Toman Carshalley of the Nightwatch (Complete: Retired)

Chasing Cats

Tom sat in the Tivook inn, on the table by the fire where the smell of roasting bison was as overpowering as the heat. The scent might have been appetizing, but with a belly already full of alcohol, the heat and odor was nauseating. Not that Tom was going to move. He was in one of those rare moods where anger and frustration slowly simmered into a form of  self hatred, when all he wanted to do was brood and the added discomfort just helped him achieve that. It was stupid and pointless, but he felt like he had reason to self indulge as he spun the golden coin of an ornate amulet in his hand.

The night before had started off as any other. He was on patrol, and had already fought one vrock and found two dead bodies by the time he went from Egbort to Chonda. After the first month on the beat his naive and youthful dreams of catching criminals and helping people had died in the face of reality. Nightwatch men were rare. They had a high mortality rate, because they were stupid enough to wander the city at night and they had a low employment rate, because there were surprisingly few people  actually stupid enough to do the aforementioned.  The reality was, you were a fairly unknown breed of guard, that had a death wish and usually found the body long after the attack had happened. In those rare times you managed to find the monsters before they found their prey, you often ended up a bloody mess and had to spend what wages you did get on repairs and healing. Toman had taken to carrying around raise dead scrolls with him anyway. Even though he disliked magic. Even though they cost more than his actual wage.

The reality was, Toman was becoming desensitized. The body of a naked woman who couldn't be raised was becoming just another night. A night with only one monster and two dead bodies, even before the first half of the patrol, wasn't too bad.

And then that blasted dog who wasn't a dog turned up. Who turned out to be a shifter who had the audacity to try and pickpocket a guard in front of another guard and thinking he could get away with it because he was a dog at the time, but was actually a bloody druidic werecat called Saber. Who was also a god damned loon.

The loon had led him to the college where Tom had confronted him, only to be interrupted by the smithing professor, who just didn't give a damn. Now Tom had to admit, he had a lot of respect for dwarves. Other races, Tom had difficulty understanding, but dwarves? Traditionalists with a strong sense of honor, good taste in alcohol and a no nonsense attitude for idiots. Even if one of those idiots may have been Tom at the time. The dwarf had interrupted them and casually commented on how he had heard of cats, werecats to be specific, were fetching a high price for certain people in the Justice inn. Naturally Saber, being a were-cat, and Tom, being a guard who respected the new law of treating lycans as citizens until they revoked their rights by causing harm, needed to investigate. He could always arrest Saber later.

But then the intrigue went too deep, became too big. The Justice was sitting on top of a bloody maze. Of a den of thieves, a black market and more. Werecat trafficing was only the tip of it. Toman was still only a corporal- and that had barely any weight to it, because the nightwatch numbers were so few, it's not as if his duties and command had changed any since being a sergeant. He would never willing admit it out loud but he was in over his head. He managed to survive- though they must have known he was a guard. They must have been laughing at him. He thought he did pretty well- He, Saber and Salino. Well, not Saber. The bloody mad man. He and Salino though, made a good team, even though he suspected that the halfling probably earned his coin through not quiet honest means. Not exactly surprising with a halfling though. But after going in, finding out about this ruse of getting bounty hunters with a chip on their shoulders for lycans to go 'hunting' and 'kill' werecats with a certain wand and then collecting the caught lycans on an island somewhere...

He gripped the amulet tight in his hand, taking a deep drink from his tankard of ale. He'd taken it from on of the dead thieves they had had to kill in the maze. All of them were wearing one, so it must mean something- but he didn't know what...

He shouldn't have been so naive. Saber had been trying to tell him, but Toman had thought it was attempts to bait him; The guards were corrupt.

The nightwatch weren't perfect- most were only there because it was the only way they could earn coin. Many never even turned up. Those veterans who stayed... they were what Toman could have, still could, become. Jaded and bitter old fools who had started with dreams of justice beneath their feet, and now sat resigned, soaking their apathy in cheep alcohol and dragging their feet, eyes to the ground. Toman had never thought his head would bow. But the weight was growing.

