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[Valentein]

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One year ago...


Valentein stood on the western bridge out of Umbra, under the watchful eye of the posted guard. Slumped on the railing, he stared out into the starry void before lifting a bottle of clear liquor to his lips. Hidden beneath his coat, his left arm hung in a sling: a constant reminder of his oath to that creature. He let loose a frustrated growl before taking another drink. That creature, the lich lord that drove away his dearest and closest companion... drove away his sister. The anger building inside him took control, and he let loose an anguished cry and threw the empty bottle over the edge. Catching his breath, Valentein watched as it spun down into the unending void below.

“Jessie.” The word was simple, pure. He needed her. He needed to find her.

His attention was caught by an armoured footstep. A guard was approaching him, weapon sheathed. No doubt to ensure no trouble started, but Valentein didn’t bother staying to be sure. He brushed the guard off with a wave of his good hand, and started off down the road. His thoughts lay out a path before him, leading to his sister. No doubt she’d be in Britain, she had to be. At a suitable distance away from the bridge, Valentein paused. There was a stop he needed to make first, and so he retrieved the properly-etched runestone from his pockets. Speaking the words of power, he was taken away from the vile cesspool of Umbra, and brought to a familiar theatre.

[Valentein]

---

The streets of Britain were crowded, even in the late afternoon. Deafened by the hawkers selling wares, services, and British-knows-what else by the bank, Valentein ducked into the Blue Boar tavern. Rubbing his eyes with his hand, he sat himself on a stool. He was bereft of his usual violet spectacles, left at the theatre until his return – the only message he’d left, as the proprietor was not to be found when he visited. Having beaten the evening rush at the tavern, he was quickly attended to by one of the serving girls. Naturally, he ordered a bottle of his usual clear liquor.

The search was going badly. He’d inquired at all of her usual haunting grounds in Britain, at least the ones he knew of. None had turned up any information as to where she was now. He’d even tried getting in touch with Orelen, but to no avail. As he waited in the tavern, a nagging worry was digging into the back of his mind: how long could he search before the lich sent out a thrall to find him, or just got bored enough with his absences to kill him outright? Promptly, Valen took hold of the bottle and sucked down the fiery liquid, trying his hardest to push the thought from his mind.

Valentein bode his time, late into the night, having finished his first bottle and started a second as the tavern filled up. When there was a fair amount of people, he did his best to stand without falling, and started his rounds.

“I’m looking for my sister, Jessie. She’s a dark-haired traveler with a bow and a sword. Do you know her?”

He’d ask this at every table, of every group. He’d done this since he arrived in Britain; the ancient tavern was popular enough with travelers that he rarely got the same people twice.
However, tonight was the first night he’d actually gotten an answer. A newcomer in the corner looked up when he’d gotten as far as Jessie’s name.

The man caught Valen's attention and nodded to him. "You know Jess?”
The question gave Valen a pang of annoyance, but excitement drowned it out.
“Yes, she’s my sister. Have you seen her?” The stranger contemplated for a moment before responding.
“You're Val, then. Yea, I saw her at the docks a few days ago. She looked pretty bad, but she wouldn't talk about it.”
“Do you know where she is now?” The stranger shook his head.
“No. She just said she needed to leave town and left on the north road.”

Despite having missed her by days, Valen was grinning. She was in the woods. He had already looked at the camp, but there was one more spot that he knew of. Off the north road out of East Britain there was a clearing. She was there, Valen was sure of it. He gave the man a quick nod and an incoherent mumble of thanks before rushing off into the night. He could be there before midnight, if he hurried.

[Jessie]

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She had been in the clearing for two days, waiting; unwashed, unfed, but neither bothered her. The only thing on her mind was Valen. Everything was her fault. Because of her, they were going to take away everything that made him who he was, and change him into something different, something twisted. It was her responsibilty to set things right, and the crushing weight of that guilt had been pushing her more and more toward the edge for weeks. She had finally lost her grip.

The camp she made was nothing more than a pile of liquor-soaked logs and sticks thrown atop the ashes of previous fires, in the middle of a clearing a few miles north of Britain. Her pack, bow and quiver lay heaped on the ground in the woods nearby, beside a shallow trench and a pile of dirt. Her machete and a shovel lay next to the tree she had been sitting under.

The sun began to set on her third night in that clearing. Like the previous two, she waited until the light was all but gone before setting fire to the woodpile and taking her seat under the tree. Within minutes, the pile blazed and the flames licked at the leaves of the trees above them. There was no way she could be missed from the road.

She waited.

[Valentein]

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Valen strode along the well-traveled path, illuminated by the light of the moons. The night was cold, but he was drunk on liquor and distracted by the magnificent thought of seeing Jessie again. He didn’t feel the cold or the fatigue in his legs: His sister mattered more.

After a long hike, a new scent reached his nostrils: wood smoke. Invigorated, he left the road, until he saw a campfire through the trees in the distance ahead of him.

“Jessie!” He called out, letting her hear his voice. Panting, he jogged through the brush. He had just breached the trees and stepped into the clearing when something heavy struck him from the side, knocking him over. A loud crack came from his left hip as it hit the ground, and a crushing weight landed on his chest. A lance of searing pain penetrated his ribs, but swiftly retreated. And then it returned, in a different spot. Again, and again, and again. Barely able to keep his eyes open through the agony, Valen could see Jessie’s face, arms raised high, but she seemed so far away. He tried to call out her name, but he couldn’t speak. That was odd.

There was another bloom of searing pain, and then everything went dark.

[Jessie]

---

Still holding a gloved hand over his mouth, Jessie pulled her knife free of Valen's chest and watched the life fade from his eyes. It was done; she had killed him. Soaked in the blood of her brother and still straddled atop his corpse, she leaned forward to give him a final, farewell kiss. As she wiped the blood from her lips, she felt both morbid relief and crippling sorrow: She'd kept him from a worse fate. They would never be able to touch him, ever again. But.. she had also just slain the only person that had ever meant anything to her. She looked down at the gaping wounds in his chest and felt like sobbing, but there were no tears left. She let herself relax, still atop his corpse, and looked skyward.

"I'll see you soon," she spoke softly. "Very soon."
Without another word, she stood up, strode past the fire and retrieved the shovel.

Within the hour, sweat poured down her face and soaked her already filthy clothing. Valen's body now lay in the bottom of the trench she'd dug days before. It was shallow, but it would do. She hurled the shovel into the woods and sat in the dirt next to his grave. She reached into her pack and withdrew her sketchbook and a piece of coal and sat there for hours, talking to the dirt, to the blood on the ground, and to herself, while covering one last page in her book.

Shortly before dawn, she collected her belongings, drug half a bush overtop of Valen's grave, and set off back the way she came.

Her death would come another day.