The Darkened Path, Part Two: When Blood Runs Cold

Out of Character:

All bunnies approved.

The soles of Christopher’s black leather shoes crunched briskly along the frozen gravel road. Dark clouds rolled across the sky like a stampede of demons, driven forward by the icy Salvic winds. Chris knew that a layer of snow would soon blanket the fields of golden grass and pine-covered hills. After that, the blizzards would start to sweet the countryside, burying everything in their path with a vindictive glee. Such was Salvar; such was his home.

And he was home. Finally, after over a year of travel and dangerous, unwanted adventures, the weary chef’s hometown of Kirisk came into view. Soon, he could kick back, relax, and just while away his time in the kitchen or with an open book on his lap. Maybe he would work on learning some new, harder spells from his books that he’d hidden in his room. That is, if he had any spare time once he started running the Inn on his own.

He gazed contentedly over the town from afar. It was all as he’d remembered it: stone houses with shingled roofs and smoking chimneys, a modest marketplace where imported fruits and vegetables were peddled, and, of course, the Golden Grass Inn. He smiled at the sight of the tavern that he and his mother owned; the chef learned to cook there as a boy.

Chris thought of his mother, Lara, and wondered if she would even recognize him. She had been the one to send him off in the first place. With the Golden Grass Inn hugely successful, she’d wanted to open up another in one of the growing frontier settlements. Running two taverns would have required double the amount of supplies, and since fresh produce and grain was very expensive in Salvar, they came up with a plan to have large quantities of supplies shipped in directly from warmer southern regions rather than going to local vendors. Christopher’s job had been to travel to Scara Brae and Corone to meet with various merchants and warehouse owners and use his impressive negotiating skills to work out beneficial contracts to keep the two taverns well stocked without draining their pockets dry.

Unfortunately, a trip that had originally supposed to have been over in three months took far longer than he’d expected. A civil war breaking out in Corone and an unhealthy collection of other problems on that forsaken island kept the poor chef stuck there for months and months past his planned departure. Even once he finally returned to Salvar, the home stretch of the journey had been wracked with obstacles. Following suit with the rest of his trip, what seemed like an average ride home with a merchant caravan led him to even more trouble.

As it happened, that “merchant” caravan had actually been a small pilgrimage of Ethereal Sway priests, witch hunters, and agents operating in disguise. That alone would only have unnerved Chris a little bit, given his trade as a sorcerer and the violently intolerant tendencies of religious fanatics. Unfortunately, they happened to come across a town under a dark siege by the vampire lord Kincaid and nothing short of a legion of zombies. Zombies! Hadn’t he gotten enough of those rotting abominations in Corone? Despite his efforts, he got caught up in the small war against the undead hoard and their master. It was a wonder that he made it out alive.

Despite the strangely friendly rapport he’d established with Marcus, the leader of the band, he was very relieved when he parted ways. With Chris heading north to the Great Bridge across the Akyar Kakka River, and then east to get to Chris’s hometown, after a fairly comfortable week at the city Lovstek, and Malachi and the caravan going south to Knife’s Edge, the chances of him getting into any more trouble dropped considerably. He was especially glad to be away from the Sway agents after some of the rumors that he’d heard – troubling news about the powerful monarchy and the omnipresent church being at war with each other, leaving the rest of Savlar in the middle.

On the other hand, Chris remembered as he retrieved the vanquished Vampire’s sword from its hiding place in his bedroll, all that trouble hadn’t left him empty-handed. He gazed affectionately at the elegantly crafted blade, its bluish metal gleaming even in the gloom. He traced his thumb across the intricately engraved runes and glyphs. It was a magnificent weapon. He could feel the subtle power radiating from it, making his hand tingle and sending a shiver down his spine. If he could unlock the mighty sword’s secrets, there was no telling what he could accomplish. The priests had claimed that the blade was evil, but Chris didn’t buy into it. He felt called to it; he was meant to have it.

As the weary chef reached the top of the last hill and looked down at the town he grew up in, a smile came to his face as he forgot all of the hardships from the past year. He wanted to break out in a sprint down the hill, but that sounded far too cliché. Instead, he strode calmly and casually down the hill, wearing a bright smile on his face. It wasn’t until Chris entered the town did he realize that something was wrong. Nobody rushed out to greet him, the usually bustling town square was all but empty, and the Golden Grass was silent and dark.

“What the… where is everyone?”

