Throughout the night their voices softly rang off the walls of the inn's tavern till long after the voices of the other patrons were gone and it felt more favorable for it.
Phoenix was one year his older at seventeen. He never knew his father because he left his mother before he was born, much like Rithevan who's father named him and then disappeared when he was three. Phoenix's mother died when he was fourteen and Rithevan's mother succombed to cholera when he was eleven. Both had few friends in boyhood and Rithevan had none in his teenage years.
Phoenix had a strange ability with all things fire and subtly showed Rithevan his power over it. He would touch a candle wick and it would light. He had raised his hand to the night sky once, and sent a trail of flame over a valley, lighting it up to see the fading trail before them before the fire dissipated in the air, leagues away.
Rithevan also noticed his own unique gifting. He had always had an affinity for air, wind and light and, as he grew to know Phoenix, his power with those elements grew too.
Eventually Phoenix had to move on stating that he had business elsewhere. Rithevan encouraged him to go without him. In truth he'd been afraid of Phoenix leaving to go away since he met him and so he decided that it was easier sooner than later.
Soon after, he met Edvar, the black-cloaked thief, murderer and heretic that he'd thought to admire.
“I am such a fool.” he thought to himself. “At least I never listened to his ramblings about The One God allowing pain because He didn't care. Oh but he does care. He cared about Riall and he cares about me. He even cares about me enough to give me friends like Phoenix....” his thoughts shifted, “and then I traded the friendship you gave me for this...." In his tired state he struggled to try and pray like his mother tried to teach him to. Slowly his words came and they extended their stay for the most of the night.
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