FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter length: 5,955 words

Current novel length: 128,286 words

Chapter 41

(Septham 10th Year 672 of the 4th Age)

After galloping at full speed for most of yesterday and the day before, Heilim, also known as Vallo, decides to take it easy for the day after arriving at Dilmorn Village in a valley colloquially known as Chromatic Valley due to the leaves turning into variegated colors during Autumn; it is also known as a bridge between the Ridged Mountains and the Bolford Plains. Because there is a plethora of fish such as trout, salmon, bass, and walleye in the creeks and other bodies of water, agog fishermen make a pilgrimage here, especially for the annual fishing festival, and most of them compete in a contest of biggest catch. Since today is the day of the festival, people pile chockablock on the streets, banks near the creeks and different masses of water, and even in the water itself, creating a trammel of movement for Heilim and Tylon. Getting a spot inside a tavern for lunch after shopping for Tylon's supplies is also highly hellacious to them. It is serendipitous that they find one inside a highly rated restaurant; it comes with a splendid view of a lake. With the congregation of fishermen and tourists in one tight space, the windows are open to let fresh air and mollify the hot temperature.

Even though food is expensive, the mammoth size portion more than makes up the price; when the servers bring out the food from the kitchen, it usually fills any empty space it can possibly fill on a large plate with sides on one would consider a standard size plate. Sometimes, the portions are massive enough to warrant a second large plate though someone would have to break their bank to get them. Since the restaurant is in an area known for fishing and is by a lake, fish and other aquatic creatures compose most of the menu; there is a page for waterfowl and a segregated section in one of the pages wild game such as elk, deer, and hare. Tylon's choice is walleye, and it comes in one piece with slices of lemon and orange in the opening and butter, white wine sauce with herbs; it comes with a side of rice and a spinach salad. Whereas he went with a cheaper option, Heilim, on the other hand, orders one of the most expensive options, an elk steak, and it's one of the biggest on the menu, weighing at three pounds, not including the bone. The elk has a char on it from a coating of spices, and it comes with garlic, butter sauce with caramelized onions, and wild mushrooms on top; it comes with a side of mashed potatoes with elk gravy and broccoli.

When Heilim's and Tylon's meals arrive, Heilim's elk has a slab of butter that quickly melts and sizzles on the elk. They don't take long to chow down on their meal; the walleye's skin makes an audible sound as Tylon uses a fork and knife to devour it. The flesh flakes; it tastes fresh enough to make him believe that one of the fishermen in the contest sold it to the restaurant mere minutes before consumption with acidic notes of citrus and the butter, herb, wine sauce provide enough support to the taste of the fish. Heilim's elk is a perfect medium-rare piece of meat, and the spices help tame the gaminess taste from it with the butter providing enough fat to make up the leanness of it and prevent it from tasting dry. As he cuts closer and closer to the bone, Heilim ignores his own advice to Tylon before them arriving at Dilmorn Village and uses both hands to handle the elk, sinking his teeth and tearing the meat away like an animal. Something else inside him roars is satisfaction.

Providing a source of entertainment, a bard and his band play various sorts of songs, from Queen Atelenia's execution for having an affair with a peasant to a famous naval battle between Klarroth from the sister continent to the west, Alavera, and Lutis. As he sings, he dances around the restaurant, getting the eating patrons to join in and to fill his hat with tips.

"Now that we've done your shopping, don't expect any more stops at settlements until we reach our destination," Heilim said after he swallowed his bite during the bard's performance.

"I thank you for doing this for me, Heilim," Tylon said with appreciation.

Heilim angrily gives a sound of annoyance. "The sooner we get out of this village, the better." He tears another chunk of meat.

"Not much of a people person, are you?" Tylon asked.

"I love people. I love the massive crowds and the voices so loud you can't think. I love they pry into matters that don't concern them, and they don't leave you alone when your entire body language says 'leave me alone'," Heilim said sarcastically. As if on cue, the bard appears by their table, much to Heilim's dismay, during the solo, holding his hat out for tips. Heilim's irate eyes apoplectically stare at the invader to get him to leave, but he doesn't get the hint, or he doesn't care, and he shakes his hat some more; not even Tylon's lagniappe of two silver convinces him to leave.

