Avec le départ des gardes et le portique «victime», le garçon et la jeune femme ont été laissés seuls sur la rue pavée, pas pire pour porter, bien que la femme une quantité considérable de pièce plus pauvre. Elle était une curiosité et les gens n'ont pas jeté autant de monnaie pour aider un étranger, même s'ils étaient un enfant... ou innocent, d'ailleurs. Alors que la maigre foule s'éclaircissait, l'excitation de l'altercation étant passée, Randall s'approcha d'un seul coup de main et d'un sourire sournois.
« Eh bien, ce n'est pas tous les jours que l'on peut profiter d'une telle défiance ouverte des bâtards avides. Je le jure, il s'est fait venter en ramassant les morceaux dispersés." Randall a ri, gardant une distance polie de la paire. Il a levé une paire de mains apologétiques. "Permets-moi de m'excuser pour l'intrusion, je suis simplement admirateur et ami dans une ville où les deux sont dans un approvisionnement extrêmement court." Il dit, s'occupant du sorcier et de son entourage, son front fronçant comme un froncement prit son visage. "Quelques conseils d'un homme qui pourrait aussi bien être ce garçon quand j'avais son âge, si vous les avez. Je ne sais pas si vous en avez marre de gens comme ça, nouveaux dans cette ville, ou ignorant à quel point c'est dangereux, mais ils ne laisseront probablement pas quelque chose comme ça glisser. L'humiliation, vous voyez. Légère comme une blessure infectée, donc je resterais profil bas jusqu'à ce que ce gros bâtard soit en colère sur quelqu'un d'autre. Aussi," il se retourna pour faire face à la femme. « C'est incroyablement dangereux d'être en train de clignoter de l'argent comme ça, surtout si c'est pour aider quelqu'un d'autre. Les gens ici égoutteront leur propre mère pour un pain. À moins que vous ne planifiiez d'éviter une ville qui semble être entièrement composée de ruelles suspectes, quelqu'un dans cette foule a pris note de cela et le mot va se répandre. Quelqu'un a probablement l'intention de voir ce que tu as d'autre sur toi, et honnêtement, je ne suis pas à l'aise avec l'idée de la première personne décente que j'ai vu depuis des mois être punie pour se foutre de quelqu'un que le monde a abandonné. Ah, mes excuses. C'est un homme de main." 
Randall sourit apologétiquement et offrit une main. "Le nom est Randall. Juste ça, rien de plus ou de plus. Ça empêche les gens comme ton ami de trouver où je suis quand je décide de l'abattre."
Randall (A Pseudonym) , real name Reeve Artimus 
Age: 20-something. He lost track of his birthdays years ago so doesn’t rightfully know how old he is.
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Appearance: Standing at an unimpressive 5’07”, Randall is none-the-less covered in strong, lean muscles he had earned from years of scaling the cityscape and surviving brawls in the streets. He has a few faint scars across his body; torso, legs, arms, and back that aren’t as impressive as the long pronounced scar going from his left ear down to his collarbone. All were painful, but informative, lessons in what not to do in a fight. He has a short reddish-brown beard, kept short by infrequent shavings, that continues uninterrupted up his sideburns and blends in with a short-cut black hairstyle with longer and greased back hair at the top, giving Randall and appearance reminiscent of a heron, especially when one considers his hawk-beak of a nose.
While his looks can be described as roguishly handsome, after a fashion, years of endured malnutrition and hardship show on his face in hard creases and distrustful eyes. Now, while undoubtedly more healthy and confident with a better diet. He is adorned with a well-worn thigh-length overcoat, covering a blue surcoat and grey button-up shirt beneath. His sleeves are concealed beneath a pair of hardened leather bracers, adorned with an aesthetically pleasing set of engravings. Black leather boots and trousers round out his attire, along with a waist belt where a numerous pouches are situated.
Theme Song:

Nature: Thrust into a life of hardship and just trying to survive day to day when he was only 13 years old, Randall spent the remainder of his teenage years on the street, blending into the city and observing its people to make ends meet. Shrewd and capable of remarkable violence when necessary, Randall will avoid fights where possible unless he is absolutely certain that course of action would be beneficial, preferring intimidation and guile over brutality. Seeing himself as slighted by society as a whole, Randall is resentful towards the nobles and lords, and thinks nothing of taking their belongings or stealing their food.
He isn’t heartless, however, and now he has established himself a steady network of contacts and found steady work doing illicit dealings for pay, including spying, Randall has not been hungry for some time and can afford to keep himself clothed and sheltered. He will often share his extra spoils with the needy, especially the urchins that live on the street. He wishes to see a more equal society where the poor are cared for and the rich didn’t sit on their endless wealth like dragons, but he is a realist and knows that some dreams won’t come true. For now, he is content to be a thorn in the side of the wealthy while he continues to search for the answers he desperately has sought for over a decade.
On a personal level, Randall can be charming and polite, and for those who earn his respect, you would be hard-pressed to find a more loyal friend. He has a soft spot for dogs and has a “pet” crow called Gruff that he befriended by sharing his meager rations with over the years. It often stays around, just out of reach, but sometimes will perch upon his shoulder. So far, he has been unsuccessful teaching the crow to repeat words, although Randall has discovered the bird will caw a word remarkably similar to the word “ass” when someone with an aggressive disposition draws near.
