The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

A forum dedicated to single-thread posts of characters within the game world to help document large events, stories and milestones in one consolidated thread.
User avatar
Galryth Winterborn
Posts: 56
Character: Galryth Winterborn

The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Galryth Winterborn » March 27th, 2021, 6:19 pm

Appendix:
1. A Creator
2. Balance
3. What is Lost
4. Where Men and Dreams Die
5. Comfortably Numb
6. Of Fathers, Shades, and Locks
7. Pillars of Strength
8. No Rest For The Wicked
9. A Trial of Character
10. The Final Assembly
11. Razing the Dead
12. What Do You Want?


Here is the legacy from the prior act that precedes this all:

viewtopic.php?f=28&t=1330&hilit=galryth
Last edited by Galryth Winterborn on June 27th, 2021, 8:28 pm, edited 9 times in total.

User avatar
Galryth Winterborn
Posts: 56
Character: Galryth Winterborn

Re: The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Galryth Winterborn » March 27th, 2021, 7:00 pm

1. A Creator

"So, what is you do?" The young woman inquired as he stared over the empty field that once contained his crop.

"I wish I had the answer to that..." His inner voice answered immediately, further overcasting his future path with a shaky uncertainty. The past few weeks at the fort had flown by, with so much happening he could hardly keep up on it all. So many new faces. So many old faces. All of them different from how he remembered. They looked older now...more weathered...even darker.

His mind wandered now, as it often did, to simpler times. To toiling away in the mines and smelting the ore down in the house he had built with his own hands. As hours progressed into days, and days into weeks, he would dedicate everything that he had into his work...whatever that was at the time...be it a blade, a suit of armor, or a 6 by 6 beam that needed to hold up to the weight of a second story on a building...all would get the same care. It was the obsession that he couldn't shake...seeing what was in its raw form...picturing what it could be...and making it so.

Now things were different...he was no longer a part of the First Torian and without a unit of soldiers to outfit, he found himself working more on tailoring, tinkering, and building. His backpack now overflowing with quills, papers, drafts of building plans, schematics and number sheets, and patterns for different clothing. While the current volatility with his former group continued to both confound and concern him, he couldn't help but feel a bit of nostalgia for his days in the mines and the smith shop...

The smell of coal choked in the fires, the bright orange glow of the ore as it heats to the proper temperature to pour into ingot molds. The workout of pounding steel and sweat that turning those materials into the finest armor and weapons to be used called to him...but it wasn't needed. The group he was part of now, Renatus and Thrupp Enterprises had a goal he could get behind...a goal worth persuing...a town for free trade and crafting...a home. He could explore what interested him and sell his wares to get by and reinvest in his business and the town itself. Everything about that should've been perfect for him, should've made him feel good...but he didn't. At least not fully.

Rumors had reached him while he was mining for the group. Many rumors. Crazy ones even. Word of potential assassination plots? Threats of hanging for treason over words? Signed trade contracts being flippantly ignored?

His mind whirled as the new folks he was with, those he was building this township with, who had both worked with him and given him full authority in the design and construction of this endeavor they all shared; clashed with the group he had once been just as committed to. Something...was wrong. These were not the people he had believed he had gotten into business with...sure Mr. Renatus could be a bit...well...pompous...but he was a good-natured fellow Galryth believed. He would never order someone killed over a few copper coins in price difference. And Vance? Well...he once called the man his "father" as a joke, and towards the end, it had lost much of the joke behind it. Something was wrong, some wires were crossed, and he was sure he could sort it out in time with a few meetings. He was sure of it.

Blinking a few times, he turned to smile at the woman before reaching into his pack to pull out his backup seeds. He would start the field anew, as he would start himself anew. Along with the seeds; the outlines for the plans of Teneborough, and sketches of weapons, armor, and; an apparatus reminiscent of a packhorse's bags only much...much larger...

"Well..." He replied, throwing the first handful of seeds in a circular pattern in front of him. "I am...a creator."
Last edited by Galryth Winterborn on June 23rd, 2021, 12:51 pm, edited 4 times in total.

User avatar
Galryth Winterborn
Posts: 56
Character: Galryth Winterborn

Re: The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Galryth Winterborn » May 17th, 2021, 9:57 pm

2. Balance

The hammer felt right at home in his hand once more, the all too familiar weight of the thing, as he turned it over in his hand, a content smile on his face. It had been several years since he had worked as a smith, a passion he once held so dear. Since the end of his involvement with the First Torians a few years prior, his old smithing hammer had sat unused, hanging in the corner of his workshop as a trophy, or reminder, of who he once was. That, however, had just changed. Two weeks ago, he had picked the thing up once more, heeding the call of it in his brain. It had been years since inspiration had called him to make a piece, but it had struck now, and he had to work the design out of his imagination and into reality now. This piece...was to be different than any other had previously done.

Every piece that he crafted, came from an inspiration that another had imparted on him. Be it a bond, or a thoughtful gesture, or a noble cause he could feel enamored to. This one though was different than all of those. He had never seen the piece so detailed in his mind, and he could not get it out of his head until it was complete.

The first few days were not spent in the smithy. Those were spent in the mines, gathering the ore needed, and smelting it down into the ingot blanks that were to be used. The work was natural to him, and almost his way of relaxing. Galryth knew those caverns as well as just about anyone he figured, and quickly found all of the resources he would require. Copper, tin, coal, iron, and a vast array of different gemstones. Luckily for him, there was someone around to help him with parts of the build, and aid in filling the orders he had previously accepted from Winterborn Works. Samara, the dark-haired woman he had originally met in his first week or so, stumbling upon him in his fields as he tended to his first lost crop. He'd no idea how much the woman would come to mean to him, and the strange relationship that they would develop. To say he was infatuated would be an understatement. Galryth found everything he did less enjoyable when she wasn't around now. Mining was always relaxing, but...it'd be better if she was there.

She was always very helpful, but would never take payment for the help rendered, and slowly over time, and many conversations, the idea for the sword's design cemented itself in his head and refused to leave without being made real. She had made all of the bronze he had promised for another, with some extra for this project as well, unbeknownst to her, and he would teach her the secrets to making wrought iron for the same purpose.

The next few days he spend up above the Fort Prae craft hall, in the sculptor's room, the mud dried to his hands as he worked the clay, carving away at the design for the hilt. It was the most complex he had ever attempted, and the first two had failed to cast properly already. Each time he refined it and believed he would finally have it correct this time. The hilt was comprised of the standard "T" shape that most blades have, however, each side of it, was to be of a different metal. One side of bronze, the other of wrought iron. They would meet in the middle, and follow an alternating pattern with one another, snaking their way to the pommel in opposite directions where the metals would meet and become one. Making the cast for such a design had proven to be quite the challenge. The first one, he had made the snaking design too thin, too delicate, and the first metal poured into, broke through the boundaries and spilled over to the other "tunnel" that was for the opposite metal. The second, he had successfully poured the first metal, then the second metal, and while they had kept their proper shapes, the melding of the two at the bottom did not occur as the first metal had already lost too much heat. For the third attempt, he would have to pour both metals into each side of the casting simultaneously for the desired effect.

Carefully pulling the clay out of the kiln, and over to the table. There he melted wax, allowing it to flow into space eventually for the metal itself. He allowed it to harden before bringing it downstairs for its final form. He put the wrought iron and bronze into the forge, bellowing the fires and melting them to a pourable viscosity. He had to test a new design to do this, as generally both hands would be used to secure the crucible holding the liquid metal and used to pour it, yet he needed to not only do such with one hand but to do one in his hand. These spring-loaded grabbers, surrounded the crucibles, one at a time, and once secured at the handle, would latch and hold onto it until the mechanism was disengaged. They also had much longer poles than would normally be used, each with a counterweight at the end, allowing him to offset the weight caused by the liquid metal they held. It was a strange set of devices, one he couldn't really see a market or use for aside from this one project, but they did the job.

He breathed out quietly as he held the two poles, each with molten metal ready to pour over the mold, and turned his wrists simultaneously once they were lined up. Smoke bellowed out, making it hard to see, but he kept the stream steady, trusting in his experience and the whiteness of the smoke to tell him he was on the mark. The wax evaporated as the liquid metal hit it, vaporizing away and allowing the metals to flow into their position. Once the entire mold was filled in on both sides, the unturned his wrists, setting the poles down, and watched with eager anticipation as the red hot liquid became a dull orange, then a slight glow, then lost most colorization. It would take some time before he could crack it open and see the results, and so he moved back onto the blade itself as he waited.

This was another first for him, a blade of this kind. He had great difficulty in finding the Alchemical Silver, the one alloy he did not know how to forge on his own volition, and would only get one chance at it. It was very very rare. The alchemical silver had been drawn out to run at the center of the blade along the entire length of the central fuller. The outside edges of the blade itself would be hardened steel, colorized darker by the addition of extra carbon introduction in the smelting process, and using a particular acid to quench it.

The blade itself was simple enough, pounding it out into the desired shape and straightening it just like any other blade. The complexity came with the acid wash for the outside, which he could only do one half at a time to not harm the clay-covered alchemical silver at the interior of the blade. The acid wash worked as he intended, the blade became further discolored, and even pitted from the acidity in certain areas, giving the blade a warn, imperfect, almost ancient look to it.

The time to put the pieces together arrived, and after some grinding and polishing, the blade slide through the handguard and out the bottom of it. Hot peening the pommel to this extruded part of the sword, the base of it was now complete. Now the real work began. For the bronze part of the handguard, 8 gemstones were to be placed, each of them light in color and highly fractal. For this he had chosen, a topaz, diamond, light amethyst, sky blue sapphire, pink sapphire, peridot, tourmaline, and clear green quartz. Each of them was set within the blade carefully, the prongs to hold them in bent with care and discretion. The wrought iron side, held more gemstones, in smaller size and far darker and less resilient than the bronze side. For these ruby, black opal, alexandrite, garnet, brown diamond, black diamond, onyx, obsidian, smokey quartz, black quartz, dark amethyst, dark blue sapphire, and emerald. Each and every stone had a meaning and a place in the piece. The last, and largest of the stones, was one he had only seen once before dangling around the neck of the woman who inspired the piece, and one that took just as long to procure as the entire build itself took to make. It had to be located by a merchant who went to lands he had never been and at some cost. He took the piece of green faience out from his pack, looking it over with admiration, thinking of the designs it could be shaped into, but leaving it in its unshaped form, and set it into the very middle of the blade in the spot left for it to emerge on both sides of the blade. Beneath some words scribbed into each facing of the blade in a language he didn't understand. "13 Vices and 8 Virtues within each living being bringing about- Balance" It was his extreme hope that the translator did not mislead him on their meaning, as he really had no way to know. What a shame it would be if it said something derogatory, insultful, or nonsensical instead of the representation of humanity he had planned.

