Pacing the bedroom within his stone manor house, Constance was stirring with irritation. His pale green orbs would often sneak a glance at the letter he left illuminated by the lamp light on his desk. For an inanimate object, there was a deep level of hatred he held for the paper, but more specifically, the words on the paper. When he first received it, he was furious, believing it to be something that mocked him. When the group of individuals tasked to search for the Heroes went underway, he could not find an ounce of understanding as to why he wasn't one of them. There was nobody more dedicated to them than he was, something most people knew very well.

~

Storming into the royal palace, where the Royal family and members of the court currently resided, he came for answers. He forcefully pushed open the door to the dining hall where they all abruptly turned to look at him, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The boots he wore echoed throughout the now otherwise quiet room as his stormy gaze and small darkened smile locked onto the King.

"You know better than anyone how dedicated I am, how loyal I am," he started with his tone low and laced in bitterness accompanied by his crazed smirk, "and yet you sent a group of undignified bastards to do the bidding. I live to serve not only you, your Highness, but those who used to be worth something to countless lives. Do not test where my loyalty lies the heaviest, you won't like where I lean."
The King stared back to him with eyes of uncertainty, and what pleasured Constance the most, a touch of fear.

"We cannot risk having our highest level of authority absent from the kingdom for an extended period of time, this choice is in your best interest, and my decision stands. You are dismissed Master Constance."
The King's gaze lingered for only a moment before he turned to the plate of food in front of him. If looks could kill, everyone there would have been slaughtered by the murderous glare that swept the room.

"Yes, your Highness." Constance gritted with indifference in response before he stormed back out of the room. Directly making an attack against the crown was something he would never do, but he did know how he would express his displeasure.

~

That night, he tasked his knights to watch the families of the people in the search party. Even the smallest infringement was to be met with execution by Constance's hand. Getting exactly what he wanted, he disposed of at least one person out of the groups families. The majority were parents who would steal food to bring home, some were siblings who indulged in property damage, and one was the child of one of the group's members who had stolen jewelry and money from a nobleman. Despite the level of protest and anger he received from some of the crowd members of the executions, not a single soul dared to step between Constance and his actions.

It was the night of his last execution he received the letter he now glared at. Infuriated by its presence, he tasked his knights to track down the source of the letter, but to no avail. It wasn't until he received a threat that he truly boiled with pure rage. Anyone bold enough to threaten him, he wanted to see in the flesh. There was no good intention he had when arriving, he simply wanted to see the face of the being who would meet their painful demise by his hand. Walking to the front of the desk, he gripped the letter in his hand. Glancing at its directions for the thousandth time, he finally found his feet leading him out the door.

Just as he went everywhere, he wore his usual Grand Cross attire, cape, and sword as he walked briskly down the streets of the kingdom. He paid no attention to the varying stares he was given as he walked, some fearful, others full of hate, and the rest refused to even look in his direction. 'The Desperado' was a place he was vaguely aware of. When he wasn't on duty, he was in the courts or royal palace, his manor, and every so often at the marketplace. Dipping into the alleys and moving in an unorganized pattern to throw off any followers he may have had, he knew he was close to the place he was directed to. While he wouldn't show it, there was an embedded level of curiosity he felt. Why was this letter given to me? What did they want? Is this some kind of trick to get me alone so they could seek vengeance on a loved one I killed? Many thoughts crossed him, but he kept his expression unreadable as he came upon the building. Glancing around, he didn't notice anything particularly unsettling. In fact, there wasn't a soul in the immediate area. Distant voices echoed into his ear as he stood from the end of the alley he watched the building from. What he was experiencing was not hesitancy or fear, he never acted with that kind of cowardice, what he felt was deep inquisition. Marching forward, his hand gripped tight on his swords hilt, as he made it to the front door and casually stepped inside.

Vim, of course, knew of the quest to save the heroes. The whole town was buzzing with gossip and excitement. Phony merchants selling "Charms of the Heroes" were doing booming business as people flocked to the shrines and statues like never before. There had been rumors of people trying to bluff, sneak, and threaten their way onto the team. A woman from quite a few towns over brought news of the knight Constance and his revenge against those who had been chosen, and everyone tsked and sighed and said if they lived there they'd give him a piece of their mind. Vim, for his part, found his interest in the heroes rekindled. He had discovered and dismissed them already long ago, but within a few days he had done so again. Could such fragile things as mere people really represent a complete and unfaltering set of morals? Somehow Vim doubted it.

When Vim received the first letter, he skimmed the contents and threw it away. A prank, no doubt. Nothing for him to worry about. The second letter held a note of impatience, but still nothing to really concern him. It planted a seed of curiosity, though, and Vim kept this letter and waited to see if he would be sent another. It was sort of like a game - a game of waiting to see how far he could push this person, to see how badly they wanted him. He justified this by telling himself that this person had started with the games first. It was fair. Wasn’t that important too? Fairness? Maybe he was picking and choosing his rights and wrongs, but Vim felt he was doing no great harm by stretching this out a bit longer. One more letter came, then another, then another. They grew more irate, and soon the blackmail and threats came. Attempts at blackmail were something Vim had run into several times, and they no longer phased him. But the next letter held a little bit too much detail about Vim’s family for comfort, and Vim wasn’t willing to risk anything happening to them. Truth be told, he had known from the start that he was going to go. There were too many reasons to, and nothing to keep him here.

