Legend of Ransera

There were only the sounds of her footsteps as she entered the arena. The ends of her white robes brushed softly against the dirt floor, but she barely paid any mind to it. Relief flooded her veins as she confirmed that the place was empty.

Dawnhold was throwing a modest banquet in honor of their guests from Ailos as the skies grew dark. Anyone not actively on duty was invited. Unsurprisingly, most of the knights and aspirants had flocked to the celebration, leaving the rest of the town practically empty. With the long, long winter, no one would miss the chance for a bit of revelry.

Yet, Veriel had excused herself early - far earlier than what would have been considered polite. Her smile was faltering and her tongue struggled to form words. The conversations were a blur and she couldn’t count how many times she had lost track of when people were talking directly to her. The elf had caught herself staring at the spellforged commander almost the entire time. Asking why why why it couldn’t be him standing there instead? Why did the gods allow her to survive while Endrik Shiryo was dead and mutilated?

A demented thought - Veriel was well aware - but she couldn’t stop herself. It had been a while since she felt this out of sorts.

All these years Veriel had tried to heal the pain. Every time the grief came, she would tell herself that Ryo would want her to move on. That as the time passed, so would the heartbreak. She believed that she had finally gotten herself together. The siltori had set foot inside the Imperium, yet managed to drag herself out in order to fulfill Arcas’s request - instead of seeking revenge. That was proof enough that her anger had subsided, right?

But here she was, walking unsteadily with Novuril in hand. She barely even remembered she had gone to fetch the blade. Perhaps the wound hadn’t healed at all. She had just refused to look at it at some point, pretending it did not exist.

That night the weapon felt different in her hand. Strange and unbalanced. Alien. Perhaps it recognized the darkness in her thoughts. Perhaps it decided she wasn’t worthy, after all. Because would she give it away if she could have Ryo back? Veriel was ashamed of how easily the answer came.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t an option. All she had now was the blade and the cost it carried. The cruelest thing was, she was chosen to make all of it worth it. To prove that there was meaning in all of the deaths, in Ryo’s death.

Closing her eyes as the tears fell, Veriel took a basic stance - the exact one her kathar had taught her a century ago - and danced as light turned to dusk.

An all too familiar voice rang out over the chilly night air. "How long will you continue to stay unbalanced, Laveriel?" She sat there, on a small pair of alabaster steps, and had been sitting there for some time, watching, listening. She rose, walking silently over toward the Wrath, her face in its stern, almost constant look of disappointment. "You're mimicking his style too much. You're dropping elbows trying to reach as he did, moving as though his wings are on your back."

For a moment, there was a hint of sadness in the Knight-Marshal's eyes, and if Laveriel dared to stop, or slow, "Do not. Fix your flaws and move forward." The Knight-Marshal prowled around Laveriel as she performed her kata, voicing her criticisms openly and regularly. "You are chopping like a butcher. You are not his muscle, you are grace. Flow like it."

Eventually, with an exhale of disgust, the Knight-Marshal stepped in under a strike, and caught Laveriel's wrist, firmly, but not to cause pain. She glared forward into Laveriel's eyes. "Stop living in his memory. You're better than that." She gave a firm push off, sending Laveriel back a few steps, "Strike me. Convince me you haven't grown soft in this..." She glanced around, "Perfect, unscarred sanctuary."

The Knight-Marshal did not draw a blade, but rather, settled back into a closed, unarmed stance, her eyelids sliding shut. She was unarmored, wearing little more than a layer of fur lined robes to keep the child of winter at bay. "Come for me as though I'm that bastard Kathar that has scarred your heart. If you can't, you'll never be able to find your justice one day." There was no malice, no teasing, no emotion in her voice, "That's an order."

A small group of lower ranked Dawnmartyrs and other inhabitants were forming at the far edges of the area, looking on curiously. Many of them were revelers, heading home from the welcome banquet, bellies full and livers floating. And most of them were northerners, born and bred, and were curious about this Knight-Marshal from the south, one of the few survivors of the Fall of Ailos, and she who stayed until the very end when the Imperium was finally crushed and driven out.

And they all knew that she, Knight-Marshal Si'uvi Tikor Neverfall of Ailos, gave the order for Laveriel to head north with Novuril to keep it from enemy hands, and gave the order for her lover to stay behind, ultimately to be slain.

Knight-Marshal Neverfall was silent as the Wrath of Arcas replied. She waited until the elf came forward with her attacks. As the blades swung toward her, Neverfall skipped forward, sliding through the smallest of openings, the only opening, in the opening salvo, her hands raised, the blades now at her back. And she stood there for a half moment, her hands dropping, "Because you're the best of us. It is why Novuril chose you."

