It’s been months since leaving the Crescent Isles and quite some time since he’s last seen either of the men who took part in that… incident of an investigation back then. Yet, as the sun sets over the horizon of the Arid Mesa, Caedes still waits patiently for their arrival.

He arrived a few days early to the docking coast of the Arid Mesa… where people not terribly unlike himself roam in the plenty. Pirates, smugglers, criminals; those who flock to the Arid Mesa’s isolated lands are rarely of the reputable sort, and his two compatriots couldn’t be further from what he is; so he wants to be among the first to pick up his companions, before they find themselves in any trouble.

So, he sets their meeting point as close to the docks as he possibly can, outside of a sad excuse for a tavern…

It’s no bigger than a shack, really— a shack called the, “Salty Seahorse”— with a crudely painted seahorse on a driftwood sign that… honestly, looks a little more like a shrimp if you thought to ask him what it was. Caedes listens to the creak of metal swing as the ocean wind blows through the little makeshift town; it kicks up loose sand and displaces the hood from over his head.

But hey, this is the only real safe place to dock a boat, so it’s this place or nothing.

Caedes breathes a sigh, closing his eyes while he listens to the hum, shout, and sputtering of the miscreants and misfits of this island far to the west of Charon. Charlotte sits patiently with him, coiled in his lap with her eight eyes closed while she dozes. He wishes he could adopt her lax attitude.

There’s a sort of anticipation fluttering in his chest— one which desperately wants to get this over with— because this has already been so delayed. After following so many false leads, and finally winding up in the Crescent Isles to find something with promise… what if they got to it first?

Caedes breathes a heavy exhale through his nose, opening his eyes blearily to gaze at the bleeding horizon. It would be an awful discovery to go through all of this, only to find that the Crimson Hand— the only reason he cares about this Stone in the slightest— have gotten to it after all.

Although he shoves the thought deep into the recesses of his mind…

Well, the little seed of doubt is already planted; but regardless, he plans to go through with this hunt for a temple of stone hidden away in the Giant’s Avenue. His connection in the Moonglade was so certain of its location, and… well, he better be right.

He’ll have some choice words to take up with him, otherwise.

Gerhart pushes into the Salty Seahorse with as much aplumb as he could. There's likely a brief moment that Gerhart doesn't look like Caedes remembered him, but the bright and dumb grin that could be seen from a mile away was a pretty good identifier. He wore his armor much more confidently than he had before, he looked a man who had seen a few things now and had a bit more experience to back up his mouth.



The young adventurer had also not lost his somewhat loud nature as he approaches Caedes as if he had never learned the meaning of the word subtle. There's a gentle jangling of metal against metal as he collapse into a seat, ale already in hand. He was obviously much more at home here in a shack of a tavern than he was at the Ruby Lantern Inn.


"Finally got something that's actually worth it? I imagine there's gotta be something for ya to reach out like that." He smiles again across the table at Caedes. Gerhart himself didn't have much use for the Sol Stone or fully understand its purpose, but if it seemed important to a friend then he was more than willing to help.

To say that the Arid Mesa is a very, very long way from home would be quite the understatement.

It's one of those few places in Charon Kvasir seldom pays a visit to; the plantlife is certainly fascinating, and had the trip out here from Zeinav not been so abysmal, he might have suggested pursuing Angel Leaves to Morrigan for their entry to the Golden Consortium, but oh, was the trip long. The exact coordinates of his old home in the Moonglade have long-since been lost on him, but he's quite confident that the trip from wherever in the woods that was would have been equally hellish, rife with agonizing boat trips and more walking than was necessary.

Still, the travel is behind him now, like ash on the wind, and the docks of the Arid Mesa span out before him, the eerie chill of the Frost Gale long left behind. If his job didn't demand it-- if this job didn't demand it-- then never stepping foot into the boreal, snow-laden lands of the Frost Gale would still feel too soon.

Kvasir shudders just so, banishing memories of bitter windchill and monsters to the back of his mind. Today is not the day for such things; this is a day to reunite with old companions, and... to revisit some unfinished business.

He holds his herb-satchel closer to his body as he wanders the docks, a practiced look of boredom carefully maintained on his face as he wanders forward, searching for the telltale signs of the tavern Caedes had requested that they meet outside. Gods, "The Salty Seahorse," really-- what a name. Ah, well, not every tavern in the world can have the effortless class of a place like The Rookery, he supposes, and even sealife with salinity problems need their representation in the alcohol industry too.

It doesn't take especially long before he catches sight of familiar silver hair, a flash of bright green-- ah, seems he's a bit late to the party. Kvasir holds his hand up in a brief wave as he approaches, forcing a bit of a weak smile.

"Well," he begins, the cadence of his voice as easy and friendly as he can make it, hoping that the stress doesn't leak through. "It's been quite some time, hasn't it, friends? I do hope we've finally found some leads out here, if we're meeting this far out."

In the clamour of this ill little shack off the Arid Mesa, someone pushes into his view; and at first, Caedes only offers them a bored passing glance. One double-take later and he realizes the entry is actually a familiar face— one unnecessarily optimistic young man, clad in armour, wearing a grin that could light up the room if everyone around him weren’t wearing a scowl. “Look who it is,” he greets cooly, a sly smile offered beneath the shadow of his hood to Gerhart as he approaches. “You look even more like a sellsword than you did last time I saw you. How've you been, Gerhart?”

