Jonas Kane (Part IV)
It was a loud and busy evening at the Dragon’s Claw Inn. The night was still very young but Jonas was already heavily drunk. Audrey had turned twenty just a few days prior and for her birthday Jonas paid her for a trip to the Isles of Rinn Quinnel Nurbonnis. She was thrilled at the prospects of seeing more of this world and could not wait to return with countless stories. Her ship had set sail that morning and she was scheduled to return a year from now. Jonas had grown rather fond of the girl, fancying her as sort of an adopted daughter over the years. He drank so heavily this night because he knew that he had no plans to ever see her again.
In his early seventies, Jonas was old. With his long white hair, gaunt features with wrinkled and leathery skin he looked elderly. The look he could bare, for it was still a distinguished look; but he felt the oldness, and that was the problem. He had walked with a limp that refused to heal over the last few years and every ailment known to man was vying for a spot in his body; he couldn’t even piss without feeling excruciating pain. Jonas knew he was done and he was ready to move on, but he was not going to let fate choose how; no, he always said that he would go out on his own terms.
Jonas limped into the kitchen and took out the sharpest knife he could find, using it to pin a sealed letter to the backroom noticeboard. “For Audrey” it had written upon it. “When she returns she’ll become the richest woman in Kormyre” he laughed. He turned to the chef who was cooking the evenings stew and said farewell to him. The chef wasn’t listening, and so Jonas left, walking through the bar room and into the main hall.
Jonas surveyed the room and after several moments analyzing all the patrons he found his mark. Three burly gold miners from Pendarven were sitting around a table, drinking and engaging in general rowdiness. “Ya, they’ll do.” he thought as he walked across the room towards them. As he reached the table he lurked directly behind them for a few minutes before things got uncomfortable as they noticed him standing so close just watching. When one of them finally asked him if he needed anything, Jonas took a long draw from his cigar, bent down and blew it slowly in the mans face. His friends laughed, but the man was not amused. “What the hell is wrong with you old man?!” In reaction, Jonas pushed his lit cigar down, hard into the mans hand burning him and then slapped the man solidly in his face. The man was immediately on his feet and the two instantly grappled one another engaging in throwing fists continuously. Jonas threw a couple of outside punches to involve the other two men and before long, the fight involved all four. With the odds now so woefully against him, Jonas reached down and pulled a dagger out from his belt, grabbing one of the men by his hair, and pulling his dagger back, poised to plunge it deep into the man’s belly, but before this would happen, Jonas felt it. A pickaxe swung deep into his chest by one of the other men. Jonas had the air knocked out of him from the blow and slowly dropped his own dagger. The wound was most obviously a death blow and so the three men, frantically grabbed their things and fled the Inn, as Jonas slumped down to his knees.
Blood was not only pouring from his chest, but also bubbled up his throat and out of his mouth. His vision was beginning to blur and dim. He strained his eyes and stared over at the double doors leading outside as he listened to the bards continue to play. He could see the doors being pushed open slowly as a score of monsters marched through. He then turned his head further right and saw the scholars table, filled with books, Selby and Starling sorted through them while laughing and sharing some tea. He turned his head then even further right and saw the nobles table, set with lavish foods. Baron Victor Sylus calling for a rousing toast which drew a loud “Hazzah” from all around him. Jonas’s eyes were wide and welled up with tears. “I missed this… so much” he whispered choking through his own blood. The tears fell from his eyes and the air was leaving his lungs for good. “I’m finally home”, he managed to get out with his last breath before the world went dark and the sounds of the bards heralded him to the world beyond.
Mae did not truly feel old physically yet. Even at her age, she trained and taught what healing spells she retained. So many years had passed- it seemed sometimes like her old power was just a figment of her own imagination. The feeling of Namisar inside of her soul just a dream- a fantasy of the young. She had filled her life with her family, homes, and her countries- Travance included. She always felt a sense of great loss, however, in her quiet moments. She shoved it away whenever possible, however she knew that it was her own way of grieving what could have been. Still, watching her children grow, marry, and begin to have families of their own was rewarding as well. Maybe that was the true reality after all- the past just a mirage.
It was this thought that came to her mind when she heard the rumors- it wasn't a dream. It was real. But it was... over? She began to investigate, research, meet with scholars both near and far- feeling her mind awaken as if from a slumber. This richness of feeling, of focus, of intense concentration was a blessing to a being that had begun to slow with time. As she investigated, she began to truly feel fear as well. As she looked at her family, she held her arms tightly against her, not letting her true feelings exude to her loved ones. Her growing fear for their safety and worry over the fact that the powers of the world had diminished as much as she had. How could they fight this and win if it were true? It's possible that Xualla is also as diminished. It's possible they had the power they needed. But she needed to know- she needed to find out. And if she died? At least she would have that brief moment of her youth back. She would know that her past was real as her present was real. And if the threat wasn't real? The worst that could happen would be that she was wrong and had had these moment of vitality back as a gift. She had passed along the tales of Travance to her children, of course- the lessons of Travance were too important not to. Now they would see that perhaps the world wasn't as safe as they had all thought- but also that not all of the heroes were dead yet.
And that, really, power didn't make one a hero. Intent did. Actions did. Anyone can be a hero- especially them.