A/N: This is my first attempt at a long, multiple chapter fic. As such, reviews and your thoughts would be really appreciated. Otherwise, enjoy!

Prologue

A figure, clad in russet and rough linen, stood over a cliff, his eyes resting upon a small town below. The sunset was upon the horizon, and the sky was a brilliant orange color. Down below, the town was still bustling, despite the oncoming night; many people were still peddling their trades, some latecomers were still riding in, seeking shelter from the roaming bands of monsters and their ilk, and many citizens were hustling about, even as night approached.

He merely nodded, muttering.
"Great change upon the Birthlands and beyond comes."
The figure raised his arms, all four of them, to the sky. He peered into the fading light. He seemed to see a portent into the future; most others would only see a clear dusk sky. The figure hummed; it was not an entirely unpleasant sound. It was not ominous, nor was it full of dread.

It was, seemingly, full of hope. For what though, it was not certain.

"You see the future again, old man?"
The seer looked to his side. His eyes were blank and clouded over, but they were clearly yellow once, a vibrant yellow.

"You know well that this is the sign all of the Birthland's seers have been awaiting."
"A dawn approaching at night, and this is the best you can come up with? Stones and crows, you seers are even more insane than I thought." The other person chuckled.
"I do not see as you do. A price for one of the Skalkr to-"
"To see beyond what is in front of you and to see forwards. I know. I understand.

What I came here for wasn't to discuss your magic. I came here to speak about-"
"What will come? That is the point of this. No seer can tell you what will come." The Skalkr seer blinked, his unseeing eyes probing the other person.

"Stones and crows, of course you can see the future! Is that not what you were trained for?"
"A Seer needs to be able to-"
"Yeah, yeah, trace the weavings of the Seamstress, I know. But why can you not do it now?"
"That is what troubles and yet heartens me to know. The future is uncertain.

Even She has not decided what will come."
"You can't be serious. The Crows be damned, you can't be serious."

The Seer smiled wistfully, his eyes seeming to light up with happiness.
"A great burden is gone from all Seers this day. The Wheel of Fate spins freely, with the lack of a guiding hand behind it."
"You're telling me that I wasted my stone-damned time to find a Seer and now you tell me that, beyond all expectation, the Seerless Age is coming?"
"Indeed. We cannot tell the future as easily as we did once before. The fates of all lie undecided."

The Seer clasped his four hands together, deep in thought. He stared clearly at the other person, even though he lacked sight. This unnerved the other man, especially as he could now see his clouded eyes fully.

"Every man may decide his fate on his own now. No longer can a Seer influence it, nor Fate truly change it."
At this, the other man sighed in frustration. The Seer tilted his head.
"Is this not satisfactory?"
"No. It isn't. Stones and crows, it isn't."

With this, the other man walked off containing his anger. The Seer shook his head.
"A herald of war, asking for a portent of victory. An easy puzzle to solve, even for a blind man.
He cannot possibly think that starting a war, after so long a peace, will end in victory, especially now!"

He shook his head, and the four-armed Seer sighed.
"A blessing twisted into a curse, and a time of peace twisted into war."

He walked away, picking up a gnarled, wooden staff, weathered by time and nature, and walked away into the night.

And so the time of Fate's guiding hand over mortals passed. The Seamstress deemed her work done, her sheep guided into the right positions. Deeming it the right time, she finished her work on the Weaving and let it go, let others write their own Fates into it.

And so many unlikely events happened, so many unexpected.

In the North, a young child picked up a sword and fought with his fellows playfully. He dreams of the day when he will venture forth, seeing the world for himself, but for now he bides his time.

A young journeyman, ready for the world, ventured out, weapons by his side, and his faithful pet around his feet, and set off into the rocky wastes of the land he called home.

Under the shadows of the Whispering Mountains, a babe cried out for an absent mother, abandoned in a gutter, left to the world to decide its fate.