Finally, the piece was complete, and he looked it over, exhausted but pleased with the result. The sword shown brightly from the polished Alchemical Silver which had been polished to a near mirror-like sheen, reflecting the lighting of the craft hall to bounce about and get captured by the light-colored gemstones on the bright side of the hilt. The rest of the blade was not so beautiful. It was dark, it was menacing, it was imperfect. These two dualities blended together, snaking around one another down the handle and into the pommel, where the two polarities became one, and something that was neither dark nor particularly light, was formed. It was...humanity...in art form. There was no such thing as something of all light, or something of all dark, everyone and everything was as this blade, a combination of the two. Beautiful and deadly, as its future owner. The barrel of oil hissed and gurgled, emitting a curtain of steam as the red hot sword pierced into it and lost the heat.
Last edited by Galryth Winterborn on June 23rd, 2021, 12:51 pm, edited 2 times in total.

User avatar
Galryth Winterborn
Posts: 56
Character: Galryth Winterborn

Re: The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Galryth Winterborn » June 2nd, 2021, 12:40 am

3. What Is Lost

Galryth smacked his dry lips together as he groaned awake, the acidic taste of vomit still coating the roof of his mouth in foulness. He didn't need to see the puddle on the floor by the bed in his room above the Anchorage to know it was there. He could smell it already, wafting up to turn his stomach and cause a few dry heaves. Instinctively his arm flew to cover his mouth, and the slightly dried remnants that hadn't made it to the floor further soiled the other stains on his shirt. His head pounded like a smith's hammer had been striking it for the duration of the night, and he looked around bewildered for a moment, trying to get his bearings.


The room was small, only a chest and a bed in it, with room for an armoire that never actually came to be, in the corner. But it was their room. At least it was supposed to be. He had spent too much of his time working, working for his business, working for Teneborough, working to distract himself from having to actually look at his own life and what he wanted out of it. She had begun to grow distant. The few times he saw her, she seemed more and more upset. Whether with him, or other factors, he was unsure, and did not want to pester the woman about it. If she wanted to talk to him about something, she would.

Several weeks he had been gone now, working on acquiring and making the blade and he was giddy to give it to her. He could barely contain his excitement at the thought of going over it together. Showing her how the wrought iron and bronze they had made together was worked into the handle, the gems and their meaning, and the green stone from her homeland he had acquired after glancing it on her necklace once. Their entire relationship was laid out in symbolism within the blade, as was the core message of it. The inner fuller, made of the rarest material, shown bright like a mirror, to represent the inner beauty of the soul. The outter blade, blackened and pitted, ugly and raw. It was humanity...it was her...it was him. She did not see the inner fuller of herself as he did.

He smiled broadly when he saw her outside the tavern in Fort Prae, waiting for her to see him. He wanted to walk up and hug her, but when she looked up and met his eyes, she stopped, immediately. Her look was not a happy one, but one of surprise, with a hint of anger. She almost looked annoyed and surprised to see him, as if she expected that the man no longer existed.


The fight that ensued at the end of their walk, he did not expect and reacted poorly to. Being called a liar and told he didn't care about anyone but himself struck him hard. How could she think that?! Did she really not see how much he cared about her? His temper boiled up, filling his face with blood as the verbal assault continued and he took the gift he had worked on for weeks out from behind his back, tossing it on the ground in front of her before leaving in a huff of anger over the lashing. How could she say such things?! Why would she think that he didn't care about her?

"You are lost..." Her words echoed in his head. Sometimes she knew him better than he knew himself and it terrified him. He was...he was lost. Nothing he did seemed to work how he planned or wanted it to. He felt powerless and directionless to change the course of things despite being the person who supposedly ran his life. Did he though? Sometimes he wondered about that...his brain told him he made the choice to storm off to the tavern and order a whiskey but did he really? Sometimes he felt as if someone else was actually controlling the narrative and he was but a puppet to the whims of this horrid master.

As his emotions calmed, he thought about their interactions over the past months, reflecting back on it with a new perspective. She was always helping him with something, be it giving him food when he was hungry, or helping make bronze, or encouraging him to reach a potential she saw in him that he didn't. What had he done to help her? He tried to pay her for her work, but she would not take the coin. He was making this sword for her, but she didn't know about it. What did he do for her on a day to day basis? Nothing. He offered no value to her. She had helped him with everything that he needed...for nothing in return. What he felt about her, he didn't demonstrate well in the day to day. Truth was he didn't know how to act around her. He could never truly predict how she would act or react to things. All of this thoughtfulness and expression of feelings went into that blade...and he threw it away.

When he saw her again, she understandably walked past him as if he didn't exist. Sitting next to her at the bar, he apologized for how he lost his temper, and asked if she looked over the sword. She told him a story at that time. Of a gravedigger that she met, one who did not want to be lowered in value to a scavenger and that that is what he had tried to do to her, make her a scavenger so he could look down at her. Emotions flooded him again at that point. She didn't take it! She left the sword on the ground where he threw it! His heart broke. She hadn't seen it. She would never see it now. She would never understand how he felt. He had taken the moment where she was upset and thinking that nobody cared, and instead of being understanding of her anger, and helping show her that people did; he let his ego destroy that at the assertion that he was a liar and uncaring. And in that anger, and in that moment, he proved her right. Now he sat here...asking her once again...to do something for him that he could not...and did not...do for her. To be understanding of anger...to look past it...to forgive it. His stomach turned over on itself as this realization struck home. He meant to highlight the goodness and value he saw within her, but could not handle the darkness and ego that was revealed in him.

"I'm not interrupting am I?" A familiar flowery voice bubbled up from behind them as Erilian stepped forward

"No." Samara answered quickly.

Galryth slinked off the stool, and out of the bar, rushing back towards the area they were at, his heart pounding. He had to find it. He had to find the sword and make it better. But it was nowhere to be found. Grief consumed him then and he fell into his crutch of choice, whiskey. The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. The parts he could remember involved drinking with some acquaintances and old friends. He did recall was blurting out something about his actual father, a secret he had been carrying for quite some time, but remaining silent on who had him so upset. There was also a vague recollection of Mote walking him back up...and then waking up this morning to his own mess.

The blast of cool air carried the scent of fresh flowers in it, juxtaposed against the whiskey, vomit, and shame he smelled of now as the door swung open from above the Anchorage. Teneborough was bustling with people. Tradesman were setting up in the craft hall, guards and mercenaries were meandering about their daily activities, walking along the new stone pavers. Hedges were perfectly trimmed and lining the walkways. Flowers bloomed and lit the area up with color and fragrance. A new wave of whiskey washed over his teeth to reset the headache in his head for now, and he swallowed hard as he stumbled down the stairs and into town, his home. It didn't feel like it though. He had been gone for a month and the place was growing and expanding just fine. It didn't need him.

Stumbling his way over to the tranquil pond up north, he collapsed to the ground and allowed another pull of whiskey to pleasantly burn down his throat and slightly dampen the deadness inside. The bottle was empty now, and he settled it back into his pack, the familiar sound of glass on glass clanking together as he sat up and looked over the beautiful surrounding, absently turning the ring on his finger in circles. He looked down at it. Two W's were engraved one atop the other on it, the insignia of his business Winterborn Works. It was always his dream to run a business, and the one he did was beyond successful. He had accomplished more than he ever thought he could, and had more gold than he knew what to do with...and it didn't help. It did not fill the void in his heart he thought it would. Every bit of emptiness was still there, very slowly expanding and threatening to consume what was left. His vision turned back to Teneborough, he could see the smoke rising gently in the distance. He had built his home, the other of his dreams as well. Yet...once again...the hole remained. He sighed and took the ring off and contemplated tossing it into the pond, but put it in his pocket for now instead. He was done with it all.
Last edited by Galryth Winterborn on June 23rd, 2021, 12:52 pm, edited 5 times in total.

User avatar
Galryth Winterborn
Posts: 56
Character: Galryth Winterborn

Re: The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Galryth Winterborn » June 2nd, 2021, 2:04 am

4. Where Men and Dreams Die

The commotion was enough to wake him from his now new normal drunken stupor as he staggered down the stairs to a sight that would burn in his mind for the rest of his days. The pile of corpses was already stacked at least twenty high, the scent of blood, sweat, and gunsmoke assaulting his nostrils as Galryth narrowed his eyes, scanning around at all the different colored cloaks and robes that were strewn about the place.

"Where are Wormwood and Flynn?" a voice directed towards him from the crowd.

He recognized the voice, vaguely, but didn't connect it with a person until looking over towards the source of it and spotting a blood stained Lucien Silvercrest staring at him.

"Who?" he replied, not really registering the names as the new citizens they had agreed to take in the night before into their township.

His eyes darted back around at the carnage, spotting a few Black Wolves around a very familiar body. Laying on the ground motionless at their feet was Tyr. His eyes were closed and the man had clearly passed on. His heart sank as the realization of what had occurred began to settle in. Walking over to the man's body, he kneeled, paying respect to him as best he was able. They had never really talked much, but he was the leader of the Banners and had been a wonderful edition to the town, obviously dieing trying to do his duty, so it seemed.

The next corpse he saw, was that of Mr. Renatus. He always said he would die defending this township, and there his body was to prove it. Khalkeus Renatus was the most misunderstood man he had ever known. The man was pompous and arrogant, of that there was no doubt, but it always amazed him to see how much vitriol the man got. Could nobody see the kindness and caring this man had for the people he associated with and employed?

