“I have no idea what that means,” Tarson replied, turning his attention to the door as a bellowing roar echoed from beyond it. “ And unless that dragon is a ‘protagonist’ I’ve got a bigger problem than warlocks running scared into my house.”

“A bigger problem? You’re saying that dragon out there is a bigger problem than me?” Cody snapped, moving into the living room as his hair flared to his rage. “I’ve worked hard to be called a villain, that over there? That’s a mob. That’s a cutscene!” He pulled open one of the curtains, pointing at the distant cloud of black smoke, an ominous orange glow at its base from the dancing flames. He eyed an errant villager as they ran past the window, armed with a dishcloth to fight the fabled beast. “Do you even know the people it’s eating?”

Sariel nodded in agreement as Tarson looked at her questionably. “Cody is real smart Mr. Grey, if he says that there outside is a cutscene it’s a cutscene.”

Tarson scrunched his brow. “What the hell is a cutscene?”

“Something we’re skipping over,” Cody replied, shouldering past Tarson and emptying his satchel on his dining room table. Tarson stared at the small pile of rock chips and vials that had tumbled out, reluctantly shrugging off Cody's ill manners to go about his own business. Sariel stood at the door, not sure what to do as those who were awake worked at their various tasks. Eventually, she settled on eyeing the man who had introduced himself as Tarson, watching him grab random objects around his house and place them in peculiar places. He rounded into the kitchen, scooching past Cody to reach a healthy pile of delicious looking buns and scoop a couple into the sack he was holding.

Her heart sank as he dropped the whole thing in a trash pail. "Now hold it right there!" She boomed, freezing Cody and Tarson at her tone as they paid her wide-eyed looks. She stomped over to the pail, ripping the sack out and hugging it close to her chest before Tarson could take it back.

"Those aren't for you," he hissed, finally relenting when Crow puffed his wings and let out a drawn shriek.

"You threw them out," Cody argued, eyeing the small handful of perfectly fine lockpicks inside it. He caught the moment of confusion in Tarson's eyes as the man stared at the door, and then his hands. "Who are they for?"

"Never mind," he muttered, pressing his forehead with a pained sigh. He grabbed a random block of cheese from a small pantry, placing it on the table next to the pile of ingredients Cody was sorting through. "Thank Lao someone's finally here..." He grumbled, his voice falling so it was barely perceptible as he paced about the floor. "Kalthos has completely lost it. Everyone has."

Cody ignored his commentary, shaking a thin vial of glass that barely held a dusting of grey powder at the bottom of it. He watched the blacksmith pace about the living room for a couple seconds, the magic in his mind twisting and fluttering in tune to his steps. "Do you have any saltpeter?"

Tarson perked at Cody's request, his chest puffing with theatrical pride. "Well you've come to the right place, I've got the finest pelts in the-" he stopped, staring at the pile of animal pelts he was pointing at and dropping his arm, his expression growing a little more panicked. "Sorry... what were you looking for?"

Cody narrowed his eyes. "Saltpeter?"

He waved his hand, rubbing at his forehead again. "I have something more explosive."

"Even better."

Tarson rummaged about the kitchen, Sariel having to squeeze her fists to keep from tidying the cluttered counters. He made his rounds through the various tools and boxed powders mixed around with the cooking utensils, opening random tins and containers that held ingredients from dried and crushed spices to strange rocks similar to the ones Cody had emptied from his bag. Eventually, he sighed, striding to a door tucked in the corner of the kitchen.

Sariel had assumed it was more space to store their food away from the messy kitchen, but when she peeked over Tarson's shoulder, she saw the room descend with a dark stairwell. The man stepped aside to allow Sariel to satiate her curiosity, glancing at Cody who was still hard-pressed to his mysterious work, sorting his stones into neat piles and scribbling notes into his journal. "Do you need anything? Weapons?"

More curious than caring for his question, Sariel followed Tarson's lead down the steps, munching on a block of cheese that had been on the table. Tarson checked his shoulder to make sure she was still close behind, helping Sariel down the last few steps before lighting the torch on the wall to illuminate the room of weapons.

"I'm actually a blacksmith," he trailed off, showing off the walls of weapons. Sariel munched on the gooey chunk of cheese, savouring the tart and creamy treat with every bite. The buns had looked delicious at a glance, but their crunch and bitter tang made for a combination that she wouldn't even feed to a bristleback. There was a chance that Hord'anne would find them tasty, so she had kept the bag looped to her belt, but never before had she seen such an affront to the baking world. Tarson went on a ramble about each weapon, everything from the cut to the metal composition spilling out of his mouth as he showcased each of the pieces to the tune of Sariel's randomly placed nods. That is until he came to a large sword that had been freshly mounted to the wall.

