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rpg-adventures · 6 years

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A New Dawn: Second Darkness Epilogue

With the deactivation of the master glyph and the defeat of Allevrah Azrinae, the terrible doom Golarion secretly faced was averted. The falling star that had been captured by the aboleth magic was released, and the influence of the powerful magic that shielded it from the planet’s atmosphere faded.

Before returning to Kyonin to inform the Queen, the adventurers were met by an emissary of Abraxas who introduced herself as Alistraxia. She informs them that her master, Abraxas did not care if Allevrah completed her goals, he simply wanted to ensure than the Aboleth magic she utilized was not forgotten. To this end, she offers them a magical item if they were to take the research and keep them safe, deep within a surface world library for a seeker to find once again. Though Caeldor seemed tempted by the offer, his companions vehemently disagreed and young Lamia set the research ablaze before the mage had any time to argue.

The loss of the research seemed not to faze the demon, who simply smiled and stated that more copies were sure to surface as time went on. A boon of the human race’s habit of documenting their failures, she mocked, before returning to her realm.

With Alistraxia’s last words spoken and the Aboleth magic turned to ash, the party returned to Kyonin to assure the elves that another Starfall was prevented. Their mission was a success.

---

“Ledhpóna Kyonin!”

Caeldor’s voice echoed with magic. One moment, they were staring at the purple-glow of the Blood Basilica’s runic walls and in the next, bright morning light shone upon them.

Like the Drow they had fought, the adventurers shielded their eyes, briefly blinded by the first natural light they had seen in weeks. Tears stung Uyula’s eyes, as she squinted into the sun.

“Praise Gozreh!” she exclaimed, wiping her face and crouching to feel the grass between her fingers. “I can actually see the sky!”

Slowly the group regained their bearings, adjusting to the light gleaming of the pearlescent spires of elven architecture that surrounded them and the sounds of natural, running water and murmured Elvish reached their ears.

“Suilanna, Master Sanakt,” one of the royal guard greeted from the edge of the courtyard. “I am glad to see you all return.”

“Suilanna, meldir,” the Paladin replied with a weary smile. “As are we, I assure you.”

“The Queen will wish to speak with you,” he advised, looking over the worn set of warriors. His gaze finally rested on Uyula, sitting in the grass stroking the singed leaves of Twill’s wings with an untempered grin on her face as she basked in the sunlight. The guard’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, and he smiled at Sana.

“You seem in good spirits. Would you like to refresh yourself before seeking an audience with Queen Edasseril?” his eyes shifted to the grime on their armor, but he held his smile politely. “Perhaps a bath and some more comfortable attire?”

“A bath sounds wonderful,” Caeldor agreed. “So much more satisfying than a little prestidigitation. Yes, and well earned, I might add.”

“A little dirt never hurt anyone,” Uyula rolled her eyes, before noticing the blackened demon blood that still stained Twill’s ligneous maw. Bits of gore remaining from Allevrah still hanging from her horns, “...but I guess baths don’t either. So maybe a bath?”

Imani locked eyes with Sana, silently conveying her thoughts on the matter. ‘A private moment would be prefered. We should speak before reporting to the Elves.’

Sana nodded and addressed the guard. “Please. A few moments to clean up would be appreciated.”

The guard gestured to one of his peers to join them. “Galan here will show you to the guest quarters and I will inform the Queen of your arrival. Rest well.“

---

The guest quarters were undoubtedly elven, with curved walls and lavish decor that covered every inch of the room. Curtains draped over alcoves with private quarters and the enchanted harp sat by the marble bathing pool in one of the larger alcoves, serenading the space with an ethereal song. A step up from the simple quarters the group had shared during their previous stay in the Elven capital.

Uyula was never one to have a very high regard for strict personal hygiene, thinking there to be much more important things to worry about in life on a day to day basis and cleaning only really needed to happen when you couldn’t stand the stink of yourself or had something really yucky on your clothes with no handy spell to be rid of it - but as the steam from the perfectly heated and scented pool rolled along her dark skin she felt her muscles ache pleasantly for the water. It was time to wash off the land of Black Blood.

She didn’t bother with the sectioned quarters, simply walking up to the side of the pool and beginning to shed her layers and equipment. Weapons, gloves, bag, belt, armour, shoes, all in one unified ungraceful pile. Her clothes felt more like rags now, still damp with sweat and blood and dirt and the shower of conjured water she’d used to put out the fire clinging to herself and Twill. Uyula hummed thoughtfully, noting how strange it felt to think back to things that had happened mere hours ago, but already felt like a distant memory when suddenly surrounded with the life and light of Kyonin. She could barely believe they’d really been there, underground and surrounded by evil for such a long time.

“Come, Twill!” she called, reaching an arm back to beckon her companion as she waded down the steps into the pool. “We hafta wash the Allevrah off you.”

“Won’t that transfer ‘the Allevrah’ onto anyone else who wishes to clean themselves?” The giant wolf asked incredulously, coming to poise at the marble edge of the water sphinx-like, with her bark-tail swishing back and forth along the floor behind her. Bunny and Nutty scampered about over her shoulder, jumping back and forth after each other around the room looking for places to hide, bumping into things and making a great ruckus. Twill’s head snapped back and she bared her teeth with a low, warning grown - Nutty froze still as a statue and Bunny darted under Uyula’s cloak, peering out with its blood-red eyes aglow and nose twitching. At least the polymorphed pets of hers were starting to know their place.

