They had met one another in Proselyte. Both of them had originally arrived at the bustling city-state under different impetuses, and upon staying their own welcomes, they were then to leave for different destinations.

  It had only been a happenstance encounter that had them ever meet in the first place. It had simply been a coincidence that they sat at the same table the night before departure in a grimy tavern bustling with intoxicated delight. The story of their meeting, though difficult to recall, was as legendary as it was awful, but the positive or negative connotations of that 'awe' continuously changed as the recounting storytellers got deeper into their drinks.

  Otherwise, it was inconsequential strangers who met and joyed and separated. Later, happenstance would bless them again as they collided outside the city's northern gates. As it would turn out, even though their final destinations differed, their paths to said destination coincided for a brief interval. And so, they accompanied each other on the northwest passage of the technologically advanced country of Bemean. Long journeys were always made shorter by an amicable companion, after all.

  The taller of the two companions, and as she never failed to remind, the more tolerant of her drink between the two, was a woman with long, auburn hair and a distance runner's frame. Her deceptively slim limbs hid what, upon closer inspection, were lean, hardened muscles. She had three prominent freckles under her right eye, which gave a youthful balance to the wrinkles that marred her otherwise clear skin. However, it was evident to any observer that her wrinkles were more echoes of tribulations past than they were of age.

  The woman didn't carry an adventurer's pack with her; instead, she had a thin belt wrapped around her right leg adorned with transparent pouches that, although seemed empty, held

  an immense bounty of loot within. The woman wore an oversized pastel yellow dress, which, despite the heaviness of the fabric, weightlessly floated on the tranquil morning breeze. She had an almost ghostly appearance as her gait practically floated above the ground she trodded.

  From a distance, it was hard to appreciate the woman's height as the colossal glaive she balanced across her shoulders made her seem quaint by comparison. Without a frame of reference, she would appear as a petite damsel overshadowed by a warrior's weapon. It was a misperception that would repeatedly find her lonely travels disturbed by foolish ne'er-do-wells.

  On this journey, however, she was not alone, and the frame of reference by her side clearly laid bare the size and might of the woman beside him. Her recent travelling companion was a short man sharing a trivial conversation with her. He had dirty black hair whose top knot could hardly hold back its straggly nature. The man wore a long white robe whose base fell to his ankles and whose collar flared all the way up to his nose.

  Most oddly of all, he carried a large basket on his back filled with an extensive collection of various fruits. A thick purple rope wrapped around his waist, threading through the basket and over his shoulder, held the oversized thing tightly to his back. Hanging off the rope were two sheaths at his side, a small, plain wooden sheath carrying a thin black knife and a large, smooth, curving purple sheath carrying… nothing at all, just a simple empty sheath, barren of its weapon.

  Journeys across the continent of Trammel were often long and tedious, so a friendly accompaniment to pointlessly chat with was always welcome on these arduous treks. The two never spoke of anything of importance, and they preferred it that way.

  There was once a time before they were properly acquainted with one another early in their travels together when the man asked the woman what her journey was for. She told him that she was searching for something stolen from her, but she didn't think it was the type of thing that could be returned even if she found the thief.

  She then asked the man what his journey was for, and he told her that he was searching for a place worthy of his fruit orchard. After that day, there was a silent agreement to keep conversations to meaningless pleasantries.

  It was a few weeks into travelling together and early into a new bright day of continued walking when the two had found themselves funneled in between the oppressive walls of two facing cliffs. Vegetation struggled to survive in this shadowed rocky corridor, and the only decorations to fill the sudden canyon were a few man-sized hoodoos, hefty slabs of rocks precariously balanced over thin greywacke stone spires. It was early enough that the large cliff face shaded the travellers from the wrath of the burning day star, and they picked up their pace, hoping to cross the arid narrows before noon cooked them alive.

