The Boy at the Tombstone The tombstone was already growing worn and weathered. Two seasons of hot summer and chill winter. Spring thunderstorm and first frosts of autumn. The little boy wept freely and unashamed as he tears cascaded down his red puffy cheeks. "I miss you mom.. dad... I miss you so much..." All the words he could muster before free flowing water poured from his eyes to salt the earth. Xannis passed him walking slowly giving only a glance to the weeping boy. Even now, he can not remember what race he was. However the face as the boy looked up over the tombstone of his lost family, the wet tracked etched on his face like the sorrowed carving of two vast canyons. The Tier'Dal ducked his head and pulled his cowl tighter and kept walking. He only got twenty paces, before he turned around. "Why do you cry boy?" He asked, standing behind the boy as he looked over the wearing graves. The boy needed no urging beyond that simple question, "I'm angry... I want me parents back! I lost everyone! I gots no grandparents... no relatives! It was only us! US!" He pounded the ground with a tiny angry fist. Xannis said nothing and only stood there, listening. "They was killed in the war, with the Dark Ones... killed.. They threw themselves on me at the camp! And they killed them! They didn't see me under there... and I was so scared, i didn't move... I didn't do anything to save them! Now... now their gone and I have no body it's.. it's not!..." "It's not fair..." Xannis finished for him, his face grim. No, it was not fair. Many things weren't. This boy and thousands like him. Xannis own recent loss, his heart swelled at the thought and grew heavy. The boy turned at that unguarded moment and saw the tell tale signs of violet skin... Dark Elf. The small body lunging at the sudden embodiment of all his rage and loss. He slapped and kicked at the taller man. "YOU! ONE OF YOU! I'LL KILL YOU, I'LL KILL YOU ALL!!! ALL OF YOU!" It was not the small slaps and punches. It was not the words. It was the the place in which they came from. A place he knew all to well, the darkest pits of hatred and vengence. A place that once gone to, is next to impossible to climb from. Xannis dropped to his knee's and grabbed the tiny wrists firmly, his cowl slipping to reveal his fading violet eyes as he looked the tear streaked boy in the face. "It's not fair. And you should be angry. But there is more to your life than anger. A power, stronger than any anger." He spoke hard and fast, but there was something else, and underlying tone that caught the youths ears. Genuine concern. He paused. "Sacrifice. Your parents sacrificed themselves for you. Their love for you, to go on, even with out them. To meet a nice girl, to work hard, raise a family of your own. These are what the blood of their sacrifice can buy. Only you, can wash away that blood in vengence and destroy the sacrifice they have made for you." They watched one another for a long moment. Xannis released the boy, stood, and walked away, continuing on his promised journey. Many decades passed. He had not been by this path in all that time and had only occasionally thought of the young lad at the tombstones all that time ago, between his training as a monk and his own travels. There was a gathering of many people. Little children ran about playing chase while the older and taller group stood in a simi-circle. As before, he only gave a small glance though now, his face was not covered in shame. "YOU!" came the shout of an old man. "YOU I SAY! STOP THERE!" Xannis did and readied himself for trouble. Turning he saw the shouting old man hobbling toward him at a great pace, his cane leading the way and twice, swatting at worried younger woman. "Grandpa slow down you'll hurt yourself!" The old man paid her no mind, "You... Boy the Goddess, it is you... you, haven't changed... at all. I never.. thought... I'd see you again..." Xannis had no idea who this old man was. Until he began to weep. The tears flowed. They washed down his cheeks and with them, the age of time to reveal the crying young boy at a pair of tombstones. "This.. this is my family, all of it... I lost my wife a year ago... but, these.. these are my children... grandchildren and over their," he pointed to a young lady with a swollen belly that looked away shyly, "That's my great grand child in her belly." The dark elf smiled. "You.. What you said that day, I listened. I was going to go... join the military or go become a mercenary. But that's not what they would have wanted, not for that reason. And, now I have my family... I'm old but.. i've lived a long happy life. I... just... Thank you." Xannis only nodded to the old man as his eyes swept over the family easily over a dozen strong already. He could not take credit of course, would not. It was not his sacrifice to take credit for but as he looked into those tear worn cheeks he could not say nothing as he turned with a nod and began on the road once more. "You are welcome."
