Verence squinted up at the midday sun impassively. Yes. Impassive. That was a good word for it. No matter the season, no matter the locale, ever did that celestial sphere grant light to Vana'Diel, uncaring for those upon whom it shone. It simply shone. For a brief moment, Verence longed for that indifference, but shook his head. No. It would not do to belittle the past. He baited the hook of his fishing rod and glanced out over the emerald waters of Bibiki Bay, allowing his mind to roam over the events of the past day.
Verence had awoken with a start as the airship arrived in the port of San d'Oria, a sense of dread slowly creeping into his stomach as his feet thudded onto the solid planking of the docks. He shook his head slowly and gave an absent-minded greeting to the port authority as she opened the doors from the air travel agency into the city proper. The austere stone facets of San d'Oria rose before him, but Verence's thoughts were somewhere else entirely. He strode through the port in a self-absorbed daze, hardly noticing as his feet led him onward.
The dream he'd had was almost too vivid, too real... And it left him with an overwhelming desire to see her face once more, to hear her labored and obviously forced assurances that she was doing well despite the mountain of evidence to the contrary. Verence had feared he would never hear those assurances again. Verence's fears were soon to be confirmed.
Through the parade-grounds in front of the Chateau he strode, not even sparing it a glance. Something in the back of Verence's mind told him he probably ought to check in, but it was a whispered voice, a wraith easily ignored. Onward though the victory arch he went, scattered thoughts coalescing into a single, quiet urgency. Find her. Listen her voice. Take her hands in his own.
A curious sense of detachment took hold of him as he crossed the threshold of Diamondelle's home; A strange, floating feeling; as if an automaton had entered the room and left the tall Elvaan standing at the doorway. The small upstairs room was much the way it had usually been, swept and well-kempt with obvious signs of use. A teacup sat on the nightstand, only half-drained. A book had been left open at the foot of the bed, pages still open to where she had left off reading. To all appearances, it seemed as if Diamondelle had only stepped out a moment before. Then Verence's eye caught the small note she had left on her writing-desk, the very same one her dream-apparition told him he would find. With trembling hands, he lifted it to the light.
Dear friends,
I've been called to something very urgent as of recently that needs my attending. Don't worry about me, I'm feeling much better now and will be very able to handle the task set before me. This will be a very long mission, however, and I won't be back for some time.
Sincerely,
Diamondelle Moratum
It felt as though the ground had abruptly opened beneath Verence's feet, swallowing him whole. Numbed fingers smoothed the note where it had rumpled, their owner absently wondering when they'd clenched. He left, then, leaving the note on the table and walking back the way he had came before he had even fully realized what he was doing.
It was true, then. She was gone. Almost in a trance, Verence returned to his mog house and began to search through old, dusty boxes until he found what he had sought; his old fishing tackle.Thus arrayed, he mouthed words become second nature by study and practice. Coruscating light enveloped him, and he was gone.
He did not recall much of the walk from the Crag of Mea to the Manaclipper docks, only a vague sense of motion as the local goblin populace eyed him warily and moved aside. And now, he found himself sitting upon the dock, rod in hand, waiting for the ferry to arrive. Now, with time and distance, he had been able to think things over.
This would undoubtedly start a firestorm of rumors. Two high-ranking adventurers with government positions, engaged for a long time... And suddenly one disappears. The hume one, no less. Verence pondered that for a moment before realizing he really didn't care.
Although it had been explained to him, although he knew it was for the best, the knowledge did nothing to soothe the spreading numbness in his chest. By Altana, he was going to miss her.
Verence cast his rod. He had promises to keep, after all.
The depths shall ring from shore to shore in memory of thy name, beloved...
