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Look out over yonder plain. Where grass pale bathed in sunlight grey stretches over jagged rock as far as the horizon yawns.
There sits an impressive figure, broad shouldered and wilting, with golden crowned head turned ever slight to the sea breeze. Wispy grey mane caught adrift around the bulk of an armour-clad back like smoke accompanying flame. Un-moving as if a statue or already dead.
He sits, alone in a world of washed-out colours, amused by the genial wind on his exposed face. It caresses his marred skin with fingers of cold mist that leaves him equal parts shivering and awake. More aware than he has felt in a very long time, like some great haze has been blown from his mind, a veil pulled back uncovering his bitter eyes to the cloudy skies above.
His mighty spear has long been forgotten to the grass beside him, all but swallowed by the earth as greenery sways over blade and handle. The mud can have the weapon for all he cares - there is no reason to wield it. All fight has deserted his terse muscles, and here offered that precious moment to notice its absence, he is not obligated in the slightest to chase it. This land bereft of agitated noise, sight and scent leaves him prone to melancholy - to idleness rather than firm, white-knuckled bracing.
The night has passed, the heavy rain ebbed way to meager sunlight. And, no matter how ashen the sun may be, he can never refuse it.
Glorious Sun, ‘o bright lumination.
Warmth to burn away whatever dark steals his soul to torment. Only here can he reminisce on the weight that has thus far sat dense upon his brow, sapping memory, cognisance and choice to abandon him to endless want, hunting shadows and sparring anger. It is only in the comfort of fire that one realizes they were once cold.
He cannot remember when last he made company with that great ball of fire. Though a part of him cautions to take full advantage of this clarity of mind, he cannot find the will to jab at the wound that is his infested memory. Despite being shrouded by ignorance, there is an unmistakable hurt that wallows below that mystery - anguish only waiting to be acknowledged like a predator in ambush. But it is too gentle a day to reminisce, too fine a moment to succumb to mania.
So he sits, purposefully still and on his lonesome, and listens as the breeze makes music-less songs. He could go on like this for eternity - for as long as the good sun would embrace him.
→
Grass crunches under boot, footsteps on approach, but he was aware long before the noise reached his ears. Strangers gather, descending from someplace further up the field - a large man and a small girl. Coming from behind him, he cannot make out their appearances without turning his head but as they make their intent known, neither wavering in their steady pace or destination, he can no longer ignore them in good faith and casts a suspicious eye over his cowl.
The man looks to be part giant, maybe even ¾ if he was pressed for a guess. Scared, muscular shoulders adorned by furs and loose chainmail, offering warmth and mobility. Powerful legs, bare at the knees and wrapped in leather boots. The horned skull of some felled beast is atop his bushy head, grey-white hair flowing from underneath it like weedy, unkempt roots. He strides confidently with no weapon in hand.
The girl is less so, walking behind the man and peaking out to catch his eye every other step. She pierces him with her vivid blue eyes and pale face, a veil of lace cascading over long white hair from a flowery headpiece. Beneath the ratty hem of her short dress, her bare feet clack as they move. Now that he’s noticed it, the limbs do not appear flesh at all. The chalky colour and odd texture is reminiscent of porcelain more than any kind of boot. Curious. He tilts his head.
The two strangers cross the plain within minutes, stopping just short of intruding. The instinct to defend pulses like lightning through his veins, none too pleased that anyone would see it appropriate to impede on his solitude. But it is there for only a heartbeat. He spots the man’s face. There’s a poorly hidden grin beneath his helmet, either by bad design or the man sees no reason to obscure his expressions.
“Ahoy Wanderer! And good weather!” His voice is big too. The wind buckles under its command, cutting across distance with clear volume and clearer friendly rapport. He does not respond immediately - suspicion bars his tongue from replying. Or is it disuse? He licks his cracked lips and wonders when last he had heard his own voice.
Witless to his internal contemplation, the strange man greets again, his tone leveled, betraying nothing should he have taken offence to the lack of a response. This time the man talks in a different language. It is deep and rolls out from his chest to curl in rounded consonants, proud in his annunciation. He sits higher to startled attention, though it is subtle for it would be ill to show such interest to drifters. He has never heard such a language before. Neither has the girl, it would seem, for she breaks away from her lethal scrutiny to spear the man with an incredulous glance.
The girl has no reservation in masking her surprise and in finding it so pronounced on her tiny features boils within him a flicker of amusement. Enough to smooth down his hackles and thaw his own tongue. Enough to turn him over to humour.
