The Flower Hill was as chaotic as always. Patrons filled the central hall to the brim, and their bawdy songs and cheerful chatting mixed in the smoky air with the smell of sizzling food and good drinks.

Joseph wasn’t one for festivities: he had always been too shy for it - weak and fearful, his father would say - and his stomach didn‘t hold alcohol very well.

And still, he found himself touched by the cheerful atmosphere, even if for different reasons than a full pint and a good meal.

“Wonderful!” He exclaimed. “Your work has been outstanding!”

The two intermediaries didn’t wear cowls this time, something that pleased him to no end since it spoke of their increased trust. Wearing an infectious kind of broad grin the male and a business-like expression the female, they both shared the deep-seated satisfaction of a work well done.

And who could fault them for that? Joseph was simply ecstatic, had been since the moment he had received the two sacks of arrow-like badges that testified the end of the Arrows. The fall of the bandit group was a great blow to one of the assets of the Crow, and would undoubtedly mean a great improvement in the livelihood of the merchants making their way through the Bronze Road.

And, as much as his informers told him, there was not a peep about the true identity of the mysterious masked warriors that had brought the villains to account. There was an array of theories, going from the mundane to the wild, but very few even included the name of the Gray Goblin and its mysterious master.

To say that Joseph was enchanted by that demonstration of efficiency and honesty would have been an understatement. Between the continuous, discouraging falling back before the Crow’s forces of the last months, that felt like the Light itself had sent one of its divine servants to show him that hope still held true.

Behind him, Robert coughed politely, shaking him out of his reverie.

Realizing that he had been gawking like a child during his first visit to a tournament, the lawyer turned his head, trying to hide his flush with a little cough.

“S-so, anyway,” he began, retaking his composure. “An impressive job indeed. I would be extremely grateful if you could convey my congratulations to your Master.”

The two nodded dutifully. As much as Robert was still peeved about Cartus not being present at those meetings, Joseph couldn’t find in himself to blame the man. If anything, his admiration for him was just touching the sky. What a performance!

“So,” he said. He smoothed his hair, trying to push back the giddy admiration dancing in his chest in favor of something resembling professionalism. “As you’ve asked, we put a bounty on this Robin Rickter. Together with the one Cartus had spread in the other towns, i reckon that this bandit will find no help from his usual associates. Or at least, no ally he will be willing to trust.”

He could get behind the logic of Cartus’s decision. Even if some farmers were willing to offer the bandit shelter, the vast sum offered for his head would make sure that he didn’t find stability in the same area he had been robbing about, especially considering the pieces of information Cartus brought him about the man. To his eternal regret, he knew far too many people like that bandit, people that thought that all the value in the world began and ended in gold and that everything was just something you could snatch. Robin would always sleep with one eye open, knowing that, if the roles were different, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill the wanted man hiding in his house and cash the reward. That would make him blind to the few willing to actually give him refuge. In the end, he would likely flee the area altogether, leaving his reputation behind. With that, any chance he had of rebuilding the group would end up in smoke. If Joseph was more naive, he’d even hope that the man start an honest career. But that was asking too much.

The lawyer delighted on the thoroughness of Cartus. Not only he had destroyed the group, he even made sure that it couldn’t raise again. Magnificent!

“Of course, his escape stings, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. An admirable job. I cannot but say that i am thoroughly impressed.”

In his enthusiasm, he stepped forward for a handshake. The male graciously obliged him. His grin was broad and friendly, just like his grip, and Joseph found himself instantly liking him. He was so taken that he didn’t notice the flash of irritation coursing through the female’s eyes.

“With this, i think that’s everything in order,” Joseph continued with a smile. “The Gray Goblin and its Master are officially allied with the forces that struggle to keep order in this poor city.”

“Great!”

“Lovely.” Trich’s enthusiasm was a grade inferior to Krik’s. “Will it be possible to have a meeting with the other leaders?”

“Indeed.” The thought brought Joseph a touch of nervousness. But it wasn’t like there was any reason to postpone the thing. “In two days. The notice you sent me gave me all the time to set things up. That said, will you two…?” He glanced between the two intermediaries, asking wordlessly if they would be the ones to attend.

“Oh no no.” The male waved his hands in front of his smiling face. “This is too important for us, is it? Master will be present personally.”

Joseph didn’t bother hiding his relief. He had had his share of problems with his friends already, for carrying over that deal before consulting them. Having Cartus insult them by not being present in person was really something he was glad to make without.

“Ah, very good! I will look forward to meeting him in person.” He eagerly shook the hand of the male. “And once again, thank you. I really mean it. It’s so wonderful to find honest people ready to do what is right.”

