On Wings of Silver :: 03
The meeting between Jack Nasty-face and Valeria Camena seemed to go relatively well. Valeria has some ideas on what’s to be done for Jack, so I’m confident that she’ll help him find his recalcitrant sire. Whether or not Jack will undertake the danger of traversing into the Void remains to be seen. Wisdom would tell him it’s too much danger for too little return, but sometimes our hearts get the better of us. And Jack seems a man thirsting for answers.
What wasn’t expected was the presence of a voidsent that followed me home from the Quicksand (Zerus Blackstone). He claimed to have business with me and when I inquired after it the rebarbative fiend informed me of a loose piece of Light within his demesne that he wanted rid of. According to him, this shrapnel of brightness belonged to none other than Reynard Silvaire, whom I rescued from that odious place some time ago. It beggars the question: If it was this fiend’s domain, then was it he that captured Reyn to begin with? I mislike the whole idea of this; it reeks of a trap, either literally or figuratively. Voidsent aren’t known for their generosity or their kindness. This creature stands to gain something from this, one way or another.
I refused to agree to his terms. I couldn’t in good conscience agree to anything, when it was a part of Reynard that was at stake. He deserves to have a say in it. He may very well deem it not worth pursuing, given his sensitivities to the Void, and he would not send me into that dark place on my own a second time. Not that I would be alone, but Reynard has ever safeguarded my well-being wherever he could — even where others failed to.
My concern now is whether or not to bring this to Reynard. He has been through so much and has suffered dearly for it all. I am loathe to bring something like this before him, to know that some part of him continues to be at risk. That I am, perhaps, the only person that can once again save him from the Dark.
I returned to the Quicksand the following night, to mull over that self-same decision or perhaps distract myself from it. I was surprised to come across a man who looked remarkably like a young boy who had once stolen from the Lightfaith Armory. He tried to play it off, but I could see the recognition in his eyes that he remembered me as much as I remembered him. Eventually, he introduced himself as Holden Horne and we spoke for a while about where our paths had taken us from our sand-ridden childhoods on Ul’dah’s streets.
He enjoyed his game of conversational cat-and-mouse, evading my questions about his profession, but eventually my patience won out and he capitulated. It seems the boy had grown, gone off to join the Immortal Flames, then subsequently moved on to become a Bounty Hunter. Not entirely unlike my own progression through life, though mine with perhaps a few more scruples. Still, it was a good conversation that whiled away several bells — even if the man claimed not to know me at all.
Not long after Holden left me, I was approached by a man calling himself “Mister Moon” (Moon Setter) and he claimed to have a message from me from Cress Heartshot, the young man I met and spoke with for a time the other night when the voidsent followed me home. It was clear that Cress wanted to protect me, perhaps even escort me home. After our conversation and me teasing him over his confusion that I acted a demure lady, but had the carriage and callouses of a warrior, I think his pride wouldn’t allow him to make the offer. Not that I would have refused. I have been around many voidsent in my time, from Barbas to Ilaroth, and all of them paled in comparison to the sheer magnitude of power that radiated from that thing.
But I digress, Mister Moon came to tell me that Cress had been injured by a Dravanian drake on some assignment they’d been on — a gash to his thigh in freezing environs. I was assured that he’s recovering well at his company’s encampment, but he sent along a gift and an apology for not being around this evening. An endearing thought, considering we had no planned meeting, even in his pain and injury he somehow thought of me, simply because he saw me in the Quicksand before he left. The gift he sent along was a tea set. How had the man known I liked tea? According to his friend, he said, “She talks and holds her own like one who would enjoy a quality tea.” Am I really that transparent? Hm.
I accepted the gift with grace and sent a message for Cress’ swift recovery along with his friend. I also offered to provide my skills as a healer, in order to get Cress back to work faster. I know how such idleness in recovery chafes as the warrior spirit, so I thought he might appreciate an acceleration of his return.