“Understand him?” He says, glad that his voice is in decent condition. It is rough and regal - informal but intimidating in depth. It takes a moment, a blink of spirited blue eyes, for the girl to register that he had spoken and that he had directed it to her.
“On the best of days,” She is quick to regain composure, folding arms over a bejeweled torso, “I hardly do.”
Hidden beneath his cowl, weathered lips stretch into a smile. To be met by similar mirth, and with such ease, makes his chest stir with a chuckle. There's good nature in these strangers and he finds himself needling it. “Then today is a terrible day for us both.”
The girl smirks, agreeing with his assessment before schooling her expression as a sound akin to distant thunder emanates from the wide chest of the man to her right.
“Ah, possess you a voice proper? And in common too. Then this will certainly be made easier.” He flashes his flat teeth in a grin. “Be decent and use it, fellow. For I have a need of it in satiating my curiosity." There's a shove from a delicate hand against a burly forearm and the man corrects himself with haste, “Our curiosity.”
Ah, in that they are all equals, he muses. There is no denying that he is afflicted with dire wonder. If he were not so stiff in posture, and composure, he would have swiveled entirely upon the strangers, extended his hand, made abundant and merry conversation and let loose the dam of questions that welled within his hunger head. Here presents people who dress differently to him, who talk differently, people who are friendly and polite and keen in humour. Since when did an attentive face become something of a novelty to him? It was only through mighty restraint that he remained poised - the moments of tranquility have exposed him to marvel and with the heat of the great sun on his back he is eager to pry for more. It is a mighty effort indeed to stay seated and aloof.
“Ask and I will oblige how best I can. Be assured that in shared curiosity, I am no threat to you.”
“Peace! Most fortunate day.” The man barks, sending the girl’s eyes to roll to the back of her head. He flashes a chuffed grin and she visibly grimaces. An odd pair these strangers make - their amicable relationship, the girl’s quick attitude and the man’s ability to take it all in stride suggests they have known each other for a good, long while. Accustomed to each other's quirks and comfortable to poke fun, soothe indiscretions and hold conversation through looks alone. Companions. Perhaps they are friends or maybe family? Perhaps that should be his first question.
“Let us delay no longer. Who are you, wanderer? And what brings you to this place, here at the end of all worlds?” The large man wastes no time in directing to the crux of his inquiry. And he definitely wastes no energy on the decadence of pretty words. What he says cuts deep and true - right to the bone. Despite his worn face remaining near impassive, the stranger reads him like an open book. The tightening of shoulders and the flexing of a calloused fist empty of a blade - unmistakable surprise.
“Aye, this be the end of the world. No other way about it.” The man straightens his neck to the boundless sky covered in its blanket of musky clouds. He breathes deep, taking in the salt with hardly a cough, and passes a look to the girl. She remains still, content to let him handle the way forward. She will readily interject should he misplace his thoughts.
The man continues, “This land shifts, coming with the tide and leaving with the day. Almost never the same twice. Another of the night’s machinations. We have seen this field many times yet never has it been occupied. You,” He lifts a dirty finger to point with mild accusation, “You are different.” Distant waves crash against rock and the man casts his beady eyes towards it. Over foamy water and far out to the distance. “I see no ship. I assume, then, you have come here through other means?”
“…” Curse his haggard tongue and his mind which turns to blankness, “I am uncertain.”
“Did the night bring you?” The girl asks, voice clipped with cloaked nervousness. She is examining him again, careful blue eyes as sharp as glass roving over his form with exact study. Searching for something, trying to understand. Bristling as the seconds begin to stack on until she lands on his face and suddenly plateaus. She finds that something. In his absence of words, his meaning is made clear. “You do not remember anything.”
After a moment, he nods. He has no reason to hide that his mind is foggy and unknown, as much a stranger to him as these people are.
“Not such a foreign thing for one to lose their thoughts in such a place. It is by the Night’s wicked design to become disillusioned.” The man hummed, becoming contemplative and small. He twirls wiry hair from his chin between his fingers. “Fret not, for though your memory may have been forsaken, your manners have not. And I, for one, think those to be of far more importance." The man means well, really he does, but the casual tone he uses to bypass the utter severity of a forgetful mind, wrings his chest tight with dread. Said so nonchalant as if merely describing the weather.
“You know who you are?” He ventures, watching either member for their answer through bodily reaction, “Your minds are intact to you?”
