Playing with Fire – Orianna Èirigh – 9.11.2022
Nov 16, 2022 21:26:15 GMT
Velania Kalugina, Derthaad, and 2 more like this
Post by Orianna Èirigh on Nov 16, 2022 21:26:15 GMT
OBSERVATIONS & EXCERPTS from the JOURNAL of SECOND ASSISTANT ARCHIVIST ORIANNA ÈIRIGH of ASHKHA
It was a pleasant surprise to see First Cleric Cornelius and First Priest Tyraxes waiting for us at Portal Plaza. I had not realised how accustomed I had gotten to seeing the two only in the desert metropolis that to see them here felt very surreal.
Our gathering was to potentially deal with the first and biggest hurdle if anyone was to have any hope at stopping Desathrax’s ascension, and that is to remove the horde of undead from the playing field.
It sounds so simple when put into such simple words but I knew it would not be so. I had been thinking and divining every day until I got word that the United Dragons — the name of the unity and cooperation between the two Temples, which has a lovely ring to it — were ready for the next step. Of course, it would not have been possible had the call to the Many Mawed and the Platinum Lord not worked, and thank the Cosmos it did. Nothing I knew in all the hastily researched topics I tried to read up on gave any clue as to how we could try to contain or control such a massive number of undead.
But they did find a way.
Both Temples had what they called Dragon Shards, vessels containing each of their god’s powers. For the past seven days both the Temple of Tiamat and Bahamut had all of their remaining members pouring their divine power into these metallic shards. We knew that Desathrax and their followers are attracted to their divine power specifically. Like moths to a flame, the High Priestess and the High Prelate were going to light a beacon that would draw them in. They would then rely on us — well, possibly mostly on me — to know when the best moment would be to activate this divine trap.
Writing about this brings back the nervousness, the anxiety, of what if I miss remembered? What if we missed some of them? What if Steppenwolf got away, somehow? He is more of the immediate threat compared to Desathrax as the nearly-god has not, or cannot, leave the cave we came to just yet.
Worrying about it now when it is too late is pointless, I know. But I cannot help but doubt. After so many setbacks, after pointed defeats that have seen Desathrax winning, the voice of doubt cannot help but be loud and hard to ignore. I tried… I tried to wait for the right moment. We were told that once the Shards were activated there would be no stopping it, that we would be safely deposited outside of the one mile barrier as living things would be protected. It would only trap the undead.
Except it didn’t. High Priestess Méridianna and High Prelate Loran are trapped inside, suspended in time with all those undead until Desathrax is defeated…
Orianna walks in a daze, uncertain how much of the exhaustion spreading through her is from the adrenaline finally and fully leaving her system or from her Starry Form. Of the three Forms, the Cosmic Dragon was the one she used the least for how much her inner starlight burned, like it was trying to consume her very being. Even thinking about it sends a ripple of light across the crystalline scales on her chest that none but she notices, and a new wave of exhaustion drags at her cloven feet.
Lucky walks close beside her. She is so glad he was alive. He went too far into the fray and there was a moment near the end when she feared he would get overtaken by the undead masses. But even now his presence reassures her even as she wishes she could reassure him. Orianna glances at the others. Itzal had also been hurt badly. After being thrown from the centre of the time dilation dome, she had done what she could to heal the injuries of her friends and their allies, but it wasn’t enough for some of the clerics and paladins from the two draconic temples. She winces as her head throbs, the exhaustion mixing with dehydration. Pulling her waterskin from her bag, she drinks deeply, once again wishing she could have done more.
‘But if wishes were fishes, the desert would smell rotten.’ Where did such a saying come from? she mused to herself. Seems like a nonsensical saying… And here I am thinking about it. I really must be sun-touched and worn out.
Derthaad says something and Orianna looks up. To her surprise and confusion she sees an elderly human looking man walking over the dunes towards them. She rubs her eyes, thinking she must have passed out and she was now dreaming. But then the tiefling notices the others also looking at the man, confused.
They have also, somehow, fallen behind the clerics and paladins for they are nowhere in sight.
“Ah, fellow travellers,” the man says, a warm smile spreading across his face. “I know it might be strang, someone walking through the desert with nothing but the rags on his back. But do any of you have any gold to spare? Something to help me when I reach the nearest town?”
There’s a moment where no one moves, the shared bewilderment making them all hesitate.
It is Lucky who breaks the spell first. “Of course, here.” He reaches a paw into a pouch on his belt, steps forward, and places a fist full of gold coins into the man’s hand. “I’ve been told I do not know what the value of one single night is but that should be ample funds for you, sir.”
“You do have lavish taste, Lucky,” Orianna murmurs, half playfully. Then she steps forward to the man. “Here, take my waterskin. I understand how precious water can be in the desert.”
The elderly man smiles at her as he takes the proffered waterskin.
