The Saga of Villius Bluesteel
A record of what was spoken on the day he left home
I suppose you’ve heard that he’s left. That the messenger came out of the snow this morning. I have no idea what kind of messengers these kings and priests employ that seem to know the whole history of their mark as well as the unnatural fortitude to cross the snow and ice and leave again without rest or worry. What magic they use is not for me to guess…not vile but not natural. Like some unerring fatal arrow from a hunters bow. Be that as it may; my son is gone.
He has gone off into the lands of those who think themselves so much better for the crime and suffering they surround themselves with and call it progress. But you know, priests of the Winter Lord, as well as I do that this was meant to be. But such a headstrong boy. A good man now…but can he see past himself and glory? You never worried about that the way a mother worries. You never questioned his calling. You helped prepare his body and his mind, but I forged the mettle of his soul. And I still wonder, have I done enough. He needs his arrogance, it keep him sharp. But he must not have too much of it.
I’ve sent him on his way, with the sword Nightcry, into the places of corruption to do the bidding of Vatun. I know you see my son as your redemption for your foolishness for releasing Iuz in your youth and falling for his ploy. Gray beards now covering regret that my son will clean from you. But know this…if he dies on this calling I know I can not kill a god. But his priests sleep and eat, far too much indeed, and are all too mortal. You will not survive one moon past his last sight of one himself.