Role

Chapter 3

Kyraea yearned for the feel of the grass of the valley beneath her feet. She
had been away from Darsylon for years now and her homesickness almost became
a serious physical malady. Yet, she knew that as much as she loved her home,
she could never go back without being sure the forget spell would not rob her
of her prowess again. Every elf she met in her adventures, she inquired about
the news of her home. Would it be so sinful to be in the land she loved?
Could she be blamed for wanting to return over wanting to help protect?

The inner turmoil raged on. For every reason she could think of to head home,
there was a more pressing reason to stay away. It was because she loved
Darsylon so much that she could not return. She knew this. It was more than
mere sadness building inside her and gnawing away at her emotions, it was
melancholy. How could anyone understand the paradox of virtue she tried to
embody? It was pride and joy and love that made her leave so that she could
become strong enough again to protect her people from afar. Yet, it was a
morose pall upon her soul that she had to leave and could not come back.

The sadness that became a part of her affected her duty in many overt ways.
While she had remastered two of the weapons that she once swung with deadly
aplomb, the melancholy had kept her from reaching her full potential again.
Many dark creatures fell beneath her axes and daggers, but she could claim no
victory over any of the adventuring guilds. Her judgment was affected as
well. While wiser tacticians might have retreated, she stayed on in battle,
despairing and hoping for triumph. This proved to be her downfall many times
as she fell again and again. The Empire and the Scions with their
wicked-hearted creatures had indeed plucked her life strings numerous times,
but Kyraea's greatest enemy was herself.

How could she have lost what was so important to her? The love of combat, the
desire to protect the home she loved and uphold the light, the duty she swore
all seemed to lag behind her overwhelming sadness. Her outsides started to
become more of a husk of an elf, worn down by time and despair. She found
herself trying to exude an emotionless exterior to hide the pain within, but
she felt that it would bubble forth any moment. There had to be some sort of
solution...

The answer came one rainy day when she roamed the Fortress in a barely-hidden
foul temper. She was frustrated with herself for her inability to retrieve
the Orb from the Empire. For a split second during her brooding, she wished
she were still back in Darsylon, blissfully unaware of danger, forgetting all
she knew of combat. Then it struck her... why could she not forget of
Darsylon? If she forgot she had ever been in Darsylon or what it was and
focused only on duty, then perhaps the sadness would abate. She decided she
could no longer go on living the way she did and it was time for action.

Seeking an apothecary who was familiar with the benign versions of the spell
and incorporating it into potions, Kyraea found a man in Hamsah who could
help her. An old desert hermit, he gave her what she needed with no questions
asked. Seeking solitude, she traveled up the mountains and faced the
direction Darsylon was in. She focused on what she wanted to forget and
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