After months of travel, she had finally arrived in Salvar. Salvation. She thought to herself.

Traveling from Deathain, where she had a series of horrific experiences, was long and hard, and the thought of her time there made her spine shiver. It was there she first met Dan Lagh'ratham, and after that encounter she came out a different person. Her mind was injured and bruised from his words.

Her hopes in coming to Salvar were to repair that injury, to spend time with the family she had heard so many stories about and hopefully gain back some of her lost sanity and innocence.

For the trip she had wrapped herself in a fox fur coat, made from the pelt of only the finest white fox. Still, the wind irritated her face and her fingers, which were harder to cover than the rest of her body. Her feet were sore from walking, and the hard frost on the ground did not help the impact her weary legs were taking.

Her eyelashes were frozen and she was shivering through the coat, but she trekked on through the miserable conditions, occasionally looking for signs that people had passed in hopes she would reach a town soon. Although she traveled with no money, her body could buy shelter, if necessary. That was a lesson she had learned long ago. Her thoughts drifted as she walked, the girl thought of her past and how troubled it must have sounded to the ears of others who asked. Abused, traded as a slave, and nearly killed until the horrific Dan Lagh'ratham had found her, no better a fate. She shuddered at the thought of Dan's putrid breath.

That thought snapped her out of her daydreaming at back into reality. The reality was that she was getting close to a town. In the distance she could see the crude roofs of stone housing, smoke raising from the raw fires that were burning to keep families warm. In the distance, she could see a single man standing and looking over the town. A'rei hurried her pace and let her hood fall down, dark hair came cascading out as she nearly jogged to see if she could get some shelter.

As she gave a quick glance over the town and approached the man, it seemed that everyone's doors were locked tight and there was no one to be seen. It was an eerie feeling that began deep in her throat and went deeper yet into her stomach. There was something out of place about the scene.

She had come to visit an uncle of some esteem, who her father had told her countless stories of. Always it was about her uncle near Kirisk. The stories had always left her in awe. She remembered his name to be Nicholai Ngoyu, and as the stories had it, he was getting old and nearing the time for his son to take over the household. The old man was said to be kind and caring toward his family, no matter what mistakes were made.

The stories that had always amazed her the most were of the estate itself. Her father described it in detail each time, taking great care to make it seem as grand as possible. "When you walk up to it, there is a great gate, so big that not even my strong arms could move it. When that gate is opened, all you can see is a beautiful landscape within the walls of the keep, with stallions that match the snow that comes with each blizzard. The house itself is enormous! Made of imported stone from Fallien, a deep orange that soothes the eyes... the inside is grand. The walls are wooden, stained a deep brown that relaxes the eyes further. After looking at all that snow, you really need it, you squint a lot, you know? Ah, of course you don't, you're only seven! Anyways, we'll have to go there when you're older... good night, dear." It was those sweet stories from her father that had made her think of coming to Salvar.

Yet that feeling of deep paranoia returned to her. Perhaps it was that there was a civil war going on, and she feared her uncle may be gone before she could reach there. Or perhaps that he had sold off his estate and given the money to his lord.

A man she had met previously suggested a stay at The Golden Grass Inn--quite a reputable place, the man gloated. To shake off her fear, she turned her attention to the man in front of her. Letting out a cough she spoke quietly to the figure in front of her, "Excuse me, do you know where The Golden Grass Inn is?"

Christopher’s gaze had been so intently locked on the Inn, glancing back and forth between the locked double doors and the shuttered windows, that he didn’t even notice the young woman approach him. What could have happened to transform a bright, lively town into such a gloomy shadow? More importantly, what could have closed down the Golden Grass? His mother had always said that she would never close, even if the entire town burned to the ground. Yet, the town stood, physically at least, and the Inn was dark and empty. He gave a confused and depressed sigh. His mother must have had a good reason for it.

At that point, the chef finally became aware of the woman next to him. “The Golden Grass is right in front of us,” he said, his voice hallow and devoid of expression.

"Thanks," the girl said, smiling sweetly. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but what's going on here? Her out of place politeness took Chris off guard for a moment.

“I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head. He motioned to the Inn. “I used to work here with my mother; I live here. I just returned, to find this.” Pity transformed the stranger’s young face. It tempted to believe that it was sincere.

“This is odd,” she replied, scanning their surroundings. “Where is everyone?”

