"It's time we left, Ciúin. The road ahead is likely to be a strange one...but walk it we must, no matter what we find along the way. I made a promise, after all."
"My name is Vanric Retelle. Bard by trade, adventurer by choice I suppose...come rest a while and listen. Inspiration strikes unexpectedly, why not enjoy the melody?"
From there they could see the ruins of Kaer Morhen huddled against the stone precipices - the partially demolished trapezium of the defensive wall, the remains of the barbican and gate, the thick, blunt column of the donjon.
We are fated, you and I, to meet at the edges of the world and beyond, aren’t we?
The city was cooler that day than it had been in days. Dust still hung in the air, but the oppressive heat had abated to something bearable, at least. Most of the people wandering about carried on with their day in better moods than he’d seen in almost a fortnight. It was enough to leave him with a smile despite the growing nerves twisting in his chest. That familiar sensation had built the past few days culminating in him navigating the stone hallways from the Exchange and into the deeper heart of the city. Here the echoes of voices and the looming fountain bled together in a cacophony of sound that surrounded and invaded the senses.
It was a dizzying place to be in for even a moment, but days had passed since he’d arrived. Information, goods, and now one final piece of business had called him away from the shelter and comfort of his distant woods, away from her warmth. He reasoned that leaving was worth the risk, even for a short while, to try and discover who had set them on this path of destruction and murder. What had been a joyous few months had turned into a pitched battle for survival that had forced his small clan to retreat to their own home, to shelter behind wooden palisades and question what each day would bring. Ruin, or safety?
Banishing that somber thought, Vanric’s boots carried him deeper still until he found himself standing before the merchant's stall. His commission had been submitted weeks ago by courier, and now the moment of truth had come.
“Ah, Mister Retelle was it? Welcome back sir, I assume you’re here to pick up your order?”
Nodding as he drew close, Vanric laid a hand to the edge of the counter with a glint in his eyes, and an uncharacteristically jovial smile to his lips.
“I am. I know you said it would be another day but I thought one extra wouldn’t hurt. So…?”
Sileas’ smile was confirmation enough and after a bit of digging, she retrieved a small, wooden box and laid it onto the counter.
“I have it just here for you, sir. You know…I don’t often make a habit of asking but the particular nature of this commission, I have to ask is it..?”
A conspiratorial light drew into the Elezen’s gaze as he peeked back at her and he idly brushed a finger across the surface of the box. Unable to keep from glancing inside he slipped the top open, and felt the breath leave him in a sigh. His expression sobered, and his fingers hovered above the small gift inside for a few moments.
“Sir..? Is everything alright?”
Drawn from that brief reverie he glanced up at once, surprised by his own absentmindedness.
“Forgive me, yes, it’s…perfect. Exactly as I envisioned it…I just…seeing it in person..Thank you, and please pass along my thanks to the rest of the artisans. This…well I’m sure you hear this quite a bit but this means the world to me. Thank you. Now I just need to get it delivered.”
He watched her raise a hand to stifle the little laugh that escaped, and the warm smile veiled behind it. With a gracious bow of her head she wished him well along with a hope he’d return to do business with them again. As he slipped away, through the dizzying spirals of the inner courtyards, the stone pathways leading out into the morning sun, he tucked that small box away keeping it safely nestled in his satchel. It would take another two days to return home, but now that he had everything he needed, they’d pass swiftly enough.
But fate can be as cruel as it is giving…
He’d come to her that day clad in traveling leathers, bow at his back, and a small box held in one hand. What words they shared in parting were spoken letting the wind carry them to the horizon, and the gift was offered. Within a thin wooden box, in a bed of soft lavender cloth, was an earring that glinted in the morning light. A small bar of spun silver twisted together to form a pointed loop, at its top a trio of crimson flowers.
Their surface was vaguely reflective, the tempered glass drinking in the light to give the appearance of morning dew on the petals, and adorning each in the middle was a single lavender-colored pistol. Beneath the flowers lay a small bronze chain that hung loose, a single strand of crimson hair braided along its length. A tiny translucent crystal shaped like a teardrop clung to the end of the chain glittering in the morning light, and drinking in the glow to cast various colors within.
