The two walked to the venerable Vizjeri portal. Called waypoints, their origins lay in powerful magicks that were now lost. The early waypoints were faulty, powered by magic barely understood and thus inconsistent and rarely accurate. Those who used these risked becoming forever lost in a dreamworld between realities. But eventually they were perfected, and most of the early ones destroyed. But how to access them, Chantelle could only guess. An unappealing shade of earthy brown, rough and unhewn, the artifact had nonetheless served travelers faithfully for eons. Quick and relatively easy to use, it saved a tremendous amount of time, not to mention permitting relief from the hordes of demonic creatures patrolling the savage deserts. "The way it's constructed, you can only go to waypoints you've been to before. Probably some sort of safety issue," Tiras explained.
"I've never used one before. How does it work?" Chantelle asked.
"See, you just step on the waypoint and think of the place you want to go to. Just keep your mind blank and I'll take us to Lut Gholein. Be prepared, or it may not work. We sure don't want to end up stranded or lost in these old Vizjeri things. Here, I'll show you."
The barbarian grabbed her hand and led her onto the old stone. The waypoint was strangely cold. Chantelle could feel the cold beneath her feet and was reminded instantly of her past, when each step would feel solidly glacial. Keenly aware of every sensation, Chantelle realized that it was strange to feel another's touch on her own skin. The Zann Esu were a reserved people, and only used touch to make certain points clear. Chantelle couldn't decide what she thought about it. The man's hand was rough and calloused from years of wielding weaponry, but it was also warm and felt right.
Tiras told her, "Now you're going to get a weird feeling for a moment."
The hot air suddenly evaporated and dissipated, leaving a more tolerable temperature. In fact, it was actually becoming quite cool. The world shuddered and emptied of light, leaving the companions alone in darkness. Chantelle shivered; she couldn't see Tiras or even herself at all. Then, visions of the desert appeared, rushing past her in waves too fast for the eyes to catch. Glimpses of the future? The present? They were undecipherable, leaving only a subliminal presence in the mind. As suddenly as it began, the flashes stopped. The world seemed to slow until Chantelle could make out individual images. She felt somewhat lightheaded.
he two were in the middle of a crowded plaza. The waypoint was recognizable from nearby stones only by the ancient runes of the Vizjeri. The loud clamor combined with the heat and exhaustion made Chantelle increasingly disoriented. Tiras approached her, his fascinating, tattooed face marked with concern. "Are you okay? Sometimes I feel a little queasy after a ride through one of those. Maybe you should sit down." The infectious grin materialized on the warrior's face.
Her head pounded incessantly. A multitude of clamoring voices grew louder and louder, pressing with dry, insistent heat that sapped the moisture from the throat. The noise grew until the world was but an extension of the reverberating sounds, echoing and ringing in the ears. Tiras, however, seemed astonishingly unaffected. The sorceress couldn't imagine the vigorous man ever feeling sick. Chantelle smiled ruefully, blocking out all the noise in the air. Her case of claustrophobia was mild, but it was still maddening how she always felt trapped in large crowds. "Thank you for your concern, but I will be fine."
"Alright then, if you say so." Cheerfully, the barbarian strode towards their unknown destination, his massive frame leaving a wake for the girl to follow. The big man's tassel of brown hair hung in a ponytail, swinging back and forth in an almost comical manner. Chantelle snickered. That hair was like the mane of a horse.
The place was like a maze. Street after labyrinthine street they passed, leaving her wondering how the blue-eyed fighter could make sense of it all. Tiras navigated through great mobs with ease, parting them like fields of swaying wheat. He stopped at an austere building of plain white marble. Inside, the furniture was quite Spartan, having only enough comfort to relieve the weary. In stark divergence from the ascetic model was a sign that proclaimed in bold, flowing red script, "Potions now on sale!" A potion shop. Tiras had taken them to one of the most common places in all of Sanctuary.
"So how much will it be, Elzix?" The large warrior asked a stooped man, hair streaked white with age.
"You know, the usual."
"But it says they're on sale!"
"Heahea… you youngsters, always taking everything so seriously. I cut the price by half for today. No one seems to be traveling out into the desert anymore. Strange…strange. Business is running bad because of that. I don't understand." The old man's voice trailed off into a mumble.
"Don't worry, Elzix! Every business has its ups and downs! I'll tell everyone that your potions are the best!"
