The night air does wonders on the body, Morgan thought as he sat atop the cart and watched the swaying trees. The night was cool, and just a hint damp. Not enough that everything felt wet, but just enough that you could almost see the faintest hints of fog. Like it just could seem to get up all the energy to do it, nor leave the couch. 

He was on watch. He'd been on watch for nearly two hours now, and he had another two or more to go before they even had the chance to swap. Of course he'd been picked the first night, and given the responsibility of first watch going forward. Staying up late had never been his habit, at least, not without the aid of libation. 

"Seems a tad cold, don't you think?" A voice from below asked. Morgan peered his head over the side. Artessa stood there, waving a short hello. 

"What are you doin up?" He asked, putting as much grumble in the voice as possible. 

"I thought you might be bored." She said "its been three nights and you seem more upset each time." 

"I'm not upset," He said. 

"Course you're not." She looked him over. "Thats why you crossed your arms and are sitting there pouting. Look! Thats the face." 

Morgans face had adopted the distasteful expression of someone quite irritiated with thier lot in life, but with the sudden knowledge that they were never going away. 

"I'm not," 

"Well, whatever." She waved her hands dissmissively and turned. "Come sit by the fire with me. You can watch just as easily from there." 

"I'm surprised we didn't put the fire out." 

"One of the Pere is a caster," She offered casually "Seems they knew spell." 

"Spells. Bah." 

"Oh? You prefer wild magic?" 

"I prefer lesser magic." He said "It has less chance of destroying things that way." 

"Thats true..." She said "But that doesn't mean-" 

"Magic is dangerous." 

"I don't think so." Artessa said "I find magic beautiful." 

"Idealist are you?" 

"What does that mean?" 

"It means you're an idiot." He said. "Not that theres anything wrong with that. My aunt was an idiot, and she did alright for a while." 

"I'm not an idiot. And I'll have you know that an Idealist is someone who believes in the best in people." 

"Yeah, an idiot." 

"So what are you then? A pessimist?" 

"Whats that?" 

"It means someone who sees the worst in everything." She paused "Actually that does kinda sound like you." 

Fire crackled between them, filling the space with its acrid smoke. Two people seated meant the smoke could flicker between blinding them at whatever interval it preffered. It enjoyed that, bouncing between the peoples surrounding the fire, sort of a way to say "Hey, you can enjoy my burning, but i'll still get my way in the end." 

"I don't see the worst," Morgan said at last "But I certainly don't look for the best either." 

"What happened?" 

"Scuse me?" 

"What made you that way?" She asked "I can't imagine you were born that way." 

"No I..." Like slime the words coated his throat and refused to part. He tried to speak a few more times, mouth opening in the predawn light of speech, yet nothing came of it. Like realizing the light was simply just a car on the highway with extremely bright lights. Eventually he said "Its a long story, and not an all together pleasant one either." 

"Are they ever?" She asked. 

"What brings you down this path then?" He asked, changing the subject so violently that it could be felt in the neighboring conversations around camp. 

"Me?" She paused "Hold on, we were talking about you,"

"And now we're talking about you." He said "What is it about you that finds magic and this whole thing so interesting?" 

"What whole thing?" She shifted, "You mean, heading to Flarda?" 

"Correct." 

"Magic seems a bit odd for the context then, doesnt it?" 

"It was part of the conversation, I figured I'd offer you a couple choices and see which one you picked." 

"How generous," She said. "Unfortunately for you, or rather fortunate dependant on where you stood to gain, I'd rather talk about magic than the reason why I've hired you. You know about as much of that as I'll have a reason to share at the moment." 

"So then," He said "Lets talk about magic. Are you a sorcerer?" 

She laughed, "Hardly. I know a few spells, but I mostly have a book." 

"Ah, so a wizard then." 

"In not so many words." She nodded 

"Self taught?" 

"Thats right," Artessa beamed a smile of delight and pride at the question. "Never had time for the fancy schools and stuffy teachers." 

