Path of the Pioneers

Sleep has taken me, claimed me. This nagging slumber isn't dreamless, but the dreams it gives me are aimless. Fragments of my past, bits and pieces of my childhood dredged up by the remaining active corners of my mind. Most of them are that drawn-out old dream, where I lay in bed within my childhood home - joints and muscles locked up from illness, sweat drenching into what little clothes I wear as my body swelters from some intolerable fever.

It's snowing outside - I can see it through my frosted-up window. Ice clings to the glass on the exterior, and large flakes sometimes pass it by. It's dark, night-time. My body flashes between too hot and too cold, a dizzying dance.

Someone or something dabs at the sweat on my forehead, draping some sort of cold rag over me in a way that brings almost instantaneous relief to my ailing body. The world spins, and I let my eyelids fall. The darkness is nice - the vertigo ebbs a touch, and it soon begins to feel like a gentle rocking instead. In that quiet, peaceful lull, I can hear the walls of my room begin to whisper.

"Her ... is dire, but ... hopeful, perhaps." I hear it say.

The words are hard to make out, and a great deal of them are lost on me - not that they particularly matter. What the walls say have little to do with me, after all, and this bed is just so very comfortable.

"Gods! ... like she's been ... by a bladed torch!" Another says.

"Aisling! You ... Shut it!"

They aren't whispers anymore - in fact, those voices are beginning to grow so terribly loud. They continue for hours, or what feels like it. Mumbling and muttering about all sorts of things that I can't quite fathom. I just want to sleep a little while longer, why in the world is there so much chatter? It's frustrating, beyond frustrating to be kept from sleep by something I can only half-understand. Finally, that building irritation gets the better of me, and I speak my mind.

"Please, be quiet..." I murmur in annoyance, to anyone who'll listen.

I hear the sounds of stirring, people shuffling around - more than a few. Then, another voice enters, the others quieted after my comment.

"Lass..?"

It's familiar. Gruff, but gentle. I've heard this voice before. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I decide to temporarily abandon my quest for sleep in favor of investigating the voice. Ever so groggily, I force my eyes to open - the light of the place forcing me to go back to squinting in short order. Through my slowly acclimating vision, I can make out a few blurry shapes - different people all standing together, looking toward me.

One of them rushes over to my side. They're rather short, quite stout, and donning a bushy beard that comes further into focus with their approach.

"Lass..." The voice repeats - the one who approached me.

My eyelids fall and rise lazily as I blink a few times, taking in the appearance of the person in front of me.

"Cairbre..?" I croak.

He looks down at me, a wild grin on his face. It looks like he might just start dancing. "Lass, yer alive..." He half-laughs out. "Gods, yer alive!"

My breathing is labored and slow, and it feels like simply being awake is taking an active effort. Pain rings out in my head, the dull ache of a hangover. A groan slips from my lips and I clutch at it, another figure rushes to my side.

"Alright?" She asks.

"Alive." I say, clenching my teeth while that wave begins to subside.

I suck in a deep breath, letting my lungs fill. My vision is starting to improve, and I can see Cairbre mostly clearly on my right side. The woman on my left - she's another dwarf. Orange hair that reaches just below her shoulders, an odd hat on her head that resembles the cap of a fly agaric, and white-colored robes that resemble the stem. She appears to be lost in thought, hands at her side and brow furrowed while solving some problem in her head.

My thoughts are beginning to return to me in large swaths, bits and pieces of glass filling in the window-pane of my consciousness - until all that's left is an ache.

"H-how long have I been out?" I mutter.

"It's been four days, lass - since we got ye, I mean." Cairbre says.

"A remarkable recovery time, all things considered. Beyond remarkable." The mushroom-dwarf hums.

"Adeline.. Is she- what's happened?" I lick my lips, sitting up in bed. A small pang in my skull nearly stops me, but I push through it.

Cairbre looks to the side, a grim expression on his face. "She's been taken, lass - bein' brought somewhere in Hyperion before they..." He trails off, sighing.

"Ashglen." I add.

The dwarf raises an eyebrow, "Ashglen?"

"I heard them speaking about it while I was dying - they're going to be taking her to Ashglen." I say.

"Scuse me, miss." The mushroom-dwarf says, "Did ye say that y'were dying?"

I nod.

She turns, putting her hands in her head with an exasperated huff, "Gods, unluck and luck all at once."

My gaze returns back to Cairbre, "I need to be headed there as quickly as I can." I say. "They won't wait long before killing her by the time they get there, maybe two or three weeks."

The mushroom-dwarf starts to say something, but Cairbre raises a hand to hush her. "Lass, yer in rough shape, ye know I can't very well send ye out into that mess - 'specially not when there'll be some powerful folks there."

"I don't care about the risk, Cairbre - I have to save her."

He looks me up and down, a mix of resignation, concern, and pride in his eyes. "Ye really aren't far off from her, you know. The two o' ye are more alike than I thought." Cairbre sighs again, "A day. I want ye t'rest for a day longer - and then another day t'plan out yer little trek." He says.

"Two days?!" The mushroom-dwarf says, eyes wide with shock. She gestures to me, and then looks back at him expectantly, "Uncle, the girl's a wreck! We can't just let 'er go off an' get 'erself killed again."

He laughs quietly to himself, putting his hands up before bringing them back down on his knees lightly.

"Fine." I say, "I can do that."

She turns to me, the very image of worry, "Miss, I know ye think ye've got the world by the cuff, but ye've got to stop when yer ahead. Yer heart was pierced, yer insides were torched, and yer mana was drained! Most people'd be sent to the great beyond just from one o' them!"

I feel bad, considering how much I've worried more than just Cairbre. Even worrying him makes me feel guilty. Still, what else am I to do? If I waste time sitting in a bed, waiting to feel better, someone I may yet save will perish - and I will have done nothing. I have to keep going, even if the path is painful.

"Oh give it a rest, Maeve. I think the girl gets the idea." A feminine voice says.

I look up, spotting the source of it. The last person in the room - another dwarf. She's wearing little, a sleeveless vest and some loose pants. Her hair is exceptionally short, cut and styled messily. I can tell just by looking at her that she's a warrior of some sort, well-built as she is.

Something pulls me away from my little distraction, the feeling of Cairbre's hand on my shoulder. "I reckon the one that killed ye is going t'be there. Josephine Cirix, aye?"

I nod.

"I doubt ye'll be able t'give 'er the slip. Are ye still willin' t'go through with this plan o' yers, even despite that?"

Once again, I nod.

He furrows his brow just the slightest bit, "What'll be different this next time, then?"

Closing my eyes, I imagine it in searing detail - the way in which she dispatched me with brutal, uncaring strength. No precision was required, just sheer, brute force. There was nothing I could do to stop it, but things are different, now.

I open my eyes, turning my head toward Forging. After a deep breath, I tell him, "This time, I'm a Pioneer."