  The pair was halfway across the canyon when five figures entered the natural alley from the opposite end. They were some ways apart so the groups walked towards each other for a few minutes before the fruit bearing man freckled woman could make out the silhouettes as tough, hulking men. As the occupants of the narrow canyon got closer, a sheen of blue skylight reflected off steel revealing that one of the five’s walking staff was in fact a spear. The small man with the basket of fruit stopped his taller female companion and looked behind. From the entrance of their chasm four more odd figures now approached, one figure so huge as to put its humanity in question.

  One of the heavier strangers at their exit spoke up, "Don’t be startled. We don't mean to cause a fright."

  The two turned back to face the person speaking. He was a bulky fellow who blurred the line between muscular and portly. Atop his head he held the bright orange hair typical of the nobility from the Sodality of Cinder. Next to him strode a tall, lean man with a similar face and noble hair, the hilt of a sword visible over his shoulder.

  At the shorter distance the fruit bearing man and the glaive bearing woman could see the remaining three before them were a strange assembly of characters with exotic weapons: a short darkly hooded man wielding two sickles connected by a chain, a man with a tall oddly-shaped spear, an archer at the rear wearing a complex metal contraption over his eyes.

  Of the group behind the two companions they could discern the hulking behemoth held a war hammer that looked like a blacksmith’s tool in his gargantuan hand. An older man whose tall pointed hat and light garments identified him as the wizard of the group. A person with a halberd and so utterly covered in carapace armour that he almost looked like a mokoi himself. A man in nothing but a kilt wielding a pair of jagged axes. And a man with a bright blue cape and glistening golden rapier.

  The small man with the basket grasped the empty purple sheath at his side. Beside him, he could hear the gloved hands of his female companion creak as her grip tightened on her own glaive. They both tensed for a fight, but doubt in the back of their minds was throwing them off guard. The strangers were certainly intimidating, but the group was far too well dressed and equipped for simple banditry. Their eclectic assortment of regalia and equipment seemed more fitting of an adventuring party, and a successful one at that. The woman found it ironic that the group appearing so well armed and skilled made them less threatening.

  The burley red headed man raised both his hands to show them unarmed, “No please, don’t be nervous. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  The freckled woman let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, sorry, it's just with a whole bunch of heavily armed people blocking us off in either direction; we thought we were going to be attacked by bandits."

  The redhead laughed. "Oh no, no, we travel fully armoured like this to ward off attacks, not to cause them. Sometimes people take advantage of unwary travelers on these isolated roads."

  Feeling a little embarrassed, the woman released her grip on her weapon and relaxed her posture. She took a few steps forward and replied to the group, "No kidding, I guess we might have taken that philosophy too close to heart; you saw how jumpy we were."

  The ten men stopped approaching just outside of striking range, "I saw that. But don't worry, I take no offence. Our group just absolutely hates violence. We hate violence so much that I'd quite appreciate it if you two could kindly hand over your beautiful weapons so we can have a peaceful conversation."

  The two were temporarily stunned silent. They were caught off guard by the unsuspected shift in the conversation. Realization struck the woman as she finally understood the strange misinterpretation they all just had. She replied to the large group of armed men, "Oh, us? Don't worry, we're not bandits either. Plus, even if we were, there is no way we would try to attack a large, well-equipped group like yours."

  "We know. That's why you're going to be nice and cooperative. Now let me see that weapon of yours; your shoulders must ache to lug that big thing around."

  The woman was thrown for a loop; the redhead's kindly demeanour played dissonant to his demand, and she struggled to follow as the heavy stranger quibbled aimlessly. She finally interrupted him to ask a question she was worried she knew the answer to: "You guys aren't bandits… right?"

  The red-headed stranger opened his arms wide and took a few steps closer to the two with a large, brimming smile. "What is a bandit really? I mean, etymologically speaking, the word bandit was initially derived from the ancient word 'Bandire.' And I'm sorry to say Missy, but I could not be any less bandire if I tried. Besides, I prefer to think of myself as more of a poet, a warrior of the pen, not the sword. As I told you, I don't like violence; that was the truth. The very sight of blood makes me queasy, which is why I don't want to see anyone hurt here. No one wants to see that beautiful face of yours ruined, now do they?"

