Private Tales The Last Resort

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr lowered his eyes to the table. He found a strange notch in the wood and traced it with his fingertips. A round of drinks was brought to the table a few over from their own. He didn't even look up as they gave a toast for something. Maybe a new business deal.

"It is not such a grand story," he said slowly. "No one really remembers the city where I came from either. One of the last elven cities outside of the woodlands. Probably just a town by human standards. It was razed when I was just a boy.

"I was a very proud and angry young man. Set about gathering as many of my family heirlooms as I could from those who had taken them. Learned the blade, left a lot of dead in my wake. I suppose I have always been out of place but it is not so bad," he admitted.

" I certainly don't hold so many regrets at what came to pass in my life. Few elves even live this old and I am just a few hundred years for as old as can be I expect. I married once, have four children who are...somewhere in this world."

He frowned deeply, moving past all of that to come to the fresh pain that had been exposed for Seska to see.

"I felt as if I had one last mark to make on this world before my time would come and I ruined it."

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She was on her feet before she knew it, and close enough to lay a hand upon one of his, a delicate touch meant to convey commiseration with the things that had been lost. "There is always time to make marks on the world," she said softly, eyes still red from her own tears. There was...compassion in her yees, perhaps from shared experiences that few would ever live to know. She did not mention that the marks that could be made were ephemeral at best, fleeting as the lives of all mortals were.

But her own marks upon the world had been fleeting as well. All except for one, her darkest deed, and the thing that still, ten thousand years and more later, made her wake up in the night, screaming at the heavens and wailing for the sins she had committed.

"What was it you intended to do, that you think it beyond reach now?"

 

[Draedamyr]

"It was...when I put it into words it puts me in a mind to never try again. It makes me realise that it was a prideful thing."

Draedamyr put his other hand on top of hers. A small tower of fingers, but also an anchor to keep his focused.

"I decided that before I left this world I would teach the greatest swordsman ever." Draedamyr grimaced. It sounded just as daft as he had expected. He pressed on before he could turn on himself.

"Ythris was...he was brilliant. Dutiful, quick of wit and hand. I had so much pride and love in my heart for that man. Imagine being an artist and completing what you feel is your greatest work. You know that you could try and replicate it and never again would all the pieces fall into place."

The top hand came away, fidgeting with nothing in the air. In all the time she had been around him, which was not long, his hands had always been steady. Even in the face of a many-headed demon Prince.

"But he was the best of me and the worst of me. My pride stopped me from seeing it. My pride became his pride."

His chest rose and fell as he took a deep, steadying breath. The cool breeze did nothing to steady the ship on tumultuous waters. Draedamyr turned towards Seska. His green-grey eyes carried the motion of that storm.

"Ask me in a decade and I might tell you what he did with that pride. I...removed my creation from this world."


“You don't have to do this,” Ythris spoke in their own tongue.

“You know I do.” Draedamyr held his gaze. He owed him that much.

“Walk away. Forget you ever knew me.” There was no fear in Ythris’ eyes. Even now, making one last desperate plea. Draedamyr saw too much in those eyes and knew it had to be done quickly.

“I could never forget you. Not the love I have for you. Not even the way you disappointed me. Though I wish I could.”

Ythris looked as if he might have had more to say. Draedamyr was glad that he didn't. The soft rasp of a saber leaving its sheath had never sounded more like a soft sigh of resignation. They both knew what came now. They could have done this dance a hundred time and it would have gone the same way. Of all the steps Ythris knew, he had been taught at least half by Draedamyr.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

As if they would even know each other within a decade. Her fingers tightened on his hand, although that small hand could not really exert much force. She wanted to cry out at him, that in a few weeks she would again be alone, and unwanted and uncared for again. The eternal penance of her murderous ways these things might be, whether by her hand or by the world, but that did not make them sting less.

