Being an adventurer was not all it was chalked up to be. Salary wise, it wasn't so bad – but in terms of earning so much money in so little time...? Tyr was immediately evaluated as a silver rank adventurer. Which honestly wasn't bad. Almost everyone started at the copper or bronze tier. Frankly, he didn't understand why he's been given such an impressive ranking right from the get-go. His documents denoting him as a knight of Haran helped, as that was seen as vocational experience and served as an advantage on his 'resume'. But that should only have guaranteed iron or steel.

Then again, Tyr wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Their examination equipment was clearly broken, also marking him as a mage. Not too bad either, Rose even said he was 'very talented' for his age, which had made him blush. Felt a little shame too, with her equipment lying to her like that. In any case, everyone knew what an adventurer was. You uh... Signed up, and then went to go kill stuff and have... Well, adventures.

It ran something like copper, bronze, iron, steel, silver, gold, platinum, mithril, adamantite, and cronite – at least here. He'd tried to challenge the ruling to see if he could get any higher, only being given promises that he was one of the 'most powerful seventeen year old's they'd ever seen'.

Obviously a lie. Obviously a revenue driver or excuse to get him out of their hair. Tyr was alright with the sword, but most powerful in any category? Not a chance. He had no talent at all as far as he was concerned. Average in all regards, at best. Couldn't die though, but he wasn't comfortable with proving that he could regrow a hand from scratch within a few hours. Seconds if he still had said hand.

He'd taken six jobs. Six jobs over eight days and the best he'd been given was a single gold coin that was yet cut in half in the name of 'taxes'. Not bad, really, a whole gold coin. All he'd had to do was show up to some fat kids birthday party and fight some beastkin servants in mock duels. It was only that much though, Tyr suspected, because he'd lost. Something about his getting clobbered repeatedly by four beastkin with wooden clubs and never staying down for very long seemed to entertain the children quite a bit. Not much of an adventure, though...

Fuck taxes! He found himself constantly thinking this, for the first time praising his father for keeping the tax rate so low in his home country. Surely, these administrators and bureaucrats who required such an absurd tax rate were corrupt profligates and nothing more. Five gold sovereigns total between all jobs, not nearly enough to keep pace with his timetable – though he was limited by the lesser jobs he was capable of performing and the travel times they required. A rank of an adventurer mostly set a standard for the jobs they could take. Silver was not low, but rank also wasn't everything.

There were so many metrics, the system had all of these little numbers and statistics. Silver? Great! But what's your CCR? Tyr didn't even know what that meant, and when he asked, people laughed as if he was making a joke... Only eight jobs? Hmm... Yeah, we're looking for someone else with a little more experience. Come back in a few years!

The problem, mainly, was that one could not advance in ranking until the age of 18. At all. Silver was the maximum for anyone under that age in this country, but Tyr's birthday was in the middle of summer. It was the middle of June. So a month until his July birth date, and then about a month and a half to the start of the term.

He regretted his honesty above all things, though it seemed that his merit and completion rating were grandfathered in once he became of age to advance. There were colored rankings based on the elemental table, pretty obvious stuff. Then there was CCR, other performance metrics, and the 'class' system. Some people, for example, could be gold ranked but not get selected for contracts unless they possessed a particular skill set. It was very convoluted, ridiculously so.

For example, Tyr was a silver ranked battlemage on paper. They recorded that as his 'class', his rating was 'C', prime element, any patron god or church affiliation, Tyr had none of those. Little quirks as well, like what martial forms he was comfortable with. What languages he spoke, other talents, both of which Tyr didn't have much to speak of either. Whoever had invented this system was an idiot, as if the 'rank' wasn't already good enough. But it did make some sense, he'd capitulate on that at least. Because not all contracts were just fighting, adventurers were mostly just odd-jobbers. People who went out on inconvenient missions the hiring party didn't want to do themselves. Gather herbs, source materials not common in the region, patrol the city, work the door of a pub with a rougher clientele. Entertain at a child's birthday party...

He slept – half of the time outside the city, ate, shit, and slept again. Everything else was work. Work, work, and more work. He hated it, unable to understand how people did this kind of thing for their whole life. Maybe that's why their fatality rate was so high – because they couldn't stomach the idea of continuing for another day under the oppressive system before offing themselves.

