Welcome Home

[Elijah_Morendale]

((Solo, picks up a week after Elijah leaves "When Blood Runs Cold"))

Even though a week had passed, Elijah still felt bad for leaving Chris stranded there with the crazy raven-haired woman and that shady John character. There his friend was, in his darkest hour no less, and what did he do? He turned tail and ran away. The denim-clad adventurer was constantly kicking himself in the ass for abandoning the chef like he did, out of fear of getting killed by the warrior priest Malachai. No, he wanted to live, but there was a twinge of doubt that screamed what if they needed you? What if they're all dead because their one chance at survival chickened out? So what if you didn't know how it felt to lose someone you hold dear in your heart! He was your friend, dammit! These thoughts constantly circulated through his fractured mind, making his sleep restless with dreams of the Ethereal Sway agent's staff cracking the skulls of the three people he left behind.

The guilt slowly built as Nadia refused to drop the subject--whenever the two spoke to one another, anyways. Elijah's imaginary friend was still peeved at him for passing up any further opportunity for her to cause some more massive bloodshed; her all-time favorite hobby. The two would bicker back and forth out in the expansive, chilly, snow-covered wilderness of Salvar. His voice carried on for quite a distance in the open, but he didn't care. As his "relationship" with his the fictional woman deepened, the lines dividing reality and imagination were slowly crumbling. It was no longer uncommon to catch him talking to himself in public.

Elijah was currently following one of the main roads, against the warnings of a few of the tavern owners he had spoken to along his journey. Salvar was embroiled in a massive civil war, but he didn't care: He just wanted to get home--wherever it was. I've had enough adventuring for a while... I just want to get back to the village and work on improving my icecraft.

His skills with creating ice, which were generally lacking, were another reason that he backed out of the priest hunt. The adventurer was afraid of letting everyone down. Although Elijah wouldn't admit it, he was jealous of Chris's ability to wield fire--and do quite an impressive amount of damage with it. If one put a lot of thought into it, icecrafting could net some really useful purposes, but despite his and Nadia's overactive imaginations the best he could do was keep a few cute girls' drinks cold. It was very depressing, especially after watching the chef toast a few zombies firsthand.

It was nothing that a few more years training under Gilliam Ornost couldn't fix. The man's incredible ability always fascinated the adventurer: Oh, how easily he could pull finely crafted ice weapons out of thin air! Elijah always looked forward to the massive ice sculptures that decorated the village when his friends and surrogate family celebrated the yearly anniversary of the nameless village's founding together.

The thought of the parties made Elijah smile. If his internal calendar was correct, the festival was only a few weeks away--all the more incentive for him to find the village as quick as possible. It was just too bad that he was still having no luck actually getting there.

The sun was setting over the pine tree forests in the distance. The blowing wind picked up as it flowed down from the mountains, chilling the adventurer to the bone. Elijah pulled his denim jacket tight around him, furiously rubbing his arms up and down his body in an attempt to keep warm as he picked up his pace. Several hours ago, he thought he could see a dull brown blob off in the distance. As he drew nearer throughout the day, he realized that it was a village--one that had a low fence surrounding the perimeter. Good thing, too... There's no freaking way I'd survive a night out here by myself.

As the twilight gave way to utter darkness, he quickened his pace even more. His cold, wet feet cried out in agony as they swiftly moved through the powdery snow that seemed to glow a pale blue in the moonlight. He cursed himself for buying such a thin pair of canvas shoes back in Corone.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The adventurer noticed that three small orange lights appeared in front of the open gate. Guards, perhaps? He wasn't worried, it was almost certain that after a bit of smooth talking, they would let him in (at least it was that simple in his own mind) for the night. When he came within a couple hundred feet of the gate, the three figures stopped their patrol. Elijah thought he could hear someone faintly shout in surprise, "Is that him? By the heavens, it is! I'd recognize that jacket anywheres!"