Instead, she looked away, ever the coward when it came to her own heart and her own feelings. "Pride is bitter at best, and leads only one way." That was not true, but it was true enough. There had been great people through the ages who had been prideful, but they had guides that pride as though it were a sword, merely a tool to their greatness. Too many allowed it to govern them instead of the other way around. "I know of the burden it brings, and the bittersweet choices that are left."

"I know of this thing. I built an empire, one hand guiding dozens of great Lords and Ladies, and carried my banners across half a continent. Built great cities, with flourishing trade and wealth. Even the...the common man had a decent life, then." She could recall the glory of it, the might of the Knights Errant. The Council that had held back chaos and dishonor for a hundred years and more, forestalling the great wars through sheer presence alone. "Perhaps I could speak of the Great Warlady herself, Shayanna Danielle Griffinsbane, the first Warlady of the Knights Errant before the high seat of the Council passed into my hands. Perhaps some day," she added lightly, the tone completely out of keeping with the topics they spoke of.

She suddenly wished for something more light hearted than the constant sorrow that she basked in nearly every day, whose only difference between one day and the next was the particular flavor. A stab through the heart, the beloved Nightwind gone. But tomorrow, what would it be? Dradmyr, having decided that her company was too onerous, perhaps returning to the people of the world he belonged to, leaving her to wander as the eternal stranger?

"I...I am sorry to make you speak of something that troubles you so," she said. The words were earnest, almost a caress filled with concern and care. It shocked her that she even could care, despite everything but most of all despite so short an acquaintance with someone clearly not of her world, and not even of her way of thinking.

 

[Draedamyr]

"No, no, it is quite alright," he replied. Some of the tension visible in the corners of his eyes and the set of his shoulders melted away. It was only the second time he had tried to explain it. It helped.

Draedamyr's old mind had so many layers of threads that wove his memories together. It was hard to sort through them and come to terms with what had happened. He had spent enough hours alone trying to know it was not going to help.

Time, time would help most of all. It was a bit too late to change who he was. His pride would always be there, but perhaps now he would be more mindful of its follies.

"You did not make me and I hope you don't think I made you speak of your past." Draedamyr couldn't help but think that she must have changed a great deal from the mage who had led an unholy crusade and brought down an entire world if she could bear to spend down listening to an old elf tell of his troubles.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She closed her eyes and let out a soft breath, as if some kind of tension had been bled from her mind by his words. She breathed in, opening her eyes.

"No, I did not. I do not often speak of the past with others." Others always thought much of it to be fanciful tales, fancies that meant nothing. The darker tales she did not share but once in a great while. It was too difficult to tell how it would be received, and as she had alluded to many times, she was forever an outsider. Someone who belonged to nowhere, and to noone.

She shook her head, remaining standing. Squeezed his hand lightly before removing it - the table where it was held was too high to maintain that for overlong. "I know of the peril pride brings, to my own undoing. At least you learned before you lost everything. At least you have family and friends still." The words contained a trace of bitterness. She knew full well what she had lost in the days of her youth, but she had gone too far to fix those woes now.

 

[Draedamyr]

At least I didn't watch an entire world burn. The thought crossed his mind without any malice within it. It wasn't always easy to put your pain in perspective. Seeing how much her past hurt when some way, but it couldn't change how personal his own failings had been.

"You are right," he admitted. Draedamyr looked from Seska to his mug of wine as if it might have held an answer. It didn't have one, but he drained it anyway.

"What would help your recovery now then?" he asked. He spoke tentatively, slowly moving away from their exchange. It would take Draedamyr some time to decide how he felt about that conversation. "Rest until you have the strength to ride towards stronger magic?"

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

Rest. The thought was appealing; she was tired, and would remain tired for a long time. The stress of what she had done would have been less severe on Tonan, but though the nature and speed with which it crept upon her was different, the end result was the same.

She looked into his face, careworn by centuries of life. There was still plenty more of it to go, she was sure of that. There was still time for him to live out the ambition he desired.

