Wynather

⥛────────────────ᛏᚻᛖ ᛚᚩᛋᛏ ᚷᛁᚱᛚ────────────────⥚ “I gazed toward the stars, and in the silence… I found what I had long been searching for. Had he always been so close?” ⥛────────────────ᛏᚻᛖ ᛚᚩᛋᛏ ᚷᛁᚱᛚ────────────────⥚ It had been a couple years since Talanashta had last been seen in Tel'Andria or Norland: excited for her new adventures in alchemy, and all that she could do in helping others, and making her deceased Papa proud. Her things lay organised in barrels beneath Vjadengrad's tavern, untouched, and collecting dust. Research and notebooks remained incomplete, potions not yet mixed... where she had gone was unknown. Perhaps to find herbs and plants? Maybe in search of more knowledge in foreign libraries... But as the blizzard grew worse and tightened around Vjadengrad... it became evident that perhaps she had tempted the gods one too many times in her travels through the blizzards. Maybe, she had joined one of the many victims to daggers of ice and blowing snow. While her disappearance is a mystery to all but the dead, to her? It obviously isn't. ⥛────────────────ᛏᚻᛖ ᛚᚩᛋᛏ ᚷᛁᚱᛚ────────────────⥚ Tala lays in a field of snow; pierced through her torso by a particularly large spike of ice. She hadn't been concentrating, clearly, as she collected her herbs and trekked back to her bag of goodies, her humming drowned out by the howling wind. Halfway to the things that could have saved her if she was given half a chance, she was struck by fists of hail and shards of ice. Her executor had been forming in one of the trees above her, slicing downwards with uncanny precision as she fell; winded on her back. So there she lay: herbs in one hand, and torso pinned to the ground... with no way of getting it out. Maybe she was meant to die in that damn forest all those years ago, she thought, as she was being drenched in the falling snow and her own blood through thick layers of fur… She'd tried to chip away at the solid ice with her sword, each movement causing more blood to seep out into the snow. She then tried to reach for her bag - whispers away from her fingertips... close enough to taunt her. She'd long since given up, her face red from the cold and frustrated tears. She stares up at walls of white snow, and for a brief moment, she thinks she can see the stars. How long had it been since she'd seen stars? She reaches out, maybe she could move some of the snow away- Ah… Textbook delirium… She let it take over - that funny feeling that made her feel so happy… like nothing currently mattered… ↣──────────ᛏᚻᛖ ᛗᚪᚾ ᛏᚱᚪᛈᛈᛖᛞ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚻᛖ ᛋᛏᚪᚱᛋ──────────↢ Delirium… Surely it was nothing but a curse. Perhaps it was that which allowed Okar’sil to linger beside her, cast in a rather lax seat amidst the ever-dwindling cold, clad in his usual, ill-suited attire for the cold. His arms slowly settled across his chest, as he seemingly propped against nothing. “Tsk, Tsk… What was step one, my little Naer?” A sing-songy voice, reminiscent of the once living man queried. “Not die?” She chuckles, wincing from the movement and laying a hand on a part of her torso that currently wasn't an icicle. “Never travel alone.” was the countered statement, as the apparition seemed to shift, a hand coming to rest amidst his daughter's face, as if he was truly there to comfort her… “Papa-” another wince, then- “-I’ve always been alone,” She managed, nose stinging and eyes watering - from the cold… duh… as his hand made to rest on her face. “Alone, you say. Yet I was always right here.” “Alone, yet your Sister was always standing with open arms.” “You were never Alone, merely blind to those who welcomed you, my little Naer.” Although he spoke semi-harshly, not a lick of condescending laced his tone, it was as warm as ever… as soft as he’d always spoken to her… the same way he’d spoken to her the day he left… Another chuckle, then a laugh, before the pain became dull enough to speak again- “You’re funny,” she huffs a chuckle, staring unseeing a moment. “I was dead to those I knew when I went into that forest,” She says, a bitter truth she had tried to ignore. “Can I come and stay with you again? I won’t take up much space… promise,” Delirium had… well and truly set in now... as she imagined being his apprentice daughter once more; forging weapons and making armor in Okar's old blacksmithing forge. “You always knew better.” were the soft words spoken, as the man's face hovered above hers, before her head was cradled amidst his lap partially. “You need not ask, for I will always welcome you, as I always had… I am proud of you, My Naer.” A soft praise, as her vision began to blur - imagery flickering into white flakes of snow, washing away what little sight was left into nothingness. “Won’t you come dance with me once more?” Tala smiled, sitting up and turning to face him. She looks to her body laying in the snow, lips blue from beneath the fabric mask, and eyes still staring up at the stars. She looks back to her Papa and hugs him tightly. She appeared as she once was when she had first met him: her hair plaited behind and smooshed down by her old, black beanie, her green trench coat restored to what it once was… and boots she’d fished out of a lake. “That sounds like a good idea,” She said, her smile wobbly and eyes teary as she was finally reunited with her Papa. Though, she still thought he was a toad stool for leaving her in the first place. Okar’sil's arms had gingerly embraced the girl in return, drawing her into his hold so protectively as he always had - and as Father and Daughter once more united, did she feel that gentle tug - the guiding hand as the two began to dance once more with her feet on top of his. Like the day amidst the lake, where he had whisked her across the waters surface with that magic of his. Yet this time, as her gaze began to wisp away into nothingness and obscurity, could she see the ground slowly trickling into faint nothingness below her… Delirium… Was it always so peaceful? ↣──────────ᛏᚻᛖ ᛗᚪᚾ ᛏᚱᚪᛈᛈᛖᛞ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚻᛖ ᛋᛏᚪᚱᛋ──────────↢