Elijah was confused by the spectacle of the womanly figure immediately dropping her lamp and making a mad dash towards him, screaming his name the entire way. He slowed to a stop, his too-black hair blown every which way across his face. As the thin woman came into view, he could slowly make out her features. She had slightly curly light brown hair that flowed freely down to the middle of her back. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with joy in the moonlight. She had a barely-noticeable patch of freckles adorning her thin nose.

When it dawned on him just who the woman was, he cried out in laughter. "Isabella? Is that you?"

The brunette didn't respond; instead she buried herself in his chest, wetting his black shirt with tears. She tightly wrapped her skinny arms around him, squeezing him with a surprising amount of strength. He slowly returned the gesture, embracing her tightly. The two childhood friends (rumor had it that they were once something more than that) stood there for several minutes, the silence occasionally broken by a few sobs. Isabella was several inches shorter than Elijah; short enough that his neck hurt as he kept his forehead pressed against the top of the girl's head. She felt warm against his body, and if it was up to him, they would stay like this forever, but...

Nadia stuck her tounge out in disgust. "Alright, chief. Let her go, before you make me gag. There'll be plenty of time for catching up after we get into town."

Reluctantly, Elijah pulled away. Her perfume was strong in his nostrils, the tantalizing scent of flowers brought back memories of years long past.

The girl looked longingly at him as she wiped away a stray tear or two. "Welcome home, Elijah."

"Thanks," he said with his first genuine smile in a long time.

[Elijah_Morendale]

Isabella clung like a parasite to Elijah's arm as she led him into town. The place had grown somewhat in the years since he left. A few of the dark, wooden houses looked familiar to him, yet at the same time it all seemed new.

He turned to the girl, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Are you sure this is home? I don't remember the place looking so... habituated."

She let out a small, childish giggle. "Yeah, the place changed a lot since you up and left us. Some of the older guys left a month after you did and started a fishing business near the sea and made a load of money; most of which they sent back here."

That would explain everything, Elijah thought to himself as he looked around his updated surroundings. It was definitely a step or two above the desolate settlement that he left to go on adventures. But, it's still missing something...

"Did they ever name the place?"

"Hm?" Isabella looked up into his deep blue eyes. "Oh, yeah. They finally named the town Thenin maybe a year ago."

Thenin. He silently repeated the name to himself so he wouldn't forget. The short brunette wrapped around his arm chattered incessantly as she half-pulled him to a familiar tavern--which, unlike the town, remained nameless. The only signs that it was actually a tavern were the jovial conversations between the shouting patrons that were emanating from inside the old wooden building and the plank hung over the door that had a crude beer mug painted on it. But, the establishment held many fond memories of nights spent in the company of friends--sober, of course, seeing as he was underage at the time.

Elijah reached out and turned the heavy iron knob and hesitated for a moment before he pushed the door open. A rush of light greeted the two, the din of the patrons immediately following. The adventurer quickly scanned the interior of the tavern. Nothing had changed in three years: A chandelier circled with lit candles hung in the middle of the room, while a few oil lamps lined the walls to make sure that the place was adequately lit. The oak tables were scattered haphazardly around the room, half-filled with the townsfolk who were relaxing after a long day or looking for a release from their many problems. Old man Morrison was leaning on the bar, trying his best to look busy by casually wiping the inside of a mug with a dirty towel.

"Hey everybody! Guess who's back! It's Elijah!" Isabella cupped her hands and shouted above everyone else's conversations, making sure that not a soul in sight remained in the dark about Elijah's return. A little under a half turned their attention towards them. He shrunk his head into his shoulders, a little embarrassed at his friend's energetic enthusiasm. He casually waved a hand, a gesture that only a few returned. Everyone else resumed their previous chats about which of the eligible bachelorettes they had the hots for, or who they would've fought for had the Salvic Civil War reached the town--the perimeter fence and the gates that encircled the town were a slipshod safeguard against the possibility actually occurring.

He leaned in close to the girl's ear. "Isabella, either they don't remember me, or they don't give a damn. It's probably the latter."

Isabella grunted in frustration and continued to drag the ice-crafter into the tavern. Elijah quickly shot a foot over to the door, shutting it with a swift kick before nearly losing his balance due to the brunette's eagerness.

