The storm that had threatened Corone for a few days had finally smashed into the island and the cold, driving precipitation it brought now beat at the track and its sole occupant relentlessly.

The road ‘home’ to Radasanth was quiet but for the drumming of this steady rain. With each movement on the saddle, Shinsou Vaan Osiris felt heavy droplets pound on his leather overcoat, adding weight to his shoulders and saturating his clothes. The moon’s luminescence had been choked completely by the rain clouds, so much so that only Stygian’s light helped guide his horse Slepnir on their journey. A bright ray of irrepressible silver shone from the elven blade as his white steed steadily cantered forward, his eyes using the light to seek potholes and footfalls hidden by floods.

As the outskirts of the city he had called home for so long cropped up over the horizon, barely visible through the grainy sheets of rain, The Telgradian thought upon the events that had brought him this far. It had been a few weeks since a small faction in the Brotherhood had betrayed him to his father. It seemed to him that the Brotherhood was far more willing to give the Telgradians what they wanted than face the risk of being utterly destroyed by an invasion force.

This riled Shinsou terribly. The whole point of the Brotherhood was to form a shield against foreign invaders, and the fact that they had so easily caved against the very threat that defined their existence felt like a personal insult to the guidance and leadership he had given them. But, as he ground his teeth, it was then he reminded himself it wasn’t the whole Brotherhood’s responsibility. There was a cancer there; a faction led by Crennick Wilfhelm, according to Telos, that had suddenly decided to act outside of its remit. The jury was out on the rest of Whitevale

This was just the beginning of his problems. Shinsou had no doubt that the Brotherhood’s contacts would have had their snouts to the ground to look for any trace of him the moment anyone found out he was still alive. Newspapers were still reporting his death and coming up with all sorts of bullshit theories and conspiracies. Public confidence in the Brotherhood had plummeted and the Whitevale officials that were still loyal to Shinsou and presumably Storm Veritas were demanding answers that no-one had about his whereabouts.

There was a lot of fear stirring, and the Telgradian couldn’t be sure if his sudden reappearance into the civilized world would be met with vitriol or not. More importantly, he was worried he would be spotted en-route to Crennick’s Radasanthian abode.

How the fuck am I going to sneak into a city of millions when my face is plastered all over the local media?

Shinsou switched Stygian and the reins, his right hand growing tired of holding the sword. Perhaps a re-think of his situation was in order. He didn’t have to do this. Osiris could pull out altogether and leave the Brotherhood to its own devices. Eventually, they would root Crennick and his sect out. Eventually, Storm Veritas would smell a rat and sort the situation out. It could very easily be someone else’s problem for a while.

But it doesn’t work that way, does it? What would I do, emigrate to Salvar and live in a fucking igloo for the foreseeable? It’s just not me. Besides, I’m not letting Crennick get away with stiffing me. No way.

Feeling more resolved to his task, Shinsou paused from philosophizing. The brown haired man saw an imaginary phantom of Veritas in his periphery, marching aside him with that famous smarm and pomp oozing from every pore. He was probably only one of three people who awed the Telgradian. He wasn’t exactly a good man, and was hardly obedient to a fault, but sometimes he was a genius when it came to matters of life-or-death. When direct action was needed, Storm was the only man Shinsou wanted next to him.

Wonder how he views all this? He’s probably already moved my stuff out of my room at Whitevale to make room for a pop-up bar. I hope Crennick doesn’t do something to piss him off and he shallow fries the bastard before I get to him.

His eyes steeled behind the driving droplets, rivulets of water forking down his nose and chin. As Slepnir rode on, Shinsou prepared himself for the challenges ahead in Radasanth. He hoped Crennick was still there, waiting.