Firiona Vie Everquest

Will watched as the shaman strode through the open doors, marveling at the sudden change that had come over his friend. To his seer's eyes the human's aura roared with the golden fire of exaltation, a testament to the power this strange otherworldly inspiration. What manner of creature was this strange siren who coaxed men from the edge of oblivion? Even now the memories of what he had seen within Stormfollower were fading, being subtly wiped away by an unseen hand until only faint undefined impressions remained. It is because they were not meant for you, whispered the wiser part of his heart. Would not they have stayed if such was intended? The druid glanced at his departing friend and wondered if he should follow, for indeed only a fool would think that the grey had released its sickening hold on the man completely. Perhaps it would not be prudent to leave him alone when he could still be vulnerable. No, spoke the inner sophia of his soul, he is beyond my care now. I have done what can be done, however little I actually had to do with his recovery, he is in the arms of a greater power now, and must find his own way into her loving embrace embrace.

The wooden doors shut with a soft thud, the Feir'dal felt a wave a weariness born of strain and relief wash through him. He had just gotten back from one the many research teams looking into the strange phenomena of the "darkening," when his fit of worried contemplation and the ensuing excitement occurred. Yoisen had told his squad to spend a few weeks resting, as they had been scouring the lands ceaselessly for several months now. It was about time Will obeyed his superiors orders and actually got some sleep. As he ascended the stairway to the Lion Mane's third floor, Will was beset by the plump, red-nosed innkeeper. The jolly man inquired, none too subtly, if the druid, as a "learned and scholarly lad," would care to serve as a tutor to his children, education being a rare and valuable commodity in this war-torn world. Seeing the tired elf's somewhat exasperated hesitation, the innkeeper then mentioned with a card table grin that perhaps the lessons could serve in place of payment for board, a sum which he had noticed the Feir'dal had balked at upon his arrival earlier today. Though he had half a mind to tell this man to flit away and let him sleep, Will knew that he was indeed short on funds and what little he had was sorely needed for spell components and what arcane scrolls he could find in this city. An agreement was settled upon and the druid was finally able to retreat to his room. Hanging his green cloak on a hook by the door and stripping off his clothes, the young man slipped thankfully into bed.

~.~
A sky of blood loomed over the weary earth, the burial shroud of a land ravaged by war and greed. The sun could no longer shine unimpeded upon the world, so deep were the clouds of hatred and violence hiding his consort. Restless dead rose freely from the earth's womb, the land no longer having strength enough to keep them buried and asleep. They rose up, clawing up through soil hardened far more by blood then rain. Soon the dead would outnumber the living, for mortal depravity had filled the deep vaults of the earth with its victims. Was there no succor, no healing rain to soothe the deep wounds of the land? Skeletal fingers reached out to the druid, running their hands hungrily along his warm flesh. Where was a mercy for a broken world? The hands tightened their grip upon the struggling elf, and with a sickening wrench, pulled him deep into the suffering earth. Will screamed as he was devoured by the ravenous mouths that feasted inside the corpse of Norrath.

Nightmares and visions shifted rapidly as the what was and might be spiraled together in frantic chaos

~.~

The druid awoke to the chirping of birds on his window sill, ending a sleep plagued by phantoms. He slid out of bed and washed, letting cold water banish both the grogginess and specters of his slumber. Will's heart still raged and stewed with dispute, luckily he had gotten used to sleeping through inner struggle and visions, thus his body was refreshed even if the spirit was weary. With a sigh he went over the bed and sat down, reviewing once again the things pressing on his heart, the roads of thought worn smooth and dusty by constant worried contemplation. As the same issues were though and re-thought, a hand reached out and took the prayer cloth now lying on a table beside the bed. He ran a finger over the meditations of Quellious, lovingly stitched by the man who had given a bewildered stranger shelter and had treated him like a son. In an effort to take his mind off turmoil, the druid, for once, actually consciously thought about the words he was tracing. One proverb among many held his attention.


Be still, let the quiet of thy heart be a sanctuary of worship, and you will find peace

After a long pause, a slow sad grin spread across the Feir'dal's face. "You are right Fain, ......you always are," murmured Will his eyes growing a little wet despite himself. "I'm being a fool again aren't I?" The old priest's gentle smile of affirmation seemed to glimmer in the druid's tear-distorted vision. "I keep rushing around, relying only myself to accomplish everything, and despair when I'm found inadequate to the task. It's time to stop isn't it?" There was no need for a response.


