Beyond the Fields of Glass

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Closed to my good friend Storm Veritas, and part of a huge gdoc project we have been writing now for well over a year. It might take a bit of time to get all the posts up, but this placeholder will suffice for now. Follows on from Unleashed

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Storm,

Please find enclosed a ring you’ll recognise almost instantly. This is going to be one hell of a ramble, so grab a whisky. There’s a lot to tell, but I'll try to get to the point.
It’s been twelve months since January. By the gods, that’s passed quickly, hasn’t it? Feels like yesterday that Arius had us tied up in seething knots, clawing at anything and everything we could to try and kill the bastard. We got him, though.

Once we did, I realized the sobering reality of what had been left behind. Everything we built had been reduced to rubble, and Whitevale left decimated. I don’t think either of us knew what to do next. The apparent choice was to rebuild and regroup, or to disband and crack on with what life we had left.

The thing is, we never really made any sort of choice. Time passed us by. Whitevale’s reconstruction began without us two months later, in March, by the few survivors who were out of town on the night Arius came calling. No-one asked us, because they didn’t need to. They just chose to keep living. If nothing else, for me it offered a brief glimpse of optimism that perhaps we did something right, if the people there had that will to carry on.

Our paths somewhat diverged after Arius, and mine took me “home”.

The Council of Five (i.e my superiors in Telgradia) summoned me back home to Telgradia. Well, what was left of it. It turns out that while we were busy playing cat and mouse with the bald one, a meteor struck Mythandria (a prefecture to the west of Telgradia’s heartland). The losses were catastrophic. Those that did survive only did so by sheer luck, and only in Garah (capital city, I can’t expect you to know the geography) where a good proportion of the suburbs reside underground. Everything east is under a foot of glass, in a sheet that stretches for thousands of miles. All that’s left now on the surface to the west are the broken shells of settlements, and all around us a dust cloud that the best mages amongst us say will dissipate “in the next year”. That’s if their magic works. (It seldom does).

My father, King of Telgradia Telos Soltair, perished with the rest of Garah’s surface in the initial impact. I’ll not bore you, and will keep my feelings about him to myself. With me being the only surviving member of that family, I would have been king now. But, as it turns out, even a pardoned exile relinquishes the right to ascend the throne. So, the role to rule and govern falls to the Council of Five. Remy Krystanthia, leader of the Five (and my mentor, once. Long story.), barely survived the impact. I was asked by the Council to bury my father, and then take Remy offworld, back to Althanas, so that she could heal.

It’s been six months since that time. She’s recovered, somewhat, but she doesn’t want to go back. Understandable. For now, she’s living with me and wants to stick around a bit. I think that’s somewhat less understandable.

So, you’re probably wondering at this point what the fuck any of this has to do with anything. Here’s the thing.
Since being a child, Remy has experienced a strange phenomenon she lovingly calls her “gut instinct”. It allows her to read people’s intentions and feelings, without invading their mind, to an absurd degree. When you deprived Arius of his signet ring in Tylmarande, I kept hold of it. I don’t really know why – maybe I just wanted to keep an eye on it, just in case. But to me, it always stayed cold and lifeless to the touch. Exactly the way it should have been. Sometimes, I even wondered if the strength that flowed from it and sustained Arius was a figment of our imagination.

Worryingly, when she came here, Remy was able to feel something from it straight away. With any other object, even enchanted ones (at least the ones in the museums in Radasanth), she’s never been able to sense anything. But she kept telling me that this ring had the most fractional sparks of energy that come close to “thoughts and feelings”. Enough to pick up on, but not enough to translate to anything useful. “Thoughts and feelings” is pretty fucking vague, but anything living (even fractionally) in that ring was a threat as far as I’m concerned.

Naturally, I threw everything I had at it. We both did. There’s not so much as a scratch on the damned thing.
So, figuring the bald bastard had put a protective enchantment on it or something, I took it to a few different people considered masters in their particular fields of magic. No dice. No-one could break the protection, or even tell if it WAS protected in the first place.

I did some research on the ring’s origins. Or tried. Spent hours pouring through books, identifying various jewelry over the ages and their cultural significance. Turns out that there are fucking millions of pages of information on all sorts of things, and I didn’t have the time to sit there reading everything. But I noticed a familiar style of rune etched on the inside that reminded me of a piece of pottery I had seen in Irrakam once. Eventually, I found half a page (half!) nestled away in a book detailing Fallien’s tribes, and no shit, the signet was there in color. The same ring, same emblem, same design.

