At the mess hall, as her way of saying goodbye for now, she sings a translation she's been working on an Absalomian tavern song that she's always really loved. It's about the Starstone trials, or more precisely it's about The Failed, those would-be ascendants who either failed to cross the chasm or disappeared into the cathedral to never be seen again. 

It's one of those songs that can go on for a really long time, because most members of The Failed have at least three versions of their verses going around, and if you're singing a song in a tavern with other drunk people nobody is going to say but wait, didn't we already do Gobru five verses ago? After Silmor and before Panelle?

Venn can't do that justice, though, as she's only translated her five favorite verses and the chorus. When she finishes, she bows with a flourish, and then has to scamper off to finish preparing for her journey quickly enough to avoid holding up the patrol group.

Since she's detached from Txell's squad she's on this random all-martials squad - there's always been some of those, Cheliax has a lot of wizards but even at the Wound it's not more than ten percent, and some squads that had clerics now don't. They cross paths with a westgoing return patrol which bears the news that somebody's got ahold of Nethys and she's being a huge tool about it and can't channel positive but she already knew how to make wands and can now do that with Cures.

Time passes. The rate of demons doing things is almost completely unchanged. It occurs to Blai to be skeptical that the Wound is in fact really closed - it's not like he has a way to check, he can't scry it - but even if it is definitely gone forever, it takes time to cross the distance from the center of the planar breach to the fortress line, so probably "completely unchanged rate of demons" is not, yet, a suspicious observation.

He worries about Venn.

Grec learns to play chess but they don't get time to actually sit down to a game beyond the one where Blai goes over the rules.

This won't be a serious problem for a month, though, so Blai mostly doesn't worry about his mandatory fun requirement and instead he worries about other things like whether Venn has contracted demonplague, or has been impaled by a vrock, or was a weird succubus the whole time, or forgot to tell him important maintenance instructions for her lyre, or has decided to go see whether the Worldwound is really shut up close and personal the better to sing about it, or had a preexisting commitment to some now-dead paramour who has since been turned into an angel and Called into service and thus become free to pick up wherever they left off and he'll be getting a letter about that or not getting a letter about that, or has tripped and fallen into the snow without anyone to pull her out, or has been captured by Baphomet cultists, or has picked up a side adventure in the River Kingdoms and died in a teleport accident on the way there, or has been devoured by vescavors, or or or or.

But he can work around worrying. He doesn't know how to work any other way. He fills out requisition forms and he goes on patrols, doubles often, triples sometimes, and he trades squads and shuffles people around between them and doesn't have to execute anyone but does have to flog a guy, and one of the deserter dropped clerics turns up eight forts east having attempted to pass herself off as kitchen staff and he asks for her to be dragged back to #11 for her trial instead of executed in place because the commander eight forts east loves being elaborate about executions and orders from the new regime back home are sparse enough not to include injunctions against that.

And he worries.

Venn's first week away from #11 has her travelling all the way along the Chelish line. She's not the only person providing healing out here - she meets the wandmaking cleric of Nethys, a ranger who's been out here long enough that he's getting spells, and eventually, a cleric of Desna who's been wandering the northeast section of the line. But there's very few of them, and a lot of soldiers and demons to hurt them, and so there's people to help at every fort she goes to. She meets a lot of interesting people, gathers stories, sings songs, and has the time and space she needs to reflect. 

There's bad parts too, of course. She doesn't mind when people leer at her, but sometimes they attempt to make a move and she has to stonewall them, occasionally cruelly if they don't take getting turned downed easily. Sometimes people are are just nasty to her in the ways that Cheliax trained them to be. She occasionally runs into demons, moving between forts, and usually it's fine but one time she does get ambushed by a pack of Quasits and one of the men in the patrol almost dies before they can get them all Glitterdusted, and that's stressful.

And she misses Blai, more than she thought she would, quite possibly more than she's missed anyone.

About eight days after she's left, Fort 11 gets a letter addressed to Select Blai Artigas in handwriting Blai probably recognizes, though as it happens there's also a small drawing of a lyre on the front.

....maybe no one will ask him about that for some reason.

The letter turns up in his in-tray; he opens it.

Blai,

I'm writing this to you from #21, as I wind down for bed on my third night away. (At some point I'll be too far away / near my turnaround point for letters I write to get to you before I get back. I'm not sure what I'll do then? Maybe I'll still write, but keep the letters with me to give to you in person.)

It's interesting, writing letters where I know I'll write several more before I get one back (the earliest I'm likely to get a reply is after I turn around, though please don't let that stop you if you want to write replies! I'd love to read them on my way back to you). There's a lot I want to say already and I'm going to say most of it here, but I do sometimes find myself thinking ahead to the next letter and if some of my thoughts here might fit better in my next message. This is a bit silly, of course, but I think a lot of silly things.

