Lyla

While Alexei had made it seem as if he were going to be running off to the front lines as fast as he could, there was one thing that he needed to take care of before he left Alandria again.

He was sure that if he left the city without at least swinging by The Trout’s Gills at least once then Lyla would have probably ripped his head off with her inhuman beastkin strength.

Once again Alexei was struck by a distinct sense of de ja vu.

The day had receded into night, with the final glimmers of the twilight sun just about peaking over the very top of the mountain.

It was dark, and the streets of Alandria had drawn to a near-empty silence. The only thing that guided his way was the lamplight from the many torches that hung off of the sides of various buildings.

The water lapped at the underside of boats and barges alike, and he knew that somewhere deep down under the water there was the body of the very first assassin that he had dealt with, now likely stripped of flesh to the bone by