Tylon apologizes, "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have any more coin left to spare."

"It's not you, I'm waiting for, now," the bard said, smiling while he danced. He tilts his head towards Heilim in indication, "It's him I'm waiting for."

"Not interested," Heilim said.

"I hate to be a bother, sir, but my band and I need to rely on generous donations from genteel patrons such as yourself to continue our passion for the arts," the bard said, adding more words to belaud Heilim.

"Have a talk with the person that booked you if you are unsatisfied with the money you're making," Heilim said, not bought into the performer's words.

"He paid us very handsomely," the bard responded, determined to not be deterred by Heilim.

Heilim is growing more infuriated. "Then it should be enough for you to fuck off and bother someone else. I'm not interested in giving you additional money you don't actually need." At this point, the entire song ends, and everyone has their attention on him, waiting for their nugatory quarrel to end.

"Please, sir, even a single bronze coin is more than gracious from a polite gentleman like yourself." In addition to the beseeching, the bard discreetly casts a spell to make Heilim more agreeable. It fails. In a blink of an eye, Heilim swats the hat out of the bard's hand and pins him down to the table; the coins clank on the floor and scatter everywhere in the dining area, and everybody is dumbstruck by the sudden escalation.

In a sinister tone, Heilim gives the bard a final warning. "This is your final warning, leave me in peace and don't try doing any shitty tricks on me like your piss poor of a spell earlier, or else you'll find out how much I put 'gentle' in 'gentleman.' That face of yours looks gorgeous enough that I may mount it on my wall as my trophy." Trembling in his boots, the bard nods his head in understanding, and Heilim tosses him aside so he can recollect the lost coins. Heilim gathers his gear from the seat and prepares to vacate the restaurant along with Tylon; he hands ninety-six gold coins to one of the workers as full payment for the meal and tip. They take several steps on the street before a group of men from the restaurant obstructs their path.

Heilim is not pleased with the situation. "What's wrong? Did I tip too much for the commotion earlier?"

One of the men steps forward. "On the contrary, Heilim, you haven't tossed a single coin for our local bard, Lumir, in the restaurant, and your treatment of him was downright rude."

Heilim is now on heightened alert after hearing his name. "How do you know my name?"

The man smirks, knowing he has Heilim caught by surprise. "You have a reputation. You're a bounty hunter that has more quarries dead than alive when you complete your contracts. Word on the street is they call you The Mad Butcher. I'm Jacsan, by the way."

Heilim returns back to his collected aplomb. "Not my fault they wanted death over the alternative." He smiles at the name Mad Butcher. "I do like the sound of Mad Butcher. Maybe I can put my butchering skills to the test on any asshole that doesn't get out of my way within the next minute."

"I know more things about you," Jacsan said, not wanting to let his advantage go away.

"And what would those be, may I ask?" Heilim said forcefully.

"You and your companion are Farlanders and-"

Heilim cuts him off, "Congrats, you have a working set of eyes."

Jacsan continues where he left off; the smirk turns into a wide grin as he says, "And you're also Vallo the Deserter or Vallo the Kinslayer."

Heilim's expression turns to anger. "And you may add Vallo the Cause of Your Death to the list."

"HALT!" a guard bellowed. Jacsan, Heilim, and Tylon now notice a gathering crowd of people eagerly watching for a fight and the guards coming to diffuse the situation. "Fighting in the streets is forbidden. I suggest you stop now before you escalate to a point where I have to make an arrest."

"Unless I issue a Gerath's Duel!" Jacsan shouted, causing the crowd to make an 'ooo' sound.

The guard makes a note of it. "Jacsan has issued a Gerath's Duel to this man over here." He looks at Heilim. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Why do I have to give out my name?" Heilim asked, annoyed.

"Because it's standard procedure to get the names down of who's in the duel so we can keep track of how many times someone issues a challenge and how many times someone is on the receiving end, assuming that person lives. If you win, we will have a record of it, and any close associates, family, friends, etc., can't challenge you for a month after the conclusion of the duel," the guard answered.