Elzix smiled warmly. "That's what I like about you, Tiras, always so jovial and optimistic." He handed the warrior several blood-red vials.
Tiras drew a couple gold pieces from his belt, laying them on the simple counter that served as the potion maker's workplace. The other man frowned. "You paid nearly double the regular price!"
"I know. Well, we've got to get on our way." Tiras laughed and ran with Chantelle out of the potion shop.
Elzix hobbled after them a ways, "Get back here, you rascal!" Watching them depart, he smiled and called, "May the Light always shine upon you!"
Lut Gholein was a rich port city. Arcanna had called it, in thoughtful tones, "the Jewel of the Desert." Houses and shops sprawled across the metropolis in every direction. Wherever she looked, Chantelle could see musicians playing their flutes and other exotic instruments, some delicate and light, others heavy and resonant. Merchants cried out in vociferous cacophony, showing off their wares, and dancers sported fabulous jewels as they gyrated tirelessly. As Tiras led her into the center of the bustling marketplace, she saw crowds gathered around a respectable-looking armory to admire the latest marvel, a marvelous sword.
The barbarian paused to gaze longingly at the finely crafted blade. The hilt bore a single large ruby, which seemed to enfold the weapon in flame. The warm steel emanated an aura of strength and power, gleaming with a soft crimson glow. From the ebony grip to polished steel and silver edge, the sword was truly a show of master workmanship. Chantelle could hear snatches of conversation from her vantage point.
"What a beautiful sword!"
"I heard the owner would sell it for several thousand gold pieces. I wish I had the money!"
"With this baby, I'll never be defeated again!" This came from a balding, pot-bellied man in his middle ages, drawing laughter all around.
"The sword holds many strange and powerful enchantments. It'll make its user nearly invulnerable!"
Tiras gave a wistful sigh, obviously wishing he had the money to purchase such an awesome weapon. He was probably regretting giving Elzix the extra money already. "You know, I was wondering. Just maybe…I don't suppose you have any money to lend me?" His sapphire eyes pleaded beguilingly.
Chantelle laughed softly. "I'm sorry, Tiras. All that I own is with me right now…I don't have any money."
The big man looked suddenly crestfallen. "Oh well, that's okay. I guess I'll just have to fight monsters and earn it the hard way. Maybe the locals will have something for me to do."
"Something to do, eh?" Immediately came a wizened voice near his elbow.
Both adventurers spun around, startled. Neither had seen the old man approach. Tiras had to look down before spotting the frail shape barely coming up to his chest.
The elder's face was sunken, partially covered with a scraggly beard. Cheeks caved and flared into a protruding mouth covered by sparse patches of facial hair. The gnarled hands were calloused and crossed with thick gray veins. His decrepit form leaned heavily on a stout staff on ironwood. Robes of gray were inscribed with ancient Horadrim runes. Most arresting, however, were the penetrating gray eyes. They took everything in and devoured the information. The frail body clearly housed a soul still bright and shrewd.
"I am Deckard Cain, the last of the Horadrim magi. I have faced many horrors in my lifetime, and perhaps the marks show itself." The sage smiled wearily, noting how the two were taken aback at his cadaverous visage. Everyone looked that way, these days. Except that man. Realizing they had been staring, Tiras looked further down, mumbling an incoherent apology, while Chantelle blushed.
"Somme Tiras, I will provide you with sufficient funds to purchase that which you seek, and more, if you will embark on a journey for me. As for you, Chantelle, you will find this journey very rewarding indeed. The populace will also no doubt bestow many treasures on you if you complete this task. Jeweled swords, massive axes, magical and artifacts, rare charms… Those who complete it will find themselves rich beyond their dreams. I will not lie to you, however. This quest is filled with peril, and may cost you both your lives. It will require adventurers strong of both body and soul. As of now, only one man has dared to take up my offer."
Chantelle wondered what this quest might be, and why it was so important. Recalling her own mission, she was about to refuse the old man, when Tiras suddenly asked, "How did you know my name? Who is this other man?"
Cain laughed quietly, without humor, and replied, "A simple thing for a Horadrim to do. Such simple things as deciphering one's name do not obstruct me, even if I am steeped with age. As to your other question, he is one whom is first and foremost concerned with preserving the delicate balance between good and evil. He is constantly misunderstood for his calling and his practices, but I hope the two of you will maintain an open mind. The man's name is Vladimir. He is a powerful necromancer from the underground cities of the Kehjistan jungles."
