Session 28 - Chapter 4 & 5 - Waterdeep and Beyond

Hello & Welcome!

Travel continued. They were just four days away from Waterdeep. There was a certain sense of eagerness and excitement and a bit of nervousness as everyone just wanted the journey to end and they all reach their destination without incident. At 610 miles, at the end of the 46th day, talk at the evening camp was about what people would do first in the city. The next day would be the last day of rest on the journey. 

The evening guard duty was a reduced patrol. Each wagon managed its own watch. Dafnae, Pipp, and Torsion each took turns, Torsion taking the last shift, just before the camp would begin to stir.

Torsion preferred this block of hours. It was when the camp was the quietest and he could spend some time in the glow of the moon and now he now spent his time gazing at the moon while reflecting his earlier encounter with Selune. Whatever could it all mean?

While lost in thought, he heard just the faintest of thuds in the otherwise still night air. He looked around but could not determine the source of the sound and continued his watch and his thinking.

On the morning of the 47th day, their final test day, Torsion watched a small crowd start to gather near one of the wagons of the Merchant's of Liberty - the suspected Cultist wagons as Dafnae and Pipp emerged from theri bedrolls. 

They looked at each other and at first didn't want to join the group, but then more and more people joined the crowd and a clamour started to rise. And so they decided to join the group lest it be viewed suspicious that they were the only ones not present. The three joined the crowd and they spied separately Jamna and Dibse already within the crowd.

Once there, they saw, slumped in the dirt, partially tucked beneath the rear axel, a body. Looking closer, they could see that it was the body of Oliver Stonesword. His eyes were fixed on the grey sky and a dark, sticky pool has turned the dry earth into mud beneath him. A closer glance revealed a single, brutal puncture in his back. It didn't appear to b a sloppy strike with a wide blade, but rather it was much thinner, unmistakably the work of a rapier. 

The clamour of the crowd was quite loud but above this were the screams and cries of Maerwynn Wheatflow. She was incredibly distraught, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Pipp whispered to her friends, "Even for a Cultist, its very sad to see the sight of a dead lover." 

Torsion replied, "Aye, lass, but ye canna get in league with the likes of the Cult of the Dragon and expect to have a happy ending." He knew he should feel sorry for the grief the woman was facing, but he simply could not bring himself to it. He quelled the thought that she got what she deserved.

Through the tears, Maerwynn noticed Dafnae in the crowd and with a hand already on her hilt, pointed a trembling finger directly at her. "You! Show us your blade! We know you carry a rapier. Show us, or we’ll take it from your corpse!"

Every hand in the camp instinctively drifted to the hilts of their weapons. The rest of crew of the Merchants of Liberty demanded to see her gear, claiming that it was her blade that would match the width of the fatal wound.

Torsion and Pipp looked at Dafnae with a look of shock on their faces. Dafnae unclipped the scabbard at her side from her belt and non-threateningly raised it for all to see. With the scabbard resting in the palm of her one hand, as she slowly unsheathed her rapier to show the crowd she addressed Maerwynn in a cool and calm tone, "Merywyn, I am sorry for your loss. I can assure you however that his end was not brought by my hands."

Voices around Dafnae spoke up in her defence.

"A murderer? Don't be a fool! She’s a hero!" shouted Tyjit Skesh.

"Aye, You lot have hardly covered yourselves with glory to be making an accusation like that" muttered Edhelri Lewel.

Dafnae slowly sheathed her weapon and clipped it back to her belt. 

The standoff was broken by a familiar voice. Jamna Gleamsilver pushed her way through the crowd in front of Datnae and pointed at the wagon and stated the obvious, 

"If he was killed guarding the wagon, shouldn't we check the crates? See what was worth a man's life?"

Torsion remembered the thud he had heard in the evening and he shared a glance with Pipp. He'd not told her anything about the noise as he had dismissed it as one of the guards stumbling against a wagon after having drank too much ale the night before and needed to relieve himself in the darkness. But they both wondered if Jamna had something to do with this. They'd have to ask her again later.

The Cultists blanched at the suggesting of opening their cargo. Accusations and rebuttals continued. Over the shouting came a new voice, one that was smooth, authoritative. It was the Thayan Red Wizard. He had emerged from his tent and now addressed the crowd.

