Orrin backed up with a little sigh, crossing his arms for a moment as he looked upon the freshly tied bundle upon the table. His hand reached out and traced over the front of it, feeling the firm steel that lay underneath. The campaign that had derailed his quest for answers to Ishgard's weakness had finally come to an end. Though disheartened somewhat by not bearing witness to the death of the two instigators first hand, he found it somewhat fitting. He was a Dragoon first, slayer of dragons, not a persecutor of heretics. To find his part concluded with the slaying of the mourning dragon was more than fitting. However, there was a bitterness that lingered in his mouth still.
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Thefinale came none too soon, wyverns managing to make it into Ishgard proper, emboldened by the reawakening of Nidhogg, meant that the nation was in dire need of the competent and healthy. Though he was returning, he felt as if he brought nothing back beyond his own conviction. In a sense, it was that he sought when he had first left, leaving behind his Drachen Mail in search of proving his true worth. What had he to show for it? For the lives he could have preserved if he had remained in Coerthas to fight?
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He had saved a heretic from the influence of the horde, had a hand in destroying a cultist cell, saved the lives of Ul'dahn men and women. These were things of worth to him, but to the state of Ishgard? He was no closer to helping his nation regain the strength that he felt they were lacking. Furthermore a single Wyrmtear still was free, in the hands of that damned Miqo'te.Â
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His face turned to that of a snarl for a moment before he closed his eyes and inhaled and exhaled deeply, letting the draconic rage subside. He takes his hand off the pack to turn away and thread his arms into the leather straps at either side to shoulder the weight. There was hope.
For even though much was left unanswered for him, he found answers to questions he did not know to ask. He knew now that his title was not given to him for lack of more worthy candidates: that he too measured to the men and women that fought and died before him. He knew now the strength of men over the will of dragons and those who surrendered themselves to them. And he knew now that people could find redemption and with that, perhaps a nation could as well. It was all he had to bring back with him to Ishgard and it would have to do, he could linger no longer.
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Orrin made his way to the door,opening it wide, letting the bustling sound of the Quicksands coming from below be heard. He ducked his head to get the burdensome pack through the frame and he shut the door behind him. In a way, his hopes lay with her, the woman who would return to Ishgard and seek hearing in front of the High Court of heresies. This was a woman who had the mind of the likes that first sought to forge the Drachen mail. The Ishgard he believed in would see her conviction and forgive her. Or so he hoped so dearly.
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He took solace in that the Mourner and its pall bearers lay dead and with it, perhaps granted Ishgard some reprieve by dispatching such a powerful member of the horde. It would have to do for now, he had a war to fight and a rogue tear to seek out.Â
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Thefinale came none too soon, wyverns managing to make it into Ishgard proper, emboldened by the reawakening of Nidhogg, meant that the nation was in dire need of the competent and healthy. Though he was returning, he felt as if he brought nothing back beyond his own conviction. In a sense, it was that he sought when he had first left, leaving behind his Drachen Mail in search of proving his true worth. What had he to show for it? For the lives he could have preserved if he had remained in Coerthas to fight?
Â
He had saved a heretic from the influence of the horde, had a hand in destroying a cultist cell, saved the lives of Ul'dahn men and women. These were things of worth to him, but to the state of Ishgard? He was no closer to helping his nation regain the strength that he felt they were lacking. Furthermore a single Wyrmtear still was free, in the hands of that damned Miqo'te.Â
Â
His face turned to that of a snarl for a moment before he closed his eyes and inhaled and exhaled deeply, letting the draconic rage subside. He takes his hand off the pack to turn away and thread his arms into the leather straps at either side to shoulder the weight. There was hope.
For even though much was left unanswered for him, he found answers to questions he did not know to ask. He knew now that his title was not given to him for lack of more worthy candidates: that he too measured to the men and women that fought and died before him. He knew now the strength of men over the will of dragons and those who surrendered themselves to them. And he knew now that people could find redemption and with that, perhaps a nation could as well. It was all he had to bring back with him to Ishgard and it would have to do, he could linger no longer.
Â
Orrin made his way to the door,opening it wide, letting the bustling sound of the Quicksands coming from below be heard. He ducked his head to get the burdensome pack through the frame and he shut the door behind him. In a way, his hopes lay with her, the woman who would return to Ishgard and seek hearing in front of the High Court of heresies. This was a woman who had the mind of the likes that first sought to forge the Drachen mail. The Ishgard he believed in would see her conviction and forgive her. Or so he hoped so dearly.
Â
He took solace in that the Mourner and its pall bearers lay dead and with it, perhaps granted Ishgard some reprieve by dispatching such a powerful member of the horde. It would have to do for now, he had a war to fight and a rogue tear to seek out.Â
