The sun was high in the sky over the city of Lomedor. The square was bustling with activity as vendors stood at their stalls shouting out their wares for anyone who walked by. Sitting at a table at a small eatery, Valdearg watched the crowd as it flowed by, absently sipping a cool drink. Thinking back, he realized that this would be the very first time in his long life that he had ever been an assassin. Over the centuries, he had destroyed several towns, killed many fools who had thought to make a name for themselves by defeating a dragon, but he had never purposefully sought someone out and killed them. Then again, he thought, a rueful smile coming to his face, this isn't exactly going to be an assassination. The term assassin seemed to imply someone who worked in secret, who killed without being seen. Valdearg didn't care how he killed the man, he simply wanted it done. If a couple sections of Lomedor got destroyed in the process, it wasn't his concern.

For this trip into Lomedor, Valdearg had chosen an interesting form. Since the man he was after was doubtlessly of good alignment, he had made himself look as evil as possible without being turned away from the gates. A livid scar ran down his left cheek, traveling from just below his ear to the point of his chin. A nose that had been broken more than once added to the image of a fighter. All of his simple clothing was made of dark leather, and the hilt of his glittering scimitar had been covered with cloth so that it would not stick out. His dark hair was matted to his head, as though he hadn't brushed it in days. All in all, it would cause some people to pay attention to him, and he in turn could see who fit the description he had. It would be impractical to spend days searching the entire city for one man, so he would have that man find him. With a small smile, Valdearg downed the rest of his drink and stood up, deciding to continue his aimless wandering through the streets.

If everything worked out fine, he would soon be, if not completely free, better off than he had been. Out of the hands of Raku and into the hands of Ita. There was no question that Raku would be the worse of the two. Making his way around the square, he pretended to be searching for something to buy. It amused him how the merchants directed their scowls at him, watching him carefully lest he try to steal something. As if he would bother with their petty trinkets. He could think of at least a score of items at his cave that would allow him to buy everything these men possessed. If it weren't for the need to draw eyes, he would not have even bothered to examine their items. Several of the merchants had bodyguards, broad men who towered over just about everyone in the crowd. These men gave him their full attention for a few seconds whenever he went near them, just enough to let him know that they were watching him, not enough to take them away from their duties. It almost caused him to break out in laughter, but he managed to hold it in, only allowing a thin smile to come to his face. Inside, Valdearg simply hoped that it wouldn't be as hard to find this Animus as he thought it was going to be, he had several cities that he needed to search through, and he wanted to finish this as quickly as possible.

Thavron eyed the piece of parchment hesitantly.

"There it is! That look in your eye!" cried a heavily accented voice. The brown angel's gaze swerved to his left, expression fading from doubt to confusion as he did so. The short little man walking alongside him took an abrupt turn, his legs moving in a fast unusual-looking gait. He was leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden cane with each step. The tiny man seemed ancient, his skin wrinkled and pale, and his small build somewhat twitchy. Although his head was completely shaved, a long white beard reaching the midpoint of his chest gave him an air of authority just like many of the powerful wizards in times past. The pair finally came to a stop in the Lomedor Square, standing outside a line of different shops but still mostly out of the way of travelers on foot or horseback. Two cloudy blue eyes stared expectantly up at the brown angel, waiting for some kind of response.

"Is it really ne---" Thavron was promptly interrupted, as if an argumentative child being lectured by a parent.
"Necessary? Do you think, Colonel, that it is necessary for the sun to rise every day? Is it necessary for the birds to migrate south each winter?" the small man replied while making expressive hand gestures to further stress his point. Thavron raised an eyebrow at the disrespect, but disregarded it. He wasn't in the mood for an argument with his Captain of the Magi. The brown angel paused to look over the piece of parchment further. It was a recruitment recommendation for a shapeshifter. Obviously the man before him had seen some potential in this person and hand-picked it to be a candidate for joining the Third Company of guardsmen. Which, coincidentally, was the company Thavron was colonel of.

Originally, it had been planned for the brown angel to resume his normal duties; patrolling the walls and streets, writing paperwork, mediating disputes, overlooking various tasks, etc. That was one of the reasons he was dressed in nearly full armor, the golden Resplendent chainmail glimmering in Lomedor's late-winter sunlight. All parts of his battle uniform were worn, with the exception of a helmet. Even the blood red fist-sized chaos catcher he carried on a string around his neck. The first few hours of the day moved smoothly and normally, but just as the brown angel was about to depart for a midday break he was stopped by Anoron, the powerful spellcaster currently before him. 'Fragile of body, but not of spirit,' was how the little man was always described. Anoron usually lacked the mannerisms of a proper wizard, however. He was much more lively than what you would expect, delivering his wisdom with expression and volume.