The text mostly spoke in riddles and with no regard whatsoever of whether I understood the intent behind it. But, from the bit of information I did glean, the ring was worn by selected members of the Valtal tribe who live beyond the glass sands.

This is a guess (born out of utter paranoia), but I think Arius stole this ring from them (or someone related to them) and cursed it, or worse. I wouldn’t put anything past him, and I’m not going to. Remy is concerned that the ring may be a precursor to something much worse. So, if what I ask fails, I will go to Fallien to meet with the Valtal. We may get answers, we may not. I’ll take the risk.

But, before we go anywhere, and potentially waste weeks of our time, I wondered if you might try some of your magnetism on the ring? It is the only avenue I have not explored, and you’re the only one with capabilities in this field.

You’ve done your time on this, and I am not so selfish that I would ask more of you when you have already given everything. But, if your power doesn’t work, well… I’ll have to take that trip. If you want to do a bit of traveling with a trusted friend, to one of the most inhospitable places on the planet (on nothing but an absolute whim), write me back. If not, I completely understand.

As they say - no rest for the fucking wicked.

S-v-O

Outside a plain but pleasant hotel in the center of Radasanth, the normal buzz of trotting horses and chattering peasants hummed as the denizens ignorantly went about their charades of a normal summer day. Inside, the scents of pipe tobacco wafted from towards the window, with a smattering of empty glass bottles abandoned by the door. The bottlenecks whispered the unmistakable aroma of whiskey; it was unclear how long the ignobleman within had been posted here.

OK, let’s see what in the hell we have here.

He looked at the paper a few times, unsure of what to do with the damned thing. The value of the knowledge contained here seemed real enough, and there wasn barely a shred of doubt in his mind regarding what he’d do to respond. How many options could there be? Fold it? Frame it? Store it? Shred it? After more consideration than this idiosyncratic detail deserved, he let the paper hang between the fingers of his left hand, sparking the corner of the paper with a snap of his right hand, watching the arc catch and the flame propagate.

Certainly don’t need the next curious dickhead to come chasing me, wherever the hell it is that Shin’s going to lead.

The sad fact of the matter was that he wasn’t happy being normal. Living a normal life, albeit an obnoxiously wealthy and easy one, had grown boring. There were only so many whores each town held, and if he steered clear of Radasanth too long, their quality fell precipitously. The bottle held happiness, but it was temporary, and often bookended by boring conversations with stupid people telling their woebegone tales of what could have been. These town louts didn’t recognize him, and would let their rum-stained stories fill him with an emptiness. They had no idea who they were talking to, which felt impossible until he viewed himself in the cloudy hotel mirror.

Gods, fuck, what happened to you?

His eyes were sunken and dark, face more drawn and hair whiter than it had ever been. The booze had stripped even more muscle from his once athletic frame, leaving him drawn and gaunt looking. The smooth, dapper skin upon his overly tanned and almost leathery cheeks and jaw were marked by frown lines and stubble; he’d notice that he had to pull the skin now to get a smooth shave. A smile felt forced in the mirror; he was looking at an aging man that barely resembled the debonair politico he had once been. His teeth were straight, at least, and remained whit-ish, although a year or two of hedonism had laid some pain upon them.

Get your shit together, Storm.

The notion of this sad pile of nothing eradicating or controlling an item of such potential power seemed outrageous. How could Shinsou have trusted even the most valuable possible item in the hands of a courier? The man who left the letter and signet did ask for identification, settling only for a magical trick that remained exclusive to the electromancer. Shinsou had educated the young boy, whose eyes lit with a mix of fear and excitement as Storm levitated the ring and zipped it about the room with a simple point.

He smiled at the recent memory, having shooed the boy off with a few crowns. Now he let the ring roll back and forth over his fingertips, intrigued by how large the damned thing was. Arius hadn’t seemed so imposing; how did this ring slide so easily down the wizard’s left ring finger? Perhaps it was more a testament to his own emaciation. The smile faded quickly.

He pulled the cufflinks of his dress shirt taut as he let the ring fall once more over his finger, holding his hand before him. It was balanced, golden colored with a tasteful red stone in the orifice that was smooth and large, likely a polished sandstone. If it was a ruby, then.. well, then the garish thing became a problem if it were to be flashed about. Pawned, it felt worth a few hundred crowns, but to him it was a totem, a personal trophy from destroying a great evil in the world.

