It all started off normally.
I was docking back home in Bloodstone, because I'd been from Samarkand to Albion, and quite frankly I was glad to be back. Spending five years in that dusty, boring, pedantic hellhole had done wonders for my patience. I now routinely shot fewer people and my skin had a glowing golden tinge. Anyway, we were docking when I spotted a squad of white-shirt guards on the docks. I drew my pistol and approached them warily.
"Are you Reaver, sah?" Asked one.
"Yes. What of it?" I replied cautiously.
"The council of Albion understands that you were once a friend of the Hero known as Sparrow?"
"Oh yes, that girl. Why?" The guards coughed and looked slightly awkward.
"She's not being a Hero anymore." My brow quirked.
"Fancy that. She was so turbo-charged when I knew her." I commented.
"Yes, well, something about the townspeople not protecting some bloke named Alex. Anyway, the point is, Albion is in chaos. We're currently conducting a sort of census, putting all of the citizens of Albion through a test to see if any of them are Heroes. We desperately need them back, you see. But we've tried sending envoys to speak with Ms. Sparrow and she's never replied. Not for about three years." I rolled my eyes.
"That doesn't concern me." I reminded them.
"Actually, it does. You see, the councillors have come together and decided that they'll pay you an egregious sum of gold if you can persuade her to get back to her Hero duties."
"Why me? She doesn't like me."
"Because you're a Hero too, sah. We figured that perhaps you two could…talk about it or something and…well…get her back on her feet. You know, whatever it takes. Bribery, a new sword, a new dog. I mean, you're popular with women." I squared my shoulders, one eyebrow raised at the 'whatever it takes' speech. I knew what it might take. And thank goodness for that.
"Alright. Where is she?"
"Bowerstone Cemetery. She lives in the mansion there. Did it up nice and proper." My brow quirked again. Bowerstone Cemetery, eh? Sounded like little Sparrow was trying to avoid people.
"I'll try. But promise me that I'll get half that egregious sum for trying."
"Uh, okay."
"Deal. Gentlemen, get back on that bloody ship. We're going to Westcliff."
After leaving my men in the capable hands of the local whores, I caught a carriage to Bowerstone Market and relaxed in my own beauty. That they had asked for my help to bring Sparrow around was rather flattering, if a little futile. Last time I saw her, she'd just made a wish to resurrect a few hundred thousand strangers because of all that 'morality' rubbish that she had on her hands. Very pretty, very blonde-and-blue bedecked in red rubbish, but rubbish just the same. Besides, she'd made it clear about that particular subject. She killed evil people and avoided everyone. Those had been her morals before she'd got married, and I imagined they were the same since that certain man's death. Ah, love. How easy it was to break a heart!
Bowerstone Market came into view as the carriage rumbled through the gates. I got off, paid the greedy bastard and ambled confidently through the summer sunshine. I asked directions to Bowerstone Cemetery and was pointed down a rather depressing street, then told to ask for further instructions in Bowerstone Old Town. The name 'Old Town' rang a bell and I just about remembered Sparrow muttering something about seeing something in Old Town near her old home. So she'd grown up here, apparently. It was rather pretty, in its own way, and as I asked once more for directions to the Cemetery, I couldn't help but wonder how Sparrow could have begrudged growing up here. Then I remembered something else. Sparrow had talked somewhat about her life in Old Town when she was young. She'd described it as something like Bloodstone, run by criminals and frequented by whores. I walked down a set of steps and turned, walking through a set of gates and on the path to the Cemetery.