Firiona Vie Everquest

At the mention of the spirits the shaman had invoked, Jetamio glanced back at Willowen, wondering if he had brought with him the talisman they had made. With a smile at Stormfollower she dumped her bag next to the fire, and unclasped the fur cloak, laying it over the top. She hesitated a moment, glancing at Storm in all his near naked glory and shrugged. It wasn't as though any of them had never seen a naked person before. Delsari was already removing her armour, but pulling warm clothes on as she was not joining in the ritual, merely standing watch over them.
With one last glance around, Jetamio undid her tunic and let it drop to the ground, followed soon after by her boots and leggings until she stood stark naked in the twilight. The firelight danced off her scaled skin, the extensive vined patterns on her back and torso sparkling like emeralds. She shook out her shoulder length hair, letting it fall naturally around her shoulders, then simply stood for a moment as her slender body shivered from both the chill and the anticipation.
She glanced over at Willowen and Sanjah and grinned a cheeky smile at them, before ducking under Storms arm and into the hut.

Delsari sat silently, sometimes staring out towards the ocean for a moment, then looking back at the others. Her normally radiant aura seemed dimmed as night fell, as though in quiet acceptance. She was not sad, just more subtle, her eyes a softer gold instead of the piercing avian hue that that dominated during the day. As the others got ready, she turned her face to the sea, listening to the orca's in the bay.

Sanjah merely blinked. Not once, not twice, but three or four times as her jaw hung open for a slight moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jet begin to undress and she blinked again, shutting her mouth and swallowing with nervousness.

"I... ummm... we..." She blinked again and took a deep breath, "We have to.... undress? Completely?! But...."

Her face was burning hot with a furious blush and her fingers were twirling a strand of hair. She looked over to Willowen and bit her lower lip bashfully, the sudden rush of self-consciousness flooding her thoughts.

Will frowned, considering the situation with characteristic logic. His people had no shame regarding the body, the purpose of clothes was to keep one warm, nothing more, though Feir'dal women had a slightly different opinion. However...what if the situation from the dragon's grove repeated itself? The young man glanced at Sanjah and sighed inwardly. No, though it was very possible to fall into that temptation again there was no further need for worry or guilt. Soon he would endure the trial of faith, and die for his consuming iniquities, .. finally everything would be righted. At last there would be no sleepless nights or sweat soaked doubt, Tunare would judge him.. and there would be peace between him and his goddess. Divine justice would lay her son to sleep. For now he should savor his fleeting existence, even if he did enjoy things impure, the outcome could not and shouldn't be changed.

With a chuckle, the Feir'dal shrugged his clothes of a wiry muscular frame, the body of someone who spent as much or more time in the untamed wilderness as he did in archives and libraries. Tossing his clothes on the log as he jogged past, Will ducked under Stormfollower's arm and followed Jetamio into the warm darkness.

Sanjah's eyes widened as she watched Willowen begin to remove his clothes. She had always imagined that the first time she'd ever see a man undressed would be under slightly more intimate conditions and with a sudden feeling of embarrassment, she lowered her eyes to the ground.

She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself down, feeling a grand mix of emotions. Aside from her own nervousness and worry, she felt horrible for watching the Feir'dal undress, though something different ran through her very core at the sight of his body. She wasn't exactly sure what the feeling was, but it seemed as if her blood was on fire.

She frowned as he ducked into the hut and she was the last one standing there. She looked up to Storm with pleading eyes, hoping that he would go ahead and enter instead of watching her.

She bit her lower lip again and, with hesitation, began to take everything off. She folded her clothes neatly and sat them atop the log, trying to delay the inevitable.

"Close your eyes! Every single one of you!" She called in from the other side of the door-flap.

She ducked down to make her way inside, her back against the wall, one arm cautiously over her breasts and the other trying to cover her girly-bits. She took a deep breath and made her way over towards Will and sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest in attempt to keep everything hidden from the view of her friends.

"Now what are we supposed to do?" She asked curiously, wondering idly if she would be able to sleep and enter her dream while sitting in such a scrunched and uncomfortable position.

Closing the flap behind them brought a darkness into the small space. Only a small hole in the roof where a flap had been propped open allowed the early eavening moonlight into the sweatlodge. The cleansing heat drew toxins out from thier bodies and soothed any weary minds. Stormfollower sat himself very close to the heated rocks that lay in the center and occasionally poured water over them from a ladel and bucket wich sat nearby. The ensuing steam wafted over thier bodies and climbed out through the small opening in the roof

"Now my friends, I thank you for coming. behind us and close to the walls there are several cots apon each a blanket. Wich you may pull about thyselves now if you feel a draft."

He smiles at Sanjah breifly being sure to look her directly in the eyes.

" I encourage you to enjoy the cleansing steam for as long as you can before becoming drowsy, you will also note a flask of clear spring water near each of you. It is important you keep your bodies well watered in this heat. Now I have already been in here quite some time and am eager to begin my journey this night but I will not be able to instruct you further after I begin, so listen close. Once you are ready to begin, find a comfortable place where you will be able to remain for the duration of your dreams, assume a comfortable position, think of what it is you would like to dream about or make thy mind blank to accept a dream from beyond. Be not afraid, for nothing can harm you therein."

He glances over to Willowen with a knowing nod wich he hoped would convey his realization that this might not be the case for both the visionary druid and himself.

" Once you awake and are ready to leave the warmth of the sweatlodge do not forget to dry yourselves thouroughly before getting redressed, dampness on your skin can be deadly in this cold. Burried around the fire outside you will find three seaweed wraped bundles one of fish one of vegetables and one of fruit, please help thyselves and keep them warm for the others breakfasts. Other than that I emplore you to enjoy thyselves, this is not meant to be an oredeal through wich you survive, but mearly a journey through wich we shall all know more of ourselves and each other. Now if or when there are no questions let us begin in silence."

Stormfollower looks in turn to each of his friends, a wry smile barely visible on his lips in the dim light of thier enclosure and waiting to see they were all comfortable and ready.

Sanjah bit her lower lip again as she tried to listen to Stormfollower's words, though her mind wasn't letting her concentrate too well on what he was saying. Her arms were still wrapped around her legs, holding them close to her chest as her chin rested atop her knees and she began very subtly rocking herself back and forth.

The hot steam filled her senses and covered her body; if it were not for her fear of the other three in the room seeing her without her clothing or the embarrassment of trying to keep her eyes off of the feir'dal sitting next to her, it probably would have had a tranquil effect on the young drakkin. But as it was, her mind was too clouded with worry and bashfulness to even attempt at a string of relaxation.

She wondered how long the three of them would need to sit in the small room with each other before taking leave to enter their dream. The idea of going to sleep first had entered her mind, as it would save her the torment of having to sit here completely naked in front of her beau. With a glance to Jetamio, sitting rather comfortably across the room, the thought was wiped from her head in an instant. She was definitely not going to leave the emerald drakkin alone with her Willowen while they were in this state of undress.

She sighed inwardly to herself and reached for a flask of water the best she could without showing too much of herself and quickly resumed her fetal position as she brought it to her lips.

Just keep your eyes on the ground, she thought to herself -- well, chanted to herself was more like it -- as she continued to rock herself, waiting for someone else to make their move.

