Paralogue 8
A Festive Air
Team Marshwood attend a festival in Ferma, a town in the Karelia oblast.
"My, what do we have here?"
Kallias said this, as Team Marshwood approached the small town of Ferma. In spite of its small size and cosy nature, it was the main administrative centre of the Karelia oblast, located in the southwest corner of Selenia. House Dorofeyev, the rulers of the oblast, ruled over this corner of the tsardom, and were held in good stead by Karelia's smallfolk of mostly farmers.
"It's a festival of some sort," observed Melchior. "I think I've heard in some circles that Karelia holds a festival around harvest time."
"Ah yes. I remember Anna talking about it," Kallias recalled. "She's from here, I believe."
"I hope she has a good retirement once she officially steps down," Melchior said. "Though I'm not fully sure about putting Nikita into her shoes. Is that wise? He's still young and inexperienced…"
"Nikita's opened up a lot more since Mitrofan took him in." The Sceptile reflected on the little Cubone that Mitrofan brought into the Guild one day. Nikita had been stick-thin, and was quite scared of the Guild's comings and goings. Reassurances from Mitrofan, Team Marshwood and the rest of the Guild mercenaries did much to help, although it would be a while before he opened up a bit more. Even now, he was still incredibly shy.
"He's fit for most things these days. He'll learn, and if he's not suitable to replace Anna, Mitrofan can always find someone else and reassign Nikita elsewhere. There's plenty of capable people out there that can fill Anna's role."
"...I suppose. But anyway, we're not here to wonder about those things." Melchior shook his head. "Let's find Lord Karelia. And afterwards…" He looked up at the village gate, strewn with colourful bunting. "We'll maybe see what this festival is all about."
"Agreed. I wouldn't mind checking this out for myself."
An air of festivity could be felt as Kallias and Melchior stepped into the village. There were stalls set up, showing all the fresh produce on display. Village houses had been spruced up by their owners for this special occasion, with the thatch on the roofs being redone and the house walls being given new coats of paint. The smell of whitewash was one of the aromas that made up the festival air, applied to the cottages to give them the trademark look of the country cottage that made up Selenian tradition.
There was something else Team Marshwood noticed about the people of the village. A number of them wore a distinct dress of a dark brown brimmed hat and beige vest. Not everyone did, but enough people wore them that it drew Melchior and Kallias's attention.
"Hm. There seems to be a bit of fancy dress going on here," Melchior observed.
"Fancy dress, eh?" Kallias sounded interested. "I wouldn't mind taking part in that. Do they provide those outfits anywhere?"
Before the Sceptile could get that answer, though, he noticed a number of villagers peering at him and Melchior. They then began to whisper to each other.
"A Swampert and a Sceptile?"
"What in tarnation…Them folks?"
"What are famous 'uns like 'em doin' here?"
This whispering, however, was drowned out by the excited shouts of some.
"Look over yonder! Ain't that Team Marshwood?"
"Oh darn, yer right! That
is 'em, ain't it?!"
"Yo, Team Marshwood! Can I've yer autographs?"
"I wan' an autograph too!"
Before they realised it, the pair were swarmed by several people, some of them thrusting forward parchment and pencils for them to sign.
"Another day in the life, eh, Melchior?" Kallias said. "Let's get down to it, I guess." He took a pencil from a Mr. Mime and wrote his name down, before passing it to Melchior. It was a familiar routine for the duo, being as famous as they were, that admirers would ask for an autograph or give them a gift as thanks for their service. The latter tended to be more appreciated, but the former, while sometimes a nuisance, didn't go unappreciated, especially by Kallias. Especially if the crowds were amicable, like this lot were.
"Hold it, hold it!" a voice called through the air. "Excuse me, Team Marshwood!"
The pair looked up to see a dark blue-furred Meowstic make his way to them. His distinctive garb marked him apart from the rest, with a brass necklace around his neck and well-stitched red and black clothing around his torso. It didn't take a genius to figure out who this was.
"Lord Feliks!" Kallias said. "We completed the mission for you."
"Ah, brilliant!" Feliks replied, pleased. "Do you have the item in question?"
"Yes, although perhaps the exchange would be better off done in private." Melchior glanced at the small crowd; there were still a few people demanding autographs. He turned his attention to them "I apologise everyone, but we have Guild business to do." A few murmurs of disappointment were uttered.
"We'll come back later, though!" Kallias promised. "Once we're finished with His Lordship, we'll check out what this festival has to offer. We can get back to you, then!" That worked, and the crowd were placated by this.