Neverfall knew the retaliation attacks were coming after the first miss. The blades chopped, stabbed, and swung toward her from several angles. The Orkhan spun on her heel with a grace that dancers could only hope to achieve, her hands reaching out, snatching two of the weapons from the air by their hilts, and with a flick of the wrists, parried the other three away, completing her spin to face Veriel once more.

Laveriel would instantly realize that she could no longer feel a connection to the blades in Neverfall's grasp. There was no flow of aether, through her Rune of Reaving nor through her Rune of Affliction. Where there had once been weapons and magic that were a part of her, now there was simply a phantom limb effect. Neverfall pointed one of the swords at Laveriel, "There are no half measures in death. You died that day. We all did."

Neverfall fell back into a combat stance, wielding a sword and dagger from Laveriel's own arsenal, seemingly unaffected by the cursed powers that ran through them. The Knight-Marshal closed her eyes, and kept them shut. "By learning to live in the light and to fight in the dark." Neverfall skipped backwards now, resetting their positions, but not yielding Laveriel's weapons, not opening her eyes. "You are imbalanced for you live in the darkness of his death, and you fight here in the light of his memory."

With the subtlest of a head tilt, Neverfall began her offensive now. She started forward, knife held high in a reverse grip, sword held low and pointed back and down. The remaining sword, shield, and spear were in Laveriel's control. As the Knight-Marshal approached with a speed that belayed her ability, two glints of light shone into Laveriel's eyes, bright, focused, and each from different angles. These glints were but momentary, though in that moment, nothing could be seen save for the light.

And when the moment passed, Neverfall was no longer in front of Laveriel. The sword came swinging up in a slash, looking to cleave from thigh to shoulder, her attack coming from behind and off to the side with frightening speed.

As the blade cut into Laveriel's thigh, the curse weaving was successful through that temporary, painful connection. The shield came and stopped the second blade's attack, and Laveriel's kick came through swiftly, and for a brief moment, the woman felt the weight of contact, and the curse latched on.

And in that same moment, Neverfall was spinning away, leaving a shadowy version of herself in her place there. The kick tore through it, and the curse latched onto it. The tip of the sword the Knight Marshal wielded glowed intensely bright and she slashed the air between her and the shadow, severing the connection before skipping out of reach.

The shadow doppleganger froze, mostly, other than a slight vibration, twisted and contorted in a frozen scream for many long moments before whatever magic gave it form faded and the entire being poofed out of existence. Neverfall was slack, nodding, tossing Laveriel's weapons across the space between them, allowing them to fall back into the woman's control.

"I've seen enough." She walked forward toward Laveriel, "Your skills and magic have grown greatly since Ailos. You are deadlier and more refined than you ever were." She sighed, "But like me, like many of us from there, you are weighed down by that shadow." She offered an elbow, "Come, let us walk, and speak." She then looked down at Novuril laying across the stones, "But please do not disrespect the blade like that before me. You know how many lives were lost to bring that here."

If Laveriel noticed now, there beneath the moonslight, Neverfall's shadow returned, and it carried a sword that was not in her own hand. The Knight Marshal smiled, "I'd like to see what life you've made for yourself here." A somber nod, "I suspect the love you carry for Ryo, for the Hope you two built together, of a world at peace, of friends aplenty," a knowing glance at Laveriel's stomach, "A family. That Hope I think is what called in your time of need to Novuril."

If the offered elbow was taken, she'd allow Laveriel to take the lead and guide her through Dawnhold. "Do you have many civilians here as Ailos once did? Do the Dawnmartyrs here take them for lovers and friends and family as well?"

A sly grin, "And is there a place we can find something good to drink?"

Neverfall nodded, "Yes, he's very present in the lives of his followers. Here." There was some bitterness there, with no attempt at hiding it.

As they walked arm in arm, Neverfall listened, and her eyes searched. Her face was a storm of conflicting emotions, taking in the beauty and peace of this world unravaged by war, mingling with the pain and regret of not saving her own. She was happy for the Kalzaserns and heart broken for her own people. And soon, they found their watering hole.

An eyebrow raised at 'Lady Laveriel' followed by a hint of a teasing smile. That one wouldn't be forgotten. Neverfall's eyes fell upon the Rathari barowner and her lips pursed a bit. As the barmaid approached, "Make me something I can tell my friends back home about." As the barmaid turned to Laveriel, Neverfall interrupted her, "And have the big man bring it over." An extra coin given for an extra duty. The barmaid smiled in surprise at both of them. "I got just the thing."

She bounced off toward the bar. Neverfall rested her chin in a palm, elbow on the table, "I have some at looking forward to this night. It's... been a while since I've taken the time to relax." A wolfish grin, "But it seems the Lady here has been relaxing rather often."

Her other hand was idly tapping her fingertips against the table top, "Are you happy here? It sounds like you've been all in on your duties to the Order and Arcas, but have not found a life here. No bonds to comfort, no arms for shelter." Her face was soft, softer than it had been since her arrival, she knew those pains too well herself.

