Stories from RhyDin & The Rings

Warning: The following includes mention of death and suicide, and explicit language.

Shilo Wallace was dead. At least, as far as the Largo family was concerned. It had been five years since the tragedy of the opera. Since her father was murdered. After a brief stint in Rhy’Din, Shilo managed to find her way back, only to learn her childhood home had been trashed. Nothing of monetary value was taken. It was clear whoever had searched it didn’t find what they were looking for. That was the day she decided to take her own life. Or, rather, make it seem like she had. She left a vague enough note, (‘I can’t go on like this anymore.’), and emptied every pill bottle she could find in the entire house, only to flush them all down the toilet. Then she simply left, leaving the front door open.

She had long since changed her name and took an unassuming job at a small shop that sold odds and ends. From second hand clothing, wigs, jewelry, and makeup, to cell phones, televisions, computers, and even wristcomms similar to the one her father had made especially for her. She had been terrible at sales. Timid and still fairly frail looking, and quite frankly worried she would be recognized, she rarely looked anyone in the eye from underneath whichever cheap wig she had borrowed from the store that day. But eventually, as it usually does, opportunity presented itself.

One day, a customer brought in a tablet, claiming it was completely fried but was willing to give it one last shot before tossing it out. After some simple maintenance and dusting out all the nooks and crannies, according to the customer, it ‘worked like new!’ And the rest, as they often say, was history. Now, twenty-two years old, her own chestnut hair grown back and her face sporting far less makeup, and not a single word or sign from Graverobber, she had carved out a small niche for herself. All this she pondered, as she often did, usually against her will, on her walk home to her modest apartment. A half a block away from her door, she reached into her bag to fish out her keys. It was in that split second she tripped over seemingly nothing. Down she went. Her arms shot out in front of her and one knee came up to brace against the fall.

“OW! Shit!” She angry whispered to herself. Pushing back, she sat on her behind and brought her hands up for inspection. They were scuffed and scraped and her knee was already forming an angry bruise. She looked down at the ground in utter confusion, wondering when they had redone the urban concrete and asphalt in what looked like actual cobblestone. Finally, she looked up, and what she saw gave her the overpowering feeling of dread deep in the pit of her stomach.

“What the fuck?! Oh, no. No! NonononononoNO!” She looked around in horror as buildings she thought she would never see again came into view. A passerby did a double take as she appeared out of nowhere in the middle of an empty street.

“Are you alright, miss?” He asked cautiously.

“No, I’m not alright!” She looked at him incredulously. “Does it sound like I’m alright?! How can I be alright when I’m here in Rhy’Din?!”

“I-” But she didn’t let him finish.

“No! You don’t understand! I was home! Home! I wasn’t happy, but I was home!”

“I don’t…” The man began to back away slowly. Not that she noticed. She was too busy ranting.

“I was home and away from him! I had moved on with my life, moved into my own place, had my own job. And now I’m back here?! Of all places?! GodDAMNit!” She pushed up off the ground and rose to her feet. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she couldn’t stay sitting in the middle of the road. Out of some memory, long thought to be buried and gone, she began heading toward the nearest inn.

Shilo wanted to take one more look at the spot where she landed. She didn't think there was any more information than before, but it certainly couldn't hurt. Just as she expected, there was nothing unusual about the street. There wasn't any indication she had even fallen. No matter. Her actual goal was to seek out the cemetery. Although it had been quite some time, the memory still held. Before long, she could see the cemetery gates in the distance.

Death never really frightened her. Or, more accurately, being around dead people. Her father had been a doctor, among other things, and despite his best efforts to keep her sequestered to her room, she would often sneak out and, more often than not, find the streets littered with bodies. Victims that had either succumbed to the harsh addictions of Zydrate, or Repo men. To say nothing of the lies she had been told all her life about her non-existent ‘fatal’ medical condition. Indeed, Shilo Wallace was no stranger to death and the dead.

It was with these grim thoughts and the look of determination on her porcelain face that she marched up to the iron gate and practically threw it open. Of course, there were the typical markers. The flashy, ornate statues of weeping angels and more modest rectangular stones, all of which reduced the lives of the inhabitants to mere names, dates, and for a fortunate few, a small handful of adjectives and identifiers. Loving wife, doting father, faithful friend. Entire existences boiled down to a hollow phrase. Had she time, Shilo would have stopped and tried to dream up a rich beautiful life for as many of them as she could. But she was on a mission.

Finally, she released a small breath of relief. Up ahead, only fifty feet or so, quietly sat a peaceful little mausoleum with a pair of pretty sconces on either side of the door. Elated to see it still was not locked, she gently pushed her way in. Once inside, she halted to give a respectful look around. Her gaze stopped at each plaque as though she were regarding a room full of revered elders. Only when she felt she had shown everyone their due respect did she cross the small space to one crypt in particular. It’s cover was loose and much lighter than the others made of stone. It was instead made of wood and painted to blend in. Without wasting another moment, she removed the faux cover, tossing it aside with uncharacteristically little regard, and began to crawl in.

She knew it would be dark, that didn’t bother her. Not when she knew what was waiting inside. Shilo crawled carefully, hoping to find the same portal that had taken her back home the last time. She’d never share just how she found it, not that anyone would ask. Instead, she simply held her breath and continued on until something struck her square in the forehead. It was the back wall of the crypt. Confused and now with a throbbing headache, she sat back in the dark confines and almost felt her hopes sink.

There was no telling how long that portal had remained. Perhaps it closed the moment she went through the last time, or perhaps it closed any time between then and now. All she knew is it was no longer an option. With a heavy sigh, she slowly crawled back out and made it all the way to the door before remembering to put the disguised cover back.

With disappointment as clear on her face as the bump that was forming, she left the mausoleum and walked back up the same path that took her there. Once through the cemetery gates and back out onto the road, she paused. As much as she hated to admit, she was stuck indefinitely in the town that quite literally chewed people up and spit them out. She knew from first hand experience.

With a resigned and somewhat exaggerated sigh, she began the long trek to the inn. Not because of the distance, but because it meant she would be there for an extended stay. She would have to find a job and a more permanent place to live, buy clothes in addition to the ones she wore, food… She sighed heavily again at the thought of having to rebuild her life for the third time now. At least she knew the drill and had actual skills to bank on now.

As she walked slowly along, she reflected on her previous time spent in the city of endless surprises. Friends made and lost, risks taken, things discovered about herself. She had lived more in the few months she stayed here than she had the first 17 years of her life, excluding perhaps the events of and leading up to the opera, and subsequent five years back home. It wasn’t all bad, she had to admit. But there was no telling how this round would go. One thing was certain; life would be a lot less confusion without Graverobber around.