About Ca’armine

Son of a country priest of Raiden, Ca'armine was the pride of the family when he was admitted to the Academy of the Raidensblud, and began training to join that prestigious order. He learned to his chagrin, that the group had been infiltrated and taken over from within, by the Dark Hand! His true heart and devotion to Raiden could not abide him continuing in that path, so he escaped to the trees and timbers. Now he is on a quest to save Aegir from the corruption the Raidensblud is spreading. His mission in life now, is to redeem Aethelred, purge the evil from the Raidensblud, and stop the entrenchment of evil will on his beloved homeland. Tall order. It will be a miracle if he can pull it off-- the kind of miracle one should never expect to survive. That's fine with Ca'armine. The mission is more important than any one person. It is irresistibly necessary to Ca'armine, that he succeed-- or die trying.

Mushrooms

Ca’armine has trouble settling down, the first few days in the wild.  The last few days his world—did he even think of “world” in the same way before?—has been turned upside down.  The sense, of not feeling Raiden’s presence, haunts him.  And now?  Raiden is there when Ca’armine reaches out, but it’s different somehow.  He doesn’t know how exactly, yet. Things are different. 

The monastery wasn’t there anymore.  Tumble down stones, he imagined– but they weren’t there.  Every member of the team, walked past the clearing.  All of them saw it.  All of them looked a second time.  None of them stopped. 

We knew things were different right then.  We were back in the world.  But things were deeply different.

On the third day—praying to Raiden every day, communing with his god, but on a level that maintained, rather than grew, their bond—he realized that he was different

Not the person who had walked into Nodden-Tor. 

First he prepared his spells for the day, then he checked in with his team to let them know he would be away.  He put on his pack, with nothing in it but a water skin and a blanket, strapped a knife on his belt, and set forth.  After a few minutes, he picked up speed and ran across the clearings between trees, to get space between himself and the area he had already explored, hunted, and knew well.

He did not stop to forage or hunt on the first day, so when night came he laid down hungry.  He woke up with the sun, already feeling better.  Today he did not commune with Raiden.  He got up and started running.again.

Before the sun got back to midheaven, though, he felt the fatigue start to slow him, and he started hunting instead.  The knife was the wrong tool, so he made a spear.  He found a muddle of rabbit tracks in a bit, and held still by a maple tree until the rabbits felt confident to leave their holes.  He got two.  Tying them up he started looking for  downed wood and a place to build a fire. 

Along with the wood, he found some mushrooms.  Intrigued, he examined them.  When crushed the stems turned blue.  He gathered all of them, and he moved on with cooking.  Why not grab some salt on the way out of camp!  Ca’armine laughed at himself and ate the damn coneys.  With some of the mushrooms.

Things got different then. 

Eating the bluing mushrooms, had been an important point in his first months away from the Raidensblud.  Long ago, there was a random night at a random inn, when a fellow-traveler had offered him a soil-bound cluster of the same type, warning him they were “strong.”  They roamed around together that night, until Rion—Ca’armine thought he was probably a thief by trade though he said he was in “real estate”—said he needed to lie down.  That was the night Ca’armine realized that, he must be a servant of Raiden, without being a tool of the Raidensblud.  It was compicated, it was intense, it was revelatory.  For awhile he thought he might be a druid.

Ca’armine spent the whole night under the stars that night, communing with Raiden and feeling the earth.  The mushrooms made him vomit of course, they always did—so in the morning he felt the pangs of hunger intensely.  When the partridges came out in the early morning he knocked one down with a well-aimed stone, and cooked breakfast in the same fire.  He started walking back to the party’s loose encampment.

When he resumed his training the next day, and rejoined his comrades in training activities, he found a change in his perspectives.  An additional dimensionality—time, frequently, fittingly—using greater spell complexity to achieve greater effects.  Finding capacity for closer and more frequent communion with Raiden.  Expanding on the ability to protect from, and even to purge, evil attachment. Growing more powerful.

This world might be different from the one where he was born.  But it’s the world where he lives.  Where he serves Raiden. 

Thereafter, he spends time every day seeking out components from the forest around, especially bluing mushrooms, and making incense with those components. 

Ca’armine’s Dream

On the final night at the end of two weeks of rest (and leveling), Ca’armine does not drift into sleep. He kneels. He prays. Not his morning prayers, simply a choice to connect with his god before he drifts off to sleep.  It has been a good two weeks in this Westland wilderness, on the side of Mt Lanos. It has been so peaceful that even with the howling of the undead in the woods to the south, Ca’armine has enjoyed some real bonding time with the other members of his party.

