Varian Sigmund- Dalenham

"Is that a challenge?" Elijah said with a smirk. Varian sighed and took another gulp of his ale. He wasn't in any particular mood to challenge anyone at the moment, but decided that for this particular job coming up, one more person might not be such a terrible idea after all. However, not much to his surprise, a drunk Cassandra offered to bout on his behalf. Varian was used to this sort of thing by now, so he just shrugged it off and allowed Cassandra to have her fun. It was nice to blow off some steam after a job, and this was her way. Well, one of her ways.

Varian watched the fight unfold in front of him, beginning with insults flung between the two, before they began to fight. As Varian prepared to take another gulp of his ale, Cass in typical fashion, snatched it out of his hands and threw it at Elijah. It missed him, and the contents were instead dumped on another patron of the bar. Varian sighed and stood up, walking over to the patron as he prepared to draw his own sword and stopped him prematurely.

"Oi, hold on now." Varian began. "No need to get worked up over the actions of a mad drunk. Let me buy you and your companions your next round." The man looked at Varian for a moment, and after deliberation from the others who sat next to him, decided to accept Varian proposal and sat back down. The barfight between Cass and Elijah continued behind Varian, who unlike most of the other patrons of the bar, didn't pay it much mind. "Oi! A round for these lads here on me." He told the bartender, whom he tossed a few pieces of copper to. The bartender, who was looking at the fight, quickly snapped out of it and returned to pouring the drinks. This wasn't the first time Varian had covered for Cass in this way. It had often become a regular thing for him to keep an eye on her off the battlefield (she needed no assistance on it). Varian in the meantime returned to his table with Alys and Ava, just as Elijah had knocked out Cassandra with a bottle to the head. Varian took one look at Cassandra passed out on the floor, and then back to Elijah, before coolly speaking.

"You're in." He said to him. Needless to say, Varian intended to hire Elijah from the start. They could use the extra sword. Whether he dies or not, the man could at least be used as a distraction for a short time at the very least. And who knows? Perhaps he might be even more useful than Varian first envisions.

Ava and Alys meanwhile had gotten into a conversation of their own. Varian listened slightly to them as he began drinking from his new round of Orbrigg Ale he had just received. Varian took a look at Cass, who still lay on the floor, and sighed. "Well, might as well get her off the floor..."

He knelt over and picked up her body. In her unconscious state, Cass was apparently having some sort of drunk-filled delusion, and she continued to speak in gibberish and flail around a bit, perhaps still assuming she was fighting someone. Varian easily slung her body over his shoulder as he proceeded to get her out of the area. Cass flailed once more, her boot accidentally hitting a patron right on the head. He yelled in pain, and stood up.

"Hey, Highman! Just what do you think you're doing!?" He yelled at Varian. Varian, unsure of what happened, turned his body around to face the man. "Hmm?" He said as he turned, only to have Cassandra's foot connect with the man's face once more. He doubled back, and held his nose, in which blood now flowed freely from it. Varian examined the patron, confused as to how he acquired the injury. "You ought to check on that nose, friend. You would not want to dirty up the place with your own gash."

The patron angrily huffed at Varian. "My own gash, is it?!" He grabbed for a bottle he had close by it and flung it right at Varian. Varian, who anticipated the bottle, ducked down, and the bottle flew to the other side of the bar, nailing another patron square in the head. The patron instantly fell to the ground, blood able to be seen from his head. His companions with him all gathered around. One of them, a bit taller than the others, looked over to the side of the bar where Varian stood. Varian noticed an insignia on his shirt which prominently displayed the colors of the League of Warriors, a figther's guild in Eveamoor. Great.

"Who threw that bottle?!" He shouted. At this moment, Cass had temporarily come to for a moment, her vision blurred, but noticing Varian looking off into the side at someone. She reached for a bottle positioned at the side of the table, and threw it in that direction, missing the Lead of Warriors member badly and instead hitting the side of another patron on the far side of the room. The man yelped, and clutched his arm in pain, and his own compatriots, seeing the League of Warriors man standing, assumed he had done it. The third party began entangling with the second, and the League of Warriors men aimed at both Varian and the initial man and friends upon who's boot Cass had connected with. Varian, seeing that he was in the middle of both side's conflict, threw Cass's body right at a man who attempted to strike him. Varian then grabbed his ale and downed it all in one go, before smashing it onto the face of a man behind him. All around, chaos erupted. Varian turned to Ava, Alys, and Elijah.

"Oi! Don't just sit there! Get off your as*es and start hitting people!"

Percival Grey- The top of Ekilore

There were several moments of silence shared between the gathered souls and the Eunuch. Percival was a social person, but there was something discouraging about the current situation that made small talk less desirable than normal. The Eunuch buried his hands in the sleeves of his robes and patiently stood near the door, as if waiting for a signal. Percival felt himself growing a bit nervous, taking deeper breaths to calm down. Maybe it's the air up here, he told himself. As legitimate as that excuse was, it was only an excuse. Percival had no idea what to expect from the monks. Few mortals ever meet them, usually doing their business through emissaries or eunuchs. So to meet them was an honor.

"Ah, it is time my lords and lady. Come right this way. Do watch your step. All these stairs can be such a chore," the Eunuch said with a sheepish smile. Percival did not see or hear a signal. Odd. Perhaps it was magic of some sort. Despite it's growing rarity, it would not be unheard of it. The monks have had access to old magics for generations.

