Private Tales Ghosts of the Past

[Ivan Skender]

The Altrator Pass - Anirian Border​

Though winter would soon be coming to a close, one would never have been able to guess so from taking a good look at their surroundings. A thick coat of frost and snow permeated everything within eyesight, from the high peaks to the deep ravines, while a cutting, frosty wind howled loudly from the rocky fells, screeching in their ears, as it cut their faces with its chilling touch.

A rickety rope bridge hung before him, leading over the gorge that stood between them and the next chain of snow-capped peaks. It rocked unsteadily in the wind, the old rope creaking with every gust, as though it could come apart with every sudden flare-up.

It did not really instil confidence, though, given what they were setting out to do, what would?

- “Tell me again, why do we need to wait for this girl?” - Admir’s voice rang out behind him, his voice clearly straining to be heard over the raging gale. Ivan pulled the thick woollen scarf down from his nose, and turned to face his companion.

- “Because,” - He had meant to provide the full response then and there, though, as he realised how much of an effort it was to project his voice over the howling of the wind, he quickly thought better of it. He instead opted to lead Admir behind a rocky outcropping, taking his hood off as well, as soon as they stood behind their stone shield.

- “Because the Wraith is a wreck.” - He said. - “The hull is breached, the upper deck is gone, and the lower ones have been rotted away to oblivion.” - He glanced sideways towards a narrow pass between the mountains behind them, towards the pass from whence they had come, and from where Zephyrine would most likely also be coming from. - “So unless you want to spend a month chopping and carting wood down to the Bay, and then a month or two more to make repairs, I think it is worth waiting a few days for someone who can help us speed this along.” -

He cast a glance over Admir’s shoulder, towards a rocky nook carved out of the side of the mountain further up ahead. There, equally sheltered from the frosty winds of the frontier, a group of about a dozen men huddled together around a small fire.

- “How are they holding up?” - Ivan asked Admir. They hadn’t left Aniria proper that long ago, but, truth be told, every moment in this frozen hellscape could feel like an eternity at times.

Admir scratched at the back of his head, somewhat apologetically, as if he was trying to strike the right balance between the words he had heard, and those he thought to convey.

- “Well, they ain’t pleased to have their asses frozen off out here, if that’s what you’re asking.” - He paused momentarily, glancing at the men with a frown. - “Though, truth be told, I think they’re happy enough that you showed up at all.” - He said awkwardly.

Not as awkwardly as Ivan felt about having to ask them to be here in the first place, though. In spite of their rather unremarkable - even if thuggish - appearance, those men had not been picked randomly. Indeed, they all shared something, one facet that had set them apart from everyone else, and that had caused the blonde to seek them out above all others:

They had all been born in the lands of the Margraviate of Valdorren. In other words, they had all been his mother’s subjects.

These Valdorreans had been living in Aniria ever since Alisa’s death, when the Skender fortress had been abandoned, though - truth be told - since then they had never quite enjoyed all the privileges that Anirian society had to offer. Poor, and mostly illiterate, these men had had no really valuable crafts when they arrived in in their new homeland. No military training, no sought-after trades, nor any established connections. In short, they had been doomed to poverty from the start.

For the most part, those who could, had taken up employment in the fishing industry, doing the dangerous high-seas runs as they had under the Skender... and which were as undesirable for local Anirians as it was poorly paid. They had laboured ceaselessly for a decade and a half, only to find themselves as destitute as when they had arrived, and their children seemingly fated to that same future of thankless hard-labour.

That though, had been when Admir had returned to them, with their long-lost Margrave in tow.

For Ivan, his mother’s subjects’ plight had turned out to be a silver lining, as a large number of them had been fairly eager to follow a Skender once more.

Be that as it may, Ivan had no shadow of a doubt that these men had not chosen to follow him simply because of his family’s heritage. It had not been for his Skender blood, nor some sense of loyalty either to his deceased mother, or their long-lost homeland, but rather because, after almost 20 years in Aniria, he had been the only one to show even a hint of interest in them.

In other words, they had followed him because, even without money, prestige or any semblance of power, he was their best shot at a better life.

It did have to be said though, that - mundane as it may be - when one’s ass was freezing in the midst of a blizzard, one could be forgiven for second-guessing how much sense it made following a broke 17-year-old into the wilderness for the promise of a better life, regardless of how sound it had seemed in the first place.

So as to avoid that, he knew well enough - courtesy of the Academy - how to keep up morale, as well as how to use both carrot and stick to achieve the discipline he knew he’d need out of these men.

He tapped Admir on the shoulder, and walked over to the fire. From his pack, he produced a large bottle of Falwood Moonshine, and proceeded to pour a fair amount of it onto each of the men's glasses.

- “Cheers boys!” - He beckoned, raising his glass above the fire. - “To our adventure!” -​

 

[Zephyrine]

Her arrival was of thundering hooves and a whistling wail of wind. It announced her arrival before herself and steed could be seen, but when her imagery came into view, her brilliant red hair was flowing behind her as the wind had undone it from whatever fastening it had been held back with.

