Prologue
        Lord Pralon was not a patient man. His reputation of violent crimes against those who made him wait or cheated him one way or the other earned him the name "Little Grael". At such a distance from mainborder Southet, the ruler of Exus found it easy to get away with the murder of his local subjects without the interference of government officials. There wasn't much a merchant or worker could do to defy his word regarding finance or even marriage. It wasn't an oddity that if a woman or girl was taken liking to by Pralon, she would end up dead somewhere in a town alley after being abducted. Most of the locals knew what was going on in Exus, but the isolation from the jurisdiction of the Capitol allowed the Lord to keep everybody in the township under his watchful eyes. The fact that the city was also surrounded by a desert also didn't help the population from seeking royal help. Trades between foreign traders and the local market were always supervised by Pralon's guards and said merchants were given different quarters than the natives of the city. Of course there have been people who left with the merchants just to bring the state of the town to the knowledge of Southet’s law, but the tightly controlled trade of the ores in the desert was extremely profitable especially with Lord Pralon as the ruling iron fist, nobody would come to help the people in town. Additionally as long as nobody crossed the deviant man’s path, life in the relatively prosperous desert city was peaceful and nobody had any real motivation to rebel.
Today, the Lord was eying up an especially attractive young girl. She was selling bread in one of the city markets as the ruler's convoy strolled through the streets. Commoners shied away from the carriage as Lord Pralon made his way through the busy city center. The young girl exchanged a circular shaped pastry for a couple of copper coins before looking up at the two leather garbed guards with spears heading towards her. She immediately turned around to hide her face behind the baskets of bread but it was clearly too late.
"You're coming with us, be happy that Lord Pralon chose you." spoke one of the guards as he grabbed her wrist and dragged her from behind the stall and towards the carriage. She looked to be about fifteen, with floating brown hair and a kindly face tan from the beating desert sun. The girl began to scream and struggle as she was handcuffed by one of the Lord's soldiers and tied to the carriage.
The convoy began to move out of the square, which was eerily quiet despite the mass of people. A man of about fifty burst out from behind the bread stall and ran towards the carriage with a simple quarterstaff of dried wood. One of Lord Pralon's carriage sentinels notched an arrow to his bow and aimed. Such simple acts of defiance were common but short lived.
The archer went down in a spray of blood as a long projectile of about four feet burst through his leather-armor clad body and embedded itself into the dirt ground. The sanguine solution whipping  a red line across the sand and onto the white carriage. The notched arrow missed the advancing baker, who stopped in his tracks and looked dumbfounded.
Another dart shaft zipped through the air and slammed into the carriage, causing a small explosion that engulfed  six of the Lord's guards and half of the transport. The remaining soldiers searched frantically for the location of the assailant. Oppressed townspeople looked around with panic in their faces; Pralon would most likely execute a good number of them if he survived the ordeal.
"Up there, the bell tower!" screamed one of the sentries before being transfixed to the ground by another oversized arrow. The soldiers looked up and saw nothing but the streaming sun; the city's tall spire was impossible to eyeball.
Lord Pralon exited the carriage on the shadowed side and looked at the tied up girl. There was relief in her eyes mixed with fear. The ruler hated that, but he himself was terrified of the assailants.
A trio of guards formed a barrier between the tower and the aristocrat with their shields and began moving towards the nearest point of cover. Defending archers loosed fallacious arrows at the bell tower before being mowed down by a rapid succession of seeking projectiles. The smarter ones ran for the cover of the crowds.
The townspeople realized their position and cheered before defying Lord Pralon's fleeing men and mobbing them. The aristocrat himself ran with his diminished forces towards the cover of one of the buildings. The crowds parted for the bigger force as the last of the hailing arrows cut down the soldiers remaining around the busted carriage. Pralon stood alone with a shield-bearer and a duo of cutlass wielding defenders as they finally escaped the trajectory of the bell tower.
"He didn't give me much to work with. Damn Vioss."