“We can be like barbarians, and bathe in the blood of our enemies!” The half-elf cackled gleefully in jest, swishing her hands through the water to toss some up towards her friend, then ceased with a grin. “I’ll just purify the water when we’re done. Come on, I don’t like looking at you like that.”

Twill crouched down low over her front paws to scrutinise the pool, and after another moment’s thought rolled in with a loud and cumbersome splash. Uyula giggled like a child as she watched her eidolon roll about like an excitable puppy in a summer puddle, the leafy feathers along the ridges of her wings fluffing up with pleased relief even as the water around her started to cloud with the dark blood of vrocks and drow washing from her form. After she’d finished and gotten to her feet, looking far closer to her natural pale-oak colour once more, Uyula sat back and opened her arms, welcoming her close to fondly scrub behind her ears and pluck at stubborn flesh and gunk that still clung to the eidolon’s horns.

“I’m proud of you, Twill,” she breathed, pressing her face to Twill’s wide snout. “We did it, and you made the killing blow. I’m sure Gozreh is pleased for that, that would mean the world was saved in his grace, wouldn’t it? And now we can go home.”

Home. Churlwood. How long had they been gone? Would that tiny forest with its simple rules and easy problems be enough for her summoner when she returned, after all that she’d seen and carried and been through? She’d gone from a quirky, wood-dwelling loner to a world-savior, powerful and with powerful allies, and no longer faceless in a crowd. Soon, if not already, everyone in Kyonin would know their names and faces and celebrate them, and she wondered if the girl would know the Uyula they spoke of.

The great wolf hesitated a moment, her large golden eyes gazing up into Uyula’s own of the same shade, trying to find her answer. She lowered her head and nuzzling to her summoner’s shoulder. “We can go wherever you like, little one. Now clean the water before the wizard pitches a fit.”

Uyula sighed, and glided her hands along the soiled surface, mumbling to it in the secret Druidic tongue. Light shifted through the water, and within moments it was clear once more.

“I also appreciate it,” Imani admitted from the edge of the pool, hanging her heavy coat on a golden branch that seemed to grow out of the mural painted across the wall that curved around the bath. Methodically, she unbuckled and removed the few pieces of armor she wore. Their last encounter in Alleverah’s temple had left her gear in worser wear than normal.

As soon as Lamia placed her gear to the side of the bath, Imani pulled the thin, silk curtain around the perimeter for the scant touch of modesty it offered and began to disrobe.

“Caledor?” she asked through the curtain. “Can you make certain this room is safe from prying eyes and ears? The Elves may be our allies, but indulge my paranoia this once.”

She could feel the elf’s protest on the end of his tongue, but the words caught in his throat. Sighing heavily, the mage set to work on a spell.

“Considered yourself indulged, Imani. Our privacy is assured,” he announced, obviously too weary to argue the superior status of elves for once. In truth, the Winter Council and Alleverah herself had done much to deflate his own thoughts on the matter. “Do hurry it up in there. This ‘ladies first’ business is quite bothersome, you know.”

The tiefling ignored the comment and smiled to herself as she slipped into to warm, scented water. Honeysuckle and lavender, she noted, only just able to hold back a grimace. She missed the heady, spicy scents of Katapesh. Amber and sandalwood, balanced with desert rose. With a sigh, she dipped her hair in the floral bath and washed away the thought of home. It was a place she knew she would not be returning to, despite her hope when leaving Riddleport almost a year ago.

“I do not think it wise to share all of what we know with the Elves,” Imani spoke just loud enough to ensure Caeldor and Sana were still included through the drapes. “They have shown themselves to be seduced by ill-practices, and surprisingly short-sighted for a race who are so long-lived. Coupled with their natural talents for the arcane, I do not feel sharing the existence of aboleth magic, to risk them to seeking it, is a wise venture.”

Her strange gaze flicked up to the shadows behind the curtain. She could not deny her concern for the Paladin’s morals in such a situation. “How much do you intend to tell them, Sana?”

Lamia chimed in as she slowly slid herself into the pool. She’d been quiet for the past while not really thinking it was her place to speak; after all, what did a nineteen year old child know about the machinations of elves and demon lords? What she did know was that no one should have access to such evil.

“Perhaps we just tell them that the drow’s plan has been stopped… and not about Abraxas’ plans. If anything it’ll scare ‘em and probably inspire others to search for the stuff…” She pulled a nervous and lamentful face that was only privy to those on her side of the curtain. She met Imani’s eyes for a moment before shrugging and going back to lazily scrubbing the grime and demon blood off of her.

Sana’s walking slowed, until he stood near the edge of the large pool. He’d barely stopped moving since they arrived at the accommodation, leaving the room and returning multiple times and engaging the guards on the door, as well as his own shield, in muted conversation. His eyes unfocused, he looked as though he were seeing through the walls of their residence. Imani might have believed he was, if it weren’t for her particular ring being decidedly absent from Sana’s fingers. “You’ve both got points, I think,” he began. Although he, too, was speaking softly his voice projected around the room. “It’s not quite right though. Maybe I’ve become to used to the fight, but I feel like now is the time to be proactive.” Sana fixed his gaze on the curtain that obscured Imani and Lamia.