"Let's meet there, in the community hall." Feliks gestured to a nearby house, larger than the rest and with a wooden roof instead of thatch. "Anywhere with privacy, really." He trotted off in that direction, and Team Marshwood went to follow him.
"There you go." Kallias handed Feliks a bag that jingled, stashed full with money. "The 5,000P that those thieves stole."
"Thank you very much." Feliks took it, and hoisted it into his hands. "I'm grateful. We in House Dorofeyev are not rich, and if we were deprived of money like this, we would be in serious trouble. Thank the heavens House Ruslan were kind enough to recognise our plight and donate to us in this time of need."
"He's a charitable man, that Kliment," Kallias said. "Glad to have him as a leader. I'm certainly glad he's no tyrant." He cast a glance at Melchior, who caught the meaning in his eye.
"Oh, of course. He's a wonderful leader," the Meowstic praised. "We are immensely looking forward to His Majesty's silver jubilee when it happens next year. Beyond that, may he live and rule us for many years to come!"
"That should be fun," Melchior said.
"But that's in the future. For now, let's focus on the present." Feliks took another bag and handed it to Kallias. "There's your reward. 400P, and a one-room orb. Figured you could use one with all the Dungeon delving you two do."
"Ooh, neat." Kallias took out the orb, and filed it away in the team's bag. "We don't come across those often. Thank you very much, Your Lordship."
"No problem. Now then." Feliks clasped his paws together, indicative he was about to ask them something. "You might have noticed we have a festival going on."
"We noticed. We were going to check it out."
"Well, there is one attraction there I think you two would be interested in." Feliks' eyes lit up. "I'll escort you there myself!"
"Really? Not often a lord does that," Kallias chuckled. "Well, if you insist, Your Lordship. What's this attraction you're excited about?"
Feliks waited outside one of the cottages in anticipation. It was a small cottage, with a sign hung up on the door outside. It read, '
Fitting House'. The house's resident, a kindly Leavanny seamstress, was willing to rent the house out for this purpose of the festival.
His keen ears picked up on voices from within, and soon the door opened, revealing Kallias and Melchior…donning new outfits. Both wore dark brown hats, white scarves, and beige vests.
"Well, Your Lordship?" Kallias posed in his new attire. "What do you think?"
"Ah!" Feliks' eyes shone with delight. "You look dashing, the both of you!"
"I'm glad you like it!" A bold look came into Melchior's eye as he turned to Kallias, holding onto his hat's brim. "Now, as they say in these parts…
howdy there, pardner!"
The Swampert's bravado faded instantly when both Feliks and Kallias burst out laughing at his attempt at the Karelian dialect.
"My goodness." Feliks fought to keep a straight face. "Trying to be among the Karelians, are we?"
"Ha ha ha ha!" Kallias didn't bother attempting to do so. "I never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth, Melchior!" He laughed so hard that he had to wipe tears from his eyes.
"...W-Why did I say that?" Melchior turned scarlet, pulling his hat down in embarrassment. "Right in front of Lord Feliks, too…"
"Oh, worry not," assured the Meowstic. "It would make a humorous anecdote. But it would be mean-spirited of me to speak of such a lauded hero like that."
"I'll hold you to that," the Swampert said, still abashed. "I would say my partner is a good secret keeper, but erm…that would be a lie."
"What? I only tell our closest friends," Kallias defended. "Oh, and Zenobia and Elvira too."
"That's not keeping a secret, Kallias."
"Oh, they don't tell anyone, trust me. Zenobia's as good as her word, as is Elvira."
"You haven't mentioned the Guild folk. Rufina would never let me hear the end of this…"
"True, true. I guess I'll have to keep that one from her, eh?"
"You better. That dragon knows how to pound a joke into the ground."
"Well, jokes aside. You do look great in that outfit," Kallias complimented.
"Thanks." Melchior was a bit more bashful about his new clothes. "I'm still not sure what to make of this…"
"You look fine, Melchior," Kallias assured. "I'm sure Paulina would swoon if she saw you right now."
"W-Would she?" He considered this. "She probably would, actually."
"Then again, she'd swoon even if she saw you in rags. Zenobia would be the same with me," the Sceptile chuckled. "...Agh, if only I knew this was on. I definitely would've brought her and Elvira."
"You could always just buy them a souvenir like you normally do."
"Oh, that was the plan. Let's go out and get one right now before it slips my mind later." Kallias got ready to leave, before Feliks cleared his throat.