Backstory: Born to a wealthy family of siege engineers, Randall was born as Reeve Artimus and lived a life of relative comfort in the opulent city of Frel. His father and older brother, Trent and Maxwell respectively, had carried on the Artimus family tradition since before Randall was born. He only has vague memories of his mother, whom his father spoke of in pained and irreverent tones; Randall would later piece together that she had an affair with some textile merchant and left Trent and her sons behind as a condition of going to live with this merchant. Randall has only seldom wondered about her, deciding quickly that a real mother wouldn’t abandon her children for the promise of more wealth.
The family’s estate had numerous workers bringing in raw materials, working it into parts for elaborate siege equipment, and helping Trent and Maxwell build impressive rams, trebuchets, and other such weapons of war. Randall helped move light materials around, but he did not learn anything of value of the trade before the fated day where his father and brother would leave for the Dwarven Kingdoms to the North with the desire to commission new clients in the post-war world, leaving Randall behind to manage the estate.
It was an arrangement that would only last three weeks.
Knights and soldiers came in the night, torches held high, and without warning or mercy, stormed the estate and set fire to it, burning down the workshops, stables, worker housing, and the house itself. Randall had escaped, if only barely, by staying in the cover of darkness and running from the screams of men and horses burning alive. He had not made out a banner from the raiding party, but in the flickering flames, one had looked eerily similar to the old banner of King Antony. More discerningly, the raiders were not orcs and goblins, but men and dwarves. Something was amiss, and Randall fled into the forest, fearful of being discovered, but never seeing sign of the men who had destroyed his home. Not knowing what fate befell his father and brother, but suspecting it was connected to the raid, Randall set off with nothing but the clothing on his back, finding the road again and joining up with a merchant caravan headed to Joerva, who offered him clothing and food in exchange for having an extra sword hand.
After years of exile from his home, Randall, now using the familiar pseudonym, made ends meet by petty thievery, fighting in the streets with others as desperate as him for territory and spoils. Filthy, rejected, and very much angry at the world, Randall was determined not to roll over and die, and he took every scar as a hard-earned lesson, and soon, he was giving more than he was receiving. His fortunes had changed after securing a small paring knife from a butcher’s stall, which he used to cut purses and steal coin and gems from unaware passerby’s. Having some form of income, Randall was soon able to semi-regularly feed himself and bathe, and eventually afford new clothing. This new, cleaner Randall was able to approach people without arousing suspicion. This led to the most lucrative trade of all; information.
Randall was an excellent climber, and his hearing was second-to-none. Able to eavesdrop and tail people discretely, using the same skills he had used as a pickpocket and thief, Randall began to find dirt on rather important people and in the seedy taverns around Joerva, he had earned himself a reputation in the underground as a man who could get things no other could. His only restriction was he would not ply his skills against the poor; to do so would be akin to betraying family he knew all too well.
Upon his 17th birthday (not that he was aware this was the case; he had long since lost track of dates), Randall had made an interesting and at the time terrifying discovery. While up in the attic that had served as his base of operations for the past several months, several aggressive and unfamiliar voices came from below the floor, and he pieced together enough that they had figured out that he was taking refuge in the home. Unarmed and fearing for his life, Randall clutched his fist tightly and wished for more than anything to have a knife in his hand.
After a few tense moments, Randall grew panicked as he felt a creeping sensation like a wave of insects crawling down his wrists, and inside his fist, something solid emerged. He went to throw it away from him reflexively, but his grip was too tight; but the object caught his eye; a knife, not unlike the short dagger that he used to cut purses had formed in his hand, taking on a strangely ethereal and unreal quality, but being as solid as any blade he had wielded before. Fascinated and no longer as fearful of the goings on downstairs, Randall waited until the danger abated and he placed the dagger down, and to his surprise and fascination, it dissolved into the shadows, as if it was never there. Randall moved forward with a new purpose and power. It was hard to pin a crime on someone if they did not have the knife.
Deciding to leave Joerva for Joervo after his close-call with what he assumed were the authorities, Randall continued his trade there, building a secondary network and finding new clients who had need of his skills. He has remained there since, looking for information about his family’s fate. One day, while tailing a rather wealthy lady accompanying a count, a voice shook his consciousness, imploring him to return to Joerva. Started, Randall took a few moments to compose himself before feeling the draw of the call; he had encountered some rather strange things over his life, but this was the first time he had been telepathically hijacked. Knowing it better to find out what awaited him in Joerva than to ignore the summons, the man set course for the city he had fled for years, apprehensive of what he would find.
Goal(s): To find out the fate of his father and brother, to create a fairer society for the poor. Everything else is secondary to him, although he had yet to be approached with something of the magnitude of the summoning of the Elementos.
Inventory:
-Coin purse
-Fine leather gloves, used when thieving.
-A water flask
-A shaving razor
-A bag of seed for Gruff
-Assorted gems and riches, used mainly for bribes.
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