"What do you mean you have no more information?" The Commander demands, nimbly leaping over a pile of dead branches.

The female office doesn't immediately answer and is possibly glaring at him, but Plamen can't really tell in this dim light and from this far. Plus, he must make sure that Vid doesn't lose his footing while they're running through the woods. That really takes a lot out of him.

"The man came with one foot sinking deep into his grave, related the knowledge and keeled over. What the hell was I supposed to do? Suddenly start practicing necromancy to bring him back to life so he can answer my questions?"

Plamen can't comprehend how she is able to talk back to the Commander so easily, but he keeps his mouth shut because they seem to know each other. Maybe she's his wife or something.

"Next time, make an effort to succeed," the Commander comments blandly.

"Brother dearest, it doesn't work that way," she bites out.

Ah, not a wife then. A sister. Maybe a cousin since in many families all the cousins address each other with brother/sister title.

They finally break through the wall of trees, rushing across a decorative field of grass near the grand gardens and toward the entrance into the Castle. Zlatan is the first to hit the doorway, entering inside, Yana glides in next and the brother-sister duo is just stepping over the threshold when a loud bird cry reverberates then echoes. It sounds close, too close in his opinion.

He turns to see a giant bird, possibly a falcon of some kind. Its tapered wings are massive and Plamen is pretty sure falcons have smaller bodies. It's not really far away as it rapidly gains on them, crying out once more.

"Watch out!" Yana yells from the doorway, her eyes wide as she watches.

Oh, shit. They won't make it. There are still a few dozen meters to go and they stopped to look around, losing the acceleration and shit. Change of plans. "Stay here, near me," Plamen whispers to Zima and Vid and doesn't look for confirmation. The abnormally large bird with peculiar interest to them isn't something to look away from, especially when it's diving toward them.

Fire erupts from his hand in a clear shot. The bird evades sliding to the side, and when ice needles follow, it just as easily dodges again. White tips on its wings flash as the bird is so close now.

Panicking, Plamen turns, shoving Zima and Vid to the ground, covering them with his body because the bird unfurls it's wings, changing its stance, and one can easily see large talons waiting to strike their prey. Better me than them.

He feels those same talons he saw carving into his back,  pain spreads with a violent ding throughout his body. A scream rips through his teeth and then... it fucking flies off with him in tow.

He feels himself hanging in the air, wind slapping at his skin. Eyelids open warily, only to see the grassy field moving away.

"Plamen!" Vid cries out from the distance, hand outstretched as if he could reach him. His terror-streaked face hammers itself into Plame's memory, and he knows he's in deep shit.

The bird tightens its hold, talons driving deeper into his flesh, making him grit his teeth in pain because it fucking hurts.

Ah, it seems the bird changed its course, flapping its wings and turning away and toward the hillside.

It doesn't take him far away, but far enough. They near the three Samonia Cliffs, overseeing the Castle Lela from the northwest, and then dive toward the middle one. One on which he sees people, two of them in fact.

The bird lets him go once they're near enough, sliding its talons out of his back. Pain is sharp, and he falls to the ground in a graceless heap of limbs, knocking the air out of his lungs. He feels the blood seeping into his shirt, the wet sensation uncomfortable even without the residual pain of open stab wounds.

"It really worked!" one voice says.

"Of course it did. Sokol is the best servant one can wish for," another voice replies.

Plamen raises his head to stare at them. They look to be about a decade older than him or so. Two men, one with long black hair raised into a high ponytail and sharp features, while the other's hair is the purest white Plamen's ever seen and has an androgynous appearance.

Plamen guesses that are the Vanguards.

The white-haired one hops in place, a deranged smile on his face. "I'm gonna go ahead," he says then looks at his comrade and points at Plamen with his finger. "Have fun with this one." He runs to the edge and jumps down the cliff. There's a soft tump a few seconds later and a sound of steps rushing away.

Plamen doesn't know what to think. The Vanguard didn't jump to his death, that much is obvious. But that much power and strength... To trust his legs to manage the impact after falling from fifteen meters of hight. Plamen would love to have that.

The other man is observing him calmly, eyes half-lidded, uninterested, though he eyes the Dragon King mark on Plamen's hand. The muscles of the man's arms are a thick, sculptured mass, something in which has been put a lot of effort. Not that the rest of his body isn't strong, but a sleeveless shirt clearly isn't there to be a fashion statement, but to strike fear into opponents.

"I'll give you a fair fight unlike Kljova," the remaining Vanguard says pointing after the white-haired man. "Not that you'll have any chance of winning."

Plamen makes it to his feet, all the while traping the moans and hisses behind his teeth. He's hunched a bit, shuffling his limbs until it resembles the stance of his favorite fighting style.

The man's lips twitch at the beginning of a smile, then he's not there anymore.

Where--

A kick to his back sends him reeling into the tightly packed soil. Yeah, right. A fair fight. And he goes for wounds. Not just that. He's quick. Too quick. How the hell am I supposed to fight him?

There's an explosion and a flash of light from the direction of the Castle, and Plamen sees a fire in the distance. That's it! Fire.

He has recovered enough energy for the Flame of Conquest, but the guy's too fast. This will be hard. He needs to get the Vanguard to approach him and grab him.

A fist is rushing to his face and he pivots, somehow evading, though, it scratches his left cheek, leaving a sting in its wake. Once he's distanced a bit, his hand flies to the place where the fist touched him just to find it's wet. Then he spies a metal ring on the guy's pinkie finger. Even better. He can make the Vanguard stand still for maybe a second once his plan's on the way.

He doesn't use it often. His ability to control the metals. Mostly because it is useless, and he can't seem to do it longer than a few moments. It's as if he reaches with a metaphorical hand to hold a metallic object. He can't even make small objects levitate, but he can hold them still and he needs only a second to burst into flames. It's as good as a plan can be, not foolproof but he'll take what he can get.

The man is watching him again, obviously not perceiving him as a threat which is good. Plamen needs everything to be in his favor.

Once more, he can't see it until the Vanguard is practically in his face. This time the punch lands sloppily on his cheek and he shakes the fog in his mind off. Another punch he manages to block and his forearm is on fire. Next, he rearranges so that he takes a kick with his arm and shoulder and it hurts.

The man isn't even trying. Kicking and punching with a straight face, his moves slower than Plamen bets they could be.

A chance comes after he thinks he wouldn't be able to take much more. His head pounds, his arms are on fire, one finger of his right hand broken, and his left knee is painfully bruised.

The man steps in to kick with his elbow, connecting with Plamen's forehead, but he's sound enough to grab the foiled arm, immobilizing it, though it seems like the guy is just going with it and leaves it like that. That's why when the punch comes from his left, Plamen is ready and catches the fist, barely.

The Vanguard realizes something's amiss and tries to free his arm and fist, but Plamen doesn't let him, digging deep into his magic, bringing it to the surface and seizes hold on the metallic property of the ring on the man's left hand.

Plamen's face is probably a mash of injuries but he grins through pain as he activates his flames.

A scream rips through the night and it is not his own.