aliettite

Running over to the side of the wyvern knight once more, Wren pays a little tune again, peeking around the creature's red-scaled hide to get a glimpse of Lord Leofric across the street. Goddess, if he was close enough to see him, then Leofric was definitely close enough to see Wren too. He hopes for now the man will be too distracted to actually pay attention to a measly bard above the others with weapons that could actually kill him. Or better -- he'd simply run away and not get killed by the very people sent here to protect this town. Move to K17 and bard Marek!

From the backlines, Wren couldn't exactly make out what was being said, but from the looks of it, three men on Lord Leofric's defected, then turned heel and ran? And they called him the coward! At least he had a strong enough backbone to fight in the name of duty, even if he didn't necessarily agree with what they were fighting for (glorified theft). Jogging over to the troubadour and the (curmudgeonly, in his opinion) older monk, Wren plays another little tune, hoping to at least motive his own comrades to be loyal to the cause. Even if that cause was taking them closer and closer to Lord Leofric and the inevitable social scandal that would ensue. Goddess preserve them all. "Let's go! Cover Lady Akane!" Move to L14 and motivate Herrman for more heals, and Marcus for more general destruction!

Expression twisting to a frown, Wren jogs after Markus. "I am not 'bailing out on you.' Or anyone for that matter," he replies indignantly, really wishing none of the enemy soldiers had heard his words and could use them against him. Then again... if things kept playing out as they had, there'd be no one left alive to tell. Still. "I said I would fight with you all as a Queen's Knight, and I am. What more to you want..." His conviction peters out into almost a whine at the end there, Wren's frown only deepening as he presses himself to a tree for shelter. Move to L10 and Wait.

"H-How did this happen...? N-not that I'm complaining, of course. I suppose the goddess rewards the innocent, after all."

"Y-yeah... you're telling me..." Wren mutters to himself as he catches up with the one-armed sword-wielding woman who'd threatened him earlier, and the old man who'd patronized him. Why was he helping these people again? He could just as easily duck into a nearby house and wait it out. Oh. Right. Queen's Knights. Explaining why he didn't help his fellows was going to be a lot worse than trying to meager himself out of blame for what they caused... He starts to play a little tune halfheartedly, only to remember Akane's threat. The rest of the short song is much more enthusiastic. Move to M8 and double-bard Akane and Marcus!

Doing his best to not look directly at the remnants of the carnage his associates seem keen on inflicting throughout the city streets, Wren makes his way over to the wyvern knight once more and plays a little tune. "Er, g-go get them -- again!" As long as those soldiers stayed clear of him, he'd be okay -- and as long as he stayed clear of those solider's eyes, he might be able to wiggle his way out of this without being arrested and publicly shaming his entire family house. Move to K6 and refresh that wyvern knight!

"A-Alright, go get him!" Shouts Wren, jogging up behind the fearsome wyvern and its equally terrifying rider, giving a few short notes on his instrument. See, this was easy! All he had to do was run around behind the scenes and no one was going to get at him! Thank the Goddess... Move to K2 and "bard" Marek to finish off that petty thief.

"I-I am a bard, not a swordsman!" Wren stammers, cheeks coloring ungracefully scarlet up to his ears. "I'm not meant to be on the frontline!" He was supposed to be in the back, giving motivational bursts of music and song, and documenting all of the killing they were doing, not having any part of it himself. Hell, he was only here because he didn't want their deaths to be on his head when they returned to Queensgate. He could have just run, but he was standing and staying and making sure they lived -- wasn't that selfless enough? "And I am not scared." As if to prove the opposite of his point, his voice cracks slightly on his last word.

"But, if you run I will hunt you down to the end of the World. That's a promise." Goddess... At this point he isn't ever sure he could will his legs to move that fast, nor wouldn't he ever stand a chance actually escaping her as a pursuer. He never was very good at running. Still... they were going up against Lord Fenway's men... and the scandal that would bring his house if he was seen could be unspeakable. He supposes as long as he stays out of sight of most of the attacking men and only acts on the defensive he can claim self-defense and innocence if this got brought to trial. After all, his duty as a Queen's Knight included protecting his fellows, so he could always bank on that as his excuse for involving himself in this debacle. O-Okay Wren, all you've got to do is play for them, you can do that! Just don't think about the blades and imminent death that awaits you if you fail. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he jogs after Marcus and Marek, pulling his flute from his bag, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. With fumbling fingers, he manages to play something -- a high, sharp 'fweet' -- "G-get going! And be safe!" Move to O2 and "motivate" Marek and Marcus.

It's times like this where one is supposed to make some sort of smart remark, but considering he's currently caught between a possible arrest, shaming his family name, and now the edge of a sword poised right at his throat, clever words escape him entirely. Swallowing hard, eyes wide with fear glued to the sword in Akane's hand, he squeaks out a pained little laugh, backing up a step. "M-my Lady, this is hardly the time to--th-the time to make such-- f-forgive me I didn't mean to..." Whatever Wren has to say after than fades into mumbled nonsense. What had he been supposed to do? Lie? He was innocent of the whole thing, so why shouldn't he left them know? But he wasn't about to test his luck with this woman here.

"--Fenway, duh." And Wren feels his stomach drop to the soles of his boots. Goddess preserve him, this is not what he needed to deal with right now. Then the guards arrive and the kid scampers free and now he looks like he'd had a hand in this. Time to backtrack, and fast. "I am not a part of this, sir," he says to the captain, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "I told my comrades we should just return the boy and I absolve myself of any guilt on their behalf -- they knew where I stood." A pitiful excuse, but it was the best he could come up with off the top of his head. Hopefully the man would buy it... then he could figure out how to wiggle his fellow knights free from their own situation.

