"Soothe your ills. Raise your stamina."
Hands passed over hands as fingers manipulated cord, tying knot after sailor's knot with careful and practiced precision. He'd be betting his health on this tangle holding, so gods-damned right was he going to make sure that he'd done it right. A single baritone voice danced with abandon on the frigid air this morning, a lone golden melody in a clef of silence.
"I thought I heard the Old Man say,
'Leave her, Johnny, leave her.'
Tomorrow ye will get your pay,
and it's time for us t'leave her."
Chance - or fate, take your pick - had brought Master Rosethorne to him, and while his former mentor had been at a loss for a solution to the immolation of his former disciple's innards, a mere word had sent Osric scurrying after healers. Alchemy, arcanima, conjury... they all led to the same conclusion: no one knew what was wrong with him, and he'd best ask a more experienced practitioner of his order.
Chance - or an educated guess, take your pick - had led him to the Grindstone, and there he'd met Armstrong at last, and what the highlander had to tell him was simple. So simple that Osric should've thought of it himself. More the daft fool, him. He was a cup filled to the brim, except the cup was filled with aether, and the excess energy that was spilling over was burning him alive from the inside out.
"The Sacral is life."
"Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
For the voyage was long and the winds don't blow,
and it's time for us t'leave her."
He patted the forest of knotted cord, at last satisfied with his work. He threw the heavy loop of what was rest of the line - say rather, most of it - over his shoulder, then held the bit that ran between the loop and the knots in his right hand, fingers loosely clasped around the fibers as he walked backwards across the width of Highbridge.
He'd soon be needing what he'd hidden here, down in the chasm where Zachary had dropped it, so many moons ago. He'd never told anyone, not even Kanaria, that he'd found his way back here, three suns after the dust had settled, just for that purpose. He always appreciated an edge, and often went out of his way to secure one for the future... and the future was now.
"We swear by rote for want of more,
'Leave her, Johnny, leave her.'
But now we're through so we'll go on shore,
and it's time for us t'leave her."
He turned at last, planted his hands on the railing opposite that with the tangle, and glanced down into the abyss with a shudder of dread. The last time he'd gone down there, he'd been scaling the cliffs with as much caution as possible... but back then, he'd only been half-alive.
"Live, and the Sacral will provide, for that has always been its purpose."
It took some doing, a few deep breaths, but at last he swallowed his fear. A small smirk grew into a broad, maniacal grin as he straightened and pushed himself back away from the railing, walking backwards again as he let the loop fall off his shoulder and into the clenched fist of his left hand, the line still firmly held in his right...
"Leave her, Johnny, leave her!"
One...
"Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!"
Two...
"For the voyage was long and the winds don't blow..."
He sighed, and smiled again as he turned on his heel. Osric broke into a run, skipped the last few steps on the bridge, bounded up onto the railing, and pushed off, throwing himself out into open space, tumbling through the air, holding the cord in his right hand at full extension, letting the loop in his left feed his lifeline as he fell, as he twisted and righted himself, legs straightened and held out as if was ready to...
The line went taut.
"Live."
Ready to swing.
The heat of friction against his gloves burned like a son of a coeurl, as did the screaming ache in his arm and shoulder, but he held on, still feeding the line, the loop growing lighter and lighter, smaller and smaller as the river running along the canyon floor grew and grew to his eyes.
Those present at the outpost that morning heard a resounding whoop of exultation and sheer, unadulterated joy.
Hands passed over hands as fingers manipulated cord, tying knot after sailor's knot with careful and practiced precision. He'd be betting his health on this tangle holding, so gods-damned right was he going to make sure that he'd done it right. A single baritone voice danced with abandon on the frigid air this morning, a lone golden melody in a clef of silence.
"I thought I heard the Old Man say,
'Leave her, Johnny, leave her.'
Tomorrow ye will get your pay,
and it's time for us t'leave her."
Chance - or fate, take your pick - had brought Master Rosethorne to him, and while his former mentor had been at a loss for a solution to the immolation of his former disciple's innards, a mere word had sent Osric scurrying after healers. Alchemy, arcanima, conjury... they all led to the same conclusion: no one knew what was wrong with him, and he'd best ask a more experienced practitioner of his order.
Chance - or an educated guess, take your pick - had led him to the Grindstone, and there he'd met Armstrong at last, and what the highlander had to tell him was simple. So simple that Osric should've thought of it himself. More the daft fool, him. He was a cup filled to the brim, except the cup was filled with aether, and the excess energy that was spilling over was burning him alive from the inside out.
"The Sacral is life."
"Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
For the voyage was long and the winds don't blow,
and it's time for us t'leave her."
He patted the forest of knotted cord, at last satisfied with his work. He threw the heavy loop of what was rest of the line - say rather, most of it - over his shoulder, then held the bit that ran between the loop and the knots in his right hand, fingers loosely clasped around the fibers as he walked backwards across the width of Highbridge.
He'd soon be needing what he'd hidden here, down in the chasm where Zachary had dropped it, so many moons ago. He'd never told anyone, not even Kanaria, that he'd found his way back here, three suns after the dust had settled, just for that purpose. He always appreciated an edge, and often went out of his way to secure one for the future... and the future was now.
"We swear by rote for want of more,
'Leave her, Johnny, leave her.'
But now we're through so we'll go on shore,
and it's time for us t'leave her."
He turned at last, planted his hands on the railing opposite that with the tangle, and glanced down into the abyss with a shudder of dread. The last time he'd gone down there, he'd been scaling the cliffs with as much caution as possible... but back then, he'd only been half-alive.
"Live, and the Sacral will provide, for that has always been its purpose."
It took some doing, a few deep breaths, but at last he swallowed his fear. A small smirk grew into a broad, maniacal grin as he straightened and pushed himself back away from the railing, walking backwards again as he let the loop fall off his shoulder and into the clenched fist of his left hand, the line still firmly held in his right...
"Leave her, Johnny, leave her!"
One...
"Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!"
Two...
"For the voyage was long and the winds don't blow..."
He sighed, and smiled again as he turned on his heel. Osric broke into a run, skipped the last few steps on the bridge, bounded up onto the railing, and pushed off, throwing himself out into open space, tumbling through the air, holding the cord in his right hand at full extension, letting the loop in his left feed his lifeline as he fell, as he twisted and righted himself, legs straightened and held out as if was ready to...
The line went taut.
"Live."
Ready to swing.
The heat of friction against his gloves burned like a son of a coeurl, as did the screaming ache in his arm and shoulder, but he held on, still feeding the line, the loop growing lighter and lighter, smaller and smaller as the river running along the canyon floor grew and grew to his eyes.
Those present at the outpost that morning heard a resounding whoop of exultation and sheer, unadulterated joy.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
