The Cliftlands were rocky lands, the pathways set upon cliffs that broke apart from each other to reveal trenches with the lands only water source at the very bottom of them. Even though the heat of the lands was nothing compared to that of the Sunlands, the sun shined down upon the lands and blessed them with its raging heat. Since the lands had scarce water sources and any vegetation, the creatures were forced to scavenge for things to eat, things that would soon collapse and kiss death on its lips.

Although Olberic was more than happy to take on the role as the lead hunter, it proved difficult to hunt with a sword on hand and even more difficult to strike down birds of prey that loomed over them with a makeshift polearm. Without the adequate provisions to feed the three, they would surely die unless they turned back to Clearbrook and resupply with the single leaves they had left.

Luckily, Alfyn didn't have such a hard time finding things for him and his companions to eat as they traveled through the dry, desolate canyon and into the North Bolderrfall Pass. Throughout the last few days of the trio traveling together, Alfyn, who often survived on two coins and the clothing on his back alone, taught the other two to follow smaller critters incapable of taking down bigger predators to see where they got most of their food from.

When the sun started to set, they made a temporary place of themselves to rest, using dry leaves and grass to start a fire that would keep them warm throughout the night. Although the creatures of the Riverlands were kept away by the smell of burning grass, those of the Cliftlands, hungry for a quick meal in the dry canyon, would do anything necessary to ensure their survival even if it meant dealing with such a revolting smell. The three decided to take turns watching over the other two, exchanging posts with each other every three hours.

By the time it was Olberic's turn to stand watch, the moon hung over his head.

Although the warrior never expected to have the company of anyone during his journey, he found himself thanking Brand and the other Gods for such a twist in his fate. To travel a lonely journey would have meant traveling a path with a thorn of the past at his side. With the two simply being at his side, he thought very little of the nightmares that plagued him every night.

Alfyn, body sprawled all over the ground he laid on, snoring his throat off, had an infectious optimistic personality that occasionally brought up Olberic's spirits. Primrose, curled up into a ball next to Olberic, had a much more relaxed demeanor as she acted as the voice of reason to Alfyn's more energetic spirit. The three of them seemed to be an odd trio of companions with their different personalities but they all seemed to compliment each others'.

As their journey together grew older by the day, they seemed to get much closer. Olberic glanced over to Primrose. She never spoke to either of the men about what set her sights on the town of Stillsnow aside from the hooded man bearing the crow on his left arm and the two never pressured her to reveal her hidden motives. Olberic hopped that one day she would trust him enough to reveal her plans to him. Even though the woman was distrusting of the warrior since the beginning, Olberic noticed how she started to tear down her walls around him as they started to understand each other better, a fact made even more known after Olberic's encounter with the blotted viper.

From the few conversations and interactions they shared together, Olberic made her out to be a woman with a guarded heart around others until proven that they are kind hearted. She was wise, experience being her teacher, and charming, expressing gratitude through taking care of those she held dear. There was a strength in her that hid deep within her as well as a burden that burned alongside it.

Olberic admired the woman and was glad that they have grown closer, that fate even placed them on the same path. It was strange how their growing relationship was changing Olberic as Primrose danced around his mind more and more with every passing day. There was never enough time in the world for Olberic as he listened to what she had to say whether it was about where they were going or if voicing some concern over Alfyn's interest in the new surroundings around him which lead him to being reckless.

Admiration turned into adoration, Olberic noticed, as he grew closer to the dancer.

Olberic shook the thoughts away, dismissing Primrose's actions for the past few days as being nothing more than her simply expressing concern over him. Besides, he had lost his purpose and what good would he as a man to her if he truly knew nothing about what he fought for? If he failed to protect his king and his kingdom then he would surely fail in protecting the dancer and then where would his purpose go after his failure? Nowhere except into the clutches of the void buried deep within his heart.

That was something he couldn't risk.

Alfyn's snoring, getting worser with every breath the man took, brought Olberic out of his thoughts. He laughed quietly to not disturb either of the two. Alfyn was a breath of fresh air compared to the other two serious ones. Even though he only just recently joined them, Olberic and the apothecary bonded quickly over mutual respect for each other's skills and their love of drinking, the two promising that, whenever they had the leaves for it, the two would drink a night or two away in the company of one another. Alfyn acted gentlemanly with Primrose, asking her occasionally from time to time if she needed to stop and rest, and Primrose looked after him, apparently knowing something that resided deep within the medicine man that Olberic did not know about. As the party's main healer, Alfyn made it his mission to gain the trust of his companions and that meant developing a close bonds with them, creating them with such ease with his charisma.

