You’d Be Harding In Hightown

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You can text me any time or email or call or find me in my dreams or tell Feldspar to text me. I promise to do my best not to lose my phone this time!

(If I do ask Gigi, she always gets the new number first)

But yeeeeeeeaaaaahhhhhhh you have to take good care of him! He can't lay down the sickest beats if he isn't at his finest.

Feldspar doesn't have a primary care physician or veterinarian. Instead, if you think he's looking sick, please send a letter to the Shaperate of Orzammar. They've never written me back, buuut nobody would know rocks better than them! He's also never been sick.

If one of his eyes falls off, that's okay! You can draw a new one on with charcoal or use gurgut glue to put on a new googly eye.

Do not use other kinds of glue! They make him hum sadly.

He needs a nap. Even when he acts like he doesn't. If he's gonna be up all night in da club, he needs a nap. Roughly 2 hours.

For optimal napping, Feldspar should be put into his box with the lid closed.

Ignore him if he tries to open the box. If he manages it, put him back in and put something on top (I like a potted plant, but a book or vinyl would work, I guess?)

If he seems sad (not trilling or vibrating or making pretty colors for multiple days in a row, but instead just very sad-sounding chirps)

Give him a brownie! He loves the smell of them. He doesn't eat them tho.

Do not give him an elfroot brownie - not unless you want him to upstage you

Give him to Turvi - he loves Turvi <3

Food! Feldspar doesn't eat. But he likes to have a place at the table and be with y'all.

Fomo king

Drink! Feldspar doesn't drink! Do not give him alcohol (I'm not sure how old he is because he's a rock, but he doesn't do well with alcohol).

Baths!

Feldspar enjoys the occasional spa day. It's okay for him to take a dip in mineral water or sulfuric baths or fresh water.

He does not like salt water.

He loves a dry bath of rolling around in the sand.

Be ready to glue his eyes back on :)

He needs to go outside and touch grass at least once a day. If in a big city, touching a tree also works.

Do not let him play "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" or any remixes of it

He gets too excited, and last time he fell off the counter and chipped his head :(

Cuddles!

He loves cuddling. Put him in your pocket or whatever and spend all day with him, and he'll be so happy. Best way to spend his day. Generally, I just throw him on me and go about my day.

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Lucanis: Gemma's respect turned to love and when they actually met again, turned to close friendship and then back to love. Lucanis's journey began with respect for Viago's Canary then friendship, then closer friendship, and finally love. (There might be a bit of crush in that popsicle.) Spite would have preferred this going faster.

Emmrich: There's love in this too, but a different kind. Emmrich saved Gemma as a child, so it's a paternal love that grows to respect and then close friendship as adults.

Lace: There's love here too -- sisterly love. Sure, Lace has a touch of distrust because Gemma wasn't very nice to her at the start but that quickly turned to respect while traveling and then besties forever with that sisterly love overlaying it all. Is she fallen? Gemma and Taash don't think so.

Davrin, Neve, and Taash: For all three of them, initial friendship was easy and respect came along with it. Neve has that one spot of distrust, but Gemma chose her home and close friendships prevailed.

Bellara: Gemma respected her from the start -- Bellara was friends first and then found the respect, but they both became very close and are likely the closest pair (Lucanis/Spite aside) post-game, even though Taash did fledge Jacobus's house. How much of this is due to Illario? Probably some - everyone is still trying to figure that out. (Including me.)

Come be in awe of my popsicles and play if you want! If I can do this (with a whole lot of help), you can do this do!

Tag List Management Post (on or off? Post here)

If an agent of the ending like Illario is who Aydenne has chosen, there's an inherent, relentless doom to the entire thing, even after Illario is forgiven and removed from Antiva.

Aydenne the assassin is a stressed-out, isolated guy who carries his impostor syndrome in his Crow mask, literally and figuratively. Everything he does is imbued with dread. "What if they see me?" "What if they realize I'm not who they think I am?" "What if they find fault with me?" "They WILL find fault with me."

