Guided Footsteps

[Willowen]

The Feir'dal paced aimlessly through the halls of the safe-house, seeking to rid himself of the half formed shadows troubling his heart. After wearing the rugs for a time, he would pause at a window overlooking the streets not truly seeing any of it, eyes, of usual, turned to contemplation within. The druid would then resume the ritual, his light repetitive step making thankfully little noise. Others taking shelter there let Willowen be, already used to the young elf's behavior bordering on eccentric.

His visions were becoming nearly constant now, as Sage Tyiel said they would. The "gift" that had manifested so early in childhood was now taking over the druid's life, shaping and transforming him into its own creature. Willowen smiled bitterly, remembering his mother's joy at the news that her father's talents had, by Tunare's grace, been bestowed on her infant son as well. He had been too young to remember of course, but the Touch did not only grant glimpses of the future. The boy's destiny from that moment had been certain, he would be first trained as a druid, letting the arcane gifts be shaped and communion with Mother established. The sages that ruled the Havens would then take the young seer among their ranks, so that his talents could be put to use by his fellow prophets for the greater good. When at last he had become one of their peers, her son would, at his grandfather's side, guide the people as part of the ruling council of elders. It was a fascinating irony that the very gift that supposedly let Willowen transcend the bonds of time and fate had from the start bound him in their chains.

He had not minded very much at first, there not being a great deal of personal freedom in a small nation that had isolated itself from all outer contact. But as he grew older and started to receive ever increasing glimpses of the world outside, the destiny that had brought so much happiness to his parents, began to chafe. Now the druid was a part of that vast world, but he had not escaped. The Elder sages had let their young protege go willingly, knowing he would return in time.
For how could Willowen find peace in a place without so few like him? Who could grasp that the Feir'dal knew their feelings and emotions because with a hand upon their shoulder he could read the lifeforce that shone like a radiant banner around them? Who could accept that his skill at healing stemmed from the fact that, with a touch the druid knew the troubles of their inner workings, and what could be done to right them? Who could not stare at the claim of, "whenever I read a book, I experience the events through the authors eyes when I go to sleep?" Who could understand that the wanderer who saved their family from a fire had traveled thirty miles from a neighboring province, only for that express purpose, having bumped into the arson in the marketplace and with the breif contact recieved insight into his future action? None but the sages could sympathize, which was of course, why their student would come back, they had foreseen it.


It seemed his gift brought out the worst in his fellow man, every sinful greed coming to bear in lust for the promise his powers held. The speculative look in the general's eyes as the young man indicated points on the map, showing when and where the enemy would be with unnerving accuracy. The gleam of the merchant's smile as he planned to abduct the boy flippantly predicting fortuitous investments one would make if they sought riches. He was far from omniscient, yet men seemed more then willing to do anything to make use of him, that was his fear, ................to be someones tool. The black magemark on his palm, now concealed carefully with bindings of cloth that made a fingerless covering for his left hand, attested to horrible reality of this paranoia.

Was he even safe? He had fled here to escape the one who gave him that mark, selfishly putting all these people, whom he had come to love, in danger. What right had he to withhold what he learned from them? Yet, were not even people as righteous and good as these, still tempted by promises of unrivaled power? Troubled and weary of struggle Willowen paced the halls.

As he considered and debated the druid paid little attention to his surroundings, and inevitably collided with someone who turned a blind corner. Picking himself up with a muttered apology, the Feir'dal looked to see who it was.