Will climbed onto the mattress, feeling slightly awkward with his clothes still on the floor, and for the first time in many months, began to truly pray. .....Many people, theist and agnostic alike, held misconceptions about prayer, it was not about demanding possessions, blessings, and curses on your enemies. Those things would come if the gods willed it. No, true prayer was simple communion with one's creator, an act of love we extend daily to mortals, yet here in its grandest and purest form....

He spoke no words and sang no mantras, letting the Lady's whispered answers resound in the silent cathedral of his soul. The elf forced himself to do that which was so agonizing for any man, he surrendered. The inner walls and barriers, so carefully and stoically constructed began to fall, leaving the druid unveiled before his maker. To the goddess he offered with wordless confession his life, giving every sorrow, fear, doubt, joy, hope, trepidation, and struggle that laid claim to his heart. Laying these burdens at the Lady's feat Will gave himself to her, collapsing into the embrace of she that knew him always in totality, no sin or desire escaping the divine gaze, and yet, continued to love her child still.

In return for his surrender, Tunare gave her son peace.


Will did not know how many hours he lay there in the presence of his goddess, it didn't matter. The Lady had shown him the way. How could he live trusting no one? The people here cared for him and had each proven it many times over already. It was time that he return that love. Perhaps his gift would save them all, or maybe it would end in the druid's destruction, finally becoming a hapless pawn. Love, whether it be for god or mortal, required trust, and without this simple extention of faith ... he was most assuredly dead already.


Struggle and inner turmoil at last knowing resolution, Will began to live once again. Walking over to a mirror the Feir'dal looked at his reflection. Deep emerald pools gazed back, now unclouded by fear and worry, once more reflecting the contemplative tranquility that he had come to be so readily associated with. The druid laughed softly at the contrasts of his recent emotional states. "I must have looked like a complete wreck." The elf in the mirror matched his chuckle and words, earning Will's curious scrutiny again. The reflection seemed to a human about eighteen to twenty-one summers, though the seer knew him to be about sixty-five, barely old enough to be married, let alone roam the world. A soft mass of unruly brown hair begged a comb, and no matter how valiant the effort, would inevitably end up getting in the way of his eyes. If he had his sister, Lilyen's, curls the bed-hair might had looked slightly attractive, instead of like a poor storm-beaten rabbit had died on his head.
Possessing a firm wiry muscularity common among wood elven men, Fain had told him that the combination of his physical build and natural curiosity would have made a fine rouge. Will shrugged, watching the easy movement of muscles and tendons beneath the skin. Perhaps that would have been his destiny, if he had been born without arcane proficiency or into a culture that had need of non-magical professions. Who but the Lady could see the thousands of tiny nuances that fomed life's pattern? Further self-examination revealed previously unnoticed scars acquired from more eventful journeys. A small application of healing magics erased most of them. Though he made sure to leave a few, no sense in depriving himself of all bragging rights. After hair and face were washed and attended to, the elf judged that he had done what could be accomplished for now, and pulling on some clothes, went downstairs to see to those promised grammatics lessons.

(some weeks later)


"Jolina could you please finish off class today by reading the third ode to Marr?" The druid turned to the appropriate chapter and motioned to the other students of his morning class. "Please take note of the verb conjugation in stanza four, quite different from the norm of comparative rulings of translation, and is unfortunately, for the purpose of memorization, a stand alone occurrence. Remember this rule as it is not intuitive, please begin Jolina."

"Sir, why do we have to learn all this stupid elvish anyway?," interrupted the innkeeper's son, a sandy haired youth with two bushy eyebrows that threatened unification."When am I ever going to need it, does anyone else in Qeynos speak elf? No!" "Because adventurers speak elvish Anred!," piped up Kide, a excitable lad with grandiose dreams inspired by too much idle time spent listening to bardic sagas. "Everyone who wants to be anything speaks elvish!" The Fier'dal smiled inwardly, appreciative of this encouraging enthusiasm, however singularly directed it might be. "Kide is correct, common tongue is a rudimentary homogenization of languages at best and is inadequate for anything more then basic communication of intention. Thus, Elvish with its extensive vocabulary and fairly consistent structural rules has been the accepted standard of trans-cultural relations. Every merchant and businessman of any sort within this fair city has at least rudimentary understanding of the elvish tongue for this reason. It is also a necessity for those considering an arcane or clerical profession, as most definitive texts on such subjects are written in Elvish. Please continue Jolina." The mouse-haired girl smiled at being the center of attention and began to read in a dramatic manner, faltering only slightly with the translation.

