The ship that Nilda takes is relatively small. Nothing like the large decorated ones used for wartime. However, the flag still has the skeleton of a dragon, making the boat’s point of origin relatively clear. Messages between the Bog Burglar clan and Murderous clan seemed to be lost just as often as they were received, so Nilda can only hope that her arrival as an emissary is not as unexpected as Aria’s arrival to Murderous Island. However, if it is, that would make the two even.



As the boat docks, Nilda and the boat’s crew get all manner of looks. The first thing that strikes Nilda is the lack of cliffs and rocks. There is no giant cliff to climb to get to human settlements. She could see them from the docks. The flat terrain seems almost unnatural. The houses sitting by themselves instead of being carved into rocks look too exposed. The second thing is how everyone dressed. The Murderous Island heir stuck out. Fine clothes and jewelry seemed to be in fashion here. Not armor and bones of enemies nor clothes fashioned out of hides of dead animals. Nilda arrives in full hide armor from all manner of beast, decorated with bones and skulls. Dragon ribs line her sides and bone vertebrae follow her own spine. Zippleback skulls surrounded by black feathers are mounted on each shoulder. Her headdress is made from a Typhomerang skull.



She grimaces a little before asking, “Who will be my escort on these islands?”

"That would be me." Calls a voice from a nearby tree. A man in a long brown coat with a handsome if hawkish face closes the tome he had been reading while sitting in the tree, and after putting the book in the pocket of his coat he lifts his legs and hopes off the large branch that had been supporting him.

As he lands he drops to one knee and bows his head. "It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Rivers, I am currently assisting the Bog Burglars." He looks up at her with a rye smile and eyes that carried none of the deferential respect that he seemed to outwardly be showing. After a moment he gets to his feet and dusts off his coat.

"Well with that formality out of the way I suppose I should show you around a bit." He suggests, if the Nilda had been expecting a dependable or dangerous looking escort she would certainly be disappointed. Even with the coat Rivers was not particularly broad for a viking and his clean complexion and relaxed manner did not give the impression of a seasoned warrior.

"And what should I call you milady?" He asks curiously.

Nilda looks up to man in the tree that return her question. She notices the book, but not a title or name. “Thank you for meeting me at docks on my arrival.”

As he drops to one knee, Nilda raises an eyebrow, “Why are you bowing? I have yet to an inherit the chiefdom, so I am without a title. Being an heir is hardly an achievement. I was born. That was it.” It was the kind of reception that she would expect her father to get. She was young and did not have enough achievements to demand such reverence.

She gives one last look at the boat as he mentions showing her around.  A few of the men give her a nod as they prepare a return trip.  She would not be returning home from this foreign island anytime soon unfortunately. Gesturing in front of her, she says, “Lead the way. Nilda Ochoa is my full name. Nilda is suitable. However, if you prefer something more formal, some have called me Ms. Ochoa. It makes no difference to me.”

Her escort hardly looked noteworthy. Something about the situation had her uneasy.  The man didn't exactly exude honesty.  However, she was on an island full of thieves.  The last thing that she expected was honesty.  There was the possibility that this individual might rob her.  Then explaining to Aria why she killed a thief soon after arriving would be difficult.  “You said you are assisting the Bog Burglars. What clan are you from? Is Rivers your only name?”

Rivers notices that she did not pick up on his more subtle shows of disrespect and reappraises the situation. She seemed calmer than he expected and less formal. Well that was fine too. "Ahh~ if bowing was not the right thing to do you will have to forgive me, I am new to this land and am not familiar with the customs." He explains with a smile as he begins to walk down a nearby path. The girl seemed to be in shape and dangerous, he was glad he would not have to see first hand if she was as capable as she appeared.

"To be honest I am fairly new to this land as well, I have been doing some odd jobs and delivering messages for Aria until recently." He admits as he continues to walk on with his hands folded behind his head in a casual manner. He did not exude an air of menace or threat, but at the same time he did not seem to be worried despite having a stranger at his back.

