[h3][u]Ayer Lecomte[/u][/h3]
"Quickly! Over there!" called a distant voice. A scramble of footsteps then diverged overhead. 

Ayer could barely process the words as he crawled through the narrow space between the layered buildings composing the dock-yards, scurrying through the muck and refuse, hoping to anything, anyone that his current equipment didn't act up now. It was the last of it. His precious [b]Ars[/b], the last existing proof of his grand theorem. As he clung to this shamble of pipes, plating, and gems, he struggled to think of a way out. It was hard to focus. There were footsteps everywhere, commotion that stirred the sea-side town in the middle of the night. He managed to buy time, a regretful sacrifice, but they were getting closer. And he wasn't really getting anywhere. He cursed to himself for being so foolish to trust them. The Nilliums were well-spoken and tactfully prose, unlike the other families who ruled the region. They promised his ideas would benefit the estrange people of this region. But as it turns out, they were nothing more than beasts playing proper. They only wanted his grand inventions for brutal, animistic warfare. He couldn't allow his beautiful inventions to be abused like that. Not as a proud inventor, the great visionary of this generation. 

The name 'Ayer Lecomte, the Arcane Theorist' shall be respected for all time! Or rather, that's what he'd like. 

But despite his own brave betrayal and sacrifice, there was no one he could turn to. No one recognized him a hero. He was an outsider here. And no one would dare oppose the gangs that ruled this territory. Ayer was practically a fish caught out of water. 

"It can't end like this... after all I've done... and yet to..."

He waited a moment of silence before poking his head back out. "Dieu'n Merci, they've missed me..." Accidentally slipping to his native tongue, "Now all I need to do is get down to the port... and I'll have more time... maybe steal a ship... No, that'd be to obvious... Maybe I could... Zute, zute, no time to think now! Let's go!" 

And just as Ayer hauled himself out of the dirty crevice, in his adrenaline and fear fueled hurry, he overshot himself. The Ars device swung awkwardly at his shoulder and banged against the wall, the many components clattering noisily with themselves. He held his breath, hoping the noise reached nowhere important. But of course. 

"Hey! I found the ratty runt! He's down there in the gutters!" called a voice high above. 

Ayer looked up and saw a shadow start bolting down the canopy roof-top. Hearing shouts and footsteps coming from the west, the arcane inventor, in all his brilliance, thought of a plan. A flawless escape maneuver that would outwit these thuggish miscreants. Or at least, he wished something like that would happen. This wasn't a fairy tale. He was no god-hero that could take on a whole army alone. In his amazing escape plan, Ayer simply darted for dear life the other direction. Blindly, he pushed through this alleyway and that, even tearting down a hanging shop sign for misdirection. Though it was more like a few pitiful yanks with the in-built crow-bar on the [b]Wax Jury[/b]. For human standards, Ayer was even lacking. Despite all these efforts, things were looking grim. 

He was practically out of breath in just a minute or so of sprinting. Not to mention he was completely lost in the foreign town, the footsteps growing ever closer. As sweat drippled down his brow to his eyes, Ayer saw the glistening of the moonlight as he bounded over a puddle of water. He can practically see the gleam in their sabers now. 

...