[ CLOSED ] Scarce the blessing from on high

[filotimo]

WHO: Byerly, Flint, Madi, Silver
WHAT: A Princess Returns From The Dead
WHEN: mid-August
WHERE: Kirkwall/The Gallows
NOTES: Bad news from Nascere is followed a week or so later by an unexpected arrival.

Two things, all the world among,
Help the lover to attain
All that doth to Love belong:
E’en desire the good to gain,
Hope that makes the coward strong.
Both within my bosom lay.
No, ‘twas in my stricken soul
That they lurked to take away
My desire to reach the goal.
Hope hath fled and will not stay.

Comments

[filotimo]

[ Where is he? Is what she wants to ask.

She sighs, glancing back at Flint's work, at the maps and charts and potential plans that charge the air with desperation like heat rising. ]

The whole truth... is that our disadvantage there is greater than any of us — you or I or Silver, [ Where is he? ] perhaps even the Governor himself — could have ever conceived.

There is something under that island.

[katabasis]

[It is so fundamentally removed from every consideration he has given for the shape of that place - not just since news of the failure there had reached them here, but ever in a long history of wherein he has thought of little else but the dimension of that place - that for a bare moment, Flint just looks at her. Something stark and unmoving lies there in his face, a wall built halfway. Beyond it, visible through its incompletion, lives a dangerous thing. Uncertainty.

But there is a barbed hook which works in him. It drags him remorselessly from this toward the great heavy desk on the far side of the room and the sending crystal waiting expectantly there.]

Tell me what you know.

[Once upon a time—']

[filotimo]

Nascere has been no stranger to calamity over the centuries. We all know this. But perhaps what we did not consider is the depth of that calamity. The darkness in which its scars reside.

My father told of a network of caves he used to smuggle supplies off of the island. For years, he sent men and women and children into these caves to save them from servitude. My mother and myself were delivered by these caves.

The tides of our war have changed the landscape beneath our feet. Unearthed an ancient ruin, steeped in the blood of wars long past and whet by fresh offerings. At first I heard stories, told as many times as there are men, that the ruin was cursed. Haunted. Prone to a preternatural fog. Some claimed to have heard the voices of their mothers, fathers, the voices of gods calling to them, bidding them enter.

We both know the power a story has to twist the minds of men. But the number we have lost to those ruins is no fabrication.

Not one man, ours or the Governor’s, have returned after crossing that threshold.