Post by Glade on Jul 2, 2022 19:21:46 GMT
Co-written with the wonderful Riah
The flames and ruination of war came quick and wrathful.
-fire, bodies everywhere, Glade running around the medical tents, bandaging and healing people, giving them salves and other medicine, praying to Chauntea, tears in her eyes-
It was near evening of the day following the battle, as Glade lumbers across the streets of Daring Heights, now filled with activity, but not of the kind she wished. Lumbering towards the fiore popolare, her branches are almost undone from their normal, tucked shape, the way she usually keeps them as to not be a hindrance to her daily life, her hands tinted red from the blood of those she tended to, from those she saved - but more importantly from those she didn't. She did all she could, but deep inside she felt that she could have done more, deep inside she felt that she could have saved more.
She was spent. She barely slept these past nights and last night, most of all, she slept none at all, for how can one sleep when lives are on the line. Physically, she was exhausted, mentally, she was exhausted, emotionally... she was torn. If only she was better at this. She ran the scenarios over and over in her head trying to see where she could have done better, how she could have saved more, how she could-
-fire, bodies everywhere, Leona running around the shop, giving people tonics, salves, shouting up to Nasiphe, tears in her eyes-
She thought of Leona, of the memory Nasiphe has shared of her, of a different time... of a different war. Both of them have offered Glade comfort when she needed. After another war, Glade wanted to go and offer Leona some comfort as well after having to relive such dark times.
But she is lying to herself, for she was the one in need of someone to talk to. She wanted some comfort after a night of hell. But she couldn't go to Leona with a selfish reason.
The first part of Evenbloom Street was the same — brightly coloured buildings on a lovely cobblestone street. It was quiet, which was to be expected. The people wouldn't be coming back the day after their hard won victory. It would take time for this place, this city, to return to any semblance of what it was before, if the people who used to live, work and thrive here decided to come back at all.
Then Glade rounded the corner and the sight that welcomed her stopped her in her tracks.
A line of fire cut diagonally across the road from northwest to south east. The brightly coloured buildings were charred and ashen, any levity found in their architecture burned away from the scorching attack that could have only come from an adult red dragon. Glade follows the line to its end, and there was where she found what little remained of the fiore popolare.
The place where the door once stood with its faded gold plaque denoting the name of Leona's shop and home was long gone. All the flowers, all the tables, all the bottles that made the mixologists place unique and singular in its quirky use of dimensional space were also gone, burned to ash, the broken remains of concoctions scattered amongst the rubble.
But the thing that drew Glade's eye, the reason she had come and the reason why her vision swam with tears now, the once mighty tree that was mistaken by so many to be just a pillar in the centre of a larger-on-the-the-inside room, the living home and body of Nasiphe was nothing more than a curled up, bent, broken, and undeniably dead willow tree.
Then Glade rounded the corner and the sight that welcomed her stopped her in her tracks.
A line of fire cut diagonally across the road from northwest to south east. The brightly coloured buildings were charred and ashen, any levity found in their architecture burned away from the scorching attack that could have only come from an adult red dragon. Glade follows the line to its end, and there was where she found what little remained of the fiore popolare.
The place where the door once stood with its faded gold plaque denoting the name of Leona's shop and home was long gone. All the flowers, all the tables, all the bottles that made the mixologists place unique and singular in its quirky use of dimensional space were also gone, burned to ash, the broken remains of concoctions scattered amongst the rubble.
But the thing that drew Glade's eye, the reason she had come and the reason why her vision swam with tears now, the once mighty tree that was mistaken by so many to be just a pillar in the centre of a larger-on-the-the-inside room, the living home and body of Nasiphe was nothing more than a curled up, bent, broken, and undeniably dead willow tree.
Fear rose up in her stomach, about to burst forth and overwhelm her. The feeling she'd been having for almost the entire night, the fear of her failure whenever a life slipped, whenever she was unable to save someone. Her mind, roiling with the same thoughts No, n-no, pl-please... n-no, Chauntea, p-p-please no... n-not an-nother one... please. She managed to get a grips of herself enough to call out. She wanted to scream, but all that came out was a small whimper.
"Leona?"
"Leona?"
There is no answer.
