It had been quite a while since the weathered old wizard felt an authentic smile, but it hadn’t taken Shinsou long. Most people who saw the old magician either knew of him (or heard drunken whispers of the sort) and steered far clear of his legendary powers, or didn’t know him and paid no particular attention to a lonely looking, skinny old boozehound that happened to usurp a single barstool and mostly kept to himself. Remy had fallen in line; she was dutiful and overly respectful, no doubt warned of his reputation and sagely schooled to keep a wide berth. To have his balls broken by an old friend was a refreshing change of pace.

He took a moment to smile proudly for a second, genuinely happy to see the swordsman before him. His old friend generally wound up finding horrific trouble for his efforts alongside the mage, but he never had a better sense of purpose. Together, he believed they could move mountains.

“The ring is… well, it’s something. It has a sort of pulse to it; I didn’t have time to really feel it out from my room because I damned near blew a hole out of the shared wall just cracking my knuckles with it on.”

He smiled as he gesticulated and walked, watching carefully as Shinsou worked not to roll his eyes. “Sadly, feels like the wrong flavor magic for me. Couldn’t really get any obedience out of the little bastard. Doesn’t feel elemental, as you’d guess. Still, the power caught my attention.”

The two had remounted, riding slowly in a canter that pushed towards the port. Storm could feel the eyes of Tylermande upon the duo; while the citizens had a right to feel uneasy, the lack of appreciation for the stone-cold fact that Veritas and Vaan Osiris had kept Tylermande from being a crater also wasn’t lost on him. His eyes darted about, and even as he looked grizzled and sour, he noticed that every gaze was quickly averted. He was detested here, but he was also very much feared.

“Imagine you having political aspirations before? How do you think our ticket would poll here? I think Radasanth could elect a meteor before we could win here.” Shinsou smiled and poked again, gazing about with a hawkish focus but far more pleasant demeanor. For his part, he hadn’t seemed to age much; a few touches of white had started to peek from his temples, but they’d just as soon be mistaken for sun-bleached.

“You’re not wrong. We’re about as popular as the clap here; which is a sensitive subject given the state of their… ahem… their hotel service industry.

This got a quiet laugh from the Telgradian, who bounced a bit on his horse and tried to keep from tipping his hand too firmly. Veritas continued.

“And yeah, I wear my hangovers well. Now just imagine how putrid this would all come together if I happened to have really long hair. I know, it’ll be a real fucking stretch to wrap your head around it.”
He demurely smiled as he caught a glare from the old friend.

—----------

Boarding the ship was a simple enough process, save the horse-storage. He had been pre-registered by the girl, and along with Shinsou boarded their horses in port to leave them behind. For the best, he considered, as he had no intention of exposing Attila to further risk. The old boy had done more than his fair share. Storm patted the big beast on the jaw, rubbing firmly and speaking as if to a human.

“Shinsou promised we’d be back in two months. Hopefully you’re not pulling a wagon when I get back, or I promise I’ll burn this town to the fucking ground.” He smiled and laughed at the throwaway comment to the stable-master, who failed at echoing a nervous laugh with a lump of what felt like granite in his throat. The big, treated maple barn was open air in the middle, a strange and foul mix of freshly shoveled manure mixing with salty, briny air. It was a truly foul combination, but didn’t seem to bother the steeds an iota.

To his right, Shinsou had quickly, elegantly boarded his horse. It was a less difficult process for the Telgradian, who didn’t have either the attachment to his horse nor the general sense of isolation that had surrounded the electromancer these last few months, and the athletic looking traveler waited by the small stony walk to the docks with only a few satchels over his shoulders and an alert gaze about his surroundings. Like any warrior, he was always ready.

I remember that type of focus. Feels like an age ago now.

Pulling his own satchel across his chest, Storm bristled as he cleared his brow of a layer of gritty film. There was no buying your way out of dirty, he remembered as he snapped his cufflinks down to his wrist-bones. The docks and sea would weather him worse yet, and he made note of the beads of sweat which were forming in his arms under the late morning sun, frustrated in the scent of whiskey he would insist they carried with them. His body ached for a hair of the dog, but he knew better than to acquiesce. He could get himself deep enough down the rabbit hole of trouble without exacerbating any chemical dependencies.
Before them, the sun dried the water-splashed docks, bleached gray wood yielding for several small fishing boats and a handful of charters on either side of the east-protruding creation. At the end, the unmistakable large cruiser named simply “Destiny”. Was it promising, or ominous? The wizard decided not to overthink this.

Maybe the salt air might do me some good, too. It’s been too long.