The warmth of the morning light bathed the small room that Abel and Lun had slept in for the night. What little furniture remained from the mass exodus had been pushed up against the corner. There were no beds to speak of, so the two of them had laid on their bedrolls against the musty, creaky wood that made up the floor. The Custodian stood in the corner of the room, watching them like a gargoyle. His brass body shone against the sun, contributing to a fast wakeup for the two men. The faded neon lights flickered behind it’s eye holes again, with the same rhythmic binary speech pouring from it.

“Good morning Conduit, and guardian of the Conduit.” The Custodian said.

“You can call me Abel, and you can call him Lun. You don’t have to call us that.” Abel said exhaustedly, while rubbing his eyes.

Pain continued to ripple throughout Abel’s body, he felt the ink that was placed on his skin itching constantly, like the tattoo needle had continued to try and etch more into his body. He looked at his skeletal hand, trying to move it but was met with stiff, delayed movements. Whatever this was, he thought, it was going to take some getting used to and whatever power was in it, was going to have to be learned as well.

Abel turned his head towards Lun. “We should get going and visit that woman, see what we can offer our aid.”

Lun nodded. “Can I make one more attempt to convince you that the idea of going to Owlshead is more appealing, and in the greater good?”

Abel shook his head. “Something tells me that even if I wanted to agree with you, which I don’t, something wouldn’t let me.” His hand ran over his inked skin, rubbing it for a moment before looking back at Lun.

“At least I can say I tried, shall we go find Clara and offer our services?” Lun responded back.

“Yeah, let’s go then.” Abel stated as he walked out of the room. Walking past the other rooms in the ramshackle place, he noticed they were completely empty. It looked like Sheridan meant what he said, leaving much earlier, and leaving Abel to his devices. A pain ached within him, this was the first time they were apart like this since the Revolution. How could Sheridan be so callous towards people? Abel also wondered where his new found courage came from, a fear surged within him. Was something stirring inside him? A quick memory flashed within his mind, of being underneath a carriage, clad in Queensguard armor, and watching as people were massacred in the streets. Shaking his head once again, he continued to walk downstairs.

Jaqri was the only one downstairs, and greeted the group with a hearty wave. Without saying a word, he stood up and followed the group out the door. Standing next to the Custodian, the pair were matched in height. They both had a strange struggle to exit out the front door again, squeezing through.

The arid air of the frontier smacked their faces as they stepped outside. The oppressive heat bore down on them in a rush. The wind was dead, adding to the tyrannical weather that hung to their clothing like a hot towel. The town was dead, as it was before, once in a while one could spot a person walking through the sand splashed worn-down roads.

The group eventually made its way to the building that Clara had walked towards during their previous meeting, hoping that it was the one she called home. It was a small hovel made of decaying, creaking wood. There was a small wooden sign next to the door that read ‘The Mastersons’. Abel turned to the group, putting his hand up towards Jaqri and the Custodian to halt from walking further up the stairs. They were a frightening presence, even though Clara had already met them, if this wasn’t her home, well then it was bound to spook someone to see a hulking metal thing next to a man of pure muscle and shaggy hair.

Lun stepped behind Abel, and Abel gave a soft knock to the door. When no answer came, he rasped much harder this time, with his right hand. It seemed as if he didn’t know the strength of his new hand, and on the third knock there was a small indent made in the wood, splintering slightly outward. This clearly startled whoever resided inside as quick steps were heard inside walking towards the door. It swung open, and it was Clara’s son Twiggie. His lanky frame sagging on it’s bones as it’s clear the boy hadn’t eaten a proper meal in some time.

“Is your momma home, little boy?” Abel said, removing his hat from his head, revealing a mess of sweaty, curly blonde hair.

“Yes’m. I’ll get er.” The boy said, running with a limp back into the home.

After some time, Clara walked up to the open door. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and she was wearing a pastoral dress of earthen colors. Among all of that was a worn leather holster, with a six shooter firmly planted inside of it. Her hand rested on it’s hilt in a trained gunslinger’s stance.

“What can I help you gentleman? I thought you were leaving. Where’s the grey haired feller, Sheridan was his name?” Clara said bluntly.

“Um, that’s part of why we’re coming to you. We heard what you were saying about the troubles y’all have been a part of and uh.” Abel’s voice began to quake as the courage faded from his body. His mind raced with wondering what was real, and wasn’t real. His face contorted into confusion as he wondered who was walking, whether it was him or whatever was a part of him now.

Lun recognized it, and quickly interjected to continue what he was saying. “We want to help. We want to see if we can beat back what you’ve been fighting. Bring back prosperity to Blackwater.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s your motivation? We got nothing to give a reward. Y’all probably get killed along with us. The reports say it’s a big horde. Tons’a nasties.”

“Abel here was in the Queensguard. I was in the Queen’s Own Rifles.” Lun said, with Jaqri’s eyes perking up at hearing that. “We can give y’all some training and hopefully get a solid defense working. We know the risks, we want to help. If the Empire and the Church aren’t going to help out here, someone has to.”

Clara continued to give them a long stare. Her eyes were cold, and there was no trust behind it. There was a minute of silence before she finally spoken. “Fine, if you want to die with the rest of us. Meet us in the Town Square at noon, I’ll round everyone up who can fight and what weapons we can work with. We’ll hammer it out then.”

Clara slammed the door violently, and Lun turned to Abel. “We got what you wanted, are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just had a dizzy spell. Could be from the fall.” Abel said dejectedly.

Lun didn’t buy it, he knew there was something wrong, but couldn’t quite come out and say it without meeting with resistance. Instead, he nodded, and walked with them towards the Town Square to get ready.