Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Aug 25, 2023 7:56:41 GMT
Zola trots briskly into the Moon and Web, her right hand clenched tightly into a fist. She doesn’t glance at the bartender calling out her name above the deafening din of the crowd. She misty steps herself to the huge curtain screen showing hag rugby and ducks behind it quickly, and the predictable hail of chicken bones are too late to catch her.
Her bare feet do not stop moving until she reaches the door with a white crescent moon painted on it.
Sarin is alone, sitting on a back pew and writing something on a sheet of parchment, when the door swings open. He looks up in surprise and his face brightens at the sight of Zola, but then he sees the expression on her face.
“Ah, Zola! I…wasn’t expecting you.”
“Sorry, Sarin, are you busy right now?”
“I can always make time for you,” he says, smiling warmly.
“Thanks.” She smiles back at him. But when he stands up and gestures for her to sit at the frontmost pews of the chapel, right before the large marble statue of Eilistraee, the smile drops from her face. Rooted to where she stands by the door, she says, “Er… I need to show you something.”
Sarin cocks his head at the apparent hesitation, looking concerned now. “Of course, my friend… Would you prefer we go elsewhere? Are you alright?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m alright. I, um… Here, look.”
Zola proffers her right hand and uncurls her fingers. Sitting on her palm is a silver amulet, depicting a slender, nude drow woman dancing against the backdrop of a looming full moon — a holy symbol of Eilistraee. There is a crevasse that rips across the coin, bifurcating the moon and cutting into the goddess’ form.
Sarin lets out a soft gasp. His hands move to take the amulet but stops short, and instead cups Zola’s hand in his. In a quiet, caring tone, he asks, “Zola… Tell me, please, what happened?”
Before she can reply, he lets out another gasp and gently guides Zola to the other door at the back of the chapel, through into what was once a tiny cupboard with cot folded up against the wall but has since been expanded into a small room, with the addition of a table and some chairs.
“Oh, you’ve converted your room…” Zola says. She steps in nervously, feeling like a child being called into the headmaster’s office, then immediately feeling silly about being nervous. This is Sarin — her oldest friend, the gentlest person she ever knew. What does she have to be worried about?
“Oh yes, Urk Surk was most kind in suggesting it be expanded but, if I’m honest, it feels a little odd to me still,” he says. “Come, abbil, sit… You are safe here.”
She sits down on the nearest chair and lays the holy symbol on the table. She twiddles with her thumbs as Sarin pours a mug of water for her. Her leg bounces up and down under the table.
Finally, the priest takes a seat. He gazes sadly at the amulet before going to pick it up. “May I?” he asks in a voice so soft it is almost a murmur.
Zola nods. He takes the holy symbol into his palm, feeling the cracks with his forefinger, as if looking for some hidden sign.
“The Dark Maiden is… She’s disappointed in me, Sarin,” Zola confesses. “For what I’ve done. She tried to reach me, trying to tell me to not do it. She said, ‘It takes courage to face past mistakes, but it takes even more courage to make different choices.’ But I did it anyway.”
Her voice drags Sarin’s eyes up to her, and his face takes on an incredulous expression. “The Dark Maiden said that to you? Zola… Whatever did you do?”
She takes a deep breath, gathering courage and resolve to look Sarin in the eye.
“I hunted the Wild Hunt. An innocent came to me for help. They were raiding a border village, Sarin, between the Summer Court and the Winter Court. We gave chase…and we caught their Ceryneian hind. I maimed her and then I let her go.”
“You… You hunted the Hunt?” He looks taken aback. “…Is that allowed?”
“I…I don’t know?”
What an odd question, she thinks. Maybe he should’ve been there to see it. Oziah unfurling her massive, raven wings, transfiguring into an icon of unholy terror. Glade summoning a stampede of mountain goats to run with them as they chased after the Wild Hunt, ramming down the black hounds and the sylphs and trampling over them. Kavel leaping great distances over the hunters’ heads as their arrows bounced off his stone-hard skin harmlessly. And by their side was Zola herself, riding atop a rearing Cor’Vandor with cloak billowing and Castor raised to the heavens, basking the forest in a pale glow of moonlight.
It was a glorious hunt. She has to suppress a smile remembering it all again.
“A…Are you ok? Were you hurt? And, and… Sorry, you maimed something?” Sarin says.