[Licinia DuQeynos]

(Interesting... looking forward to more)

[Stormfollower]

Stormfollower extended his left hand to help Willowen to his feet which the young elf accepted with his own left hand. This although awkward worked well enough. "Careful as you go my friend, you are fortunate my potion of skin spikes hath worn off" Stormfollower placed a large hand on Willowen shoulder" Tis is good I bumped into thee...or thee into me as the case may be" He smiled at his rhyme "I have been meaning to ask of you a great favor. You see my friend... "Stormfollower paused for a second to draw in a great breath through his nose which he let escape as a long sigh .” I have need of your keen mind to help me solve a riddle of sorts... one which I think you may find easy where I have pondered without success for far too long." He shot a look out the nearby window and then with furrowed brow looked back at the druid who listened patiently at his side " Why is it that nature itself doth not rebel against the evil we fight, clearly it is in opposition to it, but why are the minions of evil allowed to fester and grow. Twould be a simple thing for nature to bring forth a pestulance that would wipe it from the lands or for a bolt from the clouds to strike them away one by one yet nature remains impartial, tell me friend your thoughts on this, with thy perspective as a druid surely thow couldst shed some light on this conundrum for me."

[Jetamio]

"Simply because Nature is impartial, as you pointed out Northman." a deep, yet definatly female voice says, carrying tones and inflictions that are strange to those not well aquainted with Dragonkin. Allowing herself to be seen, the chainmail clad woman sits easily, perfectly balanced on the small windowsill. Her long red hair is neatly braided and tied back in a low ponytail. Her armor is minimal, a deep red in colour, her scaled skin a natural protection. Markings, a shade lighter than her hair, adorn much of her upper body and her face, accentuated here by tiny red horns accross her forehead and cheekbones. Her glittering gold eyes, with no visible whites, stay trained on the Northman as she swings her legs gracefully off the windowsill and stands up.

"Nature is part of Norrath, and Norrath is a playing field in this little war you hint at." Her eyes flicker over to the Druid a moment. "Those like him will seek to influence it, and influence is as far as you can go. Nature will run its course in the end, it will follow its own path. It will always seek a balance that allows our world to flourish." She turns her attention back to the listening barbarian. "The world, Northman, not neccessarily its peoples. Many of the peoples are created by the Gods were they not? Created to play the games of the gods, on Natures turf." she smiles wryly. "Did the Gods ask permission to let their creations run riot over the world? Is it so surprising when Nature rebels occasionally, storms, earthquakes, famines and the likes...do you think it picks and chooses who to smite?"

She leans back against the window, arms folded accross her chest, obviously not feeling any danger in this place. Her weapons remain sheathed, but within easy reach for the fast rogue should anyone make an adverse move towards her.

[Stormfollower]

"Aye, that I do." Stormfollower turns to look at the new arrival with a smile. Loking her over from head to toe with great curiosity he continues "Nature doth dole out its punishments justly, yet only for its own laws. Yet all the while she beseeches us to imitate her in her in ways wich speak of goodness and honour. She seams to speak of a way to BE and yet tollerates those who choose not to listen ...and -lest they break her basic imuteable laws- she ignores their evil deeds."
Taking a step closer to the open window he gestures out towrds the distant forest "One impulse fron the vernal wood may teach you more of mortals, of moral evil and of good than all the sages can. Yet Nature seams obliviouse to the transgressors of these truths." Stormfollower shakes his head and for a moment grows sullen. "Would that she saw fit to punish the crimes of mortal against mortal in the way she punishes sins against herself perhaps we could all embrace the same happiness that nature posesses."
Smiling again Stormfollower looks towards Willowen and gestures once more out the window"Look at the trees, look at the birds, look at the clouds, look at the stars... and if you have eyes you will be able to see that the whole existance is joyfull. Everything is simply happy. Trees are happy for no reason..they are not going to become great leaders or famous artists and they are not going to become rich and they will never have any bank balance. Look at the flowers - For no reason, it is simply unbeleivable how happy flowers are. Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Natures peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into the trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into thee, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves. It is all so good and right." He turns once more towards the handsome drakkin woman and shrugs " That all our best works should be such bungling imitations of natures infinite perfection, matters not much; But that we should make ourselves an imitation, this is the fact which nature moans over, and deprecates beseechingly. Be spontaneous, be truthfull, be free, and thus be individuals! Is the song she sings through warbling birds and whispering pines, and roaring waves and screeching winds...I have never understood her patience i guess"

Stormfollower crosses his arms and turns a now distant gaze towards the growing dusk.