Jetamio sat quietly as the Willowen came in, followed a few minuts later by a very embarressed looking Sanjah. The blue Drakkin shot her a strange look and Jet wondered what she had done now. Shrugging it off, she leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes against the steam. The scents were strangely refreshing, yet also calming. From outside she heard a flute start to play a soft tune, and again she was struck by the gold Drakkins innate skill with music. Many thought she had once been a bard, but for some reason Jetamio doubted that. Any further thought on it was lost however, as the steam and the soothing melody threatened to send her off to sleep.
Carefully picking her way out, the fresh air of outside revived her briefly. But she was soon shivering as the cold hit the moisture on her body and she quickly wriggled still naked under the blankets by the fire. She lay shivering, and stared into the fire. But as much as the cold had revived her, the days journey had left her body fatigued and her mind blank. Before her shivering had stopped, the druid had fallen asleep under the protection of the stars and Delsari's strange melody.

The Feir'dal puzzled over Storm's expression as he listened the instructions. The message had been clear, having ventured with the shaman before,Will by necessity had become somewhat adept interpreting his non-verbal communication. Noise of any sort could in some situations could prove quite deadly. Yet, why would the realm of dreams be able to bring him harm? He was not a seer or dreamtreader. The druid had vision delved before, all the soldiers of Tunare did when they sought the answers the material world could not.. or would not...yield. Though admittedly not in this manner, and with a great deal less talk about the "beyond" and so forth. But still, why would harm come to him? What did the mystic see? Perhaps the talisman might be needed? No, Will shook his head, he trusted the barbarian's judgement in this matter, if he did not see a need for the ward then obviously he would know.

Closing his eyes, the young man simply let the heat cleanse him, purging worry, strain, and ill thought. As he sat in the steam-filled darkness, the Feir'dal heard Jetamio exit the hut and a strain of music as she lifted the covering flap. He waited for a time, feeling sweat flow endlessly down his body. Finally Will stood up, not as difficult in this enclosed area as it would be for a human luckily, and began to head towards the opening. As he passed Sanjah, the druid put a hand on the Sapphire drakkin's shoulder and squeezed gently, smiling briefly in encouragement. Finishing off the last of the water flask he exited the sweat lodge into the cold, circling the fire outside counter clockwise, as he heard was tradition. The boy unceremoniously stuffed a handful of fruit in his mouth as he dried himself off, and concluding that he would survive the night, simply put on his breeches and wrapped enough blankets around himself to keep warm. Fortunately, Will, through much time into the barrenlands and situations where watches were needed to be enforced for safety, had finally learned the campaign veteran's art of falling asleep nearly at will. The Feir'dal closed his eyes and breathed slowly in a set rhythm, clearing his mind. In moments slumber took his consciousness in her passionate kiss and he sank into warm oblivion.

Sanjah felt a blush creep upon her cheeks after Jetamio left the room. Storm had been anxious to begin, and had left soon after he had given them their instructions and now it was only she and Willowen in the dimly lit area. She bit her lower lip and continued to rock in silence, her scaled skin preventing herself from sweating as much as the Northman and the Feir'dal had.

Her usual curl in her blue hair had begun to fall, leaving her hair rather straight and somewhat stringy in the humidity. She reached up and pushed a few strands off of her forehead and let her mind wander to the task they were getting ready to go through.

Storm had mentioned something about it just being a way to get to know themselves, and to get to know each other. Did that mean that what she dreamed would provide her with some interesting insight on her friends and on who she really was? She didn't want to find out anything of her past, as she was afraid of the reality of it... Though, perhaps having a gleam of knowledge on who she had the potential to become would be pleasant.

She let herself smile wistfully as she thought of possibilities for her dream... perhaps she would dream something lovely about she and Willowen. She imagined the two of them in the future -- happily married with a couple young children, teaching them the ways of nature and the history of the elves and dragonkin.

The Feir'dal stood up, shaking Sanjah from her daydream, and he squeezed her shoulder before he left the room. She looked up to him, a blush arising on her cheeks, and smiled back at him. As he walked through the door flap, she felt her body relax. She finally gave into the tranquil feeling of the steam as her worries were wiped from her mind.

After quite some time, she decided that she should join her friends in slumber. She left the room quietly, so as not to wake the other three, and dried the bit of moisture off of the patches of skin that were not covered with so many scales. She glanced over to the Feir'dal asleep in his cot and smiled. Feeling a bit brave, she slipped her linen shift over her head and walked over to where her love was lying.

She lifted the blankets slowly, and held her breath for a moment to make sure he didn't stir. When she was satisfied with his state of unconsciousness, she climbed into the bed with him. Resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arm around his waist, she let the faint sound of his lifesong and the steady beat of his heart whisk her off to sleep.

Stormfollower dried himself off and lay face down on the large, flat rock outside the skin covered sweat lodge, Closing his eyes the familiar maze appeared before him, the one path that led him directly into the spirit realm memorized and well trodden from his many journeys here. No one dreamed like a shaman dreamed but a shaman could dream just like anyone else if he chose to. “I will talk to you next time Wolfdreamer!” He called down his familiar trail then he headed down a path less trodden to see what the spirits might tell of.
Up ahead the trail opened up to a hilly landscape of waving grasses and redish flowers and there stood his friends, Willowen held Sanjahs hand tightly and Jetamio waved to storm as he came closer. Of in the distance Delsari danced and played her flute. Licinia stood a few paces away and looked off into the distance.
“Licinia? I did not expect to see you here!” He said with surprise.
She turned and smiled “Perhaps you did not, But I am hear non-the-less would you not agree?”
Off towards a brightly rising sun a herd of Mastodons headed their way, and everyone turned to look
“Look! They are coming over here!” Sanjah exclaimed with delight!" She seamed quite happy about the prospect of these gentle giants coming closer.
"Magnificent" Willowen added
The herd was not very large 12 adults in all and near its center a mother with her calf. They loped lazily towards them Stormfolower had never seen these great beasts for they had died out in the age of his grandfather, but in the realm of dreams all things were possible and any time might be visited. As thie hers drew closer Stormfollower noticed the way in wich the mother mastodon lovingly doted over her calf, watching its every step to insure there were no hazards hidden in the grass, carefully guiding it around obstacles in its path or moving it aside to avoid the tread of the other mastodons. Stormfollower smiled and looked to his friends who were also enjoying the spectacle. Delsari dances in a great circle around the herd and played her flute in harmony with the sunrise. Seamingly leading them in a dance. Closer they came and as they neared the herd opend up and began to surround him and his companions. Selsari joined them in the center stillplaying her neautifull srene music. The mother and her calf proceeded directly towards the group and stopped just infront of Jetamio. She motioned with her great trunk for her calf to go to the awestruck druid and in perfect obedience and without hesitation or fear it did so. Jetamio looked up at Stormfollower with a uncharacteristically huge smile. Stormfollower transformed himself into a Polar bear and approached the calf. Even though he was now a huge white predator none of the mammoths seemed to mind. The calf snuggled up to Jetamio and made noises to he. A communication took place and Jetamios face grew slowly grave.
She looked again at Stormfollower “He says they have to go now, no one will see them again.” The polar bear nodded and began to walk away from the group. All the mastodon followed him and his friends walked behind. The slow procession traversed the fields and headed into the mountains, over the mountains and towards the sea. The whole time animals stood by as if watching a parade and slowly they passed them all seamed well until they came to the sea to which Stormfollower had let them. Then as the Shaman watched in solmn dismay they passed by him and one by one entered the frigid waters and began to swim north.
“Goodbye my friends you have helped my people well, and though I cannot fathom why you go , I know you must.” All the mastodon left this way eccept for the calf, this one remained with Jetamio ...Jetamio and him. He looked at Jetamio and smiled and joined her with the gentle animal.
He looked out to the waters and watched the beautifill beasts struggle against the waves, swimming bravely with all thier might towards the indesecrate peace that lay beyond all mortal keels. He realized one day he too would take that swim.