“I’m fine. Barely a scratch, really,” she assures him. “And yes, I injured the Lord of the Hunt’s mount. I’ve fought them before; a couple months ago they were terrorising the Dawnlands. I’d killed one of them, a satyr, who turned out to be…the father of the Master of Revelries in the Court of Harmony. He wasn’t happy about that, obviously. Now that’s a whole other can of worms…”
Sarin is struck into silence for a few moments.
“Zola, my friend, I’m sorry but I don’t understand. How does all of this lead to…to this?” He gestures back to the cracked holy symbol.
“I was hoping you would answer that for me.” The sword dancer leans in and puts a hand on his arm as she gazes desperately into his reddish-violet eyes. “Help me understand, abbil. Why does Eilistraee oppose me in this? I swore an oath to protect the Light. Am I not protecting the Light?”
“For such a strong reaction… I fear there may be more to this… I…personally don’t know much of the Hunt but I’ve heard things, stories, of course. Eilistraee teaches us peace and joy, song and dance. The Dark Maiden is a hunter, but I’ve never heard of her being tied to such a-an…entity like the Hunt before… Tell me, has she visited you or sent you any messages? How does Eilistraee tie to the Hunt?”
“She sent me visions of herself saying that line I mentioned before… I guess it could be that Ceryneian hinds are prized by nature gods and Eilistraee is one? But this hind is…is evil!” Zola waves her hands about in emphasis. “She’s part of the Wild Hunt!”
Sarin idly runs his fingers over the cracks in the amulet, deep in quiet and serious thought. After a long moment, he says, “Abbil, you mentioned maiming the Hind… What actually happened?”
Zola lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s a longer story than I’ve been telling it. This hind, Oriniax… She was imprisoned — by Queen Titania, I think — and her memories taken from her… The other members of the Wild Hunt had been searching for her to prepare for the Lord’s return. We didn’t know that was happening and we helped Oriniax get her memories back. We were tricked, Sarin. I was righting my mistake. She can teleport all over the place, even between planes. That’s what makes the Lord of the Hunt difficult to pin down. So I cut her leg off and broke another.”
In her mind’s eye, she sees the image clear as day: Oriniax on the ground, her head locked in a chokehold by Kavel’s powerful arms. Blood pooling out of the stump where her left foreleg used to be, staining the forest floor crimson, and her right hindleg bent at a sickeningly wrong angle. She thrashes weakly, helplessly as Zola, in the reflection of the deer’s eye, raises Pollux to her exposed throat. The mortal fear.
Sarin’s eyes widen a little. “And…this was after you received your message? ‘Courage to face past mistakes, even more courage to make different choices’?”
Zola snaps out of it. She looks back at him and nods. “Yes.”
“I see. Zola… I know it has been terribly hard for you these last few weeks. There has been so much pain and hurt for you… But…forgive me for saying so, my friend, I love you and only wish you happiness… But this does not feel like your usual self. Are you sure this is what you should be doing?”
She blinks, confused. “Why shouldn’t it be? Am I not doing the right thing, standing up to the Wild Hunt when an innocent victim has pleaded me to?”
“Well… Yes. Perhaps. But I wonder if that is just one perspective — perhaps there is more to this than we are seeing… The fact that the Dark Maiden spoke to you suggests some level of interest and, well, to be frank, my friend, I wonder about your own intentions here. You have always been a bright star in the darkness, but recently you have suffered so much and I wonder if this has changed something in you… Today, already you have said some things that give me concern: you were ‘righting your mistake’, you ‘did it anyway’… This is not the Zola I have come to know and cherish. You have always been strong but such words feel…different, somehow… How much of helping the innocent was actually helping that innocent and not…overcorrecting?”
She pulls away from Sarin, frowning. “I was helping someone. I was trying to make sure the Wild Hunt doesn’t bother anyone ever again! But even if that wasn’t my intention, what does it matter? Did I or did I not do the right thing?”
Sarin holds up his hands defensively. “I do not claim to know, my friend. I have every faith in you and your actions. But this—” He gestures at the cracked holy symbol. “It only leads us to question if, perhaps, there is more… Moreover, I would suggest that intent is a significant matter to consider. A person may do a great many things that benefit others and the world, but if done by chance or as a by-product of something with darker, selfish aspirations — is it right they claim ownership for the good that came of it? I don’t mean to presume this is your case, of course, but it bears consideration.”
