Time and Tide (Solo)

[Tobias Stalt]

Years have not been kind to you, Salvar.

The cold has always been harsh. Do you remember when I first arrived, all those years ago? During your most brutal winter, we wandered into a tomb. I can't remember their faces now, and their voices have faded with time. I'm sure that they still whisper in your winds, but I've lost any desire to listen. I'm not the man I was. This outcropping suits me better than any of the snow-covered benches in the market- I don't want to get any closer to Knife's Edge than I have to. People still remember the heretic who betrayed the church. The man who killed the Archon.

I hoped that our efforts back then would have sparked change. I wanted to see the Ethereal Sway dead. Instead, it seems that ideas truly are harder to kill than men. I confess a certain degree of bitterness. But then, every man who lives in Salvar eventually assimilates some of its bitter nature. I think there's poetry in that.

"Stalt," the man who approaches me is dressed darkly. His face is covered, and his voice muffled. It makes sense: people don't want to be associated with Tobias Stalt. The Church remembers. You were a fool to return here."

"Garrick," I know him by his eyes alone. I won't ever forget them, no matter how hard I try. "So, of all the people in Salvar, they chose you for this."

"I owe it to her," the man's voice didn't falter a bit. I'm impressed. "She would have wanted to be here herself, if she could."

"I'm sure."

"Are you sure you don't want to take the job? You know the one-"

"I know the one," but what you want is a suicide mission. I'm tired of those, Garrick. I've made my peace with what happened. One day, I hope you do, too. "But no. I'm perfectly amicable to the other request, though."

What lurks in the Salvic wilds fascinates me, as a man, as an adventurer, and as a swordsman. We never had the chance before, Salvar, but I've come to make up for it. I want to brave your elements and face your greatest challenge. That's why I've come. Fuck the Sway. It's beneath me. I can see Garrick flinch at my words. His eyes shift, and he lowers his voice. "Stalt, no one has come back alive from that," he tells me.

"If they had, I wouldn't be here now."

With a sigh, he relents. "Aye, I suppose." He pulls a missive from beneath his cloak and passes it to me. The seal of the Church argent, stamped by some faceless holy man. I'd never mistake it. "They know you're here," he advises me.

"Of course they do." It doesn't surprise me. They've always relied on their Hedge Magicks and surveilled even the least of the common folk. Their fear of derision is legendary. "So why didn't they do something about it?" I question, though I'm sure I already have my answer. The paper rips open and I pull the letter out, unfolding it.

With a few subtle twitches of the eye, I've read all I needed to. "They don't tell me these things, Stalt," he says. "I'm just a courier."

"Even though you've lost your faith?"

Garrick tenses, closes his eyes, and then sighs. "They don't give a fuck if you believe or not," he says, "as long as you fake it when everyone's watching." If there was any color in his cheeks before, it would have drained by now. I can hear the emotion leave his voice. After everything, I would blame myself too. I do blame myself.

"Wasn't there another way?" he asks. I look up. How uncharacteristic.

"If there was, Erica would still be alive." It was a simple answer, but not a merciful one. He was there. He saw me do it. He was cheering like a madman. "You could have told them no."

Garrick sinks to his knees. I can't hear them, but I'm sure the uncontrolled sobs are soaking through his mask. "Hurry back home," I tell the man. "If you don't, the cold will reunite the two of you."