It was dark. Worse than dark, it was a complete absence of light. She could see nothing, hear nothing, there was just nothing. Terror rose inside her as she remembered the Void, for a moment believing herself back in it.
Then from somewhere, the sound of wings drifted to her. Still she could see nothing though, and whatever that thing was it sounded huge. Then a great roar sounded, echoing out throughout the nothing, and then a bright flash, blinding the druid for a moment. Her vision cleared in time to see a huge crystalline dragon circling what appeared to be a planet, although she had little concept of what it was. She just knew on an instinctive level that it was Norrath. The blackness was fading, stars coming into being, but the world before her kept her captivated as it swirled into life.

She blinked, and found herself somewhere else, standing on the ledge of Tunare’s tree in the Plane of Growth. The sun was just rising, touching everything with its life giving warmth. The view was stunning, almost as beautiful as what she had just witnessed. She felt a presence behind her, and looked over her shoulder. An elven looking woman approached her, moving with unearthly grace. She wore a long green dress to match emerald eyes, a wreath of woven leaves on her golden tresses. Jetamio stood transfixed as Tunare came to stand beside her and smiled a welcoming smile. Her voice was soft and rich, and sounded like it came from everywhere at once but spoken in her mind too.

“Altáriël.” She said, using the druid’s true name. Jetamio nodded ever so slightly at her name, her eyes taking in every detail of the Goddess. It was not the profound awe that many felt on the rare occasion that mortals met the Mother, but more trying to understand the feelings the Goddess’ presence invoked. For the first time in centuries, Jetamio felt whole. If Tunare was bothered by her behaviour she showed no sign of it, and merely watched Jetamio as though expecting the question.
“What was that? In the dark…what happened?” the drakkin asked when she found her voice again.
“That was the Awakening of Norrath; when the great Crystalline Dragon, Veeshan, raked her claws across what is now Velious.”
“But…”
The Goddess shook her head, sunlight glinting off her gleaming hair as she did. “No Altáriël, it is the truth. Many have simply forgotten it. I and the other gods brought forth our own creations to balance the Dragons magics, but Veeshan was the first.”
“Sanjah was right.” Jetamio whispered to herself, before frowning in confusion. “Sanjah reveres Veeshan…as do all Drakkin. She expects me to aswell.” She raised her golden eyes to meet the emerald eyes of the Goddess. “But how can I? I remember who I was, how can I just forget it all and pretend to be someone else? How can I give up my past…how can I turn my back on you, on everything I was ever taught?” She turned her face away again, looking out over the Plane, trying to curb her pent up frustration and let Tunare answer.
She felt a soothing coolness on her shoulder, a tingling of ethereal energies as the Mother laid her hand on Jetamio’s shoulder. She turned again to face Her, stunned that She had touched a mortal, unaware that few ever even got to set eyes on Tunare, let alone converse with her.
“It’s not who you were that matters Altáriël, it’s who you are now that’s important.”
“But I don’t even know who I am anymore! I’m not Fier’Dal, but I’m not Drakkin either!” the druid exclaimed.
“No, you are both. You are part of me given flesh. You are part dragon, a child of Veeshan. You are unique upon this world. You are Altáriël, Jetamio of Kelethin, Jetamio of Crescent Reach.”
The druid said nothing. She looked back out over the plane, her gaze landing on a surprising sight. Stormfollower stood among the grasses, children tumbling and playing around his feet, causing him to laugh, his face full of love and pride. On the branch of a tree above the shaman was a phoenix. But the flame and gold coloured bird was not watching the happy scene below, it was staring right at Jetamio. A little back, Willowen and Sanjah watched, the Fier’Dal sharing his friend’s smiles, but the blue Drakkin bit her lip as though deep in thought.
“You are loved. Because you love freely, without condition, and so it is returned to you.”
“But I did bad things. I walked the Dark path, I don’t deserve their love.” Her eyes didn’t leave the scene below her, until she felt suddenly compelled to look at Tunare, again meeting those emerald eyes.
“You did what you did because you loved. You followed those armies that killed the Dragons of the Nest for the love of your friend Despite her nature, you love your grandchild. You gave everything for her, even your life. Unconditional love.” The goddess smiled. “No one can be punished for love.”
The druid stayed quiet for what seems hours, again watching the frolicking children below which she senses are hers. Tall, well built, flame haired children with a draconic look about them, whiteless gold eyes that do not occur in Barbarian children. All the while, the phoenix never drops its fiery gaze, seeming to be the only thing that sees her.
“Is it true? What Atathus told Tajer…about me?”
The Mother of All nodded. “A dark time is upon us Altáriël, seeping through the world. Even the sun is touched by darkness as Lestriel gathers strength in her mortal form. You have walked the Darkness, you know what you will face. And you know it cannot be allowed to happen, the balance must be restored.”
Jetamio frowned. “And I am to restore it?”
“Your husband will love you. Your friends will guide you. The phoenix will guard you. All that is left is for you to trust yourself, accept who you are, and you can not fail.” The goddess touched Jetamio’s chest with a long slender finger. “Everything you need is in here. Atathus only took what power you attained as any other mortal would. Embrace your destiny, embrace your heritage, Fier’Dal, Dragon, and mine, and you will unlock that within that he could not touch. You have lived a long time and you will live a long time more.”
“And what of Veeshan? What do I do about Her…how do I serve you and…Her?” Sanjah had once asked Jetamio that same question and she had not known how to answer then.
“I cannot speak for the Crystalline One, I would simply stop resisting Her.” Tunare smiled knowingly at the rebellious being that carried part of her spirit. “You know you do. But She is part of you now. Perhaps aid your friend in her quest, learn about those who shared their blood with you. Maybe you will earn Her respect through her more…zealous children.” Jetamio chuckled at the last remark, knowing fine well whom the goddess was referring to. Her blue haired friend felt strongly about her dragonkin.
“Now go Altáriël, and live while you can. You will soon draw an army to you, but until then live and be happy.”
Jetamio took a step towards the others then turned again to say good bye. But as quickly as She had appeared She was gone. A warm breeze ruffled her pine coloured hair and the druid smiled. Tunare was with her. Feeling lighter from burdens lifted, the Drakkin headed out towards her friends in the golden field as phoenix song rang in her ears.

The golden drakkin opened her eyes. She had not been asleep, merely meditating as she kept an ear out on her sleeping companions. She needn't have bothered really, nothing had come near them but it was her duty to ensure Jetamio's safety. But she still had her other duties to perform.

The night was coming to an end, and Delsari could feel her strength gaining again, the rise of the spirit within her. Soon it was time to fly again, to drive the darkness away.

She stood up and turned to face the east as the sky brightened and she trembled slightly with the expected release. She raised her arms as the first rays of the sun came over the icy mountains and hit her full on, turning the gold into flame. She threw back her head, a single sound escaping her lips, the call of a phoenix and for that fleeting second she was not Drakkin. For that moment both fleeting and eternal, a woman of breathtaking beauty stood with wings of flame, her hair scarlet with golden feathers in a banner of glory.
Then the rest of the sun came over the mountains and she was Delsari again, the golden Drakkin who rarely spoke. She raised her head again and lowered her arms as she heard a sharp intake of breath and spun round, her eyes still blazing with the power of the dawn...

