#calastea

At first, his mind was too exhausted to dream. His body was feverish, his breathing ragged and occasionally twitching as it fought to stem off the poison. Yet that had only been part of the puzzle, which luckily Kelovas Dawnthief had soon uncovered. What had been injected into his system was not only designed to kill, but also to react with a variety of specific chemicals. One in particular had been used in the Hospice gas attack, which still had traces within Farwyn's system a day after.

The reality of the situation was that Farwyn should have been dead. If he wasn't already, he had knocked on death's door several times and given the Hospice more than a few extra headaches. The warrior would never realize it nor perhaps would anyone else, but if she hadn't insisted he be treated the day before battle and hadn't given him means to help purge some of the toxins from his system, the reaction would have been too severe.

Ironically, in a world where he had been determined to protect them and especially her, Faith had saved his life. Not once, but twice. A fact that neither of them would likely ever know.

Eventually, as candies, a small tidbit sandwich, an apple and a cupcake blanket gathered on his form, his tired body drifted into an almost delirious dreaming state. It was a strange mix between being awake and dreaming of memories, bringing the warrior some semblance of realization but not enough to truly know anything.

At first, it was just darkness. He could feel a maddening sensation of something gnawing away at his insides, burning. It started as a quiet pain that grew, bubbling up until it was all but roaring through him. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to really think. It hurt to simply exist. He would try to move, to fight the darkness, to open his eyes- anything to no avail. Then when it hit the point that the concept of death didn't seem all that bad, a cooling sensation struck him. Was it on his head? He wasn't sure, but it was always the same. He would feel something cool rest upon him, followed by a soft squeeze, a shifting sensation and then he would drift off again.

He opened his eyes to find himself in a familiar room. It smelled just as he remembered- of freshly baked bread, cinnamon spices and a brief waft of vanilla. He was laying on a small white couch of embroidered green and silver tree designs with a quaint dark wooded coffee table just within arm's reach. It was a sitting room off in the corner of his home, closed off from everything else to provide solidarity. It was decorated in a familiar way though, not of his own design but from the past. The large flowered vase in the corner of the room, the bookcase displaying an actual book collection and paintings upon the walls- all of it had been destroyed, but seeing it now didn't seem out of place. He was simply home.

“You idiot... you're giving a lot of people a scare, you know. I thought that was supposed to be my job?” The familiar voice of his brother, Ashalon, reached his ears but it sounded distant. Farwyn grunted as he sat up, idly rubbing his forehead before glancing around.

“Ash?”

“You better hang in there. Otherwise I'm going to have to do all the work. Wouldn't that just piss you off?”

Farwyn squinted, disgruntled that he couldn't see his brother despite being sure he had heard his voice. It sounded farther away though and after a few minutes, he couldn't hear anything else. Odd. He contemplated leaving the small room, but the thought of standing up was too tiring. The couch was so comfortable, he could almost feel himself gravitating back to lay down. Fel, he was so tired. What had he done that day? He couldn't remember.

“He's not going to get ded, is he?” Another familiar voice echoed around him, making Farwyn sit up straight again at attention. He wildly looked around.

“Little Miss? Little Miss Talyia?”

Again, there was no answer, although he swore he heard the distant voice again, but it was beyond making out with words now. It sounded tearful. Sad. Yet if it wasn't Talyia, then who could it be? He half expected the doorway to open and the bright, rosy-cheeked girl to come bustling in all knees and elbows. She'd likely have her hair up in a mismatched braid, always trying to do it the way she wanted rather then letting anyone else help her. “Mis'er Far! Mis'er Far! I did it allsby myself!”

“It can't be Talyia.” Farwyn found himself mumbling, raising a rough hand to rub his chin. He wasn't sure why it couldn't be her- he just simply knew.

“... Calastea?” He mumbled, knitting his brow in confusion. Who's name was that? Why did it come to mind? He raised a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead, still wracking his brain when a voice split the otherwise quiet air.

“Hey there, love.”

His heart stopped immediately. Slowly he dragged his hand downwards, little by little revealing the lithe figure of a woman leaning against the door. His stomach lurched with a pang of longing, grief and revulsion. Her blue eyes twinkled with an inner fire as she blatantly eyed him up, a smirk forming upon her berried lips. Alhana was a creature of wild beauty. Her dark cherry brown hair hung in curls to her shoulders, a few tresses framing her heart-shaped face. She always managed to lean herself in a way that drew attention to the subtle curve of her hips and muscular, long legs. It didn't help that she was dressed in leather armor, most of it practical although she could constantly find a loophole to add her own provocative flair. It just gave more suggestion to what lay beneath the dark garb she wore, other than more of her sun-kissed skin.

