Firiona Vie Everquest

Upon revealing some of her past, Faelian had seemed interested, though confused. Jetamio decided it would be easier to start from scratch, at the beginning. She told it in third person, as though it were a story of someone else, not herself. In a way, it was, thought she didn't give it concious thought. She made herself comfortable, then started to speak.

The Mad Red Druid.

The first thirty five years or so of Jetamio’s life were relatively uneventful. She was the firstborn daughter of Neja, a Half-Elf ranger, but her father was a mystery. While being of mixed blood, Neja’s features were mostly Fier’Dal, and Jetamio looked no different from the rest of her kin. She stood at around five feet tall, and was slight of build. Her eyes were golden, piercing, and her long red hair trailed down her back. She wore it loose, and it was often unkempt and wild.
She herself was also rather unruly. She was born into her guild as Neja’s daughter, but few paid her much attention, and she paid them little. She was too young to be worth their trouble. The only ones who really took much notice of her was the leader, Snotgrob Olnygard and his wife Furrynobbles, and Galdro, another ranger.
Her Path was that of the Druid, lacking her mothers finesse with the blades, but much more adept at magic. Flashes of lightning often flickered through the forest as she fried the undead roamers, and when she was older, the Orc population. Sometimes her friend Yavi accompanied her, but he was older, and had little interest in such things anymore.
It was in the Orc fortress of Crushbone that she met Edaemus. She was in the throne room, disposing of guards, when she heard footsteps approaching. She knew they did not belong to an Orc, for they trod too lightly. She froze on the spot, hiding herself in time to see a Dark Elf come in. He paused a moment, regarding the carnage of the throne room, his eyes scanning the room for intruders. He looked right at Jetamio, but through her, and carried on through the passageway to the end of the throne room. Jetamio crept up to the stone seat, listening. She could hear voices, both talking in Tier’Dal, but she couldn’t understand. Then there was silence. Curious, she peeked out from behind the stone seat and came face to face with the Dark Elf. By the look on his face, he had known she was there all the time. She felt rooted to the spot, but she cursed under her breath. He raised an eyebrow at her, and said something to her. She shrugged, indicating she didn’t understand his tongue. His eyes narrowed on her, then he lift a hand and spun a finger, then pointed out. Hesitantly, Jetamio turned and walked out, expecting a blow any second.
But none came and when she was outside, she turned and looked behind her, half surprised that he was right on her tail, and now physically pushed her on her way, speaking quietly in common as they walked.
“Were you eavesdropping?” he asked
“I don’t understand Tier’Dal, non of it made sense anyway.”
They stopped, and he looked her over. She regarded him just as intently, deciding that if he was going to kill her he’d have done so already. He was dressed in a long heavy silk robe of bland colour, and had long silver hair tied back in a ponytail. His eyes were dark, shining with an inner fire, and his face youthful.
“I am Edeamus, an enchanter.” He looked to her expectantly, awaiting her name. She eyed him suspiciously, her hand near her scimitar, but not on the pommel yet.
“I am Jetamio Fairwind of the Boneheads of Butcherblock, Daughter of Neja of Kelethin, and Chosen of Tunare.” She replied, giving her full title as taught by her mother to use in formal introductions. He smirked, seemingly bemused. “Your first name would have sufficed, Jetamio.”
They started walking again, and as they drew near the city of Kelethin, he uttered a spell and his form shimmered into that of a Wood Elf. His robe looked ridiculously out of place, because her kind did not wear robes, so he took it off. He did not walk right to the lifts, because the guards were already eyeing him, knowing him to not be one of theirs.
They stop, and he watches the guards for a moment. “Chosen of Tunare, why do you not kill me, knowing what I am? Luckily for you I am not a follower of Innoruuk despite my race. But you, you seem unconcerned.”
She looked down, ashamed, for it was her duty to report him, if not kill him herself. But inside she harboured a secret curiosity for his kind, a curiosity she could not pursue openly. She looked up again at his expecting face, his dark eyes searching for an answer. “I don’t know.” She whispered.
He nodded slightly, then reached into his pockets, and pulled out a number of small vials. He gave a black one to her.
“Come to Neriak tonight. When you are within sight, drink this. It will allow you to take the form of my people. I will meet you near the gates.” And with that he smiled and stepped back, then disappeared in a small puff of yellow smoke.
Jetamio stood for a moment, the pocketed the vial and headed to the lift.


