The Long Awaited Homecoming

[Mathias]

Your body may be gone, I'm gonna carry you in.
In my head, in my heart, in my soul.
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both live again.
Well I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, don't think so.

~ Modest Mouse, "Ocean Breathes Salty (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZE-ML-BAAfY)"

It was on this very beach... this very town that two young men began their dreams of infamy and plunder. The self-titled Rogue Brothers, Mathias Vinkuzri and Torin Reahkari, came to this land, securing it from the Alerian government with money from the Red Hand. Here, they laid down the basis of the town that they called "Etheria." They were two members of a dying band of pirates - the Black Sails Armada. The two of them took charge of the group and injected it with life anew, relocating it from Corone to Alerar. Together, the two of them forged the Armada into a scourge of the seas, looking onwards towards the stars in hopes of making their mark on history.

But, although Torin and Mathias had been good friends since they'd first met in the Armada, their time was ill-fated to stay together. The Armada began to fall into stagnation, and to complicate things, the two Rogue Brothers began to drift apart, no longer seeing eye to eye. A schism developed, and the Black Sails were almost split asunder in a civil war.

But then, Mathias was slain by a man known only as Ramirez - a man who claimed to be Mathias' brother. The two of them battled in the sands of Etheria's beach on a lonely, sun-swept afternoon, and the both of them slew eachother. But neither of them were able to die, for they were bound by a form of immortality. It was not that they were gods, or anything of the sort. Instead, they were necessary keystones and cruxes of existence and reality - the need for them was wrapped up in the stability of the planes themselves.

So Mathias awoke as his body recovered, renewed itself once more. But he lost his memories and simply disappeared. He left an old life behind, beginning with a new and utterly blank slate.

Since that time, several years ago, Mathias traveled to the continent of Antioch and became involved in the war that enmeshed the wasteland. He squared off against the arch-lich, Morian Fleshbane, only to be blasted halfway across the world when he was hit with a powerful spell while planeswalking. Awakening once more with his temporary death-induced amnesia, he found himself in Scara Brae. He quickly fell in with and joined the Scara Scourge, only to find that Morian had hunted him and established some influence all the way in Scara Brae.

He was eventually captured and fell into the hands of Morian, who revealed that, during their fight, he had seen something the planeswalker could've never fathomed about himself: He was a living, breathing personification of a shard of the Eternal Tap, the shattered weave that comprised most of the magical energy on Althanas. And Morian was a curious individual, subjecting the young man to endless torments, tortures, and experiments. But he had escaped with the help of the Scourge, and vowed to hunt down the man who had betrayed him to the lich.

And that's when he met Lillian. He couldn't help but regret getting her involved and feeling guilty about what she had to suffer through alongside him. But it was undeniable that she had been a bastion of strength and courage for him - that merely her companionship had allowed him to be self-assured and confident. The both of them fell into Morian's hands, suffering through his twisted probings together.

The ultimate irony, however, was that it was through the machinations of Ramirez that they were able to escape. For Ramirez had not lost his memory, and during the years that they were apart, he had spent most of that time searching for his brother. And so it was that Mathias was able to escape and meet face to face with his sibling once again. The two of them talked a great deal about the natures of their existence; sitting across from one another, they determined the source of their mutual hatred, started by the tendencies of existence, which Mathias represented, and the principles of non-existence, which was what Ramirez identified with. The two of them found that it was an inexorable fate that bound them, although it was their choice as to how they were meant to perceive that. It was because they had been young and foolish, full of angst - two orphans of Fate, two brothers drawn to one another by an unseen thread, they did the only thing they had known how to do at that time: Lash out at eachother in their adolescent anger.

Years past that time, with both experience and maturity coming to them, they were able to stare at one another and resolve themselves with sincere apologies. They buried their hatchets and accepted eachother as brothers. And with that resolution, it had occured to Mathias that there was yet another sibling of his that he had yet to make amends with.

And that was why he had come here.