"Peace, friends. We are all weary, and grief strikes hard on the road. But let us not add a second tragedy to the first. To pry into a man's livelihood based on a shadow of a doubt is not the way of the road. There are no witnesses. No proof. Only a tragic end in a dark night."

Dibse had overheard that they referred to him as Azbara Jos while he was walking around the different wagons in the Caravan. He normally kept to himself and so it was quite unusual that he came out like so. Just as well that he generally stayed away as no one felt easy around a Red Wizard.

He called out to him before anyone had a chance to respond, "Oi, don't your kind deal with the recently departed? Can't you do sumfthin to sort 'im out?" Dibse thought that he may as well address the fact that a Red bloody Wizard was amongst their travelling companions.

Azbara looked over at Dibze, slightly perturbed and said, "No, and sadly your ignorance about my kind has gotten it wrong." And with that he returned into his tent.

Guards and merchants, eager to avoid a camp-wide bloodbath, eventually nod in agreement. Werehond Torohar put it simply, “without a witness, the law of the road is simple: The gods will judge the guilty; the living must keep moving.”

The body was buried in a shallow grave by the roadside by the other Cultist, Maerwynn was distraught the rest of the day. Torsion offered to say a prayer on Oliver's behalf but rebuked him quite curtly. 

Travel resumed the next day. Dafnae could feel Maerwynn's gaze upon her. Her hatred had solidified into something cold and permanent. But the travel on the 48th day went without incident.

On day 49, they made it to Zundbridge, a fortified bridge just south of Waterdeep. The caravan approached the High Road's end, and the towering walls of Waterdeep became visible in the distance. The sight was both breath-taking and reassuring after weeks on the road. One final night on the road and they would reach Waterdeep in the morning.

On that morning, camp was broken much quicker than on most days - it was just a few miles to Watedeep. The Wagons belonging to the Merchants of Liberty were even faster to get ready and departed camp first. 

And so at long last, the complete 655 mile journey reached its end as they arrived at the gates of Waterdeep, a truly majestic city.

After answered some questions by some Towns guards, they were all let in.  Most of the merchants dispersed to the city’s markets, warehouses, and stables quite suddenly. They’ve reached their destination and were eager to be about their business and more importantly to get paid. There was no soppy good-byes. The two months they had spent together was a relationship of mutual necessity, not one of deep and lasting friendship. They were glad they had survived the perilous journey, well, most of them anyway, and it was time to relax and enjoy the spoils of a job well done.

Achreny's wagons stopped in front of a two-story house with a sign above the door that read "Meraedos Fine Firs" and it was a typical Waterdhavian row house and was on the west side of the High Road near Tarnath Street just past the large open Market in the North Ward of Waterdeep.

The party noticed that the Cultist Wagons did not stop at any building like all the other Wagons had and instead they continued onward on the High Road.

Achreny Ulyeltin addressed his three remaining hired guards, "Despite my initial reservations the fou, err three of you have performed beyond the expectations of ordinary wagon guards. I don’t know what strings you had to pull with Rilsa but if you’re ever looking for work again be sure to seek me out. I’ll put in a word with any merchant caravan from Amn to the ten towns! Take care now, and may the gods smile on you all."

With a great belly laugh Urgarlag Talespinner commented, "I do believe that’s the first time Achreny has had a decent thing to say. You’ve obviously made an impression on him!! Ha ha ha. Farewell my friends. I hope you find what you’re seeking. May our paths cross once again under sunnier skies!" 

They said there good-byes. They didn't notice Dibse was spying them across the way to see which way they would head next.

Carlon Amoffel instructed the three Heroes that they should stay in the Golden Harp Inn and to meet with him the next day at the the Yawning Portal. He would need to leave them now and consult Leosin.

The three of them continued to follow the Cultists at a distance to see where they would stop.  

Their wagons and horses were delivered to Trollwall stable yard and livery just inside the north gate of the city. The wagons were secured in a shed where there were other wagons already here. Once the wagons and horses were settled, the cultists gathered at Green’s Rest - an Inn just around the corner from the stable yard a short distance from the High Road and the city’s North Gate. This is where they would be staying they assumed.

The team then made their way through the wonderous city. It was as they had heard from their fellow travellers. They did some shopping enroute to the Golden Harp Inn to obtain various spell components that were necessary, They each got rooms for themselves.

