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They had lost. The caravan was in a word, screwed. The guards who weren't taking a dirt nap, yet fought valiantly, but were now vastly out numbered and for the most part, apparently out skilled. Although the arrival of that troubadour had temporarily raised their spirits (along with their health), all of them knew it would only prolong the inevitable. This battle had been decided the moment the first bandit had charged out from his hiding spot. Those still fighting began to steel themselves for what they believed to be the end.

That was when a high pitched whistle rose over the sound of battle, causing heads to turn and face its source. The whistle was followed by an authoritative voice, seasoned by many campaigns. "What is going on here?! Gouran! Where are you?" The owner of the voice shouted out as he lowered the whistle from his lips and let it fall back against his armor.

"I-it's The Warden!" A guard who was curiously propped upside down against a tree called out.

The Warden's flaming blue-green eyes probed the battlefield. "Bandits," He growled. "I was transferred from my fort at the Sentrian border and still I am plagued by bandits." There was no mistaking it, as unorthodox as this group seemed, they were bandits. Why were they attacking here of all places... he didn't know. Mordache had pulled a break out stunt a few months back, so perhaps the Sentrians were attempting the same thing? Suddenly the Warden had a horrible feeling that this could be a distraction, engineered to lure him away from his base. Complicating manners was Gouran or more accurately the lack of Gouran. The head guard was not in sight nor did he respond to his name. Could this mean he'd already been incapacitated? More likely, he was out of earshot. That man was surprisingly tenacious and resourceful for a guard member. With his mouth pulled into a tight line, the Warden turned to his entourage. "Mirakel," he said to his healer. "Go and tend to the men that have fallen. Prioritize those the farthest away from the bandits first. Walter, Cole, you two lead her around. Do not engage any of the bandits unless necessary. You are to act as a wall for her." The two Swordknights nodded silently in their armor as they trudged towards the nearest fallen guard. A tiny brown-haired girl following close behind.

The Warden ran a hand through his short cropped, grayish blond hair as he watched his men begin their task before fitting the helmet that had been resting in the crook of his arm over his head.

He'd been fortunate today. He'd have to give thanks to the higher power later. As always, he'd been waiting at the gates of his charge, to greet the new "Guests" that were being transported to "The Grand Prison". Ever since the advisor had saw fit to change, its classification from mental hospital to holding cell, he'd found himself using quotations more often, really not much had changed though apart from it's official name. In his eyes, it had always been a prison.


Being a highly punctual man, the Warden expected the same of his subordinates. And so the minute that the caravan became officially late, he'd set out with his welcoming comity to meet them on the road with the intent of berating them. He hadn't expected any trouble. Surely not this! Walter and Cole were his personal bodyguards and followed him everywhere nowadays it seemed and regulations stated that a healer had to inspect the prisoners before admittance. So Mirakel had been brought along in order to start the process on the way back. A messenger had been brought along as well, for The Warden was a cautious man, and being in contact with his headquarters didn't hurt. At the very least, he could send word ahead to prepare his dinner once he'd met up with the caravan, but he'd been sent back once the party had spotted the fire with orders to bring reinforcements. It appeared dinner would be late tonight.

The veteran soldier's eyes narrowed inside his helmet as he strode towards the prison cart with the intent of securing those inside. A thick sword freed in his left hand and a buckler strapped to his right wrist.

His men no longer had reason to fear.


The Warden had arrived.




"Ohhhh Walter, Cole! Look at all this mess! I don't even know where to start!"

A groan nearby reached the trio's ears.

"Why don't we start with him, Miss Mirakel," Cole said softly.

"Okay, Walter... or are you Cole? You both wear the same armor, so it's really hard to tell you apart." The healer stated. Watchful of bandit's, she scurried over to the fallen man. Cole and Walter kept a close watch on the surroundings.

The man was obviously another knight. From all appearances, it looked like someone had broken his nose when they'd cracked a bow across his face.

"I'll have you fixed up in a jiffy!" She said as her mend staff began to glow.



The guard Ziaram had clocked and sprawled wasn't out of the fight just yet. He'd have a bump on his head tomorrow for sure, but the myrmidon shouldn't have counted him out so soon.

The guard pushed himself back to his feet and found happily that the bandit was no longer facing him. Even better, he was distracted by his brutal comrade! Quickly moving behind Ziaram, the guard's hand encircled the wrist holding the magic sword and forced it to be kept at the swordsman's side as his other hand, which was still holding the hilt of his ruined sword, brought the pommel towards the bandit's unprotected neck.

