Category:Those Aren't Tears

"Something I can help you with?" he asked.

The larger of the two men stepped forward, tossing back the hood of his cloak and giving the pawnshop owner a wide, predatory grin.

"Good evening, Cendadric. My name is Penre, and I'm here to show my good friend around the place. You see, he's interesting in procuring ownership in one of the businesses in Mist Harbor, and I suggested that your shop might be a good fit."

"I... I beg your pardon? My shop?" Cendadric stammered.

"Indeed. You've built the reputation of the place quite nicely, and the location is ideal for his purposes," Penre replied.

Cendadric glanced between the two men, his face growing red with irritation.

"Now see here, you two. I'm not sure what you're on about, but this is my shop, and I have no interest in selling, at any price. So I will thank you to be on your way!"

Penre cocked his head slightly to one side, staring at the pawnbroker, then turned to his companion, an inquisitive look on his face. The third man tilted his head back slightly, revealing the lower half of his face beneath the hood of his robe. His jawline was elegant and the grin he wore was charming, if a little too toothy. When he spoke, his voice was a soothing, pleasant tenor, rich in tone, and his words were enunciated perfectly, full of warmth and charisma.

"Cendadric... The widow never forgave you for Zul Logoth. She cried for a week before she killed herself over that. The note she left called you out by name. Well... the name that you used at the time, in any case. That name had quite the history to it... the Vaalorian soldier... the halfling farmers... the alchemist's uncle... there are a great many people who would love to know where THAT man ended up, don't you think?"

As the man spoke, Cendadric's face drained of color and he had to clutch at the counter in front of him to hold his balance. When he managed to speak, his words came out strained and low.

"What is it you want, then? Is it money?"

The stranger's response was a rich, warm laugh that filled the room. Everything about the man's body language spoke of relaxed confidence.

"I'm fairly certain my friend here has already told you what it is that I want. I want this shop, Cendadric. I shall take over ownership of it, but never fear. I will not put you out on the street, or reveal your secrets. You will be free to run it as you have, and conduct all the regular business. I shall take only a pittance of the profits, and you shall hardly know I'm around," the stranger purred.

Cendadric's face scrunched up in confusion as the stranger spoke, and when he responded, his tone of voice belied his lack of understanding.

"Why would you do such a thing? What's in it for you?"

The stranger's toothy grin grew a few degrees wider, and Cendadric wilted under the man's silent regard. Penre stepped in then, with a half bow towards the stranger.

"Allow me. Cendadric, this man has his own reasons, which are frankly none of your concern. Your life will remain largely unchanged. You will still have your job, and will still go about your business. Whatever the new owner chooses to do is his own affair. There's nothing more to be said than that. The deal is implicit, and squarely on the table. You may accept, and go about your life, or you may decline, in which case we shall find out exactly how much this man knows about your past. What say you?"

Cendadric stared hard at Penre for a long moment, then turned his gaze to the still-smiling stranger. Cendadric's eyes softened, then closed as he bowed his head.

"I agree."

"You were reminiscing again, weren't you?" he asked her.

"Maybe a little. I can't believe it's actually in the past, you know?"

"Of course I do, precious. You've got decades of baggage resting on your shoulders, and no one expects you to cast them all off over the course of one journey."

"Thank you, Bran, for always understanding," Elspie said, tucking her head against his chest and burrowing into him.

"Of course, precious, and never fear. By this time next week we'll be safely in Mist Harbor, ready to enjoy your well-earned retirement."

There was a long, comfortable silence, and then Elspie stretched one hand out in front of both of them, her palm upturned.

"Ever onward?" she asked.

"Ever onward," he said firmly, clapping his hand into hers and intertwining their fingers.

"What? What is it?" Penre asked, staring at Nazhor.

"Ever... onward...." replied Nazhor, his eyes gazing far into the distance as he spoke. Then he began to chuckle, very softly.

"I already love it, Bran. Without setting foot in it, I already know it's exactly what we wanted."