Dibse, or rather Chard, managed to follow unseen and saw which Inn they went to. He would book a room there as well. Oh, but how could he pay for the room. He still had his charm, but that was a bit too much even for him. 

Then he heard a voice call to him from over the road. A familiar voice whose accent was out of place. It was Zima. The two exchanged pleasantries. She was dressed in fashion similar to other Waterdeep residents, fine livery, and form fitting. Zima had the same mischievous smile Chard had remembered from last time. 

"So, Chard Morthos, you are calling yourself Dibse now I see? Very clever of you. And how are you finding it?"

"Yes, it is a good body and I am glad to be back where I belong. Eh, Zima, are you sure that Lord Bel didn't send any other items with you for me?"

"Whatever do you mean Chard Morthos?" With a wry smile she reached into her vest and tossed him a money pouch.  "Oh, you mean something like this? Yes, well, I was to give this to you back when you first arrived, but, well, Chard Morthos, you didn't ask." She laughed to herself slightly at the prank she had played,  Inside the pouch was 100gp.

"Ah, yes, I see. This would have been handy earlier, but never mind. I'll remember to watch myself around you Zima!" as he tried to match her wry smile. 

"But it is I who will be doing the watching, Chard Morthos, you will be watched." She added a wink to her wry smile in order to one-up Chard's smile. "We will meet again, and remember to keep to the Pact." And with that she turned and melted away into the crowd.

Chard thought to himself that strangely he liked Zima. He didn't trust her, but then, he didn't not trust her either. He oddly looked forward to his next meeting with her.

Once checked in at the Golden Harp Inn, Dibse, as was the name he used, gave the main proprietor and the porter each 5gp in order to be notified when friends matching the description of Dafnae, Pipp, and Torsion came and went and also for their discretion. The two happily obliged.

That evening, everyone was eager for proper bed rest. In the morning, after a well deserved proper Long Rest, each Hero awoke to the awareness that they reached Level 6!

The meeting in the Yawning Portal was for the evening. So they decided to spend the day scouting what the Cultists were up to. There was not movement at the Trollwall stable yard. And from the Greens' Rest Inn, they spied some of them had visited a large warehouse just inside the Northern City Gate. There they saw them speak with what looked to be the owner and after some minutes, the man went back inside and promptly returned with some papers that the Cultists seemed to fill out and sign. 

Chard had been given word when his friends left and so he stealthily followed them, sticking to the side of the road, blending into the crowds so as to remain unseen.

That evening they made plans to go to the Yawning Portal.

The Yawning Portal was living up to its reputation. The roar of a hundred conversations filled the air, providing a chaotic blanket of noise. Adventurers shouted over tankards of ale, and the smell of roasting boar battles the dank draft rose from the massive, open well in the centre of the taproom.

Durnan, the grim barkeep, caught Pipp's eye as they entered. He didn't speak, but jerked his chin toward a high-backed booth in the deepest shadows of the gallery, far from the gaping maw of the well.

Seated there are two figures, one is wrapped in a dark travel cloak, the other an attractive middle aged woman with silver hair. As the Party approached, a server drops a tray of drinks nearby, but the hooded figure didn't flinch. She lowered her hood just enough for them to see the sharp, aristocratic features of a Female Elf. Here, amidst the grime and adventurers, she looked like a diamond dropped in the mud.

Without rising she gestured for the party to sit, her eyes constantly darting to the door and the other patrons.

"I am Remalia. Keep your weapons sheathed and your voices low," Remallia murmurs. "This... pit... is the only place I could trust the noise to cover my words." She leaned in closer. "This is Elia…….you can speak freely in front of her." She took a sip of wine.

Lady Remallia is honest and friendly. She understands the threats that face the Realms as well as the caution of her fellow Harpers. She also agrees to compromise with lesser evils to fight more nefarious ones but not at any price.

She is also married to Arthagast Ulbrinter of the noble Ulbrinter family.

Remalia tells the three that some months ago attacks in Beliard, Westbridge, Womford, Vilnask & Crossergate followed the same pattern as those seen in the south culminating in Greenest. Mainly looting and theft. Sighting of a Black Dragon and rumours of half dragons. Black Dragon seemingly able to appear in 2 places at once!!

Pipp asked, "The Cultists visited a warehouse. Do you know about what they do there?"