"That seems rather... odd, given who you seem to be." 

"And whose that?" 

"A scholar."

She let out a low but tinkling sound that Morgan interpreted as a laugh. "No, no. I'm an engineer at best. I design structures and assist in the maintance of small works." 

"Oh, you're a laborer then." 

"Not exactly. More like, I design what the laborers will do." She shifted "In not so many words." 

"Sounds rather nice, honestly." 

Morgan had worked with some engineers in his time, though they'd all been hired by the Imperial Military at the time, and were designing siege weapons and the like. Still, one working on structures and buildings seemed far more beneficial to the society overall. Seemed like a pretty rewarding job, provided she wasn't bogged down in the myriad of intrigue plots going on behind the scenes. There was always someone pulling strings, he'd found that out the hard way. 

Even in Anun-Felrid, his slowly dwindling home now some leagues removed from present, the Governor of the city held most of the power and worked things from their side quite frequently. He'd once fallen on the wrong side of the man. Once. He'd not been so foolish any time since. 

"Its something," She said "Rather boring if I'm honest. All joists and brick strength. Some days I feel more like an architect." 

"Oh, well I'm sure its not all that bad." He said. He didn't know what an Ark-it-tent was, but he wasn't really wanting to draw any further comparisons to it. 

"No," She nodded "it isn't. Just boring some days is all." 

"Surely something keeps you going at it?" 

"I like to see the sctructures when they're done. The designs on parchment are far too flat, but when they come to life in the real world." Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the flickering flames. 

Morgan sighed "Actually that does sound pretty nice." 

"What about you?" She asked "Was soldiering always your way before you became..." Clearly she didn't want to say homeless again, so instead she shifted in place and eventually added "liberated from service." 

"No, not always." Morgan lowered his head as memories of the past swept across his eyes. Times without swords or blood, times where he was a simple man without much of a goal or direction. He'd been a thief of sorts, but always just enough to get by. His parents had owned a farm. He wasn't going to amount to much, but then things, as they're want to do, changed. 

"Care to elaborate?" 

"I was a farmer and a theif." He said, rather distant in the process. "Then I got blamed for a crime I didn't commit and was locked up. The military took me and gave me a second chance." He didn't know what was making him speak, but he hadn't told many people, strangers rather, about his past. It felt almost, good, to get it out and into the open. Whether it colored her perspective of him or not, it didn't matter, what mattered was his own self feelings. 

"Oh," Was all she could manage. 

Silence, interrupted occassionally by the crackling of the fire pit, split the air between them. They sat that way for sometime, neither finding the right words to use. Eventually it was Artessa who broke the void with her voice. 

"I don't think you're all that bad of a person." She said. "I don't really know you all that well, but you helped me when you didn't have to, and you accepted the job when you really didn't have to." 

"Thanks," he said "But it's okay. You're right, you don't really know me. So its okay." 

More silence. An owl hooted in the distance, insects made their sounds. The worlds was awash in colors and noises, except for the fire pit, which cracked and filled the air between the two. Eventually Morgan waved a hand and stood. 

"I think that about does it for me tonight," He turned to her "You don't mind being lookout for the next few hours?" 

"Surely you jest." She smiled "I've done it the past few nights already. It isn't that hard to do." 

"Okay, okay." He said. "Just making sure." 

"Just go to bed, and stop worrying. I'll be fine. Nothings out here right now, not that would attack the caravan anyway." 

"Right," He nodded. She was right. Most bigger creatures were asleep this time of year, unless there was quite a ruckus to draw them from their rest, but that didn't seem to be likely on the night. "Alright. Good night." 

"Night Morgan." 

The raven flew through the weather, rather annoyed with the current affairs of its life. It wasn't to say that the beast was upset, just that certain aspects of its life were not exactly where it had hoped to be at this point. Things were far more mundane and less adventurous than he'd planned for, and while his job provided him numerous benefits, he had yet to find a temporary mate. 