“If I know you at all, Imani, you’ve already started planning something. I’d hear it, if you’re willing. What we do and say in the next few hours could well ripple down the years.”

Imani’s gaze shifted from the paladin’s broad shadow, across the water to the women bathing beside her. After a quiet moment, she nodded softly and spoke up.

“Before we embarked for Zyrnakanin, I sent a letter back to Magnimar for my brother. It was… my resignation from the Order,” she began, sinking down to let the water sit just below her scarred shoulders. “I walked through that portal, and into the Darklands as Imani Fiendborn -- a tiefling free to pursue her own path in service to the Seven Veils. No longer am I a ward of the Kassis family, nor a Shadowbreaker. As such, returning to Riddleport is not an option for me.”

It felt like an awkward admission to leave hanging, lest one of her companions find the chance to comment, so the half breed quickly continued.

“Leaving the Order removes what protection I had. Not only does the blood of fiends run through these veins, but I know their ways, their tactics and safe houses. While it places a sizable target on my back, it also leaves me to pursue matters that my Lady deems more important,” she continued. “The gloating of the maralith has me concerned. There was no lie in her words. Abraxas unearths secrets that should be best left to rest, and as any demon would, cares nothing for the chaos his machinations unleash. For me, at least, the journey is only beginning. Reconnaissance would be my goal for the foreseeable future, and I expect it will take me far from the Order’s gaze for the time being.”

“Should the Elves allow it, I would like to start my research here, in their libraries,” she concluded.

Uyula scrunched up her elven nose, pulling a face. She looked a mix of concerned and disgusted.

“Here? Surely the only one of us who’d happily stay here is the wizard.” She paused and rolled her eyes as Caeldor huffed and muttered about her from behind the curtain. If only the ancient, secret Druidic language had swears, then both of them could curse at each other in other languages.

“Another way you could look at it is,” she started thoughtfully, her head bobbing back and forth to the pandering of Twill’s grass-coloured tongue lapping insistently at her hair, like a she-wolf cleaning her young. “Maybe that Alistraxia told us what she did on purpose, so that we’d pursue these other documents and rituals to keep the curses alive. She did say Abraxas just wanted to be known and unforgotten. What better way than to work up the people who defeated him into a frenzy, looking all over for the Aboleth magic and keeping the knowledge of it fresh?”

Twill’s head rose, her amber eyes regarding Imani, silently awaiting a response as though some undecided action relied on it.

“She also assured us that were we not willing to carry the knowledge to the surface, others would fill that role in time,” the tiefling pointed out softly. “We did not defeat Abraxas in the Darklands, we merely prevailed over Allevrah’s plans. I do not believe staying idle would do much to impede his goal in this case.”

Laima’s eyes were trained hard on Imani like a concerned mother. Though the tiefling had several years on her the simple nature of ‘family first’ the youth had been raised with shone through, and like it or not they were all family.

“If Riddleport is no longer safe for you…” she trailed off as internal debate wore on her face, “... even the Gold Gekko cannot offer safe haven, you have men of your- uhm, ex-Order there. Will they remain? What of my brothers? Would they use us to get to you?”

She found herself rattling off too many questions and bit her tongue for a moment. “Whatever your plans are, I'll be there for you, Imani, I promise.”

The tieflings grey lips curved into a brief smile. The young girl had come a long way since that night following the battle of Celwynvian. Imani inclined her head gratefully. “Thank you. In my letter I had mention of Celwynvian, I expect the men at the Gekko have since be recalled and reassigned to follow that lead. The Shadowbreakers have a weak presence in Varisia, their forces will have to conviene in Katapesh from around Cheliax and Orision before they get organized and move out. Should they still be stationed at Riddleport, they will be no threat to you or your brothers. Simply tell them the truth, tell them we split paths in Kyonin. I will ensure I am not here when they arrive to check.”

Lamia nodded slowly, her brow furrowed for the briefest of moments but she seemed sated by the answer. “Alright. Just remember if y'all ever need a place to lay low, the Golden Gekko is open. I'll have the underground passages made up as a safe house if we ever need it.”

With that Lamia dunked her head under the pools surface for a moment to let the matted sweat and blood wash out of her dark locks. Once reemerged she rested against the lip of the lavish cistern with a happy hum. They'd won the battle and while the fight wasn't over it was still a good time to enjoy the pleasantries of life.

“Uyula has a point too. How do we know this isn't a trap set by Abraxas?” the young woman pointed out.

The armoured figure on the other side of the curtain turned, and his voice was softer, as if speaking away from the bathers.

“It’s a Demon Lord. As much as it wants the Aboleth magic remembered, if we’re even slightly a threat it can simply ignore us until we just… go away. And we will, eventually,” he continued sadly. “Time will take us all. Proactive action, something where we can make a lasting impact is the only way to curb the revelations Abraxas wants to unleash.”

He chuckled, “A trap is ultimately a compliment, like the opposite of damning by faint praise. If it wants us trapped, then I feel there must be more we can do to stymie its plans.” The sound of Sana’s fist meeting his palm emphasised this statement.

