The sky was barren as dusk dawned above them. An ominous line of orange light made the trees around her appeared to be burning, but only for a second, before being swallowed by the black sky. And that’s all Phi chose to remember from her night in the Wild Wood. There had been so many deaths surrounding her new party of companions. Ones she herself could not justify. It was not a direct order from the Hidden Ones. Not a revenge plot. Just a simple distinction between good and evil. How arbitrary. You could not measure good and evil. Not enough to make a judgement through the eyes of a God.
She remembered the bard accusing her of not using her real name. But he would never know forsure that he was right. She remembered giving herself the new name. Ph. The sound made by obstructing airflow as the air travel through the larynx and out of your mouth. In mathematics, the character was a universal symbol used to denote the golden ratio. A simple equation behind all beauty. Another simple explanation to solve what many considered unanswerable. Her old name beared no meaning, making it easy to leave behind.
Lanaya. The Templar Assassin.
She shivered. Remembering her fathering standing in front of her pleading for his life in the enchanted parallel to the Wild Wood. An illusion. But of a memory. How did the old hag break into her shielded mind? Trying to strike a chord of emotion, remorse. Phi remembered not budging. Her cold hard eyes remained focused on the hag’s new form. Her expressionless face cold and distant as she kept the blade to her father’s throat. But it worked, didn’t it? They had spared that bloody creature. She was one of the few who treaded on their path and left with her life. Coincidence? There was no such thing.
Their stay in Farehold had brought them a pleasant night rekindling with a former ally. She would perhaps even consider him a friend. The smell of blueberry pie had blossomed through his home and filled her nostrils, which was enough for her. The face of a familiar friend was as warm as the pie as he had appeared to take on the orcs with them earlier that day. Together, they had defended his home to protect his wife and soon to be born child. Death surrounded them, but in this home held the potential for life. The thought soothed her to sleep.
As they sat in the inn, Wenlock drinking more than he can handle and Erdan not nearly enough for his size. Phi began to wonder what the point of a day was without conflict. It seemed like it was all they knew recently. She nibbled on her rice and pork wrapped in leaves, and Wenlock went up to the stage and played a tune. The night was peaceful. So peaceful, it made her scared.