A time of peace in Deilia after a decade in turmoil and conflict. With most of the countries and city states changed for the better and the greatest threat the world defeated, places like Gwangju were finally a place someone would be proud to call home. It almost seemed like a decade since that fateful day the heroes felled the dragon and in doing so defeated the cult that had followed and the loss of their dear friend who had brought them all together. Consumed with sorrow, they disbanded leaving the world without its stalwart protectors and to its fate should another threat arise and arise it did. Three days had passed after the heroes unexpected and unwarranted encounter with an old enemy masquerading as a storyteller. What the goal was of getting the heroes to talk about themselves is unknown and perhaps better left that way, yet the inquiry had been raised. Was it really the adversary they thought long since defeated, could it be a pseudo group posing as them. Whatever it was, it did not bode well for our heroes, who can say what they were up to, what they were trying to accomplish.

What mattered was that the heroes dealt with it now before they became a threat. A message was sent out to everyone about the recent events insisting that they meet up. A task easier said than done with the heroes scattered throughout the lands, not to mention wounds of the past and many more still fresh in their minds.

(Nagaya village, Nagahoro, one day after the reporter incident)

Shiri was awoken from her uncomfortable slumber by the rustling of curtains and the sensation of sunlight shining through her eyelids. She didn’t want to open her eyes, but she recognised her sister’s elegant footsteps as they moved about the room. She had fallen asleep on Jun’s couch, then. That was good; she had woken up in worse places after drinking too much. Her head hurt though, as it often did in the morning. “Huh,” she hummed just to let her sister know that she was awake.

By the sound of it, Jun approached to loom over her supine form. “Shiri, we need to talk. You can’t keep living like this.”

“Why not?” she groaned without any thought or intent behind her words. She really did not want to have this conversation right now.

“One, because you’re better than this.” Her voice was soft and calm as always, but with that stern edge she didn’t often use. “Renowned heroes shouldn’t go around drinking themselves into a stupor.”

Shiri wanted to roll over, away from the sunlight, but it seemed like so much effort that she just suffered through it. “If I’m such a hero, surely I can do whatever I want.”

“Two,” Jun continued undeterred. “Because I’m sick of picking up after you. I have my own family to care for. I shouldn’t have to worry about my bum of a sister too.”

Damn, she was right on that one. When did she become such a burden, anyways? It seemed like only a week ago since she first crashed drunkenly on her sister’s couch, but she knew that wasn’t right. It felt so inconsequential back then. Just let me not worry about anything for one evening, then I’ll be all good the next morning. Of course, she thought the same thing last time she lapsed into a period of squalor, but somehow she was confident that it would be different this time. So much for that.

Before she could sort her thoughts, Jun roughly poked her in the breast. “Ow,” Shiri groaned listlessly as her body jerked into motion. “What was that for?”

“Just making sure you didn’t pass out while I was speaking. At least get up and take a bath, you look terrible. We can worry about the next step after that.”

“Fine, fine. Let me just… dull my headache first.” She blindly reached over to where she had left her half-empty bottle of rice wine, but found nothing there.

Jun sighed softly. “I took your wine away. Don’t bother searching for it, it’s gone.”

“You bi-” she blurted out, but sharply stopped herself from insulting her sister. She took a deep breath, then cleared her throat. “Thank you. For taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome. Now thank me with your actions, that’s what matters. Besides, how did you get that blood splatter on your dress? Do I want to know?”

Blood splatter? Oh, right. Did that really happen or was that a dream? It didn’t seem real, but she had no other explanation for the blood. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, it’s going to be a pain to wash out. But I’ll try if you toss it with the other laundry.”

With her eyes still closed, Shiri rose stiffly into a sitting position. That made her head hurt even more. “You’re too nice to me, sis.”

“You were always bad at laundry, is all.” Her unseen hand wiped the loose strands of hair from Shiri’s face and tucked them behind her ear. “Now go do what you need to do. And I won’t be this nice if I see you drinking again, understand?”

“I won’t,” she sighed, unsure of whether she was lying. Despite her discomfort, she pried open her eyes just in time to see Jun leaving the room. Or rather, to glimpse the black blob of her hair and the white blob of her dress, as her eyes were still wet and blurry. She had a long and uncomfortable day ahead of her. But perhaps this might be just the start she needed to kick her drinking habit for good. Not likely, she thought, but maybe. Hopefully.

It had been some time since Abraham visited Casperus. It wasn't as if he disliked the country - how could he, when it was where everything began? Some of his companions seemed to have a genuine distaste for the city after the incident, for various reasons of their own. Abraham, meanwhile, simply had no reason to revisit the area. But now he did, and he hoped that his companions had gotten over their aversion to what was once their home city, because he would need their help.

He wouldn't be going directly to Bradena right now though, he had to somewhere else to check first.

The half-orc trudged down the streets of a certain city. His green travelling cloak was covered in dust and mud, and his clothes told a similar story. In his hand he held an apple, which he was taking small bites out of while he walked. He had travelled relentlessly for 3 days, only taking the minimum amount of rest. Time was precious, and only the gods knew how much the cult had grown in the past years. Abraham didn't know how behind they all were. Fortunately for him, one of his ex-companions lived closer to the nomadic lands, one who he was sure was clever enough to see the signs for what they were.

Abraham stopped in front of a particular building. A plaque on the front proudly described its occupant. This was Alice Windhorn's agency. The half-orc looked up at the large building pensively. It had been years since he had visited anyone from the glorious band of heroes. A distance of years had been crossed in 3 days. It made him feel... Well, it made him feel a bit foolish. There wasn't much he wanted to say to anyone, but he at least wanted to know how they were doing. Had it always been so easy?

Abraham knocked on the door loudly. He was usually unemotional, but he was rather looking forward to his first reunion.
@Imbion

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The village of Ilmar had always had a mage. For as long as anyone could remember, wizards had made their home in the narrow stone tower that stood atop the granite bluffs that overlooked the village and the lake from which derived its name. In times past these were venerable figures, retiring senior scholars from the schools of Bradena, seeking the peace and quiet of the countryside as they went about their research in mysteries of the arcane.

The previous mage had certainly been such a man, a grandfatherly gentleman, who had sported a long white beard which he had liked to stroke thoughtfully while he considered his pontifications. It had come as something of a shock to the residents of Ilmar when he had been killed unexpectedly whilst away in Trai Spia. But before long a new Mage of Ilmar had taken up residence there, a former apprentice of the previous wizard and a greatly renowned hero no less, who had helped destroy the terrible Eldritch Dragon.

His name was Eskel Rindarium.

At first the stranger was given a hero's welcome to the humble rural town. But rather soon, the relationship between Ilmar and its mage began to sour. He was not the sort of genial elder that they had become accustomed to. The young mage was of a moody disposition, openly expressing his derision and distain towards the town and its residents. On his rare appearances in public there, his one good eye had a wildness to it that many took as a sign of madness.

