Completed Burned

[Duresh]

Strange, Erën's trailing off. It was in the manner of one hearing a ghost or spirit speaking solely to them. Yet he had no reason to think his comrade had reached his wits' end. Duresh resolved to think it nothing more than something of which he was unaware, likely a necessary one in the service of their escape from the city.

Two blocks down, tied near the edge of an alley. A carriage with two horses...

The details would be easy enough to remember, but in the sharing of them it seemed to imply that they would need to split up. And as Duresh pondered it further, as Erën sought some item in a clothes closet, it occurred to him how peculiar it was that Erën should know these details. This, in combination with knowing spontaneously that the others he had mentioned were coming. Odd, yes, but all Duresh could think of was that Erën had a number of preplanned solutions for contingencies. His business. Duresh would not inquire about it.

Then he saw the shock on Erën's face. The hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. Duresh limped over and stood behind him, peering around him to look in to the closet.

There, the young man. His journey from boyhood complete but his initiation into manhood only just beginning. He had now seen them. Heard them.

One solution to this problem. So attested the life he lived in Garron Banick's service, and also the life Duresh wanted to live now, having discarded his weapon from his hands. One solution, firmly asserted by two separate ways of being.

And Duresh chose. For better or worse, he chose.

His left hand still holding the bandaged wound of his gut, he clasped the other about Erën's, halting--temporarily, if nothing else--his reaching for the sword.

Said simply, "Better men."

And he let go of Erën's hand, and left it at that. He knew full well that there was a time in which he would have no qualms about turning this home, that closet, into a place of darkness. Inviting a cavalier malice into the world through cold practicality. It was the way of Garron Banick. Of Vel Anir.

The way he had renounced with the throwing away of his weapon. Of all weapons.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

He could hardly believe is arrogance. To think he'd done so well, only to be handed a terribly rude reality check. He'd been complacent. Perhaps it was the pain he felt in his leg, or the aches in his side with the occasional stabbing sensation. Maybe he'd been too concerned with Duresh, or too self absorbed.

It didn't matter now.

All that mattered was they had a ride to catch, and this young man could very well be the end of that plan. One short exchange with the wrong Guardsman and their transport would be of hardly any use. Though it pained him, he had only one choice. He could not risk his fate for some lowly human. He moved to grasp his sword, then something stopped him.

He looked down. Duresh's hand. He turned to look him in the eye.

"Better men."​

For a moment he felt a rush of confusion wash over him. He turned back to look at the boy. He'd gone white, and looked as though he'd frozen completely still. But his eyes...

There was still life in his eyes.

He abruptly turned and slammed the door closed, but not before fetching a large hooded overcoat. It was well worn and dark colored with nothing terribly iconic. That would do. He set it aside, then drew the plain sword on his ride, and with a great thrust he wedged it over the door latch, locking it closed.

He turned back again, snatching up the coat and handing it to Duresh.

"This will conceal your wounds... there's a good chance there are yet some men who may see us... I will deal with them, you must reach the carraige unnoticed - and I will do the same when I follow... there are two others like I who will come to your aid, if I am not there before them. Leave."

If Duresh chose to wear the coat, he would help him adorn it if needed. If not, then there was little else for them here.

"I'm ready when you are."

 

[Duresh]

Duresh closed his eyes for a moment. A quiet exhale of relief as Erën slammed the door.

He would not have tried to stop Erën had he chose to execute the young man. In the path Duresh had chosen himself with the discarding of his weapon, he had only one recourse, one way in which to influence Erën's decision, and he had done it. And if Erën had slain the young man anyway? If Duresh had stood by and watched? He didn't know what to make of that.

Suppose the scenario was different. Something less gray. A clear distinction of right and wrong, innocent and malevolent. Would this new way of being have led him to stand idle in that too?

Duresh opened his eyes. He would have a long time for contemplation in the journey back to Alliria.

Erën handed him the overcoat. He gingerly put it on, failing to conceal the wincing from even the slightest movement of his torso. Only two blocks. And Erën, as he said, would be dealing with any of the guards or Banick men who happened to try and impede him.

On that last note, Erën's instruction to leave if he was not there before his two fellows, Duresh merely nodded. He had no spare constitution to argue.

