Hydaelyn Role-Players

A dish of distinct scent and flavor awaited Franz when he returned to his room at the Still Shore. His memories would be stirred in that they remind him of a certain Garlean dish, well liked in the Empire. A note was tucked just beneath the plate.

“Franz,

I know you must miss home. Sometimes I catch that melancholy behind your eyes. I miss it too at times.

This is a dish my mother used to make me every nameday, she did so love the flavor of garlic along with a few other mixture of spices. I have been taking some culinary lessons during my time in Limsa at Bismarck, and tried to have something prepared there that resembles it as close as possible.

I hope it brings back some fond thoughts of home as you enjoy it.

Happy Starlight to you,

~Roen”

A letter tucked into a beaten leather bound tome was delivered to Verad Bellveil’s estate, with two well made knives criss-crossed on top, all held together by festive ribbons in the colors of Starlight.

“Mister Bellveil,

An odd pair of gifts, I know. I have never known you to be a man of violence, or of the blade such as these. But, they do represent a part of who you were and I want to find out more about him. Do call upon me whenever you need. It actually gives me some measure of relief to know that you are learned in these weapons, knowing the danger I have put you through.

The book, with an appropriately aged cover and blank pages within, is for you to start a new memoir. One that actually chronicals your real life, the man you truly are. I am certain I will find it much more interesting, less scandalous, and more believable than the current one in circulation. Not that I begrudge those stories, they have brought me much laughter during my times of need.

And I am still looking forward to those adventures you promised, someday.

I hope your Starlight Festivities are blessed,

~Roen”

A small box wrapped in festive colors of Starlight arrived with a letter addressed to Delial Grimsong.

“Delial,

The past you and I share…I would never wish that on anyone. From the sun we first met in Little Ala Mhigo, no…you found me long before that, I would have never imagined the string of betrayals, death, and pain that you would bring. I still find myself bewildered that either of us still draw breath around the other, much less consider each other an ally...

I always wondered why Ala Mhigans worshipped Rhalgr, a god of destruction. But I have come to learn that many see him as a sign of rebirth, that in the wake of such suffering and wreckage, something new and stronger can be born. Something better.

I would like to hope that such is the nature between you and I and my brother. So I send this to you in spirit of Starlight, as a reminder that despite all that we have done, new beginnings that can still be forged.

~R”

Enclosed within the box was a necklace. It had a dark polished stone affixed to a leather strap. In the center of the stone there was carved symbol of Rhalgr that glimmered very faintly in the sunlight, revealing the slivers of crystal hidden within the black stone.

Gharen Wolfsong was leaving the small home in wards of Mist in the evening, he had promised to do work on the home for the woman that owned the property from time to time as she was a friend of family. And she had lost her husband some moons ago, so it was the least he could do to help her.

He stepped outside and looked out over the ward, the sun hung low in the sky giving off a red hue to the clouds. He glanced down and took notice of a package that sat to the side of the door. Kneeling down to pick it up he saw that it was addressed to him from his sister, Roen. Leaving the yard with the package in hand to leave the district, he plucked the attached letter from the package, opened it up and read it quietly as he walked.

After reading it he folded it up neatly and and placed it in a pouch upon his tunic, she had been correct of course, after Ala Mhigo survival had become all he'd known, that was of course until he'd returned to Thanalan almost a cycle ago, and met the likes of Miss Jara, Roen, and others. He began to open the package, unwrapping it methodically.

When he reached the Gates of the ward, he stopped and stood there as he stared at the picture, stunned.

His parents had been targeted and killed during the occupation when he had been but only five cycles of age. Time passed, and he'd forgotten the sound of their voices, not long after that he'd forgotten their faces, they'd become wisps within his memory, ghosts that frequented both dreams and nightmares alike.

And yet there she was, the face of his mother, alongside a grandmother he never gotten to know, drawn in loving and meticulous detail years before he had been born by Aylard Greyarm, a man that when they had met had been Gharen's only link to his family, a link that had been lost when Aylard had died. Soon after, Nymeia had seen fit to return a link, in the form of Roen, his sister.

He smiled softly and began walking back to his camp as he did he occasionally gazed upon the piece of art, memorizing every feature, he would not forget his mothers face again.

A small box wrapped with thin red and white strips of ribbon was delivered to Gideon North, along with a note.