“I have no idea,” Chris murmured. He glanced at the woman, though didn’t let his eyes linger long. She was definitely attractive, though she looked as tired as he, and even colder. “Do you want to come inside? It’s been a while, but the lock looks the same as it used to.” The tattered chef produced an old iron key from his coat.

“That would be great.” She pulled her coat closer around her slender frame, shivering slightly. The finery of the garment clashed with her humble surroundings. “After you.” He inserted it into the lock. It clicked and he pushed the door open.

“Hello? Mother? Is anyone here?” He heard nothing.

What he saw, though, was the ghost of a tavern. All of the tables and chairs were exactly where he’d remembered them being, as were the glasses and the rags. Nothing was damaged – even the wine bottles were still there – but everything was covered in thin layer of dust, at least a couple weeks old. The Inn was a ghost, but it was recently deceased. Chris started toward the locked kitchen door, key in hand, but he stopped in his tracks upon seeing a piece of parchment pinned to the wall behind the bar.

“What the hell?” he asked, taking it down to examine it. It contained a few lines of text written in silver ink with sharp, precise letters. “This has the seal of the Ethereal Sway.” He read it.

By the order of the Ecclesia of the divine Ethereal Sway, the Golden Grass Inn has been closed under charges of conducting blasphemous activities, inciting civil unrest, harboring heretical fugitives, and the possession of illegal sacrilegious objects. This establishment is now under the legal ownership of the Church, and will not reopen until after a more thorough investigation.

Sacrilegious objects? His eyes widened instantly as the paper dropped onto the counter. My books! He turned sharply and ran up the wooden staircase in a panicked sprint, leaving the stranger alone by the bar.

He reached the second floor only to find a wooden board nailed over the door to his room. The sinking feeling in his stomach worsened considerably. He yanked on the board, but it refused to budge. Growling, he dropped his back, slid the magical sword out of his bedroll, and wedged the blade behind the wood to pry it off. It took a few more moments to remove the cursed board, and when it finally clunked onto the floor, several of the runes from the blade had been burned into the wood. As it was, he didn’t have any time to notice.

Chris threw open the door to find his bedroom in shambles. His bed had been torn apart, his dressers opened with their contents sprawled all over the floor, and closet was a mess. Some of the floorboards had even been torn up. A shiver of apprehension ran up his spine vibrated through clenched teeth. They’d found the books that he’d hidden under some loose floorboards.

They weren’t just any books; they were books of arcane lore. It must have been witch hunters from the Ethereal Sway. There was no other explanation. They found them and shut down the Inn.. But where was his mother? Had they arrested her? Where did they take her? Gripping his forehead, the chef sat down on the foot of what remained of his bed. He’d come home to find his entire life gone.

The walk down the stairs dragged on like a trek down a mountain. A dark shroud seemed to cover everything. He didn’t even know what had happened, let alone what to do next.

“Forgive my rudeness,” he sighed as he reached the barroom. “It hasn’t been a good day for me. Would you like something to drink? There might be some food around as well.”

A'rei was surprised at the state of repair the inn was in, despite the layer of dust. It looked as though whoever had been here simply got up and left the place. She watched the chef move through the room, speculating to herself how long the place had been shut down for. Her estimate was at least two or three weeks, after seeing how much grime had accumulated. She strolled through, dragging her finger over a table, following the man who had led her into the desolate inn. As he pulled down the note, she got closer to see it herself while he read aloud.

Sacrilegious objects... interesting, to say the least. A'rei watched as the chef panicked and ran up the stairs, deciding it was a wise choice to stay downstairs and snoop around while he was gone. She gently kneel down and looked under the bar, found only cups, plates and similar earthenware. She found some crumpled notes of paper and took a couple in her hand. She stood and against the bar, she rolled her coat sleeves back and smoothed the papers out, reading the delicate script on them.

Try mixing some butter in the brew, and maybe some imported honey! It was some of the best from Corone, that latest shipment!

A'rei concluded that it was a note to the barkeep from a regular customer who cared about the business of the establishment and his own ale. The girl set the note aside, smoothing over another note and read it to herself.

We need to talk, tonight.
~M

Maybe I should show this one to this man. After that thought, she was interrupted by the sounds of a huge ruckus from above her. It sounded to her like the sounds her father used to make instead of beating her. A'rei shook her head, snapped back into reality. She felt a tear roll down her face, but she felt no sadness, only anger. Anger at the universe for doing everything to her. I'm just pitying myself, pathetic...