The guards kept their peace. Dealt with what they could handle- left everything else to do as it pleased. Don't go looking for the monsters. You don't see them, you don't have to fight them. Eyes down. Don't be a fool.

But the Highguard? They were supposed to be the elite. Toman both hated and idolized them- these men and women so high above everyone else, equipment Toman would never be able to afford even one piece of in a life time on the beat, a holier than thou attitude... But they were meant to be the elite. Defenders of Dohral, the best of the best, keepers of the law...

Don't tell anyone, but my boss goes there for a bit of nookie with one of the barmaids...

...Who was Toman kidding. Dohral was rotten to the core. The Guard didn't care. The Law was a farce. Toman was a naive rookie, who thought he knew the truth, only to be stabbed by it in the back.

He turned the amulet over again in his fingers, alcohol fogged brain trying to focus. He still had a few leads though... Toman wasn't stupid enough to think he could save the whole city. But this, this amulet, was doable.



Toman couldn't remember dragging himself back to the barracks.  He was still in his civilian clothing and hadn't been drunk enough to try and sleep on his back. His cheap cloak twitched as the phantom pain stirred memories of the last time he tried to.His pounding head didn't want to do anything but get his body to breath, and Tom was perfectly fine with that for now. He'd deal with the amulet when he was sober again.

The Fat Elf

He wasn't sure if he should blame the cat for it or not. It was probably only coincidence that Toman ended getting up into bloody messes when the lycon was around.

They'd both figured the best place to get strange amulets identified would be by academics and scholars- basically, to go to the college and dangle the thing in front of professors until one of them could actually tell them something about it.

Then the fat elf turned up.  He was dressed in what looked to be studded leather armour, good cloak and had an ego that was as big as he was. Some fancy man who was also ready for trouble. Malanon. Toman figured it was a first name, but who could bloody tell with elves. But whoever he was, he knew what the amulet was. A symbol of a faction of thieves it sounded like. (Something niggled in the back of his head on that, something like an alarm.) Who ever this faction was, the information came with warnings. Watch out for the shadows. Don't walk the streets at night. Things Toman already knew, but now seemed even more important. Obviously he was stepping on somebodies toes, he was just waiting for the hit to come. Even though he was technically off duty until the start of next month. He'd been advised to take the time to relax, so the stress wouldn't drive him to loose his senses anymore. He knew what they meant by that- that he was bloody stupid for trying to report what he had reported (Mazes, and werecats and a guild of thieves...).

But there was something off- Malanon knew more than he was letting on, and you'd only know that much if you were somehow involved. But he was a flighty and quick bugger for someone his size. Left the college in a hurry. Toman had stopped to discuss things with Saber when he spotted a book. Which wasn't odd in of it's self, it was the bloody college after all, but this one was a battered but obviously expensive book with no title. And it had a black glove for a damn book mark. It was out of place. So of course Toman read it, while Saber was discussing options beside him. Toman honestly couldn't remember what, he hadn't been paying attention. The book was a journal, detailing a mans ventures in Tall Mugs tavern and sewer system, and encountering shady business- and then it stopped. But now they had a black glove that smelt of Rudabaga stew and Malanon, even though it was obviously fitted for far a smaller hand than even an elf's, and a journal that gave starting points and suspicious happenings. Toman was grinning internally- this was something he could do.

Saber, of course, could track down many people and things with that dog form of his. Made Toman reconsider trying to convince the watch to get dogs. Obviously ones that weren't so bloody noisy or secretly impulsive werecats. So after treking from the Justice (Toman doubt's he's welcome there anymore), to Tall Mug (The Bar fights there were mad, and the inn had insane female mages lodging there who went around drugging saber people) and then all the way to the Mainstay Inn (Who the bloody hell races crabs?). Where they finally found Malanon- who then froze time and used magic to dissapear after Saber got impatient with the questioning. Bloody mages.

