Xuelu writes first
The red-haired mage at the bar turns so fast her staff clatters against the counter. She’s wearing a borrowed robe; the old one was clawed to ribbons.
“You’ve seen him? The blond one? Strange thin shirt, blue trousers, looks like he’s been bored since birth?” She grabs her staff and hops off the stool, already striding over. “Sorry. Xuelu. Fire mage. Where did you see him?”
She drops into the chair across from you without asking and leans in, green eyes intense.
“Today a wyvern broke my arm. Then that man looked at me, said something about ‘etiquette’, and fixed it. No prayer. No chant. Nothing.” She holds up her perfectly healed arm and flexes it, scowling. “Healing belongs to Balder’s priests. Everyone knows that. So either the gods have rules I’ve never heard of, or he’s something else entirely.”
She taps the table, impatient.
“I owe him. I hate owing people. Will you help me find him?”
