"I told you already! Go away before I do something bad!" Demetrio Vasquez shouted, his face red and his breath shallow. For some strange and rather scary reason, a girl much younger than him ran out of her cottage to hug him! It had scared the living day-lights out of the poor boy who had never had much physical contact with strangers, especially those who wanted to hug him and such. So scared was he that he ran about half a mile with the girl right behind him screaming about how 'cute' he was. That didn't flatter him, no, not at all as he hated those kinds of girls and if he should ever have a lover it should be an equal, both in intelligence and status. But this...was absurd.

The girl, who appeared to be about thirteen, was still hot at his heels as he ran past a few shrubs and ponds. He was getting sick of this, very sick of it. He was so sick that he decided to use his very last resort, his magic. He had vowed to not use magic to attack another person but this was getting on his nerves and he hated being angry.

He took a deep breath. "I don't want to do this, but I have to," he muttered, bringing his hands up and picturing in his mind what would happen. Then, suddenly, he made a quick movement and poof! A crackling bolt of red electricity shot out from the palms of his hands and wrapped themselves around the girl, binding her temporarily...if it worked, of course. Demetrio took a sharp breath of regret as he watched the girl's eyes widen in surprise and her body twitch, trying to get out of the horrible confines. "Don't worry, it won't last long...a few more minutes at the very most," he chirped and rushed out of sight in fear of the hyper girl breaking free and chasing him once again.

He ran for the next five minutes or so, until the village that he had just passed by was nothing but a dot in the horizon. That was most close, he thought and kicked a pebble across the dirt moodily, feeling rather guilty about what he just did. If he had just talked to the girl maybe things would have been different and he wouldn't have had that sinking feeling of guilt in his chest, weighing him down like a rock.

Where am I? he asked himself and looked at his sack of belongings, searching for the map of Ardahe had recently bought to come up. Where had it gone! Normally, Demetrio was careful with his stuff, but the map must of dropped out when he was running away from that freaky girl. How was he ever going to find that patient now?

A silent sigh escaped him as he sat down a boulder, next to some farmlands that were in the distance, and took out the meal he had bought from the village he had just stopped by. It was a simple meal, two plump sausages; half a loaf of bread; a bit of cheese and a rosy wild apple. How long had it been since he had eaten? He had fasted for a week as it was a religious holiday in his home province and he felt a spurge to be religious. It wasn't so bad but looking at all the villagers eat meat... He bit into his sausage and chewed thoughtfully, wondering about the mysteries of life, stopping only when he heard the rustle in the bushes...

((OOC: Rosierre? LOL.))

It was high noon by the time she had walked out of a nearby shop, closing the door behind her gently as she was greeted by a warm breeze. In one hand she carried her precious violin--the one that her older brother Ricardo had sent from Laskar as a gift the year he had left to serve the Laskaran King. Even though the dark-colored case didn’t have lavish decorations of any sort, the instrument inside was of the highest quality. Thieves were always determined for the owners of such items hard, if they knew about the priceless things in the first place. So, it was better to have them think that the bag she carried had no worth at all. Besides, thieves would certainly have more confidence in stealing the violin once they learned about the owner’s passiveness. But if they thought that, they were wrong. Demetria Casciano wouldn’t let anyone take the instrument at any cost, especially if it was one that her brother had given her, sent all the way from her home country.

Just as she set foot onto the dirt road, a carriage sped past faster than imaginable, leaving a thick cloud of dirt in its wake. Catching her breath, the 16-year-old girl leapt back in alarm, clutching the violin to her chest. With a sigh of dismay, she saw that her mahogany robes were now covered in street dust. Her wide brown eyes followed the carriage until it disappeared into the hills, but not a single curse escaped from her mouth. Instead, she patted off her robes the best she could, and scolded herself for her carelessness. What had brought her to cross a road without looking first? It was true that carriages were few in Estolad, but she shouldn’t ever forget the lessons she had learned back in Vanoskye.