“Are you just going to gawk at me or are you going to say something?” She nearly purred before her eyes crinkled with laughter. She gestured towards him with a pointed finger, beckoning him.

“Alhana... what...” Farwyn tried to get himself to stand, but again he felt too fatigued. His legs didn't want to move and confusion hit him. Why couldn't he get off the couch? He wanted to. By the Sun, he wanted to get off of that couch and either punch Alhana or kiss her- he wasn't sure which yet.

“Aww. You really do love me, don't you? Yet even that can't get you out of that chair, huh? Too bad. Although, to be fair it wouldn't end well anyway. I mean, we tried this thing before and in the end I went to Ash, right?”

Farwyn grimaced, a sudden pain blossoming in his chest. The words stung and what was infuriating was that she knew it. Had they really fallen so low that she would speak to him that way? He kept his eyes on her though, refusing to blink or look away. He feared she'd disappear, again, unsure why that would be the case. She was a great Farstrider, but she wasn't a ghost.

“Actually, I am. Sort of.” Alhana shifted slightly, a hand absently going to a thin golden necklace around her neck. She toyed with it, making the charm on the end wiggle in interesting ways towards her chest. “You're not awake.”

“What?” He tried to move his arms, but now they wouldn't budge either. Again, he felt a short pain, this time near his throat.

“This here? This room? It's all just in here.” She raised a hand to tap her forehead, smile never wavering.

“No.” Farwyn spoke before he even registered what he was saying, his voice dropping into a lower tone. His teeth ground together a bit, nervous apprehension fluttering in his stomach. He didn't want her to talk anymore.

“You can't deny it. I know what you're thinking. Talyia? She's dead.”

“Shut up!” Farwyn snapped, looking at her sharply. A gaze that would make most men hesitate, only served to make Alhana laugh.

“I'm dead too! You sorta dropped the ball there. That's your fault. Just like how Little Miss is gone. And everyone else. If only you had done what they wanted instead of being selfish.”

“I said SHUT UP!”

“You think playing the dutiful soldier now is going to change anything? You think being loyal and pushing yourself is going to erase what you did? What you failed to do? Please.”

Farwyn grit his teeth, the low growl in his chest remaining. Each word felt like another blistering wound being reopened. He couldn't even look at her and found himself staring at the distant wall. What was there to say? Everything she said, real or not, was true.

“At least now you got one thing right.”

The walls, the ceiling, even the couch Farwyn was sitting upon suddenly melted away. It was like watching a painting melt in front of his eyes- all of the colors mixed and dripped together, until a massive disgusting puddle of mottled hues pooled on the ground.

“You really don't deserve anything.”

The sun turned black and the sky flooded with a deep, glowing crimson hue. The trees began to shrivel and decay and the entire forest surrounding him started to expand, as if surging towards Farwyn himself. Dark, distant overlapping shapes began to swarm from the depths of the forest with flashes of metal, gruesome smiles and haunting, inhuman cries.

Elven screams filled the air.

The sickening sound of cracking bones. Of wetly parted flesh. Blood rain. Pitiful moans and panicked pleading that always, always ended in a garbled wail.

Farwyn stood in the middle of it all, collapsed to his knees. His body refused to move and his eyes fixated on the oncoming darkness, wondering if soon he too would be apart of the pitiful mountain of death. He had seen a scene like this before, although he wasn't sure where. A part of him felt desperate, especially as agonizing pain started to crack over his body. Yet the remaining part of him was glad for the pain, digging deeper into the cutting words that Alhana had vanished altogether with.

Another scream split the air, one that didn't seem quite right, but all the same he recognized it. Miss Kylareth. Eventually, he knew he'd hear more. Once the undead arrived, then he would recognize every single cry.

Wait. That's not right. Kylareth? She's not here. She was never here. She's safe in House Runeweaver. Why is she screaming?

Farwyn blinked, a sluggish epiphany hitting him. This was wrong. All of this was wrong. Little Miss Calastea- he had heard her voice too, something about dead. Was someone dying? Was there another attack? The Hospice! He remembered being in the Hospice. It was spinning. Dizzy. Faith was there. She had to get the box. He knew he'd regret everything if he didn't at least give her that. What... but then what?

I need to get up. I need to get back. I need to get out of here.

