[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/7ed60a5b-c81e-4b36-b999-6fbd57fe519a.png[/img][h2][color=olive][u]~Ernald Joyce~[/u][/color][/h2][/center]
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[i][sub]Early Spring, 315 P.F.[/sub][/i]
[b][sub]Paterdomus — Bathhouse[/sub][/b]
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Ernald heaved a sigh of relief as his body sunk beneath the surface, the heat and steam that radiated from the water doing wonders for his travel and anxiety ridden muscles. Soon after arriving within the limits of the holy city, Joyce's first order of business had been to find a reasonably priced bathhouse so he could wash the grim of Oldcross, the Maw, and the Five Mile Walk from his flesh. Well that and a decent tailor, as his clothes had been in the sorriest state anyone had ever seen, soaked to the point that mold had begun to grow. As for the old man he'd come in with, they'd parted ways shortly after the ore had been delivered, though Ernald was unaware as to his current whereabouts. He assumed however, given the nature of his gift, that the man had made his way deep into an ally somewhere to further serve their master's will.

Whatever that may be.

As for himself, he still had a task of his own to complete. The manuscript was, as of yet, unfinished. This was due in part to his own procrastination[i]—he'd really needed this bath after all—[/i]as well as his circumstance. Despite being a city supposedly devoid of sin and where one would assume charity could be found in abundance, the cost of living in Paterdomus was illogically high, and only seemed to get more restrictive and more insane the closer to the center you got. Though that at least made a modicum of sense, for at Paterdomus heart was where its seat of power lay. The final and strongest bastion that only the most devout of individuals tended to inhabit, or so it appeared to Ernald anyway, though he supposed he could've simply been looking for patterns where there were none. In any case he'd been less than successful at finding a suitably comfortable[i]—and reasonably out of the way—[/i]place to live, which made his actual work on the treatise unreasonably slow. The knowledge that had been implanted in his mind made things worse as well, for now the majority of his waking hours were spent pondering the uses of such corruptive magics...

[color=olive]"No! No..."[/color]

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh.

[color=olive]"I can worry about such things later. For now I just need a moment to myself."[/color]

Falling silent, he allowed himself to slip beneath the waves...