Arius could control time. Shin's girl gets feelings. Feels about even.

As he rolled his hand into a large, bony fist, he noticed the veins on the back of his hand standing out more than ever. The reaper was closing on him faster every day. Regardless, he would acquiesce to his friend’s request. He let a small pulse of energy run through his hand, a maneuver which confirmed the metal ring was, in fact, made of metal.

Tremendous work, detective.

The second pulse was stronger, this one about the force he could use to push a man back a step by the belt-buckle. A few crowns on his desk slid back and the metal ring around the mirror was pressed squarely against the hotel room wall, allowing Storm to more clearly notice the yellowed, smoke stained walls of the rental property. At the end of his pulse, he felt the magnetic force cease, with a tiny feeling he could only describe as an echo pushing his hand back to his chest ever so faintly.

Huh.

And so next sprang forth a more substantial effort. He closed his eyes and focused his energy into his hand, feeling the blood drain from his face. There was no correlation between physical strength and his magical acumen, with the notable exception that his strained physical condition made it far more difficult to sturdily stand and maintain balance as he pressed energy forth. It was a sad thing, but he felt his stomach retch as more energy poured into his hand, and he ceased his effort to move to his bedpan, where he summarily vomited a blend of whiskey, water, and a few parcels of hard-tack biscuits. It felt far worse coming up.

Pathetic. You are pathetic.

In the wake of this sad display, he felt a strange vibration emanating from the ring. Was this abomination laughing at him?

You’re just scum!

Castigar filth! We don’t want your ilk here!

You led us to ruin. Where were you when Arius came?

The new mayor of Whitevale has decreed that the Brotherhood cannot coexist with the township. You are hereby ordered to leave this town forthwith. Don’t come back!

“Shinsou, the tea.” Remy’s voice sliced through his reverie, returning him to reality just as the copper pot began to boil over on the stove.

“Ah, shit!” The hiss of boiling water meeting naked flame rang in Shinsou’s ears. He hurriedly grabbed the handle and moved the kettle to the cooler granite work surface next to him.

“What is up with you today?” The woman, slender and with a face framed with clean caramel hair, squinted at the Telgradian as the mid-morning sun poured through the kitchen window. Shinsou met the question with a small sigh as he placed two cups down, and filled both with freshly boiled broth from the copper pot. A small, silver spoon lay lazily in the one nearest to him. He took a long look at it as it submerged in the green liquid, and for the briefest of moments, his mind wandered back to the Whitevale wreckage. The phantom of that child’s hand tightly gripping the utensil was burned into his mind like a brand, and once again those tiny, charred fingers served to remind him of his hubris.

Remember the spoon.

“Hey.” Remy clicked her fingers under the spellsword’s stubble chin. “Are you with it? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Shinsou lied, rubbing his stubble shadow with the back of his hand and gently brushing away her finger. “I’m good. I was just making a mental list of things to sort out before we leave for Fallien, and I realized that we’ll need a gods-damned translator while we’re over there.”

Remy shrugged. “You have the gold, so no issue right?”

“Gold's not the problem in this equation.” The Telgradian replied at length. “Adding any outsider to the party gives us another unknown quantity to consider, another variable. But, we can't go ahead without a translator. So we’ll need to vet carefully, and be smart about our business. Offer no more than the going rate so as to not attract the wrong sort of attention. Get someone with a wife and kids who has more to lose than someone without. That sort of thing."

“Don’t you think you’re overthinking it? It’s just a translator.” The scrape of ceramic on the worktop accompanied a single sip of tea as Remy settled into a chair alongside the kitchen table. “What about me? I'm an outsider, technically. Are you and this Storm guy-“

’Storm guy?’ Don’t let him catch you calling him that…” Shinsou reproofed, leaning up against the counter before sipping his tea.

“…Sorry, Storm Veritas, ” Remy replied diffidently, a small smile playing about her lips. “…going to have to vet me too? You might know me, but he doesn’t, and I get the impression he’s not the sort to overlook loose ends.”

“We’re both cautious, but if I vouch for you I suspect he’ll accept that at face value. Maybe.” Shinsou shook his head with a knowing smile. “But, for one, Storm might not even come. Two, going back to the translator for a moment, let’s not forget that Fallien is a developing country and we’re bringing with us a piece of jewelry that could attract thousands on the open market. Translators are well paid, but not []that[/i] well paid. All it takes is for someone to get greedy, to get a whiff of the ring we’re carrying, and before we know it they’re off through the desert and that’s the last we see of it.”