With a layer of dust covering her magicians’ robes, she almost looked pitiful. No one in their right minds would think of her as the daughter of a wealthy merchant. And as far as stereotypes go, she would be far from being one. Rich girls always wore velveteen dresses with satin sashes, no? And, they would walk with the most confident and ladylike air; chin up, back straight, and probably a parasol to keep the sun off their delicate skin. They wouldn’t have a single package in their hands--what were their maids for? A small box of rosin for a violin bow would never be seen in their hands, not to mention a plain-looking violin case. Demetria lacked all of this. When a man in a crowded street accidentally bumped roughly into her, she would apologize instead of demanding one.

Despite all this, a cheerful manner overrode her as she walked down a solitary path, away from the village. Squares of growing crops lined the small road, and she couldn’t help marveling at the numerous amounts of different crops. A few farmers ploughed away at the fields under the scorching sun, nevertheless, and Demetria admired their sense of hard work. She was sure that Ricardo would’ve noticed this too back in Laskar, where he was protecting villages against bandit raids. Even though her brother had been gone only for a year, her mind always wondered over how he might be doing. He was the type to get himself into unnecessary trouble. On the road she saw a roll of parchment before almost stepping on it. Curious, she picked it up, only to find that it was a map of Arda. With a small shrug, she tucked it within the folds of her robes.

Demetria paused as she heard the sound of water nearby, and squeezed through the bushes until she came to the stream. But what she didn’t notice was the fact that someone else was there, too. She glanced at him and realized that he was the man whom a younger 13-year-old girl had referred to on the way--the one that had attacked the unfortunate girl with magic. In her surprise, she stumbled over a tree root (how could she let her frequent clumsiness overtake her, at such a time?) and the small square box of rosin flew from her grasp. A small tint of frustration swept through her. Even though she might seem unconfident at times, she still had a faint sense of dignity her mother had passed on to her. Tripping in front of a stranger--a proud-looking one with the appearance of a merchant’s son--was enough so that she lost her balance instead of steadying herself.

The bushes began the shake and tumble as Demetrio Vasquez immediately jumped up, fumbling at his belt to extract his dagger. “Ouch!” the healer called out as he accidentally pricked himself in the finger during his impatience to brandish the weapon. A girl stepped out from under the evergreen trees. Her apparel seemed modestly elegant, a brown set of magician’s robes matching carefully with her equally brown hair and eyes.

It was the afternoon, and the few birds that did not migrate were just already warming up and singing whatever tunes their instincts ordered. A lone falcon flew overhead, calling to it's mate. A fish swam in the river--no the stream or was it maybe a brook, rainbow scales flashing gaily. It soon disappeared into the depths of the tranquil farmland. A giant catfish rose out of the deep water, and swished it's tail through the waters, propelling itself along the ice for some time, then it too sank back down. The whole world was silent.

Scrutinizing the girl slowly, he noticed that she looked similar to past memories before he almost hit himself mentally (he’d never hit himself physically, it wasn’t too good for the health). Watching the girl stumble out of the shrubbery, the healer instantly went to help her as she swayed to the side. Throwing his dagger into the earth, it whizzed down with a satisfying thumb, his mind instantly healing his small cut with a few sparks. As a healer it was almost second nature to heal yourself of any fatigue or injuries you sustained. As the final spark fell to the ground, Demetrio caught the girl in his arms, his magic searching for any injuries physically or internally.

“Are you alright?” inquired the young boy, his quick scan providing no results of injury. She probably just tripped on a weed or tree root along the path, thought Demetrio as he eased her to a tree trunk lying nearby. Quickly shuffling in his bag for that canteen of iced herbal tea that his father had a given an entire crate of, the healer gingerly held it over.

Vasquez & Sons Tea Company was currently booming in Arda where one of the main distributors, some Wilwatson’s Pub was just coming back for more and more. Green tea, herbal tea, lemon tea, rose tea, iced tea, and more and more were all provided and imported all the way from Laskar where the ideal conditions were unrivalled anywhere. Perfect soil, angles, and sunshine as well as the elven hotsprings that surrounded the lands are ensured a wonderful product.

