Patrick.

  When the inexperienced aspirants finally decided to strike out into the darkness, it was with a forced bravado that belied their inexperience; however, though they had stumbled at first, the group of would-be heroes managed to quickly find their footing and set out at a commendable pace through the unlit byrinthian passageways.

  For his part, the hours that followed thereafter blurred together in an uninteresting and sluggish way that left little interest for a veteran like himself.

  Each youngster got the chance to prove their abilities with either bde or arrow, smashing through the dungeon beasties like children knocking over block towers.

  The realities born of castle-forged steel and apparent marital training of some degree during their childhood years allowed Patrick to zone out nearly entirely…

  The foes they were faced with proved little more than small road bumps to their arms and capabilities. However, Patrick was quick to steer them all clear of the handful of boss rooms they encroached upon, stiputing that, for their safety, they should wait until their second delve before such an encounter.

  Monsters of a tier higher than the pitiful goblins they were sughtering with impunity were beasts of a wholly alternate capacity for violence that couldn't always be overcome by merely tossing coins at equipment.

  That was why the desotion had been so effective, because, in all aspects of the world, magic often trumped reality whenever the two decided they couldn't mix.

  More and more traps manifested upon their path as now specific yout he was well familiar with prickled at his mind.

  Some examples were merely simple arm systems to alert nearby creatures of their presence, and others were a good deal more harmful than the simple cttering of bones on a string.

  Of the group, it had quickly become discernible which among their ranks was worth a damned thing and which would be utterly hopeless in the future.

  Curiously, despite the praise and deference that the others gave him, Arthur was not the paragon he pretended to be.

  Though not terrible with a sword and with decent enough instincts to keep his head in a fight, the d had little patience for simple puzzles or deviation from established patterns.

  Even if he had shown he was capable of dealing with both in a manner that didn't involve brute force, his tendency to fall back upon that pitfall was—problematic.

  Unfortunately for him, were it not for his armored form and considerable height to protect his face against the comparatively smaller foes before him, Patrick was of a mind that the boy would have long since been injured were it not for the efforts of those around him.

  As it was, the d they all affectionately mocked as 'Whiskers' was by far the greatest of shining talents among the group.

  A steady shot with his bow and level-headed adept with his bdes, the kid would have probably made for a good scout if he enlisted with the royals, perhaps even one day attaining an officer's position.

  The d was strong in a wiry sort of way, carefully considerate with his attacks, and constantly had a grasp of their surroundings. More often than not, he was the first to spot any traps in their way that the others missed or hadn't yet seen.

  All the while showing a remarkable understanding of basic mechanical know-how to disable all but the most ingenious of what the dungeon sent their way.

  The kid would have probably made for a much better leader than his taller and more handsome friend if he wasn't constantly doing his best to ensure he didn't step on the other boy's toes, which was something of a shame, really...

  The youth's apparent loyalty only served to hinder his prospects rather than improve them. However, it could be said that loyalty in itself was something that the system was known to dispense rewards for, after a fashion. Which, like as not, meant that it deserved its own pce in the overall scheme of things.

  The following best among them was Ellinor, though that came of little surprise to Patrick.

  The girl didn't necessarily possess the archer's keen eye for traps but seemed to have a better one than the two others. Her movements with the bde were precise and without hesitation, or needless pageantry, rarely overextending or chasing foes in a way that would have made the old rogue mildly suspicious were it not for the girl's tendency to second guess herself outside of combat.

  It wasn't terribly uncommon for a person to slip into a form of trance while fighting that superseded one's self-doubt; once, of course, the ball was rolling, but nevertheless, Patrick found something about the young dy to be—off.

  He'd not made it this far in life by ignoring his intuition on such matters and keeping a careful eye on the girl more than anyone else—still, he wasn't quite able to figure out where his unease of the ss exactly came from...

  With the team's handsome leader taking up the third position in his mental rankings, it once again fell upon the shoulders of the shortest among them to carry his complete and, truth be told, earnestly expected, sheer disappointment...

  Showing an absolutely abysmal degree of mastery with his chosen weapon while simultaneously managing all the instincts for the battle of a stingerless bumble bee, the one known as Connor sallied forth, dispying an inspirationally astounding ineptitude for nearly every challenge that came his way.

  With a mind that was comically brilliant in the twin time-honored disciplines of insults and excuses, fighting around the portly aspirant seemed as though it were as much a challenge in of itself for his allies as the damned dungeon itself.

  The d constantly curled his lips, offering mean-spirited jests and jibes to anyone who had evidently gotten in his way following a failure that only a true exempr of jackassery could possibly manage.

  Patrick couldn't have spoken towards whatever bonds had united the others to the seemingly insufferable prick of a boy beyond the dungeon walls, but it was ughably apparent that it didn't take much to shatter them once the going got tough enough.

  When the all too destined pted fist of Arthur's ordained gauntlet finally contacted the angry pork chop's face in a fsh of inevitable anger and poor decisions, not a single of the others so much as moved to stop it, nor the second that had followed the first...

  The blows continued to rain down harder and harder, each succeeding hit becoming wetter and sicklier as the handsome youth's temper fred and expanded without an end in sight.

  And while usually, the little conflict would have been something that Patrick would have simply watched from afar, perhaps while wearing a slight grin and lighting up his burner, the spiteful piglet's big mouth—wasn't something that was worth killing him over…

  And Patrick wasn't the cold-hearted fiend that others so often loved to bel him.

  So, allowing for the sixth punch to thoroughly ring the kid's bell and perhaps teach him an invaluable life lesson he wouldn't soon forget, Patrick's gloved hand creaked as it wrapped itself around the handsome youth's wrist while he wound back to impart further justice upon the unprotected face of his—friend.

  The metal-cd youth hissed a vile response to the older man's involvement, but with a stern and steady expression, Patrick managed to force the boy to back down, if not with great reluctance.

  He still spat at the whimpering youth whose face was already beginning to swell rather severely, but he'd been spared any further judgment for the time being.

  "You've made yer point, ddie," Patrick assured, "a lesson be one thing, but I can't have ye killing' each other over a few sharp words. Stand back and why-don't-ya take a fine look at what's done, boyo… I doubt you've left any damned teeth on his right side solid enough to use again for much more than soft stew."

  Whiskers sneered at Patrick's words, rolling his shoulders as he retrieved an arrow from the corpse of a rge goblin body with a hateful jerk of the arm, pointing the bloodied tip towards the nearly incapacitated youth on the ground with obvious disdain.

  "There were more than just a few words, William; I might have done the same myself, given a few more minutes of his nonsensical drivel. It would have been one thing if he'd only been useless, but I wouldn't even let my own siblings get away with his mouth."

  "Little fucker deserved more…" Arther joked with a dark and grim-faced expression. "Wealthy or not, his familys not even of the peerage. If you ask me, the little rat got off lucky... Were it my father he spoke to like that, I daresay that we'd be stuffing the little piggy with an apple by now, him and his upstart kin."

  All were silent for a time, save for the terrified sniffle of a broken-faced young man as the four of them stared down at the pitiful creature at their feet.

  Blood oozed from the wounds where unrelenting metal had smashed and shredded through soft flesh, and a weeping white fluid dripped from the boy's right eye.

  Like as not, in addition to the other damage, the little white globe was presumably ruined. A sufficiently masterful healer or one of the northern flesh crafters might be able to salvage what was there, but such arts were in rare supply in the city these days—and expensive beyond reasonability besides…

  Patrick had a feeling that the d would be carrying a reminder of this day for the rest of his life, even if his family managed to fix him up, which was somewhat doubtful as Connor's face now shared more in common with a broken watermelon than that of the folk...