With her, she had brought supplies. A great deal of bags and gear, for Zephyrine had made the decision to go into the reserves after war had wounded her mortally. It had been some time since she saw Ivan, who had also been seen briefly on the battle front, but since that time Zephyrine had acquired marks of war. The most noticeable was the since healed but scarred slash over her left eye.

It was lucky that her eye had been saved.

But she could spot him, even from this distance.

He had always stood taller and broader than the average man, even when he was still in the bridge between boy and man. He possessed a brilliance of hair, and she knew he would be watching her with those lively ice grey eyes.

As her strong steed closed the distance within minutes, she was already dismounting and running before the mount came to slow. Too long, it had been too long since she had last seem him and all she wished to do was to embrace him. Caddel made haste for him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and burrowing her scarf covered face into his chest. She paid no mind to the men surrounding them, or the moonshine glass having just been emptied. What mattered first was undoing the distance they had both suffered.

After a few quiet moments, she slipped from him and looked up at him, a large smile on her face. "Still drinking that god awful stuff?" Then her gaze went to the curious faces watching her. Zephyrine didn't shy away from their open staring nor did she make herself small. It was the steady and unfaltering stare trained into the Initiates that she used to meet their gazes. "I can see why your last letter asked me to bring as much rum as I could."

A crate of nine bottles had been secured to her horse, one bred to carry weight and travel in such conditions. A lot of her belongings had been brought with her too, and a staggering amount of steel and iron tied to her steed. Not the greatest forged weapons, but Zephyrine was still learning the craft by hand.

 

[Ivan Skender]

He heard her before he saw her.

The thundering of hooves, the muffled clang of metal on snow, echoing against the naked stone of the gorge with a rumble that made it seem as though an avalanche was about to swallow them whole. The men stood up at once, hands dropping instinctively to the short axes hanging at their waists. It was a good effort, though rather futile.

Of the small group, Ivan was the only one which seemed to remain unperturbed, instead remaining seated, Moonshine in-hand. He drained it as he heard the horse come closer, and stood.

He returned the girl's embrace, smiling at her as he held her close.

- "Your entries are getting better." - He would whisper in her ear.

His smile though, would soon turn into a frown as he heard her dissing his Kress-given Falwood Moonshine. He was about to rightfully tell her off, and reassure her that he had fully meant the alcohol bit as a joke, when he saw that she had actually brought alcohol along.

- "Oh." - A shrug rolled over his shoulders. - "At least we'll keep warm." - He grinned. His eyes though, quickly deviated towards the steel she'd brought along. Now that would be far more useful.

When they had set out, Ivan had used some of the gold he had acquired during his missions abroad - such as the Tell Arran foray with Livia Quinnick, or the short piracy stint with Lachlan Irwin - to arm the men. His resources though, were still rather thin, so the weapons he had acquired had been of rather shoddy craftsmanship. Having an Anirian-trained blacksmith with them, armed with proper steel, would go a long way in that regard.

- "Come on." - He said, turning halfway from her embrace. He kept one of his arms wrapped around her shoulder, while with the other, he motioned towards the group assembled. - "Let's get you acquainted with the rest of the company." -

He would then go on to introduce her to the men.

 

[Zephyrine]

The scarf covering her face hid the blush that crept to her cheeks, flushed after he paid her a quiet compliment. Only he could make her react in such a manner, something they both came to learn whenever she spent time in the infirmary helping heal him slowly after he had battled that kraken.

She knew he meant it all in jest, but with the weather turning like it had in the past few weeks, she knew it would help liven up spirits to have a familiar burn go down. Rum would certainly do that.

Casting her gaze to the men, she lifted a gloved hand and pulled down her scarf so that they could view her void expression easier.

"Pretty face You've got a pretty face lass."

Zephyrine cleared her throat, but only Ivan would hear her. Compliments like this always rendered her awkward. "Thank you."

There was a scar going down her left side of her face. From forehead, through the brow, down the eyes, and slashing her cheek. It had been done by a spelled knife that was resistant to magic. Zephyrine had made mention of it to Ivan in her last couple of letters, when she entertained leaving the battlefront for a good while. War had done something to her, but still she was unable to tell Ivan of it. It was hard for her to even face it, the darkness of her thoughts being all too much for her to figure out. She hadn't been trained how to deal with that part of war.

"She didn't bring any wood." Someone complained.

Zephyrine blinked, her brows furrowing deeply. "I wasn't asked to." All Ivan had instructed was to bring whatever equipment and tools she required, and a lot of rum. Although her answer had not satisfied the man, Zephyrine lifted her chin and met his gaze unwavering. "Got something to help me chop down trees. From there my magic.... I guess I will just have to show you."

She turned around to face Ivan, all to hide the expression on her face and the rolling of her tawny eyes. "Fifty silvers says one of these men won't trust my magic's work."