Shadows of Nurontha

[starphoenixkoroias]

(** As of starting this, I have no intentions on including any adult themes... however this may change as I get my brain together and feel the story flowing a bit better, for now, it will be somewhere between PG-13 and R-rated. **)

Chapter 1: "The valiant man consumed by the shadows that never existed....."

The night sky was cloudless and starlights filled it much like the twinkling of lantern lights filled the sleepy city. The streets were dry and dusty from the lack of recent rain. Footsteps echoed down the shadowy alleyways between run-down shops. Someone ran quickly, darting their head back and forth every so often as if expecting something to leap out at them. They stopped just behind the shadow of a small tannery, peering around the corner into the empty market square. There, atop a building across they way... they could just barely make it out. Something was hunched over the roof, eyes glowing a faint bluish light. It leaped off the building and landed in the middle of the square as if it were doing no more than hopping a couple of inches away. This thing hissed slightly and a gutteral growl escaped it as its tongue lolled out licked around its face. The figure hiding near the tannery burst out and quickly unsheathed a weapon, slashing at the thing with a grunt. The thing leaped backwards landing several feet away hissing loudly. The figure studies his weapon carefully. A shimmering wetness lightly coated the blade.
"I finally hit it," the figure muttered to itself.
The thing rubbed at its body and licked a clawed hand, perhaps tasting its own blood. The thing growled and leaped at the figure, swiping a clawed hand at the figure. The figure held up the weapon and the claw smashed into the blade, a brief spark of light jumping away from the contact point. The brief flash lit the face of a man with dimly amber-colored eyes, and lit the face of the thing as well revealing something resembling a vulture or lizard. The man held his weapon down by his side and turned it slightly, the starlight and the sliver of moonlight reflecting off it. The creature lowered its head and hissed loudly, its skin rippling with waves of darkness. The man's reflexes reacted and brought his weapon back up, barely deflecting a wave of energy thrown at him. He looked down and realized the shockwave pushed him back a little, track marks in the dusty street proving it.
The creature held its claws up and a ball of dark energy formed above it, slowly growing in size. The man reached to his belt and pulled a small card from it, placing it against the blade of his weapon. The weapon glowed with a dim yellow pulse and slowly began crackling with faint yellow waves of energy. The creature threw the ball of dark energy at the man with a lurch, only to discover that it hit the empty street. The creature suddenly jerked and screeched in pain. Its body convulsed violently as the blade of the mans weapon shot out through its chest. The man turn the weapon as much as he could and with all his strength slashed sideways ripping through the creature tearing out internal organs and bones. He continued the motion and spun around, lowering the weapon as he spun about, then turning it upward cleaving the creature's back from hip to neck. The creature's body began shaking and convulsing even harder, the guts and blood pouring out of the terrible wound dealt by man. Crackles of yellow energy formed around the creature and with a powerful thunderclap the creature exploded into a rain of ichor and chunks of carnage. The man didn't have time to rest as the lights in many nearby buildings slowly came to life. He retreated down another alleyway and sought shelter while the townspeople emerged to investigate the sudden noise that rocked their sleepy city.
The man found an abandoned shop and slipped in. He barricaded the doors as best he could then found an out of the way spot to sit down in. He held his weapon blade down next to him to inspect it. It was a finely crafted weapon, nearly four feet of blade bolted into a long blunderbuss. A specially modified weapon called a gunblade.
Gunblades were rare and difficult weapons. Very few metalsmiths desired tainting the ancient art of sword-making to fuse their craft with that of the newly created "guns" as they were called. The difficulty of the gun blade was the gun, as one had to be sure not to fire it off until they were ready. Many gunblade users had died from their own misfires.
He pulled a cloth from out of his belt pouch and wiped the blade off, discard the cloth into another corner after he was done.
"That was the fifth one in three nights," he muttered to himself. He layed the weapon down and removed his leather jacket. It was getting beat up fairly badly from the fighting. Gashes and burn marks were all over it now. He'd have to repair it soon. He leaned his head back and let out a slow, deep breath. His mind was emptied of all thought as he tried to rest his body. Only a few hours of moonlight left before he would have to wake up all over again to assume his daylight persona. The coolness of the night washed over him, feathering his skin like the hands of sultry vixen. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes. The clattering of footsteps in the distance kept him from drifting too far into his mind. Muffled shouts alerted him to the townguard being roused. He pulled his jerkin back on quickly and picked up his gunblade.
Looking around, he decided it best to slip out a window in the back. The window opened without much noise and he worked his body out of it and into the street behind the shop. He closed the window and darted his eyes back and forth and made for the edge of town. Hopefully he could keep one step ahead of the townguard. He sheathed his gunblade behind his back and took off, the ringing of the alarm bell from market square breaking the still of the night.....

