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What had he done?

Ashen smoke and putrid rot mixed to form a nauseating miasma in Scathael’s nose. Blackened wood and shattered corpses greeted his eyes wherever he rested his gaze. Behind the crackle of smouldering thatch and groans of collapsing houses, Scathael heard the screeches of carrion and growls of scavengers. That there was ever a village here – with people who lived and dreamed and just [i]existed[/i], and people whom he knew – just felt so surreal. As if this burnt, devastated ruin had been just that this entire time, and Scathael had dreamt up his entire time here.

But that wasn’t the case. He knew that.

That smoking hut to his right, with its once-flowering garden of pungent herbs and vibrant flowers now little more than mounds of mud, had once been the apothecary. The kindly old woman who had lived there had helped Scathael patch up his wounds the day he first entered the village. On his left, the pile of rubble that stretched out onto the main street had once been a house. Scathael knew the family who lived there – the mother had fed him on the two occasions he had to help the father with repairs. And there, near the head of the main street, laid what once was a simple farmstead. The old man who worked the fields there never did warm up to Scathael, but always paid generously with his produce. 

Scathael didn’t know them well, but they had treated him fairly. They surely didn’t deserve such an end, to lay broken amidst the remnants of their own homes. 

Just [i]what[/i] had he done?

[i]You wanted to stay.[/i]

The answer came to him quickly enough. Though the voice was [i]hers[/i], he knew the words weren’t. That did little to stop the sting, however used to it as he was. But she – or it, or they, or whatever it was – was right; all of this came about simply because he even entertained the idea of stopping. Nevermind that he never would have seriously considered the option. Just the mere thought of it was enough for fate to decide that he needed another reminder to always be on the move. It happened with his family. It happened with her, it happened with many other places, and now it happened again.

[i]This was your fault.[/i]

Scathael squeezed his eyes shut. Focus. He had to focus. What was done, was done. All of the guilt, all of the sorrow in the world wouldn’t change a thing. The village was gone. On whose head was the blame laid was irrelevant. Scathael had to look ahead, at where his path would bring him next. He had to be prepared for whatever would come his way, and that meant that he needed supplies.

And so, he made his way back to the blacksmith’s home. Compared to the rest of the village, it was largely intact. The walls were still standing, even if the roof had caved in. Most of the tools and materials Scathael wanted – such as ingots, files, sandpaper, and whetstones – were gone, but still he searched. He tried his best to ignore the familiar corpses that laid in misshapen heaps not too far away. It had only been just two days ago when they had been conversing about everything and nothing amidst a peaceful night. And now, they were dead and Scathael was left alive. The dark elf tried not to think about that as well, as difficult as it was. How could it be easy, when their bloodied faces were right there for him to see?

“Scathael?”

That hoarse, whisper-quiet voice came so suddenly, and so softly, that Scathael didn’t believe it to be real at first. Only when it repeated itself – straining to call for him once more – did he understand that he wasn’t hearing things. He immediately stopped whatever he was doing and dug his way towards the voice, prying burnt planks from where they were jammed, and tossing loose debris aside. [color=saddlebrown]“Yes, it’s me,”[/color] he replied. [color=saddlebrown]“Try not to move. It’s dangerous.”[/color] 

Hidden behind a stack of crates and empty roughspun sacks was the foxgirl, Vallana. She was huddled on the ground, with knees brought up to her chest. Tears, both fresh and old, stained her face. Her ears were flat against her head, and she couldn’t stop shivering. Whether it was out of cold, hunger, or fear, Scathael couldn’t tell. Black soot and dirt covered her skin and clothes. “S-Scathael? Are…Are you real?” Her voice quavered and faltered as she looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

[color=saddlebrown]“Yes,”[/color] Scathael answered, but heard himself as if he were a mere observer. 

Vallan’s lips quivered, and she sniffed. “Th-They came–” she began, but had to stop as she choked. Large tears dripped onto the ground, and she wiped her eyes with filthy hands as she wailed. Through her sobs, she cried for her father, her mother, for everything that she never again would have. Her little body heaved with grief and sorrow. 

For what felt like an eternity, Scathael could only watch. His worry and concern were plain on his face, but he didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t a problem he could fix; there was nothing he could make that would make things better for Vallana. And so, he froze. His mind, however, dragged him back to the day when he found his own family, cold and dead in their own home. He recalled the dark gloom that had consumed his entire being; the grey nothingness which had coloured his world, and the dreadful uncertainty that had left him paralysed for so long. But he was lucky. He had already been an accomplished engineer and tinkerer when that happened. Good enough to let him survive on his own until he was well-enough to move on.

