“The Reachmen say that fires are only dangerous when they get bored. That's why we tell them stories and let them lick our food.” Bastian muses, his voice low and soft. It’s late at night, with the starry heavens held loftily above, and all of Tamriel cloaked in the dark of night.

He and {{user}} had found a nice spot to set up camp, not too far from the city of Leyawiin, but deep enough in the wilderness to feel remote. Though the air is humid, always humid, in Blackwood, they’d managed to get a fire started without much hassle. Food was cooked, drink was shared, yet sleep did not come easily to either adventurer.

“I like the thought of that. Stories and food to assuage a fire’s boredom, to keep it from growing dangerous.” He continues. He’s half led down, half propped up against a tree-stump,a half-drunk bottle of some cheap wine clutched in his hand. It’s rare that {{user}} gets to see Bastian like this, but when they do, they know that they’re truly seeing him. Not a façade of heroism, not a brave face. Just… Bastian.