I'm ready when you are.

"Right."

Duresh limped his way toward the door of the home. Took in a few breaths. Raised the hood of the overcoat and bowed his head and pulled open the door and stepped outside and back onto the street.

He summoned whatever willpower he could muster to walk as briskly and as normally as he could, shoving the pain and protesting of his body down into the core of his chest were it threatened to explode with twice the fury. Behind pursed lips he kept his winces, his grunts, his drawn out sighs of agony. This, too, acted as a manner of penance, insufficient as it was. The gathering of some tangible representation of the suffering he had caused in this city, to good men and bad men alike. To women. Children, like Kristen. Friends, like Elan. Erën.

Insufficient, truly, but something.

Duresh passed one block. Kept walking. Did not bother to look around and certainly not in the direction of the Crentor Estate. He heard a man's voice a few paces behind him. The clatter of armor. A gruff voice, a curt command of, "You there. Hold for a moment." Another noise. And the man fell silent. Duresh did not bother to look back. He kept on.

Second block.

And he lifted his head at last and glanced down the alley to his right.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

On Duresh's signal, Erën stepped first through the threshold. Outside on the stone walls there was scarring and burns from magic, and a few Guardsmen left laying motionless. The Elf's comrades had encountered what he assumed was the bulk of the current search party - more than just one of them could properly divert.

He kept a vigilant eye on their rear, falling behind him. They were searching for a pair after all. And despite his injuries, he was yet in far better shape than his companion to deal with any pursuers. But even as he stalked through the night with his ears sharply tuned, his mind drifted in and out of varying states of confusion.

What... has happened to me?​

He was going to kill that boy. A pure innocence. How could this be? He was a Sword of the Order: Noble, powerful, and brave. Honorable; virtuous; righteous.

What righteousness could there have been? What could possibly excuse such an act. He'd been called to a higher way, beyond such petty resolutions. But in the most recent years, and these past weeks especially, something within him was in turmoil, and it was something he could not share.

"You there. Hold for a moment." Another noise. And the man fell silent.

He withdrew his blood slicked sword as he gently laid the man's body on the ground. A clean kill. A sharp twinge up his side as he rose. They continued.

Not even his closest companions truly knew of Erën's strife, only catching glimpses of it during their time in the north. In truth, there is where it had began. The encounter with their fallen friend - the memory of his daughter, torn from the depths. Even now... the voice still whispered...

You left her to die...
​

Second block...

...the alley to his right...​

There they were, two horses. The carriage. Waiting patiently. Though dark, no doubt they fit the description as well. Duresh ducked down the alley, out of sight, and Erën was yet a few paces behind.

Thank the gods' graces his ears were sharp, for they were the only sense that saved him given the distance of his mind. The sound of steel whirring through the air was his only alert. He moved, but the sword found purchase in his left shoulder. He cried out in pain as it drove in through the joint in his armor and tore his flesh. He whirled around with the swing of his blade, and it slammed hard into the Guardsman's shield. He withdrew. He heard a few hollers from just beyond his opponent.

More coming.

The soldier attacked, Erën's weapon bolted across to deflect his blade aside. He lunged into him, toppling him.

Another attacker, swinging a heavy hammer down upon him. Erën stepped to the side, and drove his sword into the man's abdomen. He shrieked, cowering backward to nurse his wound - a futile attempt.

A third. Another swordsmen, and with this one he clashed. Blow after blow, he grew more tired. Blood ran down his still functioning arm, dotting the street below. He lost ground. The first Guardsmen returned, and the two of them unleashed a brutal assault.

What likely took little more than a minute, maybe two... felt like years.

Finally! An opening. Erën took it, and sunk his sword deep into the third contender. But he was too tired now, too fatigued. The first Guardsmen grabbed him, and threw him down onto the street. His grasp had left his sword - buried in his previous foe. He fell with a harsh grunt, landing on his wounded side. He rolled onto his back. His breath was heavy. Brow drenched in sweat. He looked up at the man who held his sword down at him, moments away from delivering his final blow.