(This is a bit of a different writing style for me so what works and doesn't. Feedback welcome Eyes of Innocence "Thank you Unca' Xan, they're beautiful!" She took in a deep breath of the brightly colored lilies taking in their scent. He only smiled and nodded as her big brown puppy eyes looked up at him. "You always bring me nice things Unca' Xan," she kicked her short legs over the edge of the hay bale that sat on the outer fence of her fathers farm. He had been coming off an on for months now since he had accidently bumped, very literally into the girl as he traveled the road next to the farm. He had picked up her doll, dusted it off and handed it back. She had looked at him with out an ounce of fear in those sparkling brown eyes taking the rag doll. Eye that shown with a light of innocence only a child can produce. "Thanks Mister!" Just as he was about to go on his way she had a coughing fit. Violent coughs wracked her small frame. In his long journey he had seen it before "The Bertoxxuloux Plague" is what they called it. A disease that seemed to come from the Plague Bringer himself. There was no known cure. In the road there he sat, cradling her in his arm, brushing the hair from her face and holding a rag up to her mouth until the fit passed. The rag pulled back with spots of red. The girl was exhausted. Carrying her across the vast fields of wheat and corn he brought her home. The mother had passed from the very same plague only a year ago. The father was all she had left and he spend his time in the fields. He cared and loved his little girl, but the wasting disease had taken it's toll on the simple man. First his wife had snuffed out the hope in his heart and now his daughter. Sadly though, the time he had left with his little girl he was losing to the inside of a bottle at night. In his big chair he lay passed out, bottle in hand. Since then Xannis had returned often. Even helping the father with the choirs of the farm. They had grown to be friends. She had declined steadily since then. The shine carried in her eyes slowly dulling as the life faded. Thinkers and philosophers will tell you with cold detachment that death is merely the next stage of life. That it happens to everyone eventually. Priests will say that it is a joyous occasion. To reflect on that which that person brought to your life and thanks to the gods for taking their soul to the heavens. It was in Xannis philosophy, that none of these men had ever had to watch a small girl die, one day at a time. "I think I likes my Billy Doll the bestest though, he has funny hair!" She giggle and, sure enough, there it was at her side. "Well, I'm glad you like him Lyrah, come it's time for supper and you've been outside long enough." And so it went. Xannis taking care of the young girl, making her last days as comfortable as possible. Fresh air was good for her and she loved to go even if she could not run and play. "She doesn't have much time left Xannis," the father said in a hushed whisper as the two men sat around the table having a drink, the father already having had several. "I can't take it... not again. There has to be something.. anything!" The old monk only sat and listened as he took a sip of the bitter ale. "You said you've been everywhere Xannis! There has to be.. something, anything. I saved for a month to get a healer to come see her.. and for what... for what?! To tell me what I already knew, that my precious little Lyrah was dying! There's nothing we can do sir. It's the Bertoxxulous disease sir. Enjoy the time you have left sir. BAH!" It was a rant he had heard more times than he could count since coming here. Xannis only shook his head, "I'm sorry. The most I can do is go to the nearby village and get something to help for any pain she might suffer. Other than that, you should just