The Ghosts of the Past...((solo))

[Letho]

((The Revenant and Rheawien are both my characters so using them as an NPC is ok. The usage of Tayotihua Linn Runehand as a NPC (usually played by CreoLady) is approved by her. This story takes place in the future, after Without the sweet, the bitter ain’t so bitter... Hopefully, all will be explained in the story, so hang on to yer helmets... For those who haven’t read “Without the bitter...” or who don’t know much about Letho’s history, here’s a summarization if they don’t wish to read through both.

Letho Ravenheart was once known under the name Ruben Letho, the prince of Savion kingdom that is located in the far west. Savion is one of the seven islands that form Audelas, the Seven Isles. On his 20th birthday his father disowned him because he took the hand of peasant maiden Kristiniel instead the woman he was supposed to marry. His rejection of lady Trirea resulted in an upset in the entire Audelas that culminated with the invasion of Dram, barbaric sworn enemy of the people of Audelas that noticed the disarray in the formerly united kingdoms and invaded the Seven Isles. Audelas fell, Kristiniel was ruthlessly murdered by the Dram and Letho was captured and taken on a ship that eventually crashed near the shores of one of the many continents of Althanas. Now, after four years of wandering through the lands of Althanas, Letho accidentally ran into a ship that carried the mark of Chodan, the flag of Savion kingdom and he and Myrhia (a former slave girl that Letho rescued) joined the crew of the ship to travel back to Savion.

In the “Without the sweet, the bitter ain’t so bitter” Letho returned to Savion only to find it as a shadow of the land that once was. The governing was returned to the Savionians, but this was just a ruse of the Dram that used the Steward and his minions as puppets that allowed them to control the kingdoms from the shadow. Steward was none other then Bann, Letho’s best friend, but he just like the rest of the government was corrupted by the Dram. Seeing that there was no way to restore the kingdom, Letho gives up and decides to get away from Savion and settle with Myrhia somewhere else. But the Steward caught the two before they managed to escape and burned Myrhia on the pyre in front of Letho’s eyes before throwing the prince into dungeon. Fifteen years passed before Tayotihua freed Letho from the shackles and together then overthrew the Steward before heading to Oscenia to find Chodan that was the only one that could restore Savion to its former glory. The elf and the prince did just that, returning to Savion after a long journey and purging the land from the infidels. Letho took Chodan’s place as a guardian since he merged with his deity, Letho’s son was appointed the king and the land started to recover, while Letho settled down for good with his wife and two children.))


It was only a week now, but there was no more doubt about it; Letho Ravenheart was losing his mind. Although, to the gray haired man, it seemed more as if he was in fact gaining another mind piece, another stream of memories that just weren’t supposed to exist. Until about a week ago he was just a farmer with a dull plow, his own piece of heaven and a plethora of stories for Teenah and Victor. Stories that started as him as the prince of Savion kingdom some thirty years ago, moved over the destruction of the said kingdom together with the rest of the Seven Isles, brushed against the adventures of his wandering days in exile, skipped over the death of one red haired slave and culminated with the liberation of the Audelas. It was a long tale with a number of twists and turns, but when the last page was turned and the right cover stood in the hand of the reader, there was no sour taste in the mouth. It was a tale with a happy ending. He finished with a beautiful elf for a wife, a golden haired daughter that made the entire main street in Ciamar look her way when she would go to the market, and a stubborn little rascal that seemed to pick up one too many traits from his stump of a father. And all of that was wrapped into an idyllic picturesque image of a village on the slopes of Savion hill where life was once again good. It was a dream come true for Letho.

And then Myrhia reappeared in his head. And it wasn’t the gentle timid way she would always creep into his head on some idle afternoon, coming to him as a nostalgic memory induced by some random detail around him. It wasn’t the woeful way she would come to him during one of his stories, making him pause and look into the flames in the fireplace with moist eyes. No, this time she came to him as an unstoppable merciless storm that showered his mind with images of the past. Memories that by now became a blurry old parchment on the dusty shelf in his head jumped out and unwound in front of his mind’s eyes, displaying the picture as clear as ever. But that was not the part that made his mind crack like a hard-boiled egg. What did was the fact that the memories of the timid teenager didn’t end on the stormy night some thirty years ago.

Letho knew Myrhia is dead. He saw the violent flames devour her tiny body with uncanny zest, turning her into ashes in front of his very eyes. He felt the scent of her burning flesh and her scream still echoed in his ears (I LOVE YOU, LETHO!!!). He spent fifteen years in the Savion dungeons until Tayotihua finally saved him and together they killed Bann, found Chodan in Oscenia where Letho merged with his deity and returned to Audelas to liberate it, crown his son as the new king and bring himself to the house with the white picket fence and the happy end he always wanted. But at the same time he didn’t.

Because Myrhia didn’t die on that dreadful rainy day. Because Bann never caught her while she tried to escape, Letho defeated the riders and the Steward and then proceeded to travel to Oscenia with Myrhia at his side where he merged with his deity and then returned to his kingdom with her to free it from the Dram, appoint his son as the new king and bring himself and Myrhia to the house with the white picket fence and the happy ending. No Tayotihua, no dungeon, no Myrhia’s ashes thrown of the deck of the ship. Another happy ending, only this one never came to pass. And yet in his head these memories were as clear as the ones he had with Tayotihua, and the two versions started to fight a battle that was shredding his mind apart.

Countless times the gray man would wake up during the night and look at his side, half expecting to find the silver haired elf that should be there, and yet half expecting to find the small redhead that let out sweet gentle muffled moans as she slept by his side. Countless times he would stumble down the stairs that led to the basement where he and Tayotihua (or was it Myrhia?) kept their equipment from the adventuring days. And he always found the two long swords that his wife carried at her hips, and yet there would be Myrhia’s spear as well and he would crumple into the corner of the room, holding the items in his hands in a desperate attempt to find out which one belonged there. But in the morning it was always Tayotihua that made them breakfast and Myrhia’s spear was just something Letho held on to ever since the teenager died. And yet at the same time it wasn’t, because just as Tayotihua made her way through the house like a fairy, Myrhia should have been there as well, in her stead.

There were two worlds in Letho’s head now, two lives that were making their way alongside each other, intertwined in a sick web of details and memories that should and shouldn’t exist. The one that was, and the one that was but should have never been.

[Letho]

“Alright Letho, are you going to tell me what is amiss or do I have to drag it out of you?” Tayotihua asked the bulky man that sat at the table, the fork in his hand passing through the breakfast plate uninterestedly. Her hands were at her hips now, her keen azure eyes peering into him in an attempt to slice open his skull. In a way, Letho wished that she succeeds in doing so. Then maybe there would be enough room for this bedlam that was raging in his head. Because Myrhia was dead. And yet Myrhia should be standing right there with her own hands on her own hips, firing an emerald gaze at him. And at the same time this was exactly how things were supposed to be.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tay.” he replied without lifting his eyes from the scrambled eggs that were getting scrambled even further by the utensil in his hand.

“What I’m talking about?” she said in a serious tone. He knew that tone. The silver haired elf always had it when the discussed matter passed the point where any kind of joviality was welcome. “You don’t sleep, you barely eat and you have the looks to prove it.” And it was the looks that scared her most, the weariness that surpassed any physical fatigue, the tiredness that almost made him look like a plagued sixty-year-old beggar with the ember in his eyes that said goodbye to the flames days ago. Seven days ago to be exact. She motioned herself to the chair beside him, cocking her head in an attempt to catch his eyes while both of her hands picked up his own. “What bothers you so, Letho? What weighs so heavily on your mind?” her tone was softer now, the elf knowing quite well that Letho basically worked like a broken batwing doors that swayed only one way and that was outwards. “It’s that dream, isn’t it?” she said and now her words finally made him pick up his head and look her in the eyes. It was like looking into the eyes of a man that stood on the edge of any abyss with nothing to lose.