“We began on separate paths.”
A hand rose to gesture towards the silver band, following its path to where the loop began.
“And together were wonderful…now we move on separate paths again.”
He slowly curled his finger to follow the diverging path that wound to beneath where the flowers bloomed.
“To one day join again and fulfill a promise. You showed me there is more to the world than the walls I surrounded myself with and called it freedom. I intend to know this new world, to gaze upon it with fresh eyes, and one day…return to you with those stories and make good on my word.”
He drew a breath, swallowing only once before speaking again.
“Until then keep this with you. If you ever have need of me..no matter when, or where, or why…you need only speak to it and I will hear you, and I will come. Until we meet again..”
One final gesture was left; a small kiss laid atop her head in a bed of lavender, a small breath, and then he turned to take the steps that would carry him into that new world.
trigger warnings for: blood, violence, and death
Thanalan had always been a strange land to me. I had walked its paths a handful of times and each instance had always left me feeling a little somber. Perhaps it was the dry climate or the haggard faces I passed each day, or the way the land itself seemed to struggle under the weight of its own being. Cracked earth, grating sand, heat that invaded every pore until it felt like your soul was set ablaze. Yet one could find a certain charm in that struggle. The things that lived here were so vastly different from the denizens of the Shroud that even I, a fool, could appreciate how stubbornly life clung to its own survival. It was a brutal land, yes, but a beautiful one.
Tonight as I sat against a large boulder, my only companion as the light faded over the horizon, I found my gaze drawn to the distant glowing formations across the nearby mountains. Dizzying spirals of bronze and burning orange colored the sky like some beautiful, garish reminder of the Calamity's lingering scars. As the light of the day faded away those formations began to glow like a dimmer sun rising to light the world around it. I found my eyes tracing along the way the crystalline structure arched and coiled through the air, wondering how long such a thing might last as the turns dragged on. Would it persist long after we had all given our final breaths, or like so many other things, would it crumble to ruin as the weight of its own existence one day brought it to the ground?
Why did that matter to me, now? I considered how often I found my mind wandering of late as I continued on this journey. While I dipped a hand into the loose sand beside me, passing the grains between my fingers, and letting them sprinkle back to the ground I wondered. How long had it been since I truly considered the world around me? When had the people, the places, the things I saw become so secondary to me? I knew the answer. I remembered the very day, in fact. I remembered the way she tripped trying to separate me and the guard. I can hardly remember the words we exchanged, the insults slung at me, but I remember the way she tumbled when he shoved her. How she slipped back and fell, and how it sounded the moment her head struck…
A noise broke me from my somber reverie and my thoughts, distracted as they were, fought to focus on the moment. I’d missed the subtle shift of a body scraping across the underbrush. It was a fatal thing, letting your mind wander. Sometimes it came with a price. I barely registered the surface of the blackened, wooden shaft before the arrow cut into my shoulder and knocked me to the boulder. Pain sparked through my entire being and I gasped, reaching up to clutch my fingers around the exposed shaft. Warmth was already flooding across my fingers and the smell of copper with it.
“Ah, dammit…this low light gets me every time. Sorry about that I was aiming for the heart, but you know how these things go.”
As I felt my heart quicken and sweat begin to bead at my brow I turned, fighting to find the source of the voice. It didn’t take long before I saw him, and the next arrow he’d already knocked. I briefly considered reaching for my bow, but there was no time. Not that it would matter, my shoulder hung limp at my side with the arrow lodged deep as it was.
“Just hold still a moment will you? I don’t wanna waste too many of these.”
This time I was aware enough to shield myself when the arrow loosed. My movements, though, felt sluggish and heavy. I saw the glint of that horrid orange glow reflecting off the arrowhead and knew, from the way it arched cleanly through the air, it would strike me in the neck. I had only enough time to bring my palm up. The point sliced the leather, cut through my palm and found the second layer of leather. Its impact was enough that, as the point emerged through my hand my whole arm jerked back. Another pain came as the edge sliced my lip, and I tasted copper.
