Night is almost upon Abaddon. The two smaller suns are disappearing at the horizon behind the five future heroes, while they’re chasing the larger star in front of them. Akaleth slowly sinks in the west. It has been their guide for the last few hours. As its yellow glow fades, so do their conversations. They talked about a lot of things, carefully maneuvering between topics to evade the obvious subject: discussing their fears.
The dusk’s sky grows more indistinguishable from the deep blue and purple clouds. Lyssa finds the colour spectrum similar to the glowing tears of Gor-Thar’s statue. From that point her mind easily drifts to her youth, to Port Lorain and the Wailing Wench. Maybe she should get rid of the accordion. She almost never plays it anymore and looking at it always brings her back to days she wants to forget. She knows he will never hurt her anymore - she made sure of that - but he has left her damaged in ways that she can't recover from. She knows a pirate’s life is anything but a stable environment to raise a child in, but she hoped she could settle after she found peace. She doubts any kind of treasure will grant her wish, but how will she know for sure if she doesn’t try? She has nothing to lose, especially after this painful reminder that she will never be a mother.
While Lyssa silently mourns her motherhood, the fading light reminds Mero of his own mother. Akaleth’s warmth grows cold, similar to when the aasimar woman in the temple returned to the darkness. He subconsciously tortures himself with life-changing questions and their uncertain answers. In any other scenario he would be thrilled to discover who he was in a previous life, especially something so majestic as a being of angelic descent. However, with the angels’ proven maleficence and their role in destroying an entire world, he dreads whatever role he has to play in their schemes.
Although they sometimes look up to maintain their sense of direction, they let their heads hang for most of the time. All but Dargothoth, that is. He walks a couple of feet behind the others, his gaze fixed on the nothingness in front of him. So many new sensations occupy his head. He didn’t expect to rid his thoughts so quickly of everything related to Nerull, but he did. He has a new deity, a new purpose. When they have the time, he needs to take a quick look in the book the priest gave to Bruq. Maybe it has some information about how to pray to the Faceless God, what customs he needs to know. It’s exciting, something so new and promising. Is this the power Cyrzana told him about? It has nothing to do with the Mark, at least, not that he knows. Maybe it’s worth to try and gather information in Saal. The demons may not be so willingly to talk about something as obscure as the Mark, but he thinks he can persuade at least some of them. Or intimidate them, that’s also an option. The citizens won’t be the problem. How does he convince his companions? He needs to think of something, something plausible but not too much unlike his regular passive aggressive attitude. He will think of something. He has to.
The half-elf and satyr walk in front of the rest, just a few steps ahead, scouting, observing. No threats around, no demons or wolves to keep an eye on. When their gazes meet, they merely exchange a frugal smile and turn their eyes to the barren land in front of them. Their attempts to talk about something leads to nothing, just a reminder of how occupied their minds are right now.
They have received their blessings and they’re pleased about it, but they both doubt if it was worth it. It probably is in the long run, but everyone, except Dargothoth, has been demotivated beyond what they thought was imaginable. Their future is grim. The horrors of Bruq’s past will haunt him even here in Abaddon. Lyssa was brutally confronted with her past in an awful way. Mero may never see his father or he has to kill him, according to his wicked mother. Oslando will have to face the wrath of the Hollows once again. It’s been tough and they are tired. Giving up is not an option, they know that, but it would be so much easier for them to just walk away. Instead, they’re walking right towards their next destination: Saal, a town cursed with unexplainable blindness, waiting to be saved.
They can see they buildings not too far away from them. Almost no lights burn to distinguish the town from its surrounding darkness. Why should there be? No sight means no need for light. That thought hits them harder than they hoped and anticipated. If they have no sight on what this world holds for them, no sight on when or how they can help, how long can they keep focusing on a fading light and not give in to the darkness? How long before they can’t shake the thought that this tremendous plan to save an entire world is impossible?
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