Remalia explained, "The warehouse visited by the cultists is where shipments of supplies to the road-building camps are coordinated. - Carnath Roadhouse. Owned by Lord Neverember he is rebuilding the road between Waterdeep and Never winter."

Remalia continued, "Regarding the North ... The merchants call it a harsh winter, but the truth is far more sinister. They are suffering under what is being called the 'Everlasting Rime.' For over two years, the sun has not risen above the horizon in Icewind Dale. Auril the Frostmaiden, the cruel goddess of winter's wrath, has cast a spell over the entire region. The Ten-Towns are trapped in unending twilight and blizzards. The passes are blocked, the lakes are frozen solid, and the people are turning to desperate, dark measures just to survive."

She leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on the edge of the table and provided more information. 

"As Harpers, a localized tragedy—even a divine one—is not always our primary jurisdiction. However, other factions are beginning to move in the dark, and that is where our interests align.

"A few tendays past, I was in Neverwinter. I went to extract a report from one of my agents who has been tailing a particularly slippery Zhentarim operative. A ruthless enforcer who fittingly goes by the moniker 'Rat Shadow.' The Zhentarim see the isolation of Ten-Towns not as a tragedy, but as an unprotected market ripe for extortion and smuggling.

"But it was during this rendezvous that a new variable walked into the picture. While my agent briefed me on Rat Shadow's movements toward the Dale, I made the acquaintance of a young wizard named Aldrick Meadowgrove. He is a member of the Order of the Many-Starred Cloak out of Neverwinter. Brilliant, certainly. Ambitious, undoubtedly. But painfully naive. Aldrick is currently mounting a fully funded expedition straight into the heart of Icewind Dale. He has been tasked with locating a fallen ancient Netheresse City, buried somewhere beneath the Glacier. If he is successful then what he uncovers could potentially end our current problems. But we must forge ahead regardless. We cannot pin our hopes on a singular outcome.

A log shifted in the hearth, sending a flare of orange light across the booth. It catches Dafnae’s face, illuminating her features against the dark wood of the booth.
Remallia stopped mid-sentence. The glass of wine in her hand halting halfway to her lips. In the noise of the tavern, the silence at the table is deafening. She stared at Dafnae, her eyes widening—stripping away the spy and the noblewoman.

"By the Seldarine..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of the tavern. "You look just like her. The nose, the set of the jaw... you look exactly like my sister, Anastrianna."

She reached across the sticky table, her gloved fingers hovering inches from Dafnae’s hand before pulling it back, remembering where she is, and more importantly, who she was. "She was murdered along with her husband and daughters, decades ago. The youngest child's body was never found among the ashes!"

Dafnae is startled at hearing this information. Could the woman seated across from her be her Aunt that she never knew?

To the others sat at the table Dafnae is a rogue of the streets; Remallia is high nobility. Yet, in this dingy tavern, the family resemblance makes them look like two sides of the same coin.

Remallia forced herself to break eye contact with Dafnae, snapping back to the mission. She is visibly shaken, but she is a professional.

Remallia took a sharp breath, steeling herself. "Forgive me. The shadows in this place play tricks on the memory." Looking at Dafnae one last time, a lingering sadness in her eyes, before turning to the group.

The meeting ends abruptly as a rowdy group of dwarves crashes into the table next to you. Remallia stands to leave, pulling her hood up.

As she squeezed past the booth, she bumped into Dafnae. Dafnae, spying a ring on Remallia’s finger that matches her own. "Keep your head down, girl," Remallia whispered to Dafnae softly, in Elvish, her voice thick with emotion. "And come find me at the Villa when you're next in the city. Use the side gate.”

As Dafnae, Pipp, and Torsion leave the Yawning Portal, Dafnae tells her friends that she will take a walk before heading back for the night and that she will see them in the morning. She didn't want to let on to her friends that her head was spinning with the recent events.

Dafnae’s mind was racing. Did she just meet a member of her family? Can it be that she’s related to nobility? She needed some time to process her thoughts and clear her head. Just out of the corner of her eye, Dafnae spied a silver bird perched on a nearby sign post chirps, then flutters off to the next one down the street. Dafnae felt compelled to follow. There was something familiar and comforting in its song. Like she'd been hearing it her whole life but never saw the bird that sings it. Following the silvery bird through countless winding streets, Dafnae didn't realise that had been wandering the streets of Waterdeep for an hour. Ending up at the City of the Dead where the bird perched atop a modest but well-kept family crypt. The name Siannodel was etched into the stone, weathered by salt air and time. The air was unnervingly still. The bird took flight and seemed to disappear but Dafnae took no notice as she was transfixed upon the crypt. It was her family's tomb!