“The dream...” he repeated, remembering the night when the memories started the unstoppable inflow into his mind, making him nearly jump out of his bed. Oh, how he wished if it was just a dream. Then he wouldn’t look at her and expect to see two different people, then he would have to stand in the middle of a struggle between two colliding pasts every second of the day. But at the same time, in some sick twisted manner, he greeted these images that shouldn’t exist with open arms. Because no matter how many years were placed between himself and the young redhead, there was always a part that loved Myrhia. And there always would be. Because of that he bore the pain stoically, extracting what little pleasure he could from the mind-shattering confusion these memories brought, and because of that he couldn’t tell his wife the truth. He tried to smile, but his lips only managed to curl into an awkward uncertain smirk that failed to help. “Don’t worry about it. It will pass.”

Only it wouldn’t pass. If Letho was certain in one thing about this entire mess that now stood where a perfect story once was, it was that this thing wouldn’t just blow over. On the contrary, it grew in power with each passing hour, screaming at him, refusing to let his mind rest, calling him out, calling him... “Calling me to where? To what?” He didn’t know. He asked that question numerous times, sometimes while in the basement with Myrhia’s spear in his hand, sometimes while in their backyard, staring at the South Shield Mountains, and sometimes while simply lying in bed and half-expecting the all-too-familiar moans of his dead (alive?) lover. In fact, not only did this maelstrom refused to quench down, but it rather awoke a feeling in Letho that there was something he ought to do, a call of unfinished business that changed from a dormant state to a much more active one, pulling him away from Tay, away from the house with the white picket fence, away from Ciamar. Away from his own piece of heaven. Away...

[Letho]

By noon of the same day the pull came to yank and Letho didn’t feel the need to go (Go where?) anymore. He had to go, to get away from the perfect little home and clear this mess up. Everything he ever yearned for, everything he ever fought for was what he had now, and yet ever since that night seven days ago, the perfect image started to distort until he couldn’t look at it without seeing two conflicting things. Like a drunkard that had one too many and started to see double in his alcohol-induced trance, so did Letho see two versions of the reality now. The one he could see and the one that his mind pasted across the existing surroundings.

And suddenly every detail in the house gained a twofold meaning, a two story riddle that contained no right or wrong answers. The armchair near the massive stone fireplace was where he would sit with Victor and Teenah around him as he spoke of the time he defeated a Chimera in a far land of Corone. And yet that same armchair is where Myrhia curled up in his arms at the end of another tiring workday in the local inn. The large round oaken table was where they held a loud reaping feast only a month ago on which Victor’s tooth fell out and on which Letho threw out a boy that tried to court his Teenah. But at the same time he chased Myrhia around that same table, the red haired teenager laughing sweetly as she skillfully dodged his attempts to catch her after she smeared whipped cream all over his bearded face. They all had their stories, unsaid double histories that silently made their way from each object into already overly crowded mind. And he just had to get away from the silent whispers that screamed in his head.

“Letho, wait!” Tay shouted after the gray haired man that already reached the fence, walking significantly slouched, his shoulders slumped hopelessly. She caught up with him in a handful of silent soft strides, her small figure standing against him with a worried look. Her blue eyes looked up at him, looked once again into the dying ember in the tired brown irises, as her lips tried to offer him a kind smile. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk...” he responded flatly. “I need to clear my head.” but it was a rather faulty explanation. There was no clearing of what went on beyond those brown eyes. But he needed an answer, any answer, to what was going on and he was certain that if he wasn’t able to find it in the house during the last seven days, chances were he would spend the rest of his life searching for them within the walls of his home and come out empty. But out there somewhere, beyond the touch of human range, there was something that, regardless of how indefinable and faint it was, drew Letho towards it like a magnet. Like a touch of sun on the blind man’s face; invisible, but undeniably there.

“Well, don’t be long.” she said faintly, timidly. It was a meaningless conversation, a last ditch attempt of a wife to try and do something that would help the man she loved. But a single look into the distant gaze in his eyes told her that whatever this was, it was out of her hands and all she could do is hope and pray that when he returns, he would be the same old Letho that she loved so much. Despite having a family, Letho Ravenheart would always carry the traits of a loner deep inside of him, cased in a block of ice that contained his darkest secrets, and Tayotihua knew this. That is why she spoke no more, but rather propped herself on the tip of her toes and planted a soft kiss on his lips. It was a cold kiss, a nearly emotionless expression of gentleness between two troubled minds, and both accepted it as such.

“I won’t.” he simply said, doing his best to give her a reassuring smile. It came out as an wry awkward reluctant thing that fitted the situation perfectly, describing just what Letho felt at that moment. Uncertainty. Utter confusion. And profound fear. Fear that he could never look at Tayotihua with the same eyes again, fear that the gods decided to play one last joke on him, driving him insane for no apparent reason. Fear that he would forever be caught between two lives, living through both and living in neither.

[Letho]

Outside the day was heedless towards Letho’s insanity. A casual late spring day awaited the gray haired man, along with all the goodness a causal late spring day brings to the table; from the vast abundance of rich colors that seemed to be sprayed over the nature by an unseen hand of a reckless painter to the smiling faces of the common folk that stated in their own wordless way that everything was that much easier to do with weather as fair as this one. Suffice to say, Ciamar was pulsating with life. Slowly it, like the rest of the kingdom, was en route to the glory days before the fall of the kingdom... Days before the fall. That was a good thought. Letho stuck to that thought like a child that holds for the skirt of its mother in a crowded fair. Because days before the fall were the same in both of the timelines in his head. In both stories he was a prince that renounced his crown to marry Kristiniel, the daughter of the innkeeper in the little village of Ciamar, and caused the fall of Savion. In both stories she died at the hand of the Dram. And in both stories she remained dead.

The thought lasted just long enough to allow him to make his way through the dirt streets of the village, bringing him out of the forest filled with eyes and words and into the one filled with merry bird chirps and rustling leaves. There were times where he could just sit in a shade of some random oak for hours, just listening to the symphony of the nature play its blissful placid adagio. And then Tay would find him, her tracking skills far better then his own ability to hide his trail, and she would sing to him in her melodic elven voice, sing of the trees and the grass and the wild flowers... No, no, that was wrong. Myrhia would come with him into the forest, carrying a handful of yellow flowers in her hair, asking her countless questions in a timid innocent voice, fearing that the next one she asks would be the drop that would spill Letho’s glass of patience. Letho’s cup never spilled. But that wasn’t right either, or rather each story was only half right, asking for the swordsman to input the other half.

The forest around him darkened, but he failed to notice it. Instead he just kept trudging forwards, walking bowed like a wounded man that suffered from a severe blood loss. The cursed part of the woods was passing by him, the tall trees with uncannily dark bark and leaf loomed over his head, and at this thought he managed to crack a smile. He remembered the first time that he strolled into the cursed part of the forest only to find out that it was nothing but a circle of darker trees that surrounded the Osentia ruins. There was nothing magical here, just a dark complexion of the trees that differed from the rest, turning the bright day overhead into a gloomy evening. He remembered the scared look on Myrhia’s face when he led her here and how she clung to his arm. And he remembered how Tayotihua laughed at this superstition. It seemed like the entire world was marked by twin stories, daring Letho to a game in which he had to link every thing around him to Tay (or Myrhia) in as few thoughts as possible. It usually took no more then two.

Once outside the trees, the day returned the mocking merriness above his head, allowing the fiery sun to set alight a huge flatland that stood in front of the ruined fortress in the background. The grass plain swayed in the rhythm of the mild breeze, transforming into a vast green sea “tainted” with an occasional batch of wild flowers. And beyond it the South Shield Mountains towered over the small ruined castle that little by little blended into the gray stone of the mountain, losing the distinct features with each passing year. In ten years the twin towers would crumble completely. In twenty the outer walls would collapse. In thirty it would all be just a pile of rocks. But right now it was a site with a story that started and finished with a small gravesite in the middle of the grassland, a small grave with a rusty sword for a tombstone both the first letter and the last period of the tale. Letho moved in into the sea of green, heading towards the place where the remains of Kristiniel laid.