And he truly meant it. Finally, after months of dark foreboding and discouragement, a ray of light through the darkness. It was wonderful.

Joseph left the meeting in high spirits. Even the anxiety for the upcoming meeting couldn’t get to him. It would later, that he knew, but not right now. Now, he thought with delight about the new ally that undoubtedly would keep proving himself a brave helper of their beleaguered city.

“Thoroughly impressed, is he. What an asshole.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not like he meant offense.”

“I don’t care! Who does he think he is, talking like that of Master?”

“I guess that he shouldn’t have… felt impressed, then?”

“Don’t you get smartass with me. You know what i mean.”

“Do i?”

“…do you want me to smack you?”

“Alright alright, only joking here. No need to get violent.”

“Yeah, that’s what i thought.”

“Oh, i thought of something!”

“…what?”

“If the man is an asshole, it means that the Master has chosen an asshole?”

“Wait, where’s that coming from now?”

“Hey, you said it!”

“That’s not what i meant!”

“Ahah, too late to take it back now!”

“Matter-of-factly, it is not!”

“Ah, so you don’t think that Joseph is an asshole!”

“Yes! No! Maybe! Shut up!”

“Ahahahah!”

“Wipe that grin off your face or Master help me…!”

“Alright alright! Sorry!”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“I quite like him though.”

“Yeah, i had gathered that.”

After the meeting with Joseph, one last thing remained to address before resting. One last, solemnly important matter that couldn‘t be put aside or postponed.

In the guildhall, the air was somber. The Gremlins filled the place, clustering around a large table. On it, five weapons - two swords, a mace, and two axes - had been put to rest on a red cloth delicately embroidered with golden thread. They had been lovingly cleaned of blood and dust, and their edges, passed under the care of the file, shone with a dull glint.

The general attention shifted from them to the tall, grim figure of the Master.

Hands beyond his back, he stopped before the table. As it fixed on those battered tools of war, his gaze was intense.

Silence hung heavy in the guildhall, each and every present waiting for him to speak.

He wasn’t one of many words. When his deep voice graveled through the air, it went straight to the solemn duty at hand.

“We gather now to celebrate those that have fallen.” He turned to face the crowd, his expression reflecting in rows of solemnity-filled eyes. Right at the front, Tur stared emotionlessly at the five weapons. Shame and failure beat steadily in his chest but he refused to lean on any of his Warriors standing beside him. The only comfort he allowed himself was Dara’s feather-like touch on his forearm.

Gorren left his gaze sweep over his soldiers for a moment before resuming.

“It is said that after their time has come those that are godless go to the Halls of Repose that stands beyond the Darkened Path. There they will rest, awaiting the time when they will be reunited to their loved ones.” He paused. “No mortal has ever stepped into the Path and returned, and so we can’t know if it is the truth. We can only have faith in the Gods’ words, and believe that they are the truth.”

A few Gremlins broke down in sobs. Hearing them, Tur felt his heart squeezed by a painful vice. Almost without thinking, he put his hand over Dara’s.

Gorren nodded. “It is only right to grieve, for those that have gone leave an emptiness that can never be filled again.” For a moment, his eyes became unfocused, like he was witnessing something very far away in time. It passed as quickly as it had come. “Still, don’t let that grieve drag you down. These that have fallen have done so in chasing their purpose, and now they rest, their task finished, their journey done. This… is a good death, and it deserves to be celebrated. So cry and grieve, but also toast and rejoice, because your fallen comrades have been steadfast to the end. And then, move on.”

Those words impressed deeply the listeners, that saw the deep wisdom that they contained. Their sorrow wasn’t quelled, not completely, but they found some measure of consolation all the same.

Tur nodded solemnly, closing those words in his heart. He wouldn’t ever let them go.

The Master stood silent for some moments, stern gaze taking in the assembly before him.

“Remember this as well,” he said after a while. “From death, life springs anew. And from those that have fallen, those that remain can receive strength, from their memories, from their example, from their acts.”

He nodded, and the Gremlins opened up to let a group of five pass. They were young and invariably wore the same nervous expression.

Under the Master’s gaze, the weapons were presented by Trich and Krik to the recruits. They received them with deep, grateful bows, one for the weapon itself and one for the Master, that just nodded and sent back in the crowd.

“Go now,” The Master said once all the weapons had been passed over. “Drink and cry and be merry. Celebrate the fallen and the life that you still have.”

A wave of bows rippled through the assembly, signaling the end of the ceremony.

As the Gremlins went to their feasting, the guildhall already filling with the clinking of glasses and the sound of voices, Trich and Krik caught the Master while he was ascending the stairs for the second floor.