  The man travelling with the woman hardened his grip on his empty purple sheath and tilted it slightly forward with a glare at the heavy bandit. "What do you want from us?"

  Noticing the increased aggression from their entrapped duo, the bandits all gripped their weapons firmly and broadened their shoulders to appear larger. The red-headed leader kept his amicable smile and leered longingly at the purple sheath. "Well, you can start with a name and your weapons.”

  The tall woman planted her feet firmly and leveled her glaive with both hands at their new enemy, “my name is Venge and you cannot have my weapon.”

  The small man beside her untied his purple rope and slipped the large basket of fruit off his shoulders, carefully placing it behind a close by rock. He retied the purple rope across his waist and walked stoically to stand between the leader and his female companion as the gang of ruffians watched with some amusement, “My name is Palmer and you can have my weapon.”

  He placed his hand on the empty purple sheath and whipped a simple arc in the air. A wooden blade bloomed out of the sheath into Palmer’s hand and slashed the hefty leader across the nose.

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  The bandit clasped his hands over his nose, releasing a pained screech. Then with a nasally shout, he barked, "AGH, Kill that moron!"

  The nine men raised their weapons and charged inwards. Palmer jumped into the air, and Venge swept her glaive, spinning it in a full circle. The encroaching enemies all staggered away from the whipping blade except the leader’s tall brother. He stepped forward and stopped her swing with an explosive clang from his flaming sword.

  ??ι═══════?

  Simultaneously, the hooded outlaw launched a chained sickle at the still airbound Palmer. Palmer deflected the sickle with a swipe of his branch sword and sent it crashing into the cliff wall.

  As Palmer landed the sickle wielder yanked the chain and pulled his sickle free along with a massive chunk of stone. With a twist around, Palmer sliced out his wooden blade to cut the stone in twain to harmlessly pass by him.

  >>??????????;═══?

  The spear wielding bandit fired a white beam of arcane energy at Venge with a thrust of his weapon. The woman arched back to evade the beam. The leader’s brother took the opportunity to slash his burning sword for her extended neck. The woman barely pulled herself inward in time to duck below the searing blade.The flaming sword easily cut through the cliff face next to them. The heavy bandit leader removed his hands from his nose and yelled at his fire-sword-wielding brother, "Hey, watch it! We don't want to destroy such a wonderful specimen."

  The kilt wearer with jagged axes and the blue-cape with the golden rapier pressed in on her. Outside the melee the wizard waved a small cone-shaped wand in fluid, irregular strokes that trailed floating ink along its path. As the mage finished the ink evaporated and white ethereal flames sprouted over his comrades. The archer of the gang let loose an impossible hail of arrows down onto the two defenders.

  ??ι═══════?

  Palmer dashed aside from a hammer whooshing through the air and sought refuge from the hail of arrows beneath a hoodoo. A chained sickle wrapped around his protective stone and pulled the whole thing apart, forcing the small spry man to roll to a different outcropping.

  His escape was interrupted by a large halberd slashing down. Springing away with a flip he dodged the heavy steel while deflecting another hammer blow with his wooden sword. Pirouetting through the rain of arrows, he sought some defense in the rocky spires around him, but the hulking behemoth with his crushing hammer, and the devious hooded man with his wyly sickles were destroying the columns around him.

  Palmer let a small smirk escape at the enemies failed onslaught. But the smile was swiftly swept away as he noticed the true strategy behind their fighting pattern. Palmer had somehow found himself completely separated from his ally.

  >>??????????;═══?

  The fat bandit leader dashed forward with an unexpected speed for his larger size and slashed out with his cutlass. Venge quickly tilted her head to the side as the broad blade whizzed by, only cutting off some lagging hair. Her attackers followed their leader and pressed in on her with their own attacks. She twisted away from a blue beam only piercing empty dress. She raised her leg to skirt a flaming broadsword. She crooked her other leg away from a jagged axe. She retaliated with a lightning-fast jab of her glaive that impaled the blue-caped crook moments before he could thrust his own rapier forward.