The world grows sharp.The air becomes thin, and cold like standing at a mountain pass in winter. It’s not a painful cold, but it does make Ca’armine feel alive, and awake. When he opens his eyes Ca’armine stands upon a high ridge overlooking the Red Wastes.

The wind roars off the red wastes, kicking the crimson sand into the air and making the sky seem smeared with blood. Not chaotic. Some fear the winds. This seems purposeful to Ca’armine. Countless groups of humans are leaving the wastes and finding shelter below in these first lands. Behind him, footsteps. Heavy. Measured.

Raiden stands there. Not a god of light and glory. Not crowned. Not radiant. He stands in travel-worn armor. Leather scarred. Cloak torn. A longbow across his back. A sword at his side. His ears are slightly pointed. His face weathered. His eyes are very human. And tired. Perhaps even sad. But resolute.

Raiden Speaks…“This is but the first gate, as they have taken to calling it.  Many will wish to stay here after our long journey. Yet we still have so far to journey before we can build again. I know that this is not what you seek, but it is important for you to remember. I can sense, beneath your guise of peace and calm, an anger burns.” The wind does not drown his voice. “Good. You wish to fight the corruption of our order, to fight the disease that attacks our roots. But first we must remember what is worth saving.” He gestures to the Red Wastes below. Ca’armine sees visions in the sand:

Large groups of humanity are fleeing from a scene of mass destruction, cities falling, civilization destroyed…Orc hordes cresting the Middlebarr pass and pouring into the land…Sutheron in ruin…Humanity scattered.The last scene, a young family, a man and woman and child, hiding in the woods as dark murderous forces move past…they are silent, not just in feart, but in determination. “We survived because we did not break.”

The sand shifts again. Now Ca’armine sees a scene between two figures, one of them familiar, Tarkus, in a familiar warehouse in Ghanil..Red iron shipments are discussed. A need for dark rituals. The importance of gathering power. The mysterious figure is clearly in charge.  As they speak Ca’armine notices shadows coiling around an image of a broken crown that seems to ethereally sit over the head of the unknown figure, commanding Tarkus to obey him.

“The enemy believes humanity is weak.” Raiden says. The sand turns to glass and in the reflection Ca’armine sees himself after one of his more taxing battles with the Crimson Casling. Bruised. Wounded. But standing. “We are not weak.”

Raiden steps forward. The world swims and a new vision comes into focus. Now Ca’armine stands in a ruined city, perhaps Sutheron centuries ago from the look of it. Orcish warbands approach the gates. The defenders are few. Raiden leads them, but does not charge. He does not shout. He plants his banner. “Hold” he tells them. These human kin, they are resolute, and you know already that they win in dominant fashion, finally driving the hordes from Sutheron, and eventually over the Middbarr pass.

“Strength is not domination.” the world weary Raiden says to Ca’armine. The wind rises. “Strength is endurance.”

The vision swims and fractures again. Ca’armine now sees something he was not expecting: A new figure, a member of some kind of unknown imperial army by the looks of it, preparing to defend against a large force of elves and dwarves, that upon further inspection looks tired, hungry, and desperate. It is hard to make out specific qualities of the figure that the vision is focused on, but elements of his character shine through. Brilliant. Driven. Certain. He routes the enemy army and those around him swarm to him in celebration. Yet the figure quickly moves away. While the others celebrate, Ca’armine watches as this mysterious figure wastes no time returning to his tent and planning…always planning his next move, and the one after that, and the one after that…so many plans stretching far into the future.  Raiden watches him with no hatred. But you detect your god does feel sorrow for this figure. “He may have destroyed the last empire, if you can believe such things are the result of a single person’s actions, but he is not chaos.” he tells you. “He is conviction without humility. Even as the others celebrate they are blind and lost in his web of dark desires. And while he is long from this world, from a time before now, you must prepare for his return for his machinations have never ended.”

The wind stops.Everything becomes silent.

“You will face men who believe they are saving humanity.They will sound righteous.They will sound necessary.They will sound like me.” Raiden grips Ca’armine’s shoulder. It is solid. Real. “You must remember the difference. Like when you left the Order, with purpose, no longer willing to be deceived…determined to fight for me, for us, for humanity. For the good that we can all do. That is why, no matter the darkness they can bring, or the evils they can choose to do, our people must be saved, for the good that we must encourage them to foster, on each other and the world around them.”