[Jetamio]

She listens quietly, her gaze following his out over the distant forest as his words struck more than her ears. She understood perfectly the things he spoke of, the pure joy and peace of the forest and the flowers. Oh yes, she understood more than he would ever know. Even now, it called to her, but not to her blood as once it had done. Now it stirred faintly in her spirit, but grew ever fainter as the dragons blood grew stronger. While she could remember it all, it would always be part of her, no matter how hard her Lord glared at her and told her she was reborn, she should forget everything. Sometimes she wished she could not remember her life before the Dragons touch like many other Drakkin. But for some reason, Atathus had left her memory intact and it was both a blessing and a curse.

Suddenly realising his attention was back on her she looked at him as he spoke, masking her troubled thoughts with a neutral expression. He turned to look out the window again as he finished speaking and she was silent a moment too, before also looking out again as she spoke.

"Spontaneous....truthful...." she pauses a moment "...free...individual." The evening light sparkles off her scaled skin, her golden eyes glittering softly. "I am those things...even truthful." she smiles wryly at the thought of a thruthful rogue. "It has gotten me into much trouble. But nethertheless, I am those things..." her voice takes a very slight steely tone, a faint touch of defiance and challenge though she makes no other movement to suggest these feelings, "yet if you knew who I was, you would add me to your list of people you wish nature would smite...if you did not do it yourself first."

She continues to stare out over the forest, her arms now loosely at her sides as she lets her words sink in, relaxed but ready to defend herself should he strike out at her.

[Stormfollower]

Stormfollower looks over the Drakkin through his one "good" eye, the other one slicked over with the pale cast of a cataract. He had not met with many of these beings in the short time since they had revealed themselves to the world, but the ones he had met he had deemed to be good. One wizard of this race had even joined the ranks of Wolf Cult and had even stepped up into the position of officer very quickly, proving himself in virtue, combat and will with surprising ease. Yet in this one he now sensed an ironic dichotomy, as if two spirits compelled her towards one goal yet by different paths. He studied her a bit longer yet could determine nothing else about her behind this schismatic aura.

"I see." He begins calmly "am I to glean from this that thow hast done evil deeds for which thow art regretful or that thow art indeed evil still and now plan some cataclysmic confrontation with our great alliance?"

His hands move slowly to his hips as he assumes a ready combat stance. Placing itself between her and Willowen the ghostly form of a snarling wolf materializes and crouches to pounce.

[Jetamio]

A barely noticeable sigh escapes her as she senses his movement.

"I see." He begins calmly "am I to glean from this that thow hast done evil deeds for which thow art regretful or that thow art indeed evil still and now plan some cataclysmic confrontation with our great alliance?"

She turns slowly to face him, making no sudden movements, but neither does she reach for her weapons. "I am Jetamio" she says simply as if that answers his question. "I have done things I regret. I have done things I am proud of. Some things were beyond my control." Her golden eyes drift to his hands then back up to his face. "If I was going to harm you I'd have done so by now Northman."

She looked at the wolf, yet seemed completly unfazed by its threat. "I have kin there." Obviously meaning wherever she hailed from. "She and I are the last. I almost lost my own life saving her, and the only way for her to save me and keep me by her side without being slain for my origins, was to offer me to the Circle of Crystalwing. Athathus performed the ritual. I went home with her. They gave me a home, my first for centuries." She looks back up at him. "My loyalties are to the people I care about...love even. I will not betray my house, but nor do I kill without good reason." she smiles softly, almost melancholy in her attitude. "Licinia has spent time alone with me, yet she still lives does she not? She helped someone I care about, so for that I am in her debt."

She glances back to the wolf, and then back to the Northman. "I don't believe you told me your name?"


