To: Andrew Swift

[Fuzziebunny]

Message are left in the various inns and pubs in Port Avanthyr, Aquor and Mirakus Post. Each message is written the same and addressed to Andrew Swift.

Andrew,

I wasn’t sure how to find you or even get into contact with you. My hope is that you manage to get this letter in one of your wanderings. If so, I would like to speak with you. I know your time is valuable and you have many responsibilities. But if you can find the time, please get in touch with me.
Chime

[Peridan]

The pub sat on the edge of Aquor, near the caravan path to the Spine. Quiet, most times, it had livened up in the past few months due to the invigoration of Zakharan coin and security.

The wooden door creaked open, allowing in the swirl of snowflakes. A figure wrapped in a tattered cloak staggered inside and kept from falling only by the rune carved staff in his hands. With more effort than most, the figure pushed out the wintry chill by slamming the pub door shut. The barest hint of a sigh of relief escaped his masked visage, and he hobbled over to the bartender.

A few muttered words later, and the bartender slides over the parchment, likely covered in small hearts or glitter dust or something. The enigmatic figure reads silently for a moment, then slumps down on the bar stool.

"By Mystra's succulent tits, can't a man sequester himself in peace?" He mutters to no one in particular. Then orders an ale, crumples the letter up, and tosses it behind himself into the fireplace.

-----------------

Eight ales later, Andrew is slumped against the bar top, a bit of drool puddling on the counter from his slack mouth. With a less than gentle shake, the bartender disturbs his drunken stupor. Stumbling out into the cold, it takes Andrew a moment or fifty to process his situation. He shivered despite his inebriation; the fact that he could warm himself with magic gone from his mind. Drawn to the sight of the Sunite temple, his gaze, once bright with life, is now dull from the booze and other cares.

Lost friends. Dead heroes. Failure.

Wiping his mouth, he hobbles away from the bar. He makes his way to the large, everlasting flame in the town square and huddles near it, lost in thoughts far away and in brighter lands.

And waits.