Ahrom and Tyrenn had passed by the fishing hamlet of Porlis after having traveled over fourty-six miles from where they met. At an easy pace. Looking northwards across the Caernavas River, the Artean Tower in Old Ellicia caught the light of the sunset and could be seen by all for miles as its uncommon surface made the light reach out in all directions. As though the wonder of what Ellicia once was had still been calling to many travelers. The ancient tower was almost a light house for any that needed it. The City of Ten-Thousand years promised. And all that Humankind could be. Ahrom thought to himself. Remembering the lament that Bards sang of the fallen empire.

Returning his attention to the road. Ahrom looked forward and could see the Old Ellician Watch Tower, another relic of the old empire. But at least one that served as a sign that the destination was not far. The old imperial structure loomed over the road between Maronsted and Tolsborrow. And had served as a significant road marker if not a useful stopping point.

"Lovely things aren’t they?" Tyrenn asked Ahrom with a tone of fondness for the subject.

"The towers? Yes. Tragic. But lovely." Ahrom stated with a lament for the old empire. Which was common for a conversation regarding Old Ellicia.

"Tragic? That tower across the river there has stood for well over six-thousand years. And the one ahead, while not as tall and not as impressive, has stood for over four-thousand. Likely they are to stand for just as long each long after we’ve passed from the world." Tyrenns tone became that of an academic. With a scholars passion.

"Tragic because of the Fate that befell it. And the Destiny it couldn’t fulfill." Ahrom explained. He too could summon a scholars passion when needed. Having been an avid reader on the subject of the Empire of Old Ellicia for as many years as he could nourish the pass time. Having gained a particular fondness for the stories involving Dragons as central or assisting characters rather than beasts.

"Fate? Destiny? Bah!" Tyrenn disdained, "Is that what they teach you in those Paladin Monasteries? I surely hope it’s not." Tyrenn shook his head in abject worry for the aptly titled Vanguards of the Faithful.

"You don’t believe the old empire lived up to the stories it inspired?" Ahrom asked. With a care to foster a constructive debate on the matter.

"No. I know it did. One need only look around to see the proof. I’m merely saying that someone like you. Willing as you are to help poor wretches on the road, such as this crumbling mess of a fool that speaks to you now, should not be so easily swayed by those two words." Tyrenn redirected the conversation where he thought it best to go.

"Fate and Destiny?" Ahrom asked.

Tyrenn pantomimed the act of vomiting at hearing the words "False Music for desperate ears. Nothing more. Those words are products of times of uncertainty and crisises of faith. Peddled shamelessly by Zealots who give religion a bad name. As well as those weary hearts that must enlist a crowd to lend a misinformed realness to what can otherwise be branded a fools hope." Tyrenn said as he walked with a affirmed posture.

"I’ve never thought of it that way." Ahrom stated. Conceding to Tyrenns argument.

"Then I’m glad to have widened your gaze. If only a little. Take it from me. There are no such forces as Fate or Destiny. The only things that come close are the inevitable reward or regret of all our choices." Tyrenn stated with a feeling of accomplishment. Casually stating something that carried more weight than he made them sound, in Ahroms opinion.

"And what choices led you to those thugs?" Ahrom asked as they came upon Maronsted. Its simple dirt roads busy with the business of those few travelers that came and went from the town as they interacted with the locals.

"Well, principal really. Those villainous gentlemen sought to abscond with my walking stick here. Naturally, I gave chase. Getting as far as where we met. And as they were about to kill me in some prolonged, and unnecessary manner. You happened by and saved me. Now we’re here, talking about it fondly." Tyrenn answered with a smile. Over analyzing the circumstance on purpose. Ahrom had begun to see an intent behind his odd behavior. He couldn’t help but grin back.

Ahrom finally took notice of Tyrenns walking stick. Seeing that it was not truly a stick. But rather, almost a metal rod. Yet had a mineral appearance to it. Like obsidian if it could be made durable. It seemed as though it were a series of obsidian colored squares no thicker than coins. Stacked one on top of the other in a winding pattern. Thin as a branch until near the top when the square patterning grew wider before splitting into four arches reaching up and coming together again at the center above the open space between them. Ahrom knew at once that this was a Mage Staff. Its quality was too unique to have been a normal item.

"So you’re a Mage? Why didn’t you use a spell to fend them off?" Ahrom asked. Knowing how effective spells can be against any foe.

