It was some time before the ground floor of the tower was met with a rumble. A shuffling. Then a crude smashing as the trapdoor was flung open and bounced off the floor at the end of its arc of a journey. Flip emerged, arms laden with a wide brown paper wrapped parcel. Had another creature been present on the ground floor of the tower, they might have noticed a distinct scent of sulfur. Flip was well aware of the foul odor, though it had grown stale to his covered nose.

With a heavy flopping thud, Flip set down his parcel and ripped the covering off his face and heaved in the first breath of clean air he had gotten in what felt like days. Gloves, face cloth, smelly robes, and other assorted clothing and garments were strewn aside into the bone dry washing bin (where they would likely stay for several days) and confidently strode up to the second floor of the tower to wash up.

The second floor seemed strange to Flip. The bed, the writing desk, the neatly folded clothes on the vanity. It may as well have been turned over by a thief. It looked about as familiar to the wizard as a strangers room.

“How long has it been…” Flip let out a long sigh. “Weeks? Months? Days since I made it out… weeks since I slept here? Longer?”

With a groan more fitting his apparent age, Flip motioned idly for the things he needed and the room came alive with movement. The bucket in the tiled corner filled with water, the soap dipped in the buck and found its natural place alongside it, the long dry brush began to stir the buckets contents into a cleansing concoction. A fresh, though perhaps less than freshly cleaned, set of clothing and a set of linens found their way just outside of the tiled area.

---

When Flip returned again to the more comfortable reaches of the bottom floor of the tower, the room felt almost as askew as the second floor had. Nothing had moved for changed, at least apart from Flip’s cleanliness. Still, something bothered the wizard, like there was an unseen eye watching from some hidden corner of the room.

“Best to not look aware to scrying eyes.” Flip muttered under his breath. The act of talking to himself helped reassure and comfort him in his decision.

With a nod of decision, Flip made his way back to the parcel he had deposited on his desk earlier and readied himself for an excursion. Boots, hat, walking stick, package. Umbrella rather than walking stick, as Flip though better of his situation. Best to be prepared to return upon an intruder should one be there when he returned.

With a nudge to the lock and a swift kick to its center, the door was opened to the mid evening light. And, to Flip’s regret, a waiting solicitor on his stoop. Dovhran, the mercenary sat idly watching the forest just beyond the road as Flip exited his tower. The wizard made a point of loudly locking his front door on the way out, but the mercenary didn’t seem to mind the departing act. Oddly, he said nothing at all, only offered a nod as Flip uneasily made his way down the road.

Nothing had changed in the town. The last time Flip had really gone out through the town was at the request of the town guard, and even then it was a quick trip and the apprehension on the way had made it a nervous transit. But this journey was a slow one, casual. No one in the town seemed to care that Flip was out and walking among them, or if they did they didn’t make it known. Perhaps they did whisper when he left their vicinity. Perhaps the farmers and weavers and bakers and blacksmiths and the other locals let fly rumors among them about what it was he did in his tower for weeks on end only to emerge for food. Or perhaps the scruffy and slapshod guard traded odd stories about him, having seen him the most as he sat contemplatively on his stoop in the mornings and evenings, scrawling away in various books and journals.

As the wizard made his way to the farthest ends of town from his tower, he began to draw the gaze he was normally accustomed to. Perhaps the working folk had better things to do than gawk at him, but the priests and beggars and pub folk had no other hobbies to occupy them. It didn’t hurt that this was the side of town where Flip had spent most of his life.

The Hearth Home still looked like the same welcoming ramshackle it had been when he last left it. Though it had been years, it could have aged hours. That was the blessing of the iron driver at work, no stone or nail set by welcoming hands shall falter.

“Haemer’s blessing on you, Faengil. What brings you to the Hearth Home at this time of day? Dinner? You are always welcome at the table.” A tall and striking orcish woman greeted Flip as he stood awkwardly in front of the chapel. Her raven hair was longer than it had been years ago, and withstood the efforts of the bun that had been arranged to keep it out of her face. Despite her rather intimidating stature, she seemed more friendly than any other face Flip could see.

“Hello, Cheska. Just a favor.”

“It’s Mother Devo now, Flip. Granny Joanna passed on last year.”

“That’s sad.” Flip’s eyes darted to the ground immediately, though he hardly showed any other reaction.

“It was almost sad. She made the best soup of her life the day before she passed and I think we all figured she knew she couldn’t top it, so she moved on.” The orcish woman gave a hearty laugh, the sound of which reverberated off of the open roadway and the surrounding buildings.

“I’m sorry I missed it, I’m sure it was a wonderful meal.”

“Flip,” Cheska sighed, “You’re acting like you did when we were children and you couldn’t be bothered to make yourself comfortable. Come inside.”

“I just came by to deliver this and repay a favor.” Flip stepped closer, though not all the way off the road, and held out his parcel.

“You don’t owe anything. That’s how family works.” Cheska shook her head, but strode to the edges of the small fenced in yard of the makeshift chapel and accepted the package over the humble divide.

“These are charms. You wet the back and place them on a door frame or entryway, they ward against demons and other small primordial terrors. I’m sure you know where they would be most welcome better than I.”

“Fine. I will take them. But, you may still come in for dinner. You look like skin and bones…”

“I have means for myself, Mother Devo.” Flip interrupted the orc and took a step back. She looked wounded by the second denial, but merely shook her head and sighed.

Flip turned to leave but thought better of it.

“Though, if a rather unnaturally composed and articulate stranger with a shortsword comes through and asks about me, offer him your second best meal.”

“A friend of yours then? I thought you didn’t socialize.”

“He’s no friend of mine, but I have a feeling you’ll meet him.”

“My second best meal is his then. Maybe I’ll hear more of you… Don’t be a stranger Faengil.”

“I’ll be no stranger than I already am, or at least no stranger than anyone else thinks I am.”

Flip offered a small bow and turned back up the road the way he’d come. A movement slightly within his peripheral vision told him that the sensation of being watched should have never dissipated as he walked through town.