Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Jan 8, 2022 13:23:29 GMT
One year of living on the surface world. One year of facing the dawn on each new day. One year of trial, before she could call herself a Sword Dancer of Eilistraee. It wasn’t much of a trial, Zola had to admit, for she had been gifted with eyes that could look upon the sun without harm, but none would begrudge her for this advantage. After all, it was a blessing borne out of love.
The Witching Court. Home. Nothing had changed and yet so much had changed. The Moonweaver was the Fey Ascendant now, ruler of all the Feywild, the Regent of Regents. Zola’s heart swelled three sizes larger at the news of her Queen’s good fortune. Ignore that she was late to the party — there was celebration to be had. Margotin must have been very proud, and no doubt her three hag mothers were pleased, and the same for dear Sarin.
But, stepping into the Mountain Palace, not all was right. Everyone was acting as if everything was right, but it could not be. Zola sensed it after a while — the stench of the Spider, She of the Demonweb Pits, left in traces in and around the palace like gossamer threads. Most worryingly, it was even in Sarin’s chapel. The stench made her muscles taut and tight, disrupted the rhythm of her inner song, and pulled her gaze over her shoulder from time to time. How awful. Despicable.
And how strange it was that the stench was strongest on Lady Imryll. The Queen’s deputy. Beautiful. Smart. Charming. Deadly if she wanted to be. Sarin liked to scold her for being rash but even she knew it would be unwise to provoke Lady Imryll, if this line of enquiry happened to be provocative. It was hard to tell. It would be wise to find answers on her own first.
But enough of that. Quickly onto other matters. There was another surprising thing. Queen Nicnevin owed her Ascendancy to a number of sellswords from the Material Plane, specifically “Dawnlanders”. Zola remembered visiting that patch of land now called the Dawnlands decades ago, through a fey crossing in that great forest. It was uninhabited then. Now it’s brimming with Faerûnian adventurers. Terribly exciting. So many new people to meet, new stories to hear.
The sunlight danced and scintillated in the crown of crystals on her head as she looked upon Fort Ettin. What new adventures awaited her here? Only fate (and Mother Lillian) could tell.
The pale light of the Dark Maiden would guide the way.
The Witching Court. Home. Nothing had changed and yet so much had changed. The Moonweaver was the Fey Ascendant now, ruler of all the Feywild, the Regent of Regents. Zola’s heart swelled three sizes larger at the news of her Queen’s good fortune. Ignore that she was late to the party — there was celebration to be had. Margotin must have been very proud, and no doubt her three hag mothers were pleased, and the same for dear Sarin.
But, stepping into the Mountain Palace, not all was right. Everyone was acting as if everything was right, but it could not be. Zola sensed it after a while — the stench of the Spider, She of the Demonweb Pits, left in traces in and around the palace like gossamer threads. Most worryingly, it was even in Sarin’s chapel. The stench made her muscles taut and tight, disrupted the rhythm of her inner song, and pulled her gaze over her shoulder from time to time. How awful. Despicable.
And how strange it was that the stench was strongest on Lady Imryll. The Queen’s deputy. Beautiful. Smart. Charming. Deadly if she wanted to be. Sarin liked to scold her for being rash but even she knew it would be unwise to provoke Lady Imryll, if this line of enquiry happened to be provocative. It was hard to tell. It would be wise to find answers on her own first.
But enough of that. Quickly onto other matters. There was another surprising thing. Queen Nicnevin owed her Ascendancy to a number of sellswords from the Material Plane, specifically “Dawnlanders”. Zola remembered visiting that patch of land now called the Dawnlands decades ago, through a fey crossing in that great forest. It was uninhabited then. Now it’s brimming with Faerûnian adventurers. Terribly exciting. So many new people to meet, new stories to hear.
The sunlight danced and scintillated in the crown of crystals on her head as she looked upon Fort Ettin. What new adventures awaited her here? Only fate (and Mother Lillian) could tell.
The pale light of the Dark Maiden would guide the way.