"I hadn’t had the chance. They caught up to me in a tavern on my way out of Southmore and took my staff. Couldn’t even dare to cast without it. I had finally come upon them on the road in order to get it back when you happened by." Tyrenn answered. It was all Ahrom needed to know to understand Tyrenns circumstance. Ahrom knew from his Paladins Trials that Human and Dwarvish Mages needed a conduit tool, such as a staff, if they were to cast major magics with no physical cost to themselves.

Ahrom had attempted to couple together all the pieces of this strange mans story. "So you’re a wandering mage? A Grey Sage?" Ahrom inquired with a glint of enthusiastic curiosity. Along his travels he had seen and heard of Mages that roamed the world, unaffiliated with any royal court. Or even under the oversight of any of the Mage Schools. Common folk had taken to calling them, Grey Sages. Wise men of mysterious arts who were bound to no authority. Except the road. And all the troubles that followed along it.

"Not the most flattering moniker I’ve ever worn. Since I don’t believe myself to be that Grey. But yes. You could consider me such a Mage. Just be kind with the Grey part about it. I still have some life left in me after all." Tyrenn replied. Making light of the matter with humor. Ahrom smiled. He enjoyed his strange company for the time they had traveled. Brief though it was.

Ahrom almost failed to notice that a slender hooded figure had been observing them from the porch of a tavern just up the road. Suspecting that others might be following them as well. Ahrom made a near, unnoticeable glance to the other side of the road. And found his suspicion to be correct. Another hooded figure observed from afar. Considerably taller the other, though the figure tried to hide that detail by sitting down. Ahrom deliberated on their discernible features. Deducing that his observers were a woman, the figure on the tavern porch. And a Skaari man. Having made out some of the mans face in the dusk light. Noting a short beard and pale face.

As to the woman. Ahrom had swore to himself that he saw a much darker color of skin. Concluding that she was an Obuntu woman. One of the peoples native to the Abkari Desert Kingdoms across the Shattered Sea to the east. Ahrom had read of them between his time as a Novice. Recalling several accounts of their prowess with pole arms and hand to hand combat.

Of the Skaari mans possible skill, Ahrom already knew a great deal. Every Dekmirian child grows up hearing the Horror stories of the Skaari Men of the North. Of how they once sailed down the Sothagat River in the north of Dekmire and pillaged entire farms of all their harvest. Slaughtering any that dared oppose them. That. And of the events of the War of the Longest Winter well over sixty-three years ago. A war between Dekmire and Bulgaard, the Homeland of the Skaari beyond the Frostwall Mountains, over a perceived injustice done on Skaari merchants in Northwatch. The first true test of the newly crowned King of Dekmire. Eorman Fermont.

Ahrom didn’t give himself away. Instead he dismounted Hakka and motioned for Tyrenn to follow him to the tavern as he led Hakka by the reins. They approached the same tavern that the hooded Obuntu woman sat in waiting for them. A weathered watering hole with a weary sign post naming the establishment as The Trouts Kiss. A title that gave Ahrom a list of possible stories as to its inspiration for the name of a tavern. An amusement that he would revisit when the possibility of danger was passed.

After tying Hakka to the hitching post outside. Ahrom and Tyrenn made their way up the worn steps of the taverns porch. The creak of the planks beneath their feet almost had rhythm to them. As though the old wood had began to sing its swan song out loud. Ahrom noted that the Obuntu woman continued to observe them as they entered the tavern.

After entering the tavern. Ahrom was struck by the smell of cooking meat and pleasant pipe smoke. Seeing the patrons enjoying pints of Dekmirian Dark Ale. A favored drink for many a tired farmer or weary traveler in the Realm of the Griffon Kings. Though the rigors of the Paladins Path were manifold and dangerous. Ahrom occasionally found time to stop in small towns or road side taverns such as these. And would on such occasions, relax himself in the calm of a warm spot by a well tended hearth. With a pint of the same Dark Ale to ease his journey.

Though it was not a time to clutch at ease and relaxation. For the moment, Ahrom had thought it wise to at least appear unawares. To observe his observers in their spying corners. To determine if they were the ones Haeratus spoke of in the letter. Or if they were agents of the happenings that were also mentioned. He hoped to find out as he approached the bar.

