Downtime [Open]

[Dao]

There was a great thing about having an entire region hate the entirety of another race. To never allow such pests to enter their territory, or even if they did then certainly whatever sense of hospitality would be thrown out the border like it didn't matter. In the event of such a thing: those who could share the same kind of hatred even on just the surface level were welcomed. Not with open arms but reluctant acceptance, yet for bandits and wanted men it was much better than nothing. Considered to be dangerous, criminals that were meant to either be hanged in public or put into jail for the heinous deeds that their own hands were responsible for, the bandit brigade had decided to get supplies and some much needed rest in a more legal manner than they were usually accustomed to.

Not that they had any plans on harassing one of the few places that they could use as a sort of hiding area, the leader of the Brigade of Bandits was fortunately quite a bit more intelligent than that. Still, with their men needing their rest and their caravans needing new supplies, it was obvious as to why the entirety of the faction was here. Burly and lanky men wearing furred leathers could be seen walking about town whistling away jauntily. Others could be seen trying to enjoy themselves with the townsfolk who weren't out to get the gold placated on their heads by those Ylissean Bastards. There was a sense of carelessness in the air and yet with that same carelessness came the lack of tension.

The bandits, if one was to at least momentarily forget their less than justifiable actions, looked to be just like any other civilian. Mingling with the crowds, going out with their friends, and enjoying the rewards of the jobs that they've thrown their very lives to in order to make it propagate. Here in particular town in Medon, it might as well be just a place full of regular people that had nothing better to do but to wait for the sun to set and rise again. That, however, only applied to majority of the bandits. In this particular down time, some of the bandits who had gotten too acclimated to the fighting and constant vigilance required to survive on the battlefields had done nothing but at least try to increase their chances of living another day.

From eating as much food as they required, to buying and stocking on gear that they'd definitely need, to simply training their bodies to not fail them when they needed it the most. A plethora of ways to kill time in a productive manner, and Dao was unsurprisingly part of this minority. Rare it was to see the teenager not moving in for a fight, or testing his skills against anything that could fight him. Yet there he was, sitting near one of the rocky and natural ledges that were present on the higher terraces of the town just…looking over the town. Angry eyes narrowed, brows furrowed in their default position as he the young feroxi continued to look at the people below. With the blazing afternoon sun lingering at the highest point for the day, there was still a lot of time to kill before night fall. Before then however, the young man was plagued with a twinge of indecisiveness.

Just what the hell was he supposed to do this time?

[Hunter]

Caught stealing from a home or caught purse snatching? Jail time or hanging by the neck until death. Caught stealing from a store? Incredibly long to lifetime jail sentence or a public execution. Caught in an attempt to pilfer a religious Grimleal artifact from a castle inhabited by those of a lesser noble personage? Either being ripped to shreds by the Grimleal or a public execution as a follow-up to some unimaginable torture. These were the things that occupied the thief's mind. While he wasn't certain on the extent of some of the punishments, he felt pretty strongly that he had guessed correctly. Especially on how the Grimleal would probably love to get their claws into him after hearing on how he had nearly snatched a precious artifact of their beliefs from them.

Hunter couldn't help but sigh at the events that had transpired in that castle. He had made a fatal error. He had let himself be seen. Not only that, but the archer that had fired on him after spotting him caused the young man to expose himself to the entirety of that castle via hanging onto a tapestry in plan sight after falling through the main hall's glass roof. And after all that hardship, did he have anything to show for it? You bet. There were several gashes on his sides and some on his arms where the armed guards had slashed at him as he made his departure, and there was a arrow wound where the same archer from before had gotten him in the side with a well done shot. As he had escaped the city, empty handed as far as spoils of thievery went, he made for Doluna as quickly as he could while it was still nighttime. He had traveled the sands of the desertous region of Plegia, and thus knew of the safer paths through the shifting sands and could follow them even under the cover of dark.

He had taken several of the leather belts that adorned his outfit and strapped them around where the worst injuries had been, using a good few to cinch the area around his torso where the arrow had gotten him. It was the best he could do to stop the bleeding, meaning that his retreat to his home in Medon was more than just to escape the area near the capital of the country. He had some medical supplies, nothing major mind you, mainly bandages and some salves he had purchased from a apothecary a year or so ago in case of a mistake such as this. Hunter was always somewhat of a paranoid personage, in that he always wanted to be prepared when it came to things that might come in handy later, in this case, medical supplies. But nonetheless, he felt that what he had back home would fix him up nicely, but if worse came to worse, he would have to seek out more experienced aid. Perhaps that would be his excuse to flee to one of the other countries... In any case, Hunter knew he needed to get back home soon.

He had passed through Doluna safely, knowing some of the routes that the local bandits might use at night and did his best to avoid them, and came out of the sandy region to face the jagged, rock covered terrain that made up Medon. Presently, he was making his way at a comfortable, if slightly worried looking, fast walk towards his home, which he sadly had to pass around the nearby village to get to. The house had been built into a alcove that was very hard to find unless you were looking for it among the many natural stone formations that made up the harrowing landscape, but was not a long trip from the nearest village for ease of access to information and supplies.

Looking up to the sky, he saw that the sun had not yet left it's position at the top of the sky, being at what he considered the highest point of the day. He sighed again. So much for hoping that the trip would've taken long enough to last till night fell again or that he was quick enough while injured to exit the desert before the sun rose. As he began to approach the village, he took the safer route to avoid being seen and pass around the settlement via ascending a few of the natural terraces that surrounded the area which provided a easy route around and to his home. As he slowly made his way across the impromptu path, he looked down at his outfit. The normally black cloth and leather gear he was wearing had been splashed red with blood in places he had been struck, with several gray belts holding those places tight, providing enough pressure to help stop the bleeding. He, once again, audibly sighed.  "I hate bleeding. Makes washing a real chore." Muttering to himself, he adjusted the belt-bound cap on his head, before continuing his talk with himself.  "Though I suppose getting the blood out of my gear will be least of my problems now that they're probably printing wanted posters as I speak."  Although absorbed in his musings, Hunter was not unprepared. He knew that sometimes robbers made a habit of hiding in cracks and crevices near villages in Medon and waited until nighttime to come pillaging when the people of the town's guards were down. So, as a precaution, the white-haired young man kept his hand on the handle of his sword that rested in a  sheath on his sword belt that he had slung over his shoulder, making the sword rest on his back. However, though aware enough to keep his hand on his sword, he was not aware outside of his conversation with himself enough to notice that there was a presence beside his own out on the ledges that day.