>>6100839Master’s words push an icicle straight into your heart.
You won’t see him for a while… even as you just reunited.
“I see. I wanted… I hoped…”
“I am requested elsewhere,” he explains, helping you climb downhill towards the city. Now that the celebration has died down, most people have gone back to their homes and the streets are once again empty. You can see it from there. How clean and well-kept everything looks. Even in such a small backwater town as this…
“How are the Throne-Lands?” You ask then, reminded of the foul rumours that surround the people from those place. The Throne is the largest and most-populated of the Powers, a lumbering giant that sometimes swings its fists this way and that. They are known to miss, but when they do hit…
Even the Holy Land suffered through the echoes of the last Eldritch War.
“Vast and strange,” he replies, his voice taking that dusty tone you’re used to when he starts recounting the past. “The stars seem to shine brighter there, and the more south you go, the brighter they get, until they look like fire-lit jewels when you reach the Borderlands.”
“Have you been there?”
“Just the very outskirts. The will of Ansàrra has not brought me there for now.”
“And how will the Throne people react to our presence? The Throne has not been a friend of Madua.”
He rubs your shoulder to reassure you. You are going to miss Master’s presence. The way he can make you smile with a gesture.
“Neither has the Emperor been unfriendly to us. Friederigo is a reasonable man, a trait most uncommon in those of his line. You and your friends will have to fear little from him or the regular troops of the Throne. In fact…” he chuckles, “I’m afraid you’ll have to hold onto your robes! The people over there are prone to superstition and hearsay, and they’ll believe a patch of your clothes is enough to heal their cough, or it can be used to keep wine from spoiling, and such.” He shakes his head. “There’s good people on our side, Argia. There’s good people over there too. And yet…” his gaze turns darker as the slope turns into a plain. “This Asterite Carnaval picked for your mission… I am a bit concerned.”
[cont.]