"And if I'm too lazy to accept this fool's challenge and kill him, what then? And why call it Gerath's Duel."

"Then you are stripped of your possessions, titles, and any other valuable items, and the challenger will receive them… and you die. As for the name, you should know that Gerath is one of the gods of war. He's the actual combat god. The duel was created as a way to reduce crime by allowing feuds a way to end."

Like I care about what the Church decides what gods to worship and which ones are forbidden. "Looks like I have no choice then. Jacsan's going to regret very soon about challenging me. Put me down as Heilim."

The guard writes it down. "The duel between Jacsan and Heilim will now begin. It ends when one or both lose their lives or one of them surrenders, and the other decides to spare his life. Begin!"

Caturix, bless me with your might so I can prevail against the challenge and the ones to come in the future. Instead of going on the offensive, Heilim allows Jacsan to make the first series of moves, and he casually avoids them, not bothering to bring out his own sword to parry. Jacsan's primary weapon of choice is a mace and judging by the appearance of it, it is new, but he is an amateur at wielding it, and Heilim knows it. Jacsan frantically swings at his opponent, desperate to land a hit, but Heilim effortlessly evades them; the crowd grows jaded by the lack of blood, and they demand it or call Heilim a poltroon for dodging. Believing enough time passes by, Heilim grabs Jacsan hand with the mace and disarms him, obtaining it in the process. With it, he trips up Jacsan by swinging the mace at the legs, and he falls flat on his back; Jacsan rolls away from Heilim's strikes and gets back on his feet.

Not wanting to show he's aghast by Heilim's skills, Jacsan laughs and gloats his skills. "Not bad, Farlander, but I think it's time to end this trivial show and for you to count your last-" Jacsan's head sails across the air into the lake after one swing from Heilim and the dead body falls sideways, blood squirting and covering nearby bystanders. Stupefaction turns to choler as the crowd witnesses the person they favor lose to the Certh.

Heilim props the corpse upright and implants the mace deep in the open cavity so that a part of the handle and the blunt instrument remain exposed. "I like this new look on you already," he said.

"By Gerath's will, the winner of the duel is Heilim," the guard overseeing the fight said. Throwing boos and jeers, the crowd erupts into a cacophony clamoring for some sort of castigation against Heilim. Facing no resistance from the mob, Heilim and Tylon escape Dilmon Village on Scarlette and continue on their journey.

(Aila, Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff)

After waiting an extra day for the tension to subside, Aila, Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff are back at Belburn to uncover any clue to the person behind the attack on Radclyff's family. In the two days since the sanguineous massacre, the volume of guards is at the same level as after the zombie attack; even a part of the military and ten royal guards are there to maintain law and order after the request from Baron Edreth. Under their watchful eyes, the citizens continue on about their day, hoping there is no more ebullition of violence in the future. The stench of death lingers in the air, and people can smell it from far away if the wind blows in their direction. On their way to talk to Fraunk's wife, Jemeir stops at a nearby bulletin board to catch up on the events.

Jemeir shakes his head in disgust as he reads the news. "Get a load of this, 'Local Half-Breeds Get Violent at Peaceful Rally.' They're putting the blame on them for the bloodshed even though the rally is the culprit. Official death count stands at seventeen with twelve half-breed counter-demonstrators, four rally-goers, and one guard. Another guard sustained serious injuries but is expected to make a full recovery. And they're saying Pheha had an influence somehow. In other news, Malfias Hearthrow calls for the baron's removal due to lack of leadership after the massacre."

"They're seriously trying to get the two countries back into another war," Aila said with despair.

"And it's having an effect already," Radclyff said in the same tone of voice as his wife.

"I wonder if he was behind the attack on mom, the siblings, and me a couple of weeks ago?" Barion hypothesized.

"Would make sense if that's the case," Jemeir said. "He's known for his stance against mixed races, and he has more than enough funds and resources to organize the assault."

"That's them right over there, guards!" an unknown voice shouted from behind them. They turn around and see the same males from two days ago along with backup.

The guards unsheath their weapons and walk towards the party. "You four are under arrest for the assault on those gentlemen over there. Come with us," one of them ordered.

