Completed How to get lost

[Wyatti]

31st Winter 512
Morning: Somewhere near East Street.

It was cold, the air damp with the morning mist that crept over the shoreline, filling the streets with an eerie state. For the moment, the air was still, calm, but the bustle of the town would soon be upon it and the mist would lift. Here numerous people would gather, for what however Wyatti did not know. Her wounds and aches for the most part had been dealt with, but she still kept her distance from the humans, she could never be too sure about them.

Nervously the girl peered out from around the corner, her human form on show, dressed in a baggy coat and trousers, a large scarf wrapped around her neck, but most importantly shoeless. Wyatti did not like shoes, they restricted her feet and she could not feel the ground, even the loose thin ones she despised. She looked about the still street, and snuck out from her spot. She looked onwards, and scratched her head, pursing her lips together as if almost to pout.

I'm lost, she sighed as she tried to get some bearings.

It stunk of flesh here, of alcohol, sweat, dirt and blood. The buildings looked run down, barely being held together it seemed in some places. As she walked on, a slight limp slowing her process, she paused on several occasions to peer through cracks and windows, at the sleeping humans who were being still and unmoving for the best part. She pattered along, absorbing the world through big eyes, ears twitching, her nostrils flaring. She paused when she saw a man lying in the street, grasping tightly a bottle in one hand, a loud snore escaping his lips. She snuck up to him, slowing as she got closer, taking every step quieter than the next. Wyatti stopped right over the man, staring down at his drunken, sleeping face.

He reeked the most, more than the street done so far. For a moment she tilted her head to get a better view, curious on why a human had chosen to sleep outside than inside in the warmth. Her eyes narrowed, an expression of thought filling her face. Humans are strange...

His hand jolted out, grabbing at her ankle as drunken eyes stared at her. He pulled her down, and Wyatti let out a shriek. For a moment she was paralysed by her own fear, unable to do nothing but stare as the drunk began to rise. She scrabbled away, as he began to shout out slurred words, what he was saying did not matter to her, the only thought she had was a single word.

Run.

And that is exactly what she did. Pushing herself up, the Kelvic did not once look back as she tore down the street, ignoring the persistent grief that her ankle was giving her. She leapt into an alley and bolted up it, not stopping as she reached the end and entered another long winding street.

[Wrenmae]

The sound of muted blows, the kind where bone cushions against flesh, echoed in the straightaway street the Kelvic dashed down. Two men were embroiled in a fist fight, thrashing at each other with their hands, their arms, legs, and elbows...they were all angles, jutting violently against unlike niches and clacking against frames. The first man held the obvious advantage, large and imposing, his fest had the heft of a hammer and he delivered it with due course. His opponent was a smaller man, a near foot shorter than his opponent. He could be considered a willowy sort, black cloak round his body with a snake eating its own tale emblazoned in silver on his back.

Back and forth they moved, ducking and dodging while trying to hammer the other into submission. The shorter one was all speed and style, he pivoted, locked his arms, rocketed his fists forward and moved with a sway not unlike a serpent. The first man was brute destruction. His fists cracked walls and left the impression that the head of a warhammer would perhaps kiss kinder.

So far, the smaller man seemed to be at a disadvantage, his blows weren't doing much at all to the wall of muscle. While faster then his opponent, he couldn't land the force necessary to close the deal.

The smaller man, Wrenmae, disguised as Hound with long scraggly black hair, an unshaven complexion, and sharp hook nose, had thus far held back. He wanted to see the force behind Grovald the Hammer. The man had led the Rooks in Zeltiva for ten years now, one of the only actual gangs that had enough organization to call themselves one. Strictly beaters and extorters, Grovold had taken offense when Hound had called his operation petty.

Now they were to settle their differences on who would lead the Rooks in the way it had always been decided, with oaken fists.

Pushing flux along his right arm, Wren delivered a terrific blow to the brute beneath his right arm, staggering him back. Surprised the smaller man had packed so much of a punch, Grovald tightened, his arms becoming a shield as he rushed his opponent.