The scene shifts one final time. Ca’armine stands before a massive storm rolling in from the north. Black clouds. Lightning. Shadows moving within. Banners of the Dark Hand on a towering citadel surrounded by snow, ice, and black rock.  A reoccuring figure again, the one who spoke with Tarkus in that warehouse…maybe Bandesingh. There is a ritual underway.  You hear echoes from another time resounding as the ritual continues. Something awaits in the long ago and far away dark…something returns…something that will spell doom for all mankind while trumpeting it’s defense and salvation.

Raiden draws his blade. It does not glow. It does not blaze. It is steel. Simple. Reliable.“You will not stop the storm. You will stand in it. You will anchor the others. You will not bend. You must not break.”

The wind returns. Now fierce. Now glorious. Ca’armine feels strength surge through him…Endurance. Rootedness. A mountain stance.

Raiden’s speaks one last time to Ca’armine…“When you doubt, remember all of this, the struggle and the desperation, the power of choice and the need to stay strong in the face of all that which wishes to undo the good that we sow into this world.”  There is a spear in Raiden’s hand which he entrusts to Ca’armine. Ca’armine grasps it with intense determination and it glows with the power of Raiden.

The vision fades to a final image. The Middlebarr Pass. Raiden is standing alone at its narrowest point but you can tell it is simply an ethereal vision of him which only you can see. This is a possible future. Behind him is an army of sorts, the tired, the hungry, the desperate. Other humans like Ca’armine. The rebels of Aegier…refugees most of them, not true warriors. They are preparing to fight, yet you can smell the fear emanating from all of them. Before Raiden stands a horde unlike anything Ca’armine has ever imagined, spreading down the pass and far off into the north…as far as Ca’armine can see.  Orks, goblins, bugbears and hobgoblins, banded together from countless tribes to form a massive indomitable army. They are not there out of greed, or a desire to pillage. This is a host bent on the destruction of every human in the lands. The blood that they will spill will be like oceans to feed the appetites of their dark gods. Raiden does not move but you can tell he is speaking to those who can not see him, trying to give them courage in the face of so much death and destruction and evil.“Hold.”

That’s the Power of Raiden

Facing the bole of a beech tree, Ca’armine sits cross-legged in repose. He’s staring at the silver shield of Raiden in front of him. His body is relaxed. His mind is elsewhere.

Alexis asked him, “can the energy that pushed away the demon, be used to draw in a similarly powerful good creature?” Or something like that. Ca’armine said no, quickly, or at least, not through his agency, but now, he realizes, that in a profound communion with Raiden, he does walk beyond the boundaries, not of the plane, but of the visible world. Maybe more is possible than Ca’armine had believed!

He walks in the garden of Raiden’s delight. It’s not a place, he’s not walking with his feet on any ground, but this is the vision in his mind as he communes with his god. Raiden seldom speaks to him here, but he senses the Presence. “Raiden, please hear me. My team walked in, and out, of a dark place, looking for a powerful artifact. Is this something we can use? Will this help us defeat the enemy?”

When he says “the enemy,” a ripple runs through the vision. Ca’armine raises an eyebrow.

“Raiden I feel you guiding me. When I reach out for your power, you give it freely! I believe I am following a path you are laying in front of me. Are you guiding me toward the enemy? Can my team and I defeat the enemy? With your power I feel anything can be possible.”

“Raiden thank you for guiding me, for empowering me, and for leading me forward. I trust you will help me and my team, and guide us in your righteous path. I pray you give me strength that I might access– or the team might use– the power in the artifact! I pray you show us the enemy, and guide us to defeat him!

A spear of light arcs into Ca’armine’s chest, filling him with bliss. It is the same spear he throws when he heals a fallen team-mate. The beam illuminates him and then disperses.

Let’s Go Back to Church

Morning in camp. Ca’armine finishes his watch, and wakes Alexis, who as usual had taken the first watch. “Camp is secure, nothing to report overnight. If you’re awake, I’m going to retire to pray.” Alexis rubs his eyes, and nods, pushing up on one elbow. Once Alexis is up, he’s up– and the two have made this exchange many times over the months they have been together. Ca’armine moves off from the group, and finds a tree to sit beneath.