“I think reconnaissance is a good idea. Finding out what already exists is a good start. The tunnels under the Gekko are also an exceptional idea. I may see if I can put the Arena to some use for us as well. There’s something else I’m missing; something we, as our Hyena pack can do, even if we have to go our separate ways.”

The shadow made to turn back as if looking at Twill’s bulk behind the curtain when he stopped. “Hyenas...” he muttered softly, the projection gone from his voice. “Which were… and then the priestess… domains…” he trailed off; thinking aloud.

A silence filled the room as Sana paced away from the curtain, before turning back to his starting point. He paused for a moment before his pace accelerated, and he stopped himself just short of swiping the curtain in front of the alcove back. Hand still on the rich cloth, eyes focused as if staring through the walls of the room he began to cautiously speak, as if his words would flee if he tried to speak them too quickly. “Months ago, before we arrived here for the first time, I told Uyula a story from my youth. How a man from the desert hills of Osirion had come to the temple seeking aid against the wild hyenas of the red lands. As he told his story it was my abbott that I watched.” Sana’s head turned, reliving the scene in his mind’s eye. “It seemed the abbott could have told the man his own story and it dawned on me I was living a fable, a parable, a tale where the telling teaches, aside from strict lessons and repetition of lore.

“Later,” Sana’s whole body shifted, as if he were moving to a separate table, to physical evidence only he could see. “When we arrived here in Kyonin, our first accommodation had that book, the one we believed was from Queen Edasseril. We read of the tale of the Priestess and the Quasit. We knew there was a message hidden within; why else would it have been so conspicuously left for us? “I believe now that the Queen was preemptively asking forgiveness on behalf of the Winter Council; they’d schemed for so long they couldn’t help but do otherwise. My tale asked that we stand together in the face of opposition. Each was a story with a separate message, knowledge couched in a format easy to spread, enjoyable to learn. Knowledge where the context was only revealed when it became necessary.” A predatory smile now began to spread over Sana’s face and his pace rushed. “Abraxas’ domains include knowledge, the forbidden. He wants this information remembered, he wants it feared. The maralith implied as much. ‘Fear the Aboleth magic, fear the might of the ancients and fear the being that can gift it to your enemies’. Let’s twist it,” he mimed. “Twist the knowledge he’s given us, remove the forbidden nature of it. Take what we know of the Glyphs, their crafting and their destruction and build a story around it. One where the Aboleths, their falling stars, destruction on Golarion are absent unless you know the real context. We build a fable that only speaks of how to break apart the stabilising and master glyphs, to recognise when they’ve been built. Not to fear them but to render them nuisances to which the answer lies in a childhood fable, the same way one burns incense for the gods or wears silver to deter ‘thropes.

“Destroying the instructions that the maralith and Abraxus would place is but a sliver of our strategy. We’ll poison the well, so to speak, by making the knowledge of the Glyphs and Starfall useless before it’s implemented. One day, the knowledge that the magic came from the Aboleths might be just a historical curiosity. A curious scrap to share when you plan on getting too deep in your cups to know anything else. “What we tell the Queen and her people later today should reflect this goal. They know so much already of what they faced, but we may be able to convince them of our way of seeing things. If they don’t know there is more to find, they think we’re just heroes wanting our story told our way, they may agree.” Sana’s eyes focused again, as he turned back to the concealing curtain and the bearded elf in front of it.

From behind the thin drapes, the tiefling laugh bubbled. It was a rare sound -- soft, but harsh like the light rattling of iron nails in a clay jar. Imani ascended the marble stairs leading from the bath and claimed one of the folded linen towels on the cabinet nearby, grinning to herself.

“My Lady would find much poetry in such a tactic, I should think,” she spoke toward the curtain as she dressed. Though the elven clothes were freshly laundered, the half-breed was about as fond of elven fashion as she was elven architecture. She muttered a soft curse her native tongue as she attempted to fix the laces that held the fitted bodice together.

“Everything alright?” Caeldor drawled, his shadow shifting closer to the curtain.

“Fine,” Imani growled, dissolving into a grateful smile as Lamia stepped up to assist her. “Just marvelling the construction of elven tailoring.”

As the young brunette went to fetch the matching skirts to Imani’s bodice, the tiefling frowned and shook her head, opting for a pair of the soft leather breeches possibly intended for the men, and boots to match.

“Thank you,” she smiled to the girl, retrieving her bladed scarf and ducking out from behind the curtain. The look she saw on Sana’s face was almost as amusing as the clothing had been frustrating. “I apologise, Imani,” he said, regaining composure. “I’d not even considered how the Seventh Veil would respond to such a tactic. That was remiss of me.”

Sana began removing his armour, as if remembering that he, too, would have to clean up before standing before the Elvish Queen.

“Ooooh,” Uyula sung finally, “I get it. You mean to say, because there’s no one here that could challenge our story on what happened, we could twist the truth to our advantage? Removing the dread of Abraxas and the ritual and all of that from the tale completely? That’s so smart, Sana.” She gathered her thick mounds of raven hair up in hand and began wringing the water from it, batting away Twill’s gnarled snout as she stood.

“If we could pull it off, that would cause to happen exactly what he’s so afraid of. He’d be left out of his own story and maybe even forgotten.” A grin spread across her dark lips at the thought. It was such a simple concept, yet could so easily be executed.