Kristiniel. Kristinel whom he loved so much that he gave up the crown for her. Kristiniel who only asked him that he doesn’t forget about her. Kristiniel who remained dead. He fell on his knees beside the grassy knoll, looking at the sword that she wielded until the moment they ripped her stomach, tearing his unborn son from his mother, and tearing her from him forever. Around the sword a small leather string went, holding a tiny velvety bag that contained an item Letho carried around his neck for years during his exile. A lock of her beautiful brown hair, the lock that he hadn’t touched ever since he last placed it here, some thirty years ago when he finally allowed Kristiniel to die so he could embrace Myrhia as his lover. But today he needed that lock, needed it because Kristiniel was the cornerstone of what little sanity was left in his mind. Because she remained dead. His hand reached out for the worn velvety bag.

[Letho]

“So, you finally arrived, Letho Ravenheart.” a calm ancient sounding voice of an old man spoke from behind Letho’s back. The gray haired man winced at the surprising words that seemed to come out of nowhere, his hand recoiling swiftly away from the velvety bag and the rusty sword as he jerked his head sideways. He knew those robes, that impenetrable shadow within the oversized hood, and now it struck him that he recognized the voice as well.

“Revenant. What do you want old man? I’m not in the mood for your divine wisdom.” Letho spoke with a fair amount of dislike in his voice. It wasn’t just that this moment and the unexpected development in his head created such tone in his voice. It was no secret that Revenant and Letho never could find a mutual tongue in pretty much anything. If Letho said they should attack, the old man said they should wait. If Letho said they ought to set an ambush, Revenant said they should meet their enemy head on. But that wasn’t what irritated the gray haired man the most. It was rather the fact that the wretched faceless wraith of a man was always right.

“I figured you might not be.” the hooded figure replied, unfazed by the enmity with which the Guardian spoke to him. “Quite frankly, I expected you much sooner, but your stubbornness never ceases to amaze me.” Revenant continued nonchalantly, his figure as static as if it was made out of solid granite. Letho’s eyes strained, trying once again to see through the pitch-black shadow that stood in front of the old man’s face, but just like so many times before, there was nothing to be seen.

“Go away. Go bother somebody else.” Letho waved off with his hand as if he was trying to chase away a bothersome fly.

“Come, I have something to show you.” the figure replied, turning its back to Letho and leading the way through the knee deep swaying grass.

“I said go away, wretched thing. Can’t you see...” but he was cut short by a powerful voice. Revenant was now facing him, with two flaming rubies flashing within the hood as the tall grass threads swayed around the robed man as if he was the very eye of an unseen whirlwind.

“I SAID, COME, LETHO RAVENHEART!” and now the ancientness was mixed with righteous rage in the voice of the Revenant that stood calmly as the nature around him buckled under his power. For a fraction of a second Letho’s hands clenched into fists and he was ready, he was ready to punch this old geezer once and for all just so he could have a moment of peace while he desperately tried to reclaim his sanity. But the storm subsided, the crimson flash in the shadow of the hood faded away and the sea of green was once again swaying in the calm rhythm of the spring breeze. The two kept their eyes locked at each other (even though Letho couldn’t actually see the eyes of the Revenant, he could feel the piercing gaze) for nearly a full minute. Letho was the first one to give in.

“Fine.” he finally said, casting one last hopeful glance towards the gravesite before he followed the old man that started to head towards the Osentia ruins.

“She can’t help you.” Revenant said silently, with a matter-o-factly tone, as he trudged slowly towards the collapsed drawbridge that led towards the large grated gate between two square towers. The moat was gone by now, eaten by the corrosion of the time and the brisk winds that blistered down from the South Shield, and the rusty grating had so much holes in it that the two managed to pass through with no trouble whatsoever.

“Oh yes? And I suppose you can?” Letho retorted instantly with a brisk question that could just as easily be a slap to the man’s face given the tone it was spoken with. But Revenant paid no heed to Letho’s bitter words, responding in the same placid manner.

“Perhaps. And perhaps I can make you even more insane then you already are.” They passed the towers, entering the stone paved road that led towards the interior of the fortress. The once perfect tiles were now separated by tough stringy weeds, some of them even lifting and upturning the heavy tiles, some breaking through the cracks and decaying the stone little by little. The buildings around them were more of the same, climbing vines and moss painting the walls green instead of dull gray. The fortress was a forgotten realm and the two passed through it like a pair of ghosts.

“More insane then I already am? Good luck with that...” Letho added sarcastically, managing to find a portion of his mind that was calm and reasonable enough to compile such a complicated coherent thought.

[Letho]

Revenant led the way through the desolate streets with a decisive pace, and yet to Letho it seemed that his feet failed to make even the slightest sound on the path below. It was almost as if the figure hovered, sliding in front of the swordsman at a continuous speed, justifying the foul title of a wraith. This thought managed to occupy Letho’s mind for the duration of their trek into the interior of the Osentia ruins, because sheer curiosity almost made him reach up with his hand and tear off the worn robes. Just like it did so many years before when the mysterious figure aided him in the liberation of Audelas. But just like so many years ago, his hand remained at his side and he simply followed, trying to disrupt the deathly silence as little as possible. There was something peculiar about Revenant, something that struck fear and respect even in a hotheaded person such as Letho. Something that made him think that what lay beneath the robes was hidden for a reason. Something that steadied his hand.

“So this thing of such utter importance... You couldn’t just shown it to me back there?” Letho finally broke the silence that started to sound maddening to him. Because silence meant that his mind would waver to other thoughts, and right now, with a mind prone to wander in not one, but two completely different sets of thoughts, wavering was not something he wanted to do. He didn’t really expect a straight reply from the Revenant. He expected another long-winded speech about him being impatient and bullheaded and a bludgeoner and a simpleton and a lot of other titles that Letho figured often come to the mind of the robed sage. And quite frankly, right now he would welcome the calm patronizing rant openhandedly. That’s why the reply came as quite a surprise.

“No.” the old man simply said, and not saying a word more. Letho opened his mouth, another question originating somewhere in his mind that desperately tried to get away from the usual Myrhia is (not) alive, but he decided against it, figuring that the old man will just shrug it off again. Instead he came up with a bitter statement.

“You are really starting to get on my nerves, old man.”

They turned around another corner and the site that opened up in front of them was one that Letho knew all too well. It was one of those that at one moment in time etch into one’s mind to become the eternal engraving. One of those that often meant nothing to the casual observer, but a world to a specific person. A simple picture marked with a sign of eternity. In Letho’s case it was a rather mundane dead oak that leaned over a small pond that received its water from a narrow stream that came from the mountain face in the background. With Osentia being a fortress imbedded in a foot of a mountain, the creek was just one of many that passed through the once grand castle. But only this one remained in Letho’s memory no matter what.

“Do you trust me, Letho?” he could hear the elf’s words even now, even with all the commotion in his head. It was an usual autumn night, nothing special about it save the fact that it was the first night Letho spent outside the Savion dungeons after being chained to the lowest level for fifteen years. The elf was Tayotihua, of course, and he was kneeling beside the pond while her gentle divinely warm hands passed over his massacred back. And she sang, sang with the voice that outdid the quire of angels, her words dancing through the chilly night just as her fingers danced over his scarred back. He remembered that touch of a silver haired goddess that saved him from his doom, and he remembered the scene as well.