It did have its perks, though. Tyr had seen near all of the city and the surrounding area beyond, heading toward another job. A goblin extermination. Thus far, he'd mainly been hunting barghests and bandits, bizarrely easy tasks that any self sufficient knight could complete let alone a mage. He'd show up, see a single, scrawny looking – flat faced wolf. Kick it in the head, and get paid. Most of the time, the wolf did the work though. As long as Tyr shared, which he obviously would – they were partners, the wolf would tear any lesser monster they ran into in half. His 'extra money' came from pawning their perforated corpses off on the association. And they'd buy everything monster related, whether it had a use or not. An incentive to not focus on only one task, to eliminate any potential threat they ran into on the road. Something subsidized by the government, he'd guess.

Powerful monsters were pretty rare in Amistad. The adventurer population in the successor states was so high that it ensured the roads remain mostly safe. Necessary because the region was fragments with dozens if not hundreds of petty baronies, not much capacity for official organizations like rangers or wardens to travels the length and breadth of it. Their lack of government affiliate gave them the agency to do so.

Then again, perhaps that was why the pay was so high. Relatively speaking, of course. The eight credits of 'profit' burning a hole in his pocket were beyond that of a commoner, and if he hadn't been so stingy – enough to live a year in relative comfort in a coastal resort inn.

Gotcha...

He finally picked up their trail thirty miles northeast of the craters furthest edge. Goblins. Riding Okami, his only companion, he streaked through the forest like a bolt of lightning. A bizarre creature, Okami had no problem hunting anything Tyr asked of him. Some things that he hadn't asked for. Boar, Deer, even dragging a monolithic bear from the brush at one point – expecting all sorts of praise. Rolling about like a dope with his tongue wagging, whining until Tyr waxed on about how mighty and majestic he was. Okami liked to be called beautiful, any aesthetic compliment seemed his favorite, especially how clean and sharp his fangs looked on any particular day.

He didn't seem interested in killing sentient beings though. Goblins might be a problem, but they were just goblins, probably not much of a threat. The wolf wouldn't touch the few humans Tyr had run into until they tried to attack him first.

Tyr laughed as he remembered the bandit who had pissed all over himself when Okami came barreling through to wood to beg them for food. Misinterpreting the situation and allowing the prince to butcher them from behind like the dogs they were. Okami didn't mind that either, he was simply there – existing.

A perk. Simply... Existing. A singular purpose. It wasn't a bad life, though Tyr was pressured out of his enjoyment of it by the thought that he might 'lose' to his father. At least the forests were a sight to behold. Here in the south, it was more temperate and warm. Hot even, on the 'right' side of the mountains, though the temperature didn't bother Tyr much. Everywhere was wide and green and picturesque. The blue sky and the vast stretch of oak and maple. So many leaves and not just a mass of spruce and fir. Game animals so rich and dense that it would've been impossible to go hungry, though Tyr had never gone hungry – not truly – in his entire life. It was easy to miss, easy to take for granted.

Ten minutes later, they found it. It wasn't exactly hard to find. Two gold, ninety silvers in the form of a large group of...

What the hell...? Tyr observed, staring through the trees. They'd expected resistance. Naturally, who wouldn't? This was a gold-rated mission that he'd managed to swindle from the receptionist after no small amount of guilt tripping. Near silver, tagged gold due to the vast number of foes. Except what he saw... It wasn't anything that he might've imagined. Even in his wildest dreams.

Goblins were a well known race of monster. Savage, brutal and cunning, but from human perspective rather weak. Creatures that mostly operated in the dusk, or night, dragging farmers wives off into their caves to murder and eat them.

Right in front of his very eyes was a veritable horde of the small creatures. Tyr approached stealthily so as to slaughter them without incident. Better to not let them scatter and get away, or he'd be paid less. Except instead of reacting to his presence or forming any sort of defense at all, they danced around a large bonfire hands clasped around rough hewn flagons. Not a weapon on any of them, with most of them – the goblins – being stark naked. Their 'parts' out, seeming to dance along with the child sized creatures.

They danced and sang and... Did other things, all in full view, no rhyme or reason to any of it. In fact, notably, it was hard to tell male and female goblins apart. Tyr had heard much of their kind, read about them too, but were far from his expectations. A bounty on their heads of one gold (Tyr had begun subtracting the tax) due to repeated raids on merchant caravans. Though, also notably, no deaths. Not a single human had been killed by them.

Beaten close to it, maybe, but not killed.