He left a few hints though. Thinking back on it, he probably deliberately left that book there. He wants them to find something in it.

And if that wasn't bad enough, right outside the bloody inn, right in front of him, a 'monk' killed five people. Toman wasn't in uniform. Toman wasn't even meant to be on duty. Toman was on bloody 'leave' with a recommendation of keeping his head low. But the man thought he could just get away with killing people. So Toman pursued him- ordered him to surrender or face the consequences of resisting arrest. Then Saber thought to intimidate the man by turning into a werecat and chasing him. Then Toman had to kill the monk and leave his body to be dealt with by someone else.

If anyone had seen Saber... The treaty only protected lycans who were not deemed 'dangerous'. If Saber had been spotted, he would be hunted down. If he resisted, he would be killed without trail. Like how Toman had killed the Monk. (You were 'supposed' to bring people back for trial. Guards and watchmen weren't 'supposed' to go round killing folks)

Toman hadn't slept for days. He was used to being awake at night and sleeping during the day, and now he had strange criminal organisations lurking in the shadows to worry about and a heavy conscience to carry. Malanon was long gone and if this streak of luck continued, he'd face questioning when he got back to the barracks on what the hell he was doing with his time on leave.

Still. He had the book. Perhaps the sewers were the next place to start. Not to mention the werecat trafficking still to deal with

He was so far in over his head, he was drowning.

Crazy-Dragon-Gnoll-Baby-Lady

Tom was growing to suspect it didn't matter whether he wore the blue or not- trouble could always find him. He also suspected that every other day was going to end up with him trying to drown himself in drink at the bloody justice of all places.

He'd just finished patrol (Pair of dopplegangers, Pack of vrocks, Crier dead- could not be raised, Gate warden died- raised) and was looking to relax some. Maybe get the voyanaut's to Tivook inn, get away from the city for a day. He'd been waiting for the Voyanaut (what's his face, half orc, intimidating fellow, but did his job well), when a bloody mage popped out of no where.

He should have known better than to make eye contact with a mage. They were all insane.

First she was talking about how she might be able to enchant something for him, do business. Now, Tom wasn't against enchanted equipment. Enchantments were a nice, physical, solid type of magic he could get behind. He might have stupidly encouraged the mage by suggesting enchanting armour. This of course, by mage logic, thus required her tobreak into the dockyard, slaughter all the dogs and go rummaging for what she pleased. She didn't have an order- people who make orders for materials collect them like normal people. Aria, as it turned out, was not a normal person. She was a crazy, dragoned winged supposed mother of three needing to steal mithral to support her starving family. Who were gnoll blooded children. Mages.

Tom was off duty. He was in civilian clothing, but he always carried his sword and shield with him under his cloak (Never mind how uncomfortable that was). It would be stupid not to, the danger doesn't vanish entirely with the last shadows of night. He gave the woman so, many, chances, to comply. But instead, even after knowing he was a guard, just kept doing as she pleased. Like it didn't bloody matter. Who cared about the guard, or the watch for that matter. So then Tom finally had to attack, after she began to use defensive magic.

It might have been a close fight, had the woman not also been a bloody walking apothecary. Three times. Three times he nearly bested her, and she drank a damn heal potion. And there was something wrong with her feet- his blows should have knocked her clear off them.  But it was like her footing would never let her fall, even if the rest of the body seemed to be happy enough to greet the ground. In the end, he ended up on his back, clothing a mess, gasping for unobtainable breath as blood filled his mouth from arrow pierced lungs. He should have been dying. By all rights, he practically was. Certain enchantments were just keeping him on the brink, forcing him to feel the agony of dying stretch out- until the mage healed him to full health. And then set him on fire and poisoned his lungs, because bloody mages.

That bit wasn't what made him drink though. Being humiliated like that just pissed him off, made him want to hit things, preferably some god ugly monster. It was what he found out later, after the mage had a turn of heart the next night and decided to turn herself in.