Today, however, it was a little distorted, just like pretty much everything in Letho’s life at this point. The grass was taller, the tree was deader, the creek didn’t gurgle anymore and the once perfectly clear pond was a murky pool of greenish sludge. Still, even in the decayed state, it managed to bring a distant smile on the swordsman’s face. Because the voice was the same. It was always the same. He realized then that all those years ago, this was the place where it broke, where he finally realized and admitted to himself that Tay was more then just a companion and a comrade to him. A place where his castle caved in and allowed him to love again. He sighed audibly, hopefully even, hoping that this was what the Revenant wanted him to see, that somehow the accursed man knew that he needed a link to reality and knew where to find it. But then he closed his eyes, his attention slipped to the grave mound just outside the walls, and the tide of Myrhia returned, ravaging his mind with the nonexistent memories. Ravaging it and soothing it at the same time, because despite the fact that she was pushing him away from his wife and his family, the swordsman still loved the slave girl wholeheartedly.

[Letho]

“Here we shall palaver, Letho Ravenheart.” Revenant said with no emotions present in his voice. Letho gently massaged his own temples, closing his eyes and trying to calm down the inborn anger that complemented his hot blood.

“I don’t want to palaver with you, old man, not now, not ever and especially not here. Why have you brought me here of all places?” he asked tiredly, a dash of impatience more then apparent in his voice.

“Because this is the only place where your...” the hooded creature paused, as if reconsidering what was said for a while, but then continued in the same tone. “...our paths can fork, Letho.”

“You just can’t say something straight up, can you?” not a question, but a despising angered statement of a man that was on the ropes and was being poked by a child from a crowd with a really short stick. His fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, you demented bastard, and I’m not in a mood to try to!”

Revenant waited solemnly until Letho was done, the words filled with profound angst not disrupting his uncanny calmness. “Look into the pond.” he simply said once the swordsman finished, his hand rising away from his placid figure with agonizing calmness until it pointed towards the unsightly patch of greenish water.

“What?! Look into what? There’s nothing there!” Letho was downright enraged by now, not even looking into the damned pool, but rather trying to cut the robed figure in half with his eyes that rekindled the flames that died during the last seven days.

“Look into the pond.” Revenant repeated, neither his figure nor his voice phased by Letho’s outburst. Only his torn brownish robes gently fluttered as the southern wind swished down the mountainside and aroused every swayable thing in the vicinity.

“You know, if you weren’t such a holyman in favor of the gods, I would crack your skull open. But as it is right now, I’m tired of you and your sick little games. I’m going home.” Letho said resolutely, motioning his hand in a giving-up motion before he turned away from the scene that was so sacred to him. But even as he did so, a pair of deadly cold hands grabbed him by the neck with a firm iron grasp, spinning him with remarkable ease and pointing his face towards the pond.

“Look into the damned pool, Guardian!” the old man now nearly growled through the unseen teeth, holding Letho as easily as if the bulky man was a mere child led into a corner for his transgressions. The gray haired man’s heart thumped maddeningly as he clutched his fists, readying himself to smash them right through the Revenant’s ribcage. But even as he did so, even in all of his insane rage that nearly clouded his eyes, he noticed something queer about the pond, something unfit for a stale body of water. Something out of place. Something that steadied his strike.

The disgusting green surface shimmered for only a fraction of a second before some invisible force pushed the olive colored shroud aside as if it was a curtain on a stage. And soon, little by little, the minute waves and freckles on the surface began to move, began to create various shapes, began to revolve around each other, breaking and forging into... figures? Yes, now he could see it, four figures holding the fifth down on his knees. And there was another pair of figures on the other side; one standing victoriously with his hands on his hips and the other pinned to what seemed like a... cross? No, a column more likely.

“What is this?” Letho barely managed to utter as he watched the peculiar world taking shape in front of his very eyes.

“Remember...” Revenant whispered into his ear, his hand still holding the large man in the same position. The picture started to clear. The figures now seemed like soldiers or mercenaries with wide vicious smirks on their faces, beating the fallen man whose face now looked like a bloody unrecognizable battlefield of its own. The man with his hands on his hips was bellowing a horrid laughter, holding something in his hand. A sword? Letho looked more closely. No, not a sword. A torch. The figure tied to the column let out a muffled moan. It blanked Letho’s mind immediately. He remembered. The four were the Steward’s men. The beaten figure was him, nearly thirty years ago. The man with the torch was Bann. And he was about to set a pyre ablaze. A pyre that would devour somebody who was supposed to be dead but wasn’t. Myrhia’s deathly pyre.

“You sick bastard!!!” the swordsman screamed, releasing himself from the firm grasp with ease and grabbing Revenant by the throat. He slammed the light body of the robed man against the stone wall, slammed it so hard the damned thing cracked and nearly split in half. And yet there was something strange about the old man. Letho expected a sack of dry sticks and bones when he lifted the man, a walking skeleton that would break under his fingers. But Revenant, or rather the thing that hid under the robes and carried the title of someone who was raised from the death, certainly didn’t feel like a sack of dry sticks. His neck was stringy, muscled, his body full of vigor and zest. And there was this scent that seemed misplaced. Was it... jasmine?

“Who are you?” Letho growled through his teeth, bringing his other hand up. The fist instantly changed into a clawed paw, the claws nearly a foot long and just about to pierce the impenetrable blackness in front of Revenant’s face. Letho’s tone was powerful and persuasive, clearly saying he would not ask again. The two hands that hanged limply at the old man’s side moved upwards, moved to the brim of his hood and pulled it off slowly, taking the queer shadow with it.

Emerald eyes.

Red hair.

Scarred face.

Perfect little lips.


Everything stopped.

[Letho]

“WRETCHED CREATURE!!!” Letho restarted the time flow with a roar, slamming his fist against the wall inches away from the face that shouldn’t have existed anywhere save for his dreams and memories. The whole section of the wall collapsed from the uncontrolled impact, crashing down with a deafening sound and a huge cloud of dust and debris. The enraged man didn’t even notice it, his flaming eyes looking into the emeralds that shouldn’t be there, that shouldn’t blink ever again. He already made his assessment of the whole situation, his mind making the only plausible conclusion. Whether Myrhia lived or died on that day didn’t matter, because even if she lived and Letho didn’t know about it, the result wouldn’t be the mind shattering duality that he was experiencing. No, this sorceress in front of him was messing with his head, and this was the climax of her attempt to drive him insane. “How dare you wear the face of an angel? WHO ARE YOU?!” and again the mesmerizing claws approached the face of Revenant. “SPEAK!”

“L... Letho...” she tried to speak, but the pressure of his bulky hand on her windpipe made her voice come out in a faint dry whisper. “Letho... It’s... It’s me...” her face was cringed now, caught in a moment of terror and utter fear. But she didn’t try to wiggle out of his arms or swat the death-bringing claw that was ready to do much more then scar her face. Instead her hands raised slowly, her smooth pale fingers wrapping around the massive hairy hand and bringing it closer to her face. “Myrhia...” she managed to utter, her voice dying down to a gentle exhale as she tried to lean her head into his menacing fist.

“NO!” he shouted, his enraged frowning face looking into her own down which tears started to stream. With a single flick of his wrist he propelled the female sideways, throwing her like a stray cat into wooden rubble that might have been a wagon once upon a time. The girl landed with a painful cry, rolling a couple of times before she came to a full stop. “Myrhia is dead! I saw her burn. Now tell me who you are before I rip your heart out!”

The red haired girl, her face now stained with ash and dirt, propped herself up with a painful moan, lifting her head just enough to look at the man that just threw her as if she was a filthy rag. And she didn’t push herself up to her feet, but instead remained on all four, obediently crawling back to the man with a woeful look on her face. Tears of sorrow and pain made their way down her cheeks as she came to his feet, reaching up for his hand. “Please, you... you have to believe me, Letho.” she spoke through her soft sobs as she picked up his left hand with both of her own, bringing it to her face. And it burned where his hand touched her cheek, because it was so real. The voice, the eyes, the gentle touch of her skin... And the sweet scent of jasmine that rose to his nostrils like a persuading caress of a lover, lulling him into a daze.