enjoy what time you have my friend. There is precious little of it left." The next day Xannis set out on the four day journey to get the medication now that the end was close. Two days walk there. Two days walk back. It was four days later he returned and knew instinctively something was wrong. There were plenty of local beasts to worry about, one in particular kept the local farmers in fear. A rumor of a female vampire. The heavy mist about the farm and the feel of death hung over the farm like a wet blanket. Quietly he crept into the house calling quietly, "Lyrah?" His voice echoed in the dark house sounding off old wood. A whimpered laugh from the basement. As the old storm door opened with a creak and he stepped in, his heart skipped. The father rocked his daughters limp body back and forth his face moist with tears. Not tears of sorrow, but of joy? He was smiling. Laughing even. "I found it.. I found a cure!" "There is no cure, you kno..." Lyrah's head lulled and turned. Exposing two puncture marks in her neck and the red stain of blood upon her lips. Turned. "No... god no... what did you do?!" "I saved her! Priests and healers be damned! I found a way! THAT'S WHAT I DID!" He nodded to a dark corner where a human length pile of ash lay. "She came. She came to kill us, but i got her! I got the best of her! She was weak and fatigued. I captured her... made her bite my little Lyrah... then drink! She saved Xannis, don't you see it! SAVED!" His eyes were mad pits in the dim light that poured from a single candle and the dim light of the entrance. Xannis was cold. The father did not understand. It was not life he had granted his youngest daughter, but a damned death. "You have made it worse. We.. have to stop..." But before he could finish, the tiny lifeless body spasmed and woke in a blood fury. She lunged for the nearest artery, that of her own fathers. There was nothing Xannis could do. The man was as good as dead the second her turning had finished. She made quick work, the ritual finished. She stood over the body of what was once her father in another life. "Unca' Xannis?" He nodded as a single tear rolled down his cheek as he looked over the monster this innocent child now was. Covered in the blood of her own father and wearing the once white sun dress her mother had made her. It was her favorite. "I don't hurt any more... Papa cured me. But i'm hungry.... so very hungry." The once bright brown puppy dog eyes had turned black and dead. No spark of life... no sign of the Lyrah he sat with for hours on hay bales over the last months. "I'm... so sorry." She came for him, as he knew she would. Her hunger dictated no other course. Vampire now though she was, she was no match for a full grown man, let alone a warrior monk. Twisting her easily, her back was to his chest and he held the biting snapping thing in a tight hug. Slowly he fell to his knee's taking her with him in that combination of a hug and restraint. "I love you, little Lyrah. I promise not to forget you. So that you may live forever..." The silver stake did its work. After a moment he was alone and covered in ash, the one arm now hugging his own chest. Later that night, the soft orange glow of the burning farm house lit the back of the traveling monk as he once more set out on the road. None of the surrounding farmer or villagers would know the tragedy that below the innocent girl and her loving father. "As shame, the poor girl dying in a fire with her father like that" "Well, she wasn't long for this world anyhow. Sweet innocent girl like that, it breaks my heart" "Lyrah... The girl who's eyes could light up the world. Gods bless her in her next big journey"
And I used to think I could write a decent story. Exceptional. Truly exceptional. The first was really good, but the second was just far beyond.