 

[starphoenixkoroias]

The man ran as swiftly as his legs would take him. The alarm bell filled the air with its tolling, and lights flickered on in various windows here and there. The people no doubt being startled away by the racket the guards were making. He could hear the muffled voices of the townguard getting louder, some of them trying to shout orders over the ringing. The last couple of nights gave them practice, and the townguard were more organized. He was looking up at the rooftops and the walls trying to find a way out before they caught up. He kept running as he lowered his head down and had to force himself to come to a stop very quickly. A small squad of pikemen were trotting out of view of the lane up ahead.
"Dammit, I need to get out of this," he muttered. He looked up and
around again at the buildings he was between and decided the only way was for him just to take a chance. He pulled another card out from his belt, holding it his forehead. It glowed briefly and vanished, then his body was covered in a pale green light. He sprinted and then
leapt up into the wall of the building nearest to him. He connected, then turned and jumped across the alley to the next building. As soon as he hit the other building he whirled around again and jumped back to the first building. He did this repeatedly, each time gaining a bit of height until with the final leap he was able to clear the roof of one of the buildings and land safely on top. His new vantage point let him see that the townguard were gathering around the mess he left behind.
He shook his head and turned away with another sprint and began jumping from rooftop to rooftop. The power wouldn't last long, but at least he could get some distance between him and the townguard. Once he cleared a few buildings, he leaped downward landing safely on a patch of grass near another shop. He looked down and cursed at himself.
"Fuck me," he swore rather loudly. "Cleo's going to bitch about this for days." He had landed on what used to be a patch of rather sparkly flowers. The ringing of the alarm bell made him remember he needed to get off the street. His destination wasn't too far away, but with the his need for semi-secrecy he kept to the shadows between buildings and away from the open as best as he could. Although he was sure it had only been maybe twenty minutes or so it felt like it had taken him hours to cross the distance. He finally came upon his destination and leaned up against wooden beam panting a bit. He gave a quick scan of the nearby area to be sure nothing was out of place and darted around back. His presence made a horse nicker furiously as he appeared and it gave a disgusted snort.
"Yeah good to see you too Terron." Terron shook its head and snorted again, as if he was chastising the man. The man groaned and pressed the palm of his right hand into his face and muttered, "Give me a break already." The horse clicked its teeth together a couple of times and snorted again. The man walked around to a gate and let himself into the yard there and moved across it. He glanced back at Terron and shrugged as if defeated. Terron neighed a bit, almost as if to laugh. The man found a door and opened it, going into the building.
Inside it was dark, save for a couple of lanterns and one glowing orb of amber light that hovered over a crucible in the corner of the room. He took his jerkin off and tossed it unceremoniously over a chair and hung his gunblade over that and then slumped down into another chair.
"That horse will never let you sneak in here Ron," said another male voice.
Ron turned to his left and looked at where the new voice was coming from. An older man stood there in the room. His waist-length pale blue hair was tied in a few places with lengths of leather cord. A pair of overly-bushy white eyebrows stood in contrast to almost glowing green eyes. He was dressed in what looked like a pair of pajamas of sometype. "Meh," Ron grunted. "Terron is about the most infuriating horse I've ever met." Ron scratched his head and spoke again, "I didn't figure you'd be up this time Minteur." The old man shrugged and walked over to the other chair and pulled the gunblade out. He inspected it a long moment and shook his head in disapproval. "If you don't take better care of this thing, you realize I'm going to have to kick your ass again." Ron got up and walked over to take the gunblade from Minteur. "Yeah well, you fight those things and see if your weapon is in nearly good a shape." The two men stared each other down during this exchange....

