When Penndarius had first walked into the No Names Inn two years earlier, he had been greeted by Douglas Hammderstoute. The air outside had been cold and windy, and the bitter winter air snapped at his back; but when his feet touched the smooth wood floors of the inn, all the stress of his journey had melted away as the smell of fresh-baked biscuits and roasting beef wafted pleasantly past his nose.

An experienced proprietor, Douglas had recognized weariness from the journey and had seen the pained expression in Penndarius's eyes that had hinted that he was running from something. Douglas had welcomed the young fellow into the inn without hesitation and immediately gotten him a quilt to dry himself next to the crackling fireplace until the chill subsided.

When Penndarius had introduced himself, Douglas had begun to stutter, and his response had stuck in Penndarius's mind ever since.

"P-P-Penn...Ada... what?" he had bumbled when he heard Penndarius's full name. "Lad, if yer got a name like that 'un, ye’re likely to be getting yerself into trouble. Alter it a bit, an' no one will be ever the wiser. Greyson, yeah? Has a nice ring to it," he advised. "Now, what is it that ye do?" he asked.

Penndarius spoke up quickly. "I translate forgotten texts and research lost civilizations," he replied.

"A scholarly type ye be, eh? Don' get much o' them in this inn. Rascals, bandits, miscreants, and troublemakers, yes, but yer kind is a welcome sight. If ye be needin' anythin', lemme know, and I will see what I can do fer ye." Douglas said.

As Penndarius had lived there over time, he’d grown to love that bar. Despite its lessthan-desirable qualities, there was an air of freedom about the place. A man's titles, affiliations, and past did not hold sway. Here people were welcome to be themselves, judged only by their actions. Princes, kings, and nobles were treated the same as paupers and common folk. It was the first place Penndarius had ever really thought of as home. Now, after two years, Penndarius still felt at home, despite the circumstances of the past few hours.

When Penndarius and Soren walked through the doors of the No Names, the White

Guard had already left. Douglas’s short, stubby legs began pounding toward them across the oak floor as he muttered curses under his breath, some of which Penndarius had never heard before and which he assumed were not fit for well-mannered company.

"Boy! Ye better have a good reason fer this!" Douglas roared.

"No, no...it is not what you think!" Penndarius said as he jumped between Douglas and Soren, waving his hands frantically to stay Douglas's rage.

"Is it not?" Douglas roared. "An' who is that with ye, boy! He nearly destroyed one o' me best rooms earlier this morning!"

"He saved me. Some men dressed in black and wearing silver broaches were trying to kill me," Penndarius said as he attempted to calm Douglas.

Douglas stopped in his tracks, and slowly his face came back to its original color. "Penn, me boy, there was an untrustworthy sort in a black robe, passed out in his room earlier," he said in a no-nonsense manner and pointed at Soren. "Might be that he caused this," Douglas said as he nodded toward the warrior.

Penndarius eyed Soren briefly and tucked that bit of information away for later. Soren just looked away impassively as if none of it mattered to him.

The scholar turned his eyes back to Douglas. "I do not think he was the cause of it," Penndarius said, but he did not add that he thought Soren might have been related to the events in some way.

"What do ye need, boy?" Douglas asked as he pinched his thick lips together and tried to look serious.

"Finally, I need to get to my room to look over my notes. They may help me find answers," Penndarius replied, and it seemed that the tension left his face almost instantly. He became lost in thought as he ran over the events of the day in his mind.

Douglas pointed toward the stairs. "Go. And you," he pointed at Soren and locked eyes with him, "go with 'im. If them assassins come back, I want ye to take care o' them," he said.

placing his trust in Soren, albeit reluctantly.

"Thank you, my friend," Penndarius replied with sincerity.

Douglas bustled away. "Ye pay yer rent on time and never caused no trouble before," he muttered to himself under his breath.

The two of them went up the stairs and passed by Soren's room, where the fight had happened. The door was open, and Penndarius saw the broken bed. Soren sighed in mild satisfaction as they passed.

The two of them arrived in front of Penndarius's room. "I need to be alone for a bit to concentrate," he said to Soren.

Soren shrugged his shoulders. "This is goodbye, then," he said and walked away.

"I can survive on my own," Penndarius replied with confidence and narrowed his eyes.

Soren stopped in his tracks and turned his head slightly, looking at Penndarius from the corner of one eye. "Leave the city. It is the only way you will survive," he said solemnly, and with that he headed down the hallway to the stairs.

The scholar walked into his room and began sifting through notes with an urgency that seemed to pervade all his senses. Dust exploded off his shelves as he threw books left and right, looking for answers.

