Neglected Space

RP Orianna & Elarris

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Elarris stares at the shining key in his hand then looks up at Orianna’s door. He can’t quite believe he is trusted with this key after the dark shadow of his Sword was revealed in her kitchen. And he’s been on the road so long he can’t remember the last time he actually had a key. He hopes he won’t fuck this up.

The metal slips easily into the lock, a quick turn and he’s walking past the stairs, the well appointed living room and on into the kitchen at the back of the house. It is empty and he briefly panics. He’s sure Orianna said she’d be around and he has a question he’s been longing to ask. He feels clumsy in his chainmail and tries to avoid paying too much attention to the food, looking out of the window to distract himself.

He’ll give it ten minutes then slip away and try later, he’s thinking, when his gaze is caught by the sun glinting on something outside. Just below the big bay window, there’s a startlingly life-like statue that he could swear wasn’t there the last time he was sent to pick herbs in the garden. It looks remarkably like Calla, the sharp thinking mage who used a simple bag of cornflower to stymie dark forces in an unearthly volcano and plucked a substantial military base out of thin air in the Star Mounts.

Impressive work, to be sure, but it seems a little early to raise a statue to her. And strange to place it in the back garden. But then, this city is hard to fathom. All the same, he can’t quite drag his eyes away from the crystal carving.

The muffled sound of cloven feet stepping from wood to tile precedes Orianna’s greeting to him. “Elarris, hello. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long. Have you had any lunch?”

Elarris smiles awkwardly. “Well, no, not as such. I could have but I thought… I have bought a bottle. My uncle used to keep wine. This is Elverquist. The gold flecks are really gold.”

“Then we shall have a glass with our food.” She reaches up to a cupboard and pulls out two glasses, passing them to him with a slight smile, before turning back to the cold box and pulling out covered dishes. “I hope it goes with what we have. It is more traditional, Ashkhan fare today. I hope that is alright?”

Elarris frowns. “I don’t think I know that cuisine. Elverquist is light and quite fiery. In my home town the legend was that it was distilled by the fair folk from sunshine and rare summer fruits and I didn’t really take that seriously. But then I travelled and I met elves and… well, maybe it is. So if Ashkhan food goes with a spirit that tastes like the fire of the sun and rare summer fruits...?”

“I think it will do just so, my people being of the Scorching Badlands after all,” Orianna says.

She has brought out dish after dish after dish. The fire is a carrot one, peeled and shredded, seasoned with green onions and lemon juice. Next was something Elarris thought was a gigantic flower. It took him a moment to see the pink and white petals were a watermelon rashish cut into palm-sized circles, arranged around green lettuce. A fist sized burrata was cradled in its centre, and the whole thing shone with glistening honey, herbs, and olive oil. The third dish was a bowl of couscous, peppered with parsley and crumbled cheese, scented with more honey, a dash of salt, lemon juice and an olive oil.

“Now these may be a little too cool,” Orianna says, pulling out a plate of boneless chicken legs. “But they will still taste good! I think. I hope.”

Elarris gets a whiff and the spices, oh how they set his mouth to watering. Granulated garlic, black pepper, mustard seeds, but there are others he cannot quite name. Possibly because they are unfamiliar to him.

“Take these to the table. I will get the plates and cutlery.”

Elarris nods dumbly, eyes fixed on the food, hands twitching to dip, taste, scrape a little away. Resisting the temptation feels like the hardest thing he’s done. The Sword’s song falls into a poor second place as these flavours surround him. He’s delighted he found the Elverquist. It could have been distilled just for a meal like this.

He arranges the dishes and heads back into the kitchen.

That statue.

He catches it through the window. He could swear… he turns back to the counter and layers up his arms with platters and plates and baskets of bread.

It’s three trips later that he thinks he’s finished. He uncorks the bottle and pours a generous splash into the glasses on the table then hovers in the doorway, waiting for Orianna.

The statue lurks in the corner of his eye but he fixes his gaze and watches her finish up.

She stills. There’s a beat as her shoulders tense. Orianna half turns to look at him. “I see you have noticed her in the garden, Elarris. I…” A pale blue hand swipes at her nose, an unconscious gesture. “Come. Let us eat.” She looks over to the statue, takes a shaky breath, then heads into the other room.