Jemeir makes a hand gesture. "You are mistaken. We are not the ones you seek. The ones you seek are over there. Arrest them instead and pretend to you don't know us for a week."

Under the influence of Jemeir, the guard turns back at the group behind him and issues a command, "Arrest those men by you! Haul them away!"

"Yes, sir!" they replied. The attackers are flabbergasted by the sudden reversal, and they stumble over their words as the guards haul them away. With the speed bump out of the way, the party resumes its effort at tracking down Fraunk's wife; their search leads them to Noathal Square, a section home to the middle class, and to the home of deceased Fraunk. The domicile is a single-story, wooden structure with a triangle roof, and there are two oak trees in the front yard and a flower bed close to the house with flowers in vibrant blue, purple, and magenta colors; a picket fence lines the boundaries. When Aila, Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff arrive at the door and Radclyff knocks, they see from what little gap there is that inside is an entirely different story; instead of being orderly like the front yard, it is chaos inside. A female dwarf wearing a grey maid's uniform with a face that expresses tired and frantic greets the group, holding a crying baby in her arms.

"Can I help you?" the dwarf asked with a yawn.

"Are you Ismenia Bahelon by any chance?" Radclyff asked.

The dwarf shakes her head 'no.' "I am Dersell Ironhammer. Unfortunately, Ismenia can't come to speak to you. She's in bed, but she's a shell of her former self after hearing Fraunk's death. She hasn't spoken a single word since then."

Radclyff nods. "We heard, and we wanted to give our condolences to her."

"She'll greatly appreciate that once I tell her," Dersell said.

Jemeir speaks up, "Do you personally know Fraunk and Ismenia?"

Dersell gives a long answer, "Gulren and I are close friends to them. We moved to Belburn after our former home in the Tumal region was raided by orcs. Fraunk and Ismenia were the first friends we have made since then. So close in fact that since last month before her parturition, I helped her around the house. The news couldn't have come at the worst possible time because it and her going into labor virtually occurred right at the same time."

"What was Fraunk doing that caused him to not take time off?" Jemeir asked.

"That was mostly his doing. He had a case that was personal to him, so he worked on it as much as possible," Dearsell answered. "As for specifics of the case, I don't know much about it. I'd like to chat more, but I think the baby is getting hungry."

"We won't hold you up anymore; thank you for your time, and we wish Ismenia well and hope she prevails against the trauma," Aila said. After Dearsell shuts the door, the party leaves. During their walk, on alert for any possible attacks, they discuss their next course of action in a lower voice.

"I say we need to chat with the guards next," Barion argued.

"That won't get us anywhere," Jemeir said.

"Why not?" Barion asked, still in the argumentative tone.

Jemeir gives the answer, "What reason would they have in giving up Fraunk's information to civilians? They'll keep it to themselves. We can obtain proper documentation that has a special perk to give us information and other benefits. Still, it'll take too long to do the steps, the paperwork, the processing, and others to make it worthwhile for our effort."

"What are we supposed to do now, mingle with the crowd and pray for a clue to float by?" Barion grumbled.

While Barion and Jemeir go back-and-forth on what to do, Radclyff notices his spouse deep in thought. "You ok, Aila?" he asked.

"Hmm?" Aila snaps back to reality. "Yes, I am, Radclyff. Just thinking about what Ismenia is going through right now and in the future." He suspects that she is thinking about Barion and it's personal between them. As she now hears her son and Jemeir's argument, an idea pops in her head. "Hey, Barion, remember when Fraunk came to our house?"

"Yeah, mom," Barion answered.

Aila continues further. "He gave out the names of some of the people that assaulted us, and he mentioned one was a local in Belburn. What was he called, do you remember?"

“Drevas Rhulst," Barion responded.

"That's the name!" Aila shouted.

Jemeir picks up on where Aila's going with it. "It would be significantly easier to look into this Drevas Rhulst's life instead of Fraunk's, and I actually know a little about him already."

"How?" Aila asked.