The people of Ilmar learned quickly to stay away from the mage and his tower, yet kept a watchful eye on the tower atop the dark granite bluffs. That morning, more folk than usual would cast their gaze up and mutter a prayer to protect them from evil. For it seemed the mage had been most busy these last few days, judging by the amount of strange lights and eerie phenomena that had been noticed in the village below.

They shuddered to think of what exactly the Mad Mage was doing up there, and what dreadful spells he could be casting.



"Fucking useless piece of shit!" Eskel shouted as he hurled another crystal ball into the wall of his study. It shattered against the stone with a deafening crash and broke into hundred jagged pieces. His attempts at scrying had got him nowhere, the auguries had been to vague, the tangled threads of truth and fate to difficult to unweave.

It had been the exact same with the silver basin he had tried beforehand, the knucklebones he had thrown as well. Eskel was running out of methods of divination to attempt, unless he wanted to down into the village and find a sheep to slaughter so he could read it entrails. That would give them something to gossip about.

The point of a planar banishment was to make it impossible for being to be able to interact with world it had been driven from. But a spell the likes of which he had devised for the destruction and sealing of the Eldritch Dragon had its side effects. Totally removing something from one plane of existence would prevent it from appearing in forms of remote viewing like he had been attempting all night.

Or... some other force was preventing him from observing their vanquished foe.

Or maybe the dragon really was dead and hence there was nothing for his spell on latch onto across all the planes.

Or maybe there was some other possibility to he could not yet conceive of because he hadn't slept properly in gods knows how long, and his head was aching worse than wounds on his arm.

Eskel turned back to his desk and took a sip from a steaming cup of a magical infusion he had whipped up from the herbs in his store cupboards. It contained potent magical enhancers, some mild stimulants, a little something for the pain, and couple of other things that he couldn't recall what they did exactly but had seemed like a good idea at time. Anything to keep him upright and keep him casting spells. He swallowed with a grimace, it tasted bitter.

He had spent the first night frantically repairing the wards and around his tower and laying some additional ones just to be sure. The second he had tried every method he could think of finding out if the Eldritch Dragon was still alive and escape the binding spells they had placed upon it. But nothing had worked, as much as he loathed to admit it, divination was not Eskel's strongest area of expertise.

He needed sleep. He needed rest. He needed help.

Blast.

Eskel sighed theatrically to the empty room.

He was going to have to ask them for help.



A flash of light exploded in the portal hall of the Mage Guild Association of Bradena. The clerks and assistants at the table looked up from their paperwork, the coming and going of mages was not an unusual occurrence, but there had been no scheduled arrivals for that day.

From out of the violet light and smoke strode a figure dressed head to toe in black robes, strands of dark hair shot through with grey hung over his gaunt face. A pale scar running down through one blinded eye. He briskly made his way out of the portal hall without evening pausing to give the clerks a look.

As he made his way through the corridors of Guildhall, a ripple of whispers followed him in his wake. Eventually they made their way to the chief secretary of the Guild Association, who frantically scurried their way down to the entry hall to catch him just he was about to leave.

"Arch-Mage Rindarium!" The chief secretary cried out, panting from the effort of their hurried journey to catch up with the Mage of Ilmar.

"Ah, good to see someone still recognises me around here." Eskel replied with a stony face. They were wasting his time. He had more important things to do than deal with Guild bureaucrats.

"Arch-Mage Rindarium! The council requested your presence months ago, we have been receiving concerning reports about the nature of your research at Ilmar and will be conducting a formal investigation should you not immediat-" Eskel stopped them with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, yes, yes, I am aware of the posturing your council of so-called 'Arch-Mages' are attempting to make. But I don't have time for this. I need to see Naivara Amakiir at once, the fate of the world is at stake."

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^{Characters mentioned in this post: @Abstract Proxy}

Alice Windhorn | Tagged: Abraham @Spin the Wheel
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Alice was walking to their desk, holding a small stack of letters that they had just recently received. Their assistant, the high elf Elri, was sitting to another desk to the side, parsing over some recent news article. Her golden skin was somewhat dull, and her black hair was stuffed in a messy bun.

As they are about to place the letters on the desk, Alice jumps a little bit. There's a knock on their door - something that loud implies that either the knocker has something important to discuss or simply thinks they have some urgent matter to speak of.

Alice lets out a sigh, before shifting over to Elri's desk. They place the letters on her desk, brushing their hair out of their face and adjusting their jacket.

"Sort these by category for me - I'll get it."

"Mmm... Thanks," she mumbles.

Alice smiles a little bit. It's hard to tell when she's being sarcastic. "Yeah, you're welcome."

After relegating Elri to letter sorting duty, Alice leaves the room, entering into the entrance room. The floor is made out of a worn red wood, with the walls being a slate gray. There's a lone couch placed near the windows, accompanied by a table. There's one door to the office and another to the common room, as well as a hallway that leads to the stairs and side storage room. The corners of the room are shadowy at this point in the morning.

They peek through the peep hole, in order to see if it's someone worthy of being let in - and it does appear to be! This is either a very good coincidence for their purposes, or about business. Cult related business. Alice smiles to themself before unlocking the door and throwing it open.

"Hello, Abraham." They dip their hands into their pockets, standing up straight.

"How are things?"

---

"Court Wizard!"

Naivara ignored the shouting.

She had learned quickly that if she attempted to answer every question. To soothe every trouble. To entertain every desperate visitor to her chambers then she would be unable to fulfill the true obligations of her office. Court Wizard was an old title and an ancient position. Magic and politics woven together in a tapestry of desire, greed, and status. She dined with nobles. She spoke familiarly with royalty. People trusted her. Many of them relied on her. There was power in politics. Power that sometimes seemed far greater than that of even the most powerful spells. She found it distasteful. She found it frustrating. To hold her tongue to avoid causing dangerous feelings of offense in the heart of some upstart princeling proposing yet another foolish scheme that would only lead to great bloodshed.

She found herself longing for simpler times. For long days spent reading arcane tomes by magelight in some darkened library with bookshelves reaching up to rafters. For her travels with a ragtag group of adventures that had become her well remembered companions. For her energetic conversations with Eskel about the nature of magic and the very planes of existence themselves. And for Octavia, poor Octavia, now only a story, a legend spoken about in lofty tones, but she had been a living being once...and her friend.

"Court Wizard! Please! I must speak with you!" came the shout, increasingly desperate, and this time accompanied with a loud knock. Naivara paused her writing. The spells that she had carved into the locking mechanism of the door meant that it would not open unless she released the small wisp of magic she had charged the bolt with when she entered the room. All of her servants knew this. They knew she did not like to be disturbed. Politics was a complicated profession. Delicate diplomatic matters required a gentle hand and carefully composed letters. The lord baron of Thornhold would have to wait for his letter. His conflict with the viscount of Maldorn, called the city of joy by many a learned traveler, would have to wait.