Marr lord of light, shelter and protect my wayward soul
darkness wells as a swelling flood around me
wicked maw gaping in expectation
Blessed Mithaniel, bringer of justice
draw thy blade and shatter the looming dark
steady your faltering servant with thy hand
save me from the cruel blows of unbelievers,
the machinations of the selfish, the soulless, and the damned
Guard my heart and guide my blade
and when my time upon this world is done
take my steadfast spirit to thy
halls of honor
finally to rest and sing forevermore
"Thank you Jolina, though of course rhyme scheme and other poetic devices are lost in translation this is a good example of a prayer sung by paladins of Marr before riding into battle. Islana Kol'numere, one of first converts of Minthaniel among the Koda'dal, allegedly wrote this before the battle of Kithicore. It was later incorporated into the sacred psalms of
the Lightbringer, and is alluded to often in modern writings. Your assignment over the next six months, until our classes resume, is to gather four songs that are representative of the culture in which you live. Please analyze literary devices therein and the overall worldview." The Feir'dal paused a moment and considered if there was anything he had forgotten. "Ahh yes, and please remember that you will be expected to retain and be able to adequately perform the mathematics you have learned." After the universal groan was finished he continued. "However, there will be no assignment to enforce this, so simply be responsible. You are all almost adults now, as i am sure your guildmasters constantly reiterate, thus there is little need for busywork. May the Spring Equinox renew your spirits.... and please ....do not give Mr. Hafflethord much trouble." It was a unlikely that such a request would ever be honored by the now giggleing student body. Will, even considering the fact that most of his students equaled or surpassed him in height, commanded more respect then the bumbling and violently stuttering Mr. Hafflethord. Cheerful students, excited by the approach of the holidays and the newfound absence of mathematics, said their goodbyes and performed an unruly exodus, eager to begin a long anticipated break.

Well, such ended his seasonas shift of serving one of Qeynos's educational institutions. The druid looked around the now empty schoolroom and sighed with mixed emotions. This had definitely been an experience of growth, humans learned quite differently then elves and it took a great deal of exploration to properly adapt to such a different learning style. Study in the temple of the Prime Healer had also granted greater inisight and improvement in the other capacity in which he served his fellow men. Will had grown quite attached to the people here, even if their affinity for order and uniformity bordered upon obsession at times. Yet, it would be good to return to Kelethin, even if it was only for a while. Stone constructions and busy markets were beautiful in their own way he supposed, but forests and freedom had always suited the Feir'dal far better. He would still have residence within the inn and visit often, but it was time to patiently learn the trees names again, Tunare new how many he had forgotten in his absence.

Yet one thing still held grip upon Will's mind, an errand that clung to his memory with ubiquitous tenacity. The inevitable trial of returning to right affairs in his homeland was gaining increasing weight. True, it had only been six years, a paltry time to his people. Yet, his aversion was born of willful neglect not forgivable necessity. Why did he have this numbing dread of bringing past wrongs into reconciliation? There would be no reproach, nor even acknowledgement of his "brief" absence. Will closed the wooden door behind him and began to walk steadily down the clean and somewhat neurotically organized city streets, towards the Lion's Mane Inn. The shouts of distant sailors unloading their goods upon the docks drifted through the pleasantly warm air. Buildings of brick and sandstone glowed warmly in the setting sun's radiance.

It was a possible choice of destinies that caused him to falter so. If the council did ask, demand better described the true manner of the request, that the druid take a place beside them, would he accept? To submit forever to that irreverent illusion they called paradise, and remain painfully aware of the turmoil and strife raging outside it walls, never able to intervene? Or would the Feir'dal refuse and return to self-imposed exile, separated from family and homeland in the world that they had chosen to forsake? Heart wrenching as it tried desperately to weigh options upon its inadequate scales, the druid closed the inn's creaking door behind him.

