Joan was waiting in a corner of the crowded main room of the inn, when she saw Wizard #1555 walk through the door. He looked tired. Beyond tired. But this was his way, as she knew only too well. He hadn’t noticed her, and that was probably for the best. Let him eat first, she thought…and drink, he might be in a more receptive mood afterward.

She leaned back in her seat, trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to avoid drawing too much attention. There were several reasons this was not a simple task. At 6’7” and rippling with muscle, Joan was a hulking presence. Years of training and a strict but substantial diet had added incredible lines to her already solid frame. There was absolutely no mistaking where she was from.

Across the room men shouted cheers and exchanged coin during the frequent arm-wrestling matches and drinking games. No man would challenge Joan. Well, not a sober one, she thought, smiling wryly.

It wasn’t only her size and strength that made people keenly aware of her presence. Lying across the entire width of the table, and never out of reach, her enormous malachite cleaver frequently drew more attention than she did. She stared down at her constant companion. It’s deep green, rune-laden handle was as intimidating to most as the shockingly long, wide blade. It was a curious weapon to the uninitiated, imparting to the holder a tension, old magic which few current warriors truly embraced. Joan felt her particular tension as a compulsion toward daring bound to a sense of total accountability. She had carried the cleaver since her Ascension day. It was her choice, and the bond created in that choice had grown over the months and years. It was a big part of the reason she was here now.

She glanced back up, Azahl had found a table, and, as luck would have it, was facing away from Joan. He was soon served the same bread and meaty stew she had so recently enjoyed, along with a flagon of ale. She waited. Thinking again of what she might say to convince the Mystic to aid her.

Before long Azahl had completed his meal and was midway through his second ale when he happened to turn to scan the room. Of course, he noticed her instantly, his shrewd face betrayed no surprise or any reaction at all that she could perceive. He turned back to his drink. Well, she thought, I guess it’s time. You never wanted to give Azahl time to plan a response, even when he didn’t know what she was about to request.

She stood, picked up her cleaver, slung it across her back, and made her way toward the waiting Azahl. The crowd parted, it usually did, as she moved deliberately across the room. She sat down in the empty stool trying to get a last read on the mystic. Before she uttered a greeting, he delivered his response. “Yes”.

Entered by: 0x25A8…869e and preserved on chain (see transaction)