[hider=Preface: Fire In The Rubble]
As seasons passed in the quiet town, Nobody could help but feel as if the world was withering. The buildings seemed more neglected, as if they had given up. Perhaps it was the forgotten traditions, which once defined the town, or the absence of a once lively community. Either way, Jorick had chosen to forget this decrepit hamlet long ago. 

The only memory stricken was from behind the varnished windows of Broby's inn. [I]No, sorry, [b]Broby's Drink N' Sleep[/B] [/I], Jorick chuckled to himself.

Before him, a man stumbled down the inn's doorstep, collapsing to his knees. The unfamiliar character looked up at Jorick, his misty consciousness clearly processing something. "IWAKU LOVER!" the man's scream disrupting the air's silence. 

The squeaky door of the tavern swung open. "Out! Get out of here you disgusting newfag!"
A broom completed the man's journey to the ground, shoving him into the loose gravel road. His crumpled body made no comeback, other than a light snore.

Broby faced Jorick, for a moment, he allowed the silence to return. "I wasn't sure you were coming this time."

"It has been a month, I always come."

"But maybe not this time. The reason has been shrinking, and the path's danger has been growing."

"I always come."

Before long, Jorick found himself on a cheap stool in a rather run down, yet familiar tavern. A cup of mead slid up to him. Broby looked at his friend. "I am tired, Jorick."

"We all are." He studied the design of the glass in front of him, memories of this place flashed through his mind.

Broby sighed, poured himself a drink, and took a swig. "I'm selling the place. I leave tomorrow."

Nobody spoke for minutes. Jorick finished his drink. From his pocket, he placed 5 gold pieces on the counter. "I'll take the loft."

Broby opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He simply nodded, and watched his old friend disappear up the staircase.

The loft was a musty, humid room, consisting of a bed, a nightstand, and a small lantern. The room was obviously meant for storage, but certainly not housing. The lantern only seemed to illuminate a third of the area, and every movement tempted a squeak in the floorboards that could wake the entire building. However, it didn't seem to bother Jorick; for tonight, he was bound to his thoughts. He was puzzled as to why he returned to this place every month. All of his most trustworthy allies had either joined the Iwaku citadel with him, or left to uncharted lands, beyond Guild country. Nothing was left for him here, it had simply become a rest stop for unreputable citizens of the guild, trying to make their way to some other sub-city.

His thoughts slowly slurred into meaningless phrases, until he drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Jorick woke up to intense knocking on his door. A French accent yelled for him outside. He slid out of bed, and made his way to the door, his arms out to protect himself from anything in the sea of darkness. He opened the poorly handmade door, revealing a man in a red suit and mask, a man Jorick knew all too well.



[/hider]