A cultivator stumbled up to a fort's main gate as the sun beat down on the region with not a whit of cloud cover. Days of following beside, then tracking Madrigil's erratic path had left him exhausted, frustrated, and deeply… questioning his employment choices.
The mad noble had simply vanished from their camp two mornings ago. And he had left behind only a hastily scrawled note about 'destiny calling like a host of screeching Voidlings'. If he wasn't a good person and worried that the man would run into that very thing, he would have left it alone.
"State your business."
A guard looking over the wall noticed his disheveled appearance and called out with caution. It was rare, but it looked a lot like a sort of tactic that bandits used to gain entry and pilfer rations once they realized whatever they had stocked in their hideouts was not enough.
