Ruins and Repentance

[Rayvinn]

"Myself, accompanied by the General's Might, Sword and Pride all sought out to see if we could find the whereabouts of he in the elven flesh he wears. It was not difficult to find what remained of his companion Mista, a most unfortunate discovery that I fear was to be a foreshadowing of what was to come.

Wisdom, my title granted by the General himself is not something I would ever claim to uphold, but I am pained while writing this to inform you that the knowledge I report should be considered fact, unless I am mistaken in what my own two eyes have seen. We followed a trail to an unnamed city, one of relative importance holds nothing for you or any of us to even blink about. Yet our trail brought us into its harbor and further into its barbaric entertainment. It was there that we could be sure we had found the General. We were prepared to stop at nothing to free him from his incarceration and my lady, I swear it to be true that were he not the one to claim otherwise, he would be in the camp now.

But he is not. He assured us that he had a purpose in being treated like cattle, in being forced to face death each prolonging night. Were I not bound by my loyalty to him, I would have disregarded his wishes. It pains me now to write that I wish I had. Before we could get a day's distance between us and that damned city the night sky cried before the awe of spectacle that shined so bright even the stars failed to relinquish their envy. The shockwave was too much, we could not turn around to go investigate the city but from what I could find, my lady, I regret to even write further... I am the General's Wisdom and on this day I wish I could have been granted to be the General's Hope, for right now.. I'm afraid I have none."

~ Wisdom

Rayvinn stood within her tent, senses alert and filled with the sound of the rain pelting down upon the thick canvas of her tent, the thunder not too far in the distance, and the sounds of her men going about their daily tasks (whether rain or shine, she kept the camp in order). The smell of the fire at the center of her tent lent its heat with the smoke wafting upwards and out the makeshift chimney. She could feel the damp sliver of breeze that breached the flap of of her tent; though not enough to cool the burning in her heart or the sting of tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. The fingernails of her left hand dug so deeply into her palm that four crescent shaped wounds now showed red, while the scroll clutched tightly within her right hand felt so smooth and unmarred, so...normal. That was the random thought that plagued her at this moment when her heart felt as if it would pound out of her chest: the scroll upon which news of tragedy (that threatened to bring her to her knees) felt so normal.

With a sharp inhale of breath and a firm resolve that manifested itself in the sudden ramrod rigidity of her spine, she called out to the guards posted on each side of the flap of her tent. "Have Daeatria brought to me but do not saddle him." One guard stuck his head within the flap and bowed to her. "As you wish, my Queen." Then she heard him call to one of the orphan boys she had found along the road to this camp and had given a chance for a future by learning some of the trades from masters within her camp; it wasn't the softest life for these children but they fared far better with her army than they would have on their own.

When Rayvinn heard Daeatria whinny, the scroll was rolled up tightly and tied before being placed inside her simple brown tunic. She'd been preparing and had a bedroll, rucksack full of provisions, T'alathian's journal, both of her magic imbued elvish blades in their crossed harness upon her back, the various daggers that were always hidden upon her person, her longbow with a side quiver of arrows, and...T'alathian's red spear that had rested upon a rack since the day she took over this tent; the very spear used in the slaughter of so many of her own people back when his father was still alive and had led the mercenary army into Faerondalen on that fateful day. T'alathian had been so young and naive to the ways of war, or even to the ways of his father as it had turned out. She now held very same spear he had offered her to strike him down as he knelt at her feet and pledged his oath of fealty. Forgiveness--this was the proof that her hardened heart had finally found a way to truly forgive him.

Rayvinn stormed from the tent, her guards stepping to the side simultaneously as she moved past the flap. After securing her gear, she mounted the unsaddled horse effortlessly and with a fluid sort of grace most could not accomplish that weren't of the elven persuasion. There was one last stop to be made before she could be on her way.

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It had taken a few weeks of reconnaissance and dead ends but the elf had finally located the “unnamed city” of which one of T’alathian’s horsemen had written; or what remained of it. For nearly a mile in every direction the earth had been scourged by worse than fire; by a heat so intense that everything retained its shape and definition but was simple ash. In the center of this devastation stood the ruins of a coliseum, with its arena and stadium seating partially preserved. The last source of intel, that she’d nearly died to receive, had led her to this place. Her heart sank in her chest as her gaze swept over the ruins, certain that none could have survived the catastrophe that had crumbled stone and seared land to mere ash.

Rayvinn dismounted, unsheathed one of the elvish blades strapped to her back, and led Daeatria through the open gates...

