Private Tales The Last Resort

[Draedamyr]

"The inn?" Draedamyr asked. He moved beyond the question almost immediately with a shake of his head. It didn't come as a surprise that the details were hazy for her. He was glad that she had even woken up. Still, he wasn't sure what it would take to make him forget that many-faced demon.

"We made a run for the nearest town," he explained. His voice was quiet and he took his time over every word. "We were ambushed by the demons. They were after you. Eventually their...leader emerged."

Draedamyr didn't know if leader was the right term. He knew so little of the creatures that had assailed them. He was certain that when they were lined up against one another on that hill he had heard whispers in his mind that might have come from the other demons.

"The many-faced demon made a deal with the humans and they left us. You obliterated it with a shard of light."

Draedamyr pushed himself up from the chair with a creak. There was a deep curve in the cushions from the amount of time he had spent resting there.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

Swirling mists were all that she could remember, though she struggled to recall all that had happened. Something fathomless pulled at her from within the depths of those mists, powerful emotion hidden within. She could sooner have pierced the world than drawn up those memories right now.

"Too far," she whispered. Stirred weakly in her bed, impotent irritation rising. "I went too far again. Curse this world!" Anger, deep seated and long burning, laid bare by her words. She had called this place a prison, and it was. "Please, help me sut up," she asked, a little shame at the admission of weakness.

 

[Draedamyr]

If he minded the request, he did not show it. He wrapped an around the back of her shoulders and let her cling to him as he drew her back against the headboard. There was just the slightest look of embarrassment had handling a woman in a nightgown.

"Always a cost," he muttered. For a few days he had suffered headaches and lethargy that he assumed were the result of her magic.

"I'll fetch you some water. Are you certain you don't want me to bring some bread up in case you want to pick at it later?" he asked.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"If it will make you feel better, then yes," she said. She had gasped in pain at being shifted, and now knew what a shattered vase would have felt like if it had nerves. She had gone as pale as a ghost until the agony had gone away. If not for that, she might have teased the man for his discomfort at handling her so. She might have been mortified to be in his presence in a nightgown were it not for the fact that she felt as impotent and fragile as a kitten

He left to fetch things, and in the relative quiet she was left to wonder. What had happened? Why were her memories so fragmented? She could clearly remember running into the inn in that village, red mist drifting like poison in the air. Remember tending to people...

...and then waking up. A brief, brilliant light, piercingly bright, stood in her mind - the light she had gathered and used like a heavenly lance to incinerate the demon she could not even remember.

She shook her head, then spent dozens of seconds waiting for it to stop swimming. Then looked the way Draedmyr had gone. At the chair the man had occupied.

Why was he still here? Why did he feign caring? She could not believe he had really waited by her side...weeks?

Forever a stranger in a strange land. Forever an outsider...

 

[Draedamyr]

Coming back through the door with a tray, Seske would be able to see that Draedamyr didn't look fresh and alert. There were bags under his eyes and he shuffled in with the tray carefully.

A karaf was balanced at each end of the tray. One with water and one with a deep, burgundy wine. In the middle was a plate with slices of thick, heavy bread and a few pots of jams that they could be dipped into.

"Any of it coming back?" he asked. The elf did not set the tray across her lap, but on the bed alongside her legs. He poured a glass of water and returned to his chair. Without apology he took one of the slices of bread for himself.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She shook her head carefully, not wishing to repeat her earlier problems. "Only pain," she said softly. "Whatever I did at the last must have been far too much," she added. She could only remember pieces of that, even. Lance of light, stabbing down from the heavens.

And promises, assurances that she would become more than she was. "Maybe a little," she admitted, reluctantly.

She took up thr karaf in trembling hands and, with an almost comical look of concentration, pouted herself some water, which she then greedily drank. A single glass was nowhere near enough to slake her thirst, and so with equal difficulty she took more.

"Why are you still here," she asked as she poured fir a third glass of cool water. It seemed a silly question, but she could not turn away from it. "I would have expected you long gone by now," she admitted, a touch bitterly.