The girl huffs and dips her head, intending to brush her comment under a low sigh, “We should be so lucky.”
“It returns.” The large man, ignoring the snark, reassures as his aged face wrinkles at the edges. His hand kneads his beard as his gaze calcifies with deep rumination. “It returns in time and with prompting. It won’t be lost to you forever.” With how forthcoming these strangers have been in their purpose here, he has little motivation to doubt what they say. Regardless, that daunting weight does not relent.
The strangers pass loaded looks between each other - an exchange entirely soundless yet near tangible in significance. The girl’s expression is darkened with caution, though with every flicker she casts upon him lightens her heavy frown. The man is solid as rock, his buttony eyes flashing with unshakable urgency. He cannot shake the feeling that he has suddenly been put on trial for some unknown crime. The jury convenes, debates, and then reaches a magnanimous conclusion. It ends when the girl sighs loudly, turning to walk back from where they both came.
“Do what you see fit - you’ll find no objection from me. But should he,” She jabs a thumb over her retreating shoulder, feigned indifference flaking off her tone, “Cause any trouble, it will be your fault alone. I am only here because it has been a slow day.”
“Talking as if this is some stray pup on our hands! HA!” The man barks with laughter. Arms like tree trunks land squarely on his belt as he throws his head back to lose his delight. The air is smashed apart by the hearty noise and only wanes when the man laughs himself raw, sucks in a deep breath, composes himself and, with a wild grin upon his lips, looks back at the seated figure.
“Well, what do you say pup? Swear to keep your manners, then join us at our Roundtable Hold. There you may find respite for the night has no reign under its protection and roof. It is warm, with plenty beds and good food. Should your memory not return on its own, then we should hunt for it in the many books cluttering the place.” The stranger’s face crinkles in levity, the invitation rolling off his tongue like water off feathers. “Fair deal, aye?”
‘o Sun above - preserve him.
Come any other day, he would have, with a violent show of a puffed chest and a voice that brooked no mistake, shunted such a forward appraisal. The sheer audacity - the heedless tenacity of the arrogant mortal courage. He hardly knew these people. He hardly knew himself! Yet, in the most pompous manner these strangers barged upon his solitude, unannounced, diagnosed his melancholy with the ease found only through experience and then extended a place for him among their fold. A decision made in fewer words than their greeting. To be honest, he’s stunned.
He thought himself alone, and forevermore to be alone. Like the gravity that holds stones to the ground, it is a law of nature to him, something that should always be. But in the matter of minutes, and a couple of jovial exchanges, his world has been shattered. And with it, his will to deny it. Offense that should be there, lies absent in his mind. Sun forbid it but, he is lonely and, however brief this interaction has been, it burns through him as hot as fire.
A great wound takes the place of his mind and should he refuse to attend to it, it will rot into something most foul. He can sit here, at the end of all worlds and let the coming infection take his body and soul just as it has his memories - lie down and let it finish the job. Rot into a corpse proper. Truly tempting. This is not a bad place to fade away.
A prospect most truly boring. He can’t imagine anything worse.
He stands, strong legs bending underneath a tunic of golden chain-mail to bring him towering over the strange man. He looks down at the top of the horned helmet, and smirks when there is a sharp inhale. Though the man measures up comfortably to his chest, he cranes his head back to be able to meet his face.
“Not such a pup, then.” There is not a hint of fear in the sturdy voice of the stranger, nonplussed by the display set before him. His grin does not so much as dim a fraction either. His offer remains unchanged. He commends the man’s bravery.
“Lead the way - I will follow. In earnest gratitude and with my word to behave decent.” He tips his head in lieu of a bow. The minuscule movement radiates pleasantry from the man.
Nothing more is said as the two swivel on the heel and make pace after the girl, who has not gathered much head way up the field. There is no destination in sight, nothing of that great Hold the strange man mentioned, but the girl strides with purpose and the man pursues without pause.
“By the by, wanderer, you have yet to answer my first question.” The man asks, meaning to walk in idle chatter rather than silence. Or he simply preferred the sound of his own voice. “I am the Raider. And my friend goes by Revenant.” At the sound of her name, Revenant lifts her head to scowl back at Raider. He barely even stumbles.
“Asking him such stupid questions, prodding further as if he has not already told us.” Revenant is high on authority, sure that she has Raider confused. “He does not remember, remember.” The Raider tuts his tongue thoughtfully.