Category:North by Northwest

Storyline Dates

November 2022 - TBD

NPC Primer

This has been established to provide a quick reference for some notable NPC's that will play some role in the storyline North by Northwest. GM Kenstrom will update this page weekly during the storyline if there are any changes, or as new NPC's are introduced or new information is learned. It's also worth noting that over half of the NPCs listed are brand new or new-ish, so a player does not need to have knowledge of years of previous storylines in order to engage the NPC's and become involved.

Mayor Thadston Andrews

See NPC page here.

• From North Hendor, and once appointed by Earl Jovery to command the Imperial Outpost outside of Wehnimer's Landing.
• Has magical kroderine shards imbedded in his arms from when he used kroderine gauntlets to close a portal between Landing and the Bleaklands. The aftermath left him possessed for a time, and now with the ability to absorb/deflect magic with his arms.
• Was once a drunkard, but finally sobered up ages ago after his wife Saraphene and his son Disean left him. Saraphene was later murdered by the witch Raznel, and Disean was warped into an evil Blameless crusader, who now is in a magical stasis within a bane coffin in an unknown location.
• Current Relationship Status: It's Complicated - Had a recent romantic relationship with Casiphia, who later turned out to also be the third incarnation of the vigilante Rone, as well as the masked Mother, who leads the Brotherhood of Rooks.
• Mayor of Wehnimer's Landing.

Casiphia Malatina

See NPC page here.

• Cousin of the ex-mayor Chambeli Malatina, who was once kidnapped by Grishom Stone, and was murdered by the orc Thrayzar, while under an enthrallment from Grishom.
• From Mestanir, ran a weapons shop, before coming to Wehnimer's Landing where she eventually fell victim to Prelate Chaston Griffin's enchantments.
• Was once a member of the Wehnimer's Landia Militia and romantically involved with Thadston. Both spent over a year on the road hunting the witch Raznel.
• Was revealed to be the third incarnation of the masked vigilante Rone.
• Was revealed to be the masked leader of the Brotherhood of Rooks, who called herself Mother.
• With her secrets now revealed, Casiphia was pardoned by Mayor Thadston and is the proprietor of the Rusty Cutlass Tavern.

Amos

See NPC page here.

• Leader of the Darkstone Bay Consortium
• Originally from Highmount, came to Wehnimer's Landing with claims of bringing prosperity and opportunity to the town.
• Owns the mining operations for baystone, an exclusive gemstone recently discovered near Wehnimer's Landing.
• Was once Steward of the Guilds, but was thrown out by the Town Council in 5122.
• Owns the rights to the essence handpylons, and essence belts sold in Bloodriven.
• Has a trusted group of women operatives within his inner circle known as "The Fireflies."
• Is constructing the new Bazaar in Wehnimer's Landing which will house several new merchant shops.
• Rumored to be connected too, or is in fact, the Knave, a mastermind who waged war in Wehnimer's Landing to try to take control of the criminal factions in town. It was later discovered Stephos DeArchon was the Knave, but many claim he was framed.
• Has runic tattoos on his chest that impart him super strength when activated.
• He and Thadston have a history of violence and hatred between them.

Cordarius Hodges

See NPC page here.

• Regional Envoy of Wehnimer's Landing, tasked with representing the town to other places and overseeing political agreements.
• Magister of the Hall of Mages.
• Appointed by Earl Jovery in 5119 to join the Wehnimer's Landing Town Council as the envoy, to help bridge the communication gap between the protectorate of Wehnimer's Landing and the Turamzzyrian Empire.
• Helped oversee the government transition in Wehnimer's Landing that saw changes to both the mayor, town council, and steward roles. His regional envoy position became standalone, no longer part of the town council.
• Was instrumental in helping against Raznel's blight that plagued Wehnimer's Landing and its environs. He created the manafires that burn endlessly near town that help keep the Blight at bay.

Larsya Caulfield

See NPC page here.

• Commander of the Imperial Outpost outside of Wehnimer's Landing
• Sister of Breshon Caulfield, the newly crowned Baron of Bourth in 5122.
• Has a golden-brown wolf named Dawn for an animal companion.
• Was once cursed by a poisoned arrow from Raznel's minion, and thrown into a aging spell that almost ended her life. The heroes of Wehnimer's eventually saved her, and broke her curse, returning her back to her youthful age.
• Likes to pretend she's a pirate named the Dread Black Pirate.
• Can speak with the spirits of the Wyrdeep.
• Likes to tease people with a suction-cup bow.

