Portraits of the Divine

The Root's common room was quiet in the morning haze. Pale light filtered through crooked beams, catching the faint scent of woodsmoke and herbs. A few locals drifted between tables, the usual market bustle still building outside. Joren moved stiffly down the stairs, every step a reminder of the fight. His legs felt like lead, muscles aching with each breath. At their usual corner table, Willow and Gus were already halfway through a simple breakfast of bread, soft cheese, eggs and coffee. 

Willow leaned back in her chair, one leg hooked casually over the other. She looked up as Joren approached. "Look who's still breathing." Gus grinned. "We saved you a spot if you're hungry." Joren sank into the chair with a groan. "Feels like something's still sitting on me." Willow passed him a cup of coffee. "You burned yourself out hard, you needed a bit of rest." She was as playful and cheery as ever. 

They ate in a quiet rhythm for a while, the low hum of the market drifting through the walls. Finally, Willow spoke, tone casual. "Picked up the bounty this morning." Joren glanced up. "They paid it already?" Willow smirked. "Ten silver for the kill and another five for reporting the portrait it had. People are bound to turn that place upside down if they can get their hands on a portrait." Gus chuckled under his breath. "Word's already out. Big noise down south, couple merchants were talking about it on the way in." 

Willow sipped her tea, voice even. "And I heard a little more, apparently someone from the capital of Varenthal might be coming through. Could be scouts, could be worse." That hung in the air for a beat. Joren shifted, uneasy. "So... we should go?" Willow set her cup down. "I'm leaving. Too noisy here now." Gus glanced over. "Heading somewhere in particular?" She gave a small shrug. "Nowhere fixed. Thought I'd follow the road a while." Her green eyes flicked toward Joren. "What about you guys?" Gus glanced at Joren. "We were thinking about heading east. Out toward Dyer's Crossing. Maybe further, if things stay hot here." Joren gave a small nod. "I was hoping to find more about the portraits... maybe pick up a few old maps." 

Willow smirked. "Could be interesting." She reached for her coffee, taking an easy sip. "Mind if I tag along for a bit? Beats walking the road alone." Gus grinned. "You'll have to ask my boss, he has the final say on new recruits." Joren glanced between them, smiling wide now. "We'd be glad to have you." Willow leaned back in her chair, looking pleased. "Good. I'll pack up after breakfast and come on over here when I'm ready." The road ahead suddenly felt a little less uncertain for Joren. 

Evening – The Inn 

Later that evening, The Root had grown louder. More travelers had trickled into the common room; hunters, traders, the usual drift of fortune-seekers who passed through Duskfen. Joren sat at their corner table, picking at a simple meal. His body still ached, but the worst of the weariness had faded. Across from him, Gus was quietly oiling his wood handles and sharpening his blade of his fettling knife. The talk in the room had shifted, no longer about market deals or river tolls. "Did you hear? Something flattened the southern quarter ruins." "Big as a house, they said. Came right up through the old arches." "Swore it was portrait-born." The words floated between tables, rumor twisting into story with each telling. Joren's stomach tightened. It's spreading faster than I thought. 

From another table, a lean boatman leaned in over his drink. "Heard some Varenthal scouts passed through the north gate this morning, asking questions." His companion snorted. "They always come sniffing after a portrait." Another voice chimed in, it was an older trader with a weathered coat. "Wasn't just scouts. Some hired blades came in behind 'em." Across the table, Willow's eyes narrowed slightly. She set her glass down with a quiet tap. "Too fast," she murmured. "Too many ears." Gus grunted, voice low. "Not safe, we should leave now." 

Willow stood, already pulling her cloak from the back of her chair. "Then let's not waste the dark." Without another word, the three of them rose from the table and slipped quietly out of the common room, the noise of the inn fading behind them as the night in Duskfen pressed in close. 

Morning – The Road 

The morning air was thick with mist, cool and damp against their skin. Duskfen was already stirring behind them as the hum of voices came rising with the first light, merchants setting out their wares, boats creaking against the dock. Joren, Gus, and Willow were already past the east gate, boots steady on the winding causeway that led out of the city and into the low, rolling hills beyond. Ahead lay the old road toward Dyer's Crossing; a stretch of lonely track that cut through marshland and forest before reaching the scattered trade towns along the river. 

Joren adjusted the strap of his pack, still feeling the ache in his arms and legs, though lighter now with each step away from Duskfen. He glanced at Willow walking ahead, she was swinging her arms like a little girl, which was odd considering she must be nearly thirty. Willow half-turned, smirking over her shoulder. "Keeps the blood moving. You two should try it, makes you forget all your worries." Joren couldn't help but smile, the tension of the past few days easing just a little. The road stretched ahead, the fog thinning with each passing mile. Birds called from the trees, and the air smelled of wet earth and new growth. The three spent much of the time learning about where each of them came from, detailing their journey up until now. 

Willow was from a noble family somewhere in the Ryumen region, and when she was around sixteen, she had found a portrait in some old ruins of the castle she lived in. "Family never knew," she said lightly, balancing on the edge of the path as they walked. "Would've caused too much of a stir if they did, so I left." Gus raised his brow. "Just like that?" Willow smirked. "I wasn't a fan of that life anyways, way too constricting for a free soul like me." She spoke of the years after, traveling between towns, taking odd jobs, learning how to use her shifting to survive. "Turns out people pay well for someone who can scare off debt collectors or clear out a den of bandits." Her grin widened, detailing many stories and times she scared adults plenty of years older than her when she started out. 

Gus shared more of his story of his time spent in Glazebend, his old workshop, how he'd first met Joren. He spoke of pottery, the feel of clay, and the strange way life had pulled him onto this road. When it came to Joren, his words were slower, quieter. He spoke of Brindlewood, of Hazel's farm, the Broken Spoke, and the stars. He left out the worst moments, the hunter and the man on the road, but Willow only gave a small nod, as if she understood anyway. "Road's good for working things out," she said again. "You'll see." 

Afternoon – The Road 

The sun had climbed higher by midmorning, burning off much of the mist. The road sloped gently downward, curving toward a narrow bridge that spanned a lazy, reed-choked stream. Ahead, a lone wagon trundled along led by two horses and a man likely moving goods to another city to sell. They stepped aside to let the cart pass, and the man tipped his wide-brimmed hat in greeting. "Mornin'," he called. "You three coming from Duskfen way?" Gus answered. "Just left this morning." The man chuckled. "Whole town's in a stir, word is something big tore up the southern quarter. They say it was a great ball of fire that killed a giant alligator in one shot." 

He shook his head, voice lowering in a conspiratorial tone. "Heard tell it took a pack of hunters to bring it down. Or maybe… just one." His eyes twinkled. "Stories get bigger by the mile, eh?" Willow smiled faintly. "That they do." The man gave a cheerful wave. "Safe travels to ya." He clucked to the mules, the wagon creaking off down the road. Joren watched him go, unease prickling at the back of his neck. The tale was already out and spreading to new towns. It was only a matter of time before people started to recognize who he was. Willow glanced at him, reading his expression. "Stories always run faster than feet," she said softly, smiling a motherly smile. "Best to stay ahead of them." With that, the three pressed on the road winding east, toward Dyer's Crossing.