Charlotte opens her eight eyes drowsily, lifting her head off Caedes’ thigh to look at Gerhart. “I do.” he agrees, his smile lax and lazy as he leans back against the driftwood walls of the Salty Seahorse. “I had someone in Moonglade translate what we found in the…” he trails off, eyes leaving Gerhart briefly when he catches sight of their last member of the party.

What immaculate timing.

Caedes offers Kvasir a wave, “You both come on the same ship?” he chuckles lackadaisically to Gerhart, cocking a brow at the young man, before looking back to the fox as he approaches. “Kvasir,” he remarks, his voice warm yet chilly all the same. “Good evening; long time, no see. You look well.”

Charlotte perks up when she sees Kvasir; slowly, she rises and stretches her four forelegs out in front of her— similar to a cat— before crawling up Caedes’ arm, and up onto his shoulders. Someone passing by offers him a strange look before entering the doors off to the side; but even though Charlotte holds no facial expressions, she seems pleased to see both of them.

“I’ve got better than a lead— but I'll explain when we get somewhere a little less...rowdy.” he remarks with a smile. “There's certainly something here, but whether it's useful or not... up in the air.” Caedes grunts as he slides off the top of the barrel; he’s not that heavy, but it looks like it wants to collapse. It is a sheer miracle it is standing. “—Regardless, it’s a very promising lead overall, or I wouldn’t call you all the way out to no man’s land to waste your time.”

The changeling places his hands on his hips, offering the two a smile that borderlines an expression between wry, and somewhat sympathetic.

“That being said— a long journey to get here, I’m sure. I had to take three different ships, myself; but it’s been a while. I’m sure you’re tired. I have a room— not here, gods forbid— farther into the…” He makes a gesture with one hand, pale eyes narrowing, until he finishes with, “...town?” with an uncertain tone.

“Whatever, it’s farther down. This way.” He points further into the little makeshift city.

“Walk and talk; how have you both been?”

"If we did, then sorry I didn't see you Kva, busy work on a ship." He laughs softly. Had they come on the same ship indeed Kvasir would've noticed that Gerhart did indeed throw himself into helping around on the ship. He seemed to have some basic ship skills, but Kvasir could tell it was much more out of his need to always be doing something. Sitting idle didn't sit well with the swordsman.



"I don't know if sellsword is quite the term, I have official work with the Fighter's Guild....though I'll still take anything to help some people in need." He sits back in his chair to take a drink and let Caedes explain what this grand lead was.



He does have a much more careful eye to watch Caedes movements and actually listen to his words, far less prone to let his eyes and ears drift off. It was the barest hint of being a decent adventurer, but he was improving. Gerhart offers a hand to Charolette to give her a different space to crawl a moment while he listens to the changeling.



An eyebrow is raised at the barrel and the stumbling over of words, he didn't take Caedes as a big drinker, but who knows? Some time had passed. "All right, that sounds fine, if only to make sure you don't collapse on your way there." He chuckles and stands, finishing his drink before leaving a few solars on the table.

The initial shadow of apprehension that had darkened Kvasir's eye is immediately eclipsed by relief at the way Caedes and Gerhart greet him, by the icy warmth that softens Caedes's voice, by the easy laughter Gerhart gives him, different doses of familiarity delivered in two different ways. It is comforting to see both of them regard him so fondly, even after all this time, even if they express it in their own ways-- it's still difficult to get used to lingering in people's thoughts, meaning more to them than a mere speck in their memories, even if it is for something like this.

"I am as well as I am capable of being, Caedes," he says with a quiet, maybe just slightly-forced laugh. He takes the moment to walk a little closer until he's standing right before Caedes, a sparkle lighting up his eye as soon as he catches sight of Charlotte's familiar form crawling up to perch on the other man's shoulder. A smile lights up his expression, fondness tucked into the corners, and he quickly unlatches his herb-satchel to fetch a tiny pink flower from it, extending his hand forward to offer it to the spider. "Ah, and hello to you too, Miss Charlotte-- I have certainly missed you quite a bit. I hope you have been doing well, also."

He swivels on his feet to turn to face Gerhart, that soft light never fading from his eyes, though an apologetic edge undercuts his expression.

"Oh, I'm actually uncertain if we sailed on the same vessel, friend," he shrugs. "I... had a lot on my mind. My apologies if we missed each other, though, Gerhart-- I'm happy to hear you've found official work with the Fighter's Guild."

As soon as Caedes slips off of the top of the barrel, indicating they should venture forth into the town, Kvasir is quick to keep walking beside both him and Gerhart, some of the tension melting from his shoulders as he moves along, tail swishing slowly back and forth as he thinks of the best way to answer the age-old question of how he's been. Gods, how the hell does he answer that? A... a lot has happened in a few months.

"Ah, well... things have... certainly been," he says quietly, voice a bit more strained than he'd like for it to be. "I... have also found work with the Golden Consortium, and I've settled back in Zeinav to form a practice. Either one of you would be welcome to visit at any time, if you're ever in need of medication."