Will awoke in cold darkness, shivering from the dispassionate stone pressing against his bare skin. He reached up, hand meeting the same cold surface half a foot above him, in a sudden irrational panic the young man frantically felt his surroundings, quickly ascertaining he was trapped in a small stone space that left him little room to move. Fighting the maddening grip of terror that threatened to obliterate logical thought, the Feir'dal forced himself to be calm, not quite sure what he hoped to accomplish. It was apparent that no exertion of his strength could lift what appeared to be a lid judging from the tiny seam that ran around the top edge of this marble prison. Reaching out with his mind, the druid tried to draw mana into himself, only to find sickening affirmation to his suspicion. These stones, being mutilated and crafted by the hands of men, were neither filled with or conduit to the world's lifeblood, leaving him powerless. His breathing started to become rapid and erratic as panic gripped him once more. Children of his people had nightmares about such places! To the sylvan elves there was no more horrible death then to die trapped, unable to move, cut off from the breath and voice of the Lady. Will began to beat of the surface above him with his fists till they began to bleed, hopelessly trying to alert anyone or anything to the hell into which he had been cast. Heavy footsteps rang against stone, causing the prisoner to fall silent with shock at his prayer's unexpected answer.



The Feir'dal heard the grating rumble and resounding thud of a heavy coverstone being removed and set on the floor. As the lid was lifted, he was greeted with the grinning face of Stormfollower, illuminated in the now blinding light. The barbarian gripped the elf's arm and deposited him on the floor with a socket wrenching heave.



"I see you have awakened friend. Sleep has had you for many decades, but now it is time that deception is exposed to light," intoned the barbarian in perfect unaccented elder tongue , "Take these clothes to cover yourself; truth and cold have little mercy."



Will accepted the simple cloth garments and dressed, puzzling over his friend's manner and expected knowledge of a language ancient even by his people's standards. "What deception do you speak of, and where am I?" A quick glance revealed a strange balcony with a roof supported by pillars, all made of the same white marble as the single upraised coffin that stood in the room's center. The setting sun caused the surroundings to be bathed in a strange scarlet hue.



"I speak of the lie that is your past and origin, and your self-deception concerning the one who is responsible for the duality." The white-robed shaman turned and headed towards a hallway behind them. "Worry not ; I am The Revealer , he who brings all to realization."



At this statement an otherworldly whisper moved through the young Feir'dal's mind, an intangible glimpse of a life beyond. "A dream," whispered the druid, not knowing anything besides this strange impression. If this was so, it did help explain the behavior of this man whom he apparently knew. Yet....where had he met this human, and how would he know if his behavior was out of character or not? Hadn't he always been dead? Shaking his head in wonder, he hurried after the departing shaman.



As the pair walked along a seemingly endless hall lit dimly by a sourceless luminance, the mysterious guide began to speak, his voice adding unique inflection to a long dead language, " The Havens , your homeland, was crafted by a few errant survivors of Tunaria during the burning exodus. It is a place separated through vast and desperate magic from normal space, an isolated world in itself. A testament to the arrogance and fear of a broken people."

"Yes," sighed Will, "no need to dredge forth history, I was told the not so glorious past of my ancestors' faction in childhood."

The barbarian cataract-clouded stare stilled his words. "You have truth woven with lies, you know what has said, but beyond this point you know nothing." The druid blinked and wondered at this challenge to the validity of his memories and knowledge. " Well...please then.. continue.. forgive my interruption." Apparently satisfied, the human proceeded, leather-clad footsteps still oddly loud upon the stone. The deluded founders of this folly say it was a chance to build Tunaria anew, free from the intervention and torment of crazed non-elves and capricious gods. They began in earnest ruled by a council of their greatest magi and priests."

"Wait," interjected the druid,... "weren't they also possessors of 'the touch,' which they view as evidence of divine selection?"

A slow odd smile crossed Stormfollower's face. "No, they considered the gift a small thing, mere parlor tricks, nothing to be marveled at or even notice." At his companion's surprised silence he nodded . "Aye, the first lie is revealed, many are to follow."
"Please..go on," stammered Will.
"Despite their efforts, 'New Tunaria' never exceeded the glory of a duchy, much less a kingdom. They were content to while away the centuries in idleness ; the world no longer held any meaning to them and had been abandoned in their hearts.... as the last of the great citiy's towers were consumed by the sands. Time ran swiftly by them, enough to give rise to the distinct divide between sylvan and high elven bloodlines even within this limited population. Then .. be it celestial wrath or in fact an act of mercy... death came to this shadow heaven."

The story's path, now becoming swiftly unknown to the bewildered druid, began to dance in the shifting shadows upon the walls. A dance that now moved in a slow progression of gloom, a mournful tribute to what they knew was coming.

"A strange sickness began to spread, reeking havoc upon the old. It was considered merely an anomaly until its early signs were shown universally in healthy adults. The ailment attacked both body and spirit, robbing the subject of the will and means to live. A scholar and novelist by the name of Falern Sagethorn ascertained the source. The Dal were created by Tunare to have contact and relationship with the living earth , by; separating themselves from it, these errant pilgrims had doomed themselves to spiritual starvation."

"What," interjected Will, no longer able to contain himself, " Grandfather and I did not leave because he discovered some disease... the Havens are alive and well! I need only to go back and I..."

"Will find an empty city..full of bones and half-finished graves," intoned the barbarian, " Do you actually remember why the one now calling himself Fain took you from your childhood home? Do you have any explanations beyond the evidence of absent rationalizations you constructed?"

The Feir'dal frowned, loathing to allow this long pondered dilemma to trouble him once again. "No....I ..I don't remember.. its...its just a mess of half-finished impressions... but.. I remember the Havens..and even though i was merely a child..... i know they were nothing like your dark vision!" Stormfollower smiled sadly." Your denouncement lacks force..even after 62 cycles you were not able to accept the illusions your grandfather handed you." The young man sighed, feeling the cold water of dreadful realization move slowly towards all that he held true, its roar the voice of a masked executioner.

"Death toyed with the beleaguered population for centuries, the elves fighting a battle impossible to win. The high priests declared that none should loose heart, that Tunare was with them and this place was where her new kingdom would be established. The people held steadfast, mostly out of fear at the thought of returning to a now unknown and chaotic world than any religious conviction. They felt the goddess had abandoned them long ago when she permitted Tunaria to fall to dust. Yet, there was a small movement of dissenters, motivated by either enlightened idealism or bitter cynicism, that urged their brethren to return to Norrath and abandon the purposeless illusion they had come to hold so dear. Fay lern, naturally a part of this faction, begged his many times great granddaughter to take her husband and toddling boy and come away with him. Camia refused, unwilling to subject herself or her family to this frightening mystery. A few years passed, and she soon lay upon her deathbed, husband soon to follow. The withered druidess, having finally seen the folly into which her people had cast themselves, asked Fay lern to spirit her son away so that he would have not pay for the sins of his ancestors. That night, Faylern and Tasarin Sagerthorn vanished through the spectral gates that separated the city from the surrounding, the swiftly darkening necropolis left behind forever."

The Feir'dal let the words sink deep into him, realizing he had known them always. "Yet.... why don't I remember and.. how do i know you.. why don't i even know what happened after?" Will felt the whole of his confusion surge forth in a stream of words. "I don't understand...i .. just recall.. leaving.. then.. darkness."

