Blight

Lightning pierced the clouds, a thunder exploding in the sky, as clouds began to scurry away, fleeing from its wrath. For a few hours of the day, the people of Ebonvale received dryness, some sunlight that was blurred and filtered by grey clouds, and some much-needed activity away from the innards of a warm home. Trees and lilies idly swayed, gently moving their crowns and petals about. A gentle wind breezed through the courtyard, knocking about fallen leaves. A man with dark hair and raven eyes stared out into the landscape, taking it all in.

"Oh, I see you're awake." A man said he was dressed in a black coat, covered in gold. "Am I? It usually rains and thunders here like all hells, this seems more of a dreamscape." Finn said to the healer, continuing to look out from the window to the courtyard. "Well, I can assure you of one thing, this is real. You've made us work double time for you, let me say that." Finn looked back at the healer, his eyebrows lifting in surprise at the statement. "Really? For a lowly guard?" Finn said. "Did Sir Krig put in a good word for me?" The healer nodded, his old features shown off as his hood swung backward, just enough to highlight his white beard and pitch-dark eyes, along with a multitude of creases and stress lines on his skin. "He did. We had three healers gathered here for you, along with a priest." The healer said. "I can assure you, Sergeant Krig did more than just 'put in a good word' for you." Finn stumbled back a bit, flushed at what was said, he put a hand over his face in embarrassment. "I-I apologize if I was hard to work with." The healer looked at the soldier, with a smile on his face visible. "It is the job of a healer to heal. Don't be ashamed for being alive, you needed help like any other man needs it." Finn opened his mouth to speak again, only to be cut off by the old man once more. "If you wish to know where to find a change of clothes, the Sergeant left them here. He went to your home shortly after you were sent here. Took care of your.. 'mutt'." Finn's eyes widened a bit, realizing just now he didn't think about who was waiting for him at home. "I should probably go," Finn said. "I don't wish to take any more of your time." The healer walked over to him, prodding his chest with a finger, poking and poking as he spoke. "You have been in critical condition for three days. THREE. DAYS. I hope you can understand my concern about letting you go. But if you must, then at least get something to eat first. You will experience a multitude of side effects due to the medication we've been giving you." Finn nodded along and asked after a short silence passed. "Wait, three days? How long was I bedridden?" The healer sighed, looking through the pages of his grimoire. "From what I can see here.. you were brought last fortnight." The corporal's eyes widened. "No way, a whole.." Finn was lost for words, a silence settling in between the two men, as the sound of guts rattling could be heard from the soldier. "Well then, it sounds like you ought to seek some nutrients. Ask for red meat, raw vegetables, and a lot of oranges. And try to get as much fresh air." 

With a fresh change of clothes, sporting now a dark-colored silk shirt, brown padded trousers, and a set of leather boots, Finn left the Healer's Den. He made his way through town, thinking of the battle against the Doppelganger. It was a rash decision, maybe I should've just held it in place for a while then attacked it with my squad. Finn shook his head at the thought, getting it out of his mind. He ruffled his hair, cringing at the feel of oily dry hair, and the smell it had. He entered the tavern and ordered food as he was told to eat. Seven oranges, Two bowls of pork stew with apples and plums, and a salad with kale and beets. He sat himself down in a corner, avoiding any sort of attention, but, unexpectedly, his table was quickly joined by someone else. A young slender figure sat down in front of himself, white hair pouring out from the hood of a cloak.

"Hello, mind if I have brunch with you, stranger." The stranger had a young voice, in his teenage years. "Avalonian seeks the company of a peasant such as I?" Finn said lazily, his eyes sharply glancing at the stranger. "Merely how I talk, I do not associate with Avalonian ranks, do not worry." Finn snorted without remorse at the reply. "Never had the courtesy to talk to an Avalonian before, only heard that horrible accent. Excuse my ill-mannered disposition, but if you sought a warm welcome you'll not find it from me." The stranger grinned. "Welcomes and warmth, I can do without. However, you said nothing of help." Finn's lazy smile disappeared, irritated that he let his guard down. "Ah, I underestimated you. You know what, boy? I'll give you three answers." Finn said, gesturing with three fingers up in front of him. "Well, first, I wondered where I might find the Request Office." The stranger asked. "North of here, center of town. Big building with a large metal spike on top." The stranger nodded along, as he was going to open his mouth to ask his next question, a kobold arrived at their table. Two trays and a big mug of ale were placed in front of Finn, the white-haired boy receiving his own mug as well.

