A Risk Too Many

The sound of the early morning chatter beckons the next morning in the tavern. It seems that some tend to start and end their day here, for some a wiser decision than others.

Tika and the grand duke still remain in the room where Gunnir resides. Both individually having made an attempt to create something even slightly comfortable, both failing miserably.

Even with the sound of life below deadly silence still rules the room. Only the weak breath of the Goliath of a man, giving way any sign of life. He had not yet awakened, something that was to be expected. When one is successfully poisoned the days of recovery are most of the time not the concern but the days remaining are.

Tika made an attempt to sleep last night, yet each time she found the darkness welcome her. Something screamed loudly in her mind that her companion might at this very moment be accepting of the eternal darkness. Each time she stumbles out of the chair, once even grazing her knees before she stands up and moves to the bed. The weak breath made her knees buckle as tears nearly escape her eyes, thanking whatever she can that they hadn't taken him yet.

The tiredness and shaken feeling made her unaware of the other pair of noble eyes staring at them. Unable to properly look at the bed and its patient, they simply look at Tika. The wizard who had the least trouble to cuss the grand duke out, even if he could have her tongue ripped out for it. The resentment in her eyes grew with each passing day. At first, he believed the woman to simply be fickle and lazy. Only prepared to do what she was ordered whilst ignoring the good deeds that could be done. A living reminder of himself or at least of what he became.

The grand duke sighs recalling the emerald-colored eyes of another who did not hesitate to look at him with disdain. 'Are they alright? Was it worth it?' His conscience and guilt weighing heavier than his desire to sleep.

When he was first confronted with his own faults… With the disappointments of others. He decided to do what he had always done, retract from the world, and pity himself for the fate that the world bestowed upon him. However even that was shunned during this trip, their eyes of disdain growing deeper.

Unable to run away, unable to hide. He decided to confront the issue, to use his power and might to do good for once. So he ordered them to aid in Enver, to aid in Provokopjus. To rid the world of the things staining them.

Again they were against it. Claiming that their mission should take priority. But how was he supposed to pass by? When he finally confronted his fears, when he pledged to himself that he would no longer let weakness allow for atrocities to run amok.

He just didn't understand… Perhaps he didn't want to. So desperate to be right, so desperate for validation. Unable to understand that for each task he ordered, he did not solely risk his own life but that of his protectors. For them, it would've been a desperate old selfish man trying to make amends whilst risking the life of those they consider family.

How did it ever end up like this? How did he"the studious second son" end up in this state?

'Was i that desperate? That I was willing to throw away their lives?' The grand duke thinks about the trip and the many conflicts he has had. The powerlessness he felt when he first ascended to the throne after his brother's hunting accident.

Because of him... or rather because of what he lacked the "modern slavery" still exists. The face of the poor growing in number in the slums, houses sometimes filled with more than thirty where normally not even 5 should live. Whilst his advisors grew fatter, claiming that it was only the way of things.

'I….I knew…. I just didn't want to see.' He laments the past decades of his life. He used to have everything, unlimited access to the books of time passed and the arcane abilities to live a life past the normal human age. Was it not a sign of Asariel to continue on his path? Why did the blessing become a curse?

With the early chatters of morning now in full flow, the grand duke walks downstairs. To the elder tavern keeping couple in particular, wearing the cold noble facade he was always trained to have.

"You're not here to cause any ruckus, huh?" Betzy ask, seeing the reason for yesterday's trouble appear.

"Is there a stream nearby by any chance?" The grand duke ignores the taunt, looking like he does not consider the human before him worthy of anything.

"Rivers? No, you have one a couple of days back toward Provokpjus or past Viphrar but the largest one runs through Wra'thez."

"Any streams or any other body of waters?"

"There are some smaller streams in the forest. There's also a well. You know where most people get their water from?"

"Thank you."

The grand duke, turns around: leaving the tavern. He walks into the forest, simply walking in a straight line. It appeared that the tavern keeper didn't lie. A small stream not even large enough to be called a proper puddle was streaming slightly before him. He grabs the blood stained with poppy from his satchel and throws it into the small stream. A note attached to the flower, with the words "come and converse" written into it. Seating himself down in the still high wet grass as he continues to stare at the stream of water.

"An unusual request, I hope its rarity will match the price." An older woman's voice makes it way into the grand duke's ear as he looks to his right. In the not even hour that he waited, there now stands the undetected presence of the pale skinned elder woman. Her veins thicker and vibrant, a stark contrast to her own seemingly dry and wrinkled skin. She wears a long dress made of different types op flowers, primarily dominated by the colors: purple, white and red. Her neck, feet and arms are like the rest of her body thin and scarred.

Her different colored eyes as mesmerizing as the sharp features on her face. The red eyes is bloodshot, whilst the green eye almost seems to have shattered. An unnatural gray, domineering that eye. The hair bun she wears for her short hair, following the style of nobility. Or at least the nobility of the history books, from the time of when the Holy empire was not yet shattered around 900 years ago.