"Excuse me," he said. "But may I ask a small favour of you two?"
"Of course," Melchior said. "What is it? Is it a mission?"
"I would not call it that, no," the Meowstic lord chuckled, a mirthful look on his face. "You see…my daughter is a fan of yours..."
"
Eeeeeeeeeeee! An autograph from Team Marshwood! A-And Team Marshwood themselves in the flesh!"
A little Espurr gazed at a piece of parchment, her eyes shining with joy. Between the two names written on it, and the auspicious Sceptile and Swampert pair before her, to say she was awestruck was an understatement.
"Thank you so much for this!" Her excitement could not be contained, as she hopped from paw to paw. "I cannot believe I'm actually seeing you two in the flesh! I have heard all the stories! I'm your biggest fan!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
"Do keep your composure, Serafina," a Dark-type Persian chastised. "You are embarrassing our house!"
"Lay off, Yurian," Feliks requested. "Let Serafina have her moment. It's not every day one can meet the heroes they look up to."
"Perhaps for the better. They do say 'never meet your heroes' for good reason," scoffed Yurian. "Did I hear somewhere they were of Miletan birth?"
"Hmm. Are they? That is news to me." Feliks then shook his head. "It does not matter, Yurian. They helped us retrieve our finances. Let us not be disrespectful to them."
"Exactly, brother!" Serafina said loudly. "You are embarrassing our house!" She pouted in annoyance.
"...Never mind," huffed Yurian, before turning to leave.
"Forgive him," apologised Feliks. "Yurian means well, he does. He just has…snobbish idealism sometimes. Hopefully he casts it aside when he inherits our house."
"Worry not. He's far from the first noble who's looked down on us," assured Kallias. "At least your daughter's an absolute treasure."
"Wow!" Serafina's eyes shone at the compliment. "Thank you, Fernblade Kallias!"
"I must be off, alas," Feliks told them. "Come on, Serafina. We must go."
"But I want to spend more time with Team Marshwood!" protested the Espurr.
"We'll be around, don't worry," Kallias said. "You might catch us again before the day is out."
"I hope so." While Serafina's glumness wasn't completely abated, there was still hope in her eyes as her father led her away.
"So where do we begin first?" Melchior wondered.
"Let's see what catches our eye first." Kallias took a quick glance around the village, before he caught the eye of a Simipour, who had a stall with a variety of pastries for sale. "Oh, that place looks enticing! How about we start there?"
Over the course of the day, the duo enjoyed their time at the festival, indulging in the various delicacies and engaging in conversation with the villagers of Ferma. There was also lots of autograph signing, after which their hands were both tired. Luckily, a humble Ledian farmer kindly allowed them to rest in his house for a short while.
"We've young'uns here, but don't ya worry yer head about 'em," he drawled. "Mah Natalie'll keep 'em busy."
"Mmhm," a Ledyba said. "I'll…er, go, then." She then made her exit to the back of the house.
"Many thanks." Melchior was grateful.
With the quiet space provided for them, Team Marshwood reflected upon the day's events.
"Well, this turned to be a fortunate turn of events," Kallias said.
"Yeah. What a great day this was," Melchior agreed.
"The food's been sublime. Who would've thought there was such culinary diversity in this little place?"
"We've seen this kind of thing in other places, Kallias. Harvest festivals aren't uncommon in rural villages like this one."
"I know. Doesn't make it any less enjoyable." The mention of food reminded Kallias of something, and he reached into his bag to take out a slice of razz tart he had bought earlier. He took a bite from it. "Mmm mmm. Delicious."
"You can say that again." Melchior tucked into his own purchase: belue and chesto bread. "It's been a while since we've been to one of these."
"They certainly have a lively festival here. If they have one next year, I'm definitely bringing Zenobia and Elvira along," Kallias said.
"Maybe Elvira could make new friends in this place. There's certainly plenty of kids around," Melchior observed.
"She has plenty of friends back home," Kallias remarked. "But hey - you can never have too many friends. She could even do a penpal arrangement like she has with Stiliyan."
"We'll have to wait until she sees the people here, though," Melchior chuckled.
"Of course, of course." The Sceptile then peered out the window, where the afternoon was beginning to wane and first rays of the evening sun were beginning to shine. "Hmm. Getting a bit late out there."
"Was there an inn in this place?" Melchior wondered.
"I believe there was. A small one, though." A worried look crossed Kallias's face. "Here's hoping they're not out of rooms."