“Raiden, brother, protector, hear my prayer!” He starts, as he always does, with his silver shield in his two hands. He thanks Raiden for protection and guidance, and asks that Raiden continue to bring these gifts to him and to his team.

He becomes distracted, though, as he calls the faces of his comrades into his vision. Alexis asked to be taught the ways of Raiden yesterday! Ca’armine thanks Raiden for the opportunity and asks for the gift of wisdom in this matter. Forming a congregation, was not the path he foresaw for himself, when he got the call to go south and find the Crimson Calling. But in the midst of battle, something was changing with the spirit of his team. Rask is depending on Ca’armine, for spiritual guidance and more. Gustav is offering his trust, and asking Ca’armine to consider the burden on his soul, of accepting magic from gods other than Raiden. Ethelred is not talking much about religion, it’s true, but he did join in the cause of helping Rask by crafting a holy symbol of Raiden for Rask to hold. And now Alexis the Av worshipper, the one who calls on Av’s power for spell work, is showing interest in Raiden worship and asking Ca’armine to be the guide. Ca’armine feels giddy as he thinks about the team coalescing, not only in purpose, but also, in inspiration. Raiden be praised!

He feels things shifting in this group. Only a week ago, he was still nursing a plan to leave the group and head north and east, to the region of Fjellsby where he felt sure, he would find his opportunity to thwart the Dark Hand’s evil plans. He did not feel he could push Alexis any harder than he already was, to take that path, and Alexis was still clearly ruminating on unfinished business in Southron. He wondered if, in that moment, Rask would join him. But more he wondered if, without the rest of the team, he could survive long at all, in his quest to find Bandesingh.

But Alexis took the path to the North East without any further discussion, and the team had all followed along. In that moment, Ca’armine realizes, he finally felt he had found his place on the team.

“Raiden, protect us! Protect humanity from harm. Protect us from the evil workings of our foe!” In his mind’s eye he sees, but vaguely, a powerful and evil magical working, and imagines Bandesingh looking on in satisfaction. He envisions himself interposing his body, sacrificing his life to stop the evil from gaining sway in this plane. Then he tries to imagine having his whole team with him, resisting that magic. Stronger, yes. So much stronger.

Strong enough?

“Raiden hear my prayer! Help me to guide my team in spirit, so that we can, together, find the foe and cancel his evil plans. Help me to bring them together as comrades, as soldiers in your army, to defeat the foul foe. Help me raise up their souls in your light, so that we can do your good work and save humanity!”

In his mind’s eye, he sees Alexis, pointing out across a plain, and sees Rask, blade held high, charge past in the direction he’s led. He sees Gustav moving out in a flanking maneuver. Red, circling around the other way. He himself, following behind Rask, holy shield in one hand, sword in the other. The team, charging into battle, to the end, together.

“Raiden please let it be so!”

In Game 09072025: Ca’armine’s dream

That night after the ritual, feeling deeply connected to Raiden, Ca’armine sleeps well and slips into dreams. 

You find yourself standing in the plains, stretching beyond sight in every direction, at night with the stars bright above. A warm wind from the east carries murmurs…”soon the false god shall ride again, clothed in shadow, born into this world on the blood of innocents. Time is running out. The sands in the hourglass are nearly spent and the gate of skulls will soon have a new lord. My time is nearly spent. If the shadow returns, the night will never end.”

Shadows grow and blots out the light of the stars. You awake, heart pounding.

Ca’armine seeks Gustav’s Vow

Ca’armine, moving through the group as we walk along, pulls Gustav aside for a word.

“My friend, we have a problem.  I need your help to solve it—though we may both perish in the attempt.

Rask has a cursed sword, and his increasing disquiet—even with the sword out of reach—tells me he may be hosting an evil soul.  Perhaps Zrithak is joined with him.

I am asking him to give me his swords, to fight with batons only for now, but this is a stop-gap.  If the evil inside him concludes he must move against the party—and Red heard him say as much in his sleep!—there will be serious trouble, mainly for me as the keeper of the Black Blade.

Please keep close to me and be ready to defend me if he tries to take the sword from me?

In my prayers it has become clear to me that the sword, and perhaps the evil soul, are avid to destroy us all.  If Rask is under the thrall of these evils, he is the most dangerous foe we have faced together, and we will need to be resolute.