It was not yet a war. It was not yet even a true conflict. But she could see the rising tension. She could sense the danger. One slight could easily lead to another. One war could easily give rise to another. An endless cycle. There was no easy escape from violence...distant or immediate past ...it did not matter...they all paid for the violence their own violence and that of their ancestors. It was not her job to stop them. Her duties, in fact, often demanded quite the opposite. However, Naivara did what she could. She did what she had to do. She did what Octavia would have wanted her to do.

Folding her half written letter neatly into a nearby satchel, Naivara rose to her feet with a slow sigh as she straightened out her flowing dress. A decidedly impractical outfit she reflected, reflecting the obvious contempt for practicality espoused by the nobility. Cut from the finest silk dyed a deep blue that matched her enchanting palette, the floor length gown had been sewn by a collection of some of the finest dressmakers in Bradena. It had cost a small fortune, even before silver thread had been embroidered into the gown until ornamental bands of shimmering metal decorated the sleeve borders, neckline, and bottom half of the dress. The low V-neckline that ended just under her bust would have been scandalous indeed, had she not been wearing a round cut underdress beneath to avoid showing too much. Such details struck her as deeply unnecessary, bordering on painfully vain, but it was the style of fashion favored for some time now at court.

The aristocratic garb unmistakably reflected her position as Court Wizard. Naivara had changed. She had changed much since her time with Octavia and her gallant sellswords. Gone was the mousy wizard wrapped in simple robes, a gentle creature more fond of quiet places and arcane writings than the bustle of a great city or the scheming that endlessly flowed through the throne room. Naivara had learned. She had grown. She had adapted to her new station.

For all that lengthy dinners and formal social functions annoyed her, Naivara had come to believe that she could nurture change in the realms, true change, only if she continued to rise upwards. She couldn't stay the same. She couldn't bury herself in books and memories. It wasn't what Octavia would have wanted. It wasn't what she wanted. So she wore two rings forged by master craftsman, the dwarfs residing in the far away Grey Mountains, elaborate earrings, soft oaks of silver, and around her neck hung a matching necklace holding a sapphire jewel that seemed to dangle on impossibly thin leaves of silver that seemed to sway with the wind.

These were mere props, Naivara reminded herself. Tools she had to utilize. She had become an actress in the old elven tradition. And a dedicated student of the behavior and minds of those around her.

Still, she almost burst into laughter looking at herself in the full length mirror that stood in one corner of her chambers. Who would have believed it? Naivara Amakiir had turned into a proper lady after all. And it had taken several centuries less than her mother had angrily scolded her that it would take.

"Forgive me, I was wool gathering," Naivara lied, dispelling her spell with a wave of her hand. Her servant, a young half-elf woman named Orehl, burst into the room with a panicked look on her face. Deeply uncharacteristic, Naivara noted with some concern, Orehl was an old hand at their game. Her father had been a courtier. His father before him. His mother before him. She understood the waning and waxing of the court instinctively, as a bird unthinkingly understood the movements of the wind beneath its wings. She was not easily startled and she was not easily frightened. Naivara smiled, trying to ease her pacing handmaiden.

"It's the council! There's a problem! A big one! Eskel, Eskel Rindarium has returned to Bradena. He is at the guildhall of the Mage Guild Association."

Naivara raised an eyebrow quizzically, studying her servant,"Eskel has returned? That is most unlike him. I did not expect him to grace the council with his presence. Especially considering the nature of the summons they sent him. I had told them as much. Eskel is a man of many moods, but he does not suffer foolishness lightly."

"I am afraid your predictions held true, Court Wizard," Orehl replied, wringing her hands together in nervous habit that Naivara had counseled her to control. "He has refused to speak to the council. He...he said that he had no time for them and their pointless posturing...they did not take this news well."

Despite the fallout such blunt words were likely to create, Naivara could not help but laugh, "Ah, well, now that is certainly more like the Eskel I remember. But if he is not here to settle matters with the council, then what brings him to Bradena? He was never one to waste time on social calls."

"He has requested to speak with you, Court Wizard. He has demanded to speak to Naivara Amakiir."

"For what reason?" Naivara said, feeling a growing sense of dread as her suspicions began to take shape into an unwelcome deduction. Her encounter with the strange reporter, the cultist had not strayed far from her mind. She could sense danger. Anyone could have and should have knowing what she knew. They had not defeated every evil that inflicted the realms. Some followers of the eldritch dragon no doubt remained.

"He will not say, but he said that matter was grave, he claims that the realms whole are in danger. Furthermore, there is some concern regarding his presence in the city. I am told that the council has been arguing for several hours. They are angry, very angry. Alzzan Stormroot threatened to demolish the building entire if Eskel did not emerge to answer the council's charges."

"A most unwise choice."

"Indeed, Court Wizard, Melerina Whiteflame said as much. She convinced the council to pursue an alternative approach," bowing low, Orehl approached and handed Naivara a letter sealed with the emblem of the ancient arch-mage. Naivara opened it half-heartedly with a nearby letter knife, feeling a sudden weariness overtake her, as she stared at the letter, unwilling to read the words that would force her to act.

"My pardons, Court Wizard, my many pardons," Orehl began, her voice shifting to the formal patterns of the court, "The council tasks you, Naivara Amakiir, Arch-Mage and honorable servant of this kingdom, with resolving the current problems presented by the presence of the suspected necromancer known as Eskel Rindarium in the city of Bradena. With full faith in your abilities, the council suggests that you resolve this serious matter in accordance with your best judgments. This esteemed body of mages is eager to see peace speedily restored and the regular functions of the Mages Guild Association to once more continue uninterrupted."



"Captain," Naivara said, nodding at the knight resting lazily against a nearby wall. He was an unassuming man. Older than his forty years. Covered with scars and exotic ink patterns. A great mercenary once, Kavdahl, was a man with a tongue as sharp as the many blades he carried on his person. He was a cruel man. He was a man of more evils than Naivara preferred to remember. A necessary evil, some said, just the sort of man to lead the town guard, a man who knew both sides of the law in equal measure. And a man who did not shy from doing what was required to maintain the peace.

"Ah, a sight for sore eyes!" Kavdahl began, standing to his full height and raising his arms in false gratitude and benediction. "I told you boys, we would not be left out to dry. They send us no more mageling to deal with this mad spellcaster. No, no, the council sends us Naivara of the Hellish Rebuke, to burn this unwelcome menace out of our fair city."

"Kavdahl," Naivara said sweetly, her hands gesturing towards the docks, "Kindly leave before I show you why exactly I am called by those words you so cheerfully cast upon me. Your fine gold inlaid armor will do nothing against the flames of hell."

"I have seen hell, Court Wizard, many times, many times and more still," Kavdahl said with a broad smile, drawing even closer to Naivara, "All the demons and devils of hell itself would not accept me. Too kind they said. Too strong. And far too brave."

"A pity, I am sure you would have fit right in among such an esteemed company of horrors."

"I can only agree, however there is still more time to earn my place," Kavdahl replied, his mood brightening as he continued,"Respectful, as I assuredly am, of one as powerful as you, I am afraid, Court Wizard, that I cannot possibly leave. You see...the council desired for us to accompany you to ensure your safety. They expressed some concern regarding the threat that your old friend poses to not just our beautiful city, but to your very person."