(Thanks for the kind words. It's always good to hear people enjoy them. ) Night Watchman "You dark elves, I don't know why the gods even let you breath the same air as the rest of us. It's disgusting to think what you breath out, even into this wide open night air, might be breathed into my own lungs." The dark elf monk Xannis Sul'Egna only said nothing to this. What was there to say? Already now for three nights he had listened to this line or something very close to it. Hatred can't be argued against. It only makes it stronger. Three nights he and the High Elf Kataris Tristian had been placed together as partnered watch eyes for the northern plains. All three nights, Kataris never stopped talking. Xannis fading violet eyes scanned the dark plains lit only with the flicker of starlight and the faintest fingernail sliver of the moon that shown down upon them. "It's bad enough your a dark elf, but a drifting mercenary too. I mean, how much lower does a person get?" The silver blond strands of Kataris' head shook with his head as he stood leaning on the towns hastily build wooden defense wall. The small town was just barely that. In fact in Xannis opinion it was little more than a large village with studious residents that knew a thing or two about defense. The town was made up of many races as were most towns during these trouble times in the Age of Cataclysms. It had been a year since the last major ground shake, but it had already been fifty years into this horrible age of destruction, with no end in sight. Earthquakes so long the very continents had torn asunder letting the sea fill in the gaps. This town was just one of many scattered across what was once one continent. Mixed people. Mixed cultures. All trying to survive no matter if they were elven, human, halfling, gnome, or in his case, even the hated dark elves. Though they and the other dark races were shunned and formed villages of their own. It was just this reason he had been hired. A neighboring village of trolls, ogres, and orcs had decided that the five miles between the two was just to close. Already they had attacked twice both sides suffering heavily. The tiny town had sent out word to hire strong mercenaries to help in its defense, even erecting the wooden guard wall he now stood on. Xannis had been passing by a tree when he had seen the posted notice and headed for the village. "I still think you're just a waste of the towns coin. We don't even need you." Kataris' light blue eyes scanned the thin but muscular monk, though his night cloak and the starlight covered anything more than a black shadowy outline. "You don't even look like you could swing a sword." Turning to him finally the dark elves purple lips parted in a smile showing clean white teeth and nodded, "I think you are right Kataris Tristian." This agreement, only made the high elf more frustrated. Spitting over the side of the twenty foot wall he did however, stop talking. The ex-Shadow Knight turned monk knew a thing or two about Hate. It had been his world in service to the armies of the Dark City of Neriak. Commanding death and destruction against the surface. Plays for power over former comrades. Spreading Hate in the name of the Dark Lord Father, Innoruuk. It is a vice that once placed upon the heart gnaws inward like a parasitic worm. Feeding and growing stronger with ever act. A parasite that could only be destroyed by shunting pride and preconceptions. Something glinted. Xannis foot kicked out the back of the High Elves knee causing it to give and collapsing him like a sack of wet sand as he cried out indignantly. "I knew it, you're on their... " but his words cut short as a whistling arrow passed the place the angry mans head used to be. "We're under attack!" He shouted as at the same time the realization his life had just been saved struck home. "You just..." The dark elf stared into the starry night as the incoming bandits torches lit up on the fields and their charge began, "Come, let us do what we can." It had been a small force, but a small force of ogres and trolls is an army unto itself. The villagers fired arrows, stone, steel, or fire tipped. Those with magic ability used what they could. A small force of villagers broke out into the battle to take them head one, lead by Kataris and Xannis. Together the fought for this small village, which is now lost in the dusts of history, but at that time the two men became comrades in arms. In the end, the bandits retreated with what number they had left. The villagers suffered many injuries. As the two men made their way across the battle field, checking for wounded villagers and finishing off any faking bandits with a final stroke to the neck. They did their work in silence surrounded by death. It happened quickly. The whistle of an arrow. A shout. The dark elf feeling himself pushed roughly down and out of the way. Then the hot spray of red blood as an arrow sank deep into the heart of Kataris Tristian. One troll had remained alive that they had not yet gotten too. With his dying strength he had fired an arrow straight and true at Xannis, but his troll body had given out before the arrow even found it's unintended target. Xannis knelt close to the paling high elf. The wound was fatal and had pierced the heart. There was only the time left that his bodies current flow of blood allowed. "Why... You shouldn't have ...." Coughing Kataris replied with blood stained lips, "You saved me.... One does not watch... a comrade die when he owes them his life. Your people are murderous bastards, Xannis Sul'Egna.... but you... " He never finished his last words. The sun finally rose upon the battlefield and a new day had risen. "Go, Kataris Tristian. Go with out hate beyond the veil."
I like your setting being the middle of the time in which few stories are told, and just about anything is possible. Definitely fertile ground for a storyteller. Excellent, just like the rest of your short stories here.
