Lamia was a proud Knight of Ouroboros, an Order sworn to protect the world from the Goddess of Death, Thana, and her Weapons: constructs of magical power forged from the bodies of living people. Lamia was content as Warden and defender of the small country town of Marston when a mysterious drifter entered her life and changed her world forever. Together, she and her friends would journey to try and stop the intentions of a mad Goddess, but could Lamia trust in the people she surrounded herself with? More importantly, could she trust the man she loved most of all?
The man who sat before Lamia had his arms crossed in a slouched pose that wreaked of either apathy or arrogance, though it was impossible to say which. It was difficult to get a read on his facial expression in the dim room with only a single candle for light, but Lamia could make out an unenthused scowl just above the rogue’s chiseled jawline. A length of light brown hair hung just above his piercing blue eyes, the rest of his head concealed underneath a black hood. “Perhaps that is what’s troubling me?” Lamia thought. The rogue that sat before her looked the part with an outfit that was completely black and a short-sword and dagger hanging loose off his belt. But he had made no attempt to blend in. Zero effort went into concealing himself from wary eyes. Any bandits that had entered town before had at least tried to dress the part of a simple farmer or merchant, but this man had not. So, either he was extremely stupid or… Lamia shook her head. The man was not dumb. She sensed there was a deep intelligence in this drifter, which meant he had not bothered to conceal himself for some other reason. What that reason could be, however, she had no idea. “I’ll ask again,” Lamia said. “What are you doing in Marston?” A slightly audible “Hmph” could be heard underneath the drifter’s otherwise silent scowl. “I told you already: I’m just passing through.” “Oh?” Lamia questioned. “This town is out in the middle of nowhere. Where are you headed?” “That’s not your concern,” the drifter replied. “What? Are people suddenly not allowed to stop in a nice quiet town for a few days to get some rest?” “Certainly,” Lamia said, gazing at her verbal opponent through autumn eyes. “But generally, those passing through town tend to stay at this little place called an inn. I understand it’s much cozier than the wooden roof of a random house you opted to sleep on instead. You startled everyone around when you jumped down this morning.” “Yea,” the rogue said, smirking. “Sorry about that. The inn was too pricey, and I needed some place to crash.” “You were trespassing.” Lamia said authoritatively. “You had no business on that roof except to scout the area for presumed thievery.” “Excuse you.” The rogue seemed offended at the notion that he was a thief. “Listen, babe, I don’t have to justify myself to you.” “B-babe!?” Lamia replied. She felt her face flush, and she was suddenly grateful it was so dark in the room. The rogue shrugged. “What? You’re easily the prettiest Ouroboros to hold me for questioning. Just stating a fact.” Lamia scowled. “So, you’ve been arrested before? By the Order?” The rogue seemed to shift in his seat. It was a clear tell that he felt he had said too much. “Questioned. Held. Never arrested.” “Good enough for me,” Lamia said, feeling a sense of triumph. She reached back and knocked loudly on the door just behind her. A guard opened the door and poked his head inside. The room flooded with light and slightly blinded the two occupants. “Ma’am?” the guard said. “Guardsman, take this thief and escort him out of the town’s limits. He is not to return to Marston,” ordered Lamia. The rogue shrugged. “Hardly the first time.” He stood up and headed for the door. The guard motioned towards the door. “Come on, then. Come quietly.”
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