Vaine Kirschell, Keeper Mi’qote, white mage.
Senel Coolidge, Midlander Hyur, black mage.
Two adventurers, two vastly different backgrounds, one ongoing, forever quest for the horizon.

“Did you get the right map this time?” Holding back her laughter was difficult as her adventuring companion came over, dropping from the back of his chocobo and pulling out the paper like a prize.

“I got the right one, this time, for sure.”

“For surely sure?”

“Mock me all you want,” he grinned, incorrigible, “But spring is here, and even you can’t remain a grump forever.”

Vaine smiled, touching the tips of her hair, grown out from the short style she originally sported when she’d first met him. An awkward conjurer, shy and unable to string a sentence together without exploding into useless anger at herself. He the self possessed and independant thaumaturgist who didn’t need anyone.

Noticing Senel’s look at her pause in returning the remark, she stood up and came across, knocking him on the chest gently, friendly. “You’re right, the trees are in bloom! I wonder where we’ll see next.”

He laughed. Now he was the Black Mage who opened up easily and let people in. She was the leader, the White Mage possessing great speaking ability. And their story was whatever they made of it.

I miss Mat (Senel). I’m having an ‘I miss my dead friend’ day. Blurgh. Also I hate sketching on my craptop.

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