Ysmena sat in a dark corner of the crowded bar at the front of the crumbling inn and braided Elune’s hair with absent fingers. She had often done the same back home in Deornis when Elune’s parents would quarrel. Her father was Ysmena’s father’s younger brother, and though her father allowed their family to stay in their estate, Ysmena could tell he often regretted it. The constant spousal quarreling, the vices, the strange women - all of his eccentricities put a heavy strain on the harmony of the family. Ysmena’s father had never been a man to force his will on others, however, so her uncle’s foul presence became an unspoken constant in the background of their lives. Though, for all his shortcomings, he had never done such a foolish thing as running away to the cursed lands of Danet.
She had, and she had taken Elune with her, and now they hid in this decrepit inn, delaying their deaths at the hands of men who calmly awaited their surrender from across the road. The men had barricaded the alleyway exit with detritus a few hours ago, leaving only the open front door of the inn for the group’s escape. There were four men - two armed with bows at all times, arrows nocked, heads trained on the open doorway. All were armored as before. Ardenel was raving about seeing eyes in the windows of other buildings, watching him with mocking glares like his father’s friends at a gala. Ysmena wasn’t sure if those others existed, but after nearly having died to an arrow from a hidden archer earlier, she couldn’t rule out even the ravings of a madman.
The man who had saved everyone earlier, Onep, sat statuesque atop the bar. His only movements were the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed rhythmically. Meditation was a form of Yashan prayer, allowing one to connect to the world of Vanodel and evaluate one’s life from the calm vantage point of the future. An Ivan pilgrim in Deornis had once tried to teach her, but she found it boring. Why waste a moment of life when you could be doing something active?
Onep had yet to speak with them since his violent display, though Ysmena thought he seemed angry with them - or disappointed, somehow. It was the same glance and scoff that Ysmena’s father would give his brother whenever he caught him sleeping in a public room again after an especially late night. There was a tacit understanding mixed into that emotion, something that told him that his brother’s nature was immutable - it was the way of the world, and you could be angry at it all you’d like, but it would never change.
Now, as she awaited the end in a room full of strangers, Ysmena found herself drifting into meditation, hoping desperately to extend the seconds as long as possible before the end.
“I’m sorry for bringing you here,” Ysmena whispered to Elune. She had been filled with naive confidence coming here, believing that the advantages she enjoyed in Havan had meant anything here in this lawless land. She should have listened to her father more often. His quiet life in spite of everything - the Warring Period, the Reunification War, his brother’s transgressions - now seemed impressive and venerable. How had he held everything together so effortlessly?
To Ysmena’s surprise, Elune turned to her and smiled. “I don’t regret following you, if that’s what you are wondering. I am my own person as well, Ysmena. I make my own decisions. Our time out here together - facing death with a sword in my hand, sweating through a desert march, infiltrating an ancient city - has been more than I ever could have dreamt of experiencing in Deornis. If you hadn’t brought me here, I would still be wasting away in languor at the estate, stuck between my mother and father. So, thank you.” Ysmena balked at the explanation from the oft-silent Elune. She suddenly felt embarrassed and childish for having regretted her decision. She had made the choice to venture out here long ago; the time for ambivalence had passed. Her goal now was to make the best of it.
Ysmena looked to the back of the bar where the rest of the group had congregated. Linoor and Ardenel rested on the cool stone floor as Dal and Violet cleaned and re-wrapped their wounds from the earlier skirmish. Linoor had a nasty swelling on her forehead from where the gauntleted punch had cut her. Ardenel had taken a grazing from a mace across the chest, though it seemed his wound was more battle shock than anything. Dal, the usually mischievous and aloof boy, had leapt to attention when Violet requested help in dressing their wounds. Even that boy, exiled by his father to this Yasha-forsaken land - a death sentence for an untrained noble child - did not wallow in his own self-loathing. Ysmena needed to show she could do the same if she wanted to achieve greatness as her grandfather had; no great leader led a life devoid of setbacks, else they would not have the experience necessary to overcome the obstacles that resulted in their fame. If ambition always brought about success, everyone would be ambitious.
Elune stood and motioned to the kitchens in the back, where the door had been barricaded from the outside by their assailants. “That urchin girl is alone in there. We should check on her.”
“Right,” Ysmena agreed. She felt like the mules that pulled the gears in the mill had finally gotten off their haunches, and now flour began to flow again. Ysmena needed more information if she was going to formulate a plan. With Linoor injured, it was up to her to pick up the shattered pieces of the group and continue forward. Firstly, she needed a Finder’s help.