She came out of the trees when she saw him, and nervously headed towards him. He saw her movement and smiled at her, meeting her half way. As directed, she had drunk the potion, and now her oaken skin was the colour of twilight, her long red tresses now gleamed silver in the moonlight. Her clothes still marked her as Fier`Dal though, but Edaemus had anticipated this and unfolded a long silk robe from his backpack. It was the colour of fresh blood, but she quite liked the colour, it was much different from the greens and browns she was accustomed to. She put it on, and found that it fitted perfectly, loose enough to wear over her leathers, but not too big that it made her stand out.
“You need to be confident,” he said quietly, “you are too tense and they will know something is afoot. And do not speak, trust me, follow my lead. Can you do that?”
She looked at him, his mischievous eyes, youthful face, and she wondered why she trusted him so. Perhaps because she sensed that he was as curious of her, as she was of him. She nodded. He smiled and led the way to the gates. The guards eyed her suspiciously, but remembering not to appear nervous, she threw them a dark look back, and they seemed to dismiss her.
He lead her through the Foreign Quarter, slowly enough to let her have a look around, but not so slow as to attract attention. The Commons was busier, and people tried to speak to her, but Edaemus glared at them and led her away to the peace and quite of Third Gate. The sound of running water greeted her, from a moat surrounding a building.
“That’s the Cleric guildhouse. And up there,” pointing up a dark alley, “is the Shadow knights guild. They passed through the Cuisine Excelsior, picking up a bottle of blood wine on the way through before he led her into a small building. In the first room was a forge, cold at the moment, but she sensed a magic in it.
“This way.” And he disappeared down a small side room. She followed, and found herself in what appeared to be a tiny chapel. There were only 4 pews, and one tiny stand at the front. There was no decoration apart from the patterned cloth banner on the stand. He sat down on the front pew, crossed legged and watched her look around before he spoke again.
“This is where I come when I want to be alone. No one really uses this chapel.”
“I thought you said you were not a follower of Innoruuk?”
“I’m not. I am agnostic, and I sit here often debating to myself the existence of such beings as Gods.”
Jetamio perched herself on the end of the opposite pew, adjusting her robe so that her leathers didn’t show through the slit up the front. Edaemus chuckled.
“I’m not going to hurt you. You can sit with me.” She made no move at first, only gazed at him, as she thought.
“Why did you want me to come here? If I am caught, we will both be in a lot of trouble, me especially. You risk a lot.”
“As do you.”
“True… But the truth is I am curious. A long time ago we were one race, one people. I have often wondered if we are so different really.”
Edaemus shrugged. “As you have seen, we can change our appearance.” He stood up and moved to her side, turning her to face him and sat down. “It’s what’s in here,” pointing to her heart, “that makes us different. You said you are the chosen of Tunare. She bathes you in her love and her light and in turn you revere her. You know love.” He rolls his eyes slightly talking about the Goddess. “We too, can love. Just not the way you know it.” He was sitting quite close to her by now.
“What way is that?” she whispered, captivated by him. He did not answer, instead he leaned over and kissed her…

Her visits to Neriak continued, and within a few months she was fluent in Tier’Dal. She learned to move and act in a way that allowed her free entry in and out of the underground city without attracting undue attention. She still rarely spoke to any other than Edaemus, but if she was spoken to she could answer easily. He kept her supplied with a wardrobe of robes, and had even had a leather outfit made for her, cut in the Tier’Dal style. While it was not unheard of, it was not commonly worn, so she mostly stuck to the robes. Lately though, he seemed to have been getting her tighter ones, until she noticed her own leathers were getting a bit tight.
As normal, she made her way to the tiny chapel, and found him waiting as normal. He stood and came to her, gathering her in his arms and kissing her lightly. After a moment she pulled away and looked up into his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing her worried face.
“We have a small problem…and its going to get bigger.”
“What do you mean?”
She lay a hand on her stomach. “I am with child.”
He said nothing. Only looked at her silently for a moment before saying “Get out”
Surprise flickered across her face. “What?”
“You heard me, get out!”
“But…”
“Leave now before I have the guards remove you!”
“You wouldn’t…”
“GET OUT!”
She watched him for a moment, astonished, then fled the chapel in tears.