A man clad in sand colored robe awaited the Lord and his guards, he stood out of the crowd, hands hanging limply by his side. The brigand was of low height and his long blonde hair hung out of the cloak covering his face.
"What do you want outlaw, who paid you?" spoke Pralon frantically as his remaining men formed a defensive barrier around him.
"His Majesty King Ulier knows of the horrors of Exus thank to a defiantly informative merchant. You know we wouldn't have made the journey out to this Grael-forsaken place if there wasn't a hefty sum on your head." answered the figure nonchalantly.
"So they know... why would the King send a mercenary band instead of royal soldiers?" Pralon was sweating profusely under his grandiose clothes paid for by the town's efforts.
The man raised his hood, his face finally visible to the Lord. A mere teenage boy...
"Because according to his advisers, your life is worth nothing.”
"Kill him!" ordered Pralon, his face turning red from rage. The crowd has formed a circle around the confrontation by now.
The two guards with rapiers bolted, swords raised and ready to strike down the seemingly defenseless charlatan. The boy moved with eloquent agility, bright metal flashing as his robed arms extended forward.
The two sentinels went down with knives struck in their throats, a spray of blood showering the yellow robe of the assassin.
"Protect me, call for more soldiers!" screeched Lord Pralon and pushed his last aide with the shield towards the advancing boy. The crowd cheered in anticipation of what was going to happen next. The townspeople weren't afraid of a ruler with no power.
The robed figure stabbed with a knife. The remaining soldier blocked it with an awkward rebuke of his shield before being gutted by another weapon as the mercenary swung around, his robes flailing in the sun, casting the blood into a circular pattern onto the dirty ground.
The sentinel fell to the ground, clutching his mortal wound.
A party of three people with similar robes of the boy entered into the circle where the defeated aristocrat lay on his knees, face pleading mercy.
"What would you want to just keep me alive? You can have everything in my keep, just leave me alive and tell the King Lord Pralon is no more..." begged the humbled man.
“That's his Majesty King Geth Ulier to you.” yelled somebody from the crowd, followed by cheers.
The tallest of the four executioners stepped towards the center of the circle, looking down. His solemn but stark face looking at Lord Pralon. His right eye was strangely glinting under the hood, the lower portion of his face not hidden by the white hood. The assassin's face was clean-cut and rather handsome, in his early twenties, the same floating blonde hair as the younger killer, albeit only reaching down to his eyebrows.
"Please... spare my life!" pleaded Lord Pralon, looking into the strange glinting eye. The aristocrat always hated being looked down upon, but he felt small and insignificant as the man closed in. "I'm nothing, I'll never bother anyone again if you let me live!"
The face of the assassin showed nothing but indifference, no pity, no compassion, and above all, no retribution.
“You're going to let me live are you? Oh thank Garion...”
“Don't even mention his name, you filth!” exclaimed somebody from the circle of people.
The crowds stared as the white robed stranger looked down upon their oppressive lord. They also kept their distance from the other three outlanders. Sun beat down on the sullen town square as the tension in the air rose. Will the man that oppressed us for almost half a decade be killed this candidly?
The leader leaned in towards the kneeling Lord Pralon. His hood brushing past the aristocrat's ear.
"Madder Sky sends their regards, accredited by King Geth Ulier." he whispered and handed the aristocrat a medium length sword previously hidden in the folds of his robe.
"Does that mean I'm free? If my life is worth nothing, why kill me...?" replied the Lord with a glint of hope in his voice.
"Oh yes, you're free." answered the dagger-throwing assassin. He turned and walked into the crowd that gave him much space, the other three white robes followed him.
Lord Pralon stood up shaking and looked around the square, most of the townspeople still focused on the strange companions leaving through the square.
"Go back to your work, and get my the rest of my guards." spoke Prelan. The people shifted their heads towards the lone ruler; standing alone. Their faces lined with anger and hate for the man who wronged them so much.
Realization dawned on Lord Prelan, he looked down at the sword; it was given to him as an act of mercy.
The crowds closed in.
Gilliam