"I will call you Nilda, Ochoa is kinda hard to say." He tells her, though despite his words he does not seem to have any trouble saying the words. As they walk he listens to her question of him and shrugs. "I do not know of what clan I am from, if any, I am neither a Bog Burglar, nor a Hairy Hooligan and from the sounds of it I am not of your clan either which makes me suspect I am likely not from the West." He says, though this was enough about him he looks over his shoulder at her.

"And what of you? Why have you come here, to this den of thieves and bandits?" He asks with grin.

Nilda shrugs, “I am unfamiliar with customs outside the Murderous clan. Which I am beginning to notice are quite different from the rest of the clans. Perhaps it is a custom to bow to those who are undeserving of it here. I would not know.” As they walk the path, she looks at the other people curiously. There were so many people here. Bowing all the time seemed like it would be tiring.

Nilda shakes her head, “And yet, you did not butcher the Ochoa name at all. It is the name of the family that has led the Murderous Clan since its founding, and I certainly hope that it is not a name that will die with me. You ought to get comfortable with saying it now. And you are right. You are not from my clan. I would have recognized you. I would be able to tell you your family name, its history, and all the important people born from that line and their respective tales. Our clan is small compared to,” she gestures around her, “all this. We would not forget if we lost one.”

Rivers’ grin is returned with a neutral expression. “If you do not know, then I take it our message has not been received. That makes Chief Garaile Ochoa and the Thief Queen even then. I am here because Chief Garaile Ochoa told me to act as emissary as our clans attempt to halt the ongoing dragon attacks in Peaceful County.” Nilda answers.

Catching his eye though, Nilda tries to figure how much to believe of what Rivers was saying. The man could very well be a Lava Lout, looking for slaves. They did have noteworthy coats and cloaks. However, there was no way to see whether the coat was flame resistant from where she was standing, and lighting the man on fire was probably a bad idea. On the other hand, if he did truly come to forget such information, then he was in a very sympathetic position. Losing knowledge of one’s family and lineage was like losing part of oneself. Perhaps, she should just ask. “Are you a Lava Lout? I will not tell others if you are, but I am curious.”

Rivers lets out a laugh as Nilda mentions that idea of bowing to those who are unworthy. "Hahaha, no I do not think that is a custom here, in fact I doubt bowing is something the Bogs do at all. There is a certain irreverence that the people I have met here seem to share." He explains still chuckling, he was honestly amused and the total lack of stoicism that warriors tended to have makes him come off as a childish or at the very least no hardened.

"Knowing the names and tales of your people is a good custom. I fancy myself a story teller so at some point perhaps you could share with me some stories about your ancestors, and yourself if you've done anything interesting enough to merit a tale." He suggests though when she mentions that the letter might not have been received Rivers shrugs. "I dunno one way or another, the little lady does not tell me much of anything." He says, his voice carrying no hint of respect for his employer.

He does perk up at the name Lava Lout and takes the book out of his pocket and shuffles through the pages. If Nilda takes a closer look she would find the book called "Clans and Lineages" he stops on a page and reads his brow knitting. "Well I cannot be sure as I do not really know my clan, but I certainly hope I was not a member of this group. Slave trade is something I am not a fan of, oppression leads to some great stories of uprising a triumph, but in the end it snuffs out a hundred possible tales in order to do it." He tells her though then he looks down at his coat curiously and strikes a match then attempts to light his coat on fire.

"hmmm, well it does seem flame resistant..." Rivers frowns, but if Nilda looks at his coat she would be able to tell it was obviously not made of dragon hide.

Nilda offers a small hint of a smile. “Family lines are important. It is in our blood and makes a portion of who we are. As for the stories, when Zepon takes us, only our memory stays. It is important to keep that. I am not a good storyteller, I am afraid. I just enjoy reading them. When I try to recite them, the stories lose much of their excitement.” Despite all the stories and poems that she had read, she had never learnt how to start one of her own. It was unfortunate, but she recognized that she lacked a talent for it.