((Sorry about the triple post, had baaaad lag here last night and it must have gone through 3 times ))

[Stormfollower]

"My name is Stormfollower" Placing one hand on the spirit wolf it emediately grows calm and then sits
His stance relaxing somewhat he puffs out his chest with pride "Seeking others of virtue and courage I come to do no less than rid this world of all evil. These halls have offered me much in the way of hope and friendship since leaving my village far north of Halas on this great quest. Though I am still a stanger to these lands of the south I welcome thee to our alliance Jetamio and hope that thow shalt find our goals just and join us in the completion of them" He bows low before Jetamio.

[Jetamio]

She frowns a little as he welcomes her to their alliance, and she wonders if he misunderstood her. "I am not joining you Stormfollower, I belong in Castle Storm with my kin and my friends." She looks out again over the forest for a moment before looking back at him. "But I will not get involved directly in battles unless ordered to by my Lord. I cannot speak for my House, many would strike you. It's just that I believe in more than good and evil, black and white. I am Jetamio of Infernal Dynasty, but I am also just Jetamio."

She bows a little to Stormfollower, and nods curtly to the Druid and with a faint smile vanishes into the shadows before the Northman can respond.

[Stormfollower]

The Infernal dynasty! Stormfollower had had brushes with its members in the past. He had thought them all to be evil to the core but apparently they too had those who tread the safe line of indifference, not wiling to make a stand for good or evil, claiming themselves to be above such ideology. It was simple to him; you were either good or evil even if indifferent to the choice. Past acts colored your present state, yet did not determine your future condition. You could change from good to evil and from evil back to good, but always choosing one over the other whenever there is a choice, regardless of your justifications.

The worn out rhetoric of no good without evil and no evil without good angered him deeply. It was an easy way to avoid conflict. If everyone was good there would be no evil. It was black and white to him. Everyone chose a side by there actions and simply stating their impartiality did not absolve them of the responsibility of their choices. Some claimed that the ends justified the path and that great good could be accomplished with small evils. Others chose to ignore the evil acts of others and take refuge in the good within themselves. But all had the self same righteous indignation should you point out the error in their ways.” Evil and good are but concepts of religious dogma” One had said and others had justified thier indifference with similar arguments.

There is more than good and evil, black and white? What nonsense! There was only good or evil those were your choices. Stormfollower had seen absolute goodness and been witness to pure and putrid evil. Yet many he had met in recent times clung to this insane morality of the grey, good deeds of one day bleeding into the selfish acts of the next supposedly canceling each other out and creating perfect, guiltless neutrality. Ever above the laws of honour and beyond the reach of responsibility these graylings culminated in pleasant oblivion. All over the world those who followed the middle road stood idly by while their associates perpetrated acts of greed and indignity, yet their holy tolerance allowed them to proceed unpunished as long as they smiled and waved back, calling them friend. Do not bring up any talk of morals for that may cause ripples that would make their collaborations crumble

The grayness swirled around him now confusing his thoughts and betraying his teachings. He forgot where he stood and with whom he shared the space. The words for his argument escaped him and he felt as though he did not breath. Voices seamed to call from the crackling fire to him. " Let it go Stormfollower " they whispered " You are wrong to sit so high upon thy horse " a murmur fluttered past the open window " No one cares for thy antiquated idioms. The world grows more peacefully without them " a silent thought slithered past his feet "Take refuge in the amalgamated perfection of the grey" it hissed.

Goodness merged with evil, darkness merged into light. The lands became quiet and grey around him and the grayness reached up into the sky. The stars became grey and the new moon herself was even greyer somehow until all was shades of grey. Stormfollower now stood in a void of grayness without depth just grey all around now merging into the same shade until there was nothing to be distinguished but his own shaking hands which he now held before his face for want of some contrast. Then slowly the grayness crept in upon him. And it was warm. Slowly it crawled down the tips of his fingers and merged them with itself. Strange that it was so pleasant. Up to his forearms it crept incasing him within. He looked down to see it crept up to his knees as well. He felt it sink in towards his bones and he smiled. The comfort of its embrace hugged him close and he closed his eyes to a new grayness behind them. There was no black and no dreams would come here.

It was simply grey, only grey, perfect grey.

