|Imogen slipped away from Bendwyn under the cover of night, heading to Dranning|
As the orcish wardrums kept up their monotonous beat and while her fellow adventurers were seeing how Bendwyn had fared in their absence, Imogen scooped up her minimal worldly possessions and stuffed them into her backpack.
Imogen knew in her head that Harold wasn't her real father, but in her heart she also knew she would always consider him as such. He had been so kind to her since rescuing her as a youngling on the streets of Dranning.
Sweeping her bright red hair aside, she bent over his sleeping form and kissed him on the forehead. The elderly potter mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over.
By the time Harold awoke the next morning, Imogen was long gone, well on her way back to Dranning. The woman she had seen in the witch's hut - in Dranning (if her eyes were to be believed) - had spoken to her, had called her.
She knew this was the right thing to do and if the Mnoren gods willed it, she would see her friends again sometime. But for now, she had a mission of her own...