This was all to say that the Raven, whose name in its natural tongue was far too impolite to speak aloud often, as was the raven way, was on its way through a thunder storm and had dodged no less than ten bolts of lighting from the gods above. It was remarkable what years of training could do to the natural physique of a bird. He'd relayed this to a number of prospective mates, they'd all found it rather unammusing. 

Still. He flapped his wings harder and harder, perhaps at the end of this he would find a shiny stone and bring that. Do things the traditional way as it were. What did it matter, it wasn't like he was hoping to settle down soon. In his profession, one had to stay active to get ahead. The possibilit of being head raven was something of a distant dream, but he still had to believe. That or succumb to the realization that life was for more mundane than the raven and crow stories he'd heard as a child. 

The Raven thought all this as the rain poured down atop it with some degree of strength that, were it not for a surpsing amount of determination, would have grounded a lesser creature. Instead it flew onward towards the headquarters of the Assassins of Anun-Felrid who, in their own way, had managed to find the perfect hiding spot. They hid in plain sight. Their base was the only one with a pure cloud of dark energy floating overhead. In the natural field of negativity that existed alongside the comfort of a storm in most cases, the creature was having some difficulty finding the base. The storm was playing hell with the creatures ability to find its target. 

The assassin in charge of messages and responses looked out the window and scowled. The storm was perfect killing weather, and he was stuck inside. That was bringing his mood down rather quickly. He wanted to feel the blood beneath his hands, the feeling of the blade entering its target. He was certain that he could accomplish so much if he was only given the chance. 

Still, the prospect of advancement was far more mundane than killing your boss. It just required the action of being in the job and being good at it. The leaders, they were the ones that needed to kill eachother. The lower you went the less likely it was that one needed to kill. It was a simpler life. He was happy with that. 

Barfuli-van-asta, The assassin in charge of messages, stood in the center of a large room and inspected the cages. They contained the birds, rats, mice, snakes, and other creature that were trained, through either magic or natural means, to carry messages through the city and to the other locations. The storm would make that difficult for those of the flying persuasion. He had considered closing the windows, but had enventually decided against it. 

It was fortunate for him that he hadn't becuase just as he was turning away, a small creature of the flying variety decided to throw itself into the room. Barfuli looked the raven over and felt a strange sense of connection with the creature, like a wild feeling that they both hated their job and wished for the hiring echelons of the field. He picked the raven up and gave it a pat. 

"Hello friend." Barfuli said. 

The raven, having felt the same, gave a noise of greeting and shook its leg. 

"Have a message for the boss do ya?" 

The raven said nothing, as it felt no need to speak. Barfuli picked at the container and pulled out the long strand of paper. He smiled and placed the bird near the open container of dry seed. The good kind that he reserved for the imperial birds, then darted towards the room of the Lead Assassin. 

The lead Assassin of the Assassins group of Anun-Felrid sat in his smallish room set on the longest hallway. He'd made sure to make it that way. It had only one entrance, and was watched carefully by a number of magical sentries that had been programmed to maintain the order of things in the hall. They, of course, knew not to attack him, but that didn't mean he wasn't careful in their regular cleaning and maintance. It was important to him that he maintain their look, if for no one elses sake then his own. It wasn't as if he had much to impress on the matter. 

He heard the door in the far hall open and waited for the sounds of conflict. This one was a trained assassin, and knew the hallway with some expertise. They instead stood and waited the appropriate amount of time before a knock was given by the closest of the robotic assistants, and the door was opened. Barfuli-Van-Asta stepped through a minute later, rather short of breathe. 

"Lord... Farken," the man said. breath escaping his lungs faster than he could use it. 

"Ah, Barfuli, how are you today? Good, I trust? The roosts not being too harsh with you these days?" 

"No...sir..." He breathed "But... I've..."

"Breathe my dear friend." Said Farken-Van-Asta. "Surely whatever news you bring me can wait until you've managed to regain some semblence of control over your lungs." 

The man did as instructed and held himself until he eventually managed to speak in a single breath. 

"Lord Farken, I've a letter for you from the Governor of Anun-Felrid." 

