Deorla

Deorla left the kin house before dawn, cloaked in her ranger garb—muddy greens and deep browns, worn soft with years. It blended well with the trees, the moss, and more importantly, with anonymity. She carried no banners, spoke to no one. The fewer eyes on her back, the better. 

To the Company of the East Road,

By the time you read this, I will be long gone—and not a single one of you should bother looking.

I leave behind no legacy, no fond farewells, and no apologies. Everything that bore my name within your halls—every record, every trace of my presence—has been reduced to ash. Whatever I was to you, it no longer matters. I’ve cut the ties, and you are nothing to me now.