Vim hadn’t told his brother about the letter. He somehow didn’t feel that Brio would care much either way why Vim was leaving. He had just told him he had business to attend to, and left it at that. Vim was fortunate enough to still have his horse from the old days, and so he had very little trouble reaching The Desperado. He rode through town without meeting anyone’s eyes, looking straight ahead, up at the sky, around at the buildings, anything at all. He was going a bit faster than he ought to, maybe, but he was eager to get there and too impatient to give much thought to how exhausted his horse was going to be. His clothes were colorful and bright today, his hair trailing out behind him, and his holy symbols clattered against one another as he rode. He wore them like a shield against the gazes of people he passed, turning them so that every one was visible in all its glory. As he approached the tavern, he spotted a small cart made of wood laying by the entrance. Vim didn’t even have to think about it: he urged his horse forward until it was running towards the cart, and in a split second Vim pulled up on the reins and the horse pushed itself upward into a graceful arc over the cart, landing heavy on the other side. People around scattered and kept a wide berth, muttering to themselves. Vim savored the shot of adrenaline, but it faded far too fast. Vim swept his hair back from his face, dismounted, and spotted a teenage boy nearby. Vim beckoned to him and said, “If I pay you would you be willing to take my horse to the stables?” The boy nodded fervently, and Vim grabbed a handful of coins without looking and gave them to the boy. He never counted - it made him feel guilty, somehow. He left his horse with the boy. He could only hope the boy wouldn’t steal it, but if he did, well, good on him. He had a horse now.

Vim entered the tavern, which was bustling with noise and cheerful chatter. He hovered near the door, unsure who he should be meeting. He had stepped in right after a very tall man dressed in Grand Cross clothing, but he didn’t shy away. The one thing he’d never had to fear was the law. As he waited, a beefy man with a large mustache approached them. “Sir Constance?” he asked in a gravelly voice, looking at the man standing next to Vim. Vim looked at him with a new feeling buzzing around at the back of his head. Fear? Disgust? Curiosity? Maybe even some admiration? He didn’t say anything, though, as the mustached man turned to him. “And Vim. I was asked to reserve a table for you. If you’ll follow me, your host will be here to meet you soon.” He turned and started to plow through the crowd to show them to their table, waiting for no response. Vim glanced at Constance again, rocking back and forth on his heels. He was so tall. And wherever Vim had travelled, people either hated or loved the famous (or infamous) Sir Constance. Vim supposed he should introduce himself, but after a moment he simply started to walk after the mustached man. He rubbed one of his religious symbols between his fingers, keeping his head up but refusing to look at anyone around him.

Immediately upon stepping inside, Constance scanned every face in the room. He was primarily looking for the face of someone that said, "I'm bold enough to dare threaten the Grand Cross", but to his dismay he didn't see anyone who matched such a look. Each persons pair of eyes seemed to take turns sneaking glances in his direction, surely they knew exactly who he was. The majority were curious gazes, rather than the daggers he was given on the streets. Eyes expressing admiration for his doings did nothing to faze him as well as those who watched him with despise. Whether he was hated or loved didn't matter in the slightest to him, he just simply did what he swore to. The sound of the door behind him momentarily captured his attention as his head turned to see who came in. Seeing it was nobody remotely interesting in terms of threat, his eyes settled for a moment on the symbols of varying religions around his neck before he looked away. It wasn't unusual for people to cover themselves in attire that showed off their beliefs, but to see so many different symbols on a single person was odd. Locking onto the brawny figure of a man who approached him, he watched him carefully wondering if this was the man he was looking for. At the sound of his name, he simply raised a brow to the man. If you have something to say to me, say it, his thoughts whispered.

Tapping his fingers against the hilt of his sword, he glanced to the side of him as the burly gentleman turned to acknowledge the other man who he realized was still beside him. Vim. It was a name he was unfamiliar with, therefore he wasn't in his bad graces, for now at least. His gaze now lingered on Vim as Constance very noticeably observed him. He was asked here too clearly, but why? The intensity of his leer that had grown shifted from Vim and back to the man who had approached them. There were so many inquisitive thoughts that bounced from corner to corner within his mind. So many in fact, he couldn't focus on one long enough before another came to take the previous ones place. Watching as Vim began to step forward first, he took a moment to re-scan the room. With a sigh of discontent, he moved forward in the direction of where the man led. The expression he weaved across his face was one that you could tell held a fraction of emotion, as for what kind of emotion, nobody would be sure. Fearful or unsure looks were what he was usually given when he wore this particular face. Malicious thoughts are what Constance assumed people thought he was constantly pondering. While they weren't necessarily wrong, his thought process was far more complex.