So it feels easy to translate that into a tug-of-war of hope: what if Illario stays? what if Illario leaves? Aydé's got his heart in his hands, holding it up, terrified for either outcome. But at the same time, he's a person who believes (or desperately wants to believe) in innate goodness, in reciprocity of affection. He doesn't know it, but he thinks that if Illario just accepts his affection, it will somehow fix him and make him more worthy of love.

Illario can sense this. He's a very perceptive person. Here's the thing, though: he's horrible at expectations, terrified of letting go and just being loved, and feels an immense amount of guilt at being loved so innocently and intensely. He's a failure (in his own mind). He's a disowned, disavowed, second-rate Dellamorte who never succeeded in any of the things his grandmother taught him to want and set him up to fail at. He's also wearing his mask but the mask is "what if they see I'm hollow inside?" "I don't know how to be loved." "I can't be someone's partner, I'll fail."

I hold these two points of view very close when I write the two of them. A lot of times I'll write a scene the way I want the dialogue to go, and then go back and decide what to add to each reaction or observation to give the reader peeks into each of them, depending on whose POV the entire scene is set in. I'm a cheater because I will often go omniscient for scenes where I want their feelings to show but they can't say the things they need to say. So Illario sees Aydenne's purity in his eyes, and Aydenne catches the little cracks in fine porcelain. I love the angle in filmed media when a scene makes you, the viewer, feel like a voyeur with a secret. That's my goal, is to feel like we're hiding in the periphery watching something we know all about but they can't explain.

I think the combination of zoomed-in and unsustainable bottled up feelings gives that signature dread to the scenes. You just KNOW they're going to misunderstand, or one will loosen up and try to let their emotions reach the other but they're too misaligned for it to work...but Aydenne just scoops up his precious stomped-on heart and tries again, shoving his feelings back down and you know it will happen again, and again! The steps are different, but the dance is the same. I hope that my readers get enough context about Aydenne to the point they feel like they can shout NO, BESTIE at the screen every time he chooses the wrong thing.

This emote drawn by @blackwall-my-tiny-husband along with the caption is truly the most Aydenne a picture can ever be, so I'll leave it here:

He's so doomed by the narrative but also the narrative's favorite. Can he remove his head from Illario's butt and choose happiness? Your guess is as good as mine.

Intro Card:

Shadow Dragon, Qunari (well, Vashoth technically), rogue. Duelist specialization because assassin wasn't available.

Lucanis-mancer all the way.

Born in rural Antiva to Tal-Vashoth parents, in late summer/early Autumn, 9:24 Dragon.

The "Charon Mercar is my father" backstory is a cover story she made up on arrival in Minrathous at age eighteen, in order to acquire citizenship papers and obfuscate her actual origins.

Affiliations:

I didn't bother pulling up my game to see what their actual standings were at. The only reason anyone wouldn't be at bond level 10 was due to not wanting to drag them around looking for more enemies to punch just to get there. I did do a careful juggling act of party members to try to get everyone as high as possible, and as far as Saadrah's concerned, they're all family.

Bellara and Harding both match, going from "respect" to "friends" to "besties." Saadrah likes their chaotic energy and doing archery competitions between the three of them. The feeling is generally mutual. Where Saadrah might not understand Harding's magic or Bellara's artifacts, she can still bond with them over protective natures and burning curiosity, and given Saadrah's older brother is a mage, she's encouraging and understanding.

Neve also has the distinction of hitting "best friends" status, though only just, and mostly through Saadrah's persistence. There's definitely a blip in there on Neve's end where she swung right into "distrust" after the call Saadrah made about the dragon attacks, but Perseverance is Saadrah's defining characteristic, and that includes trying to make it up to Neve.

Despite getting on well with mages, Saadrah was definitely wary of Emmrich upon first meeting, mostly for being a mortalitasi. He grew on her, though, and while the two of them didn't hit "best friends" status, they're still friends.