Finn ate, and the boy drank. The two eased down around each other, Finn's shoulders slumped down, and the stranger put his hand on top of the table, away from the hilt of his blade. Scooping up a piece of pork belly with his spoon, he looked at the stranger, opening his mouth to speak. "Say, might I learn your name?" The boy smiled, nodding along. "Tristan. Son of my mother, Treya. And yours?" Finn smirked. "Is that your second question?"

"You tricked me!"

"It's called the Art of Trickery, kid."

"That wasn't the Trickery, I know it very well."

"You're an artist? Traveling all on your own?" Finn asked curiously. "Sort of. I'm self-taught, at best adept in the arcane." Finn raised an eyebrow at this, as he took another scoop of pork and apple. "All on your own.. quite dangerous." Tristan shrugged. "I've managed thus far. I haven't had much combat experience but I can say I've gone from Avalon all the way here." Finn snorted, the idea of going from Avalon to Lorkarth all on your lonesome sounded ridiculous to him. "That's almost two thousand leagues. Where do you hail from?" Tristan pouted, his eyebrows furrowing like a child. "You've got quite the nerve to ask me another without answering mine." Finn gasped sarcastically, cleaning his lips with the sleeve of his shirt. "My apologies. I am Finn Hensman, Guard of the Empire." Tristan nodded, interested in the last part. "Guard, eh? Glad to have made myself acquaintance to you, Finn." Tristan made a small gesture with his hands, bowing towards the guard. He shook off the hood of his cloak, long strands of silver hair trailed down to his neck, and pale skin nearly blinded the guardsman's eyes. "I hail from Lanniswood Fort. Up north in Avalon." The guardsman lifted his eyebrows in surprise, his gaze going back to the food below him. "Quite the journey. I've heard some awful things bout Avalon. Over there you folk hate non-humans, you salute when the name of your king is mentioned, and start praying to Thavdall moments before you kill an enemy." Tristan rolled his eyes, unamused. "Do they also tell tales of how you can go to Valence, grab the first Elf you see, and commit rapine in the middle of the street?" Finn's eyes trailed off, lifting his hand apologetically. "I understand, I won't pry into it again." His tone was down, trying to also signal the boy to quiet himself. "Discussion of that sort should stay between four ears, no more." Tristan looked around, curious eyes had merely met his glance and turned away. "What would they have to gain from hearing this conversation?" Finn scoffed at this. "Folk here don't like Avalonians, boy. After the Horde Wars, we saw the real nature of Avalon." Tristan's face looked puzzled. "The Horde Wars? But it was a defensive war. It was a battle against brutes from the south." Finn frowned, looking again in the boy's direction. "I've met good Orcs. Very good men, warriors through and through. Honorful folk. Do the men and women from Orkheim deserve the same reputation you've given to those animals in the Far South?" Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but Finn overtook the conversation. "My father and his father fought to help Avalon, in the hopes that maybe by aiding them, we'd finally put aside our differences. You know the tales. Battlemages casting Black Thunder and killing folk from both sides. Avalonian Battlemages. The rituals they did, and the blood that was used. Entire fields of golden grass turned into salt and glass. And the Blight." Tristan's face went down, his eyes darkened in grief. "I know of that. I walked through the Blight to get here. Dead everywhere. Stuck in limbo, unable to die." Finn's eyes widened, shocked. He shifted backward a bit, distancing himself from the boy. "You WENT through the Blighted Lands? Through the Dead Coast? Have you seen a priest?" Tristan nodded, the Guardsman sighing in relief as he pushed himself back to the table. "Yes. You need not worry about being afflicted by the curses. It was a path I had to take, to see what had occurred there with my very own eyes. I felt a sense of.. guilt. But I knew it wasn't my fault, I wasn't even born then. My parents.. well.. my mother isn't a warrior of any sort merely a peasant like the both of us. So I knew it truly wasn't my fault or my ancestors for what happened there. But I still felt as if I had to do something with it."

Finn took a mouthful from his ale and so did Tristan, an uncomfortable silence setting between the two of them amongst the laughter and talking of the tavern.