She was then interrupted by the man who had brought her as he came rushing back down the stairs. As he turned toward her, she could clearly see the look of panic and distress in his facial expression. His eyes betrayed it even more than the crinkles around his eyes and mouth. They were wide with emotion. For a moment, A'rei felt sorry for him, and realized she would have to put on this facade in order to make a reliable and dependable asset out of him.

Quietly, she plotted, but put those thoughts quickly aside when he offered her food and drink.

"Sure, that would be great," she put on a smile and continued, "I'll take pretty much anything at this point, I've been out there way too long." A'rei pointed out the dusty windows. She glanced at the bar and saw the small, yellow piece of parchment there, "Oh, I also found this under the bar... I don't know if it will help you figure any of this business out, the abandonment, I mean. Maybe it will give you an answer to the "harboring heretical fugitives" part of that letter..."

The girl slid the note toward the chef and spoke again, "By the way, my name is A'rei." With that, she went around the bar, grabbing a rag along the way and cleared the dust off a table and two chairs, then sat down. "Oh, and food would be nice." She said, still wearing a warm smile on her face.

“Oh, thanks,” said the chef absently, taking the crinkled note. He didn’t look at it right away, instead busying his troubled mind with the mundane task of rummaging through the mugs and glasses and the untouched assortment of drinks. His mind drifted back to the several times that he’d entertained an attractive girl in the bar after closing time – back when life was simple and pleasant. “Oh, and my name is Chris. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

Playing the part of charming host, he returned to the table, sliding a glass of red whine in front of A’rei and left a bottle of hard liquor on the other side of the table. Normally, he’d have made a witty comment about how he could tell that she was a “red whine sort of girl,” but he couldn’t find the mirth in him. He gave her a silent smile and made his way to the kitchen, returning ten minutes later with two plates filled with an assortment of dried meat and fruit and semi-stale bread.

“It’s not the classiest meal I’ve ever prepared,” said the chef, trying to lighten is mood through conversation. “But I’m pretty sure that it’s edible.”

“Only pretty sure?” she asked, eyeing the food briefly before taking a modest bite.

“I’m confident that eating it won’t kill you, but I don’t know how old everything is.” He plopped down tiredly in the other chair and took an unhealthily long swig from the liquor bottle. He chuckled as the amber liquid burned down his throat. “Figures. I just get home from a death-defying journey, only to drink myself to death.” He pressed the bottle against his forehead and closed his eyes. He hated the taste of alcohol, but it helped to calm his nerves.

“I’ll join you in that,” she replied wearily, clinking her glass against Chris’s bottle and emptying its contents. The two ate in silence for a few minutes, both clearly lost in their own thoughts. This continued until the chef couldn’t stand the quietness anymore.

“So, A’rei, what brings you all the way out here?” he asked, glancing up at her quizzically. “This isn’t a good time to be traveling through Salvar, what with the war breaking out and everything.”

“I came to see my uncle… to see if he could help me.”

Chris arched and eyebrow. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“Not so much in trouble; just troubled,” she answered quietly.

The chef nodded knowingly. “Well, these are certainly troubling times. Who’s your uncle?”

“His name is Nicholai Ngoyu,” she replied. “I… was actually hoping you might know where to find him.”

“You’re related to old Baron Ngoyu?” he asked, laughing in disbelief. “Well, I know of him, but I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that you’re in Algidia, which is his province. The bad news is that you’re in the northern tip of it, and his manor is at the southern end. And here’s the thing: Algidia is very narrow but very tall. It stretches south almost to the border of Alerar. Your uncle is quite a journey from here, I’m afraid.”

A’rei gazed down at the table, tired and distraught. “Perhaps it would have been helpful to buy a map when I arrived,” she muttered with a sigh. “I’m not looking forward to another long walk. Do you think it would be safe for me to stay in this town for a few days?”

“I wish I knew,” said Chris, his face creasing with concern. “Something’s happened here. I won’t know how safe it is until I find something who can tell me what happened”

“Are you going to find that ‘M’?” A’rei asked. The cook tilted his head. “From the letter.”

“Oh, that must be Michael. He was the other cook here. I’ll need to find him.” He rubbed his throbbing forehead and closed his eyes. “So much isn’t right here.”

“Do you think he’ll be able to help?”

