Dragoncrest Cliffs around here, it's just another saturday night.

As much as Artaax loved his siblings, he had been thoroughly rankled when Blixen had beaten him to achieving her mercenary skill before he had managed his. He might already have earned his hunter title, but that didn't mean he didn't have it in his head that he needed to be the first to all of his chosen trades. The boy was a fairly even-tempered, easy-going creature in many aspects, but not when it came to the massively high standards he held himself to. Blixen beating him was unacceptable. He was not about to let it happen again.

And so, the afternoon found the boy creeping along the Southern border of Drageda's claim. He'd been at it for a few hours now and was feeling a bit weary and a bit more hungry. Plus there was the strange itching across his back and up near his ears that was causing him to drop to his haunches every few minutes and scratch like crazy. After a while, it had become an almost scheduled event. The boy paused, sat to scratch himself and nibble at his flank furiously, then squatted to let a trickle of urine dowse the borders.

Standing from his latest stop, he shook his coat and took in a sigh. Hunger groaned loudly in his belly and his back leg ached from the walking and the scratching, but still he continued on his way. He'd show Blixen who was the better mercenary - discomfort be damned.