The First Spell : Hope

[Sorcerer]

T'was Dinar well spent.

Two thousand, nine hundred and eighty-four Dinar.

Supply and sundries for a vast majority of the refugees were secured with all the Dinar he saved.

To his left, the derelict sung haggard praises through emaciated chords. To his right, fragmented families cried out in deliverance as they tore into the first true meal partaken in days. In all, tear-ducts and throats - far too barren to shred themselves any further. They had finally found relief in spite of their strife.

Yet, it was not enough.

It was never enough.

He knew all too well that the time of the thousands in rags was limited amongst their gates and walls. Within three heartbeats, those within would surely push away those without. They could plead all they wished, they could cry all into the night, but such would not change their plight in the slightest. Nothing could be done for them there.

An abrupt bellow burst forth from the snow-haired stranger amongst strangers still. A joyful tone - over an over again. Laughter. Laughter of which drew the countless eyes towards him. Had he finally realised the folly of his actions and gone mad from despair?

Not quite. The man in his prime simply came upon a realisation. A realisation that he needed to do as he had always done.

It is not enough to simply feed them.

He needed to show them way forward - a way into tomorrow.

"Once you've had your fill, why don't I teach you a few wards?"