Elidal Dhenin

See NPC page here.

• Born in the Barony of Riverwood.
• Old friend of Baron Breshon and Larsya Caulfield.
• Selected by Earl Jovery to become the new ruler of the Barony of Darkstone.
• Has a council of trusted advisers who have traveled with him; Enisius, Iliyaas, Sablo and Aronia.

Lady Aronia

See NPC page here.

• Born in the Barony of Talador, before its fall.
• Old friend of Baron Breshon and Elidal Dhenin.
• Member of the Green Sisters, an organization dedicated to Imaera.

Enisius Dhenin

See NPC page here.

• Born in the Barony of Riverwood.
• Brother of Elidal Dhenin.
• Magister of the Hall of Mages.
• Created an application for magic users to apply for his Research Team into learning more and experimenting with Darkstone Castle and Melgorehn's Reach.
• Is a master of illusions but socially awkward.

Iliyaas

• Mysterious sylvan woman who is claimed to be a seer and can receive glimpses of the future.
• Brought to the area by Elidal, who originally met her in Riverwood.
• Stays to the forests, will not enter camp or town.

Sablo

See NPC page here.

• Once a member of Mensyl's Maurauders in Northern Hendor.
• Nicknamed "Monster" for his brutality and savage tactics when fighting orcs, ogres and giants of the north.
• 2nd choice of Earl Jovery to become the new Commander of the Darkstonian Army.
• Rough around the edges.

Juramis Du'Lasfeur

See NPC page here.

• A merchant from Brisker's Cove
• Once worked with Grishom Stone, but later helped the Heroes of Wehnimer's against both Grishom and Barnom Slim.
• Had his business destroyed by Lord Eldurn Winter in 5112.
• Returned to Wehnimer's Landing in 5122, almost a decade later, with his business growing and now associated with Amos and the Darkstone Bay Consortium.

Ardenale

• Displaced Madam of the Honey Mine Brothel in Talador before its fall.

Captain Bodohal

See NPC page here.

• Member of the Bluewater Brigade
• Captain of the Shiver
• Currently positioned near Wehnimer's Landing in the Darkstone Bay.
• Searching for a member of his crew who fled service by the name of Tolmis.
• Rumored to have a Magister of the Hall of Mages imprisoned upon his ship.

Octaven

See NPC page here.

• Grand Magister of the Hall of Mages.
• Once waged battle against Wehnimer's Landing, only to aid them years later against the Knave and his forces.
• Has in her possession the Talon, an ancient artifact that was corrupted during the creation of the Wizardwaste.
• Resides within the Hendoran Outpost south of Wehnimer's Landing, where she setup shop after the death of Dennet Kestrel.
• Has a sleek white falcon familiar.

Rodnay

See NPC page here.

• Was an orphan of the Wellington home in Wehnimer's Landing.
• Abducted by the Ithzir in 5116, along with other orphans, and placed in magical cocoons. He was the only survivor.
• Now appears as a hybrid creation of Human and Ithzir, has demonstrated powerful mental abilities, and aided the people of Wehnimer's Landing on several occassions.
• Was experimented on by the Hall of Mages, but last seen entering a green cocoon within a cavern of Melgorehn's Reach to begin the next step of his evolution.

Gnul

See NPC page here.

• Self-proclaimed "King" of Thanatoph.
• United the Mountain Alliance, where creatures of Wehntoph, Sentoph, Thanatoph and Glatoph have rallied under his command to fight the imperials and heroes of Wehnimer's Landing.

Tolmis

• Ex-member of the Bluewater Brigade.
• Fled from Captain Bodohal and has been spotted within Wehnimer's Landing.

Tydina Wiley

Talmaris

Torcadall Bhodhsa

Map

Here are the proposed borders of the new Barony of Darkstone, land now claimed by the Turamzzyrian Empire.

Player Contest - Darkstone Crest

On 12/19/22, a new Player Contest to design the crest of the new Barony of Darkstone was announced! The heraldic crest would need to fit the overall theme of the other imperial crests. Links for examples are below. The crest may include objects, animals or designs, but must also use at least two colors.