She did not return for six months, and didn’t hear a word from him. Avoiding her family’s suspicious glances, she left Kelethin before it became too obvious she was pregnant. She stayed within the Plane of Knowledge during that time, a huge bustling city where she would not be found so easily.
But now she stood near the gates of Neriak again, once more in her Tier’Dal form, and a wriggling bundle in her arms. Ignoring the guards she strode straight in as she had done so many times. She made her way to the tiny chapel, half expecting to find him there awaiting her. But he was not. Jetamio laid the bundle on the front pew, and gazed upon her son one last time. Apart from having her golden eyes, he was the spit of his father. His skin was dark enough that he didn’t appear to be of mixed blood as yet. She wondered if it was due to her being Tier’Dal at the time, but decided she would ponder that later. She took two pieces of paper from a pocket, one just a slip of paper saying ‘I am Jetam’ on it, which she tucked into a fold of the infants wrapping. The other was an envelope, addressed to Edaemus. In side was a letter reading;

Your son.
And signed with her name. This she just left on the pew next to the now sleeping Jetam.
And with that, she cast a gate spell and disappeared.

She never went back to live in Kelethin. At forty eight she was married to a Dwarven Warrior from her guild, and while not of nobility, he was a man of influence. Her mother had instigated it, telling the dwarf that Jetamio was really blonde haired. Upon meeting her, he of course found this not to be true, but he still fell for her and asked for her hand in marriage. Jetamio was indifferent to him at first, but his interest in her propelled her into the spotlight and suddenly her guild began to notice her. She became better known by her own name rather than as just the daughter of Neja. So she relented and married him.
She was by this time old enough to go along on guild expeditions. They were surprised by the young druids determination to prove herself, and as a result she found herself sought after more and more. She spent weeks hunting the Umbral plains for a set of armour she had heard about and wore it proudly once she got the whole set.
She arrived home one day to find news that her husband had been declared missing. She met the news with almost complete indifference, the dwarf having been missing since a month after their wedding.

A few years later, much to her surprise, Snotgrob promoted her to Officer, making her the youngest in the guilds history to earn the rank. She took her duties seriously, and earned not only respect from her guild, but grew to be loved by many. But not so much as by Yavi, her childhood friend whom she married on the shores of the lake of Ill Omen under a clear sky, with Snotgrob performing the ceremony. But the very next day, her first husband suddenly appeared, to the astonishment of everyone, not least by Jetamio. Red faced, she had to explain that she had remarried the day before. He left in disgust and was never seen again.
The setting of her wedding to Yavi did indeed have bad Omen. Just after the birth of their daughter Ankari, he was found dead. Heartbroken, Jetamio withdrew into herself, taking company only with a strange little group of friends. Madhat, a quirky gnome Shadow Knight, Bampot, a Tier’Dal preist, and his sister Tajer, an enchanter and the one to whom Jetamio quickly formed a bond with. Often accompanying them was another gnome, a mage called Zasbus, and the Iksar shaman Staart, with whom she also became strong friends with. The travelled the dragon lands together, helping the Dark Reign carry out their tasks. Staart did not always travel with them, as he was more interested in Alchemy. So Jetamio would bring him back ingredients and he would split his profits with her. They both became incredibly wealthy when Staart found a way to infuse certain stones he found in Discord with foci.
Jetamio spent much time with Tajer, who with her illusions could alter Jetamio’s appearance on a whim. The druid found herself in Neriak again one night, accompanying Tajer to an event. Standing by the buffet sipping wine, a tall Tier’Dal came up and greeted Tajer, embracing her like a long lost family member. The enchanter smiled, and introduced him.
“Jetamio, this is Jetam, the son of a fellow enchanter” Jetam looked from Tajer to Jetamio, and froze, as did Jetamio. The druid had no doubt in her mind who this man was, his liquid gold eyes gave him away before Tajer had even said his name. He was the spit of her former lover, and memories long buried rushed to the fore. She looked upon her son for the first time since she left him there as a newborn. He too instinctively knew who this strange woman was, and struggled with the desire to embrace her or kill her.
“He is a cleric and quite a gifted one too, good with his hammer” the enchanter grinned at him before seeing the look on both of their faces. “Is something wrong?”
“I…I need to go and er…speak to someone.” Jetamio stammered, and quickly left. Tajer looked to Jetam, who was watching the departing woman with a dark look.
“What was all that about?”
“She is my mother.” He said darkly before turning heel and leaving in the opposite direction, leaving Tajer standing alone to work it out.

