[i] "The kingdom of Marmon holds to light a new glory in the funeral of it's old regime. A new chaos in which a man may take what he wants and must give what he can't keep. A land of pure freedom in which the general will adapts to the new unrestricted society, revealing the raw taste of a man's morals."

- Jacque Armain, The King Of Thieves [/i]

[center] [b] Marmon, North, Pakarahel [/b][/center]

 The outskirts of the massive city was skirted by farmland and spots of forest and the occasional lake. This area has fought hard for it’s rightful title as the land of the bandit, as all roads to Pakarahel are cool and shady; the perfect hunting grounds of the more aggressive criminal. The windless morning air gave it an unsettling calm as a rider pounded down one of the many dirt roads leading from the city, a letter had arrived in Pakarahel instead of the capital, and perhaps for the best. The messenger rode with the royal seal on his saddle, a clear sign of suicide and loyalty to the Curlow crown, a near extinct situation.

 The ambitious loyalist had neatly packed the foreign letter unopened and in a soft leather satchel that slapped carelessly against the rump of his speckled steed as its powerful hooves stomped and kicked up clouds of dry dust. The man wore a green riding cape that fluttered in the wind generated by the speedy gallop, and his gloved hands tightened around his reins anxiously, for even a dope of a man who had ever stepped foot in Marmon knew the high risk and penalty for such royal support, especially such a publically open one, let alone on some of the most dangerous roads in the region. 

The trees began to whisper as their leaves rubbed against each other in a sudden breeze that smelt of the many fields, farms and the wild berries of the wood. The serenity of the wood was definitely misleading as the trees grew thicker and thicker along the sides of the road that grew rougher and rougher as it progressed further from the walls of Pakarahel, until if one were to turn and look for where he had came from, he would be met with seemingly endless rows of trees and a vanishing dirt path through them. Suddenly a loud twang tore the suspenseful scene asunder and the horse whinnied horrifically as it fell to the ground, throwing its rider far and hard onto the path, skidding across the dust and dirt.

Two athletic looking men gleefully strolled out of the trees, big smiles on their dirty yet shaven faces. They wore dirty green clothes of foresters, but more noticeably they walked with the cocky ego of not any old bandit, but a thief of Armain. One squatted next to the angry horse that laid on its side and flicked a finger against a metal wire that wrapped its vice grip tightly across the horses hooves, the force of the trap had cut it slightly into the skin and produced crimson blood. The other man gently put a boot on the fallen riders neck, threatening to stomp if he moved. 

Eventually the horse was freed from it’s momentary prison, as well as it’s saddle and satchel which were happily taken by the thieves. The rider was stripped naked down to his long wool underpants and blindfolded, then taunted and jeered into running into the forest blindly, motivated by the threats of knives. The first thief laughed heartily, his roguish sharp hazel eyes watching the poor rider run into trees as he attempted to escape. 

“Ever think he will find his way home, Jim?” The other asked the first, Jim. 

Jim looked over to his comrade, who was almost identical in size, stature, and face: Lean, tall and unusually handsome. William was the name of the second and a lifelong friend and partner in crime with the clever Jim. The two had a small reputation in Pakarahel as some of the finest con artists and swindlers, but also quite the clever pair of rogues, as this poor rider had found out.

Jim just shook his head, letting his dark hair fall in his face, “Maybe, maybe not,” He said disinterested as he pointed to the satchel, “Did ya check it yet?”

William looked at Jim blankly, suddenly snapping out of whatever thought he was in with an “OH!” and quickly tossing the satchels lid aside and rummaging through. Old papers not worth a run through were tossed aside, an empty velvet pouch was shaken until proved to be useless, one shiny stone was pocketed, and eventually William produced a fine looking letter, stamped flashily and on some nice quality paper. The thief held it out to Jim with raised brows, “Message for ya M’lord,” He mocked.

“Ah! It must be the Countess Von Pennysworth requiring my special services once more,” Jim gave a wink and snatched the letter with a false and mimicking regal pose and voice.

With exaggerated caution he opened the letter while William shook his head, suppressing a few chuckles at his ridiculous friend. 

Jim quickly scanned the paper without breaking his pose and closed it slowly, turning to William with his nose in the air and eyes closed, “Just as I expected,” He began with his false noble accent, “Muddy Kazoo requested my presence with an escort at his palace for his birthday jamboree, and I’m not allowed to bring my mighty sword of pauper slaying and tax collecting!”

“Damn that muddy kazoo!” William laughed as Jim broke character and began a long chuckle. 

“Hey, hey,” William blurted in between deep giggles, “We should go.”

Jim rubbed his chin, he knew it wasn’t a [i]good[/i] idea, but at the same time it was a [i] hilariously great [/i] idea, “Well, I do say I make quite the dashing Jeffsoff.”

William shook his head, “I don’t know, you don’t have The Bulls cock in your hand that so extravagantly separates him from the rest.”

“We will just have to work around that,” Jim shook his head, cringing at the image “This would be the best swindle and play we would have ever done.”

Will nodded, “to be honest for a change, Jim,” he began with a sense of emotion, “I was kidding, but now I’m not so sure you are.”

Jim slapped Williams shoulder playfully, “we wouldn’t give up such a chance!”

William looked up from a thought, ‘We wouldn’t?” 

Jim just shook his head and Will winked in response and suddenly Williams devilish smile grew on his face, “Too true, let’s go steal us some costumes and a good sum for a boat ride.” 