 

[Draedamyr]

If she didn't remember anything beyond the Inn then she didn't remember their conversation as he carried her up the slopes. The two of them had seen a little of their own woes in the other. Draedamyr had felt as if they had made a small connection in adversity.

Never mind, he told himself. So often the most interesting things were torn down before they could truly grow. Draedamyr looked a touch hurt at her words, but it settled into a regretful melancholy in his reply.

"I had nearly given up hope," he replied. "But I didn't abandon you on that slope where we made out stand either. We are both old and tired in our own ways. I did not know if anyone else would care for you. The humans of that town abandoned us quickly enough. They had children to protect and we were outsiders, after all."

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She flinched at his words. Outsiders...

"Forever a stranger in a strange land," she whispered sadly. She closed her eyes, struggling to remember. It was there, just beyond reach. All of it, but filmed over so as to be unrecognizable. "I am familiar with this song. Ever time moves onwards, and while the words may change, the song stays the same."

She let out a long, slow breath. "Tell me, did we find Nightwind? I cannot remember, but I remember being separated from her before reaching the inn."

 

[Draedamyr]

His heart sank within his chest. His gut seemed to tie itself in a knot.

Please, please don't make me have to tell her...

There was no way around it. He braced as he recalled the blood curdling wail she had let out the first time. It wasn't fair to make her go through this twice.

"I'm sorry Seska. They caught Nightwind."

Draedamyr placed a hand on her wrist as he sat down, grimacing as he prepared to watch the revelation hit home.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

It was liking getting kicked in the gut, and the diminutive woman flinched back from the words. There was...something familiar about all of this, as if it was something she should have known already. As if the sorrow had already torn her heart in half and shredded the pieces once, and now the pain was...dulled.

She did not say anything. Tears welled up in her eyes, and ran tracks down her cheeks, but she did not wail in anguish, did not scream to the heavens. She recalled - faintly - hving done so already, even if all of the events surrounding it were murky, shadow images that were too obscure to be seen clearly.

All she could do was press her free hand to her eyes and weep softly, and so she did. The hollowness within her was as vast and bottomless as black hole, and it made her feel...unreal. As if all of this was something in a passing dream. A nightmare.

But she had been alive too long to hold on to foolish hopes like that.

It took a few minutes for her to master herself well enough to speak. Her weakness had saved Draedmyr from another display of raw emotions, but even in its diminished state it was not pleasant to behold. She let her hand fall to the coverlet, and stared at the bed with disconsolate eyes. "The wheel always catches up," she said wretchedly. "Alone again," she breathed.

 

[Draedamyr]

She had forgotten seeing how keenly he felt what she was going through. Perhaps he had the lifespan of a mayfly to Seska but they both knew loss to a much deeper degree than the humans who skipped through their brief years. It cut them deep.

The first person Draedamyr had formed a bond with for nearly a century had died just weeks ago. He had died by Draedamyr's own hand. He would mourn for perhaps a decade. The humans of that town would probably rebuild and forget that dark day within weeks.

It was why they were so successful as a species. They forgot their mistakes quickly and took great risks. They built settlements in regions thought far too dangerous. They discovered magics his own people had thought far beyond them. They saw the world in black and white and hurled themselves through it.

He had nothing to say. No words were going to console her now. But Draedamyr didn't leave her. He simply drained his water poured himself a glass of the red wine.

"For your companion," he muttered, taking a sip.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

The red wine was tempting, but it was a trap. It was a trap she had fallen into a long time ago, distant in memory to the point that she could not recall all the details. She had run down that path, using alcohol to cope with things that only time could heal, and poorly at that.

The Sidhe felt vulnerable in a way that went beyond her weakness, beyond the product of pushing herself too far, too quickly. At least the reason for her sad, sorry state was more readily apparent to her now, not that it was an excuse to fall prey to the grim specter of despair to the degree she apparently had. Vulnerable in perhaps the most dire manner, for her; she could wield sorcery of such great power, whatever its cost might be. She could live until the stars burned out, one by one, and left the world a cold, dark place.