He rose from his seat. "Let's get going, Melchior."
"Alright." Melchior followed suit. "Thanks for letting us stay," he said to the Ledian farmer.
"No problem! Anythin' fer two heroes like yerselves." The Ledian waved goodbye to them. "See ya now!"
Team Marshwood left the house. A cool breeze was coming in with the evening, and Melchior buttoned his vest for greater warmth, his partner doing the same.
Kallias looked along the houses, looking for any indication of an inn. "Which one is it…?" he muttered to himself.
"
There they are!"
A loud bellow resounded, and before he realised it, Kallias and Melchior were being approached by a Midnight Lycanroc dressed in a similar hat, scarf and vest to their own attire.
"Oh, hello there." Kallias kept a cordial air. "May we help you?"
"I heard that Team Marshwood happened to be in town. I see they weren't lying." The canine leered at the two. "I was kinda curious what makes the two of you all that. The stories say you're strong, but how true are they?"
"Oh." Kallias blinked. "I didn't expect to see an Alban in this part of the country."
"I do a bit of going to and fro," replied the Lycanroc. "...You're sharp. How'd you guess?"
"From the accent and talk about strength." Kallias didn't need much to figure that out. "Melchior and I have been up that way a good few times."
"I guess that's to be expected. But c'mon!" The hungry look in the Lycanroc's eyes remained. "You gonna show off your power or what?"
"What, as in 'See how many barrels I can lift in a minute?'" Melchior wondered. "I did that earlier, in fact. I even got a prize from it."
"No, Melchior, he means the 'fighting' way. He wants a good old tussle, like most Albans do," Kallias told him, before turning back to the Lycanroc. "Well, good sir, if it's a challenge you're looking for, it's a challenge you'll get!" He punched his fists together. "We in Team Marshwood don't back down from a challenge."
"Great! Then let's find somewhere and duke it out!" The canine's eyes shone with excitement. "There's an open field over that-a-way we can do it in." He pointed to a path leading out to the village's east exit. "Come on, let's go!"
Before either Kallias or Melchior could reply, he was off, bounding for the field in question.
"Well, looks like the inn can wait. Been a while since we've been challenged outside of Alba," Kallias remarked with a hint of mirth.
"Should we really be doing this?" Melchior wondered. "What if the inn's full by the time we get back?"
"We'll be fine, Melchior. We'll work something out. Besides, there's no harm in humouring our challenger." Kallias looked at the red shape in the distance, disappearing among some villagers. "Let's go after him."
The field in question was a ground in which a number of villagers had used for the purpose of picking berries. It had been picked clean, though, meaning it was free to use until they began planting there again.
The Lycanroc awaited eagerly in the field as Kallias and Melchior arrived. To the duo's interest, a small crowd had gathered, with a few villagers having come along upon hearing that Team Marshwood would be duking it out with the Lycanroc.
"Good, you came!" The Lycanroc sounded pleased. "Guess you're not cowards after all, eh?"
"As I said to you earlier, Team Marshwood does not back down from a challenge. Either of us should be more than a match for you." Kallias cracked his knuckles. "Now then. Which of us do you wanna face?"
"Hmmm…" The Lycanroc considered, before pointing to the Swampert. "You. Mud Bomber Melchior."
"Me?" Melchior was surprised at that. "Most challengers tend to go for Kallias."
"And? You're not afraid, are ya, Mud Bomber?"
"...Most definitely not." Melchior took a breath. "I am not the weak link of our team, if that's what you're thinking."
"Then show it. Show us what you're made of!" The Lycanroc made a beckoning motion.
"Of course. But before we begin. It's normally polite to declare your name before a battle, no? At least that's how they do it in Alba."
"Ah, right. S'pose I can tell you." The Lycanroc gripped the brim of his hat as his red eyes looked straight into Melchior's. "I'm Conall Mactíre Ó Ruairc. Just your average travelling merchant. Nothin' special about little old me."
"Good to meet you, Conall. Now then." Melchior got into a battle stance. "Let's begin."
The Swampert held his breath, and as he hoped, Conall ran straight for him, hungry for the first strike. His fangs gleamed as he leapt at Melchior.
But just as his maw opened, intent on clamping down, Melchior coated his hand in mud and shot some into Conall's mouth.
"
Blargh!" Conall was caught off guard, and Melchior took the opportunity to slug him in the stomach, knocking the canine backwards.