 

[starphoenixkoroias]

The sun was shining on a cold, blustery morning. The snows had just come from over the mountains and the entire countryside was buried in the endless blanket of white. A rather boyish-looking Ron was grumbling and cursing loudly as he trudged through the shin-deep layer of fluff. He wasn't muscular, but his body was athletic enough. Some girls even called him kinda cute, though he never paid much attention. But his dark reddish-brown hair and his amber eyes did get him some looks. Except on the days he wore his scowl, the scowl that told everyone that Ron was in his bad mood and to not get near him. And today, he was in a mood. Every day he had to muck back and forth to watchpost to deliver a message to the rangers stationed there and then head right back to his assigned dormatory. The winter was the worst in his mind because it meant getting up before the sun rose and going out in the frosty darkness. Today he was especially irate since even with the snow he and the other trainees were forced to do their rounds. He stomped a bit as he walked, making sure to smash the snow down as he moved. He got back to the gate and the guards opened up the walkway and let him through. He just stomped on by them without even saying anything. One of the guards shouted some rather lewd obscenities about his upbringing at him. Ron didn't care, he was just angry. He just wanted to take it out on someone. He crashed into the outer door like he was tackling someone and stormed in. A few of the other trainees had made it back and jumped out of his way. They knew better when Ron was in his moods. One rather skinny and pasty-faced trainee walked over and grabbed Ron by the arm.
"Hey slowdown hothead," the skinny trainee said to him. "You keep this up, the instructor is gonna put you in a world of hurt." Ron spun around and back-fisted the trainee and unsheathed his gunblade. The skinny trainee rolled over and saw the gunblade out and started scrambling across the floor backwards, his rear end bouncing off the floor several times as he tried to make some distance. The other trainees all dove behind their bunks and closets. Ron just glared at them all.
"Do not touch me you filthy piece of shit," Ron barked at the skinny trainee who was still on the floor. He pointed his gunblade at the trainee and let a shot ring out. The bullet soared from the barrel and streaked across the room, embedding itself into the foot chest next to the trainee's head. Everyone else in the room was completely stunned. Ron just stood there glaring, the back of his mind registering he just did something wrong. The the feeling was too detached to him, Ron was just angry. He wheeled around and took a few steps before he collided with someone.
Ron recoiled back a step and shouted a few choice obscenities at whoever it was before he looked up. He did look up after only to realize he was face-to-face with a very upset instructor.
Daedelion Minteur ilta Haven was not the most imposing instructor, but he commanded respect. He was normally a fair person, strict but not overbearing, authoritative without being bossy, and always balanced patience with a heavy hand. His glowing green eyes when he stared at people could wilt some, and his knee-length bright blue hair seemed to give him a mystical quality. His bushy, yet well-managed pale-brown eyebrows set off his eyes and made them that much more startling. Everyone just called him Minteur, or the trainees called him Instructor Minteur. Today, Instructor Minteur wore an expression like he was gonna break someones head in. And he had himself glaring back one seriously angry Ron. Ron scrambled to his feet and completely lost his manners.
"You stupid, overbearing, dog's ass!" Ron screamed out, gripping his gunblade. "What's the fucking idea sending us out in this?" Ron was so busy screaming and glaring back he never what happened next. Minteur had uppercut Ron right under his jaw with such force it laid Ron flat on his back. Ron just growled, even though he was dazed and tried to get back up. Minteur gave him a sort of low-flying roundhouse kick right to the head and send Ron tumbling over. The other trainees in the room had all fallen back, too afraid to make much noise. Minteur pulled some rods from the holsters in the back of his uniform and twisted them together in his hands. The length of metal in his hands was about three feet long, and he twirled it about in one hand. Ron pulled himself up and without a regard to what he was doing whipped his gunblade up. Minteur met it with the metal rod and deflected Ron's attack. Ron spun around again, but Minteur had already smashed the rod down onto Ron's shoulder, followed by a swipe that connected with the temple on Ron's head. Ron fell over knocked out by the hit, and Minteur just shook his head sadly....