In Raiden’s name I charge you—NONE OF US may wield the black blade even one more time, and he that attempts it, must be stopped, even if his death is the only way.  Will you accept this charge?”

Raiden our Protector

Ca’armine catches up with Rask as they walk along. “Alexis told me that he was asking you about the Protector aspect of our great god Raiden, and I came up with a song for you.  It is short, I’m not the bard, but maybe Alexis can spank it up for us a bit?”

Ra-a-aiden, brother, protector! 

Shield us from the foe!

We stand behind you, weak and vulnerable

Save us from the Blow!

Raised by Anashar,

blessed with glory

Resolute and Strong

Wield thy sword to help the lowly

As we make our way along!

Raiden Doesn’t Like This Place

My friends– as we approach the heavy fortifications of the West Gate, I feel compelled at last to tell you. Throughout this journey I have been tortured by visions, including glimpses of the silent and stern visage of Raiden. I have felt that our steps were taking us away from, not closer to, the goal for which I asked my Lord’s guidance– the defeat of the Dark Hand.

Dennos has taunted me. He identified me as a priest of Raiden, from the outset, and as we traveled further and further into the west. I ignored him while he was challenging my God. But as we walked further west– and my visions grew more intense– I realized his taunts and my visions echoed each other. Raiden beseeching me to turn back. Reminders of the desolation visited upon his armies, long in the past.

Now that we stand in sight of the fortress, I need you all to hear and believe me, for I know as well as my own name– we have deceived no one. Drennos of the Dark Hand leads us gleefully into a trap. This fortress is so well defended, despite being in the wild lands, we have to ask ourselves, why? Maybe this is where Bandesingh and the Dark Hand are making weapons and training armies.

But maybe this is a prison, and we are about to be locked inside.

Is there Nowhere We Can Rest?

Ca’armine wakes in his lean-to, it’s still pitch dark all around, the only sounds are the crickets, and his own fast breathing—the undead alligator-monster isn’t likely to leave his restless nightmares for some time to come.  At least tonight, he was not inside the jaws.

Ca’armine rises, and ducks out from under his rude shelter.  In a moment he can see occasional stars overhead.  He makes his way in the dark, toward the bank of the river.  Looks out over the water.  A fish jumps, but otherwise the landscape is still.

The dream having faded, Ca’armine has a moment to take a deep breath and stretch his weary shoulders.  The opportunity to sleep, and rest—sure, not in a bed, but not in the sewers again, either!—such luxury.  Though he can’t get it out of his head that he and his friends were still vulnerable, in the background, at this moment the thought of danger fades.  Here he stands, not carrying a weapon, or wearing any armor, for the first time in what seems like a long time. 

The last days in the city seem far away now.  Every corner they had turned, an enemy was waiting for them!  His sense that there were no safe paths of travel had unfortunately proved correct.  Thankfully, Alexis had reluctantly accepted that another trip to the Collegium, or any other destination including their hideout, would result in another battle.  Seeing wisdom, that gift Raiden had given him.  Not always, could he convince others to listen.  His new Captain was beginning to heed his advice. 

That thought gratifies Ca’armine, as he stares up into the night sky.

He feels a warm breeze at his back.  Puzzled he turns—nothing is there—but when he turns back, there is a radiant figure in front of him. 

“Raiden!” he whispers, dropping to his knees suddenly.  A moment passes.

He looks up.  The figure has disappeared.

The Presence, however, stays with him.  He stands, feeling both strong and light in that moment.  “Raiden, lord, thank you for blessing me with a vision of your form.”  He looks up at the sky again, feeling the blessing surrounding him. 

The next day, starting his morning routine, the memory is with him.  The Presence felt very real, moreso than spending time with any human he had yet met.  It had faded with the stars, but when he reaches for it now, the memory is strong. 

On reflection later in the afternoon he realizes that the sensation of the Presence was essentially, the opposite of how he had felt about his faith when he met the heroes he now calls his team-mates, at Mavon’s castle.  Then, he had been conflicted in his faith.  The visage of Raiden was clear to him, but it was also artificial—the paintings he had seen at the Temple, for example.  He had been avid for Raiden’s blessing, but “Raiden” had been a figure he had read about, heard about, learned about at church and from his Father’s catechism.  He was terrified that he had made a dire mistake, leaving the Raidensblud and forsaking their ideas about what “Raiden” commanded; was that what Raiden wanted for him?  He had felt that it was, but it was as if he had yet to complete that conversation with his deity.

