For the second time in as many days, Warren Castille dragged himself by cover of night into the shelter of a protected encampment. The lack of traffic headed to and from the Goblet at that hour was a small favor from above: He was still covered in gore and his stagger would have likely spread rumor that a member of the Sultansworn had risen as a zombie. He kept his mind cleared by working through the events of the evening over and over, searching them as if they held any relevance to his position as he passed beneath torch and lantern. He knew it would do him no good to be seen sneaking in the shadows as he was, that it would be better to be up front if confronted.
He felt as if someone else had been acting for him. He knew his station as a free paladin was to assist the true Sultansworn and Immortal Flames as required, though he couldn't think of another example where he had so freely deferred to someone else. Melkire was a good man if his reputation was to be trusted. Crofte trusted him, and Warren trusted Crofte. He tried not to consider that these sorts of chains were the sort of thing that had led to the night's excitement in the first place.
He ran the end of the event through his mind again. He'd met with Filangieri and given his side of the evening, same as the other attending Sultansworn. Where Warren's responsibility ended, however, her's only began. She made mention of filing a report with a grim countenance on her face. Warren put the thought out of his mind; She'd done nothing wrong and should not be reprimanded for it. He made a mental note to check up on her, though.
His thoughts hardened as he approached the door to the Duskbreak. Unlit and empty it loomed on the corner of the ward and Warren didn't intend on being there long. His boots crushed broken glass further into the rug but it still held no importance to his thoughts.
No one's ever going to walk these floors again anyway. Let the thieves find it.
He didn't need the lights to find his way around and his boots carried him like a corpse into the downstairs. Ace was right where he always waited for his master to return during the day, perched on the edge of the bed and facing the door. The tiny, worn-out ragdoll had the same dopey smiling expression as always and Warren couldn't help but feel his heart cry out. The poor mutt deserved better than to wait for a loved one that wouldn't be coming back.
Warren steeled himself and forced the emotion back out. No room and no time for it. He scooped the well-loved stuffed toy up and turned on his heels to exit the room before he had the chance to consider sleeping. He knew once he came to a stop he was going to sink into the earth and waste more time recovering. He could sleep later.
He felt as if someone else had been acting for him. He knew his station as a free paladin was to assist the true Sultansworn and Immortal Flames as required, though he couldn't think of another example where he had so freely deferred to someone else. Melkire was a good man if his reputation was to be trusted. Crofte trusted him, and Warren trusted Crofte. He tried not to consider that these sorts of chains were the sort of thing that had led to the night's excitement in the first place.
He ran the end of the event through his mind again. He'd met with Filangieri and given his side of the evening, same as the other attending Sultansworn. Where Warren's responsibility ended, however, her's only began. She made mention of filing a report with a grim countenance on her face. Warren put the thought out of his mind; She'd done nothing wrong and should not be reprimanded for it. He made a mental note to check up on her, though.
His thoughts hardened as he approached the door to the Duskbreak. Unlit and empty it loomed on the corner of the ward and Warren didn't intend on being there long. His boots crushed broken glass further into the rug but it still held no importance to his thoughts.
No one's ever going to walk these floors again anyway. Let the thieves find it.
He didn't need the lights to find his way around and his boots carried him like a corpse into the downstairs. Ace was right where he always waited for his master to return during the day, perched on the edge of the bed and facing the door. The tiny, worn-out ragdoll had the same dopey smiling expression as always and Warren couldn't help but feel his heart cry out. The poor mutt deserved better than to wait for a loved one that wouldn't be coming back.
Warren steeled himself and forced the emotion back out. No room and no time for it. He scooped the well-loved stuffed toy up and turned on his heels to exit the room before he had the chance to consider sleeping. He knew once he came to a stop he was going to sink into the earth and waste more time recovering. He could sleep later.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