However, the healer quickly changed subjects as he realized that he was almost thinking like an advertiser or business man, not like a healer. Someday that would become more helpful, the Demetrio would open up Vasquez & Co. Healers, but that wouldn’t be until later. Looking around, the healer continued to search for his map until he tripped himself over…a parcel of some sort that seemed rather beaten up.

“What’s this?”

((OOC: Did I mention she was gullible? ;) ))

Her fingers met air as she stumbled forward, and she braced herself for a smoother landing. However, she had never questioned herself why her parents had always called her clumsy. Even lessons in martial arts didn’t steer her in the right direction. But no, the painful landing on some odd-looking bush didn’t take place, to her surprise and much to her relief. Instead, she was steadied just in time. Whenever she cut herself from the vase she had knocked over, or lost her balance, her mom would always turn to her and say; 'Now you’ve learned your lesson!' But this time, she appeared to have triumphed over that repeated phrase with a bit of help.

"Are you alright?" the boy asked. It was almost ironic how the person who had stunned her into tripping helped her at the same time, or was it? Her mind swirled with the small tint of pride she had, and she merely nodded without meeting his eyes. Who this person was, she wasn’t sure. No, Demetria wasn’t someone who knew every other person in the world, and confronting someone even just to ask for directions would be a good enough step for her. And being the obedient daughter she was, she had never spoken to strangers when she was a small child. But circumstances change, don't they? At court, it would be considered most impolite if you didn’t speak to others, even if you never had anything to say in the first place, which will lead people to come to the wrong conclusion, and it’s never good when people have the wrong impressions, and the list just gets longer and longer, and why is all this nonsense running through her mind?

It all ended when a cup of tea was held in front of her, and she mumbled an almost inaudible 'Thank you' before sipping it gratefully. What use was tea when it was quaffed down hurriedly? Ricardo never understood how to take things slowly, she mused. But halfway through the cup, she stopped and stared down at the tea she held lightly. Laskaran tea? It wasn’t just uniquely Laskaran, but there was something else to the herbs that gave them a special taste. Forgetting herself, she looked up at the teenage boy in disbelief. "Vasquez!" It was rather unthought-of to meet another member of a tea merchant family in another country, deep within some unknown scrap of forest. How unpredicted, yet the most unpredictable things always happened to her.

Before she could call out, the boy almost tripped over her bag while looking for something on the grass, jolting her back to her senses. "What’s this?" he asked as she stared at her violin, left forgotten and prone to damage on the ground. Her mind clicked, and she remembered the small girl she had met on the road, saying that a so-called 'cute but deadly' magician was on the loose. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand reached inside her robes for the first item she came across. The map of Arda was launched into the air, spinning like a shuriken towards Demetrio Vasquez. Such violence coming from a lady...but really, what good would a scroll of flying parchment do anyway?

Carefully, Demetrio heard a slight clinking noise resonating around him, as he twisted his head to and fro, his slightly reckless hair shaking about. It refused to stay tame as if it had a life of its own, a wild spirit refusing to stay calm. Every morning it had a new angle or hairdo and no amount of hair gel or oil in the world would ever cure it or shackle it into the confines of peaceful, normal society.

Many of his mother’s friends all said that the next time they met, they would find a powerful mage or priest in order to perform an exorcism upon his hopelessly reckless “mane,” as many would name it. Of course, he just needed to find the right barber shop or scissors to fix that problem. It had been quite a few months since Demetrio’s last haircuts, the last one from Vanoskye. The sudden thought of his hometown in Laskar brought along a fresh wave of homesickness and guilt to the young healer as he remembered the memories of the city, the gradient textures that would be reflected off of each wall and cobblestone in the streets, the bustling carts that rushed through the streets threatening to trample anyone or anything unfortunate to find their selves in its path or even the peddlers that marked the streets selling tiny curios or trinkets along a busy boulevard.

