After Hertirrus' failed attempts at precuring occult texts he did little more than wander the forgotten rain slick streets, waiting for the morning. Eventually, and merely because he did not wish his new compatriots to think him dead, he returned to where they were staying till they could get transportation to Magnagorsk in the morning. He sat at a table and lay the Emperor's Tarot out on it.

He shuffled and spread, reshuffled and spread, reading always from the cards little more than he would allow himself, till eventually he was too tired to continue, he stowed the deck again and went to sleep hoping he would have better luck in the investigation tomorrow.

The din of rainwater reminded him of the city lows where he grew up, where he once flew, where the metal hadn't shined in a millenia, where only darkness knew his name, part of him missed that dirty old world, part of him missed Terra, part of him missed people he could no longer remember.

He slept, and had bad dreams.

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Just something to pass the time before we continue