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Darchala

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re: [Interlude] A Brief Stop in Fairbreeze

Follows Ismial's departure at the end of October 4th's Tavern Night. May come back and polish it a little later, since this was a one-draft bit.

--

The flying machine landed with a hiss of steam and a metallic screech that drove its pilot to rummage through his supplies in search of machine oil. He climbed out of the seat and straightened out his robes, making a mental note to do maintainance when he returned. The song of crickets and night birds covered the village like a cloak, and he hesitated by the flyer for a long moment just to drink in its familiarity before he made his way down the street.

The inn was quiet at that hour, the commons deserted but for one disheveled woman sitting amongst the cushions on the floor. Her spindly fingers were curled around the mouthpiece of the hookah beside her, and in the crook of her other arm was tucked a blue dragon whelp no larger than a kitten.

“You have not slept,” Ismial said by way of greeting as he took a seat next to them.

She took a draw from the water-pipe before responding, smoke rising from her lips in a whirl. “You wouldn’t have, either. Are you ready to leave?”

The priest nodded.

Koszephyrus removed a key of crystal and gold from her backpack and handed it to him. “You’ll find him under the cloth over the coffee table in my apartment. I don’t know if you can even do anything for him, but you’ve a far better chance at it than I.”

Ismial slipped the key into his satchel. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Her eyes fell to the brazier in the middle of the room, and her voice failed her for a moment. “Just... do everything you can to reattach his spirit. It’s half my fault that he’s like this to begin with.”

She rose to her feet, pulling up the hood of her cloak as she did so. The whelp clambered up her arm to find a spot on her shoulder. “Now, what do I need to know about these friends of yours?”

“Apart from what I wrote in that last letter?” Ismial stood and folded his arms, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he thought it over. With a slight nod, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Keldris, the paladin, is a human under an illusion, but I do not believe that there is any duplicity about his presence in Quel’thalas. He was open about it in the Plaguelands.”

A deep scowl creased her forehead. “Very well; better I know that now than find out for myself. Is that all?”

“I believe so.”

She removed a small runestone from her backpack and set it down on the floor, muttering an incantation. The air began to ripple and shimmer, tearing open to reveal a chamber circled by stained glass in a hundred shades of blue.

Ismial stepped through, and Koszephyrus closed the portal behind him with another word. Blowing out a sharp sigh, the mage gathered up her belongings and headed outside to persuade a surly hawkstrider into making one last run before they rested for the night.


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