Post by Katriel on Feb 7, 2024 16:59:44 GMT -5
Elowyn made her way into Cove’s Crown Keep Citadel and quietly slipped into a seat at the table. There seemed to be heavy stones churning about in her stomach, and she took a slow, deep breath in an attempt to settle them. Her last few visits to the militia’s compound had not been pleasant ones. She’d been there as a witness to the mysterious collapse of the citadel’s neighboring structure. Its owner had desperately tried to save it, but in the end could only dig through the rubble to salvage whatever he could. The Covians had blamed the collapse on magic—an idea planted in their minds by Yew’s former Abbot. Elowyn wasn’t so certain, about the true cause of the fallen building or of the Abbot’s motives. She knew enough about the man to realize he had no one’s benefit in mind save his own.
But true or not, the effects of that dramatic event had rippled well beyond this small community, culminating in an even greater horror. Elowyn had also been there the night when one of Cove’s own had been beaten for the supposed sin of desiring his own wife. And then a hapless elf was shoved forward, forced to mouth words given to him by the Covian church. It was obvious that he’d been beaten and tortured prior to his arrival. While everyone watched, the poor elf was branded like livestock and had the deed to his land taken from him.
Elowyn’s only consolation was that she had not been the only one willing to stand up and help rescue the poor elf. With the king’s intervention and the death of Yew’s Abbot, an uneasy calm had settled over Cove since that awful night. Even so, she was relieved to see that the woman who’d just sat down next to her was the one who had led the charge to rescue the elf—River was her name. Clothed in a simple dress and wielding nothing but a small dagger, her selfless act of bravery might have ended badly had others not stepped in as well. Elowyn smiled at River, noting that today she wore full armor and carried a weapon.
The meeting came to order, and Elowyn did her best to pay attention despite the anxious thoughts swirling through her mind. What happened here mattered, as the back of her home overlooked the militia’s Mess and Bath House. She’d not realized when she’d purchased her secluded lot in the wilderness, that the history of these lands was as troubled as her own past. Words came in and out of focus. Someone’s sister had joined the militia…its leader had cut off his own finger to pay off an old debt owed to the Rovers, and Elowyn shuddered when she realized River was wearing the finger as a trophy around her neck. Others were concerned about losing Cove’s seat on the King’s Council…but they all seemed to agree that what Cove truly wanted was independence. That was at least a sentiment Elowyn could appreciate. Freedom was everything.
The Covians were speaking to her now, asking why she was there, and questioning her about her thoughts on the use of magic. The door suddenly opened, and a familiar figure strode through it just as she was affirming her approval of good magics but denouncing the use of necromancy. It was Raganhar. Her voice faltered a little, then fell silent as he took the empty seat to her right. His deep hood could not hide from her the sickly pallor of his skin, or the haunted look in his deep blue eyes. She swallowed hard, but said nothing to him.
For months she’d been discreetly searching for him. By the time rumors reached her ears of where he’d last been seen, he was long gone. He’d successfully eluded her so far, not wanting to be found. Why had Raganhar suddenly shown up here, and now? He never did anything without a well-calculated purpose. He flashed what anyone else would see as a quick, stoic glance in her direction. But she knew him too well—behind that glance she sensed his pain, and sorrow, and a loneliness so deep it made her soul ache.
As distracted as Elowyn was by his presence, his focus had not been broken by hers. He stood boldly before the leaders of Cove, demanding accountability and compensation for the abused elf. They argued. The militia and the church were pointing fingers at each other. She could feel the tension pulsing from Raganhar like dangerous waves in a building storm. His power was on the verge of breaking across the table in an unstoppable torrent. Alarmed, she gently touched his arm and gave him a pleading look. He didn’t recoil from her. Instead, the tension abruptly dissipated, and he sat back down while River took up the argument. Following more heated words, she finished what she had to say and stormed out. To Elowyn’s surprise, Raganhar tenderly touched her shoulder, then followed River out the door.
