Will decided to leave the Monastery before the sun rose- before any guards could surround and question him for simply breathing in their area. The constant rain from yesterday steeped into the dirt trail, leaving a thick coating of mud across half the market. Walking across became a one-player game of hot and cold, dipping his toe in the muck to ensure his foot wouldn't sink before planting his foot down. Getting out quickly and quietly became less of a priority than just getting out as a whole.

Before the marketplace was the massive, oak execution stage, still soaked in water and even more in blood, droplets still dripping onto the dirt, trickling into a puddle. The stench was atrocious- the humidity kept the smell of bodies hanging in the air. Will held a hand over his mouth to stop himself from gagging.

They could stand to clean up a little bit. This is a church, not a morgue. Will ruefully thought, wading through another pile of mud. He sunk deeper and deeper with each step. His jaw clenched in frustration. Whatever damnable goddess that was residing over this 'holy' place was making an effort to bug him. He fought to pull his leg up out of the sludge and smashed his foot down without regard.

Crack! Will nearly tumbled over on his ass, his front foot nearly giving way, making him grip the bloody stage. Whatever he stepped onto certainly wasn't mud. He looked down and held his hand over his mouth again, this time fighting off vomiting.

Below his foot was the remains of a severed head.

It was ungodly pale, flies freely crawling over the still wide-open eyes. Eyes gaping permanently in terror. The jaw was gone- smashed to pieces under his boot. Chips of bone and flesh littered the mud like grains of rice. Will swallowed bile, shut his eyes, and stepped over the head, marching on towards the stables, close to the gate.

Damn it all, the prisoners stuck in my boot. There is no way I can unsee that… Will thought gravely, still seeing that deadman's terrified face when he closed his eyes.

The stablehand was half-asleep, leaning against the wall with a brush in hand. Will cleared his throat and tapped on the wooden door. "Open for business?"

The stablehand's sagging head raised slowly as if tugged by a lame pulley. "Only if you have the coin," He groggily said, breath stinking of alcohol. Someone was certainly having fun last night, what with all the heretical heads rolling.

"I do have the coin. Plenty of it," Will said, pulling a sack of gold coins out of his pocket.

The chink of gold woke this man right up. He stood up straighter, brushing his tunic off. "We have the finest horses in the country-" His voice trailed off, getting a good look at Will's face. The mercenary sighed, chastising himself for forgetting to pull his hood up. "What on earth would need a horse for? Eating?"

"Travel, obviously. Who would want to walk across Fodlan during a war on foot?"

"I heard Almyran's eat the horses that are too weak to continue."

"I hear old men from Fodlan eat their toes with a bit of salt and a slice of lemon every Sunday."

"You little savage!" The Stablehand spat, red in the face.

Will crossed his arms, scowling at the flabby oaf. "Are you going to accept my coin or not? I can find other stables who would love to take it."

The Stablehand glared back at him, daring the mercenary to make a move. "Where did you get that gold?"

"I earned it after watching your Archbishop starting mounting heads where people go to pray," Will quietly fired back.

"Ha! Probably stole it off some merchant on the road, Almyran."

Will bristled. "This gold is legitimate," He breathed, fighting off the urge to fling another insult his way. "Take it. You do not need to worry. I just want to take one of your horses and be on my way. You'll never have to see me again."

Courteous an offer that was, the Stablehand thought differently. He crossed his arms, what little chest he had puffed out, looking quite pleased with himself. "That sounds like an admission of guilt. Why would you want to move along so quickly if you weren't guilty of something?"

"Simply because I don't want to see your face again," Will accidentally let slip.

The Stablehand sharply exhaled through his nose, looking not so pleased. "I think we'll have to see what the guards can make of you." He shoved Will aside and walked towards the gate, where the guards looked even less to see this bearded human doughball come waddling towards them.

Will pinched the bridge of his nose, hands shaking with anger. I can't even buy a horse without slitting someone's throat. He thought.

His eyes tracked to the closest horse. By some miracle, it was already saddled, and with a decent bit of space to hang some of his belongings on as well. Will smirked.

Before the Stablehand could start his barking, Will had already thrown a leg over the horse, gripped the reins, and cracked it hard. "Hiyah!"

The horse rode like the wind toward the open gate, kicking gobs of mud straight into the Stablehand's face. He grinned from ear to ear, looking back at the stunned entrance guards and the old fool rolling to his feet.

"H-Horse thief! Horse thief! Stop that horse!" He screamed, but Will was already long gone, halfway across the bridge before he could finish. The horns to rally the calvary wasn't even called. Will rode off, thoroughly satisfied.

/

Will didn't stop until the forest leading up to the monastery was long passed. The sun had risen long before then, along with the humidity. The horse was already out of breath- not properly waking up and getting fed before getting violently driven halfway across the country would do that to you. Towards the edge of the forest was a long lake that stretched as far as the eye could see. Will eased back the reigns, earning a few agitated bleats from the horse, slowing them to a stop.