Tyr stepped nervously through the forest after dismounting Okami's wide back. No need for subtlety, so lost was he in their song, a song of joy and sorrow in equal measure. A mourning song, but also a celebrating of life...? Rough around the edges, but it... He just... Liked it? It was impossible to say. It resonated with him in an odd way, the beating of drums and clapping of hands, and most of all the complete lack of reaction to his presence. Even after he made his way into their midst, they did not draw steel, growl or bark, just continued on like nothing had happened. Before Tyr knew it, a flagon was in his hands and he was being dragged about by the goblins who chatted with him and welcomed him. First in their strange language, then in common. A shit attempt at common, but he could understand them at least.

Banded leather armor, weapon, horse sized wolf... They weren't afraid of him at all.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Tyr spread his hands, waving, though ensuring that the particularly excellent vintage of mead was not spilled in the doing of it. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Long shank have party with short shank. Smell good, yes? Big dog say waaaaan, bark at moon, yes? Be friends yes? No need fight. Time for fight in morning if want. Time for party now, yes?”

“...What?”

Despite his initial refusal to participate, alcohol was alcohol. They had a saying in Haran. Enough ale will make the mean man smile, if only for a little while. Tyr didn't style himself what they called a racist, but he certainly fulfilled the awkward proverb. Before he knew it, he was dancing and singing alongside the goblins. Performing the fire dance for them to a bevy of cheers and laughter. They were simple creatures, and it didn't take long to understand that they'd only wanted the alcohol and had never intended to hurt anyone. Based on the state of them, it was likely that the accusations of 'beatings' were wholly unwarranted as well.

This particular tribe was so weak, physically, that any man of able body should be able to fend them off. Five of them combined didn't possess the strength to so much as lift the prince, let alone harm him. They didn't have claws, nor fangs, as he'd heard. They didn't even have fingernails by which to scratch him, their four digit fingers were soft on the tips, stubby and rounded. Their teeth were similar to that of a humans, a little wider. Their lips and therefore their mouths were much wider though, enough to chomp on something bigger than their heads, but they were hardly any threat.

Even Okami 'danced', in his way. Panting as he did and waving his head back and forth as what must classify as a gaggle of goblin young climbed him like the worlds hairiest tree. He didn't seem to mind, his massive tongue coating them in saliva and allowing them to play at their little games, cackling with raucous laughter.

There was a thing in it, though. Tyr couldn't quite place it, but there was a thing. A thing he wanted. Needed, even. An abandon to it, surely, but that wasn't it, it wasn't the escapism of a good drink and a warm fire. More like... A wholeness? A community? He didn't know, but he refused to exterminate these goblins. Odd. If someone offered him a gold credit to kill a man, he'd do it. He was sure of it, he'd ignore their weeping and blubbering and smash their head into the ground until they stopped moving. Tyr knew he was cold, red handed, but even this part of him couldn't conscience harming these creatures. And they were monsters, so why...? He didn't know.

It reminded him of his time amongst the kobold. He saw them, and couldn't lift a finger. It would've been wrong. Somewhere in his twisted mind there was a nugget of morality left that must've seen to that. It left him confused, and troubled. Just two days earlier he'd felt nothing as he nailed a still living bandit to a tree along the roadside. Got a weird look from Rose for that, but a bonus from the employer. The man had done nothing more than rob a few farms in the periphery, hadn't harmed anyone, just scared them a bit. It couldn't be 'justice', Tyr had gone way too far and he knew it, but he also did not care. He was told, paid, and acted as expected and then some. These goblins had done the exact same thing. They were thieves... Why?

Bit too drunk to think much more on the topic, though. Leave philosophy to old men and beards, Tyr kept himself cleanly shaved, not a whisker of a mustache to twirl in contemplation.

“Why come here? Join dancing?”

“No.” Tyr burped, well near his point of no return. The honeyed mead was simply too good. “I was hired to come here and kill you all.” Too good to lie convincingly, and he was too tired and thankful for his feelings to offer them anything but the truth. These creatures. There was a thing about men. Like in the caves. Tyr realized he hated men. Everything that had ever happened to him throughout both youth and budding adulthood, was caused by his fellow man. Everything. Tuskers were akin to animals, there was no hating them for their instinct and they'd even done their best to abide by a treaty.

In that situation, Tyr was the villain. Not them. The tuskers didn't deserve to die, they just needed to, so they had. The prince was an animal, a beast of instinct. And he'd followed it, and did not feel any shred of regret. It had been right, what he'd done, right from necessity – not in ethics.

Tyr would not harm these wild children. There was no need for exposition, it was all a waste of time, his instinct told him not to. Thus, he obeyed. That was all. He was not good for it, he just was. He was here, and he had a choice, and stuck with his gut.