But soon, some heavy footsteps arrived, lumbering over, and set two very brightly colored drinks down, swirling in what was clearly some alchemically wonderful cocktail. "Hello, Ladies. Two Hergin's Specials here." He turned a bit toward Neverfall, "I hope your liver is strong, this one here," a thumb jabbed in Laveriel's direction, "Has a tendency to close the place down with me." A teasing smile grew on his lips, one that was answered by a feral hunger in Neverfall's eyes, "Who do you think she learned it from?" She cocked her head in Laveriel's direction, smiling devilishly.



Hergin looked surprised, "Oh, an old friend of the Lady's. That's new." He looked over at Laveriel, a slight nod of appreciation, "Well it's my pleasure to meet you..."

"Si'uvi Tikor Neverfall," she said with heavy lids and eyes clearly sizing him up.

And for the first time in Laveriel's time here, she saw Hergin blush, "Well... enjoy your drinks, and if you need anything, just holler for Old Hergy." And as he turned to walk back to his bar, there would be a noticeable skip in his step, and the man was smoothing his beard now. Neverfall picked up her class, "Beautiful." She offered it up to Laveriel, casting a direct gaze on the woman in the Ecithian custom, "Chi'uvio." And with that, clinked her glass to Laveriel's, and took a long drink. It was a swirl of fruity, sweet, sour, spicy, but never stayed as one single flavor. Always changing. And the alcohol couldn't be noticed at all. Both of Neverfall's eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise.

"Absolutely wonderful."

She took another long drink, setting it down, "Have you ever considered coming home? With Arcas returned, he can protect the north, and you're always welcomed in Ailos and the Commonwealth. We're still rebuilding, of course, but it is still home if you ever want it. You can return with us if you'd like." She looked down into her drink, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't say such things now. Not when we could be catching up. It's just..."

We both have known so much pain.

Before Neverfall spoke again, a soft and gentle wind formed around the two women, circling about them. And for this brief moment, the noise of the tavern fell away, and all Laveriel would be able to hear was Neverfall and her own voice. "The Emperor will return for Ailos. He did not get what he came for. It is still safe with us, but he still desires it, of that I'm sure." When she was finished the wind dissipated and the sounds around them returned, and no one around seemed to have even noticed that anything was amiss.

Neverfall looked into her drink sadly, "If they come anytime soon, it won't be like last time. We're too broken in Ailos, the Commonwealth a shadow of itself and plagued with its own problems. Not sure if they've realized it yet." She sighed, "There needs to be a different option than fight or run. There has to be. The Dawnmartyrs can't survive if that is all we will ever know."

Neverfall smiled softly, "If Arcas allows it, we're going to build a portal from Dawnhold to Ailos. Might take a while to construct, but it might be nice for some of our people to see a beauty beyond that living in their haunted memories."

She leaned back, drink in hand now, taking regular draws off of it. "How is this man? Not the god, but the man, Talon? From what I've gathered, he's not been on the pleasant end of Fate lately, with being captured, with his father killed, his home attacked, and so many other things. Did you know him before he became Arcas? What sort of man is he?"

It was a curiosity, not one of judgment or scorn, but an attempt to finally understand more of the god that almost none in the Order had ever met. The previous Arcas was gone long ago, and the Order went for so long without him. "Is he a warrior? A prince? A scribe? I saw that he only has the one mate, which is very unusual in this part of the world."

She went silent for a bit, to allow Laveriel to speak. Then, color flushed in her cheeks after a few more drinks. This Special was real strong. "You remember Ourha? Flew you out of Ailos with a baby strapped to her chest?" A hiccup and another drink, "That baby is all grown up now, and dropping old, deep magic in the Commonwealth's Senate. You should look her up when you make it back."

A heavy thump of an empty glass on the table as Neverfall stood up, offering a hand to Laveriel. She gave a pull, towing the woman after her. They passed the bartender, and Neverfall smiled at him, "Two more waiting for us when we get back." She pulled Laveriel into the back area of the tavern, spotting a troubadour there burying himself in his glass. Neverfall went right up to him, "Oy. Put on something we can dance to." The man raised an eyebrow suspiciously and Neverfall rolled her eyes, tossing coins into his drink. And with that, he scrambled to get himself on his stool with his lyre and he started up a beat, when Neverfall interrupted. "We're from the south, the real south. Speed it up."

All eyes were on them now, as Neverfall spun Laveriel to face her, "Remember those hot and humid nights under the stars, all of us just dancing until dawn rose on the island?" A wink was given as Neverfall used just a bit of her magic to sneak some steam into the fires of the hearths, raising the heat and humidity of the tavern. "For the rest of the night, we're under the stars once more, just waiting for dawn to greet us."