Tala woke up in a warm bed. As she sat up, her body ached. Her torso was plastered with bandages, and her shoulder burned from the bite of the Wyrm. That was in the past. She looked around the room. It was small, and cosy. A sloped wooden ceiling lead to a wide window overlooking the Shale Flats, and in the room sat two beds. She sat in one, and on top of the other laid a piece of parchment. Tala got out of bed slowly, each part of her aching, and made her way across the room. The other bed was neatly made, as if it had never been slept in, and her eyes fell to the parchment. It was rolled up and tied with a single black ribbon. Next to the parchment, on another piece of paper, a small note was written.
Most Musing of Mercenaries,
I thank you for all you have done for me. The journey was long and gruelling, but thanks to you I am complete. I wish you well, Tala, and know that in every vial of ink and bristle of a quill you have a friend.
Yours,
Plectus.
She smiled, and put the note to the side, then unfurled the black ribbon. The paper unrolled, crisp and clean, revealing beautiful intricate lines. In swooping letters, a title crested over the mountains and rivers.
A Map of the Deadlands.
By Plectus Inkwell and Tala Sharpstone.
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