@starsoared | closed starter.
There is silence, no bickering nor shouting that forces him to focus on all the noise. Where he rests, they are quiet. Light snores from Nott and the Dwarven woman, Keg, but nothing out of the ordinary. This group was anything but, after all.
Caleb sighs a moment, flicking a small firebolt at the base of the fire, reigniting it so that he and the others would not freeze. It is one of the few times his flame had a use, and he’s not sure if that is a good or bad thing. It was good to not use it for killing, for pain. Yes, the fire he conjured was a good thing.
The thoughts pass, and he is left wondering why he is still there with them. They’re on a path toward slavers that took near half his group, what did that have to do with his goal? They didn’t care about him, not the way they cared for Mollymauk or Beauregard. He was useful as a source of light, or detecting magic. He couldn’t fight like Yasha or Fjord, couldn’t heal like Jester. No, he was made to hurt. But he couldn’t even do that right.
“You should just go,” The sound of his voice booms in his ears. The fire and insects and the soft rustling of the grass being the only other thing making noise. “It... it is time to go. Ja, time to go.”
He sits for a moment, then another, and he feels his feet lifting him as he stares into the fire. The rest of him knew it was best to go now, avoid the cries and arguments and bickering the group was so fond of. It would be difficult, but he spent years in hiding. Years struggling, years starving, and he would miss them. He would miss the full belly, would miss the money, would miss the safety. It was better this way, he told himself, it was better to go without a word. To disappear in the night, and not look back. Caleb straightened himself, patting his pockets to be sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. He pulled a pack over his shoulder, a day’s rations to get him back to Hupperdook. He would restock there, use what little change he had on him, and keep going. That’s all he had to do; keep going.
By the time he had returned to the town, the festivities of the previous night having returned to the industrial buzz it had when they first arrived. He prayed the remains of the Nein hadn’t tried to follow him, seeing as he was already a day away from their campsite. Foot travel was less ideal, but it meant he wouldn’t bring attention to himself if he traveled by horse. He meant nothing while on foot, he was nothing. He was never something, never close to becoming something.
The last of his coin is spent on provisions for the coming days, hardtack and dried meats and fruits. Enough to be sure he wouldn’t starve, but there would be difficulty adjusting from the comfort he had grown fat on. Still, he hesitates. There is a feeling of need, one he searches for in each shop he enters, only to leave with empty hands.















