Tyriana Bladeforged runs the cloth down the length of her blade. It’s caked with gore, the refuse of today’s battle against the Beastmen, and a sword master needs to keep her weapon clean. So clean she can see her face reflected in it.
It had been a terrible battle. An ambush, perpetrated by the Beasts of Chaos. There had been no room to manoeuvre into formation, no time…
Sword…
The cloth runs down her greatsword again.
The centigors had fallen on them first, racing ahead of their kin to spill the blood of the aelves. Footsoldiers that would have ordinarily repulsed their charge were scattered. Many died without ever recovering from their surprise.
Sword master…
Only their skill at arms and discipline stopped them from becoming routed, but it had come close. They’d only just managed to tighten their formation into a shield-wall before the gors and ungors hit them.
Please…
Tyriana frowns, wishing she had a brush to remove this difficult clump.
Axes and arrows had rained down upon them, but they held. Tyriana’s unit was in the centre of the furious melee, duelling Bestigors. Two of them were lying by her feet, cut down with expertly calculated sweeps, when the Jabberslythe had hit them.
Please…
It had taken the ballista and archers ten minutes to bring it down. Ten minutes too late.
Tyriana had knelt in the gore helmless, struggling to breathe. Around her gleaming sunmetal swords and shields filed into the gap, keeping the Beastmen’s push at bay. They’ll win eventually, but at the time Tyriana’s attention was solely fixed on the aelf before her. His body was whole. It was the only thing that was.
He had looked up at her, lips soundlessly flapping what few words he could manage.
Kill me.
Eurelion, Tyriana idly remembers. His first name had been Eurelion.
She runs her cloth down the blade again.
A knock on her door takes away her attention. She looks up at it and calls out;
“Enter.”
It opens, admitting in a younger aelf. He steps up nervously to her, eyes lingering on her weapon.
“Tyriana Bladeforged?”
She stares up at him for a long moment, before nodding.
“That is my name.”
He moves his gaze back up to her, meeting her calm eyes.
“General Harrowray sent me to find you. You’d disappeared for hours when we’d gotten back to camp, and he was concerned about your health.”
Tyriana watches the aelf’s eyes return to her blade, before snapping back up to her. He must be appalled by the state of it.
She raises up the greatblade for his inspection.
“I’ve been perfectly fine. Just cleaning my sword, that’s all.”
“Oh. Good.”
He gives it a cursory look before nodding.
“It’s practically spotless.”
Tyriana looks down at it, confused.
“It is?”
She looks back at him to catch his shocked, and a little disturbed, expression.
“Well, perhaps the sword masters have different standards for their equipment…” he finally manages. “If there is nothing else, shall I inform the general that you are well?”
Tyriana nods, and without another word he steps out of her room, closing the door behind him. She watches the door for a few more seconds, before returning to her task.
Her blade needs to be clean of the blood that stains it. Just because she’s the last survivor of her unit doesn’t mean she could let standards slack.
Years later…
Tyriana Bladebroken finds herself outside of Cathartia with a blade bound to her back. All else had failed her, even aetherquartz, and now only the city contains the peace she seeks.
She descends down into the chasm-city, ragged footwraps offering scant protection to her feet. Her step falters occasionally, threatening to pitch her into the dark below, but every time her hand lashes out and grabs on the jagged rocks to arrest her fall. Soon her pilgrimage is marked by a trail of bloody hand and footprints
The gates are in front of her before she knows it. Tyriana stops a few feet away from them, and waits.
A hand from behind Tyriana is laid on her shoulders.
“What do you seek?”
Tyriana shivers as the voice breathes into her ear.
“Peace.”
“Peace from what?” the voice asks her.
“Peace…”
Tyriana sinks to her knees, though the hand remains where it is.
“Peace from my guilt. From the nightmares.”
She closes her eyes, trying to hold back the tears welling up in them.
“From my bloody sword.”
She feels the hand move, tracing a path up her neck to her jaw. Fingers gently pull up her head. Tyriana opens her eyes to see a robed and veiled aelf kneeling before her, looking at her with soulful amethyst eyes.