"Mister North,

I found this by happenstance; a goldsmith friend of mine had come across it in Limsa through another merchant who had held onto it because of sentimental reasons. I think he knew your previous master.

It may have belonged to them, but I believe you are all that remains of that house, and so now it should belong to you. You may only see yourself as a servant, but if your young master was as kind and generous as you described, I suspect he saw you a member of his own family.

You should have it. Happy Starlight to you.

~R"

Enclosed within the box are a pair of cufflinks, bearing a golden tree with three perforations within it.

He smiles faintly, and for the first time since Ms. Callae had taken the humble crest from his suit jacket, his breathing slows to a relaxed, comfortable calm pace. He sets aside the box and the loosened ribbon - of course, delicately removed without any cutting - and stares at them. There was still a twinge, looking at the insignia; the three points, one for each member of the family, and the tree itself.

A part of his mind told him that this should hurt. Even just seeing the emblem brought back memories of happier times, and the abrupt conclusion of them. As for donning them... Lady Deneith's sentiments were kind, but biased by experience. The Aerstorns had been the tree, and he himself was merely a leaf.

Even despite all that... he removed his gloves, and shakily took one of the cufflinks in hand. Golden, but certainly not gold. Sturdy metal, rigid and unbending. Somewhat worn and dappled with imperfections from their time away from the young master, but then again, the same could be said for him. There was a familiarity to them that, he reflected faintly, he would be unlikely to find in anything yet whole. It seemed almost disloyal to not feel that same ache, but when he held them between two fingers, he heard crackling fireplaces, smelled the faint sharpness of the young master's evening nightcap, felt the dense scratchiness of Limsa-woven blankets as he made the young master's bed...

He held onto them, passing them from hand to ungloved hand, staring faintly up at the ceiling. What was starlight itself, but a way to take comfort from things out of reach?

Coatleque had just sat down on the side of her bed. She had been back for less than an hour and had made ready to turn in before she noticed the vase on the end table. Looking around the room as if she expected someone to be there, she reached for the note with a smile. It could only be from one person in recent memory.

She had to read the words twice before she could believe them. "Roen..." she sighed. "Trying times... I pray you do not think less of me for what you may have heard."

Tucking the note back under the vase so she would not lose it, she blew out the lantern and rolled over to try and sleep.

A bouquet of white lilacs were laid in front of Natalie Mcbeef’s gravestone, though no one heard the whispered words of the cloaked woman who delivered them. She had stood in front of the grave in the rain with her head hung low, her face hidden beneath the heavy cowl.

Roen stared at the gravestone, the name etched there, and the numbers below it that marked the length of the Miqo’te’s life. Her former mentor’s life had been cut untimely short, but there was no doubt in the paladin’s mind that Natalie had lived every moment to the fullest. Drawing upon her own memories, Roen knew of some of those moments--some filled with tenderness, yes, but many of pain, anger, and violence.

Until the last few suns, Roen had tried to push thoughts of Natalie out of her mind. Her death had come while she was trying to hunt down someone Roen held dear; it had also been Natalie who had been responsible for so many tears, and so much suffering before that.

And yet...

The paladin could not forget the tender moments they had shared, the quietly-spoken words of trust and understanding, nor the smiles or small moments of laughter between them. Now that she stood before the Miqo’te’s grave, Roen knew that she did not want to remember her former mentor as she was in the last of her days. She did not want to remember her as an enemy. She wanted to remember her as a friend, a confidant, and her mentor who swore her into the Order of the Sultansworn. Natalie had accepted her despite her heritage, and also helped to clear both her name and that of Gharen’s from wanted charges as traitor and terrorist.

“I forgive you,” Roen finally said. “I forgive you for all the things that you did and all the things that happened. I cannot forgive you for him, nor for those whose lives you took. But I no longer hold hatred for you. I hope you found peace and clarity in the end, or after, wherever you may be.”

Roen knelt before the gravestone, laying the pendant of Nald’thal next to the lilacs. She stayed only a moment before she rose, turned, and disappeared into the storm.

From hand to hand and sailor to sailor passed the little brown package, unmarked save for the label denoting the addressee. In sharp block letters was written, "To R.D., for N.L." By the time the little brown package reached its destination, a fortnight had passed since Starlight. 

Inside was no letter, no message. Only needle and thread.