Valtharen

“I owe allegiance to none but myself and the Autumn Oath.”

“So what are you going to do?”

The question hit like a slap in the face. Valtharen found himself almost flinching as he looked up from his coffee and to Greyson. The red-headed Elezen watched him for a time, shoveling cheese-laden eggs into his face as he enjoyed the breakfast his newly found company had made.

“You can’t sit on Rimegeist for too long,” he noted. “And I already know you’re not into Greystone.”

Valtharen gave a nod, pushing around the eggs on his plate. Despite a battle well fought the night before, he didn’t have much of an appetite. “My mother offered her family name in the past,” he said, rolling his shoulder in a shrug.

“...But?” Greyson pressed, a brow lifting to quirk his freckled expression.

Setting his fork down, Valtharen leaned from his plate with a sigh. “If I am going to go through this all… why not go all the way?” he asked, running a hand through his platinum locks. “Why not forge my own path?”

A grin quirked Greyson’s lips and he gave a nod. “Why not indeed?” He leaned in a little more. “So, what name do you have in mind?”

Valtharen gave a faint smirk and shook his head, “Would you not like to know?”

“Are you really going to make me wait to find out when everyone else does?” Greyson asked, lifting the mug of special coffee to his lips.

Valtharen chuckled and shook his head, “I want to be sure it is what I want before I make any sort of announcements.”

“Cautious as always,” Greyson said with a chuckle before returning to his breakfast. “Well, at least let me know when they have a job for me, will ya?”

“Books are a uniquely portable magic” (Stephen King)

Even when he awakened not remember having dreamed...

Do you know what happens when you don’t let it out? Errol’s words echoed through his mind as Valtharen struck the training dummy with the blade of his sword. The dummy wobbled only to return to its place. The conversation had been rolling through his head since it had happened. Much of what the older Elezen said had, in fact - especially when she had agreed with the sentiment, albeit in a slightly different way. 

 It eats you alive, the man’s voice warped, no longer carrying that naturally melodic tone the bard held. Valtharen paused in his attack and lifted a hand to his temple. Shaking his head, his brow furrowed. That was … not how he remembered that conversation going. Perhaps his father hit him in the head harder than he’d realized.

 Let us out.

“Oh gods,” the Elezen whispered unsteadily as he was assaulted by a chorus of screaming. Hundreds of voices echoed in his mind as he closed his eyes and tried to get a grip of himself. As he did, his head spun and he felt as though the shadows were dragging him down through the ground.

 Let us out! The voices screamed again. 

“Stop!” the Elezen pleaded in return. In desperation, he lashed out with his sword. A trail of shadows bloomed like tendrils of growing flora in the wake of the blade; dark aether he had not remembered calling upon.

As he looked up to the windows, the sky flashed red and the snow turned black like ash. The scent of sulfur carried on the air in a hellish assault on his senses. His skin felt as though he were standing next to a fire which had been carried in his direction. He lifted a hand to protect himself from the invisible blaze only to see the same aetherial shadows embracing his arm.

With a loud cry of frustration, he knelt down and slammed his fist on the ground. As he did, darkness erupted from his form, swirling around the tatami mat and enveloping the training dummy. When next he looked up, the view through the window looked normal.