Is this it...?​

 

[Duresh]

The carriage, just as Erën said. Duresh again speculated--couldn't help it--as to whether this was near prescient planning or some manner of scrying or something else to which he was wholly unaware. Regardless of the true answer, the carriage was here and this was their way out of the city.

Duresh ducked down the alley. Walked, though as he went along his walk began to give out into limping once more, despite his best efforts. A cold shiver shook his arms, his legs. Lightheadedness from blood loss made his steps more unsteady, made his gait crooked and uneven.

The sounds of a fight were behind him--other Guardsmen. But Erën was doing exactly as he said, dealing with them. Duresh heard a man shriek, hazarded a glance back, saw it was one of three Guardsmen who had done so, then continued on.

Clashing swords as Duresh continued, the carriage growing larger. When at last he came close enough to touch the door of the vehicle, he glanced back again.

And the fight had swung round into the humans' favor. Erën was on the ground, on his side and then rolling onto his back. And the man stood ready to finish him.

There wasn't much Duresh could do. Even if he was uninjured, the distance was impossible to cross in time. By the time he drew a throwing knife, aimed, and threw it, the killing blow would have already been delivered. He had used all of his smokebombs to create the screen of smoke needed to escape earlier, but he had one viable tool left.

A single noisemaker. Duresh pulled it from his belt, activated it, and tossed it back down the alley. The loud and piercing clamor of the enchanted noisemaker, the crackling and the popping, started even before the device had come to a rest. It wasn't much, but perhaps the sudden and unexpected noise would give Erën the opening he needed. The noise might create more problems in the near future, but the immediate threat always took precedence.

Painful, then, on several different levels for Duresh to open the door of the carriage and to climb gingerly inside without looking to see what happened in the aftermath. He winced heavily as he sat down on the frontside seat row, liquid agony settling firmly in his gut.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Fresh hate poured from the man's very soul as his hardened eyes were cast upon Erën. He hesitated, purely to draw out the elf's looming misfortune no doubt. The blade tipped up closer to his face, causing him to lean back a bit more.

Then he drew it up, both hands grasped the hilt. He meant to plunge it deep through Erën's very heart.

A quiet... as if all time ceased for but a breath...

He looked up at the man. A strong and unwavering gaze - staring deeply into the face of his demise...

Crack!
​

The man froze, his head turned to his right and down the alley toward the noisemaker.

Erën scrambled. Nearly around...

…heard it snap before he felt it...​

The Guardsmen had been distracted, but not enough for Erën in his exhausted state. While he'd nearly managed to get to his feet he was just that much too late. The Guard stomped down on his still knelt leg, and the bone within shattered under the crushing blow.

And Erën let out a mighty roar.

Another boot flat against the back put him down on his face, splitting his brow and knocking his wind.

He gasped. Tried to roll over, and could not, a great weight still present against his back. He felt cold steel hover just behind his neck.

It drew back...

And he heard the sound of sword splitting flesh, and he felt a the warmth of blood rush onto his back. He heard the gurgled cries of the man who'd just seconds ago aimed to kill him. He fell.

Erën lurched himself around, onto his side to see the man. He wriggled and writhed for a brief time before falling still and limp.

With shock he looked up...

...the boy.
​

There he stood, frozen still, shaking and sobbing. Erën looked back, the plain sword he'd left behind - buried in the Guard's back. He shot back to the boy, who stepped back mouthing the words what have I done before turning to flee. Erën reached for him, but could not speak. Instead his vision began to spin, and stars dotted the surround. As his head began to fall back, he felt the touch of someone's hand, grabbing at him to hoist him up.

But then it all went black.


Aidathin and her finally split up. He moved with all his might to reach Erën - his strength diminished, leaving him unable to fend off as many as there were. His friend, Duresh, unable to provide more than a little support in his current state. Understandable. But she feared that he would not make it in time. All would be as it would be, for now she had her own responsibility.

They'd led the Guardsmen well away and left them in their dust, for the time being at least. Dreadlords were not to be trifled with lightly, and a direct engagement would have been far too drawn out. Diverting them was the only option.

So now she was on her own, moving as swiftly as she could while still trying to blend - a black cloak, stolen unfortunately, but did well enough for her to go unnoticed.