But still he looked down at his with disbelieving eyes, doubtful eyes that tried to peer a hole in her face in order to see pass the mask and to the reality behind it. And then she turned her countenance ever so slightly, just enough for her perfect luscious lips to touch his palm with a caress of a feather on a glass table. Letho’s frown melted down like a flake of snow on a warm spring morning. That was something that couldn’t be feigned. “Please, just listen to me... I beg of you.” she whispered, kissing her hand over and over again, not even daring to lift her head anymore.

Letho lowered himself to his knees, his right hand returning to the normal state before touching her chin and lifting her head in the gentlest of motions. “Myrhia?” he asked and she looked up at him with the loving apologizing look that only she could muster, the look of a slave that looked adoringly at the face of her liberator. And now he knew it was her. His arms embraced her tightly, pressing her little body against his own and leaning her head onto his shoulder. “How can this be? I saw you...” he tried to speak, but for a couple of moments they just rested in each other hands, both with tears streaming down their faces as they relaxed in an unlikely rendezvous of lovers.

“I know. It’s all wrong, Letho. I never wanted for this to happen...” she spoke into his shoulder, taking in his familiar masculine scent that even after all the years failed to change and offering her own, the enticing scent of fresh jasmine, in return. Letho accepted it wholeheartedly, just like the embrace of a longing loved one that in itself contained all the desire and regret accumulated during the long years they were apart.

“Don’t be foolish. I can’t explain how glad I am to see you...” but even before he managed to finish she retracted a fraction from his embrace, looking up into his caring face.

“No, you don’t understand. It’s all messed up. Will you just listen to my story?” she asked pleadingly.

“Of course, Myri.”

[Letho]

A patch made out of timid white clouds made its way over the white hilltops of the South Shield and, carried by the brisk south wind, it positioned itself in front of the sun. The entire scene grimed almost uncannily, pale washed-out colors replacing the lively ones from seconds before, and it seemed as if the world has grown colder in a matter of seconds. Because the shadow of the Dram still held it dominion over Savion, showing the hidden face whenever the sky would dim and the sun would ail. It was a hypocrisy of the nature, obvious only to those that spent their days in the two-faced land that still fought against the darkness.

Myrhia tried to smile at the dimming weather, her own feeble attempt to chase away the ironic thought how it suits the matter perfectly, how even the gods are frowning upon what she had done. But even as her eyes fell on the image in the murky pool that was paused in the moment of her doom, her smile failed miserably. She sat on an oaken log, the smell of moist wooden decay trying to erase the scent of her lover. Letho sat next to her, not even looking at the wretched window that led him to one of the most painful moments in his life. He was far too concentrated on the timid girl that with every simple movement renewed the memories in his head that had been washed away by the sands of time. And at one moment this seemed right, she seemed so right, as if she was supposed to be here all along, making sense of the past that appeared in his head seven days ago. But then he remembered Tay. He remembered his children, Teenah and Victor. He remembered the other half of the story. The half that also seemed so right. Doing his best to quiet the oncoming madness in his head that lurked in the shadows for the right moment to attack his sanity, he waited for her to begin.

“I... I messed up Letho.” she finally began, her voice barely stronger then a whisper, nearly getting lost in a brush of the whiffing wind. The emerald eyes were locked on the grievous scene painted on the murky water, not daring to look into the familiar rich brown of her former lover. “I was jealous and selfish and foolish and now...” her voice died in a whimper as she bowed her head even further, trying to hide her tears. “...now you suffer for my inconsiderate actions.” she paused as Letho slowly motioned himself closer to her. “I just wanted to be happy again.” she added, wiping her tiny little nose and trying to brush away her own tears.

“Slow down, Myri.” he said to her in the softest tone possible as his hand covered her own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Start from the beginning before you start taking the blame for something.” Letho spoke, trying to catch her emerald glance at least for a fraction of a second. But she refused to lift her head, but rather just returned her eyes back at the still frame encased in the greenish pond water.

“Yes, the beginning.” she repeated, finally wiping her face clean and lifting her head ever so slightly, high enough to look beyond the pond and towards the eastern horizon. “You are right, Letho. I died on that day, looking down at your disfigured face as the flames burned the life out of me. But even as I closed my eyes with a deathly shriek, I reopened them and there was this strict and wise and gentle voice that spoke to me. He said that he was Chodan and that he revived me to serve him. He sent me all across Audelas, telling me to preach of the return of the one who would bring the balance, telling me to keep the fire burning in the hearts of the people. So I did. For a full year I did his bidding. And then hope was rekindled.” she paused, this time turning her head towards Letho and looking into his tired eyes.

“Tayotihua saved you and Chodan instructed me to follow you, to guide you, to help you restore Savion. But I... I just... seeing you in her arms... I just couldn’t do it. So Chodan gave me a choice to forget all about you for the duration of my mission. And I accepted it. That evening, on the boat, you spilled my ashes as I let go of my memories of you.” and again tears streamed down her face and she closed her eyes, turning her head away from him. “I thought it would be for the best... That you will be happy with her.” she barely managed to squeeze through her sobs.

Letho placed his arm around her, pulling her onto his shoulder lovingly. “Oh Myri... I didn’t know.” he spoke, his words followed by a long pause. She didn’t return his embrace, but rather consolidated and once her tears subsided she spoke again, remaining in his arms.

“You couldn’t. I was Revenant from that point on, serving Chodan and his will. You know that part of the story well, our journey to Oscenia, your reckoning with Malagen and Chodan itself. But once you merged with Chodan, once you became him, my role was done and I... I should have asked you to release me. To let me return to where I belong. But I couldn’t, Letho. The memories returned and I just couldn’t let you go. Please, forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what? You did nothing wrong.” he assured her, but there was something in her eyes, something in her tone, a glimpse of a shadow hidden deep inside her that was telling him that wasn’t necessarily correct.

“But I did. Once you freed Savion and appointed Malagen as the king, I wandered these lands for years. I couldn’t face you, not when you were so happy with your family. And yet I couldn’t just let you go because I...” another pause, her moist eyes once again looking into his own with a betraying apologetic glance. “I still love you.”

[Letho]

Though his face failed to display and change that her words might have caused, Letho was profoundly stricken. But it wasn’t her admission that struck the man, her words that still, after all the years they spent apart from each other, resonated with such love and desire they alone warmed the cold layer that started to gather around his heart. It was the realization that struck him the most, the recognition of the meaning of the sentence she spoke just a moment ago. “This is the only place our paths can fork...” He realized she was right. This was the time and the place where he would have to decide which set of memories would he take, and which would he discard. Which life to live, and which one to leave. But in reality, he had no idea just how right she was.

She let the silence linger for a couple of moments. She didn’t expect him to reply with loving words as well. After all, he had a family now, a wife that loved him dearly and two children that adored him. But secretly, deep inside her little heart that seemed to beat only when she was around her, she hoped he might say it. Might say the words he spoke to her so many times. Words of love, desire, longing, words of sheer affection that echoed so sweetly in one’s ears. But the wind that picked up a pace strong enough to produce the eerily howling in the drafty dungeons below Osentia was the only thing that was disrupting the haunting quiet scene.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong of me to say this, not what you have a family and all.” she apologized again in a voice he remembered so well, the soft, pleading, irresistible voice that burned his insides with its sweetness and gentleness.

“No, don’t say that.” he replied almost instantly, embracing her a little tighter. “It is never wrong to love.”

“But you don’t understand.” she moved away from his arms just enough to look him into his eyes. Their faces stood inches apart, their eyes clashing in the softest storm ever, and both nearly made a move to kiss each other. But only nearly. “I did something terrible. I... I heard of this great mage in the Tygan kingdom. Some said his power could rival the gods themselves, that he had the dominion over lives and fates, that he could shift them at his own desire.”

“I never heard of this wizard.” Letho said, and that alone meant a whole lot. He was the Guardian of the Audelas, the Seven Isles, and nothing passed unseen under his surveying eyes.

“No, I didn’t expect you would. We move in different circles, Letho Ravenheart, and he is not a people’s person, if you know what I mean. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I found him, Letho, I found him and he gave me the power.” she said, her voice now exhilarated and invigorated in a way. But it was a foul zest, since her eyes still held the same woeful look locked on the swordsman’s face.