"Ah," The man said as he extended his open palm, "and what is it that the good governor wanted?" 

He inspected the letter and smiled. "Is that all?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well," he raised a hand to his chin and gave a scratch of concentration "Who do we have?" 

"Resuilini and Vargos teams are on standby, sir." 

"So you've made the arrangments already?" 

"No, sir. Just informed the available teams of the possibility." 

"Is that so." Farken was familiar the maneavuers that others took in the process of attempting to rise in ranks, and few ever wanted to stay in their positions for long, perhaps he had another go-getter on his hands. That could be both a benefit and curse. "Let them both know that things are to be done. Better to handle this swiftly and without issue, yes?" 

"Yes, sir." 

Between the rhythmic bumping of the carts wheels over unpaved roads, and the deep desire to be anywhere but in their current position, Morgan was growing annoyed. He wasn't bothered by the shoddy work of civil engineering, he'd long ago given up hope that tax money would be used to benefit the society at large, that was simply childish thinking when there were so many other avenues that could be taken with it. 

It wasn't the slop of food that was served to them in the popup Caravan Cafe that appeared between stops to repair the carts, nor was it the sudden increase in temperature that had marked the arrival of the summer on the region. No, it was one simple thing. Pere. He was irritated by the local Pere that had been hired to guard the carts. 

Pere, as they were commonly utilized, were glorified mercenaries with little more to do than "defend" those around them, but mostly to fill their wallets. He'd never been to much of a fan of them, not since he'd failed to join their ranks after being relieved of duty in the Imperial Military. Something about his application had been reject outright, and he'd never really forgiven them for it. 

Surely, though, the petty desires of one man could be set aside for the common good of a whole group, Morgan had to admit that even he wouldn't hold the grudge that far. Yet, something in these Pere bothered him. They were rude and inconsiderate. They took what they wanted and asked for very little, they were nothing more than thugs. 

So as the days progressed and turned into week, he found himself growing more and more bothered by the various actions of the groups. To the point that he eventually had to say something, but he couldn't think of anyone other than his companion. So thats what he did. 

"I'm telling you," Morgan started again, beginning a conversation that had been had several times by now. "These Pere are rotten." 

"Mhm." Artessa mouthed. 

"Nothing but the worst of the worst." 

"Mmm." 

"Can you believe the nerve of these people?" He threw his hands up , "Double rations, more comfortable beds, private carts. Half the trail has just been them being pampered." 

"I think," Artessa said "that perhaps you're giving them too much consideration." 

"Too much?" He shot, "How so?" 

"Well, they're not bothering you." 

"But thats just the thing," He said "They are! Just by existing they're bothering me. Each one is just as bad as the last. There isn't a single thing about them that-" 

"Okay, Okay." She raised a palm in a subduing fashion and Morgan slowed his speech "I understand that you're upset. But what is it really that has you bothered?" 

"The Pere!" 

She shook her head "Really? They bother you that much?" 

"They should bother you a lot more." 

"Well it doesn't," She pulled a book from her bag and adjusted her seat in th rear of the cart. They were traveling at a relatively clean pace and the road had seemed a bit more stable then the ones over the past few days, perhaps she could manage a bit of reading in the time. 

"Look," He said "All I'm saying is that they think they're the best of the best. And they're not." 

"You sound jealous." 

"Am not!" Morgan folded his arms in frustration, drawing a laugh from the woman. 

"Of course not," She sighed "Why don't you find some way to occupy yourself. Aren't you supposed to be protecting me?" 

Morgan gave a grumble of a response and then sighed an acceptance. He stood, as best as was possible inside the contained structure of the wagon. He'd need to learn the difference between the cart and wagon theory at some point, but now in his own head was not the time. He strode through the supplies and out into the muggy air of the day. The driver sat with his eyes fixed on the road. 