She had a baby on her the whole time.


Sure, she insisted it was magically protected. Invisible too. But he'd seen the baby pulled out of nowhere. Pulled out of a magic carrier she'd been wearing during the fight. He'd at first hoped it had been some kind of bag of holding, safe from the outside world, even if it was bad enough to put a baby in a magical pouch- but it was a carrier. just an enchanted sash carrier.

How many of his blows had landed on that carrier?

What if he had succeeding in over powering the mage? What if in her temporary death her magic failed, and the baby's protection with it? What if his killing blow had included the babe?

The whole time. When exploding guard dogs. When she'd challenged him. Fought him. Resisted arrest. The whole time, there was a baby involved. That he could have killed.


It was all high guard business now.  She was an unstable mess in a cell. Fellow mages popping out of the wood work in defense of her insanity. There would be a hearing soon, to discuss the charges- including one of kidnapping. He'd never said that in his report. He'd mentioned that she claimed to have three gnoll blooded kids and pulled a baby out of no where. But he never said he thought they weren't hers (but maybe that would have been better. At least then there might have been the hope they could return them to someone who wasn't an insane mage.) So they'd question her on her kids. He couldn't speak for the judge, but the high guard wouldn't care about gnoll blooded babes. Just another monster. He couldn't decide how bad that was. How much danger her had inadvertently put those babes in.

Maybe the guard would kill them. Maybe the judge would take them away from the mage. Maybe the judge would let her keep them. Tom couldn't decided what was worse.

How badly he should be blaming himself.

Crystal

It's been a while.

Toman had let go of most of the things he'd been wanting to chase down- the mystery of the maze, The book of the fat elf, the amulet he carried, the island of captured lycans.

There were other things he'd stumbled upon as well, all brushed under the rug, all forgotten in the bottom of a tankard of ale. It had been years. 10 years since he'd began scraping the surface, and he hadn't gotten any further. 13 years since he became a watchman, and he'd been promoted a grand total of 2 times, from constable, to corporal, to sergeant. Toman had gotten himself an apartment, made it cozy. Not that he ever had guests round or spent much time in it. Saber had since found himself a 'mate'. Toman wasn't sure what to think of that.

He'd been put in charge of more recruits. Most he didn't have much interaction with; he passed on instructions to the 'four' corporals beneath him, who he knew the names and faces of only. He was fairly sure he didn't even have four corporals, but as long as the patrols were walked and work got done, he didn't care. He almost laughed at how he'd become the faceless, useless sergeant he'd hated when he was an over eager constable.

However, there was one recruit in particular that kept appearing, sticking herself in his head.

Crystal.

Mage, fighter, intelligence gatherer and her own personal bard's tale.

The Captain, (or a captain; he had no idea about how the internal structure of the watch and guards was holding up nowadays), had given Crystal to Toman to mentor when she was a wet behind the ear rookie. She showed promise. Helped him track down a lycan drug dealer.

He hadn't seen much of her, the past few years. She'd surpassed his mentorship and gone on to do her own work under the Captain. Good for her. He'd encountered her again when investigating a few cases the Captain had thrown at him. The whole business with the drow in the baths, and demons in the barbers; she'd taken out two white slaadi single-handedly, broken the ritual, helped save the day. She wasn't a rookie any longer.

And then it turns out her supposedly dead mother was behind it all if the wolf-woman was to be believed at all. Either way, the woman behind it all was a real mage-bitch and had messed with one of Toman's watchmen. Woman. Person. She'd taken Crystal, apparently to use in some kind of ritual- some kind of mage business Toman didn't quite follow.

Not that Toman seemed able to do anything to stop her. He could kick over her fancy rituals and slay her undead and demon hordes, but when dealing with the witch-bitch herself, he couldn't do anything but get his ribs crushed by a giant hand while she blathered away.

He was pretty sure he'd died. Twice even. He hated when that happened.