“What you seek can only be found here…”
The aelf lifts up her other hand and lays two fingers across Tyriana’s heart.
“But we will guide you, if you wish. You don’t have to face your daemons alone anymore.”
Tyriana nods, tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Please…”
The aelf bows her head, and stands up again to escort Tyriana through the open gates. So began her first day in the order of Cathallars.
A century later…
Tyriana wakes up, for a moment wondering why Cathartia persists into the waking world. Then she relaxes as she realises that she’s in her tent.
She pushes herself upright from her bedroll, hand lighting up with Hysh’s magic to illuminate her surroundings. As she pushes her greying hair out of her eyes, her attention is drawn inexorably to a nearby scabbard.
She picks it up, and lays it across her lap.
“Well, let’s see what today brings…” she mutters to herself, before drawing out the sword…
She’s met with a mostly clean blade, only a few faded bloodstains clinging to it. She can even see her own eyes in the metal.
Tyriana smiles to herself as she sheathes the sword again. It isn’t perfect, but it is progress, and she couldn’t ask for more.
That thought draws her mind to her apprentice, and she quickly clothes herself before stepping out of her tent. Even as her eyes adjust to Hysh’s light, her nose informs her that her apprentice had burned breakfast.
Aengellania starts when she looks up at Tyriana. She raises glowing hands and backs away slightly, her worry writ plain in her brown eyes and stutter-cursed voice. The poor girl had had that speech impediment since childhood, as Tyriana understands it, and even now with countless hours of practising techniques to combat it could still relapse if she was stressed enough. Such as now.
“I-I’m sorry T-Tyriana, I j-just thought it w-would go q-quicker if…”
“If you applied more heat to it than I had taught you to?”
Aengellania nods, not bothering to hide her guilt. Tyriana ignores the burning pan for the moment and extends her hands towards the younger aelf.
“Might I see your hands?”
Aengellania nods again, and places hers on top of Tyriana’s as the glow leaves them. The Cathallar examines them, moving them around with light touches.
“Hm, some slight burns, but nothing you’ll recover from.”
She channels Hyshian healing magic into her hands, soothing Aengellania’s burns.
“Thank Teclis that you haven’t done more damage to yourself.”
“Y-you’re not angry with me…?” Aengellania asks her.
Tyriana looks back up at Aengellania and smiles, letting her care for the younger aelf shine forth.
“Of course not. I was just worried you had hurt yourself, that’s all.”
She squeezes Aengellania’s hands gently, and her apprentice seems to calm down.
“Though we may need to go hungry for a few hours until we reach the next city.” Tyriana adds, levity creeping in her voice.
“Um, actually…”
Aengellania pulls back her hands and rummages through her pockets, finally taking out a pastry delicately wrapped in paper.
“My mother gave me this, before I left. As a parting gift.”
She offers it up to Tyriana with both hands.
“Please, t-take it.”
Tyriana cocks her head to the side ever so slightly, considering Aengellania.
“Are you certain?”
Aengellania nods, not able to keep a slight tremble out of that movement.
“I don’t mind, mistress Bladebroken.”
After a few seconds, Tyriana smiles again. It had been exactly this kind of behaviour that had drawn her to the younger aelf that others had described as feckless.
“Then why don’t we share it between ourselves? I’ll let you divide it up in two.”
Her apprentice blinks, leaving Tyriana wondering if she had even considered that option.
“But…”
“No buts, Aengellania, otherwise we’re going to be stuck here for hours on end debating who should have it. At least now both of our needs are fulfilled, aren’t they?”
“I suppose so.”
“And please, you don’t need to call me by any titles. Just Tyriana will do.”
Aengellania kneels down and picks up a knife to carve the pastry into two. Tyriana didn’t have the heart to gently rebuke her as Aengellania hands over the slightly larger half to the Cathallar.
After their improvised light breakfast, they packed away their camp and continued on to the next stop. Along the way Tyriana gave Aengellania lessons in manipulating Hyshian magic safely. By the time they reached the city Aengellania’s hands had earned a few more burns, but her lights glowed longer, and more consistently.
It was progress, and Tyriana couldn’t have asked for any more from her.