But what of me? A spidery thought, a web as fine and thin as gossamer. She had no ambitions, held no specific desires beyond escaping this world. Her time here was one of purgatory, a half breath between one act and the next. If she had lost thevtyread of the story, well, then...

"Rest will help," she said, though unconvinced. Looking out the window of the common room, she saw that the sun had slid through the sky so that it was well past its zenith. Afternoon was well underway, evening not many hours off.

She turned carefully and climbed back up onto her seat. "Some wine to ease the discomfort, a night's rest, and then onwards." She deliberately did not say we, for she truly did not expect Draedmyr to remain, by her side or otherwise, for very long.

Forever a stranger. Outsider.

Outcast.

 

[Draedamyr]

"Just say if you need anything else," he replied. Slowly, he untangled his mind from the past. Their current predicament was serious enough that he couldn't afford to lose himself in that web. She was tougher than she looked, but being down and out for weeks couldn't be a good sign for any species.

Draedamyr waved for another mug of wine and had his own plate cleared away. They were brought wine and a few chunks of hard cheese that the elf decided to pick at.

"My room is next door so you can always smack the wall with your staff. Rooms here are small enough," he reflected. "I am...glad to see you up again Seska. I was growing quite concerned these past few days."

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She looked at the wine, shrugged, and took a mug that had been left for her. She held it as she poured herself a measure of it, hands unsteady and trembling from even that slight weight. She founder herself transported, briefly, to a different place, with wooden mugs replaced by fine crystal, ruby wine sparkling in the light of brilliantly lit chandeliers, open ballrooms where nobles danced, spoke in hushed tones. She closed her eyes, drinking of the modern vintage, dry with just a hint of sweetness.

She upended the mug, draining it in one go, and then shaking her head lightly to banish the memory. Fine crystal and white light was replaced with the rustic dimness of the common room, the scent of fresh baking bread coming from the kitchens replacing the clean scent of perfumed women and men. She eyed the cheese without much interest, but took piece anyway.

"I...may have not been entirely truthful," she said around a mouthful of the tart, hard bite. "Food will help - a little - in the recovery." But not as much as time would. She had no appetite, and probably would not for days anyway. Despite being laid up for weeks.

She already had another mug of the red wine in her, hastily gulped down like an alcoholic convinced they were dying of thirst, when he spoke again. The wine was already having the intended effect, slowly seeping into aching muscles and joints and dulling the pain, She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, stunnd by the admission. She could scarcely believe that any that walked this world now, in which she had moved more or less like a breathing, living ghost, could have a care for her. Her well being, her comfort, her presence, her company.

Maybe she had simply been alone for too long to understand the emotions and tells of others. Buried beneath the creeping doom that was exhaustion, never far away, was a tangled mess of emotions that she couldn't have picked through if she tried. Jumbled, knotted into a melange of feelings that couldn't be picked apart, in fact. She looked at the old man with veiled eyes, searching him - his posture, his eyes, his features, anything - for a trace of deceit. And could find none.

She reached for the wine again, unsteadiness born of more than simple exhaustion and weakness now. Uncertainty tinged with alcohol coursed through her, confusion blended with frustration, envy...and hope?

"I...I do not know what to say," she said, and it was the truth. "No one has cared for so long..." She trailed off in silence, still fumbling with the nearly empty pitcher of wine in a distracted manner.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr managed to convey his agreement in her distaste for the wine with a can't of his head. When he got back to a real city he could find an inn with some proper vintage. He wondered whether Seska would appreciate a fine drop.

Now he was starting to understand that she used the wine to numb the pain that came from overusing her magic. It had taken a few glasses to take the edge off of whatever she had done to make it to the safe house back at the town. They might have holed themselves up in that stone building if she hadn't arrived. If that greater demon had come they certainly wouldn't have survived the next night.

"Nothing needs to be said," he replied. "Well, 'thank you for not leaving my on the ridge' would suffice. And if you do enjoy food if we follow the road south towards the city we might find somewhere with a more accomplished chef," he added with just a hint of a smile.