Brannogh chuckled slightly before replying, "For what they charged, it had better be."

Elspie could hear the smile in his voice and closed her eyes, taking it all in. She felt her chest swell with happiness, and could almost feel the years of combat sloughing off of her shoulders, like a snake shedding its skin. Brannogh's hand squeezed hers briefly and she opened her eyes once more, looking up at him. Wordlessly, he nodded off to one side, and she followed his gaze. A school of dolphins leapt from the waves a short distance away, and Elspie couldn't help but laugh in delight.

"It's the welcoming party!" she cried, releasing Brannogh's hand and jogging onto the walkway. The dolphins squeaked their welcome in concert before disappearing beneath the choppy surf, but Elspie didn't slow. Brannogh followed at a more sedate pace, taking in all of Sunset Cay. He'd wondered if Elspie would be able to leave the soldiering in her past, but watching her now, he felt certain that everything would be alright in time.

Elspie fawned over the whole setup. Brannogh had deliberately kept her from visiting while things were being constructed, but his specifications had been precise, and the workers had done an amazing job. The Cay was perfect, and Elspie's eyes danced with joy as she took in every little detail. Brannogh lost sight of her momentarily, but found her in the small bedroom, her eyes bright with tears, as she took in the portrait over the bed. He embraced her from behind, and she leaned back into him.

"It seems like so long ago, Bran. Look how happy we were... and how innocent."

He heard her voice break with emotion, and snuggled her closer.

"We've been forged in some heavy flames, my love, but we've come out the other side indestructible. I love you more than I ever have, and that's been true every day since I met you. We've made it, El. This is our endgame. This is our sunset. Our happy ending."

Elspie wriggled free and turned to face him, throwing her arms around his neck and staring him in the eye, fresh tears running unashamedly down her face.

"Not the end, Bran. This is a beginning for us. The next chapter, better by far than the last. Ever onward, Bran."

Brannogh felt his own eyes well up as he responded. "Ever onward."

They embraced for a long, long time, amidst the sound of the waves and the beating of their hearts.

"Welcome home, my dear," he whispered.

The room was dark, with only a couple of guttering candles lighting the area. The sharp scent of various medicinal herbs mixed with the tinge of sea water and permeated the small cottage. Elspie knelt on the floor amidst various discarded, bloody rags, and clenched one of Brannogh's hands tightly as she wept.

Brannogh coughed, an ugly whistling sound coming from the hole in his upper chest. The hole in his cheek was crudely bandaged, but the chest wound had bled through everything Elspie had tried. Their entire store of herbs had been used up, but the bolts had been coated in something that resisted every attempt at healing.

"El... y-... you need to-" Brannogh groaned. Elspie's silent tears increased as she stared miserably at the man she loved.

Elspie had contacted a healer almost immediately... one of her old compatriots, and they had come to lend any assistance they could. But nothing seemed to help. The healer's ministrations actually seemed to make things worse, as the blood flowed more freely with each spell cast. Elspie, at a complete loss, had finally asked her old friend to leave. She had known then what was coming, and the knowing almost destroyed her.

Her time as a Drake had shown her plenty of death, and she knew it for what it was. But she had never thought to see it here. Not in her home, and not coming for her beloved husband. Elspie's gaze settled on the portrait above their bed, and she smiled through her tears. She loved Brannogh with all her heart, and had done so every day of their lives together. The thought that those times were coming to an end was almost too much to bear.

A groan from Bran drew her attention once more away from the portrait. Brannogh was looking at her, a strained smile on his face. His voice was harsh and broken as he spoke, the strain clear on his face.

"Y-... you n-... need to keep g-... going, El," he said. His eyes welled up with tears as he spoke, but Elspie knew these weren't tears of physical pain They matched the tears in her own eyes.

"Bran... you need to rest, my love. You're going to get better, you'll see," she lied. Brannogh's smile grew sad, and he stroked the thumb of her hand that clenched his so tightly.