As they made their way across the room, a couple of the men and women offered a casual "hey, how's it been?", to which Elijah always responded with "eh, surviving, I guess," or some variation of that. Isabella finally released her vice-like grip on his arm as they reached their table. Her graceful hands moving as swift as lightning, she pulled out his chair. "Shouldn't I be the one to do that to you?" He said jokingly.

The girl smiled brightly, exposing her snow-white teeth. "Nonsense! Now, you wait right there, I'll go up and get some drinks. What do you want?"

"Just a glass of milk, that would be fine." Elijah was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, although he had no honest idea why. He was home again; nothing could possibly go wrong now! And yet, there was this terrible feeling knotting up his stomach. He couldn't shake the notion that trouble, the cruel mistress that she is, still had the hots for him. As his friend shot up from her seat and snaked her way to the bar, Nadia phased into view in her seat; and boy, did she look pissed. Her wild red hair did little to conceal the fire in her jade-colored eyes, while her face was split with a scowl that made him think that she wanted nothing more than to tear him apart.

"So," she finally spat after a long moment of silence, "who's the tramp?"

"She's an old friend of mine," Elijah calmly replied as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "Why? You jealous or something?"

His imaginary friend scoffed, twirling a thin finger through her crimson bangs as she looked away. The adventurer noticed that over the course of his travels, his other self wasn't terribly fond of the fairer sex, despite being one herself (for some reason that even he couldn't fathom). Save for one wild night in Corone with a silver-haired beauty, Nadia would always go on the defensive, forcing herself into control and flipping out on the closest thing with a rack and a smile. The last mishap occurred not even two weeks ago with an elven woman named Delta.

"Okay, I'm back!" Isabella's bright voice rang through the small crowd gathered at the tavern. As soon as she wormed into view, Nadia disappeared to the deep recesses of Elijah's subconscious. The bubbly brunette set his milk down in front of him. He eyed the frosted glass lazily before taking a big gulp.

The girl took a sip of her own amber-colored drink, not noticing that it deposited a small, frothy mustache on her upper lip. "So. Tell me... What have you been up to these past few years?" She set her mug down and propped her head on one hand. A look of hunger lit her eyes as she studied Elijah intently, awaiting his surely-to-be-epic answer.

[Elijah_Morendale]

***

In another part of the nameless tavern sat a small pocket of silence. The patrons seemed oblivious to this man as he nursed his ale in solitude. A hooded brown cloak hid his rough and weather-beaten face from view. He sat hunched over the table, brooding over the circumstances that led him to this forsaken village in the middle of nowhere. His deep azure eyes occasionally scanned the interior of the room, seemingly in search of someone in particular, yet at the same time, nobody at all. The stranger had been in town for a little under two weeks, slowly gaining his bearings as he rented out a room on the second floor of the tavern.

The man scratched his dark, stubby beard as he brought his glass mug up to his mouth, taking a big gulp of the bitter amber liquid. One by one, he glanced at the patrons as they went along their business--the person he was tasked with finding was not amongst them. He leaned back in his chair slightly as he sighed heavily, exhausted by the sheer tedium and futility of his search. As he made another round across the room, he spotted someone new to the scene: A man with too-black hair and a denim jacket.

Something inside the stranger clicked. He made a mental note of this unfamiliar being. There was something about the way he looked and acted that irked him, although he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was...

Two more men entered the tavern, dressed likewise in shabby traveling robes. The stranger snapped out of his trance and acknowledged their approach with a curt nod. "So. Find out anything?"

The first man chimed in as he took his seat at the lonely table. "We confirmed that he's here in town."

The stranger grunted in approval. "To think that it took us eighteen years to find this son of a bitch..."

"Shall we execute the order tonight?" The second man asked quietly as he flagged down a barmaid.

"No. I don't care what our superiors think--given the state of this country, it would be a waste to let such..." The stranger paused, looking for the best word possible. "talents, if you will, go to waste. Don't you think that it would be wise to have him back on our side, rather hiding away like the coward that he is in the backwoods?"

