Sylvian Artesto
Member
He'd always thought that after so many years, maybe he'd find just a little bit of peace. Perhaps, he'd hoped, if he turned his head away from the rubble of his old life for long enough, some unseen custodian would eventually get around to tidying it up, and the people who'd burned everything he'd ever loved to the ground would forget about him. It was funny, how somebody getting up there in years like him could still be so naively optimistic.
There would be no forgetting. Today had been a sobering reminder of Sylvian Artesto's reality. The flecks of ash that clung to his clothes and the smell of smoke that caked his nostrils like badges of shame as he floated down the river that flowed away from the burning remains of the freshly-razed city of Vel Farris. The city he'd helped found so many years ago, the place he'd called his home for the last decade and change. After so long, Artesto had finally gotten his hopes up, finally convinced himself that he no longer had to be afraid.
But they'd come for him. Sylvian didn't know why it had taken them so long, or what had tipped them off to his presence, but the Republic of Vel Anir had deployed a Dreadlord and a contingent of Guards to turn the entire city to ash. The small, single-person boat that carried gently down the river led him away from the massive smoke plumes in the distance behind him, the smoldering wreckage of yet another life they'd taken, another light they'd extinguished.
Why didn't he feel angry, he wondered. Why was all he could muster a sigh of resignation as he leaned back on the boat and readied his fishing rod, the only belonging he'd saved from the blaze? He supposed he'd always known that this would happen someday. It had been a matter of time until the tension and conflict of Anir found him once more. As he cast his line out into the river, he paid a thought to his son, Silas. Could he have been amongst the Guards that razed Vel Farris? He would be getting to that age by now, wouldn't he?
Such idle thoughts, the gentle lullaby of the water beneath him, and the fatigue from escaping the burning city he left behind him led Sylvian to fall asleep atop the boat. An aging man, covered in ash and soot, with a fishing rod hanging loosely from his hands drifted slowly down the river. Perhaps those Guards would find him there. Perhaps he'd float through a town, or even off of a steep waterfall.
These thoughts may have even crossed his dozing mind. What, though, did he have left to care for? Fate had found him, and now all he could do was let it take control.
There would be no forgetting. Today had been a sobering reminder of Sylvian Artesto's reality. The flecks of ash that clung to his clothes and the smell of smoke that caked his nostrils like badges of shame as he floated down the river that flowed away from the burning remains of the freshly-razed city of Vel Farris. The city he'd helped found so many years ago, the place he'd called his home for the last decade and change. After so long, Artesto had finally gotten his hopes up, finally convinced himself that he no longer had to be afraid.
But they'd come for him. Sylvian didn't know why it had taken them so long, or what had tipped them off to his presence, but the Republic of Vel Anir had deployed a Dreadlord and a contingent of Guards to turn the entire city to ash. The small, single-person boat that carried gently down the river led him away from the massive smoke plumes in the distance behind him, the smoldering wreckage of yet another life they'd taken, another light they'd extinguished.
Why didn't he feel angry, he wondered. Why was all he could muster a sigh of resignation as he leaned back on the boat and readied his fishing rod, the only belonging he'd saved from the blaze? He supposed he'd always known that this would happen someday. It had been a matter of time until the tension and conflict of Anir found him once more. As he cast his line out into the river, he paid a thought to his son, Silas. Could he have been amongst the Guards that razed Vel Farris? He would be getting to that age by now, wouldn't he?
Such idle thoughts, the gentle lullaby of the water beneath him, and the fatigue from escaping the burning city he left behind him led Sylvian to fall asleep atop the boat. An aging man, covered in ash and soot, with a fishing rod hanging loosely from his hands drifted slowly down the river. Perhaps those Guards would find him there. Perhaps he'd float through a town, or even off of a steep waterfall.
These thoughts may have even crossed his dozing mind. What, though, did he have left to care for? Fate had found him, and now all he could do was let it take control.