#fharzai

It felt as if she had tread nearly every square foot of the Wildlands before Freydis finally crossed paths with the dreams druid she held so much faith in. Fharzai had been difficult to track down since the abduction by the Kossith, and it was not difficult to venture a guess as to why. Each survivor carried new scars with them, some physical and some psychological. Freydis could begin to understand the weight of one’s greatest virtues being leveraged against them, the Kossith twisting them into a tool to break down those they cared for most and reducing them to cannon fodder. Fharzai’s spirit in previous expeditions had been a uniting force and guiding light, and the Kossith had bastardized it and snuffed the beacon within him out.

But Freydis had faith that Fharzai would recover in his own time, the same way she too dedicated herself to struggling onward and mending some wounds and learning to live with others that refused thus far to close. She could not do it alone, and though Fharzai separated himself from others, she would make sure he knew he did not need to move onward from what had happened alone either. Freydis would grant him whatever peace and distance he wanted after this visit, after she was satisfied he knew she continued to wait with open hands and a willingness to follow him. 

“Fharzai?” Her call to him was gentle, only as loud as it needed to be as she stood at the perimeter of the clearing in the woodlands. Caimriss was near, and it soothed Freydis’ anxieties to know that the druid was not alone. Micefang was with her, trailing behind her chasing whatever butterfly or dragonfly most recently caught the construct’s attention–at least until they reunited with the dragon and druid. Then, the cat-like creation was bounding toward Fharzai in enthusiastic greeting. “I’ve been looking for you, missing you,” she started, adjusting the weight of the basket she carried on the crook of her arm, filled to the brim with things she would insist on leaving with him. “I was hoping you might be open to a little company.”

Fharzai's presence was always something that eased Ramesses' mind. As one who could manipulate dreams, one who was so not used to the world, the Ankhurian could only take a deep breath as he stopped in his rambling to the other. There'd been so much happening, and Ramesses had felt like he'd simply...withered away into the shadows. He wasn't brave, not like Fharzai. He wasn't wise, not like Sakkara. And his thoughts and hopes about joining the Legion in Amon Sûl, to see if he could cleanse them of the Blight internally – well, it seemed so stupid and naive, he had to tell Fharzai all about it.

"The Legion can't be cured, I know that, because then who would fight the Blight? But what if – what if we could sever the Calling? You know, if we could...mute that connection that they feel to it, because isn't it the Old Gods that control it? We could save them from dying for...years and years."