chaoscorvus

The scent of garlic butter and fresh-baked bread wafts through the Enclave's tavern. A Mali'ame, soft of voice and kind of heart, begins their journey to the Glade, the parchment-wrapped loaf in their bag, and a bouquet—with one more flower than usual—in their arms.

Nalia didn’t like the rain. It was one of the few things she remembered as her condition worsened, and she lost all notion of what was. Yet, that night, as she drifted to sleep, she couldn’t help but feel comforted by the patter outside her window. She would not awaken the following morning. Few belongings would lay scattered about her room. A basket, half full of stickers. A broken pocket watch, affixed to golden chain. Various artworks, all drawn in charcoal on white paper. A set of four would stand out, each identical in composition: A depiction in perfect realism of a black sheep standing alone in an empty field as storm clouds stir overhead. On the back, signed and dated - Nalia Vourkehardt, 11th of Malin’s Welcome, SA 277 The same scene, in less detail. The lines that make up the piece appear shaky, as does the signature on the back - Nalia Vourkehardt, 6th of Sun’s Smile, SA 279 The same scene, with odd perspective and uncanny proportions. The date and signature are messily scrawled - Nalia Vourkehardt, 3rd of Deep Cold, SA 280 Several dark splotches across the page. If not for the context of the previous pictures, it would be nigh impossible to determine what it was made to represent. The work is not signed.

Wynreth clutched the tear-stained missive. They had felt each of the fourteen druid deaths over the past decade - some, more deeply than others - and it awakened in them an ache, a bitterness like nothing they had felt. At a time of such immense tragedy, they had an oath to uphold to their kin, to those who had so readily rolled over like dogs at the Empire's command. What were they to do? Sacrifice all that they believed? Or abandon those that they were loyal to? It broke their heart, left them feeling directionless, unsure of all but two things: they wanted to go home, and their home had sunk long ago.

Time seemed to stand still as Nalia stared over the horizon. It was a moment of quiet contemplation, of reflection on all the moments shared with her brother. Her thoughts were interrupted by the break of day—of course. Time never stands still—this was a fact she had become all too familiar with over the years. As she made her way home, a murmured promise fell from her lips: to live, no matter what. For Amon.

RESERVED

Wynreth never was one for revenge - or any sort of conflict, for that matter - which was what made the unfamiliar feeling in the pit of their stomach so strange. They weren't about to waste time dwelling on it, however; they had a fiancée to spend time with.

chaoscorvus_