He thought back to their first meeting, before the Sindelar Institute's first Assembly meeting. A fellow Engineer, they bonded rather quickly over their shared profession and began talking of the Institute's goal to research the Torment and try to find a cure. Galryth wanted nothing more than to find a cause he felt was worth the time to work towards, and he was sold on the idea. When the Institute dissolved, Mr. Renatus invited him to join then in an endeavor to live a life of freedom and build a township outside of the Fort. One of businessmen and commerce, one of peace and prosperity. A home.

Galryth had always been looking for that...a place to belong. A home of his own. He was enthusiastic about the idea and put all of his work behind it. Khalkeus, though it was his idea to found this town, allowed Galryth complete freedom in it's design. Truly allowing the man to design and build the town as he saw fit. There were suggestions and ideas that he would bring forth on what they could or should do, but he never forced an issue or told him anything had to be done any specific way. Many people would put you in charge of something only to have someone to blame for the negative aspects of it, or try to force their own views over. Not this man. Despite the town being his idea, and the articles he drafted for it himself, he never acted as if he was above or better than any other member on that board. He was truly a leader in spirit and character only, and never leveraged it against any of them.

What did everyone else see? An arrogant asshole. They weren't wrong...persay...but there was so much more they didn't see. He couldn't blame them as the thoughts of his own skewed perspective struck home. "Balance" was a piece he had crafted to showcase that very idea, and the meaning of eluded even it's creator. In the end, we only see in others what we see in ourselves reflected back, or what we choose to acknowledge. He smiled a little bit as he fought back the tears that began to well up in his eyes. Knowing full well, that if he were still able to speak he would point at the First Torians and then to Galryth and say "See! Everything I've said would come to pass has!" But he would not blame Galryth for it...even then.

"You did everything you said you would my friend..." Galryth said to himself as he paid respects to the man and stood up.

Lucien was still talking, though he hadn't really been listening. Something about apologies and he didn't want this and self defense. It was a lie and they both knew it. He may not have wanted it to go like this, but he wanted it alright. They wanted the bloodshed, the feeling of being powerful and having authority over others. Everyone has a choice in every instant, and they could've walked away. They didn't. That would damage their ego. That would make them look bad to others, or maybe more importantly to themselves. Galryth was well aware of the damage someone would do to protect that fragile little perception of oneself. A recent revelation but a profoundly potent one.

He wasn't there, he didn't know what exactly went down and who did what to who, and it frankly it didn't matter anymore. What was done was done and as the body count rose up, the dead townsfolk and guards reaching up to near 40, he looked over in sad indifference. This was the fate of all humanity. Samara had tried to tell him this before...that people were horrible...he had always seen the good in them though. That was their big difference he thought. She was trained through her experiences and upbringing to notice the evil of mankind first. His experiences and upbringing made him focus on the good. But they were both there, in everyone...and now the carnage and death surrounding him really showcased the horrid side of humanity.

As his mind wandered, a fight broke out between Kole and Lucien. Lucien beat the already injured man handily, and while he was down and knocked out, kicked out some of the man's teeth, tossing one to Gryhun and keeping the rest for himself. The display was literally disgusting and savage to him. How humanity did this to each other was absolutely beyond his comprehension. But he did not have this man's life, and deep down he knew that if he did, he would be doing the same thing. It is easy to look at something and judge yourself better, to think the other person lesser. Whatever it was; the Eternal Flame, or soul or whatever you want to call it, that ran the meat machinery of life however, was the same force.

The worst display of the night though, was that of his own doing. He was drunk, and hadn't been there. When the town, and his friends, needed him the most, he was not there. Instead, wrapped up in a blanket of self loathing and depression, he drank himself into a stupor once more to hide from his own thoughts and dull the pain a little bit. That's where he was when the home they built together was in peril, passed out, stone cold drunk. That was the most damaging of the acts to protect an ego that night. From his perspective at least, and that's the only one he could see it from sadly. Watching everything through the eyes of one particular narrow set of views, through the perspective of a person you don't even really like or respect. His biggest problem? Dealing with the realization that he was not the main character. None of them were. There wasn't one; and none of it mattered. This game they called life had no purpose.

Now as everyone finally left, and the smoke from the bodies faded away to dissipate into the clouds above, they brought Kole into the barracks to tend his injuries. Gryhun went to get Dr. Hanlon to see if she could save the man's life. Gryhun was the only good thing that ever came of his time in the First Torians so many years ago. The man was one of his best friends, and oldest ones left at this point. When Samara asked if they could trust him, he said he would with his life, without hesitation, and meant it.

As Galryth left the barracks, locking the door behind him, to ride off and see if he could contact the Legion about what had transpired, he looked back for an instant, envisioning the town he had witnessed bustling with business and laughter days before. The vision quickly faded to reveal the desperate and disparaged disaster that was now the reality of it. His friends were dead. His dream was dead. His passion was dead. His soul was dead. Whatever plans he had, whatever future he had planned and wanted, was dead already too...only his meat machinery was still working...
Last edited by Galryth Winterborn on June 23rd, 2021, 12:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Galryth Winterborn
Posts: 56
Character: Galryth Winterborn

Re: The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Galryth Winterborn » June 11th, 2021, 7:27 pm

5. Comfortably Numb

They didn't ring the bells for the Assembly. Not this time. It was a first and made the already awkward situation even more so. The Assembly hall was packed once or twice, sometimes with not enough seats for everyone. This time, however, it was only three; Viola, Galryth, and a lone guardswoman named Katarina who still dutifully paced the halls, the metal clanking lowly on the wooden floorboards. The emergency Assembly had been called to decide what to do after the horrors of the previous day. He was waiting for Mr. Lamora to begin the assembly.

"Mr. Lamora?" Galryth asked, looking over to Viola.

She shifted uneasily in her stone chair a moment. "We found his body." She said curtly. "In his lab, the doors locked, poisoned."

He looked down at the cold stone table and sighed, rubbing his face aggressively before pulling out some documents and going over the names listed.
Viola Wandren - present
Galryth Winterborn - present
Erilian Lamora - dead, terminal indigestion
Khalkeus Renatus - (KIA)
Tiarnan ap Howell - (KIA)
Kole - (KIA) (succumbed to battle injuries)
Mappo Thrupp - absent - (MIA)
Varius Prodain - absent - (MIA)
Flynn Barrigan - absent - (MIA)
Jakell Wormwood - absent - (MIA)

They had just begun to start on the docket for the day when a commotion was heard outside, Katarina going to the window to peer out and make sure all was alright before giving them an affirmative nod. At the door, an old woman he had seen only a few times before, and some others. He remembered her from the meeting with the Wolves way back at the start of all this. Felt so long ago now. As the rest of the folks filed in, they began the meeting of the Assembly. The folks present had come to offer their sympathies and respect to the dead, not expecting the pitiful display of an Assembly to be happening. Beginning to talk amongst themselves respectfully to not interrupt the Assembly, the old woman raised her hand to speak and approached the podium.

"Is this all that's left of you?" She began, motioning to the two. "We want to invite you both to join us south at the rest. This is ridiculous, how much you all have suffered out here."

Viola was hesitant, wanting to keep the spirit of what Teneborough was alive.

"Then we can do that, dear, but in a different way." The woman responded, her voice calm and assuring. "With fellow tradesmen and farmers."

"Do it Viola." Galryth said, looking over at her with relief. What happened to this woman was one of the only concerns he couldn't account for. "You should go with them. Teneborough is gone."

"Aren't you coming too?" Viola asked inquisitively.

"No...I am afraid I have matters to attend to. I will finish up on the mess here."

The smell of freshly baked goods and spiced incense filled the Anchorage Inn as Viola and Galryth sat on the brightly hued stools of the small-town bar. It was supposed to be its opening night. Viola had worked so hard for it. For the Anchorage, for Teneborough, for her friends. It was his biggest relief that she made the correct choice in his opinion to move out of Teneborough and move on from R and T.

"I never even got to open it..." She said as she began packing up the decorations and items she had painstakingly put out. Every item had a purpose and was selected so she could achieve just the look she wanted to. And it would never have a customer.

"So open it now..." He didn't even expect the words, but they came. He was delighted to see a smile return to her face, for a moment, as she stopped packing things up and declared the inn open. He raised his whiskey bottle in salute to the delicious food he was served and to the incredible hostess and her wonderful decorating skills. He would be the only customer.

More rounds of goodbyes went as the people who would be taking Viola into their home came through to help her move everything. He was so grateful to these people. None of them were folks he generally talked to, some he had never even seen before, but they were here and giving Viola a place to go. The offer extended to him as well, but he had other plans in mind. There was still business to conclude up at Teneborough and the frayed ends of R and T to finish unraveling. Whiskey was a constant now at this point, as he never allowed himself time to actually fall out of the state of perpetual drunkenness.

Gryhun was helping move crates and containers, strapping them to packhorses, and helping the flow of the operation. Gryhun was a jokester and a comedian, but also, one of the few people left that Galryth trusted to get things done when he said he would. The man had kicked him in the crotch more times than he could recount, made him believe he was going insane by pretending to be an ancient Dae spirit possessing a lantern, and from what he heard, the founder of the nude Fort Prae wrestling federation. But he was a good man. When Galryth called him a fuckin' asshole...he meant it with love. "Goodbye Gryhun."

Brogan was there too. He was always around, being helpful to just about everyone. Galryth couldn't think of anyone who could ever or would ever have a problem with this man. A true soul of the earth, and one who he believed, had for years possessed the wisdom and knowledge Galryth had only just begun to realize himself. He'd love to pick the man's brain sometime about the nature of being, free choice, and if there was a point to any of it besides living in the present moment. Maybe some of those green mushrooms would help him find the answers to that? He was sure Renatus had some stashed away somewhere still. "Goodbye Brogan."

"If I see you again before you leave the Province, we should have lunch." Viola said giving him a hug.