Percival entered through the door and climbed a brief staircase and entered the observatory. The group stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by the monks. They sat in what appeared to be small thrones on a stone platform that circled the outer edge of the room. There were seven in number, each of them cloaked in a grey-white robes with a hood hiding their faces. All except one who was not presently in his seat, instead gazing out the glass walls watching Hyrus through the thin clouds.

As the group placed themselves in the middle of the room, the standing monk turned to face them, stepping down from his platform to meet them face to face. He stood taller with excellent posture than Percival and seemed to have a solid build. It was impressive considering the supposed age of the man, given that his hair had little color other than its full silver grey. His face was fairly youthful too with no disfiguring marks or facial hair. It was a bit disorienting really. Was this man old or young? The most unusual trait was his eyes however. They were a deep red and drew Percival in, as if they were attempting to hypnotize him.

The red eyed monk spoke with a strong voice: "Thank you for coming my Knights of Ekilore. You stand in the room of the monks of this grand tower on a day that could decide the fate of this very world." The monk looked at the "knights" with a discerning eye, analyzing them one by one. He then smiled, as if he pleased with the collection of men and women he had gathered. "We monks are gifted with many abilities that have been developed over the course of many long years. These abilities allow us to see things that others can not. In these visions, my fellow monks and I have seen something that brings great hope for this world. Through deeper mediations and some readings of ancient texts, I believe that we have found the possibility of everlasting peace" the monk said with a deep pause.

"It is no secret that Hyrus has encountered many difficulties its rather grand history. With such things as pestilence, war, and famine all leading to many untimely deaths. It is all such a grim tale that I dare not elaborate any further. But…" the monk continued waving to the eunuch that escorted them earlier. "This artifact, known as the Orb of Ardor in your common tongue was a recurring motif in our visions," the monk said showing them a rough sketch of the orb from one of the books that clearly based on the condition was one of the most ancient of the many books in the Grand Library. "If the myths surrounding this orb hold true, this may be able to fix all that and end the chaos that is sweeping the land."

"And what do you want us to do?" Percival asked.

"A fair question to ask," the monk replied. "This Orb was believed to be shattered long ago with its pieces becoming the desire of many because of its so called 'value' as a treasure with no owner being astute enough to realize its true purpose. This, in turn, caused the shards to be scattered across all of Hyrus. For this prophecy to hold true, we must gather all these pieces to put the Orb of Ardor back together to unlock its power. Undoubtedly, you chosen few will become heroes."

"The quest will bestow its own rewards. Mountains of riches you shall receive," one of the monks said suddenly.

"The conclusion of this quest will fulfill all your ambitions, and thus you can finally revel in languor and indolence," said another.

"The pleasure of the flesh will be forever yours to partake."

"Others will look upon you with eyes of jealousy, at what you have accomplished, and at what they wish they had."

"Your cravings will eternally and everlastingly be fulfilled."

"Your thirst for battle will be seen, and in the end your enemies will fear your name.  Your own might will be the last they see in your path of destructive power!"

"Your names and your legacies, that which binds you to this world, will be forever transformed on this quest. All shall know your names, and you will become more than what you are. You will become truly immortal," said the red eyed monk before them, being the final monk to speak allowing the other 6 to speak first.

"Do you accept this quest?"

Arlen Franeo - Oculus Tower, Eiklore

The sun had lowered slightly in the sky by the time that they were finally summoned. Time passed quickly for Arlen at least, admiring the view and enjoying the strong wind blowing past the tower, the salty sea breeze reminding him of times past. He was snapped out of his daze when the monk they had been following spoke up, informing them that it was indeed time, and they entered the top room of the tower one by one. Closing the iron door behind him, Arlen got a good look at the room. It was seemingly perfectly circular, the walls all made of glass, the roof probably ten to fifteen feet above their heads. Ornate designs covered the marble floor, spiraling outwards to an outing ring made of stone, which seven thrones sat on close to the edges of the room. Six of the seven thrones were occupied by more monks, these men with silvery cloaks covering their bodies and hiding their faces in shadow. The seventh monk stood by the crystal glass window that circled the entire room.

The seventh monk turned to them after they had arranged themselves in the center of the room, revealing a face that surprised Arlen when compared to the other monks in the tower. He was young, no older than thirty. He had short silvery hair, matching his cloak. But the oddest feature of the man was his intense red eyes. The only other time Arlen had seen red eyes such as these was those of a albino, but the man's skin was not bleached as an albino's would be. It was certainly strange, but Arlen shrugged the fact off as the man began to speak.

"Thank you for coming my Knights of Ekilore. You stand in the room of the monks of this grand tower on a day that could decide the fate of this very world." The monk looked over the collection of men and women standing in the center of the room, as if to analyze each of them with his stare. "We monks are gifted with many abilities that have been developed over the course of many long years. These abilities allow us to see things that others can not. In these visions, my fellow monks and I have seen something that brings great hope for this world. Through deeper mediations and some readings of ancient texts, I believe that we have found the possibility of everlasting peace" the monk said, pausing dramatically.

"It is no secret that Hyrus has encountered many difficulties its rather grand history. With such things as pestilence, war, and famine all leading to many untimely deaths. It is all such a grim tale that I dare not elaborate any further. But…" the monk waved at the man who had escorted them to the top of the tower, and the man quickly walked over to a book shelf and grabbed a dusty looking book. "This artifact, known as the Orb of Ardor in your common tongue was a recurring motif in our visions," the monk said showing them a rough sketch of the orb from the book that their escort had brought him. The orb didn't look like much from the page in the book, although Arlen doubted that the book told all there was to be known about the orb. "If the myths surrounding this orb hold true, this may be able to fix all that and end the chaos that is sweeping the land."

