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[Xana]

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Weeks had passed since Xana had encountered the swing that had brought her so much joy. The days melted into nights, and the nights she filled with music and song. Sometimes the nights were spent singularly, or in the company of one or two people, other times there were groups engaged in the merriment.

Eventually the need to go into the city arose, and Xana encountered her cousin Carlo. Carlo was a decent enough fellow, though his approach to personal income was dubious at best. They chatted and caught up on family gossip.

It was with considerable shock that she received the news.

"Kallianos died, did you know that?" Carlo asked.

The shock was immense. Though she'd been away from her Minoc home for years, she did hold fond memories of her much older brother. Why, she realized, she couldn't even remember the last time she had seen him. It must have been half of her life ago, come to think of it. Perhaps even as long ago as the time of her residence at the Minoc camp. That would have made me a young teenager, she thought to herself. So long ago.

Carlo chided Xana for her tendency to be such a loner, and being so far out of the informational loop of the family and its many lines. Knowing she deserved at least a couple of cheap shots for the truth as it was, she remained quiet as he said his piece.

Eventually, Xana was able to make her excuses and she fled the city of Britain, moving as fast as she could away from Carlo's haunt at the Salty Dog. It was only a matter of a simple spell chant that took her far and away to a favored inn, where she built a roaring fire in the hearth and laid on the rug before it.

She was glad her satchel contained a fresh supply of mind and pain-numbing potions.
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An artist is a creature driven by demons ~Faulkner