One war. Two Sisters. One end.
There is no running from it. Fate shall have its way as both daughters of Stormband take to the field of battle. Each with one goal - vengeance.
Approximately 130k words.
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It took ten days to travel north to the village of Telga. Imperial patrols were sparse, owning to the frigid weather, but still needed to be avoided and made the journey difficult. However, they weren't a problem that could not be handled. Their thoughts showed that they were actively looking for us by the command of General Nightwing herself and confirming all that Civn had said.
Reane Matir Journal Entry
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Sheala mulled over a mug of hot buttered ale. With its hints of pumpkin spiced flavor, the smooth, soothing brew was definitely high on her list of preferred drinks to consume. And definitely a lot better than the swill available during their previous layover in the Borderlands. Whoever had came up with the horrible idea of roasting barley rather than malting it and creating such heavy, thick, stouts popular along the western coast should have been, in Sheala's opinion, drawn and quartered. Which is why she resigned herself to warm broth with its bland, unfilling taste during their stay there.
"I don't like it," she said, pondering her new favorite drink, but not specifically referring to it.
"Oh, you're finally talking to me now?" Reane rocked back on the rear legs of her rickety chair. "The rate things were going, I thought it would be another three or four five days before you saw fit to actually speak a word to me."
"You done being an ass?"
"I think the better question is, are you?"
"Fate's Hand, Reane, give it a rest, will you? I'm allowed to be pissed off at you for hiding what you did."
The interior of what the townsfolk here in Telga called a tavern was dark and hardly what Sheala was used to. Three tables with ten chairs among them, most sporting a distinct and uneven wobble, was the extent of the capacity for this hole-in-the-wall. Out here, in what was essentially wilderness, the place was just some guy's farm house where said farmer had decided to brew and serve liquor to the entertainment-starved members of this town. The establishment didn't even have a name, well thought out, cute, whimsical, or otherwise. Still, Sheala had to admit, he brewed a pretty good ale. And she was certain that his business was brisk, what with all the rebels hanging around.