"I'd like that..." Galryth trailed off, returning the hug, all the while knowing that the lunch would never be. This woman was selfless. Truly. He had begun to see the darkness within everyone as of late, most of all in himself, yet struggled to see hers. Hers was mostly in self-doubt, and not having confidence, nothing as to harming others in any way. She was a beacon of light in an abyss of midnight. One he was truly happy to know, would burn on. "Goodbye Viola"

Outside, they had assembled a pyre for Mr. Lamora. His face was somehow still alluring even in death. As the fire licked up the wood and began to consume the flesh, a pleasant odor perfumed through the air momentarily, before being replaced with the now all too familiar smell of charred flesh. He didn't want to see any more pyres.
As the parties left, one by one, Galryth paced the town, building by building. He went to the offices first. The front room had been planned to be a hall of commerce and trade, vendors peddling their wares to the customers and bulk sales to be negotiated for transport to and fro. He looked over the tables set up and the beginnings of the items forming the market, now scattered and in ruin. Behind that, was the Office of the Administrator. Renatus' office. In here was all the boring and mundane bureaucratic nonsense the man seemed to somehow tolerate dealing with. Galryth took the carbine from his back, placing it on the records cabinet, and bowed his head, lifting the whiskey bottle in a toast, and throwing it back. Its burn was all too common now, and a welcome relief as he was starting to sober up. "Goodbye Khalkeus."

The next was the clinic. Where Mr. Lamora's body was recently found and taken from the funeral pyre. As he walked through the rooms, noticing their impeccable cleanliness, he smiled to himself at the back room. The man had not one, but -two- full-length mirrors. An expensive item he had only seen once before then. At the table near there, were an assortment of ointments, powders, and pleasant smelling concoctions. Galryth raised his bottle to the mirror, taking note of his extremely disheveled and dirty appearance made more obvious by the beautiful surroundings, and drank deeply. "Goodbye Erilian."

The Banners Barracks was where he went next, the last of the newest addition of buildings. The rows of beds and chests were empty now, where the men and woman who protected them used to sleep and play dice or cards in their off time. He didn't know whose bed were whose but raised his drink in salute to them all. "Goodbye Tyr. Goodbye Kole. Goodbye Banners."

Rolling up the sleeve on his leather tunic, he traced a finger over his bulbous veins, noting the black and blue marks from the last two times. Taking out the cord from his pack, he wrapped it around his upper arm, holding the loose end tightly with his teeth. The sting of the needle's entry was the last bit of pain he would feel that night, as he pulled it out and allowed the cord to slack. Peace and comfort swelled through his body almost instantly as he sunk to the floor and felt as if he melted into the boards, becoming one with them. He was so numb now. So comfortably... so perfectly...numb. He embraced the darkness that overpowered his consciousness fully and without fear.
Last edited by Galryth Winterborn on June 23rd, 2021, 12:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Kachina
Posts: 9
Character: Lyanora Voss

Re: The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Kachina » June 12th, 2021, 12:32 am

I just want to say this is one of the most beautiful and heartfelt posts I've read.

User avatar
Galryth Winterborn
Posts: 56
Character: Galryth Winterborn

Re: The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Galryth Winterborn » June 16th, 2021, 5:26 pm

6.Of Fathers, Shades, and Locks

Galryth stretched out on the Fort Prae couch, rolling over and yawning heavily. It wasn't his first time on that couch, and likely would not be his last. He had spent more nights in its embrace now than his own bed in Teneborough. Getting to his feet, he gathered the two not quite empty bottles by him and tucked them into his bag, careful not to crush the delicate glass syringes within. Slinging the bag to his back, he stumbled out of the tavern, covering his eyes from the sun's violent assault. Walking to the fountain a few feet away, he stopped to look at the waters flowing, and admire their beauty, as he drank from his bottle and began the day anew.

"Galryth!" A voice called out from behind him. He recognized the voice but couldn't place it...and didn't rightly care who it was anyway.
He could hear the clanking of armor on the stones behind him as Vance strolled up next to him and bobbed his head into viewing range.
Clearly, the man he once referred to as his father was not accustomed to seeing him in such a state of disarray, or smelling quite so...pungent...or so his facial expression would lead Galryth to believe.

"It's me Vance. Vance, you know?" He stepped up, almost waving his hand in front of Galryth's face to see how out of it he was

"Yep...I know." Galryth nearly snorted.

"Oh, you look like you are in a daze," Vance replied.

"Nope...just livin my life," Galryth responded flatly, throwing the bottle back to allow more liquid therapy down his gullet and dull his senses.

"I need to talk to you about what happened at R&T." Vance began, his voice lowering as he took another step towards Galryth.

"What's there to talk about?" Galryth interjected curtly, looking over at the man with his red bloodshot eyes.

"What exactly happened before the fight. There's so much death...too many...Renatus...Tyr...Jo...Lamano now?" He questioned, clearly not knowing how the last went. But he left a name out...

"Kole died of his injuries too." Galryth corrected him. "Maybe from his previous injuries...maybe from someone kicking out his teeth. In total 50 people are dead...all of our guards..."

"Jaykell and Flynn have surrendered to the Wolves." Vance responded as Galryth trailed off.

"I don't really care." Galryth retorted bluntly. "I don't know them...they came for our help. We gave them it. We took them in when they were in need, fearing for their lives."

"Why did you all take them in knowing they torched a whole town with people in it?" Vance asked, his voice protraying a real wish of understanding.

"I wasn't there for that call, and we take in those who ask for our help. We offered for them to stand a proper trial for their crimes, one they didnt feel they'd get. None of this matters though..." Galryth trailed off, taking a giant drink from his bottle. "My friends are dead...my dreams are dead...have some people come to collect their resources if you want them...I've plans for the buildings they are in."

"So you will carry on?" Vance inquired, a worried father-like expression on his face as he regarded the shamble of a man in front of him now.

"Carry on what Vance?" Galryth looked around, opening his arms up. "There's nothing left to carry on. There's nothing left...you're looking at the only acting member of the Assembly. Theres no more villagers or citizens. There's no more point." Galryth offered as flatly as he felt.

"If you need a home, you can still come to Legion or the Deravins." Vance offered in response. "I would never reject you."

"You honestly think I would entertain the notion of joining those who slaughtered my brethren?" Galryth nearly snorted.

"It was a battle that shouldn't have happened..." Vance began, looking down a moment.

"And yet it did..." Galryth took another drag from his bottle.

"But for all accounts straight, Tyr was the one whom ordered the attack first." Vance offered, looking around a moment.

"I wasn't there." Galryth shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I've heard many different stories from many different people. The result is still the same, and neither of us was there to know the truth."

"Well facts have to be facts," Vance responded. "We were only there for Jakell and Flynn."

"You were on our land...you could've left when we said they weren't there at that time...you knew we are not a fighting force...and in our statement, we offered to have them taken by the Wolves." Galryth retorted, bringing up the facts that he knew to be true without dipping into things he wasn't there for.

The conversation went back and forth in that manner in a mild blur for him that he had heard too many times already and all began to bleed together. Everyone saw themselves in the right. Nobody would take accountability for their rashness or mistakes. Everyone trying to spin the events to suit their own narrative. Himself included. This man was like his father for years, and he was torn between seeing him like that...and seeing him as the villain who orchestrated the destruction of everything he had in his life.

"First Torians have said what we needed to say." Vance began to wrap things up. "We ain't gonna find trouble with who is left, Viola, yourself or anyone."

"You've nothing to threaten me with anyway..." Galryth bemused, the thought actually making him feel better for a moment...almost free. "I've nothing of value left to lose. But if it makes you feel better...I've thought about it...about taking revenge...about how it would feel to kick out Lucien's teeth...and throw them at him as he did to Kole..." Galryth narrowed his eyes as he spoke, then relaxed backward and took a drink of his whiskey. "And, I'm not interested...even if I were capable of such a thing, which I'm not, it doesn't fix anything."

"You still have something of value," Vance interjected. "You have your life."

"No Vance...you're wrong..." He responded, once again leaning closer to the man. "I am still -alive- but I don't have my -life-...there is a difference."

"I know things were already bad for you before the incident...when you hung up your hammer. The only way from here is up." Vance tried to put a positive spin on it.

A slow smile crossed Galryth's face. "Not for me...do me a favor Vance...be the man I told them you were..."

"Don't trust him...he is a bad man..." A familiar voice echoed in his head...

"When they said the First Torian would come to kill them all...over and over...and I -assured- them that it would never come to pass..." Galryth informed him.

"You know you were the one bridging both sides together." Vance offered up. "When Renatus tried to assassinate Vera, when he turned the Order on us when he recruited Prodain the Legion killer...all those times you came out and mediated things. But this time, it got out of hand too fast, and neither of us were here to stop it in time."

He didn't correct Vance on the topics he brought up about his problems with Mr. Renatus. These were some of the very many different perspective issues that had plagued the groups, the very province since he got there. Everyone always seemed to see the worst in the others. Attributing the worst intentions possible onto the other party, and such a view case from all sides is what led to the events that night. He just didn't have the energy or willpower to point it out or fight it anymore...he was tired.

"Well..." Galryth took another hit from his bottle. "I suck at building bridges...build better ones in the future hmm?"

"We can if we keep trying," Vance responded.

"There's no "we"...Galryth retorted, his patience at the conversation beginning to thin. "I've nothing left to give. Send some men for your things as soon as possible. I'd like to move on with my plans."

"Well, we have to wait til after the trial to see what to do with it." Vance stroked his chin as he spoke. "I can send Vera up to secure the locks and even send up some guards."

"No. No armed First Torians in the town." Galryth responded quickly. "The few remaining people will be traumatized. Just Vera."

"I will respect your wishes, the lock first then." Vance began to step back. "The trial is in a week, I will keep you informed."

"Just Vera..."

"Just Vera."

"You know if you ever need anything Galryth, I will never turn you away." Vance continued down the stairs. "I will see you again Galryth..."

"I don't think you will Vance..." Galryth said, almost mumbling it into the bottle. "Remember what I said...Be the man I told them you were...build better bridges."

"Don't you do any stupid shit!" Vance took a step back towards him. "I will tie you up myself if you say that again."

"Then I will keep my mouth busy with the bottle."

Vance took one last look at Galryth, and he could see the sadness in the old man's eyes as he turned and walked away. They had a tenuous relationship and despite what he had heard of the man, he could not forget the one he knew years ago. There was little reason for him to care at this point about Galryth's fate. There was nothing to gain from him, yet he still seemed to. It was confusing for him and made his head ring as he pondered the nuances of their years of knowing one another.