Saadrah was also distrustful of Davrin at first, largely due to his reactions to Lucanis. Once she got him to chill, it was smoother sailing into friendship there. Unfortunately, he was lost on Tearstone, and I haven't yet decided if I'm going to headcanon a way to get him and Assan back.

Taash, meanwhile, was distrustful of Saadrah initially, as a potential agent of the Qun. It didn't take much convincing on Saadrah's part to dispel that worry, and from there the two ended up more as adoptive siblings than anything else, bonding over similar upbringings.

And best for last, Lucanis gets a veritable rainbow on his meters. Initial distrust, of course—he's a demon-possessed assassin, she's a non-Crow claiming to be sent by his grandmother—but her persistence and care easily led to respect, then friendship. Once they realized they'd known each other (briefly!) as children, it wasn't difficult to reach "best friends," and tied in with all of that was a growing crush and eventual romance (once these two demi dorks figured their feelings out).

And yes, I'm planning on doing this for my other ladies, but I want to make cards that suit their games, which is a bit of an undertaking (and I realized today that FenHawke week starts tomorrow, so I'm putting card templates on pause while I work on those).

Tags for friends to see, and play along if you want! 💙

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The dark corridor was lit sporadically by torches, eventually dwindling to nothing at all. Large pockets of darkness enveloped her completely before the only sense she had left was her nose and ears. The aroma of fire filled the narrow pathway, nothing new. But there was a very faint sound of footsteps in the distance, and she wondered if the person that had passed her earlier might have come this way.

The open air courtyard was dead silent when Veryl stepped through the door she barely managed to catch. Fresh air washed away the smell of smoke, flame, and dank underground tunnels as she climbed a few steps to the main level.

In the distance, a hooded figure hurried through columns and hastily extinguished their torch as they passed a basin of water. With silent footsteps, Veryl kept her distance, ducking behind a pillar, intent for the next exit in a bid to figure out where she was. The architecture looked Tevene, which, wasn't really promising. As a recent arrival to the northern country, she didn't have any memories that looked like this.

Veryl moved around the pillar to watch the figure retreat, planning the timing of her run to the small tunnel. She could just barely make out trees and an external garden wall covered in ivy, thick enough to climb. It would take all of her upper body strength, and she would need a running start for a good vault. Which, with the faint feeling behind her eyes, was going to be a trial.

The other occupant of the courtyard was nearly out of sight, and Veryl gave them one last look before setting off, ensuring they wouldn't double back and discover her. In the last split second, just as she poised to run, the figure looked back over their shoulder. Underneath the broad expanse of hood, bright blue eyes reflected dim moonlight.

Something familiar in their shape and color struck her. Had her pausing. What were the chances that this could happen twice?

The sound of metal leaving flesh followed by the slow gurgle of life ending was what reached for Jericho as the dream shifted. The body fell away and an all too familiar scene spread about before him. Yes. He knew this memory. It used to feature heavily in his nightmares, but had become less frequent some time ago. When he was actually sleeping well. It didn't surprise him that it was back again now. 

Eyes sweeping the room, he took it all in once more. The bed near the window, covers a mess, like he had just woken up. The desk, usually cluttered with books and notes, now clear of everything he wanted to take with him. The rest would burn. Along with the body on the floor. Venhedis. He didn't want to look at it again. The man had been Venatori, complicit in holding him hostage in this place. So why did it still feel like murder, rather than self-defense? 

Nothing had changed, it still filled him with the same panic that it usually did at this part. It left him scrambling, trying to make sure that nothing got left behind. The next order of business would be to write the note and set the fire. He'd done this countless times, reliving his has past and retracing his footsteps as he made his break for freedom. 

He still felt the same rush of adrenaline as he checked around the room. Moving to the desk, he reached for that same small notebook and hastily wrote those same words that he always did. The ones that would let the one person who cared about him here know that he was still alive. A risk, to be certain, but one he felt he needed to take.

