There are only so many ways in which you can say ‘old man’. None of them entirely inoffensive. Alezor had an extremely eventful century and a half behind him. He had stood up for truth and justice and things like that. He had battled whatever forces had appeared evil to him in their time. He was an inspiration to good beings in his world and beyond (or so he liked to believe).

“We are now officially lost!” said Andhak as he brushed the dirt off his robes. “This is highly unbecoming of them. Why couldn’t the elders just do it the easy way?”

“I am sure they had their reasons.” Said Arindh from behind him. “And I suggest you keep your whining down. You are getting the Naag worked up.”

The Hero laid his sword down on the pier and looked westward. He had learnt long ago that looking at the sunset helped nothing except his image in the eyes of the obsessive admirers standing behind him. Although in pressing times, obsessive admirers were often the only thing standing between him and a future without a decent pension. They spelled votes.

He grew tired of looking at the sunset. So he sighed audibly and slowly turned towards the temple. The Sorceress stood in the hallway.

“How much longer?” he asked.