Post by Igrainne (RETIRED) on Jul 1, 2020 10:58:57 GMT
29th Mirtul 1497
The sweltering, oppressive heat of Avernus is wearing Igrainne down. It doesn’t help that she has to have her hood and a cloth mask drawn up to her face whenever fey warriors from the Summer Court are nearby, fearful that they might recognise her and drag her to the Feywild and in front of a furious Titania. She curses under her breath as she pulls down the mask to get the last drops of liquid in her waterskin into her parched mouth.
In the war camp, the celebratory mood brought upon earlier by the destruction of Raksus Highwatch and the Vanguard has died down, replaced with a sober and grim determination. K’ul Gorani, Dawnlander, and Glorious Company soldiers sit together in small clusters — eating their final rations or cleaning their gear, waiting for their next deployment in Hell. Some are speaking to one another in hushed tones, seeming...anxious. The half-drow could tell that there is but one thing on everyone’s minds: will the plan succeed, or will our sacrifice be in vain?
An aerotaur messenger runs up to her. General Cassius Razorback wants to speak with her and her companions. She gives him a tired nod, brushing the sand and dust off her trousers and making her way to the largest tent in the camp.
Razorback stands up to greet the Dawnlander adventurers. He is accompanied by Commander Cordelia Jadefist, the Errant Guard’s de facto leader Chloris Skysplitter, the eladrin captain Arvel Morningdew (much to Igrainne’s chagrin; even here she can’t catch a break), an air genasi siege engineer, and a red-haired dwarf wearing the intimidating insignia of the Order of the Crimson Fist.
The general reiterates their shared situation: the plan to disable the elemental gem in Zariel’s tower is still underway, and the armies of the Material Plane and the Feywild must engage the hosts of Avernus in combat in order to draw their attention away from the tower. Arvel Morningdew has a sneer on his face as he explains how stupid the plan is to the fey, but since they are under orders from Queen Titania, they will assist in any way they can. Under any other circumstance, Igrainne would have given him a piece of her mind.
“And if all fails, the Glorious Company will extract themselves from Avernus, taking the Lady Merla with us,” he adds, turning his gaze towards Sheryl. A shadow falls upon the halfling woman’s face. She takes a deep breath.
“Arvel,” she says grimly. “Ideally, if there is a way to get everyone out of here, then you must do it. Everyone who survives today deserves the chance to live another day.”
“Of course, my lady, but I can tell you from my centuries of experience in warfare that the ideal situation is one that rarely comes by.”
Razorback speaks up again, “We hold an advance position near a place called the Sundered Chains by the River Styx. Your duty is defend that position with our forces against the endless hordes of Hell for as long as you can, or until we receive confirmation that the infiltration of the tower has succeeded. The army of K’ul Goran will hold the centre line, Commander Jadefist’s Daring First will cover the left flank, and you will be on the right flank with the rest of the auxiliary forces. You will be supported from the backline by Chief Engineer Gale’s 'Tempest' pattern repeating ballistae.
“Prepare whatever you need to prepare. Make your way to the Sundered Chains when you are ready. This is it. We will protect our homelands from this infernal invasion, or we will die trying.”
The minotaur’s words are met with a few silent nods. Sheryl turns to the company with an encouraging look on her face.
“Guys, we’ve made it this far,” the halfling bard says. “We just need to push a little further.”
The name of the Sundered Chains turns out to be more literal than Igrainne had expected. Gargantuan, broken chains lie in heaps on either side of the field wherein the army has taken its position. They are almost unnerving to behold, though they prevent Zariel’s armies from surprising the expeditionary force from the flanks. Igrainne wonders what creature or thing they were once used to bound.
Sheryl mounts her winged unicorn and flies to the front of the line, masterfully delivering a rousing speech that could instill courage and heroism in even the most frightened soldier’s heart. Igrainne looks on at the display, clutching the limb of her new longbow, but she is barely able to register Sheryl’s words. Her mind is somewhere else. Somewhere far.
“Igrainne. Igrainne.”
The ranger snaps back to attention. BB is standing in front of her, pinning a sunflower with a sharpened stem to her piwafwi. “There. That way, if you’re near an enemy, I can animate it and it can attack immediately,” explains the firbolg mage.
Igrainne smiles a little at the memory of BB’s animated flowers overwhelming and killing a Vanguard berserker earlier in the day and nods absently. Then, her blue eyes light up. “Hey, BB, you were there with me during my first job in Kantas, weren’t you? In that village by the Angelbark, around this time last year.”
“Oh! You mean in Bloody Creek, with the, uh...the crimson dryad?”
“Yeah, and the sick children.”
“That was your first job in Kantas? It feels like such a long time ago,” BB muses. “My life has gotten crazy during the past two years since I arrived in Kantas. I’ve gone to so many weird places...and now we’re here.”
“And now we’re here,” echoes Igrainne.
“Hey, we’re gonna make it out of here like we always do — by pure luck and chaos. It seems luck and chaos are always on our side.”
