The luxurious bar at the foot of the Citadel took an odd form in the morning. The romantic, dark motif was scattered from the glare of the brilliant sun pouring in through a skylight that normally let the revelers soak in the stars over drinks at night. Thick, large sofas, typically occupied by high-priced whores and movers were now almost abandoned, and the overpaid staff bustled about cleaning the place. The squeak of washcloths created a bizarre melody, steins chirping as a handsome barkeep prepped his inventory, systematically hanging the pristine glasses from hooks high above the bar. The lone patron this morning stretched himself in a large chair, fashioning a low table into his private ottoman.

“Sir, perhaps a whiskey?” The tall, thin waiter stood by the hip of Storm Veritas, whose steel-soled shoes shined brightly atop the low mahogany coffee table. Nervous, the waiter’s hands trembled as he held a small notepad and pen to take the order. His eyes stayed low, averting from the wizard.

“Relax, champ, don’t shit your britches on my account. Gonna be a big day, but I’ll be keeping everything above board. Just a coffee, double steeped, maybe a touch of hazelnut.” Immediately, the disarming smile of the would-be politico broke any tension in the room, as the lean adventurer flashed his bright white teeth and rested his hands harmlessly across his stomach, running a single finger along the seam of the satin vest that snugly wrapped his lean frame. He was dressed more suitably to represent the government in court, but still held the reputation that led people to see only one thing – killer.

Noon will come early. Gonna need to be sharp to make today work.

The Citadel was an interesting place for Storm. It called to the freaks of Althanas – the beautifully gifted, the monsters, the heroes. Where the experienced electromancer fell upon that spectrum would vary depending on who was asked, but his power was not up for debate. Here, a warrior could push the envelope, as the risk of death was known to be artificial. Here, he could open things up, and see what was left of him. The magician’s self-assessment was brutal, and required confirmation.

Slower than shit now, but the lightning has never felt stronger. Hurts to get out of bed, back and knees feel more like sixty than forty, but my magic leaves me a GOD regardless. Let’s see if I can’t split the earth in half today.

Shinsou was one of the few he could test himself against, but his motivation was much more specifically targeted than a simple measurement of manhoods. When the letter had arrived to him only days ago, Storm’s business dealings immediately ceased to take a throwaway fight with a man who also fluttered from closest friend to bitter rival. For all his silly samurai stylings, Vaan Osiris was every bit as smart as he was lethal. He shared a pragmatic worldview and no shortage of ambition. The fall of the Brotherhood was more tied to the tandem’s joint inexperience than lack of ability, and Storm knew Shinsou simply needed a push.

Sipping gently at the hot, richly flavored crest of his coffee, Storm raised the cup and thanked the now-charmed waiter with a few golden crowns. Turning coldly, the white-blue eyes of the mage tightened into thin slits as he stared in at the cup of swirling brown and steam, feeling the gentle whisper of steam against his freshly shaven jaw.

Sure, it’s nice to give myself a little reminder, put on a show for these peasants, but there’s heavier lifting for today. I need him to remember who HE is, and remind him that these little half-assed gestures of good-natured competition are entirely beneath him.

Our destinies are intertwined, and they involve greatness. Today I shake the cobwebs loose; tomorrow we take our town back.