The Tavern at the End of the World

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 Mithris nods. "I would prefer if you're quiet about it. I don't like that being the first thing people know about me."

 "Not shocking. I wouldn't want that either, though I think for different reasons..." As he's talking, he picks up his quill, and starts to draw in his sketchbook, despite maintaining eye-contact.

 "What are you drawing?"

 "I..." He looks down at the drawing, which features a massive dragon flying in the air, seemingly about to exhale a breath weapon (although that, and what it's attacking, are as of yet undrawn). "Oh. I wasn't trying to... sorry. Bit rude."

 "It's okay. My name is Mithris."

 He hesitates. "Ceris," he says, reluctantly holding out his hand.

 She shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you, Ceris. Why do you hate copper dragons so much?"

 "I..." He looks down at the drawing he had started to make. "It's a long story. Not really sure where I'd start."

 "I can wait."

 He breathes heavily. "Well. I guess... I should revise a previous statement. I didn't lose anyone. But... people I know did, and at this point... it feels like I did too. This was all... oh, two, three thousand years ago? The Empire of Tialas, founded upon the Ruin of the Ashen Emperor, was in full swing. The height of its power. Magic... was rampant. At a place where it had never been before. Arcanums, gods[1 gp to the swear jar] Arcanums, were being made. The Ashen Knights had been ruling over a utopia. It looked like it would never end.

And then... it did.

There was, as you could probably guess, a Dragon. A copper one. A greatwyrm, or one on the way to become a greatwyrm. Accounts vary on his age, and his size, but most agree that he had been old when the Crimson Betrayer did his whole Crimson Betrayal thing. Which was a long time ago, even then. His name was Gelain, and he came like something straight out of the Fifth Books of Ocryn. Some say he was out of the Chapters of Apocalypse, an embodiment of Waste. The signs certainly line up... Fog, Wails, Blood, Doubt, Locusts... death and destruction. A Scourge.

We still don't know why. Why he came, I mean. All I know is that he did, and he came with destruction upon his wings. Within days of his onset, the outer edges of Tialas had been reduced to melted ruins, their inhabitants nothing more than dust and bone. The Ashen Knights tried to rally their allies- millions came. It wasn't enough With each death, it seemed like Gelain just got stronger and stronger, as he cut a path of devastation across the continent, straight to the city of Tial. The Ashen Knights fought back, but... yeah. Didn't quite work. U'enirn was the last to fall, charging the dragon alone. He died, same as the rest. Their souls are still out there, some say... seeking vengeance.

To say the least, when Gelain reached Tial, all hope seemed lost. Which is understandable. It was.

And then... it came back. In the form of a tearing gnome, of all things. Zephares of the Twisted Thorn, fallen champion of Agtia, on a quest for redemption... one final attempt. Slay Gelain, save the realm, absolve his sins. He arrived just as the Scourge began, and watched as a city dissolved in front of him... How he lived, I can't say. But he did, and met Gelain within the Heartcity, the subterranean soul of Tial, home to an Anivatar- Tpenel't. A big ol' crystal, purportedly containing the soul of... something. Really magical. 

Zephares challenged Gelain, of course. He still had some modicum of honor, despite what he had done. And... they fought. Zephares held his own against the dragon, surprisingly. Dealt some powerful blows. But, in the end... one too many hits, acid tearing at his flesh, and a weapon that actively worked against him... he was losing. So he did the only thing he could. He turned the loss into a mutual one.

He struck Tpenel't. And... it broke. As did the Hammer, of course, but... the Anivatar cracked. They aren't supposed to do that. In that singular moment, all the souls still within the city, which hadn't moved on... were gone. Forever. And Gelain... presumably dead as well. But I can't say for certain. No-one can. The city has been so... broken, so dead, for so long, that any attempts to enter it have been met with nothing but failure. Typically of the catastrophic variety.

The people I talked about, who lost others in the Scourge. They're three brothers. Their mother, their father... their sister. They'd been on a trip. Couldn't get away in time. Souls... gone, in an instant. The brothers, they... they can't even ask the gods. They can't d anything.

You asked why I dislike acidaerni... that's why. Death is acceptable. Good, even. But the destruction of souls... that waste... horrendous."

 Mithris nods. "I'm so sorry. What happened is terrible. But I'm not like that. I just want to help."

Krathian is carving a goblet out of Mathas-wood, implanting memories of ancient songs and forgotten mead halls into the wood as he carves it. He hums contentedly to himself.

Tara is sewing the ferret pelts together in what appears to be a coat.

Jim is baking bread. Just...bread. He feels like making something simple.

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Avarice is drawing.

The spined devil is in the rafters.

 A rock is thrown at the spined devil.

*Atemos?*

 *Yes.*

Atemos' arm twitches when he throws it, and he misses.

 "Ow." He tries again anyways.

It happens again.

 Atemos summons a gnoll and gives it a paper airplane, and it throws it at the devil.

The paper airline sticks on a spike, and the devil looks at Atemos. "Who are you?"

 "Germa." He tries to throw a paper airplane himself.

The same thing happens, and the devil dodges. "You're Atemos, aren't you?"

 "Maybe. You know me?" He folds another paper airplane.

"Of you, certainly. We and the vrocks actually stop to laugh about you."

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 "Big city. Ruled by wizards. Has an Academy of Magic. I studied there for a bit. Later came back as a speaker. Nearly died. Good times."

 Kio's eyes widened. "A school for magic? That's incredible! I wish I could attend an institute like that. Are you a wizard of some kind?"

 "Probably? I was never properly recognized... and the fact that I got expelled certainly didn't help. And trust me, the Academy isn't all it's cracked up to be."

 "Why wouldn't it be?"

 "The folks there have questionable morals, at best. At worst, they're downright psychopaths, and are entirely willing to kill you for a leg up. The competition there is ruthless."

 "Still, it's not worth it for everything you get to learn there?"

 "Not... really? I guess parts of it were... but in general it was a bit of a net loss."

 "Sorry. That was rude of me.." He rubbed the back of his head. "Do you have any spare scrap metals by the way? I'm not really sure where the markets are around here."

 "I don't believe I do, sorry. I think there's a market [insert directions to a nearby market or something along those lines]."

 "Thank you. Sorry if I offended you at all.."

 "Not at all! The Academy was a problem, but that has nothing to do with you."

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 He considers that. "I suppose that is acceptable. It's a little hard for me to separate the two, I guess."

"It sounds rough. Sorry." Atemos isn't very good at emotional support.