But her heart was ever a target, and it felt the barbs of loss keenly. Longevity only meant she could feel the sting more frequently. Power made her more isolated, having to bear the burden of that pain on her own more often than not.

"To another, returned to the Mother," she said sadly. She only lifted the empty glass of water in toast to the fallen, brushed a stray tear aside. "Were it not so, were it that my heart was insensate to the darts the world throws at me..."

 

[Draedamyr]

"If you did not feel joy for a thing that you loved when it was here, then you would not feel any pain for its loss," Draedamyr said quietly. "I have always felt the reverse was true. If I closed myself off from the world then it would hurt me less."

The elf looked down at his cup of wine. The pain behind his eyes could not have been for her lost steed, but it seemed to have settled into place. He was young by comparison to her, but he could grow quite weary of the world when he found himself in a dark mood. It seemed to be getting ready to move on without him. His birthplace was long forgotten, he had not seen any of his children for many years now and had just severed some of his last connections.

Yet he still had old friends dotted around the world. There were places he still wanted to visit. It was just going to take some time to see it in the same light after losing Ythris. But he had the patience to truly appreciate the world for what it was. He could watch a sunset for hours and not tire of its beauty. Joy and pain, both were felt far more keenly than the fleeting emotions of the humans.

"Maybe you should try and eat," he offered.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

If it were not for evil in the world, how could there be any good? It was the same argument, phrased differently. Without contrast, life was nothing but a melange of sameness that would drive anyone, mortal or immortal, insane. And it wouldn't take very long for that to happen, either.

And she said as much. "Contrast is the fabric of experience," she said simply. She shifted, still feeling as week as a babe. The room was suddenly too confining, the bed uninviting. She shook her head at his suggestion, and with a great deal more difficulty than she would admit - or show - swung her legs round and over the edge of the bed. She certainly didn't look frail, or as if she had been bedridden for weeks...but appearances could deceive.

"Help me down. This is an inn? To the common room, then. Your company is...welcome," she said. More welcome than he probably knew and, in fact, than she did.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr could understand wanting to leave this stuffy room. She had been so still for so long that a bit of a walk would be good for her. There hadn't been much of her to waste away without eating properly. In truth, he was surprised by the condition she was in. Perhaps that was a touch of immortality.

"Of course," he replied. Draedamyr walked around the bed, offering his arms so she could help herself down to the floor. He was also there in case her legs gave out.

"You, erm, might want to try and put on something more substantial if we're going downstairs," he offered tentatively. The nightgown would attract more than a few looks he suspected.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

The truth was her legs did give out, and it was only the act of clutching at his hand that kept her from inelegantly depositing herself on the floor. She looked around the room for her staff, and did not immediately see it.

"I do not need food to survive," she said slowly, finally acknowledging the offer to eat once more. Food was more an affectation than necessity, especially for her. Others of her people might have evolved towards a need for it, but she was only a few hundred generations removed from the first. "Where is my staff?"

She paused for a moment, considering his words. She would have stripped down to her skin right in front of him and donned a dress if not for the comment. No one really had seen her as a woman, not in that particular way, in so long she rarely even thought of it herself. No one had leered rather in ages, and regardless, she spent more time alone than most people lived.

"And my dress. You...might have to help me with that, or get someone who can." That doesn't see me as some fragile porcelain doll, or a child.

 

[Draedamyr]

"It's in the cupboard," he replied of her staff. He remained quite still, letting her place her weight on his arms until she had her balance. Now at least he understood why she hadn't entirely wasted away over the last few weeks.

Draedamyr was old enough that he did not outright blush at the comment. Unfortunately for Seska despite her diminutive form he very much did see her as a woman. That much was obvious enough in his expression at this distance. Under other circumstances he could easily have put such thoughts aside, but there didn't seem to be a pressing need to undress her this instant.

Draedamyr had a thought on who could help. It did not quite align with Seska's own thoughts and instead went: "I can go and see if one of the girls working at the inn can come and help."

