Busier than before, the broken shackles of fear releasing the soul of humankind into the world. A socialization once left buried by the threat of banditry and gunfire now emerging like water from a broken leyline well. Packed almost full, the demographic of Old Springs’ aging community was represented easily within the patronage of the saloon.

Heavily skewed to the older generation, the similarly young pair of Gunslinger and trainee-doctor were dwarfed by raw wisdom and experience. Foreigners within a nation of age, all kept internalized as Old Joe greets them as they enter. “Hey there you two!”

Voice fast under concern and pressure from piling orders and payments, he attempts to bring forth a half smile. “Come in, come in, take a seat.”

Much quieter than the rowdy dive bars and saloons of Alto’s experience along the Southlands, the energy within the establishment was of calm conversation, the occasional laugh breaking a thin melancholy of nostalgic revelations.

Daniel is the first to speak up as they approach the long bar, a question aimed at the condition of a released patient. “How’s Clee doing?”

“She’s asleep.” The old man replies, relief in his tone. “I’m checking on her every thirty minutes or so but she’s out.”

“That bone gel probably, that stuff knocks people right out.” Daniel continues. “If you don’t mind I think I should take a look at her the next time you go up, if not just to get another data point on her recovery.”

“Sure.” Old Joe nods.

Smiling, the young man makes a drinking motion. “And can we get something to drink? Not water please, it's been a rough afternoon for the lot of us.”

“Well those bandits cleared me out of the hard liquor.” Old Joe shrugs as he turns, searching beneath his bar for actual drinking material. “Best I got is a coffee.”

“Oh that’s good enough.” Daniel claps as he sets down a rifle bullet on the counter. “Make it as cold as ya can please.”

“And what will our guest be having?” The bartender turns.

“I’ll have water.” Alto adds respectfully.

“Alright, coffee and a cold water.” Old Joe notes the rifle bullet on the counter. “And don’t worry about paying. Alto basically covered the entire bill.”

“I did?”

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“That bullet was an entire day’s worth of food and lodging.” Old Joe harkens back. “And I’m not in the business of scamming wandering heroes.”

“Ugh.” Daniel Rubs his temples. “Puts me even more in debt then. I gotta pay a bill for something Alto or the Savior’s gonna condemn my soul when I pass on.”

“There’s no need.” The Gunslinger waves away the attempted charity. “And I’m certain he won’t care about monetary debts when you pass.”

“And you’re not even going to drink coffee?” Daniel gives a sour expression to the Gunslinger. “Trust me, we’ve got a full power Leyline running through town so our water is amazing.”

Alto awkwardly shrinks back slightly at the offer. “No it’s not… well it’s not good for the soul.”

“Huh.” Daniel blinks at the man’s words. “Really. Are you some sort of Cleric?”

“Sort of.” The young man replies.

“He’s Northlandic.” Old Joe interjects. “That’s their thing.”

“Ah, well that explains that then.”

Two glasses are placed on the table by the bartender, clear liquid in both sloshing at the sudden applied force. A single dark brown tablet the size of a small pebble is dropped into one, dissolving as it stains the water within.

“You know I heard people in the Collective drink this stuff hot.” Daniel mentions as he grabs his glass. “Like, they heat bottles of it up in dune sands before serving it.”

“They do.” Alto confirms.

“Really?!” Daniel blinks as he tries to imagine the sight. “Even in the open desert?”

“Mostly in the big cities.” The Gunslinger specifies from his travels. “I don’t remember the specifics but I do remember a mage who could change the temperature of certain objects. She would use a giant slab of stone as a cooking surface, and had a bowl she boiled coffee in.”

Motioning a crude measurement the shape is enough to conjure up images of distant desert sands, cities carved from dunes, and monsters of ancient creation. Deep within the steel roads of an exotic land sits a young woman with power gifted by her single heretic god. The most mundane of activities in front of her; the preparation of food augmented by the chosen few of the Collective.

An old woman strolls up with a curious glance, dark gray sunken eyes wide in questioning. “A-and this was a stone that this person heated up?”

“Well yeah.” The Gunslinger answers respectfully to elders. “It’s not very different from here though. Sort of like a fire beneath a steel plate, they just use it to cook things.”

“That bandit was from the Collective too.” Another voice calls forth. “You ever see what they can do son? With that magic of theirs? Cause she’ll be back and by then we’ll all be sorry.”

The young doctor in training speaks up defensively, offense taken. “Perry this guy is THE VIGIL: he’s ALTO CARRIN. He’s taken down Collective Auditors and some of those fed Judges. What’s a bandit compared to that?!”

“People do that all the time kiddo.” The man replies with a low groan, turning to the new arrival. “But hey Joe here says that you managed to kill two and scare six of ‘em them off so maybe you’re useful. But when they come back though with that leader of theirs… you’re a dead man.”

“Believe whatever you want.” Daniel scoffs at the old man, turning back to the Gunslinger. “Ignore them.”

“Collective Mages are powerful.” Alto blinks in response to the words. “I don’t doubt her ability to kill me.”