Twindil sighed as she settled into her bedroll, her eyes finding the ceiling of her tent. The light was now beginning to bleed through the cloth, the coolness of the morning held back by the thick gray canvas surrounding her. Her armor lay strewn haphazardly beside her bedroll, the heavy plate armor having proved too uncomfortable to sleep in.

Not that it would have mattered, Twindil hadn’t slept last night. In fact, she hadn’t slept for well over a week now, the dark circles under her eyes attested to that. Thankfully her elven blood reduced her need to sleep, but her human blood demanded more rest than what she had been able to achieve. Normally, it would be easy for her to find sleep, but lately, it had been eluding her grasp…

Because every night she was terrified. Twindil was terrified of her own lineage, when would the madness begin to set in she wondered? Was this sudden insomnia just from her personal fears, or was it the beginning of her descent into insanity? She felt tears welling in the corners of her eyes; the knowledge that the madness was a certainty, rather than a possibility, drove her into a pit of despair deeper than even the Eiress sea.

Twindil’s eyes then shifted to her blade, safe in its leather scabbard beside her bedroll. It was a finely crafted thing, almost as tall as she was and with a keen edge that could split steel. If it came to it… would she be able to fall on her sword to prevent inflicting tragedy? Would Twindil’s goddess Afina come to despise her for denying fate? Perhaps so… but it would be best not to dwell on the blade, not when it came to that potential use.

She turned from it with another sigh. It was time to rise from her bedroll and begin the day. Hoplite, Lance, and that boy she healed would be returning to the Fiendwall soon, likely today if she guessed right.Twindil needed to climb out of the pit of misery she currently wallowed in, her friends needed her to at least appear stable. More for them, rather than herself. Twindil had promised them that she could find a way, that she would be able to save them…

Yet the more she thought about how to stop the inevitable, the more impossible a task it seemed.

She sat up from her bedroll finally, rubbing at irritated eyes. They were seriously bloodshot, she was certain. Twindil struggled to bring herself to her feet, her bedroll insisting that she come back to its warm embrace. She struggled out of it after a brief spar, pulling free of its smothering warmth to ready herself for the day. First she donned her armor, a long process considering the lack of help.

Twindil did not mind it though, and she’d rather not trouble anyone to help her with such a minor thing as donning her plate. When she finally finished, Twindil grabbed the hilt of her scabbarded greatsword and left her tent.

The morning light was dull and sickly today, a small bundle of thick clouds shielding it from view. The night's coolness had yet to leave completely in the small hours of first light, and Twindil relished in the coolness, knowing that the summer's heat would beat down upon her later. The fiends on the opposite end of the breach had been mostly taken care of, with only a few stragglers here and there amongst the rubble. New fiends were still coming however, droves still crossing the Greatbridge connecting the Faewood to the Fiendwood

As such, Twindil had opted to retreat to the safer end of the wall to rest. While waiting for Hoplite, she and her friends had been staying in the forward camp, ready to lash out at any encroaching fiends should they try and attack the workers clearing the rubble. It was nice opening her tent to see fresh green grass and normal, living people as opposed to the dead and putrid purple landscape of the Fiendwood.

It was still so strange to see just how short the divide was between the thriving Faewood and the corrupted Fiendwood. Just right across the wall… Thank goodness for Draoi’s Pustule, else the Fiendwood’s sick curse would surely taint the rest of Ahkoolis. Perhaps if they slayed Kazon, the curse would subside? Twindil did not know for certain, but either way, Kazon had to perish.

The soul of her caretaker had to be reclaimed, and she would wrest it free of Kazon’s silvery hands if she had to chop them off! Twindil’s tired expression must have changed to something akin to that of a wrathful lioness, for the Fiendwallers in their simple brown and gray garb all averted their gazes from hers, some moving to clear a path even if they were a dozen paces away.

Twindil cursed herself for allowing rage into her heart… tranquility and wrath were to not share a place in her, yet the mere thought of what Kazon had done-

No, best not to dwell on that now. She made her way through the camp, towards the mess tent, replacing her wrathful gaze with something more passive. Thankfully the Fiendwallers stopped jumping at her presence, the last thing she wanted was for the people to fear her. She was a disciple of Afina, not Ankoriss, and she had to conduct herself as such.