“History is written by the victors,” Twill hummed, following suit and standing, shaking out the water from the long thin branches that made up the sort-of mane along her neck and shoulders, littering the pool with leaves and small twigs, “and bards do like a moral to be at the centre of their epic stories. I see no reason not to spite Abraxas and omit him and his omens from our journey.”

“‘The Incredible Adventures of Caeldor the Magnificent’ sounds like a title the bards would love,” the bearded elf chortled from the other side of the curtain. “‘The Many Arcane Bumblings of Caeldor the Treasure-Obsessed…’” Lamia muttered to the ladies as she finished dressing herself in a simple but beautiful elven dress.

“We have plenty of time to build on this,” Sana said with a smile as Lamia walked out from behind the curtain. “But yes, Uyula, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Although I think instead of twisting the truth, we’re encouraging a story to become legend faster than it normally would. Besides, it is our story to tell and we can depict the villain however we like. And if we choose for that to be off-stage, so be it.”

“I think, Imani,” he said, turning to the tiefling, “in answer to your original question, we tell the Queen and her court that we prevented Alleverah’s magic from bringing the star from the sky, and destroyed her research and theories lest we become tempted, let alone anyone else.” If Caeldor felt Sana was deliberately not looking in his direction as the Osirian spoke, he didn’t show it.

“If they ask for specifics, we can provide a series of ritual sites, heavily defended, and state that we feel they are best left alone. The Drow presence may be gone, but there are creatures there that have no love for up-worlders and they remain at large. The Creature at the Crystal Plaza springs to mind.”

Lamia quickly shook her head. “That monster… I don’t think we have the power to defeat it. What kind of thing can exist in all planes at once at once, but I see your point.”

“Then we shall let the two of you bathe,” Imani nodded in full agreement. “Then we shall spin our tale for the Court.”

#imani #uyula #twill #sanakt #lamia #caeldor #second darkness #pathfinder rp

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rpg-adventures · 6 years

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A Letter of Resignation

Dear Brother,

I hope this letter finds you well and I sorely wish I were writing to you under better circumstances. In my travels to asses the drow threat uncovered in Riddleport, I have found myself caught up in a war with the Drow’s enemies -- the Elves of Kyonin. We have won the battle for Celwynvian and tomorrow my companions and I will embark on a mission that may uncover much of the Drow’s intentions and with them, I hope, the intentions of their demon overlords. With my newfound direction from our Lady, I plan to see this task through to the end.

I am aware such claims of divine communication are to be left to our Oracles and I would have once agreed, that one as tainted as I, could not worthy of such an honor. But I have seen behind the first veil, brother. To turn down such a pilgrimage would damn me more than my blood ever could. It is with reluctance that I must inform you of my intentions to leave the Shadowbreakers. While the thought that our next meeting must be as enemies pains me, this is the path the Lady has set for me and I am bound to follow.

I believe that Father was right about me. I am uniquely qualified for this task. Sometimes you must consort with evil to better learn its weakness, and use that fiendish taint to better confront your foe. I can go where no other Shadowbreaker can delve, for I am already lost.

I am aware that declaring these intentions reduces me to simply a fiend our sister’s eye, and you, along with the Order at her command, have a duty to cleanse me from this plane. Should the day come when you find me, and my pilgrimage be complete, I will welcome death by the hands of my brothers and sisters.

Thank you for all you have done for me. I pray our paths cross again, when I can lay down my bow and accept my punishment. Until then, I shed the name Kassis and wish you the best of luck in hunting me down.

Respectfully,

Imani Fiendborn

#imani #shadowbreakers of sivannah #second darkness #pathfinder rp

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rpg-adventures · 6 years

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In The Wake of the Echo

Imani moved through the elven camp, regard the newfound jovial mood of the troops. Though a feast of victory had been held the the night before, pockets of the Elven army still gathered to drink and revel in the recent triumph against the drow. Several elves, none of which she knew, called her name and waved as passed — a strange gesture, she thought, but made the effort to politely bow her head to each as she passed.

As like most evenings after dusk, Imani entered the campsite and headed passed the fire to her tent. Throwing her pack inside the flap she set to work with her nightly routine — unstringing her bow and quietly taking a seat on the padded wood block beside the fire. She nodded a silent greeting, thankful her austere demeanour often guarded her from small talk as she unhooked the quiver from her hip and inspecting the ammo for signs of wear. Though it seemed as though the small talk around their fire had dwindled much since coming to see the elves.

The path so far had been unexpected, to say the least, and now Eviana had requested the group head through the Elf Gate to impersonate Drow in their own city. A shaky plan at best, she thought, even with the magical assistance offered. Shakier still, with the motley crew she travelled with. Sanakt was a skilled warrior who she had enjoyed sharing the battlefield with, though his steadfast morals seemed a touch inconvenient at times he was by far the most useful in a direct confrontation. Uyula had even seemed to find a knack for getting out of a tough spot with some kind of finesse in the recent battles. Caeldor was hardly battle worn, but his offensive magic would prove usefulness against if she could keep him conscious long enough to contribute and Lamia… well, Lamia was the most perplexing case. What business did a 17 year-old farm girl have in the middle of a war, even with that strange creature that followed her around. The creature’s strength had proven useful, alongside the girls knack for magical devices, but since the bizarre events on Devil’s elbow Lamia seemed to spend most of her time terrified, lost on the battlefield unless ordered by herself or the Paladin to perform a task. Imani couldn’t fathom what would motivate a person like that to march into battle, but she knew that hiding behind that hulking beast would not keep her safe forever.

