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Jainelette, the Blood Witch
Arden Wood
Weylan Greene
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The Dubious Estate
Verad’s estate is dubious. In fact, he works very hard to keep it that way. He made a point to only hire people of questionable taste and behavior (like Spahro). The doors all creaked just enough to give the estate an air of disrepair (Nihka’s alchemical talents at their least useful, she’d made an anti-oil to guarantee this sound). He left the front room, the storefront, a purposeful mess to ensure that any visitors would question the legitimacy of the goods (and in fact all efforts to clean or organize this area were inevitably undone with great haste).
Even the ownership of the estate was dubious. Through a series of unusual events, Verad had sold the estate to Nihka (for the sum total of a single gil) in possibly the most dubious of transactions in the Goblet Housing Authority’s records. Icing on the cake: he was late on his rent by several moons.
Everything about the man was a carefully crafted questionable nature. Dubious house, dubious doors, and even dubious locks. If there’s one lesson to take from this: giving Verad charge of prisoners is never a good idea.
Nihka opened the door to one of the back rooms, carrying a tray of food to give to their indefinite houseguest, Jainelette. The poor woman was one of the prisoners of Toto-rak, lost to the void for four decades all because she was arrested for a crime she didn’t commit. Just thinking of it turned Nihka’s stomach: if not for Zanzan, Anstarra, and all of her friends the same thing could have happened to her. Weylan had arrested her for false charges and stuffed her in prison where the corruption of the voidsent had begun to take root. She could have lived the rest of her life a captive, until her mind was as broken as Jainelette's.
She couldn’t understand it, being trapped for that long in the darkness, but she did understand the fear, and she did sympathize with Jainelette. That made it no less worrying when she found the room empty. Jainelette was gone.
Giving Verad charge of prisoners is never, ever a good idea.
Thanalan, east of Drybone
She could hear the children crying. She could hear the children dying. All around her as the dust kicked up in the wind she heard their cries in the distance. The woman staggered along, clutching a cloth over her mouth.
Not a night had gone by for as long as she could remember that she hadn’t had the dream. The bodies of children were scattered about the village, rotting with plague as the sky grew dark. That man, that wailer, slapped her in chains and announced he had stopped the menace. Try as she might, no voice would come as she protested that she only sought to help them.
His name was Wood. He sent her into shadow. He was the one responsible for killing those children. If she could kill him, they would be returned to life. She could still save the children, if she could destroy that man. But those adventurers had robbed her of her powers. She couldn’t feel Wood’s blood any longer, she couldn’t speak to the plants, and she had no money to pay for travel or food.
But she knew if she just killed him, the children would come back. She just had to kill him. She just had to make it to the Shroud, she just had to get to the trees, away from this blistering sand and sun. She was so thirsty. The dust was in her throat, crusting over her eyes. She could see the shade of her home in the distance, so far away.
She just had to make it a few more steps. Her feet were so heavy. She could hear the children crying. She could see a man approaching her, calling out as she fell. Â She heard children crying. She heard a voice.
“Ma’am? Ma’am are you okay? My name is Josephe, don’t worry, I’ll-.â€
Vision blurred, then faded. The world went dark.
The Dubious Estate
Verad’s estate is dubious. In fact, he works very hard to keep it that way. He made a point to only hire people of questionable taste and behavior (like Spahro). The doors all creaked just enough to give the estate an air of disrepair (Nihka’s alchemical talents at their least useful, she’d made an anti-oil to guarantee this sound). He left the front room, the storefront, a purposeful mess to ensure that any visitors would question the legitimacy of the goods (and in fact all efforts to clean or organize this area were inevitably undone with great haste).
Even the ownership of the estate was dubious. Through a series of unusual events, Verad had sold the estate to Nihka (for the sum total of a single gil) in possibly the most dubious of transactions in the Goblet Housing Authority’s records. Icing on the cake: he was late on his rent by several moons.
Everything about the man was a carefully crafted questionable nature. Dubious house, dubious doors, and even dubious locks. If there’s one lesson to take from this: giving Verad charge of prisoners is never a good idea.
Nihka opened the door to one of the back rooms, carrying a tray of food to give to their indefinite houseguest, Jainelette. The poor woman was one of the prisoners of Toto-rak, lost to the void for four decades all because she was arrested for a crime she didn’t commit. Just thinking of it turned Nihka’s stomach: if not for Zanzan, Anstarra, and all of her friends the same thing could have happened to her. Weylan had arrested her for false charges and stuffed her in prison where the corruption of the voidsent had begun to take root. She could have lived the rest of her life a captive, until her mind was as broken as Jainelette's.
She couldn’t understand it, being trapped for that long in the darkness, but she did understand the fear, and she did sympathize with Jainelette. That made it no less worrying when she found the room empty. Jainelette was gone.
Giving Verad charge of prisoners is never, ever a good idea.
Thanalan, east of Drybone
She could hear the children crying. She could hear the children dying. All around her as the dust kicked up in the wind she heard their cries in the distance. The woman staggered along, clutching a cloth over her mouth.
Not a night had gone by for as long as she could remember that she hadn’t had the dream. The bodies of children were scattered about the village, rotting with plague as the sky grew dark. That man, that wailer, slapped her in chains and announced he had stopped the menace. Try as she might, no voice would come as she protested that she only sought to help them.
His name was Wood. He sent her into shadow. He was the one responsible for killing those children. If she could kill him, they would be returned to life. She could still save the children, if she could destroy that man. But those adventurers had robbed her of her powers. She couldn’t feel Wood’s blood any longer, she couldn’t speak to the plants, and she had no money to pay for travel or food.