Contest Rules

• Contest runs from 12/19/22 to 1/15/23.
• There will be 4 semi-finalists selected. Those designs will go on to have a Grand Prize finalist announced.
• Players may only submit one design.
• Winners will be announced early Feb.
• Entry will be "words/description" not artwork.

Contest Prizes

• All 4 semi-finalists will receive 2 General Alterations by GM Kenstrom.
• The Grand Prize winner will receive the 2 General Alterations, in addition to a T4 Unlocked Handpylon and the custom ancillary title of "Imperial Herald."

The Application

• Submit your design to GS4-Kenstrom@play.net.
• Subject title of "Darkstone Crest Contest - CHARACTER NAME"

Link to Examples

https://gswiki.play.net/Crests_of_the_Turamzzyrian_Empire

North by Northwest: Chapter 2 Prologue

She was a ghost.

Not in the true sense of the word, she knew, but she felt a wraith nonetheless as she toured the forest, her bare feet kissing the still hard-packed ground. The snow crunched beneath her feet. The air was quiet, the trees were now free from heavy ice but still bare and their branches more resembling shrunken bones. The earth had not spoken to her in weeks. It was the truth in her sudden cancellation of the ritual.

It was as if the very world around her had collectively held its breath, waiting to see what great destruction was born from the bowels of the Thanatoph. But the powerful behemoth had been stopped. His giant form rendered undone, leaving behind only a huge boulder in its wake. A reminder perhaps, of a time when all blades, all bolts, and all voices rose as one.

She knew it would not last.

But that was not her arena. That was not her monster.

Aronia had known many monsters in her life. The birth of the Bleaklands awakened not only devastation, but all manners of wicked creatures from its belly. She had seen glimpses of the horrors beyond the Tears, where no true life remained. That land was dead and silent too, which is what worried her most of all. A new land, he had promised her. A new hope, he had said. It would not be another Talador, he swore to her. She touched a finger to the sand-filled vial that brushed the skin of her chest. But not all was wrong with Talador. Her parents had been there. Her farm had been there. But it was all gone now, and she would not get it back.

But she still reflected on his pledge. She adored his optimism, even now, but she knew peace and growth would not come easy and not without sacrifice. She wanted to believe as he did. She wanted his eyes, if even for a moment, to watch the world in brighter shades. She had left behind a land of ruin, but even her arrival to the new frontier was saddled with death and tragedy. No shattering of Gnul would bring back the other members of her Order, no great stone head trophy would breathe life back into those who felt the sting of fire before the end.

She frowned at the swathes of land still burned and blackened from the scorching fires of Gnul’s eyes. She was ready to be done with his mark once and for all. The trees nearby, their old modwir branches, drooped as if burdened by more than snow and cold.

Even the forest was sad.

She picked at the ring upon her finger. It brought her a smile.

Her Goddess was not one to accept senseless devastation. All of life came in seasons. Winter was breaking, and she was reminded of her duty and her purpose in the first place. No amount of mourning would resurrect Talador. But the land around here was at war, beyond that of just men and metal. Her eyes turned to the northwest.

They fell upon that black castle in the hills.

Sickness rolled out from it, perverting the skies, spoiling the land. Most had come to accept it, but she sensed it the first moment she had arrived months before. If there was to truly be a future as he had promised, then no blemish could remain. No festering wound could be allowed to persist. It would be a daunting task, and she wondered if even herself would be up to the challenge ahead.

That is when she felt the tickle upon her foot.

She stopped suddenly, frozen in place.

She looked to the ground and rooting up from the snow and dirt was a single blade of grass, as verdant as her eyes.

She knelt closer, touching it ever so softly with her thumb.

Her eyes teared as the earth sang.

---

She clicked her thumb rings together.

Ting. Ting. Ting.

She watched the young blonde woman parade through the forest, eyes to the ground as if the dirt alone held the answers to the world and those beyond. She pitied her in some ways. She would live a thousand lives more than her, and perhaps it would be her ashes in the dirt should she decide to look upon the ground herself. But that was not where truths existed.

Iliyaas moved with a trained stillness, the bed of snow and dirt muting her steps. She commanded more of the world around her than they could have imagined. Or perhaps the young lord did know it, which is why he begged her to come. Or perhaps he had not stopped dreaming of her body and the lakes water as its beads rolled down her form. He had been so eager to find her again after all. She would not fault him if it was true. She was pleased with her form and accepted it.