Wren dived out of the way, rolling along the alley and coming up in front of the kelvic girl. For a moment, pure bemusement passed through his eyes at her, so out of place here in a pitched melee battle. The surprise cost him the advantage. Meaty fingers grasped his cloak and picked him up, hurling him at the wall.

Pulling the cloak around himself, Wrenmae smacked into the wall and fell to the cobblestone below.

Satisfied that the blow would have slain or at least incapacitated the man, he turned on the kelvic with a leer.

"Wot's a girl li'e you doin ou' 'ere in this alley?"

Behind him, Wren got to his feet slowly. The steelcloth cloak around him had absorbed most of the impact, leaving him bruised, but otherwise unharmed. As Grovald approached the kelvic girl, Wren stepped up behind him, pushing flux into both arms in a stinging rage of energy, leaping up and bringing both fists together directly in Grovald's temples.

The bigger man dropped without a sound, more collapsing into the ground than really thundering.

Gasping for air, catching his breath, the grizzled outlaw regarded the wide-eyed girl with a wolfish grin, shaking his head.

"And a good morning to you, lass. Never had a fight to boil the blood on a cold mornin?"

[Lance Tycan]

Chilly was the word for the morning. At least it was for Lance, but then again, every day was chilly for him. Metaphorically, of course. Lance wasn't an opimistic person and he looked as though he was constantly dressed for a funeral. Of course, that's what his black attire and ink black hair spoke for. Not only that, but beside him to his right he led his solid black horse, Ancentrial who was walking with his head lowered for Lance wasn't one to punish him for letting him walk how he wanted. And on his left shoulder, his black barn owl was perched whom was name Dystair. Her black beady eyes scanned the soon to be bustling streets surrounded by cinder, brown, and blonde feathers preened for a quick flight where ever Lance directed her to go or whatever he told her to retrieve. That's when he heard Dystair give out a short and nervous 'hoo' only to fly off of Lance's shoulder and land on Ancentrial's steady hindquarters where she felt as though it was more safe. As Lance was observing her unusual behavior he shook his head and continued to lead Ancentrial through the streets with a million things racing and even walking through his mind. However, the owl finally decided the stallion's moving back wasn't as steady and she glided back to perch on Lance's shoulder once more, resuming her position. Nevertheless, she was less easy and more anxious right now. Lance stroked her back softly with his free left hand, trying to soothe her. The young man could still tell that she was on edge and fighting those fears with the training. "Shhh. You're alright Dystair. Nothing to worry about! I'm here, Ancentrial's here. You're fine." Lance said this through a hushed voice. The stallion beside him snickered somewhat as if in agreement. This was one of the times Lance showed affection to someone other than himself, and that was to his companions and those who knew and were going through what he was going through. Other than that, he had no sympathy for others. For the most part, most of them didn't care for anyone but themselves either. Once again, this was all how Lance saw it. An example was the drunk that was slowly making his way through the streets, grabbing onto things and falling to the ground when those things weren't sturdy. Lance never believed in running away from your problems like that. Getting lost in a bottle filled with concoctions of who knew what to make you act a fool of yourself? No, that was definitely not how Lance worked. Perhaps that's why he was in the state of mind that he was in currently, but if it meant having control over yourself and never losing your sanity it was worth the extra torture to his thoughts. Of course, the extra paranoia was ninety percent of the time right. That's just how petched up the world exactly was. Sometimes he'd try to help it, other times he'd just walk away and decide it was a lost cause. It depended on how things went down, the situation, and who was in it. Rounding the corner, Lance was now coming down an alley way. He made it with his herd of avian and equine companions with just enough time to see a young girl running to a halt, fear in her eyes before and after she witnessed the smaller man cause the larger one with a hammer to collapse to the ground. Of course, Lance rounded the bend just in time to witness it himself. Then he overheard the man. They didn't know each other, that was apparent from what he said and the look on her face. Ah shyke! How the Void am I gonn- damn it! Lance wasn't good at impersonation but he was good at weaseling his way out of things. That came from bumping into aggressive people on the streets. Another thing that came along with it even though he wasn't very sociable, was thinking of quick getaways and plans. Thiks girl was scared and Lance knew the feeling. Lance acted as though he had been breathing heavy and he quickly waved a hand and shouted out to the girl as she quickly ran over towards the two "Elizabeth! I have been looking all over for you! The last thing I saw was that dog that started chasing after you and you bolted!" He chuckled, still taking deep breaths as though he was trying to catch his breath. The look in his eyes told the young girl to play along and he seriously hoped to the dear Gods that she got the message being portrayed through the hazel screens. His next statement was directed at the man beside her "Thank you so much for helping us find her, sir!" Lance looked at the girl once more Play along. Lance knew the feeling of being young and being surrounded by strangers and it was horrible. Especially when you were scared out of your wits. He seriously hoped he was doing the right thing for never once had he had experience like this. He had never actually helped anyone else in a time when they needed it besides when he saved his siblings from being napped.