Tully is dead. Don't come looking.

"Who's Tully?" The sudden question in the silent room had Jericho reeling, his head snapped up and he was face to face with a girl. The Girl. Startled, Jericho lurched away from where she peered across the desk at him. Her eyes followed him, eerie and otherworldly. Whatever had pulled him to her dream had warned him this would happen again, but this was his dream.

"Did you kill Tully?" She asked, flicking her eyes from his to the body on the floor, a curious look on her face. Jericho tried to get his breathing under control, not prepared for the memory to shift so drastically. There shouldn't be anyone else here. No witnesses.

"Fuck, why are you here? " He hissed through clenched teeth, trying to resume his pattern of the dream before it all went horribly wrong. He didn't have time to linger on this sudden change of events. He'd seen this memory turn into a nightmare, he had no desire to see it again. 

"You can hear me." She seemed almost alarmed at the realization. "I've been following you for a while now, you didn't see me," she explained swiftly. Her posture seemed casual despite the situation. There was no hint of the frightened woman he'd encountered over a week ago, she seemed aloof, reserved. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, but her fingers twitched, the only indication something might be wrong. 

A noise outside the window caught his attention. Damn. He was moving too slowly. 

"Keep up if you can then." He threw over his shoulder as he passed her, grabbing for the last few items he needed and clutching the folded note in his fist. He ushered her out of the room, turned to ignite the body on the floor with his staff - no time to pause and watch the flames begin to engulf the room - and hastily followed her out, immediately moving to take the lead. He was running out of time.

They ran through the garden, approaching the stone wall as the stench of acrid smoke burned their lungs. He knew he had one more stop to make; leaving the note he'd written behind the loose stone. 

As he knelt by the wall, note in hand, something threw him backwards, knocking the wind out of him. Scrambling to recover, he got to his feet only to be grabbed from behind, his arms suddenly pinned behind his back. He tried to reach for the Fade, but found his efforts blocked by an unseen force. 

"We got the Virellius kid!" His captor shouted to someone nearby. "Caught him trying to escape."

Another guard approached, eyeing him with apprehension. "You blocked his access to the Fade? He'll kill us all if you didn't." 

"Taken care of sir." 

Jericho glared at the guards, his eyes flashing with anger as he thrashed against his bonds, a scream of pure rage ripping from his throat. 

A third guard approached, taking him by the arm to help the other still his struggle. He kicked at them, but they overwhelmed him quickly, driving him to his knees, striking him into submission. Even more guards were arriving to offer their assistance in his capture. 

One more desperate attempt to reach the Fade, but it was in vain. It was over. 

Veryl watched as the light left his eyes. His head hung low, gazing at the ground in utter defeat, and his body was limp as they pulled him to his feet to drag him away. He didn't scream. Didn't even cry. He looked thoroughly broken, beaten. As if he had just received a death sentence and his mind had fled his body. All of the fight had been taken from him, and he was empty. 

The note he had clenched in his fist fluttered to the ground. 

"Tully is dead. Don't come looking."

-----------

An inky darkness overtook her vision and Veryl was falling. She felt the air rushing past, a freefall into something she didn't understand. But she couldn't scream, didn't want to scream. Was this what death would feel like, a cold rush past the skin that picked her hair up and thrashed it about while she relaxed into her fate?

Nothing existed before this moment and she wasn't sure anything would exist again.

Simple. Endless. Black. 

Yes. She could stay here. 

When it faded and she came to, she was still straddling the man in the basement of the orphanage, the old torture scene playing out just as she remembered. She hadn't seen this one in a long time. Fritz Proctor sat beneath her, blood dripping from his hand where she'd removed his fingers. A squeeze of her thighs and she knew he would cry out in agony, begging her to stop, pleading for his life. The fresh stab wounds would flex and pull, unable to heal from the poison she'd covered them with.