Their driver, Davi as he was called, was a kindly older man who had taken to the caravan life some time in the past and was quite good at it. Each cart/wagon, as he was growing more concerned that even internally he was losing track of which was which, had a driver associated with it. They were responsible for assisting in the nightly routine and keeping the occupants relatively safe. Of course the guards, Pere, and personal defenders were there too, so they handled the heavier lifting of the jobs, but Davi had been a marvelous host. He'd even taught him the world, "Marvelous" it had so many uses. 

Like, to say that the Pere were pulling their weight was a "Marvelous" statement, as it was demonstrobly false and horribly unbalanced. Even on the page, the very fabric of the universe would correct the statement and turn the page it was written on into ash, as to make sure that no false gods may hope to garner such a powerful lie as an ally. Gods were fickle creatures after all, they often fought amongst themselves, rarely choosing the far less dangerous option of merely playing a board game. They'd tried, but some often cheated.

"Evening Mr. Morgan." Davi said, voice crackling with the wisened age of years. "What brings you out here?" 

"Figured I'd keep you company." He lied "That and the woman wanted me to stand guard." 

"I could always use the company." The man said. 

Davi was short, balding, and with a face that had seen years of grief and joy. His lines of happiness matched equally with the wrinkles of worry and stress that beset themselves into his forehead. He was an olderman, well into his sixities from the look, but still well meaning and active. 

"So tell me Davi, how does a man get into this line of work?" 

"Oh," He pondered "The caravan trade?" 

"Sure," 

"Well, One need only lose their home and the caravans are happy to offer you a replacement." 

"You lost your home?" 

"Oh that was a long time ago," He said. "And not an all-together pleasant tale. Say, have I told you about the gargantuan Peach I'd come across." He had. Morgan had heard the story three times already, if he had to hear it again he wasn't sure what he'd do. 

"Yes!" He caught himself "I mean, yeah, you've mentioned it. I think so anyway." 

"Well it was a doosy. Thats for sure. Quite a big one," 

"What do you think of the Pere?" Morgan asked. If changing the subject were an olympic game, Morgan would be world class at this point. Though the lack of any quadrennial games made the prospect far less appealing. 

"Oh," The man seemed to sour a bit "They're fine. I suppose." 

"Not particularly pleased with their work then?" 

"Just rude is all," Davi said. He whipped the reins, instructing the lead animal to divert its attention for the grass it had turned to look at, and back to the road at hand. Caravan creatures were kindly, if a little slow at times. 

"I could second that, and the way they ask for special treatment." 

"That too," He said. "Not really the nicest of fellows, are they?" 

"You could say that again." 

"Course, they do a job for us though." 

"Thats true." Morgan said "Not that they've had much work as of late." 

"No, these roads are usually fairly safe. Not much in the way of bandits or creatures these times of year." 

"Course all the years of travel ought to have taught them something as well," 

"One would only think," Davi chuckled "Silly animals." He whipped the reins again. It occured to Morgan that the man rarely did anything with any force, in fact it barely seemed to effect the creature as its head turned once more for the far sight of grass on the corners of the road. Once more the whipping, and the creature drove its head back into position. It was becoming something of a game for the two, it seemed. 

"How much farther do you think we have?" Morgan asked after a while. The silence that fell between them had been peaceful, but it hadn't stopped the question from forming in his mind. 

"Oh, not long. I'd say we stop for the day in the next few hours. Assuming we don't have any surprising breaks on the way." 

"I meant, how long until the coasts." 

"Never been out this way?" Davi asked 

"Not in some time." He said 

"Well, It'll take us about a month or so." 

"Right, right." He said. He'd known the distance, had mapped it out and planned it, but still to hear it said was something else. They were still less than a week from Anun-Felrid, and that was in the middle of the Gehenian lands. If it took them a month to reach the coasts, then they'd be traveling... He ran the calculations. It didn't compute. He tried again. Nothing, his mind ran blank. He decided it would take a long time and that he wasn't entirely pleased with the idea. 

"Why do you ask sonny?" 

"Oh," Morgan said casually "Just asking questions. Been traveling long?" 

