Forward
Prisa sat alone before a busy, bustling tent. Despite the state of the North, it seemed there was always something to do in the Argent encampments. Workers going about their jobs, shouts and laughter here and there as people lived out their lives.
So far, the journey had been rather stressful, but never had the woman felt as alone as she did right then. Even if there were so many around, none of them were more than passing figures in the background. She felt, for a moment, bitter at how things had turned out.
Of course they’d turn out this way…
For the thousandth time, Prisa began to wonder if she’d made the wrong decision. Perhaps she was making a mountain out of a molehill with Kordya’s ‘ignorance’ to her emotional needs. Was it fair to even ask that kind of thing of her partner? She was so busy, after all.
The priestess’ shoulders slumped downwards and she let out a long breath. She felt that dreadful sadness washing back into the emptiness of her stomach. It made her tired and heavy.
Abruptly, a thick figure sat beside her, the fur cloak around them causing their size to double at least. A mug was offered, steaming with warmth from the liquid inside. She caught the smell before anything- It smelled like Bricini.
Coffee.
Prisa straightened, lifting herself to take the warm mug. “Thanks.” A simple, kind word. Beside her, there was a grunt, and the gravelly voice of the bear of a man next to her rose out of the cloak. “No problem, lass. Seems like you’ve been in a world’a trouble, eh? Never thought you’d be the type, of course.” He shook his head, his hood now falling back to reveal the bald head and thick beard.
The dwarf’s name was Kortiv. An ‘old friend’ as she said; one whomst she’d worked with back during the wars to the North. It’d been quite some time since she’d seen him– but the sight of him relaxing, back with his signature bear-fur cloak made her slip back to those stolen moments. He had been heavily burdened by the things they’d seen during the war and she’d been the shoulder for him as he needed. So often, they would get a drink and talk: about their beliefs and problems, and any other juicy bits of gossip from around the camp.
Those few, nice moments when they were allowed before the undead swarmed once more.
Those times, of course, were behind Prisa. The undead were more controlled, and while still a present and terrifying threat, there were far more important things to worry about. Things that were not in the past, but the -present-.
“Ah, a bit.” She said, holding the drink closer to her now. “It’s more that I keep finding myself in difficult situations, that’s all. As if that makes it any better.” She looked down to the dark liquid and watched the reflection back to her in it’s inky surface. Kortiv stayed silent for the time, taking a drink of his own and watching the people as they passed. Nodding his head to something only he knew. Eventually, he spoke up again, “Well then?” Prisa gnawed at the inside of her lip, fingers pressing into the warm wood of the mug in her hands. So much had gone on, and so little she wished to say. Even so… she felt like she was boiling over with all that had happened, and had no one to -really- talk to. No one that wasn’t involved, at least.
Kortiv wasn’t involved, though. He was trustworthy and a kind ear, and always had been.
Taking in a breath of the ice cold air, she’d finally start to speak up, “It’s been complicated.” The dwarf snorted, saying, “Isn’t it always, lass?” He offered her a big, toothy grin, his own way of comforting her.
Prisa just rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Oh, most certainly. I wish life was far more simple, but I just… can’t seem to quite catch a break.” She huffed. “I mean--” She hesitated, then just let it out. “There’s so much that’s gone on. I’ve gone to all these places to ‘help’, when in reality I know that I did a lot of these decisions for selfish reasons. I mean, I -literally- had gone to Quel’thalas because of a woman who dumped me half a year later only to fall into the arms of the very -next- one and end up doing even worse things.”
She sounded bitter. Hurt.
“And I do mean -really- bad, Korv. I mean, I practically killed myself going to the land of death and light knows that was worse than it sounds. I’ve gotten myself involved in… less than favorable business, and now I’m dealing with a woman I saw blow up in front of me coming back to life and trying to make sure I don’t bring the entire ire of the alliance down on her because they’re following after -me- calling -me- a traitor!”