He found a hidden set of extra notes regarding the tablet, though they were incomplete. Some of the information from his translations was there, and when his hands touched them he suddenly flashed on an alien image that was as vivid as a memory. A large group of creatures that looked remarkably similar to the creature he had witnessed in his dream was standing around a circular area that glowed red with runes. Some of them had black fur and powerful builds, while others were white and had a feminine air.

Outside the enclosed area where they stood were clouds that churned violently as far as the eye could see. Unnatural, cobalt-colored lightning streaked the skies and arced among the clouds. Strange lights flashed from the voluminous bellies of the clouds, and at the center of the turmoil was an ominous hole where no clouds dared to pass, with an enormous dark eye that looked down unblinking at the ground.

A strange feeling tickled the back of the scholar's mind. "Hmm...how did you manage that, my dear?" a confident and familiar female voice said from within Penndarius's mind, which caused a feeling of electricity to shoot down his back.

"Penndarius Greyson...you scoundrel!" a cheerful voice interrupted from behind him. Penndarius was snapped away from the vision and back to the present.

Outside, Soren made his way across the street and ducked into an alleyway. He watched as a procession of White Guard stormed by him. They did not notice him as they headed toward the inn.

The guardsmen were led by a tall man who was not much older than Penndarius and was dressed from head to toe in heavy, whitewashed plate mail, though he walked with ease as if he were wearing normal clothing, which was not easy to do. If the armor and the athletic build were not enough to form an opinion, the large, powerful sword he was carrying on his back was: This man was dangerous and was not to be taken lightly.

A subordinate came running up to him from another direction, and Soren thought he overheard the honorific Your Lordship and a bit about a message from the Speaker Diametries, though he could not make out the entire missive. Afterward, the lot of them walked through the alleyway in force.

My head still hurts, Soren thought to himself and massaged his temples. Damn, double damn, and damn…! Curse that obstinate bastard upstart, Penndarius! He stomped back toward the inn, swearing all the way.

"Penndarius Greyson—scoundrel, scholar extraordinaire, and troublemaker!" the jovial voice called from behind Penndarius.

The scholar turned around and was surprised to see a man with a sinewy build, somewhat akin to Soren's, sitting in the window and leaning casually against the wood frame. He had one foot inside, and the other dangled out of sight beyond the sill. His clothes glowed slightly in the climbing twin suns' light. They fitted loose on his frame but were bound at the waist with a sash that held two naked, curved daggers that poked out the bottom. On his chest was a golden hammer, denoting him as a superior in the White Guard.

Penndarius tried to identify the mysterious voice that he recognized from somewhere but could not yet place. "What do the prestigious guardians of Deiyil want with me?" the scholar asked as he carefully examined the man's demeanor, trying to ascertain the reason behind a captain's personal visit to him.

"I am Lord Aedan Fillial, Captain of the White Guard, and it would gratify me to know why I was awakened from a pleasant sleep to chase your skinny bottom over half the Trade Quarter." Aedan stifled a yawn, covering his mouth with his hand. "Woke me from a pleasurable dream about healthy, voluptuous barmaids, and…." He shook his head to clear the reverie.

"I did not know I had done anything wrong," Penndarius responded honestly as he continued to scan Aedan for clues, examining his posture, body language, and tone for hints.

Aedan hopped off the window sill and approached Penndarius with an air of nonchalance. "Ah, well, sometimes it does not matter. We will sort this out at our headquarters. Come with me," he insisted and grabbed Penndarius firmly, though not roughly, by the arm.

"Let go!" Penndarius said in surprise.

"I am afraid I cannot do that," Aedan replied and sighed to himself. "Do not worry. If you are innocent, this will be brief," he said with a warm smile and dragged Penndarius towards the door.

Soren kicked open the door to the inn with purpose, planning to draw attention to himself. Inside were many guardsmen, who turned toward him in unison.

Jadice, the bigger of the twin captains, examined Soren for a moment and then pointed his plated forearm at the warrior. "He fits the description we were given. Detain him!" Jadice commanded and spurred the other guardsmen forward.

Four guardsmen rushed Soren and surrounded him. They slowly closed in on him and pointed their spears at him dutifully and guardedly. Another guardsman approached, wearing long white-and-gold robes stitched with patterns and symbols of Dol'ron. Jadice touched his shoulder and held him back.

"Hold, Aneurus! Let us see what he can do," Jadice said as he watched Soren prepare himself for a fight. Aneurus, Jadice's magus subordinate, saluted and stepped behind his superior to watch the fight.

Soren could see that Jadice knew how to handle himself just by the way he moved in his armor. Likewise, Jadice saw Soren's precise and controlled movements as a sign of skill.

"Oy!" Douglas yelled from the bar. "There'll be no fightin' in me bar!"

No one paid attention, so intent were they on the situation at hand, and the guardsmen closed in on Soren from all sides. 

- End of Episode -

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