With his eyes set onto the table reserved for him, and Vim, his grip loosened on his hilt as he quickly slid into a chair he claimed for himself. The grip he had on his sword, though loose, would not leave as he waited for this mystery host. His fingers went back to tapping at the hilt in impatience. If this was a real invitation to search for the Heroes, why had only two people been requested? Setting the thought momentarily to the side, his eyes found their way back to observing Vim. He didn't seem very uneased at Constance's presence, which only spiked his curiosity for Vim. There was no sign of doting adoration either, so exactly how Vim felt about him was something he was unsure of. He was shorter than the average man Constance had become accustomed to being around, but height was something that was irrelevant. As he looked to Vim, the corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly in the form of a small smirk.

"I'm sure you know who I am," Constance said calmly, eyes ever so slightly storming with ferocious intensity, "my reputation precedes me rather factually."
Words mouthed through gossip and rumors were usually always true. He was often the first to hear speculations surrounding him beings he kept his ears to the ground. Never was he intent on finding people who spoke either good or bad about him, he was just wanted to indulge and listen to the people's rumors for the fun of it. The fact he was talked about so often, that all it took for someone to know exactly who they were looking at was a glimpse of him, made him swell with a sickened level of pride. Upon listening to the words whispered through the kingdom, he learned some ignorant individuals still questioned whether someone was even capable of the things he had done. Of course people were capable of sinister acts such as the ones Constance has committed, it was the fuel behind the reason his punishments were so severe for those who couldn't abide by the law. 'An eye for an eye' they say, and to him, that was exactly what he was dishing.

People muttered and stared as Vim and Constance walked past, but Vim didn’t even have to look to know who they were staring at. He himself was tempted to stare, to wonder how he had found himself in such company and how much further his reputation could be sullied by such a thing. As always, his mind was buzzing with thoughts and questions on the edge, too distant to recall but too persistent to dismiss. Constance seated himself without a moment’s hesitation, and the man with the mustache seemed content with this. He didn’t even spare them a second glance as someone yelled at him across the crowd and he replied with an ear-shattering “I’M COMING, HOLD ON!” and half-jogged in the direction of the voice. Vim seated himself on the edge of his seat and readjusted himself several times, trying to get comfortable. His knee bounced up and down, one hand drumming fingers against the table and the other still fiddling with his religious symbols. He saw Constance smirking at him but returned no semblance of a smile, simply looking at Constance without turning away. The idea of the man being so close made the air prickle with unease, though real fear had yet to reach Vim. It could very well be that Constance was dangerous, perhaps set on “taking care of” Vim - after all, wasn’t that what he did? But as soon as Vim looked into Constance’s eyes he felt that little surge of bravado, a sudden faux bravery that made him determined he wouldn’t be the first one to break eye contact. It was stupid, of course - most things Vim did on a whim were stupid. But he held onto it all the same.

Constance spoke and Vim replied immediately, “Yes, I know who you are. Sir Constance, High Knight of Victory. I’ve heard a lot about you, from a lot of different people. A woman from Stoic told us about what you did down there with the families of the group sent off to find the heroes. A lot of people think -” Vim cut himself off. His tone had remained even, without a trace of judgement, but he didn’t want to go too far and he certainly didn’t want to get anyone into trouble. To cover up the awkward pause, he added, “I guess you heard my name. Vim. If you’re getting something-” he nodded towards the barrels of alcohol along the walls “-it’s my treat.” His tone was neither friendly nor gracious, but all the same he took out a small amount of coins and put them down on the table without looking, as though proving that he could indeed afford to buy Constance a round. The way he did it, it hardly seemed like a kind gesture - it bore more resemblance, indeed, to an attempt to show off his wealth. If Vim had good intentions, good intentions weren’t always enough, but it was a simple offer either way. Maybe if Constance was here to do something unsavory to Vim, he would appreciate the gesture. That’s right, though Vim sarcastically. That’ll change his mind. ‘Why, my dear sir, I had no idea you had such a heart of gold. And so much gold in your pocket, too. I had planned on killing you, but now I suppose I’ll just enjoy my free ale.’ Well, maybe if Constance got plastered enough Vim would have a fighting chance, anyway.

Well, he was being paranoid again - a feeling that had been increasing steadily for him in the last year or two, and might have peaked when he received the second letter. He had just received a reply from Sir Constance, but had no time to answer before a small, wispy-looking old man sat himself at their table without so much as a greeting. It was immediately evident that he was the person they were here to meet. Vim’s bouncing, fiddling, and strumming seemed magnified by ten as he finally broke eye contact with Sir Constance and turned his full attention to the small man. Although Constance was far and away more powerful and intimidating than the man, there was something far more sinister about the old man. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said in a raspy voice, with a confidence and relaxed manner that seemed out of place in such a situation. He let out a laugh which turned into a cough and then continued speaking. “You’re the only two who turned up, as you can see. The others were given what they were promised if they didn’t show up, of course. I think both of you can appreciate that, can’t you?” He chuckled to himself. “Yes, I think that’s fair.” He wasn’t even really bothering to keep his voice down, though nobody seemed to be paying him any mind anyway. “Now, before you blow your brains yelling and threatening me, let me tell you why you’re here. Why my boss called you here. You do want to know, don’t you? You’re curious.” He leaned in a bit closer, his breath stinking of fish. “You are the ones - the only ones - who can find the Heroes and bring them back.” He leaned back, looking quite smug with himself.

