Winterknell was a place of bitter winters and freezing summers. The sprawling northern town, encircled by a strong, thick, stone curtain wall surrounding the small city, seemed always cloaked in the pale haze of winter. Its people endured life with stubborn resilience, and a deep mistrust of strangers. Yet, even in this icy corner of the world, the warm glow of the Frosted Flagon tavern cut through the monotonous gray gloom surrounding it, and the entirety of Winterknell.

The tavern's smoky interior was filled with the sounds of a bard at work, as Seph Yroth walked in. He had, at least, Prestidigitated the war grime from his person, though the powerful stench of blood and feces never truly went away, it was overpowered by the scent of roasted venison and ale lingering heavily in the air. It was here, beneath the low-beamed ceiling and among the clinking of mugs, that fate saw fit to cross the paths of several strangers once again, and the world would shudder from the consequences.

His dark cloak flaring behind him and briefly revealing the light armor he wore beneath it, Seph took his spot at the bar. The elf’s long silver hair, falling like a cascade of moonlight over his shoulders, caught the flicker of firelight. His eyes were cold and dead as he took his ease and ordered his drink. Though his dark cloak hid much of his form, the hilt of a blade, a fierce weapon that Cloud had called the Throngler (since it both thrashed and strangled opponents, usually, when Seph wielded it in a reverse grip) was visible on his back, as the long-bladed greatsword could be comfortably sheathed nowhere else on his person. Yet, even as the locals raised their tankards in honor of his slaughter, Seph’s focus remained on his mug and little else. He knew their well wishes would turn to accusations before long, and he simply didn’t care.

Nearby, a tall but lithe Dragonborn of the eastern regions stood out obviously among the drab patrons of the Flagon. The over seven foot tall platinum-scaled Dragonborn in orange and red monk robes radiated an aura of calm wisdom and genuine cheer. He was very much the life of the tavern, and also impossible to miss because of the firelight gleaming off his scales whenever he moved. Currently, he was cheering on the brass Dragonborn bard playing out the final notes of his chosen song, in the language of the east, of which the bard was not a natural speaker, and almost no one in the crowd understood. And yet, despite not knowing the words, or the meaning, the simple patrons of the simple tavern ate it up as he went hard on the final verse.

"Kesshite yuzuranai!

Shitsubo o sasenai!

Kesshite okizari ni wa shinai!

Kesshite nakasenai, Sayonara iwanai,

Kesshite uso de kizutsukenaiii!"

The brass scaled Dragonborn bard named Xerex finished his admittedly epic performance with a flourish on his lute. His tune rang out above the crowd as it rocked the tavern with his lute, and several magically composed instruments, a piano and drum in this instance, coming together to achieve a song that drew laughter and applause from those who could not help but tap their boots to the rhythm.

Only one patron had a different reaction, that being Seph Yroth, who quietly let a single tear fall to the bar. Somehow, some way, fate had guided this...rather unlikely bard, to his path, at this moment. Playing the very song that, despite its slightly comical nature, Cloud had utterly adored, as the core message was about not giving up on love, something the now dead lovesick soldier had jived with. It also helped that the song absolutely slapped.

Xerex thanked the patrons, who all mostly seemed to enjoy the song. Alas, the Mage Hand that passed around his tip can failed to get much support in the form of coin. But, that was what Xerex's other Mage Hand was for, manipulated by his tail, he could cast two at once, and had become rather dextrous. He robbed the patrons blind, and then bought them all a round with a pittance of their own stolen money.

By the bar, which Seph had all but commandeered with his brooding, dead eyes, another figure joined him, trying, and failing, to be as edgy and broodingly cool as Seph was. Said figure was a scrawny male, wearing a shoddy patchwork leather jacket with a red vest over it, and very wrinkled and torn jeans that seemed like they were usually rolled up. But on top of that already strange outfit, was the straw hat covering the kid’s face. Seph took all this in, and assessed his threat level with a glance. He sighed as he found the kid simply wasn’t worth caring about.

Under the straw hat, the young man’s grin stretched wider than seemed natural as he saw Seph notice him. His boundless energy and ridiculous antics had already drawn a mix of amusement and exasperation from the other patrons. The man’s stupidity was as legendary as his resilience, and while few took him seriously, it was hard not to like him.