"We both know... that's not true," he rasped. "It's my-... It's my time, El. But it doesn't have to... be yours. You need-... to keep going, El. You can't give up... you've always been... a fighter."

Elspie couldn't speak for the tightness in her throat. She squeezed his hand hard, tears rolling down her cheeks unchecked. Her eyes locked with his, and she finally nodded once, clenching her eyes shut in pain.

"Ever... onward, my... dearest... El."

Elspie couldn't open her eyes, but she didn't need to, either. She felt his hand fall slack in her grip, and she knew. She sobbed once, fighting to hold her reaction back, but it overwhelmed her and she dissolved into wracking sobs, burying her face into the arm of her lost love.

To all concerned:

It has recently come to my attention that there has been a disturbance in our fair town. I am given to understand that the First Sergeant has incarcerated one Elspie, formerly of the Imperial Drakes, after she attacked one of the town's shop owners without provocation. I am led to believe, however, that this may not be the complete story. To that end, I am calling for an informational meeting in front of Hale Hall on Niiman evening, at 8:30pm Elven Time. I would very much appreciate it if those who were witness to the events that led up to our current situation could make themselves available, so that I might ascertain the truth of what happened, and take appropriate action, if necessary.

I'd like to thank the citizens who brought this all to my attention, and would like to thank everyone in advance for making themselves available this Niiman evening.

Sincerely, Town Administrator Ilsola Tuulikki

During the small memorial service Elspie held, noises were heard inside the cottage. When the attendees investigated, they found the home ransacked, and a safe in the wall of the bedroom lay open and empty. Elspie collapsed, completely overwrought, at the sight. The attendees attempted to console her, and finally got her to breathe, and think, a little bit. She resolved to go to the First Sergeant, in an attempt to do things properly. When she and the attendees located the Sergeant, there was another individual already there, calling herself Duvainiel. As Elspie attempted to explain to the Sergeant that her home had been burglarized, and her suspicions that the death of her husband might be related, Duvainiel mocked her relentlessly, driving Elspie into more and more of an outraged state of mind. The Sergeant seemed to dismiss Elspie's claims, and did nothing to dissuade Duvainiel. Finally, Duvainiel suggested that Nazhor might know something, and Elspie charged off to the pawnshop.

At the pawnshop, the group found Nazhor, along with the First Sergeant. Nazhor smoothly denied everything, keeping his tone mild and not a little mocking. Elspie finally snapped, against the advice of the adventurers accompanying her, and attacked Nazhor. He easily grounded out her spell and flung her back against a wall, stunning her. He then prompted the Sergeant, who arrested Elspie on charges of unprovoked assault, and led her away. Nazhor remained, smugly taunting the adventurers, with the help of Duvainiel, before taking his leave.

Town Administrator Ilsola, the titular head of the Mist Harbor government, called an information-gathering meeting so that she could be brought up to speed on what had happened. During the meeting, the First Sergeant acted more and more strangely, seeming to have periods of lucidity mixed with obviously false memories. He swore that he hadn't arrested anyone in some time, and was unable to provide any useful information about the whereabouts of Elspie, or Nazhor. During this time, various members of the group heard fractured whispers from someone believed to be Elspie. The whispers encouraged the group to disbelieve what the Sergeant was saying, and to pursue Nazhor. Ilsola became frustrated by the Sergeant's prevarication and dismissed him, instructing him to await her at her home so that they could discuss his conduct. The group suggested that Cendadric might be a good person to interrogate, and they made their way to the pawnshop. Once there, they found Cendadric acting in much the same manner. He spouted demonstrably incorrect information, seeming to believe it to be the truth, and his story kept changing. Duvainiel arrived once more and riled up the crowd before taking her leave. Ilsola, getting angrier by the minute, explained that the First Sergeant was to be relieved of his duties, and his second in command would be taking his place. She also asked that everyone keep their eye out for either Elspie or Nazhor, and if they were seen, to notify her immediately.

