Post by Zola Rhomdaen on May 11, 2023 16:53:04 GMT
There were signs that they were heading down the wrong path. The way Oriniax unconsciously winced every time Queen Titania’s name was uttered in her presence. The fact that Oriniax is Drusilia’s adopted daughter — the red hag who’d been seen wearing a symbol of antagonism to the Dawnlands — and whom Drusilia was trying to free.
Zola should’ve seen it coming. But when she saw the stubborn resolve in Oziah’s cobalt-blue eyes, her willingness to move heaven and earth to help a maiden escape her cage, Zola felt that she too had a responsibility to see this through.
Leona Autumn, the great mixologist of Daring Heights, crafted a potion that could restore Oriniax’s lost memories; the final ingredient she needed was a branch of feylac, generously gifted to them by the Court of Harmony. She scooped some of the liquid in the bubbling cauldron into a cup, which she gave to Oriniax. As Oriniax drank from the cup, the liquid in the cauldron slowly drained, like she was somehow drinking from there too.
When she finished the potion, she dropped the cup, the mist suddenly gone from her eyes, and she gasped.
“I remember. I remember everything. A battle. Riding across the lands. Two other sides coming towards us. His war cry. The horn. The thrill. I remember him falling. I remember crying out to him. I remember darkness and then a severance. I remember Drusilia. She was there by our side…”
Wait, what?
Then Oriniax’s willowy elven body began to glow brighter and brighter with blinding silver light. She has many forms, Zola realised, as she saw for one moment a massive stag with pure white fur, crystalised horns, and a multitude of spectral legs. She’s a Ceryneian hind — a fey deer spirit.
Finally, Oriniax settled on one form: a slender, long-legged deer with a bushy, vulpine tail and antlers shaped like flowering buds, still so large that she took up most of the space within the Fiore Popolare. She looked down at Oziah.
“I thank you for your assistance in making sure that bitch Queen’s severance went away. I was just impatient. I take so much after him. But to you, Oziah Daybreaker. My gratitude knows no bounds.”
The look in Oziah’s eyes turned cold as steel. “Well. Now we know. And now we can kill you without feeling guilty about it.”
The hind threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, you thought it was Drusilia who was hurting me, keeping me trapped. You have no idea what’s coming for you.”
Oriniax crouched her massive body down, and Leona screamed, shielding her head with her hands — but there was a flash of light, and the hind was gone.
“Leona!” Zola cried out. “What did she say about a horn? The Horn of Corellon?”
Leona stared at her with the panic of someone who had figured out what was happening. “What?! There is no ‘Horn of Corellon’! There is only the Horn of the Wild Hunt!”
Oh.
She really should’ve seen that coming.
Over castle and lofty house,
Falcon, raven, birds of evil,
Unknown fowl from Night primaeval,
Fat, enormous flittermouse…
It’s fitting that the coming of the Wild Hunt should be heralded by a white deer. Zola can recall many legends from across the Feywild surrounding that mystical beast — wise folk have often said that the slaying of one is a bad omen.
Over forests, fields, and ditches,
Clustering pallid flare on flare,
Wolves with hundred feet, and witches
Sailed the river of the air.
She has brought this bad omen to the Dawnlands. She doesn’t quite understand what this grand anti-adventurer conspiracy everyone has been going on about, but one thing she does know is that she had, though unwittingly, given Drusilia the tools to wreak havoc in the Dawnlands.
The hunters’ shouts, the thunders’ crash,
Roared high in the lust of slaughter,
Through horses’ whinnies, the snap of the lash,
Above the livid water.
She has to fix this before the hunt begins.
Excerpts from “The Wild Hunt” by Carsten Hauch.
Zola should’ve seen it coming. But when she saw the stubborn resolve in Oziah’s cobalt-blue eyes, her willingness to move heaven and earth to help a maiden escape her cage, Zola felt that she too had a responsibility to see this through.
Leona Autumn, the great mixologist of Daring Heights, crafted a potion that could restore Oriniax’s lost memories; the final ingredient she needed was a branch of feylac, generously gifted to them by the Court of Harmony. She scooped some of the liquid in the bubbling cauldron into a cup, which she gave to Oriniax. As Oriniax drank from the cup, the liquid in the cauldron slowly drained, like she was somehow drinking from there too.
When she finished the potion, she dropped the cup, the mist suddenly gone from her eyes, and she gasped.
“I remember. I remember everything. A battle. Riding across the lands. Two other sides coming towards us. His war cry. The horn. The thrill. I remember him falling. I remember crying out to him. I remember darkness and then a severance. I remember Drusilia. She was there by our side…”
Wait, what?
Then Oriniax’s willowy elven body began to glow brighter and brighter with blinding silver light. She has many forms, Zola realised, as she saw for one moment a massive stag with pure white fur, crystalised horns, and a multitude of spectral legs. She’s a Ceryneian hind — a fey deer spirit.
Finally, Oriniax settled on one form: a slender, long-legged deer with a bushy, vulpine tail and antlers shaped like flowering buds, still so large that she took up most of the space within the Fiore Popolare. She looked down at Oziah.
“I thank you for your assistance in making sure that bitch Queen’s severance went away. I was just impatient. I take so much after him. But to you, Oziah Daybreaker. My gratitude knows no bounds.”
The look in Oziah’s eyes turned cold as steel. “Well. Now we know. And now we can kill you without feeling guilty about it.”
The hind threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, you thought it was Drusilia who was hurting me, keeping me trapped. You have no idea what’s coming for you.”
Oriniax crouched her massive body down, and Leona screamed, shielding her head with her hands — but there was a flash of light, and the hind was gone.
“Leona!” Zola cried out. “What did she say about a horn? The Horn of Corellon?”
Leona stared at her with the panic of someone who had figured out what was happening. “What?! There is no ‘Horn of Corellon’! There is only the Horn of the Wild Hunt!”
Oh.
She really should’ve seen that coming.
Over castle and lofty house,
Falcon, raven, birds of evil,
Unknown fowl from Night primaeval,
Fat, enormous flittermouse…
It’s fitting that the coming of the Wild Hunt should be heralded by a white deer. Zola can recall many legends from across the Feywild surrounding that mystical beast — wise folk have often said that the slaying of one is a bad omen.
Over forests, fields, and ditches,
Clustering pallid flare on flare,
Wolves with hundred feet, and witches
Sailed the river of the air.
She has brought this bad omen to the Dawnlands. She doesn’t quite understand what this grand anti-adventurer conspiracy everyone has been going on about, but one thing she does know is that she had, though unwittingly, given Drusilia the tools to wreak havoc in the Dawnlands.
The hunters’ shouts, the thunders’ crash,
Roared high in the lust of slaughter,
Through horses’ whinnies, the snap of the lash,
Above the livid water.
She has to fix this before the hunt begins.
Excerpts from “The Wild Hunt” by Carsten Hauch.