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"That would be fine," she said. For a moment, the pain of loss could be forgotten, a touch of amusement replacing the dolorous tone. It was not enough to lighten her mood greatly, but it was something at least. "I can just lean here while you go fetch someone." Or totter over to the cupboard and get my own support. Or fall on the floor and wait for someone to pick me up by the scruff of my neck.

She had not missed the faint coloring in the man's cheeks, nor the slight hitch in his voice. Not so young as to stumble over his words looking for a way to maintain a sense of propriety, which under any other circumstances would gave been endearing. She could not laugh, though. Amusement did not banish heartache, and hers was still wounded deeply.

"Go then," she said lightly. "I will be fine for a few moments."

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr waited a few moments until she felt as least vaguely stable against him. If she fell then he presumed she could at least fall back onto the bed. He certainly wasn't here to mother someone who had lived many of his own lifetimes. Perhaps it was his own age that meant he had crossed paths with several virtually immortal creatures in his life.

He was just about starting to feel his own mortality take hold now. He had perhaps another century. Two if he was particularly careful. Despite all those years behind him he was perfectly content knowing that his time was limited. Through accident, disease or murder most elves didn't even get past three centuries of life.

He slipped out of the door to be replaced just a few moments later by a human girl. She might perhaps have been in her twenties but it was difficult to tell. Fortunately Seska hadn't been conscious when the girl had been asking Draedamyr some very ignorant questions about her species.

The girl, whose name was Dertsy, gave a feeble attempt at a little curtsy. By his mannerisms, Draedamyr seemed to have accidentally convinced her that he must have been nobility of some sort.

"Master Draedamyr asked I come help you get dressed. Good to see you up on yer feet ma'am," she said.

Draedayr waited outside, leaning against the wall beside the door. Seska might not have needed food, but he had ordered some slices of pie put aside with some wine for himself.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

The girl that replaced Draedmyr was a pretty, short little woman that nevertheless stood a head taller than the Sidhe did. Whatever the girl thought of Draedmyr did not carry over to her, though. The curtsey was the only honorific she received, and thereafter she received the side eye.

And then, naturally, gossip.

"Who is the elfin Lord you are with?" The question was asked as she doffed her shift. The young girl gasped a bit at what pulling the cloth away revealed. The scars where her wings had been, long ago, were pale things, but they were not the only blemishes on her body. Scars, many pale lines that had faded to near invisibility, criss-crossed her torso, made more vivid by the fading bruises that she had inflicted on herself most recently.

One in particular had the look of being fatal, if only for the fact that it had been. She did not like to be reminded of that chapter of her life.

Naturally, the girl had no tact. She pointed out the ugliest of her ancient injuries - still pale enough that it was only visible because of the bruises. "What under the sun caused this?! How did you survive it," she exclaimed and asked, fingertip lightly touching the scar on her back that was twin to the one just below her left breast.

The sorceress did not answer that question, but it did not stem the flow of words. Retrieving her laundered and mended dress, the girl helped her don it, helping tug it over her head and doing the buttoms up down her back. The soft fabric was welcome, hiding the past from prying eyes.

She had to endure the flow of observations and questions while she adjusted the dress so that it fit as comfortably as it would. It seemed tighter than normal, but it could have simply been the fading tenderness in her flesh.

For some reason the girl thought she served the elvish swordsman in some capacity or another, but her questions, even when answered, were not taken for truth. Ultimately, the diminutive woman stopped talking altogether.

When she stepped from the room, the girl leading the way, it was with a distinctly out upon look on her face. Using her staff as a walking aid, leaning heavily upon it, she slowly made her way towards the common area of the inn, saying nothing to Draedmyr as she made her way by. Was it an air of hurt that she gave off, subtly different than the sorrow that still coiled around her soul like a constricting snake?

Maybe.

 

[Draedamyr]

"Erm, you're supposed to bow to a Lord..." Draedamyr started to say in an amused tone. He had tried to keep the rest of what was said by the thick-headed girl out of mind and lighten the mood.

"Sorry," he muttered as he fell into step behind Seska. He could almost instantly sense that the attempt was misplaced. Draedamyr found that as he became older his attempts at humour often missed the mark.