By time she found the large tent, she felt exhausted. Twindil had already picked up whispers about her supposedly ‘bad mood’ and how ‘it would be best’ to stay clear. How had word spread so quickly? These Fiendwallers did not all but gossip it seemed, and had become proficient in spreading it like a plague. By the end of the day, they would likely be claiming that she had beheaded a man for looking at her funny.

As if a champion of tranquility would ever conduct herself in such a manner! Twindil ignored the stares as she passed into the mess tent, spying Theopalu off to her left inhaling a fist-sized chunk of ham and swallowing it without chewing. How the old elf managed to eat like that without choking was still a mystery to her, but it was one that she was alright with not knowing.

The mess tent grew quiet for a brief moment, a dozen Fiendwallers staring with some apprehension from their tables before averting their gazes. Twindil then began to hear plenty of talk about how ‘pleasant’ the weather was today… She sighed, shaking her head and turning her attention back to Theopalu.

Theopalu sat on the floor, next to a fully occupied table. Most of the tables in the tent were small and circular, more like something one would see outside of an Akan-Dari tea house. Those who occupied the table adjacent to Theopalu were her companions, all staring at Twindil as if she had ripped the head off a chicken with her bare hands. What was she supposed to have done, use the blade of her sword!? True, she could have simply requested a knife to use, but it had always been easiest for Twindil to de-head a chicken with her bare hands. Now no one in the camp would even let her near an animal… Again, she shook her head, putting on a calm smile as she approached the table.

Elum stared with knitted brows, his red flesh somewhat pale in the dim morning light that seeped through the open tent flaps “You uh… you alright?” He asked her, scratching at one of his black horns “Heard you beat someone up?”

Alistair laughed, putting a gauntleted hand on his forehead “I heard you killed someone, and that afterward you claimed to be the daughter of the Lost Child!” He finished, adjusting his bloody red headband beneath his blonde hair.

Nolvi simply rolled her eyes, and began staring at her empty plate. Like always, those blue and green eyes stared with an intensity that bespoke of deep thinking… or she was daydreaming particularly hard. She wasn’t wearing her normal travel clothes, Twindil noticed. A long leather skirt concealing her legs along with a matching cape about her shoulders… and a blue blouse that clashed with the browns of her skirt and cape. Well, it was no business of Twindil’s what Nolvi chose to wear, but that was hardly the kind of attire she should be wearing for a trek into the Fiendwood.

Not that Elum bore much more sense than her, insisting on going about shirtless that way. What was wrong with cladding oneself in good steel? Alistair at least seemed to have the good sense to wear armor… but he had painted it a lustrous shade of gold for whatever reason. Again, not her business but it made him stick out like a gorshak in a mudlip.

Theopalu’s clothing would be good for the Fiendwood, the all-black Watcher’s uniform perfect for nighttime scouting… not that the old elf wanted any part of that. Unlike Twindil and company, Theopalu only wanted to act as a guide. The old elf had apparently been there before Kazon’s curse had ravaged it. If it was true, and Theopalu didn’t seem the kind to lie, then he was the oldest elf she had personally ever met.

Twindil blinked when she realized that there was one face missing from the table…

“Where is Kid’ka?” Twindil asked “Is he fighting with the other Tongues, or has he gone to the other side of the wall to face whatever fiends remain?”

“Former.” Elum replied with a sigh “The Tongues got bored and they're holding some kind of contest near the breach.”

Twindil shook her head. Kid’ka was always engaging in roughhousing despite his social awkwardness. You’d not expect it from the man, but he was actually quite competitive. Twindil would need to go and retrieve him whenever Hoplite arrived today. She took a seat at the table and sighed.

“I did not beat up or kill anyone. I was just in a foul mood and wore it openly.” Twindil told them, gesturing for a plate of food from one of the passing serving girls.

She brought it to Twindil with a nervous smile before setting it on the table before her, quickly giving a short bow before scampering off. Again, how was it that Fiendwallers were so talented in spreading gossip? Gali needed a firmer hand on this sort of behavior, perhaps he should be taught the ways of tranquility, should Twindil ever get the time to read him the texts.

She sighed again, grabbing a piece of bread from the plate and shoving the whole thing in her mouth, uncaring that she all but mimicked Theopalu’s manner of eating. She was simply too hungry to care.

Alistair leaned toward Twindil, lowering his voice to a small whisper “Did you hear word yet? About what Hoplite did?”