A young girl takes up a bow in the forest, learning the tricks and the forest's many secrets. She eagerly provides sarcastic commentary for others, to null the seriousness of their current situation; they must hunt down and kill a dangerous beast, by themselves.

A determined prince, cast out by his court, watches the cold tundra, the snow whipping around him, and with grim determination, prepares to march onwards with what little he has left.

In the far lands of the Pale Sands, a young initiate unsheathes her staff, looking upon it with wonder. She looks to her matron, a wise woman of many years, who nods. Her eyes light up with joy.

Meanwhile, in the dark moors of the eastern mouth of the River Akarch, a small band marches, carrying along with them several children, one of whom has lost much and cannot even begin to comprehend the world that awaits him.

Far off, beyond the coasts of the lands beyond the Birthlands, a child in a small fishing village is sung to sleep by his caring parents, the smell of brine filling their small house, the sound of music ringing in his dreaming mind.

In large halls, lit with elegant chandeliers, a young girl takes up a sword that is too big for her. Her eyes are full of determination, and her mentor, proud of her, cheers her on. She, with an extra effort, picks it up, and she squeals in delight, a sentiment she quickly suppresses.

Upon the frozen Points of Menathirn, a boy trains alongside many others, letting the harsh conditions beat upon him, his willpower sustain him, and the power that resides within him protect him.

Deep in the bustling merchant cities of Peletha-Abotho, a youthful girl smiles, holding her delicious prize up from the bigger, stronger boys wishing to take it from her. Her feline ears twitch, and her smile is reminiscent of a cat's face, ready for more mischief.

High up in the towering guard posts of the frontier lands of Ba'Adar, a male youth clasps his dying father's hands, swearing an oath to take up his sword, and serve as a protector of the Birthlands, unyielding and uncompromised, while choking back tears in an attempt to keep up a façade of strength.

Upon the plains of Akheir, an orphaned toddler, barely capable of walking, stumbles across the burning ruins of his people's encampment, dead corpses strewn around him. Hot tears running down his face, he turns to see a person, wearing the vestments of a Necromancer, one hand holding a staff topped with a skull of some unidentified creature, and the other extended to him.

Below, in the expansive labyrinth of caves formed by the Clans of Guldara, a mischievous thief finds two short blades, preserved upon a slab of cold stone, untouched by time, man or magic. His curiosity drawn to it, he moves to take the blades.

In the distant land of the Skalkran Consortium, a mere initiate prepares to spar with her comrades, tying her long hair up in a ponytail, with her four arms ready to initiate one of the combat forms so keenly emphasised by their master.

Upon the rocky wastes of Deiridar, one person awakes from his standing slumber, sword in hand and armor perpetually on. He looks around; the fire is out and his enemies lie around him, their lack of heads a sign of his prowess. He moves on, with neither the patience nor the time to make even a cairn to the fallen.

And finally, within the keep of Neithel, capital city of the Grand Duchy of Ardeth, surrounded with pristine pillars crafted by the best stonemasons of the land, and within the presence of witnesses from the highest classes of the nobility, an elderly ruler is finally, peacefully, leaving the throne to a younger, more energetic successor, unaware of the repercussions this will cause.

And the night fell upon another day in the Birthlands, and one age ended.

And another started.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

2: Chapter 1: A Man and his Baelhound

A/N: Enjoy!

And so two decades passed since the moment the Seerless Age began. With the Seeing Orders slowly declining due to Seers leaving for contemplation or simply to enjoy the lack of the burden they had been loaded with for so long, the ancient monasteries, built with the aid of the dwarves of the Grey Mountains in years long past, slowly emptied out, with only the strongest Seers and their attached carers still around. Their halls echoed with the lonely sounds of chants and incantations, some to keep the ritual traditions of the Seers alive, some in the ill-fated hope that they could eventually regain such power as they lost.

The Birthlands, for the most part, went on as normal. People did not normally make use of the services of the Seers and as such, did not notice when the Seers began to disappear or hide away as hermits. There were some rumbles of dissent, especially in the Grand Duchy of Ardeth, under the rule of Tyssander IV, son of Norandal III, who was rumoured to be a warmonger and a tyrant by certain fringe cults and theorists, but if he was so, he did not show it, for even the dwellers of Ardeth could not confirm such things.