“Such generosity,” the man says, nodding his thanks. He looks at them all, thinking and studying them at the same time. “These gifts are great and I would not take them for free. I have been known to have the gift of Sight, to divine things that may yet come to pass. If you would allow me to read your palms I could share with you what I see.”
Orianna is instantly intrigued, but hesitates, unsure if she should be eager for more prophecies or visions. But once again, it is Lucky who steps forward, something on his face that makes Orianna think again about who this mysterious stranger could be, though she has no idea or hint of familiarity to them.
“A noble and brave soul. You have a heart of steel,” the old man says, holding Lucky’s paw in two wrinkled and well worn hands. The words seem to have a strong effect on the tabaxi, which makes Orianna concerned about what they could mean. But the man is not done speaking.
“You are searching for something… Where water meets stone, lost things can be found.”
Lucky’s eyes widened. Then he slowly takes his paw back, giving a wordless nod of thanks as he steps back and away from the man.
Glint and Itzal are next, each being told their own mysterious fortunes. Orianna watches the stranger, curious to know how he divines, but doesn’t see him cast any magic. Yet there is something about him that just feels very-
“Ah… You are a daughter of the desert.” He glances up at her. “A daughter of Stellarum Tenebris.” He looks back down as a finger lightly traces the line that runs across her palm. “You are also looking for something… someone, lost.” He goes still, then straightens up, looking her dead in the eyes. “When the stars fall, look to the Night’s Eye to find them.”
Orianna forgets how to speak, how to even breathe. She knows with certainty she’s just been told something- no, two somethings of great importance. Clues to finding her fathers. But is now really the time for her to be thinking of herself and her own wants when Desathrax is still a threat to the Dawnlands?
The elderly man has turned towards Derthaad. He barely holds the dragonborn’s hand for ten seconds before he lets go.
“You’re walking in Her path. You’ve done something to please the Mother. Be careful.” His brow seems to darken just a little as he fixes Derthaad with a look. “The promises made to Her are dangerous.”
The blue dragonborn says nothing, doesn’t even nod, merely frowns, lost in his own thoughts.
“It is best I get going,” the man says. He inclines his head and turns away from them, walking back into the desert from whence he came.
It takes them all a moment, each of them slowly turning around to continue on their way to Kundar, their thoughts, concerns, revelations, and possible answers swirling like dust devils across the planes of their minds. Then one of them — possibly Derthaad or maybe even Lucky — goes to turn around, about to call out to the man when seven golden canary’s suddenly fly by them in a whirl of wind and feathers. Their sudden appearance dazes them all even as their twittering, trilling birdsong dances through the air. Then the unmistakable sound of great mighty dragon wings beating through the air makes them all turn around. But the man is gone, and so are the canaries.
It was a pleasant surprise to see First Cleric Cornelius and First Priest Tyraxes waiting for us at Portal Plaza. I had not realised how accustomed I had gotten to seeing the two only in the desert metropolis that to see them here felt very surreal.
Our gathering was to potentially deal with the first and biggest hurdle if anyone was to have any hope at stopping Desathrax’s ascension, and that is to remove the horde of undead from the playing field.
It sounds so simple when put into such simple words but I knew it would not be so. I had been thinking and divining every day until I got word that the United Dragons — the name of the unity and cooperation between the two Temples, which has a lovely ring to it — were ready for the next step. Of course, it would not have been possible had the call to the Many Mawed and the Platinum Lord not worked, and thank the Cosmos it did. Nothing I knew in all the hastily researched topics I tried to read up on gave any clue as to how we could try to contain or control such a massive number of undead.
But they did find a way.
Both Temples had what they called Dragon Shards, vessels containing each of their god’s powers. For the past seven days both the Temple of Tiamat and Bahamut had all of their remaining members pouring their divine power into these metallic shards. We knew that Desathrax and their followers are attracted to their divine power specifically. Like moths to a flame, the High Priestess and the High Prelate were going to light a beacon that would draw them in. They would then rely on us — well, possibly mostly on me — to know when the best moment would be to activate this divine trap.
Writing about this brings back the nervousness, the anxiety, of what if I miss remembered? What if we missed some of them? What if Steppenwolf got away, somehow? He is more of the immediate threat compared to Desathrax as the nearly-god has not, or cannot, leave the cave we came to just yet.
Worrying about it now when it is too late is pointless, I know. But I cannot help but doubt. After so many setbacks, after pointed defeats that have seen Desathrax winning, the voice of doubt cannot help but be loud and hard to ignore. I tried… I tried to wait for the right moment. We were told that once the Shards were activated there would be no stopping it, that we would be safely deposited outside of the one mile barrier as living things would be protected. It would only trap the undead.