"I do not need you to protect me, Kavdahl. Certainly not from Eskel. Have you forgotten who he is? Do you recall nothing of his service to the realms? Few have paid a price as heavy as Eskel. And fewer still so willingly."

"Spare me the lecture, Court Wizard," Kavdahl replied with a low, cruel laugh,"I've heard the rumors, same as you. I have read the reports, same as you. The council has informed me, same as you. Necromancy? Such magic is no trifling matter! Hero or villain, it matters not. Your friend is mad. Your friend commands unholy magic. Your friend is no longer your friend. And I have no interest in letting him run amok in my city because of your fondness for a walking shade."

"You judge him quite poorly, Kavdahl, and very unfairly," Naivara said, making no effort to hide the sadness in her voice, "And this is not your city, it never was. You will stay here. Your soldiers will stay here. Follow me and you will find yourself chained to the ground."

"Naivara, you do not give the-" Kavdahl began his voice rising with irritation.

The silence spell hit Kavdahl before he finished his sentence and Naivara shook her head slowly at him. Kavdahl shrugged, flashing a golden smile at her, gleaming teeth glistening with awful mirth. Naivara hated few men as much as she hated Kavdahl and the man knowing this, seemed to relish her hatred even more.

"Orehl."

"Yes, Court Wizard?"

"Let us not keep Eskel waiting any longer. There has been more than enough foolishness for one day."

"Of course, Court wizard."

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The great oak door of the Mage Guild Association opened slowly. Naivara stood for a moment, staring at the carved faces of respected mages, long passed, that started down at her. What would they have done? Naivara wondered. How would they have dealt with Eskel? She considered this solemnly and was left with precious few happy thoughts.

With Octavia dead, the party had fractured. The partings had been full of sorrow and bitter regret. Yet none had pained her so much as her last conversation with Eskel. They had parted ways poorly. They had almost come to blows.

She had been close with the other wizard. She had considered him a valued colleague. She still did. She still nursed a small hope that he had found some peace... that he had found a gentler purpose. She had considered him a close friend. He understood her. He understood magic. He understood the way that many looked at practitioners of the arcane. He had understood her sadness. He had understood how she felt. The pain of being tolerated when she was needed, but feared and hated when she was not.

They had shared such great hopes. They had shared such wonderful dreams for the future. He had smiled once. She had seen the way he had looked at Octavia. The change in his manners when she spoke to him. The look in his eyes and the stolen glances. She had felt his grief. Her feelings for Octavia, though love eternal, were not the same as his, but she understood nonetheless. She had her own regrets. She had her own sorrows. She had lost in her own way. She did not judge Eskel for these feelings of greif. She only saw him with the kind eyes of a friend. Or so she wished. She knew more. She knew better. She had a duty. She had responsibilities. She could not let affection blind her. She suspected that Eskel had fallen...and she feared that the only question that remained to answer was how far.

Flashes of their argument burned through her mind. Naivara shivered, feeling smoldering coals anger in her heart as she stepped forward.

He had called her a coward. He had demanded she help him. He had almost uttered the words. He had almost suggested they bring her back. She had shouted. She had raised her voice before he could explain his plan. She had stopped hi before he could detail his research. She did not want to hear. She could not. She could not accept it. If she knew his intentions to be true, then she knew she had to act.

Magic had destroyed a city. Magic had almost destroyed the world. There were rules that had to be respected. There were lines that were not meant to be crossed. She missed Octavia. She would have given anything to save her friend. But Eskel asked too much. Eskel, Eskel out of all people should have known better. He knew what he was asking of her. He alone knew the damnation that he wanted her to shoulder. The curses he wanted her to cheerfully speak. The evil that he wanted her to unleash to satisfy his own desperate need. She would have called it unforgivable. She might have have once, although no longer. But understanding changed little.

A familiar figure stood unmoving in the guildhall, just past the doors, shrouded in black robes and with the paleness of the grave upon him. Anguish filled the heart of the moon elf has she studied her friend. Any hope of quiet acceptance quickly faded as she saw only signs of bitter grief. Eskel looked haggard, a tapestry frayed at the edges and unraveling further still. Moving closer, Naivara stopped in front of Eskel, her silver staff clinking quietly against the elegant floor tiling.

Turquoise eyes shone with warm embers of uncontained and unhidden affection as she spoke,"Hello old friend. So here we are. You have worried quite a few people, but I am glad, so very glad to see you again. It has been far too long!"

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^{Characters mentioned in this post: Eskel Rindarium @Kassarock}

@Imbion

Abraham grunts.
"Could have been better." He said, taking another bite of his apple.
Could have been worse, went the unsaid statement. The half-orc ranger had not spent the intervening years idly, but it was a directionless effort. He had peformed an innumerable amount of small heroic deeds in the Nomadic Lands, and made significant contributions to the local branch of the adventurer's guild besides. But to what end? Abraham couldn't say. And none of that mattered right now, anyway.

The half-orc finished his meal, swallowing the core in one gulp. He was still hungry, but that was used to it. To live one's life in the Nomadic Lands was to live off of nature's bounty, and in lean years and bad lands, tribes often had no choice but to starve.

Hunger sharpened Abraham's senses, and allowed him to discover things beyond the range of mortal senses. Now that Alice's building was open to him he could finally find... the rosy smell of soap, and... It was very faint, but there was also the rotten stench of gore.
"I guess you've already met them." He didn't feel the need to say who he was talking about. "Have the others contacted you yet?"

Gideon Fairbright

How could he have missed this?

The cult of their old foe has slunk its way back into the shadows after their god was sealed away, but it wasn’t like it was completely defeated. Some members managed to escape after the final battle and even before that their reach had been wide and deep enough that they had never rooted out all of it. It would have been foolish to think they were all gone, and he hadn’t. Gideon had always anticipated that they would attempt a return someday and had used his position as the adventurers guildmaster to try and pre-empt just that; to keep a finger on the pulse of the nation, to be the first one to hear word of odd goings on and mysterious figures, to be able to send parties of adventurers to chase back the shadows when they emerged.

And yet, he hadn’t seen this coming.

A member of the cult had not only attacked him, but had done so in his very office, within his own guildhall; it was an embarrassment and he felt ashamed for letting his guard down so much. Who knows how much else he had missed? How much he hadn’t seen. How much ground had they made while he was looking in all the wrong places?

Rising from his chair, Gideon strode out of his office and onto the landing overlooking the guildhall. The sound of his booted feet was loud in his ears and the wooden board creaked under the weight of his armoured form; ever since the attack, he had taken to wearing his old gear wherever he went and his sword was no longer hanging on the wall like some useless decoration, but was now firmly attached to his hip. He descended the stairs and crossed the main floor of the hall towards the administrative offices, those present turning to watch as he passed as an awkward hush fell over the room.