Stormfollower stopped and looked into his companion' s eyes with a gaze the held attention and soul fast. "Faylern and young Tasarin fled deep into the desert of Ro, as an effort to take refuge from the savage beasts and men they had immediately encountered. The elder druid perceived the normal thoughtful, yet cheerful. lad's manner had grown melancholy.., having seen things no child should be subjected to. The old man felt a dilemma rise within his spirit, the awful struggle between moral subjectives that both sought to bring him to adherence. Finally, one prevailed. One night as the boy lay sleeping, Faylern ceased running his hand through soft brown hair for a perhaps fatal moment. His trembling finger traced a path to Tasarin's temple, in that instant a path of action was irrevocably chosen. Faylern would see his only living blood be plagued by sorrow for no longer. Using that same gift thought juvenile and useless by the now dead council, the elf analyzed the inner machinations of a young mind, ascertaining function and nature. With the care of a father and surgeon he wove a beautiful illusion and nestled it into the depths of the sleeper's memory.



It was a masterful creation, Faylern had been a novelist before coming to this desolate place, and a lifetime of literary excellence had not ceased to burn within him. Your memory..and even to some extent.. worldview and personality are his creation....a falsehood shaping all your reactions to situations and the development that followed. As for why you remember nothing after... you are dead (,) boy..but.. through acceptance you may live again." The human held out a huge calloused hand. "Tasarin Sagethorn, do you wish for truth.. and the life that follows forth?"



The Feir'dal sighed, breath encompassing all the searing sadness of an awakened soul, "They are dead then... I..suppose i always knew... though.. my mind knew not what my heart mourned for...I don't.. feel.." Will took the shaman's hand, the last unshed tears bringing closure to a long concealed drama, "please...raise me from death... the grave is cold and freezes my still warm blood."



A rough hand squeezed his and the world became an orderless sensation. Past flooded into present, the fullness of years racing through his mind in flickering seconds. Darkness fell, rushing him to a new destination with silent insistence.



He awoke, interested, yet not unsurprised, to find himself in another marble hall, dull rose light , shining through stained glass windows, bathed the stones and the slightly disoriented figure kneeling upon them. Tasarin..no..he..he was Will...were they truly the same person now? How could the Elvish name adhere to its translation into Common, when both seemed to contain completely different lives within them. The nameless Feir'dal heard a stirring behind him and he jumped to his feet with instinct born of a life purposely led within the most untamed places of the world. He quickly turned to meet a figure clothed in black, the red haze illuminating a familiar face. "Jet..I"

"I am The Convictor she who leaves no heart unmoved," the drakkin said in dragon tinted elder elvish. "Your life will begin again shortly, Tasarin, but first... you must want to live it. Upon regaining memory," she laid a hand upon the young man's chest, "you regained nihilistic passions that threaten your soul and life." With a rustle of dark velvet, Jetamio turned on her heel, a lantern filled with green light blossoming to life in her hand as she walked down the hall at a steady pace. "Come, time is fleeting...even here." A helpless druid followed in her wake.

"What is this darkness in your spirit Tasarin, why do the former shadows grow darker in the presence of truth recently revealed?"

Will frowned, many colored lights from the windows played upon his troubled features. "I... I don't know..I gave up my future and.. now my past is destroyed as well...I..I just wonder why I wait...why I do not finish the Lady's work without subjecting myself to the meaningless formality of a test...I have..nothing left."

There was a sharp intake of breath and the lantern rushed towards him with blinding speed. The Feir'dal gasped in pain and felt blood run down his cheek, the world took a moment to steady. Jetamio finally came into focus within his redtinged vision and the druid gritted his teeth, trying not to let his more primitive emotions overwhelm him. "What .in the name of?!"



"It is one thing if you lie to me, young one, but by all that is good, do not lie to yourself!" Golden eyes glittered with righteous anger as the drakkin locked her gaze upon wrath-tinged emeralds. "Perhaps at one point there was piety motivating this intended sacrifice, but now it is merely self-pity..an easy way out for someone who can no longer find the strength to deal with the struggles of body and soul. You do not do this for Tunare, not anymore, or you would not regard your possible death with such relief or certainty. This approaching trial of faith is supposed to be an edification of revelation of life's sanctity...not a sui cidal escape from it." Jetamio turned to stride confidently down the hallway again. "My words would not burn so acutely if they were not truth."
Will felt his fury drain away with the steady trickle of blood now reaching his lip, inner defilement spiritually purged by cognitive acknowledgement. The words were true, horribly so, how swiftly had faith become death-crazed vanity. Unwilling to let this truth work further havoc upon the present her hurried after the departing figure. "Please...how..I..," the Feir'dal fell silent, not knowing what to say, bare feet padding gently against the stones.

"How do you deal with this morass of perceived sin and transgression?" The emerald touched drakkin replied. "I find that any system of belief that considers pure love among the untouchable sins is rife with misconception of its own deity and ideals or it is not worth an individual's faith at all."



The druid stammered, not sure of the word's intended form before they issued forth. "I ..I am not sure that I love her.. or that she loves me." A burning lantern became intimately acquainted with his other temple in a moment of intense pain that left him on the floor holding back a white hot agony.


"Now your words are frivolous acts of self-betrayal, if you seek to be tainted with true transgression you have surely just thrown yourself into its pit. Either face fact, or do not. Seek not to distort the truth with lies. Do you love her?"



The young man rose to his feet reeling with pain and self-loathing. "Yes..I do....I ..love her... that's.. the heart of the problem..that..and my own insufficiency."



Jetamio nodded slowly, "Seems a poor way to repay her love, walking to your probable demise without a without a whisper of warning or explanation. She speaks of marriage, and you only nod your head and worry, giving only lies as comfort." Amber orbs shimmered in the lantern light once more, burning with an unquenchable flame. "This is not love Tasarin! Forty years alone in the wildlands with only your books and the feral creatures for company has apparently left you devoid of knowledge concerning your own kind! One does not treat the sentient as an object, a person like a creature of mere reactionary function to be manipulated at whim! I would expect such behavior from a mere child, not one soon to reach adulthood! If you wish to confront your destiny and shortcomings, face the problem in its totality, not dwelling only on aspects that support your preconceived convictions. Learn then how to treat man as you treat the land; once you are able to achieve this universal reverence, surely you become a true disciple of the Lady."



The hall ended abruptly at a set of stairs leading into darkness , cold air blew through the unseen opening, causing the druid to shiver through his thin clothing. The black-robed woman turned, the pine-colored marks upon her skin becoming no longer visible as she set the lantern upon the floor. She reached out and put both her ring fingers upon the speechless elf's temples, "You are forgiven Tasarin, you have only to realize it." The drakkin then closed Will's eyes gently, her fingers clothing the bare lids with his blood. "Go.....find hope."

The Feir'dal felt a delicate hand close over his and a familiar whisper grace his ear. "Do not open your eyes, I am The Confessor, she who gives freedom and peace.... follow me."

Will allowed himself to be led up the marble steps into the cool air, the sounds of night and the touch of nature at last caressing him. The woman held the elf's hands clasped in front of him, letting the young man stand blind before the vigilant stars. "What clouds your heart now, Tasarin, once of New Tunaria, now of Kelethin?"

The druid breathed deeply, letting the wind rush through the vast room of broken mirrors that had once been his sanctuary of truths held in steadfast faith. "I... I doubt... I don't know what to believe anymore..I..am uncertain...I want to believe...but..I don't have any idea what to believe in... or..why."



"Doubt can be a good thing, as it can cause dissatisfaction with lies previously held unchallenged. Yet, doubt is nothing in itself and is only valuable if it leads to light.....but for now... it is enough."
A long moment passed; a breezed ruffled Will's hair, continuing its life-giving care just as this women healed his soul.