I agree with that a lot. One of my favorite SOE stories was from the dwarf that had saved a little girl during the Rending and met her years later in a bar. Something about that one always struck home with my. And recently the stories from the RPG Lost Odyssey which are absolutely amazing inspired me to do these stories given my character is also very old and lived through much. Anyhoo, glad you enjoy ^^
I must say that I am enjoying your tales very much as well. I do however have to keep telling myself to not follow in your footsteps and write a group of short stories. I've got my epic tale to finish first. Once that is completed I'll allow myself to go back and write short stories to fill in the gaps that I intentionally left in teh shattering. So keep at it please. You and Ekuthh have inspiried my to knock out another post on my tale after reading this one.
Bravo, Xannis. These three stories are among the best short stories I've ever read. Eyes of Innosence brought tears to my eyes. Great work.
(Thanks all for the very very kind words. It is the ultimate in compliments to hear it from you all) Hope Springs... The free city of Qeynos lay half in ruin. Its once polished marble stair ways were cracked and splintered as if a gods hammer had struck them from below. Entire blocks of houses lay in rubbled ruin with only a few jutting walls jutting into the sky like broken teeth. Even the towering central spire of the Royal Castle lay draped half into the moat like on old discarded sock, itself sheared clean of it's supports leaving only a hollow stone tube attached to the once magnificent and awe inspiring castle. The sounds of hammers cracking, the clank and clatter of chisels, the grind of saws on wood, and shouts of a broken hearted people were the cities chorus. The Rending. It had gone on for nearly fifty years. It had devastated more than the world though. Just as the grounds shook the foundations of crumbling buildings, so to did it shake that of the spirit of men and women. Xannis sat under the shade of a tree watching the city try to rebuild once again. Always they did. Each time, with out notice, the earth would shake sooner or later and undo it all, and each time, they would rebuild. He himself though was helping in this effort as best he could. His back ached with the pain of lifting rocks into carts and wheel barrows. Taking a short break now to get water and cool down after five hours of straight labor and more to come before the sun set again. A shrill of laughter broke the sounds of construction, followed by hurried shout, "MISTER WATCH OU-!" Something inflated and round pinged off the Tier'Dal monks head and landed in his lap. It was a ball. Looking in the direction the projectile came from where six children of various ages none below their sixth season and likely none above their thirteenth. They kicked up dust as they came to sudden stop seeing the dark elf they had just assaulted with a stray kick. "W-w-w-we're sorry, Mister, Gistin kicked it...," A young human boy hiding in the back, bowed his head and ducked behind one of the older children as if for protection. The monk smirked and shook his head, tossing the one foot diameter ball back to the children with a casual over head toss. "Apology accepted, go back to your play." They wasted little time. That was the way of disasters though. Between the cry of mothers for lost husbands. The glowers of husbands for lost wives. Or the wail of both for lost children, things went forward. With that momentum, there was always hope. That was what he saw. Laying just below the expressions of each and ever man and women working. In the piles of rubble that were once a Lords house as he now wore torn and tattered cover-alls to sift through what remained of his fortune. Once pampered and perfumed ladies wearing wool and cotton white dresses in place of lace and silk beside them. Farmers and merchants, fixing their shop, even as they sold goods. Royal guards, rebuilding beside the lowest of peasants. All upon their faces. Forgotten titles and the hope that this was the final time they'd have to rebuild. But it was not to be this day. It started with out notice, the ground heaved. All were as living domino's. One moment up on their feet, the next falling flat. People knocked from ladders and screams of fear rang as they fell with flailing arms. The world shook. Chaos ensued for forty-five long seconds. Xannis picked himself up with a dazed expression as others just as him went to their staggering feet. The cries of children rang distantly. Muffled. "BY THE CROWN OF BAYLE! THE CHILDREN!" shouted an old man causing many with in hearing to look. Behind him, where only moments ago he had seen those children playing, lay a pile that was only a minute ago a two story building. With in that dust covered wreck came the cries. Muffled and distant. In the chaos of fear, people moved with purpose. Lines and daisy chains formed to remove large rocks up and away. Massive beams brought by large muscles Halasians and hydrolic lifts by tinkering gnomes. These people would not be defeated. Minutes turned to hours. One scared and battered child after another pulled from shattered rocks and mortar. Wrapped in blankets and the kisses of frightened mothers and fathers they children were free. Wiping his forehead with a bandaged arm willowy human of advanced years proclaimed as he sad next to the stranger he had been handing rocks too, "A good day this... the Gods surely smile down upon us." Amazed to hear such a pronouncement after once more having their work shattered Xannis looked at him quizically, causing the old man to laugh like a merry bell. "I know, I know. But we take life as it comes dark elf. Sure today we got thrown down again by our silent gods or whatever damned thing is causing these catastrophes, but look at that." He said, nodding to the happily reunited families. "Bet coins to corn, everyone here today will never take for granted what the have. Even if it's just each other." The old man clapped the monk who was easily ten plus times his age and stood using his shoulder as leverage. "Keep that in mind son... I'm goin' home to my family. You have a good one."