Ron blinked a few moments staring at the bushy white eyebrows of Minteur, looking up and down the older man's body and realizing he was in pajamas.
"So where did your mind wander off to this time boy?" Minteur half-snorted.
Ron just shrugged and responded, "Was thinking about how I really dislike running in the snow."
Minteur laughed a belly-laugh and slapped Ron on the back, handing him back the gunblade.
"Well, you might be a strapping young man, but I'm not quite as young as I used to be." Minteur yawned and turned around. "I do actually need to sleep once in awhile." Minteur walked out of the room. Ron hostered his gunblade and grumbled. Sleep was something he needed, especially since he knew Cleo would have a fit about those flowers. And he really needed to be rested to deal with her when it came to her flowers.....

 

[starphoenixkoroias]

Young Ron was really bored. He hated these long rides his family made him take. This ride he was hating more than anything else right now. His father had decided instead of him being a proper boy, darting about the village and getting into petty mischief that instead he would go to Condaelius Academy. The place was where boys went to be molded into useful men; the worst of the lot were whipped into shape and those that were already good supposedly became respectably so. Ron's father put a good deal of his family's money into the application for the Academy. Ron stared out the windows of the transport. He was only nine years old, he didn't want to go to some stuffy place like this. He wanted to go to school with his friends and then go galavanting around the village and the fields doing whatever he wanted. He just stared, resenting his father a little bit.

Ron's father was what people would call invisibly average. There was absolutely nothing interesting about the way he looked, his voice could be easily lost in the din of a conversation, and his job as bookkeeper was total unremarkable. He was completely and perfectly average in every respect. His house was modest and not unique; a sort of earthy tan color with leaf-green trim that could easily be overlooked if you were passing by. Even their transport they were riding in was nothing special, it being a small self-powered coach of plain grayish hue. Ron didn't mind this aspect of his father, because it meant people didn't expect anything of him. The people of the village were completely astounded when Ron's father announced to friends and family that the Academy was in Ron's future. The reasoning being Ron needed structure more than he could give, whatever that meant. The family and friends seemed to agree it wasn't a bad idea, however Ron just muttered under his breath alot.

The ride took the better part of the day, until it was nearly sundown when the transport finally arrived. Ron's father gathered up everything and Ron got out dragging his feet as much as possible without upsetting his father. If the sight of Ron's father and house were utterly average, the sight of the Condaelius Academy was anything but. The Academy was a huge, sprawling campus of orderly stone buildings and carefully tended greenery. Buildings were marked with various colored flags and painted wooden doors bearing some significance to those structures. The massive central building was almost the size of a castle keep, an imposing stone structure reaching several stories into the air. Around it were perfectly shaped and spaced bushes, and tall flagpoles reached up from the stairs before the building. Various people where going back and forth, all dressed in a similar clothings. The spring had just come, so the grasses were a pale green still, not having had time to grow into what would probably be a full and deep lushness. The sun setting gave everything a sort of odd orange hue that made the main building look as if it were glowing from its own internal flame.

Ron and his father climbed the steps up to the doorway of the main building and were welcomed in by a pair of young men whom seemed to be stationed there for that purpose. Inside, the building was very well-lit, with dozens of brightly glowing orbs lining the walls. Ron looked down at the floor, the marble tiling was polished and showed him a shadowy reflection of himself. He looked around at the painted light blue walls where the orbs were embedded. There were frescoes and paintings of various people and places he didn't know, and boards where people were gathered reading messages. Sturdy columns stretched up to the ceiling where larger orbs hung giving off more light. People were still here, going about their business. Ron's father looked about and found a desk with someone there. He asked about something and was directed down to the other end of the floor.
Ron was still upset as his father led him to a doorway. The sign on the door was obvious to him and he began to fidget. This was an admissions office. Ron's father pushed him in and then walked in behind him. A female was there at a desk and smiled.