“The statue?” Elarris is puzzled at her tension. “It’s very convincing. It seems to have… I don’t know. Is it magical in some way?” He follows her to the table, hoping she can’t hear his inhumanly loud stomach rumble.

Orianna begins serving out food onto a plate, not answering his question until she finishes. “I suppose you could say it is.” She hands him his plate, gesturing for him to begin eating. Picking up her own, she takes a markedly smaller portion as she continues. “It is a convincing likeness to Calla because it is her body. Her former patron did that to her when she chose to end their agreement prematurely.” She stills again, taking a beat. “It happened when he took her soul.”

Elarris has his fork in his hand, about to scoop a large mouthful of food, but he stops, frowns and looks at her as if to check she’s not joking. She clearly isn’t and he struggles with the enormity of what he’s just heard.

“I don’t understand,” he hesitates. “Calla is a mage, a powerful one, isn’t she? What do you mean a patron? Her soul? This can’t be… I don’t understand. Is this to do with… the…” he lowers his voice. “Is this herald stuff?”

An image of the darkness flowing out of his sword plays at the corner of his mind and he can’t bat it away. “What’s going on?”

Orianna sees the concern and confusion dancing across Elarris’ face. Then her gaze falls to the half raised fork. “Eat, and I will do my best to explain.”

Elarris nods, starts to eat and is almost distracted by the flood of new flavours melting into his tongue. He is briefly speechless as his soul demands he attend to the joy in his mouth.

“Yes, Calla is a mage of considerable arcane prowess and power. But that is not all she is and, well… not all she was, either. It is not my place to tell you everything about her but suffice to say, she is a woman who always plans for contingencies and-” Elarris sees the grip Orianna has on her own fork tighten just a fraction, “trusts those closest to her to do the same.”

Elarris swallows. “Forgive me, lady Orianna, I’m a soldier who has spent many years on the road and I’ve not been around mages and patrons and the like until I came here. I know you probably can’t say many things but those things you feel you can trust me with… imagine you are explaining to a small child or a golden retriever. How can Calla have become a crystal statue? What sort of forces are you talking about?”

She seems to be studying her plate, brow dipped down in thought. Then she looks up at Elarris, studying his face closely and seemingly decides on something.

“Recall when we were helping Henri and we found our way to the Plane of Smoke — the Great Conflagration — and we came across the Primordial beings of the Elemental Planes who had harmed an ally, the Infinite known as Andromeda?”

Elarris blushes a little as he chews through the enormous wedge of food he's shoved into his mouth. He places one hand over his lips and holds up the other apologetically. The flavours deserve time to be enjoyed but he feels this is important. Eventually, he swallows, reaches for the Everquist and hurls a mouthful down, just a little too quickly, prompting a coughing fit that he catches in the elegantly needleworked napkin Orianna has so thoughtfully provided. He reaches for his glass of water, drinks deeply, then rests his fork beside his plate.

“Yes,” he nods.

“We saw Calla’s ex-patron there. Arcravine, the First Mountain. It was the beginning of the realisation that not only had he been deceiving us, but he was using Calla in ways she was not aware of.” She takes a few quick bites of food. “You also recall that some of the Primordials are seeking to become that which would destroy the Great Wheel as it is known?” she asks, a little uncertain if he does know or not.
Elarris hesitates. “I am aware of that, and I’ve taken the Great Wheel to be a metaphor, I suppose. Are we talking about an actual wheel?”
She dabs a napkin to her lips, and stands. “A moment, I’ll fetch something.” Orianna was entering her teaching mode. It was something she enjoyed doing, teaching as well as learning, as it helped to keep her emotions from getting too much sometimes. It also allowed her the grace to focus on details that could be calming when talking around a topic that was still so rife with feelings of anger, volatile frustration, and deep sadness.

Exiting the room, the book she needed wasn’t far. Finding it on a side table in the living room, she comes back in, flipping to the large, square fold out that would help illustrate better than words could.

“This is the Great Wheel. The positive,” her finger drags across the top circles of Arcadia, arching up and over, all the way to Ysgard, “the negative,” her finger continues down towards Pandemonium, arching down then up to Acheron, “and everything else in between — which includes the Elemental Planes,” her finger lifts and draws the circle of them: air, water, earth, fire, “the Ethereal, Shadowfell, Feywild,” her finger land down in the centre of it all with a slight tap from her nail, “and us, the Prime Material.”