“Okay, if there is more to this, if there is a bigger picture than I’m not seeing as you said, then why won’t the goddess just…tell me? Why just leave it at a cryptic message?”
Zola jolts up to her feet suddenly, the chair dragging loudly on the wooden floor as she does. She turns away from Sarin and paces with her palms pressed against her temples. Of course Sarin is disappointed in her too. In an instant, she sees, hears, and feels them all over again: Jaezred’s harsh words of warning, Kruxeral’s rage, Je’Sathriel shaking his head, the holy symbol in her hand shuddering and cracking and heating up.
“I’m tired of people not telling me things and then blaming me for acting on instinct!” She whirls around to face Sarin again, wrath flashing in her eye and rising in her voice. “What the Hells do you all expect me to do? Read your minds?”
Sarin looks taken back. He takes a long breath to steady himself.
“I…I…I don’t know what to say, Zola,” he stammers. “You know matters of the divine are never really so crystal-cut. Many who worship and serve the Dark Maiden are not as fortunate as you to have direct messages from her. It is for us to-to…to ruminate on these signs ourselves and act in accordance with her teachings. No one expects you to read minds, my friend, please, calm down — I am your friend, I only wish to be of help to you.”
And then she sees it. The same look in his eyes that she had seen in Oriniax’s. The mortal fear.
Zola stops cold. The anger dissipates from her face instantly. She reels back away from Sarin. Her tender, kind, childhood friend Sarin, who, in this moment, is frightened of her.
“I…I’m sorry, Sarin. I know you’re just worried for me. I…didn’t mean to scare you. I-I-I should go.”
“No, please, wait!”
Zola turns and dashes out of the small room. She bursts out of the chapel, down the narrow corridor, and through a heavy, black curtain. She is stunned when she is suddenly met with a deafening chorus of jeers and a rain of hurled chicken bones from the patrons of the Moon and Web, having briefly forgotten where she is. But she recovers quickly enough to misty steps as far away as the spell allows.
Her bare feet do not stop moving until she is out of the tavern, alone and leaning against a granite wall, chest heaving up and down rapidly as she breathes in and out, in and out, in and out much too quickly.
What am I doing? What is happening to me? I’m… I’m…
However, when her shaking hand reaches up and her trembling fingers slip under the cold, silver mask on the left side of her face, feeling the malformed and scarred tissue underneath, her breath begins to slow and steady itself. Her moonstone eye feels heavy and leaden in the eye socket where it sits.
…No. I can’t doubt myself, not now.
They are reminders that she’d left in place for herself, so that she would never forget: walking the path of righteousness demands many sacrifices; there is a steep price to be paid for fighting evil.
The cracked holy symbol of Eilistraee lays abandoned on the table.
Sarin’s face is stricken with a deep sadness. He sighs, shakes his head, and stares at the amulet for a long and silent moment.
From under the cot folded against the wall, a black widow spider crawls out, gazing at him with six beady eyes.
He looks thoughtfully at the spider, curiosity now glimmering in his eyes. Then he takes the amulet, scoops up the spider in his hands, and walks out into the chapel and over towards the statue of Eilistraee. He places the symbol on the dais before her and kneels, still gently cupping the spider.
“Maiden. Moonlight. I pray you forgive your humble servant, as I forgive my friend. She is lost and only needs to see your light again. May your radiance shine a way for her through these troubling times, and may your wisdom guide me to aid her on her path.”
Sarin takes a deep breath, and the smile returns to his face as he kneels down to let the spider scuttle onto the wooden floor. “Be safe, friend,” he says.
As he rises back to his feet, he lets out a small gasp when he sees that the holy symbol is gone from the dais.
Knock, knock, knock.
Zola turns over in her bed, facing away from the door. She says nothing and makes no sign that she is present.
Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock.
The rapping on the door becomes more insistent. She grumbles softly and puts a pillow over her head. She is in no mood for visitors right now.
BANG, BANG, BANG.
“Miss Zola Oussviir! Open up!” a familiar voice barks from the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there.”
Zola groans. She knows he won’t leave until she entertains whatever it is he has to say. The man could win a hard-headedness competition with a rothé. She tosses the covers aside, jumps off the bed, and goes to crack the door open.