Despite the level of noise from the people involved with their own affairs, the slight tension resonating from the majority of those within the tavern prided Constance knowing he was the one who was invoking such a thing. While there was only one person here he came to see, the thought of another stepping up to him made him tingle with anticipation. Alcohol made people bold, maybe even bold enough to make a comment about his doings. It was something he almost hoped for, someone to say something to him, so he could poke right back until they mustered enough courage to think they could take him head on. Maybe it was his pride talking, but he would not be bested in a fight. From sun up to sun down, and sometimes in between, he would spend his free time perfecting his art of combat. As an Apprentice when he was younger, he lost more times than he was able to count by the hands of fellow knights and unruly civilians. They could be who people of the present could thank for his crazed drive to be without fault in that way. Few people he's come across within the past few years have been considered almost worthy opponents, determined and skilled, but never to the extent that he was.

Listening to Vim, he was satisfied he spoke his full title. Everyone knew it, few would say it. Whether it was because they couldn't bring themselves to accept someone like him is the highest level of authority, or if they just down right refused to acknowledge the fact, it still was something nice to hear the few times the words graced his ears. They think what, Vim? Do not spare me from the words people mouth, humor me, his thoughts cruelly mused. Instead of faltering, his smirk got slightly bigger as his eyes now reflected his delight in contemplating what was said about him. At the gesture of Vim offering to buy him a drink, and after he placed the coins on the table, Constance gave a short amused chuckle. He very rarely accepted anything from anyone, there were always some kind of strings attached from what he's learned. People mistake kindness as privilege, a way to get into someone's good graces so the receiver of the act feels entitled to return some kind of favor. Constance was in no one's debt, he owed nobody a single shred of kindness, and he was not about to accept even a seemingly simple drink.

"Flattering, but no, I don't drink."
While he enjoyed watching other peoples reaction to the substance of alcohol, not once has he indulged in the liquid himself. Never would he risk getting carried away and making himself look foolish. Everything he did was in complete sobriety, he didn't need alcohol to bring the worst out in him, he already was his worst, and arguably, his best. While it didn't seem that Vim had anything to gain from Constance's acceptance, it still didn't mean the act was harmless. Everybody wants something, a voice echoed in the back of his mind.

The man who sat at their table took hold of his full attention. His smirk darkened as his eyes slightly narrowed as he looked over the older man. He was nowhere near as impressive as Constance thought he would be, but immediately he determined he did not like this gentleman. The tapping on his hilt stopped as he now grasped it, ready to be unsheathed within a blink of an eye. Perhaps it was the old man's demeanor and the way he held himself, but Constance was completely torn between listening to what he had to say, and ending him where he sat. Others? The thought of several other people being offered a chance at attempting to save the Heroes offended him greatly. Everything the old man was saying partially replaced his rage with curiosity and a hint of skepticism. If this man's boss is the one that called for them, than it was that man Constance wanted to see face to face, perhaps this man's boss would be far more impressive than what he was looking at now. As the man leaned in, Constance stayed perfectly still, not giving away any form of hesitancy or overwhelming intrigue. The Heroes, the ones he regarded so highly and the ones he devoted his life to. Of course he was capable of finding them and bringing them back, nobody was as dedicated as he was. More often then not, he would find himself at the ruined shrine outside of the kingdom on his knees and would speak to them, just as he did when his father died. Approval, guidance, and hope were all things he sought from the Heroes. What did Vim have to offer, to him and to them? His faith did not seem to lay solely within the Heroes, how could he possibly be considered worthy for such a task? Constance knew from the start the group already sent would fail, and to his hopes, would suffer miserable demise by the hands of what was beyond the kingdom.

"I will do whatever it takes to bring them back."
He stated firmly and passionately. His eyes did not leave the old man, but his mind did shift to Vim. Would he be up for such a task? Does he even care? Constance was not good at working with others, especially ones he saw served no purpose to him. Whether he found Vim useful to him would determine how he would not only see him, but treat him. He currently had no reason to hate or dislike Vim, but if given a reason, that view would not shift.