Dang you this is posted too late at night. I only logged in to make sure no one was posting on my storylines. But yeah I'll be reading in the morning and droppgin some real feedback
Short in comparison to you earlier tales but very concise and enjoyable none the less. I do however like the fact the xanis is tolerated if barely even though he cruises around the "good" areas
Yes. Going with the theme that actions speak louder than words for the most part with him. I have many idea's still and I'm glad you enjoy them
The Lonely Tailor The hours the young woman worked were long. For hours straight she would work in the tiny shop she kept. It was not much, little more than a one room home and workshop rolled into one. Stacks of fabric from floor to ceiling, bone and metal needles stabbed haphazardly into balls of fabric. A bed that folded up into the wall and a small stove for cooking with an outhouse behind the tiny building. She worked for everything she had, which was next to nothing. Barely she scraped by, many days going hungry, not from the long hours and constant work, but for the lack of food. Her callous fingers moved methodically over fabric, needle, and thread. Thin faced and hollow cheeks, flat brown hair pulled up in a loose bun upon her head. "I'm glad you came back, Sir. I don't get many repeat customers here, as I'm sure you guessed." The dark elf monk nodded a bit. This tiny village was far off the beaten path and main routes of travel. He himself had only stumbled on it by accident over a year and a half ago. Dull violet eyes noticing the path to it just barely off the main path, curiosity leading his feet. It was little more than a collection of ragged old houses built inside a long forgotten towns ruins, though he did remember the town that laid here before. It had burned to the ground in great fire some two hundred years ago, before the Rending shook apart the world. The destruction was so much that the towns folk just moved on. Though the sturdier left overs of the stone structures had survived the ravages of time to be rebuilt into this small village of a hundred or so people. "I'm sorry it's taking so long," she added with a shy voice. Her hands rubbed the fabric of his pants and tunic, dusty from the road and torn in many places from small snags, and a few blades. "You must have seen so much. You travel a lot don't you?" Xannis nodded, "Yes I do." "I've never left the village myself. I can't afford too." Hear voice was sad, drawn. As though she had done a life times living in her short years. She was alone. Her family had died in the great fires that sparked suddenly with the terrible thunder storms that began with out notice since the earth shook and volcano's blew their molten core into the air. Some said it was the gods anger, but the monk new it to be from the amount of ash and debris interrupting the patterns and gathering of that mysterious electricity. One such storm had struck their family home while she and her brother were out. They burned alive. Not two years later, her brother joined a militia in a neighboring town. He wanted to be a hero. For his trouble, he was stabbed in the streets of the bigger township, robbed and left for dead. Leaving his sister alone in the world. "I'd love to see it though. One day." She sighed. He said nothing but nodded. Many times over the years he came to her and her alone for his clothing. Sometimes to have it repaired, others to buy new when they could not be. Her work was of a quality rivaling that of any seams master in Qeynos or Freeport. She could make gowns that would cause a Queen to forget her station and lunge at it's wearer in envy and want. Suits that any Lord would pay twenty times what she asked them for. Finery so detailed that the eyes could look it over for an hour, and always find a new pattern and nuance. He had asked her, why she charged so little. "I'm not that good, I've never been good at much of anything really, this is just the best I have. I can't over charge, I barely make it as it is." In truth, it was likely this under pricing that kept her poor. People equated the cheap prices, with bad worksmanship. So, poor and alone she stayed. With only the small village and a hand full of outsiders as customers. One visit in particular, she had seemed defeated of soul. It had been six months since he