Then Mama-mage leaves, and Crystal comes back, and then they're both outside of Tivook, and off Crystal scampers, needing 'time to think'.

Toman just settled himself into a spot at Tivook Inn, tankard in hand. This... wasn't exactly something he knew how to deal with. He wasn't 'just' a guard. He'd picked up a lot of magical gear in between times, seen a lot of strange things. But he knew how to deal with crime, disorder. Crystal seemed to come straight out of a fairytale, and he wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be a princess of some foreign land as well.

It was different. But it was something other than the repetitive, endless patrols, that never seemed to make progress.

Decimation

Toman slammed the door of his apartment shut behind him.

He stood, back to the door, before he began to tear off his armour with shaking hands.

It was brown. Brown, not blue. Not the blue of the night watch. In places the brown was stained red, in others dark crusted blood clung to it. It wasn't right, it wasn't right.


Gauntlets fell to the floor; leather vest, chain mail, a ruined shirt,  one unworn boot... all clattered on floor haphazardly as the man made his way through the one room apartment, collapsing onto the bed at the other side, still trying to yank the other boot off.

He threw it across the room.

---

He was fighting beside strangers; a monk called Monday, a mage called Mialee- The captain had asked he take people who were unaffiliated with the guards. There was an elf woman, somewhere. She was good at hiding.

You can't trust them.

Pel had promised he'd stabilized his summoning circle, but it was still spitting demons out at them. Ones Toman had never seen before (Crystal had called them Hamatula). Pel was inconveniently missing when Toman went to ask him to rectify this. Toman was going to demand Pel's license to practice demon summoning revoked. This circle was only a danger, a gaping wound in their reality. The succubus should have been harmless, but she wasn't. She escaped and they gave chase-

-And found themselves on streets crawling with other demons. Toman had assumed the succubus had summoned them. He was wrong.

They passed by corpses, torn apart and burned. Toman could only identify one as a crier, but the others were too damaged to tell.

---

Toman ran a hand through grey speckled hair. No doubt he'd soon be completely grey, despite only being 32. 

He tried to control his breathing. Tried to think about what he needed to do.

Bath. He wanted a bath. Hot, scalding. He wanted to be clean.

---

When they arrived at the bulwark, following the trail of demons, Crystal was bleeding out against the steps. Crystal, who could take out a white slaad. Toman had to watch as Monday and Mialee helped her heal, having run out of bandages and having no skill in magic.

They entered the bulwark. There was the succubus. Toman didn't give her a chance. But her death seemed to be a clarion call to other demons, and they soon found themselves swarmed.

Toman hadn't realised at first. The Entrance hall was messy; dust, debris and small blood stains scattered around- but no bodies. The sheer amount of demons in there should have been a warning of what they would find, but he was still under the false assumption that this was the doing of the first succubus.

But then he saw through the doorways, into the destroyed barracks.

---

The tub was small, but it was private. He'd stopped bathing in the public baths and stopped sleeping in the barracks with the others when he had secrets he needed to hide. 

The water was hot, recently boiled in pots and kettles. It only just came up to chest, as he sat, knees up, head forward, arms shaking. If his breathing could be mistaken for choked sobs, he'd deny it. He grabbed the sponge and mechanically began scrubbing away the blood on his skin. Most of it was probably his. Some of it may have been demon blood, some of it might have been others.

The water was turning his skin pink, but he barely felt it.

---

He died, he died, he died, he died. He died while tripping over the bodies of fellow guards.

They kept bringing him back, the others.  How many times had he died already? How many times was he alive again, while others were not?

Slaadi encircled him and the dwarf, Gemli. Monday had left. Monday was smart enough to get out while he could. Gemli had arrived, hearing the trouble. Toman and the dwarf had taken down a white Slaad, Toman grinning smugly. 'Wait till Crystal hears about thi-'
The fist of a slaad that had appeared out of thin air crashed into the side of his helm. It was instinct that made him raise his shield in time to stop the next blow. It was anger that drove his bastard sword through it's chest. 
But they kept coming. Toman was breathing in more blood than air, choking, as ribs were crushed from too many blows. 



