Serai had awoken with the sun. This had not been unusual for him in any way, for when travelling the fabric of the tents were thin, and when at home, his cloister lay so close to the chicken coop that he was used to arising during the early slivers of dawn. No, what was different about today, was that it was in neither circumstance.

He woke from what he had surmised last night, to be a comfortable resting place, and immediately regretting it. Pain bloomed in his spine as he lifted himself from between the two rocks, head supported by his leather pack that he was only now remembering had his surgeon’s shears in them. He quickly thanked Brigantia that he had not succumbed to them in the night.

Behind him stood an inn, windows boarded and door bolted, a sign attached to the door reading “temporary sickhouse, the reaper’s malady spreads - ivy hearne” fluttering in the wind. Serai bristled, hand instinctively going towards his cleric’s sigil, a small disk of roughly hewn wood, though he could not fault his brother for his carving skills given that the Malady had left him both entirely blind and void of sensation in his hands. All things considered, it was an entirely competent carving.

He found a small pack of dried mutton in his pocket, and continued on to the market. He counted ten gold pieces on his person. If he was strict, it may be enough to heal twenty people, or revive five. Whichever was the easier wager.

Though morning had scarcely broken, the town had busied itself quickly. Vendors hawked wares and home cooked food on noisy carts, farmhands led prize bulls and pigs to the square for bartering, and among them all, sat a small apothecary stall, awning faded and tattered. Serai waved at the elven girl serving, picking out salves and balms enough to refill his pack.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” the girl said. “We don’t get much in the way of tieflings around here.”

Serai looked up. “Well I don’t intend on causing any trouble, miss. I was going to see if I could be of any aid at that public house down the road? The Bee and Honeypot?”

The girl’s smile fell. “I wouldn’t go round there if I were you. It’s dangerous.”

”Well,” Serai smiled grimly. “I’m with the Sanctum of Brigantia.” He held up his sigil, gritting his teeth through the half-lie.

“The Sanctum? Oh, what a pleasure to meet you. Astrid Thornheath,” she said, extending a slender hand.

Serai shook his head, motioning for her to rescind the gesture. “Thank you, Miss Thornheath, but we better not shake hands in this situation. My name is Serai Zakael.”

Before Astrid could reply, a young girl, no older than fifteen arrived at his side, breathless.

“Clara!” Astrid exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

”Clara Fyrgill, courier to the grand estate,” Clara ignored Astrid, instead addressing Serai directly. “Lord Calloway has summoned you.”