"Welcome, sir," she said. "What may I help you with?"
Ron's father nodded and replied, "Yes, my name is Arron Marreu. I applied for my son to attend the Academy here."
She nodded and smiled again, "Yes Mr. Marreu we were expecting you. I am Lancer 2nd Class Alicia Roathin, you may call me Ms. Roathin."
Arron bowed a bit and extended his hand for a handshake, which Alicia accepted. "Pleasure to meet you Ms. Roathin." Arron nudged his son slightly. "And this is my son Ron Marreu. You'll have to forgive him for not being polite."
Ron half-heartedly waved. Alicia smiled again. "Don't worry sir, we tend to get that sometimes." She came around from her desk and seemed to study Ron a moment. "Mr. Marreu, and young Master Ron, if you would please sit over here," she gestured to a table in the back of the room surrounded by chairs, "we can complete your application process. You may place your items in the corner for now." Arron and Ron did so and sat down at the table, Ron's eyes were burning a bit now as he was feeling very angry and tears were beginning to slowly well up.

Ron grunted as he woke up at hearing a loud thump on the floor. He sat up in bed muttering incoherently. Minteur was swearing very loudly from somewhere nearby. Ron shuffled out of bed and went to the bathroom and dunked his head into a basin full of water. He whipped his head out and made a sort of growl or groan and shook himself.
"Minteur!" Ron bellowed still partly asleep. "Don't go breaking yourself old man!" Minteur just swore some more.
Ron was looking out the window and saw the sun was up off the horizon. He groaned loudly and muttered, "Cleo's gonna be really pissed at me now." He washed up quickly and got some fresh clothes together before locating the source of Minteur's rather colorful language. Ron found the him in the main room with a rather large crate that had split open and was spilling its contents out on the floor. Ron laughed and Minteur just swore some more. Ron went into the next room and touched the crucible, causing the light to brighten slightly. He rifled around the cabinets until he produced some shelf bread and dried meat and made himself a light breakfast along with a rather large tankard of wine. He grabbed the gunblade off the back of the chair where he left it and wore it on his body where he usually did and beat the old jacket a bit before heading out.

He strolled back to where he had jumped down onto the sparkling flowers the night before and looked around briefly. The building was a sort of a house and shop rolled into one. Like many of the people in this town, Cleo lived in the second and third floors of her building and the first floor was for her livelihood. Ron studied the trampled flowers and winced. "Damn, I really smashed them when I dropped down here." Ron wasn't paying attention when he was suddenly smacked in the back of the head with something not-too-hard that made a sort of muffled thump when they hit him. Ron's face was in the ground when he heard a female voice that seemed rather angry.
"RON MARREU!" she burst out. "I swear one day I'm going bury you!" Ron rolled over on his back and looked up. The woman standing over him was glaring at him with a big frown on her face. Her short black hair was in a bob that curled around her face. Her big blue eyes glared at him like they were ready to shoot daggers at him. Her pillow lips were tight in a frown that made her dimples stand out in an odd manner. She wasn't tall, maybe barely 5 foot and 4 inches, and her slender frame wasn't imposing normally, but right now she was about as imposing as an angry dragon. Ron sort of smirked and looked her up and down. She wore a pale green cotton dress with short sleeves. It wasn't fancy at all, but one that Cleo typically wore when she worked. If there was anything about the dress that made people pause, it was the fact that the top of it hugged her breasts tightly so that her already round and full mounds seemed even larger. Ron let out a yelp as Cleo kicked him in the side. Ron winced, thinking she caught him looking again.
"Get your ass up and you can help me fix your mess!" she growled at him before whirling around and walking back into her shop. Ron, even wincing, watched her walk back in just so he could watch her slender body. Cleo had a way of walking that even though she did not have the most round hips or bottom, she could sway and make a man imagine more. Ron picked himself up and dusted off, trudging inside to face what he was sure was going to be even more of an earful.