Indeed, times were good. In the South, the Grand Duchy and surrounding countries had kept up a trade route with the Skalkran Consortium, land of the brave and industrious Skalkr. To the East, Ramalen, the Homeland of the Elven Families, reopened its borders after the Gasping Plague was eradicated. And to the West, the border outposts of Ba'Adar reported no incursions by roving bandits, and it had not for the last twenty years.

For once, even adventurers were safely capable of travelling around; the monsters roaming the land were small in number; though still enough to be a nuisance to travellers, a well-equipped one would be capable of dealing with them. Especially for one Kalor Sventerr, Drakom adventurer.

The weathered Drakom stood up from the log he had used for a seat, taking care to snuff out the cooking fire he had used to make his luncheon. His baelhound, Totharu, or 'Faithful', snapped eagerly at the length of game his master held. Kalor smiled, although it was not apparent from his reptilian, nearly draconic features.

"Only one leg, boy. We have a long way to travel, and it is no use travelling on a full belly, we'll hurt ourselves. Even I have to be careful."

The baelhound whimpered and Kalor sighed, feeding it the leg.

"Only one leg. You'll have as much as you can eat when we get to the next town, I promise." The Drakom adventurer extended a violet, scaly hand to pet Totharu; as Drakom were nearly nine feet tall, and baelhounds about the size of a dog, Kalor had to crouch to pet him. The baelhound shook his head and nuzzled his hand.

The pair would look out of place in many of the towns in the land of Akheir, a primarily human-dominated place. Kalor was a Drakom, a tall, scaly humanoid, bearing large horns and draconic eyes; it was rumoured that the Drakom were descended from the Dragons of the Far North. He bore the scars of many fights, and his face seemed unchanging in expression, although he could smile; it was just somewhat harder to notice. He wore an assortment of leather and plate armor; this was lighter on his back- and a large, russet cloak that kept him warm, but made him even more conspicuous; as a tall, horned Drakom with violet scales, carrying openly a large, thick axe, he was not easily hidden.

His baelhound would also be unusual. Baelhounds were nominally monsters; born from terrible experiments upon dogs during darker ages, they looked like mockeries of gargoyles, with the bodies of emaciated hounds. Totharu was one of the few baelhounds anywhere in the Birthlands that was tamed; Kalor had found him scrabbling for food and scraps in the ashes of a lair and, taking pity upon him, he took him in. This was many years ago; for the Drakom live long. Totharu himself looked strangely adorable, despite his grotesque visage, and his eyes were red. His pointed fangs were constantly sharp, and his coat was a stony grey. Despite all of this, Totharu and Kalor did not seek to scare others; Kalor preferred the company of his baelhound, and Totharu did not stray from his master, fearing much retribution from those who hated his kind and taking advantage of his master's scary visage; no sane man would attack a Drakom in full daylight alone, let alone one that had tamed a baelhound.

Slowly, the pair walked away from their temporary respite.

They were in a large, verdant forest, the trees letting brilliant sunlight through and hit upon the barely defined dirt path that adventurers had slowly pounded out in years past. The sounds of the forest filled the air; birds chirping, the prancing of deer, the occasional chittering. There were no warrens of monsters nearby; a good sign, as Kalor noted- he would not have to fight his way through a forest, and he could enjoy the view. The road was strewn with pebbles and other deitrus from adventurers past; Totharu had already found a small, rusted knife, clearly bent.

Kalor slowed his pace. He wanted to simply take in the forest. The baelhound also slowed his pace and master and pet walked alongside each other.

"Calm, is it not?" The Drakom mused to himself; his voice was deep and gravelly, and it granted gravitas to even the most mundane phrase.
"My parents said that a walk through the forest can enlighten a man, can open his eyes to the world around him.

