[Hlussawen]

It was late night when Tizergha's weary feet would finally step upon one of the side streets of Tyraturos, her gaze filled with ever-more heaviness than it had before, and her hands frantically clenching an old wooden staff, as if to help herself remain standing.

The road from Bezantur did not turn out to be easy, and, just as he once appeared on the road before, her travel companion was now gone, succumbing to the strife of battle behind her, never ever to be seen again.

First the woman considered resting on the soft grass on the outskirts of city, letting the pleasant earthy scent conceal her in the tall plants, a bed she was far more used to than resting in an inn.

But this time tiredness took the better of her, and, against her better judgement, Tizergha thoughtlessly headed into one of Tyraturos's inns, grabbing a huge tankard of thick bitter ale and letting her mind get lost in its awful flavor and scent.

That was when a strange man approached her, rather politely asking to take a seat nearby, and, despite her lack of response, making himself comfortable anyway. Tizergha could not say that she ever saw the stranger before...But there was an odd, almost alluring darkness in his eyes. Something that appealed to her trouble and her loss, and perhaps even something she could relate to...