 

[starphoenixkoroias]

RE: Shadows of Nurontha

Ron picked himself up and followed Cleo into the building. Ron liked to look around even if he had seen it more times than he could remember. Cleo was an artisan in leathercraft, making both decorative items and clothing. She found out from a very early age she had a gift for working leather, and at the age of eleven had apprenticed with a leatherworking guild. She had superceded the majority of the guild by the time she was sixteen and had returned to her family with the guild's higest honors. She found her own shop when she was of age to own her own property, at the age of nineteen, and had been here ever since. Ron always appreciated how Cleo was able to create the things she did, from mundane leather shirts to one very impressive life-sized leather replica of an eagle. The eagle she kept suspended from the ceiling and had a few painters work on the detailing. Ron was staring up when he felt her punch him in the gut.
"OUCH!" Ron yelped rubbing where she hit him.
Cleo glared up at him intently. Ron was a good shade above six feet tall but right now he felt like he was shorter than Cleo. She had a way of making someone feel very very inadequate in her presence.
"Are you done acting like an ass or you going to help me??" she growled out at him.
Ron winced and finally muttered out his apologies to her, "Cleo, I'm really sorry about the flowers. I had a spot of trouble last night and I misjudged where I was going an..."
She cut him off, "Yes! I know what you were doing last night! In fact, the whole of the village knows!" She stomped away and grabbed up a pad of leather, apparently the same one she hit him with earlier. "You are about the crudest and messiest ranger I have ever met! Leaving a corpse of one of those THINGS behind and then running off and smashing my FLOWERS!" She turned a bit red as she said that last part.
"Cleo, I can go get you some more if it'll help," Ron said trying to calm her down.
Cleo walked back up to him and bashed him with the pad of leather. "Do you have any idea what kind of flowers those were?"
Ron shook his head. "Truthfully, I don't. I never seen flowers sparkle like that."
Cleo's eyes were getting a little misty and she turned away. "Those were starblossom roses." She gave out a huff. "You can only get those seeds when they're in full bloom. And they only fully bloom once every two years." She walked into her backroom leaving Ron scratching his head.

Ron felt a little guilty now, not because of the flowers, but because Cleo was really mad at him. He was thinking of how long it would take for her to forgive him this time. He took off his jacket and gunblade and stowed them behind her counter so he wouldn't scare off customers. She came back out a couple minutes later and threw a rather large bundle of leather at him.
"Go make yourself useful you big ox," she said pointing at a workbench. "Don't cut them so thick this time, I'm making pants not armor!" Ron took the leather over to the workbench and laid it out and rooted out a pair of large shears.
He looked back over to her, "Cleoreina Villaflor, I really am sorry."
She didn't seem to hear him, as she was working on stretching some leather she had over a mirror. For an hour or so they said nothing to one another. Cleo answered the people who came strolling in asking her about various things she was working on, or to pick up things she had finished. Ron noticed on particular item was a small unicorn that was painted in typical girl colors. The woman that picked it up was so impressed she promised Cleo some meat pies the next week when the livestock were to be butchered again.
Things didn't change much until it was mid-afternoon when Cleo finally walked over to where Ron was working. She looked at the cut leather and finally spoke to him again.
"I swear Ron, you are the most difficult man to get along with," she said with a softer voice. She looked up at him and gave a sort of devilish smirk, "I might not forgive you this time though." She gathered up the leather and told him to take a break. A few minutes later she came out with some honey cakes on some small plates and tea in some rather large cups.
"Thanks Cleo," Ron said as he took a bite.
Cleo studied him a moment and said in a harsher voice, "If you ever call me Cleoreina again like that I swear I will use those shears and practice my gelding techniques on you."
Ron choked on the cake a bit and Cleo casually sipped at her tea. When they were done Cleo took the plates and cups away and came back out. She was giggling to herself slightly.
"What now?" Ron asked cautiously.
Cleo gave him that smirk again, "Oh I was just enjoying how pale you turned a moment ago." She looked up at a clock on the wall. "Well I've tortured you enough for one day. Those should be enough for awhile." Cleo turned to look at the door, then turned her head and looked over her shoulder. "You should be going. I bet Minteur is wondering whether or not I sewed you into a sack by now." She winked and walked into the back again. "And I'm still mad at you!" she called out.
Ron gathered his things and left, muttering a little. He figured since it was still daylight he'd chance a stroll closer to the village square. He headed that way at a brisk pace, not wanting to give Cleo a chance to change her mind.