The letter quoted at the beginning of this post is cross posted from here.

[Rayvinn]

Within the cradle of devastation stood T'alathian. His expression had not wavered within the passing days. The sun rose overhead and toasted the inferno in which he baked without remorse. Around him he could hear the chants as they all called out during the rampage of the controlled war. In a moment the senses had been fried and all that he could feel, breathe and see had been eliminated.

At first he could only hear the ringing, that lasted a few days. His sight returned after just a few hours but he had lost the time as it had passed. Inside his own personal Hell he dared not venture out. He showed signs of malnutrition, he was thinner than he had been and though his mind repeated the pleads to vacate the ash crater, his will ceased to obey. That which he saw before that devastating moment, the face that beared all of his endeavours, hopes and dreams; Rayvinn had been able to pull it out of him in the split second it took, but as he sat now, hearing the galloping hooves in the distance, he surely must have been in hell.

Steps upon the parched, cracked ground were silent as they led her into the cavernous space within the broken walls. A practiced gaze shifted methodically to locate, and file away, every entrance or secondary exit to the arena as she also assessed for any lingering danger. Her mind told her that nothing, certainly no man, could have survived the apocalyptic-like disaster but experience told her that vultures would always flock toward destruction, attempting to gain at the expense of others.

The slight movements of some waif thin man halted Rayvinn in her steps as her gaze focused fully upon him and her other senses automatically compensated by tuning in to whatever stimuli they encountered. The smell of charred flesh, the sound of utter silence, the feel of wrongness in the air; this input continued to be processed even as her steps turned towards the bloodied, bone ragged man. “I come in peace...unless you choose otherwise.”

One-armed and looking as though death itself inhabited his body he'd been lost in the tides of his mind, not entirely sure anymore what was real, what was fantasy and what was reality. As he heard the voice he could feel the tremors splitting the ground beneath him. He turned and looked, the sun high overhead and even though he could see her, she appeared to him with wings, feathers floating about in the air, her wings flapping as she approached.

Black and purple, he wasn't sure what he was witnessing before him. He stumbled back hesitantly a step or two. "Wh-what?!" He knew the voice well but the surreal nature of the hallucination had him struck in shock. He closed his eyes, with his right arm to his forehead he let out a frustrated cry. "Where is Rayvinn?! I can't do this! I tried but all of those people... all of them! Because of me!" He screamed falling to his knees.

The man wasn’t a man at all, but an elf, this much she could see now that she was past the surprise. One-armed, with unevenly cut hair worn partially in braids, sun burned and filthy, half crazed and...”How do you know my name?” Her hawk sharp vision had taken in details but had not processed what she was seeing. A few hesitant steps brought her closer, blade held at the ready, and then she saw it...she saw him.

“By all of the gods and goddesses...T’alathian?!” The exclamation was thick with question as she wasted no time in rushing forward. Down upon one knee, the blade dropped upon the ground between them, both hands lifted to cup his jaws. “T...T’alathian. It’s Rayvinn. I’m here.” When she didn’t get an immediate answer, she gave him a sharp shake and cringed; it was far too easy to shake him now, he was far too thin. “Look at me, T. Look at me, you’ll know the truth. Listen to the sound of my voice and follow it back...” she soothed with a whisper while gently rubbing her thumbs along grimy cheeks.

He'd witnessed the wings beat viciously against the air, a torrent nearly sweeping him over. Feathers spiraled overhead blotting out the sun as she approached. He groaned and put his forehead to the ground before he could feel the touch to his face. As she directed his gaze to her's the Raven's face looked at him. He could hear her and as if he was being torn between two realms, the bright sky and her face would be looking into his soul, but the flip of the coin would tear him back to the hellish version with the raven cawing loud enough to split his skull.

"I don't know!" He exclaimed, the panic and fear in his eyes which were maddening sensations for the elf, things he had never experienced on the battlefield. He clenched his eyes, still feeling the world topsy turvy around him. A chaotic land where the ash and feathers mixed, and then the cathartic sound of her voice. The tempest inside him raged as his right hand scrambled on the ground picking up the blade and reversing his grip, holding it steady and thrusting.

He could hear her voice. Follow it back. It was a refined lunge, a weapon he knew very well without realizing it, his muscle memory had pulled the trigger but in that moment he could feel the feathers dispersing and the sun glaring in his eyes. He held on that thrust and shook as his vision cleared and he could see that image which had guided him through the ravenous storm to this point. He clenched the spear in his hand as the streams trickled down his face before he sobbed and wrapped his lone arm around her, driving his face into her neck and shoulder.