But she knew if she just killed him, the children would come back. She just had to kill him. She just had to make it to the Shroud, she just had to get to the trees, away from this blistering sand and sun. She was so thirsty. The dust was in her throat, crusting over her eyes. She could see the shade of her home in the distance, so far away.
She just had to make it a few more steps. Her feet were so heavy. She could hear the children crying. She could see a man approaching her, calling out as she fell. Â She heard children crying. She heard a voice.
“Ma’am? Ma’am are you okay? My name is Josephe, don’t worry, I’ll-.â€
Vision blurred, then faded. The world went dark.
Arden Wood
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Spoiler
Gridania, a small garden.
“What is more important, justice or vengeance? What do you do when both are denied you?†Arden watched the shadows of clouds drift lazily over the flowers. His son was dead; the woman who killed him was gone. The young conjurer sitting beside him adjusted her robe and looked ahead.
“I’m not sure.†Lheni’s ears flicked, dark fur rustling in a breeze. She wore a wide brimmed hat to shield out the light of the sun from broad pupils. “I mean, justice is better, I think. Vengeance just propagates the cycle. They’re both forms of closure, though.â€
Arden turned his head to look at the woman.
“I arrested her. Forty years ago.†He had never felt so old. Not when he retired. Not the day his wife died. Not when he’d gotten the news his son was lost. This woman hadn’t aged in all that time. She’d gone from being his senior to being his junior. “She came back, killed my son, and now she’s gone.â€
“I’ll be honest. It’s all a bit over my head, and I really don’t want to think about it. I mean not all adventurers are insane, but that woman stole my robe and....†Lheni shook her head and kicked her heel. “I know enough to know that some really weird things happened. People trapped in the void, and that place I’m not supposed to know about. I wish I had a good answer for you. I wish I could give you that.â€
“Just brings me back to that question. What do you do when there is no closure?â€
“You just keep moving, I guess?â€
“I’m too old to move on. My legacy is dead. My influence is spent.†He looked at her. She didn’t have an answer; neither did he. “Thank you for indulging an old man. I think I’ll head home.â€
Arden stood, leaning heavily on his cane, and left the conjurer sitting in the garden, watching the flowers sway in the breeze. He would probably go to his grave never having his answer.
Gridania, a small garden.
“What is more important, justice or vengeance? What do you do when both are denied you?†Arden watched the shadows of clouds drift lazily over the flowers. His son was dead; the woman who killed him was gone. The young conjurer sitting beside him adjusted her robe and looked ahead.
“I’m not sure.†Lheni’s ears flicked, dark fur rustling in a breeze. She wore a wide brimmed hat to shield out the light of the sun from broad pupils. “I mean, justice is better, I think. Vengeance just propagates the cycle. They’re both forms of closure, though.â€
Arden turned his head to look at the woman.
“I arrested her. Forty years ago.†He had never felt so old. Not when he retired. Not the day his wife died. Not when he’d gotten the news his son was lost. This woman hadn’t aged in all that time. She’d gone from being his senior to being his junior. “She came back, killed my son, and now she’s gone.â€
“I’ll be honest. It’s all a bit over my head, and I really don’t want to think about it. I mean not all adventurers are insane, but that woman stole my robe and....†Lheni shook her head and kicked her heel. “I know enough to know that some really weird things happened. People trapped in the void, and that place I’m not supposed to know about. I wish I had a good answer for you. I wish I could give you that.â€
“Just brings me back to that question. What do you do when there is no closure?â€
“You just keep moving, I guess?â€
“I’m too old to move on. My legacy is dead. My influence is spent.†He looked at her. She didn’t have an answer; neither did he. “Thank you for indulging an old man. I think I’ll head home.â€
Arden stood, leaning heavily on his cane, and left the conjurer sitting in the garden, watching the flowers sway in the breeze. He would probably go to his grave never having his answer.
Weylan Greene
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Spoiler
The Black Shroud, near Rootslake.
Deep in the shroud, near the marshy swampland of Rootslake, there was a pile of stones. The ground there wasn’t good for digging, nor did those who buried him have the time to devote to such a grave. They gave him a cairn, a place of rest where his mutilated body could decompose and return to the Shroud unmolested by wild animals. They gave him at least that.
Very few knew where he was buried, and there was only one person who cared enough to visit the grave. She was a young mother, a miqo’te, with dark skin and white hair streaked in pink. They’d met years ago in a small village, both still basically children. He’d hated her immediately, called her a poacher, and did everything he could to make her life miserable.
Now he was gone, and the world was a better place for it.
The girl left a small flower on his grave, and said a prayer to the twelve, begging them that in his next life he learn what it was like to be a good person.
The Black Shroud, near Rootslake.
Deep in the shroud, near the marshy swampland of Rootslake, there was a pile of stones. The ground there wasn’t good for digging, nor did those who buried him have the time to devote to such a grave. They gave him a cairn, a place of rest where his mutilated body could decompose and return to the Shroud unmolested by wild animals. They gave him at least that.
Very few knew where he was buried, and there was only one person who cared enough to visit the grave. She was a young mother, a miqo’te, with dark skin and white hair streaked in pink. They’d met years ago in a small village, both still basically children. He’d hated her immediately, called her a poacher, and did everything he could to make her life miserable.
Now he was gone, and the world was a better place for it.
The girl left a small flower on his grave, and said a prayer to the twelve, begging them that in his next life he learn what it was like to be a good person.