Olberic looked up to the night stars, unable to imagine a different life without the two of them, "My fate couldn't have turned out any better."

The song of the night was his only company aside from the crackling of the fire. He gazed into the fire that burned bright, the flames flickering and whipping at the cold air around it. Nights of Erhardt and him camping out in the outskirts of Hornburg, sharing funny tales of the things they've seen together throughout their knighthood, came back to Olberic. Erhardt was a man of a good heart and had a strength that was only rivaled by his drinking capabilities. Olberic, time and time again, tried to come up with a reason as to what changed inside his friend but not a single one of them made sense to him.

They were brothers related only through spirit and will alone. They fought at each other's side never letting the other falter, they drank their nights away together until Olberic was no more, Olberic was one side of Hornburg's blade while Erhardt was the other. Erhadrt should have been able to tell Olberic whatever was on his mind but Olberic never suspected anything was amiss since his friend always had a smile on his face, a mask hiding a distorted truth.

Olberic gazed at the spot beyond the fire where Erhardt would usually sit only to find nothingness. Nothing made sense to Olberic anymore. From beyond the spot, there was a shadow that stood close to the face of the cliff in front of the campsite. A quiet laugh, then silence. Olberic, never lifting his eyes away from the shadow, carefully grabbed his sword, not making any sudden movements to alert the intruder.

The sword shined with the light of the fire. The shadow moved suddenly but only slightly, the figure going low to the ground. Then, in an instant, it dashed towards the fire. Olberic kept his sword high, his two other companions sounds sleep. "Primrose! Alfyn!" They did not stir from the sound of Olberic's voice, exhaustion getting the better of them.

The shadow pounced through the fire. Either from exhaustion or lack of real food, he thought he saw the face of Erhardt, a spirit that leaped from within the darkness of the past into the fires of Olberic's reality. The figure knocked him down to the ground, the hallucination of his old friend's face fading away to reveal the snout of a Laughing Hyaena, laughing at Olberic's misery. The laugh was enough to spring the other two into a sense of urgency, both of them quickly turning to the source only to find Olberic struggling with the beast, two hands prying open the mouth of it in an attempt to spare himself from being mauled.

Alfyn, taking out his axe from his satchel, quickly got up and ran to assist his friend. He swung his axe at the creature too busy to notice his fast approach, "Let me give you hand there, buddy!" The axe dug into the hind legs of the Hyaena, causing it to quickly tumble onto Olberic's side. It laughed at them as it got back into an attacking stance, it's hind leg wounded but the creature's hungry gaze set on taking down both of the men.

It ran to Alfyn, angry at the apothecary for getting in the way of obtaining his meal for the night. Alfyn raised a hand at the creature, icy mist gathering in the palm of his open hand. "Sorry but you need to chill out, buddy!" An ice lance shot directly at the beast but shattered on impact, not a single scratch was left on it. The Hyaena laughed but not at its attacker failed attack or pun. It laughed as he knocked the man down to the ground with its body, barring its teeth as he swooped down to bite him but getting caught on the handle of the axe the man shoved in it.

In the midst of their struggle as one desperately tried to get the upper hand on the other, a light shined bright behind them. The Hyaena, laughing in sheer pain, desperately tried to get away, the smell of burning fur potent and filling the air around them. The beast let go of the axe handle, a paw stomping on Alfyn's forehead as the Hyaena made a run for its life into the shadows of the Cliftlands. Alfyn, rubbing his aching forehead, looked up to see Primrose holding a piece of fire wood that still bore the flame it was a part of.

"If ice doesn't harm it," Primrose explained her process of thinking, throwing the wood back into the flame, consuming it whole, "why not try burning it with fire? I noticed that the creature had fresh burn marks across its face and thought of the idea." She helped Alfyn up from the ground.

It was true. Earlier when the beast attacked him, he noticed that deep red marks ran across from the Hyaena's snout to right side of its neck. Olberic, after getting up and collecting his thoughts from the encounter, found the marks strange since no other creature that lived near the town of Bolderfall used fire magic. Whatever caused the Hyaena to come across and attack Olberic was surely just frightened as scavengers from the Cliftlands were not known to attack without reason.