"So you're not above playing dirty, eh?" Conall remarked, after spitting out the mud. "Good to know."
"You got this, Conall!" a Sandslash called from the sidelines. Melchior looked over to the sidelines to see a small group consisting of a Sandslash, a Sandshrew, a Sandile and a Gligar. The latter three were rather young; early adolescents at oldest.
"Yeah! Go, Dad!" the Sandshrew yelled.
"C'mon, Unky! Ya can do it!" the Sandile bellowed.
"You can do it, Uncle Conall! He's tough, but you'll find a way!" the Gligar cried. His voice cracked during his speech, prompting laughter from the Sandshrew and Sandile.
Melchior tore his attention away from them, however, as Conall ran towards him again. This time, his arm coated itself in dark energy, and he swung at Melchior.
Unfortunately for him, the Swampert blocked his Throat Chop with his right arm, and swung with his left, throwing Conall back once again. This time, Melchior decided to go on the offensive, dashing for Conall and coating his arm in muddy water. He struck a blow across Conall's chest.
"
Yargh!" the Lycanroc cried, staggering back and clutching where his opponent had struck. He braced himself for another blow from the Swampert. "N-Nice try, but I ain't giving up!"
An aura coated his body right before Melchior struck. It was too late for the Swampert to retract, and he punched the Lycanroc. It seemed to land…only for Conall to then immediately slash at Melchior with his claws.
Before Melchior had time to react, Conall's fangs gleamed a bright white before he bit down on the Swampert's flesh.
"
Agh!" Melchior cried, seething with pain. Conall certainly had dealt a clever blow to him.
A crafty move. I should've expected that of an Alban Lycanroc…
"Come on, Melchior!"
"Ya got this!"
"You can bounce back!"
Melchior heard the cries of support. He looked to the sidelines to see a few villagers cheering him on. Among them, he happened to see Feliks and Serafina. The latter looked at him worriedly, while the former called out to him.
"Do not falter, Mud Bomber Melchior!"
Then Melchior caught eyes with Kallias. The knowing smile and nod from the Sceptile was all the assurance he needed from his partner.
…
Just minor blows. Nothing I can't overcome. But although this isn't life or death, I won't lose this match.
He snapped back to attention, seeing Conall come for him once again. The Lycanroc's arm was coated in dark energy and he lunged for Melchior. The Swampert parried the blow, but Conall kept going, trying to get as many hits in on him as he could.
It was all for naught, however. Melchior proved to be perceptive, expertly blocking nearly every hit the Lycanroc dealt to him with his arm. Then he blocked another incoming Throat Chop, and as Conall tried to attack with his other arm, he intercepted that too.
He then grabbed the Lycanroc, whisked him off his feet and threw him as far as he could to the other end of the field.
Gasps came from various members of the crowd, and many watched in wonder as Conall soared through the air before crashing down into the fence, the force behind Melchior's throw breaking it.
"Dad!" cried the Sandshrew from the sidelines.
"Oh dear," Melchior murmured.
I might've overdone it…
"A powerful throw!" commended Feliks. "Though that's perhaps a sign we should wrap this little spar up. It's fun and games until someone gets hurt. Someone fetch Galya, please!"
"On it, Yer Lordship!" an Ivysaur obliged, before trotting off to fetch the nurse in the question.
Team Marshwood went over to where Conall had landed. The Lycanroc's supporters were by his side, worried over his condition.
"I'm sorry!" Melchior blurted. "I didn't mean to-"
"Don't you worry yourself, Melchior." To his surprise, Conall didn't look in the least bit angry with him. The opposite in fact: a silly grin adorned his face. "Just a scratch, really. I can walk it off."
"I hope so," the Sandslash next to him said. "The last thing we want is for the journey back to Iria to be tricky because your leg's broken."
"They're not broken, Caitríona. See?" Conall wiggled his hind legs. "Nothing wrong with me."
"You're certainly an Alban with that attitude," Kallias remarked. "What I'd like to know is…what are you doing so far from your home country?"
"Ah." Conall's face fell slightly, and Melchior noticed a shift in demeanour among Caitríona and the three kids. "...Reasons. I'd rather not get into it."
"Fair enough." Kallias nodded in understanding.
"But anyway. That was a good tussle, Mud Bomber Melchior!" Conall flashed a grin again as he got up. "Been a while since I had one. Definitely need to brush up on my skills, though."
"Ya barely touched 'im…" the Sandile of the group noted sadly.
