Firiona Vie Everquest

The youth knelt down and lit a candle in front of the elegant memorial. He sat for what seemed like hours, staring at one of the listed names but he shed no tears. Eventually he stood up and wandered into the gardens of the House, his white wolf running in and out of the shrubbery, stopping at a tree that seemed both out of place and at home. Unknown to him it was a native tree of the Plane of Growth. He suddenly looked around himself as though sensing someone or something watching him. Then he looked skywards, as though right at her and the Watcher longed to reach out and comfort him, to tell him it would all be alright…

The scene suddenly rippled in front of her and she realised she had reached out and touched the water. Sighing, she tore her eyes away from the normally still pool and sat up straight. She sat under a willow tree, its long tresses shading her from the sun that shone down in the clearing of the vast woods and the rolling plains beyond.
“Altáriël.”
The Watcher spun round at the sound of her given name, golden eyes meeting the emerald of Tunare’s. She smiled, though it was a little strained from the longing she felt. She would have known without looking who it was though, for only Tunare called her that. Any mortal that had ever known it had passed on before her. Tunare came to sit by her side, and The Watcher had long since given up being awed by the closeness of the Mother’s presence.
“Even after so many years you still watch them. Does it give you peace?”
The Watcher was still for a moment, then shook her head, her fiery hair shimmering with a touch of gold in the sunlight.
“I don’t know why I do it. It’s not like I can do anything to help them. It just frustrates me.”
They sat in silence for a while, Altáriël staring at her hands, holding them up. Slender but strong hands, pale with an oaken tint but no scales or coloured markings anymore. In this place she was as she had been born, Fier’Dal for the most part. She appeared youthful, like most elves did, but her gold eyes which had softened from the glittering orbs of the Dragon Touched to their natural liquid gold, showed the essence of a being much older than her youthful figure conveyed. Her long red hair fell way past her shoulders in a shimmering cascade of wildfire.
“Would you go back if you could?” asked Tunare after the long silence.
“Why want something that I know cannot be?” responded Altáriël.
“Why torture yourself watching that which you can never touch?”
Altáriël frowned. “Because I miss them.” She sighed. “And because I feel guilty that they are burdened with the task set for me.”
“You are The Watcher, your task was to learn the opposition, their weaknesses, their strengths. You even walked the Dark path yourself to do so. The task they pursue is what they set themselves, though perhaps the younger ones do so inspired by your memory.”
“But I did nothing worthy of their admiration! I met none of them til three hundred years after I last did anything significant. They do not know who I was, the power I wielded. All they saw and knew was a woman scorched by Dragons blood with the memories of an illustrious past! Did they really know me?” Her voice softened. “Do I know me?”
Tunare pulled the troubled woman closer to Her, embracing her in a motherly way and stroking her fiery hair. “Those are answers only you can find. The lesson would not be learned if I tell you. But you will likely never learn it while you are not whole…”
Altáriël pulled back from the embrace and stared at the Mother with wide eyes as the Goddess continued. “Part of you is still anchored in Norrath, imbued in the Dragonscale pendant you wore. It’s current wearer dreams of your past, slowly but surely infiltrating her thoughts.”
“Kalsari.” Whispered Altáriël, thinking of the Tier’Dal rogue she had watched sometimes, shadowing Tajer’s every move until more recent years when she had begun to explore her own path more. She still thought it odd that Tajer had given the barely adolescent girl she had found on the streets, the very same name she herself had used in exile. Obviously Tajer had researched deeper into her grandmothers past to find the name, but Altáriël had no doubt that Tajer had named the girl such for a reason known only to her.
Tunare nodded. “The one of your bloodline changed her.” Altáriël did not need to ask what she meant by ‘changed’. After another period of silence the Mother of All continued. “You will never truly be happy here with me while you long so much for your son and your friends. Your spirit split between the realms does not help either. When you return you must unite your spirit once more.”
It took The Watcher a few minutes before she realised what Tunare was saying. “Return? But I am dead, I have been for thirteen years, how can I go back?”
The Goddess chuckled. “Am I not the Giver of Life?” She swept an arm across the forest and planes before them. “You may go back if you wish, you need only ask. Just know that they may not recognise you, or simply refuse to. Some do not believe in miracles Altáriël.”
With those words, Tunare left The Watcher to think on it. The pool was still again and Altáriël gazed again upon its glassy surface. The flamed haired young man had left, but the candle he had lit still burned brightly beside the stone Memorial. One name caught her eye, the same name he had stared at, the name she had not heard nor spoken in thirteen years but was as familiar as grass beneath her feet. Jetamio.