A faint whistling tune alerted Dafnar to someone nearby but much to her surprise it she realised it was the same tune the bird was singing. She looked around. Leaning against a nearby willow tree was a woman who looked entirely out of place in a graveyard. She was wearing shimmering silver silks that seemed to catch light that wasn't there, and she was idly tossing a gold crown into the air. As Dafnae approached, the woman catches the coin mid-air and flashed a grin that felt like winning a bet you shouldn't have taken.

"Are you feeling Lucky tonight? You know……….I've been watching you. Ever since that fateful night. It wasn’t pure chance that Cole heard you crying over the sounds of the fire. But it was luck that saved you when the roof caved in and the walls collapsed. A gap just big enough for him to reach through and grab your basket. To think…….if he’d just stayed for one more round of cards……but his luck was changing……..just like yours!

"You know," the woman continued, her voice like crisp parchment, "The Moonbrooks always did have a knack for finding the exit before the party was over. But you? You’re still at the table, Dafnae."

Dafnae gave a greeting and blessing to her Luck Giver.

She stepped forward, and the smell of expensive wine and fresh clover followed her.
"Fortune favors the bold, but she loves the survivors even more. Your kin aren't here for your tears girl. They're watching the game to see how you play your hand."

"I see you still have your family ring……….you may want to look a little closer at that” As Dafnae clasped the ring in her hands and stared at the crest she didn't see Tymora turn to leave, her words becoming quiet like a whisper on the breeze, "Remember……..Fortune favours the Brave” and as Dafnae looked up once more, the mysterious women had gone.

Reeling at the events of the evening, Dafnae eventually made it back to the Gold Harp Inn for some rest. 

The next morning it was agreed that Pipp would get them added to the roster heading out again and so she went to the Warehouse to get them signed-up. The foreman was a human veteran by the name of Adred Briferhew and he commanded the supply wagons and escorts and laborers heading out for some work. 

Chard followed and after a quick exchange with the foreman, Pipp got the three of them signed up. Once satisfied Pipp was gone, Chard did the same, using his Dibse pseudonym.

Dafnae meanwhile took the opportunity to try to visit Remalia. But when she inquired at the side gate, she was told that she was not in and to try back later. Disappointed, She would have to try again some other time, but when she thought to herself ...

Early the next morning, the wider team assemble again. Much to to dismay of the cultists, they easily noticed the Heroes also signed up. Only dirty looks were exchanged. And much to the Party's surprise, they saw Dibse there as well. Pipp thought to herself, this is well suspicious ...

Journey North to the Carnath Roadhouse would take around 10 days (200 Miles) along the High Road as it wound its way along the coastal hills nestled between the sword mountains and the sea.

After 3 days travel they pass through the ruined Village of Hespheira.

On the 6th day as the party passed by the Redrock approximately equidistant between the metropolis of Waterdeep to the south and the town of Leilon to the north where all manner of nasty aerial creatures dwell atop and alongside including several flocks of harpies, perytons, and at least one known manticore. This archipelago comprises hundreds upon hundreds of small islets, the majority of them wave-eroded sea stacks but others mere boulders that rise just above sea level.

On the 7th night camped high on a hill top the weather begins to turn, the Northward sky darkens and from their high vantage point they see forks of lightning striking deep in the mere.

On the 8th day they make a rest stop at Thornhold (Stoneshaft Hold to Dwarfs). This fortress was used as a way stop by merchants and adventurers traveling through one of the more dangerous stretches of the Sword Coast North. Skilled craft and tradespeople offer their services to those that choose to take refuge at Thornhold. Among the talented individuals are skilled gem-cutters, wainwrights, smithies, and even brewers all of Dwarves of Clan Stoneshaft.

After leaving Thornhold on the 9th day they easily reached the edge of the Mere of Deadmen. It was a chill tangle of trees, brush, boggy ground, standing water, reeds, and cat-tails stretching farther than the eye can see. The rest of the trip is within sight of the mere. The convoy’s destination, Carnath Roadhouse, a compound that served as a hostelry on the trade road between Waterdeep and Neverwinter in the days when trade flourished, was reached late on the tenth day.