She was keeping her voice down, but her inflection changed and became more strained. It was hard to talk about, but it felt good to let it out. She hadn’t even felt able to tell -Alana- this much.
“I’m not a traitor, I just… I’ve… I’ve made a few poor decisions. I’m allowed to make those decisions, aren't I? I’m not -trying- to become an enemy of the state or something.” She frowned, her brows furrowing in consideration.
“I wouldn’t have even had an alliance agent after me had I just not left--” she hesitated, then said, “If I had stayed in more neutral territory, I would be fine. I know I would. But now it’s bringing trouble to the people I care about from all angles. It’s -fine- if they blame me, but not them. They don’t deserve that, you know? Not from my mistakes.”
“I didn’t mean to make Kordya unhappy. I didn’t want to fight with her, but now I feel like it’s just ruined any sense of peace and happiness I had for a time. I didn’t want that to end.”
Prisa felt a lump forming in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She tried to swallow down the feeling uselessly. She felt her face heat, and a stinging in her eyes. Why was she being so emotional about it? She shouldn’t let this bother her so badly.
Kortiv stayed silent for a time, letting the priest vent her feelings. As he had always been, he was the ear that was needed at the time. When it seemed that she wasn’t going to continue, he’d merely cast a brief glance to her, then back forward.
There was a low hum resonating from deep inside the bear cloak, and the man took another drink. He motioned with his mug, “Look around you, lass. What do you see?”
Prisa’s eyes rose and she looked around, brow pinching.“A well established camp… people working…” She spoke the obvious; she didn’t know what he was asking.
Kortiv grumbled. “I see people that made their decisions. People that made their mistakes and have lived through varying levels of hell. That one-” He pointed to a short elf carrying a large sack over their shoulder, “Used to be a little thief. Fingers stickier than you could imagine. Bold little thing, too. Ended up killing the wrong person, almost was executed, and barely managed to escape to the Argents Custody to fight the undead.”
He continued on, pointing to an orc who was talking casually with another dwarf over some opened box of goods. “That one was all in it for glory and honor, wound up losing an arm and badly messed up their leg. Took almost a year before he calmed down that rage that’d been built up from it.”
Prisa felt like she got the idea of where this was going.
The man went on, “You see, there’s tons of them like that. I could go on, telling all the dirty little secrets, but the resounding idea of what I mean is there. We all make decisions. Some are like the thief, who had no other choice but to run and find a new life. Some are like the warrior who had to find a bit of peace in their new reality.”
“I know, I know. I should move on and look to the future. I get what you’re saying.. But it’s not that easy.” Prisa was quick to retort, bitterness tinging her tone.
“I’m not saying that it’s easy and I'm not saying that you need to move on. What I'm saying is that you’ve made your decisions, just like anyone else. You’re blaming yourself, just like others do all the time to themselves. It’s hard to step outside of your blame and realize that they are just the stepping stones to our path. Some are sharper and rougher, some are too far.”
Prisa listened to his words, but it was a thin comfort. She took a slow drink of her coffee, rather than trying to find words to say. Kortiv continued on, filling the quiet.
“I know it’s not something you’d like to hear. You’re in the worst of it. You said you left your lass, lost your home and comfort, and now you're being chased about by something- still not entirely sure on that one.” He shifted, leaning forward on his knees. It hunched his frame, the difference between them more striking. “You do need to move forward, but you need to decide what it is you really want. Out of all you’ve said, from the moment you’ve come back, I've been seeing what you look like. Lost. Like a wee babe trying to find her family again.”
He glanced at her again, and this time he met her gaze when she looked at him. “So the question is, what do you really want?”
Prisa frowned at the question, glance sliding sidelong to avoid the intensity of his eyes.
When she did not provide an answer, he continued on.
“Do you wanna go back to that home of yours? To the lass you left behind? Do you wanna move on? Come back to the Argents and do the work you did before?”