Vim had seen, in his life, two kinds of smiles: the smile of prey and the smile of a predator. A prey’s smile was easy, soft, and often more genuine than the situation warranted. It was pleasant to look at, but these kinds of people were the kinds who showed their weaknesses like exposing their neck to a hungry bear. Those clueless, searching smiles always made Vim feel bad. But then there was the other smile, which he had worn more times than he had seen it. It was a curved smile of someone who knew they were in control, sincerity no place to be found but a certain fascinating charm to it. Those kinds of smiles were the ones the innocents always were drawn to. Some didn’t see how fake they were, and some who did wanted to find the good person underneath or “fix” them. Constance bore the latter, but if he was predator Vim refused to be prey. He didn’t smile back, not that it was the sort of smile that was meant to be returned anyway. It was easy to settle immediately on a bad first impression of this man - he had nothing yet to recommend him to Vim’s good graces - but Vim wasn’t the kind to judge so easily, and even that familiar smile didn’t ruffle his feathers. Constance’s reply was polite enough, and while Vim had always been the kind to overindulge a bit - okay, a bit wasn’t doing it justice - he decided to hold off this time, because if Constance was going to stay sober he’d better as well. Besides, he reminded himself, drinking is bad. Well, according to some people. Funny, that one had never quite clicked with him. Indulgendences like alcohol hardly seemed a sin to him if it hurt nobody. And he’d never hurt anyone but himself while he was drunk.

When the old man sat down, Vim was uninclined to believe this was the person he’d been in a battle of wills with over the letters. This tiny, overly-confident old man hardly seemed powerful enough to be so brazen in his attempts to blackmail someone. Perhaps he just didn’t have enough brains to be properly nervous about pulling such a thing off, or maybe there was more to him than met the eye. But the old man quickly mentioned a boss, likely someone who didn’t want to be traced easily. Vim couldn’t help being curious. Of course he wanted to know why he had been called here. His energy was ragged and frizzling, and Vim shifted back and forth, the sensation of sitting down becoming more and more irksome to him. The old man leaned in conspiratorially and told them they had been chosen to - no, they were the only ones who could - bring back the Heroes. Constance didn’t miss a beat. It were almost as though he had been expecting this, though that definitely couldn’t have been the case. He seemed to course with determination and, more than that, with pleasure at having been chosen. So he was finally getting what he wanted. Too bad this hadn’t happened earlier, or maybe all of those family members would have been spared.

And now it was up to Vim. He had to admit, this was the last thing he had expected. It hardly seemed his place to go looking for the Heroes. What exactly was he expected to do? What was it that their mysterious host thought he did? A person of such dubious moral material as whoever had sent the letters might take no stock in Vim’s claims of turning a new leaf. He might expect the both of them to make sacrifices. Constance had already said it: he would do anything to get the Heroes back. But what would Vim be willing to do? Well, it seemed like a selfless thing to do. A heroic thing. And even if he wouldn’t say his ego was stroked a little hearing he was one of the only ones who could do it, it certainly weighed in on his choice. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, a lot of things to consider. He had nothing tying him here, it was true, but nothing to compel him to go, either. “Come on, now,” said the old man. “Imagine how much better the world will be when they’re back. It’s not a hard choice, is it? You’re not going to make the wrong choice, are you?” There was something menacing about how he said it. But Vim’s decision had nothing to do with that - it was a wild, sudden resolution, the sort that usually ended up very badly for him.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m in. I’ll do it.” Now that he had said it, he didn’t have even a sliver of doubt. Of course he would. Who in the world would turn down an opportunity like that? At the very worst they failed, but Vim didn’t have anything here to miss if he never made it home.

“I figured you both for the heroic types,” said the old man, smiling, although he sounded almost patronizing. “Now, you probably know about the other group. They were sent by our lovely government, and you can trust me that they won’t find our heroes. But they do have the map, a map which we have replicated and which I’m about to give to you.” He reached into a messenger bag at his side and took out a rolled-up piece of parchment. He unrolled it, knobbly fingers smoothing it open so that they could see the map. It lacked the fine details of many maps, the fonts without flair or precision, but it showed all that needed to be shown. A route was dotted out in blue ink, showing where the Heroes had planned to go, though whether they had followed that route was another matter altogether. “As you can see, you’ll need to head Northeast. Whether you choose to go through the savage lands or get a ship and sail around is up to you.” He looked around and then, spotting a barmaid walking by, caught her by the end of her sleeve. “A pint of mead over here.” He eyed the coins, which were still on the table, and picked one up. Then he placed it in her hand. Vim made no move to stop him, no reaction except for a slight stir. “And give this to Triumph, would you? There you go, now.” The old man settled back down. “Now, I know you boys wouldn’t accept payment even if I offered it,” he told them slyly. “And I know you both have enough money, resources, and reputation to get you what you need. You’re dedicated enough to the Heroes to rely on your own charms and wits, aren’t you?” They were pretty words, but Vim knew what they meant: they couldn’t expect any help, and they weren’t being offered any. They should be honored to have been chosen, and that was that.