Looking out over the hovel of a village that had once been his, Mathias touched down onto the half-rotten wood of the pier. He had descended out of the Immaterial Plane and onto the Firmament, where he now stood, surveying the beach where had once laughed, cried, celebrated, spoke, battled, and died upon. Here he was, to tie up the last end of a life that he had not lived in many years. Here he was, at long last, to find the friend he'd considered a brother, so long ago.

[Torin Reahkari]

How long had it been?

730 days. 24 months. 2 full years.

That's how long it had been since Torin had seen his project, his base. His home.
_____________________________

Two years ago.

Noria. This is my home.

As I walked down the familiar roads, I passed names and faces I recognized, but could not remember. Here, in Noria, I was in a home away from home. Already I missed the sea breeze of Etheria, the gentle rock of the Snowbourne, and the comfort knowing the Black Sails Armada was there, even in spirit.

'Do you know where the Reahkari house is?' I asked a man walking by.

"Yeah..you're about twenty feet from it." He replied, pointing off to a dark house. I thanked him, and looked both ways down the main stretch of the small town. I had once called this home. Long before Mathias, before the Resistance, before Etheria...This was home. I walked to the house and pressed against the door with my shoulder, pushing it open. Dust fell from the frame of the door, and littered the floor.

'So this is it...' I sighed. I could barely see. There was no moon tonight, shadows filled my lines of sight.

'Firelight.' I mumbled with a smile, opening my palm. Immediately, a small flame, like that of a rose blooming, erupted in my gloved hand. The light from the fire filled the room, creeping and crawling across the walls and ceiling, sending the shadows back where they came from.

'It's been such a long time...' I muttered under my breath, sighing and striding further into the house. I looked up the thin staircase, holding my hand above me to see further. I slowly walked up them, carefully making my way back to my room. So long abandoned. Just like myself. I felt as though I had abandoned my own being. I held my hand out into a lantern, lighting the wick. Quickly I closed my palm, stifling the flame in my hand. It was about time I learned how to improve this beyond simply having a light ready.

I sat down on the floor and crossed my legs, placing Tanzalis lightly on the floor in front of me. This time, I held out both my hands face up. I began to imagine fire in both of them. Again, a small flame erupted and hovered above my left hand, but nothing in the right.

This would take some time. Not like I had anything better to do now. The Black Sails Armada was officially gone, Mathias had long since disappeared back to his Planeswalking, and the Alerian Resistance fell in battle with Borna Venar. My friends, my brothers, had left me. Damon Kaosi, Seth Dahlios, Velius Demorio, and Mathias Vinkuzri seemingly erased from existence.

Lament for the good days.
_____________________________

One year, ten months ago.

It has taken two full months, but finally I am seeing signs of progress. Intense meditation on the element, reading all I could find on Fire, patience I normally never have, led to this. Earlier today I saw a spark shoot from my right palm.

Again, I hold my hands out. Again, I think of seeing fire in both. And again, I fail.

The dreariness of my work slowly creeps into the back of my head, self doubt clouding my mind, making me angry. I stand up, and I lash. I hurl a desk at the wall. Tanzalis still lies on the floor, it's bed for the last two months. Dust has begun to collect upon it.

Might as well be on my soul. How sad. How horribly sad. I can slow Time itself, but I cannot produce measly flame?! WHY?!

And suddenly, a spark shoots from hands, and flames erupt, wild, untamed, singing the edges of my coat. I lose concentration and they disappear, a puff of smoke rising from my gloves. Quickly I throw my coat off onto the bed, and peel off the gloves I have not removed in almost twelve years. I pull back that feeling of anger, of loathe, of hate. And concentrate it into the fire. Again flames fly from my hands, wildy grabbing at anything to burn.

I slow my breathing, and remember the rosebud. And slowly, they begin to damper, no longer fighting wildly at the air around the flames. They are two small orbs, flames dancing off the top, floating above both of my palms.

Progress.
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One year ago.