[center] [b] Marmon, North, Mallkim: The City of Thieves[/b] [/center]

The castles dining room was as rugged and torn as the rest of the ancient building. Dust had conquered the faded grey wall tapestries, and the long oaken table had grown hollow and chewed by carpenter ants and termites. Paintings of once important royalty hung on the chiseled wall disfigured and distorted by time and devilish pranksters. The carpets were stolen, for what reason such ragged cloth was desired was beyond Jeffsoff as he scraped his worn boot against the dirt covered floor, crinkling his nose in memory of how awful everything he owned really was. The swinging door to the kitchen was long lost and crude unmatching smells of simple dishes made by talentless pauper chefs creeped their musky way into the large room. Spots of clean rock was visible on the dusty wall, but not to anyone's joy as it just reminded them how the brass braziers once bolted to the thick rock was stolen a few weeks ago. 

Jeffsoff blew an annoyed sigh, almost coughing on the kitchen smells with a gargleg hack. He let himself fall into one of the old wooden chairs, that was surprisingly still there. With a loud crack and the sound of wood splintering the legs of the chair snapped and threw the tired king backwards, landing him on his back and knocking the wind out of him. 

He gasped to regain his breath as he sat up and weakly grabbed for his dented crown that was thrown off his head. With a large inhale finally securing his lungs he sighed once more as he sat on the cold floor. 

"Too royal for seats are you?" A loud aggressive voice had shot from the doorway. 

"Good morn, Verchoff," Jeffsoff said rolling his eyes as he stumbled back to his feet. 

"Please, please," said the massive man who now appeared next to the king. His arms were as thick as legs and his bald head and face was covered in dark tattoos. A large and heavy long sword hung on his belted waist and leather wrapped his torso and legs protectively, "Once more, call me, The Bull."

Jeffsoff realigned his crown as he looked up at the monstrous man, eager to get this over with, "Very well. So as I mentioned in the letter, I have a proposition for you."

The Bull sat on the worn table with an audible creak, "Go on."

“Expansion…”

...

[center] [b] Marmon, South, deep in an unknown cave system[/b] [/center] 

The soft glow of torches illuminated the dark stone walls of the hollowed out chamber. These passageways and small in mountain village like holes have long sheltered those who wished to escape from harsh realities or bitter judgement. In one such mountain dwelling some claim the King of Thieves lives, directs and orchestrates his community of sly men and women. However this particular ancient dwelling is not his but one of a more noble and disciplined aspect. Here Mikus Dominum rests with his cohort. 

The large hollowed out dwelling was filled with warm tents and makeshift huts using the resources of the forest. The endless stone walls were poorly decorated with old banners from Marmon's golden age, complete with the profile of King Decimus, and of course the pole mounted battle banner of the fourth legion. It's black cloth had faded into a grey and it's golden snake turned a sickly and tattered yellow, and on top an eerie reminder of the past in the form of a copper crown was secured to the pole. Any existing tassels and ornaments otherwise had been long disposed of in battle. 

Patches of moss blanketed the cavern floor and plump edible mushrooms dotted it's soft carpet. Water could be heard dripping from the sharp cavern ceiling and gently falling into natural rock walled basins, filled with the melted snow that had made it's way through the mineral and dense rock of the mountain. 

By one silver watered basin sat Mikus, his armor had been replaced with an old black wool tunic over thick brown pants. His eyes watched as a drip of chilled water disturbed the basin with it's pluck into the collected liquid, sending tiny ripples bouncing off the stone sides. The Commanders mind was elsewhere, warm in a daydream of long ago and embraced by a past love and happiness. 

A small smile was carved onto the man's perplexed face and his silvery grey eyes were distant and otherworldly as he thought so deep. An optimistic time of joy and contentment wove a tightly knitted and warm blanket over his mind, warming his soul and lifting his heart to a sense of euphoria. Dreams had always been the best escape from pessimism and especially from everlasting night, a sun among lifeless moons. Such a cherished notion of times past and times to come sparked an eager hope and a comfortable joy that one bitter night could not strip from an optimistic heart. After many years such a spark had grown dim, but still present, and now and again found its way back to the mind of the stone built commander.

Another drip freed itself from the ceiling and with it's tiny plop the daydreaming soldier was snapped back into cold reality. His smile quickly straightened across his stubbled cheeks and he shifted his buttocks as to relieve the sting of the cold mossy floor. With a sigh of discomfort the commander slowly rose to his booted feet and stretched out his back with a silent yawn. 

When his eyes reopened from the yawn, he found they rested their gaze upon Glemus Puwonem, one of his best soldiers. 

"What is it, soldier?" Mikus narrowed his eyes as to retrieve his usual authoritative stance. 

"There is word of a possible expansion, Jeffsoff announced it earlier this morning. Rumors are The Bull funds it with his money and beserkers. We were quick to hear of it, sir," the soldier stood straight and respectively as he spoke without a stutter. 

"I see, very good, soldier, you are relieved."

The soldier gave a shallow nod, "Thank you, sir!"

With that the soldier turned on his heels and walked back to the warm center of the camp. 

Mikus rubbed his chin, surely good can be made out of this shift of force. His strategic mind began buzzing and fixing up grand solutions to every problem he could think to repair. He would need to wait for further development of Jeffsoff's possible movement, but either way, he knew what had to be done no matter what: Seize the opportunity, in a wise and secured strategy.