It took Delial far less than the bell she budgeted for her to gather and pack her things. On one hand, it was a relief: the fewer things she had to carry on her way the better, especially with her leg still aching from her last encounter with Stormchild. On the other, it gave her a feeling she could have called longing had she been feeling sentimental. In a way, she had been.
She turned in her key and departed from the Wench without a look back. Limsa Lominsa had served as the closest thing she had to a home in years, and even then she spent more time away from it than not. It was just the other night that she was able to return thanks to Melkire and his company. A call for some time on the beach was something she could not refuse even with the search for answers weighing heavy on her shoulder.
The ferry would not set to depart for another two bells at least and so Delial found herself lacking distraction. There were no more letters to write: Saxon had been attended to, Gharen would not respond, Roen could not be reached, and anyone else of immediate importance already knew of her plans.
Such an odd moon it had been. Such an odd year. Those Grimsong would have once considered enemies now ranked among… Friends? Could she call them friends? A few of them, mayhap: she and the Sergeant were on fair terms, and Wolfsong had surprised many by standing by her side those few times. Whatever hostility she felt towards Crofte and Kiryuu, even, had been tempered away. They had their use, she told herself, but a part of her she ignored suggested that empathy may have had something to do with it, too.
When she actually looked up and drew her consciousness out from automatic, Delial found herself stepping out of the market strip and onto the walkway over the baked wooden planks near the Fisherman’s Guild. The last time she had gone there to think, she had been interrupted by the titter of lovers (probably) thinking themselves invisible from the happenings in the city. It was quiet then, so quiet that Delial nearly startled herself with her own sigh. How loud it seemed when the tide was low and quiet, and when Limsa Lominsa was still a long way to waking.
In the past moon she had seen herself hunting Lambs and felling Voidsent alongside strangers and clearing out scalekin infestations alongside men and women she had opposed long ago. What Melkire suggested was a long shot she was sure, but she would reach no resolution in the south. Nor would she find peace in knowing Wolfsong had vanished, not when she also knew that Banurein was also on the move.
No rest for the wicked, she mused darkly. And no peace for the clever.
Not that voluntarily relocating herself to Coerthas was something that seemed very clever at all. The last time she had been called there, it was to discover Itarliht’s treachery; the time before, she was meant to die. The very thought of it made her uneasy but she steeled herself, dug her heels in the stone that was her resolution. She had not gotten to where she was in life by cowing away from life’s challenges, and she would go no further by settling for complacency.
There was nowhere to go but north.
She turned in her key and departed from the Wench without a look back. Limsa Lominsa had served as the closest thing she had to a home in years, and even then she spent more time away from it than not. It was just the other night that she was able to return thanks to Melkire and his company. A call for some time on the beach was something she could not refuse even with the search for answers weighing heavy on her shoulder.
The ferry would not set to depart for another two bells at least and so Delial found herself lacking distraction. There were no more letters to write: Saxon had been attended to, Gharen would not respond, Roen could not be reached, and anyone else of immediate importance already knew of her plans.
Such an odd moon it had been. Such an odd year. Those Grimsong would have once considered enemies now ranked among… Friends? Could she call them friends? A few of them, mayhap: she and the Sergeant were on fair terms, and Wolfsong had surprised many by standing by her side those few times. Whatever hostility she felt towards Crofte and Kiryuu, even, had been tempered away. They had their use, she told herself, but a part of her she ignored suggested that empathy may have had something to do with it, too.
When she actually looked up and drew her consciousness out from automatic, Delial found herself stepping out of the market strip and onto the walkway over the baked wooden planks near the Fisherman’s Guild. The last time she had gone there to think, she had been interrupted by the titter of lovers (probably) thinking themselves invisible from the happenings in the city. It was quiet then, so quiet that Delial nearly startled herself with her own sigh. How loud it seemed when the tide was low and quiet, and when Limsa Lominsa was still a long way to waking.
In the past moon she had seen herself hunting Lambs and felling Voidsent alongside strangers and clearing out scalekin infestations alongside men and women she had opposed long ago. What Melkire suggested was a long shot she was sure, but she would reach no resolution in the south. Nor would she find peace in knowing Wolfsong had vanished, not when she also knew that Banurein was also on the move.
No rest for the wicked, she mused darkly. And no peace for the clever.
Not that voluntarily relocating herself to Coerthas was something that seemed very clever at all. The last time she had been called there, it was to discover Itarliht’s treachery; the time before, she was meant to die. The very thought of it made her uneasy but she steeled herself, dug her heels in the stone that was her resolution. She had not gotten to where she was in life by cowing away from life’s challenges, and she would go no further by settling for complacency.
There was nowhere to go but north.
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