The Asterian Dream

XXIII: Spirit of the Storm

The caravan's ride to Viviana was quite miserable. Constant lookout for enemy forces, terrible weather, and barely enough food to go around. Fasela made herself busy trying to help whoever she could, whether it be healing a straggling party's wounds or hunting for any food she could find in the sparsely populated swamps and plains. 

The day found Fasela trudging her way back through the mud of one of the vast swamps, carrying a dead deer on her back. Her clothing was tattered, her armor soiled with dirt and grime. The only clean things she carried were her ever-faithful trident and her hunting bow. After what must have been multiple miles of wading through knee-deep mud, she finally emerged out of the trees of the swamp and onto the road, where the caravan was halted for the night. 

"I managed to find something!" Fasela shouted at the soldiers who quickly came up to help her. "Found this doe about five miles into the swamp."

 Fasela was pleased to see the familiar face of Adria as she and her squad approached. Two of the soldiers took the deer and quickly rushed it into the camp as Adria greeted her.

"You look like absolute shit," Adria said, greeting her with a firm handshake. "These swamps are brutal."

Fasela sighed deeply. "Yes, you said it right. These are some of the worst conditions I've ever been in, and I've seen my fair share of Asteria."

Adria nodded and began to help Fasela unfasten all her gear. "Let's get all this junk off you. I'll have your armor taken to some of the grunts, they can clean it up for you. There are fresh clothes and a tub of water in the wagon next to the fire."

"Thank you," an exhausted Fasela said, hurrying to get her armor unfastened. 

"Get some sleep after," Adria said, quite sympathetic to Fasela's lack of energy. "The rest of the soldiers will take care of guarding the camp."

Normally, Fasela would have fought this, wanting to be as helpful as possible. But right now she was so exhausted she just wanted to collapse. After getting her armor off, she stumbled into the wagon next to the campfire. The wagon was completely covered and was a welcome relief from the bitter weather outside. Quickly getting all her soiled garments off, she collapsed into the tub of water and let out a deep sigh of relief. She hadn't had a chance to soak in warm water in weeks, and for an aquatic species such as herself, it was quite irritating.

She closed her eyes and tried to let herself unwind. However, just as she was about to fall asleep, a vision flashed briefly before her eyes. She saw Conrad being hit by a large black Dragonborn right in the chest. Jolting up, she nearly screamed as she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She clutched her stomach as her mind raced with terror at the thought of what could be happening to Conrad. She tried to sense what was happening to him, but she felt nothing. The connection had gone silent once again. Reaching out of the tub, she grasped desperately at the amulet which sat atop the pile of muddied clothing. Her hand instantly began burning, leading her to drop it. Her attempt to relax was ruined by the vision she had seen, but she at least knew Conrad was alive. She slowly drifted off to sleep, her anxious mind racing between all kinds of horrible thoughts.

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Some time later, Fasela sat awake outside the wagon, not able to sleep because of her visions. Staring up at the stars above her, she began to reminisce about her past and how she got here, although she rarely allowed herself the luxury of introspection.

She had found her way to the Citadel at only six years of age. Sent by her father for a proper, royal education. Her brother Melron and her father were the only ones left back in Astraeria she really cared about, her mother having passed two years previous. Once there, she had been enrolled in the Royal Academy of the Arts and Attitudes, where she learned everything from court protocol to how to grip a sword properly. Along the way she had made a few acquaintances, but her closest friends had always been Amethyst and Greydor. No one would have expected the two children of the High King himself to take such interest in a lowborne Morak princess, yet here they were. They did everything together, Amethyst and herself chatting for hours while Greydor acted like the goofball he was. The times were good, and Fasela could not help but smile slightly at the memories.