"We should be on our guard," Olberic advised the other two, his sword at the side, "Those marks are a sign that something - or someone - is out there." He was sure that each one of them were capable of defending the other two but it was better to be safe than caught off guard and placed into a terrible position.

The three of them agreed to stay up through the night until there was enough light for them to see where they were going. They started to talk amongst each other with Olberic complimenting Alfyn's ability to quickly strike with his axe and then immediately conjure up a weapon made of ice. "Aw, shucks," Alfyn blushed, the man not knowing how to take a compliment from a man who was the definition of strength. "It's really nothin' special."

Primrose thought back again to Alfyn's ice magic. He was able to use it precisely to create delicate containers for his concoctions as well as conjure up weapons from out of thin air. Magic takes focus and Primrose figured that if Alfyn, a man with his focus all over the place yet still set on a single goal, could control his talents then perhaps she could as well.

"Alfyn," She began, "what do you know about dark magic?"

Alfyn and Olberic stopped their conversations upon hearing such a question about the forbidden magic. "Dark magic?" Not everyone in Orsterra knew the dangers of using such a type of elemental magic since no one was able to get their hands upon the books detailing how to acquire it in the first place. Scholars and some monsters of Orsterra were the only ones that could learn and use such magic. If one was gifted with the power to speak to animals or knew a friend of a friend who knows a scholar personally, then that person was in luck to even learn a speck of that type of black magic's secrets.

Alfyn knew a thing or two about the magic Primrose spoke of. After all, Zeph's father was the one that provided him and Zeph with all the books necessary to become an apothecary and owned a few books detailing how to learn and use certain types of magic. While the two of them, still children and knowing nothing about the dangers of wielding such elemental power, were eager to learn how to shoot ice and wind out of their hands, Zeph's father sat them down and lectured them, talking about how dragons bestowed their knowledge of magic, a gift granted to them from the Gods, to the people of Orsterra.

There were only six types of magic, five of them depending on the user's output of physical energy to produce whatever it was the user desired if they had the energy to produce it. Wind magic can make the user evade attacks with ease just as light magic heals and blesses. The only type of magic that didn't follow such a rule was dark magic. "I know a few things 'bout it." Alfyn replied, "What about it?"

The ritual, the woman from Whispermill, the dark magic, Primrose explained it all to Alfyn who listened. Once she was done, she held up her hand to her face, studying it, "Ever since then, I've had the ability to use dark magic but I remember being controlled by something the first time I used it." The woman crossed her mind again. Her smile burned bright in Primrose's mind which made her shiver at the thought that she was being controlled by someone else.

"That's 'cause you were." Alfyn explained, the warnings from Zeph's father coming back to him as he recalled his teachings, "Ya see, spreadin' knowledge of dark magic became forbidden to everyone that wasn't a scholar because physical energy isn't enough to use it. People found out how to steal the energy from around themselves and learned how to unleash it's full potential."

Unlike how Alfyn explained it to Primrose, Zeph's father was much more harsh, his words with the intent to make sure the two boys knew nothing of the Galdera's magic as he explained that people learned to sap the life out of others to destroy whole towns and villages.

He pointed a finger to his head, "Since you didn't know how to gather the physical energy from around you, I reckon you accidentally let that magic sap some of your mental strength. Using too much of that without having the proper strength to withstand it could have driven you to insanity which, if ya asked me, was probably that woman's goal to begin with."

Primrose's hand tightened. That woman planned to use her as a pawn in a plan that Primrose knew nothing about. What would she achieve by giving her such a dark curse? She wouldn't use it in favor of the woman's ploy. The way the magic held Helgenish in its grasp, however, proved to be helpful in saving Primrose's life. Although it would take years for her to have the mental fortitude that rivaled that of a scholar's, perhaps there was another way to produce that type of magic without losing her mind to the darkness.

She glanced at Alfyn, "Is there any way for me to use a different energy in its place?"

Olberic looked at her as if she had already gone mad, "Primrose, as someone who swore their life to protect you I cannot allow you to- "

"And what if you can't protect me? If my dagger fails me, should I just embrace death?" She was back in the Sunshade desert, body on the ground as she watched Olberic, much too far away from her to stop her from meeting her fate. The words cut through the air and made Olberic fall silent while Alfyn watched, not daring to get in the middle of them. Her words held a foreseeable truth that Olberic couldn't avoid for much longer until the day arrived too late for him to realize it. "Thank you for worrying but I wouldn't be myself if I always relied on you." That wasn't the only reason she wanted to learn. While it would prove useful for her for the battlefield, she thought that maybe someday she would be able to save Olberic when her dagger couldn't, a thought she would never share with anyone but herself for the time being.