"Well met gentlemen. Call me Gwyr. What’ll it be?" The barman spoke eloquently in the common tongue for a Wood Elf. Working so well among the majority of his Human patrons. If it were not for the noticeable difference in the size of his eyes and their unique maroon color. The pointed ears poking through his walnut colored hair. Or the slender, sharpness of his features. As well as standing no more than five feet and four inches compared to Ahrom. He might not have noticed him as one of the Linu’alfari. The Wood Elves of the Elder Races.

Gwyr the Barman took a glance at Tyrenns staff and soon after that one glance. His expression became one of reserved worry. "Uh.. sir? I’d like to ask you to be careful while you’re in here. Nothing set on fire. Yes?" Gwyr addressed Tyrenn directly.

"Oh no need to worry about me my liege, I will be as plain as parchment. Besides. How might I cast if I have a pint in my hand? Better yet! Two! One in each hand!" Tyrenn responded with a reassuring tone. Gwyr smiled. His mind set at ease.

"Two Dekmirian Darks if you please. And what are you serving to eat today?" Ahrom asked Gwyr. Unmoved by his race or oddness in comparison to Humans.

"Fish and Baked Potatoes are the regular choices around these parts. But I’ve recently purchased some Manticore Sausage from the butchers place up the road, and hadn’t let many know about it yet." Gwyr answered. Leaning close when mentioning the Manticore Sausage. So as to make it seem like a rare dish. If it had been nine decades ago. It would’ve been. But since after the War of the Longest Winter. Bulgaardian goods had been coming into Dekmire in as many quantities as the Merchants ships could carry from the rugged North. Ahrom knew it. But indulged him as part of the facade for his observers.

"You don’t think the locals would want to eat one of the deadliest beasts of the North?" Ahrom asked him. Addressing the exotic nature of such a dish. The Manticore itself, being a fierce beast native to the savage wilderness of Bulgaard. A thing of another time in the worlds history when far more ferocious beasts dwelt in wild places of the world. A bat winged beast, as big as a Griffon. And as hateful as Poltergeist.

"Well apart from the hollow rumor that Manticore is still poisonous even after it’s been prepared for eating. Most, I think, would rather keep to what’s ordinary. Helps to keep their world from moving too fast I suppose." Gwyr explained. Speaking plainly of it when he felt that Ahrom wasn’t so easily swayed..

"They seem to have taken a liking to you." Ahrom pointed out.

"They’d probably give an Orc fresh from the south, or even a Pirate from the Shattered Sea a similar courtesy if they gladly served them ale and spirits as I do. But I’ve been in these parts around four decades now. So I suppose I’ve had the aid of time to help soften their opinions of my folk." Gwyr stated casually. Thinking lightly of the long life that the Wood Elves live. Ahrom remembered reading the autobiography of Taerideith Aen Tyr’na Sylvanar. A Wood Elf Martial Artist who had written his autobiography at the end of his three-thousand and four hundred years of life.

"I should think so too." Ahrom agreed with Gwyr.

"What is Gwyr short for?" Tyrenn asked with a wide smile. A friendly curiosity leading the madmans way.

"Gwyraethdiel Aen Mourindale. I started telling people to call me Gwyr as soon as they started hurting themselves trying to pronounce it." Gwyr answered. Bringing out a laugh from Ahrom and Tyrenn. It was common for Wood Elves to shorten or simplify their names in order to interact with Humans. Many more Elvish names beyond that were far more complicated.

"Gwyr! We’re ready to head home. Hess is ready to fall dead from that Dwarvish Whiskey you let him have. What’s our due?" A friendly toned patron asked.

"Four Alents." Gwyr answered.

"That much?" The patron was dumb struck.

"I believe you had some of the Dwarvish Druha too, Mirnen." Gwyr answered with a wry smile.

"Yeah but I’m still standing!" he protested in jest. Laughing loudly.

"True. But for how long? That’s the real question." Gwyr challenged him in good fun. There was a clear familiarity between them.

"Ah we’ll see. Won’t we? Hah! Here. Fair is fair. And another silver Alent for yourself." Mirnen pulled three silver coins from his pocket. The silver coinage being called Alents, for being engraved with the face of King Alentar Deremand. The Dekmirian King who had established the usage of a national Gold, Silver, and Copper Coinage after the Old Ellician Empire had fallen.

"Cheers Mirnen. Get home safe. All of you! And sleep well!" Gwyr thanked Mirnen and his drinking friends. Ahrom enjoyed moments like this where Humans could be civil with races other than Human. Even under the drinks spell.