She did enjoy his stories. They provided a glimpse into humanity which she had lacked and if she dared to admit it, desired as well. But as fate would have it, if one should believe in such a thing, then he had unwittingly been a far better instrument in shaping the future than she had expected. The edge of civilization did well to hide the spark of tomorrow. But it was not to be found in camps of children or battlefields of men.

Her gaze turned to the lake and its rippling waters shadowed by the great Reach above. She let her robes and cloak drop from her body and she waded into the waters. Winter still hung in the air, but the water was warm and comforting on her skin. She knew it was the veins of mana unseen to most eyes, but she felt them, could touch them. Could she bend them?

Moments passed and she emerged, padding back towards her clothes and with almost unnatural grace donned her robes. Her curved ears were alerted to weeping nearby. She followed, letting herself near when she came upon a small boy crouched above an even smaller pile of dirt.

“Why?” Her voice was sharp.

The boy leapt to his feet and spun. The front of his breeches stained to dark.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t hurt me.” He threw up his hands, trying to tuck his head between his elbows.

Iliyaas moved forward, curling a finger towards the mound of dirt.

The boy peeked at her.

“Why are you pained?”

The boy lowered his arms. A measure of boldness returned to him.

“My...my dog.”

The woman furrowed her brow. She turned to go then stopped. Humanity. This was a moment.

“Show me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Show me.”

The boy nervously knelt before the shallow grave and with his untried hands dug layer after layer of dirt away to reveal the still form of his pet. Its mouth was still frozen, and small daggers of ice still clung to its dark brown coat. Its eyes were matted in death.

Iliyaas moved to the animal and stooping low, she ran her hand along its body and stepped away. The dog’s mouth snapped, and it suddenly shook itself, flinging several icicles free from its coat. It sprang to its feet with the life of a puppy and yapped loudly, almost leaping into the arms of the boy whose face was now soaked with tears.

She heard his thanks before she departed, unmoved by the range of the boy’s emotions, but appreciative of the moment to observe. The young lord would be pleased with her, and she would have another story to share when he brought his to her. But her interest soon waned when she traveled closer again to the high peak towering above.

Her vacant dawn eyes raised to admire the vastness of Melgorehn’s Reach and the power within its depths She clicked her thumb rings together again.

Ting. Ting.

Ting.

---

“Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.” He bemoaned as he hurried through the halls of the Outpost. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. Done.

He arrived at the laboratory. Twenty seconds it almost took him, and more than a dozen squires and soldiers and gawkers almost touched him. He could not wait until the day when he had more space, more room to stretch, and less people to avoid. Perhaps he could have a whole wing of a castle to himself? No stench of people. No oily hands. No burping soldiers. Just his things and no one else’s.

He heard shouting from rooms away. Then raucous laughter. How unnerving. There was so much work to be done, so many things to learn, so much to accomplish, how could anyone pitter away time with debauchery? The frontier offered the chance of a lifetime, and he only had one. For now. Nearby vials sizzled and popped. Their liquids blue, yellow, even some of them green. He tapped on one and its color shifted, bleeding from yellow to grey to black. He should label them, so he did not forget.

He looked down.

He sighed.

Where were the labels?

Who moved his things?

“Don’t touch my stuff.” He muttered beneath his breath. He would have to come back to those later. He looked at his palm. Charlatos. He had written Charlatos because his brother had made him. Deadline, he had been told.

“Can I deny them all?” He remembered asking.

The man with his face had made his denial known loud and well.

“What about that short one?” He had asked.

No, was the answer.

“What about that evil one?” He had asked.

“Who?” his brother had asked.

“Never mind.” He had told him to quiet the debate. Charlatos. He would get him his list by Charlatos.

He supposed he could keep them busy in many ways. The Castle. The Reach. There was a lot to do, a lot to see, a lot to touch. Nydds was good, he missed it in many ways, but here might be better. He was surrounded by power and potential they had only read of in South Hendor. He heard someone call his name. Gruff, perhaps a soldier, someone with no business bothering him.

He tapped a ring. He was gone. He was elsewhere. At the edge of the camp and quickly pulling his robe tighter, fending off the remnants of winter. He stepped forward then paused. He let some settlers pass by. He moved further, then paused. Some children at play. What time was it? Go to sleep, he silently commanded. They did not obey.

