Unbowed

[Rig 17591]

(Art by Jenny Dolfen, titled "Maedhros the Tall").

 

In his many years drifting the high seas as a corsair and roaming the lands of Aevos as a sword for hire, there had been no battle as difficult for Grisha to fight as the Siege of Breakwater Keep. Throughout the fight, the Elven warrior stood resolute, donning his Daemonsteel armor and his sword in the pursuit of glory. This time it was for more than money. For the first time, perhaps ever, the Ferrymen found themselves beset by an enemy that sought to take from them their home. The world stood united against Grisha and his brothers, the armies of a combined nine nations took camp outside of the Captain's walls. Petra, Haense, Norland, Numendil, and other smaller nations that accompanied them had come to steal his home from him. The Ferryman looked across the ramparts to the great host that had assembled on the outskirts of Veletz and he realized that though the hope was dim for victory, he entrusted his faith to the Creator. Among the Alderfolk it was custom to simply accept the lot in life that the world gave you. In the words of an ancient philosopher, while you might pass through a stream many times, no man will ever cross the same stream of water and remain the same afterwards. Though the Captain was bedridden and ill, Grisha knew he could count on his compatriots to stand beside him, and he knew that he would rather suffer a million defeats than to ever forsake his oath. He lifted his left hand and eyed his missing pinkie finger, the one that had been severed to give him admittance to the organization as a full-fledged Ferryman, and he simply laughed with joy. Love far outnumbers hate, he thought to himself, and our love of our sacrosanct banner and our home shall carry us through.

 

But like a ship that finds itself breaking upon the rocks, Grisha could only watch now in horror as what had begun as a simple enough siege devolved into a crude folly. Lyulen looked to Grisha with a questioning glance. The Dark Elf was a good friend of Grisha's and the two had trained together for years. Everybody present was somebody that Grisha had known for years. Fifty of them, he realized. Maybe even sixty-years. This is where it all leads. Though the enemy's army may have been somewhat bigger, Grisha simply continued with his mission. He considered his words in the past month that he had shared with a Wood Elven woman named Arle and her compatriot in Elvenesse, the words coming to mind as cannonballs shattered his walls and shredded an unfortunate occasional soldier underneath the brunt of the artillery. "I wonder," Grisha ashed Lyulen. "Have you ever considered what happens once we die?"

 

Lyulen shrugged since he was always the silent sort. Behind closed doors, many of the Ferrymen had dubbed him to be "The Silent Friend". Although he spoke from time to time, he was candid enough with his actions that he much preferred silence to the obtuseness of words. Words which were simultaneously daggers and air at the same time. Words, Grisha observed, were empty. Lyulen's only answer was to say, "We have bigger concerns than being dead." Though the fight was a rigorous and taciturn affair, Grisha silently agreed and paced off to take his position on the trebuchets with the Captain-General. We have bigger concerns than being dead.

 

No truer words had been spoken. Needless to say, Grisha had barely escaped with his life that day, suffering a blow to the head and extensive wounds to his body that would take time to heal. He was grateful to be only missing a hand and quietly pondered how many human mothers would mourn the loss of their children. Grisha realized now the irony in the name he had taken for himself upon working in human lands. Watcher. Was he destined to watch as these shorter-lived races killed one another? Perhaps. But in the pursuit of his San'taliyna, his calling for life in the Elven Tongue, he was willing to debase himself by participating in such affairs.

 

Grisha mused to the horizon from the infirmary, his bad eye covered by a large bandage to obscure his sight due to the sensitivity he was experiencing from a concussion. "O' Captain, my Captain."