At this revelation, Chantelle and Tiras both started. Tiras began to look uneasy. Maybe this journey would not prove to be quite so worthwhile after all. Necromancers…almost all considered them consorts of evil. They would not balk at using wild and unconventional magicks, often trafficking with the dead as a means of achieving the desired results in a spell. Other cultures despised them for their lack of respect for the dead. Some feared the vengeance of the spirits of the dead; others believed their revered ancestors ought to remain buried and undisturbed. The population as a whole shunned them as grim wielders of death. There were no professions as unpopular as that of the necromancer.
Chantelle recovered first. "Necromancers are vile! Their practices can only dimly be called magic. I may very well be east out of the Zann Esu for being in the presence one of those corpse-raisers. Besides, I am on a journey of my own, and its completion is very important to me. I am sorry, revered one, but I cannot accept your terms. I'm afraid I am forced to decline your offer."
The ancient sage looked directly into her eyes for a long moment, seeming to stare into her soul to decipher her most private thoughts. "I will help you to fulfill your personal quest on this journey."
Astounded, Chantelle tried to keep the surprise from showing on her face. All thoughts of a grim necromancer vanished. How would he know what she was trying to accomplish? Was this some kind of trick? She'd kept her pursuit a carefully guarded secret. It was her whole reason for initiating this journey. Arcanna had told her that it must take precedence over all other matters and so it was her first priority. The girl stammered, "What…what do you mean?"
"I am not without abilities of my own, young sorceress. That is how I have divined your… condition. All I am saying is that your personal mission coincides with the completion of my own. You may trust me on that."
The sorceress felt confused. Could the Horadrim magus really be trusted? Horadrim magic-users were generally considered more trustworthy and benevolent than others. But how could he promise her success on such a difficult task? Did he have any hidden motives? But on the other hand, she would be able to help Tiras while possibly fulfilling her duty, not to mention securing the favor of the people, thus accomplishing a threefold resolution.
"What must we do?"
"Go deep into the deserts of Aranoch and defeat the evil demon, Duriel, in the tomb of my ancient brethren, the Horadrim named Tal Rasha. Duriel is a powerful demon with the powers of Hell. It is a master of the cold elements, and delights in draining life away from victims in the form of paralyzing sicknesses. However, these are merely symptoms of the demon's hold, and the victim's life and vigor will gradually fade away. Rarely do these sufferers survive past their childhood. Duriel draws strength from the lives he is able to affect and grows stronger with each passing day. The victims may be able to hold off the demonic influence for a time, but they will ultimately succumb. The demon must be destroyed immediately, or the eastern regions will be sealed off from Aranoch forever." Cain visibly trembled from this last, so affected was he by the description of the powerful fiend.
Recalling the lore available in the jungles, Chantelle decided not to mention anything about the demon. Cain must still suffer daily nightmares from the destruction of the township of Tristam. How horrible it must be to watch your home defiled, your people ravaged and slain before your very eyes! To watch your life flame into a thick cloud of black smoke disappearing into the sun… it would be more than enough to destroy any ordinary man. Cain, it appeared, was no ordinary man.
Chantelle broke from her musing as Tiras voiced a fresh protest. "Why is the necromancer coming? Can't we go without him?" The girl voiced her agreement.
"No," Cain said sternly. "You will need him for your expedition. His skill will complement your own. You will find that his powers will be quite welcome in your party."
I guess it will be all right, as long as no other magi see us, Chantelle thought to herself. "Is there no others that would come with us?"
"None. Besides, a large party would attract more vicious creatures, and stealth would no longer be an option. A group of three is ideal for this journey."
Chantelle wanted to know more of what the sage thought about her. "Tell me how this quest you propose will help me."
Cain smiled, a humorless pursing of the lips. "Simply this. Duriel has the power to control demonic ice. You can never defeat him using your current branch of magic, the ice element. Surely you must then find another wind to fight him, perhaps using fire?"
Chantelle felt his words hit her with a silent force. So he knew…he knew all about her. But fighting a demon? Arcanna surely did not mean for her young student to engage in such a battle. Even with Tiras at her side, how could the two fight a force of Hell? Surely it was too much to ask of anyone. But couldn't she at least try? There didn't seem to be any better choice at the moment, and the girl wanted to learn more about Tiras, who looked fierce and eager to begin. The immortality of youth is an assured thing, often proved wrong, but nonetheless a steadfast belief.