“The power?” he enquired, but even as he did, the pieces of the puzzle slowly started to fall into their places.

“Yes, the power. The power to change fate. Our fate. And I accepted it readily. I just... I couldn’t live without you, Letho.” her voice was so sad when she said those words that the man felt something was getting ripped inside of him by an unseen force. As if two massive hands grabbed his dim soul and decided to tear it like an old moist parchment. Tears again started to stream down her face. She didn’t move her hands to brush them away, but rather just lowered her head. Instead his hands picked them up gently. His touch was tender, soft, just the way she remembered it. Just the way she wanted it. “So I did.” she finally continued. “I went back to that day and I changed it. I made myself go the other way, you killed those men and went on to kill Bann as well. Everything seemed perfect, just the way I wanted it to be. But the mage didn’t tell me one thing...” she paused and Letho felt as if he was sitting on eggshells, his body tensed with the curiosity. She pushed herself away from him, not in disgust of his touch, but rather in disgust of unworthiness of her touch on him. She stared back at the pond.

“You can’t change the past, Letho. What’s done cannot be undone, no matter what. Time is... It’s like a river. And you can’t change the riverbed. If you try, you only make a new one, one that forks away from the original path before it starts to run in a parallel line. I know you felt this, I can see it in your weary eyes. I can’t even imagine how it is for you with two conflicting pasts colliding in your head.” she paused again, looked at the swordsman that looked as if there was at least seventy summers underneath his belt, and then bowed her head again. “I’m so sorry.” she kept repeating as if saying the words would somehow repent her for what she had done. Her hands made a mystic motion in mid air, rewound the image to the point in time where she was about to get caught. But the red haired girl in the pond turned in an opposite street, slipping into the shadows of a rainy harbor town. The bulky man managed to down the horsemen, the dispatched the Steward with relative ease. The redhead threw herself in his arms, the thick curtain of rain drenching their bodies and washing away the spilled blood in distinguishable rivers of crimson. They kissed. They mounted their steeds. They rode on into a life that should not be.

“They... They are real?” Letho asked, looking nearly as a child with his finger prodding the murky water. The picture shimmered, broke for a couple of seconds, then returned to the life-that-should-not-be image.

“Yes. As real as you and me. In a way, they are you and me. And our souls are now torn between two worlds.” she replied with a heavy burdened tone. “I... I know how this seems, Letho. It seems that I did all of this to tear you away from your family. But you have to believe me, it was never my intention.” her hands were joined in a pleading position in front of her as she looked up at him. “I... I never knew this would happen.”

“Is there anything we can do?” he asked, but deep down inside he knew the answer. He knew there were only two options. This life or the other.

“I don’t think so. I can take us there, but it’s the same thing, Letho. There we will be haunted by the memory of this world.” she turned her eyes away from his rapidly griming visage. Because she knew that brewing glance, the empty unfocused gaze that took over his countenance while beyond the rich brown eyes he weighed and measured all that was said and done.

“I need some time to ponder on this.” he finally said, getting up from the log with a distant look in his eyes. She couldn’t blame him. She joined her hands in her lap and closed her eyes gently, cursing at her own foolishness that led the two in the lose-lose situation. No matter what he managed to come up with beyond those eyes, there was no way out. No way to win.

[Letho]

“Pondering will do you no good, Letho!” a loud intrepid voice spoke from above, making both the swordsman and the redhead recoil sharply. “What is it today with people creeping up on me?” passed through the gray haired man’s head as his eyes tried to bring the human figure into focus. Her white hair glittered in the renewed sun (that finally slipped from the grasp of the clouds and rekindled life in the nature around them) like liquid silver. Her robes carried the same color, the silvery white attire spreading the undoubted royalty of the woman that stood on the inner wall with her arms crossed in front of her. Her skin was almost sickeningly pale and it was the skin and the face that finally made Letho recognize the voice.

“Rheawien.” he simply said with no real accent in his voice. She was a good friend, as good as they came to Letho, but right now he was in the state of mind to send away even the fistful of those he called his best friends. “What do you want?” he asked sharply. The woman’s lips, thin and rosy, curled into a minute smirk before she jumped from the high wall, landing on her right foot as deftly as if the height was no more the two paces.

“Is that how you greet your queen?” she mused, teasing the man as she approached. And now the swordsman allowed a smirk of his own. Because yes, she was the queen now, the wife of none other then his own son Malagen, but below the title and the fancy attire, Rheawien was still the same one he met back in Scara Brae. Myrhia gulped audibly at the introduction of the white haired queen, certain that the woman was here to persecute her for what she had done. Still, she got up to her feet and took a place beside Letho, bowing her head low once Rheawien reached them.

“Perhaps.” Letho replied. “But the question still stands. What brings you to these accursed ruins?” his voice was a bit sharper now, making an unspoken statement that while she was one of the handful of those he called friends, he had neither the time nor the patience for some meaningless antics. Rheawien acknowledged this with a placid barely visible nod.

“She does.” the queen replied, her words making the red haired girl lift her head and look into the keen brown eyes with profound fear. But despite the strict visage, there was nothing she had to fear on the face of the white haired half-elf. “Did you really think that something of that magnitude could pass by me unnoticed?” she asked the girl, her voice unthreatening and mellisonant. There was kindness in that voice, and understanding and even compassion. The frigid bitch that Rheawien once was was nothing but a distant unwelcome memory these days, and she was actually the kinder of the two when she stood next to her king.

“Alas, I am not here to judge you for your transgressions, Myrhia. I know what you did and I am pretty certain I know why you did it.” the gallant woman spoke, leading the way back to the pond. She stared at the image for a couple of seconds, Letho and Myrhia standing beside her with eagerness nearly radiating out of their pores. Rheawien turned to face both of them. “I am, however, here to help you. I believe both of you suffer from this dimensional shift?” and the look on their faces was the only answer she needed. “Good. That is good. That bond can be used.” she said more to herself then to the two.

“Good? What are you talking about, Rhea?” Letho asked, perplexed by the words of the half-elf. Rheawien remained silent for a couple of more seconds, her eyes not looking at anything in particular, but rather just gazing at some undetermined point in the wall.

“I’m talking about sorting out this mess, Letho Ravenheart.” she finally said with a certain, unwavering tone.

“Really?” Myrhia asked, nearly grabbing the woman by the robes and pulling it like a little child that asked for a cookie from her mother. “You can help us?”

“Well, actually no. You can help yourself.” she said, pointing towards both of them. “I can, however, lead you onto the right track. Come on, let’s sit down. There’s another story to be told.”

[Letho]

“Letho, are you familiar with the Blade of the Judicator?” Rheawien started as the three settled down on the moist log, the swordsman sitting in the middle and the two females around them. All of them looked at the image in front, the pool displaying some random scene in Corone with the two walking on some random path with cheerful expression on their faces.

“Of course.” Letho replies, nearly insulted by the question. He was, after all, the Guardian, and his wisdom surpassed those of the mortals now. “The legendary blade, some say fabled, a remnant of the Age of the Gods. Some say the Creator himself crafted the blade to serve his deities as a tool of judgment.”

“Well, it’s good to know what some say. You need to find it.” she simply said, as simply as if she just told him to go and fetch her some water from a well. Letho shook his head. Myrhia at his side took her usual role, not knowing what the hell was going on.

“Find it?” the swordsman said in disbelief. “That damned blade is lost now for over five thousand years and you want me to just find it. Oh, and would you want the Amulet of Clarity to go with that?” he said sarcastically, but his words broke against the calm woman like water on rock.