As Rivers takes out his book, Nilda looks amused at Rivers’ reaction to the Lava Lout clan. “You think ill of the slavers, but make pleasant conversation with thieves and a murderer? Would it change your opinion of the Bog Burglars and the Murderous Tribe if I told you that we were allied with the Lava Louts? What morality do you follow as a clanless?” Morality was an interesting term and changed from clan to clan. For those who lie, cheat, and kill, there was no choice but to band together.

She moves in closer to get a better look at the coat as it fails to burn. Not dragonhide. There went that idea. “Rest assured, you are not a Lava Lout. While the coat failed to burn, which is strange, it is not made of dragonhide.  All Lava Louts suits and cloaks are made of dragonhide.” Looking him in the eyes, she says, “This makes you perhaps the most pitiable person that I have met. Now that we have determined that, where are are we going?”

"Stories and tales are an integral part of everyone who hears them. Lessons, knowledge, desires all of these are passed on through tales and inherited by those who hear them. Far more than the blood that runs through one's veins the tales that they hear growing up define who someone is far better. A parent simply gets to share the most stories with the child." He says, apparently somewhat callous and cavalier about the bonds of blood.

"Murder and and thievery are a means to survival. Selling people is a waste, I do not like pointless slaughter either, but that is another's choice, and every tale needs a villain as well a hero." He points out noticing for the first time how nice the coat he was wearing actually was. He hadn't really stopped to take stock of it, it was probably very important to him. "As for what morality do I follow? Who knows? I would say that I have a vagrant's morality, or that of a wanderer. Tying one down to a clan or a specific set of beliefs undermines the complexities of the whole system.

Though when she says he is pitiable he laughs. "Well I suppose my situation is not ideal, but I am alive, healthy, I have a means of support and a hobby. I would say I live a pretty good life as it were." He smiles wanly at her and it turns impish. "Pride, purpose and family are for heroes in stories, a bard has no need for any of them."

“Both blood and stories of them shape us, and neither are more important than the other. However, stories can change with time. You can not remove all the blood from your veins and take on another’s. You are still always your mother and father’s son as I am my mother and father’s daughter whether you deny them or forget them. It remains there and flows throughout you. And without it, we die. As integral as it is and as unchangeable as it is, can you really say that it is unimportant?” Nilda asks not really caring for an answer but enjoying waxing poetic.

She raises an eyebrow, “Pointless slaughter? All death has a point whether the storytellers know it or not. However, I am sure there are a fair share of stories that paint my tribe as villains.” They were not the most well-liked tribe out there, being seen only above the Outcasts by a small margin. They were what they were and did not regret it though.

She shakes her head as he laughs and continues. “You are basically saying a bard is not a person then. Made of nothing. Without a reason for existence. And always falling into the background. I suppose you cannot mourn what you never had though. You still haven’t mentioned where we are going by the way.”

Rivers smiles at her reply to his comments about blood and stories. "Well to each their own and what one believes is less important than whether that belief can support who they are." He tells as he he holds out his hand and suddenly a map appears within it as if by magic. "Hmmm, actually your question's a good one...looks like we passed it by a bit." He admits scratching the back of his head with a carefree smile.

He turns around and begins walking towards the village, the map was drawn by Rivers but had a pretty exhaustive detail on the island, this had turned into a bit of a hobby for him. "Well sorry about that, I am actually pretty new to this island myself. I am taking you to the Great Hall, I figure Boss'll be there around now." He explains, though then he decides to respond to his comments. "Ahh~ you got me on semantics excellent, well tis true everything has a point, but I suppose I should say that I disapprove of the killing that makes me feel it is wrong and unjustified. There is no need to define what it is specifically for one cannot catalog every iteration or how they will react." He replies with a shrug though then he turns to her with a serious expression on his face. "I listen to many stories, but I do not believe all, I know better than most how changing one's point of view can turn villains to heroes and heroes to petty fiends."

Then with a flourish he continues down the trail. As she mentions a bard not being a person he laughs. "Just as there is more to a tale then one point of view there is more to a man than purpose and pride. Though I suppose you could say that all true bards share a purpose, the carry the stories of those who earned a place in history and to give others the desire to strive for a place of their own. A bard may never truly take center stage, but what good is an actor if there is no show?"