It was impossible to keep quiet what had happened. The explosion that rocked the walls of his office was one thing, but even before that the intruder had not been quiet with his final words; people over overheard and as adventurers they knew what those words meant. The evil was returning, the legendary foe was not truly defeated, and they were looking to him for… reassurance? Guidance?

So far he had left them wanting.

As he entered the offices at the back of the first floor, the clerks and administrators who kept the place running did not stop and stare as others had. They were far too busy for that and wholly unimpressed by his status as a hero to be star struck besides; they were not adventurers, they were civilians and though he was technically their boss they would not interrupt their work just because he had entered a room.

“Have those letters I requested been sent out?”

They had been. Those with definite addresses and destinations had been carried out via courier as soon as they were written, sealed with the guilds emblem and sent with as much haste as possible. Those whose destinations were unknown or whose destinations were too treacherous for regular mail had been handed to adventuring parties heading that direction to deliver instead; they were bound to be slow, but they were also more likely to succeed, despite the delay.

“Good. What of the investigation of the intruder? And the reports I requested?”

A stack of parchments were pushed into his hands. Sadly, not as tall as he would have hoped; the investigation of the cultist’s belongings, what was left of them, hadn’t yielded much and further analysis with magic was taking its time. Meanwhile, the guilds records on anything related to cults, cultists or just people wearing robes was disappointingly sparse; in part because he had already aggressively pursued any such leads that he could have since taking up this position. Anything he hadn’t already exhausted was bound to be vague and unhelpful.

“Alright. Have you heard anything from…?”

No. None of his old companions had reached out to him yet. There had been no responses to his letters just yet. No words on whether or not they had been attacked as well, or if any of them were even still alive. Nothing.

Nothing at all.

“Very well. About your business.”

Gideon made the walk back out of the offices, back across the main hall and up the stairs, then back into his own office before closing the door behind him. He sat back at his deck, spread the stack of parchments out before him and got to work.

Oh, how Gideon missed the days where his problems were the kind he could swing a sword at.

It was a bright, sunny morning at the Heroes' Cemetery, but Crow didn't really match the day's overall atmosphere. Yes, they had put on an air of semi-cheerfulness, to avoid any questions the couple taking them to Bradena had, but the moment they had stepped into the cemetery, it felt as though all their emotions had gone numb. They still wanted to see Peter's grave before going to their final destination, however. With a heavy sigh, they managed to keep walking, saluting to each hero's, heroine's , and legend's grave as they passed them by.

Finally, they saw Peter's grave. It wasn't as highly decorated or given as many things as the other heroes who had fought, either the eldritch dragon or some earlier threat. Crow knew why, though; Peter, despite being as useful and competent as both Crow and the other heroes were, had always been seen as Crow's sidekick. Because he was the one who acted as Crow's voice, because he was the most wide-eyed and curious about life compared to the others, because he was small and usually perched on Crow's shoulder...even before Peter died, he was always seen as expendable, and his sacrifice and death didn't help matters.

Crow felt themselves clenching the paw that held the letter into a fist, only to take a long, slightly shaky breath and redirect their energy to walking over to Peter's grave, smoothing the slightly crumpled letter over until it almost looked brand new. They then folded the letter into two, took out a rock from one of their pockets, and placed the letter underneath Peter's gravestone before putting the rock on top of it, making sure the letter didn't fly away if there were any strong winds moving through the cemetery in the future.

After smiling at Peter's gravestone and trying to hold back tears, Crow started to head back to the carriage that was going to Bradena, but not before bowing in front of his grave.

The letter in particular was a picture Crow drew based on a memory they had when Peter was still sentient, and the both of them, as well as the rest of the accompanying heroes, hadn't defeated the eldritch dragon the first time yet. Despite that, it was also a memory of a simpler time, where Peter was holding up a masquerade mask much too big for his face, while perching on Crow's shoulder and cheering them up by doing silly voices and holding up the various masks. Crow in the picture, meanwhile, still had their mask-helmet on, and despite that, still looked like they could only barely stop themselves from pulling off the mask-helmet and laughing freely.

The words underneath the picture said:

"Hey, Crow here!

I still don't know where you are right now, but I decided to give you a gift; a snapshot of our friendship, when your soul was still inhabiting your automaton body and we grew so close, we were practically siblings.

...I miss you a lot, you know that? I wish I could be angry at you for doing this, but, as far as I know, you don't have a soul anymore, and I'm just a weirdo, grasping at nonexistent straws and still choosing the one that'll keep me in denial of your death, over and over again.

I...really hope that isn't the case.

But, anyway, if you still do have a soul, and you do still want to reunite with me, just know that your body is in Bradena, alright? Long story short, the dragon guy came back, and I have to team up with the others to find a way to seal him away/destroy him again.

...Maybe you have the right idea, not coming back. While I still want to help, a small part of me longs for rest. I have a feeling that that rest won't come anytime soon, however.

Goodbye, my friend. May we reunite whenever we both can, alright?"

Your Friend,

Crow

It had been a few days since the woman had arrived in Nagaya. She had been travelling for weeks after visiting her former sister in arms at her new place of business in Bradena. After catching up and reminiscing of the old days, being treated to her newest and most successful product and a pastry of her choosing. She was a bit taken aback by her offer of employment of establishment and to be honest, a bit tempted. She wasn't hurting for coin, being a former hero had it's perks after all, but in truth, much like her old comrade, she tired of all the fighting. She wanted more than just waiting for the blow that would cause her to lay her sword down for good, if she was to set it down, she wanted it to be her choice.

"No sister, all of this is yours, if I am to find my purpose, it must be by my own hand" she lifted her hand in protest as she spoke

Viv sighed at her comrade's stubborness "You always were a stubborn old goat Yadira, pride isn't gonna get you what you want you know"

"Oho, got me all figured out do you? And what is it exactly that you think I want?" The woman crossed her arms in amusement as she waited for an answer from her.

Viv leaned forward towards the woman "I know you well enough to know you don't want to be swinging that sword of yours well into your old age"

"You.....perhaps you are right, nevertheless I must find what I'm looking for on my own. I'll make you a deal, if I can't find what I'm looking for, I'll be back here willing and ready to work"

"Gods, your're stubborn.......fine, but I'll not be taking no for an answer next time. I hope you find what you're looking for"

She remembered the conversation all too well and hit resonated with her a little too much, yet for all the protesting she could have done and did do, Viv was right. She wanted a new life, or at least one that did not involve her ending up in an early grave. Truth be told, she had plans to leave the company after everything was all said and done, had they not disbanded, but finding a new lease on life was harder than she thought. She was reduced to taking odd jobs and travelling from place to place hoping to find something she could she could replace her current line of work. Maybe she would find it in this village.

"Na-Ga-ya, I could live to be a hundred years old and never learn to say these names properly."

She figured while she was here, she may as well see if there were any jobs she could do, or at the very least find a decent place to stay for the night. Navigating a town she had only been to a handful of times was hard enough, but this was a town she had never been to, of course there were many small towns she visited with her comrades. She did not plan to explore an entire city looking for a place to stay.

"You there, woman, I would like to find a place to stay, do you have any recommendations?"

