#duality thieves

((The song sung is this one by Junidoe.))

Enri sighed. Seemed the road back to Iccirus was blocked - the skirmishes further north had chased bandits and marauders south and they were making their way towards Driftveil.

Already, a few farming communities to the north had been sacked. Survivors poured into the relative safety that the larger town offered. Still, most were making every effort to cross the bay. It'd be best to put as much distance between themselves and those blood-thirsty bastards. They were worse than those Nordbor raiders - at least you expected it from them.

The bard noted each face as they passed down the main street; men, women, children. Some in ragged groups, some tattered pairs, most singular, alone. Tear-stained, blood-drained, emotionally spent fathers and sons. Still-sobbing women and children. The sniffles and choking of the strong breaking down.

Enri perched on the town's well, wishing he could comfort them.

Then he frowned. Perhaps he could; music soothed many things, and grieving could be one of them.

He pulled his lute from his back, tuned it in preparation to play. A few tentative notes as he stumbled to find a song. He lifted his low tenor voice to the darkening sky.

"Soldiers are singing their battle songs, hearty young lads, they march along, heads are held high and their hearts are strong..."

He choked and nothing more would come. 

Enri let his lute fall into his lap, loosely balanced with one hand. The other he ran through his thick curls, gripping them tightly then releasing them as he physically attempted to hold back tears. He didn't know a single person here, but he intimately knew their pain. The intense ache that gripped and twisted their innards, the yawning maw left where a loved one once stood.

The realization that they are gone, and the only thing left for you is to continue on.

It began to rain. Softly at first, but harder as thunder sounded in the distance. Perfect for crops, were there anyone left to farm them. It seeped down into the bard's cape, cold tendrils fingering down his back and chest.

And still, survivors poured into Driftveil. They trudged along, no end to their ranks in sight. Perhaps there would be no end to it. A perpetual funerary procession, where the graves could not be filled.

Without realizing, Enri's fingers had returned to the strings and he instinctively strummed a chord. Something low - full of sorrow. Another followed and a slow beat emerged. A march towards a final end.

"Mother cries softly a lullaby, tears down her face, she says goodbye."

A dirge for those who'd gone. 

"Brother paints red far across the sky, Father is slain, sister has died."

A dirge for those yet living.

"The country is bleeding, the scavengers feeding, the morning is coming, the night is long. Stubbornness rips all the skin off our pride in the light of the dusk, and we hide our wrongs. Running away to the branches of twilight, the violence persuades us to lie; war is not sweet, we all taste defeat."

Those within earshot watched the bard - intentions unreadable through expressions of sadness, anger, and pain. Perhaps they would turn on this traveling music-man. Tear Enri from his perch and rend him in their grief.

But the song must continue. 

"Victims lay scattered across the field, broken and bent, their pain revealed. Here lies a sword, over there a shield, steely remains, it’s death they yield."

His absol hummed harmony. 

"The war’s never ending, the plights are heart wrenching, when brother fights brother, good men will pay. Loyalty tore us from inside to outside the promise of peace is a distant ray. Stealing away to the hallways of midnight, the violence persuades us to lie,"

His deino, lilted mournfully.

"War is not sweet, we all taste defeat."

"Living is torture when love is gone, misery seeps and joy feels wrong. Survivors bent past the point of song, feeble old hands, keep pressing on."

A crowd had now formed, blocking the square. People became frustrated and shouting could be heard near the back.

Yet the bard sang on.

"The dreams and the hopes of the people have fled, in the dust of departure the lonely call. Sink to one’s knees at the dirt of their grave, clutching petals and catching the tears that fall. Flying away to the skirts of the morning, the silence persuades us to die."

"War is not sweet, we all taste defeat."

Enri, Cancion, and Lealtad drew out a few parting notes after the final chorus and disappeared into the crowd. He sensed that things would soon get ugly, and he'd rather not be part of it.

There was enough to despair over without the grieving attacking on another.

But with the distraction removed, the people continued on their way. People crowded near the ferry, trying to barter themselves across. Those who could set up makeshift tents with bits of wagons and furs. Those who could not, squeezed into every dry place they could. 

Enri managed a tired smile for those he passed, but he knew there would be no comfort for them. The displaced would continue to be displaced, constantly moving in an attempt to find opportunities. But the way they were now, there would be no opportunities.

Without their farms, they were of little more use than hired help. The cities didn't want them, there was enough of that available from the established orphans and beggars. There definitely was no room for more.

Even if their homes were reclaimed, there was nothing left there; of that much, Enri was sure. The marauders pushed this way were of a particularly nasty sort - they didn't care for the plunder, only the fear they could inspire. They would take what they needed, killing any and all who came into contact with them. They would take a few of the larger farmsteads as bases. And everything else they would burn to the ground.

The displaced would become beggars and vagabonds, or be forced into theft and  robbery. Their future was bleak, and it would only get worse with time.

The bard had finally made his way to the outskirts of Driftveil, where a few stragglers had made camp and the town's warriors patrolled. He had no wish to speak with them, and at a whisper, mist engulfed the settlements.