Well paid for his work, Draedamyr had come to appreciate the finer things in life. He did not like nature or even the open road all that much. He enjoyed civilisation despite always being somewhat removed from anything resembling a community. They could call him a snob all they wanted. Though those who called him worse often found his steel more sharp than his tongue.

He cast a curious eye over Seska. He caught her watching him carefully and her trouble with dealing with his kindness caught him a little off-guard. At least she hasn't spilled the red over her clothes with shaky hands. The small down probably didn't have a seamstress worth paying.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

The familiar warmth coursed through her veins now, its pleasantly numbing effect cutting through the fiery pain. That confusing blend of emotion only intensified the longer she spent in this man's company. A certain charm, a wit, a way about him that spoke of his ease within the world he lived in.

In some key ways, this elfin swordsman was everything she was not. Obviously at home wherever he was, unconcerned about what others thought of him. And with a depth of experience that she lacked; she had skimmed along the top of society, barely interacting with it for many, many years. Perhaps she was the one at fault for being an outcast.

But....entanglements in the affairs of the living world were dangerous. Any time she had ever doubted it, had begun to question and then inserted herself into the wider world...it always went wrong. The cost was always either to the innocent, or to herself.

"Thank you for not leaving me on the ridge," she said, and then looked into the mug and frowned. The cheap wine was stronger than the finer vintages she preferred, perhaps to make up for the taste. She finished off the dregs and made a face at that very taste.

"Fine food and fine wine, where I can find it," she said a little unsteadily. She waved for the server to bring more of the foul drink absently. A brief moment of awareness showed that the class and character of people had changed over the hours, and now the common room sported several menial workers, farmers and their hands. The merchants remained aloof if these. "I do not often come across either, though." A pause, fidgeting with the empty mug, eyes downcast and glassy from the wine. Most of the swirling feelings remained unseen, beneath the placid surface. "You seem much more travelled than I am," she said.

 

[Draedamyr]

"Not so well travelled," he admitted,after bowing his head briefly at her thanks. Draedamyr made no more of it. He dropped his voice a little before continuing.

"I am definitely an embarrassment to my forest-dwelling cousins. An elf who can't survive in the wilderness alone. I stick to the main roads and stay in the cities." It was a mark of trust that he would admit as much so readily.

Draedamyr was an exceptional duelist. He could name most of those that could match him in the entire region. He was not a ranger and preferred the safety of city walls.

"I won't wake you early," he promised, "but in the morning we'll pack and head straight for the stables. Should the winds of magic tell you to go north or south along the main road I know several establishments that serve a good wine. What do you prefer to eat when you feel like it?" he asked. She looked a little uncomfortable under his gaze. Very different behaviour from the Sidhe. He consciously decided to move to more innocuous conversation. They had both poured out their hearts enough for the evening.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"I do not sleep late," she said. Still fidgeting with the empty vessel, still with eyes downcast. Her heart lurched at the mention of stables, adding another layer to the onion of emotions swirling within. She almost said that she was often awake before the sun had begun to pearl the eastern horizon, but refrained from it.

"Strongly spice food, the hotter the better," she said. She finally looked up, but did not stop fidgeting. She was still coming to terms with the kindness shown, and the care. It had been...so terribly long since someone who could speak had been so kind, so forthright with her that she found she had no defenses for such a thing. Strictly speaking, she was....lost. Derision she could deal with, and condescension. Harshness. Indifference.

But kindness? Such a rare thing, precious beyond belief. It sent her reeling internally, unable to cope.

"What brought you to this place, anyway," she queried as the server arrived with more wine, and some bread to - presumably - soak it up. She poured for herself, splashing some of the ruby liquid on the table, and offered to do the same for him.

 

[Draedamyr]

"Hmm we'd need a bigger town than this to get some decent spicey food," he mused. Spices tended to be imported to these lands through Alliria. The further from the city you went the more rare the foreign spice.