She looked to Tiras impassively, who looked back at her eagerly, clearly wanting her company but willing to respect her decision in the matter. Shrugging off her remaining doubts, the sorceress met Cain's calculating eyes and nodded. "I will accept."
"I've never used one before. How does it work?" Chantelle asked.
"See, you just step on the waypoint and think of the place you want to go to. Just keep your mind blank and I'll take us to Lut Gholein. Be prepared, or it may not work. We sure don't want to end up stranded or lost in these old Vizjeri things. Here, I'll show you."
The barbarian grabbed her hand and led her onto the old stone. The waypoint was strangely cold. Chantelle could feel the cold beneath her feet and was reminded instantly of her past, when each step would feel solidly glacial. Keenly aware of every sensation, Chantelle realized that it was strange to feel another's touch on her own skin. The Zann Esu were a reserved people, and only used touch to make certain points clear. Chantelle couldn't decide what she thought about it. The man's hand was rough and calloused from years of wielding weaponry, but it was also warm and felt right.
Tiras told her, "Now you're going to get a weird feeling for a moment."
The hot air suddenly evaporated and dissipated, leaving a more tolerable temperature. In fact, it was actually becoming quite cool. The world shuddered and emptied of light, leaving the companions alone in darkness. Chantelle shivered; she couldn't see Tiras or even herself at all. Then, visions of the desert appeared, rushing past her in waves too fast for the eyes to catch. Glimpses of the future? The present? They were undecipherable, leaving only a subliminal presence in the mind. As suddenly as it began, the flashes stopped. The world seemed to slow until Chantelle could make out individual images. She felt somewhat lightheaded.
he two were in the middle of a crowded plaza. The waypoint was recognizable from nearby stones only by the ancient runes of the Vizjeri. The loud clamor combined with the heat and exhaustion made Chantelle increasingly disoriented. Tiras approached her, his fascinating, tattooed face marked with concern. "Are you okay? Sometimes I feel a little queasy after a ride through one of those. Maybe you should sit down." The infectious grin materialized on the warrior's face.
Her head pounded incessantly. A multitude of clamoring voices grew louder and louder, pressing with dry, insistent heat that sapped the moisture from the throat. The noise grew until the world was but an extension of the reverberating sounds, echoing and ringing in the ears. Tiras, however, seemed astonishingly unaffected. The sorceress couldn't imagine the vigorous man ever feeling sick. Chantelle smiled ruefully, blocking out all the noise in the air. Her case of claustrophobia was mild, but it was still maddening how she always felt trapped in large crowds. "Thank you for your concern, but I will be fine."
"Alright then, if you say so." Cheerfully, the barbarian strode towards their unknown destination, his massive frame leaving a wake for the girl to follow. The big man's tassel of brown hair hung in a ponytail, swinging back and forth in an almost comical manner. Chantelle snickered. That hair was like the mane of a horse.
The place was like a maze. Street after labyrinthine street they passed, leaving her wondering how the blue-eyed fighter could make sense of it all. Tiras navigated through great mobs with ease, parting them like fields of swaying wheat. He stopped at an austere building of plain white marble. Inside, the furniture was quite Spartan, having only enough comfort to relieve the weary. In stark divergence from the ascetic model was a sign that proclaimed in bold, flowing red script, "Potions now on sale!" A potion shop. Tiras had taken them to one of the most common places in all of Sanctuary.
"So how much will it be, Elzix?" The large warrior asked a stooped man, hair streaked white with age.
"You know, the usual."
"But it says they're on sale!"
"Heahea… you youngsters, always taking everything so seriously. I cut the price by half for today. No one seems to be traveling out into the desert anymore. Strange…strange. Business is running bad because of that. I don't understand." The old man's voice trailed off into a mumble.
"Don't worry, Elzix! Every business has its ups and downs! I'll tell everyone that your potions are the best!"
Elzix smiled warmly. "That's what I like about you, Tiras, always so jovial and optimistic." He handed the warrior several blood-red vials.
Tiras drew a couple gold pieces from his belt, laying them on the simple counter that served as the potion maker's workplace. The other man frowned. "You paid nearly double the regular price!"
"I know. Well, we've got to get on our way." Tiras laughed and ran with Chantelle out of the potion shop.