He woke up. Gemli had taken the slaadi out. Mailee held her own. The sneak-elf had hidden herself again.

Toman made the mistake of being the first to open the door. Fire engulfed him as fire elementals descended. A flaming hand gripped his helmet, cooking his head inside it.




He woke up. New bodies were on the floor- reinforcements had arrived, and fallen. Crystal checked up on him. They fought on.

He got further this time. They were facing down the bastard behind this all, his smug face grinning as he found it all so amusing. He was toying with them- he got inside their heads. Toman raised his blade against his own will, bringing it down on Mialee.
Gemli's axe buried itself into his back before he could do any real damage. 


Toman woke up. Thanked him.

The summoner struck him down as death slaadi were unleashed from their magical containment.


Toman woke up. A death slaad snapped his neck. Toman woke up. Another one crushed his skull- when had his helmet been lost? Toman woke up. A Death slaad broke him. Toman woke up.

He stayed awake this time.

---

Toman woke up, snapping out of his recollections.

His skin was red from heat and from being scrubbed too hard. The water had turned a murky brown-red.

Getting out, he dried himself off. He took deep, slow breaths. He was alive; He could breath. There was guilt creeping in his chest, winding around his stomach till he felt sick. He wasn't the only one to have died. Gemli did, Mialee did, Sneak-elf did. Even Crystal may have.

So many others did. But they won't wake up.

His pack lay discarded near the door, but he needed it's contents. He walked over with calmer steps and pulled out blue, worn leather. Nightwatchman leather. He took his time redressing, using it to fortify himself. With clean clothes on, the blue leather secured him. It felt right, worn in all the right places, sitting with a comfortable and familiar weight. A second skin.
He'd have to get a new helmet later.

Returning to the pack, he gathered the papers from it. Some were lists. Others were official documents. He needed both, along with his armour. 

He needed to be a nightwatchman for to fulfill these duties.

---

The bard who appeared during the mayhem was risking Crystal's blade in his throat.

Both Toman and Crystal were shaken in ways the others were not. 'Elo' the bard insisted they finish the job and clear out the rest of the bulwark of straggling demons. The demon summoner had vanished when the death slaadi descended, and his body was not among the others.

And there were so many others. Toman could barely recognise some of them, but he could piece together what happened. 
The guards in the barracks were in small clothes or plain clothes; they were torn apart while being caught off duty, some having not even made it out of bed.
The cafeteria was a similar mess, the dining tables and chairs destroyed, and the bodies among them just as broken. Some were in uniform. They probably lasted a bit longer than the poor sods in nothing but cloth.
The training halls were the most chaotic. The fights had lasted longer here. Toman could see where barricades had been constructed and destroyed, could see the corpses of demons killed with regulation arrows, and those that had died before Toman's group arrived.

Most were recruits. Wet behind the ear babes, looking for coin, glory, or simply a place to have purpose. They weren't ready for the real world yet, let alone this. The bulwark was where they were meant to be safe, protected, trained. Toman recognised some of their faces.

Jeran, Bell, Ruby, Kerth, Hairen, Joesel, Marian... It went on. All of their names were on the list.

He'd taught some of them how to handle a blade, how to bind a wound, what to look out for. Some of them had been his. Part of his patrols, under his command- his responsibility. 

But the bard was right, and the job needed to be finished. They cleared out the rest. But fighting had been the easy bit.

---

Toman tried to make himself look presentable. He wanted to show respect. He carried his list with him, when he left his apartment. Other guardsmen had gone out with their own lists, some, like Toman, requesting to deliver the news to some families personally.  It didn't feel right to let someone who didn't know the fallen give the news.

