"I'm...I'm fine," Archibald said as the initial shock of his arrow release left him. Turning to the young healer, he flashed a somewhat faked smile. "I'm completely fine, no need to worry," he said as he smoothed his hair over the right side of his face. No-one needed to know. 'Why do you hide yourself?' the voice rang again, 'be true to your desires!' With an intense internal effort, he gagged the voices and once more locked them in the back of his head. No-one needed to know... Closing his eyes, Archibald took a deep breath and steadied himself. The initial sweat had dried up now as a cool breeze blew past. They were nearing the entrance now. 

Opening his eyes, a wide smile appeared over his face. "Alright you sons of bitches!" he shouted to Aiph and Darius, "just a few more leagues and we're home free! And the only thing standing in our way is Morag!" This elicited a cheer from Aiph and a a small grunt and spit from Darius. "Let's show him the same hospitality he showed our boys a month ago!" Archibald hissed with little malice, his hand resting on a particularly colourful looking arrow. For every enemy, Archibald had a special arrow made for them. In Morag's case, it was a cruel creature. With an easily splintered shaft and a hooked, barbed bone head, this thing was meant to shatter upon insertion...and stay there. It wouldn't necessarily kill him, but it would most definitely hurt. The voice rose up to the surface again as he fingered the rough raven feathers of the fletching. 'An eye for an eye...' For once...Archibald agreed. The torture and murder of one of his men would not go unpunished.

He and the Spike Guild leader were very much opposites. Archibald was carefree and fun loving. Morag was cruel and greedy. Archibald commanded his men through respect, camraderie and friendship. Morg ruled by fear and an iron fist. As such, it would only be natural that the two would meet each other in combat sooner or later. Dashing forward, his cloak flapping behind him, Archibald cleared the wall and came into view of the guild leader. "Oi! Morag you pox-ridden, ponce brained, limp wristed sheep fondler!" he yelled across the distance separating them as he pulled his hood up, "I've come to repay the hospitality you showed my boy last month!"