[ Just a short little reflection that Morden has after the events in the Bronze Sea arc of AO. Player Character purposefully made as ambigious as possible, with an emphasis on their amnesia and the actions they take. Some creative liberties were taken with certain scenes. I also didn’t proofread this. Hope it’s still at least an interesting read. ]
Wind-Row Island was about as comfortable as Morden could expect it to be. It was colder here than it was in Ravenna, and the breeze which would pass through the ravine was almost calming. The steep, rocky cliffs which enclosed them assured they would be well hidden from any Ravenna troops still searching for him and his ragtag travel companions – but it kept them as fish at the bottom of a barrel for the bandits that called the island home. It made the night winds a bitter chill that would whistle and howl in the darkest hours, strong enough to bite through the thickest fur and topple most pitched tents. For now, it was an easy fortification while they recollected themselves after what had happened in the centerpiece of the Bronze Sea, but it would only be a temporary one.
“Finally,”
The exasperated sigh, and the crackle of a fire springing to life took Morden out of his moment of thought. Iris, a fiery and fierce woman and member of this motley crew, swept deep red locks away from her face as she stood from the ground, dusting herself off. The fire she was coaxing finally burst into something that could withstand the night-chills here in the ravine.
“Why didn’t you use your magic?” He asked her, watching her warm her hands on the flame.
“I’m not gonna rely on it for everything.” Iris replied, cracking her knuckles one by one by the warmth before stretching. Morden spared a glance to watch it unfold, “If I did, I’d be useless if I couldn’t use it.”
“That’s wise of you to do so,” A raspier, deep voice came from the figure exiting his tent. Neviro, the last heir to a fallen, forgotten land – a man with snow white hair and a staunch resting expression that spoke of his age and experience – brought with him a burlap sack, which he emptied. Dinner contents, it looked like : pine nuts and berries and some choice fish. He sorted them out in a copper skillet to put over the fire. “Reliance solely on magic, even if it is as rare and powerful as yours, can be a death sentence in the long run.”
Iris chuckled, “…Yeah, I figured that much out, after fighting with our mutual friend, over here.” she nodded towards the person who had been sitting beside Morden all the while. They barely spared a glance over, much less the faintest indication of a smile, before looking back at the fire. This is the person that Morden had known the longest out of everyone around this fire…and yet…he couldn’t help but feel as though he knew them the least, now…
They spoke, sure, but it was not the same witty remarks or the same bite that they showed their captors all that time ago. A shell, they felt like, moreso. Empty, hollow, incomplete. The same face, the same voice, but apprehensive, cautious, different. He looked over them as they stared at the fire. It was clear that they saw more than the flickering dance of embers. No memories of anything that happened. From the torture they escaped, to the death of Tucker, to even their life before all of it. Morden asked them, back in Sailor’s Lodge, over a cheap pint, if they ever began to recall anything. He remembered the way they looked at the hearth that kept the lodge warm.
“Not a damn thing.” They said, smiling, “Not a single, damn thing.” The smile was empty. Morden could still see the way their brows furrowed and the way their eyes crinkled in frustration. It was almost familiar, he thought. Some things did not change, even without their memories.
He shook his head and looked back over to the present. Neviro left the skillet of their dinner cooking, so that he could help Iris train in some basic hand to hand. He watched the way no hesitation inhibited every hit Iris could throw against the shield Neviro was using to block her attacks. It was wild, untamed, a little inexperienced, but the strength behind it could still knock the wind out of you.
It reminded him of the way his friend beside him fought. Even back when they were contained, there was a fierceness in them – not unlike a cornered, wounded animal, fighting with everything it’s got. Even now, without memory of that pain, they fight like it still wounds them, like there’s still a chain around their neck that they’re pushing against, even if it chokes them. He saw it in their eyes, when they caught them, just after dealing the finishing blow to the King of the Land of Bronze. Hands bloodied, body hunched, tense, the sheer fizzling in the air and taste of dust and iron from the power they unleashed to emerge victorious against Calvus himself. When they turned to face Morden, he remembered the rage he looked in the eye that moment. Vicious, inhuman, monstrous, just a tether away from being let loose. He remembered the way it was tucked away just as quickly, met with startled confusion. Hesitation. A brief glance at the lifeless body they left behind them, before the need to escape the Castello overtook them.
He remembered being brought to their vessel, watching them lag behind enough for the young prince of Ravenna to catch up with them. The hesitation he saw was nowhere to be found in his friend. Revon stood no chance against them, that moment.
Edward, the Quartermaster for his friend’s ship, looked over the railing of the ship to watch the scene unfold with Morden.
The sheer crackle of blows echoed across the beach, sure to alert nearby soldiers. That did not seem to matter to their friend, who traded attack after attack unfairly with the inexperienced prince. Those were killing blows, held back by some unseen force within their dealer, who showed almost no mercy to Revon. It took only moments for them to render the prince a wounded dog on the sand, left coughing, bruised, and battered. They exchanged words Morden could barely hear, and he felt his stomach drop when he watched his friend slowly raise his hand towards Revon.
The same moment felt like hours, washed away only when he watched them flick the blood away from that same hand, before hopping onto their boat and taking the helm.
Just like that, they were out maneuvering the numerous Ravenna ships that chased after them like it was nothing. But when Morden looked closer, he could see there was a far greater conflict his friend was handling, by themself.
And that conflict was there again, silent and ongoing as his friend watched Iris trade friendly blows with Neviro.
“Hey,” Morden spoke, quietly. His friend startled silently beside them, looking over. Did they always look this tired? “It’s getting late. You should get some rest.”
“…” They slowly mulled over his suggestion, looking at Iris, who was apologizing to a hunched over Neviro. Seems she did actually knock the wind out of the man.
Tentatively, Morden put a hand over his friend’s shoulder, watched the way their shoulders rose and tensed, before barely relaxing, “I’ll wake you up when dinner is ready. Rest. You need it.”
Their lips pursed, before curling into a smile that they most definitely forced on. With a brief nod, they retired to their tent in slow movements.
Morden watched that tent long until after Iris and Neviro returned to the fire. The person resting there behind that tarp…he would consider them one of his closest friends, at this moment. They’ve gone through hell and back over and over, together, even if they can’t remember it. And yet, they were now the farthest away, locked in some battle with ghosts they can’t even recall the faces of.
Even now, they’re still that same stubborn rock he remembers. They’ll treat it like their battle, and theirs alone. For now, Morden could only hope he can find a way to breach and help, before they lose it to themselves.
