#evenfell

[azukailgames]

A Brief and Private War - Mini Campaign for EvenFell RPG Now Available

A Brief and Private War – Mini Campaign for EvenFell RPG is now available to buy from DriveThruRPG. Published by Sad Fishe Games, this is a mini-campaign for the EvenFell RPG, a post-apocalyptic RPG, to which we have contributed

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[auralion-duskwither]

bargaining

No one will say as much, but you know what they're thinking. Your family is upset but grateful that they set you off when they did. Others wish they had put their faith in you a little longer—presumed your loyalties were with your people. If they had waited, you might have died in the siege.

A part of you thinks you would have preferred that. There was a freedom in what the Sha gave you. There was no duty or obligation—no guilt. And guilt is all you seem to feel these days.

You made a promise to your brother. Your brother who strangled the life out of you just long enough to release you from the Sha's grasp. Who brought you back from the brink and made you promise not to leave him again. Like you did in Outland, when you left him and Asriell and your daughter. Whose name you cannot even think in the private recesses of your mind. Whose memory haunts your dreams and whose voice whispers to you even now that you are betraying her by entering here.

This place is no longer your home. Not the Isle. Not Silvermoon. None of it. Has not been since you left for Outland. Though you still recognize every stone and spire, they are memories from a life you have not truly lived in years. Every morning you awaken and you crush whatever hopes and dreams have dared to enter during the night, burying them beneath the needs of your family and your people. Selfish actions lead to bitter ends.

You tell yourself again that you are doing the only sensible thing there is left to do. This is not Northrend, where Hellscream offered you the chance to go home and save your own skin—a sort of thanks for your actions in Nagrand. This time you did not have a choice to follow. This time you were abandoned despite years of loyalty. And you would hate him for it, but you can no more blame him than you could blame your daughter if she had loved her mother more in the end. If she had hated you for not being there when the manaforges fell.

Perhaps you could have saved her as you saved Cailath during the Scourge Invasion. Perhaps your presence at the Siege of Orgrimmar could have made a difference. And that is why your enemies lament that you became possessed. They think—and you cannot say for sure if they are right—that Cailath would have followed you. That you would have thrown the entire weight of House Duskwither in with Hellscream and the lot of you would have perished.

And part of you wonders if you would not have done so. If your absence at the siege is not the reason for you were left behind. Perhaps it was assumed that you finally took the out he offered you in Northrend, collecting on your debt when it was no longer in your best interests to associate with him.

You let out a heavy sigh, walking along the cobbled stone pathway as if wading through mud. There is no pretense of nobility in your stride. You do not want the position you are here to beg to return to. But you have limited options and you made a promise. Perhaps in time pretending to be content will make it so. Perhaps by the time Cailath realizes the promise he holds you to is a prison, it will be too late for you to throw your life away. You will have no cause to die for, and you can pretend you lived your life with no regrets.

You can pretend that joining Voren'thal's assault on Shattrath served its purpose. You saved your household. You saved your brother. It only cost you your wife, your child, and your soul. You can pretend that you were forced to remain in Quel'thalas during the Siege and by the time you could escape it was too late. Tonight as you lie awake you will strip every memory of what you are about to do from your mind, concocting a beautiful lie to replace it.

Your hand squeezes something in your pocket, a child's toy—some sort of bear or rabbit. You could never tell for sure. Around its wrist it wears your family's signet. You told her you were leaving it with her to keep her safe. You told her you would come back for it. Only one of those things was the truth.

It feels cold in your hands. Cold like Asriell's skin when you found her. Cold like metal lying half-buried beneath debris, no more than a stone's throw away from a toy creature of indeterminate species.

It's a warning and an admonition. You shouldn't be here. It's a betrayal of her memory—the promise you made, that you would die before you would abandon someone like that again. But she loved Cailath. She would understand. She would understand putting family first.

If she had grown up—if her spirit lingered around her childhood toy and had any understanding of the world—she would forgive you. She would not, however, want you to seek out Magister Evenfell.

Almost as soon as the thought occurs to you, you look up to see the high walls surrounding his home. Vines crawl up and down their length, disappearing into the bushes and trees artistically layered around the perimeter, as if to create the illusion that the structure rose up out of nature.

Beyond the walls you can see the twisting staircases and spires rising into the sky. It is not as open as your own family's spire, but then Evenfell is not known for his hospitality. He's known for his secrets, his power, and his influence. And that influence is exactly why you are here—a place you swore you would never return to once your parents were no longer there to enforce socially beneficial friendships.

It's not just that you hated Evenfell from the day you met him. It's not just that you never trusted him. Or even that you resented being forced to spend time with his spoilt, reprehensible offspring. It's the fact that he already knows more than you would like him to. It is already within his power to destroy your reputation.

You'd go to someone—anyone—else, but no one wants to be the first to speak up for you. No one else can afford the damage to their reputation if you mess up again after they vouched for you. But you suspect that Evenfell has enough dirt on everyone to murder the Regent Lord in broad daylight and get away with it. And in the end it doesn't really matter if he really does. What matters is that everyone believes he does.

If you screw up on his watch it's just one more dirty secret he can wave in their faces, daring them to do something about it.

You're almost hesitant to enter. You've charged into the abyss head first so many times. For your family. For your Warchief. For honor and glory. But death doesn't scare you. Nothing scares you like living a life indebted to Magister Evenfell. You don't know what it is he might ask of you or what you could possibly offer him to make him vouch for you, but you know with certainty that no rational being would want any part of it.

As you pause at the threshold of Evenfell's residence, you consider that this may well be your cup of Mannoroth's blood, and you are almost grateful that your children will not have to live in the shadow of this decision.

You were abandoned.

You tell yourself this as you take the first step forward.

You were unwanted.

Another step, echoing against the walls of the courtyard.

You have no choice.

You grip the rabbit-bear in your pocket tighter, thumb running over the ornate signet around its wrist. Your steps come easier, as if your legs are not your own and some external force drives them toward their destination.

Panic recedes, replaced by a mixture of anger and regret, simmering below the surface so that your vision seems to darken. All you can see is your destination. There is nothing else.

You are only dimly aware of the hovering lights that line the pathway. The expansive gardens you once played in barely register. The only thing that breaks through the barrier of apathy is the smell—sharp and bitter but not entirely unpleasant. It leaves your chest feeling hollow and unsettled.

When you reach the door you feel as if you might be sick, and you aren't certain if it's your anger failing you or if the smell is simply stirring up unwanted memories. A lifetime ago you were a child here. You played in these gardens while your parents discussed politics and plotted out the rest of your future.

You wonder if you would have done the same with your children, had things worked out differently. You hate the thought of putting her through any of what your parents put you through. You hate the idea of pushing her to befriend other children primarily because of their parents' political influence. You hate the idea of her marrying well rather than marrying happily.

But more than that you hate that you will never have a chance to do right by her.

And seeing Hellscream succeed would not have changed that. Dying in the Siege would not have brought her back. You could save a thousand lives, make peace with a thousand enemies, bring your family the fame and glory they desired, and it would not really matter. Not to you.

Your hand strikes the door several times in rapid succession. Your knuckles sting only after the motion is done.

You draw your last breath that is free of his influence.

You are already dead.

What's one more nail in the coffin?