He thought about their conversation on the long hike back to Teneborough. He couldn't afford the horse rides anymore, having given away his entire business fortune already...between the donations to Teneborough and the rest he gave away...near 62 gold he figured. A smile crossed his face as he thought of the "contract to kill Vera" misunderstanding, whereas he heard it from Khalkeus, the man paid 10 silver to someone to find out who ran a specific business and get them to stop selling tools. That turning into an assassination plot at such a ridiculous price was amusing when you thought that you could afford to hire and set up to have 620 people killed. How absurd. People worked a lifetime to earn that...people would kill for a fraction of that...and he gave it all away. It brought him no joy. It brought him no purpose. He had less than 100 silver now left to his name, and most of that was slated to keep him going on whiskey and other "necessities". As he rounded the river bend towards Riverside, he saw a man he wasn't familiar with walking about and waved drunkenly to him.

"Hey there, who're you?" Galryth asked, strolling up to the man.

The man turned, looking him over quizically and raising a brow in seeming surprised to see anyone else here. "Name's Cade stranger."

"Ahh...I'm Galryth." He introduced himself, extending his hand that wasn't holding a bottle. "Cade...name sounds familiar..."

He tried to place the name...he knew he had heard it before.

As they continued to talk, it came to him. He'd heard of this man in some stories he heard from Tor.

"You were in Tor weren't you?" Galryth questioned, studying the man for his reaction and pulling at his whiskey.

"And you..." Cade responded apprehensively. "Know this how?"

"People talk," Galryth stated flatly. "I believe you knew my father."

"Oh?" Cade replied, squinting at Galryth a moment before his mouth twisted into a smile of recognition. He didn't even have to spell it out, this man already knew. "Ahh...I can see the resemblance...just a bit."

Cade motioned to the bottle and back to Galryth.

"Day drinking or just habitual?" He inquired. "Seem's there's a lot of reason for it..."

Galryth nodded, offering the bottle over to him. Cade waved it off saying he hated the stuff.

Galryth nodded to himself, frowning slightly. It was habitual at this point wasn't it? He began to wonder if he could turn away from the path he was on now, even if he wanted to. Subconsciously, he began to rub his left arm, feeling the raised veins now even from the thick layer of leather. Did he even want to?

"I'm all that's left of Teneborough now..." Galryth said after a moment, absently taking another drink.

"Oh, I was just headed there," Cade replied and they began walking there together, continuing the conversation.

"I was hoping Jakell or Flynn were still alive and some of my things may be there. I was part of Highfield when it burned. I hear many died up there." Cade said as they walked.

"We tried," Galryth stated with a sigh. "I hear they were taken or turned themself in for a trial." Galryth responded flatly, believing at this time that the people of Highfield had all agreed mutually to the burning. "The Assembly is all dead but myself, and all our fighting men."

"Such a foolish waste of life." Cade shook his head.

"So...tell me something I haven't heard about my father since you knew him...I've heard things good and bad." Galryth requested, giving them something to talk of.

"He was...unique." Cade chuckled as he reminisced. "And he terrified me. The only man that could...he was a good sort overall."

Galryth raised a brow, a little taken aback to hear his opinion. "Really? I had heard he was rather reasonable in most aspects."

"That's why he terrified me," Cade responded in earnest. "He was entirely too reasonable. And deadly. Fanatics and the average idiot I can handle...but the saw the world of Grays and was unmoved...he seemed to understand it. And the very dark grays..."

Cade motioned to himself as he finished, implying he was a very dark grey. "He didn't kill me...shows you something."

"Maybe he saw a lighter grey than you give yourself credit for." Galryth offered with a shrug as they rounded the final bend of the river and the town came into view.

Letting Cade into the storage unit where the Highfielders items were brought as they fled, he stood outside drinking his whiskey as the man looked for his belongings without luck for a while. Having already given away most of his things, Galryth didn't have the materials to remake any of the belongings for the man, and after much back and forth, got the man to take some silver to get himself going once more. They said their goodbyes afterward as Cade headed off to make camp near the DeRavin's, telling Galryth to seek him out if he needed anything.

He smiled to himself as he watched the man's torch disappear out of view in the blackness of the night. An interesting man, with some interesting insights. A world of Grays. A fine way to put it. That is what the world was, wasn't it? Everyone a different shade of it, all of them flawed. He thought of the 50 people who had died in Teneborough. 50 different people, 50 different shades. 50 different grays. He wondered what shade he was as he released the string from his mouth and pulled the needle out, and slipped into the sublime of body euphoria once more...

Awaking the next day, he sat around with his whiskey waiting for Vera to show up for the locks. Around midday, she stepped up towards the Banners building that held all of the Highfielders items. Galryth frowned to himself heavily but was not surprised when she was not alone. He knew she wouldn't be. Even if she appeared to be, Lucien was no doubt in the shadows. He sighed to himself, even as the other person stayed way back. There was no way that peace or trust could ever be reestablished. He knew that at this point.
Last edited by Galryth Winterborn on June 16th, 2021, 11:40 pm, edited 3 times in total.

User avatar
Galryth Winterborn
Posts: 56
Character: Galryth Winterborn

Re: The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Galryth Winterborn » June 16th, 2021, 10:13 pm

7. Pillars of Strength

How long he was out, he couldn't say. At some point he must've moved outside as he awoke to Flynn walking around him as he lay sprawled on the grass, surrounded and covered in refuse and whiskey bottles in varying levels of emptiness. Reaching for the closest one, he raised the whiskey bottle to the man in greetings.

"I was looking for the funeral...but I don't see one." Flynn began, looking about nervously, then looked back at him with a worried expression. "How long you been drinking?"

Galryth tipped the bottle and took a long pull of it, the soothing burn of the whiskey coating his throat and feelings once more.

"Since that night at your bar..." He began. "OH SHIT! I never paid my bar tab..."

"Keep your money Galryth," Flynn waved a dismissive hand to him as he was frantically digging at his pockets. "It doesn't matter much anymore."

Galryth nodded and turned as footsteps were heard coming from behind them. Viola was walking up, dressed all in black.

"Hello Galryth..." She said sadly.

The woman usually a beacon of brightness and cheer was none of those things right now. Her attire matched how he felt inside, a pit of black, and further echoed the distraught downward tugs on the woman's facial features. It was heartbreaking to see her in this state, if there was anything left inside him that was unbroken anymore, this sight would rectify the matter.

He smiled half-heartedly to the woman. "Didn't think I'd see you again..." Galryth trailed off, as his eyes wandered to the woman following up the trail behind Viola.

Ramona was there as well, quietly stopping behind Viola.

They all quickly went over their hellos to one another. Galryth doing the now trademark raising of his whiskey bottle as his new form of greeting. Flynn and Ramona immediately had an air of tension between them, Flynn staring daggers at the woman. Ramona looking smugly back without exchanging many words. Galryth noticed it immediately, even in his slight intoxication. Truth be told he was as sober as he had been in months. He had woken up and immediately began talking to Flynn, without time for a drink.

"Mister Galryth." Ramona said lowly, bowing her head slightly to him.

"She offered to conduct the last rites for the dead, even though they've already been burned," Viola explained, motioning to Ramona.

"Oh?" Galryth replied, shifting his gaze between those gathered. "That's nice of ya...wish I knew, I'd have tidied up and stopped drinking."

Romana stepped closer to him, stepping onto one of several newspapers he had laying around, and crouched down to look him over with a grimace.

"I could...mix up something...to help you find your senses?" Romana offered sympathetically

He nodded groggily. "Sure...I'll give it a go."

Taking a moment to consider the various pouches on her belt, she pulled out a small vial, extending it over to the man as he sat up with a groan and took it. Uncorking the bottle he gave it a sniff. The first thing he had smelled in a while which wasn't himself or whiskey. It was strong, whatever it was, vaguely earthy and some sort of botanicals. He put the whiskey down and got to his feet without falling over, though it was close. He threw his head back, as he had done countless times the last few months and the liquid spilled over his tongue and down his throat effortlessly. It was horrible. He cringed, grabbing at his stomach as it panged in protest snd gritted his teeth hard, wretching forward.

"Well. You're not dead!" Romana laughed. He wasn't sure just how much of a joke it was. "Must be it's working!"

"This could've killed me?" Galryth inquired after a final dry heave, looking up through teary eyes at the woman who offered him a whimsical smile. "Damn...never any luck."

He sauntered off to Erilian's clinic and gazed at the ghoul before him in the mirrors. The avatar reflecting back made the scattered piles of refuse in the rumbling pass look like a bouquet of flowers. He was pale, gaunt, with sunken bloodshot eyes ringed with bags. His hair was so dirty and tangled that it didn't even look silver anymore, more of a faded greyish brown. For a moment, he truly hoped that his friends could not see him now. Especially Erilian, as he proceeded to take the deceased man's brush to comb the crud and tangles out of his hair. Following that up with an acquisition of a razor to trim and shave his beard, leaving evidence of his vileness all over the once pristine floors. Once more he pilfered into the different scented oils and fragrances that were still available on the table. The phrase polishing a turd came to mind as he tried to mask his lack of hygiene.

As he returned to the group, another had joined their ranks. He knew this woman's face. Many times they had worked wordlessly side by side at the crafting hall in Fort Prae. She was a fellow tailor, and he had heard, also a doctor. He couldn't recall if they had ever spoken, he was usually so busy with taking care of all his orders with Winterborn Works he hardly even talked to anyone else while he was there.

"Hello Dr. Theo." Viola cheerfully exclaimed with a wave.

He was once more ever grateful to Viola as the name of this woman was going to elude him. Galryth felt horrible. He was unbelievably thirsty, his head was pounding, and worst of all...he was sober...ish. Already the feelings he had been so carefully repressing were coming forth...battling for dominance of his racing mind. His eyes darted towards the whiskey bottles on the ground as he made his way over to them...but Ramona was already watching him, her eyes slowly following his. Then, like a coiled serpent at the ready, she sprang! Beating him handily to the bottles and whisking them away. "No more of that! Should you need something for sleep, dear, I can mix something for that."