“Oh, I hope so,” Chris replied. He stood. “You can keep eating. I need to get some air.”

“You should wait on that air for later,” said a familiar deep voice. Chris glanced toward the door and saw the massive frame of Mike. His red hair was just as shaggy as the younger chef remembered, and his stomach still hung over his belt. “You’ll need it more then.”

“Mike!” Chris exclaimed, smiling genuinely for the first time since arriving. He darted over to greet his old friend and was rewarded with a massive, chest-crushing hug. “Where’s my mother, Mike? Where’s Lara?” asked the younger chef, struggling to breathe The fat cook’s round, bearded face turned grim as he set his friend down.

“Chris… you’d better sit down,” he replied. “This might take a while.”

“What’s going on, Mike?” asked Chris tentatively, worry and fear infecting his voice.

“You’ve been gone for a long time,” he began, still seeming to be collecting his thoughts. “But you should know that for most of that time, our quiet little down remained the same. Everything was going as it normally did until two weeks ago. We knew that the civil war would reach us eventually, but we were expecting something else, like armies marching through and wrecking the place.” Chris sighed impatiently.

“Two weeks ago, a band of… of agents from the Ethereal Sway came through,” Mike continued. “We’ve never been a very religious town, but we stayed out of trouble. But the war had clearly made them suspicious of everyone, which made everyone afraid, which only made the agents even more suspicious. To them, everyone was a heretic in hiding, heretics that needed to be rooted out. The first place they started at was this tavern. It’s where everyone spent their evenings, after all. They went to Lara and asked her for the names of everyone who spoke out against the church in the Inn, or anyone who liked to come here instead of going to church services.”

“My mother would have never betrayed—” Chris because, outrage building in his voice. Mike cut him off.

“Of course she wouldn’t have, boy!” boomed the massive cook. The younger man leaned away, startled. Even after all of his terrifying adventures, Mike still frightened him a little. The red-haired giant took a deep breath. “Gods, she should have just played along. She should’ve just said that everyone was loyal, and only had good things to say about the Sway, that they all were pious and went to their church services.”

“What did she say?”

Mike’s voice went dark and he looked down at the oak table. “She got bold… foolish. She told the interrogators that they had no right to harass her or her customers. She told ‘em she wouldn’t stand for their oppression. She yelled at their young leader, asking him what gods would give him the right to terrorize innocent people. Your mother was a brave woman, Chris, stronger willed than any man in this town or that witch-hunter caravan. But she just went too far.”

Chris’s eyes went wide as his mind connected the dots and filled in the rest of the story. “She was a threat, someone the townsfolk would get behind,” said the younger chef. Mike nodded gravely. “They needed to remove her and make an example out of her to keep the town in line.”

“They killed her,” stated Mike, his voice more tormented than Chris had ever heard it. He knew what the older man was going to say. He clenched his eyes shut, digging his fingers into his skull. “The black-haired devil claimed she was a witch. Rubbish! Lies! They planted some ‘heretical’ books in the Inn, closed the place down, and burned her at the stake. Nobody dared speak out against them after that.”

Chris was silent. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. What was there to say, anyway? His mother, his inn, his life was gone, swept away in a single fell motion. He had nothing left. Nothing. Lara dared to speak out against injustice. At first, he could only blame himself. They were his books that they’d found. If not for those, there would have been no evidence to use against her. Then he realized that they would have found a way to get rid of her regardless.

The words of the hunter Marcus Salbrecht echoed in his mind. ‘But I only use that sort of petty ‘witchcraft’ as grounds to arrest and execute those who were… already my targets.’

His eyes snapped open and he struggled to speak. “The leader of those agents… what did you say he looked like?” Mike raised an eyebrow.

“Young, black hair. He walked around with this staff with metal all along the outside. Green eyes and a gaze that could knock a man backwards.” Mike growled. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that face. They all took the south-bound road two days after that, but we've been afraid that they were still watching us.”

“Marcus…” Chris stood up without another word, scooping up his belongings and heading for the door. Mike went after him, grabbing him by the arm.

“I know what you're talking about, but you’re going to do something damn foolish, just like your mother!” Mike pulled Chris back as though he were a child. “I’m not going to let you get yourself killed.” The younger chef narrowed his eyes at his older friend.