Prisa had no answers for him; or for herself. She remained quiet, offering him the same resounding silence that filled her thoughts when facing the only questions that mattered. Kortiv nodded, understanding warming the grumble of his words. “I’ll let you think over it, lass. You don’t have to make the decision now, and I'm not going to question you. I’m just here for you as you need, aye?” He pushed off the little seat they had shared, stretching as he straightened out, a loud ‘ahh’ escaping him. He kept his eyes forward as he spoke. “Listen to me lass. For now, you drink and eventually take yourself back inside to help out some with some organization we’ve been meaning to get done. Think a bit more on what I said. Think about what you want. What you -really- want. You’ll find the answer. I know you’re a smart lass”
Prisa watched him uncertainly; how should she respond to the wisdom he had tried to share?
As he turned to leave, she spoke quickly, breaking her silence. “Alright. I’ll… think on it.” She smiled at him, which he returned in kind. Her eyes flitted over his face as she fought for the right words. She settled on the simple. “Thank you, Korv, for listening for a bit.”
“Anytime, lass.” Kortiv shot her a wink, turning away. As he moved off, he said “We’ll I’ve got to knock some sense into Devon. Bastard bought twenty crates of cloth and didn’t list a single reason as to why it was twice the price we set for it. He’s going to be the death of me..” The old dwarf grumbled goodnaturedly, and meandered away.
Prisa watched him retreat, and she couldn’t help but smile enviously. He was a gruff old war veteran and even still, the man moved and acted as if he was thirty years younger than he was. Always busy, and always with something to say. No matter what life had sent him, he seemed to always come out on top in the end. His experience was one reason she felt comfortable speaking with him; he’d seen everything, and had no judgement left.
Yet despite the comfort and wisdom, all Kortiv’s warmth left with him. Prisa settled, hands wrapped tight around the cup, a chill creeping into her frame and her thoughts. Without his mass, the emptiness around her was more pronounced, and not even the coffee’s heat, held close, could banish the sense of isolation.
“What I really want..” She muttered to herself, barely above a whisper. She snorted, shaking her head, “As if I know.” Frustration colored her tone. She really didn’t know what she was going to do. She’d been… too comfortable with Kordya and the scarabs. She should have known better. Should have known it could so easily break apart, just like this.
‘But,’ she thought, ‘had it been easy?’. After all, it had taken weeks and weeks and -weeks- of her trying to speak to Kordya. It hurt to see her partner show no empathy, no understanding of Prisa’s pain. How callously Kordya had told her to just ‘move on’. She didn’t, though; that had been the problem. Kordya moved on, and Prisa… hadn’t.
Was she really the one to blame? Could Kordya have done something more?
The thoughts continued to swirl, each chasing after the next, claws and teeth in her mind. She gripped the coffee cup harder, until the heat didn’t feel like anything but pressure. Did Prisa even want to even go back? Did she expect that things would somehow return to normal after leaving? After what she said?
Kordya was not often forgiving.
Prisa closed her eyes. All this, and it wasn’t even her only problem. Of course. Her thoughts framed the figure then. Agent Black, they’d said their name was. They were a threat to Alana and her family situation.
It was all tangled. How could she -move on- from being accused as a ‘traitor’ to her people? Were they even wrong? She had served a horde organization. All the alliance soldiers that had been killed… horror filled her, then and now. The disgust, discomfort of knowing what she had been party to. The only reason she’d been able to escape that quagmire was because… of Kordya.
And there she was again. It all came back to Kordya, again and again.
Prisa pursed her lips, silently shaking her head. She wished that she didn’t have to think about the blasted woman right now. Oh how it hurt…
Slowly, Prisa pulled herself up from her seat, setting the mug aside. Abandoned, for now. Taking a few steps away from it and the comfort it had offered, she decided to put away those thoughts. Kortiv had said she didn’t have to come to a decision just yet.
All she had to do was keep moving… and Prisa was determined to do so. Keep moving, and never stop.
@postmoderndaughter