Out of pity, and what seemed like the kid’s last copper pieces, the barkeep gave him enough beer to keep him warm, on his way out, a suggestion the muscular, bearded northman verbalized. The straw hatted man didn’t leave though, no, instead he turned around, still pretending to be cool as he leaned back on the bar and let his hat cover his face and purposefully deepened his voice, turning it in Seph’s direction.

Far too loudly for someone trying to be edgy and cool, the young man all but shouted in the quieter tavern in the aftermath of the song, drawing looks. "Hey! You there! You look like you've seen some stuff!" He pointed a finger at Seph, grinning wildly. "I bet you have some crazy stories, right?"

Seph Yroth, eyes cold and distant, stared back at Luffy for a long moment. His mind was lost in a memory of a person who no longer existed. He snapped back to reality, as Cloud’s smile became Luffy’s, and that pleasant daydream of his friend faded for this blood-soaked shitstorm of a reality.

The Dragonborn bard, Xerex, chuckled as he joined them at the bar. He raised his mug in Seph’s direction, his voice smooth and full of mirth as he effortlessly defused the tension in Seph’s glare. “What my friend Luffy means to say is, you look like you’ve fought battles, seen great pain, and maybe even survived it all. We’d all like to hear a story from someone like you, if you’ll indulge us. I’m Xerex, by the way.”

Seph didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached for his drink, swirling the ale absently in his mug as he caught sight of the other patrons who seemed to be eyeing him. Already, stories of his ‘heroism’ had gotten around, it seemed. That would last maybe a night, before people started wondering exactly how so few of the foreign aid soldiers had come back alive from what was supposed to be a reasonably sized undead army descending from the frozen hell that was the far north. They’d had enough numbers to crush it, an easy victory to notch on their Shinran general’s belt, but nobody had expected a death toll like this. For a moment, he thought about Cloud.

"Seph." He murmured his name in response. “Who gives a fuck about stories. Words are air.” He drained the ale tankard, and growled at the barkeep. “Another…sir.” With an understanding nod, the man got the war hero his ale.

Xerex and Luffy shared a look, shrugged, and let Grumpy Seph be, as they went off to another table, to bother the solitary man sitting at it. He was also an elf from the Shadowfell, or appeared to be, with ragged white hair, a long white beard, and deep blue robes sparkling like starlight. The most obvious wizard that Seph had ever seen. Finally alone, he sighed, and downed his ale, then grimaced. “Barkeep…not to shit on the quality of your ale…but I need something stronger, if I’m going to sleep through the horrors I saw today. I can pay.” He put down eight entire gold pieces, and the barkeep shook his head.

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“Nah, mate. Not fer you. Way I ‘eard it, you all but wiped out those undead fucks single handedly, while most of your Shinran pals died.” He winced, as that got a sharp glare from Seph. “Erm. Sorry for your loss. Strongest I got, comin’ yer way, Hero.”

At that point, yet another weirdo bothered Seph, though this one was different. It was impossible not to notice the ‘silver’ Dragonborn, but upon closer inspection, Seph’s superior eyes saw that his scales were quite platinum, and not silver at all. Soldier though he was, even he knew the importance of Dragonkin who bore platinum scales. The occasional Platinum Dragon, usually an Avatar of Bahamut himself, wasn't unheard of. A mere Dragonborn blessed with such scales, was new. Let alone a Dragonborn clearly from the east. He was also definitely Trouble, but that didn’t stop him from sidling up to Seph.

“The life of a Hero is fraught with loss, and pain.” The platinum Dragonkin rumbled with wisdom, his long serpent-like neck craned down towards Seph. “Who did you lose?”

Having had about as much as he could take, Seph turned suddenly, and glared at the latest bother, only to stop in his tracks. Two pure golden orbs, the Dragonborn’s eyes, snared his very soul, and despite his inner turmoil, a sense of calm did reach him. The Eastern Dragonborn towered over him, sporting a pair of pure white horns akin to antlers, they starkly contrasted the mane of jet black hair that swept back from his head and ran all the way down his long-bodied form to a tuft on his tail. Up close, Seph also noted rather sturdy armor pieces skillfully woven into and hidden by his robes. No mere pilgrim, then. Swayed by the monk’s empathy, the soldier took his fresh drink and swigged far too much at once. Gagging, he said, “I lost…my…best friend. It doesn’t matter. Nothing in this shithole of a world matters.”

