Into The Rift

Combat Effective (28)

The sun's exit heralds the beginning of the night, and with it the appearance of stars. Glowstone crystals light the paths across the many streets of Drossal, bathing the fortress city and its citizens in a solemn glow of clarity.

The night is young, but already the mourning is well underway. So many have lost their loved ones in the counter attack, so much I am beginning to feel numb to the losses on the reports. What are they but trivial numbers now?

Lanterns, each written with the name of a fallen warrior drifts through the air. Cries of anguish fill the homes of many new widows, and sad expressions no doubt linger on their children should they have them.

Tonight marks another start of the Ritual of Lamentation. Happening once every ten days, it is a remnant of an ancient tradition going back to the times when elves once lived on the continent, before that great purge. The passing of a soul should be met with acceptance, I believe it to be fallacious when battles are the cause for such a loss.

The walk through the city's market square is one of silence, the usual banter between merchants and buyers is lacking, much like the sun's gleam on a stormy day. No longer am I clad in a Lord General's armor, having decided on a more modest garb, one more aptly suited for the needs of a ponderous stroll.

The scene around me does only to stain my heart with unease. I long simply for a brief respite from my duties Lord General of the Fringe Eastern Army, only to face the rippling effects of a war no one could have desired.

I look up to calm my thoughts, facing a sky filled with mourning lanterns. It was all for naught, this trip. There is still conflict within my thoughts.

Those born with the rare gift of magic often suffer most in times of war, none can stand against the royal decree calling for the conscription of able-bodied mages. Talent is a dull blade at best should the wielder not have the resolve to sharpen the steel.

Here lies the pondering thoughts of a man who has seen much in his lifetime. The lanterns above float calmly, free to roam the cold air until their fires wane to nothingness. I envy their simple purpose.

It is time to make my way back to the royal palace. Things would not move forward should I choose to remain in the Trader's District. There is yet more to discuss with this lone human emmisary.

I move away from the clustering shop, trusting my steps to guide the way. The pervading scent of food fades from my senses as I reaffirm my resolve.

My mind matters not of the mild hunger plaguing my belly, but rather of the future. The hand of fate weaves in a constant, yet unpredictable manner. Queen Ayleth, in her reliable wisdom once spoke of time and change as being intimately tied to one another. Like two lovers bound for eternity.

Once the war is over, a new border will be drawn between Euralia and Yhunia, paid in advance with the blood of our soldiers. The true motive of the humans will soon be unveiled, I need only to wait for word to arrive from my scouts within the Fredgal Alps.

Things may remain static amongst the merchants in the district, but not time itself. It is only folly to believe otherwise.

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Creeping into my senses, is a calm faded voice. It reeks of sadness and guilt, it is a powerful tone that does much to convey the woman's emotion. A singer this voice belongs to, one that I am familiar with.

Vibrant colours greet my eyes as I cast my sights along the hallways of this palace. I am close to the opera chamber, the voice resonates clearer with each step taken.