Seska seemed quite determined to make her way on with the staff alone for assistance. Draedamyr left her to it but stayed close. He hadn't survived as many duels as he had without having exceptional reflexes, even for one of his kind.

There was a quiet hubbub in the common area. A few merchants were doing business over cards in one corner of the room. Draedamyr had started to notice more of the middle classes in humanity starting to gather wealth. More of them were starting to learn to read and write. It would be a power struggle he was certain to miss. Eventually the royals and nobles would see their power slipping away and there would be blood. Similar incidents had ocurred in the history of his own people.

The innkeeper waved them to a table and followed a few moments later with a plate of pie and new glass of wine.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"You should respect your elders," she shot back at his quip, but there was no bite to the words. She was still...annoyed, and disconcerted by the endless stream of questions, ignorant or otherwise. That human girl had struck as many nerves in a matter of minutes as any number of people had managed in many years.

Of course, the pallid scars on her arms were more visible now, too, due to the yellowing bruises that could not mar that tissue. Most were thin lines, nearly vanished. In fact, there would have been hundreds - thousands - more, but even she changed as time moved, old skin replaced by new. Just at a much slower rate.

It was a struggle to get into her chair, but she did not ask for any help. Once seated, she looked around at the people - humans, mostly. "Such a gregarious people," she remarked. There was a little life in her voice, but it was still underlined with pain of several varieties. She was clearly trying to lift her spirits artificially, and having mixed results at it.

She stared at the glass of wine wth some interest, absently rubbing at her arms as though they itched. "So much life. I can remember when..." She trailed off in silence.

 

[Draedamyr]

"You're only the second who can say that to me," he said, with a wry smile.

Draedamyr decided to leave her to considered that thought. She could decide whether to finish it in her own time. He took his knife and cut his slice of pie in half. Thick gravy spilled out, and he was treated to a steamy waft of rich flavours.

"They are a varied people too. Always changing. One considers a well-spoken elf as some kind of nobility. Another considers him a snobby pest. Unfortunately it seems you get to inherit the stereotypes of halflings. Not known for fighting, but eating and sleeping."

Draedamyr touched his knife to his tongue. He nodded appreciatively.

"Excellent food here, but then it is the most expensive Inn this town has. Because I am a snob. Just as Brynden my halfling friend likes sitting on his arse and eating cake."

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"Better to be thought a halfling than a child," she said. Better to be derided for sloth and gluttony than genocide and worse. Not exactly the kind of thinking that was good for an appetite, not that she had much of one at the best of times. Food really was an affectation, and while it would aid in recovery, it was the mana that floated all around that sustained her. This place was not particularly rich in it, but there was enough to affect her recovery, albeit slowly.

"It is amazing how their kind have arisen across so many different worlds." The concept of traveling from world to world was fairly foreign among the people of Arethil, and small wonder. The Laws of Magic, known by their scholars, were an effective - very effective - barrier to such studies.

But the Sidhe had traveled for longer than their exile, which was the only reason the people - at least, the people she was born of - still existed. Without the ability to create gates and travel from one world to another, they would have all died long ago.

"And amazing how they are all so similar, one world to the next. Perhaps it is their short lives that drive them so?" She picked at a bit of crust, and tasted it. It tasted of ashes, and she settled back in her chair, completely uninterested in the repast available to her.

 

[Draedamyr]

"I am deeply glad to see you awake Seska, but if you're going to give me the mental image of endless worlds filled with their kind..."

Draedamyr silently chastised himself for that one. After nine centuries he wasn't about to change and neither was his deadpan sense of humour.

"It's the lack of fear," he agreed. "Magic is dangerous and yet they thrown themselves at it knowing that they only have a few decades to make their mark. A few thousand might die, the The other thousand make great strides. And then the next ones have a go."

Draedamyr pressed his fork down through the pastry which cracked beautifully. He filled his fork with slow cooked beef, carrots, gravy and pastry. It was a distinctly human dish, but well flavoured.

"You're doing well to be on your feet so quickly," he said before starting to eat. It was difficult to tell if it was a statement or a question. Draedamyr wasn't certain either.