As he entered the warm inn, the druid's thoughts shattered and doubled upon themselves with reproach. What was he doing, worrying about matters that bore no immediacy to his person or power to influence? He should being worrying about the trial of faith, which his had spent so many difficult weeks in fasting and frequent prayer to prepare for. How could he fret over these esoteric concerns when it was not even certain that he would survive the test, let alone succeed? Apparently the strain being put upon his body and will was wasted, as he was obviously weaker in spirit then ever. Sighing at how easily the mind turned from the path of practicality when such focus was most needed, the Feir'dal gave a friendly smile to the innkeeper and turned his thoughts to the ordeal ahead.

He would require a companion of course. Normally such a position would be filled by an elder brother or father, sister or mother in the case of woman. However Will did not currently reside with either his parents in the Havens or adopted family in Kelethin. In such cases when the believer was away from kin, he was expected to be accompanied by a trusted soul of the place that currently gave him shelter. The Candles currently provided the druid with safety and purpose, thus it would be his honor to ask one of them to be his guardian upon the path to edification of faith. Having already chosen whom he would ask first, Will jogged up the flight of stairs toward the rooms upon the second floor.

Suddenly remembering that some of his companions might be attempting sleep, the young man cringed and slowed to quiet walk, silently counting doorways. Coming to the one he wished, druid raised a hesitant hand and knocked as softly as feasible. "Storm, are you awake?"

"Enter friend" the deep tone of Stormfollowers voice resonated through the door and floorboards. " I do not slumber. "
The room into wich Willowen entered was sparce but one of the larger rooms at this establishment. It smelt of campfire and pine sap. Curiously the bed and other furnishings had been removed and the shaman sat cross legged on the floor amidst a chaotic array of books maps sketches and scrolls. On the window sill a strange contortion of bottles, tubes, burners and viles conected in a strange distillery that bubbled and fizzed in its slow refinement of some exotic potion.
"Come in, come in Willowen." Boomed the huge Northman obliviouse to who may or may not be sleeping in the other boarding rooms. Shoving aside a great pile of leatherbound lexicon he gestured for the druid to sit with him if he wished. "I am glad you are here my friend." Storm placed his finger on a map spread out infront of him" I have been going mad over these nautical charts, thier symbols and measures being quite alien to me. Mayhaps thow couldst better decipher them." Sweaping off an asortment of rune engraved bones, he slid the large deer hide map across the floor and changed its orientation to be the same way for Willowen as it was for him. "I think that is the right way up."

The druid sat on the floor before the shaman like a eager child before a storyteller. After looking over the map for a moment, a warm smile
came over his face as past mingled with present in a nostalgic alchemy."This is fascinating map Storm, probably transcribed from another text, as i have seen it before in my studies. Even so, to have had access to the map indicated by these figures. Though this is a copy, in these current days it has ascended to near priceless rarity..there are collectors who would pay highly to acquire it. But i assume you are not inquiring into its current market value." The druid indicated four figures along the maps edges, skillfully drawn by the artist so that each was shown in an overhead view, approaching the maps center from different directions. "Many ancient civilizations, my own most notably, used pictures to convey ideas alongside text, making the map indecipherable to those not learned in their mythology and poetic culture."

Will pointed to the topmost picture, an azure serpentine wyrm that glided over the snow-covered peaks, born aloft on out-spread wings.
"Zelstrelin, the arctic dragon, caller of blizzards, earthquakes, and the fading of love. She represents the North and its perilous mysteries." The Feir'dal next motioned towards the demi-god approaching from the maps bottom, a sinuous gorgon holding two blades dripping with new-shed blood. "Tryanalis, the foreteller of strife, war, and famine. Portraying the South and the ruthless song of the desert. That man striding from the direction that is now obviously west is Eranol. The dark cloak flowing behind him is the veil of night, which he pulls over the world so that the sun may rest. From this enigmatic trickster comes clandestine activities of every sort, late night revelry, and of course, midnight courtship and love." Coming to the final depiction, Will paused tracing his finger slowing over a breathtaking picture of women with wings of flame, her tresses of scarlet and golden feathers a banner of glory. The druid smiled and spoke, voice soft and reverent. "Lestrial, the divine phoenix, bringer of the dawn.....and hope. Supposedly, when all is in darkest peril, she sends herself to be born anew in the mortal world, to shatter evil and drive it back. Her voice is said to be that of holy Tunare, of whom she is an aspect, rising in sunlight song to renew hearts and turn to warm flesh those souls that have become stone." The Feir'dal grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Lestrial is a child-hood fascination who continues to inspire me now, phoenixes are held sacred sacred by my people as symbols of life's eternal triumph over death and she is the most revered. Of all these ancient fables Lestrial is the only one who has not yet been completely committed to mists of time, I am very lucky to own one of the few remaining copies of prophecies concerning her."