She looks at him and asks gently, “Have you seen this before, or is this the first time you are learning this?”

Elarris gives a wan smile. “First time. My family venerated the martial arts and I’ve been a mercenary since… the castle and the Sword. This isn’t the kind of knowledge I’ve been exposed to. I can tell steel that’s been poorly quenched from the forge or where in the line the infantry will quail at cavalry but I’ve learned more in this house than I’ve been taught before.”

“Then, perhaps consider this your first step towards greater knowledge. It could be helpful for you in many ways, least of all for better understanding the forces that would see things tip out of Balance, or try to exert influence. We can delve more into what each of these places are later,” she gestures to the Outer Planes and their sixteen circles. “For now, I am speaking of this part, here.” Her fingers become a cage that encircles the whole of the Inner Planes.

“These places I have heard of. I have even been to some of them, which still seems a little unreal to me. It helps to see their connections, although the staircase we travelled doesn’t feature. But I suspect it is better at the moment to stick with this diagram. The Inner Planes. I am with you.”

She nods, “Good.”

Returning to her seat, Orianna starts picking at the food on her plate again while she talks. “There are eighteen Elemental Planes, each watched over by a Primordial Incarnate. Long, long ago, when the Wheel was still being formed, there were only four, and they were known as the Elemental Behemoths, made of the full and utter embodiment of all aspects of the cardinal four — Air, Water, Earth, and Fire. They were beset upon by the Nine Aspects of Asgorath — the Archwyrms.”

Elarris lays out his napkin flat in front of him, drains his water and splashes the ruby Everquist into the glass. He dips his index finger into the liquid and tries to sketch a version of what he’s hearing. It’s unlike the map Orianna has shown him. It’s a child’s painting. He looks at it, unsatisfied, but it helps him hold the ideas he’s hearing in his head. Otherwise it is vague and formless, like trying to catch a mother’s kiss between his finger and thumb as she blows it at her sleeping baby.

“I say beset but it was… more than that,” Orianna continues. “For you see, so long as the Behemoths existed places like the Material Plane could not. They were too destructive for life- our kind of life, to even begin…” She sets her fork down with a soft clink. “There was only one way to ensure the Behemoths could not come back — for they would, always, so long as their bodies remained in this reality.” Her eyes glance over the napkin and she shakes her head — yet she is smiling, just a little. Orianna gets up. “The Archwyrms Called upon the Infinite of the Staircase, and with their help, sealed the Behemoth’s remains outside of Time and Space after they had been defeated.”

Orianna has walked over to a side table, wherein she opens a drawer, pulls out a few pieces of parchment and a finely filed pencil. She brings them back over to Elarris where she lays them by his left side, the book with the Great Wheel still open beside him on the right. “Here, this should work better.”

Elarris smiles gratefully and copies his rough diagrams onto the parchment. Perhaps it’s the use of the pen, the repetition of the sketch or his dawning comprehension but they seem more… not scientific. Arcane. Like they had their own ideas of how they should look. The pencil hovers as he waits for Orianna to elaborate.

“After the bodies were sealed away, the Archwyrms created the locks and keys. In pairs they designed, attuned, created, and installed the locks in the para-elemental planes, finally creating guardians that would watch over these locks and protect them from any forces that would seek to open or destroy their purpose.” Orianna pauses, waiting for Elarris scribbles to catch up. “These locks- they serve two purposes. First,” she holds up a finger, “they are as diffusers, a means by which the elemental power of the Four Behemoths can spread across the Elemental Planes and not be destructive. Second,” she holds up another finger, “they prevent the Behemoths from reforming. If the Archwyrm’s pieces are ever brought together, and if the guardians are slain, and the keys used to open the locks then…”

Elarris starts to see a strange pattern emerging in his scribbling, fractals of numbers and planes — the four, the nine, the 18, the pairs of locks and keys… he feels the truth of these numbers but it is beyond his mortal understanding. For a moment he envies those who can see the shape of creation — the mages, the poets, the priests, the alchemists. But he knows that were he to look into the void, something would look back. He can feel the madness swirling and he half dreads Orianna finishing her sentence.

To his relief she does not finish the thought. Instead, she drifts back to her spot at the table and sits down.