Glade, with what little strength she has left, lumbers around the shop, in search of Leona, hope and dread bearing equal weight. Hope that she will find her. Dread that she will find her. All the time still calling out her name. All the time wanting to scream, but nothing that a slightly louder whimper coming through.
"Leona?"
"Leona?"
There is still no answer.
As despair threatens to swallow Glade whole, collapsing from the weight of so much death and destruction, she reaches out to touch the charred husk of Nasiphe, the Willowmaid. As she does, whatever force had been holding the remains of her tree together crumble away into ash as a vision, a memory, flashes through Glade's mind.
"What's that?" Leona says softly in Sylvan, fear palpable in the air.
A bright, fiery light shines through the multicoloured windows as overhead, flying from the direction of the Feylight Garden Theatre is death on wings. Leona stands there, frozen, unable to move, seeing the end come, her terror complete and all body consume as she is about to be burned alive.
Then branches, vines, flowers, the entire tree — Nasiphe herself quicker than she has ever moved before, quicker than she has moved in years — encircles Leona, encasing her daughter, protecting her with her entire tree body.
"Mother, no!"
But it is too late. Molten fire blasts the shop, falling onto Nasiphe, destroying the life they had built together, free and untethered to anything or anyone for the first time in-...
The vision cuts off fading to black and Glade instinctually knows why this is. Nasiphe is gone. She gave her lift to protect the one person she loved more than herself. But Leona...
As despair threatens to swallow Glade whole, collapsing from the weight of so much death and destruction, she reaches out to touch the charred husk of Nasiphe, the Willowmaid. As she does, whatever force had been holding the remains of her tree together crumble away into ash as a vision, a memory, flashes through Glade's mind.
"What's that?" Leona says softly in Sylvan, fear palpable in the air.
A bright, fiery light shines through the multicoloured windows as overhead, flying from the direction of the Feylight Garden Theatre is death on wings. Leona stands there, frozen, unable to move, seeing the end come, her terror complete and all body consume as she is about to be burned alive.
Then branches, vines, flowers, the entire tree — Nasiphe herself quicker than she has ever moved before, quicker than she has moved in years — encircles Leona, encasing her daughter, protecting her with her entire tree body.
"Mother, no!"
But it is too late. Molten fire blasts the shop, falling onto Nasiphe, destroying the life they had built together, free and untethered to anything or anyone for the first time in-...
The vision cuts off fading to black and Glade instinctually knows why this is. Nasiphe is gone. She gave her lift to protect the one person she loved more than herself. But Leona...
"...is... is still... alive?"
Glade kneels in front of what was once Nasiphe, horror and dread now replaced with a mixture of sorrow and relief.
"You - You saved her, didn't you?" Glade says in Sylvan. "I don't know what you did but... you - you saved her. A mother protecting her child."
She then touches her amulet around her neck, a red gem encased in golden wheat sheaves, as she utters a prayer.
"Great Mother, may you welcome into your realm that which has sacrificed herself to preserve the life of another. May you welcome a mother which has protected the life of her offspring. May you help her rest, for she has earned it."
As the prayer was said, Glade looked upon the remains of what was once Nasiphe. Dare she hoped a stray root still remained?
"No-" she whispered to herself "-she's gone. But... she took Leona... somewhere. Where... and how?"
There are questions for another time. For now, she sat, staring up at the sky, tear in her eyes. But this time, they were tears of hope, for another life has been saved.
Glade kneels in front of what was once Nasiphe, horror and dread now replaced with a mixture of sorrow and relief.
"You - You saved her, didn't you?" Glade says in Sylvan. "I don't know what you did but... you - you saved her. A mother protecting her child."
She then touches her amulet around her neck, a red gem encased in golden wheat sheaves, as she utters a prayer.
"Great Mother, may you welcome into your realm that which has sacrificed herself to preserve the life of another. May you welcome a mother which has protected the life of her offspring. May you help her rest, for she has earned it."
As the prayer was said, Glade looked upon the remains of what was once Nasiphe. Dare she hoped a stray root still remained?
"No-" she whispered to herself "-she's gone. But... she took Leona... somewhere. Where... and how?"
There are questions for another time. For now, she sat, staring up at the sky, tear in her eyes. But this time, they were tears of hope, for another life has been saved.
"Thank you... for keeping her safe."