"Hmm." Alfyn pondered about Primrose's question. The fight against the blotted viper and how Primrose danced around it to dodge the beast's fangs came into his mind as he pondered. Magic relied on the physical energy of a stationary user but dancing produces both kinetic energy, transformed from the potential of the user to spring into action, and heat. Although it would exhaust anyone else quickly, Primrose's stamina to dance and move for hours at a time would make it possible for her to produce the energy necessary to unleash the dark magic within her. Alfyn hit the palm of his hand with a fist, he was a genius!

"Why not focus your dancing on making the magic happen?" He held up an open hand and began to explain the logic behind his thinking, "If you focused on having your dancing do the work you'd have all the energy necessary to conjure up your dark magic. It'd be weaker but it'll get the job done."

Primrose raised an eyebrow in surprise of the man's words, "So it does think."

Alfyn was the reckless type, choosing to slam his head through a door instead of getting his foot through in everything he did. Such a personality made many think of him as someone who tossed out the notion of thinking and instead opted to let his actions speak for him. He laughed, "I may not act like it but I did occasionally read a book once or twice in my life." A half-truth, for Alfyn, after deciding to become an apothecary, read Zeph's entire library of books in three years only to do it again a second time. Long nights of staying up to read often caused him to fall asleep during Zeph's father's lessons, giving him the impression that he just didn't care enough when it was the very opposite of that.

The two of them got immediately to work on testing the hypothesis while Olberic watched, worried about the dancer. He was tasked with guarding their single bag of belongings, which was slung over his shoulder, and the satchel Alfyn placed right next to him. Earlier, while Primrose's back was turned, Alfyn, seeing the look in Olberic's eyes as he took off his satchel, asked if the warrior was okay with the dancer's risky attempts. Olberic nodded quietly saying, "If she's got her mind set on something, I don't dare get in her way unless I wanted to find myself with an open neck wound." Alfyn chuckled nervously, agreeing with Olberic.

Alfyn took her step by step through the process, instructing her to think of what she wanted to do with the power in her. "The trick is to clear your mind and just think on one thing." He demonstrated by producing a small snowflake in his hand, "Now you try! Think of literally anything you want your magic to do! It's the strongest of the five so the possibilities are limitless!"

Primrose tried to concentrate but her mind was scattered. She had dozens of ideas, dozens of things that would help Olberic and Alfyn in battle, but was indecisive in picking a single one. Her body spun in a circle as one of her hands reached for the stars while the other was outstretched towards the earth below her, the world twirling around her as if it participated in the dance with her, and outreached a hand to Alfyn. A dark energy emitted from her hands and feet and then vanished. She felt herself get a little tired but the feeling of being controlled by something didn't wash over her as it had before. The three of them waited to see what Primrose conjured with her dark magic.

But nothing happened.

Alfyn finally took a breath having held it in as he awaited a disaster. Frustration was painted on Primrose's face as she failed to conjure anything, a feeling Alfyn could relate to. "Don't worry, it always happens the first time around." He remembered a trick Zeph taught him when he kept failing and thought it would be wise to share it with Primrose, "Just focus a little stronger as if you're powering yourself. You can even think of a name to help yourself focus!"

Primrose, taking the advice of her instructor, got into position again. This time, she stood grounded and growled at Alfyn, "Watch me now!" As the world circled around her, she couldn't focus her thoughts on a single effect as her mind. She kept spinning once, twice, thrice, a fourth time in an effort to focus her thoughts but failed miserably as her dance ended with an outreached hand, a darkness pursuing from it, towards Alfyn.

"Bewildering Grace!"

Again, nothing happened.

Suddenly, a thin dark veil enclosed her in a sphere before it disappeared into thin air. Primrose smiled, it worked! Before Alfyn had a moment to congratulate the dancer on her success, a flicker of light shone below Primrose's feet and the ground exploded below her. Olberic, seeing that the dancer placed herself in a dangerous spot, ran to her but saw the dark veil reappeared and popped. It reflected the effects onto the ground below Alfyn, causing Alfyn fall backwards on his feet as they burned with a painful sensation. Alfyn, quick to measure the damage Primrose's spell caused, quickly took a look on his feet only to find that the pain ceased as quickly as it started and saw that there was no damage done to him.