Except it didn’t. High Priestess Méridianna and High Prelate Loran are trapped inside, suspended in time with all those undead until Desathrax is defeated…
Orianna walks in a daze, uncertain how much of the exhaustion spreading through her is from the adrenaline finally and fully leaving her system or from her Starry Form. Of the three Forms, the Cosmic Dragon was the one she used the least for how much her inner starlight burned, like it was trying to consume her very being. Even thinking about it sends a ripple of light across the crystalline scales on her chest that none but she notices, and a new wave of exhaustion drags at her cloven feet.
Lucky walks close beside her. She is so glad he was alive. He went too far into the fray and there was a moment near the end when she feared he would get overtaken by the undead masses. But even now his presence reassures her even as she wishes she could reassure him. Orianna glances at the others. Itzal had also been hurt badly. After being thrown from the centre of the time dilation dome, she had done what she could to heal the injuries of her friends and their allies, but it wasn’t enough for some of the clerics and paladins from the two draconic temples. She winces as her head throbs, the exhaustion mixing with dehydration. Pulling her waterskin from her bag, she drinks deeply, once again wishing she could have done more.
‘But if wishes were fishes, the desert would smell rotten.’ Where did such a saying come from? she mused to herself. Seems like a nonsensical saying… And here I am thinking about it. I really must be sun-touched and worn out.
Derthaad says something and Orianna looks up. To her surprise and confusion she sees an elderly human looking man walking over the dunes towards them. She rubs her eyes, thinking she must have passed out and she was now dreaming. But then the tiefling notices the others also looking at the man, confused.
They have also, somehow, fallen behind the clerics and paladins for they are nowhere in sight.
“Ah, fellow travellers,” the man says, a warm smile spreading across his face. “I know it might be strang, someone walking through the desert with nothing but the rags on his back. But do any of you have any gold to spare? Something to help me when I reach the nearest town?”
There’s a moment where no one moves, the shared bewilderment making them all hesitate.
It is Lucky who breaks the spell first. “Of course, here.” He reaches a paw into a pouch on his belt, steps forward, and places a fist full of gold coins into the man’s hand. “I’ve been told I do not know what the value of one single night is but that should be ample funds for you, sir.”
“You do have lavish taste, Lucky,” Orianna murmurs, half playfully. Then she steps forward to the man. “Here, take my waterskin. I understand how precious water can be in the desert.”
The elderly man smiles at her as he takes the proffered waterskin.
“Such generosity,” the man says, nodding his thanks. He looks at them all, thinking and studying them at the same time. “These gifts are great and I would not take them for free. I have been known to have the gift of Sight, to divine things that may yet come to pass. If you would allow me to read your palms I could share with you what I see.”
Orianna is instantly intrigued, but hesitates, unsure if she should be eager for more prophecies or visions. But once again, it is Lucky who steps forward, something on his face that makes Orianna think again about who this mysterious stranger could be, though she has no idea or hint of familiarity to them.
“A noble and brave soul. You have a heart of steel,” the old man says, holding Lucky’s paw in two wrinkled and well worn hands. The words seem to have a strong effect on the tabaxi, which makes Orianna concerned about what they could mean. But the man is not done speaking.
“You are searching for something… Where water meets stone, lost things can be found.”
Lucky’s eyes widened. Then he slowly takes his paw back, giving a wordless nod of thanks as he steps back and away from the man.
Glint and Itzal are next, each being told their own mysterious fortunes. Orianna watches the stranger, curious to know how he divines, but doesn’t see him cast any magic. Yet there is something about him that just feels very-
“Ah… You are a daughter of the desert.” He glances up at her. “A daughter of Stellarum Tenebris.” He looks back down as a finger lightly traces the line that runs across her palm. “You are also looking for something… someone, lost.” He goes still, then straightens up, looking her dead in the eyes. “When the stars fall, look to the Night’s Eye to find them.”
Orianna forgets how to speak, how to even breathe. She knows with certainty she’s just been told something- no, two somethings of great importance. Clues to finding her fathers. But is now really the time for her to be thinking of herself and her own wants when Desathrax is still a threat to the Dawnlands?
The elderly man has turned towards Derthaad. He barely holds the dragonborn’s hand for ten seconds before he lets go.
“You’re walking in Her path. You’ve done something to please the Mother. Be careful.” His brow seems to darken just a little as he fixes Derthaad with a look. “The promises made to Her are dangerous.”
The blue dragonborn says nothing, doesn’t even nod, merely frowns, lost in his own thoughts.
“It is best I get going,” the man says. He inclines his head and turns away from them, walking back into the desert from whence he came.
It takes them all a moment, each of them slowly turning around to continue on their way to Kundar, their thoughts, concerns, revelations, and possible answers swirling like dust devils across the planes of their minds. Then one of them — possibly Derthaad or maybe even Lucky — goes to turn around, about to call out to the man when seven golden canary’s suddenly fly by them in a whirl of wind and feathers. Their sudden appearance dazes them all even as their twittering, trilling birdsong dances through the air. Then the unmistakable sound of great mighty dragon wings beating through the air makes them all turn around. But the man is gone, and so are the canaries.