She heard the noisemaker ahead, her eyes darting over toward the carriage which just now she could see shimmying as someone entered. She quickened her pace, and drew near. Te'leis reached for the carriage doors and opened it casually. She entered, and withdrew her hood. She'd have introduced herself if it weren't for the state of the one sitting within.

She closed the door, and immediately tended to Duresh. She pulled his coat aside, and withdrew her knife to cut at and remove the now well drenched bandages and any cloth. Her hands were careful, and diligent.

As she worked, the carriage shook and creaked as it was clear someone else had climbed aboard outside, bringing with them a heavy load to lay behind their bench. The sound of a whip gently cracking, and the horses eased forward, and the carriage rolled and wobbled over the street, making her task of cleaning the wound difficult.

But she did as best she could, being as gentle as she could afford to move him to get at bothvends of the wound, at times tearing away cloth from her own robes which were much cleaner than anything else at their disposal to wipe away the blood. She looked up at Duresh. She placed warm, almost hot hands on either end.

"This... may hurt."

 

[Duresh]

No one inside. But not for long.

An elf. Not Erën. Female. She had come in and closed the door. Duresh was beginning to have trouble seeing, ghostly blurs so adjacent to their true origin that it appeared as though an ethereal copy of Arethil existed imperfectly beside the world he knew. Trouble seeing, but that much he knew, that this elf was one of the two "others" Erën had spoken of.

The carriage shook. Sounds from outside. The front of the carriage. The doors had not been flung open, so it stood to reason that this was not on the part of Guardsmen. And the forward motion of the carriage bore that out.

Duresh turned himself on the seat row as much as he could, after gathering from his increasingly vague awareness that the female elf needed to tend to both sides of his wound.

She placed her hands on said sides.

This... may hurt.

Every little movement, every slight bounce and rocking of the carriage, all of it had been shooting fresh waves of blinding pain charging down his legs and up into the core of his chest. But now was not the time to quit. To concede defeat. To let Garron win.

Duresh, with a meek hand, grabbed a fistful of his black cloak once more and stuffed it into his mouth. Bit down, notably less hard than he had before in the house. His face was streaked with sweat, breathing long and shallow.

And he nodded to her. The barest motion up and down of his head.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Te'leis nodded in return, and began.

Invisible to the eye, but certainly present by feel, a beam of energy shot forth from between her palms. Heat. Hot. At least that's how it felt, and she only felt it in her hands - but it was working.

Beneath the pain, fibres wove together, veins found themselves hole, and flesh was restored where it had been marred. There would yet be the cost of a grievous scar, but mobility would be full.

Duresh would be spent from the ordeal no doubt - but he would live. It was a harsh remedy, and in the end she too would be left spent and for an injury such as this, likely near incapacitated. But Erën would not have wished for such a thing lightly, and she would recover quickly enough.

But the task itself... likely seemed like ages...

 

[Duresh]

Duresh stretched out his legs--an action not entirely voluntary--in the enclosed carriage. He pinched his eyes shut and his arm went as stiff as his legs.

He tried to hold on to his grip of conscious.

But it slipped. Often the healing arts were not gentle, and this was such a case now. The searing burn of Te'leis's beam proved too much on top of the blood loss and the accumulated agony from his injury.

His arms and his legs went limp.

And Duresh fainted. The cloth of his cloak falling from his mouth and his body slumped against the interior of the carriage.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Te'leis maintained the beam of life for as long as she could, even after Duresh fell unconcious and slumped back. She was pulled forward, and her hand pinned behind him, which was really no great problem... except... she...

~*~*~*~
​

Erën shot upright. He found himself sitting upright in a bed, his gear removed and his wounds tended and bandaged. Straight ahead of him Aidathin stood, peering through drawn blinds outside. To his right, slumped in a chair in the corner was Te'leis, clearly exhausted from her task. And to his left, in a bed separate of his was Duresh. He too had been tended, but his most grievous of wound he knew had been mended.

Aidathin must have tended them, and while he was not a healer he could clean and wrap wounds.

"First," Aidathin said aloud, but did not turn to see him.

Erën could see through the blinds that it was still dark outside, not yet morning. He gave no audible reply.