((rest later, tis past 5am lol))

Faelian sat and listened, rapt, clutching the glass Paladin figurine that Willowen had created for her to her chest. She hadn't been sure what to make of Jetamio at first, she seemed so different than Faelian, but the young Koada'Dal had warmed to the Drakkin a great deal. She had great respect for her, but she had no idea that Jetamio's history went back so far. It was so hard to tell elves' ages anyway... and Faelian was less adept at it than many. Grown children? Husbands? It was all so difficult for Faelian to comprehend.

She had been very surprised the evening before, when Jetamio had told her that her own given surname had also been "Fairwind" -- just as Faelian's. It wasn't unheard of, Faelian supposed, but it was unusual. Perhaps it bore looking into.

She shifted her position on the floor in front of the fireplace, tucking a long strand of pale red hair behind one ear. She had had so much to think about these past few weeks... For one, she owed Willowen a debt of gratitude for helping her refocus on the path Tunare had set her on. She had made new friends -- Sanjah felt like a sister to her, and she held a great deal of respect for Jet. She had even met the most peculiar, but endearing clockwork creature named Meldrathia. She still felt out of her league -- lost all the time, armor falling off of her small-statured frame, rats sending her running for her very life. Big, mean rats, but still...

She ran a perfectly manicured finger over the smooth glass of the figure she held, and dreamed of the day when she would be so powerful. She and Jetamio had talked of power last night, but Faelian didn't really want power in the most regular sense of the word. She wasn't worried about everyone loving her, or everyone bowing down to her... she simply wanted to make a difference, even if no one ever remembered her name. She wanted to be a part of something bigger than herself.

Jetamio seemed to be getting sleepy... Faelian stood up, leaning over to give Jet a quick hug, and said with a smile, "I'm looking forward to hearing the rest of your story, Jetamio." She curled up in a nearby chair and was soon fast asleep herself, the firelight dancing in her hair.

To her surprise, Jetam had come to join her guild. He did not speak to her, nor his half sister Ankari, but he pulled his weight and served well. He seemed to have no desire to have anything to do with her, so she let him be, so long as he caused no trouble.
The years seemed to fly by, and soon Ankari was grown up and following the Warriors path. Jetamio, now free to persue her own interests again, began spending time with Tolthar, helping to diminish the Plane of Nightmares nightstalker population. Jetamio had not known the touch of a man since Yavi's death, and found herself drawn to the charasmatic, yet sometimes shy bard. One day, she proposed to him, and was glad when the stunned bard said yes.
By this time, both were high ranked, second only to Snotgrob himself, and the wedding was a big affair. Jet and Tolthar took great pains to make the event enjoyable for all, and ran games with prizes, including the main even which was find the bride. Jetamio hid in Lake Rathe, and giving clues, the others had to find her before the wedding could take place. Luckily, they did not take long.
Despite the size of the guild, they were not far advanced through the planes and such, not really into raiding. Jet’s restless nature wanted to see the whole world, and so she joined an out of guild kind of alliance called the Nightcrawlers. Life was good, she could raid, yet also keep her responsibilities within her own guild. But life can be too good.
Jetamio had gone away for a couple weeks on a personal errand. When she returned she found her guild scattered across the lands, disbanded by an impostor of Snotgrob. Tracking down real Snotgrob, she found him at the end of his tether. For a week they rebuilt the guild before he decided to leave. Begging at his feet in Great Divide was Jetamio. She could not imagine the guild without him, and she loved him like a brother. But he placed his mantle on her and slipped off into the now raging blizzard, never to be seen again.
She tried to be strong, to continue being the untouchable Mad Red Druid who let nothing stop her. But loosing Snotgrob had taken something out of her, and one enchanter took advantage of the druids downhearted mood. Deserttears told her she was not right to be Leader, too arrogant, uncaring of anyone else. Jetamio tried to ignore her, not one person in all her life had said such things about her til now. She had never asked for the love of her guild, for the status she had. She had never abused her power, and she had never so much as spoken down to another. But despite the enchanter slurring her name publicly, few came to her aid. Jetamio was strong, she wouldn’t let one person get to her…would she? After only three weeks as Leader, what remained of Jetamio’s resolve broke. She awoke before sunrise and looked down at her sleeping husband, his silver hair spread out on the pillow. On the table next to him, she put the mantle. She dressed in her red dyed leathers, a similar shade to her own hair, and picked up her epic Staff. She stood in the room in the predawn light, well dressed but devoid of all markings of rank. All her wealth, her status, rank, now to her it meant nothing. With one last look at Tolthar, she whispered a word and disappeared into the wind with a relieved sigh.