“These are the forces that have been at play for aeons, millennia- Time long enough that the eladrin of the Feywild who were caught in Arcravine’s fall developed into their own, separate civilization that are akin to the drow of this realm, yet so unlike them for how isolated they have become.” Orianna rests her elbows on the table and folds her hands to be one on top of the other. “These are the forces that I, and others you have met, including Calla, have been connected to since long before our births, though many of us had no idea of it.” She leans forward, looking intently at Elarris. “These are the forces that have been seeking their revenge for their defeat, planning retribution against those who have wronged them, and who would use any of us as pawns or tricks as a means to an end.”

Elarris shivers. He knows what he will have to ask Orianna shortly but he fends off the moment.

“And they did that to Calla?”

“Arcravine did, yes, as did her blood-kin” she says, voice low, almost a growl. She turns her gaze away, but not before Elarris sees for the first time a negative light in Orianna’s eyes. The kind that promises pain.

“So Arcravine is what? A Behemoth? How did Calla have that as a patron if she is a herald? And why did Arcravine steal her soul? What are they planning to do with her?”

Orianna’s cadence returns to normal as she answers, “He is known as the First Mountain, the Primordial Incarnate of Earth, which means he is one of the cardinal four. He said to us he remembers what it was to be the Behemoth of Earth, and that his pact with Calla was to ‘return him to his true form’.” Orianna levels a look at Elarris. “She did not know that by ending her pact before that agreement could be fulfilled that he would take her soul. Her blood-kin made the pact for her.” The growl was starting to return to her voice. “For you see, it was Arcravine’s goal to have the Herald of Kesserax also be his pact-bound pawn. Once Calla took her vows of Herald, Arcravine could access the well of power Kesserax has.”

Seeing the momentary confusion on Elarris’s face she clarifies, “The Wellspring. It is rumoured to be the source of all magic in the Feywild. But, more than that, it is a nexus point where several strands of the Weave itself naturally merge together. It is powerful — and Kesserax’s duty as given to her by Mystra, is to protect it.” Orianna tilts her head just a fraction. “Now that Arcravine has the soul of the Herald of Kesserax, he has control of the strongest source of raw magical potential and power he could ever have hoped to find. All it took was the soul of my sister and friend, Calla.”

Elarris flinches. Then pushes his chair back from the table.

“I see,” he says. “There is another source of magical potential that I assume he is not aware of for better or for worse. I suspect for the worse but it may not be a coincidence. The dark magic from my Sword. The other dragon. Orianna, I have been sheltered and fed by you and you have taken nothing in return. Perhaps there is magic I can offer in your service that has not yet been counted by either side. I think I should go to the Archwyrm Eroshira and understand this weapon to see if it or I can be of service, however small. But it is a long way and I do not know how to get there. Will you help me?”

“Elarris…” She did not mean to frighten him. But over the past few months, the more Orianna spoke to him, the more certain she became that Elarris was going to be part of what was to come, one way or another.

“I said I would help you before. That has not changed. You do not need to offer me your service in return for my help. That’s not-” She shakes her head and her hands clenched into fists. “That is not why I told you everything. I just- I want to make sure you understand what it may mean for you to get involved.”

“I did not think you were asking for my help,” Elarris stiffens slightly. “I am asking for yours. And my offer of service — if a friend is in need and I offer my sword it is because they are a friend in need. You are not the kind of person, I believe, who provides food and shelter with any expectation. Just so, I do not offer my sword in service as payment for anything. I am not a commander or a tactician. I am a soldier. My friend is at war. What sort of friend would I be if I walked away? All of this is true whatever the circumstances. But this blade adds something that I still cannot be sure is of weal or woe to you and your companions. You must have considered the possibility that its darkness and power is beyond my strength to control. You must have considered that the threads of evil flowing from it could be a catastrophe that aids your foes.”

He pauses, takes a breath. “So it is a risk and, in truth, the time may come when you will be forced to act against me. We have both had time to consider these things since the power of the Sword was revealed. Since then, your friend Calla has had her soul torn from her. So in all good conscience I had to ask you a second time. In light of all you have discovered, in the knowledge that it may lead to you having to kill me, will you take me? I don’t know who I have become or what this Sword will do. But the subtext to my question is this — if what we find places you and your friends in further peril, there is one thing I will ask of you. I ask you to kill me, quickly, before more damage is done. Here and now, in sanity and of a certain intent, I ask you this favour. And that is how I should frame the question — knowing that, will you show me the way? And if so, how soon can we go? I do not want to wait in case this darkness grows.”