One more scream, but this time Farwyn wasn't certain if it was from his horrifying memory or if it was something else again. Was that another one from the exuberant mage? Nal? Was it another House member? Why could he hear them?!

Farwyn struggled. He focused on his arms and legs, trying to get them to move. They still wouldn't budge and the more he concentrated, the fiercer the pain gnawed at his body. He pushed the nauseating sensation away. He didn't care. He yelled against the pain, utilizing his stubborn will alone to force his arm to move and suddenly the world around him erupted into a blinding, agonizing light.

However for a single moment, he thought he had felt something at his fingertips, almost grasping at something familiar and inviting. As soon as he thought he had it in his grip though, numbness knifed through his arm and the world reeled back to fuzzy darkness and fevered dreams.

 He mumbled mournfully, falling back into unconsciousness.

Tension. An explosion of action. The heavy rain of footsteps. Metal clanging against metal. Gunshots. Magical dispersions. Blood. Gore. Death. Grief. The night had been full of it as House Runeweaver and their allies put everything into motion. Quickly, Farwyn found himself entrenched in battle. The scourge magic of one of the Death Knights had gnawed at his boots, although Farwyn hadn’t moved out of it in order to save the unconscious little girl on the battlefield. The daughter of the vile, disgusting man they were fighting against. He had brought his child, barely a breath in the world, to battle. Her need to be taken away was the only thing that spared the warrior from breaking into a rage right then.

He had been about to take her away, to secure her somewhere safe when he had spotted the fallen form of the Master of Arms, Sentry Shadowstar. Relying on his experience on the field, Farwyn applied pressure and aided his fellow Housemate until Faith was able to reach him. He still recalled her voice of desperation as she tried to save Axtan first, an event that later replayed through Farwyn’s thoughts. Once she aided the Master of Arms and he was stablized, just barely enough for travel, Ken’doranel had followed the orders to take the child along with Shadowstar to the Hospice. It wasn’t until they arrived that he heard the grieving news that Axtan Ravencraft had not survived.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur, not quite as vivid in his mind as the battle had been. It was strange for him. The previous battles he had partaken in usually were a blur, but unable to lose himself in it this time kept his mind dwelling on the details. It was as if things had been in reverse.

Farwyn guarded the Hospice as the wounded were tended, rested a bit himself under Shroudsong’s orders and then took up post again. The Grand Master of Arms commended him and then Faith before moving on, likely making rounds to check on his men. He remembered seeing Calastea and being delighted with the fact that Lady Runeweaver wanted the girl taken to the manor. However, Farwyn had been too hasty and the child ran off. It pained him that she didn’t understand, but he noted the fear. She didn’t know better. She had grown up among the scum of the city, learning its lessons, hadn’t she? Any child would fear the unknown.

He escorted Lady Runeweaver and then Lord Dawnraiser, keeping vigil. Then he was dismissed and returned to the city. His plan had been to check on Faith, recalling the devestated expression upon her face from before. She had lost someone. It must have bothered her. He wasn’t sure he could say anything to help, but that didn’t stop him from at least wanting to try.

Farwyn decided to check the Hall in his passing, wondering if anyone was still straggling behind despite the late hour. His check gave him sight of movement and the eeriely familiar sight of blonde hair. His instincts kicked in- a feeling of foreboding sweeping over his body. It wasn’t a great look, but something in his bones said the whole scene was off. He pursued inside and a flash of recognition came to him. The Hospice. This was the same bitch with those canisters!

The area wasn’t very adventageous and it was clear from the very beginning she was faster than him. He said something over the comm as he went to engage, avoiding the thrown daggers with a few swift blocks of his blade. He found himself having to focus, his footing a little off from a combination of accumilated fatigue and minor injures from before. Another flurry of motion between the two and this time she had the upper hand and with grating annoyance, Farwyn felt a sting behind his knee. Whatever she had used certainly didn’t feel like a dagger, but it had been strong enough to pierce the weak point of his armor behind his knees. He had swung at her fiercely in retaliation to pay her back in kind and then after, as sneaks tend to do, she was gone just like before.

He didn’t trust the sting for obvious reasons, knowing it was likely some sort of poison. On instinct, he reached into his pack and downed a vial an ally had given him long ago. He didn’t know the specifics, simply that he should drink it if he were ever poisoned to help delay any effects. He was just across the street from the Hospice, so it was simply a precaution. He’d go, be checked over and relay the details of what had happened once he sorted our the blur of conflict. It would take time for the poison to take eff-

The street suddenly bucked underneath his legs. He staggered, blinking rapidly. Focusing on Faith, inwardly praying she would hear him, he called out to her. His body rapidly started to feel numb as the street bucked again, but this time he found himself unable to feel it beneath him. His hand flew to the communicator, quickly wanting to at least give them some more information, just in case, as a passing thought fluttered through his mind.