“Not kill us though, me hope?” There was fear in their eyes. He'd smelled fear many times. It was a tang on the air not unlike mana itself, even pleasant at times. A rising of triumph in the breast to know that you've broken a man and won in some sacred, imperceptible way. That you'd made prey out of them, when they deserved it at least. Broken what steel they might have in them, knowing yours was harder in that moment. But here...? The fear he saw in that creatures eyes made him ill. Sick, even. He hated making this person feel like this. Not a creature, and not a monster. He didn't even know his name, or her name, this goblin. They all looked the same to him, like tiny little clones running all over the place.

“Never.” Tyr laughed, patting the tiny head with a gentle hand before showing them some tricks he was capable of with the fire. Something to ease the fear and stop that uncomfortable sensation it gave him.

He didn't know when, or how he had fallen asleep. Unconscious, really. To be truthful – he knew the how behind it. Drink would do that. Tyr rarely over indulged, but it was the song. That blasted song that still rang in his ears, he couldn't get it out of his head. The rhythm. A wild song, something that tugged at a part of him that he wasn't aware of.

Tyr woke to the light of day. Well into the morning, groggy and groaning with Okami curled behind his head and rising alongside him. Licking his head and leaving a fair bit of drool behind as a 'good morning'. The prince felt odd. This wolf, no... This being, the 'him' that the wolf was, deserving respect as a sentient creature – as his mother has taught him. He had followed Tyr. Unquestioning, even after years apart. That was a loyalty. There was loyalty in men, but Okami's was so unconditional. Never questioning. From the day they had reunited, he'd simply followed Tyr around with his stupid tongue hanging out, full of such easygoing affection.

He'd even tried to shoo the wolf along, but it'd found him later. Always following. He'd sighed at that, but now he felt a twang about it. Something he couldn't explain, nor explore at the current moment with a hangover on him. That awful taste in his mouth.

“What happen--”

Another lick, as if in answer. Enough agitation raced through Tyr's drool soaked head to remember.

Ahh.

He noticed the weight of a pouch on his chest and a series of jilted runes in the common tongue carved at a wooden board at his side. They said, grammatically incorrect, 'friend for our, thank for not kill!'. A pouch or a bag, surely it was too big to be called a pouch, a satchel then...? At least he hadn't been robbed, with his sword and coinpurse still at his waist – the goblins were long gone though. As was anything remaining of the ale they'd stolen from those traders.

A day later, he was back in the city sweating bullets after the long bender – staring at an appraiser. Rings, a punch dagger, and a handful of bracelets. Two gems, too, though they seemed chewed on and in poor repair. Still, while not a born merchant, Tyr was well capable of a poker face. Hear the first offer, wait for the next, if it doesn't please you – wait for the next. When in doubt, wait it out. That's what Uncle Don said.

'Just stare at them until they offer you a sum that pleases you. I've been doing that for years, it always works. They'll come up with all sorts of excuses why they can't do more, and then they'll offer. Worst case, you get an offer, stare some more, and negotiations fall apart. So, you say 'toward a future partnership!' all friendly like and offer them a ten percent discount of the final offer. You'll lose a little bit, but you'd never have gotten that much to begin with. When I was your age, I had no idea what I was doing! None at all, now I'm rich!'

It made sense.

Even with those long winded words of wisdom, this process felt like torture. Half dead in the brain from overindulging the night before, Tyr must've spooked the merchant or something. He wasn't sure what had happened, one moment – he'd been staring at the gnome, the next...

“I... Where did you get all this? No, never mind that, it doesn't matter. Is it stolen, tagged, contraband?”

“Nope. Got it during an adventuring gig. I uh... Liberated it from some goblins.”

“Oath?”

“Oath.” Tyr replied honestly, he wasn't lying. He tried his best to feign his understanding, but he had no value of the contents of that bag. Regardless, the merchant took his claim at face value. Perhaps some more magic. After all, lie detectors existed even in Haran which seemed to be such a backwater these days, magically, that is. It helped that Tyr wore his adventurers dog-tags over his chest, denoting him as a silver ranker. Which was, to the normal person, quite impressive. People would even give him free food sometimes, telling him to 'share how good it was with his friends'. Unfortunately for them, Tyr had a big stomach, no friends though... Well... There was Goroshi!

Ha! Tyr wished Varinn could see him now. He had made a friend!

“Twenty four.” The merchant stated calmly, meeting his eyes.