Pausing, the boy prepared to open the parcel and observe the inside of its package before peering at the girl to see any objection. She seemed strangely mesmerized by the sudden offer of his father’s company’s Laskaran Herbal Tea. Was it too strong? A foreign taste she wasn’t accustomed to, or perhaps this was another disgusting alcoholic who plunged themselves upon the local deity brew named, “Mazzer’s Special Brew.” What an unoriginal name, thought the boy as he snorted to himself mentally. What kind of Public Relations Officer ever allowed that kind of product on the market? The alcoholic beverage was fit to use as a weapon then as a drink to relax with, but this was a strange land full of strange people.

Unfortunately, when Demetrio looked up, her expression suddenly went livid as she stared at him as if he were some sort of monstrous beast rather then a nineteen year old healer that was hopelessly lost. He had lost quite a lot of time that could have been used billing his customers, but he hadn’t become an independent entity yet. This was merely a form of recreational income. His actual stipend derived the from the allowance that his parents sent every month for food, a place to stay, and even the occasional spell or two combined with the gold he received doing the odd healing gig. It wasn’t a bad thing, but Demetrio hoped that in a few years or so he would be able to afford his own home where it would double as a clinic and then his business would boom. If business plans went right, he might even be able to afford a cleric that wandered the lands so often.

However, none of this prepared Demetrio for what would happen as he once again snapped out of his thoughts, a piece of parchment flying towards him. Wait! That was his map! Where had that girl found it? Had she stolen it? Had she stumbled upon it when traversing around? Knocking itself with a satisfying “thunk” upon Demetrio’s cranium, he stumbled a few steps backwards in shock, tripping over a piece of resin littering the ground. With a thundering crash, he stumbled across a thorn bush, whacking his head upon a tree trunk, blood starting to ooze out a large gash around his arm.

Slightly moaning in pain from the gash, Demetrio pulled himself up, his arm instantly healing itself in a myriad of white sparks that weaved themselves across his wound. As his stamina returned, a grimace formed across his face, anger filling in his eyes. He almost felt like exploding before looking at the girl. He’d wait for HER reaction before exploding.

“Is that how you thank people for helping you? I would have thought better from a local towns girl! Hmph!” barked Demetrio as he grabbed his bag, threatening to leave. This was turning out to be a bad day with women. Not only had he been forced to use magic, but his entire tailor-made suit had been ruined with scratches from the thorn bush.

The scroll soared along with the afternoon breeze, probably propelled slightly faster than expected by the light wind. It would normally have bounced off the boy, doing no more than leaving a faint surprise, but her calculations must’ve went wrong. However, when she really came to think of it, what had ever been right in her life, other than being a daughter who was most obedient until a few weeks ago? In the shoes of Demetria Casciano, life was hard. But what was she to do? Before her question edged itself into her mind, the answer was already there. She was going to fix everything piece by piece, of course. This time, her mind was made up. Whatever came her way, she would be glad to meet it.

As for what the scroll had done, she didn’t feel like meeting this situation at all. The girl flinched visibly as the wayward scroll succeeded in applying its full impact on the unfortunate healer. Stumbling backwards, he lost his footing over her stray-laying box of rosin (and there was a crack as the rosin broke to pieces). That wasn’t all, much to Demetria’s distress. He slammed into the tree trunk, and a wound suddenly appeared, leaving his perfect clothes…well, stained with some blood. Luckily enough, he was a healer who knew what to do, but that didn’t make Demetria feel any less guilty. A small tremble traversed through the length of her spine as she gazed down at the tea cupped inside her hands. Even if he was the evil magician the 13-year-old village girl claimed him to be, he didn’t deserve a single inch of what had happened, especially after his kindness.

Only when she dared to look up at him again, she could see the sheer amount of anger crossing his features, and the girl dropped her eyes once more. Was the village girl wrong about who he was? If she had believed information merely because someone else said it was true, then the blame was all the more hers, and no less. Here was another notch to add to the things that went wrong in her life. Ricardo would’ve done nothing of the sort. He always seemed to know what was right, and that was one aspect Demetria envied. Even if he did do something incorrectly, he never thought the sky was falling.