Meanwhile the other guard was knocked into next week and then some. Really the only purpose he was serving now was that Joshua wouldn't have time to react in order to help Ziaram.



Gouran had been unable to hear the Warden calling his name. He was too focused on his new opponents. Strangely, he was feeling a lot better now. Although there was still blood drying on his forehead, it wasn't bleeding anymore. Someone was using magic on him from a distance. Had reinforcements arrived?

Srrrrk

His hand flew to his hip and withdrew his dagger. He'd lost his sword in the tumble and didn't have time to find it. The wickedly curved knife would have to do. His bald head sweated as he challenged the bandits before him. "C'mon then, aren't we going to do this?" He didn't give either of the two a chance to respond before he was moving, closing the distance between himself and Wil. With startling speed, he swiped his arm forward, horizontally at Wil's face. His intent was to kill the archer first and then deal with the 'man' after. Of course, he didn't expect it to be so easy.

Gouran hoped they didn't expect it to be easy either. If they did, they were in for a surprise.



Unfortunately for John, he hadn't bothered to finish his opponent either and the guard rolled away from the tree springing to his feet. Pausing to crack his back, the chipper young man smiled at the archer bandit. "Wooo, yea! Round two baby!" He yelled out before running at John again.

Why was he so cheery now? Well the Warden was here obviously. A veteran of many Sentrian attacks on the border fort he had run, the man had been nearly a legend, which was why his superior transferred him to this backwater asylum the moment he started to show his slowing down from middle age. They couldn't risk him getting killed, so instead, they killed his career. He was still a strong man though. He felt bad for the poor sap who'd end up fighting the Warden.

But he felt more sorry for the sap fighting him!






That was a big ******** ******** that s**t.



The soldiers stationed in the asylum continued their patrols as normal. They had no reason to be suspicious just yet.


Little did they know, that their day was about to be ruined by a shitstorm.

"Round two then? Hmph. Good luck kid!" he yelled. This wouldn't be easy at all for the myrmidon. How he had gotten back up was out of his mind at the moment and focused on his revived attacker. No mercy this time would he spare for this man. The man had charged with a one handed thrust with his right arm. This was gonna be easy as well....again.

He had caught the lads arm right as the blade passed by. He had twirled his own arm nearly dislocating the boys arm and him dropping his sword. John had taken his right hand and opened it up and struck the kids neck with the base of his hand so he wouldn't be able to breathe. The guard hacking and coughing away he took his hands off of him and placed them firmly on his shoulders and shoved him right back into a tree. John had taken a couple steps back and then charged forward at the guard. He slid on the dirt and extended his right arm making contact with the guards family jewels. John had jumped back and started flailing his arms around, "I'm all up in yo sack b***h!" he had cleverly thought up as he stopped flailing like a moron and jogged off.

He had jogged back into his previous hiding spot where he had left his old Brave Bow and another quiver that goes on his waist, just incase he needed more arrows. Thankfully, the ones on his waist had blunt tips and would distract those guards easily. He had scaled up the tree a good 20 feet and knocked two of the flat tipped arrows and sent them flying towards the two big knights. The arrows made contact and made a light ping noise from a distance. He continued to loose arrows at the guards and let one stray infront of the healer.

The Tempest King

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Punch after punch was thrown into the guard’s unprotected face. The knives had been knocked away and so the assassin’s only choice was to get his arms up in an attempt to cover his head. This didn't stop the punches though and instead increased the ferocity. Why would the King of Jehanna engage in such a savage beating? Well not only was he trying to pretend he was a bandit right now, but he'd also been taught a lesson by the old gambler who had saved him as a boy. The young Prince had just set out on his journey; he told himself that he had left to find out what a true King was and to discover the people’s needs. But deep down, he truly knew the real reasons, which were decidedly more selfish. An adventure was what he wanted; like in the novels he had loved so much, the novels about exiled Princes and beautiful Princesses. Adventures like the stories of brave men who fought for their country. The Hall was so boring, his mother never had time for him anymore and his father... well he didn't have a father, despite how Carlye tried to fill the role (He wouldn’t realize the truth behind this until years later). A grand adventure was what he wanted!

God, he'd been so naive.

The old gambler had found him, collapsed in the desert. He ran out of water long before and was on the verge of succumbing to the sands. Hallucinating, Joshua had at first thought the man who was tipping a canteen to his lips was his father. He babbled all sorts of incoherent things before slipping away. Jehanna had come dangerously close to losing her heir that day.