A couple days later, Ilsola received a message from someone she believed to be Elspie, asking that she gather as many as would come to receive a message at a particular time and place. Ilsola spread the word, and a small group met on the dock of Sunset Cay. Elspie's message came via a series of whispers, wherein she explained that she was locked away in a magical cell, but that they had underestimated her abilities, and she was able to get past the wards to a certain degree, but only when Nazhor was not present. She revealed that she had been able to listen in, and that Nazhor, Duvainiel, and others had been discussing their plans. They were in possession of her necklace, a powerful magical item she received from her commander in the Imperial Drakes upon her retirement, and was putting it to some use. However, he required another item of great power, and had dispatched Duvainiel to locate it. He had given her a token that would assist her in locating the item, and Elspie claimed she had been able to decipher the spells he used, and duplicate the essence of them. However, Elspie claimed that she had managed to pervert the spells for her own use, and that the tokens she would distribute to the group would locate the item of power, but once they had done so, they would reinforce the protections on it, and keep it hidden from Duvainiel and Nazhor. She explained that the only clue she had overheard Nazhor delivering to Duvainiel was his belief that the item was near water, and his suggestion that she concentrate her search on docks. With that, Elspie managed to move enspelled coins onto the dock's surface, for the group to use. She urged the group to find the item and protect it, for Nazhor's plans were nothing less than the destruction of Mist Harbor, and she feared he had no intention of stopping there.

The group brainstormed, and it was remembered that Nazhor had been seen in River's Rest, and had some interactions with Trader Mazorn. The group made their way there to begin their search, but when they arrived they found Mazorn's Warehouse closed. They convinced him to let them inside to look around, and then convinced him to step outside, as Elspie had warned that the protector of the item must NOT be present when they used their tokens, as he or she would immediately reinforce their own protections, keeping Elspie's spells from attaching themselves to the item. Mazorn grudgingly agreed, and stepped outside. When he did, the members of the group used their tokens, and a cerulean light layered itself on a rectangular-shaped empty space, covering it completely in Elspie's protections. At that moment, Duvainiel arrived, mocking them all. She explained that Nazhor had known all along that Elspie was able to communicate, and insinuated that she had unwittingly coerced the group into doing all the hard work for them, in locating the hidden item. Duvainiel utilized her own item, from Nazhor, and it covered the revealed object in blackness, then all traces of the object disappeared. Duvainiel departed soon after, taunting and mocking the group for their gullibility.

Ilsola, disconsolate and angry, has asked all to keep a close eye out for Nazhor, or Elspie. She has vowed to contact Elspie's commander from the Drakes and enlist his assistance in tracking her down, questioning Cendadric, and providing information about the retirement 'gift' given to Elspie.

She'd loved him. Or thought she had. He'd promised her vengeance... and then delivered! She'd shared his bed, and dreamed wondrous dreams by his side. She'd found her place... a shelter from the cold, harsh realities of the world. The memories weren't solid things, but were instead as sand, drifting through her fingers. There was nothing there to hold, to grasp... just fleeting emotions. When she thought about Nazhor now, there was only one thing that was able to be held tight in her fist.

His laughter.

Duvainiel wept, but no tears came. Dry, wracking sobs tore from her throat as she spasmed in grief on the floor of her cell.

The portrait was faded, and its frame was brittle with age. The image depicted an elderly man sporting a serious expression. In the background of the image was the same ship that Mazorn himself sailed to this day. The man himself bore a strong resemblance to Mazorn, though perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Mazorn resembled the man in the image.

"Ah faild, Da-" Mazorn hiccuped. Fresh tears spilled down his cheek as he confessed for the dozenth time. This time was no easier than the rest, and he suddenly flung the portrait away from himself, sending it skittering across the floor. Mazorn tilted his head back and drank deeply of the bottle in his hand, trying to drown the memories, both old and new.

