2022-01-11: A Thousand Wrongs to Right
- Cutscene: A Thousand Wrongs to Right
- Cast: Day Muirwall
- Where: Arangate, Muirwall, Rolance
- Date: January 11, 2021
- Summary: Day returns to his home fief in the wake of his father's death.
They were the same familiar streets. He'd grown up overlooking the town of Arangate - walking through it when coming down from Muirwall Castle. The landmarks were burned into his memory even after years away.
The familiarity was tainted, here. The shadow that hung over the town was cast by more than the rolling stormclouds that raced above, driven by roaring winds out of the mountains and laced with the ominous rumble of thunder, like the roar of some distant beast ringing from the peaks of the heavens. That was an issue all its own. What troubled him more were the faces in the streets.
Hunkered beneath the hood of a simple traveler's cloak, Day could not go a single block without spotting the ripple of Malevolence churning around someone. The guards didn't surprise him all that much - most of the men he passed, almost universally carrying the arms of the Duke of Redwater, rippled with the stuff, a few outright showing the bestial features of Hellions. He'd more or less figured that one out.
The unpleasant surprises were the familiar faces seething with the stuff. Artisans, merchants, villagers - people he'd known distantly in his life as the son and heir presumptive of the Margrave of Muirwall. Any succession would be a time of uncertainty, saying nothing of a succession that would deliver the entire fief into the hands of another noble house - one ruling from afar and claiming the March through the inheritance of Day's sister. The people had reason to worry.
A worry you put into their hearts, the voice of doubt in his spirit mocked him for the millionth time. You walked away from this. Put Lucilla in the position of being betrothed to a Hellion. You made a mistake that cost a woman her life, and you punished yourself for it, and now you've condemned all of these people.
The thoughts more than anything led him through the door of an agonizingly familiar tailor's shop, the jingle of a bell preceding him. The smell of the place jerked memories out of him that threatened to let the ambient darkness of the place sink its hooks into him. Memories of someone who was not Lucilla. Of a girl with glasses and chestnut hair, with big brown eyes and a smile that once lit up the darkened places of his world.
Eyes you dimmed, you damned fool.
He forced the thought down with effort, grateful for the hood shadow keeping the anguish from his face and away from the sight of the robust, bearded man shuffling out of the back room. "Welcome, welcome," he offered up with the weariest semblance of friendliness. "You've come to Rhys's Tailory--"
"I'm sorry," Day cut in as he reached up, pushing his hood back. "I don't mean to cut you off."
The flash of recognition in the tailor's face was immediate and sharp, a widening of brown eyes and a clicking of teeth. "You -- Lord Daillan, you've come here? Why?"
Maybe it was his imagination, but Day could see the hurt behind the surprise. He pressed his lips together as the bitterness of it flooded his senses for a moment - the regrets that threatened to flirt with Malevolence, to invite it in. All he could muster was resolution. "What happened in the past was my fault," he said plainly. "I don't know what I could say to ask forgiveness, because I don't think I could ever deserve it anyway. My feelings for Thrynne were real. I... loved her. But I should never have let things get so far. If not for that--"
The thud of the old tailor's hand on the oaken countertop cut Day off in mid-sentence. "Say no more!" he choked out through his teeth. "You still blame yourself for it all! You young fool, I was the one who came between you! You were just young fools in love, and I reacted, and...."
As the old man cut off, Day found himself looking off to one side, digesting what he knew the man's next words would be. I'm the one to blame.
"You've been thinking about it too," he murmured.
"She was my daughter, Lord Daillan." Rhys's voice was low, but still heavy with emotion. "I think every day of what I could have done differently. If I had not stood in her way, perhaps she would not have run off. Perhaps the darkness would never have taken her. Perhaps she would not have... have become one of...."
"...one of the creatures that walk the streets," Day finished the sentence.
The tailor stole a furtive look towards the window, then back to the young knight. "If I had not seen what became of Thrynne, I would not have understood this," he whispered, urging Day closer. "But the change in people since Duke Moregal's arrival has been profound. The same sadness and pain and anger she went through... it's all I see in the streets. You can't even go out at night anymore without hearing of attacks by monsters. They go after the herdsmen even in broad daylight. And the storm winds... they seldom stop anymore."
"What of my sister?" Day's voice lowered to match the old tailor's.
Rhys squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. "She... she has not been seen. Alive, most think, but most say she is held somewhere in Redwater over the mountains. Not of her own will. She never wished any of this, my lord."
Day's stomach twisted agonizingly as he looked up to the ceiling rafters, exhaling hard through his teeth. Lucilla - his sister, forced into inheritance. A decision he left in her lap when he abandoned his own inheritance, so intent on punishing himself for what happened with Thrynne.
And so your selfishness has claimed another, the persistent little voice in his spirit nagged. And now all in Muirwall suffer for your sins. You drove Thrynne into the arms of Malevolence, you struck her down, and you ran away and left all these people to the darkness. You fool. You utter, utter fool.
A moment of silence hung there before Day drew himself up and set his jaw. Amidst the nagging thoughts, he latched onto one thing he'd brought with him, letting it anchor him against the Malevolence around him. The intention - the reason he'd come.
"I can never bring back Thrynne," he said quietly. "And I can never ask your forgiveness. All I ask is this.
"That you trust that I've come here to try and fix the mess I made."