It has been another ten months, and I have yet to leave this house in hopes of manifesting this ability further. I have now found out how to create the fire and manage it with my gloves and coat on without it burning my clothing. I have also figured out how to curve my emotions as to not let the Element get out of hand.

So to speak. So today, I try something new. I pick up Tanzalis, and wipe it clean of the dust and ash and mildew that has gathered this year. I slowly run my fingers over the bites and dents in my blade, my titanium beauty. So many memories locked away inside of this. So much of me.

I begin to concentrate, holding the handle in my left hand, my right hand sitting on the blade of my weapon. I close my eyes and picture the fire in my hands, and I get that cold feeling that lets me know the fire is there. The fire's licking Tanzalis, warning it of it's presence. Titanium does not fear fire, though, and remains unscathed by it's heat.

I slowly picture the flames creeping from my hands along the sharp edge of Tanzalis, resting lazily along the business end of my blade.

When I open my eyes, I see nothing. I try again. Again, nothing.

I begin to realize, it will take much more effort to concentrate more fire along the blade of my beast of a sword. More than just a light in my hand.

So I hold Tanzalis in just my left hand, letting the point of the sword hit the floor. I concentrate all my emotions, all my hate, all my loneliness, all my memories, everything I am and all that I was, into this fire. I can feel the hit on my face, it is getting out of control. But then I feel something. I open my eyes and see the fire from my left hand crawl up the hilt, sitting there lazily. I clap my right hand to my left, and the flames shoot up the blade and off to the floor. In my excitement, I lose my concentration, and the flames are extinguished.

I pull Tanzalis up, push the emotions out again, and the fire is in my palms. I clap my hands together, and they shoot up the hilt, up the blade, and slowly linger, painting Tanzalis blood red with light.

Finally. A name for this ability, for this wonder that I have finally unlocked.

'Into The Light.' I whisper, and the flames go out.
_____________________________

Six months ago.

I had sent word a short while ago to the appointed High Graf, Schynius for an audience. Initially I believed him to see himself as above me, but apparently, I was mistaken.

I had recieved word and rode to Ettermire on Shadow, my horse. And here I was, in very essence of Alerar. Airships littered the sky above me, blotting out the sun. Workers lay tracks for metal horses. Technology at it's finest, it seemed. I made my way through the maze of businesses and homes in our capital, working my way towards the spiralling Black Tower.

"I still don't have a good feeling about this..." a voice inside my head muttered. "Neither do I, Serigae. But if I want the Armada back, I want the word of this asshole that Etheria will stay mine.". I dismounted Shadow and walked him towards a gate, several stationed militia eyeing me. Even though she did not benefit Alerar, I found myself wishing for the days of Valsharess and the Kyorl to return.

'I'm here to see the High Graf? About Etheria Port.' I mumbled to a guard, staring deep into the Dark Elves eyes. His cold stare matched my blank one.

"I heard about that. I was told to inform you, mister..Raykari, was it? That-"

'Reahkari. My name is Torin Reahkari.' I replied angrily.

"Yeah, right. Anyways, they told me to tell you that Etheria Port is suspected of housing pirates. If you are spotted on it's premise, you will be arrested under martial law." the drow shot, a cocky smirk crossing his face.

'No. I bought that land. What I do on it is my business.'

"Not anymore. Anything deemed a threat to Alerar, the High Graf has the authority to destroy."

'I won't let you destroy my home. Shadow!' I called, pulling the horse closer to me. 'Don't fuck with me.' I whispered, mounting my horse.

"See you later, Raykari." the guard sneered, spitting in my direction.

What has become of my heritage?
_____________________________

Two months ago.

It has been one year and ten months since I have been to Etheria, but a few days ago I returned to find it more broken down and down trodden then ever. A sigh escapes my lips as I sit here on the Snowbourne, waiting for the day that a sign comes to me that it is time to bring my Armada back.

Not even mine. Mathias' as well.