“Yeah,” the half-drow replies with a hesitant laugh. “If we don’t make it out, though...I just want to say I’m glad I went on this journey with you.”
BB grins and pulls her into a warm hug (though she is also careful to not crush the smaller woman). She chuckles and embraces the blue-furred firbolg back. After a few moments, she lets go and says, “Thanks. I...need a moment to myself.”
The florist nods as Igrainne walks off to find a private spot somewhere in the soon-to-be battlefield. A handful of the fey warriors cast glances at her, and she lowers her hood further. She finds a large boulder that could shield her from the crowd and gets behind it.
Her mother taught her how to pray when she was a child. She recalls getting on her knees and clasping her hands together every night before bed or before a hunt in the forest, but she gradually lost the habit as she grew older. These days, whispering a plea for a blessing under her breath feels good enough. When she visited Menzoberranzan, she saw dark elves prostrating, chanting hymns loudly, and sometimes even beating their chests during rituals and ceremonies in temples.
Igrainne kneels and clasps her hands. She closes her eyes. Her mind, however, draws a blank. She ought to pray to Tyr, Torm, and Helm, the three gods of war, for victory and protection, right? That’s what surfacers do. Mother’s words echo faintly in her head: We live on the surface now. You should pray to their gods.
But it doesn’t feel right.
She opens her eyes and wedges her fingers under her leather cuirass, digging out a silver star amulet from under it. The holy symbol of Lolth that she got from the apostate priestess in Xarribia. That was the event that precipitated her journey into Avernus. She couldn’t sit and do nothing as devils threaten to rip apart the Underdark and slaughter the people of Xarribia and the Crystal Spire. She wants to defend the material plane and to avenge the wrong done to it. “Vharc” — the simple motto of House Vandree, “vengeance”.
Igrainne looks up at the horizon. A volcano in the distance is rumbling and spewing forth black smoke against the glowing crimson sky and an obsidian, rocky, floating structure, shaped almost like a crooked blade, is gliding through the smoke and coming this way. She knows exactly what she is here to do, and therefore whom she should pray to. Her fist clenches the amulet hard. The sharp points of the star pierce into her skin, drawing a little blood.
The Dread Queen of Spiders does not suffer pathetic pleas for help. However, she favours those who willingly brave dangers and undertake challenges in order to come out better for it. And thus the drow of the Underdark conclude their prayers with a particular mantra that reflects this nature, one that Igrainne mutters for the first time in her life:
"Erliya Lolthu."
Test me, Lolth.
The sweltering, oppressive heat of Avernus is wearing Igrainne down. It doesn’t help that she has to have her hood and a cloth mask drawn up to her face whenever fey warriors from the Summer Court are nearby, fearful that they might recognise her and drag her to the Feywild and in front of a furious Titania. She curses under her breath as she pulls down the mask to get the last drops of liquid in her waterskin into her parched mouth.
In the war camp, the celebratory mood brought upon earlier by the destruction of Raksus Highwatch and the Vanguard has died down, replaced with a sober and grim determination. K’ul Gorani, Dawnlander, and Glorious Company soldiers sit together in small clusters — eating their final rations or cleaning their gear, waiting for their next deployment in Hell. Some are speaking to one another in hushed tones, seeming...anxious. The half-drow could tell that there is but one thing on everyone’s minds: will the plan succeed, or will our sacrifice be in vain?
An aerotaur messenger runs up to her. General Cassius Razorback wants to speak with her and her companions. She gives him a tired nod, brushing the sand and dust off her trousers and making her way to the largest tent in the camp.
Razorback stands up to greet the Dawnlander adventurers. He is accompanied by Commander Cordelia Jadefist, the Errant Guard’s de facto leader Chloris Skysplitter, the eladrin captain Arvel Morningdew (much to Igrainne’s chagrin; even here she can’t catch a break), an air genasi siege engineer, and a red-haired dwarf wearing the intimidating insignia of the Order of the Crimson Fist.
The general reiterates their shared situation: the plan to disable the elemental gem in Zariel’s tower is still underway, and the armies of the Material Plane and the Feywild must engage the hosts of Avernus in combat in order to draw their attention away from the tower. Arvel Morningdew has a sneer on his face as he explains how stupid the plan is to the fey, but since they are under orders from Queen Titania, they will assist in any way they can. Under any other circumstance, Igrainne would have given him a piece of her mind.
“And if all fails, the Glorious Company will extract themselves from Avernus, taking the Lady Merla with us,” he adds, turning his gaze towards Sheryl. A shadow falls upon the halfling woman’s face. She takes a deep breath.
“Arvel,” she says grimly. “Ideally, if there is a way to get everyone out of here, then you must do it. Everyone who survives today deserves the chance to live another day.”
“Of course, my lady, but I can tell you from my centuries of experience in warfare that the ideal situation is one that rarely comes by.”