[Wyatti]

There was one issue with Zeltiva - or more the process of it- sound. It bounced off the walls, vibrating down the alleyways in all directions. It would travel into the sky, only to be thrown back down by the surrounding mountains. It made the quietest hole seem noisy, and the rowdiest bar louder and bigger that it actually was. It made the sound of combat screech out into the sky, and be thrown back down in another location, the illusion almost as if it was occurring elsewhere; a misleading trick if played right. Wyatti did not stop running, leading herself on to what she believed the right direction, away from people, away from danger before skidding to a stop.

She froze in fear as she saw the men fighting, blow to blow, hitting harder and harder each time. She watched the smaller one give a look of confusion, uncertainty before he was thrown against the wall. The larger, then encroached upon her.

"Wot's a girl li'e you doin ou' 'ere in this alley?"
"P... Please... do-"

She trembled, and forced herself to take a step back as the burly man came closer, his hands out stretched as if to grab her. She avoided a grab by staggering, but slipped in the process. It was terror slowing her down, making her fumble as the man again reached out for her, before suddenly stopping.
Magic, that was the only word that when through Wyatti's mind as the bigger man dropped to the ground. She did not know what he did, but to her that was all it was; alas the simple mind of a child. The smaller man gave a smile, but she kept herself on edge. Her eyes darted about his form, looking for the source of the 'magic' she had seen him perform, she needed to be aware of it, to stay away from it. And then he spoke.

"And a good morning to you, lass. Never had a fight to boil the blood on a cold mornin?"

Her lips moved, but no sound escaped. Her throat had sealed itself shut, incapable now of speaking, her eyes wide with terror. She needed to get a hold of herself, the man only spoke, but no matter how hard she tried the Kelvic could not speak. The human continued to stare at her, was he waiting for an answer? Or was it the opportunity to turn her into a meal? Wyatti shrunk into herself, nostrils flaring as she took in the man's scent, it was something she needed to be aware of encase she ever ran into him again, if she ran into him again, if he did not strike her down.

And then she heard a shout, a cry of the name 'Elizabeth'. She watched as another race over, supposedly out of breath. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the younger man, as he spoke as if they were familiar with each other. Their eyes met if not for a second, but what ever he was trying to get at was lost in transition. He was human, just like the other, younger, acting as if he just ran a distance. The corner of her lip twitched; there was not even a drop of sweat on him, let alone the scent of it.

Liar. The body heaves as it runs, the muscles burn, the stink of sweat is amplified by heat produced by them, what fool are you?

"Thank you so much for helping us find her, sir!"

Wyatti swallowed, still unsure on what to exactly do. She watched both men carefully, no words were spoken, yet it was clear in her face that the new, younger man, was a stranger to her. She felt as if she should speak, take the courage to form words, to speak out. But the new man seemed set, the other man hungry for something. Her lips parted again, and what escaped was a single, squeaked "What?"