And then a sign.

Sarah Dahlios, estranged...sister, to Seth Dahlios crashed to the sands of my fallen city, bringing with her hope for a better future. With her, I will bring the Armada back. With her, I will show Althanas that pirates still freely sail these waters, and no title of Alerar could take that away. She agreed to help me lead the Black Sails Armada, bring it back, make it better. Become more than it ever was. And I believed she could. Just my luck as well, Treze, my cousin showed up on orders from Borna Venar. Looks like the Rangir didn't fade into bloodstained history books, either. I gave him the choice to join the Black Sails Armada, or lose his life that night on my ship. After a short battle, he agreed and joined my crew.

It has been four full months and I have yet to see Schynius' goons enforce their rules on my port. Maybe the guard was just running his mouth...
_____________________________

One month ago.

A month have passed since Sarah Dahlios agreed to help me lead the Armada. It has been a month shy of two full years since I initially left Etheria to further my geomancy study of Fire, and to learn more about myself. In the past month, we sailed to Corone to seek a ship. Due to the lack of experienced crew, and Sarah's inability to go out in sunlight, I found port and proceeded to find a blacksmith there to recraft Tanzalis into something new, something beautiful. And that he did. An amazing Mythril exterior with a Delyn core to add back the Titanium-like weight, my sword was now much more than I could have asked for. Into The Light worked much faster now, and lasted for a little longer, staying on Tanzalis for up to 30 seconds, but leaving me almost completely exhausted. As well, somehow I ended up meeting an Aeromancer in battle in the Citadel. Armed with a new sword and a new spell, I defeated the mage, but with much difficulty. Several seemingly real injuries later, the battle ended in his defeat, but due to the magic of the Al'Bron Monks, I left the Citadel healed and boarded my ship that night, finding Sarah haphazardly attempting to undo the binds that held the ship to the dock. We sailed back to Etheria, encountering a storm that slightly damaged the railing and some of the stock on the ship.
_____________________________

'God, I can't fucking figure this out!' Torin yelled, hurling several parchments at the wall.

'How are we supposed to know where these damn merchant ships are, when none of these stupid assholes fill out the damn docking paperwork?!' he continued, tossing a kick at his chair. God, was he sick of this crap. It had been a month, no haul, no ship, nothing. No one docked in Etheria anymore because it was a forgotten port, and the places they did make port, the Snowbourne always seemed to be just too late.

'We need an interceptor.' Torin sighed, lighting a cigarette.

'An interceptor, sir?' Alia called into Torin's mind. Telepathy was another power Torin would love to have, but it took much longer study than geomancy, and he barely had the patience to get through that.

'Yeah. A small fast ship. You know, not a lot of cannons, about six crew to man it...One fast enough. The Snowbourne, she's an amazing ship, but she sure as hell isn't fast.' the rogue replied. 'Go get Treze.'

'Yes, master Reahkari.' Alia replied, bowing slightly and going up to the deck.

'Master Torin would like a word with you, Master Treze.' Alia called out to the boy moving barrels and boxes around the deck.

"Man, what the fuck! I got better treatment then this from Borna." Treze spat, stomping down the stairs to the brigs.

'I would not speak highly of the Rangir or Borna in front of Master Torin, Treze. Not only did he let you live the night you showed up here, he's also let you become a member of the crew on his ship, something he rarely lets people he knows do, let alone an enemy.' Alia replied calmly, following Treze silently to Torin's quarters.

"What do you want?" Treze called, staring coldly at Tanzalis.

'How old are these forms you got from the Corone docks?' Torin replied angrily, tossing the fistful of parchment over at his cousin.

"I don't know, I just grabbed the ones I could find. If you wanted a proper thief, you could've gotten your girl there Dahlios to do it. Apparently every Lavinian is a thief." Treze laughed, that cold look still cutting into Torins eyes. That was the last nerve the Dark Rogue had. He immediately strode over, picking up Treze by his throat.