"And what do you want us to do?" Percival asked.

"A fair question to ask," the monk replied. "This Orb was believed to be shattered long ago with its pieces becoming the desire of many because of its so called 'value' as a treasure with no owner being astute enough to realize its true purpose. This, in turn, caused the shards to be scattered across all of Hyrus. For this prophecy to hold true, we must gather all these pieces to put the Orb of Ardor back together to unlock its power. Undoubtedly, you chosen few will become heroes."

"The quest will bestow its own rewards. Mountains of riches you shall receive," one of the monks said suddenly.

"The conclusion of this quest will fulfill all your ambitions, and thus you can finally revel in languor and indolence," said another.

"The pleasure of the flesh will be forever yours to partake."

"Others will look upon you with eyes of jealousy, at what you have accomplished, and at what they wish they had."

"Your cravings will eternally and everlastingly be fulfilled."

"Your thirst for battle will be seen, and in the end your enemies will fear your name. Your own might will be the last they see in your path of destructive power!"

"Your names and your legacies, that which binds you to this world, will be forever transformed on this quest. All shall know your names, and you will become more than what you are. You will become truly immortal," said the red eyed monk, speaking last of all, giving the group of assembled warriors a piercing stare.

"Do you accept this quest?"

Nobody in the group moved or said anything for a moment, letting the information digest. Do one quest, and glory and luxury for the rest of their lives? It almost seemed too easy. Not only that, but Arlen was a bit suspicious of what exactly the orb could do. The monks had not said anything about it's powers, or how they would use it. Without further delay, Arlen spoke up, his voice echoing off of the glass walls. "Still, I would like to know more about this orb. What exactly does it do, how does it work. For all we know, we may be bringing back the catalyst for the destruction of Hyrus rather than a tool to create peace. No offense, but I don't want to jump blindly into this sort of thing without knowing what exactly out actions will do."

Roland Grey- Ekilore

Spectacular as the view was, Roland began to slowly adapt to the sight of the land before him, and now beginning to push forward into his foremost thoughts was the question of how long it would actually take for the monks to accept them. He didn't mind the view by any means, but the thought of standing at the top of the world on little more than a staircase was a bit uncomfortable to him. The feeling eventually passed when the eunuch suddenly proclaimed that the monks would see them now. He saw no sign of the eunuch communicating with anyone, so the suddenness of it all was a tad abnormal. Roland didn't let it bother him, as he was led with the others through the door, up a staircase, and to the observatory. There in the middle of the room they stood, and right on the outside of them sat the fabled monks of Ekilore.

Many tales have been told about the monks over many years, often evolving from place to place, and changing from era to era. They have existed for as long as the tower has, but even then no precise date of their commencement is known. Some say that the monks were sent by the Council of Nine to watch over the world of Ekilore. Others of the north claim that they are the gods of Ragnell incarnate. There is also debate about the longevity of the monks. Some believe that there were only ever these monks, and that they are more than human, but less than gods, gifted with long-lasting life. Various other stories hint that the monks are in fact human, and that when a monk dies, they are secretly replaced by some furtive means. There are countless other tales told and retold about the monks, but few facts. However, in his studies, Roland has ascertained a few: to be summoned by the monks is considered an immense honor; many find the monks highly respectable, though there are those few who believe them meddlesome; the monks on the very infrequent occasions in history have provided prophecies to those who would hear them, and they have consistently been accurate.

Six monks sat on stone seats encircling the gathered. The seventh monk stood behind, gazing out through the glass of the observatory at Hyrus below. He was the only one whose face was unhidden. When he turned, Roland got a good view of him. He had a deep contrast of his face of being both youthful and elderly at the same time, to the point where Roland could not determine his age. Most alarming, however, was his eyes, which bore the color of deep red. The red-eyed monk approached, and spoke to the gathered.

Roland listened silently, trying to focus on the monk's message even if his eyes kept a good bulk of his attention as well. There was something ominous about them, as if they stared right into Roland's very soul. Perhaps it was the gods' way of testing him, and from the sound of it, this would indeed be his ultimate test. But Roland's better judgment still found too many unknowns about this quest. Even if something about this situation called him towards it, he still felt obligated to know more. The whole idea seemed a bit farfetched, after all. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who felt this way, as one of the others, a man from Vanaheim from the looks of it, spoke.

"Still, I would like to know more about this orb. What exactly does it do, how does it work. For all we know, we may be bringing back the catalyst for the destruction of Hyrus rather than a tool to create peace. No offense, but I don't want to jump blindly into this sort of thing without knowing what exactly out actions will do."

"I'm inclined to agree with the Highman." Roland said, crossing his arms and staring at the monks around with a certain sense of superiority, before casting his gaze at the red-eyed monk. Even with his oddly colored eyes, Roland made every effort to put off a strong front, neither flinching nor showing signs of discomfort, though secretly, he had to admit he was quite uneasy. "This…Orb of Ardor, as you call it, is an object in which we truly know nothing about. Not that I doubt the wisdom or the knowledge you monks carry, but the entire idea of what you're talking about seems rather ludicrous. The problems as you have said which exist in Hyrus are deep in root, often going back centuries. How can a single object bring us peace? I do not buy into this."

"Oi! Don't just sit there! Get off your as*es and start hitting people!"

Elijah would normally make it known that he was not in fact "sitting on his ass", as the man said, but the sounds of drunken men and women (mostly men) drowned out his voice. Bar fights were so chaotic, but Elijah was quite used to them. He was usually the one causing them in the first place. With his plain honestly anyway. Would it be hard to believe that most people did not like? No? Well, anyways, it's time for Elijah to have a little fun. Silly, silly alcoholics. They're just so easy to fight...