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It was in a very plain sheath, the metal case scratched and rubbed dark from being tossed about on the ground. Even the beaten leather strap hanging off of it was crackled and untempered, but still seemed to shine with a certain sturdiness that would last for many years more. She stared at it, the blade ringing bells, but in a tune that was dodging her memory. Still, Tarson noticed her interest, grabbing the sword off the wall to splay it out closer for her inspection. "this one is quite big for your height, but if you like it I might have a smaller fit." He popped the sheath, revealing the glimmering surface of a very familiar sword.

In the five days she had traveled with Maddison, the one thing that really bothered her was how obsessively he cleaned and sharpened his sword, and nothing else. Not the sheath, not his stinky cloak, just the sword. The cheese she was chewing nearly toppled out of her mouth as she gaped at it.

Maddison loved the sword. Why would he give it away?

She slowly pocketed the rest of her cheese, shooting out and snatching the piece from Tarson's hands. He beheld her with nothing short of confusion as she popped the blade repeatedly, her brow twisted in concentration as she watched its surface reflect in the torchlight. It held the unavoidable nicks of combat, but mixed with the markings were deliberate and fine etchings, spelling down the blade in symbols. Markings like the ones in the books Cody had shown Sariel.

Sariel had never noticed the fine detail before, but still, this was Maddison's sword. She was sure of it.

She flicked her gaze back to Tarson, pulling the blade closer to her chest as she cocked her chin at the man. "Now, be straight with me Mr. Grey."

He frowned. "Okay?"

"This here yours or you got yourself some sticky fingers?"

Tarson hesitated. "I didn't make that one... An adventurer traded it."

"For what?"

"A new blade. Left his old armour too." He bounced his shoulders, pointing to an empty slot on his wall. He then crossed the room, pulling open a chest stuffed with discarded armour, dragging out a few pieces to splay them on the floor. Sariel recognized a set of tough brown armour, the noxious black cloak that had been clipped to it nowhere to be found. Her heart stilled as she stared at the clothing. The only reason her village ever stripped a man to his undergarments was death, and they tucked the valuable clothing into a chest much like the one sitting in front of her to distribute back to the community.

But Tarson had said it was a trade...

Her eyes wandered through the tangle of armour, another familiar piece peeking from underneath a hard square helmet. It was a stretch of leather pressed into a scale pattern, dark like the clothing the men with white cloaks they met on the road wore.

Had those been traded too?

She watched Tarson from the corner of her eye. Why did everyone want to trade with Tarson? The only good thing he had was the cheese sitting in her pocket.

Tarson came up beside her, eyeing Maddison's old armour. His mouth twitched to a saddened frown. "You knew him?"

Sariel tilted her head. "Still know him, sir. Supposed to meet him here."

Tarson shook his head, his eyes weighed with sorrow now as he firmly gripped Sariel's shoulder as a gesture of assurance. "Did you want to take that blade?"

Sariel looked at the weapon. Maddison had seemed to like it, keeping it close and taking great care of it. She could see why he would ditch the smelly cloak and grimy armour, but trading the weapon simply felt off to her. Tarson... felt off to her. So, against her best wishes, she nodded, unlooping the bag of buns and holding them out as a trade. Spoiled or not, it was a painful thing to part with something as valuable as food. She looked away as Tarson accepted the sack, too guilt-ridden to see it leave her possession.

There had been three buns in the sack, however, and she was to make this a fair trade.

She held a wary gaze on him, reaching for a crossbow hanging from the wall and slowly adding it to her collection.

Tarson speechlessly nodded, motioning for her to go on with her collection.

Taking a few steps back, she eyed the chest of armour, scooping up a leather helmet and dropping it on her head. It fit well enough, but slid about if she turned her head too quickly, and the brim of thick leather cut into her vision above her eyebrows.

She nodded to herself, this was as good a trade as she could manage for the food.

Sariel turned to the blacksmith, awkwardly wobbling her head to force the helmet to slide back into place. "You know where Mr. Sungard headed off to?"

Tarson shook his head. "He's gone ... he never mentioned that he was meeting someone." His face shifted to discomfort. "He didn't mention you..."

Sariel felt her chest tighten at the remark. It wasn't the first time someone had stood her up for a meeting, it was very common in her village. She just hadn't expected Maddison to be the type. "Right, well, suppose I'll go find him once me and Cody leave here."

"Leave?"

"Right you are, sir. Out the front door when it stops havin' an attitude."

Tarson looked at her, his eyes wide. As if the entire idea was completely foreign to him. "Leave Bervolt?" His face contorted as the realization turned to a stabbing pain. He rubbed his forehead with a groan, pressing his lips tight to keep the words on his tongue at bay. But against his better wishes, they poured out like clockwork. "Adjustments will take a day... you can... crash here for the night."

Sariel eyed him curiously as he headed for the stairs. She held up his rear, extinguishing the torch he had left burning on the wall.