The breath that escaped me came with a pained noise and I felt a distant shame surrendering to the feeling. My arm fell limp to my side and I felt pain arch up the length of it, penetrating my thoughts as I studied my would-be killer. A mish-mash of leather, and mail, a faceplate that obscured his face save for a pair of cold blue eyes. They stared at me half surprised, half annoyed that the second shot hadn’t finished the work.
“Ha, he wasn’t kidding. You really are one tough bastard, aren’t you? Ah well…just do this the old fashioned way.”
His voice was young, but biting. A midlander from his build, I reasoned. There was an awkwardness in the way he walked as he drew closer, as if the armor didn’t fit quite right, or perhaps he was injured. Whatever the case it didn’t matter. What did matter was the knife he pulled from his hip as he casually approached.
“Who…are you?”
I managed to choke the words out and realized how heavy they sounded, how dry my throat had become in those few moments.
“Ah that doesn’t really matter, does it? Just say I’m here to deliver a message, like a…last letter? Sure we’ll go with that. You angered some fellow real bad, mister. Mad enough that he wants you dead!”
Closer now I could make out the way his eyes widened, and focused between breaths. Are you scared of me, I wondered? Or are you scared of what you need to do? Am I going to be your first?
“Heard something about a bunch of dead Wailers…was that you? You did all that and here I’ve got you stuck like a cactuar…ain’t that just something.”
He knelt down in front of me, reaching a hand up to grip my shoulder and a fresh wave of pain coursed through me. Blood flowed a little faster, staining this stranger’s hand, and nearly making me dizzy.
“Now…do us both a favor, mister. Just sit there real nice, and I’ll make this qu-HRK!”
He’d gotten too close. The blade was still held back at his waist, not ready for the killing blow. If he’d had the sense to move it forward as he leaned in he would’ve blocked that desperate move. He could’ve sliced me in the belly or throat, and been done with it. *Amateur*.
“Like a cactuar…right?”
I watched the panic in his eyes as his mind fought to come to grips with what happened. With only a moment to spare I’d brought my injured hand up and slammed the arrow into his neck, just beneath the chin of his mask. The metal would’ve protected a strike, but his throat was exposed, vulnerable. Something vital inside was cut, and for good measure I wrenched my hand aside delivering a fatal blow. There were no more words after that, only the choking, gurgling sound of a man who’d already died but didn’t know it yet.
He collapsed forward onto me in a heap and released one final sigh. Then he went still, and my head rested back against the boulder as I fought to take just one steady breath. I don’t know why I found myself reaching a hand up to rest on the back of his head. My fingers brushed down his messy hair, and I found myself looking down at him. Young, too young to be doing this, I reasoned. Someone lied to you and set you on this path and this is where you ended up. Because of me.
Another rush of pain pulled me from that thought, and in annoyance I shoved the body off my lap. He collapsed in an unceremonious heap while I did my best to roll onto my knees. I needed aid, and Drybone wasn’t far. I hoped they wouldn’t ask too many questions, but inevitably they always did. After taking a moment to search one handed through the man’s pack I found a folded note. The edges stained red as a trickle of blood soaked into the corner, but I’d read it later.
Getting to my feet proved difficult. Like the weight of the world was suddenly brought to my shoulders threatening to lay me low. Glancing down I saw just how much of me was stained in blood, my own and his. Sighing, I took one last moment to glance at the man…boy really, at his body and shook my head. I would tell them where to find him, make sure he received a proper burial. I wondered if he’d have afforded me the same courtesy but it didn’t matter. I’d ended the boy's life and he deserved that much at least, if for no other reason than having the courage to try. I wondered who had sent him to deliver that message, and would I get the chance to return it one day.
I limped my way back towards the settlement, down the dusty road passing the dried brush and the flowering cacti, passed the beasts who lingered in this oppressive place but eked out their survival one day at a time. Like them I had been cut and bled to take one more breath. Preyed upon by an opportunistic hunter eager for a kill. Would there be more? Possibly, but there was only one clear choice in whether to accept defeat or struggle for one more day. A choice I had made when I began this journey. To struggle was to live.
The fog was thick that morning as he woke. A heavy blanket of mist covered the forest, sweeping across every inch. The colors of the morning were often vibrant, but today were muted and painted in varying scales of gray until they all seemed to blend together. Eyes opened to peer through an open window, the drapes vaguely dancing in a slow but constant breeze. It left the cabin feeling chillier than he remembered from the night before, and a shiver passed through him as his hand absently swept across the space beside him. That feeling was enough to rouse him to sit and take stock of the room.
