Tristan stumbled and fell mid-jog. He let out a groan of pain as he felt all of the pain that his body's adrenaline faded. The cracked ribs, the sore muscles and body covered with bruises as he went flying through a wall.

Felicity transformed into her elfanoid form and lifted him up by the shoulder, "Come on," she muttered as she helped him walk. "We get to the walls, pull out that guy's head – it all stops and we save the city!"

Tristan looked at a nearby building with an open door, "Help me in there," he gasped out, breathing shallowly as every breath hurt. "You can fly the head to Prince Merrill."

Felicity helped him into the building and lowered him into a chair. He grunted and was panting with exertion, his fingers twitching against his will. "I'll be back," she said with concern filling her voice. Shifting to her fairy dragon form, she took off – shutting the door behind her.

Tristan felt around his bandolier across his chest for the healing elixirs and felt a wet, sticky substance. Pulling the hand away, he felt dismay as the deep, cherry-red liquid was on his gauntlet. Damnit. All of my elixirs? He kept breathing shallowly, knowing that moving would just cause more agony and deep breaths would increase the pain as well.

He sat there, for what felt like hours, as he heard the sounds of combat off in the distance. The clashing of steel on armor, the cries of injury, and he was happy to be far away from all of that chaos and bloodshed. That thing I fought, he thought, was definitely summoned from The Undying Realm. Same place the Vantir came from. It's essence-weaving… he felt terror as he vividly replayed the events in his mind, watching people desiccate as their life looked to be drained from their body.

I was almost hit by one of those spells, he thought with panic. I need to get Obadai to use some protection spells on items I artifice. I don't want to be hit by something like that. He tried to take some deep, calming breaths but winced in pain as he breathed too deeply. The sounds of combat outside faded into the distance, and Tristan felt exhaustion wash over him.

A fuzzy paw tapped his face, "Wake up!" Felicity shouted.

Tristan woke up and was greeted by a world of pain. He sucked in a breath instinctively – bad idea – as he felt his insides on fire. Felicity was standing on the table next to him. "Did…did the head do the trick?"

"Yup!" she said as she sat on her haunches and puffed up her chest, "I stopped a war! Flew the guy's head all across the battlefield as I delivered it to the prince…well, king, now. King Merrill crowned himself after the fighting stopped."

Tristan nodded, "Any chance he has healers with him?" he asked with a wry smile.

"I can go and see."

"Please do," Tristan replied as he tried to lean back in the chair and relax.

Felicity took off, opening the door and flying off. A few minutes passed and she returned, leading a soldier in light leather armor, with a white cloth tied off around his arming cap. "He's over here!" she shouted as she led the man inside.

The middle-aged man looked at Tristan, "M'lord, gotta get that there armor off to the see the damage."

Tristan nodded and Felicity helped him out of the armor. It was a pain-filled experience, and Tristan felt immense relief when it was fully taken off and Felicity had stored everything in her extradimensional space. The army medic came over and began lightly prodding at Tristan's snow-white skin – and Tristan saw the angry green and black bruises all over his torso and abdomen. "Looks like you got hit by a battering ram," the man muttered.

"That's what it felt like," Tristan replied as he winced, the man poking a tender spot.

"It's all internal, M'lord. I don't think I can help much."

Tristan nodded, "Help me get to a bed then."

The man put himself under Tristan's shoulder and helped lift him, walking with him down the street. Tristan saw the remnants of the fighting as they approached the wall. It had been a slaughter and quite an unfair fight as the smaller defending force had their sally ports unlocked by Felicity via her covert actions. Some men were tied up in groups, and emergency medical areas were set up with similarly-dressed medics tending to men.

The medical treatment was crude, and Tristan frowned as he saw several amputations being performed without a need for it. "Stop," he ordered. "Take me over there."

His helper did so, and Tristan began issuing orders to some of the soldiers. "Go into the town and bring cauldrons and firewood or charcoal. Every apothecary and herbalist, go there, too." The men looked at him with some confusion, and Tristan barked out, "Now! I'm saving your men's goddamn arms and legs here!"

That got the soldiers moving quickly, and under Tristan's instruction the medics set to make some slurries of potions. The ingredient's were not of the highest quality, so he would only be able to produce (minor) healing elixirs – but it could prevent more harmful remedies. As the soldiers mixed the brews, he had them pull the cauldrons over so he could evaluate – and when they were ready, he poured his essence into them, stirring with his finger as the scalding liquid felt like a warm bath.