Imani glanced around the campsite, quietly regarding her comrades that were present. Since that night back in Crying Leaf, everything seemed to be slowly drifting south. For the first time since leaving Magnimar, she found herself missing the Order. She may have been always on the outside, but the sense of trust and cohesion every squad possessed was something she could rely on above all else. For the cause. All for the cause. So much had changed in the short months passed. A soft, listless sigh pressed passed her lips as she returned her focus to her quiver, selecting the next arrow of the bunch for inspection. If this ‘squad’ passed through the Elf Gate tomorrow, would they return alive? She had her doubts. “Eviana is expecting a decision from each of us tomorrow,” she spoke up, twisting an arrow shaft between her fingers before moving on to the next. “I think this warrants a rather frank discussion of exactly what those of us who go could to be walking into. If the echo is anything to judge by… what might a whole city of Drow be like? Even with the necromancer’s assistance, Eviana’s plan is high-risk.” The tiefling frowned to herself, “Especially if we’re not all committed to cause at hand.”

***

Sana looked up from where he was sitting, his shield face up on his lap and his armour placed in careful pieces on the ground around him. Nolveniss's scorching fire and a general battering by the dragon Razorhorn, as well as days worth of misadventure meant they were looking tired and Sana's pride was dictating he spend time on them. Burrs and nicks had been sanded and scrubbed out and the front of the shield had been re-surfaced. A selection of paints — coaxed out of some of the more artistic warriors from Crying Leaf — were on the ground waiting to be mixed and applied. Sana had a whole new design in mind. He turned to Imani, his attention shifting completely from his armour to her questions.

"I would not say I am averse to personal risk. In fact, given what we have done together I doubt anyone here is. Which, now that I think about it, may be the very issue you're referring to. Hm."

Sana set the shield aside, nudging his back-plate with a boot to make room and sat forward with his elbows on his knees, looking over the fire.

"Personally speaking, as much as I have enjoyed this adventure in ways I maybe should not, my life isn't mine to spend as I would choose. I am not a free agent in this regard. I spent the early parts of my life a street-brat in Sothis and without the Lady of the River,” — he brushed the wooden icon strapped to his forearm — "I would have died a street-brat. This is not something I have doubts about.

"I probably would have suffered a worse fate after that night in the tower on the Devil's Elbow. This is proof of that." He gestured to the scar on his face.

"I have a duty. The Goddess has intervened in my life too much for me not to realise she has something planned for me. Protecting so many people from this... misdirected wrath of the elves... especially aided by other elves in the process...

"Apep, father of all evil serpents, is my Lady's twin and they will ever war against each other. I cannot see a clearer sign than that, but I worry about hiding within the corpse of a Drow to sidle up to them and put a dagger into their ribs is not the way to follow my Lady’s will."

Sana sat back, his eyes staring into the distance.

***

The voices of Imani and Sana drifted up like smoke from the campfire through the night air and filtered into the large, overhanging branches of the nearby trees. Uyula say back in the arms of a nice little nook she’d found in one of them, staring up through the dense canopy towards the clouded starts, listening.

In her hands she absently worked with a carving knife and a piece of white oak she’d unceremoniously snapped off Twill’s shoulder hours before (“It was getting too long, I’m trimming!”), which was starting to take the shape of a small hand flute. She’d never made a musical instrument before and one of the elves from the camp had offered to show her how to carve and oil it for nice proper notes once she had the basic shape.

She wanted to talk to Imani, like they used to, but she got the feeling Imani no longer wanted to. Uyula couldn’t really tell how she knew that, only that something had changed in the tiefling’s body language, the turn and the stiffness of her shoulders, that now shut her out. It had been that way ever since that night back at Crying Leaf. Everything had changed then — things had gone from comfortable to grueling and it was that stupid wizard’s fault.

Flick! A large chip of oak went flying off the end of her blade aggressively. She’d cut too much. Uyula sighed and dropped her work in her lap, her golden eyes slipping closed as she took a moment to breathe in the night, the sound of the creaking branches around her, the murmurs of the world of elves below and the campsite housing her travelling companions.

“You should go down to the campfire,” Twill purred quietly, “it is much warmer there.” The Eidolon, reduced back to her usual size for the time being, was stretched across a fatter branch not too far from her summoner, her head resting on folded paws and wings spread to keep her comfortably balanced, looking to be part of the tree itself.

“Don’t wanna.” Uyula countered, perhaps a little childishly.

“Then,” Twill canted her head with a sigh, “Imani is right in being concerned.”

“You were the one who said ‘us and them’,”

“I was — and you agreed with me when it suited you.”

Uyula tucked the knife away back on her belt and wormed around to straddle the branch, peering downwards towards the warm hue of the fire. “...it’s not like I can’t go. I have to. Gozreh told me I have to look after his earth.”