Hands rose and swept across his face, pressing back the red curtain of hair until he could arrange it properly. One thin strip of leather kept the strands together, giving him the appearance of being ready at least. One more deep breath, and he could feel the chill sweep through him, filling his chest. His fingers curled and flexed with small pops as he shook off the stubborn haze of sleep, and soon he was on his feet. The sun hadn’t yet pierced through the clouds, still drifting overhead, leaving shadows to cling greedily across the interior. Still, he knew where everything was in that small cabin, and as the first rays fell across his desk, he was dressed. Ready.
Sunlight cut a pathway from the window along the surface of the old wooden desk he’d sat at for years. The corners of a stack of papers flared, gold streamed across the surface of a tiny box, and he stared at it. A small insignia, the silhouette of a monarch butterfly, lay half-illuminated atop it. His fingers brushed across that little image, tracing the subtle contours. “Wait here for me. I’ll just be a moment.” He winced at the feel of a memory, its sting piercing through until he turned away toward the door.
The next obstacle was waiting for him just a few paces outside. As the oak door swung open, he was greeted by a haggard-looking man, eyes weathered and looking more like a disapproving father than ever before. They stared at one another silently for a while as more sunlight began to slip free of the clouded veil and wake the world around them. “....so that’s that, then?” Yorin’s voice was thick with emotion, but Vanric couldn’t decide if it was with sadness or disappointment. The words hung in the air, and for a moment, he faltered, unsure what to say. “Yes, it is.” Those three words fell from his lips and sounded more like a surrender than the resolute declaration he meant them to be.
Again, silence hung in the air, as stubborn as the fog that would take another bell to clear. “I think you’re a fool, but then…I’ve been where you’re standing.” Yorin’s breath blew out in a sigh, and the two men stood there again, neither wishing to speak as they stared at one another. There was sadness in the old man’s eyes, and both knew why. “When will you return? No…-will- you return?” Vanric’s ears stained red with a shame he couldn’t suppress. “I don’t know. But I know I need to do this.”
“Why? I know you feel twisted up. I know she-” Before he could say more, Vanric cut his words with a scathing look. A subtle shake of his head was enough to sever that thought. “It isn’t simply about…her. I need to understand what it is I want…truly want. We’ve worked tirelessly for years building this, and now…I realize how much of me has been poured into this place. So much that when I look in a mirror, I can’t even tell who I am anymore. You stare at that stranger long enough? Eventually, I was forced to ask myself if I cared more about having power, or my own well-being.”
“So, I’m going. I don’t know where, but it’s time I tried walking the world as myself again…not some wandering facade. I’ve gotten too used to the lies, to the show, of it all. I need to find a new perspective…a better angle…and decide what I want this life to truly be.” Yorin’s eyes narrowed, and the old man sniffed at the air once before turning away to study the heavy palisades and gate surrounding their village. The sounds of shuffling fingers drew him back to see Vanric turning a small box over in his hand. “What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m going to deliver it…and then…” Words died on his tongue for a moment. When sunlight finally broke through, and dappled golden light streamed from the branches to cover them both, he spoke. “And then…I’ll see where the path leads. One step, one day at a time.” The slow build of a dozen voices began to fill the air with birdsong, their melodies drifting through the air. “Then you’d best get going before the others wake…I’ll fill them in, and we’ll be here…always. I hope you find what you need, boy. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”
It was all that needed to be said. By the time the others were awake, Vanric was long gone. He trekked into the deep woods, slipping between the old trees that towered like giants overhead. Taking familiar paths, some worn, some hidden, he eventually found himself at the border of the Shroud. The fog had long since melted away, revealing the open expanse of land before him. Sunlight filled the rolling hills ahead of him. Verdant green pastures gradually surrendered to the steep rocky spires of the southern mountains. And beyond that, the arid stretch of the desert he sought.