[Willowen]

Will watched Stormfollower and the strange woman banter with a characteristic passivity of manner that left him helpless in the face of sophistry and misconception. The Shaman desperately clung to ethereal ideal and righteous vision, unwilling to adapt or concede.Which formed an unfortunate mixture of admirable conviction and pedantic flailing. This mysterious drakkin thought her finite experience determined reality, unwilling to be guided by anything other then her own deadly pride. Loaded words were thrown about with a disturbing disregard for semantics. How could one debate the nature of good and evil without first defining and calmly considering the definition and ramifications of such terms? At times like this the Fier'dal just wanted to retreat into his ivory tower with all his beloved books, never speaking to anyone but his ravens for the four centuries . Unfortunately, this maddening urge went against everything the goddess of Life asked of her children.

He was then ripped out of introspection by words that caused his blood to run cold.
"I am Jetamio of Infernal Dynasty, but I am also just Jetamio."

Why did the children of that citadel of depravity trouble him even here? Could she..? No of course not. The one who
gave him the mark now burning so painfully into his hand seldom worked through others, and was even less likely to choose
a individual such as this, even if she was a guildmate. Still, the druid would double the wards protecting his sleep. As the enigmatic woman stood down the hall dimly light hall, Will sent out a silent call to his loyal familiars.

Faelsyn, I need some of the flock to keep an eye on this stranger, ascertain if she is an immediate threat and
report back when the winds will

"Yes guardian," answered the leader of the druid's flock. "Tornarin will keep an eye upon this foul spawn of the scaled queen, he shall return to you with an answer and her location within two risings"

"Thank you, May the Lady shelter you"

"May she protect you as well guardian"

Confidant that he would soon have his curiosity satisfied, the young Feir'dal returned to the present and immediate and was beset by a strange perception. Stormfollower stood woodenly, gazing with hollow eyes upon a patch of carpet, his aura steadly fading from a viral gold to dull grey. Ethereal smoke flowed sinuously about him, whispering into the human's ear like a specter of nihilistic temptation. Reacting with urgent reflex born of painful memories, Will moved his hands in a series of rapid gestures, whispering a prayer similar to those intoned to guard the sleep of children. "Tunare, weaver of lives, keep our souls safe in thine arms and our bodies warm in thy embrace. Dispel these shadows with thy grace, and keep our hearts always from the whisper of inner death until the coming of thy eternal dawn." As he prayed, Will placed his hand upon the huge shamans arm, and willed whatever light was left his heart to fill the human and free him from this grip of apathy and despair. In that moment the druid shared decades of watching the sun rise and set, the grass grow and all things come into bloom and fade into death, hoping perhaps that for a moment, Stormfollower would remember once again why the stars burned and sang. Grey mists began to grow thicker and the seer cursed that no one else could see what assailed his friend. "Storm," he whispered urgently, "Brother please!, the sun will dawn again!, ... do not let despair deceive you!"

"please..come back.. "

The setting sun bathed the strange scene in light as it looked upon in wonder, and then after a pause
the shinning patriarch continued, unable to cease his duties to take pity upon fleeting and foolish mortals...necessity left no time for compassion

(sorry about not posting for forever.. went traveling)

[Jetamio]

For some reason she was surprised when the portal to the Plane of Growth allowed her to pass. But then, anyone could pass through, but few were invited to stay. She still had no idea what had made her decide to come here. It had been over three hundred years since she had been turned away from the druid guild, and had fled here to see if it was true. She had fallen from grace, and to this very day she had no idea what she had done.

She looked around at the open plains and the thick forest in the distance. An angry snort brought her attention back to her immediate surroundings and found a plains stallion eyeing her. He tossed his head, his glossy mane shimmering in the sun, snorting again as he half reared then stood pawing the earth. He made no move to attack her, but he made it clear she was far from welcome here. Her face pained from memories that were now surfacing, she walked past him.