"The Guard is still on quite high alert, but we have managed to elude them."

"Where are we?"

Erën looked around, and could not recognize the place they were in. Then the thoughts reached him. The boy...

~~~~~~~~~~~

Aidathin urged the horses around a corner, and carried on down the street as quickly as could be while staying incognito. He heard the shouts of Guardsmen in the distance behind him, and feared they would stop him if he did not get out of sight quickly enough. Just then, something caught his eye. He turned to see, and there was a human, young man - he recognized him somehow...

He waved his arm, motioning for him to come down the next street. Aidathin thought as quickly as he could, and decided to take the chance. He turned to follow. Without words the young man jogged ahead, and opened the door to his dwelling. It seemed to be quite a well off estate, for a commoner in Vel Anir at least. Aidathin rolled up, and dismounted the carriage and tied it off.

The young man had already taken to getting Erën pulled off, so Aidathin decided to deal with the two inside...

~~~~~~~~~~~
​

"Apparently, he'd fled into that home same as you when he'd heard all that went on..."

Indeed, the destruction of the Crentor Estate had been no quiet event. Half the city had probably heard by now, and the rest by morning.

"We are fortunate he aided us, I'm not certain we'd have gone much longer I'm afraid..."

 

[Duresh]

The sound of voices stirred him.

Duresh opened his eyes, his waking less sudden than Erën's own. The tide of consciousness drifted back into him and he took in a healthy breath of air through his nose. He rolled his head to his right. Saw Erën sitting up his bed. And at this, the sight of his elven friend, a great wave of relief gliding through him. He could have died fighting off the guards--perhaps he nearly did.

It was true that Duresh did not want to take up arms again, to enter back into Garron's world through the hilt of a sword and shed blood and take lives. But...already he felt a challenge to this newfound moral. Despite all the terrible applications of violence he had done in Vel Anir, it somehow felt right--more right--to once again take up arms if in doing so meant coming to the defense of Erën, his friend, for all the things he had done for him in so short a time. The morality of leaving Garron's world withered in comparison to this.

"You made it," Duresh said to him. And he offered up a tired, tiny smile.

He became aware then of another in the room. An elf, like Erën, standing by the window of the room. The raw fact of the darkness in the room became apparent, and Duresh realized that he did not know what time--or even what day--it was. This, along with being unsure of their location.

To this other elf, Duresh said, "Are we still in Vel Anir?"

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

"You made it," Duresh said to him.

Barely... Aidathin thought. By the time he'd got to Erën, well, had it not been for the boy then he'd have surely been killed. It was... miraculous. That said had Te'leis not arrived when she had, then perhaps Duresh too would have perished.

It had been an awfully close call.

Erën turned to see Duresh, and bowed his head to him - likewise thankful to see that he had made it through. At least this far...

"Yes," Aidathin replied, "in fact, the dawn has not yet come since your confrontation with the Banicks."

Erën moved to stand up, but found it far more difficult than he anticipated. His injuries were still quite painful, and though he'd been looked after the pain in his hip and side persisted and were even heightened now after his body had been given time to relax.

He winced as he rose to his feet, and more or less limped over to the window.

"Where is the boy?"

"Downstairs. He thought it best to allow us our rest while he kept watch. I of course..." he trailed off, really need not explain that he too had decided to keep watch.

Erën looked out into the street below. There was the carriage, its banners stripped and the horses covered in different cloth. The boy had been diligent. His thoughts remained there for a time before his eyes fell to a trio of Guardsmen filing by. They seemed none the wiser.

"How are you feeling?" He said to Duresh.

 

[Duresh]

Erën mentioned a boy. Which was...odd. Duresh did not see the closing moments of Erën's fight with the guards at the mouth of the alley, so he did not know how a boy was involved. It couldn't have been that same boy, could it? The one hiding the closet of that home? Maybe it was, maybe it was someone else the elves had convinced to aid them.

He would find out, in time.

How are you feeling?

Duresh sat up carefully and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Gauged his body's response to this movement. Said, "Better than before."

He drew in a breath. Let it out through his nose. Stood and approached the window, standing off to the side such that he would not silhouette himself in it. His back more or less against the wall.