Altáriël breathed deeply as she stared upon the pool again. The young man had returned to the House of his birth and was settling in. A shift in attention showed her Tajer, sorting through various paperwork as she prepared to enter service under the High Priestess in the temple. Seeing Tajer brought mixed feelings to Altáriël, anger at what she had done but she could not help but still love the child of her first son though she would never trust her again.
With a thought the scene changed to the young rogue Kalsari, hunting in the Burning Woods with the Fire Wizard and Amentet. Altáriël watched her carefully, wondering why she was with these two, was she planning their demise too? But Altáriël could only Watch, she could not read minds.
She tore her eyes away from the still pool under the willow tree and stood up. She looked around for the Mother, but there was no need really. She was within her, part of her, lending her power for this act. She felt the Goddess smile, giving her the courage to do what she intended to do.
She stepped away from the pool, out of the shade of the tree and into the sun. She stared out over the planes, the forest, the cerulean sky above her. A warm wind tousled her long red hair. Perfection. To her, this place was perfect. But it was not home. Of Divine origins or not, she was born and had lived in Norrath in oblivious bliss for nearly all of her long life. But now she knew, and finally accepted that her life was not completely her own. But it was life, and she loved it.
She thought again of Tortha and Stormfollower, to be united with them again. A smile playing upon her lips, Altáriël closed her golden eyes and took a final deep breath of this beautiful place. With the Mother in her thoughts, she instinctively knew what to do. With a thought, she willed herself back into existance. Jetamio would walk Norraths realms again.

An excited hush seemed to fall over the great forest as though it held its breath in anticipation. Deep in the Faydark, a Druid ring all but forgotten stirred as though waking from a long sleep. The red symbols upon the great standing stones began to glow, igniting ancient spells of protection around the ring.
Then without further warning, an intense flash of light flared in the middle of the ring, its luminescense so bright that it made the daylight seem like night. In the centre a womanly form could be seen, her face serene and eyes closed among the tempest of light that swirled around her. As quick as it came the light faded, letting the natural daylight return the forest to its sun-dappled splendor.
The woman suddenly stumbled in the middle of the ring as though she has come to an instant halt from travelling quickly, a hand reaching out to one of the stones to steady herself as she took a deep shuddering breath of the forest air. After a few moments she opened eyes of liquid gold, shining in the soft gloom of the forest and looked around. She recognised the rings as a place she used to play in as a child with her sister. Already a few brave animals ventured closer to see what has appearred in their midst, even an orc pawn eyeing her with both malice and apprehension.
She let go of the stone, standing on her own two feet and realised she was as naked as the day she was born.
She met the gaze of the orc, knowing that he could not enter the circle until she broke it by leaving it's safety. She also knew enough ethereal magic still coursed through her to allow her to get to her destination. But turning up before those who believe her dead stark naked would probably not help matters much.
She moved towards the orc with purpose, feeling a tingle on her skin as she passed through the protective barrier and the stones go dull once more as the spell breaks. The orc charged her the second she stepped out, believing her to be the easy prey that her young brethern were. Unfortunately for him he did not know what he faces and learned the hard way. In a single fluid movement she dodges his charge, grabs his head in her hands and twists it sharply with a strength none would imagine her having, snapping his neck. She felt no guilt, for he had attacked her first and she quickly set about stripping him of his leggings and tunic. It was not ideal but it would do. Once more she closed her eyes and willed herself elsewhere.

She reappeared outside a familiar building in Surefall Glade, again feeling a slight tingle on her bare skin as she triggered someone's sentinel. She smiled slightly to herself, suspecting whom the sentinel belonged to. She cautiously made her way to the door and started to open it, then stopped. What if he was in there? Was she strong enough to meet her husband again, to reveal herself to the son who barely remembered her?
A sudden shout about protecting the bears made her jump and she mumbled something about some things never changing. She pushed the door open and went in, slightly red in the face. She must look a mess, her long red hair worn loose, tangled and draped over her shoulders down to the small of her back, the ill fitting Orcish clothing and bare feet. Shaking her head slightly for she knew there was little she could do about it right now, she spotted Licinia and Trotwood talking.

"Barindu...where is that again?" she heard the Enchantress say in her familar voice, and looking little older than when she had last seen her. Instinctively the newcomer replied, giving the answer and at the same time revealing her presence.

"It is on Taolosia." Her voice was still deep and rich as it had been before, only now it lacked the subtle Draconic undertones that even Tortha had. She stood still as Licinia looked up and greeted her, asking her if she was seeking someone.

The Fier'Dal nodded once in response. "My friends, my husband, my son."

"Perhaps some of the Druids...?" the Enchantress began but the Fier'Dal shook her head slowly, her golden eyes trained on her.

"Do you believe in miracles, Licinia of Qeynos?"

Licinia looked at her, suddenly on guard from the stranger knowing her name, or so she assumed anyway. "No, I don't."

The Fier'Dal's smile faded a little, though not completly. "A shame. Then perhaps your Sentinel cannot be trusted, or mayhaps no one casts it upon this place anymore?" she answered softly before looking around the familiar room to see who else dwelt in it.

((Anyone may join now if they wish ))

Alsurin surveyed the rune-covered board before him, frowning in concentration. With a quiet sigh of satisfaction, the drakkin carefully moved one of the many figurines dotting its surface to another area of influence. A responding azure glow from the previously mentioned piece and the those who had just become its neighbors brought a chuckle from the mage, who finally looked up from his scrying to catch sight of the newcomer.

"The defensive wardings are always active, perhaps you were simply not considered a threat?"

The young gave the Feir'dal a impish smile, promising that many more such remarks were harbored behind its white facade. He then turned back to the board and waved a hand in a simultaneously negligent and controlled gesture. Rose-colored sand that formed small spirals and tracks across the surface shifted its pattern, the grains coming into adherence with the new position of the figurines.