Although shaken from whatever just happened, Primrose celebrated her victory. She waved at Olberic who couldn't make sense of what just happened, "It worked!" She walked over to Alfyn and helped him up get back on his feet.

Alfyn, thankful to have gotten out of the ordeal with his life, gestured for her to calm down as he caught his breath, "That's great and all but let's both promise to never do that again." The dancer laughed as the apothecary breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Primrose danced and danced the night away as Olberic and Alfyn, who stood away at twice the distance than where he originally was, watched Primrose as she choreographed the various dances that produced numerous beneficial and destructive effects. By the time the sun peeked over the Cliftlands, Primrose, extreme exhaustion finally catching up with her, created seven unique dances each with their own effects and perfected them.

Olberic watched, captivated by the way her body moved to the rhythm of the the gold bangles on her wrists. A sudden wind that came and went behind Olberic was the only thing that disturbed him but didn't look over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eyes off of Primrose. He clapped out of respect and appreciation for Primrose's performance as Alfyn and Primrose, who slung her arm over the medicine man's shoulder as a support, walked.

She did a small curtsy in response, accepting the man's gesture of praise.

"Say," Alfyn began, glancing at the place where he originally put down his satchel, "did you move my satchel?"

Olberic's eyes followed Alfyn's only to see that the brown bag had suddenly disappeared without a trace. The sudden wind that blew earlier occupied his mind as he looked over the cliff's horizon, the only thing being visible was the very top of the adjacent cliff, the town of Bolderfall looming over the three travelers.

—-

The morning hours in the town of Bolderfall, a town built on top of the highest cliff in the canyon like region of Orsterra, were the quietest it would ever be on a typical day. It was too early for noblemen and townspeople to wake from their slumber and much too late to be drinking for the local ruffians, who would surely go to bed and find themselves hungover in the later afternoon. The poorer section of the town that lay just below the land where the middle-class lived was equally as quiet, not a bandit in sight that prowled the streets in hopes of finding an unlucky person.

That is, if you counted one that wasn't currently on the prowl.

One bandit, neither a local nor a traveler, sat at the very end of the two stairways that connected the lower part of the town to that of the more pleasant looking side of the town. He was just making his way up north towards Bolderfall when he came across a seemingly clever Hyaena who decided to stalk and attack the wrong traveler which lead to the Hyaena being burned at the side of its face. The encounter didn't leave the their unharmed but he received Aeber's blessing as he arrived to Bolderfall safely with the first loot of the day, a sign that good fortune awaited him on such a morning for the thief.

Or so he thought as he began to rummage through the satchel, sorting through the valuables.

A handful of soothing seeds and purifying seeds were the first things he fished out.

Trash.

The seeds were tossed behind him.

A few vials containing the same color of the weeds and herbs in the satchel were pulled out.

Smaller trash.

The vials were discarded to the side, shattering on impact.

The more time the bandit spent looking through the satchel containing only herbs and concoctions the more he started to feel a little guilty about taking the satchel from the unsuspecting warrior. He almost felt bad about how unbelievably broke they were.

Almost. Too bad so sad for them not keeping an eye on their belongings.

The thief kept looking through the bag in hopes of finding something that was at least a little useful to him. A few leaves, half eaten stems of healing grapes, it would have to do for the bandit as he pulled them out of the bag and put them in the front pocket. At least the warrior was kind enough to indirectly sponsor the thief an early morning drink.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted something red under a folded letter at the bottom of the satchel. Upon digging it out, he realized it was a red apple, the color of the fruit only found in the Riverlands, with the words 'from Zeph' engraved on the skin of it. He often saw traveling merchants carrying the fruit that grew only in the deepest parts of the Riverlands but never bothered to steal one as his time was better spent stealing from the noblemen of the towns he visited. He bit into it and immediately realized why they were so popular. The skin was flavorless but the crunch of biting into the apple was just as satisfying to hear as it was to taste the sweet, a little sour and bitter but mostly sweet, flavor of the fruit.

The thief would have to steal more of them later if he found any.