She wandered most of the day until she found herself at the base of a great tree. Even now, this tree called to something inside her all but destroyed. It could never grow, but it could never be burned completly from her. She had not died to be reborn a Drakkin. She was first generation Drakkin, directly touched by the blood of a Dragon at the bidding of her one remaining kinsman. So her soul still bore the mark of one born a druid. He had not been able to remove it, as it was part of her identity, not something she had earned like everything else he had taken from her. She sighed softly as she realised that it was not the Curse of Blood that had secured her exile. She was clear of that Curse now, she could no longer pass into the Demi Plane, yet still the Plane and its creatures rejected her.
A snarling black panther greeted her at the entrance to Tunare's dwelling. Ignoring it, she peered past but Tunare was not there. She was both disappointed and relieved. She wanted to know what she had done those centuries ago, but was also not keen to meet the look of utter disgust that had greeted her last time she was here. She could almost picture the scene now, the stunning red headed Fire'Dal dressed in all the finery of a very powerful druid right down to a double ended glowing green staff. The woman begging for an answer, a chance to fix whatever she had unwittingly done to fall from grace, tears streaming down her face from eyes of liquid gold. But the Goddess had turned her face away, refusing even to speak to her.
A sob escaped her now as she remembered. Backing off from the panther, she followed the ledge around a few steps til she came accross her old sleeping place. Often she had slept here when she wanted to be alone, or near her Goddess.
But now, Jetamio slid down the trunk til she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest. She folded her arms accross them and buried her face in her arms. The woman rarely cried, but she did now. No one was here to see her and she let it all out. She cried for times gone by, for people she had lost. Grief she had caused, yet never on purpose, just always making the wrong decision at the wrong times. As evening fell she drifted into sleep. She would close her heart again tomorrow, and bury her past once more. She would spend this last night here, under the stars and the watch of a solitary raven in the branches above, and then never return. Before her eyes closed, she made a mental vow to one day take control of her own life away from Fate's grasp. But she knew this would be no easy task...

[Willowen]

The raven watched witch sharp dark eyes as this strange dragonkin fell asleep under the sacred stars. What right had she to be here, so close to where the Lady of Woods chose to walk? Yet, thought the bird as it spiraled down for a closer look, something told him that part of her belonged in this place. The messenger landed gently upon the sleeping figure, careful to shift his weight with the gentle rise and fall of the drakkin's breaths. Ruffling black feathers he cocked his head and listened intently. Yes, there it was, the woman's heartbeat and breaths were in tune with the worldsong. This scarlet flame was indeed a prodigal daughter.

A sudden immediacy of presence caught the raven and the druid using his familiar's body offguard. Turning toward the approaching figure the the Feir'dal felt his thoughts be obliterated, replaced by simple all-encompassing awe. She moved through the soft wet grass with the stately progression of seasons and the eager impatience of a young doe. Moonlight cast its glow upon tresses red as the leaves of fall, eyes glowing with the emerald lush of new spring, and skin pale as winter's snow. A creature of both spirit and flesh, extension and essence, infinite yet intimate, sower and reaper of life, Tunare had chosen tonight to walk within her creation.

The goddess approached the speechless druid and his object of scrutiny and gave an small uninterpretable smile, who could understand what moved the gods to weep or laugh? Not certain what to say or do in light of celestial visitation, Will could merely obey her obvious request and with an reverent bow made awkward with his current body took flight, to leave the Lady of Grace with Jetamio. An inevitable glance backward glance revealed a scene of a breathtaking and holy purity. Tunare ran a hand through the drakkin woman's hair, red locks so similar to the ones she chose to clothe herself in. The hand moved to touch the sleeper's cheek, and a expression of infinite and inexpressible sorrow crossed the goddess's countenance. A single tear fell, landing upon the sleeping mortal's face, and for an agonizing moment, the worry and love the Mother felt on behalf of but one of her countless children pierced her servant's soul. The shining stars stood silent witness as Tunare wept for her errant daughter. Letting his summoned servant vanish into ethers, and his spirit return to its body, the druid departed knowing himself unworthy to witness the divine .