Anyways! My trip is going excellently, so far...

There's a few paragraphs excitedly summarizing the interesting people she's met, things she's observed, and thoughts she has about it, and some more song-scraps she's working on.

I miss you already. I can't turn around early, not when there's so much important bardic work to do, but I'm starting to suspect that I'll be sorely tempted to, in a few week's time. 

I know you must be worrying, and I know getting a letter from me will not stop you from worrying, since by the time you get it I'll have been travelling for days. I wish I could package a hug for you into an envelope, but if there's a spell for that I bet it'd be one of those stupid obscure wizard ones that sorcerers and song-sorcerers can technically learn but almost never should.

Yours,

Venn Urdina

Venn,

As the loss of Letters is not uncommon in the ground delivery route around the Wound it is best practice to retain a copy of each one even if you do send it by that route so as to copy it should it prove Undelivered, if the contents are of any moment. If paper is dear or you do not have Scrivening assistance this is of course an optional step. While of course it will never be impossible that a letter could precede immediate Disaster it shortens the window in which such ill fortune may have accumulated and so it is good to hear that you remain well.

You will perhaps by the time this letter reaches you encounter a Deserter from my own fort, one of the ex-clerics, and it has been on my mind that Army Regulations do not strictly require the commander of the Fort where she was discovered to remand her to me for Trial nor Counseling and she may simply, or not so simply, be killed without this advantage. I do not expect you to see this before you see her, should you hear word of her situation at all, but perhaps you will have some Opportunity to advocate in this case of your own accord that she be brought to #11 in spite of the Inconvenience of obliging her along eight patrols. The name is Anna Gisbert though presumably she was going by some other Moniker whilst incognito and this I did not hear about. Possibly by such time as I heard she had been caught she was already dead.

- Blai

Blai,

It's been a week, now, and I'm most of the way down the Chelish line, writing to you from #36. I thought the forts out this far would be pretty tight on healing, but just yesterday I met a cleric of Desna who's been spending some of his time up here recently, and he's been doing good work. Though they had a rough several weeks before he got here, of course... 

I'm sure by the time this reaches you, you will have already gotten Commander Borrell's letter about ex-Chosen Gisbert hiding in the kitchens at #22. I think Borrell would have kept it from me if she could have, but all her men knew, and they hadn't been ordered not to gossip about it. I did manage to convince her to wait at least a few more days for a letter from you before she tortures Gisbert to death... 

I miss you dearly. I'm really glad I left my lyre with you - I'm reminded of you both, when I'm working on backing melodies, and it's nice. 

Yours,

Venn Urdina

Venn,

As of this writing Gisbert has reached #11 & I am permitting her to catch up on Sleep before attempting either of trial or Counseling. I do not anticipate any surprising Outcome but as she arrived only slightly Battered will count this as an improvement over what might otherwise have occurred even if much of that improvement is located in her surviving some few additional Days before her arrival in Hell.

Apart from the Glabrezu & the Hellknight strike team which arrived to assist with it things have been quiet here...

Unless it is possible for Lyres to come down with maladies I am inadequate to diagnose by visual inspection yours fares well, affected by neither Glabrezu nor any other events here.

- Blai

Dear Blai,

I'm at the first of the Hellknight forts and the culture here as compared to the rest of the Chelish line is truly fascinating. If you aren't already in regular correspondence with some of the more avid Law theorists among them I will be compiling a list of them that you might find interesting. For myself, I am cordial and respectful of their commitment to the cause and they are often grateful for my aid in their own gruff ways, but it's clear they find me unacceptably jovial unless I'm trying very hard indeed to pretend like I've never heard of "fun". I fear that even if Iomedae would have wanted to pick any of them, they would face grave and in some cases insurmountable difficulties with their monthly obligation to enjoy themselves. (Speaking of which, I hope you've found a new chess partner in my absence.)

In addition to the song fragments above, I've been mulling over writing a song about your Selection, as it's a delightfully dramatic tale in addition to being an inspirational moment for the forces of Law and Good. But it's oddly hard for me to predict how you'd feel about it and even if you're in favor I'd want compose it while with you, so I've taken notes but not otherwise started.

I miss the feeling of your arms around me. I'm having a good and productive time out here with all my goals, and I'd choose it again every time, but I miss you when so. I hope things there are calm and safe, at least to the extent this is possible.

Yours, 

Venn

Venn,

I have a few occasional philosophy of Law correspondents among the Hellknights, including one who remarked that I would make a suitable addition to their number were my career to wend that way. Perhaps they are having discreet and private Fun to which you have not been invited, being as it is such a personal matter and you a relative stranger. There was always something of a Conspiracy around not discussing my historical habits of entertainment perhaps for fear of Jinxing it and regressing to the mean. Grec has learned the rules of Chess and I expect to be able to corner him for a full game before it is an emergency wrt my Obligations.