When Joshua awoke, he found himself in the old man's home inside one of Jehanna's cities. The Gambler had taken the Prince back with him and Joshua had stayed for a while. It was comfortable here and his taste for adventure had been quenched by the desert. He wouldn’t leave this place for another four years. Surprisingly, the old man knew swordplay and the art of fighting and decided to teach Joshua. The young man would never forget the lessons he'd been taught. They were good lessons, hard ones but sometimes the best lessons are the hardest.

"Remember boy." The Gambler said. He never saw Joshua as a man to him. Always boy, at least until the end. "Remember to never let up, not for a second on your foe. If he staggers backward, you have to be on top of him. You are to show no respite. If there is a weapon handy, always use that. Bottles, tables, chairs… be resourceful and you’ll surprise him. And a surprised man is a dead man."

"But what about honor, and showing merc--- OW!" a crack sounded through the air as the Gambler brought the flat of his blade down onto Joshua's arm. He hated it when the old coot did that. Damn thing left a mark everytime.

"Did Mercy and Honor get you out of the desert boy? Honor didn't save you boy. Get that silly notion out of your head. I saved you and I didn't do it so you could die in a ditch somewhere. After the fight, you are not going to hug and be friends afterward! You are trying to kill your enemy. You are trying to make sure that he will NEVER make the mistake of fighting you again. If you don't think you should kill him, then break him. Make him fear you or else he will make you fear him.”

"Yes."

CRACK

"Yes what?"

"Yes master."

Joshua hadn't entirely given up the notion of honor though, nor had the time spent in that tiny house been all that bad. He'd learned much and the Gambler had taught him other things than sword fighting. The rest, Joshua had taught himself. He had always been a fast learner.

And so the swordmaster continued hitting the man underneath him until the protective arms fell away limp. Breathing heavily, Joshua sat on the man’s chest. It wasn't long before a hand fell on his shoulder. Ziaram was advising them to go.

Joshua shook his head. "We have to get the slaves first. Boss won't be pleased if they aren't in one piece." As he was talking, a face appeared above Ziaram's shoulder. Joshua was up and moving, even as Ziaram was being grabbed. His left hand ensnared the guard’s wrist as it was bringing the hilt down towards Ziaram’s neck. He couldn't stop the blow from connecting, but it was slowed and so carried less force. Thank God the soldier hadn't thought to use the jagged remains of his sword or else the myrmidon would be dead.

Joshua's right hand jabbed over top of Ziaram's shoulder and popped the guard in the nose twice quickly, forcefully shoving the myrmidon out of the way he started forward. A fist came up and connected with Joshua's nose as he was trying to get Ziaram to move. The swordmaster staggered backward as his foe started in. The guard threw another punch which connected with the side of the King's head, clouting him on the ear. Joshua suddenly had the curious feeling of being underwater. A third punch came his way, but this time, Joshua managed to side-step it and threw a counter-punch. Now it was the guard's turn to reel away. The swordmaster didn't let up and threw fist after fist into the poor guard. He took a couple more hits himself, but was still able to "subdue" the guard after scoring a punch to the throat.

A stomp on the guard’s already unconscious form prevented any chance of this guy waking up without healing. And so wiping some of the blood off of his nose, Joshua looked back to Ziaram. "Go find the boss. Tell him things are going... good." Things may have been good, but Joshua was starting to look like a mess. His bandanna had tilted and now his red hair was sticking out of it. Underneath the eyepatch, his skin was bruising and his lip was split. That last guard had heavy fists, but Joshua couldn't stop now. He turned and decided to deal with an easier problem.

The healers needed to be quieted. Of course he was in no condition to even try to handle the priestess being protected by two knights. So it was the one on the horse he'd deal with the one that had seemed to come out of nowhere. Was he a guard?

As the swordmaster drew closer, it was confirmed that the healer wasn't a guard. Joshua grinned. It was Blythe. Well it looked like he wouldn't have to get in another fist fight.

"Hey!" Joshua shouted. "Hey, hey you! C'mere!" Hopefully Blythe would be able to recognize Joshua by his voice. If not, the swordmaster was probably going to get kicked by a horse...