A small, thin man came up to him, pulling his arm back to hit Elijah in the first syllable of cocking. It was really obvious, considering the guy's eyes were looking straight down at it. Elijah caught the man's wrist half-way through his sloppy attempt at a ball-buster, and looked down at him. He gave the man a look that could only be read as 'really?'. Elijah twisted his wrist and pulled the man up off the ground, staring into the muddled confused eyes. It appeared the person really didn't know what to do when he got caught. Obviously, he didn't fight much (if at all). Tsk, tsk, tsk. "Don't try to touch my groin ever again in your life. If I want anyone's touch, it would be from a woman." With that to end their encounter, he threw the man over to another group of brawlers.

He turned around just in time to allow him to receive a fist to his jaw. Elijah kept his jaw turned for a second or two, before his gaze returned to the attacker. Much more of a competitor than the last one, and possibly the same level of drunkenness. He had a good deal of bruises, obviously already a bit in Elijah waited for the person to go for another punch, before he moved his head down quickly to headbutt him. The person seemed to be taken aback by the sudden maneuver, and stumbled back into the wall. An additional hit to his head was not very good it seemed, as his back slid down the wall. He made a groaning sound at his pain (presumably). Elijah shook his head, walking up to the person. He kneeled down to his level, and gave his trademark smirk.

"I'm going to have fun with you." Elijah's icy eyes glistened with some dark intent, and he pulled out a throwing knife. He dragged the tip lightly across the man's neck, and the drunk seemed fairly scared. Elijah used it to cut down the person's shirt and removed it from his torso. He examined the person's bare chest, and he gave a slight nod. "Not bad muscle mass. Do you work for a farmer? A relative perhaps?" When he received an un-intelligent bumble of mumbling, Elijah got quite the chuckle. What a pathetic excuse of life. "It's quite a shame you won't remember how you got this." Without warning, Elijah took his throwing knife and dug it into the man's chest. Deep enough to scar. He dragged it down the side to make one big vertical line. Then he proceeded to make three horizontal lines from the vertical gash.

Elijah stood up to grin at the sight of his work, stepping back a step. Perfect! He turned away from the bloody 'E' he cut on the man's chest, and calmly walked up to the exit. Elijah leaned on the door frame, waiting for the others.

Cassandra Alexandera- Dalenham, the Broken Keg

The sounds of war filled Cass' mind. The roars of men, the cries of women and children, the carnage of battle and the smell of blood all painted a picture of this beautiful chaos in her head. A vision was constructed before her and it was pleasant. Was she dreaming? She wouldn't put it past her. It had happened before. But it was different. It was like she was in the battle, not observing it.

"You dumb b*tch!" Cass heard a burly man roar. His breath stunk of a cheap ale and she could feel the saliva launch from his mouth all over her deceptively delicate features. He grabbed her by the collar of her low cut shirt, stealing a peek of her assets. This all felt too real to be a dream, and it was making her…uncomfortable. Surprisingly so. "I am going to do terrible things to you, and you are going to enjoy every moment of it, aren't ya?" More saliva. Lovely. Cass was still out of it. That fire ale must of been stronger than she thought. How did that Alys woman stand it? Looked like a total wimp. Cass needed to stop underestimating people. The feeling in her hands were returning though, but her head was still woozy. The thick wind from the man's putrid mouth was getting closer and an intoxicated group of men gathered around. Cass was surrounded and she felt….pressured to act. To defend herself. To fight back. But she felt weak. Helpless. Didn't she get knocked out a few moments ago? Some pretty boy did it too.

Ugh, Cass thought to herself. What's wrong with me?! Why am I getting rusty? I only killed like 42 orcs today too. My body count was at least 69 the other day. I made sure to get that number too. Cass felt a tear run down her cheeks.

"Oh hey guys! The ***** is crying. How cute! She must realize how ****ed she is!"

"Not exactly," Cass said, subconsciously. She had no idea what came over herself. "That tear was for you."

"Eh?" A suddenly a loud crack echoed through the Broken Keg, living up to its namesake. The man who had grabbed Cassandra was sprawled out on the floor, his left leg limp as if every bone shattered into pieces. The encircling crowd was speechless. Dumbfounded, even. In its wake, Cass fixed her outfit, cleaning herself off a bit.

"Who's next?" She said, cracking her neck and knuckles.

(OOC: Cue fight scene. Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8u-RhLEzis)

Cass kicked up a stool from under a local patron, grabbed in midair and broke it over the head of an attacking patron, dodged another attack and drove a leftover piece of wood into the leg of another. A quick quarter turn lead to a mean left hook in which Cass could feel the man's face mold around her fist as she launched the man into the ground. Two more men attacked at the same time and Cass stumbled over her feet, unable to keep her balance. The alcohol was slowing her down. One grabbed her from behind and the other punched her in the gut. The man kept up his assault until Cass swung her legs up and kicked the man back, causing him to fall back into a table. Cass flung her head back, knocking the man who grabbed her square in the noise with a loud crunch. She freed herself and then lifted her knee into the man's groin, making him fall back in pain.