A soft growl came from beneath the wolf’s husky voice. “Make no mistake little one. My sole concern is you — but if you walk into that other realm with that attitude, unable to work with your fellows, you will get yourself killed. Have you not learned, from how we barely scraped through this battle? None of you are working together. Not well.”

Much like her summoned counterpart, Uyula folded her arms against the bark and rested her chin on them. She quietly missed the days when all she had to worry about was Twill, herself, bandits and the next meal. Life was so much more complicated now. Other people were complicated in ways she had never been able to fathom in the past and the more she travelled with them, the more she too felt herself changing and becoming less… pure. Was pure the word? Her thoughts and feelings which used to be sharp and on-point, marred with layers of murky water that had never been there before.

With a touch of bitterness and more than a little regret, she wondered if all would have been better off if she’d simply stayed in her far smaller world within Churlwood.

***

Lamia sat quietly beside Sana, she hadn’t spent much time talking to the other elves and watched him buff and paint his shield with interest. His strong hands worked with the grace one might not find in your average fighter. Though someone graced with the powers of a god, the powers to bring those back from the dead and to heal mortal wounds, was hardly an average fighter. The night was warm and the relief victory of the elves was palpable and the celebrations were large. Once she might have joined in on the festivities she couldn’t bring herself to smile, banter and drink any more. So she sat there mute and thoughtful her eyes soft and trained on Sana’s hands.

Her concentration was broken when Imani sat down and in her short and sharp way asked if everyone was alright. Sana spoke first, Lamia listened intently feeling guilt run through her when the man had finished. Truth be told the girl had a relatively easy life up until the past couple of months. Her farm had never come to any real hardships in her lifetime. It had been the simple and pleasant life of toiling to keep alive, a day’s hard work and then a night’s relaxing fun. She loved her brothers who taught her poker at an early age, she loved her father who taught her how to handle animals and she loved her mother who taught her strange arcane arts and how to commune with her horned shadow.

In contrast Lamia had no reason to be feeling the way she did, it was time to give back to the world for the simple and good life she’d lead so far. ‘When you get something good, you give back something better,’ her father would say. Sana was righteous, noble and strong. He gave back more than he got.

And what of Lamia? Well, she couldn’t bring herself to commit to it. How could she? When she’d seen the horrors of what ‘giving back’ brought. She’d seen her friends torn to shreds, she’d felt poison turn her stomach inside-out, felt the spears of demons pierce her sides until she passed out from the pain.

The girl curled up further as she thought of the recent pains, her knees coming to her chest and her face twisted into a sad grimace. An expression that seemed to be a common look on the ragged girl nowadays.

***

Imani regarded the paladin through the soft hue of the firelight thoughtfully before laying her quiver down to afford him the same respect of her full attention.

“Mm… your faith wears well on you, my friend,” she stated quietly, a hint of mirth to her strangely, blackened eyes.

Shifting her gaze to the flames, the tiefling squinted thoughtfully as she considered Sivannah, her own Goddess. “My Lady’s will is not so clear, though she bares no love for those who use magic for tyranny, Zon-Kuthon’s ilk or otherwise. Part of me wishes she would intervene as clearly as you have felt it, but despite Sivanah’s subtle ways, I also have a duty.”

“Though the further I travel, the more I feel that duty changing.” she studied Sana through the soft hue of the campfire thoughtfully, “I now find myself ever-striving to pull back that Seventh Veil. This Drow business, this… Earthfall — it’s not something I can walk away from, either.”

Imani pulled her cloak further around her shoulders and leaned into the warmth. Sivanah seemed to have no qualms with the necromancer’s ends justifying the means, but the Order’s teachings were clear — necromancy was abhorrent. In truth she wasn’t very comfortable with the idea, but she saw little other option.

“I struggle to see Giseil’s assistance as the prudent course of action but with the elves eager to seal the Gate I fear we are short on time to consider much else,” she conceded reluctantly, “The Drow seem quite skilled in magic, no doubt more simple illusions would not fare well against their scrutiny.” “Not that our hosts haven’t shown themselves to be trustworthy, but perhaps we should conduct our own divinations on the subject?” she suggested, “I’d wager Caeldor can assist…” — she trailed off softly, straightening a little and scanning the campsite — “Assuming he’s not revelling with the rest of the elves.”

***

Was it just gods? Lamia listened to the two devoted talk. They spoke as if the will of their gods were the only thing that was carrying them on. Surely it had to be more than that, but what kept them from being crushed under the weight of it all?

Lamia looked up, the light of the fire light her face from below giving her a small eerie look. “How do you do it?” She asked, her small voice cutting through the heavy silence like… Sana’s sword through undead. “How do you keep going?” Her voice wavered, nearly cracking as she spoke. It seemed so hard asking for help from them. No one else needed it and Lamia didn’t want to seem weak, but it was now or never. “How do you keep on fighting, after everything we’ve been through, the death, the pain all of it… How?”

***

Uyula and Lamia had the most in common out of anyone in the group simply for being summoners, however they tended to speak very little. Uyula surmised the girl looked down on her and thought her simple from the looks she gave sometimes when the half-elf opened her mouth and their tactics in battle were fairly separate. From the way she was often found trembling like a leaf in the midst of battle Uyula could’ve easily guessed she was feeling scared, thought what could she say? Any time she began to reach out to offer comfort or a kind word, all she could think of was Caeldor’s damnable beard wrapping around her neck and how the people she’d thought were her ‘pack’, she didn’t really know at all.