Another few steps, another long pause, and then he was in his tent. It was quiet. No one touched his things. He looked at the tall mirror. He always saw Elidal. He got that from his father. Maybe one day he’d see something else. All of them. Death pillar, how dare they assume the worst. But it made sense, when did they get the best?

He was there now. Now they got the best.

He paced the floor, tracing his hands in the air. Motes of light trailed his fingers then drifted over to an open tome set upon a table, before imprinting upon its blank pages. He mumbled and muttered, contemplating a thousand scenarios in his mind. The Castle. The Reach. There was a lot to do, a lot to see, a lot to touch.

How dare they nitpick the illusion of his wagon. That was brilliant. Maybe they were jealous. No, they were just assuming the worst, because they hadn’t had the best.

Until now.

He went to the table, touched a rune and watched the dark castle form before him. Then the mountain, then the castle again. He traced his hands in the air again, his thoughts forming in the pages beside him. It would likely take both of them he knew. Leverage was a powerful thing. So many options, so many scenarios. Some of them ended well, so he was making progress.

He heard someone call his name. They weren’t far from the tent. Was he drunk? Was it the short one?

He tapped a ring. He was gone.

He was elsewhere.

---

“When will you stop fighting and start living?”

His mother’s words echoed from the grave.

Is this living, mother? He wondered to himself.

The fields beyond were a variegated stretch of white and green, with the latter being the first harbinger of the spring to come, pushing up through the snow that still clung to the ground, unaware its time had passed.

Was that him? Was he more artifact than auxiliary? Unaware of his own expiration?

If he was poetic enough, he’d say his heart mourned for the cold shadow of the DragonSpine. The fog of his breath in the air. The chill of the wind, its bite against his face. Harsh and unwelcome conditions for some. But he was not like them. He was not like many at all. The thrill of the hunt, his axes sharpened and clean, the wilds beckoning for him to come drive more scourge from the hills. If he didn’t, who would?

That was where he belonged.

Where he stood now? That was not living.

Men and women stumbled over each other, some young, some old, none of them conditioned enough for the road ahead. He lost count at twelve wagons; it might have doubled since that morning. One man resembled a mule, long in the face, but over burdened by several burlap packs hanging from every available appendage. He huffed loudly as he tried to squeeze them into an opening within the wagon. Others groaned behind him, urging him to hurry up. Everyone was anxious, ready to leave, ready to live.

What’s the hurry? He thought, almost aloud. They’ll just try to burn your wagons, spoil your food, steal your children, and defend the grifflets.

Someone shouted. A fight had broken out. The mule man was suddenly bold, no longer saddled with bags. A woman of declining age waved a finger frantically into his face, spouting something and pointing to a small pouch by her feet. The man’s teeth flashed in a snarl, so did the knife in his hand.

Commander Sablo Marsh barreled forward. He stood the height of a human but crossed the distance as if with the legs of a giant. With speed more uncommonly swift for his size, he hit away the man’s knife and drove his fist up into his chin, breaking his jaw and slamming his head against the wagon. The long-faced, broken-jawed man slobbered in pain and tried to crawl to his feet when the first bundle of burlap landed on his head. He threw up his hands. Another bag on his back, then his shoulder, then he just crouched and gave up resisting.

When Sablo had dumped the last of the man’s bags onto him, he raised his voice more for the crowd than the attacker, “Get your bags, fix your face, and get far away from here.” He turned then to those looking on. Some were children. The warning was not for them. Some were women, eyes trained on Sablo, but silently giving their thanks. Others he knew though could be trouble next, and so his words were for them.

“If any one of you draws a blade on anyone, now or on the trail, I’ll make you eat it, twice.”

He watched the wounded man limp off, muttering as he only could now, and dragging more than carrying his bags as he went. The onlookers dispersed soon after, once again focused on the preparations for their journey to the new land. Sablo looked down at his reddening knuckles. He wouldn’t fight if they didn’t make him.

“You’re grinning.” A woman’s voice drew him around.

“Excuse me?”

Her eyes were dark brown, her hair curled and the color of night. Her face was somewhat refined, and he swore her lips held a perpetual smirk. Iliyaas? No, it was not her, but she resembled her in ways. He found that pleasing.

“When you broke that man’s mouth, I was worried your face would crack, for your smile was so big.”

“What is it to you?”

“I am not here to judge; I smiled just the same. The man got less than he deserved. Well done.” She flashed a grin and departed.