So she waited for the inevitable storm to come her way. “Is that how you thank people for helping you? I would have thought better from a local town’s girl! Hmph!” Indeed. And now she was the equivalent of a town’s girl, wasn’t she? A wave of emotions washed through her, but she refused to look up in case her sentiment showed through her face, as it always did. She slapped her inner self for being completely heartless, ignorant, and Goddess knows what else, but somewhere in the far corners of her reach, hid a small inch of pride. Oh what was she to do? The worst had come true, all because of her gullible, ignorant self, and Demetrio (or was he Alphonso?) hated her. At this point, she hated herself, but pride bit back an open apology.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out and gathered the small bits of rosin and place them back into the 5cm-by-5cm box. Walking slowly to the map, and picked it up. Only when the rosin was tucked inside her pocket did she dare to glance up again. Her eyes narrowed in determination ever so slightly. “You might think however you want, but I would give people a second chance for their faults.” Looking down at the map in her hands, she let a small, somewhat crooked grin leak out--it was something of her brother’s that had soon been passed on to her after seeing him smile so much. “I…I’m sorry,” she admitted, and it wasn’t without difficulty, either. “Truce?” she asked, and tossed the roll into the air towards Demetrio/Alphonso/Whatever Other Name He Might Have. And no, this throw wasn’t supposed to do any damage at all. If it did, may the gods curse her.

The soft rays of light slowly diminished as their dying rays poked through the dense foilage of the forest canopy. Small particles of dust hung suspended in the air, reflecting the light in patches clear of branches and leaves. However, none of this disturbed Demetrio Vasquez from the tattered rags that were once his custom, tailor-made suit. This was made out of the finest silks in Arda, compliments of his parents and now this ignorant girl had helped to completely destroy.

Maybe this land just hated men or wished them to have ruinous lives, or maybe it was just that Demetrio never had much luck with the female gender of his race. It was a true fact, whenever Demetrio was supposed to go to court with some lady or another the entire experience was always an event best left forgotten. Usually they ended up with a conversation less carriage ride, followed by Demetrio just sitting around or joining his other “friends” in the ballroom or other meeting. He never considered himself too handsome, but quite a few girls had once tried to chase him, the girl in the very beginning being the quintessential example.

Walking over to pluck his dagger from the ground, the youngest Vasquez of the family empire peered at himself in the cold metal’s impeccable reflection. His former suit was in tatters. It had once consisted of a beautiful white jacket that was as usual buckled up to his throat through golden buttons. It was completed with matching shoes and of course leather boots for all the reckless terrain he was forced to trek through. All that remained was the collared tunic that was still tucked into his belt and a now dirtied pair of pants. The boots of course could take all the abuse but the jacket was hopelessly ruined.

Sheathing the sword in its simple leather scabbard, another accessory of his belt, he quickly buckled the safety inside, making sure he didn’t cut himself again like last time. He would just never be a warrior or even a battle mage. A healer was his destiny, Demetrio could still dabble in the other arts of magic.

As the girl drooped down to collect her belongings, Demetrio began to feel sorry for the slight temper he had revealed to her. But the pride or even hostility that was instilled by his brother, Alphonso, refused the words to even find their way to his throat. It was as if it had built a wall. His face’s cruel expression helped to emphasize it, but his eyes didn’t. It was almost a paradox.

“You might think however you want, but I would give people a second chance for their faults,” the girl replied to his accusation, letting a small but barely noticeable grin pry its way onto her lips. Only Demetrio’s abilities for detecting detail as a healer saved him from discarding that quick flash of emotion as the girl continued, “I…I’m sorry,” flowed the apology easily, “Truce?”

Quickly she tossed the map as Demetrio this time caught it skillfully, his named etched onto the parchment with golden ink. This was definitely his map and now he would at least know where he would be. Looking up with the appearance of relief, Demetrio smiled for the first time the unfortunate pair had met.

“Thanks for the map back…um, Miss…” the healer hesitated as he suddenly realized that he still didn’t know that girl’s name. Moving to collect his things, Demetrio expertly began to pack his belongings into his efficiently organized backpack.

