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They watched from the departing boat as their home was consumed in ash and smoke. Baar Dau collided with Vivec City mere hours before, killing thousands in an instant and shaking Vvardenfell to its core, resulting in Red Mountain erupting.
Helón didn’t want to think about what would have happened if his family was not together when they witnessed the smoke billowing from the caldera, or the shake in the earth. He witnessed the panic unfolding in their small town, and realized they needed to leave behind everything, lest they be swept into the storm. Helón’s husband, Synrik, held their youngest daughter as she cried into his neck. Her older sister huddled against his back, shaking from the fear and the cold wind that swept off the sea.
“By the three,” Another refugee said, her knuckles turning white from her intense grip on the ship’s railing. “It's all gone…”
Behind Synrik, Nervana whined. “We can’t go back…?” her voice was small and scratchy. Helón turned away from the scene, moving to physically comfort the nine year old. Like a magnet, she gravitated towards Helón. Her tears wetted the leather of his armor, he securely held her head with chapped lips pressed to her tangled hair. Helón had no words to comfort her or Almythra or Synrik or himself. How could he tell his children they could never see the home they grew up in again? He just breathed, Vvardenfell and Red Mountain grew smaller and smaller. Eventually, both children slept while Synrik and Helón sat with their backs pressed against one another.
There were about fifteen others cramped on the fishing vessel, a diverse mix of gender and age--most of whom Helón was at least familiar with. They separated themselves the best they could, but most had a distant look--complete uncertainty in their eyes. Helón finally managed some words to his husband; “The girls will complain of hunger and thirst when they wake.”
Synrik’s head lifted. “They will have to hold out until we reach the mainland.”
There was no time to grab supplies. Synrik still wore his blacksmith’s apron, his hands and arms blackened by soot from the forge; Helón in his mercenary gear, just having returned from a job; the girls in their day dresses. At least Helón had a pouch of gold from the job, one that would likely dry up in the following days.