(Nagaya village, Nagahoro, three days after the reporter incident)

Shiri balanced on one leg as she delivered a series of rapid kicks against the simple wooden training dummy she had constructed. The thing spun and rattled and creaked under her assault. It probably looked impressive to the untrained eyes of the nearby villagers, but she felt slow and sloppy. It had been too long since her last training session. On top of that, she had been stone sober for the past three days, making her feel hollow and jittery. At least this was better than doing it drunk.

While she practiced, she couldn’t help but think about the exploding reporter again. It really did happen, several people in town had seen the messy aftermath. But her memories of what exactly he said right before were hazy. If she remembered correctly, this could be a sign of serious trouble. But what was she going to do about it? Seek out her former companions far and wide to tell them about a cryptic threat she may have misheard in her drunken state? Besides, the one she could most easily locate was Gideon… She really didn’t want to show up with that topic of conversation after such a long period of silence. Thus, she remained indecisive.

When she felt like the training dummy was on its last legs, she channelled her white phoenix style into the final kick. Invisible gusts of wind snaked up her three other limbs, across her torso, then came together around a focussed thrust of her leg. When her foot struck the wood, a sharp explosion of air came with it, ripping the dummy out of the ground and scattering it in several pieces across the grassy field. Some children who had been watching from a distance cheered at the sight, which made her crack a smile. At least her skills were still good for something, she supposed.

While she gathered the largest chunks of dummy, to use as firewood later, someone called out to her. It was her brother Koto, a squat, brawny man deeply tanned from work in the fields. “There’s a letter for you,” he said as he approached.

“For me?” Not many outsiders knew that she lived here, so this was the first time in a long while that anything was sent to her specifically.

He held out the envelope. Made of parchment and sealed with wax, it clearly looked foreign. “It was delivered to the temple but addressed to you. It’s from your boyfriend.”

“My what?” She took the envelope and looked at the sender, which made her heart skip a beat. Gideon Fairbright. “Oh. Don’t call him that.”

He shrugged. “The courier said it was urgent.”

She had a bad feeling about this, but she forced herself to open it right away. Her Casperian was rusty, but the gist of the message was easy to understand, especially since she already suspected what it might say. She sighed, feeling drained of what little energy and optimism she had regained over the past days.

Koto raised his eyebrows expectantly. “What is it?”

“It’s trouble. That gory mess in the tavern was a herald of something worse, something to do with the cult. I… I should go dust off Kare Sachi.”

***

Shiri squatted down to pull the long wooden box from beneath her bed. With hands clumsy from hesitation, she undid the clasps and flipped it open, revealing her trusty silksword. It had a slender hilt wrapped in neatly interwoven strips of leather, a small circular crossguard, and a scabbard of polished dark wood. She grasped the hilt and gently unsheathed it a few inches. The rippled steel of the blade glimmered faintly in the sunlight shining through the windows. Steel of this quality wouldn’t rust as long as it was stored well, for which she was thankful. It was beautiful craftsmanship, too beautiful to keep in a box. She had considered hanging it on the wall, for decoration, but she didn’t like the feeling of having a lethal weapon within such easy reach. She was done with killing after all, or so she thought.

With a sigh, she pushed it back into the sheath and attached the scabbard to her belt. The weight of the sword at her hip was at least comfortably familiar. So then… what now? Say goodbye to her family and head to Gwangju on her own, hoping that someone there could teleport her to Bradena? She felt terribly ill at ease with all of this. In fact, the urge to get a drink was coming back in full force now. With a nice bottle of rice wine, she could forget all this discomfort for a while, and answering Gideon’s letter would be future Shiri’s problem. It was an appealing prospect, even knowing how awfully unproductive it was. But no, she had to head out. It was her responsibility to make sure this problem would be delt with.

***

The local woman with the long black hair and the white dress halted when Yadira addressed her. “Ah, of course,” she answered in Casperian, though with a thick accent. “We have a good inn at the centre of town. It has a rooster on the sign. You will know when you see it.” She gestured down the winding path that led deeper into the village. When she looked like she was about to speak again, she instead paused, pursing her lips while squinting up at Yadira. “I’m sorry, but uhm, do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

@Hyyde322

Alice Windhorn | Tagged: Abraham @Spin the Wheel
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Alice smirks a little bit at the mention of the "journalist."

"To be honest, it was kind of pathetic." They laugh to themself.

"Why tell us like this rather than getting the others by surprise? The only reason why you would do that sort of thing is out of fear. Unless, of course, they have different intentions..."

At the back of their head, they had a crawling feeling that this was some separate partly playing the part in order to grab their attention. That, or a trap to get them acting predictably. Perhaps they desire a personalized revenge, and so getting them involved is a vital requirement?

"Oh, and as for contact from the others? Well - the mail just came in today, you see. My assistant is currently sorting through it all, so we can -"

Elri pushes her way towards the door, pushing a letter towards Alice's hand. "I believe this is your hypothetical urgent letter."

Alice accepts the letter, putting it up to their face to read the sender. "Why yes, from Gideon. Congrats, we've found our contact. Just as I figured."

"... Yeah, yeah, from your old days of heroisim."

They purse their lips a little bit. "You sure you'll be able to hold down the fort yourself, if I say, hypothetically, had to go elsewhere for a bit?"

She giggles. "Come now, have faith, great hero."

"Do not worry, for I do."

Elri stares into the half orc's eyes for a moment, before bowing to the both of them. "I will return to my mail sorting affairs, then. Have fun with - whatever you people do, I guess."

She turns to walk back into the office.

Alice taps their fingers on the side of the doorway. They hope Elri doesn't come off as too apprehensive to him... They like her, though. She doesn't give them false platitudes. If anything, the sarcastic snark is a refreshing change of pace from the politeness and worship that they commonly get. A sign that they are being treated like an equal.

Alice turns themself back to Abraham, brushing their hair out of their face. "Well, why don't you come on in? We'll read the contents of the letter together, and figure out a plan from there."

"Hmm, know me? I should hope so, although going off of those stories you hear, I doubt you'd recognize me from one glance" The ones she had heard had never gotten her image right. The tales of her appearance she had heard that would leave her baffled for weeks, some of them weird, some of them just outright bizarre. A lot of them were humorous and a lot of them were just for the better word flattering.

"I've heard ones that depict me as a seven foot walking bull, and that's not even the worst one" The woman let out a chuckle, it had been a while since she shared a one sided laugh with anyone.

"I was never one to be the center of attention, but I am Yadira Bladesinger" She never cared for the fame her status brought her, especially when it came to jobs. If she could help it, she would usually keep it to herself.

@Quartz

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While he waited for them to bring Naivara to him, Eskel could not help but allow his thoughts to return to the past.

It was strange, it had been years since they had last spoken, but to Eskel it felt like yesterday. How could it not? He was reminded of it everyday, as he laboured alone at the task they should have all taken the burden of. This was not the first time he had asked Naivara for help, she had been perhaps the closest thing Eskel had ever had to a true friend in this world. They had worked together for years, he had thought that they were kindred spirits in their quest for greater knowledge, greater power, the very secrets of the universe. But after the final battle at Pherora, when Octavia fell, she had refused him in his time of greatest need.