He said Erën, "They will not search for us for long. Not us, specifically. If another matter demands Garron's attention--and another matter will soon enough--he will settle for an orc and an elf to be punished. What happened at the Crentor Estate will be pinned on them, and the Banicks will move on. This will be done because, in the political landscape, they cannot admit or show weakness. For us to have escaped their wrath is such, so they will contrive a truth of their own making if need be."

It wouldn't be the first time. Nor the last. The only difference being that it would be hands other than Duresh's own taking innocents from their lives and offering them up for the blame of a crime they did not commit.

He hitched up his shoulders in a resigned shrug. "It is the way of Vel Anir. And it will not change."

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

It was a harsh reality. Vel Anir truly was a merciless place - behind the guise of order there was a tumultuous chaos fueled by fear. Fear from the people, that their small existence could be stomped out for another's malevolent gain. Fear from the elite, that the people see through their false leadership and rise in anger.

It seemed an impossible fantasy for a place such as this, so entrenched in its way of operating. So cunningly ensnared in a well woven web. He felt sorrow for those that would inevitably be unjustly blamed - just as they had.

He moved to lean on his injured leg, lapsing in his consideration of it. He faltered, but steadied himself on Aidathin's shoulder - thankfully. He grunted as he got himself back upright, and placed an arm against the wall near the window. He was silent for a moment after that, considering all Duresh told them about what was to come.

Then, without looking Erën asked, "Duresh, who is Artur Meng? What... what happened back there? What was the meaning of all this?"

 

[Duresh]

"The meaning?"

Duresh was about to conclude this thoughts on the matter quickly. To give an answer that was most likely to be correct: to simply reiterate that this was the way of Vel Anir, of the politics therein, and that they were swept up in the feuding between a minor and major noble House. But he decided to piece together what he knew prior and what he had gathered during the tumultuous evening.

He figured to start with Artur Meng.

"Artur Meng is...was a member of another minor noble house. The Mengs. From what I understand the Mengs did not start out as nobility, but earned such a status through the massing of a fortune. Iron mining operations and logistics. They maintained a favorable relationship with the Crentors and the Banicks." Duresh clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, thinking back for any special connection. "I worked with a few of them before. Vanessa, Trajan, Julia, but not Artur. I knew of Artur, yes, met him, but had no interactions of note with him."

Duresh thought for a moment more...and his eyes abruptly went wide.

"My bastard son..." Duresh stroked his jaw as he thought further. "Alyssa had mentioned having a bastard son. Was..." It was as if a spark alighted behind Duresh's eyes. "...was Artur Meng a bastard as well? His skin...all of the Mengs have dark skin, darker than most humans. Artur was notably lighter skinned."

He looked to Erën then. Duresh could not know if this was the truth, but it stood to reason from what he knew of himself and of how Vel Anir functioned. "I am a bastard. Artur Meng may have been a bastard. And Alyssa's son was a bastard. And she was grief-stricken and angry over her son's death in the Battle of the Blades. I think...this was Alyssa's way of getting her revenge on Garron. He is my father, and he may well be the father of Artur and Alyssa's son, and however many more bastards. She may have been trying to publicly humiliate Garron."

Maybe have a trial in which scandalous secrets were revealed or something of the sort. The kind of melodrama that captured the attention of the masses of Vel Anir and the ridicule of other nobles. Frame preferably Duresh, being one of Garron's bastards himself. Maybe Erën--despite her connecting with him through a shared sense of loss--or some other "xeno" in a pinch, but use such a trial as an excuse to expose Garron's dirty secrets.

It seemed his original answer was true.

Duresh let out a slow sigh through his nose. "We may have simply been convenient for her ends in this."

No greater meaning. Nothing of significance other than the political wheels turning ever onward.

It was the way of Vel Anir. And Duresh's resignation could not have been more timely.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Vel Anir truly is a treacherous place," Aidathin said, his eyes intently upon Duresh as he spoke.

"Yes, it is much unlike Sharyrdaes." Erën seconded, hobbling over to seat himself on the end of his bed, "I must thank you Duresh. Had you not stopped me in that home..."