"Sorry, friend," Will said to the horse, dropping off onto the shockingly soft grass. "It was either that or explain to the guards why I'm allowed to exist near them."

The horse answered his apology with a spit in his face and a pile of feces on the ground. He blinked, wiping chunky horse mucus off his cheek, suddenly feeling more sickened than when he stomped the jaw off a severed head.

Suddenly I wish I had this monster as a meat pie now, stereotypes be damned. He cruelly though, grumbling swears under his breath. Speaking of meat pies, it had been a long time since he ate last. He caused too much of a racket to even think about hunting, so an alternative had to do.

The river ahead was anything but drinkable. Much of it was tinged a murky brown with speckles of red. The war had done far more than tarnish a couple of landmarks or tear apart farms, even the water was polluted by it. Bodies in the water, diseases, poison from the Empire's attempt to dismantle water supplies, and any host of things. Luckily, the water wasn't being used to drink. At least not like this. He gathered the rainwater into a flask, laid out a blanket, pulled his tools out of his bag, and got back to work.

Water was just the base- something to bind all the ingredients to his family's masterpiece. A lot can come from being the son of an apothecary.

This tincture was simple. A couple shaves of ferrathorn tree bark ground to powder, some gum root, and melodia flower petals ground into a thick paste in a mortar and pestle, and dropped into the river water flask. He extended his palm, holding the flask over it. With a deep breath and grit teeth, he concentrated all the heat in his body to the palm of his hand and conjured a small fireball, boiling the tincture until it glowed bright green.

Will swallowed a lump in his throat. Always gambling whether or not this will kill me. He thought, swirling the liquid around. He eased the drink slowly above his head.

"Wait a minute," He mumbled to himself, stretching out his arm and dipping a couple on the ground. The rock suddenly fizzed, crumbling and melting like water dropping on soft sand. The smell was rancid. "And to think I nearly swallowed that."

Another dud.

It was supposed to be simple, but he couldn't remember the last time that he had any lessons dedicated to making tonics and tinctures.

"I'm out of practice," he mumbled to himself. "If only they appreciate tonics as much as they appreciate the sword." He sighed into his hand. "And once again, I'm speaking to myself. Then again, who else do I have to talk to?"

The horse sputtered, dipping its mouth into the river water. Will snorted, wondering what creature would be insane enough to drink that filth.

"You want to have a swig of this as well?" He joked, offering the green tincture by the hand. The horse stared at him for a moment, then trotted over to him, tongue hanging out. "Hold on, hold on, do you want your stomach melted into a puddle? Stupid meat pie."

Will pulled a map out of his rucksack and rolled it out over the grass. There wasn't much to go by from what Horace offered- a Witch terrorizing some small town flung out in the border of the Edmund territory, way into the Leicester Alliance. Therein lies the problem. With the entire country embroiled in a war on three fronts, traveling around without expecting problems was out of the question, especially for an Almyran. Tensions were high enough as is, and an Almyran being spotted in Alliance territory of all places, where they were most hated, would cause a little more than a stir.

Will would never question his ability with a blade. However, he would question whether he could take on an army on his own. Still, a job was a job, and Will Altair was a professional. A professional gets the job done, no matter how many arrows were flying over your head, or pitchforks at your back.

"Hey, Seabiscuit," He called to the horse, beckoning it with his finger. "Ever read a map before? Come, let me show you."

The horse stumbled slowly over to him. It groaned, its breath rattling like it was choking on something. Maybe it's still tired. I did work it very hard.

"See this? This right here?" He asked, dragging the tip of his finger between the borders of the Empire and the Alliance. "This here is what mercenaries like the call the Wall of Fire. Know what that means? Well over one million soldiers from the Empire are slamming into Alliance territory like a hammer. Said Alliance is hanging on by a thread because of some Almyran madman leading the northern part. Crossing past here won't be an option without getting my head put on a pike, so paying someone to transport me over the border might just do it."

Normally, you'd have to be the dimmest mercenary on the face of the planet to accept a job knowing you would have to pay out of pocket for it, but the money being offered was something else. Not just your usual sack of gold. These were full-on bullions. Several of them. Enough to get Will on the next boat out of Fodlan for good.

"Just one more big job, and I'll be out," He mumbled to himself. "Although, this is a lot just to take care of some small-time Witch across the border. Someone must hate you, Witch of Edmund." He stretched, gathering up his blanket and tools. He took a look at his green tincture, shrugged, and put it in his bag. Putting it in the grass could cause a fire, and gods know what would happen if he dumped that junk into the river. Who knows- He'd end up making a swamp monster.

"I suppose it's time to do some job hunting, eh?" He asked the horse. "I had another job lined up anyway with another puffed-up noble down in Varley territory. Ready to go-"

Thud!

Will jumped at the great crash behind him, a plume of dust hitting his cheek. "What in the- Seabiscuit?" The horse had collapsed onto its side, dead as a doorknob. Will sighed, running a shaking hand through the brown curls of his hair. "I guess I'm walking then."