"Almost my whole life." Davi said 

"Met many people?" 

"All kinds." 

"Rushala?" 

Davi frowned and stared at him with a determined gaze. Then he broke and turned back to the road. "No." 

Morgan couldn't seem to work more out of him after that, Davi seemed to just be focusing on the road and path ahead. Eventually Morgan grew bored and stepped back into the wagon to sleep. 

One of the first things that Morgan had come to love, and now began to miss, was the cool air of the waterways as they drove themselves through the lands. He'd enjoyed, in his own way, being by the water. He'd always made a point of robbing folks near there, just to enjoy the weather a tad bit longer. It had been a peaceful existence, between the robbing and being robbed. 

Morgan sat by the fire and leafed through a small book detailing the events of a number of short wars. He knew the contents well, after all he'd written them some time back. His journals of time were always written in a way, and during a stupor that, when reread gave the impression of belonging to someone different. When he was inebriated and well into the take of drink, he'd wax poetic over a number of details and would bemoan the issues he'd found himself involved in. 

It had always interested him in keeping records of things, tallies of the worst crimes you'd commited, or marks of gracious thanks from those you saved. He hadn't done as much while being a criminal, but during his time with the Rushala... Well, the pages spoke for themselves. Each stained with either the blood or tears of the man that had once been trapped and bound to an Empire so uncarring, it was impossible to imagine what the good they could do was worth.

"You're up again." He said. Artessa had just stepped from the rear of the cart and was making her way towards him. She was dressed in her nightly outfit, nothing fancy as he'd come to have expected from someone with her... demeanor. She actually seemed to be rather down to earth, as the case by case basis was beginning to show. 

"Yes. I've been thinking." She said. She took a seat beside him by the fire and produced a small journal similar to his own. Though hers was in much better condition. Her eyes caught the item in his hands and she smiled. "Oh, you have a journal as well?"

"Its... yes. However its more like a record of a distant time." 

"When you were a soldier?" 

"Yes." He spoke the word with such little emotion that it seemed almost empty. 

"If you don't mind, thats actually what I was thinking about." 

"Oh?" 

"You said you were a soldier and a criminal?" 

"Something along those lines." He nodded "Why?" 

"I was wondering, what group did you serve? I don't remember if you've mentioned it before." 

"I don't know that I have." 

"So." 

"I worked for the Rushala. A group of criminals that were essentially purchased and served their time as soldiers." 

"I see. That must have been quite a group." 

"It was." He nodded. "Quite a group indeed. We were usually in something of a stange position on base." 

"I could only imagine." She said. 

"Most of us had talents that were brought up and utilized by the commanders over all, they didn't really care too much about things otherwise." 

"What did you do?" 

"I was a lockpick and a fighter," 

"No, I mean what did you do to get locked up." 

Morgan froze. "I..." 

"Was it something serious or..." Artessa caught the look on his face and stopped "I'm sorry, It must be something that you don't wish to talk about." 

"No," He said "It isn't something I wish to talk about right now. If its all the same." 

"Thats fine." She said. "Do you mind talking about your life as a soldier." 

"I suppose. Whats with the sudden interest in my life?" 

"You're my defender," She said "Surely you can understand me taking an interest in the guy I'm relying on for protection." 

"Fair enough," He said with a relenting tone "What did you want to know?" 

"Well," She paused as if to consider the options before her "What was your specialty? What did you do?" 

"Like I said, I picked locks and fought people. That was roughly the extent of my work. Others involved were casters or clerics, weird as they were, and we even had a Barbarian from the Desert." 

"Interesting assortment of fellows, If you don't mind me saying as such." 

"Oh, I don't mind." He said "We were, honestly. Rather interesting indeed. We ended up taking on some strange customers too." 

"Oh?" 

"Like Frost Giants north of the Gehenian Capital. We repressed a few rebellions in the Desert too, those were always rought times for Atua." 

"The Barbarian?" 

"Hm? Oh, yes. He was a good guy, just not all that bright when push came to shove." 