He parted with the information easily, Sylvester left the rest up to her discretion. It had been perfect. 

Almost.

Veryl's head snapped up to observe the movement behind the chair.

Those bright eyes and a shag of hair she'd know anywhere had her pulling herself off the victim in front of her, and covering herself for modesty. The shreds of her nightgown were minuscule and covered with blood from the various injuries she'd inflicted. 

"You can't be here." Sweet Andraste, why was he featuring in her nightmares too? This particular dream always started in the same spot, right before the fire. 

"Venhedis. Again!?" Of all the rotten luck… how had he landed in her head a second time? 

Angry and mortified she rounded on him, forgetting about cretin in the chair. "You need to leave. Things are about to get-" an explosion sounded behind them as they both ducked. The room erupted into flames. This had never happened before. The ignition of the fire was always a mystery, never an explosion. What was going on?! Alarmed, he looked from her, to the man in the chair, to the flames growing behind them. "What is… damn it. I'd leave if I could! I have to follow you until the nightmare plays out." He was sure she wasn't any more thrilled about that fact than he was. 

Fritz wriggled in his chair, trying to free himself from the restraints. It fell backwards and the chair broke. The flames were still too far away. He was going to escape. Angrily, Veryl reached for the discarded knife on the floor, and slashed his throat, blood spewing out like a geyser and covering her. His movements slowed and she stood over him, her breathing ragged. 

The knife clattered to the ground as she dropped it and turned to try and ascertain the severity of their situation. 

He raised a critical brow in her direction. "What did he do to deserve all of this?"

She looked at him only briefly, "does it matter? He's already dead." 

"Just trying to figure out who exactly I'm dealing with," he muttered. 

"I'm so sorry I didn't prepare tea, your highness. I'll remember it the next time you want to have a conversation in the middle of crisis!" She exclaimed flinging her arms wide, blood flew from her finger tips. 

It was then that she heard it, the weighty creaking and moaning of old floor joists and crucial supports. The telltale sign of the building starting to give up it's integrity. 

"No. nononono, it's too early! No!" She screamed, racing for the stairs. In her haste to escape the flames that were faster than she'd ever seen them, she collided with Sylvester and fell to the ground. Where had he come from? None of this was happening the way it was supposed to. 

"Get a grip on yourself, Veryl!" He hauled her up by the elbow, her shoulder just barely separating from the socket. Her fingers found his hold and she tried to break it. 

"Let me go! I have to get to them!" She thrashed against him, wailing on his arm with her fist. The children, they needed to get out. Hopefully the explosion would have awoken them, but she needed-

A heavy slap against her face sent Veryl reeling several steps back.

Flinching, the interloper winced in sympathy, but quickly tried to focus on the bigger picture. "There are others here?"

"Yes," it was all she could manage after the stun. 

Giving her no time to recover, Sylvester reached forward, dragging her back by the front of her gown, "You're too late, the explosion took out half of the building." He spoke loudly over the roar of the fire that surrounded them. "Save yourself, or perish." He shoved her away and she stumbled back into the interloper. 

He caught her, keeping her upright until she could find her feet again. "What's happening? Are you okay?" He tried to get through to her, but the chaos of the nightmare had all of her attention. 

Tears streamed down her face. It couldn't be true. She had time. She needed time. Veryl rushed for the stairs again, leaving Sylvester to do whatever ghoulish things he did when no on was around to watch. Fritz's blood still dripped from her drenched clothes, leaving a sticky, wet trail, and placing footprints upon old, splintered wood. The stairs would be the next thing to go. 

He hurried to keep up, warily eyeing the stairs, knowing they were vulnerable to collapse, potentially even before the explosion had rocked the building. But he had no choice other than to follow. Sounds of scared voices emanated from a distance. Was she trying to save them?