Bewildered by his behavior, Elowyn hesitated, though not for long. She quietly excused herself from the meeting and went after him. Surely he had something to say to her after all this time—anything. She could hear him speaking to River in urgent, hushed tones, but only caught the name Katriel before he fell silent, giving her a sidelong glance. When he turned to depart, Elowyn pursued him across the clearing until he was forced to acknowledge her. She would not let him simply disappear into the wilderness without a word, not this time.
“I want you to come home.” Elowyn hoped he would forgive the bluntness of her words, but her heart knew that she would have little time to convince him. She only regretted that her tone had betrayed the pain and desperation she’d wanted to hide.
Raganhar slid off his glove, exposing skin that was unnaturally white. “You know what I am now…what I’ve become, and what I must do to survive. You just stood there in the Crown Keep and denounced necromancy as an abomination.”
“That was not directed at you,” Elowyn interrupted. “This curse was not your choice. But I must speak out against the likes of Ravenna and the master she serves, who use that dark art to—”
Glancing about, Raganhar pressed his finger against her lips to silence her, then slipped his deathly pale hand back into his glove. “I’m only protecting you—I don’t want you involved in any of this. You’ve suffered enough.”
“I don’t want to be protected. I’m your wife, and it’s my place to stand by your side and fight, as we’ve always done in hard times. Just…please. Come home, where we may talk of these things in private.”
Raganhar only shook his head firmly at her and turned away. Elowyn’s heart fell, and the sobs that threatened to emerge from her throat nearly choked her as she forcefully swallowed them down. Behind a blur of unfallen tears, Raganhar slipped beyond sight into the trees. There was no use in following him.
As a young girl, Elowyn had lost her first love to a violent death. For many years after, she’d kept a tight rein on her heart, never expecting she would allow herself to love again. Raganhar had changed all that, and now she was losing him too—not to an unexpected tragedy, but slowly, day by day, as his humanity was eroded away by forces neither of them could control. Elowyn didn’t think she could face that well of darkness again—the one she had only escaped because Raganhar had reached down to lift her out before she drowned in her own grief. In a flash of bitterness, she wondered whether the sudden loss or the slow one would turn out to be more cruel.
Straightening her posture, Elowyn angrily wiped her eyes clear. Whether he wanted her involvement or not, she’d spent quite enough nights alone in her cabin, despairing over what had become of him. She hadn’t lost him yet…and she didn’t intend to.
But true or not, the effects of that dramatic event had rippled well beyond this small community, culminating in an even greater horror. Elowyn had also been there the night when one of Cove’s own had been beaten for the supposed sin of desiring his own wife. And then a hapless elf was shoved forward, forced to mouth words given to him by the Covian church. It was obvious that he’d been beaten and tortured prior to his arrival. While everyone watched, the poor elf was branded like livestock and had the deed to his land taken from him.
Elowyn’s only consolation was that she had not been the only one willing to stand up and help rescue the poor elf. With the king’s intervention and the death of Yew’s Abbot, an uneasy calm had settled over Cove since that awful night. Even so, she was relieved to see that the woman who’d just sat down next to her was the one who had led the charge to rescue the elf—River was her name. Clothed in a simple dress and wielding nothing but a small dagger, her selfless act of bravery might have ended badly had others not stepped in as well. Elowyn smiled at River, noting that today she wore full armor and carried a weapon.
The meeting came to order, and Elowyn did her best to pay attention despite the anxious thoughts swirling through her mind. What happened here mattered, as the back of her home overlooked the militia’s Mess and Bath House. She’d not realized when she’d purchased her secluded lot in the wilderness, that the history of these lands was as troubled as her own past. Words came in and out of focus. Someone’s sister had joined the militia…its leader had cut off his own finger to pay off an old debt owed to the Rovers, and Elowyn shuddered when she realized River was wearing the finger as a trophy around her neck. Others were concerned about losing Cove’s seat on the King’s Council…but they all seemed to agree that what Cove truly wanted was independence. That was at least a sentiment Elowyn could appreciate. Freedom was everything.