"How about the others?" 

"They were fine. All together we managed to escape more than a few scrapes that would have met our end." 

"Sounds like you had some very interesting times." 

"Most of the more common ones are recorded in books like these." He said, tapping the parchment bound book with a drum of his finger. "If you're ever interested, I suppose I could lend it to you so that you could read it." 

"Would you be willing to?" She asked 

"I suppose I don't see a reason why not." He said. He slid the book across the way to her and let her pick it up. It was a strange feeling for him, having somenoe hold something so precious to him. She held it as if it were a precious jewel that needed the most care possible. 

As she flipped through the pages she would giggle on occasion. Silence fell between them once more as she wirred through the book and left Morgan alone with his thoughts and process of defending the caravan. 

"What about you?" He asked after a time. She was well into the beginning of the book and was seemingly speeding through it. "Whats your specialty?" 

"I'm a caster," she said halfheartidly, making the waving motion to dismiss the question. "Nothing too fancy though, just a few talents to assist in the engineering field." 

"Strange," He furrowed his brow trying to remember a bit of information from years past "I could swear then then you'd be an Arcengineer, with the inate gift of magic and all that." 

"Some of us," She pulled herself up to her full seated height and smiled "Care more for the basic structures of the world, than what magic can do about them." 

"Right," He said, remembering the conversation from before. "Idealist." 

"That isn't..." She stopped "I guess that is," 

"Oh yes," He said "In both context." 

"Well then, Mr. Soldier." She placed a hand on her hip  "What makes you so special?" 

"Nothing," He response came instantly, no hesitation behind it. He knew the truth of the matter, he wasn't a caster and he was barely a soldier. Nothing about him made him special. He wasn't a hero, he was barely a guard for this woman. 

"Surely theres something," the tone shifting in her voice as if hit by something "You can't just say nothing." 

"I can make a mean stew." He offered "But other than that, no. Nothing really. No talent for languages beyond those I know. No skills in fighting beyond the limits to keep me alive. Nothing really to my name that could argue my importance." 

"Thats... rather morbid." 

"Well," He said "What makes you so special then?" 

"I've managed to secure the rights to several different groups in the engineering field and all without the aid of my family name." 

"That is something." He said. 

"Not to mention I have a number of patents to my name, and have helped build out a select number of opera houses." 

"Oh, Impressive." 

She nodded. "Not to mention my magical aptitude places me among the elite of those in the academy." 

"Good show," He said "You've done very well for yourself, haven't you." 

"Somewhat," She said, smile fading. "Couldn't do everything though. Like I couldn't manage to find the caravans without finding myself in the arms of a theif." 

"Sorry about that," He proffered the apology with an air of concern. "Trully I am." 

"Don't worry too much about it," Her smile returning. "It worked out in the end, didn't it?" 

"You'd have to be the judge of that," He smiled 

They sat there in the silence of the crackling fire once more, feeling a strange sense of Dejavu over the whole encounter, but neither were bothered by the presence of their strange companion. Both were comfortable just existing around the fire, one reading, the other watching. Both were in their own worlds. 

Overhead the world flickered on and stung the sky with thousands of glittering holes, peering ever long into the voids of the unknown. Artessa flipped a page and gasped, then burried her face further into the book. Morgan heard the crack of a piece of wood and turned, then saw the frame of a small jungle cat, no larger than a lap animal, walk into the light. He smiled and waved, and the creature hissed then ran. 

"Say Morgan," Artessa said "What are all these red marks on here." 

"Blood, more than likely." He said. She gave a shiver of realization and then flipped the page. "Do you want to tell me what you're going to Flarda for yet?" 

"Have you ever heard of Baron Udvel?" She asked 

"I might..." 

"Well, lets just say that he's the reason I'm going. We can leave it at that for now, right?" 

"I suppose." He said. In his mind, Morgan thought back to every terrible thing that had happened in his life. To all the things that had led up to his position in life, and made sure to curse the man responsible. Baron Udvel.