[Valo]

Drunkenness was no stranger to Valo in his younger years. But as time passed he found that just one or two mugs of Kelp beer would not do the job. Then again with age came maturity and with a hard head came the realisation that perhaps drinking just to flush one's system with, what was essentially poison, was not such a good idea. And perhaps the intoxication had its charms in youth, it seemed over glorified now. Could it be true? Was the reckless charming Inarta truly growing up, discovering the real nature of the world he lived in? Well he'd growing in maturity over the past year, that's for sure. And a little glimmer of hope in his soul was such, that we wished his mother could see him now. An artist. Making a living from the thing he cherishes the most. Come spring, he would return to Wind Reach to see his family once more, a decision not yet verified by the entirety of his mind.

Valo was the kind of young man who didn't need to look for trouble. Trouble had a habit of finding him. A magnetic attrition for which he was always thankful as life in Zeltiva would be unbearably dull without it. So once again he had ventured into East Street, place he came too often for a well-dressed man such as himself, found joy in friendship of reckless ladies and men alike. Such mundane was the upper class which he seemed to pretend he was a part of. Though the image was important for his job. An artist needed to present himself in the right manner, but that wouldn't stop him from living his life the way he wanted to. Not the way social norm would thrust upon him.

It was another splendid night he had forgotten to sleep and spent with the lovely Morgan whom he regarded one of his best friends. They had a habit of discussing the most philosophical of topics at this hour, enjoying each other's company. And as morning came, they parted with a drink or two and it was high time for Valo to make his way home, looking forward to soon meeting her again. It was almost surprising how a handsome man such as himself had managed to establish such a non-sexual relationship with a beautiful woman like her, for that they shared never moved out of the boundaries of good conversation.

Both hands in his pockets, the red haired youth strolled down a dark alley where he came to an abrupt stop upon witnessing the most ferocious of fights. Two men, a great bear of a man and one who seemed like a tiny mouse in comparison, were well and truly at each other's throats. But this was to be expected at this time of day, for East Street was a dangerous place indeed. And a part of him prayed to every god he could thing of that it may remain so.

Common sense would have caused Valo to turn on his heel and walk the other way. It was rudeness to stick his nose in the business of other men, especially those stronger than him, he thought. But the case was not so, this time. For beyond the men was a girl who's chest pounded as if she'd just been running. Were they fighting over her? And why did she wear no shoes? The weather at this time of year could freeze off her toes. None the less, Valo was glad to see the fight come to an abrupt end, he'd have hated to get involved, especially since the ways of the fist were lost to him.

To his surprise, another man emerged from the alley and perhaps he has been more of a surprise than the bloody fight, for the way he spoke was utmost surprising indeed. He called her Elisabeth and shot her such glances that were neither pleasant, nor particularly terrible. In fact with those glances it seemed that he tried to speak to her, tried to send her some mental message. And perhaps any normal bystander would have failed to notice. Not Valo. Nothing escapes the eyes of an artist.

[Lance Tycan]

