She soon realized, however, that she wasn't the only feline in the vicinity. From a dark alleyway nearby came a small, glint of light emanating from an all too familiar object. It was her dagger, embedded deep within the corpse of the innocent animal she had struck earlier. First Shensai's dear companion, and now this one. As much as she had desired to find her blade intact, this was not the means she had hoped for. For a brief moment the ranger sought to blame that look-alike whom had bumped into her at the wrong moment, but wisdom soon told her that, had she not made the impatient attack in the first place then this unfortunate event might never have had occurred. Approaching the poor beast, she nearly looked away in horror; the feline had been half shaved, and she could only ponder how such a thing had come to pass. She assured herself that her attack, as forceful as it was, could not have caused such an atrocity. Had another come along in the intervening time to perform such a deed with her blade? Might it have been the gruesome warrior whom had scarred Shensai's feline? No, she had to purge such morbid thoughts from her head less she forget her purpose. If she were lucky, it would have been a stray loved by no one, a selfish thought that would only serve to partially lessen the pain in her heart. If it were to belong to a despondent owner however, she would try to pay the weregild as best she could. Even though she believed she had not caused this foul scarring to the poor beast, in the end it had been her blade that ended its life.

Steadying her nerves, the ranger reminded herself that the thief was still on the loose and that she could not afford to lament her past deeds. Looking around out of the corner of her eyes she attempted to pocket her dagger, before walking slowly and surely back towards the castle, despite how much her nervousness at this apparently suspicious maneuver may have appeared. If she were to make it to her destination safely, she would hope that the guards had heard of the incident and would be willing to aid her in her search; she yet feared that it wouldn't be so easy…

As she had guessed, the thief's tracks were still beyond her ken to locate. Her prey was clever and skilled, certainly far more than herself. Just how old was this thief? How long had she been living such a life? Had she been specially trained, or did this all come from raw, natural talent? Either way, it was more than what the ranger possessed, self-taught as she had mainly been. No, against such an adversary she felt she would need far more experience than she presently held, but it was too late to turn back and better prepare herself; she had already taken the first step upon this path long ago, and if she proved to be a poor challenge for her foe's abilities, then she would meet her end with dignity. Was it not the challenge that had kept her going, though? Was this thief truly powerful, or was she merely just lucky as rogues commonly are? Each step upon the path was drawing her closer to the castle, and if her heart did not betray her, closer to her target. To draw blades, to test one's mettle, to finally know the unknown… this is what the ranger craved. Who was this woman that drove her on, who heightened her senses, who set her spirit aflame? Stepping forward at a brisker pace, she looked on ahead past the populace with a light in her eyes.

She had to know…

Two there were, and both quite unlike what she had expected. An elf stood to her left; theirs was a race known for their grace and agility, often preferring the bow to strike hidden from a distance, or small, bladed arms for feinting in combat and attacking a foe where it least suspected. Vast strength was far from their forté, and yet this one appeared to have it in abundance, if such could be indicated by the great axe wielded in its hands. Likewise, the banded maille it wore was surely as hardy as its own body, sacrificing some of the elf's inherent speed and mobility for greater protection against its foes. Just as surprisingly was the elf's partner, a dwarf donned in chain maille armor that stood upon the right. Where as one might expect it to be armed with the other's axe, it instead wielded a rapier and a shortsword, a hallmark of a duel-wielding fighter that required the dexterity the stout folk were not commonly known for. The ranger began to ponder that either these two were not shown the proper ways of warfare, or that each possessed skills and abilities far beyond the norm for their kind. Taking no chances, she knew that she would have to be wary of these two; even her sword arm would find it difficult to break through the elf's armor were conflict to erupt, and her focus upon one or the other would allow for either the elf to cleave her in two or for the dwarf to discover her most vulnerable points and exploit them. The woman would not let that come to pass, however, keeping her hands firmly to her sides and intent on using them only to free the scroll from its confines.

After what felt like countless millennia of watching, the ranger finally stepped towards the portcullis of the Castle of Debolas, yet just as she was about to speak she could have sworn that she had caught the sight of something out of the corner of her eye…