More victims threw themselves at Cass, and she dodged the attacks with a clumsy dance of steps, often throwing the attackers into one another with a mix trips, elbows, punches and headbutts. Cass made her way to the bar, fighting through the crowds with a few cuts and open wounds. A couple of brutes thought it was clever to pull out their knives and slash at Cass, but she disposed of them easily enough by driving their knives into their shoulders with a fancy parry she learned from Varian. At the bar, she drove two attackers heads into the counter leaving a little bloodstain as a reminder. She kicked up another bar stool and threw through the crowd, parting them and making a straight line back to her sword that was left on the ground. She returned to its resting place on her back and stood in the middle of tavern, hiding from the fight to catch her breath.

The door out of the Broken Keg was blocked. Far too much fighting to go through and she didn't want to kill anyone. Dalenham was too important of a city to be wanted in. A small fickle of brilliance came over her, which was surprising. Cass was never one for bright ideas. That was Varian's speciality. She was only really good at fighting and surviving. Cass grabbed a relatively innocent bystander and chucked him out the window with a thunderous smash of shattering glass. Cass dived out the window after that instant, rolled on to the cobblestone street.

Varian Sigmund- Dalenham, the Broken Keg

Varian had a plan. It wasn't a very good one, given that the people of Vanaheim had naturally larger bodies than most of the other nations. Nevertheless, what Varian wanted to do most in this barfight was to simply observe. He wanted to watch how the others of his group fought. He wanted to see what tactics they used, what fighting styles they employed, how they used their surroundings, and maybe even how they fought alongside each other. A barfight was the perfect chance for Varian to get a good look at his new team for the upcoming job they had, and get some ideas on assigning them roles in the team based on their strengths and weaknesses. Besides, they say in Hyrus that you can't join a mercenary group until you've had at least one good barfight. This could sort of be like an initiation.

Of course, all that didn't matter because of the fact that he was being targeted apart of this as well. Though he may not be the tallest or biggest Highman these patrons ever saw, he happened to be in the center of the entire entanglement, and therefore a prime target. A man came at him with a fists flailing, clearly drunk but with Varian as his intended target. As the man leaned in for a punch to Varian's face, he sidestepped and placed a leg in front of his feet, causing him to stumble over. Varian brought him down indefinitely with a punch to the back of the head. He looked over just in time to see Alys sidestep a rather large man and causing him to run straight into the side of the tavern.

Fast. Varian noted in his mind, just as a bottle came flying at Varian. He ducked at it, the bottle instead crashing into the wall behind him. Alys was then hit on her shoulder, which Varian could tell was probably injured from before. Out of pain, she collapsed on the ground. Not bodily strong. Varian thought in his mind, but as he thought this, a precise kick to the man's knee caused it to most likely break. But…resourceful. He thought again. Varian was suddenly hit from behind with what he believed to be a kick to his back. Varian grunted in pain, and turned to face his attacker, a smaller man, and quite stocky as well. He was grinning, believing his preemptive move was all the advantage he needed to finish off Varian. Fool.

Varian intercepted his next punch, and squeezed down on his wrist, which produced a shriek of pain from the man. The man, desperate to try to free himself, launched his other arm at Varian's face, which was also intercepted by Varian's hand. Varian then proceeded to give the man a headbutt right to his face. The force of the hit must have immediately knocked him out, but to be sure, Varian picked him up and dropped him onto a table nearby, breaking it in half under the weight of the fat man.

He looked up, just in time to see Alys in the arms of another muscular patron. He thought of helping for a moment, but saw that Ava had already taken up that role. Willing to come to the aid of a comrade. He noted about her. It was good. Often, groups of mercenaries came only to care about their own lives and little or none for the others of the group. Her next move was something the likes of which he hadn't seen…probably ever. A few quick gashes from a broken bottle, followed by a lemon on the wound. Unconventional, but effective. He thought. That would be useful, someone who thought quickly on their feet.

A bottle suddenly hit Varian on the back of the head, causing him to fall to the floor in pain. He momentarily thought he would black out, but shook his head and attempted to come to his senses. He felt the back of his head, and looked at his hand to see a bit of blood on it. Varian turned to his attacker. It was the same man from the League of Warriors that partially initiated the fight to begin with. "On your feet, Highman! I'll take you on fairly. Let's see how a warrior of the north fights!"

Idiot.Varian shook his head as he reached for a shard of glass from the bottle on the floor, and hid it in his hand as he slowly rose up. Then, in one swift movement, Varian stuck the shard right on the eye of the person. He yelled out, holding his eye in pain as blood began to flow from the wound. He flailed at a few tables around. "This isn't a joust. There is no fair, there is no honor. There's just you and me, and anything we want to use as weapons." The man began to show signs of recovery from the immense pain of his eye to glare angrily at Varian, read to attack. Varian in the meantime, grabbed a stool, and threw it on the man, causing him to cover up, and allowing Varian to run right at the man and elbow him right on the jaw, seemingly knocking him out right before he hit the ground with a deep thud.

Varian turned just in time to see Elijah get connected by a punch to the face, but not backing down to much. Can take a punch. As the drunk man facing Elijah went in for the second punch, Elijah retaliated with a quick move and a headbutt. A quick thinker, and strength to match it. He then proceeded to enjoy his victory over the man with his knife. Varian didn't particularly like the unnecessary gesture, but then again after the punch he first delivered to Elijah, it may have been simply retaliation. Either way, it revealed a bit about his character to Varian. He took one more look at the three newcomers. There was both some good and bad about them all, but for the most part, he was pretty impressed with them.

Varian turned once more to get a look at Cassandra, but really, after years in her company, was there anything else he needed to see about her? She was absurdly good with her blade for her size, and able to come up with the most irregular means of fighting an opponent he had ever seen. And that was when she was drunk. Despite thinking that this barfight did give him some insight on the others, Cassandra proved to Varian a long time ago that what you see with your eyes isn't always what you're going to get. He was sure there was much more to the others, but that would have to be seen as he continues to fight alongside them, if they manage to stay alive long enough, that is.