Chuckling at his ramblings, Will indicated fauns and centaurs spaced evenly along the map. "From here is rather simple, fauns are latitude in measurements of five while centaurs are latitude with the same interval. The moons along the bottom indicate from right to left how many phases of the Luna are required for a healthy man to walk each distance." The Feirdal smiled. "Thats about all i know, I would require grammeries to translate the writting... does it help at all?

Smiling with wide eyed facination, Stormfollower snached the map back towards himself and now studdied it with new enthusiasm. then with two motions of his great right hand he measures off a distance from the middle of the map towards the north and the symbol of Zelstrelin. "Aye Will! That helps us a great deal. Now our puzzle has a dimention in time" He then begins scratching some hectic notes in a journal laying by his hip glancing back at the map briefly twice.
After a few moment he directs his attention back at the patient druid and lays his quill across its ink well. " Now what is it I can do for thee my friend?" A warm smile has eclipsed his face and a glint of joy in his left eye betrays the seed of a swealling tear.

Will returned the shaman's smile, a small whisper within his mind noting an odd and indefinable quality with in his friend's expression. The fleeting notion quickly dissipated, sliding down the woodwork of the Feir'dal's cognition, to silently vanish into the vast dark pool beyond the access of waking consciousness. "Well..um.. i was wondering if you would like to accompany me to Kelethin after we all attend your dreamquest. Among my people, when a follower of Tunare decides to commit his life utterly to the Lady, they are given a trial.. not a rite of passage..exactly.. but more an expression of love." The druid paused running a hand through his hair reflexively and let his gaze wander over the books and scrolls spread over the floor. "I have been a believer only about a year or so..yet..a month ago I was judged strong enough in body and faith to sur..errm...succeed. Normally my brother would would be automatically my guardian, but as i am not residing with my family... I'm am to choose a companion from wherever i am sheltered. Its a tradition rooted in practicality as the tested abstain from use of magic as well as many other things in purifying fasts until the trial is concluded. As i am instructed only in basic self-defence regarding the use of a quarterstaff, I will be rather vulnerable during the trek to the Keeper's grove." Realizing his conversation had yet again dissolved into his childish tendency to over explain, Will looked into Stormfollower's eyes and grinned sheepishly."..you and Elianeth have been my friends and spiritual counselors ever since i came here...I would like to humbly ask..um... if you could be my soul's guardian when i walk the path of devotion."

Stormfollower mmiled with delight, " Of course my friend! I am deeply, deeply honoured that you would choose me for such a holy task." Springing to his feet with suprizing agility, he reached out a hand to help the druid to stand, then crushed him in an embrace that threatened to pop his eyes out.

After the shaman had released him and the red haze had begun to filter out of his vision the Feir'dal grinned and looked up at Storm. "Diola lle Mellonamin...it will be good to have you as my guardian...now..i must get some dinner and head to bed. This is the period when i am allowed food to avoid collapse and it seems that between this dream quest and my trial I will need all the nourishment i can get." The Feir'dal began to head toward the door, eager to have sustanance after so many repetitive series of weeks of denial. "Quel du Elear, may the Lady guard your sleep and lead you ever back to the sun-lit lands."

"Tenna' telwan san'" Stowmfollower spoke as the elven druid made his way out the door. He gathered up his scrolls and maps and piled them on a cluttered shelf. Satisfied that his potions ingredient had distilled as much as he dared he packed that away in a small wooden box and blew out the flames to the burners.
"Time to dream" he spoke to the moon above the city line and gathering a large sack of skins headed out for the aspen grove


(see the dream quest)
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((Wow, its only been a year now since I joined Feels alot longer))