“What?” she hisses at Jaezred, glaring at him through an empty eye socket, the disfigured half of her face exposed to him. “I’m not in the mood for telling you stories. Go get your information from someone else.”
Jaezred crosses his arms and stares down his nose at her. The urge to tell him to fuck off is growing harder to resist.
“I’m not here for that, but if you wish to continue sulking like a pubescent child — by all means,” he says. “But at least read the information my source had acquired on Tebrin Zoland.”
He procures a folded piece of lizard skin parchment from within his coat. Zola gasps and grabs the paper.
Attached to the unsigned letter is a very thinly-sliced sheet of crystal, apparently chipped off from a larger piece. Zola thumbs it carefully. “What’s the crystal for?”
“For the teleportation spell. The palace has graciously ‘lent’ you a mage for this mission. They will take you there, wait at the arrival location for a set amount of time, and bring you back when you return.”
Zola glances up at him with a widened eye. “You’re still helping me? Even when you’re mad at me?” she asks, her voice shrinking with every word.
“Of course,” he says disdainfully. “You fool.”
Her lips quirk up into a small, grateful smile.
Jaezred sighs and closes his eyes for a second. “Far be it for me to pontificate to you about morality, sword dancer, but perhaps you should slow down. Think about what you’re doing and how it will impact the people around you.”
“Sword saint,” Zola murmurs absently.
“Pardon?”
“It’s… It’s what the fairy from Dascinvale called me. What she knows me as.”
“Oh. What a magnanimous title,” Jaezred says, sounding flat and unimpressed. “Gather your party, and quickly. You don’t have much time from the sounds of it.”
Zola nods and mutters a small thanks to him before shutting the door quietly.
When she turns around and walks back to her bed, a silver glint catches the pale moonlight streaming in through the windows. The cracked holy symbol is there, lying on the mattress, as if it had been waiting for her.
Co-written with Anthony
Her bare feet do not stop moving until she reaches the door with a white crescent moon painted on it.
Sarin is alone, sitting on a back pew and writing something on a sheet of parchment, when the door swings open. He looks up in surprise and his face brightens at the sight of Zola, but then he sees the expression on her face.
“Ah, Zola! I…wasn’t expecting you.”
“Sorry, Sarin, are you busy right now?”
“I can always make time for you,” he says, smiling warmly.
“Thanks.” She smiles back at him. But when he stands up and gestures for her to sit at the frontmost pews of the chapel, right before the large marble statue of Eilistraee, the smile drops from her face. Rooted to where she stands by the door, she says, “Er… I need to show you something.”
Sarin cocks his head at the apparent hesitation, looking concerned now. “Of course, my friend… Would you prefer we go elsewhere? Are you alright?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m alright. I, um… Here, look.”
Zola proffers her right hand and uncurls her fingers. Sitting on her palm is a silver amulet, depicting a slender, nude drow woman dancing against the backdrop of a looming full moon — a holy symbol of Eilistraee. There is a crevasse that rips across the coin, bifurcating the moon and cutting into the goddess’ form.
Sarin lets out a soft gasp. His hands move to take the amulet but stops short, and instead cups Zola’s hand in his. In a quiet, caring tone, he asks, “Zola… Tell me, please, what happened?”
Before she can reply, he lets out another gasp and gently guides Zola to the other door at the back of the chapel, through into what was once a tiny cupboard with cot folded up against the wall but has since been expanded into a small room, with the addition of a table and some chairs.
“Oh, you’ve converted your room…” Zola says. She steps in nervously, feeling like a child being called into the headmaster’s office, then immediately feeling silly about being nervous. This is Sarin — her oldest friend, the gentlest person she ever knew. What does she have to be worried about?
“Oh yes, Urk Surk was most kind in suggesting it be expanded but, if I’m honest, it feels a little odd to me still,” he says. “Come, abbil, sit… You are safe here.”
She sits down on the nearest chair and lays the holy symbol on the table. She twiddles with her thumbs as Sarin pours a mug of water for her. Her leg bounces up and down under the table.
Finally, the priest takes a seat. He gazes sadly at the amulet before going to pick it up. “May I?” he asks in a voice so soft it is almost a murmur.
Zola nods. He takes the holy symbol into his palm, feeling the cracks with his forefinger, as if looking for some hidden sign.