“Are you finished?” she asked silently. “I said I am here to lead you onto the right track, Letho. Don’t you trust me?” she turned her face now to look at the Guardian. They both smiled. She was one of the few people he actually trusted, and that meant a lot coming from a constantly suspicious man such as Letho. “While the Amulet would be a nice gift, I think you will have enough worries with the Blade itself. Yes, the Blade is lost over five thousand years ago and for all that time there wasn’t a single written evidence of its existence. But I went through some archives in Savion, and I came up with an interesting detail. You see, Nyd wasn’t always the land of ice. It was written...”

“Wait, hold on. Nyd?” Letho interrupted. Rheawien seemed slightly aggravated by his intrusion in her disposition.

“Just hear me out. It was written that Nyd was supposed to be the last refuge of the humanity. But five thousand years ago the last great war between the gods was fought and these godlike beings chose Nyd as their battlefield. The Creator was angered by the destruction of the heavenly land and it is written that he froze both his deities and the land in solid ice, cursing them to remain frozen until the end of this worlds would come. I believe that with the gods, the Blade was frozen as well.” she concluded. Letho’s hand passed through his beard slowly, his eyes looking at a swaying thread of grass in front of him. And it made sense... Well, enough sense for a desperate mind to believe it anyways.

“But how will we find it? Nyd is a huge piece of frozen land and we have knowledge where this Blade might be.” Myrhia asked timidly, almost afraid that her presence and her voice were unwanted. But Rheawien’s shoulders slumped at this question; because the woman knew the question is good and that unfortunately she had no answer.

“That’s just it. I don’t know. There are no maps of Nyd in the archives and as far as I can tell, there is nobody that lived on that piece of ice. I know it’s a slim hope...” the half-elf spoke nearly apologetically.

“Slim hope is better then no hope at all.” Letho said before he turned back towards Rhea, his eyes finally rekindling that part of the flames of determination they once had. “But what are we to do with the Blade? And why do we need the damned thing anyways?”

“Ah, the Blade. It is written on the ancient stone tablets that the Blade of the Judicator could cut not only flesh, but the soul of the person. It could hurt a man in such a manner that no wound could be seen, and yet the man would just die as if the blade struck his heart. I believe I could use the power of the blade to cut you, Letho.” she said so matter-o-factly that it scared Myrhia. Both the redhead’s and Letho’s eyes asked her to elaborate.

“I know you love Tayotihua, Letho.” she started. “But I know you love Myrhia as well. I think I could separate those two parts. One could live in this world, and the other in the dimension Myrhia created.”

A long pause followed. Neither the swordsman nor the lithe girl knew what to say. This whole deal seemed so unreal it borderlined with something from a fairytale. Letho was the first to break this enchantment of disbelief.

“Why... Why are you doing this?” he asked the woman, his question catching her off balance at first.

”Because...” she stopped, looking at the gray man. She allowed a faint painful smile. “Because just like Myrhia, I loved you once too, Letho, and I know that if I had the chance to do what she did at the time, I would do it... No matter what. I have a life now... But I want to give you two at least a chance.” she spoke softly, her eyes falling away from his own at the end. Letho remained speechless at her disposition. A soft warm hand wrapped around the pale one of the half-elf.

“Thank you, Rheawien.” the girl spoke, placing a soft kiss on the cold smooth hand of the Savion queen. The fair face of the elf broke at the gentleness of the teenager, and smilingly she allowed her other hand pass through the mahogany red hair threads of the girl.

“Thank me when you get back.” she said gently. “But go about your search from the other side.”

“Why?” Letho asked shortly as he got up to his feet.

“Because I said so, Letho Ravenheart. Because I said so.” she replied, getting up to her feet and rising Myrhia with her.

“Very well.” Letho said to the woman, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I will see you soon then.”

Rheawien nodded, her heart jumping a little at the greeting of the Savion knights with which Letho honored her. “You’re damn right you will.” she replied. “Now go!”

They did. Myrhia took Letho’s hand and together they stepped into the unsightly green pond. The picture shimmered for a couple of seconds, and then the two bodies simply fell limp at the side of the pool. When the image stabilized again, Rhea could see that pair making their way on some random path in Corone.

“Godspeed, you two.”

((Continued in “To expedite, explore and extract...” (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=95).DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER BEFORE READING THE LINKED QUEST IF YOU WANT TO UNDERSTAND THE CONCLUSION AND YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS FOR THE LINKED QUEST!!!))

[Letho]

((Continued from over yonder ( http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?p=2172#post2172).))

Even though on the other side of the portal months passed during the expedition to the land of Nyd and perils were exchanged before Letho’s eyes more often then socks on his feet, for Rheawien the dreadful journey was almost instantaneous. Because even as she dispatched the two into the other dimension and took a seat on the moldy damp log, the two came stumbling out. Letho fell on one knee, once again regaining his grayed hair and ancient looking visage, looking a bit like a prizefighter at the count of eight, bloody and bruised as if he just wrestled a bear. Rheawien didn’t find this surprising; it was Letho’s modus operandi to get in situations from which he barely managed to extract his already cracked head. Myrhia, not under the influence of severe fatigue and blood loss, managed to maintain her footing rather nimbly, helping Letho up to his feet. Distantly, almost like an afterthought of something obscure, Rheawien remembered the times when he would gruffly push people away when they attempted to aid him in such situations. It made her smile mildly.

But the smile lasted only a second, because it took only that amount of time for her to notice the glossy unearthly clear twinkle, a sharp reflection of the golden sunray that touched the legendary piece of metal. The half-elf saw her share of gallant and glorious riches; her position as the Queen of Savion certainly enabled her to do so. But even her breath stopped somewhere in mid exhale as she caught a glimpse of the sword.

“Letho! Myrhianna! You found it!” she spoke in an elated tone, approaching the due hastily. It was a deviation from her tranquil demeanor, but at this point the surge of emotions was beyond her control. There was a large part of her that was leery towards this whole Blade quest, a pessimistic thorn that kept repeating she was sending the two into their untimely doom. And now they proved that sliver of suspicion wrong.

“Aye. And believe me, it was not a small task.” the swordsman replied after he finally regained his footing, presenting the Blade to the white haired woman. Her suave exquisite fingers examined the weapon thoroughly, half in disbelief that it was the actual Blade of the Judicator and half in awe of the tantalizing power of it.

“I can only guess that it took something extraordinary to procure it.” Rheawien spoke again, but Letho and Myrhia didn’t see anything extraordinary in the events that took place prior to their acquiring of the Blade. Death of a good person could be described in various different manners, but seldom as extraordinary. The silence was the only reply that the half-elf got and after a couple of stoic seconds of it, she knew she would get no reply about the course of this adventure. “Very well. Are you two ready to proceed with this?”

Letho and Myrhia looked at each other. He looked so much older in this body, almost a harbinger of the things to come, and regardless of the handful of extra wrinkles and the silvery gray hair, she liked the vision of future. All he could do is smile in return. He was here by fate’s, Storm’s and Myrhia’s mercy and he had a chance to do something extraordinary. He seized it with a minute smile. “What is it that you need us to do?”

“You both hold the Blade, one hand on the hilt the other on the edge. Once I finish the incantation you both need to cut your palms on it.” she spoke, positioning the two and placing their hands on the right spot. “But I must warn you; there is a chance that this will fail and if that happens I... I don’t know what will happen Letho. This was never done before and...”

“I know.” the rough voice of the swordsman interrupted her. “But it is a chance” His eyes were set on the emeralds that were once again twinkling, reflecting the sun more marvelously then any blade ever could, even if it is forged by gods at the Dawn of Time. Yes, it was a chance, a risk that he had to take, because he couldn’t live without her anymore then he could live without Tayotihua.

“Very well. I will start...” but once again Letho cut her off.

“Wait! I need you to do me a favor. Once we... separate, I don’t want that me from this time remembers the journey to Nyd. It is a burden he doesn’t have to carry.” he said to the woman, making her face crumple in a pondering frown.

“What about you? Do you not wish to forget whatever nightmare happened?” she asked.

“No. I want to remember.” he replied, turning his eyes once again back to the redhead that looked benevolently at him from the other side of the blade. “I need to remember. She cannot be forgotten.”

