Lynesse

Haven

Wooden floorboards warped and creaked under her feet as she moved through the ruined building. It was as holy a space now as it had been when first built, though she was sure “holy” wasn’t the intention of it. There were no prayer nooks, no altars or shrines — but it was, all the same. Each of the now ruined planks that made up the floor had been laid and secured by someone with hopes and dreams of a better, safe life. Hearth stones had been stacked and a chimney made to keep the past occupants warm, dry, and fed. People had lived here, maybe loved here, and this place had become a memorial to the time they had put in to protect themselves from nature.

The people, however, had long been gone; whether through diaspora or violent means was hard to tell. Here in the Plaguelands it could be either. She had traveled through small hamlets like this one in the Second War. Places built by the families on the surrounding farmsteads so they could have spaces to gather and govern. The Humans here had been as bright and welcoming as they were wary. Most of them had never seen her kind before, though her presence had been softened by the boisterous men and women she was travelling south with. They managed to protect those this far north from the Orcs, but nobody expected the tainted grain in the peace that followed. Survivors or not, the Scourge took everything from those who lived here.

Lyn’s fingers traced the wood-grain of one of the moldering support beams that somehow, miraculously, still kept the second floor supported. The fading light of the day shone through the holes and cracks above, illuminating the dust motes she’d disturbed in her reverie. Nature, in the end, was reclaiming what had been taken from it. Soft moss grew in a corner, weeds and grass peaked through holes in the walls. The wood was rotting, everywhere it had been used and neglected. There was no greater power to believe in than this — that nature would always triumph. This place had become a shrine to that concept in its gentle decay. As unintentionally holy now in the present as it had been in the past.

Soft voices filtered in from outside; none of the other Outreach members had yet braved the building this evening, and that was fine with her. Their work would be cut out for them here as they once again sought to push nature back. They all had their hopes and dreams of creating a space to gather, a space to give people better and safer lives. She could hear the laughter of children long gone, only memories now, mixed in with the bright and welcoming tones of those here now. This place, this Haven, would be as holy in the future as it ever was.

The runes on her hands and across her chest glowed faintly in the gloaming that had crept in from every side. She had a purpose here. Not as a builder, not as a surgeon, not as a baker or a gardener or a smith. The question had cut through over everything else, clear and bright as day. Who could help consecrate this place? She stepped out through the door, careful of the loose steps, pushed along by the force that had bound her back to this plane.