Constance knew he would do absolutely anything for what he believed in. His beliefs have and will always be the base for every action, every step, and most thoughts. While beliefs held a large pull over him, his thoughts were often wild and chaotic, encouraging of his most sinister acts. Now, they were raging. A storm to his sea, they ruled his internal. For Vim, the focus of this current storm, he was both in grave danger and the safest he could ever dream. Vim captivated his curiosity driven side, somebody so seemingly harmless, and yet he expressed little to nothing in terms of usual reactions. Constance has seen acts of bravery in his face, but this was not one, this was different. Usually his presence was enough to invoke a reaction out of someone, even a slight barely noticeable one, but Vim remained relatively unbothered. This is what was saving Vim, the fact he had become a fixation based on Constance's inquisition. What threatened him, however, was the matter of how he would respond to the old man's question. Though Constance was far from trusting who sat in front of them, and still contemplated just killing the man, Vim's decision was far more interesting to ponder. No matter how much you may fascinate me, his thoughts quietly mused, your next words decide your fate. A shame it would be to end you so soon, but not so much so I would feel any remorse. At hearing the agreement spoken from Vim's lips, Constance's smirk went from dark to a satisfied grin.

Shifting his attention back to the feeble old man, his eyes did narrow slightly. It wasn't the patronizing tone he had, it was the way he referred to the government, that sent a great sense of irritation through him. Of course he didn't necessarily like or dote upon the current government, but he believed he was the only one entitled to feel such disapproval. They have failed me far more than they ever will you, tread lightly old man. A glimpse into the rage he felt shimmered upon his face, but just as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Leaning in slightly to view the map, a feeling of great pride coursed through him. This was the Heroes' path, one that he would be taking to find them. While the thought of them veering off course did trouble him slightly, he pushed it off as he relished in the honor he felt at walking along their intended course. By boat or by land was no concern of his, he would crawl if he had to. Watching as the old man reached for a coin, Vim's coin to be exact, his grin contorted into a malicious smirk. It seems as if you have committed a form of theft Sir, I don't recall the offer being extended to you, I will keep this act in mind. All Constance needed was one reason, a single violation, to get the approval of execution. Not that he felt he required approval, it was the fact that any action taken against a non-abiding citizen would align with following his oath. It mattered nothing to him that Vim didn't even attempt to stop the action, a crime is a crime, and all are punishable by death. Storing the observance of the act in his mental arsenal, he waited for the man to continue.

It was true, even if he was offered payment for such a task, he would not accept it. He was paid to do his job, and while he would happily do it for free, it was the only acceptance of money he would take. Besides, a quest to find those he dedicated his life to hardly seemed like a thing to pay someone for. "Money, resources, and reputation", the man said. Constance had all of those things, but surely it wasn't all directed at him. What resources, or rather reputation, did Vim possess? Money he cared little about, so if Vim had any, the best Constance would offer is a "good for you", and carry on. He had most, if not all, of Victory's authority, weapons, and whatever he could dream of at his finger tips. Never has he considered taking advantage of this power in such a way, but he was never given an important reason to, until now. Even if he demanded a boat, or horses loaded with supplies for a long journey, he knew not a single soul would question him. If they weren't willing to do so previously, they certainly would just look the other way for whatever he asked for now. Of course, he couldn't exactly make his planning of absence vocal to the court, to the King, but his knights would see him off. Even if they suspected he was leaving, which clearly they would, they might actually want to help and just be thankful for the break in his leadership. I am dedicated enough, I will succeed, not even death itself has a hope at stopping me. For the first time, his gaze lowered as he looked to his sword his hand was firmly placed on. Bowing his head slightly, he mumbled a prayer to his Heroes.

"For all you have given me, it is my honor to return the favor, I will find you."
Being seated with two other people would not stop him from expressing his devotion, alone or not, he would speak to them when he wanted. Looking back up, his eyes lingered on the old man for just a moment, before they calmly turned to Vim. The smile that had faltered and fallen in prayer returned small and patient.
"I will be very direct with you Vim so there is no guessing where I stand," he stated firmly, "just because we are coming together to accomplish a mutual goal, does not mean I trust you, and it certainly does not mean you are above me deciding to dispose of should I deem you more harm to my mission than good. With that said, I will offer you my respect as a gesture of good current standing."
From the looks of it, this journey will be long and more than likely trying, for the both of them. While Constance would not mind travelling with someone who didn't particularly like him, it was him traveling with someone that he himself didn't like that would lead to a problem. He would put no effort into being liked, he was who he was, and if you didn't like it, move on. There was the offer of respect he offered Vim though, something he very rarely offered anyone. It was his own sign of otherwise good faith, but it would not upset him shall Vim hastily decline. There was a lot of effort he was going to put into making sure this journey would be successful. Shall they decide to go by boat, regardless he would bring horses for when they would eventually make their way back to land. Whatever way was decided upon, a plethora of strictly bare essentials were what he would bring, and while Vim was free to think he could bring whatever he wanted, Constance would only allow necessities to be carried along for when the journey becomes arduous. There was no amount of foolish hope he would put into Vim by expecting him to be good at traveling light and methodical, but it was a skill he would silently applaud him for should he have it.