𝕀𝕥 𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥, 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖... 𝕄𝕒𝕪𝕓𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕧𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕠 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕝. 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕗 𝕚𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙... 𝕀𝕗 𝕚𝕥 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕤 𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕓𝕖𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕘𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟. 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕥, 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕟 𝕚𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕝𝕪 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕; 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕡𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕚𝕥 𝕦𝕡 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗... 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕤𝕠 𝕝𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕣𝕪. 𝕎𝕪𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖; 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕧𝕦𝕝𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕜, 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣... 𝔻𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕓𝕝𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕜𝕤, 𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕙𝕤... ℍ𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕦𝕤𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕣, 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕔𝕥 𝕠𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕨𝕟... 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕨 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕥. 𝔸 𝕤𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞 𝕦𝕡 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕒 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕡𝕚𝕥 - 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕟, 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕤𝕒𝕧𝕖, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥. ℍ𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝, 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕙 𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕠 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙... 𝔸𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥, 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕤𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕤, 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥. 𝕎𝕪𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕕𝕘𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕗, 𝕒 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕣. 𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕒 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕩𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕥 𝕝𝕠𝕕𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕥, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕞𝕖... 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕕𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕥 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕝𝕒𝕡 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕒 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕗𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖. 𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕣... 𝕋𝕠 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕖... 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕠 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕚𝕕. ℍ𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕠𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕦𝕗𝕗𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟 - 𝕒 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 - 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖. 𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕡 𝕒𝕥 𝕒 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕤𝕜𝕪, 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕪𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕤𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖; 𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕟. 𝕊𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕙... 𝕊𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕙... 𝕊𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕙... 𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕤, 𝕒 𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕊𝕧𝕒𝕟𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒 𝕤𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕡𝕤... ℍ𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕜𝕪. 𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕤 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕚𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕝𝕘𝕒𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕨𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕗, 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕤 𝕗𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕨 𝕟𝕦𝕞𝕓. 𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕚𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕖𝕟𝕕 - 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕒, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕞𝕓 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕦𝕡 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕙. 𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕝𝕕. 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕫𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗 ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕤𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕗𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖, 𝕎𝕪𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕒 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕤.

Talanashta: Okar's apprentice/daughter of two years. Okar was dead, she checked herself. She was following her robotic fairy around the little picnic island Okar had shown her, talking about everything and anything she was in the middle of doing, strutting about: proud of her Okar. “Okar’s still teaching me how to make armour,” she’d said. “He’ll teach me how to make weapons soon I bet!” The fairy had giggled and smiled, flitting about and watching the child. They’d wandered over the bridge, the fairy sitting on her shoulder and swinging her legs when a man rushed past, dipping in greeting and continuing on. She thought nothing of it until she reached the forge, Xil and Kelpie standing around with some other man. They didn’t say much, hardly looked at her... But it felt all too familiar as they spoke about taking Okar’s things from the forge... Why would they do that? She knew he’d be grumpy if he found out. She was then taken to the clinic by another man who spoke even less, where she heard sniffling and saw sad looking people outside. The smell is what got her first, one she recognised: death. She steeled herself, the fairy slipping into her bag and hiding from the room. Tala turned to the man, a couple of other women in the way of the only occupied room she guessed he was in. “Is he dead?” she’d asked, standing her full 4’6” and lifting her chin slightly. He gave her a slight nod, and her hands clenched at her sides. Her nose stung and her throat felt tight, but she still had to see for herself. She skirted around the weeping women, stopping still at the figure on the bed. A haunting smile was on his face, she knew it was him even though it seemed like it wasn’t: his body seemed dismantled in a way, though she couldn’t quite figure out how or why. Tip-toeing over, she leaned down and pressed a subtle finger to his neck, just in case... Before leaning even further and kissing his forehead. They were never ones to say ‘I love you’ or ‘daughter’, but she felt it right to say at least one of them now. “Thank you Papa,” she breathed, tears filling her eyes as she quickly fled the room. But leaving to cry was the hardest thing this ten year old had ever done. She slipped from the clinic and bolted it, straight past two kids and a viking lady, the smell of death stuck in her nose as she fought to suck in the cold evening air to replace it. Two years of feigned support in her eyes, of trust broken again... Because he liked his adventures and fighting more than the forge and home. She hiccuped and covered her mouth as she ran, heart in her throat and tears streaming down her face. She did what she was always taught to do when she didn’t feel safe; when she felt unprotected: run. She ran until her lungs burned, losing her horse, her first ever boots and her robe as she stumbled through the forests and down blue lantern-lit pathways. She collapsed in another stumble as her legs finally gave out, her blood-curdling scream carrying over the empty fields with no one to hear it: the last signal of grief and sadness she would express ever again.