Suddenly, a revelation came to Thavron. "This name sounds familiar." He held the piece of paper down to Anoron's level and pointed at a small bit of text. The mage nodded briskly. "Is the writing just sloppy or does that surname read 'Meria'?"
"Your eyes do not fail you, Colonel! I do believe Juliet Meria will be a valuable addition to the Third." Anoron said with a wide smile, bearing several yellowed teeth. Thavron straightened, buried in his thought. 'Meria.' That sounded so familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"I...I will think on this," Thavron accompanied his final reply with a dismissing nod. The wizard, still grinning, shuffled back into the streets in his odd means of walking. Thavron remained where he was, reading and re-reading the paper. A curious thing it was. Perhaps he might even accept a new person into the Third after all.

Thavron casually pocketed the parchment and looked up toward the shops he and Anoron had been standing close to. A good deal of the crowd consisted of citizens who were bringing home a nice lunch from the local eatery, but one man in particular caught his eye. Perhaps it was a skill the angel had developed over the years working as a guard; able to pick out people from a crowd who, by means of physical stereotypes, looked as if they were up to no good or had a potential of being so. Two brown-colored wings spread out from behind him before Thavron folded his arms and curiously observed the battle-hardened human. It wouldn't hurt just to keep an eye on him for a bit, for he was browsing goods in a manner that made the brown angel suspicious of a theft in the works.

Glancing up at the sun, Valdearg figured it was about time that he move on to the next area of the town. He had everything worked out in a rotation, spending so much time in each area throughout various parts of the day. Next he would be heading over to the battle square. It's exact name escaped him for the moment, but anyone would know where it was. It wasn't often that bloodsport happened in Lomedor, so such an oddity was well remembered. Setting down the small, jade figurine he had been examing, Valdearg ignored the shopkeepers scowl. He had no doubt that as soon as possible the man would wash the figurine, wanting to remove the taint that someone like Valdearg would undoubtedly leave behind. With a small sigh, Valdearg realized that he was tired. Not physically tired, but emotionally. He was tired of parading around looking for one man, tired of all of the sideways glances that people gave, trying to observe him in case he tried to steal something. Most importantly though, he was tired of being a human, he longed to return to his draconic form and fly once again.

Turning, Valdearg was about to take a step in the direction he needed to go when he saw the man. All of the things that Ita had told him about where there. The golden armor, the brown wings, and there hanging from his neck was the chaos catcher he was supposed to take as proof of the deed. Valdearg forced himself to keep walking, cursing himself for hesitating slightly when he saw the Animus. At the moment, the way he was walking would take him within a few feet of the Animus, and it would give him the opportunity to get close without raising suspicion. Walking slowly, Valdearg threaded his way through the mass of people, letting his gaze wander, never lingering on anything too long. His left hand held to scabbard hanging from his waist, keeping it from swinging and hitting people's shins. That was simply a sensible thing to do, and there was nothing hostile about how he was moving. But he knew that Thavron had seen him, and focused on him like a hawk going after prey.

Finally, when he was nearing the Animus, he let his gaze focus on the man, running over the armor and weapons that he had. Stopping a few feet from the man, Valdearg watched him, folding his arms over his chest. For a few seconds, he simply stood there, staring at the man. Finally, he spoke loud enough to be heard over the crowd. "From the description I've heard, you can only be one person. Your name wouldn't happen to be Thavron, would it?" Valdearg was tired of sneaking around, so he was going for a somewhat direct approach. He knew that the man would be on his guard now, but the Animus would be watching a man with a sword, he would never be suspecting a dragon skilled in magical workings. It was an interesting technique that he rarely used, employing directness to disguise a true intent. It might work, it might now, either way, Thavron was going to die this day, and then he would have his soul back from Raku. With a snap decision, Valdearg acted. Whispering a swift spell, Valdearg laughed as he burst into flames, not caring that there were people close to him who might catch on fire from the spell. With a wordless roar, he brought his right fist up, swinging it around, aiming for Thavron's head. A burning punch could do a lot of damage if it connected, and this was only the beginning of what Valdearg had in store.

The brown angel's muscles tensed more as the shady figure came closer and closer to him. It seemed as though the man had noticed Thavron's presence; this fact was confirmed when he came to an abrupt stop in front of him. The two had been staring at each other for quite a while, the guardsman's eyes narrowing with contempt. To him, the human in question didn't seem violently hostile, but instead fit the role of a petty thief. It was a good thing Thavron and the rest of the Guard were here to prevent such crimes. The silence had turned into a staring contest, then finally: "From the description I've heard, you can only be one person. Your name wouldn't happen to be Thavron, would it?" The brown angel was nearly surprised at the lack of hostility in his tone. The human's words rolled in his mind, then the angel finally formulated a reply.