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The pair entered the kitchens through the door from the bar. Broken wood planks and dowels from ancient furniture littered the dark and dusty room. The only light came from the doorway they now blocked, trickling in from the paneless windows at the front of the bar. Petra, the short-haired Finder girl who had accompanied Ioren on the scouting mission, sat huddled in the corner near the back door.
“Petra?” Ysmena called in the most soothing voice she could muster. The girl turned away from them at the mention of her name. At least she was awake.
“We came to make sure you were alright,” Elune continued. She spoke as if Petra were an injured animal - anything higher than a whisper would spook her back into her burrow. The girl was unresponsive.
Ysmena walked over to the urchin girl and ran a hand through her short hair. It was clear she had been crying earlier.
“You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. It’s difficult, but Ioren and Thorne came here of their own volition. They knew the risks as well as anyone. It’s not your fault for what happened to them.” Ysmena continued. She knew the guilt Petra must have been feeling, for even though Elune had tried to absolve her, the feeling still lingered.
“I didn’t even try ‘nd help,'' Petra finally said. “I’m only good at gettin’ the people ‘round me killed.” She folded her arms around her body in a tight embrace.
“Do you mind if I tell you a story?” Ysmena asked.
Petra finally turned toward Ysmena in order to give her a glare, but she did not object, so Ysmena launched into her tale.
“Around 150 years ago, a great Rolakk general led a bloody campaign through the westerlands, eventually conquering a swath of Temuli land from Typha Lake to the Continental Divide in the name of the Rolakk crown. To thank him for his lifetime of service and his incredible accomplishments, the king granted him the land he had conquered as a duchy. The general retired to his estate, but was bothered each day by a heavy weight. Why should he deserve to enjoy the rest of his days on this estate when the men who provided his victory rotted below the dirt around him? What of their families? The guilt ate into him every day like the worms through his comrades’ corpses. One day, he commissioned a massive statue in the center of the largest city of his domain, and had the sculptor carve the names of all the men under his command into the statue. Any of their family members that came to pay their respects to the statue stayed in town and ate for free - all provided by the general. To this day, the descendents of his company still come to visit Deornis, and though in time his name may be lost to the ages, theirs will always remain on the statue,” Ysmena concluded with a smile. The story of her great-great-great-grandfather was a favorite of her childhood. He was the reason she sought to make her own name now, in Danet. She owed it to her grandfather to continue his legacy of greatness, despite the languid nature of his descendents.
“I don’t have the money for no statues,” Petra responded, crestfallen. Ysmena couldn’t help but laugh, though she quickly covered her mouth when she noticed Petra’s lower lip begin to protrude again.
“A statue isn’t what’s necessary. That feeling, now, in your heart, when you think of your comrades’ passing? You’re always going to carry that weight no matter what you become or where you go. The important part isn’t that the weight exists - it’s what you do with the weight. Let it hone your body and prepare you for greatness, or let it crush you,” she said with a shake of her fist. She had said these own words to herself many times in the past, though she only now realized how hollow they had rung before she had any experiences to fill out her understanding.
“I think a good crushing might be what I deserve,” Petra responded. “But I think I get it. If they die for me and I go jump off a bridge they’d be pretty mad.”
“I would be angry too!” Ysmena said with a playful smile, hoping to continue Petra’s opening up.
“Why would you care?” Petra asked, still serious. Ysmena flushed a little, suddenly having the tables turned on her own emotions.
“I don’t know. I feel like after all we’ve been through, we’re friends now,” she blurted out awkwardly. She noted Elune snickering silently from the corner of her eye and shot her a glare. It had always been hard for her to explain her emotions. Thinking through logical problems had always come naturally, but explaining how she felt was like wading through mud.
“I ain’t had a friend in years,” Petra said. “Never had a noble friend before either. But you two don’t seem half bad. Not like the fat one, at least.”
“He’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Elune admitted, smiling demurely as she stared at the floor.
Petra finally relented and sat up from her place on the floor.
“It’s just been so long since someone was nice to me, you know? The Finders I usually run with never ask me ‘bout my past or nothing. Just necessity. Then I go and get him killed. And the worst part is that I don’t think I would’ve done the same for him,” Petra confessed.
“Some people come into our lives to push us to be better,” Elune said with a smile.
“Guess so. Guess I should be grateful we got any time together at this rate. Since we’re just gonna die now anyways,” Petra said, returning to her gloom.
“About that,” Ysmena said, grinning mischievously. “I want you to help me with this plan I’ve been thinking up…”
The three sat down among the wreckage of a kitchen in Riverstop and discussed a plan to save their lives - and to influence the rest of history, forever.