Lance rubbed his temples with his index finger and thumb as he ran a hand through his hair, the black locks slowly cascading back on his forehead, sweeping towards the left once more. Surely he wasn't done for? Surely that simple 'What?' didn't give him up, did it? No, it couldn't have. He was playing along far too well. "Here, this cold must be terrible on your bare feet. Your shoes must have came off when you were running from that dog." He grabbed his cloak off the back of Ancentrial and shrouded it over her shoulders slowly and said softly in an extremely hushed whisper as he did so "Play along." Dystair had already taken flight somewhere but Lance was sure she was close by. Of course, if Lance had wings he probably would have flown as well right about now. A slight and friendly smile was played upon his lips as he beckoned her "Once again, thank you kind sir." This was directed at Wrenmae or Hound. Lance didn't know his name either way, and at this point did it really matter? "As for you, young lady," here he smiled at her in once again a friendly way as if they knew each other "We have to catch up with the rest in time for breakfast. They actually managed to scrounge up some decent scraps this time." Lance had found out that there was a food shortage which was probably why there were no public restaurants in this place as far as he could see. He was at least trying to apply this knowledge to something and he desperately hoped not only for the girl but for himself that she pulled through and played along. What was he supposed to say? Oh sorry! Wrong person?!? The Void, no! I could act drunk? No, that wouldn't work out very well either. Just be like 'Holy cow! You're not Elizabeth! Wow, you look just like her except she has this tiny freckle thing on her cheek!' Yeah that'll work. Then just slowly walk away. Or let's hope to the Gods she plays along! This isn't the best place to be in such a terrible area and I don't trust this man nor the red head observing us. Lance just made this observation as he looked down at the girl once more. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins and his body yet he still remained calm. Ancentrial's stocky frame stirred beside him as the stallion nudged him in the ribs. The horse was swishing its tail as well. It could probably sense how he was feeling, or any animal for that matter. "And in speaking of that, I must get Dystair." He let out a soft and short whistle. Hesitantly, the black barn owl followed orders once more and landed upon his shoulder "Beautiful bird, isn't she?" Lance stroked her head with his index finger then beckoned Wyatti to follow. It would be her choice or not and hopefully they or he could go peacefully. "I'm sure Ancentrial here will give you a lift so your feet won't freeze off in this weather walking like that." Was he actually showing sympathy? Was he actually helping somebody else out? He had to in this case, however. Never would he leave such a young and fragile girl out here in this part of town. He didn't know much about the city but from what he heard, East Street wasn't exactly luxury nor anywhere close to it. Just a place for gamblers, whores, and other low-life people. Was this man, Wrenmae, an exception? No. His conscience decided for him. He couldn't trust this man, plain and simple.

[Wrenmae]

I detest liars.”


Of yet, Wrenmae had not spoken. In the willowy, pale-faced form of Hound, most of his intimidation lay in what he did not speak. The scarecrow mercenary was far more frightening when acting without words, but often it was not the part of silence that lay the better hand, but one of sound and voice that turned all dishonest men to dust. Stepping over the senseless Rook leader, Wrenmae flanked the horse and Lance without real trouble. The road they were in was narrow; turning would be difficult for the beast and nearly impossible if Wrenmae thwarted it. He reached up to brush its mane, but the black horse jerked from his outstretched hand suspiciously. As if he understood the horse, Wrenmae let his hand drop to his side.


Looking up at Lance, he forced a smile on his face. Although his mouth curved up, exposing snowy teeth, it no more looked a smile than a snarl…his eyes were cold and set deep within the thin-framed skull. In the shape he currently wore, Hound, Wrenmae had concentrated on making the bandit persona a frightful looking man. He didn’t think to cover his scent, which Wyatti would smell was not the same as those who normally took to the street. The man who called himself Hound smelled of pen ink and parchment, warm food, class…smells of aristocracy, of the University…not the filth of alleyways and drunken binges.


“I acknowledge your misplaced heroism,” Wrenmae continued, “But the lass has nothing to fear from me. Or…at least, no more to fear from me than someone like you…who would lie to win her confidence.” He turned back to the girl stepping away from what he felt was her comfort bubble before crouching down and smiling. “There now, lass, nothing frightening here and no harm’s done to you at all.” His words were followed with a lance of hypnotism, a cool calm reluctant trust that seeped into her mind with a brief thought.


He isn’t going to hurt me.


It was a simple enough suggestion, up to interpretation as she pleased. He stood, brushing curled black locks away from his face. Of yet, he had not seen Valo behind them, did not know he played to an audience.


“Regardless,” he spit the word, as if it had previously clung to his tongue, “I won’t claim her as my own…we’ve only just met.” He dusted his hands off, “And these circumstances aren’t the best for introductions, are they?” Moving back toward his unconscious opponent, Wrenmae first noticed Valo, a mane of crimson hair and eerie curiosity dressed against the cold around them. He paused, briefly, tilting his head in an unsaid question, a small smile floating at the corner of his mouth. Leaning down, he checked the Rook leader for breath, which he had, and pat him gently on one broad shoulder. “Gave me a pinch of trouble, he did…but all’s well in combat.” He straightened, turned on Wyatti and Lance in a flourish of the black cloak around his shoulders, “I am no thief, nor killer out for revenge. We settled a disagreement in the manner some East Street gents like to settle matters.”


