Skara Braens

Part 21 Tie-Breaker!

Part 21 Vote Tally

Option A: 1
Option B: 1
Option c: 1

Seriously?  AH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!  Sorry.  That's the first three-way tie I've ever had!

With that, I present to you Part 21 below in its entirety.  This will happen until a majority is reached.  Good luck, Adventurers!

AH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!

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"Who is Siona?" you rasp.

Artair sighs. He stretches out, placing his feet near the fire, crossing them at the ankle. For a while, he does not speak, choosing instead to stare into the dancing flames in the central hearth. You can barely contain your impatience, and opening your mouth to prompt your host, but he talks before sound can escape your throat.

"Siona is our elder," he says. "It should tell you much about the world when our elder has barely lived forty years."

"Is that unusual?"

"It used to be that we could live for a hundred years or more."

Unsure whether you can believe that anyone could live that long, you opt to keep your scepticism to yourself. You wait while Artair considers his next words.

"She's the reason many of us are still alive. Most of us are rescues. She found me as a boy, screaming for my life in my own home, as my own parents tried to break through the bathroom door and eat me. She arrived just as they burst open the door and cut them down with a claymore she later gave to me. At that time, she and the few scragglers she had managed to rescue since the plague came to our town were living not for from here, in the ruins of a military post. We moved here shortly after."

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

Artair shrugs. "Aye, well. We do what we must in difficult times. The worst I had happen was dead parents. Few are even that lucky. I owe Siona everything. You know, she told me that she had learnt in a dream where I was and what trouble I'd be in. I believed her then, and I believe her now. Siona is connected to the world in a way I cannot understand. She reads patterns in the flight of birds, and knows from them what is going on. She has not often been wrong. In fact, she's only been wrong once."

With a sigh, Artair lifts his head to meet your gaze. "When I was a lad, she told me to take heart. Someone was coming. Someone powerful. And they would be able to turn back the darkness we now face. She said that person was coming soon. Whenever I asked, she would simply say, 'Soon.' For ten years, she said, "Soon." Every time she said it, she just got sadder and sadder. I would catch her sometimes, you know, staring at the horizon, like a wife awaiting her husband's return from war. But he never came. And the "Soon" became "I don't know." It was like watching someone die. The light left her, slowly, like a last sunset. She persisted, though, and did the only thing she knew how, saving people from the plague."

A long silence followed.

"I think she thinks you're the one she's been waiting for, only now she doesn't have the strength to stand at your side with her sword drawn. She resents that, I think."

"I can't be," you wheeze. "I am no one. I can't even look after myself, let alone everyone else."

Artair grunts. "Perhaps, but Mordina saved you from The Altar. That means something."

"What? What does it mean?"

Artair shrugged. "I don't know. Siona will, though. Here, dinner is ready. Eat, and then get some sleep. Siona will probably want to see you in the morning." Grunting with the effort, Artair rises to his feet. He offers you a small smile, then leaves the guest hut. Sighing, you collect some dishes and head to the bubbling cauldron. Peeking in, you find a stew of some kind. Despite the lack of spice, the food tastes incredible; so much better than the food-like substances you were fed while with the military.

Having eaten your fill, you lift the cauldron away from the fire and place your dishes on the wooden table near the bucket before retiring to bed. You fall to sleep so quickly, you barely remember making it to the bed at all.

Siona is in your hut when you wake, standing at the end of your bed, watching you with eyes of the brightest green. Her expression is neutral. Yours is less so. You let your surprise be seen, and heard as a small gasp escapes you. If Siona is amused by that, you cannot tell.

"It is morning," she notes.

"Yes," you respond. It is, in fact morning.

Siona says nothing for a while. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and observes you, her searching gaze making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge.

"Artair has told me you wish to submit to the naming rites."

You nod.

"He says that you currently have no name."

Again you nod.

"How is that?"

All you can do is offer a rueful shrug.

Siona continues to watch you, her expression betraying nothing. It become intensely uncomfortable before Siona speaks again.

"I do not know if I should give you a name. I have much anger and resentment towards you."

"Why?" you ask.

"You are late," she whispers. "I had trained all my life to serve you. But you are late, and now I cannot."

"I don't think I am who you think I am."

At this Siona cocks her head, but her green gaze never wavers. "You are," she whispers. "But I see now that Artair heart had led him true. He believed you when you said you had no memory of who you are. And now I believe him." A small smile touches Siona's face, and it seems to you that ten years of worry and waiting vanish from her features. "Perhaps I will name you after all. Come."

The village elder turns abruptly and marches from the hut. You throw aside your blankets and scurry after her. Outside, you see Gordon, Mordina and Artair, each holding a lit torch. The flames of each torch burn a different colour. Gordon's torch is orange. You mistake it for normal flame, at first, but there's something too intense about the colour. It is just strange enough to be off-putting. Mordina's torch, unsurprisingly, burns a deep, brilliant blue. It's as if someone turned water to flame, but forgot to change the colour. Artair's flame burns a deep, dark black, with flickers of gold at the edges as the flames leap away from the wood in search of new fuel.

"The naming ceremony has begun," Siona says from your right, startling you. "And you much choose your path. Walk to one of the three before you, and take up whomever's torch you feel you must. Do not second guess your choice. Trust in your instincts."

You stare dumbly at the three people.

"Go on," Siona says. "Choose."

Which do you choose?

a) The orange flame.
b) The blue flame.
c) The black flame.

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Remember, while it doesn't seem important presently, it will be.  Choose wisely!  You have until Thursday November 24 at midnight to make your decision. Good luck!