Those Aren't Tears (storyline)/Farewell (vignette)
Farewell. A Solitary Drake. Ever Onward.
Originally posted on the official forums by GameMaster Quilic on 11/25/2018 at 3:59 PM.
"Bran! Don't you quit on me, Bran! Don't you dare!" Elspie screamed.
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.
Nazhor leaned idly against a wall, listening to the sound of the surf. The sobs from inside reached his ear, and he grinned despite himself. Everything was going according to plan, he thought. The first step was nothing less than a resounding success. What came next was sure to make things much more... interesting. His grin grew wider and more feral at the thought. Overhead, the night sky rumbled with an oncoming thunderstorm.