“Let go,” he demanded slowly and forcefully. Mike refused, shaking his head. Anger welled up inside of him like a furnace. “I’m warning you, Mike. Let me go or I’ll—”

The big man scoffed. “You’ll what? Punch me?” Chris growled, spinning around and ramming his other hand into the cook’s chest with surprising force. His eyes flared, practically glowing with fire for a split second as his glare burned into Mike’s face. The older man recoiled.

“You don’t want to know what I’ll do it you.” Mike needed no further urging. He let go instantly and took several steps back.

“What’s happened to you, Chris?” asked the red-haired cook, his voice subdued and uncharacteristically fearful.

“As of today? All of most terrible things imaginable.” With that, Chris left the abandoned inn, unaware of just how catastrophically wrong his words were.

When she heard the voice of another person coming from the door, A'rei could not help but tense up and turn around. What she saw was a blotch of fiery red hair atop a massively built body, Chris addressed the man as Michael. The one who wrote that letter, I guess that makes sense. She thought to herself. As the two men embraced, A'rei turned around and kept eating her food. Thoughts raced through her mind, most of them relating to this Michael character. If this place had been shut down and Chris's mother missing, why was he allowed to go free? Why did the Sway agents not take him in as well?

The tension began to raise as Michael's story went on about Chris's mother and the Sway. The small girl sat at the table, putting down her fork to listen more intently to what was going on. Only her blazing green eyes moved between the two men, the rest of her body sat in silence. She dared not speak a word in fear that the men would somehow threaten or injure her, despite her ability.

The eventual violence that erupted did not surprise A'rei, she could see the filling up in Chris's chest and the clenching of his fists when Michael tried to hold him back. She was surprised, however, at the force with which the smaller chef had exerted.

After Chris stormed out into the cutting winter winds, Mike got back into a chair and lay his heavy arms across his chest; looking A'rei over to make an assessment. "Do you know him well?" he asked, his voice still deep but with a slight shaking in it.

"Not very well, we only met today when I was on my way through, he was kind enough to bring me in here to escape the cold, that's when we found it... well, found it like this." The girl's arm went in a large, sweeping motion and Mike's eyes surveyed the room.

"I swear it gets worse and worse looking every time I come." The despair and pain were apparent in his voice, it took no expert to tell. "I was wondering if maybe you could talk some sense into the kid, maybe he'll listen to you."

A'rei's eyes snapped back to him and she tapped her chest with her hand, "Me? Why would he listen to me? You're the one he's known for who knows how long!"

"I don't know, it's obvious he won't listen to me... but I just don't want him to do anything foolish and get himself killed." The man stood up and went around the counter of the bar. After fumbling under the counter for a second his head popped back up and he raised his arm, tossing a thick cloak toward A'rei. It landed with a light thump on the wooden floor, kicking up a small cloud of dust. "Give that to Chris, tell him that if he's going to go somewhere he should at least dress properly."

The girl nodded and stood up from her chair, looking at Mike. She bent over and picked up the cloak, gently brushing the dust off of it. Mike spoke again, "We probably shouldn't be here just in case there are any Sway agents around. It'd be best to leave town, for him, at least."

"Well, I guess that makes sense..." A'rei responded, "I'm sorry about your friend... Chris's mother." With that, the girl turned and walked out the door, feeling the bite of cold air at her cheeks. Even through her fox fur coat her arms could feel the bitter wind. The air was crisp and clean though, she could see why Chris wanted to step outside for a breath.

Chris was just a few paces away, sitting on a small wooden bench with a layer of frost coating it. A'rei approached him and handed the cloak to him. He took it into his hands, gripping it hard. Coping with the grief and anger... A'rei thought to herself.

At this, she spoke to him, "Chris, I'm sorry about your mother, is there anything I can do to help?" I need to manipulate this one, grief and anger are powerful tools... and his eyes, that red glow, that can only be one thing... magic!

"I'm not sure," Chris responded, raising his head to meet A'rei's eyes, "how good are you at necromancy?"

A'rei gave him a confused look, "Well I'm not trained at all in i--" she was cut short by a small bout of laughter that escaped Chris's lungs. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were joking about it!"

"My way of coping." Chris stated, pulling the cloak over his chef's attire.

