>>6188313>(5) Meet with the mortals in your party. Various notions spin through your head, but what ultimately occupies your attention as you cross Winterfell’s yards is not planning or spellcraft, but Emíl and his one-man drama. You hadn’t been aware of the extent of his skill before, having only known the man a week, and it occurs to you just how little you know most of these people with whom you have been marooned.
“That was truly exceptional, I must say,” you tell him, when you’ve all returned to the mansion. Anya and Eva are off discussing ways to contact the divine again, leaving you in the sitting room/library with the four mortals of your party. “Major Image is no easy spell to master. I’m not certain I’ve ever seen one with so many moving elements, least of all while the caster was singing and conversing with his audience.”
“That means much, from a great elven archmage,” he replies.
“I admit, I am curious why it is a man of your talents still pursues mercenary work. Missions such as this are a severe risk, no matter the price.”
“I thought so too, once upon a time,” he says. “I have travelled one way or another my whole life, and fought for much of it. For years I thought only of money and of retirement. And, well, as you say, this is no simple job for simple men such as me. Perhaps I do not need to be here. But I have seen much in my life - I know what happens when evils are left to roam free. I have lost comrades to dungeons and monsters, and faced down fiends and dead men. When your sister contacted me some weeks ago searching for aid and told me of these Nightrunners, all I could think was that it was all happening again. It could not be for any simple hunt that an archpriest of Cuva would seek the help of mortal men. And so it was not. For all that’s happened, I still believe I made the correct decision.”
“Do you think you’ll retire when this mission is concluded?”
“I cannot say. Perhaps. Perhaps I shall travel more. Suddenly it is made real to me that other worlds are not merely places for stories and heroes, after all.”
“If it helps to know, there are few places in the higher planes where singers are not welcome.” Your eye then catches on Lukas, in the process of smoothly dismantling and cleaning the fine musket he names his Thunderbolt. “And what of you?”
“Oh. Soldiering’s all I’ve ever known,” he says. “At least until a certain singer filled my head with ideas about independence and striking off on my own. I retired from the Navy about a year ago. Emíl here knew my skill, and when he told me of a different sort of job, one where a man must truly rely on his own strengths, well, I realised all of a sudden the peaceful life was not for me. I boarded a sky-liner for Carillon within the week.”
