“If we could just put all of our conflicting issues involving the nature of divinity behind us, I believe that the only inevitable result that could ever spring forth would be that we might actually just happen to learn how alike the people of our two nations are despite the surface differences. It’s not as it we were born two different wholly incompatible species; we’re all both still human whether we were conceived here in Corsinthia, or over there in Skrande. I pray every day to his greatness that something like this could come to pass such that we don’t have to ever enter into another great conflict, for if nothing else it would be a lot simpler on our country to never again have to funnel so much money needlessly down another meaningless pit without bottom.”

- Tallus the Scholar

Chapter 4: “Just as Corsinthian”

Where but a short while ago there had been tension in copious volumes, the situation of the moment was much more lighthearted and jovial. Upon seeing clasped within the shaking hands of the pink haired Skrandonese girl not a knife poised for the slicing of his throat, but rather instead the unmistakable signet ring of the great Corsinthian Sage, Jysalef relented in his insistence that the foul creature before him must be dispatched long enough to hear her out. It was what they then heard from this girl that lead to the currently far more civil environment within their quarters for the night, that the food finally arrived shortly thereafter did nothing but further aid the matter of Jysalef’s current temperament.

It was this very same food that the trio currently found itself seated around, for Jysalef had gone to great lengths to make it clear to the Skrandonese messenger girl in his presence that he would not be following her unto any sort of place – irregardless of the summoner the had dispatched her unto them – until he had at last had his victory meal place firmly in his stomach.

Ravenously pulling the meat from a leg of mutton with his teeth, Jysalef made a great moan of satisfaction. The fact that they were currently in the filthy little run down town of Elpsiod did not make much in the way of mattering; when you had not partaken of a proper meal for the last three days, then it was wherever you were currently eating that existed the greatest food your had ever before consumed in your life. “Terus, I must not let myself forget to properly bestow upon the chef my compliments for this meal ere we leave.”

Terus - his face beaming both from the joys of finally having proper food for the first time in a few nights’ passing, as well as from his satisfaction that the previous tension had been resolved in a way that did not leave him with regret – nodded energetically at his master’s request to be reminded, “Certainly, Master Soresh.”

After some moments of silence only broken by the sounds of rather energetic eating on the parts of both Jysalef and Terus, Jysalef temporarily sat down the leg of mutton that he had been working on with great focus and looked over to the Skrandonese girl, “I believe your story wherein you claim that Master Via gave you that ring of his own free will such that you might summon us to him; after all, it could be no other way when the official seals of all our great sages were enchanted to shatter if taken by force, thusly confounding any of our enemies should they ever have fancied themselves clever enough to misdirect us. But, I still do not yet believe I have heard your name, and I won’t be going anywhere – not even the Promised Land itself – with someone whose name I hold no knowledge of at the helm.”

“Ah…” the pink haired girl, whom had until now been occupied in the matter of keeping quietly with thoughts of how glad she was that this warrior’s sword had not opened up her throat only a short while earlier, found herself taking a moment to properly compose her mind before she was able to give an answer, “I’m called Latte, Sir.”

Jysalef, with his mouth filled to the brim with not yet fully chewed food, was in a position where he was ill prepared to receive the response that her name was Latte. When the impromptu session of gagging had finally been brought properly under reigns, he looked back up to the Skrandonese girl’s eyes and asked, “I don’t think that ever in my travels in the past have I heard of a Skrandonese person gallivanting about with the nomenclature of Latte following them around, or – for that matter - even a Skrandonese name that was of any degree of similarity to it!”

Latte, upon bearing witness to Jysalef’s declaration, sheepishly looked down to the floor of the room while engaging in a short fit of nervous laughter, “It’s not exactly a Skrandonese name, sir. Master Miran Via found me abandoned sometime shortly after the end of war and has been seeing to my care ever since.” She paused for a few pained moments, wherein she shifted her gaze upwards to the ceiling of the room, before finally at last she added, “It was the nature of how he found me that lead to my name, as I had none otherwise.”

“Really, you’ve been with Master Via since the end of the great conflict?” said Terus with a sudden increase of interest that finally drew him into the conversation currently at hand, “That would mean you’ve been living here in the lands of Corsinthia for almost your entire life!” Terus, with his mother having died from unmanageable grief caused by her husband being ripped both from her and this mortal coil by the Great War, had also been an orphan for almost as long as that epic failed conflict had been over.

“Yes, I have. Master Via has been so generous in looking after me, I shudder to think what might have become of me otherwise had he not found me when he did.” replied the pink coiffed girl with a brightly beaming smile upon her face as she spoke these words.

Upon hearing this Jysalef could not help but to throw his head back and burst out in a hearty fit of laughter, “In other words, our pinked haired friend, what you happen to be saying here is that you may as well only be Skrandonese on account of an unfortunate technicality of birth! Surely anyone raised by a Great Sage such as Miran Via is just as Corsinthian as myself or Terus here.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Latte continued to beam forth a bright smile as she spoke those words, no longer was she concerned with whether or not the man her master had sent her to fetch might later decide to again put a sword up to her neck.