Unfortunately as Demetrio finally placed the canteen of tea back into his pack he detected a foul odor under his nose. The healer’s nose wrinkled and some muscles in his face twitched involuntarily. It was as if a farmer with a truck full of fresh manure was approaching him. Suddenly he heard the trample of quite a few cows and horses, with the high-pitched shriek of the girl who had chased him. Unfortunately, she was accompanied by quite a few gruffer tones, the clash of metal upon wood evident. That girl had come back…with back-up!

The impediments that prevented an unfettered life. Such difficult…things occurred to all beings, even outside the furthest reaches of the known world. But as the girl thought of herself, it seemed as if these things laid themselves on her path the most frequently and mercilessly. In short, the sky fell on her shoulders far more often than it did on anyone else’s. No, she wasn’t the only person whose perfect day was hindered; the thought seeped into her mind as she glanced at the boy’s tattered new suit. And all this was caused by the throw of a single straying scroll, fuelled by her own gullible self. If Demetria had been an arrogant prince whose name I shall not mention, the scroll would’ve been blasted to pieces by now in sheer frustration and ruined pride. However, the only feeling she felt towards this scroll was the feeling of dread, and it seemed that an immense guilt and nemesis had left her as she tossed it back to its owner.

She caught the escaping expression of relief that left the boy’s face as he smiled and caught the scroll swiftly. This smile was far more welcoming to see than the penetrating glares she had received moments before, and his relief--which had given Demetria hers--swept through her like the warm breeze that rustled the leaves pleasantly from above. From his simple smile, once more her cheerful manner returned, and the stream trickled softly, echoing her own optimism. Indeed, it was better once problems were resolved, and her pride back where it belonged, no longer torturous. It was then that she noticed the angle of which the rays of the sun hit the trees around them, painting a picture that she had only thought true in her imagination.

The boy thanked her, and she nodded once as if to say ‘You’re welcome’. His voice trailed once it came to her name, and Demetria almost smiled at the rather ironic fact that they hadn’t even introduced themselves since her clumsy surprise. “Demetria Casciano,” she replied, dipping into a polite curtsy that would’ve made Mother proud--it was almost a pity that she didn’t see it. “And might I ask for your name, sir?”

Her words drowned in the presence of a high-pitched shriek that she would’ve thought impossible, and the sound of a group of people following behind, with shovels and rakes poking themselves from the bushes and trees. However, it was the unpleasantly pungent smell that almost made her gag, but her dignity remained, and she merely blocked out the stench with her hand. Because of her origin, she hadn’t been brought up among farm animals, and had no experience with such odors at all. But as the group came closer, she could see the malicious scowls on the few men’s faces, with the 13-year-old girl pointing furiously in their direction. Oh dear. Seeing their determination made their makeshift weapons look even more hostile, and she didn’t want to imagine what a blow from a shovel head would feel like.

Her eyes wandered over to the boy questionably, her astonishment evident. Hugging her violin to her chest, the girl had just realized that she hadn’t taken a single breath since the shriek, and inhaled a large breath slowly. Demetria felt the sudden urge to dive behind the 19-year-old boy, like the times she would hide behind Ricardo from Father’s disapproving glares when she was small. Her eyes darted towards the boy’s back out of instinct. But what good would that do? she scolded herself and the crooked smile tugged at her lips as she thought of her childhood, where Ricardo had been her wall more than just a few of times. Here, she was supposed to be the experienced magician in the arts of magical combat. But that only reassured her less, for some reason.

"Lady Kemensereg! We've found him!" Came the shouts. The Lady Kemensereg in questions glanced towards the riders rushing up to her, and she gave a laugh. Everything was going according to plan. If everything went off without a hitch, she would have a hostage, and then she would be capable of dragging the Keepers and the remainder of the Syndicate of Blades into battle. And it wouldn't be a battle they could win, she would be deploying her special division.

"Okay, let's do this then. Artas, take five of your strongest men, dismont from your horses, and pin him down. I'll handle anyone who wants to stop us." She ordered. Charlotte drew her sword with a simultaneous pull from the sheathe and pushing the sheathe off of her sword. The demonness idly picked up the sheathe, and clipped it back onto her armor. With that, she strode forwards, and raised the zweihender. She brought the flat of it's blade onto her shoulder, and a full four feet of the massive blade struck outwards into the air.