He gulped deeply and nodded slowly, stepping back, and fidgetting nervously, rubbing at his left arm absently, feeling the protruding veins underneath the leather. His eyes wandered, looking over those around as if through a new perspective, and hovering over Ramona. He had been looking at her for the last hour or two but for some reason, it just dawned on him...he knew this woman.

"I remember you..." He said slowly, pointing a slightly shaky finger at her. "You stopped to talk to me once when I was farming my cotton...long ago."

Ramona smiled faintly and nodded. "You are the one that inspired me to farm..." She began, looking him in the eyes. "And I fed a whole village with that inspiration, sir."

He blinked at that in shock. The notion that -he- could possibly inspire anything in anyone was beyond comprehension or understanding to him. He was by the far the most average, boring, person that he had ever known, and it nearly floored him to think anyone could possibly find inspiration from such a measure of mediocrity.

"I used to love it..." He replied after a moment. "Watching and tending to the crops...caring for them...making something from nothing."

And he did. He did use to love it. And he used to love mining too...and smithing...and creating...what happened? Why did nothing bring him the solace that it used to? Why was there this... purpose-shaped hole where he once found such joy and relief from the stresses of life?

"Just...don't do over 1,000 plants at a time...it kills the enjoyment..." He quipped. "That was my mistake, I took it too far."

"I take everything too far..." He muttered to himself quietly, once again unconsciously rubbing at his left arm and looking over towards the backpack he knew held what he needed to repress these thoughts and feelings. How long until he took that too far?

"Too much of anything, good or ill, will do that." Dr. Hanlon responded flatly. And she was right of course...but he was an obsessive. Whatever it was that he was working on, or focused on, was his obsession until it suddenly wasn't and he would drop it as if it meant nothing and move on to the next thing like a child with a toy he grew bored of. He couldn't help it, it was his nature.

"I was here once before to do this," Ramona stated. "Someone had found I think two bodies in the forest."

Galryth nodded to that. "Yes...two bodies..." But his mind was elsewhere as he noticed a tremor in his hand and his heart racing a bit. He felt flush, uncomfortable, and was sweating more than the heat really accounted for. Once more his eyes darted to his backpack as the conversation moved onto the beginning of the ceremony. The doctor had been watching him and walked over quietly, surreptitiously getting between Ramona and him.

She was granting him an opportunity to get to his backpack and dull everything again for a while. There was empathy and compassion in that subtle gesture. One that would've slipped by him had his senses been as numb as they usually were of late, but he noticed it now and smiled with his eyes at the thought. What else had he missed in these months? How many moments like this had slipped by his awareness he wondered? He would never know. As comfortable as the oblivion of nothingness was, it also blocked him from seeing moments like this. Filtering out good and bad alike, and leaving a neutrality of bittersweet nothingness in its stead.

He bit his bottom lip and stood his ground, turning his gaze from the backpack and to the gathering before him. He wanted to feel something for this. He -should- feel something for this. Shutting his eyes, he felt the hot beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead until, reaching a threshold where gravity pulled them down his face, burning into his eyes, and finally to their death at his beard. His lower lip trembled as his stomach turned in knots, and he could feel his two front teeth slowing boring their way through. He would not...he could not...numb this.

Ramona began the ceremony. Taking out a copper mortar and pestle, a few feathers, and a vial of oil.

"Often, when children come of age they are given this rite..." She began, dipping the feather into the oil. "Welcoming them into the Church. Many have never had it. So we do this anointing in hopes that...should any of them not have received it...their spirits may feel the joy of the Light...We use a feather, a symbol of the Archangel's descent from Heaven to Eden. Let this oil, source of the Most Holy Fire, mark these dead as members of the Faithful...and Servants of the Light."

As Ramona began to draw in the dirt a mark of the Eight Virtues, a shudder traveled through Galryth's body, almost a shock of electricity, as his involuntary tremors began to intensify. The sweating was worse, and while his brain was flooded with all manner of fleeting and frantic thoughts and emotions his body knew only one thing. Pain. It was as if every muscle fiber he had, were torn asunder...over...and over. With every tremble, slight or major, they would tear more, and further. He clutched at his left arm some, knowing full well what he needed to make this all stop.

At some point during this, Dr. Hanlon had taken a few steps back, seeing that the man had not noticed the opportunity to take his reprieve from the situation, or had chosen not to. She offered a hand to the man, palm up. A gesture of moral and physical support. One he took as soon as he noticed it, squeezing it hard with every tremor as it took hold of him.

The flint and steel in Ramona's hand echoed like pounding thunder in his ears as she scratched them together to produce the spark that would light the feather.

"With this Flame, so may your Virtuous life be sealed..."

"Just make it through this...you can." Dr. Hanlon spoke soft and slow, so he could hear without arousing anyone else's attention.

He nodded slowly through the pain, as a small tear formed at the corner of his eyes. He could almost tangibly feel her sending positive energy and strength through him, as each tremor gave back negativity and pain. It should've felt alien to him...passing on your insecurities to another as they helped you. To push your negativity onto another while lapping up what they gave. But it wasn't...this was his normal. This is what he did. This was who he was. Samara had given him positive energy. How had he returned it? Abandoning her when she needed someone to show her they cared, to show strength. Renatus had given him positive energy. How had he returned it? By giving up on Teneborough and his pledge to build their town when he grew too weary of the work. Theo was giving him positive energy. How would he return it? Using it to substitute his own lack of fortitude. The list went on...

"These men and woman, now marked by the feather, will be seen by the Light all the more clearly. That they may ascend upon their death." Ramona continued, removing a glove and dipping her fingers into the oily-ash mixture in the mortar and marking the dirt and grass. "From the Flame we are all born...to the Flame we all return. As a spark in the night sky....so may the Faithful ascend. Now then, we have performed the Anointing and the Last Rite. Do you all wish to continue, to speak in memory of them"

"The Torment has taken a lot from us," Ramona sighed, taking a deep breath and huffing it out. "These men and women woke up like any other day....ready to defend the people of this village..."

"They didn't expect to all fall and not even receive a commendation!" Viola burst out, clearly upset. "I heard rumors that nobody thinks we were doing good! That we deserved it!"

"These men..."Ramona gestured to where the pyre had been. "Surely did not deserve this fate..."

"The people here never did!" Viola grew more emotional as things continued.

"And sometimes...when we act virtuously...when we extend a hand to those in need...we are not greeted with Virtue...it's not fair...it's not right..."

"It almost makes me wish I never had virtues!" Viola burst out, half in tears.

"We must never forget why we are here..." Ramora tried to continue.

"And why is that?" Galryth retorted instantly, almost angrily. The words came abruptly, as his emotions took control without the numbing of alcohol or drugs. "Why are we here?" He looked to Ramona with red, bloodshot eyes, piercing for an answer.

He squeezed Theo's hand extra hard as a particularly brutal tremor ripped through his body, and he bit down hard enough to finally draw blood from his lip. She seemed not to be phased by the event, even returning a gentle, almost reassuring squeeze. The sweat was profuse now, and he could feel the heat in his face, from the withdrawal, and the raw emotion.

"We are here, Mr. Galryth, to do our absolute best to bring more light into this dark world. I know it's far commonly said...but doing the right thing is not always easy...standing up to an invading army? That is not easy. These men and women showed their valor. Their courage. Their honor." Ramona responded to his question with a serious leveling of her eyes towards him.

"They were loyal but paid the price." Viola said.

"It was because of them...because of each soldier that fell...that so many good people of Teneborough did not die." Ramona responded.

"My poor brothers." Viola sobbed.

"These men promised safety to you lot, they promised safety to your new citizens...and it doesn't matter what anyone says..." Ramona continued.

"We asked too much of them! Nobody's here to vouch for us." Viola exclaimed.

"They kept their promise." Romana offered, "What happened here was terrible, but this village can be rebuilt just as Highfield will be."

"I..." Galryth mumbled, "Don't have it in me...I built this for them...for me...for us...and now? Now I can't even look at it."

"Then start over..." Ramona stated earnestly. "Start again down the road. Move somewhere else to aid that village. We can't let their loss be for nothing."

"I've nothing left to give." He responded flatly, and honestly.

Romana huffed and stepped forward in defiance as the woman holding on to his hand still spoke as well.

"You are a brilliant, strong man. We've all seen it. And I know you've suffered...and I know bits are broken....but you have much more left." Ramona stated, looking at him.

How anyone could see him in that light was absolutely surreal to him. Perhaps it was just that everyone saw the best in others but never in themselves? Clearly, they had to have their own reservations and doubts about themselves as well. Was he just focusing too much on his own vices and blinding himself to his virtues? But he didn't feel he had any...he was certainly not a strong man. Not when it came to matters of urgency or importance. He had shown that now, multiple times.

"You underestimate yourself, Master Winterborn." Theo said from beside him.

"No...I overestimated myself..." He responded. "Everything I have ever created has brought suffering and pain...the price for the hubris of thinking myself a creator."

"You -are- a creator though Galryth," Theo interjected. "It is not hubris."

He had thought in his naivety that he could make an impact at some point perhaps. Change things. At least carve out a little slice of a life for himself and those he cared for to escape from the reality of the situation they were all in. There was no hiding from it though. Even without the more pressing matter of the Torment or Afflicted, the base nature of humanity did not allow for such a thing. Not anymore. Maybe it never did.

"They call us cowards, I certainly was. I am undeserving of anything. We were unable to protect our creations or our people. Failures, obsolete, useless." Viola wailed.

The sweats had reached their peak at this point, and without his drugs and alcohol to hold them back, the emotional dam, broke. The constant doubt and self-blame that Viola was spouting...about how they were wronged and nobody understood and how others had slowly started to get to him. Maybe because he didn't want to see her go through such pain, maybe because he didn't want to admit that he agreed with her, or maybe because he didn't enjoy the reflection of his own weakness.

"I don't give a FUCK what they say Viola." He hollered, surprising even himself at the outburst. "And neither should you."

Ramona mistook this for something more than an outburst from an emotionally unstable man.

"Ha! See there's a man with some fight left in him!" She said with a smile.

"You will find your way, Viola." Dr. Theo began, turning to face Viola as she spoke, though he felt through her hand that she meant him as well. "And you have those who will hold you up, still today, when you feel you don't have the strength to do so yourself. I promise you that."