"Lisää tämän liuoksen luontaisia ominaisuuksia. Anna tälle aineelle minun voimani. Tuo esiin näiden ainesosien todellinen luonne." (Increase the inherent qualities of this solution. Imbue this substance with my power. Bring out the true nature of these ingredients).

The cauldrons full of the potions glowed bright silver each time he repeated the feat of essence-weaving, and he was bone-tired and his eyelids were fluttering closed as he finished the last cauldron. The medics began administering the healing elixirs to the troops, and Tristan fell asleep after taking a few sips of the liquid.

He woke up on a bed. Felicity was curled up next to him, and she glanced over as he roused. "How are you feeling?" she asked with concern and sincerity.

Tristan slowly flexed his muscles, feeling the soreness and tenderness from before. But he could breathe a little more deeply, as his chest was not in nearly as much pain. "Better," he grumbled.

Felicity stretched like a cat would, arching her back as she yawned. "Prince Merrill wanted me to go get him when you woke up."

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"Where am I?" Tristan asked.

"The keep," she replied. "He's taken the city over and plans to the move to the capital."

Tristan nodded and leaned back in the bed while Felicity flew off. She left the door ajar, however, and one of the medic-soldiers was seated outside. He stood up and slipped into the room. "Lord Tristan?"

"Yes?" The man closed the door and drew a gold-hilted knife. Tristan's eyes went wide as he realized instantly that he was an assassin. Tristan spun his essence crucible, whispering the spell phrase for Scales of Our Foe, followed by Aspect of the dragon – claws. "The very plates that protect you shall protect me as well! The very weapons you use to rend and tear are mine to use!"

As the assassin launched himself at Tristan, he raised his forearms to block the strike. His skin had shifted hue slightly and became a deep, dull silver with crimson, black, and icy-blue lines tracing between the slightly-raised scaly hide. His hands and morphed into claws, tipped with ivory talons. The knife impacted and dug into the scales, drawing blood.

Tristan let out a grunt of exertion as he pushed himself forward, his abdomen sending shooting pain through his body at the sudden movement that jostled his still-broken ribs. Tristan was able to slide a claw down to the assassin's wrist holding the knife, grasping it firmly as the man pushed his blade towards him with his full weight.

Tristan fell back, letting himself go slack, and the assassin's body lurched forward. Twisting to his side, the stab went into the mattress, and Tristan brought the tips of his clawed right hand into a single, unified point that jabbed forward – piercing the leather armor and going into the assassin's torso. He felt something squishy, pulsating, and slightly-round – and squeezed. The assassin jerked and fell prone on top of Tristan, turning to dust and ash as his dagger remained affixed to the mattress surface.

Tristan was sucking in breaths from the sudden exertion, and Felicity came back a moment later. She saw his hand-claw covered in blood, and she looked at the dagger as her eyes went wide. "You were attacked?!"

Tristan nodded and let both spells fade, his essence only slightly expended. "Help me u-"

King Merrill, his advisor Marineaux, and two soldiers came through the doorway. Felicity immediately shapeshifted to a small, fiery-red dragon form and took up a protective stance over Tristan. "Someone just tried to assassinate Tristan!"

The new king looked at his advisor, and the two shared a confused glance. Tristan plucked the dagger from the bed and tossed it on the floor. "Their blade." He also pointed to the bleeding wound on his forearm – his body becoming scale-covered negated most of the injury, but it still bit deep enough to draw blood. "They turned to dust upon death."

Marineaux cleared her throat gently, "Is this the first time?"

Tristan shook his head and sat up a bit, gently nudging Felicity to the side. She still stood right next to him, ready to leap into the fray at a moment's notice. "I have dealt with these assassins before – but this is the first time they have disguised to attack me. I've spent too long here. Give me the damned contract, and I'll take my leave, pick up Archon Grimtome, and head to Rigger's Cove."

King Merrill frowned, "You brought assassins to my doorstep?!" his voice raised at the end, and Tristan could feel the anger behind the tone.

"They aren't after you," Tristan snapped back. "They are after prominent bloodlines."

"Are you saying my bloodline is not prominent?" The man barked back.

Tristan shook his head, "Compared to me? No. I'm the last of my bloodline in every single Realm."

That seemed to stop the king in his train of thought, and he stared for a moment before saying, "What?"

Marineaux looked at him briefly, then back to Tristan, "Obadai Grimtome is in danger then, as well, as his bloodlines are also quite rare."

Tristan nodded, "I'll get out of here as soon as possible. Felicity? Help me get up."