Since my last dispatch things have been quiet at #11 with only minor Dretch related issues but there is no word as to when or whether we can expect replacement Troops to fill in the losses we have taken these Months from the Glabrezu and earlier in Altercations for which you were present. I am planning as though the Fort may remain understrength indefinitely. It does at least soften the Supply crunch and I have allowed rationing to go back up to full on Oathdays with perhaps more such relaxation to follow, and we are in acceptable pantry.

I am uncertain how my requirements to operate openly may interact with aiding such a Composition but perhaps you have no need to question me about it due to your tendency to occasionally cast Detect Thoughts as an Extraordinary ability...

The next letter comes a day after her first.

Blai,

I just heard about the Glabrezu from the Hellknight strike team who was there. They of course did not have names for the casualties without casting circles, but were sure you were alive and well. I prayed for the souls of the lost; I'm not sure if that really does anything, when I'm far away and don't know their names, but it seemed like the right thing to do, even so. 

I'm sorry I wasn't there. This is probably not a very particularly rational way to feel about it, as the strike team would still have been necessary and I doubt I would have that made much of a difference before or after they arrived, but... it is what I feel. 

And... I still need to take this trip, but I no longer feel like I can wait until I get back to tell you that I love you. I wanted to wait until we were together again to tell you; I knew it before I left, but it's not something to say to someone lightly. But it isn't safe out here, and if you or I were to fall prey to a rogue Glabrezu before we're reunited, the pain of separation would be made so much worse for me if I had left it unsaid.

I love you and I miss you and no matter what happens to either of us that will always have been true, and now you know. 

Yours,
Venn

Venn,

Waiting for a face to face opportunity would have had the Advantage that I could expect you were deriving some useful information from my loss for words. In this medium such an absence is less easily remedied.

The casualties list from the Glabrezu is thus:

Dear Blai,

I have made it into the Mendev line alive and well, despite the attempts of many lesser demons to stop me from doing so. This is the fifth letter I've sent to you. I've been copying them into one of my journals since the start, since you'd already recommended doing that for all correspondence sent up here, but I got into a conversation with a paladin at Fort Honesty about these letters and he suggested I start numbering them, so you'll know if you've missed one.

The Mendevians are almost uniformly overjoyed at the news of the Wound's closure, even those who've no idea what they'll do once the area is fully cleared. This isn't surprising, of course; the demons were ever at their doorstep, escaping into their lands and wreaking havoc on their towns and farms. It'll take time, but... the general mood is that their country has a future now, in a way that wasn't true not just for their lives but for the generations before them. I've been finding it rather infectious; I've already written a full song for them, and it's been a hit, I sing it at each fort I go to. It goes like this:

I love you. I can imagine you reading that and having no idea how to respond, so I will tell you plainly that I do not need any response when I write or say such things to you. You have already told me that you do not want me to leave forever, and that is more than enough for my heart. 

Yours,
Venn

(#5, in response to your 5th out of a received 5)
Venn,

I find myself wondering if there is much parallel to draw between Mendev's new future and Cheliax's by those same Authors. I have little news from territorial Cheliax on which to base a guess. The Mendevians are deployed closer to home and may have swifter correspondence, and more cognizance that it is a done thing to write letters Home. Early in my deployment I sometimes wrote on Law puzzles to other Clerics who remained within the country but all of those acquaintanceships have since fallen off what with one thing and another, may Hell be denied these Soldiers, and so I hear only thirdhand or worse what news there may be and little of it would be about anyone's feelings.

If you see this letter before you reach Ft. Integrity I recommend avoiding the northeast wing as I found it drafty both during my deployment march and when later delivered there for Remove Disease castings during an outbreak somewhat fewer years ago, and if the gap between those incidents did not inspire any Repair it seems unlikely the last few years did so.

I alas do not speak or read more than a handful of words of Hallit and even could I normally reserve a Comprehend Languages to understand the lyrics, there is some sort of vexing stomach Ailment about which has monopolized my First Circle slots, no longer much in demand for Endures, going instead to Remove Sickness that the afflicted can keep water and broth long enough that they are not Dehydrated unto delirium. It is not so far troubling anyone so dangerously as to demand also Third Circle slots...

The weeks go by. Venn keeps travelling, keeps talking to people, getting to hear their stories of the past and their hopes for the future, keeps writing notes and composing songs, and keeps thinking, thinking, thinking.

...mostly she's thinking about Blai. It's hard to get him out of her head, really.

Once she's into the Iomedaean stretch of the line, she finds, on occasion, an opening to tell the story of Commander Artigas, the ex-Chosen Select, who punished his men with chess when he could get away with it. She loves telling it; so far, she's been restricting her audience to the paladins she meets that she trusts not to gossip about it freely. There aren't that many of those in Mendev, but once she reaches Lastwall's forts, her options increase.