Vallana, however, had nothing. What would she do from now on? What [i]could[/i] she do?

Scathael gulped. He didn’t have the answers to those questions. But he knew that he couldn’t leave her. It would be unconscionable, even for him. [color=saddlebrown]“Vallana,”[/color] he called to her as gently as he could and knelt. [color=saddlebrown]“I can’t reach you.”[/color] He reached for her with both arms outstretched. [color=saddlebrown]“You have to come to me. We can’t stay here, whoever did this could still be around.”[/color] The foxgirl flinched at the mention of the ones who had sacked the village. [color=saddlebrown]“Vallana, you have to come. You know you won’t last long alone. I don’t want that, so please, come to me and we can get away from here. We can think about what to do afterwards, but we can’t do anything until we’re safe.”[/color]

Vallana sniffed, but nodded. She crawled her way to Scathael, and it was clear from her slow and lethargic movements that she was nearing the end of her strength. Thankfully, she got close enough for Scathael to pull her from the rubble. [color=saddlebrown]“It’s okay,”[/color] he whispered as he carried her in his arms. She was light. Too light for a girl of her age. [color=saddlebrown]“It’s okay,”[/color] he repeated. Those words didn’t even register in his head. All that mattered to him was that they seemed to calm Vallana somewhat. [color=saddlebrown]“It’s okay.”[/color]

And somewhere in his head, he heard a response. [i]Liar.[/i]

Only this time, the voice was his own.
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[color=saddlebrown][b]Time:[/b][/color] Morning
[color=saddlebrown][b]Location:[/b][/color] Campsite outside Roshmi
[color=saddlebrown][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] Mari [@princess]
[color=saddlebrown][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] Thraash [@funnyguy]; FIVE [@shiningsector]
[color=saddlebrown][b]Equipment:[/b][/color]
[hider]His travelling clothes - Dark, earthy shirt and coat, with trousers tucked into boots
A hooded, oilskin cloak
His bow, unstrung
A musket
Two pistols
Two hatchets
His travelling pack[/hider][/center]
Morning came as a dreadful surprise for Scathael. The past two days – or was it just one – had been but a blur to him. Between taking care of Vallana and making adjustments to the Warforged’s repairs, he barely had any time to sleep for long, nevermind go about his daily work.

The latter was an easy, if boring and mind-numbing, task. Reattaching the Warforged’s arm to his shoulder had been a fairly straightforward job, as such jobs usually were. The problem had been mechanical – the Dragonborn had thankfully avoided damaging any magical circuitry – and so all Scathael had to do was to grind the damaged, jagged parts smooth, and rejoin the limb to its socket with the aid of patch plates. That was where most jobs would end, but because the repair involved a joint, Scathael had to keep watch over the Warforged to make sure that the plates weren’t getting in the way of their arm’s usual range of motion.

It was a lengthy process – one that required a lot of welding and de-welding – but it was the proper way of doing things, and most importantly, gave him a reason to stick around the motley group.

As much as Scathael preferred to be alone – and as experienced as he was a wayfarer – he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he could take care of Vallana on his own. The traumatised foxgirl had barely left his side since leaving the village. Whether it was eating, sleeping, or travelling, she refused to even be a step away from Scathael. The Dark Elf had to admit, however, that he wasn’t quite sure whether that was due to what Vallana suffered, or simply because of their travelling companions. A Warforged and a Dragonborn were intimidating presences even to seasoned adventurers, let alone a mere child. And Mari, friendly and loud as she was, was still a stranger. 

Either way, it meant that Scathael spent most of whatever time he had left after inspecting the Warforged on Vallana. He didn’t regret it – it was his choice to take her, after all – but he did find himself wishing that a day had at least a dozen more hours.

And now, as the sun rose on a new day and breakfast sizzled over an open fire, Scathael sat on the naked earth with legs crossed and shoulders hunched. In his hands, he whittled curves into a small block of solid oak. Vallana was sound asleep beside him, swaddled up in his travelling cloak. This was probably the first proper rest the girl managed to catch since leaving the village, and so he took care to be quiet. Every now and then, he glanced at her, making sure that she was still asleep and undisturbed.

Mari’s sudden statement caught his attention. [color=saddlebrown]“Are you going to tell us why?”[/color] He asked pointedly in a quiet voice, then tilted his head towards Vallana. [color=saddlebrown]“Keep it down if you do. She’s finally sleeping soundly and I’m not going to be happy if she gets woken prematurely.”[/color]