Truthfully, I can see why. After a week of having to fight through monsters, such a relaxing experience helps." He sighed. His hand twitched to his axe, although there was no danger in sight.

"Quiet is better for me. I never could talk to others in the alehouses. Better for me.

Guess I get to enjoy my quality ale, eh?" He stifled a chuckle. Being whimsical was rare from him, ever the stoic warrior, but when relaxed like this, even he had to let loose.

He sighed and walked on. Sometimes, he wished he had friends to talk to, fellow adventurers to share tales with. Even the company of his animal companion could get lonely at times. Kalor sighed. He silently wondered to himself why he didn't stay in the city, where he would be assured companionship.

He supposed, after barely a minute of self-deliberation, that it seemed boring.

Little did he know that soon, his idle desire was to be fulfilled.

3: Chapter 2: Trouble in Verdant Forests

Elsewhere in the forest, two adventurers were speaking to each other. One was a tall, youthful man, a head of rich brown hair, wearing a mixture of armor and clothing. He had a shield on his back and a sword at his belt, and he looked mirthful. The other was a female, her similarly brown hair swept back in a ponytail. Her pointed ears, flat nose, pointed eyes and slender frame told all that she was an elf, most likely of the family of Geldwald, judging by the crafting of the hilt of her knife. The male, a human, seemed to be from the land of Isentithe, to the north of the Birthlands, and both seemed at least reasonably experienced travellers.

"So, what happened with Sirus?"
"Well, after Robert got his head out of the bucket, he went red as a tomato! Cursed us out with the Crows and all that, and he walked off- didn't speak to us for the rest of the day.

We didn't care, of course; we were too busy laughing ourselves to death!"

The elven female chuckled. The male human smirked.

"So, Niara, I win."
"Damn you, James. Damn you."

Niara playfully punched James on the arm, to which James dramatically fell backwards.

"By the Gods, I have been felled-"
"-by a single stroke, from an evil hag!"

Both started laughing cheerfully. The elf girl fell backwards, laughing, while James tried to catch his breath.

"Gods above, smite me now if that play was not so terrible as to make a mockery of adventurers!", he quipped. Niara picked herself up, lowly trying to stop herself laughing.

"Then may you be smited, for it was not so terrible. It made us laugh, didn't it?", she retorted.

James shook his head and helped Niara up, sighing.
"You'd miss me too much."
"Doubt it, human boy."

The pair was almost inseparable. Having met when Niara was a year younger than James up in the Isentithe, both were initially cold to each other ("By the Gods, your ears are pointy!" "By the Gods, you're smaller than a dwarf!"), but, as the Geldwald homestead was not far from James' hometown of Birken, the two gradually grew friendlier, until they became as thick as thieves. Such was their bond that they both refused to set off travelling without the other when the time came. The day of their departure was bittersweet; they were celebrated as being the first of the Fateless adventurers, and for their Venturing Day, Niara received an elegant llanthil bow, a gift from her mother, while James received an heirloom; a longsword, its hilt bound with leather and a pommel in the shape of a snarling wolf, and its marred and scarred scabbard.

The two complemented each other in a way; Niara was a deadpanning wisecrack, whereas James, in the presence of others, was quiet, albeit not stoic. Both only loosened up to each other, being the best of friends. Many had also spread rumours of their apparent burgeoning love for each other, a rumour both were quick to crush with extreme prejudice. They viewed each other as the brother and sister they'd never had.

The pair continued walking, telling tales of their time in the Isentithe to each other.

Kalor continued walking alongside his pet, unaware of the pair nearby. He wasn't listening to his surroundings, having already made sure that there were no monster warrens nearby; he was simply taking in the peace and the tranquillity while he could.

That was quickly interrupted, of course, when the Drakom and his pet found themselves accosted by three men, wielding their weapons as menacingly as possible. One of them, a young-looking male, with shifty eyes and a hastily stitched-up scar, standing out on his otherwise unblemished face, approached Kalor. He had clearly expected someone easier to rob; the bandit was shaking slightly, his club vibrating slightly. His accomplices, similar looking men, were also scared.

