The spire. For the past ten years it had been hell on earth for Sparrow. A place were obedience took the place of morals and conscience. For ten years that massive structure, and every last living inhabitant residing within its walls had conspired against him. From the Commandant, may he burn in hell, who punished every act of disobedience without mercy; to the rats who crawled over his mattress at night and stole what little crumbs he could scavenge for his meals; to the captives, who's moans and pleas for food laid siege to his conscience until he relented, and was rewarded with agonizing pain and the voice of the man who was the orchestrator and conductor of all his suffering.

Lucien

The name left such a foul and rotten taste on his tung that it was a surprise he did not openly gag whenever that cursed name popped into the back of his head.

But those days were gone. The spire was behind him, his days as a guard, no, as a slave were behind him. The collar, whose last painful shock came from the agonizing process of its removal, was now a trophy of his grand escape. Trophy, pheh. He new just were he would display this "trophy", no place was more fitting than the howling halls, where no one would ever find it, except perhaps for some curious balverine.

But he heeded Teresa's advice before anything else, and began his trek to the Rookridge tavern. He strolled briskly through the dirt paths of Oakfield, the sun was shining birds were singing, the leaves shook gently in a cool breeze. To the citizens of Oakfield it was the usual summer day, but to him who had known nothing but the spire for the past ten years, it was a utopia. His heavy frame suddenly felt lighter. He was no longer as exhausted as he had been on his sailing from the Spire. He gave a light skip and ran towards the Oakfield gates. He was free!

But something wasn't quite right. There was a nagging sensation in the back of his mind. He was forgetting something, something… important… But he couldn't remember what. Perhaps Hammer could remind him?...

Hammer! The fact suddenly dawned on him that he would be seeing his, well one of his, best friends for the first time in two years. Scorms craggy ass, this was the first time he had seen both of his best friends in the past ten years. He gave his dog an affectionate rub behind the ears, and watched with amusement as its waging tail sent little clouds f dirt into the air. Yes, he would be seeing his friend again; surely that's what the feeling was.

… No… Something still wasn't right. He was climbing the wooden steps to the Rookridge inn, which looked surprisingly good he had to say. Then again the only thing he had to base that on was the smelly, damp, dingy, boarded up ruin he had seen last. But he was definitely forgetting something, and it was driving him mad, like a horrible, horrible itch. His subconscious seemed to be screaming at him.

"No you fool! You big, stupid fool! Go back! Hammer can wait; you have more important things to attend to! You stupid bastard, go back!"

The nagging feeling grew stronger, and it felt as though it was threatening his very sanity. What was it? What was it?? What was it??? WHAT WAS HE FORGETTING???!!!

But a voice jarred him from his mental torture.

"Well if I didn't know better. It's really you!"

There was hammer, sitting on the countertop, her bottle of ale threatening to drop right out of her hands.

"Long time no see, Hammer."

"Long time no see? Long time no see?!" Before he could take another step his friend had him in a bear hug, and he swore he could hear his bones starting to break under the pressure.

"W- what did I do?" He managed to say with great difficulty.

"You came back, that's what you did ya' oaf." Well, judging from her voice he could at least tell that she wasn't mad at him. On the contrary, she looked overjoyed to see him. She draped her arm over his shoulder and turned him to face the counter. Once again, he could hear a small crack.

"Oy', Murry. Give my friend here a bottle of your finest, and it better be on the house" She curled her fingers into a fist and shook it threateningly in the bartenders direction. The bartender only chuckled and turned to the cabinet.

"Of course, Hammer you don't have to tell me. If this fellow here has done half the things you've said he's done he deserves a quarter of me hole stock!" He slid the foaming mug over to Sparrow, who could only stare down at the glass for a second.

Oh avo, rum. The flavor of it cascading through your veins, filling you to the brim with pleasure until every last worry and doubt thrust itself out of every pore in your body. Yes, this was just what the doctor ordered. Finally something to help him get over this nagging feeling. Just as he was about to raise the cup to his lips he felt Hammer jerk it away forcefully.

He gave her a questioning look, and she returned it with an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry mate, guess you came straight here didn't you? Well, best lay off the rum for a while, wouldn't want you to go back home pissed drunk now would we?" She beamed at him, but he was still confused.

"Back home… What do you mean?"

The smile was wiped clean off her face, and she looked at him with absolute bewilderment. Her look then became concerned and she put her hand on his forehead.

"Well, your not delirious, don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But Scorms craggy ass Sparrow, what did they do to you in their to make you forget?..." Her voice trailed off.

"Forget what Hammer?"

"Your wife. You know, Alex? The women whose been waiting for you to come back all these years? The one that's turned down every bloke who asked her to forget you and marry him? Remember now?"

He could have fallen to the floor right then and there. In all his years as an adventurer he had been clawed by balverines, shot at by bandits, had woken up in a cave to find a hobbe sprinkling him with spices, even been sent flying by a rock troll. But nothing, nothing hit him as hard as the words that had just escaped from Hammers lips,

Alex. Alex, Alex, Alex, AlexAlexAlexAlexAlex! Had the spire one out against him after all? Had he been so focused on fulfilling his mission, on rescuing Garth that he had actually forgotten about the one thing that mattered most in his life? But then he felt relief as that horrible feeling was lifted off his shoulders. He felt as though a trickling stream flowing through his mind had suddenly burst and grown into a swift flowing river. He remembered.