He was loathe to think of the consequences. To have slain in such ruthless blood - to live with that. There was something indeed stirred within him, and it was discomforting. Aidathin's side-eyed gaze was just more evidence, that he too felt something.

But this was not the time.

"We'd not be here if it were not for him."

"Indeed."

"And so, you said you will leave Vel Anir..." he paused, "where else is there for one such as yourself Duresh?"

He almost offered for him to journey with them back to Sharyrdaes, and dwell there, right then. Even in its lessened state as of late, it was still a far cry from the goings on of Vel Anir.

 

[Duresh]

I must thank you Duresh. Had you not stopped me in that home...

It is horrifying. To know what you are truly capable of. For Duresh, it was not that he was capable of killing, murder, torture. It was the relative ease into which he accepted these things as a banal fact of his life. Only in retrospect could he see it. And it remained strange, that one part of him stood ready to slip back into committing such atrocities, and another could see and judge said part. Strange...yet with a seed of truth.

We'd not be here if it were not for him.

The other elf said, Indeed; Duresh nodded his agreeance. He did not know if the saying "No good deed goes unpunished" originated in Vel Anir, but it was certainly popular here regardless. For once it proved to be untrue.

He did not, and could not, know the boy's fate. But what was done was done, and Duresh was thankful for the boy's intervention.

Where else is there for one such as yourself Duresh?

"Alliria. There I will reunite with my mother, Loakina. With her guidance I will begin a new life, far to the east, in the ancestral lands of the orcs." A moment of regret stilled his words. "I should always have done so, and never have come here. She tried to warn me. I did not listen."

A glance out the window. Back to Erën. "And you will return to this Sharyrdaes?"

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

A glance out the window. Back to Erën. "And you will return to this Sharyrdaes?"

When he thought of it, he wanted to remember the place that it was. Shining light, beautiful colour, and peaceful scenes. But no... it was a bitter taste in his mouth now. He nodded.

"Our travels will take us along the road to Alliria for quite some time. Sharyrdaes lies in the eastern Falwood."

He made no mention of it, but there was something else brewing in the east, north of the Falwood… he could feel it...

Then he realized that after all this time, he had not yet formally introduced himself or the others to Duresh - a terrible disrespect after such a bond be formed, under normal circumstances at least. Time had not yet allowed, but now could be no better. He rose again turned to Duresh and placed his hand upon his chest, bowing his head.

"Friend Duresh, forgive my brethren and I - we are not properly acquainted. I am Erën'thiel Xyrdithas, this," he gestured to Aidathin who nodded and bowed in kind, "Aidathin Ilisar, and Te'leis - " he paused, glancing back at her still resting, " - one of the kindest souls I know.

"We are honoured to know you, and we would be honoured to join you on your journey to Alliria until our paths be parted."

 

[Duresh]

Duresh nodded in return to Aidathin. As far as formalities went in greetings, it was the extent of what he knew and engaged in. Neither his life before in Alliria nor--and certainly not--his life in Vel Anir had offered the occasion for him to be accustomed to much else.

Te'leis; the one who had healed his wounds. To his chagrin, Duresh had not even noticed that she had been there. The result of many factors, no doubt. But in the company of friends he could relax his vigilance.

"Duresh," he said to Aidathin, introducing himself properly as it were. "Just Duresh."

We would be honoured to join you on your journey to Alliria until our paths be parted.

"And I would be honored to have you."

The weight of the past day--hours, truly, for it had not even been a full day yet--was staggering. In what was a relative instant it was as if Duresh had lost years of life. Thought it was difficult to shake the feeling that his time in Vel Anir had amounted to nothing, he knew, he deeply knew, that it was not so.

Yes, he had come here with a forlorn hope.

Yes, that very hope would leave this city dashed and dirty and bloodstained.

But it was not all for nothing. He knew now, more than he ever could before, the folly of his ways. He could make amends. He could be a better man.

And in the closing night of his final sunset in Vel Anir, he had made a most unlikely friend. Erën'thiel Xyrdithas, whom he had wronged, and who had forgiven him. Perhaps Elan, too, if she could witness them now, would have been in agreement with Erën's judgment.

Duresh could only hope.