She writes him a letter every three days, almost like clockwork. She fills them with interesting tales of what she's heard or seen, song fragments or concepts, any bits of Iomedaeanism that she observes and thinks he might find interesting, and once she gets to Lastwall's stretch, an occasional mention of a book she was able to grab for him (she's planning on hand-delivering them, since she doesn't have enough paper to scriven all of them.)

And of course, she tells him that she loves him and misses him and she can't wait to get back to him.  

...It's the letters that cinch it, really. She's never, ever written anyone letters like this, not the people she considers close friends and who always write her back promptly. (Not even Ryma, who she'd been infatuated with for the five months they'd spent spelunking and fucking before the other woman had gone off to Augustana for the winter.)

She knows. She wants this. She wants him, not as a fling (because, Gods, he would make a terrible fling), but as a steady rock on which she can anchor the rest of her life, a travelling companion when they figure it out and a home to yearn for when she heads out on her own.

Dear Blai,

This is my eighth letter to you, and I'm well into the Lastwall part of the line... 

The reason I initially set off on this trip was that, for reasons that have nothing to do with you and are entirely due to my personal history (I'll explain more later / when I get back), I needed some time away from you to sort out how I feel about you stably, when I don't see and hear and feel you every day.

I have finished doing that, now. I love you, I want to marry you, to build a life together with you, and to be yours for as long as we both live. (...I think you feel similarly, though of course it's hard to be sure.) 

With love,

Venn

oh it's that word from the quinzee, fancy seeing that here

What does that mean, though.

He keeps having this thought, what does that mean, about every occasion when Venn puts words together in an order which technically follows the rules of Taldane grammar and it is suddenly vitally important that he be able to decompose those words into sense because they're hers. It's like she speaks another language, like she's dipping into Celestial because mortal words aren't adequate to the concepts, only it's not working because he doesn't have the concepts, because he studied Infernal in school instead.

He has to understand what he is doing to do it right. What if he married her and then did it wrong because he didn't understand. That would be worse than not marrying her!

She even elaborated on what she meant in the letter and he still doesn't understand! Probably because he's very dense! She thinks he feels similarly and he sure hopes she'd know because he doesn't! She's been writing "yours" as a signoff in every one of these letters and he has not made progress on figuring out what that amounts to besides presumably not that he has somehow obtained the legal right to exchange her for consideration at an amenable marketplace! They both already have lives because of being still alive at this time, unless something terrible has happened since she sent this letter, and he is not sure what kind of construction project you do to disassemble and reconstruct such a thing into a more pleasing shape or what form that more pleasing shape might take.

He's met married people. He's seen weddings, back in Cheliax on Signing Day, when every optimistic or legalistic parent-overshadowed young thing paraded their optimism or their contract-scribing skills out in their front gardens, and they make him sick, and - he can't do it wrong, not like that, only he doesn't know what there is instead, he doesn't know how, he's never seen it done. He won't cheat on her and he won't hit her and he won't rape her and she was undecided on having children but can avoid them if she likes and what is the remaining content, here. They would be allowed to have sex until such time as she noticed that women don't like sex, if she hasn't already, which, like, he's not going to ask, it's not about that, he could just snuggle her to sleep for the rest of their lives - but they were already doing that, before she went on her trip to see - if she wanted to marry him or not -

Blai's not actually sure if his parents were - are, perhaps, he hasn't kept up - married or not. It wouldn't have mattered. He's got his father's surname but that doesn't require anyone to have had a party on their lawn on Signing Day.

What would it look like if it mattered.

What would it look like, that was different from a non-marriage which, also, mattered. Because he's already not cheating on her! He is already snuggling her to sleep when she's available for that! If she intends to remark on their wedding night (their wedding night!?!?!!!?) that actually she figured out with her last boyfriend that sex is not all it's cracked up to be, he's already not going to insist, so that cannot be the load-bearing feature! (...can it? Is there something specifically significant in giving him the opportunity to do a thing that he then goes on not to do that other people in like positions sometimes do? That actually doesn't seem inconceivable but it does not sound like the whole of the matter, that doesn't feel like the right answer.)

It would mean she... couldn't break up with him. Except if one of them dies. Or if there are conditions under which divorce is permissible and they encountered some. And it would not mean she could not go on adventures because that is the deal is that she gets to go on adventures and that is how she is able to not go away forever. So it would make it... inconvenient, to break up with him. ...also vice-versa but is she really in need of assurances on that. Well, maybe she is. It is the sort of thing one might want to be maximally assured of, in theory, in a purely notional sense where one pretends for the sake of argument that Blai isn't one of the principals because, like, what. He has sort of always assumed in a completely preverbal unexamined fashion that he is not a marital object.