He squeezed her hand extra as she spoke the words, smiling for a moment even. How did these people possess such strength? Such fortitude? In the face of everything in front of them. In the face of everything that they had endured, and would have to in order to cling to this measly existence? It baffled him...and inspired him. He wished he was able to do this, to support someone else when they were in their weakest state. To support someone as broken as they can be and give strength and hope to someone who had none for themselves. Right now though, he couldn't even support himself.

They took turns then, speaking of the fallen. Of Renatus, of Kole, of Tyr, of Erilean, of lost dreams and lost friends. There were tears...there was even an occasional laugh. For a moment, all of them seemed alive again as they talked. Memories and stories shared. All the while...through every tremor and every pang of pain that radiated through him, this woman continued to support him, holding his hand and keeping him upright as his condition worsened. Any reservations of the kind of people that Viola was going with, was long gone by this point. She was in good hands...

The conversation turned to what was to be done with the empty town.

"If you don't know you were the light of this town Viola," Galryth exclaimed. "Then you know nothing. I built the body...you gave it life."

There was the faintest of smiles to cross her face then, breaking the monotony of sadness that filled the air currently.

"And here you both are...body and soul. I know a good deal of homeless people now you know," Ramona offered up. "The men and women of Highfield that lost their homes."

"I met a man from there the other day..." He responded. "Cade...he knew my father."

"They were supposed to come up here with us." Flynn retorted, crossing his arms from his spot away from the rest of the group. He had wondered why none of the others made it...

"I hadn't seen them, just you and Jakell," Viola chimed in, instantly voicing what he was thinking."

"Tell us of your father then." Ramona offered to change the subject.

"Cade had some things to say," Galryth began. "I wish I had met the man sooner. He told me something of my father...and how he was. A way of looking at things that I am just starting to see for myself.Cade said my father saw "A world of grays" in people. It just...resonated with me. Too often...we look to blame others and say who is right or wrong...and there's no such thing. Everyone is a mix of virtue and vice."

That was true...he could see the virtue in everyone before him. The compassion and empathy of these people, their noble aspirations, and their sense of purpose. They were here for no benefit to themselves, only to help others. He had always seen the goodness in other people, and always the goodness in himself. It was understanding the balance of these things that he was just learning. Just how deep the darkness in others could go...just how deep it was in himself.

"The last workpiece I created showcased that..." He continued. "But I did not understand or appreciate my own work and how it applied to me as well...I do now. The First Torian...the Parish...Teneborough...all the people...none are the right...none are wrong...just different shades of grey in a world of perspectives."

His mind was clear for once, as clear as it could be, as the epiphany struck home. Even his rampaging emotions could not touch the clarity that he had in his mind during this moment. Nothing could pull him out of this state of transenden-

"Is that why you and Samara were fussing over bronze?" Viola asked innocently, accidentally prodding him out of it.

He nodded slowly. "She thought it was all for my business...but it was or her sword." He retorted, hoping that the topic would go away.

"Did she receive it?" She asked quickly, clearly not understanding the pain she was causing here. Theo did, as she squeezed his hand harder, sensing the nerve that was just struck.

"No Viola..." He sighed. Exhaling and trying to keep what little composure he had left. "I threw it away...just as everything else."

"Throw...? What...Oh dear." The realization of what she had brought up came to her then.

"I threw it away Viola..." he continued, losing the little control he had over his emotions then, as tears openly fell. "I threw my life away...when things got hard...I ran. From her...from here...from all of it. The Torians didn't kill my dreams...I did."

Theo stepped closer then, as he began to shake worse than any of the other tremors, bracing him up with her body to keep the man from collapsing. She clasped her other hand over their joined ones and pressed him up, placing her body as a pillar of support for him.

And there it was...the truth...at last...without anything to duck behind or numb it away. When things got rough, he ran away. The Torians killed people. Some friends, some employees...but he was already dead inside before then...and now he had come to a full understanding of why. Without the ability to feel as if he was useful to someone, he felt empty. And he was without a use now. A cog without a machine. A meat vehicle with no purpose, waiting to decay.

His mind wandered over the revelations that were had here as Theo and Flynn both said some words on those fallen. They were both heartfelt, and tearful. Something Theo said even made him laugh. There was a brief exchange of words between Flynn and Ramona and Flynn left the group after the altercation. As he left, the conversation around Highfield continued.

"Why didn't the rest of you come up after you all burned Highfield?" Galryth inquired. The answer to that, something that had been puzzling him for some time now.

"We didn't -all- burn Highfield" Ramona stated in a shocked manner, clearly not knowing they didn't know that. "They burned it while we slept."

As this realization came to him...and all the pieces began to fit together...he began to shake, not from withdrawal...but from rage. There was no vote. They didn't even know it was going to happen. They weren't fleeing the Legion. Everyone was doing what they thought was right from their information, from their perspective, from their own interpretation of events...everything to put themselves in the brightest of lights to everyone else and out of their own self-interests.

He released his hand from Theo's finally, storming off to snatch his pack up, rummaging through the bottles and syringes, he pulled free a bottle of whiskey, biting the cork off and spitting it to the side. The smell of the whiskey called to him, begging to be utilized to dull him back out of the pain. He looked at it...debating. He needed to deal with this at some point...it could be now...or later...but you could only repress it all for so long.

"Mr. Winterborn," Theo called out to him. "We should have a long talk about your whiskey, if you would like, later of course. But you are clearly in withdrawal and upon learning this news I think you should take -a- drink."

He absently nodded as he stared at the bottle in contemplation. He wanted to throw the bottle against the wall and be a pillar of strength like these women in front of him. He admired how bravely they faced their own battles with courage and honor, and enough poise to lend to him even in his wretched weakness. He was not that man, however, and took his drag off the bottle, disgusted with himself as the liquid flowed down his gullet and into his eager stomach.

"If you plan on carrying out your current plan, however, I prescribe as much whiskey as you can tolerate and remain standing."

All of them...died because of lack of communication. All of this pain, caused by misinterpretations and seeing the worst in each other. By perceiving threats and danger where there weren't any or where it was far less than thought.

"What you fear...you create..." He muttered, almost to himself as they all went over the details of how and why all this happened.

Everyone saw enemies in each other...that's what they got.

Teneborough feared the Legion coming to destroy the town...that's what they got.

Galryth feared being useless and alone...and that's what he became.

He was the creator of his own story as it turned out...and he created his own worst nightmares...they were all writers of their own stories...some had just mastered the pen much better than he.

Looking down at the gem on his bracelet he looked at light refracting off the various prisms. So many facets to one thing. So many misunderstandings...leading to other misunderstandings...leading to unresolved conflict...leading to tension...leading to fear...leading to the culmination of that fear.

Doctor Hanlon offered up her support, one last time, before the party all their separate ways.

"Mr. Winterborn..." She began, looking him in the eye as she spoke. "As much as I am a doctor, I will not attempt to dissuade or stop you if that is your choice. You need to make your choices with as sound a mind as you can. I can help you drawback should you choose to. Or you can go alone and suffer the torture of withdrawal alone. Or you can continue on your current path. I will be here for you, regardless of your choice."

He pressed a tear out of the corner of his eye and nodded slowly, wanting desperately to have the strength and humility to drop the bottle right now, and follow her. To take her up on the offer of help and rebuild his life into one that he wanted. To rebuild himself into a man he respected. To become a pillar of strength like those that walked away from him now. The best he could do though was agreeing to go and see the Rest at least once before he continued any actions, and allowing him one more night, at least, in his embrace of the numbness that he needed so desperately right now. He wondered if she knew, as she walked away and he rubbed at his arm. Did she know what else he had going on and did not allude to it? Did she know just what kind of a mess he truly was?

In either case, part of him wanted to get better now. Seeing these people for the shades of grey that they were, albeit all on the lighter side of the spectrum then he knew he was himself gave him some hope for humanity. Maybe they could actually turn it all around. Maybe he could too. But not tonight...it wasn't long before a bottle and syringe were empty as were his thoughts and feelings...

User avatar
Galryth Winterborn
Posts: 56
Character: Galryth Winterborn

Re: The Legacy of Galryth Winterborn

Post by Galryth Winterborn » June 21st, 2021, 9:40 pm

8. No Rest for the Wicked

The Rest was better than anything he could have anticipated as Gryhun lead him through the streets, giving the tour of the place. Each section of the town was quartered off into their own unique little districts, with neatly stoned paved roads adjoining them and gated fences between. The smell of freshly bloomed flowers lingered in the air as the two walked the paved and lantern lightened streets of the Rest with Gryhun pointing out the different buildings. He couldn't help but notice the man's armor. It was absolutely stunning make, among the best he had ever seen and rivaling that of the top quality products he had ever managed to make himself. He smiled to himself, thinking he knew where the armor had come from already.

The first stop was to the smithy, where Ashford Reed, the man who served as the local smith, was hard at work. They shook hands and he gave him a tour of the smithy. It was large and much less cramped than his design up in Teneborough's craft hall. The forge was the centerpiece and was already blazing with some works heating within. Galryth nodded with satisfaction, though did feel inclined to mention the ingot wall catalog from Teneborough as a suggestion for ease of use. Ashford was a damn fine smith, and would likely be able to outpace and underprice him if he were to continue his trade anyway, and the joy he saw in the man's eyes as they talked about the trade, was something he had already lost himself and knew wasn't coming back. Ashford offered for him to take anything he needed, motioning to a chest and Galryth went over to look the pieces over to humor the man. In truth, he had no use for weapons or armor but didn't wish to be rude. This man still loved the art, and he had no wish to dull that passion out of anyone else.

"I will have to get the remainder of my coal supplies down here for you when I have time," Galryth said as they left, extending a hand to the man.

"I would appreciate that greatly," Ashford replied, shaking the extended hand firmly. "If you do need anything in the future, please let me know."

Galryth nodded and continued on the tour with Gryhun.

