With a sadden, yet contented heart, A certain cleric dons his old clerical tabard, placing the now frayed tabard away. He didn't have many items to take with him, most of his belongings fit into his new messenger bag. He fondly remembers the time his brothers(and sister) fought and defeated the giant spider outside of the caliphate, how he saved his own life by using his bag as a shield, he had spent many days replacing it and its ruined medical supplies. Closing the bag he places it over his shoulder, the weight of it setting him more at ease. He walked quietly through the halls, knowing the men and women that he once called friends were probably hard at work training or praying. He was never good with goodbyes, so he wouldn't try, he would leave it to the man who told him of his sins to tell the others in due time. It was easier this way, to leave before he lost everything he held dear. Pulling his hood over his head he glances back at the towering keep, he had helped to collect and lay many of the bricks that made it whole, he would miss the time he spent with them, of course he would, but it wasn't meant to be, he couldn't stay with them, whose hearts are as cold as the winds that bit his cheeks, whose hands are as red as the flags they flew, no, he was a man of the warmth, while his hands were stained, he had washed them clean when he had started his training, he could not afford to go back to his old ways, or else the faults of the past may occur yet again. He had watched as his family and friends were murdered and killed in front of his eyes in Athera. He would not make the same mistake in Vailor. "May the gods have mercy on your soul, Nafis"