Sablo watched her leave, his mind now traveling back to the Dragonsclaw, and the sylvan in the woods whose eyes and words were so sharp and heavy upon him. Weeks, he still had weeks to go.

He turned at the smell of roasted meat. A pig browned on a spit nearby. Breakfast would do him good, it was a long road ahead. Had the aroma not grabbed his attention, he would have seen the grinning woman as she weaved her way through several wagons and stopped from time to time, inspecting each one.

Had he watched her truly, he would have spied the glimmer of glass at her side.

He would have seen the red sphere in the palm of her hand.

---

“Welcome fath...” He sighed.

“Welcome mother and...” He shook his head.

The mirror did not answer back.

He straightened the cape of cream wool upon his shoulder. His mother would want to see him wearing it. She was almost perfect, except her fixation with gifts. Perhaps it came with age, so he humored her, she had earned it. They both had, which is why he sent for them. They would arrive soon enough. He could already see the first signs of spring everywhere he turned. The endless snow had stopped. The winds were still cold, but their teeth had dulled. The sun had already begun to rise sooner, as if it was now safe to chase away night with more boldness than before.

He looked about the chamber. It was simple, the bed was comfortable enough, the aroma of breakfast met him each morn, and the savory appeal of supper drifted by his window each night. Of course, he was rarely there to enjoy either. He was not built for great towers of stone and cold floors. He wanted to feel the earth, inhale the sky, and embrace the people dear to him in life.

But his circle had expanded. Everyone was his friend now, or so they claimed to be. No sooner than the wooden walls going up in the camp did the settlers throw their pleas and problems at his feet. The Earl had warned him. “You are a leader, but they will want you to be a savior. You cannot be both.”

He had listened to Jovery’s words, nodded, and outwardly accepted them. But in his heart, and in his mind, he did not believe it. Why could he not be both? Why could he not blaze a path forward, then carry those in need with him? What good was a valley of gold with no one to share it.

From his window he could see the camp, its new towers nestled amongst the trees of the forest. Perhaps he would relocate there for now, until they claimed their new castle, until they built their new city. He wanted to be among the people. He could not properly guide them from afar. He missed them. He cared for them. It was a burden but an honor. Imaera had helped to breath life into their lungs, and he was her shepherd to see those lives fulfilled.

Elidal slumped into a chair beside a small table, with a map too long for its surface and even draped over its sides. Several painted wooden carvings were positioned about the tiny landscape. A dark castle. A blue mountain. A black tower. An alabaster spire. He thumbed several more in a small box at his side, then slowly and carefully placed them along the map. A brown gate. A brown hammer. A silver sword, a black bird, a black thorn. One by one he placed more and more. Such a large crowd, such a small space. No wonder they worried. No wonder they resisted.

But some had no place in his world.

He abandoned it for now, leaving the table and returning to his mirror. He shifted his posture and corrected his smile three times. His father and mother would come with the next caravan. It would change everything, hopefully for the better. How would Enisius react? Would he rise or fall? Would his mother look upon the fields here as she did at home? Would his father soften his tongue or admonish Aronia again and again?

He thought of a great feast with all of them together. For a fleeting moment he almost would rather invite a Rook and a Dhe’nar. It might have meant less blood. Politics were never bound to borders. He touched the scruff of his cheeks. He hadn’t touched a razor in weeks. Would they even recognize him? He didn’t dare shave it off. It fit the frontier. He needed to be part of that world now.

His world.

A knock came from his door.

He called out and a half-elven woman stepped in. Her eyes were bright and blue, a contrast to the dark ink stains along her vest and blouse. Her familiar smile greeted him, and she unfurled a scroll. Another map.

It was small, sketched with a drawbridge, a cavern, and a mountain. In elegant script in the corner were the words, “Luinne Bheinn.” He nodded and wished her farewell. He was alone once more. The weight of so many upon his shoulders. But it was not the living that kept him awake. It was not the living that kept him with eyes forward.

He went to his nightstand and from it pulled a small tome. It was light when he bought it. Now it felt heavy. Each page broke his heart. He flipped to the next. He wrote two names. Ethan. Rae. Beside each name he wrote the color of their hair, the shade of their eyes. Names of their families, of which Rae had none. But he would not forget her face, or her memory. He would not forget any of them.

Perhaps the Earl was right.

He couldn’t save them all.

But he would never stop trying.