The castle walls were formidable, but for one hunter cloaked in green, the call of duty lead him to one particular barred window set low in the structure and leading to the dungeons underneath. Not to just any cell however, but the cell of an acquaintance of his; one who he knew to be innocent of the crimes they'd been blamed for. But, he couldn't get close, else the castle guard grow wary. He ducked backward toward the woods nearby and into the cover of the underbrush, nocked an arrow and let it fly. As it whistled through the air, the note in its charge fluttered in the wind. The arrow wedged itself between the window's bars, embedding its head in the space between the rocks of the wall. A mere few moments passed before a hand reached up to pry it from its spot. "I will prove your innocence," the note would be found to read. "I know just who to turn to. You are in good hands." Seconds later, the parchment and arrow were torn apart, thrown through the bars and swept away by the wind, no evidence left behind of their presence. The hunter was already gone, well on his way to the heart of town. He wore his bow 'round his shoulder to free up his hands, finally lowering his hood to reveal his short brown locks and golden eyes. He was rather short, himself--svelte and light on his feet--built perfectly for the stealth required of a hunter. Along the length of his leather quiver, etched in elegant characters was his name: Orwing. Where was he headed? To the town's port, where many a merchant had set up their stalls. He was looking for one very particular such peddler whose skills he would need to save the life of his prisoner friend. He'd heard of the magical armors sold at that stall, and knew the merchant had the skill to craft a relic with the power to prove his acquaintance's innocence. He only hoped he could be convincing enough to elicit the help, otherwise things would not be quite so cut and dry as he had lead the prisoner to believe. And that... would be a problem, indeed.