"Oi! Gwyr! Afore I leave. How do you say goodbye in that funny Elf tongue of yours? C’mon!" Hess, the drunkard of Mirnens drinking party, stumbled onto the bar and asked.

Gwyr smiled and asked "In which way?" He asked smartly. Still holding his wry smile as he leaned against the bar.

"The simplest." Hess asked with the Dwarvish Druha Whiskey still on his breath. The gust of which luckily missed Gwyrs nostrils.

Gwyr chuckled in his throat. "Aeye san lia, Caerei mae," Gwyr recited the Wood Elvish farewell beautifully. The patron became relaxed.

"Oh that’s near a lullaby, that is." Hess stated with his own degree of respect. "Aeye san..." His eyes fell closed, then he himself fell backwards. Being fortunate enough to land into his friends arms. Snoring immediately with a lingering smile on his face.

"Goodnight Gwyr!" Mirnen and his still conscious drinking friends said loudly as they left. Carrying aloft, their unconscious companion. Ahrom smiled. Tyrenn grinned widely with his surprisingly white teeth showing through.

"Now I’m more than certain you’ve found a place here." Ahrom stated. Taking a sip of the Dekmirian Dark Ale after Gwyr poured and served them.

Gwyr nodded with a smile and said "I’ll tell my cook to whip up some fish and potatoes for you gentlemen." He started towards the kitchen door.

Ahrom stopped Gwyr before he passed too far ahead to have seen Ahrom raise his hand. "I’ll have some of that Manticore Sausage too." Ahrom stated. Putting a more noticeably wry smile on Gwyrs face. Gwyr went to the back as Ahrom and Tyrenn enjoyed their ales.

As Gwyr returned from the kitchen and said "My cook Tamak will have your meals out to you right away." Tyrenn sniffed loudly at the scents of the fish and Sausage cooking in Tamaks skillets. While Ahrom could hear the potatoes being boiled before going into the brick oven. Along with grumbles in Durahbas that assured Ahrom that it was truly a Dwarf back there cooking. Half of what he could understand were comments on how there had been rust spots on the undersides of the skillets. Or how the ovens brick surface was beginning to crack. The Dwarvish attention to detail.

Ahrom took another sip of his dark ale. He enjoyed it enough that he almost couldn’t feel a slender shadow creep up behind him. The Obuntu woman had finally made her approach. Ahrom noticed in the corner of his eye as he turned his head just enough to see her, that the Skaari observer was leaning in the open doorway. Keeping watch as Ahrom had guessed.

Tyrenn said with worry. Tapping Ahroms shoulder at a steady pace. "There’s a menacing woman with a lovely face standing right behind you. She’s got a spear leaning on her shoulder." He said as he continued to tap Ahroms shoulder.

Ahrom turned to Tyrenn to find him grinning strangely at the Obuntu woman. After taking a moment to process the situation. As well as attempt to ponder a possible why to Tyrenns odd reaction. "If she’s so menacing. Why are you smiling at her?" Ahrom asked calmly.

"Can you think of a better way to keep an armed person you just met from hurting you?" Tyrenn asked Ahrom. Still tapping his shoulder at the same pace that he had from the very beginning.

Ahrom took a moment to think on it. But could only smile. "Tyrenn." Tyrenn made an acknowledging hum. "Stop tapping my shoulder. If you please." Tyrenn turned to notice what he had been doing. Stopping and apologizing with a nod. But not relenting in his smile directed at the Obuntu woman. Ahrom turned from the bar to address his observers properly.

The Obuntu woman pulled back her hood. Revealing a pair of bright amber eyes keeping their focus to Ahroms eyes. The face that held them was fair in all feature except for a scar running from above the left eye to the middle of the cheek. Though it had long ago healed, it was yet deep as it sat in the flesh. Her hair was as dark as a shadow cut and shaved on the sides running behind her head. With the hair braided and kept tied behind her head as it ran down.

"We’ve been waiting for you. Paladin Ahrom." The Obuntu woman said. "Though. We had understood that you would be traveling alone." She said as she looked to Tyrenn. Who still held the odd grin on his face. Making the circumstance unbearably awkward to the Obuntu woman’s patience.

"And what would you want with a Paladin? Surely not a need for an extra blade. You and your man over there seem capable. Probably not for an exorcism either." Ahrom dug for details.