Twindil paused her chewing for an instant before nodding. Indeed, she had.

“Do you think it's true? You think he actually killed Tuji?” Alistair whispered, his brows knit.

“Be careful about using his name.” Twindil whispered back quickly “We don’t want anyone believing that we knew him, especially Hoplite. That might open us up to questions we would have difficulty answering.”

“I had wondered why he didn’t appear in The Dream…” Nolvi whispered, fingering a blank spot on the table idly “But I didn’t think it was because he died.”

“Tuji had it coming if you ask me.” Elum said “Chasing us around the Faelands that way. At least now we don’t have to deal with him ourselves.”

Twindil sighed and shook her head “He was a Shimani, it is not their way to kill someone without challenging them to Tomah first. If we would have refused…” She continued, lowering her voice further until it was nearly inaudible “Tuji wouldn’t have been able to do anything to us.”

Alistair shook his head “You know that isn’t how this works.” Alistair told her flatly “We wouldn’t have been able to say no.”

Nolvi nodded along to Alistair’s words before saying “We likely could have slain him with how we are now, but before…” She trailed off before staring at a particularly interesting cup.

They were powerful, yes, but Tuji had still been far beyond them. Nolvi might have been confident that Tuji could have been slain… but some of the party would have surely died, and Twindil would not allow that if she could help it… She placed a hand on her temple as she thought back to her and Tuji’s long talks.

In The Dream, she had tried to convince Tuji that there was a better option to their situation than conflict… but the foolish man had refused to listen to her. Tuji’s entire existence was for the fight and only the fight. The fact that he was participating in the ultimate competition had only stoked his fiery passion for battle. But Twindil had still tried… there had been a spark of something behind Tuji’s eyes that Twindil had seen, her half-elven blood allowing her the ability to read emotion.

It wasn’t much due to her diluted lineage, but it was still enough to see that Tuji had been homesick. Not that his home would have been short of any battles, of course, Shimana was a land rife with war, the soil dyed with generations of blood. Twindil had thought that maybe, just maybe, if she could have convinced Tuji that she could have helped him…

Well, there was no use in crying over spilled blood. What was done, was done. All Twindil could do now was move on and save whoever she could.

“You okay?” Alistair asked softly, concern in his eyes “It hasn’t begun for you… has it?”

Twindil smiled “No, no not yet. Hopefully not ever, should we find what we’re looking for.”

“Kazon comes first.” Alistair growled out through clenched teeth “Then we can focus on ourselves. He must pay.”

Twindil nodded, leaning over the table to place a hand on his shoulder “Trust me, he will. We will make him pay.” She told him with conviction.

Before any more words could be spoken, a man burst into the mess tent, shouting something that stopped all motion, all sound.

“The Hero of the Fiendwall is returned!” The man yelled ecstatically.

Twindil immediately stood from her seat, her friends following suit as cheering broke out across the mess tent. Hoplite had quickly become a popular name around these parts, but that was hardly a surprise considering the army of fiends he had dismantled. Hoplite was a good man, a bit cold, but a good man. A bad person wouldn’t have bravely risked death or worse to confront thousands of fiends alone.

Twindil was glad to have Hoplite along for the journey… if only she could convince him to come with them to battle Kazon… maybe she could negotiate with him on that. Perhaps her group could aid Hoplite in finding his companions, provided he help them face Kazon at the end of their journey.

The prospect of fighting the Lord of Hate and Thief of Spiralling Death would have turned most men fleeing with soiled britches. Hoplite, however, seemed made of sterner stuff. When the opportunity presented itself, she would ask him for help.

A man that could slay a Pillar-Born… a terrifying thought, but one that also filled her with determination. Kazon didn’t seem quite as intimidating as he did when he had first found her in Umant.

The bastard had taunted her, terrified her before finally stealing Jereg’s soul in front of her. Jereg who had raised her and taught her the art of smithing. Jereg with his big hands and bigger smile… just gone.

‘Hate me, then come for me.’ Kazon’s parting words seemed to echo in her ears ‘Hate me you half-blooded welp, grow strong and come for me at castle Blackgaze!’

She grit her teeth as she stormed out of the tent, her friends and everyone else in the mess tent at her heels. Oh how Twindil did hate Kazon… She would come for him, they all would.

And they would cast him down to the Pits of Ankoriss.