last saw her and while she was always reserved and quiet, even when he told her the stories of some of his travels, she was more so this day than any before. "I don't have anything, Xannis. Nothing. What is the point?" He frowned slightly, not sure what to say. Her fingers moves slower than usual, the heart not into the task. "I've no family... I've no friends. I stay here, day and night." There was a look in her eyes. Empty. Void of any care, of any want or need. Completely empty of faith. "The gods abandon us. My family taken from me. There is no point." It is a scary thing to see in the eyes of a young woman, a lack of soul. Xannis heart felt for her, but nothing that came to mind seemed right. "When things are at the bottom. The point... is to have faith that things can change for the better" She looked up at him and nodded smiling emptily as she handed back his pants. He thanked her, paid her handsomely as he always did, well over her asking price. He paused before he turned to resume his wanderings. Looking over this small human girl in her mid twenties going on forty. Leaning in, he hugged her. It was awkward, her body stiffening. Slowly, she relaxed, returning it softly. They pulled away at the same time. Nodding to her, he turned. It was the last he'd see of her. Only three months passed before he found himself returning. His clothes were not damaged or disheveled. In fact, they had held up better this time than any time before. Her best work ever. Something, however, whispered to him that it was time to go back. Entering the village he got the usual looks of distrust and outright hatred from some of the towns folks toward his dark purple skin. In some though... there was something else. Reaching the tailors hut he knocked on the door. There was no answer. Knocking again, he slowly opened the door. Empty. Not a thing was left as it should have been. Xannis stood confused as the bright sun outside highlighted his muscled frame in the darkness of the door. She had done it then. She went to see the world. A throat cleared next to him. It was the neighbor, an old man. He held out a sealed envelope with his name written upon it in a feminine hand. "She left this for you," he said in a shaking graveled voice. "We cleaned up her place... past everything out to the village, after she left. But this was left with a note for you to be given when you came back." Xannis took the note, nodding his thanks to the old man as he stood there, as if waiting for something. Carefully he opened the letter and read, "Dear Xannis, Thank you. Thank you for being there. I wish I could have told you in person. Alas, I have not the courage. There is no point. Nothing left for me. I have no family. I have not a friend. There is not a god in the sky, nor a skill in my body. No point. I can no longer go on like this. Thank you for the hug. It was the first I had had one since my brother left for battles in the far town. I wish to feel his hug again. My mothers, my fathers touch. I miss them so much. I am going to go see them. I'm Sorry, Tallia the Tailor" Xannis blinked, he looked over the letter to the old man. A silver tear in his eye. "I found her. A month ago. She had hanged herself. She was a good girl. We.. we should have done more. We just never thought..." His voice cracked and he choked off. Slowly he turned unable to continue and walked away, leaving Xannis standing in the empty doorway holding a letter. People find their reasons to live in many things. Family, friends, or Gods. Faith. Even those that do not have faith in those three, have faith in themselves. It allows them to continue, to carry on. Faith lets people move onward, knowing their family, or god, or their own ability, will see them through. When a person loses that though, loses that ability to see beyond the dark horizon to the possible light. Can not see in the black of their despair and misery. When they have no mark to leave. No point to make. Their purpose destroyed. They turn to the end. Perhaps the greatest sadness in all the world, is the loss of faith in anything at all. With careful hands as if the letter was an ancient scroll of great power, he slipped it back into it's envelope and placed it away. He would keep her alive. And he would have faith, that she was with her family again, beyond the veil and in a happier place.