With the strap of the satchel over his shoulder and the satchel hidden under his worn out, dirty lilac colored shawl, the thief stood up and readjusted the purple scarf he had on as he noticed that the sun was rising and it was getting hotter. He took another bite out of the apple, a second one, a third, he kept eating until all that was left was the core. The dawn of a new day full of riches to be stolen.

He made his way to the tavern as he usually did when he stopped by the town. Although the thief frequented many of Orsterra's taverns, he never went for the mead or the fine wine they served even if the taverns he visited were known for brewing. Alcohol made the lips of noblemen, guards, and ruffians loose which made for great tips of where or who to get the thief's next big paycheck. The only reason he visited the town, aside from a little trip down memory lane to remind himself of why he walked his path alone, was that the speciality ale of Bolderfall, made from apples, was his favorite thing to drink from time to time.

Entering the tavern, he found two brutes at a table who conversed amongst themselves about a master thief and his latest hauls. The bartender recognized the thief the moment he entered, flashing a welcoming smile at a familiar face. "You're early!"

The thief brushed off the man's greeting, never liking that people started to recognizing him. Maybe it was time to start taking his business to the eastern side of Orsterra. He placed the few leaves he stole earlier on the table, "The usual."

The bartender poured him the ale, chuckling and muttering something along the lines of a 'yup, that's him' under his breath. He slid it down the table to the thief, who caught it and brought it up to his lips. Slightly sweet and satisfying, just like the fruit. He nodded a thank you to the bartender.

The brutes talked amongst themselves even louder as they drank down their ale, talking about robbing a merchant blind and laughing about how the master thief didn't get his fill at a fancy manor. They both contemplated on how the man got past the guards but the thief laughed about how the guards he slipped by the other day were more of decorations than anything else. The other brute who wore a green bandana changed the topic of the conversation, "Ain't no point swoonin' over someone else's work! Someday we'll make it as big as that thief, an' then we'll be the talk of the town." The other brute, wearing a red bandana, agreed, calling the other man his partner.

The word partner was nothing but a wound that the thief carried with him everywhere he went for the past six years. His mind drifted back to the jail cell where he met his ex-partner, Darius, who were both locked up on differing levels of theft. While the man with hair the color of an orange flame, bruised and beaten to a pulp by the guards, picked the lock to their cell door, he advised the younger thief to play nice with the guards since that'll get him by. The thief was not one to play nice with others and took out the cell door key he stole earlier to unlock the door to their cell. Darius noticed the talent the younger thief had and decided to take him under his wing.

He slammed his empty glass on the table, the scar on the left side of his face that went down from his eyebrow down to his cheek pulsed with a pain long gone.

For ten long years after that day they were "partners". Sweet memories.

Sweet memories that rivaled that of an apple gone rotten.

Bullshit.

"Fill it up."

The bartender complied, passing him down his second drink that he drank down quickly. The bartender start to talk as he usual did whenever the thief visited the town. This time his tale was about the Ravus family treasure, a treasure that many coveted, and that have caused many treasure hunters and bandits to be tossed into the slammer. The thief asked for a head count. "A score," The bartender told him, "maybe more. The Ravus family isn't known to be kind to those that tried to steal their treasure." The bartender laughed, muttering something about the the poor thieves that flocked to the manor like moths, desperate for the light of the Ravus treasure. The bartender mentioned that the treasure was enough to buy up the whole town and then some.

Music to the thief's ears.

The man scoffed, "Just one town? What about the neighbors?" He passed down his empty glass. Pretending interest or any emotion as it were was his specialty. If he lived a different life, he could've been an actor with his type of talents.

The bartender shook his head as he refilled the bandit's drink who mentioned that no one knew since no one has ever seen the treasure. He jabbed a thumb at the two brutes in the corner, "Even that master thief they keep talking about would have more than his hands full."

The thought of his legacy going down through spoken - no, written - history was enough to set his eyes on the manor. A thief's pride was a dangerous thing. Dare him to jump off of a cliffside and he'll do it without getting hurt, tell him he can't do something and he'll do it a thousand times. It was a dangerous thing for both the people around him and the thief alike as warnings and advise seemed distant from a mind set on doing something. Even then, the bartender's advise was distant. Nevertheless, the bandit thanked him for the warning.

He paid his tab like he always did and walked away, stopping only to tell the bartender a promise he intended on keeping, "Next time, I'll have a tale of my own."

Without another word, Therion stepped out into the town of Bolderfall, a town that arose from the dead the moment the sun came up.

Another day, another manor, business as usual.