"Well, if there is anything I can do, please tell me... otherwise I'm going to head for my uncle's house, if you could point me in the right direction..." Her gaze sat on him questioningly, waiting for a response. I hope he'll follow my bait. She could still feel the cutting of whipping snowflakes on her cheeks. It was beginning to storm. "Salvar has some of the worst storms I've ever seen, they're cold and brutal. You feel like a block of ice when you go out in one. When you grow up, if you ever go to Salvar, make sure you don't get caught in a storm. I'd hate to see my little girl frozen into a statue!" The memory of her father's words flashed through her mind, but her eyes kept on Chris, hoping he would help her find her uncle. So I can mend myself...

Silence fell for several moments has Chris tried to calm his chaotic maelstrom of thoughts. Gently flurries of snowflakes fluttered through the air, stinging his face as he sighed softly. He’d just lost… everything. His family, his home, and the life he’d left behind had been swept away by a random act of fate.

No. No, this was not the work of fate; his life had been destroyed at the hands of men, men corrupted by power. They were men that would surely leave a wake of ruined lives in their path. But, he realized on the verge of despair, what could he do about it?

“If you follow the main road south for about a week you should reach the Ngoyu Estate,” he replied at last. “I would actually take it slower in your case, so you can make sure that you’re off the road by dark, just to be safe.” He paused for a few seconds, and finally looked up to meet her gaze. “And I do appreciate the gesture; it gives me hope that I’m not the last person out there who would offer help to a stranger. I haven’t even figured out what I need to do next, or how I plan to do it.”

“Are you… going after your mother’s killers?” A’rei asked.

The chef almost grinned; she could certainly read intentions. “The though crossed my mind,” he stated simply. “You’re not going to try and talk me out of it, are you?”

“It’s just that… you’ve been kind to me,” she replied softly. “I wouldn’t want to see you throw away what you have left.”

Chris chuckled darkly. “What makes you think I have anything left?”

“There must be something.”

He glanced up at her and tried to smile. She was trying to make him feel better; she was failing, but at least she was trying. “Perhaps. I could go back to traveling and maybe settle down somewhere else and start over… until the Sway agents find and execute me, too.”

“…because you’re a sorcerer,” stated A’rei. Her bluntness took Chris aback almost as much as the observation itself.

“Yes,” he confirmed after hesitating. “I’ve studied it in secret for years, but I’ve never hurt anyone.”

“So those were your books they found!” she exclaimed, her voice taking on an accusatory edge. She backed away slightly. “Weren’t they? The witch hunters found them in the tavern and thought they belonged to your mother!”

“How was I supposed to know that there would be a witch hunt going on by the time I got back home?” he growled, fighting down his resurfacing anger. “I had planned to be home a year ago! What was my alternative? Should I have just tried to smuggle them out of the country? That would have gone over well.”

“I don’t know, you could have at least warned her or something!”

“Just warn her?” he groaned in disbelief, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What would have happened if you'd told one of your parents that you owned illegal items like those?”

“My father would have probably beaten me!” she shot back angrily. “But you act like your mother was an angel! What would she have really done?” Chris paused, his expression softening. He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t form in his throat.

“She… she wouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly. “But she would have gotten rid of them, most likely. I know that doesn’t sound so bad to you, but you didn’t grow up in this country. I’d spent much of my life studying the arcane, hoping that one day I could join the enlightenment movement to put an end to the intolerance that plagues Salvar. I didn’t want to lose everything that I’d worked for, and I didn’t want my mother to know about any of it.” He sighed softly. “Of course I would do things differently if I do it again, but that’s not an option. I came home to a war; what can I do besides fight in it? Maybe I can save others from what happened to me.”

“Good luck with that, then,” she said bitterly, starting to turn away. “Thank you for telling me where to find my uncle.”

“No, wait!” he called as she walked away. A’rei turned to face him, resentment still present on her face. “Listen, it’s a long journey south to Ngoyu Manor. Winter is closing in and the thieves will surely be getting desperate.”

“And…?”

“And I’m going to be heading south as well,” he explained. “It’s the only hint I have as to where these men went. I can get you at least most of the way to your uncle.”

“Why would you want to help me?” she asked.

Chris shrugged and grinned slightly. “Chivalry, of course.” A’rei raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “…and I’m going the same direction, and it will be very helpful to travel with someone who can vouch for me in case I run into anymore trouble of the witch hunter variety.”

“So that’s the reason,” she replied, resigned. “I trust you at least know where you’re going.”

“I grew up here,” said the chef, matter-of-factly. I could get lost and still know where to find the nearest pub.”

“I guess it’s settled, then.”