Written in Stone

1. When it's Time to Turn One (Ylvarette)

I've been drawn here, it feels. Rumors about this place abound, but I never did remember much about them but the destination, which somehow resonated perfectly within my mind no matter how little I could make out the rest of what I overheard. It's called to me, and after a week's journey in the mountains, I've finally arrived. All the land south of me becomes but a distant memory, and I hope it'll stay that way, the past as buried as the tainted glory which I once found in it. Riding north to the cliff's edge, my gaze goes beyond and around the city, the bridge capturing my eye. Those fifty miles wide, it was hard to comprehend or imagine without really seeing it. I knew it was imposing, we all heard about this mysterious thing that was just found here one day abandoned, but even with what I've seen as a reference point, three hundred twenty-five became no less of an unimaginable distance, and the idea of a bridge that took longer to cross than it had taken me to get here seemed no less ludicrous while looking at it. 

If the White-Heart can go anywhere in this town, it's probably going to be that little tavern called The Blind Eye. Seems fitting. Another half-giant near as big as me behind the bar, so I'd normally be fairly confident that I'm at least going to feel the slightest kick from the drink. Place smells good though, so either there's some strong scents being added or not much strength to the alcohol. Quick glance around and nobody's fighting, nobody's yelling, nobody's gambling, but given the subpar vocal stylings of the old man in the corner whose very lyrics aren't doing his lute justice either, I'd guess the people actually cheering are pretty good reason to at least give whatever's at the bar a chance. Still not entirely sure by the time I sit down, but looks like I'm going to try based on the spiced mead being on the counter just before I'm on the stool. The half-giant in front of me is a little clearer now, complicated tattoos on his chest and bald head, rings in his nose, ears, and nipples, but probably more pertinently to the name, decorated also with an eyepatch. The voice is a lot more delicate than I expect, and the tone a lot more genuine good-natured humor than I'm used to getting from barkeeps, nearly as refreshing to hear as I hope the drink will be to taste, a fine pair of things to come back to after so long without either.

"Hesitant there, or just as slow to drink as you are to walk to the bar, kin? Trouble moving all that bulk without crushing the tankard, or need a little vanilla or chocolate to sweeten your honey wine so you can stand it like all the runts here?" Joking like we're family, but I'm not so ready to wag my tongue while it's so dry. Ol' Cyclops here, as I understand he's called, seems to understand me in turn. Gives me my time, putting out drink after drink as he tells me about his time in the guard. Sounds like he opened this place as a refuge, a sanctuary, and that even the criminal element here respects it as such, like it could be a sort of home for me in the area. Looks like he's noticed the same pair watching us that've caught the corner of my own eye, but the matter goes unmentioned until the two approach. 

Identical twins, a man and a woman I guessed, same size antlers still though, just the barest beginnings of growth. Not human, although I forget what their kind like to be called. All I heard back home about these kinds of... well, I guess they still could be termed people even if not human, was in the form of insults. Clans like mine weren't exactly known for being the most open to any kind of outsider, and that didn't change much when I took over. Guess if I'm turning over a new leaf though, now's the best time to start hearing people like this out. "Looks like we've found our perfect guard, Arasta," the brother said, the voice making me realize they're still practically children, even higher than I'd prepared myself not to react to, although that took me a second to notice because of the further surprise from the fanciful and fake-sounding accent. 

The girl looks uncomfortable. Kind to be approached rather than to approach another, I'd guess. Used to having the power. The boy seems all too comfortable. He feels like he has the power. A shake of my head will test how he acts in that position when denied something. Good indicator if I could stand to work with him. He's hardly taken aback, no sudden retreat or loss of temper. In stride, he gives the response, "Whyever you're here, it doesn't stop in this tavern. You want us as much as we want you." A gesture of my hand invites him to explain further, and he obliges. "Restorers of life, friend. Something we can keep you from losing or just as well give back to you. My sister here, a prodigious healer of sickness and war wound alike, can keep you from dying early. I can keep you from dying once."

Distasteful. Noble bloodline. The younger twin ought to be discarded. No, distasteful thoughts, even the second-born of noble twins deserves parentage, caretaking, although casting aside the fearful superstitions about what might accompany their magics is hard after so long. Still, I shake my head once more to see if he handles the rejection well, because he seemed too prepared for that one. 

"You're a wanderer, a stranger. Alone and unknown here, of all places. Whether you want to work with me or not, you need a necromancer as much as you need a healer. Tell me, sir, how many times are you planning on dying? Just the once, forgotten to the slew of adventurers whose quests take them through here and leave us callous, or enough that you can get a job done in the meantime?"

I pull the hood of the cloak back from my face as the shadows it cast upon me follow, turning what they no longer fall upon to face him. "Sir?" I inquire, voice still hoarse from disuse for so long, my thirst not yet slaked, but what I got out was enough to make the point.

"Sorry, ma'am," he managed to get out of those newly tightened lips even when this surprised. "Believe me, I know the importance. My apologies, but the point stands." His sister gives a quiet nod, the most input I've gotten from her during this. I've started to notice the way the other tavern-goers are looking at her though, even as her brother draws the attention to our group and a few eyes are drawn back away by the white braids they may now recognize on me. It's awe. She's famous. Healer who doesn't deal well with attention and crowds, the fear people have of her brother is probably the only way she keeps from being constantly surrounded with them. Smart girl to stay so close to him. 

"I don't know why I'm here. You're right, though. I'm getting old. No matter what I was in the past, I'm not exactly unkillable now, however close I might still seem to be. Wherever I'm being drawn, a helping hand, or one for healing and one for raising, would be much appreciated, but don't call me your guard."

"Whatever you wish, friend. I shall see you in the morning after your soon-coming stay at the inn here. Cyclops, the lady drinks on me, and speaking of which, what is the lady's name?" The girl follows shyly as the boy practically dances past me toward the door. He knows damn well my title and probably any others attached to the reputation, enough have whispered it upon their suspicions being confirmed, he's giving me a chance to decide which of my many names to claim. Sweet kid.

"Ylvarette," I answer as I turn back to the mead with renewed fervor, no longer worried about working off the debt I knowingly drunk myself into.

While the tavern owner demands his payment, half-heard without detail as his deep voice becomes distorted by the state I'm beginning to reach, the boy's response comes back clearly. "And I am the Rot's New King, who shall bring you back now yet one more time in the future than you expected, Cyclops, to die again yet another time and hopefully yet another day." The door slamming behind him shocks just enough sense into me to realize I need to head to the bedrooms soon. When I get upstairs, it's still light out a while longer. I should've eaten, a mind with its most intense desire sated enough to realize all the others. I'm sure the boy can procure me quite the feast in the morning, having something infinitely valuable to trade and such a taste for lavish life he terms himself king over the domain of his magics at such a young age.