The city was alive with gossip. His uniform drew more attention now than ever, as he made is way from house to house. Some of his guards didn't have family. Some had family that took the news with sombreness, un-surprised . Others took it with anger, with shock, denial, grief. Toman took it all.

It felt wrong, like his was miss placing his priorities, putting something else before honouring the fallen, but as he went from neighborhood to neighborhood, he sought out certain people, spoke to them, made plans. People needed to be prepared for the up coming days, weeks, or Deities forbid, months to come. The City was about to become a kicked wasps nest.

---

He'd given his report to the Captain, and then made to show the bard out, before someone punched him. Bards are seekers of tales, but if Elo shared what he had heard there, his tales would cause destruction.

The demon summoning was most likely an inside job. How else could the summoner have set himself up in the heart of the bulwark- and the signs implied the attack had simultaneously happened from within and without- the demons from Pel's circle trapping the guards in, while the summoner's demons ate them from the inside out.

A good deal of the guards were dead, and the remaining guards couldn't be trusted.

If the city learnt of that, it could spell disaster. Criminals would take advantage of the weakened guards, while the general populace would attack them. The city would become lawless- all the while, the true culprits were still at large.


Toman couldn't let that happen. 

---

It hadn't even been a day. Toman hadn't slept. He didn't want to. His addiction to Cuivipirya was not simply the drive of an overworked guard coping with a nocturnal lifestyle. Toman didn't want to sleep and let his dreams drown him. His dreams were filled with regrets, death and fear. 

Alcohol could numb him while awake, but it couldn't help when he was asleep.

Still, his body was exhausted by the time he made it back to his apartment, carefully shedding his uniform and laying to rest on his bed, curled up on his side.

He let sleep take him, waiting to wake up.

Retirement

Toman tied the bindings of the travel pack tighter, making sure they'd be secure for the journey. His apartment was near bare around him; he'd been pawning off the furniture and anything he wasn't taking with him, while using the barracks to sleep. It had been over 19 years since he'd join the guards. Now, his hair was greying at the temples and his body and mind complained with old wounds that magic couldn't heal. Forty years wasn't a bad age for a nightwatchman to live...

The watch had given him the proper send off, with good natured insults and a pre-sampled bottle of fire whiskey. He'd miss those sods. Most had gone, in the attack, and the Captain had died not long ago- but there were still a few faces he knew among the guard.

They'd be alright.

Crystal had come to him not long after the Captain passed. He'd stood their like a virgin idiot, completely confounded, when she kissed his cheek and told him to escape that life. Then she disappeared off into the night, like she always could, 'cept this time she never came back. The barracks were afire with rumours, which he tried to hush up. A woman like Crystal deserved more than alcohol fueled rumours to remember her by. Where ever she went, Toman only hoped the best for her. He ignored the small, sharp pain in his chest that gnawed away at him, whispering worst case scenarios, the strong chances of ill fate. He often had thoughts like that, these days, about those he cared about. Hard not to, considering his past and his new promise not to drown those harsh voices out with alcohol.

He made his to the ports, taking his time to wonder through familiar streets, that he could walk through blind folded, ignoring the weight of the pack. It wasn't that much anyway- he didn't need much, where he was going. Mel, his brown mare that he'd spent half his life's wages on, was waiting placidly for him at the small paddock the Voyanauts usually kept their oxen in. Slingly the pack onto her back and securing it, he led her out to the jetties.

The boat, ship, whatever, wasn't that hard to find. Saber, for all his ability to sneak about and thieve unnoticed, had always stood out vibrantly against the city life around him. Mel wasn't as happy to get into the ship as Tom was, but after putting her blinder on and securing her in the centre, she settled down for the journey. There was no way he'd let one of the best things he'd bought with his money be left behind. Helping Saber set up the rig, Toman eased into the seat beside him, offering the werecat some of his retirement whisky.

"I'm not even goin' to ask where ye got the boat." He snorted with a smile, lifting his own shot up in cheers, "But then again, it's not my job to worry anymore."