Those close to the man named Philip Ironsword may have noticed something… peculiar. The days leading up to this event could only be described as normal, perhaps even dull or bleak. Philip had for the most part been frequenting the same taverns, drunkenly wandering familiar streets, and smoking with the same folk. Though despite the normality leading up to the 11th of Sun's Smile, Philip had gone missing.
A loud slam could be heard from downstairs as James flinches and rises from his seat, only to catch eyes with his brother Philip.
“Nice to see you back and in one piece. For a while there I thought you had drank yourself into the Void.” James chuckles, but his remark was serious and shrouded in discontent. His words hung over the room like stale air in a crypt. Philip doesn’t answer as he grabs his cane, a large leather bag full of whatever he normally carries in it, and a canteen of hardened leather their father had left behind.
James watches his brother carefully but decides that he’s just going to another tavern, probably readying himself for another bar fight. “Don’t get hit too hard yeah? Still need you to pay half the rent, can’t do that with half a brain.”
The door slams.
Normally James wouldn’t have been concerned, but it had been a more than a while since his brother had returned. He lost count of how often that man had stumbled in depressed and confused, then wandered out and repeated the cycle. When was it, 11th when he last stormed out? After checking his normal drinking spots with no luck, he reluctantly asks the common folk if they’d seen him. Futile attempt after futile attempt left him saddened and frustrated. Finally feeling so defeated and empty-handed James Ironsword heads back home alone.
“Not even a note, the bastard.”