Which would suck.
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Saifer watched uneasily as Melethia walked out and began to thank the twins for her release. It wasn't that he was offended that she didn't thank him, it was more he was growing increasingly convinced she should have remained in that cell for his own safety. With the way she was sniffing the air, it was as if she was playing predator and the sky's the limit in regards to prey. Kione came out next, and, unlike the woman, thanked Saifer for his services. The thief gave no answer. His eyes shifted once more to the odd myrmidon who had trounced up in guard's clothes. Just where had she come from and why was she so calm? There was nothing to be calm about!
Then, the demon children introduced themselves. Abigail and Wesley...those sounded like names for children of the rich and wealthy rather than (apparently) poor and (definetly) murderous. A little girl smiling with blood on her face wasn't very reassuring to Saifer either, especially when they exuded a terrible aura of dominance, control, and killing intent. Saifer then missed the implications of the statement that was made by one of the twins (which basically offered his services in freeing more insane killers). Perhaps it was his rapid heartbeat due to the high-stress situation, or maybe he was feeling nauseous reliving what they'd done to the guard.

Suddenly, that very same heartbeat was skipped for a whole revolution as Abigail tugged at his sleeve, smearing some blood on the cloak his grandfather had given him when he'd first been forced out into the world to fend for himself. It wasn't like the cloak hadn't gotten dirty before...it just hadn't gotten dirty from blood that once circulated another living being's veins. Saifer controlled the shock and this time listened intently to what was said by Abigail. Some vague corner of his mind noted that she would be cute if she wasn't so insane. The more alert corner of his mind wanted him to take out his Light Brand and strike the girl with its holy magic. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to harm a child unless he was being physically threatened (some would argue that he was already, but Saifer's definition of threatened was more the raising of a weapon or a fist). As it stood, a little girl was asking him to release more prisoners and the only profit he possibly could attain from following such orders was the the chance he wouldn't die from their hands. Of course, that didn't guarantee that he was safe from anyone else either.

Upon hearing the last statement, Saifer mentally agreed. He had to get out of here, figure out where he was, and then get the hell out. His first impression of whatever land he'd stepped into wasn't exactly a favorable one.

"I...I don't know," he murmured, almost not realizing he'd just said that aloud. Saifer hadn't even pulled away from Abigail's grip yet and he'd given a reply that could be considered uncooperative to their whims.

Melethia Dagon

Kaigra had looked up and around at his surroundings and saw that the female had killed a guard who had a silver axe. Things were looking up for Kaigra. Instead of rushing into the fray, he allowed the other prisoners to ensue a riot. Kaigra would stay behind and help the twins as they saw fit. "What is you two are...doing here?" he had asked following the two children because they had released him. Now he had owed them a debt, which he would repay as they saw fit.

Levail saw what was happening. Someone, somehow had released quite a lot of inmates and were starting a mass riot. What for, the man couldn't fathom. Instead, this had helped Levail think of a plan of action. He had gone to one of the more mild mannered inmates and unlocked his cell while the other guards had been busy. "Let the other inmates go, cause more of a riot than there is already, you shall escape that way." he whispered as he placed the keys in the mans hands. Levail stripped himself of his armor and walked over to the nearest cell with a dead inmate inside and placed his armor on the corpse and threw him into the fray. Levail only in some faded black slacks and a gray shirt had taken his lance and shield and made his way out of the asylum in the chaos.

And just like that, in a flash of smoke and a dashing black figure, the battle was over and the guards had been incapacitated. He had climbed down from the tree and began to make his way towards the "hideout" as Abel had commanded.

"What the devil?" Wil had somehow gotten pulled or dropped into a cloud of smoke. As it cleared he saw that the mission was accomplished. "Well, good job... I guess? Anyways. You lot know what to do. Do what must be done here, and then lets get on the way back to the hideout." Wil slung his bow over his shoulder and walked to the group of guards. "Sleeping so soundly eh?" Wil looked at the head guard. "You gave me quite a bit of trouble huh?" He laid his hand on the guards helmet. "Good fight though." Wil made his way into the woods towards his nearby campsite.

He stripped from his faux bandit clothes and got back into his white wool pants and his original blue tunic. "SOOOOO much better. God I hated those itchy bandannas." Wil scratched his head and sat down on a nearby log. "All in all this seemed to work out well." Wil quickly made a small fire and sat in front of it. "Better get rid of that evidence." He threw the pile of clothes into the fire and watched the fabric burn and scorch. "Better that the poor things be burned anyway. They aren't worthy of a beggars back." He laid his head back to take a short nap. He did have a trouble organizing that whole, facade anyways.

When he awoke from his short nap he looked back out the forest. He stretched and packed up his campsite. "Time to head back "home". I wonder how far it is from here." Wil slowly began to walk with his camp gear in a large backpack on his back. "I just started and I'm already tired. Oh boy."