What Dreams May Come/2021-11-15 Spirits
Jorgarn glanced out the window at the darkness and let out a heavy sigh. He had just finished with yesterday's incoming requests, and today was already well on its way to being over. One of the clerks had set up a large crate beside his desk, and every day carefully filed the new requests and letters in chronological order. No negative words were ever said, but Jorgarn felt the weight of his duties keenly, and knew that he was falling behind.
There was still so much to do. The town was operational, which was fortunate, but the Warlord's invasion had left deep, deep scars on the sleepy harbor town. Almost none of the houses were completely repaired, despite best efforts. There was just so much that needed to be done...
And the people were tired, he knew. There was a weight to what they'd been through, and the town's collective spirit was weary. It was disheartening to consider the damage, so most tried to just forget it and move on, but the wounds remained underneath the surface.
Jorgarn sighed again, but it didn't help much. He reached into the crate and pulled out the next letter, tearing it open with practiced ease and scanning the contents.
- Jorgarn,
- My name is Jaysehn Ranshai, Commodore of the Silver Sun. I am unsure if you remember me or not, but we have been introduced a time or two. I am writing to you in hopes that I can help with the restoration of Mist Harbor. While I am sure that you are doing all that you can, there is much still left to do, and I am well aware that things like these take silvers to enact. I have begun raising funds for this purpose, and will be sending them to you as I receive them. I will trust you to do what is best with them, though I would bring a few items to your particular attention:
- Firstly, there are a large number of children who were orphaned as a result of the Krolvin incursion. They are being housed, as I'm sure you are aware, with foster families around town. Myself and a few others have been endeavoring to lend them our time and experience, training them in the ways of survival and war, thereby giving them the tools that they need to both cope with what has happened, and stamp down their fears over what may come beneath a blanket of competence and preparedness. This, however, does nothing to engender a sense of 'home'. These children need a place to live, Jorgarn. I have seen their faces, listened to their voices, and this issue is one that is growing critical. I would ask that you consider addressing it with all possible haste.
- Secondly, my formal training is with the Order of Voln. As a Master of the Order, and a Sentinel versed in the mysteries of the Ebon Blade, I have spent a great deal of time studying the abandoned citadel in the jungle south of town. I have made some efforts at repairs, but the damage is extensive, and my efforts are split, at best, amongst my many obligations. If the monastery grounds could be restored, however, it could make an excellent shelter for the aforementioned children, as well as a defensive embankment against the foretold Rot.
- As I stated, I trust you to make the correct decision with regards to the use of these funds. I will send along other notes as I receive them, and if there is anything further that I can do, please do not hesitate to reach out.
- Respectfully,
- J. Rashai
- Defender of Mist Harbor
Jorgarn read the letter twice, Jaysehn's countenance clear in his mind. Only then did he look at the note that had been enclosed. As he saw the amount written on it, he felt the first ember of hope kindling in his chest. Maybe there was some spirit left in the town, after all.
He had no way of knowing how much time had passed when he awoke once more. In truth, he was surprised that had woken at all. The pains from his emaciated stomach had faded some time before, and madness had begun to set in. He was unsure if his current understanding of his situation was even real, but he had no recourse but to assume that it was. He assessed his situation through blurry eyes, his tongue sitting like a dried husk in his mouth and his breath wheezing in and out of his heaving chest. The table. The door. His shackles. The ring.
Nothing had changed. He had not defeated them. Not even been able to resist. They simply had stopped coming one day, and left him to himself. He could not begin to guess at the reason, but the reality remained... and he grew hungrier by the hour.
It did not take long for the madness to set in. First came the headaches, blinding in their intensity yet still not enough to salve the piercing pain from his abdomen. Then the hallucinations started. Auditory at first. He had heard his name called. Heard voices from his long-forgotten past. His father's voice. And then the visions started. As his vision began to fail him, he saw faces. The Defenders, so brave and staunch. More than he deserved. Waves and waves of raiders pouring through the streets. His father's face.
---
He swam in and out of consciousness, with no way to measure the passage of time save the onset of his condition. His stoicism broke on the sixth day, and he howled and fought like a wounded thing, but all for naught. His spirit broke just before his sanity, and he sobbed, though no tears would come.
Each awakening since then had been a surprise. He knew death was coming for him, and he had resigned himself to it. He had said his goodbyes, as best he could, but he knew that he would not truly be missed. He prayed to whatever gods might hear that his Isle would be safe when the Rot came for it. He suspected that the Defenders would ensure this. He prayed also for their forgiveness, though he was not worthy of it.
The door opened, and he regarded it dully. This was a common theme in his hallucinations, and he trusted not the evidence of his eyes. Several figures entered and moved towards him hastily, whispering quietly to each other as they did so. One immediately moved to his shackled wrists and began to fiddle with them, while another stood directly before him, looking into his eyes with her almond brown ones. She eyed him carefully, then nodded once and took a flask from her belt, holding it to his lips and tilting it up. Lukewarm water wet his lips, and he coughed violently, spraying the first mouthful across her cloak. She murmured encouragement and tilted the flask once more, slower this time, and the water slid down his parched throat like the sweetest of nectars.
His shackles suddenly fell to the floor, freeing his wrists, and he toppled forward, unable to even hold himself upright. His vision swirled as the lady with the brown eyes caught him, and he felt himself falling into unconsciousness once more. Before he did, she leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "You remain our friend, Socius. Rest now." Before he could ponder the implications of those words, he was out cold.
The storm was intense, but the tropical island had seen much worse over the years, and most of the residents didn't even stir from their beds at the loud crashes of thunder. Most, but not all.
---
The little girl was startled from a scary dream that had left her cheeks wet and her breath short. She listened to the thunder rolling across the Isle and ducked under her covers reflexively, the echoes of her nightmare still fresh in her young mind. As she slowly came fully awake, and her breathing slowed, she emerged from beneath the covers once more, her eyes wide in the darkness. She had always loved storms. She loved to watch the lightning dance across the sky, and to hear it sizzle through the raindrops. She made her way to the window and pulled open the shutter just a crack. Enough to see through but not so much that she got soaked by rain.
She stared up at the night sky, hearing the pelting rain on the roof and the road outside. She did not have long to wait before a wide branch of lightning spread across the night sky, setting the night on fire for a brief moment. She grinned at the sight, feeling the familiar thrill run through her for a brief moment, but it immediately turned to ice as she noticed the figure.
There in the sky, backlit by the massive bolt of lightning, was a winged... thing. A massive, bulbous body, with incredibly long wings stretched out to either side. It was moving, flapping furiously, but then the lightning was gone. The thunder sounded almost immediately, and she watched, heart pounding, frozen in place, until the next curtain of lightning sprouted.
This time, the skies were clear. But she did not find any solace in the storm, nor any more sleep that night.