing turned towards the man's back, followed by a quick leap towards it. Were his opponent worth facing, he may manage to dodge the blow, otherwise, the entirety of Adliana may be entirely weak and uninteresting...

Caverns were nasty places.

Caverns were nasty places because they did not have much of anything in them. No light, no landmarks save for stalactites that looked identical to any number of others. No food. Water, but Skrimir didn't dare touch it; it was stagnant. The tunnels went up, they went down, were hotter and colder. They turned a man around, and going forwards was just as good as going backwards.

One could navigate them by the filter of light, or by uphill incline. Skrimir cursed and left another claw mark on a soft calcified wall. He chose the left passage, one he hadn't been back on yet.

At least he was now dry. But then again, it had been a while since he'd been out in the rain. Skrimir's stomach scratched at his brain, reminding him that it had been a little longer than he thought since his last meal. On four paws, he bounded down the tunnel: desperate for even a little light.

The fork he met had two passages. Both were marked; he'd taken each one before. Which was impossible, because he hadn't traveled in a circle.

Obviously someone was just trying to screw with him now. He growled, slammed an angry claw against a stalagmite but it didn't do much. The clammy floor was cold on his paws, everything looked the same, and Skrimir didn't want to admit that the passage to Goldoa was this difficult. He collapsed onto the gravel floor, trying to regain his bearings and set himself straight.

Stupid dragons. Everything even smells the same.

The draft whistled past his face, tossing mane and dust everywhere. Skrimir closed his eyes where he'd set himself down to rest, feeling the breeze chill his nose.

At once he got up with a start.

He knew that smell. Laguz, one of the bird tribe. A big male, too. But if he could catch the scent, it meant they were nearby. In an instant he was off, nose in the air. The draft had been very distinct, coming from the left corridor, and Skrimir followed it. Oddly, it led into a passage he'd already been before. And another one, also marked. And another... it was impossible...

But then there was light, and fresh air. Skrimir's eyes hurt for a moment, but soon every facet of his mind screamed in a jubilant unison. Yes!

Because, not only was he out, but surely enough the Hawk King was right there in front of him, as if he's been waiting all along. Obviously this place had to be Goldoa, and obviously the Hawk King had for some reason been hiding there. It all was so clear, made so much sense. Of course it did! He was right!

And no more of this idiot quest, once they were back out of the tunnels and on the other side. And that damn bird deserved a greeting, for being so much trouble. With the ruler of the united bird nations back and acting as witness, Lethe and Lyre would be simple to find! So simple! Someone he could simply ask, instead of fumbling around looking for old, cold scents...

“Hawk King! You are coming with me!”

And with that, Skrimir lunged forward and seized the Hawk King's coat, dragging him backwards into the cave. Skrimir was tired and hungry, but the sooner he brought damn Tibarn back to someplace civilized the sooner he could eat. And he looked forward to a feast upon his return... And perhaps for his uncle to trust a little more in his investigative capabilities.

Tibarn, in all seriousness, was likely less than pleased about all of this.

What a disappointment! Baldric went into this battle expecting someone marginally capable of fighting. This stupid old man was so bad at it that, sure, he survived a hit, but he looked about to keel over any minute now! Baldric sighed as best a lion could, dejected at the obvious recurring event of weak beorc that look like they could be strong.

He didn't even feel like giving the man a good, honorable death by lion implements anymore! What a shame, too! Baldric sighed, taking a step back as an orange-ish red light enveloped his large lion body. As it bent and contorted, it formed a humanoid shape, dissipating to reveal Baldric, in human form, standing with quite the annoyed look on his face.

"I go out of my way to humor you, old man." Baldric sneered, throwing his hands into the air in disgust. "I stop slaughtering your little lambs, all to fight you." The laguz bent over, picking up the sword from the ground. He glared at it with a massively visible hate, the disgust looking rather natural for a man so normally jovial. "And I come to find out..." Baldric swung the sword lazily a few times before pointing it at the nomad leader.

"That the leader of this tribe of fools can't even hold a sword!" The laguz laughed, sounding almost like he was in disbelief, before taking a step closer to the man. Still, there was quite a distance between them still, a few feet, to be sure.

That distance hardly mattered, really, when Baldric threw the sword straight at the leader's upper body. He threw it like a javelin, because he wasn't really sure, and he didn't care, how to actually use the thing. He aimed it right towards the man's chest, too. "Can you hold it for me, now?"

Baldric scoffed, walking away from the man. As he passed a torch, he took it and threw it towards the ger the man was against. Without another look, the man transformed back into his lion form and began to walk away. When this was over, he was going to really get on Siegell's case about the lack of capable enemies in this land. He thought about searching out this Cairne person that the corpse was shouting for, but maybe, just maybe, letting the man get away would let him fight some slightly more entertaining nomads of Adliana. If they didn't hold up to his expectations, he'd... he'd be very angry.

Shastah whirled around, dropping the mangled corpse of the bowman he had lifted out of the saddle to the ground. As he swung in low, Siegell leaned down in the saddle and swung his axe down, half-severing another warrior's neck as Shastah snatched a fleeing woman in his powerful hind talons and snapped her in half, then dropped her twisted body in the dirt.

The fire was spreading quickly, and there was too much chaos for the Aishyu to contain it between the many forces assaulting them-- perhaps most notably the fresh flames being cast by the sage member of the attacking party.

Siegell grinned cruelly as he came down toward the lady warrior, a quick and powerful swordswoman who was at last rousing herself from Elise's enchanting voice. She managed to turn at the last moment, drawing her blade and sheath from her hip, and used the heavy leather and wooden sheath to block and turn the axe aside. It was at this very moment that Siegell noticed the silent spectre lunging into the air, aimed not toward the warrior, but his musical charge!

He swung his arm out, eyes narrow, and aimed to bring his blade down between Shade's flaming eyes.

Pain lanced through his arm-- the blasted woman! Blood flowed freely from a long but shallow gash into Siegell's left gauntlet, and he missed his attack by a hair-- instead of striking Elise, Shade caught Siegell's axe in his teeth by the handle and sailed harmlessly over Shastah's right wing.

Shastah rose a bit as Siegell swore loudly, forcing himself to shut out awareness of Elise's music. His own anger was mounting, and he had to control it or he himself would be rendered apathetic. Instead, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes, he concentrated on the throbbing pain in his left arm while he lifted his glaive from the saddle.

"You should not have done that," he hissed, and Shastah, who had been backing away from the swordswoman's strikes, suddenly rose up as Siegell spun his spear above his head.

Shastah swept a mere couple of feet over the ground, a flash of white lightning, as Siegell swung his glaive out and tore through her midriff, from back to front, and left her to struggle ineffectually to keep her insides from moving to her outsides.

Shastah banked hard, nearly throwing poor Elise out of the saddle, and Siegell brought his glaive down once more, sweeping it through Shade's back and banishing the summon back to the aether whence it had come. "Rout them!" he shouted. "And someone get me a damn Mend!" he added, holstering his glaive and clutching his left arm with his right hand.