 

[starphoenixkoroias]

RE: Shadows of Nurontha

Ron walked towards the village square pondering about Cleo's words.
"Everyone knew huh?" he muttered to himself. Ron occassionally looked about the village as he walked. The buildings here were much like Cleo's, with the exception of a few that were just small shops or other business. Those people lived on the northern edge of town having made enough money to own a seperate home. Most of the buildings in his village were clean and well-maintained. Everyone here took pride in their businesses and homes for the most part and kept appearances pleasing to the eye. The few larger buildings were mostly guild houses, places people went to learn a craft or a trade that they would use as their profession. Ron often pondered his fate when he walked by them, wondering what he might've done had his father not stuck him in the Academy. He turned onto one of the main streets and kept walking, a few of the people nodding and passing the courtesy of a greeting. He returned as many as he noticed. A couple of children ran up to him pretending to be monsters and he just smirked and ruffled their hair before shooing them back to their parents.
Rangers were a sort of special forces, used by the regional leaders to take care of interesting or unusual problems. They were often used where the presence of the normal army might cause problems or make the populace uncomfortable. They lived in secret, being housed as ordinary folk or pretending to be wayfarers and journeymen. Ron posed as a wandering fix-it man, taking care of odd jobs in town. Minteur was also a ranger, but he was in semi-retirement and had an actual job as a horse groomer and a woodworker. There were two other rangers as well, but they travelled around the fields and forests and were rarely seen in the village, those two posing as military scouts. The general populace didn't know about the rangers. The village guard knew of Ron and one of the others, and treated Ron a bit like a troublemaker at times. The village mayor and the lieutenant in charge of the village guard were the only two that knew of the four rangers. Four rangers in a village of this relatively small size was odd, but after Ron and Minteur were unable to deal with the problems the other two were dispatched to assist. The monsters had been appearing out of nowhere lately and at the start only appeared in the forests and fields. Merchants and travellers sometimes were attacked, but that was it. Then they started showing up in the village itself. Minteur would deal with those while Ron patrolled the outer areas but then the beasts popped up more and more in town and they both were unable to keep up. Minteur requested the other two and took on the role of their commander as the other three were tasked with keeping things as quiet as they could. Ron had to take the whole of the village on his own most nights. Ron was too busy lost in his thoughts and didn't even realize he was in the village square until one of the village guard and he bumped into each other.

There was a bit of a racket as both men fell over and had to pick themselves back up. The guardsman sneered when he saw Ron.
"You fucking punk, showing yourself in broad daylight eh?" the guardsman spoke with heavy disdain.
Ron just glared at him, "I thought I would see myself at the tavern for awhile is all. Nothing special."
The guardsman snorted, "You just keep out of trouble you vagabond. We've had enough problems lately."
Ron shrugged and gave a condescending bow and walked away.
When he got a bit away from the glowering guardsman, he surveyed the area where he got into the fight the previous night. The creature's blood still stained the ground in places, and where the body had been left the village guard conveniently dug a hole there with their flags so people would avoid it.
"How convenient," Ron muttered. "They got used to cleaning up a little too well." Outside of a few blood stains, there was nothing else showing that a battle had been fought here. A cargo transport rumbled by, but Ron seemed oblivious. He was intently studying the ground as if he was hoping for something to pop up. He looked about a few and walked away. He figured since he wasn't that far away, the tavern seemed like a good choice, so he decided to stop in for a drink. He began a trot across the village square to a tavern with a rather gaudy sign hanging from the front. It was done in a bright green and orange and had a picture of an upside-down fool on it with the worlds "The Tumbling Jester". Ron pushed the door open and walked into the sounds of a violin being played.