“The Dark Maiden is… She’s disappointed in me, Sarin,” Zola confesses. “For what I’ve done. She tried to reach me, trying to tell me to not do it. She said, ‘It takes courage to face past mistakes, but it takes even more courage to make different choices.’ But I did it anyway.”
Her voice drags Sarin’s eyes up to her, and his face takes on an incredulous expression. “The Dark Maiden said that to you? Zola… Whatever did you do?”
She takes a deep breath, gathering courage and resolve to look Sarin in the eye.
“I hunted the Wild Hunt. An innocent came to me for help. They were raiding a border village, Sarin, between the Summer Court and the Winter Court. We gave chase…and we caught their Ceryneian hind. I maimed her and then I let her go.”
“You… You hunted the Hunt?” He looks taken aback. “…Is that allowed?”
“I…I don’t know?”
What an odd question, she thinks. Maybe he should’ve been there to see it. Oziah unfurling her massive, raven wings, transfiguring into an icon of unholy terror. Glade summoning a stampede of mountain goats to run with them as they chased after the Wild Hunt, ramming down the black hounds and the sylphs and trampling over them. Kavel leaping great distances over the hunters’ heads as their arrows bounced off his stone-hard skin harmlessly. And by their side was Zola herself, riding atop a rearing Cor’Vandor with cloak billowing and Castor raised to the heavens, basking the forest in a pale glow of moonlight.
It was a glorious hunt. She has to suppress a smile remembering it all again.
“A…Are you ok? Were you hurt? And, and… Sorry, you maimed something?” Sarin says.
“I’m fine. Barely a scratch, really,” she assures him. “And yes, I injured the Lord of the Hunt’s mount. I’ve fought them before; a couple months ago they were terrorising the Dawnlands. I’d killed one of them, a satyr, who turned out to be…the father of the Master of Revelries in the Court of Harmony. He wasn’t happy about that, obviously. Now that’s a whole other can of worms…”
Sarin is struck into silence for a few moments.
“Zola, my friend, I’m sorry but I don’t understand. How does all of this lead to…to this?” He gestures back to the cracked holy symbol.
“I was hoping you would answer that for me.” The sword dancer leans in and puts a hand on his arm as she gazes desperately into his reddish-violet eyes. “Help me understand, abbil. Why does Eilistraee oppose me in this? I swore an oath to protect the Light. Am I not protecting the Light?”
“For such a strong reaction… I fear there may be more to this… I…personally don’t know much of the Hunt but I’ve heard things, stories, of course. Eilistraee teaches us peace and joy, song and dance. The Dark Maiden is a hunter, but I’ve never heard of her being tied to such a-an…entity like the Hunt before… Tell me, has she visited you or sent you any messages? How does Eilistraee tie to the Hunt?”
“She sent me visions of herself saying that line I mentioned before… I guess it could be that Ceryneian hinds are prized by nature gods and Eilistraee is one? But this hind is…is evil!” Zola waves her hands about in emphasis. “She’s part of the Wild Hunt!”
Sarin idly runs his fingers over the cracks in the amulet, deep in quiet and serious thought. After a long moment, he says, “Abbil, you mentioned maiming the Hind… What actually happened?”
Zola lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s a longer story than I’ve been telling it. This hind, Oriniax… She was imprisoned — by Queen Titania, I think — and her memories taken from her… The other members of the Wild Hunt had been searching for her to prepare for the Lord’s return. We didn’t know that was happening and we helped Oriniax get her memories back. We were tricked, Sarin. I was righting my mistake. She can teleport all over the place, even between planes. That’s what makes the Lord of the Hunt difficult to pin down. So I cut her leg off and broke another.”
In her mind’s eye, she sees the image clear as day: Oriniax on the ground, her head locked in a chokehold by Kavel’s powerful arms. Blood pooling out of the stump where her left foreleg used to be, staining the forest floor crimson, and her right hindleg bent at a sickeningly wrong angle. She thrashes weakly, helplessly as Zola, in the reflection of the deer’s eye, raises Pollux to her exposed throat. The mortal fear.
Sarin’s eyes widen a little. “And…this was after you received your message? ‘Courage to face past mistakes, even more courage to make different choices’?”
Zola snaps out of it. She looks back at him and nods. “Yes.”
