“And that was it. I left after that.”

Vitruvion snarled into his tankard of wine, the hand that held it pale. His face was naturally perfect in features, but because of the strain of a human body he did not look beautiful. A week and a half now worth of searching for his sister, a week and a half of stress, of visiting almost every suitable connection he had made in the last hundred years, begging if they had seen or heard anything. His clothes were stained, his body was thick with sweat, so much it was beginning to gain ground past his natural divine scent. His brow was constantly furled so that heavy creases were becoming a commonality.

“Sir, perhaps you should rest,” the low answering voice came as a man hobbled across the room, leaning heavily on a staff. He was an elf, with chestnut brown hair and a fair visage. Eyes that change colour with every passing new light shone out from between them. He was dressed in simple garb, and was limping heavily on his left leg, which ended in a swathe of bandage.

Vitruvion glanced up, his eyes staring at the elf before he nodded to the armchair beside him. “You should sit down. Does the alchemist know you are walking?”

Raevin, captain of Sir Elssmith's guard and current invalid paused, his weight fully on the stick for a moment. He had been entering the room slowly, gaining inch by inch to follow Vitruvion's sudden appearance in a little whirl of blue light, and was now faced with this. Sighing very slightly himself he pushed himself to go faster. Vitruvion remained silent until Raevin was safely in the seat.

“Who did you ask?” Raevin asked, “and you have tried locating your sister through mental means?”

Downing a few mouthfuls of wine Vitruvion grabbed the bottle beside his chair before replying. “I have met with every general of influence I knew from our army days, including the highest bladesingers. And I have seen what professors are not on mysterious journeys to hells knows where. I was at first refused entry to see Lady Nilith, as apparently I 'do not look the part’.”

Raevin smiled slightly. Vitruvion scowled.

“Nevertheless, of course I did not allow that to stop me. I appeared in her bed chamber later that evening and we had a very interesting conversation about Merla.” There was the barest hint of a smile as he mentioned Merla, the elf he had hired to be Stare's assistant, and who was the bastard daughter of Nilith - the de facto leader of Raiaera. “But she could tell me nothing of Ventrua. In fact none of them can, and to answer your second question it seems her mind is entirely cut off from me.” He curled his lip. “Demonic magic, likely.”

Raevin nodded slowly. “We know he is in league with Sabazios.”

“Yes,” Vitruvion savagely said, “the bastard is. And my searches for information about Sabazios have come to very little also.”

Raevin slowly breathed out as he surveyed his employer with careful eyes. In his opinion Vitruvion looked truly awful, beyond anything he had ever seen before. The god had dirt caking his jawline, and though he did not grow facial hair, there was a shadow that resembled the scruff of an unshaven cheek. His usual clean and smart clothing was ripped at the seams and he seemed to not care. It truly was a spectacle of the downfall of a man, who had been suffering losses steadily for many months now.

“Sir?” Raevin asked hesitantly.

“What?” Vitruvion growled, voice ringing in the metal mug.

“How is … How is ... she?”