In respect to the goblins, Tyr sold only what he couldn't use. Keeping two rings and a bracelet for himself. The problem was...

“Not a chance I'm selling this for twenty four.” Tyr replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, already forgetting Uncle Donakan's lesson. Twenty four gold sovereigns? Even credits!? That was insane. Magic artifacts were worth more than that. Even the most insignificant dimensional ring was worth forty gold, and he had six of them in that pile. “Low ball me so hard again, and I'll do something drastic.” There was a truth in this. Tyr couldn't believe it. Twenty four? He'd tanked his reputation as adventurer all on this one gig. He might never get another job again. Not a chance!

“You're very clever, young man. And correct, I suppose I could perhaps reshape the crystals and in time, profit a bit more. Remember, I'm a business man, I have to look after my margin as well.” The merchant nodded. Now, he too was sweating, the sniveling bastard trying to swindle Tyr out of his hard earned magical artifacts. Well... 'Hard earned'. 'His'. Ah... “Twenty nine. Not going any higher, that's my final offer.”

Tyr guffawed at that. Twenty nine! What a joke! “Is this a pawn shop? Is your name Richard?”

The gnome shook his head, very obviously confused, looking about the shop. “No, this is a--”

“Are you serious right now?” Tyr asked, slamming his fist on the counter. “Listen, man, a fair offer is a fair offer but this is bullshit. I'm sorry for threatening you, I didn't mean it like that – really, but disrespecting me like that is plain out of line. Do you even know who I am?” Pride was pride, and Tyr had a lot of it, becoming that spoiled prince again at the drop of a hat. He swept the bag of artifacts from the counter and made to leave before a gray haired halfling Tyr hadn't noticed poked his head over the counter with an anxious cry.

“Fine! You win, kid. Hells if you're not the most bastardly of all northerners to come up into Moriarty's with an attitude like that! But listen, work with me here. We've got to make a profit, you're an adventurer, right?”

Tyr was startled by the sudden appearance of the half-man, barely managing to nod. Okami panted behind him, poking his head through the door of the shop. None of the patiently waiting patrons had it in them to budge past, nervously staring at the wolf. A pudgy little beastkin kept trying to pet him, held back by what must've been his very anxious mother.

What's he going to offer me... Fifty gold? This guy had lost his damn mind if he thinks I'm about to sell myself short like that. Ninety gold is my absolute minimum.

“I'll give you thirty five. Flat. That's it, for all of it. No discounts, and no refunds!” The halfling cried out, clearly agitated at the turn of events. “Thirty five hundred, you hear me!”

“Thirty five hundred.... Thirty five hundred gold credits?” Tyr replied in disbelief, his mind going blank in a heartbeat. An impossible sum. “Are you for real?”

“Fine, fine! You win!” The halfling cried in defeat. “Four thousand, even. That's it. Seriously! I can't go any higher, I'll go broke, trust me! But promise that I'll have all future business from you. Swear it, and I'll buy your loot. Today, and every day after, at full wholesale cost! And uh, for four thousand, throw in the rest of that stuff. The bracelets I can work with, but I'll definitely lose money on this... It's all in good faith, kid. Deal?”

Wait... Did that guy mean twenty nine HUNDRED!? Two thousand, nine hundred gold!?

Moments later, Tyr left the shop in high spirits and four thousand sovereigns – or credits – richer. Such was the vast sum that it was traded in bank notes, otherwise he'd have needed multiple wagons to carry it all. Four thousand credits! The first thing he did was start his own account, receiving a bizarre and fairly lascivious stare from the very male clerk that assisted him. He was over the moon. Four thousand credits! Gold was gold between empires for the most part, and the successor states too. Not that gold was a rare metal by any means, but the enchantments about the coins asserted their value even if the metal did not. Each coin was worth ten to twenty times their weight in the raw element.

There were exceptions, like the republic who traded in iron coins or Milano that took basically anything official. Their 'official' currency was paper, though, which Tyr had always found extremely odd.

He couldn't stop laughing, considering it an unprecedented victory. The greatest day of his life! Tyr really did make for a born merchant, Don was right! A born swindler! What an idiot that halfling was!

I can't believe I got away with that! He left the bank, an impossibly rich man. Well, not impossibly. He had some concept of what rich was. The imperial treasury had hundreds of thousands if not more in liquid assets. But still! Four thousand!

Meanwhile, in Moriarity's shop...

“Are you sure that was wise, boss?” The attendant asked, nervous in regard to the vast sum of coins they'd just spent on the merchandise, some of which was wet and sticky with what appeared to be saliva. “That's a lot of money.”