"M-Mate…..j-just th-throw all your c-coins on the g-ground n-now…..a-and there w-won't be t-trouble…..y-you understand?" The scarred bandit looked relieved that he had finished his sentence for a moment, before realizing that he was in front of a tall and irritated Drakom, who was brandishing a big axe threateningly.

"And what happens, precisely, if I decide NOT to offload all my money?" Totharu growled at the bandit, and he stepped back. Kalor could have sworn he heard a mild squeak, followed by several oaths to various gods. Judging by his accent and the gods he made oaths of, he was probably Akheri, one of the bandits roaming the larger plains and some of the forests, who made a living off of robbing merchants and lone adventurers.

"W-well…."

The scarred bandit stepped back, and one of his accomplices, a tall, burly-looking male, his face marred by battle, brandished a large, flaming mace. Kalor blinked.

"A fire-aspected mace. On a Drakom. You must be joking." The Drakom scoffed.

"J-just give us all your gold, a-and we'll not have to hurt you, a-alright?!" The scarred bandit looked desperate. The Drakom adventurer merely leered down at his burly associate, who also quivered slightly.

"And if I do NOT give you my money, and if I were to remind you I am FIREPROOF, then what do you do?" Kalor looked triumphantly smug.

"This."

The other man raised a rope, and Kalor was immediately swept up by a net he had not seen. The Drakom was immediately hefted into the air and wrapped in a thick net. Kalor roared and snapped at it, to no avail. The scarred one looked relieved; he had dropped his axe there, which his shifty trapper ally picked up, weighing it. The other, burly one looked up at him, smugly grinning.

"Looks like we'll be kidnapping yo-AGH!" The burly one fell backwards, clutching his groin. Totharu's fangs had cloth and a substance Kalor cared not to identify. The baelhound growled at the rest of them, baring his substantial fangs. The scarred bandit raised his club and the trapper raised Kalor's axe in response.

"Oh look, we've got ourselves a BAD boy!
"Y-yeah….we w-wouldn't want that, w-would we?"

Totharu, drained of his initial burst of energy, immediately backed away slowly, his movements matched by the bandits. Kalor attempted to break out of his trap to no avail; he couldn't reach the net with his pinned hands or teeth, and, though Drakom could breathe fire, he had reached neither the discipline nor the training to do so. He simply resigned himself to snarling and attempting to break the net with rigorous movements.

"Touch the baelhound and you'll pay in blood!"

"Oh shut it, Drakom. You're in a net, we're not. What'll you do, precisely?"

The trapper smiled a toothy grin. Kalor merely glared at him. He continued struggling to get out.

If they hurt Totharu...if they hurt him...he would not be able to restrain himself.

4: Chapter 3: Three In Accord

A/N: Updates from now on will be semi-regular, and will be dependent on my ideas, my motivation to write original fiction as opposed to fanfic, and general time.

Niara and James had been walking along nearby when they heard a large snap, followed by snarls, a bark, and a scream, followed by a whimper, all in quick succession. Niara was the first to turn around, her bow already notched and ready.

"James-"

"On it." James unsheathed his sword and readied his shield, running towards the source of the noise. Niara followed closely and crouched, her bow drawn back.

"Whoever screamed sounds similar to much of the female choir singers I hear around Tydmastime," she mused to herself. James slowed his pace and crouched, following Niara's example.

"What do you think we should do, Niara?"

"I don't know. It's most likely one of those bandits catching someone in a trap again."

"We should probably help."

"Oh, probably, James. Probably."

"Quit it, Niara. We might actually be saving someone here." Niara sighed, exasperated, but shut up.

The pair crouched behind bushes and looked at the scene.