“I see. Zola… I know it has been terribly hard for you these last few weeks. There has been so much pain and hurt for you… But…forgive me for saying so, my friend, I love you and only wish you happiness… But this does not feel like your usual self. Are you sure this is what you should be doing?”
She blinks, confused. “Why shouldn’t it be? Am I not doing the right thing, standing up to the Wild Hunt when an innocent victim has pleaded me to?”
“Well… Yes. Perhaps. But I wonder if that is just one perspective — perhaps there is more to this than we are seeing… The fact that the Dark Maiden spoke to you suggests some level of interest and, well, to be frank, my friend, I wonder about your own intentions here. You have always been a bright star in the darkness, but recently you have suffered so much and I wonder if this has changed something in you… Today, already you have said some things that give me concern: you were ‘righting your mistake’, you ‘did it anyway’… This is not the Zola I have come to know and cherish. You have always been strong but such words feel…different, somehow… How much of helping the innocent was actually helping that innocent and not…overcorrecting?”
She pulls away from Sarin, frowning. “I was helping someone. I was trying to make sure the Wild Hunt doesn’t bother anyone ever again! But even if that wasn’t my intention, what does it matter? Did I or did I not do the right thing?”
Sarin holds up his hands defensively. “I do not claim to know, my friend. I have every faith in you and your actions. But this—” He gestures at the cracked holy symbol. “It only leads us to question if, perhaps, there is more… Moreover, I would suggest that intent is a significant matter to consider. A person may do a great many things that benefit others and the world, but if done by chance or as a by-product of something with darker, selfish aspirations — is it right they claim ownership for the good that came of it? I don’t mean to presume this is your case, of course, but it bears consideration.”
“Okay, if there is more to this, if there is a bigger picture than I’m not seeing as you said, then why won’t the goddess just…tell me? Why just leave it at a cryptic message?”
Zola jolts up to her feet suddenly, the chair dragging loudly on the wooden floor as she does. She turns away from Sarin and paces with her palms pressed against her temples. Of course Sarin is disappointed in her too. In an instant, she sees, hears, and feels them all over again: Jaezred’s harsh words of warning, Kruxeral’s rage, Je’Sathriel shaking his head, the holy symbol in her hand shuddering and cracking and heating up.
“I’m tired of people not telling me things and then blaming me for acting on instinct!” She whirls around to face Sarin again, wrath flashing in her eye and rising in her voice. “What the Hells do you all expect me to do? Read your minds?”
Sarin looks taken back. He takes a long breath to steady himself.
“I…I…I don’t know what to say, Zola,” he stammers. “You know matters of the divine are never really so crystal-cut. Many who worship and serve the Dark Maiden are not as fortunate as you to have direct messages from her. It is for us to-to…to ruminate on these signs ourselves and act in accordance with her teachings. No one expects you to read minds, my friend, please, calm down — I am your friend, I only wish to be of help to you.”
And then she sees it. The same look in his eyes that she had seen in Oriniax’s. The mortal fear.
Zola stops cold. The anger dissipates from her face instantly. She reels back away from Sarin. Her tender, kind, childhood friend Sarin, who, in this moment, is frightened of her.
“I…I’m sorry, Sarin. I know you’re just worried for me. I…didn’t mean to scare you. I-I-I should go.”
“No, please, wait!”
Zola turns and dashes out of the small room. She bursts out of the chapel, down the narrow corridor, and through a heavy, black curtain. She is stunned when she is suddenly met with a deafening chorus of jeers and a rain of hurled chicken bones from the patrons of the Moon and Web, having briefly forgotten where she is. But she recovers quickly enough to misty steps as far away as the spell allows.
Her bare feet do not stop moving until she is out of the tavern, alone and leaning against a granite wall, chest heaving up and down rapidly as she breathes in and out, in and out, in and out much too quickly.
What am I doing? What is happening to me? I’m… I’m…
However, when her shaking hand reaches up and her trembling fingers slip under the cold, silver mask on the left side of her face, feeling the malformed and scarred tissue underneath, her breath begins to slow and steady itself. Her moonstone eye feels heavy and leaden in the eye socket where it sits.
…No. I can’t doubt myself, not now.
They are reminders that she’d left in place for herself, so that she would never forget: walking the path of righteousness demands many sacrifices; there is a steep price to be paid for fighting evil.
The cracked holy symbol of Eilistraee lays abandoned on the table.