The fog was thick that morning as he woke. A heavy blanket of mist covered the forest, sweeping across every inch. The colors of the morning were often vibrant, but today were muted and painted in varying scales of gray until they all seemed to blend together. Eyes opened to peer through an open window, the drapes vaguely dancing in a slow but constant breeze. It left the cabin feeling chillier than he remembered from the night before, and a shiver passed through him as his hand absently swept across the space beside him. That feeling was enough to rouse him to sit and take stock of the room.
Hands rose and swept across his face, pressing back the red curtain of hair until he could arrange it properly. One thin strip of leather kept the strands together, giving him the appearance of being ready at least. One more deep breath, and he could feel the chill sweep through him, filling his chest. His fingers curled and flexed with small pops as he shook off the stubborn haze of sleep, and soon he was on his feet. The sun hadn’t yet pierced through the clouds, still drifting overhead, leaving shadows to cling greedily across the interior. Still, he knew where everything was in that small cabin, and as the first rays fell across his desk, he was dressed. Ready.
Sunlight cut a pathway from the window along the surface of the old wooden desk he’d sat at for years. The corners of a stack of papers flared, gold streamed across the surface of a tiny box, and he stared at it. A small insignia, the silhouette of a monarch butterfly, lay half-illuminated atop it. His fingers brushed across that little image, tracing the subtle contours. “Wait here for me. I’ll just be a moment.” He winced at the feel of a memory, its sting piercing through until he turned away toward the door.
The next obstacle was waiting for him just a few paces outside. As the oak door swung open, he was greeted by a haggard-looking man, eyes weathered and looking more like a disapproving father than ever before. They stared at one another silently for a while as more sunlight began to slip free of the clouded veil and wake the world around them. “....so that’s that, then?” Yorin’s voice was thick with emotion, but Vanric couldn’t decide if it was with sadness or disappointment. The words hung in the air, and for a moment, he faltered, unsure what to say. “Yes, it is.” Those three words fell from his lips and sounded more like a surrender than the resolute declaration he meant them to be.
Again, silence hung in the air, as stubborn as the fog that would take another bell to clear. “I think you’re a fool, but then…I’ve been where you’re standing.” Yorin’s breath blew out in a sigh, and the two men stood there again, neither wishing to speak as they stared at one another. There was sadness in the old man’s eyes, and both knew why. “When will you return? No…-will- you return?” Vanric’s ears stained red with a shame he couldn’t suppress. “I don’t know. But I know I need to do this.”
“Why? I know you feel twisted up. I know she-” Before he could say more, Vanric cut his words with a scathing look. A subtle shake of his head was enough to sever that thought. “It isn’t simply about…her. I need to understand what it is I want…truly want. We’ve worked tirelessly for years building this, and now…I realize how much of me has been poured into this place. So much that when I look in a mirror, I can’t even tell who I am anymore. You stare at that stranger long enough? Eventually, I was forced to ask myself if I cared more about having power, or my own well-being.”
“So, I’m going. I don’t know where, but it’s time I tried walking the world as myself again…not some wandering facade. I’ve gotten too used to the lies, to the show, of it all. I need to find a new perspective…a better angle…and decide what I want this life to truly be.” Yorin’s eyes narrowed, and the old man sniffed at the air once before turning away to study the heavy palisades and gate surrounding their village. The sounds of shuffling fingers drew him back to see Vanric turning a small box over in his hand. “What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m going to deliver it…and then…” Words died on his tongue for a moment. When sunlight finally broke through, and dappled golden light streamed from the branches to cover them both, he spoke. “And then…I’ll see where the path leads. One step, one day at a time.” The slow build of a dozen voices began to fill the air with birdsong, their melodies drifting through the air. “Then you’d best get going before the others wake…I’ll fill them in, and we’ll be here…always. I hope you find what you need, boy. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”
It was all that needed to be said. By the time the others were awake, Vanric was long gone. He trekked into the deep woods, slipping between the old trees that towered like giants overhead. Taking familiar paths, some worn, some hidden, he eventually found himself at the border of the Shroud. The fog had long since melted away, revealing the open expanse of land before him. Sunlight filled the rolling hills ahead of him. Verdant green pastures gradually surrendered to the steep rocky spires of the southern mountains. And beyond that, the arid stretch of the desert he sought.
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