Of Ruins, Loss, and Old Demons

The stone road was unkempt, jagged, with loose and cracked stonework. Next to the road, a lonesome tree battled the elements. The leaves were just blooming in green and yellow buds. As the soft wind caused the branches to shake, the dim morning sky loomed slow to release the sunlight. Dim light shone from between the thick, grey clouds. Leaving the environment cold and bitter. Down the road, less than half a mile, was the crumbled ruins of the town known as Whitevale. This was the dilapidated road to the destroyed city.

Under the tree, a lone figure sat. Knees against her chest, back against the harsh bark, she huddled in silence. Her eyes were closed, red hair in her face. Despite wearing a heavy black gambeson, she seemed very cold. On her person were several weapons. A prevalida arming sword was snug in its sheath on her waist. Inside her gambeson, where many girls kept their money, was a switchblade as well. On her wrists she wore metal cuffs which appeared to have technological, Aleran origins. The ground was mostly cool dirt, with grass spotted across the meadow. Her head was turned away from the town, chin on knees. The girl looked somber, cold, and sad. Why was she out here, instead of in the rebuilding town? The answer was simple. Felicity Rhyolite, former general of the Brotherhood of Castigers, felt too ashamed for its downfall.

Of course, it was way more than that bothering her. She was plagued by sorrow and chained by trauma. After Arius Mephisto had teleported her away from Whitevale, away from her beloved teacher, she had been through so much. She had traversed the anti-magic region of Salvar, evading the witch hunters and surviving in the cold wilds. She had met an individual, fell in love with him, before feeling betrayed by the man and running away. Not to mention the insane guilt from returning to Whitevale only to see it in ruins. Unable to find survivors, she had been broken as she wailed and screamed for her failure to protect it. She had suffered agony and heartache, and meeting her teacher had not healed the wounds. She felt neglected and ignored by the Brotherhood leader, who was always chasing this and that goal without her. Even after apologizing, he had gone to Telgradia to secure transportation, leaving her here.

Now, feeling bitter and full of sorrow, she huddled under the tree. No energy, no joy, she felt the ever present isolation of her life choke her here. She was sore that the person who caused all this misery, Arius Mephisto, was already dead. She was now yearning for revenge she could never had.

Down the road, footsteps sounded.

The depressive woman opened her eyes, green in hue. Through her hair, she slowly looked up. What would any travelers be doing out here? Whitevale had nothing. She knew fully well, when she should have stopped its destruction...