The Trust of the Wilderlands

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[During her journey north, running from Eorzea and bad memories, Eluned met a group known as Trust of the Wilderlands, people trying to lend some help to locals, from gathering, to hunting, to fend off the Illuminati. During what should have been a routine task of cleaning up some graves in Gorgagne Mills, they were attacked by a powerful Voidsent and barely escaped with their lives.]

North, up north.
That’s all Eluned knew, all she thought about. Just going north. Away from Eorzea, away from anyone who knew her. A new beginning, again. She’d lost count of how many times she’d started over and at this point, did it actually matter? After that cave in Thanalan, she just felt like a body moving around, with no soul inside. So why had she chosen to affiliate herself, even if temporarily with the Trust? They appeared to be good people, she’d grant them that. Nice, likeminded people, trying to help where they could, taking on those jobs that were too dangerous for the local hunters and civilians.
Yet, tonight it appeared they’d chewed more than they could swallow.

From the pillow of her rented bed, in Tailfeather, she was looking at the ceiling, her arms crossed behind her head. Her body was exhausted but her brain didn’t want to rest.
That night had been hard. Dangerous. Just like the Blood Moon had been, back in the Shroud. So why wasn’t she terrified? Why wasn’t she running home to stay there?
Because, she admitted to herself, when I fight or when I help, I don’t think. And I don’t want to think. I never want to think again.
She idly wondered if this would be the way she died, chasing danger, hiding behind her need to be useful to charge into the most dangerous situations possible. One day she wouldn’t be lucky. One day she’d finally meet that fate that she’d kept dodging since the day she was forced to leave her home.
Eluned turned to the side, one hand under her cheek, her grey eyes closed. A quick flash of her life danced behind her eyelids, the good, the bad, the worse, the…
Her other hand went to her throat, circling it, squeezing just a bit, like she was trying to protect it. Her breath started to quicken. She ruthlessly forced it to slow down, shutting her eyes tight. No. She wouldn’t think about that. Ever.

What had happened that night? Who was that Mage? What he’d done with those voidgates… opening one after the other, summoning minions, even summoning an undead… It had all looked so effortless. She still wondered how had they managed to escape with their lives because it was clear they were outclassed. After all, how many chances had a group of people who just barely met, who never fought together and didn’t know each other’s strength and weaknesses, to defeat such a foe? No unit could function like that.
Was Valosien really dead? She’d just met the squire, but it seemed a waste for such a display of innocence to meet that cruel a fate. And why target them. It could be mere chance, but then the voidsent had gone and created a fake grave to one of their comrades… that Mage knew them, even as new as they were. She didn’t know how or why, but he did. He’d marked them as… what? A sacrifice? A feast to be consumed? Why them?

She sighed, her hand still on her throat. She should go home. She should leave right away and go back to Limsa; shut herself in her room again and never, ever, set foot outside again. Why even try? She was dead inside. Why keep trying to revive herself? It seemed such… a futile effort. Except, what if that voidsent followed her? What if she brought it right to her friends?
Eluned stilled on the bed and a vague, bitter smile tilted her lips up. No, she wouldn’t run home. She wouldn’t risk it. Such a noble act. Such selflessness. But she knew the truth. The truth was that yes, maybe she would die chasing danger, in her effort to leave everything behind. And maybe it wouldn’t be such a tragedy. An empty husk could only survive so long… the world wouldn’t miss her. And at least, that way, she could finally rest.

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