"I hired him and a few of his friends several Harvest Festivals ago because he was desperate for money, and he looked like he was capable for the job so, I took pity. Never again will I rehire him, and from the sounds of it, I don't have to. He loved to get wasted at The Nagging Goat," Jemeir answered.

"There's a good chance that someone there would know something that leads us in the right direction," Aila said.

"If you want hearsay, taverns and inns are the places to go. Drevas could've spilled something useful to his friends, and I'm sure the owner has a wealth of gossip to share." Jemeir adds, "And if somehow we come up with nothing, I can get room to stay in until my house is ready."

"It still won't be an issue for Radclyff and me to let you stay with us," Aila offered. "It's much safer if you stick with us.

Jemeir refuses. "I appreciate it, but I'll be fine. If hell breaks loose, I can run to your house."

The cheap food, drinks, and lodging make the Nagging Goat a popular gathering place for locals and travelers, and the quality matches the price, but the people don't mind at all. When people look at the tavern from the outside, they see a building in need of repairs; portions of the wood are rotten, holes in the roof, dilapidated windows, and a sign missing letters, so it spells 'Naingt' instead of Nagging Goat. Since the place is cheap, it attracts more people of the lower class, and in doing so, it has a reputation of bar fights breaking out to the point the proprietor hiring two bouncers. When Aila and the others arrive, the two bouncers greet them by throwing out two inebriated men; the bouncers do nothing as the party enters a room packed with besotted people. The first task Jemeir does is get a room to stay in; he waves over Aila, Barion, and Radclyff over to the bar when he doesn't spot any of Drevas's friends.

"What can I get for you to start out with?" the barkeeper asked the party. Standing at six feet exact, the barkeeper is mostly skin and bone with some muscle and a fat belly. He has thick, brown hair with brown eyes that scan the newcomers with interest since this is the first time he sees them as he's occupied desiccating the wet glass cups with a towel.

"I'll have a Jern Dumark on the rocks," Jemeir said, setting an example for the others to follow. "And two orders of Fried Land Oysters to go along with the beverages."

"I'll have Hangman's Ale," Aila ordered.

"I'll have Jern Dumark on the rocks as well," Radclyff requested.

"I'll have a Chelline Avalanche," Barion ordered

"Coming right up." The barkeeper yells in the back for the Fried Land Oysters before he focuses on preparing the drinks; Jemeir's and Radclyff's are ready first because he reaches for a bottle with the label "Jern Dumark" on it and pours it into two bantam glasses with ice. For Aila's, he retrieves a tankard, goes underneath the counter to pour the ale from the keg, and hands it to her with foam on the top. Barion's requires the most time because of the ingredients. The beverage consists of milk, vanilla ice cream, Sminov Vodka, and vanilla flavored liquor. The barkeeper mixes them by stoutly shaking them in a closed container before pouring the concoction into a glass cup roughly the same size as Aila's. As soon he completes Barion's order, the fried food finishes cooking, and he brings two baskets out. "Anything else I can get for you two?" he asked after he noticed the empty glass by Jemeir and Radclyff.

"Another Jern Dumark on the rocks, please," Radclyff requested after he recovered from the intense burn from the alcohol.

"I'll have something less strong," Jemeir wheezed. He points at Aila, "I'll have what she's having."

"Coming right up." In no time flat, Jemeir and Radclyff receive their libations.

"What's the matter, Jemeir, can't handle the hard liquor?" Radclyff asked in a joking tone as he downed his booze in one gulp.

"Those days are over, I'm afraid," Jemeir said.

"These oysters are delicious," Barion praised with his mouth full; the crust makes an audible sound. "Why is it called Land Oysters, though?" His booze has a potent punch in the aftertaste but not as powerful as taking hard alcohol straight like Jern Dumark; the milkshake consistency aids in taming down the vigor.

"Because they're testicles of an animal, mostly bulls," the barkeeper answered. Barion pauses with his open mouth over a piece of fried bull's balls upon hearing the news, erecting his tail in alarm.

"Is it ok if I have an order of cheese bites instead, Jemeir?" Barion asks as he places the fried organ back in the basket.

