The Feroxi were loud, aggressive, impulsive, and crass.

It was amazing.

The tournament Flavia had signed the Shepherds up for began the day after tomorrow, and so the Shepherds were treated as guests of Regna Ferox. Joanne slept in the same quarters as the other women, and awoke the next morning to the smell of smoking meat that softened the biting chill in the air. She stumbled like a drunken Risen towards the kitchen, mouth watering and mind set solely on food.

Other warriors wandered the halls of Arena Ferox, carrying swords and axes and hammers and lances over their shoulders. Many bumped each other roughly, some with clear distaste in their eyes, while others breaking out into laughter. Very few clerics milled around; perhaps Feroxi warriors were expected to be able to patch their own wounds. Once Joanne saw past the smell of roasting boar and venison, she could feel the excitement in the air. Warriors spoke animatedly to each other, gesturing wildly with their weapons and detailing just where and when they'll decapitate their enemy. The Feroxi were certainly people of the battlefield.

Though Joanne was forbidden from accessing the kitchens, some of the chefs allowed her the first pick of dried jerky. The mess hall was packed with fighters of all shades, including some early-rising Shepherds. She sat at end of their table, fidgeting with the pages of her magic tome, before another woman sat next to her and asked her if she was Khan Flavia's newest champion.

Quickly Joanne discovered that the pink-haired, scantily-clad dancer sat next to her was named Olivia, and she was rather close with the West Khan, Basilio. Despite Olivia's initial hesitation, she and Joanne quickly hit it off, talking of armies and skills and sword-fighting and snow and seasons and tournaments and memories. Joanne offered Olivia some of her jerky, but Olivia had politely declined. (More for Joanne, then!) Before they parted for the day, Olivia had wished Joanne the best at the tournament the next day - "Don't die, okay?"

"The Mad Mage" garnered a variety of responses from the Feroxi as Joanne wandered the halls of Arena Ferox. No one seemed to really know who they were. Some say that he was a young wizard who specialized in brewing poisonous vulneraries. Others said that she was an old crone who kept a small army of lizards as pets. One fighter said that he was just a simple man who ran a tome and book store, and that rumors spun out of control, coining the term "The Mad Mage" after a number of years.

Only one person-a small servant whose brow was deeply set into his face and eyes were filled with exhaustion-gave her any information of value.

"Don't know much about the Mage themself, but I know a woman named Ariadne was 'round 'em a lot."

A name. A name! Ariadne. The name struck something in Joanne's heart, though she couldn't tell why. Just hearing the name, however, made her smile.

Joanne had just hit the training room when she caught a familiar flash of blue.

"Marth?"

Marth spun around, his sword out and pointed towards Joanne's throat. She jumepd back, but quickly furrowed her brow in annoyance.

"Well, that's just rude. If this is how you say 'hello,' I'd hate to see how you say 'I like you.'"

Marth paused for a second, and he sheathed his sword. "My apologies. You merely startled me. I am afraid I must take my leave, now."

Joanne stepped in front of Marth, one arm holding her book to her chest and the other on her hip. "Now hold on, what exactly are you doing here? Last we saw you, you were spouting some bull-hock about 'preludes,' and just up and left after falling out of the sky with those Risen. Something as completely bizarre as that requires a bit of explanation, wouldn't you agree?"

Marth's disposition was stiff and stoic; he reminded her of Frederick in some aspects. Although his figure was slim, he held himself high and proud. Joanne couldn't see his face behind the mask, but the mask itself was of high-quality metal, and in the shape of a butterfly. Perhaps Marth was a person of status.

He turned away from her. "I cannot explain now. Just know that you will not see the last of those Risen for some time. As for what I am doing here..." He turned back; Joanne realized that he was just an inch or so taller than her. "I have heard that you are the East Khan's champions."

"Indeed we are. Have you come to watch?"

"No. I have come to fight for the West Khan. We shall be meeting each other on the battlefield come tomorrow."

Joanne sputtered in shock. "What? Why are you fighting for Khan Basilio? You saved us from the Risen a few days ago, and now you fight to kill us? Just"-Joanne stepped forward, shoving her nose close to Marth's-"who are you?"

Marth did not flinch, but calmly stepped back from Joanne. "As I told you before, I cannot explain. You will just have to trust me."

Before Joanne could interrogate him further, he pushed past her and walked out of the training room. Joanne huffed and pushed strands of hair from her face (it didn't work). At least she garnered some new information.

Marth's eyes were a beautiful dark blue. Much like Chrom's.