Draedamyr wasn't oblivious to the turmoil she seemed to be going through. He didn't know what he should say just yet. So he answered the question.

"I had almost forgotten," he replied. "There was word of a job and I was on the road. Had stopped in that town but..." he flicked a hand at the air. "...it will have been dealt with by now."

A lot had transpired between then and now. In all the challenges he had faced in this world, none had quite stolen every last shred of hope like those demons had.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"A job," she said, tasting the word as if it was foreign, though it was not. She had all the money she needed, as she spent far more time in the wilds than in any town. Quite the opposite of the intrepid swordsman seated across from her. "It has been a bit since I took one of those," she mused.

Mention of that town turned her thoughts to both her sweet little mare and the demons that had stolen her. Dull anger remained of all that, and little more. And sorrow of course.

But what had that been like for him?

She could feel just a trace of the emotion he had displayed before, when all hope seemed lost. a memory, an echo of a memory. That man and this one before her seemed like two different people. It was amazing what circumstances could do.

"I still do not know what to make of that," she said, drinking deeply again. Her head swam, now, and all pain had long ceased being a problem. And yet she drank more, and had no idea why. Fidgeting with a half filled muf, something on her mind that she could not define, much less speak. "Those demons. The mist." Was that a trace of a different kind of pain in her voice?

 

[Draedamyr]

"No, no," he said, his expression darkening. She seemed to be drinking plenty all of a sudden, but he wasn't about to question an immortal on what was an appropriate amount of wine.

"Was not just that town either. Several others have just been...wiped off the map."

The extent of how global the intrusion had been had not yet spread this far.

"Gone. Mists and demons. And a lot of people too. No sign of half the people that were in those settlements."

It was hard not to let a note of fear creep into his voice.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She winced, at the news and at his expression, her hands falling away from the drink, resting them in her lap. She spent some time looking at the mottled flesh of her arms, a look of disgust on her face. "So many lost," she murmured solemnly. So many faceless people, numbers rather than names.

What was the saying? The death of one person was a tragedy, a million a statistic. It was a sad truth, but truth nonetheless.

"What else," she asked softly. There was a note there, one that spoke to her as being more profound than even the loss of the relative few. There was something here that chilled her, but bot with fear. No, it was deeper than that.

Disquiet. It cut through the tangled knot of emotions,though that swirling maelstrom dud not vanish. It just made way for other things.

The light fog of alcohol eased her trepidation, but it was born of something that had little to do with demons.

 

[Draedamyr]

"I think that is about all I've heard really," he replied. The shrug of his slender shoulders was a very subtle gesture. "I have not been particularly far to ask around. Only that I have caught vignettes of conversation."

Draedamyr smiled, almost managing to look embarrassed. In truth he had not gone far from that chair beside her bed since they had arrived. That worn old seat had almost become a friend these past days.

"I am certain we will overhear more on the road and from those who feel like answering the questions of an elf and a halfling."

He smiled softly, knowing that it was a mischief to hark back to the confusion on her species that had marked their meeting. She no longer looked a half long to him, or even the demi-god that had stuck down the demons against the ridge. Humans described seeing emotion as 'humanity'. They would claim everything as their own eventually. There was some logic to that. When you started to empathise with any being, it crossed any bounds between species.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She laughed at the quip, perhaps a bit harder than it deserved. It was a melodic thing, rarely given by her and doubtless eased into existence by several mugs of strong wine. "If they can stomach the arrogance, and so long as their food is safe," she remarked, face split with a grin, cheeks faintly flushed a rosy hue.

It melted away, though, replaced by seriousness. "That I could laugh in the face of such tragedy," she said, then shook her head slowly. "Perhaps laughter is all that saves us from incipient madness in the face of such horrors, though."

 

[Draedamyr]

"Well, you don't seem to eat much but I do have enough arrogance to bring to bear. Or so I am told," he replied. "But then I suppose I am actually and elf."