“Fuck it, maybe I should just sell it and get you a bigger place?” Remy grinned, her slim features wreathed in mirth so contagious that Shinsou found it difficult not to smile back. “But seriously, who is dumb enough to cross you guys?”

“Someone who knows the desert and the surrounding areas better than us, because they have lived and worked there for centuries?” The Telgradian shrugged, “All our power equates to shit all if we get lost in the desert. It’ll be even worse if we’re out lost in the dunes, and some opportunistic bastard has made off with what could be an extremely dangerous piece of kit, never to be seen again. This is why we have got to get the right guy for the job.”

“I think you’re overthinking it, for sure.” Remy lolled her head back, allowing her hair to tumble down her ruby-robed shoulders.

Shinsou frowned, placing the cup on the table ahead of him. Lacing his hands, he recited. “Ok, think about this hypothetical scenario – the translator travels with us, and at some stage we’re going to have to ask him or her to describe the ring to someone and explain why we are there. By the end of this trip, they’re going to have some idea of what we’re ferrying about and why. They’re probably going to understand the ring’s value. So, what happens then? Do we let him just wander back to his friends at the port with that information? Are we going to-“ he stopped, slowly drawing his hand across her throat, “you know, offthem? Then what about the Valtiell? Do we do them as well?”

“I’d prefer not to off anyone,” Remy murmured in reply, “One translator probably wouldn’t be missed, but wanton slaughter wasn’t what I had in mind either. Could you pay them off?”

“Me neither, and buying silence only shuts mouths for so long, and does not guarantee said person won’t come for the ring themselves. So, we have to be smart about the way we handle business.” Shinsou tapped his temple with a finger, “Also, a translator is just one part of it. There’s still the logistics of traveling a desert to consider.“

“Well, we won’t go thirsty.” Remy smiled. “So, there’s always that.”

“Mizu Jotei, of course.” Shinsou nodded in sudden realization of what she was referencing. Remy was also a Telgradian. Being a Telgradian meant that, like Shinsou, she had a unique Senkei sword much like himself that gave her the abilities she wielded. Whilst his Enpera allowed him to control dark matter and the shadows, Remy’s blade Mizu Jotei allowed her almost complete control over the elements of water and ice. Whilst it had been almost ten years since he had seen Mizu Jotei in action, Shinsou recalled that she was able to manifest and purify water from the tip of the blade, as long as she had the energy. Her other abilities were closely guarded, and not widely shared with anyone in Telgradia, which made him think they were extremely dangerous.

For a moment, Remy kept her eyes focused on the town of Tylmerande through the kitchen window. It was as if she was searching the wood and stone for answers she could not find elsewhere. It was not forthcoming. “Is life always this intense for you?”

“Nature of the beast,” Shinsou said with an exaggerated stretch. “You get used to it after a while.”

Remy smiled a curious small smile. “What if you didn’t?”

“Meaning?”

“What if you didn’t get used to it, I mean. What if it wasn’t intense? What if you just retired? The Brotherhood’s given you money, property and years to live. So, why not?”

“I don’t –“ Shinsou paused, trying to think of a way to phrase his response. “I mean it’s a fluid situation, my day-to-day. I don’t know what’s coming around the corner. You know, maybe one day, when things have calmed down. I don’t know. This isn’t exactly a job for me, you know? It’s more of a “needs must” thing.”
Mere mention of the subject stalled the conversation. Neither wanted to be the one to broach it further, so the silence grew until it engulfed the pair of them like a voracious maw. The wind gave a sigh at an open window, disturbing their melancholy and blowing a light breeze into their faces until Shinsou eventually got up and closed it.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about what I said for now.” Remy shrugged, “I can hardly force you to give up this lifestyle, can I? I’m not exactly your wife.”

Shinsou didn’t respond for a moment. His eyes narrowed, then flitted about the room as if some sort of cosmic trigger had been pulled in his mind. Memories started sweeping back into the forefront of his brain, and an idea quickly formed.

“Something I said?” Remy asked.

“Yeah. You can’t force me to do something,” Shinsou said, hurriedly leaving the kitchen and shouting back through the hall as a confused expression swept across Remy’s face. “But I can force someone else, like a translator, to do something.”

“How? I mean - what?” An even more puzzled Remy shouted in reply through the doorway. There was a sudden racket as a cacophony of metal and wood collided together, and the sounds of heavy items thudding on the floor upstairs reverberated throughout the house. Cupboard doors were opened and shut until, finally, the noises ceased and Shinsou’s searching stopped.