Elzix hobbled after them a ways, "Get back here, you rascal!" Watching them depart, he smiled and called, "May the Light always shine upon you!"
Lut Gholein was a rich port city. Arcanna had called it, in thoughtful tones, "the Jewel of the Desert." Houses and shops sprawled across the metropolis in every direction. Wherever she looked, Chantelle could see musicians playing their flutes and other exotic instruments, some delicate and light, others heavy and resonant. Merchants cried out in vociferous cacophony, showing off their wares, and dancers sported fabulous jewels as they gyrated tirelessly. As Tiras led her into the center of the bustling marketplace, she saw crowds gathered around a respectable-looking armory to admire the latest marvel, a marvelous sword.
The barbarian paused to gaze longingly at the finely crafted blade. The hilt bore a single large ruby, which seemed to enfold the weapon in flame. The warm steel emanated an aura of strength and power, gleaming with a soft crimson glow. From the ebony grip to polished steel and silver edge, the sword was truly a show of master workmanship. Chantelle could hear snatches of conversation from her vantage point.
"What a beautiful sword!"
"I heard the owner would sell it for several thousand gold pieces. I wish I had the money!"
"With this baby, I'll never be defeated again!" This came from a balding, pot-bellied man in his middle ages, drawing laughter all around.
"The sword holds many strange and powerful enchantments. It'll make its user nearly invulnerable!"
Tiras gave a wistful sigh, obviously wishing he had the money to purchase such an awesome weapon. He was probably regretting giving Elzix the extra money already. "You know, I was wondering. Just maybe…I don't suppose you have any money to lend me?" His sapphire eyes pleaded beguilingly.
Chantelle laughed softly. "I'm sorry, Tiras. All that I own is with me right now…I don't have any money."
The big man looked suddenly crestfallen. "Oh well, that's okay. I guess I'll just have to fight monsters and earn it the hard way. Maybe the locals will have something for me to do."
"Something to do, eh?" Immediately came a wizened voice near his elbow.
Both adventurers spun around, startled. Neither had seen the old man approach. Tiras had to look down before spotting the frail shape barely coming up to his chest.
The elder's face was sunken, partially covered with a scraggly beard. Cheeks caved and flared into a protruding mouth covered by sparse patches of facial hair. The gnarled hands were calloused and crossed with thick gray veins. His decrepit form leaned heavily on a stout staff on ironwood. Robes of gray were inscribed with ancient Horadrim runes. Most arresting, however, were the penetrating gray eyes. They took everything in and devoured the information. The frail body clearly housed a soul still bright and shrewd.
"I am Deckard Cain, the last of the Horadrim magi. I have faced many horrors in my lifetime, and perhaps the marks show itself." The sage smiled wearily, noting how the two were taken aback at his cadaverous visage. Everyone looked that way, these days. Except that man. Realizing they had been staring, Tiras looked further down, mumbling an incoherent apology, while Chantelle blushed.
"Somme Tiras, I will provide you with sufficient funds to purchase that which you seek, and more, if you will embark on a journey for me. As for you, Chantelle, you will find this journey very rewarding indeed. The populace will also no doubt bestow many treasures on you if you complete this task. Jeweled swords, massive axes, magical and artifacts, rare charms… Those who complete it will find themselves rich beyond their dreams. I will not lie to you, however. This quest is filled with peril, and may cost you both your lives. It will require adventurers strong of both body and soul. As of now, only one man has dared to take up my offer."
Chantelle wondered what this quest might be, and why it was so important. Recalling her own mission, she was about to refuse the old man, when Tiras suddenly asked, "How did you know my name? Who is this other man?"
Cain laughed quietly, without humor, and replied, "A simple thing for a Horadrim to do. Such simple things as deciphering one's name do not obstruct me, even if I am steeped with age. As to your other question, he is one whom is first and foremost concerned with preserving the delicate balance between good and evil. He is constantly misunderstood for his calling and his practices, but I hope the two of you will maintain an open mind. The man's name is Vladimir. He is a powerful necromancer from the underground cities of the Kehjistan jungles."