His arms stung, remnants of his bout with Flux, the art which left him feeling sore…as if he’d pressed his arms beneath a Jamoura and tried to lift. Swinging them in clockwise circles, he winced and massaged his shoulders, turning his attention back to Wyatti. “He is right, you know, you’ll catch your death without shoes to warm your feet…but on the off chance your name is not Elisabeth, what might I call you for introduction’s sake? You may refer to me as Hound, if it pleases you, it’s the name I earned in Sunberth.”

[Wyatti]

Wyatti stared up at the man as he towered over her, her hackles rise, her eyes becoming narrowed angered slits. He spoke to her again, playing his voice in a friendly tone, a fake smile emerging on his lips.

Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.

And then he crouched down to the height of the Kelvic, whispering those words in her ear.

"Play along."

It was in that instant, that Wyatti found herself becoming scared again. Play along or what? Her mind raced through thoughts, feelings, as a deep resounding panic began to set in. She made herself stand, but she still shook, her hands clenching tightly as she stared upon him. He spoke again to the fighter, charms and smiles leading him the way, but Wyatti continued to glare. She inhaled, taking his scent, and remembering the face of the Liar. She wished he would stop talking to her, leave her be, in fact she wished everyone would. She could see the look of worry creeping in, of mistrust and uncertainty on those who were observing. Which then brought her to turn her attention to those about her.

A red-head was observing, watching the conversation unfold, a look of curiosity filling his face. But he did not intervene, instead he continued to watch. The Liar continued to talk, spinning webs with his tongue, acting the part of a responsible brother. And then he beckoned her.

Wyatti shrugged off the large cloak and let it fall, but otherwise she did not move. Her mind begun to whisper to her, worrying thoughts that she tried to push back. He wanted to keep it clean, make it normal, the humans would believe it, and would so be none the wiser.

It is a trick, he is a liar. Why does he persist? It's a trick, it's a trick, a thought clicked in her mind The Liar is going to take me back to him! To that monster!

She swallowed, and took a hesitant step away, shaking her head. Her heart began to race, as her eyes darted about, looking for a route of escape. She had to get away, to make a form of distance before allowing her form into one that was faster. But then she remembered her healing wounds, and felt her heart sink. It would be problematic to transform, a waste of time on the others that helped her previously. If she could get away that was. She glanced down at her ankle, feeling it ache slightly.

Then the fighter stepped in. She could see him snarl, almost as if an anger was rising up. But then he crouched down, coming to her level a true smile forming, and a niggling reassurance filling her mind. Her eyes followed him as he stood and she listened to his words carefully. She turned her attention back to the Liar if only for a second, and picked up the cloak she had discarded on the ground. She stretched up as if to pass it back to him, listening to the advice of the fighter slowly nodding in understanding.

“He is right, you know, you’ll catch your death without shoes to warm your feet…but on the off chance your name is not Elisabeth, what might I call you for introduction’s sake? You may refer to me as Hound, if it pleases you, it’s the name I earned in Sunberth.”

Wyatti paused for a moment, before a small smirk began forming on her lips. With her other hand she pointed at Hound.

"Dog," she flashed a quick grin at him.

Fear had mostly subsided now, but she was still nervous and could potentially be set off again.

"Wyatti," she said as she passed the cloak back to the Liar.

[Valo]

Crossing his arms he leaned against one of the stone walls which lined the alley as far as the eye could see. He was in for a prolonged quarrel, he could feel it. And one which would not go down without a fuss.

For an observer's view he noticed flaws in the behaviour of both men. First was the man in black - and perhaps he would have been a wonderful subject of artistic interest - who's biggest flaw was his obvious lies. Valo could see the man's honest wish to help, but his charade was weak and lacked in simplicity. And of course lacked in participation on the behalf of the girl. there was no doubt that his illusion would be broken instantly by the Hound, as he called him self.