The other two men glanced at each other while a wave of uneasy silence settled over the table. "Yes, but, do you actually think that they'd pardon a blasphemer like--"

He held out a hand to silence his subordinate. "No. I know they wouldn't. But you can't deny his strength and wisdom. Yeah, sure, the official order handed down by the Justice said to execute this motherfucker on the spot, but..." His voice trailed off as he took another swig of his ale. The cloak adorning him bounced as he shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I'm still a bit of a softie."

Their conversation came to an abrupt halt as a buxom woman wearing a tight serving outfit interrupted them. "What can I get fer' ya', sweetie?"

***

The denim-clad adventurer, when asked about his journeys, drew a blank--despite the fact that the trials he endured in Corone and during his trip back home would at least make a decent novella. Elijah cupped his hands behind his head and offered a small shrug. "Well, I didn't really do anything all that interesting. Nearly got killed by a couple of elf girls, fought in the Citadel a few times, met some other rather interesting people; nearly got killed by them too..." He wanted to tell the woman next to him about the zombie raid and his partaking in that little slice of violence, but technically it wasn't him to did the bloodshed--telling her about his mental state wouldn't be such a wise idea either.

Isabella slumped forward in her chair, doing little to hide her look of cross disappointment. "Aww," she whined, "that's all? People tried to kill my poor Elijah?" She put her hand up to her forehead, play-acting as if she were a fair maiden who fainted.

He chuckled lightly as he reached for his glass. "Yeah. Death is a cruel mistress who always wanted to get in my pants at every turn. Although, I did die at the Citadel... Now that was quite an experience."

"What'd it feel like?"

Elijah had to think about that one for a second. It had been quite a while since his battle with Tyria. "Well, I don't remember much... It kind of felt like your entire essence being sucked out of you. All I can remember from my little death was lots of blood pouring onto the ground. It's really something you'd have to experience for yourself in order to actually know what it's like."

The girl squirmed at his suggestion. "No thanks, I'll pass."

His bright blue eyes widened as he realized what he just said. "No, not like--you know what I meant--the monks, they'll revive you no problem! It's a part of the whole process!" It was time for a change of subject. "So, what have you been up to these past few years?"

"Cop out," she playfully teased. "Well, I haven't been up to much... Just hanging around town, dreaming of leaving this place for one of the cities or something. You know, find a nice guy to settle down with... Don't you ever want to--you know--find a place to settle down? Marry some lucky girl and have a butt-load of kids?" Isabella leaned forward slightly, slightly unnerving the traveler. Sensing his uneasiness, she laughed, her childish voice brightening the room. "I'm just kidding with you."

For a brief second, Elijah regretted coming back to town. He noticed that his old friend was acting a bit weird ever since she spotted him at the front gates. Isabella never seemed so excited to see me before, he quietly thought to himself. I bet she's sick. Give it a couple of days, she'll be over it and things will finally be back to normal.

It was time for another change of subject. "So. How's Gilliam doing?"

"Oh, you know how that old fart is. Stubborn as all hell. Ever since the Civil War started, I can count the times he's stepped out of his house on one hand." She held up a couple fingers, offering him an unnecessary visual aid.

That's strange... He always liked getting out of his house. Elijah wondered what the hell was going on in town that would make everyone act so weird.

Isabella interrupted his thoughts. "Want to go visit him?" She cheerfully asked.

"Sure."

[Elijah_Morendale]

After the two finished their drinks, they left the noisy, stuffy confines of the tavern and ventured into the open air of the town. A few light clouds cluttered an otherwise beautiful nighttime sky. The moon was bright enough to illuminate their way as they trudged through streets covered with a dusting of snow. To his delight, Isabella wasn't hanging all over Elijah anymore--although she was still walking less than two feet away from him. They walked in relative silence towards ice crafter's former teacher's house.

