The pine scent nearly over-powered the stench of the six sweaty men working in the clearing with Haavan. It had rained earlier, and moisture always brought out the sweet smells of the forest. Unfortunately, it also upped the humidity, and the rate of which her burly human companions soaked their clothing with sweat. Plugging one nose and jerking her sword with the other, using its razor-sharp serrated edge, she made short work of the elderly red maple in front of her—even if it was over a foot in diameter. It began to topple.

“Timberrrr!” She hollered. The men were already out of harm's way, however; they'd been watching her, in amazement, and knew to move before she even thought to shout a warning. It took the most proficient of them several minutes to fell such a tree, but her! She could do it in a fraction of the time.

“The lass ain't human, I tells ya.” One whispered to another. The bearded man nodded solemnly as the girl moved to another tree. “Aye, n'er beastly weapon's gots'ta weigh t'wenny pounds, ina least. Dat ain't nach'ral.” The men winced in unison as she turned to face them, and they scrambled back to work.

Haavan watched them for a moment, with a flicker of sadness in her eyes. Don't stop. You're nearly done, and we have other affairs to attend to. Came a deep, malevolent voice in her head. The half-demon nodded to turned back to her work.

An hour later she was standing in the doorway of a poorly-constructed shack, that sat in the midst of at least a dozen freshly-cut stumps. Smoke filled it, obscuring the girl's vision. The glow of a fireplace sat in the far left corner, while a table and several documents lay in the opposite side—along with a freshly sharpened axe. It gleamed in the distant fire light. A gruff voice shot over it.

“D'ya always lug'a 'round dat weapon're wot?”

The half-demon looked at her side. There was her sword, as always, hugged tightly by her right hand. Prison wouldn't let her drop it. Ever. Face the human. Ask him for payment.”

“..I know.” She whispered to herself with a frown, taking a step forward. “I've completed my assignment. I'll be taking my pay, now.”

Silence followed. The man was smoking a cigar; the tip glowed through the haze of the room. Despite the massive sword in hand, she felt very, very small. Just as the girl opened her mouth to speak again, a 'shing' of small coins in a sack resounded from the table. Hesitantly, she approached, until the table and money were in view. So was the man. Another sweaty, stinky lumberjack—though this one sported an eye patch. How quaint. She took the gold and left, glad to have money in her pocket, but gladder still to be away from those men.

Walking towards Estolad, Haavan played with the idea of staying at a tavern tonight and taking a long, hot path. Maybe even napping in the soapy, steaming water. Anything to get the smell of her co-workers off of her. The massive weapon in her right hand rested against her shoulder, the cloth tied around its handle wrapped tightly around her wrist, like a hand cuff. Up ahead, the rumbling of a horse and carriage could be heard. Suddenly, a voice echoed through her mind.

Prepare yourself. We're to rob them. Before the girl could respond, her body was being pulled to the side, and she was crouching in the shadows of a leafy bush.

Lyon walked at a quick pace next to the horse-drawn carriage, his eyes scanning the wilderness on all sides. His hand kept close to the longsword at his side, ready to draw it in an instant. Now that they were entering the village, he didn't think they would be in any more danger, but he still kept on the alert, because it was his job. The mercenary had been hired in Lomedor to escort the carriage to Estolad, where it was to stop. There were three people riding it, a woman and two men. Only one of them was armed, and that was with nothing but a dagger, and Lyon severely doubted the commoner knew how to use it. That meant that if any bandits attacked, it would be up to him to fight them.

Fortunately, though, it seemed that they had made it to the village without any trouble. He could see it just up ahead, and surely no brigand would risk attacking with civilazation so near. Still, though, there were some pretty bold thieves...he had to keep on his guard, no matter how safe it seemed.

"Looks like we didn't need you after all!" one of the men called from the carriage. Lyon glanced over at him, and shouted back.

"My appearance probably scared them off! Few bandits will atack if there's an armed fighter around!" The man merely grunted and focused his attention on the reins, making sure the horse continued on in the right direction.

The brown-haired mercenary began thinking what he would do when he finally was able to leave his employers and sit down. His feet were killing him from all the walking he had been doing, and his throat was parched. He was looking forward to sitting down at a table in the Inn, and using his payment to get a mug of mead down his gullet.

He began to relax, surely everything would be okay now? The hand that was resting on the handle of his sword dropped, and he quit scanning every single bush and tree in his view. He thought only of the rest he would receive in less than half an hour. His back ached, his head was pounding, and he wanted nothing more than to lay down. He wasn't out of shape, but anyone would be tired after walking all the way from Lomedor to Estolad.

"So, what're you planning to do once we get inside the village?" The woman asked him.

"I think I'll head to the Kaima Inn and rest...tommorow, I'm probably gonna head to Ondolond," he answered. "Haven't gone there in a while, maybe I'll be able to find more work."

