The typical life of a mercenary necessarily involves a fair amount of battle and bloodshed, and most likely the early death of those who partake of it. Evidently, most aren't willing to do so at all, let alone at the tender age of fifteen, when one has not fully developed and is nominally too weak to defend themselves, let alone fight against others. Not so Akella, who saw it as a way to escape the stress of her life before then- especially if she took jobs necessitating minimal warfare under normal conditions- in a way she had the skills to do well in. Too well, in fact, for by the time she was eighteen, it seemed that wherever she went, people recognised her for her armour, or her hair, or her weaponry, or her prior work, and praised her for it despite its brutal nature. She didn't want praise. Praise meant pressure. Running away had been meant to escape the pressure of her life. Instead, it brought more and more of it, with every job she took seeming to be replaced by two, or three, or four more offers the moment her contract ended, and she couldn't exactly turn them down in good conscience, if it meant innocent people might die for her negligence. And so the cycle continued, until she felt she might break in two. She could not put out infinite effort.

Which led to current events. This time, she had been offered a comparatively simple task which she'd accepted with gusto: escort a noblewoman by the name of Snow, and her five-man retinue of servants, from one city to another, Balfrust to Andore, over a couple of hundred miles of mostly-safe territory. Lady Snow herself was not particularly well-known amongst the commoners along the chosen route, making a raid against her unlikely, and yet in the same stroke she was rich enough to pay Akella well, maybe even allowing the mercenary to take herself off the market for a few weeks whilst she recovered. Until then, the journey involved passing through a few smaller towns and villages to sleep in, most of which the fair Lady complained bitterly about, the conditions of course not being up to her more refined tastes, and Fynn was no different, possibly worse for the minor detour taken to reach it the evening prior. She seemed nice enough to her usual entourage, and perhaps Akella might have made friends with her if they'd met by chance, but alas, one doesn't befriend one's bodyguard. And, well, her attitude toward most of her inferiors was offputting for Akella anyway.

Indeed, preparations had been made to leave as soon as possible, which of course meant a mere hour before noon. Sloppy planning, but not unforgivable considering that the next nearest town was only a three hour ride away. "Just in time for a presumably sub-par luncheon," as the Lady had put it mere minutes ago. Yet even now, Akella was drawing attention from the locals to herself...

'I say, ma'am,' an old woman asked politely as Akella prepared her horse for another day of riding, 'but aren't you that lovely young lady who I've heard about? The, erm, "the girl with hair like fire", or what have you? You certainly look the part...'

'Ah... yes, that would be me,' Akella acquiesced, 'hello, though I wouldn't say it's [i]quite[/i] like fire. Too, um, red for that.'

'Well, I suppose fire's a more orangey colour...' the woman said, more to herself than anyone else. 'But, well, I noticed you were leaving, and wanted to offer my home for a night or two's rest, if you ever return here again.'

'Oh... w-well, I wouldn't want to be a bother, uh...'

'Akella!' a voice called to the mercenary, unmistakable as anything other than aristocratic in bearing. 'Are you still accommodating the peasantry, or can we get on with our travels?'

'Uh- just one moment, my Lady!' Akella called back to the oddly white-haired noblewoman, before turning to the old lady once again, her expression already apologetic. 'I-I'm sorry, I need to, uh...'

'Oh, don't you worry, I know what nobles are like, ma'am. Remember, if you're in Fynn again, find me!'

'Ah, thank you, much obliged,' Akella said quickly, hopping on to her steed and riding off to the side of her current hirer. It'd take at least another five minutes to reach the edge of the village even at trotting pace, and every second counts when your employer is a member of the upper class.