As they drew closer, a maelstrom of worries hit Elijah, stopping him dead in his tracks. He recalled how he up and abandoned his apprenticeship without warning. Would Gilliam Ornost, rotten old codger that he was, see fit to allow him to continue his training with the veteran ice crafter? Or would he laugh at his pleas before slamming the door in his face, which was the more likely outcome? Or--worst case scenario--did Gilliam even remember who Elijah was in the first place? He didn't rule out that possibility; the old man's memory was notoriously shot last time he knew.

Isabella turned around, tilting her head at the sight of Elijah standing there in a depressed trance. "Are you okay?"

Elijah came back to his senses. "Yeah, I'm alright," he quietly replied as he resumed walking under the blanket of clouds and stars.

Gilliam's residence was rather modest, considering his stature within the town. The two-story tall brick and stone building stood lifeless in front of them, not a single candle lit nor plume of smoke rising from the stone chimney. Elijah thought it was weird that his old master would try and keep the place warm during the harsh, unforgiving Salvic winter. As the two friends drew closer, a small feeling formed in the pit of his stomach, one that made him uneasy. He slowly approached the front door, the foreboding silence staying his hand inches from the copper knob.

Cold wisps of breath filled the air in front of him as he finally gripped the knob. The very instant he turned it, the door flew inwards, yanking the knob from his grasp. A loud war cry shattered the silence. Elijah looked up just in time to see something very sharp flying directly towards his face, a fine mist emanating from it as it traveled along its path. Wide-eyed, the ice crafter and his friend both leaped backwards as the attacker sprung out into the cold night after them.

The man was exceptionally agile in his old age. A tuft of snow white hair was combed over the top of his bald head, with a stubbly gray beard not three days old and an excessive amount of wrinkles on his pale, weather-beaten face. His brown eyes were ablaze with rage and fear, and his rough hands were gripped tightly around the hilt of an ice sword.

"Gilliam!" Isabella cried as the ice crafting master took another swing at his former apprentice. Elijah quickly ducked the onslaught, instinctively amassing a small chunk of ice in his right hand that somewhat resembled his steel dagger. Gilliam brought his weapon high overhead and swiftly brought it down, intending on splitting the boy's skull in two. Elijah parried the blow, his hands jolting with the surprising amount of force the old man used.

Shit! What the hell is going on here? As Gilliam prepared to bring his sword up again, Elijah kicked his wrists. The old man grunted loudly as the frozen blade flew from his grasp, kicking up a cloud of powdery snow as it hit the ground. Before Elijah could get a word in edgewise, his former master encased his fist in a thin layer of ice and clocked him square in the jaw. He spun around, his face burning with pain. A sharp, metallic taste filled his mouth--blood.

Isabella screamed again. "Gilliam! Stop it!" Her pleadings had no effect: Gilliam tackled the adventurer to the ground, his hands wrapped tightly around his throat. Elijah struggled to get the old man off of him, but to no avail.

Gilliam screamed at the defenseless Elijah. "You tell that Justice of yours' that if he wants my head so fucking bad, he can bring his ass here and take it himself!" His grip around the adventurer's neck tightened. Elijah tried to pry his hands away, but could slowly feel his energy leave him.

He coughed heavily as he tried to speak. "Wh-what are you--urk--talking about? It's me, Master! Elijah! Elijah Morendale!"

The old man looked deep into his eyes for several seconds, until a glimmer of recognition flashed across his face. "No shit? Is that really you, boy?" He erupted into a booming laughter that filled the air around them, releasing his iron grip on Elijah's throat and standing up. The boy immediately clutched his neck, his lungs on fire as fresh oxygen filled them. Gilliam reached down and grasped one of his former apprentice's hands, helping him to his feet and brushing some of the snow off of his denim jacket. "Sorry about that, kid. You've picked a bad time to come back to town, let me tell you... Let's get inside, I'll explain it all."

Elijah, still struggling with breathing, crafted a small ice cube and stuck it in his mouth to numb the pain from the punch he took. He looked over at Isabella, who was visibly shaken from the scuffle that had taken place. "Youh cuhmin?"

"Y-yes. I'll be right in."