At this revelation, Chantelle and Tiras both started. Tiras began to look uneasy. Maybe this journey would not prove to be quite so worthwhile after all. Necromancers…almost all considered them consorts of evil. They would not balk at using wild and unconventional magicks, often trafficking with the dead as a means of achieving the desired results in a spell. Other cultures despised them for their lack of respect for the dead. Some feared the vengeance of the spirits of the dead; others believed their revered ancestors ought to remain buried and undisturbed. The population as a whole shunned them as grim wielders of death. There were no professions as unpopular as that of the necromancer.
Chantelle recovered first. "Necromancers are vile! Their practices can only dimly be called magic. I may very well be east out of the Zann Esu for being in the presence one of those corpse-raisers. Besides, I am on a journey of my own, and its completion is very important to me. I am sorry, revered one, but I cannot accept your terms. I'm afraid I am forced to decline your offer."
The ancient sage looked directly into her eyes for a long moment, seeming to stare into her soul to decipher her most private thoughts. "I will help you to fulfill your personal quest on this journey."
Astounded, Chantelle tried to keep the surprise from showing on her face. All thoughts of a grim necromancer vanished. How would he know what she was trying to accomplish? Was this some kind of trick? She'd kept her pursuit a carefully guarded secret. It was her whole reason for initiating this journey. Arcanna had told her that it must take precedence over all other matters and so it was her first priority. The girl stammered, "What…what do you mean?"
"I am not without abilities of my own, young sorceress. That is how I have divined your… condition. All I am saying is that your personal mission coincides with the completion of my own. You may trust me on that."
The sorceress felt confused. Could the Horadrim magus really be trusted? Horadrim magic-users were generally considered more trustworthy and benevolent than others. But how could he promise her success on such a difficult task? Did he have any hidden motives? But on the other hand, she would be able to help Tiras while possibly fulfilling her duty, not to mention securing the favor of the people, thus accomplishing a threefold resolution.
"What must we do?"
"Go deep into the deserts of Aranoch and defeat the evil demon, Duriel, in the tomb of my ancient brethren, the Horadrim named Tal Rasha. Duriel is a powerful demon with the powers of Hell. It is a master of the cold elements, and delights in draining life away from victims in the form of paralyzing sicknesses. However, these are merely symptoms of the demon's hold, and the victim's life and vigor will gradually fade away. Rarely do these sufferers survive past their childhood. Duriel draws strength from the lives he is able to affect and grows stronger with each passing day. The victims may be able to hold off the demonic influence for a time, but they will ultimately succumb. The demon must be destroyed immediately, or the eastern regions will be sealed off from Aranoch forever." Cain visibly trembled from this last, so affected was he by the description of the powerful fiend.
Recalling the lore available in the jungles, Chantelle decided not to mention anything about the demon. Cain must still suffer daily nightmares from the destruction of the township of Tristam. How horrible it must be to watch your home defiled, your people ravaged and slain before your very eyes! To watch your life flame into a thick cloud of black smoke disappearing into the sun… it would be more than enough to destroy any ordinary man. Cain, it appeared, was no ordinary man.
Chantelle broke from her musing as Tiras voiced a fresh protest. "Why is the necromancer coming? Can't we go without him?" The girl voiced her agreement.
"No," Cain said sternly. "You will need him for your expedition. His skill will complement your own. You will find that his powers will be quite welcome in your party."
I guess it will be all right, as long as no other magi see us, Chantelle thought to herself. "Is there no others that would come with us?"
"None. Besides, a large party would attract more vicious creatures, and stealth would no longer be an option. A group of three is ideal for this journey."
Chantelle wanted to know more of what the sage thought about her. "Tell me how this quest you propose will help me."
Cain smiled, a humorless pursing of the lips. "Simply this. Duriel has the power to control demonic ice. You can never defeat him using your current branch of magic, the ice element. Surely you must then find another wind to fight him, perhaps using fire?"
Chantelle felt his words hit her with a silent force. So he knew…he knew all about her. But fighting a demon? Arcanna surely did not mean for her young student to engage in such a battle. Even with Tiras at her side, how could the two fight a force of Hell? Surely it was too much to ask of anyone. But couldn't she at least try? There didn't seem to be any better choice at the moment, and the girl wanted to learn more about Tiras, who looked fierce and eager to begin. The immortality of youth is an assured thing, often proved wrong, but nonetheless a steadfast belief.
She looked to Tiras impassively, who looked back at her eagerly, clearly wanting her company but willing to respect her decision in the matter. Shrugging off her remaining doubts, the sorceress met Cain's calculating eyes and nodded. "I will accept."