"Do you love, Tasarin?"



"Yes," he replied, "I love deeply."



"Do you live, Tasarin?"



"Yes," the young man whispered, "I live truly"



"Do you wish to live, Tasarin? Do you want to love?



Tears finally etched their way down Will's face, slowly mingling with blood. "Yes," he gasped, "I wish to live life, without regret, I want to love ....completely..



"That is enough!" Sanjah threw her arms around him and whispered in a voice that was the bringer of release to suffering souls, calling for the casting down of burdens and the revival of hope. "Arise and live ; you are freed!"

Sanjah paced back and forth over the worn wood of the dragon’s platform in Crescent Reach. The clouds gave the skies an overcast that seemed to match the sapphire drakkin’s mood and the winds were blowing heavily with the threat of the coming winter. Her dusty blue hair was much longer now and had been pulled back into an intricate pattern of braids. Her face still held a youthful appearance, though her golden eyes betrayed that she was quite a bit older and had experienced a great many things throughout her seasons. Her arms were crossed over her chest in a mixture of frustration and thought and her aqua blue robes billowed as she walked.

After a few moments had passed, the druidess ceased her pacing and looked up to the fire red dragon that stood before her. “What exactly are we to do about this, Atathus? She is of your creation and I suggest that you think of something.”

“You will never understand the ways of war and battle as I do. Do not attempt to try,” he replied, a tone of resentment harboring in his voice.

“Do not tell me what I will and will not understand. There is much more to life than fighting for power!” she spat back at him furiously, her horned brow furrowed and her glare sharp. “You had absolutely no right in touching her. You knew what she was… who she was, even… yet you did it anyway!”

She turned sharply and began to walk back and forth again as she continued, “Did it not once occur to you that she may have become even more of a threat to us than Dyn’Leth was? Did you honestly believe that she would have any pride whatsoever in being one of us? Did you actually think that she would serve Veeshan?!”

The war lord’s eyes narrowed with anger at being questioned about his motives and he reared back on his hind legs as he hissed, “How dare you! You overstep your bounds, young one!”

Sanjah merely met him with a fierce gaze of her own, “I have been given the position as Archlord of the drakkin armies and I do not think questioning an act that could cause us all great suffering is overstepping my bounds by any means.

I spent weeks in Ashengate leading the Crusade of Scale against Dyn’Leth. We fought desperately against being corrupted by his use of the Scale’s magic. I watched as many – whom I have considered family – fell to the ground in death, lifeless and cold shells of the beings they once were. I was strong enough to carry on, however, and I alone delivered the blows that destroyed him.

If it were not for me, the precious Scale would continue being used against us. I refuse after all of that to allow you to be oblivious to the devastation that Jetamio has the potential to cause us! If anything happens to the peace amongst the dragonkin that I have worked so hard to achieve, the fault will lie with you for being irresponsible and power hungry!

You know good and well that you were only thinking of yourself and the great benefits that you would reap by touching her. You were not thinking about the rest of us, the future of the dragonkind.”

With a final cold and haunting glare toward the great beast, Sanjah spun on her heel, her robe swirling at her ankles, and left the platform.


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The cold winds blew hard and the hail hit Sanjah’s skin with great force. She felt her scales ruffle with a shiver and she pulled her fur cloak around her tightly. She was standing atop the cliff of one of the scars Veeshan had left upon Velious; her eyes squinted as she focused her attention on the tunnel entering the Western Wastes. They would be coming through soon and the sapphire Drakkin had her forces ready.

It had been nearly a year since her conversation with Atathus; her premonition had been correct. The moment that the dragonkin began to stand for what was rightfully theirs, protecting them against the possibility of history repeating itself, Jetamio had formed an army against them. The draconic forces had managed to stomp out most of the resistance but somehow the half-elven abomination kept getting away. The time had come for the final battle – to dispose of the one that had no right to the blood flowing in her veins and put an end to the war between dragon and mortal.

Sanjah turned to gaze upon those who stood with her – drakes, dragons, wyverns and drakkin – ready to die for their Crystalline Mother. Sanjah felt her stomach twist slightly at the thought of losing anyone, though she knew it to be inevitable. She gave a quick nod to Atathus, who stood to her left, before turning back to the horizon.

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, as they stood there silently waiting for a gleam of movement from the tunnels. The sleet and hail continued pounding down upon them all and the only sounds were those of the lizards’ wings flapping impatiently behind her. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, letting her mind concentrate on what was to come. They had already been through the strategic instructions and Atathus had commanded them not to leave any living. They would not be able to risk another uprising. All of those who fought against the dragonkin would die.

Sanjah’s eyes came open as she sensed the presence of Jet and her followers. Her chest tightened and her heart threatened to drop into her core as she swallowed. She turned back to the Red Lord and said quietly in Elder Dragon, “It is time.”

Atathus nodded and rearing back on his hind legs, he signaled to the others to begin making their progression off the cliff and into the snow covered valley. Sanjah removed the heavy fur from her shoulders to allow the drakkin easier movement. Her aquamarine leather armor was heavily adorned with dragon scales sewn in complex tribal designs – the scales had been shed and given to her as gifts from those who respected her, showing that she was accepted and well-regarded by the reptiles that she considered her blood.

“Se’qui,” she said softly in the dragon’s tongue to the azure wyvern standing to her right, “Circle above the battle until I find Jetamio. Stay far enough above the crowds to keep from getting hit by spells, but do not travel so high that I will no longer sense her.”

The druidess climbed atop the winged beast and held her breath as they descended off the cliff and toward the valley below.

The next thing Sanjah knew, she was standing back atop one of the great cliffs that Veeshan had created. The sapphire wyvern was there with her, though she was far enough away to not get involved in the blasts of spells that would inevitably be taking place.


-----------------------------------


Jetamio turned to face her and with a flash of light Sanjah was surrounded by a swarm of insects. She gasped and arched her back in pain as they began to sting. She began to recite the words to send a bolt of lightning down upon her opponent but before she could finish her casting, bright white sparks of light gleamed around her. The sapphire drakkin let out an excruciating scream and doubled over; the hornet-like insects continued to sting and the blast of moonfire left her flesh blistered with burns. She fought back tears and tried to focus on the incantation but the pain was too great for her mind to process anything else.

It felt as if ages had passed before the magic faded and the stinging and burning subsided. With a few deep breaths, she lifted her head and wiped the blood stained hair from her eyes. She looked to where the emerald druid had been standing and felt sick at the realization that she had disappeared. She muttered a quick healing spell under her breath to tend to some of her wounds and tried to decide upon a new plan of action. She closed her eyes and opened her senses, hoping to find where Jetamio had gone. Instead, she was alerted to another’s presence. She turned around and saw a heavily cloaked figure, his head bowed and his hood covering his features. Instinctively, she reached for the hilt of her scimitar and spoke a string of arcane words that sent a great gust of wind in his direction.

Light danced around her opponent before her tornado reached him and Sanjah guessed that he must have cast a shield of some sort as the wind seemed to have very little effect on him at all. She frowned and muttered another phrase, this time conjuring up a swarm of the very insects that had left her exposed skin speckled with stings. He seemed to stiffen as they reached him, though she recognized the glittering luminance of a healing spell and he began to walk towards her.

