[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/4zEf6qn.png[/img]
[sub][@Rune_Alchemist][@Aerandir][@Guilty Spark][@Asuras][/sub][/center]
A fourth member, a few more minutes for introductions, and now there they were, standing within the transient quarters of the Cliffs. If Arskel was the deadend of the High Road, then this was the final manifestation of such reputation. Back alleys filled with trash and framed by hobbled-together sheds. Artwork slathered upon ruined walls and piles of stone too worthless to be cleaned up or repurposed. A whole city’s worth of inhabitants, squeezed into this small, sad place, to scrap together what remnants of a living the Age of Dreams offered them. Under the beating sun, Qantz-Farron felt for the flintstone in his pocket. The sharp edges of the rock scraped against his fingers, running the length of his ring, but he did not remove it. There would be another time to partake in such pleasures.

[b]“Sera’s summary is sufficient,”[/b] he said, turning his gaze towards Vela. [b]“But, if you’d rather uncover the answers you seek from the accounts of others, feel free to do so.”[/b] The man paused briefly, as if there was more to say, more to explain. But he did not continue talking. He smiled instead, smiled at the blindfolded woman who saw the world without her eyes.

And, under the beating sun, Qantz-Farron strode through the makeshift streets of the Cliff, his goal the shadows of the sewers.