The practically sparkling Dragonborn smoothly bobbed his head in agreement. “This world is indeed in a bit of a state…but I believe…that it’s still worth saving.” He gave Seph’s shoulder a companionable pat, though he kept it brief, as the grieving man glared at him. “I doubt your friend thought things were so hopeless. Surely there is at least one thing left in this world, left behind in Shinra, that he still cares for, no? Family? A woman, perhaps?” Seph must’ve made a shocked expression, as the Dragonborn smirked, and chuckled sadly. “Life happens whether you want it to or not, Hero. Even when we lose those most precious to us.”

Seph quietly took another swig, as the potent alcohol made him somewhat introspective as it actually, finally, affected him and the monk’s words left him with some small ember of peace in the maelstrom of his grief. But that was shattered quickly as Luffy, with a loud whoop, leapt to his feet, sending his stool tumbling behind him. “I said I didn’t take anything! Are you callin’ me a liar!?”

A very drunk red faced Dwarf was spitting, literally, with anger at the behatted human. “Ai know ye took me feckin’ gold ye land-bound sea rat! Give et back!” The Dwarf punched, and Luffy dodged. He dodged three more times, until the drunkard decided to throw a chair at the straw hatted goober. Unfortunately, it did not hit Luffy, who rubber banded his person away from the chair, but rather it smashed into Seph, shattering into pieces against his perfectly still backside. He didn’t so much as flinch, but everyone else went perfectly still, and Xerex suddenly stopped playing.

Seph’s eyes narrowed, his fingers gripping the edge of his mug. Silence filled the tavern, and Seph slowly stood up, turning, his greasy long white hair covering his hateful eyes as he turned around. “Who…is the dead imbecile that threw a chair at me…”

Every finger in the bar aimed at Luffy, who tried dodging the pointing, only to trip, and fall into another table. He laughed as he stumbled, and swiped yet another coin purse, though the laughter ended as he suddenly felt his uncomfortable but necessary leather coat be gripped with inhuman strength by its collar. Before Seph could growl anything at him though, Luffy wriggled free of the coat, only to have his legs swept by Seph. They might have been rubber, but he still needed them to stay upright.

A heavy plated boot pressed unnaturally into the rubber man’s chest, as Seph glared at him and pinned him to the floor. “Luffy, was it…do us all a favor…and shut the fuck up. And after you shut the fuck up, give back the coin you stole.”

“B-but Pirates don’t return their loo-” His words stopped, as the pointed tip of the Throngler was at his float in a flash, and once again, the tavern was silent.

“I said…return. Their. Gold. Or lose your head. Your choice.”

Admonished, Luffy returned the stolen coin purses, and then retreated to his tavern room. Yaang went up next, as he and Luffy seemed to be traveling together, or had just bonded enough to go halfsies on a room. Seph didn’t care. The wizard and the bard retired too, after beating the Dwarf from earlier at a drinking game, leaving him properly blacked out on the floor. Hours passed, the tavern grew quiet, and the lonely barkeep set to cleaning up the mess his drunken slob patrons had left in their wake.

All seemed quiet for the night, and after four hours, Seph Yroth rose again, fully rested, and resumed drowning his sorrows in solitude. The only other person up by then was Xerex, who was chatting quietly by the fireplace with Yaang, as he tuned his lute. The silence was absolute, but less so around the two giant dragon men than it was around Seph, who’d been given the run of the bar, provided he paid for what he drank. At a certain point, the innkeeper drew a line on hero status, but Seph didn’t really care. Gold had little value, like everything else in this depressing timeline without Cloud in it.

Just as he needed an outlet for his newfound rage, fate handed him one. With a loud bang, roughly ten hooded black and red robed figures, cultists of some kind by the uniformity of them, ran into the bar. Through the door, and several through the windows, they almost immediately had the pair of Dragonborn surrounded. Seph was properly buzzed now, which was about as drunk as his body allowed him to get, and as such, he remained very much combat ready. A quick analysis of the enemy revealed every single one of them had a burning brass crossbow with a horned skull over the bolt slot that lit the bolt on fire as it passed through, and in perfect unison, they aimed for Yaang. Seph nodded. Dragon Cultists, then. Worshipers of the five headed dragon Goddess, Tiamat, gatekeeper to the second level of Hell, and disputed ruler of Avernus, the first of the Nine Hells.