She frowned, drew up her sword and commanded the earth below them to shake. She watched as he stumbled in the snow, though he still did not defend himself. An interesting strategy, Sanjah thought to herself as she kept her eyes on him, Perhaps he does not intend to fight until I am too weak to continue casting…

She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes; with a deep breath and a toss of her head, she exhaled a blast of magic so pure and intense that it would burn and destroy all that it touched. Of course, Sanjah had found out through many of her adventures that many beings – especially other magic users – were immune to the damage. As it turned out, the concealed man was one such being. In a great bout of emotional frustration she ran to him and slashed at him with her blade. He reached to his shoulder where she had cut through his cloak and with a touch of magic he ceased the wound’s bleeding but still did not return her blows.

“What are you doing?” she screamed, rather aggravated that he was keeping her from finding Jetamio but was not willing to engage in combat. When he did not respond she cast another spell and as the flurry of light brought down a shower of flame she yelled, “You came here to fight! Why stop now? Surely there would be some pride to be had for wounding the Archlord of the Drakkin army? There is no reason to back down!”

Another bit of healing magic was preformed and he spoke wearily, “I did not come to fight…”

Sanjah furrowed her brow; something told her that she should recognize that voice. She looked over to Se’qui who was watching the altercation intently. “Do not listen to him, Lady Sanjah. Kill him and be done with it and we will find the emerald abomination,” the wyvern whispered to the drakkin’s mind. She bit her lower lip and her scales ruffled again as a cold wind blew over the flesh exposed from her armor.

“If you did not come here to fight, why are you here?” she snapped.

“I… I came to protect my friends.” He lifted his head and paused before adding, “I came to… save… you.”

Sanjah’s eyes narrowed, her chest was tightened with unease and she gawked at him somewhat incredulously. “Save me? You’re fighting against us! What in the name of Veeshan’s Scale do you want to save me from?!”

She glanced to the valley below; the flashes of light had subsided quite a bit and Sanjah realized that the battle must be nearly over. She could make out a great many corpses, several from both sides of the brawl, and she sighed inwardly. She thought on what Se’qui had told her and she knew that killing him quickly would be best but there was something about him – something that gave her a great deal of hesitation.

“I wish to save you… from… yourself, Sanjah,” he said, stumbling through the words. He reached to his hood and lowered it; his unruly brown hair was even more of a mess than normal. Sanjah’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach at the sight of him – his own face was scarred from battle, dirty with sweat and blood. His expression was cold and distant, and his green eyes that had once danced with mischief were clouded with pain and sadness.

Se’qui, who was as much Sanjah’s familiar as she was her mount, must have sensed the tension and change in her guardian’s demeanor for she glided closer to the drakkin and transmitted her voice into the her thoughts again, “Do not falter, Lady Sanjah. Atathus made it clear there would be no survivors. He will not care that you are the Archlord. He will find pleasure in killing you for disobeying his orders just the same. You must kill the elf, Lady Sanjah.”

Sanjah’s eyes glazed over with indignation as she stepped back away from the feir’dal. She opened her mouth to speak, though no sound escaped her lips. Her mind was reeling with thoughts and questions, trying to process the entire situation. With another glance toward the fighting – to the corpses – below, a sudden burst of fury ran through her and she hastily called upon the skies to bring down a bolt of lightning to hit him.

“You have no right to be here, Willowen!” she yelled at him contumeliously as the electricity sparked around him, “Who are you to say I need to be saved from myself? The Crystalline Dragon will give me all the protection I need! I am here to end this war – to end the slaughter of my family. You will not stop me.”

The feir’dal called upon the winds to move him out of the way, though he had not been fast enough to deflect the entire spell. His body trembled slightly and he gave the drakkin a defeated look. “I was your family, Sanjah… We were your family. Faelian… Delsari… Storm… Licinia? Even… even Jetamio.” The druidess glared at the mention of Jetamio’s name, though Will continued to speak. “We supported you… we… we helped you in the beginning…. Do you not remember? You’ve taken things too far, Sanjah… “

“Do not listen, Lady Sanjah! He is only trying to save himself. You must kill him. We must find Jetamio,” Se’qui’s voice entered the sapphire drakkin’s mind again.

She closed her eyes tightly to avert Willowen’s gaze and she pushed the wyvern’s words from her mind. Bits of memories began to replay in her head and she tried to shake them away but to no avail. One in particular held its ground, forcing Sanjah to remember the night in great detail. It was days before the drakkin had gone into Ashengate; she, Willowen, Jetamio and Storm were all sitting in Illumine’s garden. Delsari was playing a bright tune on her flute. Faelian and Licinia came out with a platter of cookies and sat down with the rest of them. Sanjah told them of her strategies to destroy Dyn’Leth. The six of them discussed what would work and what wouldn’t. Delsari even interjected into the conversation at times. Her friends were worried about her going to the Reliquary; they wanted her to be safe. Willowen had tried to convince her to let him come along for her protection, but she wouldn’t allow it. She knew that the other dragonkin did not wish for any others to help, but he had been fearful of the outcome.

Sanjah suddenly felt as if she was going to be sick and she finally managed to shove the memory from her mind. A rush of guilt flooded over her; he was right. She had taken things too far. She had gone insane with the obsession. Her heart continued to break as she contemplated what to do. If she allowed the feir’dal to live, Atathus would kill them both and she would no longer be the revered leader that she had grown so accustomed to being. She did not want to harm the druid anymore than she wished to harm her reptilian family. She would not be able to save them both, though. She would have to make a decision.

Her sword began to feel extremely heavy in her hand, and her grip on it began to loosen. Her head was spinning. She could hear Se’qui in the back of her mind, “Lady Sanjah! Do not fail us! Do not listen to him, milady. Please, for the rest of dragonkind, you must kill him. You must.” Sanjah furrowed her horned brow again as her guilt melted into betrayal. Why was he fighting on their side, anyway? Why had he not been standing with her the entire time? He had put himself in this position! If he would not have betrayed her things would not have come to this.

In another surge of anger she hurled a great blast of fire at him. She grimaced as she watched him cringe in pain; she would not allow herself to feel guilty for the torment that he was causing her just by being here. Another burst of flames formed around him and she had to look away, not able to handle watching the blisters form upon his skin. A third conflagration crackled and popped and she had to force the bile back down from her throat at the sound of his painful scream.

“Do not fail us, Lady Sanjah. If you wish me to help…” Sanjah shook her head no at the sound of the winged lizard’s voice and she shut her eyes again, trying to extinguish the image of the feir’dal burning in the flames.

“I… I will not… fight you… Sanjah,” he said to her after the magic wore off, his voice weak and hushed. “You… must choose your… own path… Melamin.”

Sanjah felt tears spring to her eyes – she had always loved it when he called her that. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying and she opened her eyes. The druid had knelt down before her in the snow. He was calm and looked to be at peace, his breath was a steady rhythm. She stood there, just looking upon him, for what felt like hours. She really had no choice; he had done this to himself. She wished desperately there was a way they could run… a way they could ride on the winds to some far away place and forget that any of this had ever happened. It was too late for that now, though. She had to do it, there was no way she could turn back. He shouldn’t have ever come here.

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as she lifted her scimitar above her head and shut her eyes again. “I… I’m… I’m sorry,” she whispered, blinking back tears, “I… I love you…”

He looked up to her and met her gaze for a brief moment, his green eyes shining with a sorrowful understanding. “I love you too, Melamin… I forgive you.”

She could no longer hold back the sobs as she repeated, “I’m sorry…” over and over again. She closed her eyes tightly and her body trembled violently as she brought down her blade with a mighty swing.