A burly Half-Orc known only as Bog Luck runs the Depot.

When wagons arrive from the south, they are brought into the compound one or two at a time for unloading, then moved back outside for parking. The compound was crowded with food, lumber, and myriad other supplies in crates and barrels.

People were assigned to rooms to sleep. In the evening, the group went up to the common area balcony to refresh themselves.

There was a heavy tension in the area, a tension that had been brewing since they set off from Waterdeep.

A heavy tankard slammed onto the table, spilling ale across the wood in front of Dafnae.

She looked up to see a familiar face from the road—one of the caravan guards - Maerwynn Wheatflow. Her hand resting casually on the pommel of a scarred longsword, but her eyes are locked onto Dafnae's with a cold, simmering hatred. It was Maerwynn Wheatflow who had been glaring daggers at Dafnae's back ever since Oliver Stonesworn was found dead.

Based on the anger in her eyes, this Cultist was not looking for a fight. She wanted to humiliate Dafnae's very character in front of everyone. Maerwynn wanted an audience.

"You think I forgot? You spineless little rat! Look at you, always pretending to be some kind of hero. You're nothing but a stinking coward! Sneaking around in the dark stabbing people in the back!"

Dafnae tried to calm her down and step back. "Maerwynn, I am sorry you are dealing with this grief but again I can only assure you I had nothing to do with Oliver."

Spitting on the floor near the Dafnae's boots, "Now, we settle this. Or are you going to hide behind your friends like you always do?"

Dafnae again tries to calm her down, "This is not necessary. Don't do anything you'll regret or you'll be with Oliver again before you know it!"

Maerwynn let out a sharp, barking laugh that cut through the noise of the room. "Exactly what I thought. A gutless coward. But I’m not letting you walk away this time. Blood demands blood!"

The harsh shhhk of steel leaving a scabbard rung out. The crowd around then suddenly scattered, knocking over chairs in their haste to get out of the way. She lunged forward, her blade aimed straight for Dafnae's chest.

Maerwynn, flanked by three of her cultist comrades tried to kick Dafnae backwards. She was able to block the kick and hold her position. 

The other Cultists looked at Pipp and Torsion and warned, "Don't you try any funny business!"

Maerwynn tried again, but now using her blade she struck at Dafnae. This was the last straw.

Chard watching this from the other end of the balcony was preparing in case things got heated. He would protect his friends. 

Now seeing now other course of action, Dafnae had to fight back. And as soon as she swung with her rapier, a shot of white/purple energy hit Maewynn squarely in the back. 

The Heroes and the Cultists alike were shocked to see a grinning Dibse having just launched an Eldritch Blast at Maerwynn. Why was he getting involed?

Dafnae and Maerwynn exchanged blows, Maerwynn again trying to knock Dafnae back against the railing. Pipp and Torsion prepared to defend themselves and Dafnae.

On his next turn, Chard's grin widened as he held his right arm to the side and summoned his Glaive. The fiendish weapon appearing in a flash of purpose light and black smoke. Dafnae's, Pipp's, and Torsion's eyes went wide! That Glaive was unmistakable!

Battle continued, Dafnae focusing on Maerwynn and Pipp and Torsion focusing on the other Cultists. And Chard, ever grinning, to support Dafnae.

Dafnae succeeded in evading Maerwynn's kicks to try to push her over the edge and together with Chard's attacks she was able to fell Maerwynn. This allowed Chard to focus on the other Cultists together with Pipp and Torsion. Dafnae sought cover as her encounter with Maerwynn had left her damaged.

Chard managed to fell Walter. "Ah, this should make Lord Bel pleased," he thought to himself as he felt a surge of energy as Walter died.

Two of the other Cultists fell. The third, having succumbed to Pipp's Dissonnant Whispers try to flee down the stairs.

Chard pursued but the last Cultist was brought down by another one of Pipp's spells.

Dafnae, Pipp, and Torsion were left breathing heavily and in shock staring at the man they had known only as Dibse. Dibse meanwhile turned around on the stairs, dismissed his Glaive in the same purplish flash and smiled at his friends, his grin bigger than before.

Until next time ...