Rheawien decided not to pry into this any further. Letho had one of his decisive unmovable looks on his face and any discussion was futile from this point on. She merely nodded solemnly and waited for the two to regain their proper positions. Her melodic voice started in a whisper, a mere audible brush of wind, but with every word it grew in power, losing the splendor and gaining sheer might. The nature around them seemed to bend and twist in accordance to these words, dancing the frenetic waltz through the grass thread and three crowns. Even the clouds seemed to whirl above their heads, creating a downy whirl high above their heads. The half-elf was shouting by now, wailing macabre words that shook the earth beneath their feet.

And then, when her shriek was at it’s peak and her hands reached for the heavens, she fell silent. Two palms slid down the razor sharp edge of the ancient blade. And the world disappeared in a fulgent flash.

[Letho]

***

There was something uncanny about waking up after a good rest. The pleasant ache in the bones that were dormant for so long, the crackle of the knuckles shifting back into their rightful place, the blinding blur of the first glimpse and the everlasting desire for another five minutes of bliss. It was just a portion of what Letho felt as he opened his eyes to the constellations of the Savion night sky. And despite the fact that he had no idea what he was doing sleeping with no roof over his head and on a rather bumpy patch of grass, he nearly turned over to get his additional five minutes.

“It’s about time you woke up.” a mellisonant voice prevented him from doing so and snatched him ruthlessly from the clutches of the sweet slumber. He jerked instinctively, turning towards the origin of the sound, hoping that it’s just Tayotihua playing trucks on him and sneaking up on him for god-knows-what time. But his keen eyes soon fell on a figure clad all in white, smiling kindly back at him.

“Rheawien? What are you doing...” he paused, looking around himself, his brow as furrowed as humanly possible. “What is she doing here?! What the hell am I doing here?” his mind tried to rationalize and explain why was he before the ruins of Osentia, sleeping beside Kristiniel’s grave. The half-elf at his site allowed a minute chuckle inspired by the utterly befuddled expression on his face.

“What ever do you mean, Letho? Don’t you remember, you called me.” she served the lie the best way she could, in a manner that only women can; with a semi-seductive smirk and the wily spark in their eyes. “You said something about hearing voices or having two worlds in your head. You weren’t making much sense back then though”

Ah, yes, he could remember the two worlds. Something about Myrhia possibly... And her spear in the basement. And... And... No. Nothing else. He just couldn’t quite reach for the memory for some reason. It was like looking into a thick layer of fog; he could see that something was most definitely there, but no matter how much he strained his eyes, it remained fuzzy at best. Still, the worm of suspicion was burrowing through his gut even as he ascertained the situation and looked at Rheawien for any trace of a ruse.

“Perhaps. Though this looks more like on of your mischievous tricks that...”

“Look, I don’t have time for your foolish conspiracy theories!” she disallowed the ending of his sentence, getting up with a frown and an offended look on her angelic face. “I came here to help you. You can interpret it any way you want. To think I even brought you a present.” she added with a shake of her head, implying to a wrap of clothing at Letho’s side.

Letho - who felt a little bit like that child in the middle of the circle with the covered eyes, who got spun around countless times before they let him stagger around in complete daze – decided to play along for the time being. His hands unwrapped the cloth, uncovering the remarkable craftsmanship of the adamantine bastard sword. The once weary brown eyes seemed to capture the reflected starlight from the blade and turn it into a pair of fickle flames.

“So, what do you want in return?” he responded after a several second of awe. Rheawien winced a little bit at the question, its intention unclear to her. “This is an adamantine blade, Rhea, and possible the finest one I encountered in my life. Nobody gives away such weapons.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Consider it more of a... deposit. And I need you to take real good care of it. This blade is extremely important for the future.” she said, slowly walking away into the darkness of the woods.

“The future? The future of Savion?” he asked.

“Perhaps. Time will tell.” was the whisper that came as a response from the shadows.


SPOILS:

Blade of the Judicator – It was told that this adamantine sword was forged by the gods themselves at the Dawn of Time so that when the Time of Destruction commences, it would be used to judge the mortals. Because of that the blade was given countless enchantments, including the ability to eradicate a person from existence completely. However, as it turned out, the blade didn’t fall into the hands of the gods, but rather in the hands of Myrhianna Bastillien. The powers of the Blade are therefore sealed for the user until he or she is proven worthy. However, only Myrhia is unable to unlock or use any enchantment of the blade (via a quest). Letho can wield the blade, but it is and it will always be just an adamantine sword to him. The blade itself is rather plain looking, though perfectly balanced to a fraction of an inch. The hilt is shaped as a wing of an angel on one side and a demon on the other side. On the bottom of the hilt is a figure of a young girl holding a large blade on top of a high tower.

Temporal distortion – Letho now exists in two separate dimensions. In one he is a middle aged Guardian of Savion with Tayotihua as his wife and two children. In the other he is a young wanderer with Myrhia as his lover. The two can never meet each other, if one sells an item, they both lose it. ((NOTE: This isn’t really an ability, but rather just another timeline that can be rped. However, it is rather unlikely that I will ever play the timeline with old Letho because Creolady that played Tayotihua is probably gone for good from Althanas.))

[INDK]

In general, scores in quests weight the performances of each partner equally. In this quest, since Letho was much more active in terms of posts, I have weighted his performance a bit more heavily than Storm’s in figuring out scores. I decided this before I read the thread, unsure as to whether or not this would help or hurt you. I’m just telling you for the sake of explanation.

Total Score= 80.5 No comment ;)

Introduction – 8 Letho, I liked the recap at the beginning of the solo. It’s unorthodox, but it does the job. Given the way that you organized your introduction, it was essential.

Setting – 7 The setting here was very well thought out, and was generally very complex. I would have liked a bit more immersion during the action scenes, something that would have been accomplished with a bit more interaction between setting and character. Letho, your biggest problem isn’t description, its choosing the right things to describe.

Strategy – 7 I don’t really have many comments here. This was generally well done in the problems you guys created and the ways that which you solved them. There was nothing startlingly innovative, but the real problems here were character issues, not strategy issues.

Dialogue – 9 I particularly loved Myrhia’s internal monologue when she decided that she wouldn’t do what Letho did because it was something insane. By and large, this dialogue really reflected the characters well, and had the few moments in there that were just memorable character lines. I could have done without Storm’s references to things I wouldn’t expect Storm to know, such as Kansas and Looney tunes. If he’d say something like “Damn, I’d kill to be back in Radasanth” instead of “We’re not in Kansas anymore” it would have more effect given that there is no reason to believe Storm would have seen the Wizard of Oz. I loved the line about God appearing to me in a grilled cheese sandwich though.

Character – 9.5 Very strong. I really liked the way that Storm grabbed onto his role. In many other writers’ hands, that would have been just a bit part, but Storm did a great job keeping this as “Letho’s story” while making it his own as well.

Rising Action – 7 This thread’s lower points were a bit too low for my taste. I felt that in the solo part, the thread just took a bit too long to build momentum. Otherwise, this was well done.

Climax – 9 Good work.

Conclusion – 7 I wasn’t really enamored with these conclusions. Storm’s had a bit of bite to it, but Letho’s fell a bit flat. Given what an important event this was for Letho, I would have liked more than just the little interplay with Rheawien.

Writing Style – 8 Letho, I noticed a bit of a problem with tenses, especially with past perfect. Otherwise, the writing in here was excellent, you really captured emotions brilliantly. Storm, great writing, too many typos. However, I love the tone you use. It really has a salt of the earth feeling to it that matches well with Storm’s personality.

Wild Card – 9 All in all, a great thread. I have my complaints, but then I’m a miserable bastard who just likes to tear people down.

Spoils=

Letho receives his spoils and 2000 EXP (I gave you a slight EXP cut in exchange for your spoil)
Storm Veritas receives 1000 EXP and 500 GP.

[Thoracis]

Rewards Added!