[Stormfollower]

Meanwhile, the grayness took no notice, an accomplice to that which made it indifferent it basked in its lukewarm oblivion. Once it had a name,”Storm, Brother please” came a distant voice. That was it…Storm, it heard the name and the plea for his return but cared not a wit. Indecision debilitated it, feeding upon itself, one might almost say forming habit, not only that but it was contagious, transmitting itself to others. But it had peace of soul with it’s lack of any opinion whatever.

Neither having the heart to stay nor the wit to run away the grayness was content for the world to remain this way, ever the same, for a different world could not be built by indifferent people. Nor did it try to define itself or its surroundings, that would be like trying to bite ones own teeth, would it not? No, the grayness did nothing and was neither sad nor happy for it.

“the sun will dawn again, do not let despair deceive you!" the distant yet familiar voice continued. Yet the grayness was indifferent to the concepts the voice had tried to invoke. It belonged unto itself in the solitude of perfect oneness, all being grey. No thoughts sought entry no emotions craved release. All was slicked over with its permeating apathy. No one could be suspicious of its intent for it had none. No one could accuse it of subversion, nor challenge its ideology for it let all just be having no dogma to defend. There was no evil if it took no notice. Good was not some unattainable goal on some lofty summit if it simply stopped climbing and remained content at an approved height. Over and over in nothing it did nothing, It did not sweat and whine about its condition, it did not lie awake in the dark and weep for its sins, it did not make others sick discussing its duty to a higher cause, it was not dissatisfied nor was it determined with mania of owning things, it did not kneel to another, nor to its kind that lived thousands of years ago.

Yet one ember of desire now sparked within itself

In the grey of Stormfollowers mind there now dwelt a grain of white at its core, so tiny yet huge in its contrast to the grey he had become. It was the Sybil, in his hour of need she had come. She spoke to him now in a tongue he had never heard yet had always known. Her voice crashed upon him like the waves upon a sandy cliff and the grayness dropped to the ground like a vast expanse of water suddenly bereft of a vessel in which to be contained. Now all around him was her white resplendence. They stood together now in a blizzard swept glacial field, her radiance was undiminished in the years since he had last glimpsed her. And she told him of deathly things again, and f things beautiful beyond the ecstatic desires of love. Her speech was not of good or evil, nor of anything that is desired or conceived or believed by the termites of the world; and the air they breathed blasted them like the utter cold of sidereal space; and her eyes blinded him like suns. She whispered now to him like a chill unearthly wind that is faint from traversing the gulfs between the worlds and has flown over ultimate horizons of ice bound deserts. Long she told him of the true spirit and of what was to come. She stammered forth strange tidings for him to share with the world: Though none would welcome them and none would believe or listen. She revealed to him now his purpose and the way in which he could always make contact with her. Then as quickly as she had come she left.

Stormfollower looked out into the darkness of the night and smiled. So this was what all his life had been leading to. Now he was possessed by a purpose surer than the infinity of space. She had come to him and his love for her had brought him back from the abysmal solitude of that place to which he would never return. The world looked new to him now. He was full of the realization that the worst sin towards our fellow creatures was not to hate them as he had believed in the past, but to be indifferent to them, that was the essence of inhumanity. Armed with this knowledge he was now prepared to go out into the world and spread humanity to all who were in need of it. Perhaps one day to find her, the Sybil, and join with her in the indomitable vastness of her domain. Yet that day was not now, and he had much work to do before that day would come.

He willed it so and now would set to work briskly. Turning he found Willowen standing there with a smile on his face, and now Storm remembered the events which had let to his awakening. Realizing also that his friend had been there for the whole ordeal and had seen the conflict play out in that far of place. “Great thanks to thee my friend, for I have been as a bird perched on a frail branch, afraid to sing for fear of snapping it. Yet now, as thy prayers and concern hath brought me hope, I can sing freely all the same, knowing I have wings” He clasped a hand on the good druids shoulder then strode with great purpose out the doors and into the darkness which awaited him.