  She did not enjoy her victory long as a bitter sting of pain exploded from her calf, a reminder that the kilted barbarian had two axes. With a wrenching cry she pivoted to her other leg and swung her glaive, taking the still-skewered duelist along for the ride.

  While most of her attackers jumped back, the leader jumped forward, past the threatening blade and stopping her at the shaft. The bulky leader followed through his advance by crunching the hilt of his cutlass into her nose and a following elbow to the head knocked her to the ground. The leader smiled at his broken nosed twin, "Oh no, don't want to bruise that pretty little mouth."

  ??ι═══════?

  Palmer bounced around the hoodoos, dodging falling rocks and arrows. A guillotining halberd blocked his path, and with a flick, the axe head was now facing his throat. He quickly dodged under the swing, plucked a flying arrow from the air, and rolled out the way of an incoming hammer.

  As he exited his roll, Palmer impaled his newfound arrow into the hammer-wielding hulk sledgehammer as he sidestepped its swing. With an aggravated growl, the hammer-wielding hulk.

  The hit bought Palmer time to break space but not much. The goliath grabbed onto the arrow, plunged it deeper into his arm and pulled it out the other end, with only a wince to show for it. The wizard hiding at the back waved his wand again, and the hulk wasn't even wincing anymore, utterly uncaring of his still gushing injury.

  The hulk returned to his charge and Palmer dove between his legs only to find himself within a trap of chained sickles. The two chained sickles slithered along the floor, circling Palmer; their fluttering movement disturbed a cloud of dust to obscure his vision. With the dusted cloud, an unnatural silence fell. He was in the middle of a busy battle, supposedly teamed with an ally, and yet he somehow felt thoroughly isolated and alone.

  Out of the shrouded depths, a halberd swung horizontally, Palmer dropped down, and the halberd just missed claiming his top knot. He rolled aside of a falling hammer that struck the ground so hard it actually bounced him into the air. One sickle leapt up to wrap around his legs, and the other sickle shot for his head.

  Palmer swiped his branch sword down onto the sickle aimed for his head and knocked it to the ground. He kept the momentum of his weapon, slicing through the floor and lodging his weapon into the dirt.

  He then performed a handstand over his own lodged branch sword and fanned his legs, forcing the wrapping sickle to get locked taut; he twisted his body so that an incoming arrow bashed into chains instead of striking soft skin. He felt a tug on the chains around his leg and was quickly pulled away, losing grip of his branch sword still wedged in the ground and dragged unarmed out of the dust cloud towards the deadly pike end of the halberd.

  >>??????????;═══?

  The red-headed leader straddled over Venge, his blade precariously pressed against her lips. She had to open her mouth wide so the blade wouldn’t split her mouth in two. The woman writhed manically, trying to buck the hefty man off her, but his vicious smile and poised blade remained steadfast.

  Tears streamed down her eyes as the bandit leader caressed his hand around her throat and then slowly tightened. His elated grin grew widened as he watched her face redden, her larynx tensing against his thumb, wet doe eyes bulging, veins fretting against flushed flesh. Full lips contorted as empty cries bellowed out fearful nothingness.

  ???

  On the other side of the battlefield, the branch sword was left abandoned in the dust cloud. The attacking group, always quick to respond, rushed right past it and towards the chained up Palmer.

  The wooden blade had been buried so deep into the ground it managed to remain upright. It was buried so deep, in fact, that it punctured through to a small water vein. The thirsty wood hungrily soaked up any of the faint underground current that it could, and a small flower bloomed off the sword's hilt. Roots sprouted out of the branch sword's tip and followed the water along the vein, continuously drinking any and all water it encountered.