Eskel's fist clenched at his side. He would never forgive her for that.

But it did not matter now. So what if the others all betrayed Octavia? So what if he was left by himself to work at a thankless task, despised by the world at large. The work progressed regardless. One day he would be ready. He would bring her back, even if it took the rest of his life. Damn the rest of them, damn the consequences. They owed it to Octavia.

The sound of the carved oak doors of the Guildhall opening broke his reverie. Eskel turned to face the new arrival, silhouetted in the light that streamed in from the outside. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw it was her. Navaira Amakiir, his old friend, face to face for the first time in years.

He hardly recognised her. She was dressed immaculately, in the finest silks dyed in the hues of deepest blue. The dress itself was a exquisite and bold piece of tailoring that complimented her elven complexion, as well as her tall and slender physique. Beyond the fabric itself, the dress was embroidered with a king's ransom of silver thread. It was strange, the Naivara he knew had been much more at home in plain unitarian robes or travelling garb.

It was at that moment Eskel realised how he must have appeared to her. Tired and dishevelled, several days growth of stubble on his unshaven cheeks, lank hair unwashed for even longer. The dreadful unfamiliar scar he had acquired in the final battle against the Eldritch Dragon, one that he now considered just part of himself, vivid against his deathly pale skin.

He tried to summon a grin to show that despite the circumstances they found themselves in, it was genuinely a pleasure to see his old friend once more. But rather than reassuring, it came across stiff and forced, like the rictus grin of skull, permanently force to smile through its own demise.

"Naivara, you look well. Politics agrees with you."

As much as he hated to say it, it was true. Naivara was thriving... and he was... he was...

"Oh and of course I trouble the so-called 'Arch-Mages' of the Guild Association." He drew a pair of quotation marks in the pair with his fingers as he spoke. "I'm more powerful than most of them put together, and that frightens them. They don't like things they cannot control. You're the same, powerful I mean, it's why they sent you instead of daring to show their own faces."

For once in his life, Eskel wished he could simply talk banal pleasantries with his old friend. That they could just complain about the career politicians and bureaucrats that inhabited the upper ranks of the leadership of the Mage Guilds and Magic Schools of Bradena. That they didn't have anything else to do. That fate was not bearing down on them like avalanche once more. That the weight of their collective grief and tragedy did not exist.

But that was fantasy. The past was the past, and the future could not be denied.

"Look Naivara, I didn't come all this way to talk Guild politics. Truth is, I had a most distrubing visitor recently... and I didn't... I didn't know who else I could turn to."

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_{Characters mentioned in this post: Naivara Amakiir @Abstract Proxy}

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Naivara nodded, letting her courtly mask slip, and letting carefully contained concern show over her ethereal features.

"Perhaps it would not surprise you to hear that I had a most disconcerting visitor of my own? Audacious indeed, to attack a wizard within their own sanctuary, a fanatical act of self-destruction, although not completely unexpected. I do not doubt you saw to your wards as did I."

"I had wondered if I was the only one they had targeted..." The dark mage answered. "And yes, I saw to them. The next visitor to come calling to Ilmar will be in for an unpleasant surprise."

She sighed wearily,"We knew better, did we not, Eskel? What hope did we have in peace? What faith we did we have in jubilant royalty? What confidence did we place in indolent institutions? What trust did we still harbor in our hearts for the people of these realms?"

Naivara moved closer still, placing her right hand over Eskel's matching hand, squeezing gently,instinctively he pulled away."Such bitter thoughts I confess to you, old friend. This dream of politics, of great change, of great good, seems sometimes in the long hours of the night to have shifted slowly into a nightmare...But I remember much...I remember another dream."

"I remember an Eskel that could smile!" Naivara declared, leading Eskel towards a nearby set of chairs, but the grimace he wore upon his face only deepened."Come! Let us sit down, old friend. Let us face the facts. It is what she would have told us to do. We are faced with familiar cultists. We are faced with a familiar danger..."

"Don't tell me what she would have wanted." He snapped, refusing the chair that was offered to him. "We face familiar dangers, but everything else is changed. We are changed! For the worse! We barely survived the Eldritch Dragon the first time, and now, should we face it again, without Octavia!? I don't th-!"

He suddenly realized that he was shouting. The energy that animated the mage suddenly vanished. Leaving him as he was before. Tired, deflated, broken. He sighed, averting his eye from Naivara, his old friend.

"I'm sorry. I should not have come."

"Eskel Rindarium," Naivara almost shouted back, thumping the end of her staff upon the floor with a loud metallic echo,"Do not let bitterness divert you from useful intuition. You know that we must act! You can feel things shifting. It is unmistakable. I can sense it in the very laylines upon which we stand. So do not speak such words of resignation to me!"

Unfamiliar fire burned in the eyes of the moon elf as she spoke, her voice sharp ice, stern and full of tones far more foreboding than any she had commanded short years earlier,"Cowardice does not suit you, Eskel. And apathy, apathy least of all will serve us now."

"I am no coward, and I still care about this world. How could I not? Octavia gave her life for it. I just... I just know I can still make things right." The far away look in his remaining good eye returned as Eskel's mind drifted back to the work that awaited him back in his tower. The work that he had now dedicated his life to.

Behind cold will, grief and anguish flickered, and Naivara drew a slow breath, swallowing her sadness. Baleful flames of determination faded slowly as her voice returned to a softer timbre, full of renewed warmth, and unguarded kindness,"I had hoped to share more than sorrow with you. I am afraid I can do little to ease your pain. I am a poor friend...and yet I must ask still more of you, Eskel."

"We all have our scars. Mine are no worse than yours. I'm fine." Eskel spoke the lie absently. He had almost come to believe it himself sometimes.

Her free hand moved in measured gesture as she continued,"The spell we wove was not so weak as to unravel. Not now. Not so soon. Not without unwelcome interference. I see the hand of our nameless foe reaching from the shadows. We should see to our wards. We must proof our great work. The barrier may yet hold, but we must make certain of it."

"I haven't been idle these past few days. I have been trying to divine whether or not
that is the case, but the auguries have been muddled. That's part of the reason I came here. Together, I am sure we can get to the bottom of what state the barrier is in."

"However, we need not meet certain danger alone. I have received word from Gideon. It seems we were not the only ones targeted. It would be wise to seek out the others. They possess many talents that we lack. And we should not underestimate the value of their council."

"Gideon? Really?" Eskel could not keep the look of disdain off of his face. "No, no I should have expected it. Still playing the perfect hero eh? Already appointed himself leader of the getting the gang back together? Oh no no, he would only ever 'humbly accept' such a role."

