Break 5 - Taran Ullivarn

Nothing concrete.

Taran sat next to Ezra, in the old man's small room, with his map and several of his books spread out before him.

"It just doesn't make sense," he said to no one in particular as he spat onto the floor. He rearranged markers on the map again and again, with cursory glances back to this book or that, but still nothing.

Taran broke his concentration to stand up and, chanting a small prayer to Boccob, toss a bit of healing energy at the everlasting wound in Ezra's chest. "It's like the points keep changing! Nothing concrete!"

He scratched a few more lines into his personal journal on coordinates and reference points and began to pack his things together before heading back to his rooms. Morning was already approaching and he needed his own rest. Besides Rhys would be up soon to take over.

With a quick flick of the power in his holy symbol he trimmed the still-lit wicks and excess wax off of the two burning candles. "I wasn't supposed to be a scholar. I was to be a mighty dragonslayer. But the Gods have their own plans, and we all play a part, right? Still, I sure wish you were up and about, Old Man. Maybe you could make sense of all of this insanity." He stubbed one of the candles before returning to his rooms and another too-short sleep.

No one was around to hear the single word whisper come from the old man's throat.