Bran. Her wonderful Bran. She still couldn't believe he was gone. She wanted so badly for it to be a bad dream that she would awaken from. She was barely past the point of awakening each morning and glancing to the empty mattress beside her, expecting to see his sleeping form. Memories of him dominated her thoughts, and she didn't fight them. There were so many wonderful memories, and she wanted to etch them forever into her mind.

If Elspie had been asked if she was happy with Brannogh, she would readily say that they were happier than any two people had ever been. But if pressed for details, she would have stumbled. It had just... worked. He'd completed her in ways she never knew she was incomplete. He adored her, actively and completely, and she had done her level best to love him just as fiercely. In every moment of every day, Elspie had known what it felt like to be loved like no other. And what it felt like to love someone with all that she was, or ever would be. The loss of that... exchange... was the hardest thing to bear.

She'd cried her tears, and this morning she'd declared that the tears must stop. Bran would not want her to mourn forever, she knew. He had always desired nothing more or less than her happiness, and she would do her best to find what happiness she could in a world without him in it.

Besides, there were preparations to make, she knew. She would travel, and she would prepare. For there would be a price paid for the loss of her Bran. He had told her that it was time to leave the violence in the past, and she had agreed. She had left that life behind, to start a new one based on their mutual adoration for each other. Now that life was shattered into pieces, and all because of Nazhor.

The time of mourning was coming to an end. The people who had rescued her had asked her to fight with them, when Nazhor returned. And fight she would.

I love you.
 
I could never say it, and you could never hear it, but it's there all the same. I love you, Elspie. You are the highlight of my life, and just your presence has gotten me through the hell that is the service we shared. Your bravery inspires me, your power frightens me, and your spirit lifts mine to the heavens above.
 
Yet you are not mine, and never will be. I accept this, and keep this love locked in the prettiest box I could find. I will love you from afar, all the days of my life, and be grateful to have shared the smallest portion of your life for as long as I may.

The young man turned the card over in his hand, his face worried. He then glanced to the fire crackling in the hearth... and tossed both card and box in. He watched as they burned, the flames lighting the solitary tear on his cheek.

It wasn't meant to be this way. Things like this didn't happen in Mist Harbor. Except that they had happened... and it was her job to handle it.

"I'm not cut out for this," she whispered to the ceiling. She closed her eyes against the hot tears that had crept into them and just breathed for a few minutes, listening to the quiet and letting her mind drift. It'd been so long since she'd gotten anything resembling a decent night's sleep.

Ilsola was scared. She was no fighter. She didn't have an army she could call upon. She had a smattering of guards, but Nazhor had proven his ability to affect their minds time and again. Ilsola couldn't entrust the lives of those who came to Mist Harbor to the guards, she knew. She clenched her jaw in frustration, remembering the impotent fury she'd felt as Nazhor played them all for fools. As he'd undermined the resources she'd been able to call on... from Drehod to her guards to Cendadric... there wasn't anyone she could rely on to help stand against the man.

Then her mind turned to the adventurers who'd come, and who'd helped. Their faces, their words, and most particularly their actions. A smile crept across her face. Perhaps there was an army, of sorts, after all.

He whispered to the stars, "Those aren't tears, my friends. Those are but the briefest harbinger of the sorrows to come. Then we shall all see what tears truly are."

Thus ends this chapter of the story, but only this chapter. There's a great deal more to come, and this arc could rightly be called 'setting the stage'. We'll break for the holidays, and for me to get the next portion ready for you all.

I want to think all who came out and participated, first and foremost. Any who made time to come out and play along, thank you so much. You kept me on my toes (and forced massive rewrites a couple of times mid-stream), and I had a blast playing off of you. Thank you very, very much.

A special thank you to GameHost Thonnel, who played the role of Duvainiel, and did so brilliantly. I couldn't have told this story without her able assistance, and she took a blank canvas of a role and made it her own.

We will resume things after the holidays, and I hope to see you all then. We're going to need all the help we can get.