There is a long, drawn out silence as Orianna stares at Elarris. Then, “You… would ask me to kill you.” It was not a question, it was an accusation laced with hurt. She turns her face away, suddenly unable to look at him.

After a moment, Orianna stands. “A guiding star does not stop gifting its light at the first sign of trouble.” She looks down at the sword on Elarris’ side then back into his eyes. “Even if the one who needs its guidance is a fool who thinks himself unworthy of the light.”
She picks up her plate and moves to leave the room.

“You don’t understand,” Elarris says softly. “I have faith in the light and I have always walked forward in hope. How else would I still be here? But you don't know what holding this Sword feels like. If the darkness takes hold I would do all I could to prevent myself from harming you but I am afraid of the power this sword holds and the wound that lurks inside me. If I cannot control it, and I cannot end it, I would prefer to be laid to rest with mercy and love by someone who cared, than cut down in battle or, much worse, harm you without being able to prevent myself.”

He stares into a private darkness. “When you were damaged by your attempt to heal me, I became revolted by my wound. It has annoyed me for years, but when I saw the harm it could do I was ashamed. I may not retain the honour of my birth but I retain the honour of my actions. I do not want to succumb to the darkness whilst I still have a soul. Of all the people I have met in this world, you have shown me the greatest kindness, far beyond what I expect or deserve. It would be a kindness to save me before that defeat. But I realise that I ask too much and I apologise. All the same, I must find Eroshira and I do not know the way.”

She does not turn around, but his words have managed to hold her, suspended between the archway to the kitchen. “We will find the way together. As I said, I will not give up on you, Elarris.”

He cannot look at her. “Thank you…” he trails off, unable to find the words.

After a pause, he forces a practical tone into his voice. “If we are to find Eroshira I think we may need support. I was recently in a toboggan race with a handy Dwarven cleric called Mendal. It’s a long story. His skill at improvising in unexpected circumstances was exceptional. Alas, he is no Calla Prim. Do you know him?”

“I do,” she says, completing her journey to the kitchen to deposit her plate on the counter. “He is familiar with the Archwyrms and the conflict that has been building. A little boisterous, but his convictions are true.” Orianna returns to the room. “Do you know Frigus and Waffles? And Digs?”

Elarris wrinkles his brow then shakes his head. “No, I’ve not met them. I’m still finding my way around, I suppose.”

“Frigus raised Waffles from his hatching, and he is the Herald of Thalistraza, The Great Mother. They are both quite astute and nurturing. Having them along will be beneficial to all. As for Digs,” Orianna drifts over to the table, picking up the glass of Elverquist. “He is cautious when it comes to dragons, almost to a fault, but his sense of justness is authentic, if a little dampened by uncertainty. But he, too, is learning his own value, and overcoming his fears.”

Elarris nods. “I trust your choices, Lady Orianna,” he gives a small smile. “I am both excited and terrified at the prospect. At best, we could find this sword is one more spanner we can hurl into the Behemoths machine. At worst… well. I must absorb more of your positive energy and not think about the worst.”

He rises and turns towards her. “Since this wound, my skin has been unable to bear contact with the skin of any humans, elves, dwarves, tieflings… I cannot touch or be touched. If I could, this would be the moment I would take your hand in gratitude or hug you with all my strength. Thank you for your help and your food. I hope I can help release Calla, whose courage is exemplary. I hope I can find the path of the light. And…” he turns away, his voice barely audible. “I hope I can make you proud.”

He seems flustered, looks around wildly, embarrassed by his words and moves to the door. “Let me help you with the dishes, you sit down, I know where everything goes.”

Her gaze trails after him. Even as part of her wants to say something to comfort Elarris, another bigger part is still hurt that he asked what he did. So Orianna keeps her silence.

Looking at the glass in her hands, Orianna sees swirls of light, as if ribbons of sun-like fire have been captured in liquid form. She tips the glass up as it reaches her lips, and she drinks. Like the first rays of the dawn, a quick warmth floods through her chest. Before she realises it, Orianna has downed the whole glass, the feeling of hope — a feeling she has not had much of recently — renewed in her chest, just over her heart. She smiles, sets down the glass, and vows to herself that she will not give up on him. That she will use the power of her starlight so Elarris can find his way back to his own, with warmth and hope.