The Covians were speaking to her now, asking why she was there, and questioning her about her thoughts on the use of magic. The door suddenly opened, and a familiar figure strode through it just as she was affirming her approval of good magics but denouncing the use of necromancy. It was Raganhar. Her voice faltered a little, then fell silent as he took the empty seat to her right. His deep hood could not hide from her the sickly pallor of his skin, or the haunted look in his deep blue eyes. She swallowed hard, but said nothing to him.
For months she’d been discreetly searching for him. By the time rumors reached her ears of where he’d last been seen, he was long gone. He’d successfully eluded her so far, not wanting to be found. Why had Raganhar suddenly shown up here, and now? He never did anything without a well-calculated purpose. He flashed what anyone else would see as a quick, stoic glance in her direction. But she knew him too well—behind that glance she sensed his pain, and sorrow, and a loneliness so deep it made her soul ache.
As distracted as Elowyn was by his presence, his focus had not been broken by hers. He stood boldly before the leaders of Cove, demanding accountability and compensation for the abused elf. They argued. The militia and the church were pointing fingers at each other. She could feel the tension pulsing from Raganhar like dangerous waves in a building storm. His power was on the verge of breaking across the table in an unstoppable torrent. Alarmed, she gently touched his arm and gave him a pleading look. He didn’t recoil from her. Instead, the tension abruptly dissipated, and he sat back down while River took up the argument. Following more heated words, she finished what she had to say and stormed out. To Elowyn’s surprise, Raganhar tenderly touched her shoulder, then followed River out the door.
Bewildered by his behavior, Elowyn hesitated, though not for long. She quietly excused herself from the meeting and went after him. Surely he had something to say to her after all this time—anything. She could hear him speaking to River in urgent, hushed tones, but only caught the name Katriel before he fell silent, giving her a sidelong glance. When he turned to depart, Elowyn pursued him across the clearing until he was forced to acknowledge her. She would not let him simply disappear into the wilderness without a word, not this time.
“I want you to come home.” Elowyn hoped he would forgive the bluntness of her words, but her heart knew that she would have little time to convince him. She only regretted that her tone had betrayed the pain and desperation she’d wanted to hide.
Raganhar slid off his glove, exposing skin that was unnaturally white. “You know what I am now…what I’ve become, and what I must do to survive. You just stood there in the Crown Keep and denounced necromancy as an abomination.”
“That was not directed at you,” Elowyn interrupted. “This curse was not your choice. But I must speak out against the likes of Ravenna and the master she serves, who use that dark art to—”
Glancing about, Raganhar pressed his finger against her lips to silence her, then slipped his deathly pale hand back into his glove. “I’m only protecting you—I don’t want you involved in any of this. You’ve suffered enough.”
“I don’t want to be protected. I’m your wife, and it’s my place to stand by your side and fight, as we’ve always done in hard times. Just…please. Come home, where we may talk of these things in private.”
Raganhar only shook his head firmly at her and turned away. Elowyn’s heart fell, and the sobs that threatened to emerge from her throat nearly choked her as she forcefully swallowed them down. Behind a blur of unfallen tears, Raganhar slipped beyond sight into the trees. There was no use in following him.
As a young girl, Elowyn had lost her first love to a violent death. For many years after, she’d kept a tight rein on her heart, never expecting she would allow herself to love again. Raganhar had changed all that, and now she was losing him too—not to an unexpected tragedy, but slowly, day by day, as his humanity was eroded away by forces neither of them could control. Elowyn didn’t think she could face that well of darkness again—the one she had only escaped because Raganhar had reached down to lift her out before she drowned in her own grief. In a flash of bitterness, she wondered whether the sudden loss or the slow one would turn out to be more cruel.
Straightening her posture, Elowyn angrily wiped her eyes clear. Whether he wanted her involvement or not, she’d spent quite enough nights alone in her cabin, despairing over what had become of him. She hadn’t lost him yet…and she didn’t intend to.