However, as Cassandra chucked a man out of the window of the bar, it seemed like a signal for Varian that it was perhaps time to get the hell out of there. No doubt, guards would have heard the commotion by now, and were on the way to put whoever began the fray in jail. Varian pushed through the other patrons still going at it, and reached Alys and Ava.

"Oi! Come on, we're getting out of here." He headed for the end of the bar, where he signaled for Elijah to follow as well. The tavern window was broken from the man Cass threw out, but as Varian burst through it a second time, a larger area was open to climb out of, easing the passage for the other three. He walked over to Cass, helping her onto her feet. "Come on. Let's move away before the guards appear." He said, leading them over to a smaller street away from the main marketplace.

A good drink. Yes, a good long drink was exactly what Tyson needed now. He had been on the road for three days, travelling to Dalenham from Kirkland. He had hoped that he would find work here but that would come later. First he needed a drink, then maybe a hot bath and a good nights rest before he started looking for a job.

As he walked through the markets of Dalenham he remembered a tavern that he had drunk in last time he was in town. The broken keg was it? Anyway the name didn't matter, the ale was the right price for what you got and the grub wasn't too bad either.

He found it sooner, rather than later and ambled inside. The usual sorts were inside peasants, soldiers, a few merchants and traders. They were all drinking, gambling or passing the time some other way and ignored the intrusion of one rather large man from Falke. He headed straight for the bar where the barkeeper greeted him.

"What can I get you?" The barkeeper asked.

"A pint O' stout!" Tyson's gruff voice bellowed over the din in the tavern. He turned to look around the room as the barman poured his drink. To one side of the hall sat a group of mercenaries much like himself, maybe they would have work for him. He paid for his drink and began to walk over. The leader of the group seemed to be the Highman, but the way the rowdy red head sat next to him was acting she could easily be mistake for being in charge.

"You'll forgive me if I don't share my name, but I came with the job offer under the intention of secrecy. Had I not wanted that, I would have chosen a more…direct way of getting my daughter back to me. This offer shall only come once. Either accept it, or do not." A potential client was talking to them and Tyson was only just able to hear him over the crowd. Good, Tyson though to himself if they don't have work I can get some from that guy. He was just about to take his first swig of his ale when a rather merry fellow brushed past him. The drunkard slopped Tyson's ale all over the pair of them.

"What do ya' think ya' playing at!" Tyson yelled at the red faced drunk going red in the face himself.

"No harm was intended squire." The drunk hiccuped, rather scared by Tyson's outburst. "Please allow me to buy you another drink." He slurred, heading over to the bar.

"Aye. Ya' better had." Tyson mumbled under his breath.

"Another drink for my friend here and one for me." the drunk requested the barkeeper, who poured the drinks and took the drunk's money. Tyson snatched his drink up and glared at the drunk but let him be. He turned back round to find the group of mercenaries to find that a bar fight had erupted in the middle of the tavern. Well what do you expect when all the peoples of Hyrus are all drunk in the same room someone's bound to get insulted.

"Curse you Dabel! What's a man got to do to earn a drink!" Tyson said placing his pint on the bar as a man charged at him. The man was intoxicated, Tyson only extended his arm and he ran onto it. There was a crunching sound and the man covered his nose. Tyson wasted no time in finishing the man off, he grabbed his hair and slammed him into the bar face first. He gazed across the room to follow the movement of the group of mercenaries before looking round for who was next. Another man rushed at Tyson with a knife, the fool. Tyson let the blade stop dead on his mail shirt before grabbing the man's wrist. The man began to shout and tried to pry Tyson's hand off but he wasn't all that strong. Taking the man's hand over the bar Tyson pulled his hammer out with the other and in one swift motion he smashed the hammer down on the man's hand. Then he let go of his wrist and shoved him away, whimpering into the crowd. That ought to teach him a lesson Tyson though to himself.

The fray continued and Tyson began to barge his way through the brawl but it was slow going. He stopped every few steps and threw a few punches to clear himself a path. The odd hit caught him but he always hit back harder. The group were starting to leave so Tyson redoubled his efforts. He grabbed a chair one of the few the tavern had and swung to clear a path till it broke. He began to climb through the hole in the window made by the group's exit when some one grabbed him and tried to pull him back into the brawl. Using his weight against them he let himself fall out of the window and onto the cobbles below pulling his attacker with him. Then he used a wrestling move to pin the man to the floor while he punched him in the face. By the time he was done the man was unconscious and Tyson's sleeves were splattered with droplets of blood. He got up and walked over to the Highman.

"I hear you've got a job. Need another pair of hands?" Tyson asked.

Colin Arcamenel- Top of Ekilore

The Eunuch stood by the door to the monks, hands hidden under his sleeves and waiting. It was silent here, no person daring to speak or fidget. It may have been from acts of politeness, a lack of words, or possible the effect of the room itself. Colin had thought to say something, but no words came out of his mouth. Somehow the act of speech seemed... Rude.