Above them, there was a tall Drakom struggling to get out of a tight net, most likely a trap laid to catch unsuspecting victims. He was snarling and wriggling. Under the net, two bandits, one holding a large axe, probably belonging to the Drakom from the looks of both the design and the size, and the other a mere club, were rounding on a small baelhound, who growled to keep his attackers back. Nearby was laying another bandit, clutching his groin, his hands slick with crimson. His face looked pained, and near him was a mace ringed with flames, the flames dying out as the gem holding the enchantment in place fell out.

Totharu continued attempting to fend his attackers off, swiping his claws forward. Unfortunately for him, they were too assured in their victory to be wary of a creature nominally considered a monster. The trapper smirked.

"Aww, is the little puppy trying to fight real men?"

The scarred bandit straightened his posture and his voice stopped wavering. "Yeah, is he now? How cute."

"Too bad we've got to teach you a lesson! Nip it in the bud and all! I'm sure your master won't mind!"

Kalor continued struggling.

"You. Will. Die. If. He. Does." He said every word with a deliberate emphasis, as if to get his point across. He was ignored.

"Come on, we'll not hurt you…..much!" The trapper had that dreadful toothy grin again. Totharu backed away, but felt a rock behind him. With his behind trapped and with two ruffians in front of him, he had no escape.

Just then, however…..

"A real man would be picking on a real monster, not some tiny baelhound!" An arrow struck the trapper in the leg. It pierced his leather boot, and though it did not hurt him, it surprised and tripped him over. His companion whirled around to see his face meet a large, fast kite shield rushing towards it, knocking him down and out.

Niara leapt deftly out of the bush, aiming a shot at the rope keeping the net up in the tree and cutting the Drakom down from it. Meanwhile, the trapper looked up to see James, sword and shield in hand, bearing down on him.

"You'd be wise to put down his axe now, thief."

The trapper looked around quickly; his burlier companion was still recovering from the grievous damage done to him by the baelhound, and his other companion was currently unconscious. He also saw that the tall wanderer had friends; an elfin archer was cutting down a very calm-looking Drakom, who nonetheless looked dangerous. The trapper quickly dropped the axe.

"Good." James administered a swift kick to the trapper, knocking him unconscious as well.

Meanwhile, Niara attempted to untangle the Drakom from the net, sighing.

"Bandits, am I right?"

The Drakom remained silent as his baelhound rushed to his side, biting and snapping at the net keeping his master imprisoned. Niara shook her head.

"So, one of those big, strong, silent ones."

"The silent one thanks you." The Drakom looked briefly up at the tree, then to Niara, before managing to get free of the net.

"Gods, you don't have to be all 'dramatic' and that. Only doing our job is all." The elfin archer smirked. James looked at the Drakom closely.

"Those aren't going to be the last ones you see, mate."

"Understood."

"…would you like to travel with us for safety? We're always looking for more adventurers. The more the merrier and all that." James offered his hand in assistance, as the Drakom looked up at him, blinking. Niara chimed in. "He's got a point. I mean, you're pretty strong, but you might need our-"

The adventurer cut her off. "Where are you headed?"

Niara blinked. "We're headed up to Einsdath, then following the Akarch to Itholan, then all the way up to Neithel. You?"

"Coincidentally, that is also my path." The Drakom took James' hand and got up, immediately dwarfing both of them.

"I am Kalor Sventerr, of Drakmopoka, Dragon's Peak in Ardethian."

James nodded in response. "James Tilwin of Birken, from the Isentithe."

"Niara Geldwald, also from the Isentithe."

Kalor nodded in recognition. "Tilwin. As in….Lord Tilwin, of Tilwin Keep?"

"I'm his nephew, yes."

"Ah. Well. I did not expect to see a nobleman travel so far, let alone one from the Isentithe." Kalor picked up his axe and placed it at his belt again.

"Tilwins are travellers, or so I always heard my aunt say." James shrugged.

"He also couldn't BEAR the thought of living without me." Niara smirked, to which James sighed.

"Please, come with us. The thought of having to travel with this insufferable elf pains me."

Kalor sighed. "As it stands, I will travel to Neithel much the same way as you will, then I will return to Drakmopoka."