  Fully quenched, the roots then curved upward and exploded out from the ground, pressing against Venge's back and carrying her high up over the canyon and onto the mesa above. The bandit leader, not so lucky, was knocked off to the side letting his prey get away. He and his men hurriedly clambered up the newly sprouted tree, attempting to catch their escaped enemy.

  >>??????????;═══?

  Venge desperately wanted to catch her breath but a peer down to the wrathful eyes of chasing men was more than enough motivation to set her back in motion. She hastily untangled herself from the branches of the giant tree, one hand cupped over her face in a pointless attempt at squelching the blood that gushed from her tongue and lip.

  While she hopped down from a low-hanging branch onto the rugged mesa, she spotted a burgeoning tree nut growing off it. Beyond any rational sense, she had an uncontrollable desire to consume that tree nut, and so she swiftly stuffed it into her bleeding mouth and swallowed it through the pain before limping away from the bandits scaling the tree.

  ??ι═══════?

  Meanwhile, Palmer was being dragged by the sickle chain towards the pike-end of the halberd. He hovered his hand over the empty purple sheath and called out another wooden sword, which he promptly slashed through the halberd at the wooden shaft, splintering the weapon in two.

  Before his opponent could even register the newly formed weapon, he followed with another strike but did little more than scratch the halberd wielder's incredible carapace armour. A little more force and Palmer transitioned his attack into a brute push, shoving the armoured foe back and granting him access to the chained sickles.

  Palmer thrusted his blade forward, but when the sickled wielder jumped back, Palmer tugged against the chain that still bound the two together, halting his momentum just enough to strike his gut.

  The archer was about to loose another arrow when roots burst from the ground, ensnaring his body and redirecting his shot toward the wizard, who unsuspecting of any friendly fire, didn't even attempt to dodge, letting the arrow pierce his jugular.

  The hammer-wielding hulk was charging toward Palmer when the ethereal white flames abruptly vanished, and his movements immediately grew sluggish. Palmer used that sudden moment of reprieve to twist around, disembowelling the sickle wielder, and continuing on to cleave the hulk at the waist, separating top from bottom.

  The unarmed halberd bandit made a run for his broken axe-head, but mere moments before tracing his fingers upon the wooden haft, Palmer took hold between the carapace slits, pulling back and threading his blade through the gap to finish him off.

  Frenzied, Palmer spun about, but it would seem that all the other combatants had chased after his companion. The wooden cage which had wholly entrapped the first archer swiftly grew into a small tree as it utilized its prisoner as fertilizer.

  Palmer sheathed his branch sword, and as he did so, the branch moulted, the arboreal detritus being absorbed into the sheath walls, disappearing as if there had never even been a weapon there at all.

  Palmer made his way to the massive tree that his companion had used to escape. He picked up the woman's discarded glaive and then climbed the tree to reach the mesa above.

  Palmer followed a faint trail of blood droplets to track down his travelling companion. He struggled to track the chaotic route, both for his lack of skill in the matter, and for the woman's active attempt at hiding herself. It took him nearly half an hour to finally break away to a clearing that revealed a small hill overlooking a verdant valley. Climbing up the hill, he found swathes of blood, discarded weapons, lifeless bodies, and finally, at the tip of the hill, a beautiful tree that stretched high in the sky and carried many beautiful pastel yellow-coloured fruits with three little auburn dots. Hanging from one of the branches by a viny noose, was the red-headed leader.

  Palmer approached the tree and looked out to the beautiful valley view. "Did you find it?" He plucked a particularly ripe fruit from the lonely tree and gingerly placed it into the basket upon his back.

  It was still early, but he felt entitled to a rest. He unwound his purple rope belt and set the giant fruit basket to his side. He then stretched his sore muscles and sat down, leaning against the tree with an exhaustive sigh accompanied by the chime of a bell.

  In front of the resting Palmer there was what seemed to be a small pink rhombus that grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other shapes. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with only one limb. The arm was outstretched towards Palmer, holding a glowing parchment: It read.