Near madness resided in that gaze, so full of fear and panic that had eyes wide and then clenched tightly shut. First one step was taken, then a second, as she gave the elf the space he needed, her gaze never leaving him as he took up the weapon. Routine, thousands of hours with a blade in hand honing his craft, took over; Rayvinn observed the strength that resided within T’alathian rise up, strength that had overcome such obstacles to make him a better elf than his father had been, and he fought against the memories and horror of recent tragedy.

Having been ready to step in if he’d succumbed to the madness of his suffering, the elfess heaved a soft sigh of relief and felt her own tears begin to well up and sting the back of her eyelids as he wrapped her in a hug. “It’s okay, T’alathian. Sssh. Everything is going to be fine now.” One arm wrapped around his neck and the other hand petted and soothed the unwashed, ratty hair that fell in lackluster clumps down his back. “We’re going home now, T. We’re going home and I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore.” As she spoke the words, Rayvinn’s lashes lifted and her gaze shifted around to see the crumbling, destroyed coliseum. There wasn’t a person as far as the eye could see aside from she and T’alathian; whatever the elf had thought she needed to protect him from, she was now realizing it might be himself. How had this bedraggled elf survived what no other had?

[Rayvinn]

Hollow. Swollen. Within him there had always been a fall back charade to keep idle eyes at bay. Never short of the wit and never one to stumble over syllables T'alathian had always managed to talk his way out of anything and if that failed he'd settle the issue with his spear. What plagued him now was unlike any of the tribulations of days past. There wasn't anyone to impale with that spear left. "Just a second ago they were so loud.. I couldn't hear. I had to!" He exclaimed with a voice that was raw with its desperation.

He paused and looked over her shoulder seeing the rays of light dance through the crumbling ruins of the stadium. Unwilling to let go or to be let go of; her touch was the first in months that hadn't been aimed to take his life he shook his head to either side. "I killed them Rayvinn. I killed them all." Speaking it out loud for the first time snapped what had been holding him up for so long. Killing for gold, killing for wars- killing for survival was an entirely different beast. The people in the stands weren't swinging their swords at him. Now he felt the burden of all of their voices and eyes upon his shoulders. "You don't need a murderer by your side!"

Rayvinn had no idea what T’alathian was talking about, not specifically, but she knew a man that was beaten down in spirit when she saw one. So many decades spent with soldiers both young and old; she’d definitely seen her fair share of men that had cracked under the weight of killing. She’d never seen the elf before her in this bad of shape before, however. “You can tell me about it after we get home, T. Don’t think about it right now.” It wasn’t that she didn’t sympathize, empathize even, with him; she just didn’t want him to utterly break down before she had him to safety.

Giving him a little shake as she leaned back from that hug, Rayvinn’s voice became stern. “You don’t need one by your side either, but here I am. I am also your queen and you swore fealty to me. You will stand up straight and walk out of here like the elf that you are. Do not force my hand in this matter, General.” A bit of her heart broke as she spoke those words to him because she wanted nothing more than to hug and coddle the broken elf and share in the tears for all of the trauma he had suffered. Right now however, just as she had said, she was the queen and that meant she had to make the more difficult choice and be the strong one of the pair. She would get him out of here whole and without him suffering more than he already had. When they got home, she could afford compassion.

Her words entered his ears and were heard through the veil upon veil of remorse. The sound of the crowd around them at maximum volume, the weight of the broken hilt in his hand and then the light and the silence that followed for an eternity. A pair of muted hazel eyes had been staring over her shoulder for some time at the rubble and debris before she took a needed shake to his system and severed the silence with her words, as necessary as they had to be, an order from the queen.

His grip was tense on the crimson spear that had accompanied him as his companion through his battles, his fingers coiled like barbs, raw from the familiar spiked grip with abrasions not far off from becoming reality. The pain was something he'd felt every time he swung the spear, for every man that had been cleaved in half or pierced through the chest. That pain was nothing compared to the thought he'd held lingering, brought to the surface in that decisive moment prior. A thought of leaving this world failing his sworn obligations and a failure as his entrusted position. He'd failed many before, his father, his family and even himself. This was one matter that would never come to pass as long as he lived and as long as he breathed. Those hazel eyes looked to her own and as though he were facing the shepard of the damned himself he spoke with a certainty that could send a chill down death's own spine.

"By your side, my queen."