She parted the crowds with a single hand, and then they darted aside as they figured out who it was. It was the famous Charlotte Kemensereg. Her zweihender over one shoulder, and her helm suspended against her hip by her spare hand. Golden hair fell down her back in waves, and intense green eyes seemed to be fixed on Demetrio. She was taller than most of the people she was walking through. As soon as she reached the other side of the crowd, she used her zweihender to point at Demetria.

"Don't get involved, girl, or your life will be more of a hell than mine is." Charlotte said. Six men broke from the crowd and attempted to pin Demetrio. If they succeeded, they would bind him up in the rope that the sixth man was carrying as the rest tried to get him to the ground. Charlotte gave an amused smile at the sight, and then flicked her attention back at Demetria. She raised her helm, and planted it atop her head. Her eyes luminesced red through the narrow eye slits in her helm. Her now empty hand drew a dagger, and held it between her index finger and thumb.

"As soon as you boys are done, get back to the Fortress, don't wait up. If things go bad, I can always see if Ita will help." Charlotte informed her men. Then yet again, her attention went back to Demetria, as though she was awaiting the woman to do something. Or to get herself killed by a demonness who really was looking forwards to her next battle.

As the bushes were trampled underfoot, quite a few vehement farmers stared at Demetrio distinctly, only the thought of bloodshed in their eyes. During a situation like this, Demetrio often wondered how and why Ita the Reckless didn’t just step out of these hinterland citizens’ eyes and slaughter Demetrio here and there. Each farmer carried their own makeshift weapon, from a pitchfork that slightly resembled a war trident to shovels which acted like a spear. Even the small boy’s of the village had brought large, thick branches and a few more brought unlit torches. This could turn into another one of those clichés that Demetrio had heard about in the bards’ tales in the Wilwarin Inn and Pub, where undead monsters hulked away from the crowds with his master. Surprisingly, the house wives that usually attended home while the men were away also wanted a piece of the bloodshed carrying cleavers that were already drenched in chicken blood. Demetrio only hoped he wouldn’t have to be smeared on those blades of the kitchen.

Almost feeling like fainting, Demetrio cursed his second nature healing abilities as the healing magic that he had slowly mastered took their affect only allowing more strength to flow into his head, giving him the appearance of a defiant warrior or even battle mage! Although that would have been fine for a warrior that belonged to some holy organization, this was the last thing that ever needed to happen to the young Demetrio Vasquez, whose life was cruelly and gruesomely ended at the hands of a girl who he rejected. The healer already imagined his funeral, his friends snickering behind their parent’s back as the priest read out the sermon, his tomb stone reading Here lays, Demetrio Vasquez, a young boy who was slaughtered by an angry mob of farmers.

No! He wouldn’t die off like that, even if Ita emerged from all this hatred, although having himself destroyed and eradicated off the face of the planet by the goddess of chaos, Lady Ita Kemesereng, wasn’t as bad as being “slaughtered by an angry mob of farmers” and more glorious too. He wouldn’t mind if his tomb stone read reading Here lays, Demetrio Vasquez, a young boy who was slaughtered by an angry mob of farmers the Goddess of Chaos, Lady Ita. Fortunately, he didn’t have a death wish… yet.

However, Demetrio had no idea that his wish or thought would come true as the crowd soon dispersed, causing Vasquez to fall into a sort of mental loop, his mind unable to get past the point of why the angry mob wasn’t trying to slaughter him. Unfortunately, his thoughts were answered in a monstrous warrior stepped out, a humongous blade draped across her shoulder. Was this the Lady Ita Kemersereg?

"Okay, let's do this then. Artas, take five of your strongest men, dismont from your horses, and pin him down. I'll handle anyone who wants to stop us." began the warrior as Demetrio gave only a dumb befuddled look. What was happening?

However, before he knew anything, 5 burly men tackled Demetrio full force, almost snapping his back and causing him to lose all the air in his stomach as the poor healer’s head bounced upon a tree trunk, knocking him unconscious. He had no idea he was part of a bigger plan though.