The waiting Eunuch told them to follow soon after. There had been no word, beep, or meaningful movement at all, yet somehow he knew. It was strange to Colin, but he wouldn't question the power of the monks. There were many things many people didn't know about them. In a file Colin took a short staircase into what seemed like an observatory. In the middle of the room the group was surrounded by miniature thrones that seated monks in their robings. Their faces could not be discerned because they were hidden behind hoods. It was only a single out of a seven that stood out of his seat, gazing out at what Colin already knew was a breath taking view of the world. The monk turned to face them and came off his platform to a closer distance. He was a tall man with a perfect posture and a strong build for a man of his (assumed) age. He looked young, which was also a surprise. The monk's appearance succeeded in making Colin wary. The red eyes of the monks made no effort to ease him. A strong voice escaped the mouth of this youthful elder. He thanked them and, after a look over each of them, gave them a short introductory speech before telling them what they'd been called here for.

An orb, apparently. One that had been shattered and split across all of Hyrus. It was valuable to some for its rarity, but its worth was in its power, which the monks seemed to be after. They would need to put it together and bring it back here, he assumed. The remaining monks called out the reward of their adventure. Fame, fortunate, pleasure, and more. It sounded like a fine deal, but a small thing nagged at him. Made him unsure.

One of the knights asked a question concerning the true power of the orb. His worried mimicked Colin's quite accurately and, the two of them not alone, the Reigncliff knight agreed with him. The monks did speak quite vaguely, as if they didn't know or they weren't telling. Colin had very little reason to believe the monks were short on the knowledge of something. That too, there are many definitions to a cleanse. What were their views on a "better Hyrus" exactly? Colin didn't want to put evil intentions on the monks, surely they were the purest men, but the unease that birthed from the seventh monk's presence made it hard for the thought to lie still. He'd keep the idea to himself, for now. Still, he'd like to know.

"Yes," Colin chimed in as well, "the both of them have very strong points. Is it possible to tell us more about the Orb? You all have great wisdom, and combined, even more. You'd told us 'if the rumors are true'. Are they? With your premonitions and your wisdom to guide you, you could tell us the power of this Orb? And what effect it would have on Hyrus and its inhabitants."

Effects, of course, which must be--certainly--good.

Varian Sigmund- Dalenham

Varian looked back to see Alys waiting for the others to get out. Varian stopped moving and decided to wait a few moments for them to come, while still keeping a lookout of any guards around. Eventually, Ava came out of the window, and dragged Alys by the hand to the others. Elijah came soon after. Varian was now prepared to go away, but just before he left, another man, a rather large one with bright red hair, scrambled through the window as well. He was held by another man by the leg, but the first man pulled him through the window and wrestled him onto the ground, finishing him off with impressive blows right to the head. Needless to say, Varian was reasonably impressed by the man's show of strength. When he got up and asked him if he needed another mercenary, Varian was more than willing to accept.

"We could always use another for our job. You're in. Come on, we should move out of here."

He led the group away from the bar, neither wishing to run to attract attention to them nor walk and be caught by anyone else that might still want to pursue. However, with each step they took away from the tavern, the noise was slowly being decreased, until no sound of fighting could be heard at all. Varian led the group down the familiar corridor he had been a while ago collecting their spoils from the orc slaying. He took a look at Cass to see her condition, knowing full well that just because she was able to swing her sword effectively only moments before didn't mean she would be able to walk successfully. She was a woman Varian felt could cut off the head of an enemy in her sleep. While looking at her, Varian decided to observe the condition of the others. They seemed to be for the most part alright, although Alys had a visible wound on her shoulder. He imagined it was nothing to worry about, and decided not to comment on it. He was their mercenary leader, which meant his job was to make sure none of them were dead or dying. He wasn't their babysitter that would ask them if they had a stomach ache.

Varian walked into the familiar vacant tavern he was in a while before, with Edward still in there, seemingly adjusting something under the counter in front of him. He stopped what he was doing and looked at Varian and the group of people who had just entered, putting up both of his hands as if to say, 'Don't look at me, I didn't do it.' Edward then spoke.

"Look, I didn't take any of your damned gold, Varian. It was all in there." He stated, his eyes darting at all of the mercenaries now in the room.

"Relax, Edward. It's not about that. We have a job tomorrow and we need a place to lay low for the night."

"Oh." Edward said in realization, lowering his arms back onto the counter before picking up one of them and scratching the back of his head. "Unfortunately, all of the rooms here have been previously booked and I can't offer you any space."

Varian looked around the empty tavern. It was an obvious lie, and Varian was expecting it, but Varian was quick to respond to Edward. "We have money."

In a sudden sort of 'ah-ha!' realization, Edward seemed to look over a list in front of him and spoke back. "Oh! Would you look at that! A few rooms are actually available up on the second level. Must have utterly slipped my mind. You can go ahead to them when you're ready."

Varian nodded and sat down in a chair right beside him. He took in a deep breath and puffed it out as he was finally able to relax. Varian placed his hand on the back of his head where a bottle was hit earlier. He looked at his hand to see remnants of blood still on it, but not enough to believe he had an open wound anymore.

"Right." Varian began speaking to the others, as he noticed a shard of glass in the side of his arm, most likely from when he jumped through the window on his way out of the bar. "Since we have picked up a few new faces, I'll explain what is going on in case are unaware. A merchant has just offered us a fairly substantial fee for the rescue of his daughter from a group of brigands of some sort. We are to meet him in front of the Dalenham gates tomorrow and he'll give us the first part of the payment as well as the background information on where exactly we're going."

Varian grunted a bit as he picked a rather large piece of glass out of his shoulder, and place the bloody piece onto the table in front of him. "The name's Varian Sigmund. If you didn't know by now, we're a team. We watch each other's back, and work together. We don't go off charging ahead talking about glory and honor, and we don't do stupid, reckless stunts unless we need to. You work together, and you follow me lead, and everything will go smoothly. If not, you can tell the gods I said hello."