"Might we speak at a more secluded table?" The Obuntu woman asked. Being cautious against unwanted ears. As well as Tyrenn. Who was still grinning foolishly, and hadn’t broken eye contact for a moment.

"What’s wrong with right here?" Ahrom tested her as he leaned comfortably against the bar. "I’ve got food on the way too. And I’m hungry." He said with a cocky tone.

The Obuntu woman giggled in her throat behind a reserved grin of her own. It struck a cold chill in Tyrenn when she turned to him. Making him recall his strange smile with an almost ashamed expression. "Your Grand Prior said that you were a bold sort. One prone to stand his ground in caution when faced with the unknown. I told him that it might save you." The Obuntu woman said to Ahrom. It told him all he needed to know. These two were the ones Haeratus had written of in the letter.

"You’re the two that the Grand Prior mentioned when he wrote to me." Ahrom said.

"And I told him that it would be best if we made our way to you. Rather than risk interception of any document proof of our own movements. The Grand Priors affiliation with the King being a known element at court." The Obuntu woman said. Furrowing her brow at Ahroms statement.

"The Grand Prior was never one to avoid singular risks. That said I still don’t quite understand what this is about." Ahrom said. Making eye contact with the Obuntu woman.

"If you’ll come to a more secluded table. I can shed more light on the situation." The Obuntu woman said as she directed to a table in the corner. Ill lit and far enough away from the rest of the patronage that no one would hear any low murmurs of overwhelming things.

Ahrom then looked to Tyrenn "My friend. It seems you’ll have to fend for yourself a moment." He said hoping he would understand.

"Oh I understand. Just remember. Smile, and they won’t plant a blade in your neck." Tyrenn advised with a smile. Opting to remain at the bar. Ahrom smiled back before going with the Obuntu woman to the isolated table.

"Is he going to be joining us?" Ahrom asked the Obuntu woman as they came to the table.

"Fyr is insistent on standing watch at the door. With good reason." The Obuntu woman answered as she took her seat. Ahrom took the seat opposite hers at the table. Resting his pint to his right at the tables edge nearest to the stained wooden wall.

"To the grave business then." Ahrom stated, reclining back in the creaking chair.

The Obuntu woman inhaled deeply after putting her sheathed spear against the wall beside her. "I am Ser Issa Doraja. My companion at the door is Ser Fyr Brittle-Shield. We are Knights of his Majesties Griffonguard. And we are here due to events in the realm and at court that have warranted the need of outside help."

Ahrom was stunned. The Knightly Order of the Griffonguard were the sworn and trusted knights of the monarchy of Dekmire. Serving both as elite bodyguards, and trusted champions. The later of the two often counting the role of Secret Police into its repertoire. Ahrom admired that they knew how to hide. They were both armored in what seemed more like the armor of mercenaries. Which was undoubtedly their ruse as they made their way through the Realm.

"What can I do for such an illustrious pair?" Ahrom asked with a calm, collected tone. Doing his best to contain his admiration for them in the exploits of their Order.

"Plots and schemes abound. Paladin Ahrom. The King came under the attack of an Assassin not four nights ago. The plot had failed of course. And the Assassin apprehended." Issa explained in a professional tone.

"So why does this require meeting with me? Since you had caught the villain after all. And I’ve been at the border fighting during the attempt." Ahrom asked.

"Because the King was in the security of Deremandar Palace. A place thoroughly guarded by the Griffonguard. And the only way the Assassin could’ve breached our security, is if he was aided from within the court itself. Inquiries are underway with supreme discretion. But in that is the problem. The proper formalities that strengthen our legal portents for the apprehension of a traitor. May yet be the warning bell that makes the viper disappear into its hole, Or shed its skin and be unrecognizable." Issa answered. A dread of what is not yet known of the conspiracy evident in her voice.

"So you need to bring someone in that is not known at court. Yet trusted by a part of it. Haeratus flattering me with such trust. That is unsettling." Ahrom arrived at the necessity of the meeting. And was completely serious on his comment of Haeratus. Before Ahrom had gone south to Fort Krantborg, Haeratus had considered him far too brash to be a permanent resident of the Orders monastery of Dawnsreach Tower in the Aldership of Westmarch in the north west of Dekmire.