((to be continued...))

Two solid days of tracking down Mata Muram's minor luitennants for the signets had been in vain. Seven she had collected and taken to Taromani in Riftseekers in return for the ability to survive the chaotic magics in the Overlords Citadel of Anguish. And still, the guild said no, she was not good enough, looking down on her like some common merchant because she was from a low tier guild.
A month had passed by this time, most spent roaming around looking for wherever her path led next. She had bumped into an old aquaintance who had suggested joining them. Despite objections from him aswell, the guild still refused her and she carried on her way.
Unknown to her, a paladin named Imrahil had noticed her plight. He was the leader of Drachentaenzer, which translated as Dragon Dancers ((It was a German guild hehe)) He offered to show her the Citadel, and though surprised, she accepted. Her eyes were opened to a world of monsterous beasts with a lust for death and power, and she was determined to snuff them out. Satisfied with her performance, he invited her to join his House, knowing her potential.
But this did not last long. Even before her arrival there were cracks in the structure, and a mere five weeks later the guild disbanded.
Refreshed from her adventures she decided to try again with her birth guild. She went back to them, though as a commoner, she did not return to her previous rank. Even so, a pink armoured Barbarian warrior taunted her mercilessly. She grew to hate him with a passion. He was a very powerful warrior, way more advanced than any other warrior in the guild. In her eyes he didn't belong in such a guild but she said nothing. She did her best to ignore him, but she grew restless too. The visions of more beings like those in the Citadel haunted her. They needed smited from this world. She was floating around doing nothing, no purpose, no goal. Eventually she decided she would join a new army and go with them to snub the evil of the world out.
So she enrolled to D'Pikeys, just as they began to focus their attentions on the distant Dreadspire Keep, new home of Mayong Mistmoore.

Jetamio slipped back into the adventurer's lifestyle with ease, it seeming to suit her growing nomadic tendencies. Centuries of responsibilities had suppressed her naturally restless spirit, the constant drive to seek out new places as though someone else guided her hand. But now free of such, she had only herself to look out for in between battles. Her energies and power became more focused, channelled easier to her will.

The Demi Plane of Blood would not allow them through the barrier. They would have to find out how to get in. They tracked down some of the twisted guardians of that baleful realm and destroyed them. Unknown to the adventurers, each death strengthend a curse upon their blood. A curse that drove them onwards, promising great power, as powerful as the Gods.
Jetamio was a naturally fearless person normally, her one dislike being spiders. It was not that she was afraid of them as such, she just didn't like them. One of the guardians was a huge drachnid Queen named Sendaii. If Jet didn't like spiders before, she hated them with a vengeance after a week long battle with the Queen and her minions. Ever since, Jet killed any spiders in her path, for who knows which one could become the next Sendaii?
Sendaii, Bloodeye, Shyra, the Council of the Nine and the Lich Emporer all fell to them, and their cursed blood finally allowed them entry into the twisted realm of Mayong Mistmoore. The realm was a replica of Dreadspire Keep, but for the sanguine sky and hostile creatures.
Slowly they made their way through, releasing the tortured spirits from Mayongs grip until they faced the Father of all vampires himself.
It was rumoured that he had once been Tier'Dal, and to look upon him one could see the elven influence in his features. His skin, if it had ever been the beautiful twilight blue of the Tier'Dal, was now a dusty pale shade of some nondescript colour. His balck and gold armour shone in the sickening light. Even Jetamio shivered at the sight of him, such deadly magnificance.
But even he, after a long battle, fell to their forces. They approached his still body cautiously, and jumped back when a booming voice sounded around them. Their devotion to slaying him, the sweat and blood they had spilled to rid Norrath of him, he had twisted into a reverance of him. His earthly form was defeated, but they had unwittingly allowed him to enter the Pantheon of the Gods, to wreak his havok there.

Jetamio did not let it have her downhearted for long. She met a Koada'Dal around her age called Melisa and they became fast friends. They often hunted together in their spare time, along with Ankari and sometimes even Jetam, and Melisa's charge, Lanya. The loyal Druid at first resisted Melisa's invitations to join her House, but after a heated arguement with a so called friend of her own House, Jetamio finally relented and joined Darkwind in a move that would propell her to the frontline against the now demi-God Mayong...