Actually, to say William spotted a group of adventurers was a bit of an overstatement. In fact, at midday of the next day, he saw but one, a diminutive person striding down the street with purpose. True, those aspects do not immediately denote an adventurer, but the rattling plate coupled with the weapons strapped to his belt gave away his intents. "Oi! Whelp!" William shouted. "I don't think the Royal Army is so desperate they're willing to hire boys yet!"

Arak excitedly rushed down the street in a giddy daze. To be personally recognized by His Grace for his valor on the field and sent on a personal mission sanctioned by the crown! He nearly ran towards the local messenger's office, armor jingling merrily, letter in hand detailing the mission and asking that his commanding officer forgive his absence at drilling sessions for the next few months. While he walked through the city docks, however, he heard a voice that seemed to be speaking to him. He turned, and saw a man of his age standing near the water. A knight, judging by the breastplate he wore and the sword he possessed. The strange knight had the audacity then to insult him! This challenge of honor cannot be ignored. Still, Arak made an effort to behave civilly, as is befitting two warriors of similar rank, and to back out of a physical conflict.

"A lovely day, ser. Truly, who is it you speak of?" Arak asked the knight.

"Who else?" answered William. "Do you see any other jumped-up pages stumbling about?"

"Surely you do not refer to me," said Arak, immediately regretting his rudeness. He wanted to apologize, but stuck to his honor, and stood firm. This did little to intimidate the far taller man in front of him.

"Gods, how clearly do I have to make myself? Should I repeat it a few more times? Should I speak slower?" William shouted, emphasizing every syllable in a mocking tone.

"You dishonor me with deed, speech, and thought!" exclaimed Arak, drawing a sword. "I challenge you to a duel for honor!"

"So it shall be," said William. "Longswords at dawn, if that'll please your filthy honor." With that, the two parted. William watched the stranger leave, letting his rage boil over. So what if he died? House Bolton has no successors, and by some cruel irony, the last vestige of Bolton power in Ethering will revert back to the Starks, or royal command. If they think they could just screw around with him, giving him false hopes as some sort of evil little joke, then he doesn't need to stay around to be their court fool. He drew his sword and brought it down on a little crab, scuttling around the dock. It split the shell open with a sickening crack, and embedded itself in the wood, causing splinters to fly everywhere, including sticking in his boot. Great, even the earth itself is out to get him.