“Master!” The male said cheerfully, a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. “Want to join us?”

Despite immediately giving him a hard nudge with her elbow, Trich’s gaze shimmered with the faintest hope.

A foot already on the stairs, Gorren only half-turned and didn‘t look at them.

“No,” he grumbled. “You try to have fun.”

And without adding anything else, he swept up the stairs, disappearing into the second floor.

Trich and Krik exchanged a glance. The male shrugged.

“Wanna have a drink?” He raised the bottle and wiggled it, making the clear liquid inside slosh a bit. “It’s a lot that we don’t do anything together.”

Trich narrowed her eyes. Well, it wasn’t like she had been fiddling her thumbs! Still, Master had said that they were to rest and have fun, and Krik’s expression was so earnestly hopeful. She guessed she could indulge him.

Walking away with a beaming Krik, she briefly wondered why the Master had decided not to join them. Ah, no point on trying to guess. It wasn’t like she could understand what deep motives moved their wise Master.

A deep gloom filled the office, but Gorren didn’t mind. If anything, it felt adequate to his state of mind.

He would have liked to say that he found surprising to be feeling upset. But that would be a lie, and lies without reasons had no point to exist.

He traversed the room with long steps and sat at the desk. He barely glanced at the many papers cluttering the wooden surface. As much as they all required attention, they all pertained to mundane matters. They could be postponed and delegated.

With a sigh, he laid his head against the chair. Muffled by walls and firmly closed window, he could hear the sounds of his servants’ festivity. It felt… disquieting.

He sighed again. Ah, he did know. He knew that it wasn’t right for him to feel like that. There had been a victory; secondary, mundane, but not in the least inconsequential. A victory, and yet he found no relief from it, no desire to celebrate and be merry.

And he knew why.

“Merriment isn’t for me anymore.” Even if barely a whisper, his voice seemed to echo into the empty room.

How could he be merry with that constant clawing inside his chest? How could he smile with that trembling restlessness always echoing in his blood? How could he forget when he saw their faces every time his mind wandered away?

He couldn’t, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t bear the burden.

Gorren didn’t need to open his eyes to know that she was there, a deeper shadow amongst the shadows.

“I know,” he said. “I know that i am a villain. Making lives and sacrificing them to pursue my own vendetta. I know it and always will. I’ll bear the shame with me forever. So be so kind as to keep your mouth shut.”

Nama’s chuckle was a raspy thing, like claws being dragged on bones.

“Glad to hear it.”

Gorren grimaced.

Maybe that was why he could bear that burden constantly clawing at his bones. It was a fitting punishment for the failure of the past, and now for burning lives on the pyre of his revenge and ambition.

Yes, it was only fitting for him to be alone in the dark, with only his ghosts and death as a company.

Unbidden, Argus and Scarlet bounded through his brooding, a little light amidst the shadows infesting his mind.

He wished to see them but would wait for the darkness to recede a bit before doing it. They weren’t to be touched by it. That was his burden, his and his alone to carry.

Even that was only fitting.

The Gremlins took the Master’s encouragement at heart. They partied deep into the night, drinking and toasting and cheering at the memory of the fallen, to victory, and to the chance of seeing another day. There was crying and laughing, mourning and celebrating, everything watered by alcohol.

Of the Warriors, Huk toasted with the grim solemnity of a high priest and the ability to keep alcohol down of a water barrel. Sela came right after him when it came to thirst. Her voice rose higher than anybody when she toasted and her eyes shimmered with shame. Too bad she didn’t share the big man’s tolerance. She became angrier and angrier, and they had to drag her away from a group of Gremlins that had gone over to depression.

“Don’t make those stupid faces, goddammit!” She screeched. “Cheer for them! Cheer! They did their duty! Cheer!”

In the end, Huk offered to carry her to bed and disappeared with a sobbing and very drunk Sela punching weakly at his big arms.

Tad and Fret went to partying like they were born for it. Maybe it was that they just accepted more readily their life as soldiers, maybe it was thanks to Sela’s growling, but they cheered and laughed much more than they cried and mourned. When alcohol started really to flow, Tad actually started to flirt around the hall, many times in clear sight of previous targets. It took him being kicked between the legs twice to finally understand that it wasn’t the right evening for that kind of social activity.

Cackling like a Goblin, a very drunk Goblin, Fret took to play pranks and jokes on anybody on sight. At some point, she climbed on a table and danced amidst the crowd’s whooping appreciation.

She and Tad ended up as two really really jovial drunks, laughing at the stupidest things, cheering and toasting at the fallen until their voices grew so slurry and the toast so strange that they stopped making sense altogether.