She was so focused on getting out of the basement level, the cries and screams of trapped kids filling her ears, she didn't care what he did. He could trail through the same blood she left behind, or he could leave. Crashing through the door, she was unable to breathe, the smoke was starting to take what little oxygen she had. It billowed around them in large plumes, proof of what was already lost. 

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She staggard forward anyway. 

There was a snapping noise and the building shuddered around them. He looked up, seeing a large crack forming above them. They were running out of time. "Listen! The ceiling's about to collapse! We can't get up there, it's going to come down on top of us!" His voice was raised to be heard above the chaos. 

"I don't care!" She charged ahead. Reaching the door she slammed her body against it, trying to push past the debris on the other side. Screams of young voices could be heard from the main level as the fire began wreak it's havoc and the building started to groan. The structure was compromised. Still, she kept pushing.

"I have to-" slam "get to them!" The ticking in her ears was so loud, louder than anything else that tried to drown it out. An ancient bell ringing deep within the recesses of her mind and heart. 

"I understand, I'd want to save them too!" He really did, had this been reality, he would have done everything he could. But he knew this was a nightmare. That there was no saving them. That there wasn't really anyone to save. "But you're just going to get yourself killed trying!" The least he could do was attempt to save her the trauma of dreaming up her own demise.

She turned on him, a hard glare in her eyes, "Then I'll die!" 

Not waiting for a response she went back to forcing her way through. The door burst open on her final attempt, revealing a burning office. Flames separated them from the door on the far side of the room. 

"Fuck!" She exclaimed, trying to find a way across, coughing on the smoke. 

If she was going to be so insistent… he sighed heavily. Raising a hand, he spread a path of ice through the flames, giving her a way forward.

Relief was short lived as the fire ate away at the ice, Veryl took her chance and ran across it. The cold burned her feet, and fire singed her nightgown. Wrenching open the office door she paid little mind to the way the knob burnt the flesh of her palm. 

"Sylvie!" She called to the girl clutching two others in the middle of the room. 

"Ver!" Wide eyes sought hers as they hunkered down. "We can't get out!" 

Veryl spun to address the man behind her. 

"The door, get them to the door!" She instructed. As they passed, hand in hand, she grabbed a pillow from a chair and tore it, pressing parts of it to the girl's faces to filter the smoke. 

He ushered the girls toward the door, making sure they followed the safe path he'd left. Another large crack sounded overhead. He hoped they could all move fast enough. 

The stairs weren't far, but the smoke choked her lungs and she struggled to breath. She collapsed at the bottom step, coughing and gasping for air. Tears mixed with the soot on her face as she struggled her way up each step, only to realize in horror that there was no next step.

The entire top floor was engulfed. 

There were no screams. 

"We have to go!" He called after her.

"They're dying!" They were dead. She knew that. But she couldn't— she wouldn't stop trying. 

"You can't…" his face fell. It was a dream, yes, but her fear, her pain, was very real. There was nothing he could say to fix that. "I'm sorry."

She wanted to hit something, curling in on herself as she tried to breathe. She shouldn't have survived this long, every inhale was torture. He was right, there was nothing she could do. But she had to try. Slowly, her hand reached for the next step, continuing the drag of her body up the stairs. The stranger could flee if he so choose. It was better to leave her to this fate. At least she would know what it was, happy to greet it like an old friend. 

He stood frozen, knowing that he had to stay with her, tethered to her mind as he was. They'd be lucky to make it out before the walls crashed in around them. One more try… "You have to move!" He held out his hand, hoping she would take it.

Veryl looked back, contemplating his offer while other arm still reached beyond herself. A loud boom above them had her cringing before they were both moving their gaze upward. She only had seconds to realize that the ceiling was compromised, and quickly headed their direction. 

There was one granular moment between them where their eyes met, blue against violet. 

Then it all went black.  ------------

Jericho woke with a start, shooting up in bed, his heart racing, lungs begging for air. It had been some time since dreams of that particular memory had taken a turn to the nightmarish. And this instance had been particularly brutal, dredging up an old, familiar, empty ache that he longed to forget. 