"Go right ahead; more for the rest of us," Jemeir answered. Barion can barely comprehend that Jemeir and his parents are casually ingesting bovine testicles.

After handing out the fried cheese in five thick rectangles, and more drinks, the barkeeper asks, "Where did you come from? I don't recall serving you before."

"All of us are locals," Jemeir answered. "Somebody recommended this place, so we came here."

The barkeeper smiles. "New customers are always good for businesses. Who recommended you to come here?"

"A man called Drevas Rhulst," Jemeir casually responded.

The barkeeper's expression alters. "Oh...him. That's surprising after what I did to him."

So he does know him, Jemeir thought. "What did you do?"

"I had to throw him out and permanently ban him from stepping foot in here. Damn bastard gets drunk often, and he was the violent kind of drunk. He somehow scraped enough coin to spend here after his business ventures went bankrupt, and I had enough of his outbursts."

"Did he tend to hang out here alone or with someone?" Aila asked.

The barkeeper rubs his chin. "He was a loner most of the time. He came by occasionally with his friends, and they were rowdy just as much as he was. There was one other person that stood out to me."

"Who," Aila inquired.

"Some woman, but I don't have a name. Looked like he and her were on a date which surprised me because he dressed like a slob whereas she wore a dress that only the rich can afford, and I never had a single rich person step foot in here until her," the barkeeper said while he cleaned the countertop.

"Is that all you could remember?" Aila asked.

"They sat in the most secluded spot possible. Her hair is the other thing I remember; it was the blondest of hairs I've seen in my life," the barkeeper answered. "You've finished your food and drinks. Can I interest you in something else, or are you ready to pay for the tab?"

"Let me try that Dragonfire Whiskey over at the far end," Radclyff requested.

"I'll get it ready, but I must warn you that it's the strongest booze I have available," the barkeeper replied in a tone to make Radclyff reconsider.

"How strong can it be?" Radclyff gloated. Even with the tinier amount than the Jern Dumark, the Dragonfire Whiskey packs more bite than it with a tingling sensation from a spice, and he can feel it, but he does well keeping it down to the amazement of the barkeeper. After paying the grand total of fifty-four gold and leaving a ten gold tip, the group leaves now with a lead to pursue.

Since the woman is most likely from the more affluent districts, the party walks over to the upper parts of Belburn to find her; the members hope that the blond hair makes her stand out from the crowd. With the remaining time left, they decide on Little Mohone; the name comes from a wave of Elves settling here after losing their homes from an earthquake in a city in Eltyr called Mohone in Year 23 of the 4th Age. Due to the laxer borders that separate the wealthy districts from the rest of Belburn and the moderate prices on items and food, it is popular for people in the lower echelons to experience the rich lifestyle if they save enough money. Clothing stores make up most businesses with an entire street dedicated to them, and the offerings are Elvish in design; the architecture and food are also Elvish in nature.

While searching for the woman, the party comes across Malfias ahead with his personal bodyguards with him; he doesn't see the group as he's dealing with people wanting to get his autograph and chat with him. Eventually, he does notice them as Aila, Barion, Jemeir, and Radclyff attempt to break the line of sight by accessing a nearby store. Letting his guards deal with the commoners, he goes to have a conversation with them.

"Fancy meeting all of you here," Malfias greeted them with a neutral tone.

"What do you want, Malfias?" Jemeir asked with a bitter voice.

"I just wanted to chat, that's all. No need to be hostile towards me, Jemeir," Malfias answered.

"Kind of hard to do that given what you did a while ago," Jemeir said bitterly.

“Do you know Drevas Rhulst?" Barion asked from behind his parents. Jemeir grits his teeth.

Malfias's attention is now on Barion. "I do. He owed me a favor after I graciously gave him money to start a business."

"What about Yves Canthor, Erthak Rhostol, and Terutius?"

"The first two were business partners of Drevas, and the other I helped free from jail after he was falsely accused of robbing a merchant. All of them owed me favors as well."

"Did you get them to repay their favors any time recently?"

"I don't appreciate the tone of voice you're using, mutt. It sounds like you're accusing me of something nefarious which I never dare conceive of doing." Malfias assays to get closer to Barion.