Sighing and looking a little more disgruntled, the man waves a hand at Marcus and the boy. "I may be connected, but I can't possibly know every little gladiator belonging to every nobleman or woman in Sathor," he replies, hunching slightly with his arms still crossed, not wanting to dally around here any longer with the approaching footsteps only getting louder. "If anything, the boy knows. Boy -- answer the man. Who do you claim as as your master?"

"Whether you endorse it or not isn't any matter -- the fact is that this boy belongs to his master, and he's rightfully his so we should return him to him as responsible subjects of Her Royal Highness the Queen. You would return a lost dog if you caught it in the streets, wouldn't you?" Wren frowns, crossing his arms. Of course these people wouldn't understand -- they didn't walk in the circles he grew up in. "...If you're planning on letting him go, I wish not to have a part in it. I'll take my leave of this." The last thing he needed was to associate the Cross name with an act of theft like this, carried out by Queen's Knights no less.

"Well, that settles that," pipes up Wren from the back. "We're going to turn him in, aren't we?" What else were they going to do, help the kid escape? That would be theft, and he's pretty sure the Queen's Knights would be opposed to such actions, even in the case of this... reprehensible brat. "He's rightfully his master's isn't he? We aren't going to keep him." He says the last words as if he was speaking about the suggestion to keep a dirty, flea-ridden alley cat, and isn't sure if the asker is serious or not.

Finally catching up, Wren trots to a stop behind the rest of them, catching his breath for a few moments bent over his knees before peering over the to see what all the focus is on. Some... street rat. Was this who had given those guards so much trouble? But they were nothing but a child, and a ragged looking one at that. Why on earth did something like that warrant such a commotion? Frowning, he hangs back and listens in.

So much for pleasant conversation and company on a simple trip to the markets... As the red-haired knight rushes off, Wren sighs, fixing the strap of his bagged belongings about himself, and with a quick "Apologies -- I agree," and a small dip of a bow in Rokan's direction, he runs out after them. Goddess, what an awful way to begin the day -- he'd already felt off since their river trip, and now he was running. He'd gripe that he was going to need to be paid extra for this, but that's not a luxury he knows he'd be afforded. Keeping the red-headed younger knight and the archer in his sight, Wren does his best to keep up, following the sounds of the pursuit. He'd yell after them, but he's certain his voice would crack from being out of breath already and that would be less than intimidating.

Hmm, and there he went, just like that. Perhaps he'd overdone it a touch with the flattery. Shame. Wren's pulled from his thoughts by the voice of another man, Rokan, approaching him now. This one, the archer, right? True, judging by the quiver near his pile of things at least. Puffing himself up slightly, he puts on a confident smile, shoving aside his worries about Lord Fenway for the time being. "Me, magic user? No, not yet," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm a mere bard. Entertainment, morale, documenting our heroic knightly exploits... that sort of thing. No need for armor." Leaving his luggage where it sat on the floor (someone would come and gather it to his room, wouldn't they?), he turns to walk back towards the man and the door before pausing again. "You too don't seem to be a frontline fighter yourself, being one of archery and the sort, hmm? Ro...van, was it?" It was hard keeping track of those beneath his social station, but Wren's convinced he's at least half right in the name department here. "I'm headed to the markets myself, if you'd like to tag along for interesting company and conversation." Both of which being supplied by himself, of course.

"Ah, good, good. Then it truly is a shame I won't get to watch the matches -- the new one are always the most fun to watch." They were far more unpredictable than their more seasoned competitors anyways -- like the man who'd nearly torn off another's arm in the last games. That had been a sight to behold (even if the memory of it had haunted him for several months afterwards). "I wouldn't count my brother's pick out just yet; though, with House Fenway in the ranks, I imagine he'll have a harder shot than we'd thought." He gives a small, evidently practiced, short laugh. The higher nobility, in which House Fenway was stationed, tended to have the upper hand when it came to more experienced and trained gladiators, if the games he'd seen were anything to go by. Of course, it wasn't impossible for a lower house, or even lower, to win, but the chances... weren't in their favor. Not that any of this should matter to Wren -- he was a royal knight now, and that was far more glorious a title to hold than sponsor of the Games' victor. At least he hopes so.

At last, some suitable accommodations for a Queen's Knight. The toils of the trip downriver from Queensgate had left a sour taste in his mouth, and Wren was more than ready to keep his two feet firmly on solid ground for the foreseeable future. Yes, yes, traveling by boat was the swiftest route there, but couldn't they have just as easily ridden or flown? Surely a carriage ride would have been infinitely more pleasant than the rocking, tossing, nauseating sway of that damned sea vessel. But, regardless, here they were at last in Lorelle. The city was much the same as it had been three years ago -- although, admittedly, he had found himself there under much different circumstances, being a patron along with his father, mother, and siblings at the time. There's still a part of him that would much rather be sitting amongst the crowd of spectators, enjoying the concessions as the duels played out with excitement and carnage in the arena below... but fate instead rendered him a place as an over-glorified watchman. If they were to stand guard around the city, there'd really be no way to get a glimpse at the Games themselves, would there...? Which meant all Wren would get to hear of them would be whatever recounting of the highlights his brother decided to share with him, with the underlying smugness that he got to see it instead. Fantastic. Sighing, he hefts his things back over his shoulder, stepping around Herrman with a slightly pitying look down his nose before turning his attention to the man leading them in. "Lord Leofric, was it?" he asks, extending a hand. "Wrensworth, of House Cross. It's a pleasure. I take it you too are here to enjoy the Games? Is House Fenway simply viewing or do they have a man in the area this year? I heard my brother Branden has been grooming a man for the occasion, but, unfortunately, when duty calls one must heed it -- I won't get to see."

Here's my character Wren too! Thanks!