"He's Mud Bomber Melchior, Ishmael," Conall replied. "No wonder I was no match for him. But I'm honoured to even be able to meet and duel with him in the first place." He turned to Melchior. "Though, I suppose I should be telling that to you. I enjoyed that, Melchior. I really did. Even if I got trounced. Eh heh."
He held out his paw, and Melchior shook with him.
"I'm glad I could fight you too, Conall," he said. "...Did you say you lived in Iria?"
"I do. With my wife, Caitríona, and these kids." He gestured to the Sandshrew, Sandile and Gligar. "My kid Lillian, and my nephews Ishmael and Axel. We run a merchant's stall in Iria, selling odds and ends we scavenge. It's small and we don't earn much money. But I gotta keep it going. For these kids more than anything."
"That's a very noble goal," commended Kallias. "Children do often mean the world to us parents. They're more valuable than any treasure."
"You have a stall?" Melchior murmured. "Perhaps Kallias and I should pop by someday."
"That would be appreciated." Caitríona smiled warmly.
"Hmm…" Melchior was thinking. "Tell me. Do you know of the Irian Guild?"
"Who
doesn't know about the Irian Guild?" Lillian interjected. "We want to get in there one day! All three of us!"
"Yeah!" Ishmael added. "We ain't stayin' poor forever! One day, Unky, we'll be the ones givin' ya moolah 'n a roof!"
"Heh. I'm sure you'll be great mercs some day, you three." Conall smiled proudly. "Even you, Axel. I know your parents want you to be an apothecary just like them, but you'll fit better as a merc, I think."
"Th-Thanks, Uncle Conall." Axel shyly remarked.
"You seem to be budding youngsters. Nearly of age too, if I had to guess," Kallias observed. "We'll see about recommending you to the Guildmaster when we return to Iria."
"Y-Ya mean it?" Ishmael's eyes were shining.
"N-No way!" Axel could hardly believe it.
"This isn't a trick, right?" Lillian wondered.
"Hardly!" Kallias laughed. "I'm all for those enthusiastic about mercenary work to join our Guild. Whether you have what it takes is for the entrance exam to determine, but I imagine you might well pass that with flying colours when the time comes."
"Well…don't exactly wanna be a downer here, kids, but you're still a bit young," Conall brought up. "The age for entrants is something around fifteen, right?"
"That's correct," Melchior answered.
"Lillian's the oldest of them, and she's only thirteen," Caitríona said, and once she said it, the kids' excitement deflated.
"Ah, don't worry, kiddos," Conall assured, patting Lillian's head. "Just be patient; you'll get your chance eventually."
"I guess…" Lillian murmured. Before she could say more, though, Axel's stomach growled.
"Urk!" The Gligar hid behind his claws in embarrassment.
"Heh. Perhaps a sign we oughta get a bite to eat, eh?" Conall said.
"That would be a good idea," Caitríona agreed.
"Ahem. Forgive my interruption, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation." Team Marshwood and the Albans turned to see Feliks standing nearby, Serafina peeking from behind him. "I was going to invite Team Marshwood to my villa to have dinner. But I am willing to extend that invitation to you all." He gestured to the Albans. "Do you accept my offer?"
"Having dinner in a lord's gaff? Well, ain't this day full of surprises," Conall chuckled. "Sure, why the hell not? I'll do it, Your Lordship."
"Excellent!" Feliks clasped his paws together. "I always enjoy eating dinner with visitors. It helps me to learn more about cultures beyond here in Karelia."
"You sure are a humble sort," Caitríona observed. "If only every lord was like you."
"I do not see this as sullying my pride as a noble," Feliks said. "On the contrary; I see this as an opportunity to connect with my people, and do more for them in return for all they provide for Karelia!
"Now follow me!" He began to walk away, beckoning them with his hand as he retreated. "It's not too long a walk, I assure you!"
"What a gracious 'mon. Karelia's in good hands with him in charge," Kallias said, as he, Melchior and the Albans followed after the Meowstic.
"It does seem like it. Today was a pretty fun day," Melchior agreed.
"And I think we all benefited from today." Kallias looked back, seeing the Albans in good spirits. "I wonder what potential those kids will have when they come knocking on the Guild's doors?"
"Not sure. But they look like they have potential," Melchior said. "I suppose we'll see what they're made of when the time comes."
"I eagerly await their arrival," Kallias said. "For now, though…let's relish in the simple pleasure of a good meal." He licked his lips, eagerly anticipating the meal awaiting them.