Varian looked back at the new guy who had arrived, as well as everyone else around, his eyes moving back and forth. "Any questions?"

Percival Grey- The top of Ekilore

Percival stood silent. The whole idea of doing a quest for the Monks was a bit overwhelming. Truthfully, he expected this. Perhaps it was the form in which they were summoned, perhaps it was the fact his brother was here (he always did the heroic act, though there was always some ulterior motive) or perhaps it was just intuition. Regardless of the reasoning behind it, Percival knew this was going to happen. But all the anticipation could not prepare him for the reality. It was this feeling of great honor that dumbfounded him, all the while the highman, his brother and even the elf asked questions treating the monk like a regular person.

And their questions were ridiculous.

"Still, I would like to know more about this orb. What exactly does it do, how does it work. For all we know, we may be bringing back the catalyst for the destruction of Hyrus rather than a tool to create peace. No offense, but I don't want to jump blindly into this sort of thing without knowing what exactly out actions will do."

Roland agreed, buying into the conspiracy. It was so like him to question people's motives instead of believing that good could exist in this world. The Elf seemed to agree to, but the suspicion was at least nicely presented. Perhaps decency was not dead. For whatever reason, Percival did not like this group much already.

The leading monk cleared his throat a bit, before handing back the old book to the Eunuch. "Lord Arlen, allow me to first say I do find it more than a bit insulting that you would think that the Monks of Ekilore have any intention of destroying Hyrus after we have devoted generations to serving the greater good. I think our legacy should speak for itself when it comes to our intentions," the monk said staring into the eyes the Highman.

"Now. As far as the Orb of Ardor is concerned, your questions have more merit," the monk continued, freeing his gaze turning his attention to the entire group. "The Orb of Ardor is an artifact from an age in which magic was potent and continuously studied, a far cry from today's Hyrus in which magic is an art that people fear and prosecute. From what research we could complete, the Orb of Ardor contains extraordinary power and knowledge within it. In the proper hands, it could cure disease, stop wars, end famines and perhaps even…cheat death."

"I will not pretend to know everything however. We are the voices of the prophecies, not necessarily the interpreters of them. Our duty is to utter that which we see and hear, not decipher what is being said. The only knowledge given to us by this prophecy is that with it held the power to save this world. Yes, the idea of such an object existing is dubious. Yet throughout the millenniums of our existence, these prophecies have proven to be accurate. We present the opportunity to partake on a quest that could end in creating something that seems so unbelievable, yet now appears to be possible. Is it not worth taking the risk of uncertainty for a purpose far beyond any one individual or country?"

Colin Arcamenel- Top of Ekilore

The head monk answered the collected question of the group in a way that made further questions seem strained for a point. While one could further make the questions on the specifications, why would they? It was clearer that the monks goal were no doubt of benevolence, which should be assumed true. The doubt now seemed foolish and further creepings of the near sinful idea were a slight sickening. He'd come into the Tower believing in the good of the monk's mission and once he reached the top his sureness was swayed by the words of another. It was almost like a test with a devil and an angel. It reminded him of the picture at the bottom of the tower. The one that featured the scene of a peasant called by both the divine figure and the logo of evil. This moment seemed to be that very scene in reality. The monk being the angel and Arlen, the devil, causing them to look the other way.

The similarity, like a warning tap from a mother, reminded him to keep his guard and to also keep his faith. As his trust in the monks increased his wariness grew as well.

"It is worth every ounce of strength," Colin answered to the monk's question. "I apologize for my outburst of doubt, it was shamefully displaced. With such an opportunity, how could one not put forth their purest intentions when such good could be achieved? For an orb so powerful and capable, I will gladly partake in this quest as both an honored soul and a servant to Hyrus."

Roland Grey- The top of Ekilore

The response of the elf was similar to that of Roland's and Arlen's. The monk with the strange eyes cleared his throat as he spoke back to the Highman first. It was a strange feeling Roland had whenever the monk. It was as if everyone word he uttered demanded absolute attention, as if everything he said would be important. Roland had met few men in his life that had his effect on him. It was usually him who would have the effect on another, or so he imagined. He knew very many who admired him this way, after all. But this was different. When the monk finished addressing Arlen, he addressed the rest of them, with the same imposing voice that demanded their respect and attention. The mention of magic distilled a bit of anxiety in Roland, none of which he physically displayed, but instead harbored inside of him. Magic was, after all, a rarity of the current times, and many subjects related to it was often considered taboo. Roland didn't like the artifacts origin from that area.

Yet what the monks said next made Roland think. The goal of creating something that this world desperately needed was enticing. But it was as the monks said: Was it worth the quest? Roland thought it over. His loyalty lied with Hector and Reigncliff foremost. He would want nothing more than to see his lord sit upon the thrown of Ethora, which is his rightful position. Roland would do anything do bring him there. If what the monks said was true, this orb could help bring him there. Through Roland's fame and reputation upon its completion, he could be boosted into a more respectable position, which would no doubt help in Hector's claim to the thrown. But besides all of that, Roland truly recognized that there was something wrong with Hyrus. Maybe it was always like this. Maybe it only recently became thus. Either way, it was in need of fixing, and Roland could think of no one more capable of doing so than himself. The elf answered first, accepting the quest. Roland pulled out his sword from its sheath.

"This quest is indeed befitting of one such as me. I vow to gather these shards and place them back together. I will not falter, and every foe that will stand in my way, no matter where he may hail from, shall be felled in pursuit of this cause. Let it be known that upon this day, Roland of the House Grey, champion of Reigncliff, will see this mission done."