Radclyff wedges himself between Barion and Malfias. "That's as close you're getting, Malfias," he growled.

Malfias backs off. "I have more important business to attend to, so I better leave before the rabid fur ball bites me, but listen here; there are other people that have a greater reason for causing you harm. Having tunnel vision will allow them to slip through and fulfill their task before you can even process who's the culprit. With that, I bid you adieu."

After their chat with Malfias, the party members renew their search for the blond woman in Little Mohone to no avail when daylight shrinks. Jemeir parts way when they reach The Nagging Goat, and the rest head back home. Sitting in silence at the dinner table with only the sounds of silverware hitting china, Radclyff and his family are having leftovers for dinner. The night is pleasant, so Barion decides to sit on the front porch on one of the chairs to let the night breeze blow over him, listen to the crickets chirping, and stare at the luminescence of the fireflies. At the behest of his wife, Radclyff joins his son outside to make amends.

"Can I sit next to you, son?" Radclyff asked. Detecting no objection from Barion, he sits down, expecting his rejection this time. When his offspring didn't leave, he continues his talk, "I apologize for how I treated you a couple of nights ago. I shouldn't have hit you, and I regret everything I've said."

"What you did traumatize me; you looked like you meant every word and every strike against me," Barion responded.

"That was not the father that raised you. I would never, ever do something like that to you or your siblings."

"Sure looked exactly like you and acted like you also."

Radclyff sighs. "There was a time where I was always like that. I was prone to anger, and I often got violent. I'm not just an ordinary Fenri; I'm a Direfenri. It's the largest and strongest of all Fenri, but also the most aggressive. I had tamed a part of that side prior to traveling with Jemeir, but I still was prone to it. Those travels eventually led me to your mother, and she caused me to strive to be a better person. At first, I did it by myself, but I became enraged at some point in front of her, and I did something unspeakable."

"You didn't rape her, did you?" Barion asked and interrupted Radclyff.

"No... no! I didn't do anything to her, but I killed a party member and a dear friend. Instead of being afraid of me like any sane person would, she chose to help me conquer my rage. I give thanks to my god to this day that she's still with me and having eight kids to enjoy, including you. Now I have better control, and I can direct my fury against any threat to you, your mom and siblings, and anyone else I deeply care about. You did the best you could, and you're right; I don't know what I would be capable of if I came home and everyone was gone."

Barion hugs Radclyff. "It's ok, dad, and I forgive you."

Radclyff returns the hug. "I appreciate it, Barion." He discerns someone taking aim at them. "GET DOWN!" An arrow embeds itself in Barion's chair after Radclyff forces Barion to duck by ducking as well; they instantly go on the offensive against the assailant after alerting Aila to the attack. Now that the element of surprise is over, the assassin attempts to flee after witnessing a Fenri and a Beastman charging at it; horror sets in as it realizes it can't outrun Radclyff. The hefty mass of fur and muscle impinges on the assassin's body, knocking the wind out of it as it collapses to the ground, with Radclyff standing on top, huffing and snarling down at it; he reveals her as the woman with the highly blond hair after removing her mask.

As Barion keeps watch, Radclyff interrogates the woman. "Who do you work for?" She begins to giggle. "Who do you work for?" he asked again, pissed off at the giggling; the giggling transforms into laughter. A quick inspection from him on her body uncovers a crumpled piece of paper. "This isn't some fun and games," he said while upping the interrogation methods. "Who the fuck do you work for?"

She laughs harder and maniacally before saying, "May the fires of hell burn you as retribution! Fire Nature: Spontaneous Explosion!" During her final words, her body radiates bright light as a magical symbol appears. Shielding his son by laying on top of him, Radclyff takes the full brunt of the explosion and the dirt, debris, and flesh rain on top of him; the heat singes his back, and the shockwave leaves a bruise.

"You ok, Barion?" Radclyff asked with a groan.

"I should worry about you, dad," Barion answered.

"Don't worry about me; my body suffered way worse than this." Radclyff winces as he stands up. Uncrumpling the paper and reading it, he looks at his son. "We need to see your mother and Jemeir in the morning."

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