“And…and anyway,” Fret stuttered. “Where has that gal gone? Y-you know that one, what… what was her name… Carmissa?”

“Sarissa!” Tad corrected genially. “Let me... let me tell, that’s a fine lady alright. Have you… have you seen that body? T-that’s good stuff.” He added at that tidbit of wisdom by pouring himself a drink, and missing the glass of wide margin while nodding sagely.

Fret blew out a raspberry, her chair hanging precariously as she balanced herself.

“Bitch beat us black and… and gray. And you still going flo… fol… for that? And anyway she wasn’t so good-blo…good-lu… banging.”

Tad threw her a sardonic look from above his glass. “Look me in the eyes and say that you jump at her given half the chance.”

Fret’s chair decided to take just that moment to lose the last bit of balance and go down with her with a slam that made the entire guildhall tremble.

After a moment, Fret’s hand appeared from beneath the table. “Guilty as charged!”

Tad laughed and took a drink, or rather tried to and ended up painting his jerkin a new color.

“And anyway,” said Fret’s slurred voice from under the table. “You got no chance. That one is going to kick your ass the moment you try anything funny.”

“Hey, you never know if don’t try.”

“Ahahah, being kicked twice in the nuts wasn’t enough for you?”

“I wouldn’t mind a third if i get to take a taste of that.”

“Ewwwww, you’re disgusting!”

“It’s called being an entrepreneur. What the hell, i’ll drink to that.”

“Aw yea! Pour it out!”

In the end, the rambunctious duo ended as a snoring heap strewn between the table and the floor. Thankfully, Huk had just returned from carrying Sela away and was ready to do the same for the duo, a duty that the big man accepted with stoic resignation.

Tur was the only one of the group to drink little and talk even less. That didn’t stop him from joining in every single toast to the fallen that was called.

Calm, even serious, his gaze kept straying to the table where the red cloth still stood, now empty.

Eventually, as the party started winding down and his Warriors left or were carried away, he got up and walked out of the building.

After the stifling warmth of the guildhall, the night air felt wonderful. Tur inspired deeply, enjoying the cool touch over his skin and into his lungs.

He looked around, expecting to find a certain someone there.

His expectations weren’t disappointed. Dara was there, kneeling on the naked dirt at the center of the small courtyard.

She had dressed better than usual for the celebration, putting away her usual grubby tunic for a delicate robe the same snow-white of her long hair and embroidered with silver linings.

The light of the moon shone on the unmoving priestess, her robe pooling up around her.

Tur passed a hand through his hair with a sigh. Even as a Goblin, she’s always been like that, always running away to do who knows what, listening to things that nobody else could hear and far too often preferring their company to the one provided by creatures of flesh and blood. And he was the one searching for her, making sure that she didn’t lose herself in the wood while chasing whatever thing went through her head.

“Something to drink?”

The priestess didn’t seem to notice Tur sitting beside her, but the corner of her lips quivered slightly.

“No, thank you,” she murmured. “I swore an oath.”

Tur rolled his eyes but didn't comment. That oath of hers seemed to cover an awful lot of stuff.

They stood in silence for some moments, just enjoying each other company. Tur was used to those moments, found them strangely comforting. It was nice to see that that hadn’t changed.

“How do you feel?” Dara asked after a while, her voice a murmur.

Tur shook his head. The priestess was too delicate to breach the argument directly but he knew very well what she meant with that.

“Good, i guess.” He took a swig from the bottle he had brought with him. “I’ll admit it, it feels like a failure.”

“It’s not your fault they’re dead…”

“I know.” The reply came out more bitter than he intended to. He tried to fix it. “It’s just… ah, i don’t know. I know that i should feel responsible, but i still do. They were my soldiers, you know.”

Dara turned to him. A strip of delicate white cloth circled her temples, keeping the hair away from her forehead. Even her hair, usually messy and unkempt, had been combed and smoothed; they cascaded down her back like a waterfall of snowy light. Her eyes were pale like twin moons. The first time, Tur had shuddered at seeing them so changed. Now, he thought that they only added at how beautiful she was already.

“It’s only right,” she said. “A good leader should feel his soldiers’ deaths.”

Tur snorted, to drag her gaze away from those eyes just as much as pushed by dark humor.

“Really? I don’t feel much of a good leader right now.”

“You’re wrong.” Her touch on his hand felt light as a feather.

Tur stiffened for a moment, before relaxing once again. Slowly, he closed his fingers around her hand, holding it tightly.

“I hope you’re right,” he murmured.

The sense of failure and loss was still there, but now it didn’t feel as bad.

“I know i am.” She gave him a hint of a smile.

He sighed and smiled back.

They remained there for a long time, watching the moon, silently happy of having each other.