Even if it was brief, and possible came from delirium, it was nice to see her laugh. After spending so much time seeing her look half dead, it was good to see the spark of life.

Her cheeks were a little rosy from the wine and laughter, but she didn't look at all like a halfling. With her slender jaw and sharp wars she was more elven to him. Closer to the drawings of fae creatures of legend.

"If you see me face down a demon like that again and start laughing, I think you should worry for me," he said. It was hard to tell if it was a joke or not.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She took it as it was meant to be, which was to say both. A curve of her lips said as much, though the seriousness in her eyes did not fade. "And the next time I start attacking trees, you should club some sense into me."

The ghostly, fragmented memory of her initial assault made her cringe. Such flagrant, overzealous displays of power were awesome, but they were what led to her current sorry state.

She should never have let emotion rule her so, and yet the same pain then still twisted her soul now, if far less acutely. If buried beneath alcohol, and beneath far kinder and more pleasant company than she had enjoyed in a long while.

Beneath avtorrent of conflicting emotions that raged beneath her outwardly placid surface. To say there were hidden depths to this ancient woman was to make a vast understatement

"I do not think we have seen the last of those demons. They lost for something, and desire can drive men to madness." Their desire for her power had been palpable, disturbing, and misguided. "But I think I've had enough of dour topics of conversation."

She leaned forward, eyes bright. "Tell me of your children," she said earnestly. She had never had any of her own, and she had always been a little envious of those who did.

 

[Draedamyr]

"Desmene is my youngest, I last saw her...twenty three years ago. She must be nearly three hundred and fifty now."

There was obvious fondness in his eyes as he spoke of his only daughter.

"She saw a friend of mine a few years back. I think perhaps she takes most after me. Though she apparently has been searching out old ruins. Perhaps looking for more lost pieces of what my people once were. Her appetite for fanciful stories came from her mother. I just fed them."

"Rynthal must be nearing four hundred now. We haven't crossed paths for some years. More of Sialla in him. I imagine he lives in Fal'Addas.

"And Braithan...we never quite saw eye to eye. I have not seen him for a very long time now. It is a strange thing, to have a child that is made of you and yet you can never seem to find common ground."

Draedamyr looked at his glass and then cleared his throat apologetically. It felt as if he had gone on long enough without even taking a breath to give Seska a chance to interject or ask questions.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She made a gesture of amelioration, indicating her insistence that he continue.

It was a thing she had thought on before, probably many times over the years. It was sometimes difficult for her people to have children to begin with, and it could take years of attempts to actually bring about such a thing. She had been too consumed with a lust for raw power in her youth to care about a family, actively spurning suitors that had chased after her in favor of that very power.

It had burned her, in the long run, and now...well, now she had nothing but herself. Not that she was barren, but the world had moved on. Any chance had been long passed by, for there were none of her own people that were even interested. And, of course, within this world she was forever a stranger.

"It must be wonderful to know that something your breathed life into is out there, making their mark on the world," she said. Perhaps a touch sadly, but it was a different kind of sadness to the raw grief buried beneath the onion-like layers of her soul. "Sialla was your wife?"

 

[Draedamyr]

"Yes she was. Unfortunately we grew apart not long after Desmene. Sometimes a thing just fades over time. I probably spent some time wondering what she was doing that first century, but it has been a long time." Draedamyr looked thoughtfully at his own hands for a few moments.

It was difficult to put a price on lost things. Particularly when the had slowly ebbed away over so many years. He could not even remember now which of them had been first to suggest that they part ways.

"I have resolved to at least track Desmene down before long. The world is such a large place. I would like to find out what she has been doing."

It was such a simple sentiment, but it had power now. It had taken root some weeks ago and grown.

"You could say I am quite foolish for pouring such pride into my apprentice. My children never had to follow my exactly footsteps. I would say that, certainly, now."