'Take that back now!' Torin screamed, slamming his older cousin into the wall, sending the boat rocking.

"F...Fuck....you!" Treze cried, closing his eyes. Torin noticed things starting to slow down, Alia's movements were quickly becoming slower and slower, and finally stopped.

'No way I'm letting you do that, Treze.' Torin laughed, concentrating on slowing down Time. With Treze using Stop, Set, Stop and Torin using Stop, Set, Rewind, both could move freely around, but everything around them was stopped for 10 seconds, and Treze's movements were much slower than Torin's due to Torin's ability being active after Treze's.

'You still haven't learned anything new, have you?' Torin called through gritted teeth. This was taking too much out of him. He released Treze, who began slowly gasping for air.

"Turn.....it.....off.." Treze panted. Because of Torin's ability, his ability to breathe was slowing down, preventing him from getting much air.

'Take it back.'

"Turn.........it........off!" Treze wheezed, falling to the ground. His own ability had already worn off, he had no energy left to keep it going, and things around them were now just moving slowly. They could both see Alia's mouth forming words, but much too slow to comprehend. Suddenly the sound of fabric tearing ripped through the air, and things sped up, leaving Treze taking massive, gasping breathes of air.

'Never insult your leader again in front of me, Treze. I don't care if we're related by blood, I swear on fucking Alerar itself I will kill you for it.' Torin hissed. 'Next time we make port somewhere, get the right damn documents.' He was too angry for this right now, so he strode out of his quarters and up to the deck. Maybe something exciting would finally happen in Etheria.

[Mathias]

Mathias half expected to see his blood still stained in the sand. Perhaps it was some forlorn hope that by actually looking at it, he'd be able to trace his past and grasp onto it. Reconnect, even. But he knew it was futile, even as he did so. And as he paced along the spot where he had done battle with Ramirez, years ago, he looked at where his life had been spilled and no remnants or evidence remained. The tide had long since come in and gone out, washing away all proof that he had lived or died in this village. It was a ghost town, for the most part. It had grown into a small town, beyond the couple of buildings that they had constructed. It was no longer just a barracks, a warehouse, and some docks... but it was by no means a metropolis. It was small, dingy, and silent. Those who resided here were probably squatters, runaways, and other sorts of vagrants.

"So this was once home," he said. Everything was so familiar, but it was as if it had been in a separate life. Something so intangible, untouchable to him now. It left within him a reminiscent melancholy, but at the same time, a sense of pride as he was able to gauge just how much he'd grown as a person in the time elapsed since when he last set foot on these sands.

Walking around, he found himself looking at sights new and old, reacquainting himself with the vestiges of the life he had once lived as well as the changes that had been brought about since he'd last lived it. He of course, saved the most important one for last:

He took a step onto the dock, looking up at the behemoth of a ship that had once belonged to him, as well as Torin. The Snowbourne, it had been named, in honor of Ithermoss' wife. The great drake who had led the Red Hand. The man who had given the two young lads the resources to facilitate their need for adventure, fame, and glory (whether it was prestigious or nefarious.) Ah, how those dreams unraveled at the seams.

"What foolish kids we were," he mused as he took a step up the gangplank.

Had they really thought they could take the entirety of the seas? Or atleast enough of them to become legends? It was hard to even fathom the audacity that he had once possessed. And how many others had he led? He couldn't even recall all of the faces and names. So many people lost on him, so many identities he had known and then forgotten. It was like grains of sand slipping through grasping hands. How many, if any, of those people from the old days of the Armada still lingered in Etheria? Torin... was he even here? Or had he gone off, to continue his own path after Mathias had disappeared and the Armada fell to ruin...

As he took another step, someone matched him and set his first foot on the ramp, lifting himself onto it to begin his descent to the docks. His blue eyes flashed for a moment as he looked into Math's own hazel pools, taking a moment to register recognition.

"It's been a long time, Torin," said the planeswalker with a sly smirk sliding over his lips.