- A Poet's Farewell -

[BoneChive 365]

 

A note is slotted into the loose bark of a tree beside Silas’ tent in New Esbec. It isn’t nailed, as to not harm the tree, but instead loosely flapping it’s corner in the wind.

It is sealed with a silver wax stamp, depicting a falcon upon a branch. Upon opening, in cherry-red ink and Silas’ flourished, ornate handwriting, it reads:

 

"Hunters. Friends. Family. I come to you in some of the most troubling hours of my life. You see, in the face of false authority and undue peerage from sources not our own, I have decided to resign my post as Leutnant and Alderman of Esbec. I wish not to defame those involved, so I will refrain from targeting. The position of Leutnant will likely be taken on by one of you, so I have only one thing to ask. Rise where I couldn’t. Best me, and write your own legacy. Don’t let others define that for you. This is what every Jager has taught me, and I will defend it to my dying end. Begin your legacy; I will be venturing upon mine up North. My arms remain open for all who seek me; I’m but a falcon away. I will visit often, I can assure you. As always, 

 

May your hunts be bountiful, and your blades strike true."

 

Forever here, Silas Astasel

[Sevastiel 285]

Snow crunches underfoot as Decay claws her way ever onwards, Oren behind her thoroughly terrorized. She needed to find a tree soon, she needed to find her family soon. Where were they all? A low hum rises from what could be considered a throat, matching the minute songs of the moss under claw. 

 

She would find Silas.