The fairy dragon shifted to her elfanoid form and helped him stand, "You sure you can travel?"

Tristan shook his head, "We don't have a choice. I'm not getting killed by assassins. If one of them infiltrated as a soldier…" he let himself trail off and let the implication settle over the king and his advisor. Tristan continued a moment later, "I don't know how many there are, or where they are. Contract, and I'm out of here."

The new king nodded curtly, "Very well. You did help end the bloodshed, and your Archon won the war by wiping out my brother's army…Marineaux? The contract."

The woman nodded and produced a rolled-up piece of parchment. She muttered some spell that Tristan wasn't paying attention to – his eyes were glued to the two guards accompanying the king, watching them for any sign of untoward movement.

The advisor's hands glowed a bright, vibrant orange, and the contract was duplicated in her grip. She handed the original to Tristan, "There you are. Whoever holds this contract will be able to converse with his highness via the communication effect by writing on the back. Give us a while to get production of the mead industry back up and running, and we will contact you to pick the trade goods up from a port town."

Tristan looked at Felicity, "Put this in your storage." She opened up the space, and Tristan tossed the object inside. He also grabbed his sword, stood up and winced, letting out a hiss of air at the sudden pain. "Felicity, boots."

She scrabbled over to his boots and helped him get them on. After belting his sword, he stood upright and looked at the two. "King Merrill, I look forward to enriching both of our realms. I wish you the best. Advisor Marineaux…thank you."

The king gestured to his two soldiers, "They can escort you-"

Tristan shook his head, "Not risking it. My horse is in the stables?" The king nodded, and Tristan glanced at Felicity, "Fairy dragon form. Vanish."

Felicity shifted forms and turned invisible, flying up to the top of his head to perch. "Ready," she whispered. "I'll keep an eye out for any meanies!"

Tristan spun his essence crucible, feeling the cooling energy surge through his limbs and soothe his aches. "Verhoa minut hunnulla, joka maastouttaa minut. Estä ketään näkemästä minua, kun valo taittuu kehoni ympärillä" (Manifest a shroud around my form that will blend me into the surroundings. Prevent any from seeing me as light is bent around my body). He turned invisible, and as the king and his guards gasped, he waited.

Eventually they departed, giving each other inquisitive glances. Only then did Tristan sneak his way out of the central fort. He found Onyx in the stables outside of the main fort proper. Tristan passed his hand over Onyx's face and moved it in a small, circular scrubbing motion. "Naamioi heidät niin, että he näyttävät joltakin mitä he eivät ole." (Disguise their form so that they appear as something they are not). The destrier's form was covered by an illusory, grey, old-nag appearance.

Tristan pushed essence into his amulet, activated Disguise Form, and put on the appearance of a soldier. Letting the invisibility fade, he mounted up and rode out of town. He made sure to have Onyx go at a full gallop, dashing through the darkened streets. Act like a messenger. I'm delivering something important.

He made it to the gates which were open and ajar. Bolting through, shouts followed him. But Tristan ignored them, wanting to get to Obadai and back to the ship as soon as possible. He spun his crucible and pushed the energy into the silver ear cuff, activating the Spoken Message: Half-Realm spell. "Obadai, you there?"

"Tristan? What is it?" he replied groggily, as if he was hung over and just waking up.

"Assassins tried to take my life. Same blade as before. Probably the same group."

The grogginess vanished and Obadai's tone became deathly serious. "Damn. Okay, head to Rigger's Cove. I'll teleport there and get the ships ready."

Tristan nodded, "Right. Heading that way. Admiral? You hear that?"

"Aye, lad," the man replied. "Did you get the contract?"

"We've got it," Tristan replied. "And I stopped a civil war. King Merrill rules. Get the ships ready – we leave as soon as I arrive."

Captain Bitters pitched his voice in, "Lord Tristan, the ship is not repaired yet."

"Then I'll make sure your cargo stores are full, you'll post a guard on the ship, and you can begin your trade route when it's up and running. Coordinate with the Admiral. Yokain, the Tideskipper's Crest will make for Klaktol the moment I arrive."

"Aye aye," both men replied.

Tristan let the essence fade, let all spells fade, and pushed Onyx as fast as the mount could go. The flowering fields were a dull color in the light of the fingers of night; but thanks to Tristan's heritage, he could see just fine. A few days to get to the port, Tristan thought. I'll rest up in the Fey Realm tonight, then swap out mounts so I can keep pushing to get there.

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