“I'll never understand you gnomes, Dillan. Like I always say... Lowballing is fine, but you've got to be more aggressive! Six dimensional rings, a warp bracelet and a life bracelet besides, skymetal focus, and an Alfen windsaber... Do you know how much that's worth – not including the Taldarim cronite coins?”

The attendant tried to formulate a response, but Moriarty wasn't interested.

“Sixty five hundred gold, and that's a conservative estimate! Gods, that human's a good negotiator though!” He cried. “Nine thousand if we're lucky with finding a collector who liked ancient currency! Go. Take the rest of the day off. Hells, take the rest of the week off! We're rich, man!”

Somewhere, Tyr sneezed. He shrugged helplessly after spending a brief time wondering how goblins had gotten such a haul. They weren't strong or particularly intelligent, and only two or three were capable of using the the most insignificant earth magic he'd ever seen. Whatever the case, he'd just gotten away with the score of ten lifetimes and was hastening to finish the process of depositing it in the bank. Apparently the first employee wasn't authorized to handle such a large sum, sending Tyr to another, larger branch.

“Er, excuse me?” He leaned over the counter present on one of the score of teller booths within the massive structure. A castle within itself constructed entirely of stone, glass, and steel – he could feel a vast subterranean structure below. Everywhere was wealth in this city, but this bank was simply ludicrous. Banks in Haran were stone too, what with the need to protect their customers belongings, but much smaller in comparison. This one had towers, a courtyard, and everything – not too dissimilar from 'his own estate', albeit a bit smaller. A bit.

It was gray though. Too gray. The only color to break the monotony in the place were the blue veined marble slabs that must've been quarried by literal giants, and tacky gold leaf on every pillar. Even those few wooden bits of furniture included some form of gold or silver leafing. It wasn't like gold was rare, but it seemed a bit overdone. Behind the counter in plain view there must've been two tons of gold bars stacked in neat rows. Adding to the ambiance, he supposed.

“...Hello?” He wasn't alone in the place, but he couldn't see a single attendant from his side of the counter. It was eerily quiet, and everyone spoke in hushed whispers, passing him scathing looks as the prince raised his voice. Diversity here was as plain as anywhere else in the city, with well dressed members of at least eight races standing shoulder to shoulder in the various queues. In comparison to their tailored trappings, Tyr's tattered cloak and travel gear was a sore on the eye, looking a bit out of place. He remained oblivious as ever to such things.

Better to wear a rusted breastplate than the finest waistcoat of silks and peacock feathers in his mind. Silk wouldn't stop an axe.

On second thought... Tyr winced, nervously turning his head. Maybe they're not looking at me...

Okami was busying himself with licking whatever salt must exist on the granite stones that comprised the barrier between the lobby and the back, looking wholly out of place in the middle of the bank. What appeared to be security guards were nervously staring at him, playing some equivalent of dragon, phoenix, kraken to determine who was responsible for removing the massive wolf with no clear winner after eight consecutive rounds.

“Who let a dog in here? Oi, read the sign...” A portly dwarf tapped his can against a steel plate mounted on one of the central pillars. “No pets!”

“He's not a pet.” Tyr replied, raising an eyebrow at the insinuation. “Does he look like my pet to you?”

“Ah... Hmph.” The dwarf huffed before slamming his cane onto the marble floor with a clanging noise that sounded like it came from some far away place. And just like that, the metal on the plate swirled and changed before the princes very eyes.

[NO DRINKS. NO PETS. NO MAGICAL BEASTS REGARDLESS OF SPECIES.]

With a wry chuckle, another 'rule' was added. A wave of the mans hands and it was scrawled into the same plaque just beneath the others.

[PATRONS MUST BATHE PROPERLY BEFORE ENTERING THE BANK.]

“Very funny.” Tyr chuckled, before realizing that he did smell quite... Pungent. What with all the ale and mead he'd been drinking, he couldn't have been carrying a pleasant scent. “Sorry partner, you heard him.”

Okami didn't need to be told twice, lazily trotting from the hall with a growl at the dwarf, the man visibly paling in response. What came next was a bizarrely chortling sound, like the great wolf was laughing – though few were so brave as to join him in his humor.

“Sorry. A bit backed up today and we've had several service representatives come down with a terrible case of the pox. How can I help you... Sir?” Tyr turned toward the voice, a petite yet well built woman with her hair pinned into a spiraling bun and an oval face. A familiar face.

“...Ella?”