"Well, we appreciate you helping us out...bandits have been increasing in number lately, and it's not safe for folk like us to travel about on our own."

"Think nothing of it," he answered. "I only did it for the money."

As he walked, his eyes were drawn towards the side of the road. Was something there? He kept an eye trained on the place, but he didn't see anything. Must've just been my imagination, he thought, returning his gaze to the village ahead of them.

Haavan's breathing increased as the carriage drew closer. Spots of sunlight broke through the sparse layers of leaves above her, highlighting patches of her dark-skinned face. Prison dug into the turf at her side. She knew her captor was concocting a plan of attack; hurried whispering in the depths of her mind rose and fell like ocean waves as the blade argued with itself. There was an armed guard escorting the horse-drawn wagon, which complicated things. The entity was crafty, however, and soon drew up a plan.

The girl's mouth moved without her telling it to. Prison had taken control of her body. One hand lifted, then the other, to a rhythm of low whispers. Magic slid from her plush lips. Ahead of them, beyond the shadows of their hiding spot, the driver's head suddenly lurched upward. His eyes darted back and forth, as if watching some close-buzzing insect.

My energy is spent. I'll guide you through the rest. A demonic voice echoed through her mind. Haavan knew that in its weakened state, Prison could only cast spells—like the one it just had—sparingly, and at a great cost of energy. Telepathy was no trouble, however, and soon the blade's plan hovered through her thoughts. Lowering her blade, the half-demon crept further down the path to a blueberry bush, where she began filling the front of her blue-black cloak with the matching, tiny pieces of fruit. Afterwards, she walked out openly into the road, as if she were just passing through.

The driver was raving. He stopped the horses pulling the carriage with a tug of the reins, and jumped down, looking between the guard accompanying them and the newcomer down the road. He laughed, in a strange, incoherent voice, stalking towards her. Haavan turned with a feigned, wide-eyed expression of total innocence. Drop the berries. Came the voice in her mind. She let go of her cloak's front, putting one hand cautiously to her side. The other fell just in front of her mouth.

The man pulled a dagger from his belt, still raving, and lifted it as he approached. Already he was a handful of meters away and closing. Now.

“W-what are you doing?” She shouted in flawless, pretend fear, backing up slowly. Her eyes turned to the carriage and, more specifically, its guard. “W-what's going on? H-help! Help me!” The man continued his attack. Prison's spell had broken his thoughts; made him attack in a magic-induced stupor. Frankly, the blade was lucky the man hadn't attacked the guard first. That would have ruined everything.

Even so, Haavan was starting to get nervous. Her pleas became more real, and unarmed facing this raving, dagger-wielding human, she very much wished her captor had chosen a different, safer plan. Like heading back to town.

Lyon took only a few more steps forward towards the village when out of the corner of his eye he saw the wagon's driver twitch as if struck with something, and then begin looking around with a strange look on his face. What's gotten into him? he wondered, watching the man curiously. He was acting as though a sudden bout of nervousness had overcome him, and Lyon felt slightly uneasy with this sudden change in behavior. He didn't have any time to observe the fellow more closely, however, for at that moment a young woman came walking across the road, the front of the cloak she was wearing full of small berries.

There was a soft neighing from the horses as they were stopped, and Lyon glanced over at the driver in surprise. The two other occupants of the wagon were also watching the man in confusion, not understanding why he had stopped. He jumped down, and abruptly laughed in a slightly maniacal way. He approached the woman, his hand reaching down towards his belt.

"What...what are you doing?" the mercenary asked him in bewilderment. The woman turned, seemingly having just noticed the man coming towards her, and dropped the berries she was carrying as a look of shock came across her face. Lyon took a few steps closer to them, his eyes narrowing as he began to walk forward.

He saw light gleam off of the man's dagger as it left his belt. The girl backed away in fear, her voice a reflection of that fear as she asked what the man was doing. She had seen the blade and called for help, looking over towards the mercenary standing alone near the wagon. Confusion and bewilderment were prominent in his mind, but he didn't hesitate, rushing forward as he roared, "What the hell do you think you're doing!?" The other man and woman, the two still seated safely in the wagon, were also shouting.

The brown-haired mercenary tackled the dagger-wielding man, both of them landing roughly in the dirt. Lyon reached inside his cloak and pulled out his black dagger, holding it against the man's throat, but he still continued to struggle, causing Lyon to have to pin his arms against the ground so that he wouldn't get slashed by the blade clutched tightly in his hand. If he continued on like this, Lyon would have no choice but to kill him, something he really didn't want to have to do.

So much for nothing happening, he thought grimly, continuing to wrestle with the man. I better still get my paycheck, or I'm going to be seriously irritated... As the man renewed his efforts, thrashing around wildly, Lyon drew his fist back and punched the man's face, causing blood to squirt out from his nose. "Get away from this guy!" he shouted at the girl that had provoked this random violence.