Sarin’s face is stricken with a deep sadness. He sighs, shakes his head, and stares at the amulet for a long and silent moment.
From under the cot folded against the wall, a black widow spider crawls out, gazing at him with six beady eyes.
He looks thoughtfully at the spider, curiosity now glimmering in his eyes. Then he takes the amulet, scoops up the spider in his hands, and walks out into the chapel and over towards the statue of Eilistraee. He places the symbol on the dais before her and kneels, still gently cupping the spider.
“Maiden. Moonlight. I pray you forgive your humble servant, as I forgive my friend. She is lost and only needs to see your light again. May your radiance shine a way for her through these troubling times, and may your wisdom guide me to aid her on her path.”
Sarin takes a deep breath, and the smile returns to his face as he kneels down to let the spider scuttle onto the wooden floor. “Be safe, friend,” he says.
As he rises back to his feet, he lets out a small gasp when he sees that the holy symbol is gone from the dais.
Knock, knock, knock.
Zola turns over in her bed, facing away from the door. She says nothing and makes no sign that she is present.
Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock.
The rapping on the door becomes more insistent. She grumbles softly and puts a pillow over her head. She is in no mood for visitors right now.
BANG, BANG, BANG.
“Miss Zola Oussviir! Open up!” a familiar voice barks from the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there.”
Zola groans. She knows he won’t leave until she entertains whatever it is he has to say. The man could win a hard-headedness competition with a rothé. She tosses the covers aside, jumps off the bed, and goes to crack the door open.
“What?” she hisses at Jaezred, glaring at him through an empty eye socket, the disfigured half of her face exposed to him. “I’m not in the mood for telling you stories. Go get your information from someone else.”
Jaezred crosses his arms and stares down his nose at her. The urge to tell him to fuck off is growing harder to resist.
“I’m not here for that, but if you wish to continue sulking like a pubescent child — by all means,” he says. “But at least read the information my source had acquired on Tebrin Zoland.”
He procures a folded piece of lizard skin parchment from within his coat. Zola gasps and grabs the paper.
We have a lead on TZ.
A runner has heard he was seen heading west of Aeschira on his own more than a week ago and has apparently missed an appointment since. There appears to be others looking for him now too.
House records show that area may be the base of operations for the Copper Sabre, a relatively small band of mercenaries but a likely competitor of TZ. Other sites in the area are either of no interest or should be avoided.
The enclosed is linked to a nearby location if you need to inspect yourself.
North / Left / 250ft / turn back, boulder on right / 1x sentry outside / Alarm
A runner has heard he was seen heading west of Aeschira on his own more than a week ago and has apparently missed an appointment since. There appears to be others looking for him now too.
House records show that area may be the base of operations for the Copper Sabre, a relatively small band of mercenaries but a likely competitor of TZ. Other sites in the area are either of no interest or should be avoided.
The enclosed is linked to a nearby location if you need to inspect yourself.
North / Left / 250ft / turn back, boulder on right / 1x sentry outside / Alarm
Attached to the unsigned letter is a very thinly-sliced sheet of crystal, apparently chipped off from a larger piece. Zola thumbs it carefully. “What’s the crystal for?”
“For the teleportation spell. The palace has graciously ‘lent’ you a mage for this mission. They will take you there, wait at the arrival location for a set amount of time, and bring you back when you return.”
Zola glances up at him with a widened eye. “You’re still helping me? Even when you’re mad at me?” she asks, her voice shrinking with every word.
“Of course,” he says disdainfully. “You fool.”
Her lips quirk up into a small, grateful smile.
Jaezred sighs and closes his eyes for a second. “Far be it for me to pontificate to you about morality, sword dancer, but perhaps you should slow down. Think about what you’re doing and how it will impact the people around you.”
“Sword saint,” Zola murmurs absently.
“Pardon?”
“It’s… It’s what the fairy from Dascinvale called me. What she knows me as.”
“Oh. What a magnanimous title,” Jaezred says, sounding flat and unimpressed. “Gather your party, and quickly. You don’t have much time from the sounds of it.”
Zola nods and mutters a small thanks to him before shutting the door quietly.
When she turns around and walks back to her bed, a silver glint catches the pale moonlight streaming in through the windows. The cracked holy symbol is there, lying on the mattress, as if it had been waiting for her.
Co-written with Anthony
