Drake approached Atka after a long day of walking. The ruffians had run off, Drake and his family had nearly done the same, and Atka sat alone at the fire taking a watch after all of that. Drake said delicately, “You know, for someone who can’t fight, I’m glad that you were chosen to protect my family and I for this journey. For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why I hired you, why you came highly recommended.”   “You think because I’m devilish, I am highly recommendable?”   Drake slipped to his knees next to her and cupped her face with both hands. “Don’t let anyone call you devilish, Ideal. What you do for people is short of godliness. And you do it without the cost of limbs or life.”   “Oh, thank you,” she said, sadly looking away from his face, but allowing him to touch her. He hardly did.   “Sweet girl…” Drake smiled at her, a very fatherly smile. “Anyone who can fake a devil-encounter like that must mean they have some truly astounding experience with it themselves, and you don’t have to tell me; you don’t even have to hear that I would listen. You just have to know that I know, and my wife and children know, that you’re stronger than most people in your gear, of your years, and in your race.”   Atka’s eyes welled up and the tears flowed down her cheeks and onto his hands. He drew them back after wiping the first flood away with both thumbs. “Sir, you’re too kind to me.”   “Just enough,” he smiled and tapped under her chin. “Now get some rest, even if you don't sleep. I expect to be in Waterdeep by mid-afternoon.”   Atka smiled, nodded, and watched him walk back to his campsite and family. A life that would never be hers. A life she may have ruined for someone else.   ***   Atka awoke abruptly to a familiar smell. No, not the devil-is-here smell, but fire, and not fire consuming wood or brush, but... one that consumed flesh. She jumped quickly to her feet, donning her sword to assess the scenario. The carriage, tents, campsite were ablaze. Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw no one darting in the camp or as far as she could tell had fled from it. Atka approached the first tent shielding her face--mainly her nose--from the blaze and stench. Sure enough, the entire family must've been burned alive. A hand drifted up to her mouth as she felt the greatest sense of loss, as they were in her charge, and their family had been one of her frequently transported between towns. She knew them. They knew her. Now she was literally smelling their lifeless forms. She wanted to cry, but tears wouldn't come. She wanted to scream, and found no voice. How could she have fallen asleep so deeply and allowed this to happen?   "We weren't certain if a devil could be put to sleep by a spell, but boy I'm sure glad we tried. Now you're on your own, and we can send you back to Hell."   That...was the voice of one of those that she had deceived into thinking she was an actual devil to scare them away from Drake and his family. They must have returned for revenge. Atka sheathed her greatsword over her shoulder, keeping her back to the sound of multiple pairs of feet hustling behind her. Her breathing slowed. She cleared her mind of all thoughts.   "You've made a huge mistake," Atka said, both sets of vocal cords engaged. "It's not me who is alone with you. It's you all who are alone with me."   She heard the unsheathing of three or four weapons, felt her hands ignite in heat, as her vision faded to white.

Ash fell through his hands, clumps of gray mixed with blackened soil. The act brought a lance of fire through his shoulder, recently dislocated from the ogre's club. It was the last of the marauding force that had wiped this village from the face of the Sword Coast, but there were many more like it. Others that had taken up the call to raid and pillage across the countryside, leaving nothing but smoke and death in their wake. Like the village, or what remained of it, that now passed through his hands.   They were supposed to protect this farmstead. A force of perhaps twenty or so. It should have been enough, but they didn't know they'd be up against an entire warband of ogres. Even he knew the fight was a losing one when battle commenced. All they could do was hope to save as many as they could. And in that pursuit, only five of them had survived. None of the village. Just those trained and equipped to fight. The ones the farmers had looked to for protection and salvation.   Ash was all that remained. Ash and dirt.   Footsteps approached from behind him. He didn't bother turning, aware that any threats had already moved on. One of his fellows. He hadn't bothered to learn their names, and to them, he was just a drifter. That indifference shifted when he'd spent all the healing available to him on their wounds even though he'd sustained a fair amount himself. After that, he saw little if any point in sticking around for their gratitude. All that he could hear was the absence of voices, many of them women and children's. He had little time for gratitude amidst his failures.   "We need to move on, drifter," the halfling scout said as smoke swirled around them. "Are you fit to travel?"   At first he found he couldn't respond. Lost in his reverie, he recalled that he'd lost troops before. Lost friends in battle. But never witnessed the death of so much innocence. The Eternal Conflict that had so often clashed against Heaven's gates had been an arena for warriors. Not farmers or peasants. Since coming to the material plane, he'd been spared such atrocities until now. Now, hoping to provide for his family while still living by the code he'd dedicated his existence to, he was confronted with the harsh reality that he was just one man. No longer an angel. No longer a hellspawn capable of immeasurable destruction. Just a man. A man with limits, who could bleed and who could die, just like the villagers he'd been tasked to protect. If he'd have had his way, a garrison of Devas would have been dispatched to this place to not only safeguard the village, but strike at the heart of the evil and destruction that had ravaged the land and the lives within it. But this was the reality of life on the material plane. There was only so much anyone could do, and sometimes, that wasn't enough.   "Will anyone even remember this place?" he posed to the halfling, then rose to his feet, regarding the ash on his gloves. "Will anyone remember them?"   He heard the halfling sigh. "Not many. But I suppose we will. And I know you will. You can't save them all, friend. I don't know much about you but I know you would if you could. Sometimes, it is what it is."   He shook his head at that. "And maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be," he uttered after, face turning upward to the sky.   "What's that then?" his companion asked.   A heavy sigh was his answer, Nomad beginning to grasp the fragile nature of this mortal existence he now occupied. "Nothing. Let's move."   He was eager to return to Orianna and Zora. The desolate remains of the village and whatever ghosts lingered didn't need him anymore. The living did. That much he made himself accept in that sordid moment.