“Stygian.” The Telgradian yelled downstairs.
Remy raised her eyebrows, and nodded slowly to herself while sipping the remainder of the hot tea. Dabbing the corner of her mouth carefully with the end of her robes, she carefully pushed back from the table, and stood at the kitchen door.

“What the fuck is a Stygian?” She mumbled to herself.

**

It felt as if the sun always took its time to rise in Tylmerande.

Shinsou leant back casually against the massive stone archway that marked the entrance to the docks where their vessel to Fallien, the Destiny, was moored. Remy sat cross legged at its base, a sack of their belongings at her feet, and stretched. Dawn was breaking, and the town was only just waking up to the young sunlight dissipating the ocean mist and casting itself upon the gabled rooftops. The first meandering rays of light flashed against the cream walls of the port authority building, carving long sharp shadows beyond it into the town square behind.

He looked down once more at the letter that he had received two days prior; a piece of parchment that held familiar notes of the cherry tobacco that his friend often smoked. The reply he’d received was characteristically short, but in the affirmative.

Storm Veritas was coming down to join their expedition.
Shinsou couldn’t help but smile. There were few people, if anyone, who knew the Telgradian as well as the electromancer. Whilst Remy was good company, even she didn’t know his quirks and his ways as well.
From somewhere beyond the city walls, a Cockrel cried to greet the sun. The sound greeted a feeling in the pit of Shinsou’s stomach; the pulsing of his senses that told of a familiar presence. It was far too early for more than a scattered handful of tradesmen to be up and about, much less walking the streets, and there was no mistaking whose energy the Telgradian was sensing.

“He’s here.” Shinsou nudged a bleary eyed Remy with a quick tap of his foot. “Or, will be in a minute”.

A fresh breeze soared off the brightly dancing waves and through the empty cobbled streets, pausing to tarry briefly at his feet before a clattering of hooves echoed throughout the port. There was no mistaking the horse; the proud, magnificent steed Atilla, and upon the saddle the lithe and deadly electromancer Storm Veritas.
It had been a while since he had seen his friend, and it took a moment to adjust to the obvious physical changes that age brought humans. Storm’s dark hair had greyed somewhat, and ruffled gently about his ears as he adjusted his position in the saddle. To the eye, the Veritas seemed thinner, but still dressed in well-fitting finery that spoke to his wealth and his character. Atilla paused its canter long enough to croon something at his rider, and Storm replied with a gentle pat prior to dismounting, subtly shifting position so that his heavy cloak protected him from the worst of the morning’s chill.

In times gone by, the Telgradian might have made an acute observation about his friend’s outward physical condition. Perhaps he could have made a playful jibe at Storm’s expense about having too much time and money on his hands instead. He thought about it, just for a moment, and decided not to in Remy’s presence. As he walked, she held back just slightly, scanning Veritas carefully whilst waiting for an introduction. She could feel a power from the man that reverberated through her own senses; different to Shinsou, but more refined and focused. She could sense that Storm harbored a slight skepticism towards her presence, but this was to be expected given the circumstances.

“Well,” Shinsou approached with a smile, extending a hand to the politico, “It looks like the good women of Radasanth are helping you keep the pounds off anyway. Good to see you, my friend.” The Telgradian then pivoted and sidestepped, bringing Remy into the fore. He gestured towards her with an open hand. “This is Remy Krystanthia.”

She nodded, a muted, barely visible nod that almost escaped Shinsou’s attention. “Good to meet you. I’m looking forward to working with you on this trip. Your journey was comfortable, I hope?” The inflection in her tone was almost formal, so much so that it jarred Shinsou. “Anyway, I make it not far past seven. We’ll need to embark soon, gentlemen. I’ll see to the provisions and meet you both on deck.”

With that, Remy hulked the large canvas bag up onto her shoulders and disappeared through the archway, leaving Shinsou and Storm alone for a brief moment.

“You look like shit.” The Telgradian finally spoke freely, breaking the fragile silence with an characteristically sculpted expression of neutrality on his face. He stood beside Storm, both men looking towards the Destiny in the distance. Shinsou breathed deeply of the fresh morning air and let his trademark white coat trail out in the breeze as he placed a hand on the electromancer’s left shoulder. “But I’m damned glad to have you here. What did you make of the ring?”

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.