What was she doing in the Hall?

Nala took in a slow breath even though her lips curled into a contently amused smile. She crouched down to look the small girl in the eyes. “My mama named me that after my -great- uncle Pugnal. He’s silly but ya’ should hear what my little brother is named.” She pinched her lips to the side before reaching out and gently poking the little girls nose with a smirk.

Farwyn stood over his work bench, boring his eyes down upon the sheet of parchment in front of him. A few sketches had been done of a wardrobe, positioned upon the outside corners until one was circled and then more finely drawn out on the paper. He was by no means an artist, but he understood what each small line meant and the sight of it refreshed the concept in his mind. 

"Alright, so if it's by four feet..." He muttered to himself, checking with an open book to make sure his plan was sound. 

Again, the warrior found himself stretched thinly but instead of trudging through a haze he was oddly very awake. The events of last night, all of them, at first had put him on edge but when he finally brought himself to leave the Hospice in the morning, Farwyn found that he had a second wind. He still wasn't quite sure why. 

Lady Runeweaver had been poisoned, a fact that irked him greatly. He thought she had personal guards, but was that not the case? He supposed that even Her Grace sought a few moments to herself, but the growing pile of possible enemies that he was learning of was becoming absurdly mountainous. Not to mention he had made a joke of the bee comment in response to her quip at the past dinner. The guilt on that fact alone plagued him, even if it had been harmless. 

Farwyn looked up from the plans to squint at the room, eyeing a few old samples piled around the large room from aged projects. This would be his apology, even if he had been told there was no fault. Regardless, he was certain Her Grace could perhaps use the cheer. 

The ordeal of the previous night had certainly caused a stir, as the medics had treated her openly in fear of moving her too quickly. Farwyn did as he was told whether he agreed with it or not,  keeping his expression neutral even as more information came into the fold. Eventually she was moved to the Hospice, but even that didn't fair much better. The prick of a Knight continued to follow as if he were doing some grand favor and others- those he had been warned not to trust- had joined in. It made Farwyn suspicious immediately. He knew there was an alliance after speaking to Lord Dawnraiser and that fact alone kept him in check. Still, bubbling anger brewed in his chest at the knowledge of what he had done to Faith. It made him inwardly furious and standing in the doorway, tolerating both Wrath and the Knight was a true test of restraint for the warrior. A snide comment from a Shadow didn't help either, but after stating his reasoning he left it alone even after the retort. 

The night didn't fair much better as it grew into morning. Something was wrong with the woman named Pug- someone he knew briefly, but well enough to know she was a woman of her word. However, before he had a chance to truly speak with her on it, Calastea showed up. She was incredibly ill and he...  he wasn't sure what spurred him to pick up the child. Normally the small girl shied away from being close at all, but her outstretched hands and feverish face had him acting without thought. With the help of Pug and Faith, he brought her into the Hospice, holding her still as she threatened to cry if he were to set her down. 

Others were around, some he didn't trust in the slightest but overall Calastea was treated and fell asleep. He felt the panic from the whole event subside, although he was still worried for her. The shadow he remembered from a training exercise showed up as well, immediately taking a liking to the child. It was rather sweet how Calastea had called her an angel, although in Farwyn's mind there were two in the room, not one. 

Eventually it was just Faith, the sleeping Little Miss and himself in the Hospice. He wasn't about to move Calastea out of his arms and had decided to spend the night there holding vigil. Not only for the little girl, but also for Faith as she tended to Her Grace with Kelovas. Their agreement on morning runs would obviously be postponed for now, but instead they conversed a bit and he found himself learning even more about the black eyed woman. 

Farwyn was glad he had spoken to Lord Dawnraiser about being assigned to the Hospice. All that was left was to speak with Lady Thalryn and hopefully with her approval, he would soon have a task. Although, the small bit of news that Faith had revealed to him caught him off guard. He was happy for her, obviously but at the same time... 

"Business." Farwyn said out loud, snapping out of his thoughts as he tacked the plans for the wardrobe on the wall above the workbench. He refocused his attentions to the work at hand before him. He'd take a small survey of supplies and then go to Silvermoon to purchase or order anything he was lacking for his project. It was something he was going to take his time on- a project to go to when he needed time to himself or to work through his thoughts.