Vim’s partial attention was on the old man and what he had to say - he certainly didn’t sit quite right with Vim, but there was little to do about that. But most of his attention, whether he meant it to be or not, was honed in on Constance, whose every facial tic and micro-expression could turn out to be more than just a passing emotion. Vim could feel angry without taking it out on anything - or anyone - but could Constance? No, Vim very much doubted he could. He could see the old man teetering on the edge of getting on Constance’s bad side, and if worse came to worst, Vim wanted to know what was coming. From a dark grin to a flash of anger to pride, Constance’s moods swung to and fro as he listened to the old man going on about the map.

Vim leaned in a bit to take a look at the map, curious as to where it was they were expected to go. It wasn’t as if there were anywhere in particular he wanted to go, or anywhere he wanted to avoid. He’d been all across the kingdom, and one place was more or less like the other once you’d been there enough times. Maybe that was partially why he wanted to go on this adventure: it would be new, somewhere he’d never seen, with people he’d never met before. Really, Vim could name himself plenty of reasons why he had chosen to go: a chance at redemption, a lingering fear of what would happen if he said no, a desire for something new, a curiosity as to what had really become of the heroes. Maybe a little bit of ego as he fancied himself a “chosen one,” one of those destined to bring the heroes back. But, truth be told, none of this had been as big a factor as his thought process when he had accepted, which had been nothing but why the hell not? He didn’t even have to think about why Constance had accepted, and as if to highlight this, Constance lowered his head and began praying to the Heroes. Vim looked down at his Token of the Heroes, dangling around his neck. He had never been one for praying aloud: his parents had always done it as if hoping someone would overhear them, burst in, and praise them for their piety. Vim tried to keep a “none of my business” attitude towards people’s relationships with religion and the Heroes, but all the same he looked away as though Constance were doing something embarrassing.

"I will be very direct with you Vim,” Constance started, causing Vim to look at him like a deer in the headlights. He felt as though he had flitted at the edges of Constance’s attention up until now, managing not to seem too important despite the immensely important task before them. Constance went on. He didn’t trust Vim. Fine, that was nothing new. Vim didn’t really trust Constance either, though he wasn’t going to go as far as saying it right to his face. And, Constance went on, that didn’t mean he was above being disposed of. This one unsettled Vim a little more, though he made an effort to look impassive. Of course, Vim had been threatened before. But he hadn’t been stuck on an epic journey with anyone who was capable of - and willing to - take him out at any moment. He could handle some physical brutality, and from Constance’s reputation, he had already been expecting something like that. But, like everyone Vim had met, Vim didn’t take the idea of dying too lightly. As many ways as he’d seen people trying to come to terms with death, in the end it was still fear that led them to seek that inner peace. Vim didn’t pretend to think he could conquer the idea of death, but he wanted to be able to say he understood life before it came to an end. Would Constance really kill him if he felt like it? Yes. Vim had no question about that. Yes he would, and for him it would be like swatting a mosquito.

Good current standing. Alright, that was one thing Vim had going for him. “Thank you very much, Sir Constance,” he replied, trying to still himself so he didn’t look nervous. “It certainly means a lot to know I have your respect. After all, you are Sir Constance. I know I’ve done little to earn your respect, but I hope I can change that soon. For what it’s worth, you have my full respect as well.” Did that mean anything to a man like Constance? It didn’t seem like it would, but every little thing would help when speaking to this man. “And I’m honored to have been chosen to join you on this quest.” He didn’t glance at the old man, who was leaning back in his chair and seemed quite bored with this conversation. Vim was focused on Constance, who he would treat for now as if he had invited Vim to join him on a quest that was really his. At that moment, the barmaid arrived with the old man’s drink. Vim quickly swept his money back into his pocket, less out of concern for the actual money and more because he was sure Constance would lose it if the old man tried to tip the barmaid with one of Vim’s coins again. He had enough money here that, if he wanted to, he could just get whatever he needed for the adventure here. He could stay at an inn, wait for Constance to return - for he’d certainly want to boast about his new quest to everyone around - and they could head out without Vim having to go home at all. If it was a bit selfish of him to leave without telling his brother, well, Vim wasn’t thinking about that.

“Glad to see you two getting along,” the old man chuckled, and he tilted his head back to chug his mead. Once he had finished and let out a satisfied “ahhh,” he said to them, “Now boys, try not to fight, alright? From here I think you two can figure out what to do. You’re smart lads, no mollycoddling required. Go on and tell your friends-” he paused, looking at them “-acquaintances what you’re up to. Just remember not to tell the wrong people.” He looked behind him at a large party of people who were laughing riotously. “And try and have some fun, won’t you? You’re in a tavern! You’re stiffer than taxidermy stick bugs.” Behind them, they could hear the party begin a toast. “To the Heroes!” one of the men said, and the old man smiled. “And the heroes who are going to find them!” said a woman. Some people might have thought it was good luck, but it was obvious the woman wasn’t referring to Constance and Vim. The man next to her quickly shushed her, glancing at Constance, and the woman nursed her drink. The other hit their mugs together and drank, and the old man rose. “That’s me out of the picture, then,” he said. “Enjoy your little adventure, boys.” With that, he turned and left.