Now, he feels, the conversation has happened and he is reassured.  Raiden is not a figure, only; He is a Presence that accompanies Ca’armine now.  When Ca’armine reaches out for the power to heal, Raiden is present and provides instantly, instinctively.  He feels sure.

Ca’armine practices the sword forms, practices with his bow.  He reflects on the martial nature of Raiden’s Presence.  It is right to stay in training, right to keep one’s blade sharp.  Raiden doesn’t choose war, War is chosen for him, to protect humanity—and so it is for Ca’armine.  It is wrong to allow evil to flourish, or even establish a root.  Evil chooses violence, oppresses the weak and helpless.  To be strong for good, one must not shrink from that violence, lest Evil prevail.  The swords whirl, as he trains.  Today, he is not using the blades to kill.  This is a good day, therefore.

Finishing his training for the day, he takes a dip in the river to rinse off, and takes out some rations for his mid-day meal.  Prayer will occupy the majority of the rest of his day, seeking to understand the nature of Raiden’s plan for him and his place in the greater scheme.  Over the meal however, he is thinking about the team with which he is now aligned, and his place within it. 

He senses that the Southroni comrades are loathe to leave the city, and he feels for them.  He was similarly conflicted when he left Aegir, to come find these heroes.  Ca’armine advocated for the team to leave because of their safety, and the safety of the less puissant comrades with whom they had aligned themselves (Mavon first among them), but as he chews the hard tack into pieces small enough to swallow, he acknowledges a yearning inside him, to be doing something.  Not just reacting to circumstances, or taking up small tasks to curry favor with people who might be able to point them in the right direction.

Wisdom in this moment, is in conflict he realizes.  He wants to attack the Dark Hand, eliminate Bandesingh and in so doing, cripple the foe that has corrupted the Raidensblud and all of Aegir.  But how to do that?  Sitting there on the ground, looking at the river, he admits that he himself has no idea where to start.  He is convinced that Bandesingh is in Aegir, not in Southron, but he has to admit he has no source for that information.  In other words, leaving Southron is wise because it is better than the alternative, but having no sure direction to travel, he is still only reacting to circumstance.

So, it is wise to leave Southron… but is it wise to travel back to Aegir?  He resolves to take this up with the team when next they meet.  Maybe they will eat together at sunset. 

As he starts his prayerful observance, this thought is still on his mind, and it occurs to him to ask Raiden for guidance in this moment.  Show me the path, he prays, as he feels the suffusing warmth of his connection to his deity.  Raiden, your presence is near to me and gives me comfort.  Now I implore you… show me the path.  Show me what you need me to see, so that I can serve you and protect humanity from the scourge now using your Name to oppress the weak.  At first he doesn’t notice that he is engaging his magical energy in this prayer, but when he does sense it, he puts his heart into the request, using all of his focus to send this prayer to Raiden—Show me the path!!

Ignobility of a Jail Cell

Ca’armine does not like being caged, he discovers. On reflection, he realizes, neither does he prefer being ambushed. Or, violating the sanctity of the Collegium, which he can’t help but respect and even fear. He muses, “I can forgive myself for drawing my weapons when the enemy attacked, since they were in earnest about killing us. But I am doubtful the Collegium will overlook the transgression.

He paces. Back and forth in the cell, stepping around his companions, watchful. He has not been traveling with them long, but he feels sure they will not harm him nor help themselves without aiding him too. However, he is learning that they are not infallible.

“Who is?” he chides himself. But he realizes, in his longing to join a group, to take up the cause and make meaning out of the exile in which he found himself, he unwittingly created in his mind, a vision of these heroes (surely they deserve that title!) as larger-than-life.

“They are powerful, certainly, but they do make mistakes.” He thinks about the nonchalance with which Alexis led the stopover at the Collegium today. “Rask didn’t even put on armor! As if he could blend in with the crowd. As if any of us could!” He shakes his head.

He is loathe to tell Alexis, or any of the group, what they should or should not do… but at the same time they would be wise to emulate his long habit of stealth and concealment. “What do we stand to gain, boarding in the gaudy manor of their friend the thief? Why are we operating in Suthron at all? I long to strike a blow at the Dark Hand, but it seems we are easily manipulated, by anyone who tells us we are getting closer to finding them. We are in truth pursuing the agendas of others, more interested in gold than in justice.”