"To my knowledge, there are no other people named Thavron in this city, are there not? Hopefully, then, I fit your description," he spat bitterly. "Now what do you wa-" Thavron interrupted himself with a cry of pain. At that moment he realized his mistake of answering the question this strange man had asked. Not only did it give the suspected thief the information he probably wanted or needed, but also caused the brown angel to let down his guard. A swift burning punch met the left side of his face, which was unprotected by a helmet. Steam rose from the wound, a massive mark on his cheek that was gray and red from parts of the skin that were seared off. Thavron's right foot slid back to brace the impact of the attack and prevent himself from stumbling.

For a few moments pain became his world, flooding his vision with blood red. He blinked twice and hesitated no longer. Pulling back the cloak that concealed it, the brown angel ripped a pure white blade from its sheathe on his left hip. The man had landed one cheap shot, yes, but Thavron was fully prepared for anything the lawbreaker could throw at him now, hopefully. It seemed he had burst into flames now, which was the source of the nearly cauterized wound dealt merely seconds ago. Nearby citizens were fleeing for their lives, terrorized screams enveloping the immediate area. Thavron's choice of blade was with good reason; while Integrity lay diagonally across his back, ready to be drawn if the need arose, Purity was better for fighting in such close quarters.

Holding the blade of balance vertically, the brown angel folded his wings (so as to make them less of a target for attacks, as he had learned the hard way from past fights) and readied himself. Thavron didn't want to kill the man, but he did have to incapacitate him in order to perform a proper arrest. Purity darted upward toward Valdearg. Should the attack prove successful, it would cut through his leather clothing like a knife through butter, deep into the left side of his ribcage and hopefully cause enough damage to make him stop attacking. Hopefully. Occasionally, it wasn't that simple.

A fierce smile came to his face when he felt his fist connect squarely with the angel's face. The burning hand meant that the wound wouldn't bleed any, but it hurt like fury. Any time the angel moved his face and stretched out the skin of his cheek, he would feel the pain from it. The majority of the people around them were now fleeing in terror wanting to get out of the way of the struggle that was about to occur. A few of the individuals who had been too close when Valdearg had cast the spell had caught on fire. Nothing major, and the fire was swiftly put out, but they were among the fastest to leave. Burning to death was not a pretty way to die; none of the nearby people wanted to risk getting caught in a fight with a fire mage. While Valdearg had managed an early blow, he knew that the fight was just beginning.

Thavron had braced himself automatically, preventing himself from stumbling backwards and being an easy target. Now the angel was retaliating, prepared to stop Valdearg despite the fact that he didn't know what Valdearg was after. Thavron brought out the blade that had been on his left hip, hidden behind his cloak. For the moment, the man was ignoring the blade slung across his back. The blade swiftly darted out towards Valdearg's left side. Still smiling, Valdearg to a half step to the right and ripped his scimitar from the hilt. In the same motion, he brought it up to block Thavron's first strike. The sun was shining brightly, causing the golden scimitar to glitter like it had a fire of its own. Valdearg let the cloak of flames around him die, wanting to save the magic for other spells that he might need. Metal rang on metal as the two blades connected, and Valdearg was glad that he had taken that half step to the right. It had helped him to absorb some of the blow, and it had been a powerful blow. If he hadn't managed to get his sword out to block the strike, he would have taken some serious damage, and he had never bothered to learn any healing spells.

Disengaging his blade from Thavron's, Valdearg leapt backwards, already summoning up more magic. With a shouted word that could have been something of a curse, a ball of fire burst from Valdearg's hand, flying through the air towards Thavron. Just as the ball left his hand, Valdearg felt the red ring he was wearing warm ever so slightly. It was reacting to the presence of fire, longing to be used to manipulate the flames. The ring would be a great asset in the fight to come, but he would need to carefully prepare the stage for its use. All the while making it appear as though he was simply throwing spells at Thavron. If the angel suspected that he was going to be led into a trap, then he would have to change his plan. In the event that he could not get at the man with his fire, then he would simply let his polymorph spell expire, and see how well the man did when facing a full-grown dragon. For the moment however, he wanted to remain hidden. As the fireball raced towards Thavron, Valdearg sprinted to the left, trying to force Thavron to turn in order to keep his opponent in front of him. As he ran, he passed a stack of wooden crates, lowering his hand, he whispered another spell. A spark jumped from his hand to the wood, swiftly setting the crates on fire. Without slowing, Valdearg continued to run, wondering how much this man could take before he became exhausted.