That man however proved to be quite the violent being. And perhaps his manners were noble and his speech exquisite, as was his title, but his body language could strike fear into the bravest of hearts. Then again, was this such a band thing. here in East Street intellect and reasoning was unimportant. It was the brute strength which separated the weak from the victorious. A bias system which put Hound at the very top of the food chain and Valo him self, crawling at the bottom.

Valo could swear that for a moment he saw genuine fear within the girl. it was as if she was readying her self for running, which was a preposterous idea for her feet must have been frozen though. Running with no shoes would have been like running on wooden stumps, as far as he was concerned. And for a moment he was ready to speak, ready to tell these men to step aside, to let the lady breathe a little; but his intention was short lived as she spoke. Her name was Wyatti, he noted. A name he would not forget quickly.

Then another thought struck Valo. He hoped very deeply that these people didn't think him to be rude as his actions so far were merely those of observing. He really didn't mean to be rude, but the truth was, they were blocking his way home and the alley was so narrow that to continue would mean to walk straight thought he centre of the conflict. And that was something he didn't wish to do yet. Besides his curiosity had a habit of getting the better of him. So propped up against a wall he stood and shall one of them speak to him, he would politely answer. And shall they ignore his presence, well... that was well and truly good. It was too early for meddling in other people's business.

[Lance Tycan]

Lance had been caught. Was he truly that bad a liar? Damn! Maybe it's time to work on it much? He rolled his eyes and stepped back. There was something not right about this man, despite him explaining himself. Lance didn't trust him, well Lance didn't trust any of them for that matter. He bit his lip with a slight smirk and a few nods of his head. Damn it. The girl didn't move and simply Did she seriously just throw my petching cloak on the ground? I was trying to- and this is why I don't petching help people. The snarl upon Hound's face caused a smirk to grow upon Lance's face as well "I, as well, loathe liars. But alas, we are all liars. So I suppose that makes two hypocrites, eh? But the Void, the more the merrier, right?" Lance chuckled gazing into the man's eyes. The man appeared to look, or at least attempted to, give Lance some look that would scare him off. This Hound (pun intended or not, take it as you wish), didn't know what Lance had been faced with. And it took more than some vicious look to scare him off. The harder Hound's gaze got the more Lance tilted his head in a cocky manner with a smirk. That same smirk that spread across his face whenever someone tried to intimidate him or something of the like. This man could fight, eh? How could a fist compete with a sword or short bow? Precisely what Lance was thinking, however he hid every single sign of this, not even looking back at his weapons or down at his sword. He simply held his gaze where it fell; onto Hound and Wyatti. His sword was at his waist and his short bow and arrows were on the back of Ancentrial, underneath a cloak. "Lie to gain confidence? Are you kidding me? I have told her no lies, but to you, yes. I have not lied one bit to this young lady, but rather tried to save her from the claws of those like you. I wasn't trying to claim her as my own either, for you have seriously mistaken me for someone else. You do not know me, I do not know you. She does not know me. How could one possibly know someone else's intentions when they have not met prior? Exactly. If anyone is lying to gain confidence it is you! Now stop attempting to bend this lass into believing that I would be one to harm! If anything, it was others that brought harm to me." He lowered his voice to a slow and steady talk. Lance had grown defensive and anyone, experienced or not, could see his body language and facial expressions. They hid no secrets besides the very past that had led him here. As the young girl gave him back his cloak (in which he took back gingerly), his eyes never left Hound until he went to beat off the dirt from the ground in which the girl had cast it. Lance was trying to keep his cool, though he showed no signs of it. She shrugged his shoulders with a sigh and put the cloak on the back of Ancentrial. Shyke, does it really even matter if I try? They're all gonna die in the end! After all, it was only Lance with his good intentions trying to help the girl. She seemed lost and alone and scared. Lance had experienced those feelings before as well. For seven years straight!