"Really?" Niara's eyes lit up in wonder.

"We didn't have an itinerary after Neithel. Perhaps we could join you on your journey home?" James inquired. Kalor sighed.

"Well, I did not expect several companions. But, then again, as you saved the life of my pet and myself, perhaps it would be only fair to humor you."

Totharu yipped happily, running around his master and the pair. Niara had a mischievous smirk on her face, and James a small smile.

"So, it's a deal then. We will head with you to Drakmopoka, then elsewhere from there. Good to have met you, Kalor Sventerr." James and Niara both nodded to the Drakom.

"Likewise, Master Tilwin, Lady Geldwald." Kalor bowed.

"No need to call me Master. I'm not technically a noble."

"And no need to call me Lady. That would be untrue on two counts; I'm neither ladylike nor true nobility."

"A sign of respect from a Drakom to the Tilwins and the Elven Families." Kalor explained.

"Now, shall we get going, before we have more of those moronic bandits?"

The three set off on the dirt path and headed down into the forest.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Updates will come semi-regularly.

5: Chapter 4:A Cat Caught In A Rat's Nest

As Kalor, Niara, James and Totharu, the baelhound, set off upon the western bank of the Akarch, deep in the merchant cities of Peletha-Abotho –specifically, the city of Atheri, a coastal city upon the Lomgori Sealands- a girl was hanging.

Specifically, she was hanging off a clothesline, using one arm to keep herself up. The girl had long, wavy, jet-black hair, reaching down to her shoulders, and mischievous, golden eyes reminiscent of a cat- quite obvious, really, when you looked to her main feature.

Lyra Sythander had small, triangular cat ears on her head, marking her as a Nekora, the Cat-Folk of the South, and well-known for their travelling troupes of entertainers, skills at various things, and their strong alliance to the Skalkr. Her ears were covered in dark brown fur, and were currently twitching.

Lyra was holding in a laugh as the boys she'd reclaimed her prize from; specifically, sweetrice, a delicacy from far lands that was hard to acquire, a prize she'd bought legitimately;- looked around and about, but not up, where the athletic Nekora was hiding.

"My, my, what a lovely chase. Perhaps I'd better give them a hint?" She smirked, and with her free hand, tipped over a pair of pantaloons to land upon one of the boys. With mischief in her mind, she swung herself towards the roof of the building she was hanging near, and waited for the inevitable-

"Hey! What in the name of Itheri-"

"She's up there!"
"Hey, come back here! We stole that, fair and square!"

Lyra peered over the roof's edge, smiling.

"Good luck taking what isn't yours, kids. That is, if you can climb up here to catch me anyway!"

With a smirk, she dashed off across the roofs, her packet of sweetrice in her pocket. Good for her.

The city of Atheri was where the Nekora girl grew up, ever since her parents had taken her from the Nekora homeland of Livalit, as there wasn't much room for shrewd merchants there, or so they said. The city was absolutely beautiful and vast; the architecture was unrivalled anywhere in the Peletha-Abotho, the famed market always full of people to buy and sell things, whether it was day or night, and the pinnacle of the city, the Grand Atherian Spire, presiding over the skyline like a wise overseer watching their children.

Lyra reflected as she ran across the roofs to escape that, although the city was beautiful, she seemed to want more.

More was a fair thing to want, after all, she'd spent her entire life in the city, without once leaving its walls. Her parents didn't leave much, and she herself had never been taken out of the city by anyone, nor had she felt the desire to.

But, eventually- Lyra didn't know when or how long ago- she'd started to feel enclosed by the city. She knew it like the back of her hand and revelled in the rooftops and balconies she leapt across, but even that was boring after a while.

She was yearning for something she couldn't really put a finger to.

"Bah, stupid Lyra! What are you doing again? It's just a phase, girl, it's nothing special!" The merchant girl snapped herself out of her contemplative state and shook her head to clear her thoughts. She was still running and somewhere along the way, she'd realised, she'd failed to turn around and she was now in a part of the city which, while she knew, she tended to avoid.

