67th day of the Zephyr ~ Late Evening
Finally I have heard back from him. I had sent a letter to Kenneth weeks, perhaps even months back, but without any return. And though it was a simple error on the courier system’s part, it seems I was not wrong in believing something devastating had transpired with him.
I was not gone so long, but so much has happened. I gather now that the shambles in which I had found the Warband’s base were as a result of an Elonian Militia, presumably; or perhaps the Ouroburos - whatever that is - if they are not one and the same. He was captured, taken; released, drugged, taken once more. All the while they were attempting to manipulate his mind and transform him into a cybernetic soldier.
I should grieve for him, and some part of me does. If for no other reason than I understand - at least to some degree - what it was that he endured. Some part regrets that I was not present to help him, but then again, I did not know. And Legaine was equally in need of help with none other than myself and Kagen who seemed to care.
Regardless, he reports that Nightsong and Visar have helped him through. I will admit I am pleasantly perplexed to learn that of the supposedly-no-longer Warmaster. Perhaps there yet remains a sliver of the Chane that once was in the corpse that n--
Evelynn paused there for a moment, the pen still touching the page leaving a blot that spidered outwards. The floorboards had creaked from across the room, and she swivelled her visage interiorly, lilac eyes searching for the source. The flicker of light from her oil lamp did not penetrate far enough to see, however. Footsteps. Her body tensed, muscles flexing as though expecting a conflict. Twisting in her seat, she lowered her feet to touch her toes to the floor.
Laying her pen flat to the journal, she swiped at the air as though grasping something and clenched her fist. A moment later, she turned her hand, slowly uncurling her digits to reveal a luminescent globe. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it across the room, the soft glow bathing the rows of books, the multitude of shelves, and large oak desk in pale light as it passed to settle in the far corner from whence the the sound had come. As the light approached, she swore she’d seen a pair of pale green reflections at about head height. But when the light fully chased the shadows away.. There was nothing there.
She stared at the corner for a moment longer before her shoulders rose and fell with a steadying breath. Nothing, she thought to herself. Just the sleep. Or lack there of... Calm once more, she shattered the orb with another flick of her wrist and resettled on her chaise to continue, starting a new train of thought.
Nightsong. I wonder what it is like to fall and be raised again. To never draw breath, yet still walk the earth. Is she unique in that aspect? Are there many whose ends were met years passed, yet we are too blind to realize? Is her existence proof enough that ghosts exist? Or are they only a farmer’s tale to bring the children in at night... I have never felt inclined to speak with her previously. But perhaps that will change soon.
But I digress.. Kenneth revealed much and more in that letter. Never have I seen him speak so openly about that which plagues him. Despite his affirmation that she and his new beau have done wonders to keep him grounded, he is clearly still in need. And I’ve much to make up for.
<An excerpt from the journal of Evelynn Decipio>