Had it been the girl's fault? Veryl? She had slowed him down. He couldn't escape in time. And worst of all, she knew. She'd heard his name. His real name. The one he tried to forget. The man who was supposed to be dead. She knew he was still alive. He had no idea who she was, who she could potentially be allied with. This girl now held the power to get him killed - or worse - in her hands. And he had no idea what she was going to do with it.

As if that wasn't enough, as soon as he thought the nightmare finally over, he was thrown into a different nightmare. This one unfamiliar. Hers. She'd tortured that man, brutally. But… she seemed to be a victim herself. The way that other man had struck her… it brought back the memory of a pain he knew all too well. 

And she'd tried her damnedest to save those kids from the fire. She seemed genuinely distraught at her failure to get to them in time. There was more to this mystery woman than he could even begin to fathom. 

Head starting to ache from fatigue and back to back nightmares, he laid back down, curling in on himself, and tried to get his breathing under control. It was times like this that he missed Elek. Even more than he usually did. He'd never known the truth, but at least it had always been a comfort to have him close after a nightmare. 

He couldn't help but wonder if she knew that she had him by the throat. She had seemed none to pleased at having him witness her memories either. Would use what she had on him to get revenge? Keep him quiet?

How much more of this could he take? It seemed that the strange presence that had spoken to him in her previous nightmare was right… something was drawing them together. Two nights of this and she'd already uncovered more about him than anyone should ever know. The thought made his chest constrict uncomfortably. He had to find a way to get this girl out of his head, before she destroyed the life he'd been trying so hard to build. 

There wouldn't be any more sleep for him tonight, it seemed. -----------

On the other side of town, Veryl awoke gasping for breath, scrambling from the sacks of flour she called a bed and rushing for the stock room door. She barely made it outside of the bar in time to wretch what little food from her stomach was available. This couldn't keep happening, it was getting so much worse. First it was the constant screaming and the sleep paralysis, now this? It had been years since she'd vomited because of a nightmare. Her heart was pounding, like she'd been running for hours.

A stranger was walking into her dreams. Witnessing her nightmares. Things no one should ever know about. Things that should have died with the people she killed. The blood, the horrors of fire and terror, the impenetrable violence that reverberated in her skull until she was heaving. Another bout of bile rose and was expelled just as quickly. Veryl wiped at her mouth and tried to catch her breath as she leaned back against the facade of the bar.

What was she supposed to do with the fact that the man in her dreams could be connected to Magister Virellius? Her benefactor had spoken of the magister and how he advised the king; Veryl had personally gotten information to aid his cause. Their families went far back; which meant nothing good. She knew he had sons, but her information was dated, Virellius had been put down years ago.

Veryl went back inside and slammed the bar over the door to lock herself in. Sleep was not an option, the stark images of flames were too fresh in her mind. The children haunted her. Even though she knew she saved them all, the fear of their deaths still plagued her. Grabbing a bottom shelf whiskey that she knew Bax wouldn't notice was missing, she sank into one of the leather booths. Swig after swig after swig did nothing to diminish her memories or the ones she'd stolen.

It was all too confusing, her head ached as she tired to straighten out what she'd borne witness to. How was she supposed trust what she saw. She never forgot a face, grooming changes couldn't hide it. She'd know those eyes anywhere. They were the same ones that had saved her from the the demon in her dreams.

That was the most perplexing part about all of this. Magister Virellius was a hard man, by all accounts. Was it possible that his sons were just as manipulative and powerful as he had once been? She couldn't know.

He had vividly recalled setting those slaves free and destroying those Venatori without a second thought. What was she supposed to do with that? She wondered if the ending sequence was correct; if he was captured somewhere, rotting away in a cell. Hers had been wrong, a tragedy greater than true events. It was meant to hurt her to the greatest possible extent. Perhaps the same could be said of the stranger.