There was a level of appeasement he held for Vim's response. There was no pathetic stammering, nor any distasteful fawning. While he wouldn't show it, his ego was stroked as well. It's true, you've done little to truly deserve it, but I will enjoy seeing you work for it. Someone of Constance's reputation, there was enough to go off of for most to be able to judge and weigh just how much his respect was worth. For Vim though, while some would say it's the thought that counts, Constance knew better than to go off on a whim and assume a man's respect was worth anything. Even if he wanted to believe Vim's offer was something to be grateful for, it was against his nature to be quick to accept any sort of offering. Honored to join him? Nobody would consider themselves 'honored' to even be in the same room as him, he knew that much. Maybe some would considers themselves lucky and be thankful Constance's wrath wasn't focused on them, but even his admirers were visibly on edge and would tread lightly around him. To say he didn't pleasure being feared would be a blatant lie, but he did not intentionally seek it, it just happened. 'Whatever it takes' he had pledged, and he meant it. How he was viewed for fulfilling his oath was no concern of his, loved or hated, it would be done.

"Mhm." Was all he decided to respond with in a neutral tone. It communicated that Constance wasn't overly flattered by his words, but that he wasn't necessarily dismayed by them either. Plus, he's found the fewer the words he uses, the more people's gears turn in their heads. Wondering whether he was contemplating malicious thoughts, or if just maybe they had crossed into his good side. It was always amusing for him to watch people visibly rack their minds for understanding on what his simple responses meant, maybe Vim would entertain him the same way.
Watching as Vim put his coins back into his pocket, he was almost disappointed. Pushing it aside as his attention focused back onto the old man, he gave an amused huff at the word friend. Constance had no such thing, subordinates and the court he answered to were as close as he got to any kind of relationship with anyone. Strictly business were all of his affairs, a friend would require time and attention he didn't feel like giving. People are so needy. Surely if he even ever tried to make a close bond with someone, the other person would have their own selfish motive for wanting to be close to him. To catch him off guard, to think he would be compelled to offer mercy, or anything to aid in his downfall was what someone would pursue. Paranoid? Not in the slightest, more like looking out for his own self-preservation, a basic humanistic instinct most people could respect. Maybe even if he did find anyone worth keeping close, not them, or anybody else for that matter would he bother telling where he was going. There was no need to boast anyway, people would completely disregard his mission and instead pray to whoever they believed in that he didn't return. Fun? You wouldn't like to see how I indulge in fun. Nobody liked watching the light in his eyes glow as another's was snuffed. It wasn't just death that excited him however, he had more normal enjoyments as well, such as whittling. Though, there were always dark and twisted meanings behind the objects of wood he would craft in his free time. Owls were something he was particularly obsessed with, like him, the winged avian beings represented the cunning intelligence of a predator and the watchful eyes of the observant.

As a true predator locking onto its prey, Constance's eyes were quick to fixate on the woman. Those who were sent off were not worthy to be considered heroes themselves, that title was reserved for the Heroes. The man beside her was right to fear his presence as he shushed the woman, but it was too late, the damage had been done. While of course everyone would assume he would casually rise from his seat, slit her throat, and carry on with his day, he couldn't quite do that. Killing without cause was against the law, the law he swore to uphold. You see? These laws work in the peoples favor, why must it take someone like me to remind you of such a thing? While he couldn't blatantly kill her, that didn't mean he wasn't going to enjoy making her, and those surrounding, uncomfortable. Disregarding the leave of the old man, he took a moment before he rose from his seat. From the looks of it, people who began to watch him expected him to proceed forward, where exactly they didn't seem sure of, but he didn't. Instead, he took his chair and faced it in the direction of the woman, and again sat. With his fingers still tapping the hilt, he waited with his small smirk for her to notice she had fully captured his attention, and when she did make the mistake of meeting his gaze, the game was on. You pissed me off, and now I have to ruin what should have been an enjoyable outing for you. Constance knew very well this was as far as he was going to go action wise, but they didn't, and it showed. Turning his head to Vim, he began to converse in a tone of indifference, truly as if nothing had just happened.

"Have you a preferred method of travel? It would greatly displeasure me to board a boat with someone who couldn't stomach the churning sea... should we decide to acquire a boat that is," taking a small pause, he decided it would be the respectful thing to offer him a chance to wish anyone he needed to farewell, "As well, should you have anybody of importance who may miss your presence, you best bid them a goodbye sooner rather than later."

As much as Constance highly preferred to be in constant command, and quite frankly has become beyond accustomed to it, even he knew decisions would need to go both ways. It would be very wrong to assume he actually cared for what Vim's preferences, but Vim had accepted his invitation of respect, and Constance would reward him for that. Going on a quest, especially of this magnitude, excited him in ways he never thought he would be. Never has he even gone beyond the reaches of the kingdom - well, just to the ruined shrine - but that was it. Being prepared for many different outcomes was something he could usually break down in seconds, but he really had no clue what to expect from this journey, and that alone thrilled him. Not nearly as much as finding the Heroes, but enough to almost bring a sincere smile to his face. Something he hasn't warn so truly for years.