Naivara was caught halfway between a frown and a smile listening to Eskel's angry comments concerning Gideon. Such angry comments concerning Gideon were nothing new. Naivara did not like them, but there was old fire in Eskel's voice when he spoke and that was something,"We need each other, Eskel. Gideon means well, he always did. Our path may not be to walk in the welcoming daylight, beheld with affection from the common people, but even in the darkness, even feared, you and I have our own roles to play."

"Well then let's play them. As you said, no point in moping around here. We have a world to save after all." A strange look passed over Eskel's face, something that could have almost been mistaken for a rueful smile, as he turned to the doors of the Guild Association and marched out into the city beyond.

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<sub>Collaborative Post with @Kassarock

Characters involved: Eskel Rindarium and Naivara Aamakiir</sub>

The woman’s eyes widened in recognition. “Bladesinger, yes, of course! My sister has told me about you. Oh, I’m sorry.” She folded her arms into the loose sleeves of her dress and bowed politely, as was common in Nagahoro. “My name is Yuyakori Jun. My sister is Yuyakori Shiri. You two were friends, yes? She lives in this village too, in case you want to see her.”

"You're Shiri's sister? Well I'll be hanged, she told us she still had family, I never imagined I'd run into you on the street, let alone in your home town." She placed her hands on her hips as she eyed the young woman up and down. She was the spitting image of her sister. "Oh, come on now, no need for the formalities." Taking notice of the woman's greeting and apology meant for someone who was offended, she waved her hand and waved off the gesture. "And of course! What kind of friend would I be if I didn't drop in and say hello. Gods, how long has it been, what's she up to these days? Fighting bandits, training disciples, and what have you?"

“Well, uhm…” The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with nervous fingers. “She has been struggling. The time she spent fighting the cult was very hard on her. But I shouldn’t talk behind her back. Our house is on the edge of the village, not far from here. I’ll show you the way.”

With Yadira’s approval, Jun led the way down the winding street that passed between the squat wooden houses. The nearby villagers threw some curious looks at the tall foreign woman, but otherwise went about their own business. Yadira followed the woman through the streets ignoring the looks she got from the people and keeping close on her tail. It was not the first she had been passed a glance. Her choice of attire and the paint on her face was enough to make anyone stare.

Soon they arrived at the outskirts of the town, where Jun gestured at a house much like the others. “My family lives here, but Shiri has been staying as a guest. We will see if she’s home.”

Before Jun could open the door, Shiri opened it from the other side, striding out in a hurry but stopping abruptly to avoid a collision. “Oh, sorry,” she reflexively said in Nagahoric at the sight of her sister. When her eyes landed on the warrior right behind, her mind ground to a halt for a moment. “Ya- Yadira?”

"Shiri! Gods above! It's good to see you!" The woman crossed the threshold of the house and clasped her friend's shoulders with a grin on her face big enough to rival a child in a sweets shop. "You look well. Your sister tells me you've been struggling?" She had seemed well enough, well at least as well as she remembered. "I can't imagine anything bothering you that much, but what do I know?" She patted Shiri's shoulder as she let out a slight chuckle.

Shiri blinked at her old friend. Her sober mind was too sluggish to be dealing with unexpected developments like this. "Oh, uhm, hey. You look good as well," she stammered. That part was true; there was something comforting about seeing Yadira looking as lively as always. She looked to Jun, wondering how much she had mentioned, but her sister's polite smile didn't betray much, as usual. "I… my situation is a bit complicated. But you, how did you get here? Did you get the letter too?"

"Well I had been seeking work among other things when I ran into your sister." Yadira had been on the road for months taking on odd jobs, almost like a mercenary. The difference between her and a mercenary was that with renowned status, she didn't have to revert to the criminal life she escaped from. The downside of always being mobile was being the last one to hear of anything. "I just so happened to be here by chance and, wait what letter?" She trailed off in thought about catching up her former comrade of her whereabouts and deeds, but the mention of a letter brought her to a halt. "I've not received anything, what's it about?"

“Ah, I should have figured.” The knowledge that Yadira had been out and about doing her usual heroics made Shiri feel self-conscious about her own lack of productivity, but it was also comforting to know that the rest of the world hadn’t collapsed along with her. “Thing is, I got a letter from Gideon. I’m sure he sent you one as well, but I guess you’re hard to find.” She fished the envelope from the inner pocket of her jacket and held it out. “I suggest you have a look for yourself.”

"Gideon?" She took the paper from Shiri and read it over. "Ha! Is that what he's worried over? Some imposters claiming to be our old enemy?" Of course her little conversation with the person she was all too convinced was an imposter. There was not even a chance she would consider the cult they had worked tirelessly to defeat would be back. "Gideon can't be serious, and even if, wait." She read the note again and stopped at something that struck her interest. "It says he had a run in with one who exploded in his face."

There was no way he could have had the same encounter, let alone the same event happen. "Shiri, did someone visit you and ask you about yourself?" She wasn't entirely sold on the notion that their old enemy had returned, but if her theory was correct, then everyone of her former comrades could have had the same experience. She would admit that something was not right, but for them to return, it was unthinkable.

Yadira’s question gave Shiri a sinking feeling. “Yes, and he also exploded, just like Gideon says. You’ve had the same experience then?” It was easy to speculate that it must have happened to more than just the two of them, and Yadira’s reaction seemed to confirm that. “I don’t know if our true enemy has returned, but this is definitely something we shouldn’t take lightly. I was just planning to travel to Bradena in search of the others.”

"Even you? How is this possible?" Yadira's look of disbelief said it all. Confusion, shock, frustration, anger. Yadira felt it all. If all of this was true then that would mean they found some way to break the seal. "But Eskel made sure they wouldn't come back." She was hoping to put her weapon down for good, she was hoping to find a new purpose in life. It looked like that would have to wait, yet for all of her zeal to combat an old enemy, she truly wished she would have been done. Calling it quits now would be to spit in her fallen comrade's face and forsake everything they fought for. She would be damned if the world ended because she chose to do nothing. "Let's go."

“Wait, hold on,” Jun interjected in Nagahoric, stepping in and grabbing Shiri’s sleeve. “You’re going out to fight, in your current state?”

Shiri sighed as she eyed her poor sister. She had already been preparing for this conversation. “Yes. I don’t like it but I have to do something about this,” she answered in the same language.

“But, Shiri…” Her voice cracked a little. “You’re going to come back even worse. If you come back at all."

Shiri gently pulled her sleeve from Jun's grasp. “I know. But our family won’t be safe if the cult is back. I'll shoulder this burden so the rest of you don't have to. That's always been my fate.”

Jun took a step back, looking dejected. She knew what it looked like when Shiri had made up her mind, so thankfully she didn’t seem inclined to arguing. “Fine, I understand.”

On a whim, Shiri stepped in and embraced her sister. It wasn’t a conventional thing to do in Nagahoro, but the Casperian culture had rubbed off on her. "Don't worry about me," she said softly. "Yadira will have my back."

Jun froze at first, then hesitantly embraced her sister in return. "I'll try not to worry. But I'll still pray for you."

The two of them shared a quiet moment before parting. Then Shiri stepped out the door with a determined sigh. “Yes, let’s go.”