Razorback speaks up again, “We hold an advance position near a place called the Sundered Chains by the River Styx. Your duty is defend that position with our forces against the endless hordes of Hell for as long as you can, or until we receive confirmation that the infiltration of the tower has succeeded. The army of K’ul Goran will hold the centre line, Commander Jadefist’s Daring First will cover the left flank, and you will be on the right flank with the rest of the auxiliary forces. You will be supported from the backline by Chief Engineer Gale’s 'Tempest' pattern repeating ballistae.
“Prepare whatever you need to prepare. Make your way to the Sundered Chains when you are ready. This is it. We will protect our homelands from this infernal invasion, or we will die trying.”
The minotaur’s words are met with a few silent nods. Sheryl turns to the company with an encouraging look on her face.
“Guys, we’ve made it this far,” the halfling bard says. “We just need to push a little further.”
The name of the Sundered Chains turns out to be more literal than Igrainne had expected. Gargantuan, broken chains lie in heaps on either side of the field wherein the army has taken its position. They are almost unnerving to behold, though they prevent Zariel’s armies from surprising the expeditionary force from the flanks. Igrainne wonders what creature or thing they were once used to bound.
Sheryl mounts her winged unicorn and flies to the front of the line, masterfully delivering a rousing speech that could instill courage and heroism in even the most frightened soldier’s heart. Igrainne looks on at the display, clutching the limb of her new longbow, but she is barely able to register Sheryl’s words. Her mind is somewhere else. Somewhere far.
“Igrainne. Igrainne.”
The ranger snaps back to attention. BB is standing in front of her, pinning a sunflower with a sharpened stem to her piwafwi. “There. That way, if you’re near an enemy, I can animate it and it can attack immediately,” explains the firbolg mage.
Igrainne smiles a little at the memory of BB’s animated flowers overwhelming and killing a Vanguard berserker earlier in the day and nods absently. Then, her blue eyes light up. “Hey, BB, you were there with me during my first job in Kantas, weren’t you? In that village by the Angelbark, around this time last year.”
“Oh! You mean in Bloody Creek, with the, uh...the crimson dryad?”
“Yeah, and the sick children.”
“That was your first job in Kantas? It feels like such a long time ago,” BB muses. “My life has gotten crazy during the past two years since I arrived in Kantas. I’ve gone to so many weird places...and now we’re here.”
“And now we’re here,” echoes Igrainne.
“Hey, we’re gonna make it out of here like we always do — by pure luck and chaos. It seems luck and chaos are always on our side.”
“Yeah,” the half-drow replies with a hesitant laugh. “If we don’t make it out, though...I just want to say I’m glad I went on this journey with you.”
BB grins and pulls her into a warm hug (though she is also careful to not crush the smaller woman). She chuckles and embraces the blue-furred firbolg back. After a few moments, she lets go and says, “Thanks. I...need a moment to myself.”
The florist nods as Igrainne walks off to find a private spot somewhere in the soon-to-be battlefield. A handful of the fey warriors cast glances at her, and she lowers her hood further. She finds a large boulder that could shield her from the crowd and gets behind it.
Her mother taught her how to pray when she was a child. She recalls getting on her knees and clasping her hands together every night before bed or before a hunt in the forest, but she gradually lost the habit as she grew older. These days, whispering a plea for a blessing under her breath feels good enough. When she visited Menzoberranzan, she saw dark elves prostrating, chanting hymns loudly, and sometimes even beating their chests during rituals and ceremonies in temples.
Igrainne kneels and clasps her hands. She closes her eyes. Her mind, however, draws a blank. She ought to pray to Tyr, Torm, and Helm, the three gods of war, for victory and protection, right? That’s what surfacers do. Mother’s words echo faintly in her head: We live on the surface now. You should pray to their gods.
But it doesn’t feel right.
She opens her eyes and wedges her fingers under her leather cuirass, digging out a silver star amulet from under it. The holy symbol of Lolth that she got from the apostate priestess in Xarribia. That was the event that precipitated her journey into Avernus. She couldn’t sit and do nothing as devils threaten to rip apart the Underdark and slaughter the people of Xarribia and the Crystal Spire. She wants to defend the material plane and to avenge the wrong done to it. “Vharc” — the simple motto of House Vandree, “vengeance”.
Igrainne looks up at the horizon. A volcano in the distance is rumbling and spewing forth black smoke against the glowing crimson sky and an obsidian, rocky, floating structure, shaped almost like a crooked blade, is gliding through the smoke and coming this way. She knows exactly what she is here to do, and therefore whom she should pray to. Her fist clenches the amulet hard. The sharp points of the star pierce into her skin, drawing a little blood.
The Dread Queen of Spiders does not suffer pathetic pleas for help. However, she favours those who willingly brave dangers and undertake challenges in order to come out better for it. And thus the drow of the Underdark conclude their prayers with a particular mantra that reflects this nature, one that Igrainne mutters for the first time in her life:
"Erliya Lolthu."
Test me, Lolth.
