-Steelheart Saga-

Chapter VIII - Resolve From Ruin

Krysté and the party returned to Vincia in the days following the collapse of the Magi Academy. Valkor, an independent city state reliant on the Order of Magi, was devastated by the calamity. Lieutenant Vana reported the losses to Commander Grunth while Private Krysté explained the events of their mission to Captain Ulrich. The officers agreed that Valkor and its citizens were in need of their aid. The Lady Knights awaited word from King Trevan regarding a formally issued relief effort request while Rynor found himself at the bottom of his mug at the darkest corner of the Hanging Man.
He had, rather miraculously, recovered his hat from the wreckage of his cindered Academy, though it now bore many holes in need of patching. Rynor stared into the eyes of his pointed cap, which he'd sat opposite himself. His somber expression melted into a nostalgic smile, before the Elf dropped his head against his table with an agonized groan.
Krysté pushed past the front doors of the tavern, scanning over the patrons of the establishment with focused eyes. She spotted Rynor sulking in the back corner and marched over, slamming both hands on the wooden tabletop. "There you are! The Lieutenant and I have spent the better part of our morning searching for you."
Rynor shooed her away, his face still against the table as he grumbled a defeated "Go away."
Krysté sighed before pulling up a seat and settling in. She gently brushed his hat aside, clasping her hands together and studying her companion. He reeked of booze, though it was hardly noon, and his blonde hair was unkempt, strands fraying out in all directions. "By the grace of the Goddess, pull yourself together, Mage. We were struck a punishing blow at the Academy, but our crusade, the one you pledged yourself to, is far from finished. There is work to be done, so collect yourself, and do it."
"Speak not of the Goddess in times as black as these!" Rynor snapped, spit flying from his lips. "Perhaps I been'a apathetic Elf, but I—hck—I ams a Mage, dammit!" His face twisted into a regretful, fiery glare. "I failed them..." He sobbed, dropping his head and running his fingers through his hair. "They were my fam'ly. They were all I had. And Ondor, he—"
"Save your fury." Krysté ordered, her eyes stoic. "We were all deceived. Nora laid a trap long before our group came together. She wants us to be angry, to make reckless mistakes. Stay that rage within and focus it on our enemy. Together, we shall vanquish her and renew this world."
The Mage sniffled, wiped his tears away, then met Krysté's gaze. "Mm, perhaps yer right. I...I must find her!" He belched. "Ah, yes! Haha! I must find her at once and bring a swift end to her cruel reign!" Rynor swiped his hat, fixing it upon his head while rising from his chair. "Thank you, me bu'tiful lady friend, for you has—hck—hath renewed the spark I thought deftly extinguished!"
"Rynor, don't go." Krysté leaned over the table and grabbed the Mage's arm, provoking a hearty drunken laugh from the Elven Arcanist. "This is suicide." She warned.
"Whats'it...What's this for?" Rynor grinned like a jester holding in a punchline. "Kryssé's 'fraid to lose me, that it?" He giggled.
"Sit, Mage." She demanded, her gaze stern. Rynor obliged, briefly flashing an alerted glance at the Lady Knight. He crashed back into his seat with a grunt. "Lady Vana is discussing our next steps with our commanding officers as we speak. We're hoping to send relief efforts to Valkor and offer asylum to the Magi survivors, but we await Royal authorization. I've decided our group will remain focused on securing alliances. The Magi are crippled, yes, but there remain many factions terrorized by Nora and her hordes."
"Kryssé...hck—tis a waste o' time!" Rynor blurted. "The world is dying! Evil spreads, a disease poisoning the very nature our people—yer people—cherished. Someone has'ta act...b'fore is too late." He fixed the brim of his hat, staring back at Krysté with renewed spirits.
"I'm warning you, Rynor, if you go—"
"Don't try to change meh mind, woman!" Rynor snapped.
"The three of us and a whole battalion only fought her to a retreat!" Krysté fired back. "You can't beat her alone. Don't throw your life away over some foolhardy heroics!"
"Tis not heroics! Tis vengeance!" Rynor wailed.
"What's the difference? You die either way!" Krysté barked. "All you'll have done is wound up on a pike in Nora's throne room. We have to stick together if we are to end her. To end all of this!"
The Mage shot up from his chair, stepping away from his table and shaking his head. "I can't just sit here, Kryssé, I can't!" He insisted. "I have ta do something!"
"We will, dammit!" She snarled. "Only fools rush in, however. The Academy, for example. Nora set that trap who knows how long ago? Nearly all the elite Wizards, the instructors, the power brokers within your Order, devoted Necromancers discreetly obeying her will. How long has she held her grip on the Magi? Years, decades, even centuries? Our enemy is cunning and won't be bested by brute force. Not even from a Mage as clever as you." Krysté glanced off at a random spot in the pub and sighed. "I don't know why I'm wasting my breath on a drunk man..." She mumbled.
Rynor's eyes darted back and forth as he reflected on her words. "Yer Cap'n..." He said. "He shan't allow us to take..." He paused, holding back a belch. "Take action where necessary. There's a chain—hck—a chain o' command, which may as well be bound 'round our necks! Yer precious Elven King'om's hangin' by a thread! My Order is effectively crippled...Until we act on our own, what precisely can be done?"
Krysté thought for a handful of seconds. "Our situation is less than ideal, yes, but we will not let the Demoness erode our will. The Humes laugh and mock us as we die around them, but we shall prove the resiliency of the Elven. They shall not break us, Rynor. They cannot stop our destiny. We are born of this world, and we shall inherit its future."
Rynor chuckled. "And we'll do this, how, exactly? Show them the iron will of your Elven Kingdom by what, sitting on yer ass, playing soldier?"
"Ugh, did you hear a word of what I just said?" Krysté growled. "Approach the Demoness prematurely and it's a swift death. Don't be a dumbass! Alternatively, you could stay with us and support a burgeoning alliance. We could bring an unstoppable, united army to Nora's doorstep rather than a pissed off Mage and two women in tin suits!"
"A broken army!" Rynor spat. "An army on the brink, hck, its ranks comprised of those who teeter on the edge of absolute erasure! Without the Magi, it's hopeless!"
Krysté closed her eyes and pinched her nose. "Tis the last time I say it. We shall embark on a military campaign to bolster our forces, then bring this infernal war to her. All that bleeds can be killed, Rynor. If you desire vengeance, it shall be cold and patient."
The squeaking front doors of the tavern distracted both Elves. They glanced back, spotting a scout from the Guard, who noticed them and made his way across the tavern. "Sorry to intrude, Lady Krysté." He saluted. "You've been summoned by Captain Ulrich. He has your orders. That is all, ma'am."
Krysté shot a final glance at Rynor, then returned the scouts salute. "I'll be right in."