The inn was pleasant and the aroma of freshly cooking pork wafted from its chimney with each gentle plume into the air, mixing with the botanicals and creating a symphony of olfactory grandeur. His stomach was nearly as infatuated with the idea of the pork as his nose, and grumbled angrily at his lack of participation in the event. He stifled the protest and caught up to Gryhun a few steps ahead of him as he unlocked the door to the next district.

Before them, from post to post on the outer walls past the buildings to either side, was a beautiful array of freshly tilled farmland. All sorts of vegetables and crops were in different stages of growth and care, and his heart swelled at the sight. He didn't have to ask...but did.

"Take a guess whose doing that?" Gryhun asked smugly, crossing his arms with an exaggerated smirk.

"Not Viola?" Galryth replied flatly

"WRONG!" Gryhun blurted in response. "One more guess."

"Viola?" Galryth groaned having clearly already known that and for some reason feeding into this man's games anyway.

"Yer good." Gryhun pointed to him. "Got it only two tries."

"Damn I'm smart," Galryth mumbled as they moved along.

Gryhun nodded his head and pointed to a building behind them to show her new home. He knew it was hers before it was even pointed out. Even amongst the wonderfully decorated decor of the buildings and streets, there was a unique quality about it, just a bit different, that he knew was hers. She had truly already made this her home. It was a wonderful little village of crafters, and he tettered between jealousy, envy, and admiration. They'd done it. This was exactly what he was going for, except for being closed off to outsiders. The look, the feel, the vibe. It was the peaceful retreat he meant to build for R and T in the north, already existing in the far south. This was a possibility for a new start.

"Ahh Master Winterborn," Doctor Theo greeted him as she stopped on the paved road to chat with them. "Welcome."

"As promised...here I am," Galryth responded, opening his arms and taking a half bow. "Beautiful town."

They talked for a while in the road, about how wonderfully Theo had mastered the art of tailoring. Of Ashford's wonderful workings of iron and steel. Of the beauty and simplicity of the Rest's layout. Of recent events such as the rebuilding of Highfield. Of Gryhun being an asshole. All the while, Galryth flushing a bit in the face as he looked over to Theo a bit sheepishly, trying to hide the bottle in he had palmed and hidden not terribly well behind his arm. Sideways glances for an opportunity to present itself. She wouldn't judge him he knew, but he felt the sadness in her eyes when she looked at him even without the words.

"Oh!" Gryhun burst out suddenly. "Can you give something to Samara for me?"

He blinked a bit, not expecting the sudden mention of her, and frowned deeply. Would he even ever see her again? He hadn't since their encounter at the tavern after the sword incident except for...the massacre at Teneborough. Even if he did see her again, would she even speak to him? Would he blame her if she didn't?

Theo offered up her protest in bringing this up as he thought about all of that as Gryhun dug through his pack and pulled out an eyepatch.

"It was Tyr's," Gryhun informed him, releasing it into his grasp.

"I think she would appreciate this." He replied, bowing his head slightly and tucking it away as safely as he could, in a separate pouch from his whiskey and syringes. "Thank you."

His hand began to tremble as the conversation continued, whether, from the reminder that he may never see her again, or the lack of alcohol, he couldn't tell. The conversation before him began to fade out as the one he had had with Samara prior to their falling out began to replay in snippets within his head.

"You are lost Galryth..."

"Be your own man..."

"So many people are coal, burned up as fuel...you are a gem..."

"You still trust him? He's a bad man..."

"Cog...in an uncaring machine..."


Shaking his head, and the voice out of it, he blinked, looking at the others in front of him. Dr. Theo was looking at him, not at his eyes though, at his hands. His left hand was trembling mightily as his right had given up the rouse of hiding what wasn't hidden anyway, and half the whiskey bottle in plain view. She looked up from it after a moment, making eye contact with him. A sad understanding was present. Not disappointment, not judgment, just a sad actualization that she truly wished for him to get better, but would not force it. Eyes could tell you so much about a person, and while this gaze hurt him to make contact with, it was also a reassuring comfort.

After taking his "fix" he offered the bottle to each of them. Gryhun turned it down, and the doctor, surprising him very much, took him up on the offer, taking the bottle and throwing back a shot of her own. Galryth smiled a little at the sight, especially as he saw the burn hit her throat. Clearly, she was not as accustomed to this as he, as was evident from the disapproving of the aftertaste and subsequent fanning of her reddened face.

He took a few more shots as they continued their banter, the doctor taking only one more. The sun was beginning to set as they continued to laugh and converse about a vast assortment of topics once more. For the first time in a while, Galryth was starting to feel almost a bit normal again, surrounded by friends and in a safe place. He decided at that point.

"My plans as they were," he began, swishing the whiskey bottle around as he thought the wording over. "Will not end my pain. It will just spread it around to others. I see here in your Rest now, that my dream is not dead...just my version of it."

He nodded and they all looked around for a moment as the lanterns began to become the predominant light source for them, dancing off the buildings and vegetation as insects from the swamp in the distance could be heard making their rhythmic music. It was peaceful. It was idyllic. It was a new home.

Gryhun mentioned getting Ashford to make bunk beds and that he would return once Teneborough was properly taken care of. Whether or not he would actually want to room with Gryhun or not, was not something he had to think about right now. Right now it was just something to cling to and he was excited for a change at the prospect of a new beginning. Setting his pack down, he pushed through the various vials, syringes, and bottles, pulling out a specific one. Given to him by his stepfather, 13 years ago, after he helped him finish a masterpiece blade. He had saved it all this time and now seemed the best moment to dip into it.

"So once Teneborough is gone you will come back?" Gryhun inquired

Galryth nodded, uncorking the bottle and passing it to Theo.

"That's a win-win in my books!" Gryhun exclaimed. "I get to see a giant bonfire and my friend comes home."

"I got this as a gift when I was 14," Galryth said as he took the whiskey bottle back and looked it over. "It is aged 13 years...a present from my stepfather for completing my first masterpiece. I've been saving it all these years..."

"First masterpiece at 14?" Theo replied, still fanning her ever more reddened face. "Way to make a woman feel older than she is."

Now it was his turn to flush as he stammered an apology to her joke. She waved a dismissive hand and smiled with amusement, defusing the situation and alluding to the jesting nature of it to his relief

"You have a wonderful crew here," Galryth stated in earnest. "Truly remarkable."

"Well, we're all cogs in a reclusive machine..." Theo said with a sigh, looking over to Gryhun. "Except Gryhun...can't ever accuse him of being a recluse."


"Cog...in an uncaring machine..."

"Be your own man..."


They talked for a little while longer before the darkness had truly set in and it had become hard to see each other. At least, he was having a hard time seeing, but the bottle that he had saved for so long was less than half full already and had not been passed around after the round. As they said their goodbye and went to go their separate ways. As Theo walked off towards her shop and or house, he wasn't sure which as they never made it to that part of town, he watched her disappear into the shadows of the night with a small smile, wondering if she knew what a wonderful person she was.

"Would you care to see my decorating skills?" Gryhun inquired, patting Galryth on the shoulder and already starting to lead him towards this house with 2 atrocious bear statues in front of it.

He looked around the house that Gryhun called his home. There was a table, some chairs, and some assorted weapons in a barrel which had an amusing way of being acquired. It wasn't long into the banter until he got to the real reason for this meeting though.

"I was meaning to ask you; what're ya gonna do with all the resources ya got yer workers on now?" Gryhun questioned, leaning his elbows on the table.

"I have no plans or them," Galryth responded flatly, as he narrowed his eyes slightly, fixing them on Gryhun.

Where was this going...?

"The De Ravin's diplomat came by and one of the things he inquired about was this mine they used to have that the Order gave to R&T." Gryhun continued. "He was informed he would have to speak to you about it."

"What's this diplomat's name?" Galryth requested firmly, possibly with a tinge of anger.

"Kalisto?" He repeated the name back. "I just saw that man at the tavern a few nights back, we spoke at length and he didn't mention any of this. Did you give him my name?"

Gryhun nodded and drummed his fingers together as he went on. "I've found an interested buyer you could say who would trade an augment if the area were deserted at a specific time."

Galryth narrowed his eyes a bit, his face beginning to flush from more than just alcohol.

"Who is the other buyer?" He inquired lowly, already feeling he knew the answer to come.

"First Torian."

"I'd rather bury the mine..." He snorted. "With enough explosives, you can bring down anything."

"I mean...if you could do that, it would be fitting." Gryhun went on. "Otherwise, this is the only way to get something out of it unless you want to offer them up at auction or something."

Galryth breathed deeply, trying to reign everything in before continuing onwards.

"They've nothing to offer me." He replied with a gruff chuckle. "I don't give a fuck all about coin or possessions, I've given all that away already."

"At this point, I know you don't and I completely respect that," Gryhun replies. "But I uh...do like stuff."

And...there it was. The conversation continued onward along those lines on what to do with the mine, all the while anger slowly building up in Galryth. This is what it was all about at the end of the day for people, wasn't it? What could they get out of you? What value did you bring to them? Even in the midst of having given everything over, they would seek to try and wring the last bit of value out of you. He was projecting an idealized vision of humanity on these people, as he was to his friends from Teneborough...at the end of the day...people did just use each other didn't they? Even those they cared about...he had done it himself even...inadvertently.

His stomach turned in knots as they finished up the conversation and Gryhun lead him to the gatehouse to crash in for the night. They said their goodbyes as Galryth lay down on the wooden floors, looking up to the ceiling in thought. This life...was a game. A horrible game, that didn't care about the players in it, even resented them. He was tired of playing, tired of the game, and tired of being a lowly pawn in it. Every other character around him attempting to move or persuade him to do things to serve their own interests or further themselves into a higher standing or rank. The thing people often overlook about pawns though? If they made it across the board...through the unrelenting assault of pieces with far more power...they would rival or exceed any of them...

This was a fine home for Viola, and he was sure that she would be happy here as long as she remained alright being a cog in an uncaring machine. Once you saw the machine for what it was, and the horrors that said machine could elicit and produce in the hearts of man there was no going back to it anymore. He had no wish to be a cog anymore, no wish to be part of this machine anymore. Sadly, there likey was no Rest in his future

He smiled to himself as he drifted off to sleep...words echoing one last time in his head...

"Cog in an uncaring machine..."

A few of the teeth from this cog...broke off

Post Reply