Yaang, for his part, seemed unbothered by the fiery bolts, as he shouted, “Good! I wanted to practice my Firebending anyway!” And with a smooth wave of his hands and some energy manipulation, the Monk of the Four Elements sent the burning bolts that fired first at him soaring back at their targets, where they stuck fast, but didn’t really seem to do much damage. Then, in a flash of darkness, Seph Yroth was there. This wasn’t like before, though. When he’d given into rage. He would never lose control like that again, but he was done with that part of his life, that much was certain. For the first time, as fresh blood coated him, he wondered just how far power like his could get him.

Up until Cloud was taken from him, Seph had either brutally bashed or strangled his opponents by holding the Throngler’s thick blade against his target’s throats. This was not the sword’s purpose, but it was how he had chosen to wield it, despite his superior’s displeasure. Cloud and Tifa had approved of his choice, and that was all that mattered.

No longer.

He cut down three of them in as many strokes of the Throngler, and a few of the cultists, the smarter ones most likely, quickly understood they had no chance against Seph.

Seph wasn’t who they should’ve been worried about though, as Xerex chimed in with a timely echoing cry of his spell. “Scanlan’s Haaaaaand!” His lute, tuned to sound more like a guitar (and sometimes an electric guitar, if he barded hard enough) screeched along with its musician, and a massive sparkling purple fist smashed one cultist into another, whereupon a final clenched fist smash turned them into red stains on the floor.

About that time, the wizard from earlier burst out of his room with a cry of, “What the actual fuck is going on down there! Some people are trying to- oh.” Seeing only one cultist left, Stumbledore shot his shot, as he traced a triangle in the air with his wand, and tapped its points. “Magic Missile!”

“We need one alive!” Yaang shouted, realizing his impromptu allies were getting quite serious. Stumbledore panicked, and redirected one missile, which looped around in time to strike Luffy, as he wiped sleep from his eyes and came out of his room. The force sent him reeling back inside, while the other two hit the cultist, and very nearly turned him into what his comrades now resembled.

With a Healing Word form the bard, he managed to not bleed out and die, and the group tied him up for a proper interrogation. Luffy wanted to go first, because of course he did, and Seph let him, amused by the thought of this wannabe pirate goober playing interrogator. Needless to say, the goofy pirate with bedhead and minor force damage did not intimidate the cultist.

Then, it was Seph’s turn, and almost immediately the threat of branding from his Burning Blade made the cultist squeal.

“We’re holed up in a fort to the south! In the Desert of the Lost! Just please, don’t kill me!” The man shuddered, as the Throngler, and two snarling, but faking, Dragonborn put their fangs away.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it Daryl?” Stumbledore asked, as the group stepped away.

“My name’s Derek…” The disheveled Dragon Cultist muttered.

“No, I’m quite sure it’s Daryl.” Stumbledore said, confidently. Xerex agreed. As did Yaang. Soon, Seph was also referring to their new prisoner/slave as Daryl, despite that not actually being his name.

The next morning, after buying potions from a Gnomish shopkeeper with Alzheimers and way too much enjoyment from haggling, the group decided to visit the local temple of Pelor, the Sun God, to rope a cleric into joining them. With a bit of prep and skillfully timed lighting, as well as a timely organ solo from the rarely used organ the temple had, Seph Yroth interrupted the local priest’s sermon, which he was giving to maybe five people in total, two of whom had been asleep before the organ started. The display, and ensuing explanation of their quest did not let them recruit the priest himself, though.

Instead, they got Alan.

Alan was, in kind terms, a yokel with minor healing magic. The exact same amount as Xerex, the bard accurately pointed out. Undaunted by this, Seph outfitted the freckled blonde teenager with standard chain mail, a kite shield, and a mace blessed by his God. More confident now that they had two ‘healers’, and Daryl, the group set off to the south, along the edge of the Desert of the Lost, as apparently they didn’t have to actually cross the desert itself to reach the fort. It resided on the edge of the sands.

Days passed by uneventfully, and aside from a standard trader, they met no one else on the road. The walking helped Seph’s mental state, but after three nights camping with this eclectic group of would-be heroes, he was very ready to kill something. It was a new urge, but one he embraced, especially in his role as Daryl’s jailer. He wasn’t getting stimulated or sexually gratified from keeping the cultist, rather it was the act of completely controlling another’s life that…seemed to really appeal to his newfound bloodlust.

He did not see this as anything to be concerned about.