"Bring someone in being the operative words. Our orders were to make contact with you and bring you to the capital in discretion. In secret would be a rare gift from the All-Father. The Alder Lords and Noble Lords of Dekmire have their own spies in all corners. We’ve a truly treacherous road ahead fraught with more dangers than even the unseen." Issa said. The seriousness of her tone more potent than before.

"Order Up!" Tamak, the Dwarvish cook, shouted aloud as he came out of the kitchen holding and balancing three plates. Two with fish and baked potatoes. The other with Manticore Sausage. Ahrom could see Gwyr ask Tyrenn where he had gone. And Tyrenn explained. Pointing at the secluded table that Ahrom and Issa were sitting at. Gwyr took one of the plates of fish and baked potatoes and directed Tamak to Ahroms table. To which the Dwarf began to walk towards.

The wide feet of the short, muscular being hammered on the floor boards as mildly as they could manage. Subtlety not being an attribute of the Elder Race of the Mountain Realms. While the hands like wide spades held the plates of food with grasping, thick fingers. A stocky belly jiggled left and right beneath pectorals resembling plates of stone. "Here you are. Fish and Baked Potatoes. Side order of Manticore Sausage. Enjoy." The gravelly, weathered voice made low by pipe smoking or by coal dust. The words thundered out from a thick bearded face sitting atop a wide neck that arose between two shoulders like stalwart boulders. Seeing a Dwarf work for a Wood Elf in a Human town was impressive considering the stubbornness of the Dwarves in matters of work and business. Another story Ahrom would have to learn one day.

"Tamak, Tobarmudu." Ahrom thanked Tamak in Durahbas. Surprising him with how well he spoke. Issa was also impressed. Tamak nodded with a smile before returning to the kitchen. While Ahrom turned to the well cooked fish and baked potatoes. And a plate of two links of Manticore Sausage. The dark hearty meat steamed from the plate. "Do I have time to eat?" Ahrom asked Issa. She smiled.

"You’ll need to say your goodbyes to your companion. We’re to only travel as three. As it would be easier to maintain the guise of Mercenaries." Issa replied. Never failing her professional stance in every word she spoke.

"Alright." Ahrom said with a sigh. He didn’t want to part with Tyrenn just yet. After he had come to enjoy his company. "I’ll go ahead and take care of that. Don’t touch my food." Ahrom warned her in jest.

"We’ve already eaten." Issa said. Making cold eye contact as she did. Ahrom froze for short instant before grinning in response as he walked over to Tyrenn as he dug into his plate of fish and baked potatoes with blind abandon. Almost the behavior of a spirited child.

"Tyrenn." Ahrom said with a light tone. To which Tyrenn made an attempt to speak through the fish and bits of potato that were being chewed. Ahrom smiled.

Tyrenn chewed the food down enough to swallow it promptly. So that he could speak clearly. "Ahrom! Have you tried your fish yet? I think they served up trout." Tyrenn asked with the innocence of a child. Delighting in the meal before him with a travelers appreciation.

"Not yet. But I will." Ahrom assured him while still holding a disappointment in his tone. "It has been fun to travel in your company. But I fear I must leave you behind. Greater Movements lie ahead." Ahrom said with a mild degree of lament.

"Oh I understand. I heard the whole thing." Tyrenn said casually. Ahrom froze.

"What?" Ahrom asked.

"Oh I didn’t have to literally hear anything. But I could hear the seriousness in that lovely woman’s face. Maybe the face of those Greater Movements in person." Tyrenn spoke as a mandman was expected to. But Ahrom couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps he was serious.

"No argument on that." Ahrom said. Unable to disagree with Tyrenns words on Issas seriousness. "I hope the road treats you better than how I found you. And I hope we see each other again." Ahrom "Short though our time’s been. It’s been good." He added.

"I agree. And since you gave them such fervent belief. Perhaps Fate or Destiny." Tyrenn gagged at the recital of the words. And the thought of the concepts. "Might bring our paths together again. You youths being so spirited as you are. And we old in our fading days. Sometimes we get lost." Tyrenn said to amuse Ahrom. "Maybe you’ll find me again."

Ahrom smiled. "I hope I do. Be safe Tyrenn." Ahrom extended his hand.

"And a fine ’All-Fathers favor’ to you." Tyrenn took hold of Ahroms hand and shook it as a friend.

The two nodded to each other one final time before Ahrom walked back to the table to eat his meal. Praying in the sanctuary of his own thoughts that he would see Tyrenn again.