A cold wind wandered though the grove like an errant traveler lost in his pilgrimage, leaving the trees to gossip quietly with wonder at the tales this stranger told. It gazed thoughtfully at the sleepers as it passed over them, toying idly with their hair and sending its playful chill to raise small promontories on their skin. How deep and somber is this unconscious wandering, thought the sleepless gust. How serious are their faces, holding the blooming seed of melancholic reflection. What visions work their havoc upon their features, what towering colossi of fate loom over them? It would never know, the wind had knowledge regarding all that it saw, and in this tireless vigil had witnessed an incomprehensibly vast menagerie. Yet, one mystery still agonized the unerring sentinel. What celestial wind moved the mortal spirit, what was the nature of this fertile soil? How bitter a torment it was to be so close,yet.. unable to touch the enigma that dwelt behind these troubled masks! The ephemeral wanderer contemplated the figures unknowingly at its mercy, and brushed each of their faces with its loving touch, considering each individually with parental affection and sought to fit them into the ever expanding pattern that was its privilege and purpose to watch unfold. It paused finally before the gold wreathed figure who watched the breeze with eyes unclouded by the pervasive sentient blindness. With a reverent bow the traveler at last departed, knowing the dreaming children safe within her hands.


Will groaned as a salt-filled gust stung his face and woke him from whatever Fae netherworld had spirited the Feir'dal away. Blinking groggily and wincing as his eyes burned, the druid slowly began to gain coherence of thought and comprehension of his surroundings. A soft mummer jolted him wide awake and nearly caused the young man to reach for his hunting knife as he felt a warm body stir next to him. Rolling his eyes and giving silent thanks that he was not currently on patrol in Jaggedpine and one of its monstrous serpents had not decided to nestle beside his body's warmth, the elf ran his hand through Sanjah's dusty blue hair in mesmerised contemplation. How much older she seemed, features molded in that unfathomable expression. Was she in the grip of a turmoil similar to the one that had beset him? He gently traced the subtle designs that slithered down her neck, wondering at the nearly seamless change between skin texture. No, surely not, the drakkin seemed to worry only for others, he doubted she would be wreathed in anything other then the sleep of the innocent.

How strange his life had become, thought the druid as he felt Sanjah's steady breaths against his chest. He had fled from his grandfather when the saintly old man's heart had darkened in sorrow and cynicism, withdrawing into solitude even when a family in Kelethin had adopted him. How Ironic it was that all the while he had thought the kind-hearted elders fools for thinking him an orphan, "knowing" that his parents were alive in the havens. It seemed that the Archdruids who had assumed his protests were the tearful denial of a confused and bereaved child... had been right all the while. The Feir'dal sighed softly, trying to put memories into place with the painful revelations brought before him in the seeing sleep. After he grew old enough to safely live on his own the boy stared taking extended journeys into the wild. The uncivilized wildlands had become his refuge, a sanctuary free of duality and the disturbing enigma of his fellow man. Luckily it was not considered odd by his people for a druid or ranger to seclude themselves in this manner, and his family tolerated his and quick progression through the heirophant's art with cheerful approval. Soon he spoke with trees and beasts with far greater frequency then his peers, and the normally quiet child grew to an young man whose speech was faltering and rusted with disuse. Books were his only true contact to civilization; poets, professors, and philosophers taking the place of actual life experience. He had acquaintances and friends of course. There were a myriad of others who had chosen a similar lifestyle, and on these encounters each had received the other in genuinely cheerful manner, a bond of like-minded kinship soon forming. Yet, each would soon go his own way, hearts unused to prolonged exposure to other souls. He had been perfectly content, having found that the solitude brought a closeness to the Lady in a way he had never before experienced. His Grandfather had constantly preached about the "impurity of man and his nihilistic creations" near the end... as the dark shadow of nightshade had made a hollow shell out of a man who once shone with light. Will had and did not believe this nearly to the extent that Fain did.. yet, out in the wilds, parts of this philosophy seemed to make sense. Tunare and her creations seemed the only things he could trust in, existence untainted by duality or pride. This consuming devotion and the constantly deeper depths of his scholarly delving had been the totality of his solitary life. Until..., the Feir'dal paused his whirring thoughts as the girl whose arms embraced him stirred briefly as dream took her upon some unexpected path...until a few months ago.

Licinia and Stormfollower had met him while leading an expedition into the depths of a goblin temple. It had not taken a great deal of kindness on their part before the taciturn druid agreed to join these strange people and their mysterious cause. Since then, he had become far more at ease around people and learned "common" courtesy, more due to the calm patience of Elianeth than any natural adaptation. Now..he felt a way toward another being that both thrilled and disturbed him. It had come during the oddest of times, when he was starting the months of purification to prepare for his trial. A time were one's faults are constantly brought to mind as ascetic discipline fought against Epicurean indulgence. For a while Will had suspected that civilization was corrupting him, drawing the druid slowly away from the state of spiritual purity found in the wilds. Sanjah had turned guilt indulging whispers into a tempest. awakening emotions the young man did not understand or knew how to deal with. Lust? He understood this, it was a natural thing with an obvious purpose. Will had experienced intimacy before. Occasionally wayfinders and wardens held gatherings in secluded parts of the world to swap advice and stories with kin of spirit. For many it was also to experience the warmth of intimate contact with another person. The indulgence did not have a deeper meaning nor any truly lasting attachment besides camaraderie. Yet, this was different.. lust was an entirely physical thing..this was deeper..emotionally.. and even..spiritually. Will had little qualms regarding sharing the physical aspect of his being with another person, whatever fashion that took. But love?.. that touched the spiritual..a place where Tunare previously had sole dominion. Would love for another person violate his devotion to the Goddess? Before the dream he had certainly thought so, that it was in fact to love Sanjah and for his errant heart and other shortcomings he would die.. and had welcomed the release. Now?, he did not know, When had first started realizing his feelings, the Feir'dal had convinced himself he would return to the wilds, never to be swayed again. Each time he would pack his few belongings to leave, "determined" to escape "sin"... then he would catch her eyes, or hear her voice, and suddenly the backpack, full of nothing but a few clothes and books, would become extraordinarily heavy. It taken the druid long to know he was trapped, though... he was no longer quite sure he objected or not.

Will bit his lip, listening to Sanjah's quiet breaths. Yet, the vision was right..had he really treated her like a person? All he had given her was lies and pretence, veiling inner turmoil with inept half-truths. Shaking his head, the druid rose, trying not to disturb the drakkin. It was about time he did something useful instead of lying in bed consumed with vain self-absorption. The Feir'dal grabbed his shirt from the log and shoved it over his shoulders and went to get wood for the fire.

As the elf passed the golden drakkin, whom he realized had been awake this entire time, he looked over his shoulder to greet her, only to stare in wonder. Delsari stood silhouetted by the rising sun, immersed in the glory of its growing radiance. A shadow of great wings wreathed her like ethereal phantasms, as light making spiderwebs visible if one observed at certain angle. Her hair was no longer strands, but a mane of blazing feathers, rustling softly in the breeze. The air around the celestial figure seemed to be a haze of transparent flame, lapping at the druid's skin yet not consuming him. Will's eyes locked with a peircing gaze that instantly knew every shadowed corner of his soul, the hawk-like pupils relfecting his image in a way that made the young man feel he veiwed himself for the first time. In an instant the entire impression vanished, an odd and wonderous dream that departed without a trace. The young main blinked, not sure what to say, or even think. "h..hello Delsari..wha..?"