Dearest Firecloud,
You are neither as bad nor as good a fellow as you imagine yourself to be. No doubt you know a good deal about the affects of war, but (If you are in the early years of your ranking officer life) not nearly as much as you will in another decade. In any case I hope that, when you have spent some time in your position, you will thank me for having told you many things that otherwise you could have learned only by experience, more or less bitter according to the discretion exercised both by you and by your order. People, elf or otherwise, are kittle-cattle; and, as for soldiers â well, I have a few myself!
You have come a long way from when we found you, alone in the corner of a cabin, chained to the wall with filth stained rags for clothes. Even as you charged Dawnstriker in a fit of warriors rage, it was sadness that we saw etched on a face so young that really shook us to the core. You were so broken back then and I suspect you feel that you still are now.
Seeing your name upon the list of newly ranking Farstrider Captains came as a surprise to not just me, but Ebonfury and the others of the order as well. We never suspected that you would end up in that position and I find myself angered on your behalf that you would continue to be used as a pawn by the spire like this. But I didnât train quitters.
Ebonfury although waylaid in his duties has promised to come and visit you in the near future and although I would like to journey the same, duties do not cease as you now know for a leader of an order. Remember, Firecloud, keep paddling and you will remain afloat. Donât let the past drag you down.
Signed the White witch.
Deâvontae placed down the letter upon the marble top of the table at his balcony within the Gilded Coin, his hand rising to rub the tiredness from his eyes. He had not been expecting word to come from her of all people and although it didnât settle the unnerving quality she had about her, it still strangely felt nice to know she cared. Pushing himself off from the chair he had been sat upon, Captain Autumnvale returned to the oval room that was his sanctuary away from home and the circular bed that sat in the centre.
Flopping down atop of the silken sheets, his eyes flicked up to the canopy of gem incrusted material that draped around the bed for an effort of both privacy as well as escapism. There was little light in his room as it was well past the hours of the evening and into the dark twilight of night, but still he could just make out the faintest of twinkles from the gems. He had promised himself he would attempt to find the throws of sleep again, his usual groove of four hours sleep misshapen and thrown off course by the thousands of requests for his attention that came in a day.
He would have had a better time of it at his actual home, but he only went there recently if he was seeing to the hatchlings, signing off transfers of equipment to go to the rookery in the blackened woods, or to see Drake. The other two, he avoided. One without meaning to, her current state and the distance between them like an ocean that he wasnât sure how to cross. And then him. Ever since that question and the follow up of the first ceremony, he didnât know how to be around him. He felt disrespected and unknown in the reflection of his eyes and it was such a cavern in his heart he didnât want to face it.
So instead, he came back to the Gilded Coin every night he could, passing by Kâvothe who treated him unchanged since his promotion and shut himself away in his room at the top of the twisting tower. As his mind drifted over these musings, so large when he was awake, they seemed to fade into inconsequential nothings as his eyes grew heavy and sleep began to take him.
Green mist rolled into the black canopy that had darkened his vision, his body outside of his dream turning to the side. When the mists had spread they began to thin out and reveal the sight of what seemed like the landscape for the blackened woods, but all of it was over grown. Verdant trees with trunks as thick as ponds and grass as high as his waist with a strange waxen yellow light that made everything seem mist swept.
It had a familiarity to it, as though he had walked these plains before and it came with it a sense of foreboding. His attention turned as an ethereal figure emerged from the trees that surrounded him, a large bird with wild feathers that sprouted from its crown in an almost regal manner sat upon the grass and watched him. Although it did not look like her, he knew somehow it was Constance, but why she was here in this strange place he couldnât remember. The bird watched for a long while before stretching out her wings and taking off past his head and away. His focus followed Constance and the direction she had gone, only to recoil at the vision of the land she had disappeared into.
Black lilies grew up from the grass that was brown and dry with ash layered across the ground. Between the curled up blades of grass, pale bloated faces of upturned elves stared up with unseeing eyes towards a colourless sky where the pigment had been sucked away into a void that was ripped open high in the air. The faces around him seemed to be of people he knew, though they were changed in this strange place, wilder and over grown with ash and dust. He wanted to turn back, back to the sweet diluted world he had seen before, but he was rooted in place, stuck without being able to move like he was standing in tar.
Panic began to settle into his being as the rift grew larger, pulling and eating at all that was good in the world. Dragonhawks, large and beautiful with wing spans bigger than heâd ever seen were falling back, unable to fight the magnetic pull of the rift. Soon they began to fall into it and disappeared into what he could not see. Cries, distant and keening filled his ears like tinnitus, quiet at first but increasing in magnitude. A figure began to walk towards him from the distance of burnt and destroyed woods, leaving behind crumpled white walls and flags of Farstriders ripped and torn. Fragments of things that didnât make sense, that werenât there before but were there now.
The figure was covered in black like ink, tendrils sleek along the floor like mist with burning eyes⊠burning like the fel crystals, watching like screaming angry souls. It closed the gap quickly, suddenly in front of him, ethereal hands grasping his face and forcing him to look at it. A maw began to open up and inside pointed white fangs covered with blood soaked saliva spun around its mouth. Inside as though he was being consumed he saw the pale face of the dead Sun Hawk Telestra staring up at him, twisted and screaming as black water began to drown him.
Suddenly all was dark and he could feel his entire being screaming, his body back in his bedroom covered in sweat, vocally cried out. Within his closed vision, he saw a white spec that began to grow and take shape into Constance, flying away from him with a warning cry hooting into the expanse of nothing.
When he woke, he did so with a vault, breathing heavily, tears stuck down his cheeks and sweat soaking him and his bed. The dream catcher he had strung up over the doorway to the balcony had fallen to the floor, some of the netting ripped and beads scattered across the floor. The Captain paled and held his knees to his chest⊠Something was coming.
Best of luck!