With dread, Lyra stopped and looked around to regain her bearings.

This part of the city was informally called the 'Rat's Nest', home to the unsavoury elements of the city, and of people from all over Peletha-Abotho. Here gathered many of the illicit and shady traders and itciha traders, as well as llanthil poachers and various others of their ilk. This was also home to many of the lower-end alehouses; mostly full of cutthroats, cutpurses, and other kinds of criminals and ruffians. It certainly looked like it; as it was off the main route where trade wagons would go down, nobody bothered to make it look nice, and many of the buildings looked aged and dirty, as opposed to scrubbed and shiny. There were often rats running through the streets, for which the Rat's Nest was named for, and some of them carried small packs of itciha, acting as runners for them.

Lyra blinked and looked around cautiously, making sure nobody could see her.

"Ok…..I've got to think this through. If I simply turn around and go back slowly, I should be able to make my way back home. Calm down, Lyra, calm down." Lyra muttered to herself as she slowly attempted to make her way back to where she'd came from. She needed to leave soon; the sun was setting, and though it threw a beautiful, orange light upon everything, this only meant bad things for her if she remained in the Rat's Nest.

"You can do this, Lyra, you can do this."

The merchant girl tried to find her way back, but she'd been so busy in contemplation that she hadn't seen many landmarks to follow. Soon, she found herself lost, collapsing to her knees and sighing.

As if on cue, three ruffians appeared. Their faces were hidden, but it was clear to Lyra what they intended to do to her.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

"A little kitty cat, lost on the roof."

"Don't worry, we won't 'urt ya! We'll find you a nice home!"

As they rounded on her, Lyra drew her weapon; a very intricate Skalkr-crafted knife. Unlike their famed zettir blades, this had an un-serrated edge, but it was a fine blade, made from fine Skalkran steel.

"Hey, the kitty has claws!" The ruffians laughed. That was their mistake.

Lyra ran at them, delivering a sweeping kick to one of them, tripping him. As one of their friends fell, the other two rounded on Lyra, glaring at her.

"Bad kitty!"

"How intelligent. You can come up with insults based off my lovely ears. And I'd thought you weren't bards." Lyra slid back and stood up, smirking.

"Hey, girly, this is a bad place for you. You should go back to where your man'll protect ya!"

"I don't need a man to be my protector, and I certainly don't want to hear your claim to being a 'real man'. I've heard it all before."

The ruffian stopped, clearly about to say what Lyra had described. The other one, less inclined to banter, rushed at her. The girl, with a soft smirk, deftly moved aside and let the ruffian collide with a wooden coop, knocking him out and sending the chickens inside into frenzy.

With that one taken care of, Lyra stared down the remaining ruffian, who, in response, drew a very large, serrated looking blade.

"Ah, you women and your stupid 'morals'. A real man needs to teach ya how to treat a man, you know?"

"I believe my father was man enough to not rape my mother, pig." Lyra blinked, her feline eyes unwavering.

"Oh, how typical, girly. No, it's only….how do they say it…not mutual…..if they say no, isn't it?" Lyra couldn't see his face, but she could have sworn he was smiling. The ruffian charged at her and Lyra prepared to dodge, but he came too quickly, pinning her to the coop wall. With Lyra struggling, he slammed her hand back; with a sharp cry, she let go of the knife.

The ruffian laughed.

"Not so feisty now, are you, girl?"

"Not as stupid as you, certainly!"

She attempted to kick him in the nether regions, but he put his knee to her leg, pinning it down.

"Oh, now we get to business, girl!"

With a face made of grim determination, Lyra spat at him. The ruffian stepped back, surprised, and Lyra fell down, blinking. Then, as if driven by some rage, the ruffian roared an incoherent shout. Lyra wasn't ready for it, and stood there, like a deer caught by hunters.

But then….

"Mate, I advise you back off. Now."

The ruffian stopped, and both her and the ruffian looked at the newcomer.