In a flurry of leaves, Twill was suddenly gone from her side. Uyula blinked and whispered furiously for her to come back, but it was too late — her leafy wings and spread and she touched down at the campsite lightly on Lamia’s other side, shaking herself out.

She peered at the small human quietly for a few moments, her golden eyes alight with the reflection of the fire, then padded over and sat herself down around Lamia’s lithe form, resting her large, white-oak head in the girl’s lap with an expectant ‘pet me’ sort of look.

***

Lamia’s melancholy look was quickly broken by the rustle of living leaves and the weight of an oversized tree-dog on her lap. Dumbfounded and confused Lamia’s hand slowly came down onto Twill’s head and started to trace the knots and plaited roots that formed her face. She was somewhat unsure how to ‘pet’ an unyielding mass of trees and flowers.

***

Unsure as to how to respond, Imani let Lamia’s question hung in the air a moment. The tiefling frowned to herself, struggling to remember a time where she may have felt the same. She recalled a time when she was about 10 years-old, her first time at the Order’s main hall in sandy Katapesh, nestled on the outskirts the chaotic Market district. Papa Jazeem had ordered her to stay in the tutors apartments while he accompanied the local squads on a raid, but the way everyone was so unnerved had piqued her curiosity and she had disobeyed. She had learnt that eve — as the cultists had captured her and carved the flesh of her face — how dangerous it was to sneak into the fray without training and the support of a good team.

Imani’s pale fingers slid over the rows of scarring across her chin thoughtfully before regarding Lamia carefully, “I learned long ago that flesh and mind are far more durable than most give credit for… and when you reach your limit, your team should be there to support you. In Katapesh, our teams were family. We could rely on one another and we fought hard to keep each other safe.”

“What is it Varisians like to say…” her soft, Osiriani accent rolled around her mouth as she spoke, looking for the correct adage, “... ‘that which does not kill us, makes us stronger’ — I believe.”

“You’re still alive, yes?” the tiefling’s tone was gentle, despite the rough phrasing, “Your flesh and mind are still your own.”

***

Sana opened his mouth and furrowed his brow. ‘What an inane piece of trite!’ he wanted to say. ‘Food does not kill me and gives me sustenance. The application of that saying is so broad as to render it a bland platitude,’ but he stopped, looking at Lamia and realising it was what she needed to hear. He’d tear apart the nonsense of the Varisians and their language later, when the poor girl wasn’t bearing her soul. He looked at her and his expression softened.

“I could tell you,” he began kindly, “that I see my life divided by one major event, two paths separated by the willingness of the temple to call me Son. One path leads here — and all it entails — and the other would have ended in oblivion years ago. That my choice to go on is based on a choice between this and nothingness.

“That would not be true.”

“I have ever been ready to throw the first stone, swing the first punch. It was who I was since I knew it to be the fastest way of imposing my will on another person. I got into more fights than I can justify, on too many boats, between Sothis and Riddleport. I have always been faced with choices, when to allow that part of my nature to rule and when to think and slow down. “I think what is important is to understand how to stop fighting. This is harder than going on. I think that the Drow are proof of that; Earthfall was so long ago and yet they hold their hate close and use it for fuel. Surviving the armageddon was the easy part — greeting with open hearts, those who fled it was what the Drow could not do. “Child, tonight you need to stop fighting. Tomorrow, whether we greet it or not this war will go on and we will be drawn into the fight again in some way, sooner or later. Tonight you need to let go of what we have fought. Stop fighting the undead of fire, stop fighting the demons who would pierce you with spears, the sorcerers and their magics. As long as you fight them in your mind, re-live the injuries done to you and others, they live also and as long as you fight them they are undefeatable. Put them aside, if you can, though I know it is difficult and they will become as much vapour as Caeldor’s mirror-doubles. They will die their final death.

“Imani is right. Your flesh and mind do still belong to you. Do not let them be a place for enemies to reside.”

Sana sat back, hoping Lamia could take on what he’d said. It had been a hard lesson for him when he was younger and he could think of better times to attempt to pass it on to another. He looked at Lamia’s lap and tried to meet the golden, half-lidded eyes of Uyula’s companion there. Lamia was not the only one he’d hoped to speak to with that message.

***

Lamia assumed that her friends were trying to comfort her. They weren’t her mother that’s for sure, she was homely sweet and full of smiles. However they were trying, which was… something. Sana was eloquent as always, his deep smooth voice rolled over her like the warm sun and the sentiment was appreciated.

While it wasn’t what she wanted, Imani and Sana told the truth — she was alright, they were all right. Despite it all they had survived. However, how could she give up what she’d been through? Maybe it was easier for the others, they were older and had seen far more than she had. Lamia was still a child, despite her parents insisting that she was a woman, she felt like a child. Especially when compared to Sana and Imani.

Her eyes seemed far away, distant with thought and sorrow. How could she let what she’d been through go? Her father had always said, ‘take everything in, learn from it and make it part of yourself,’ but Lamia didn’t like the whole these parts were creating. She didn’t like the fear, the sleepless nights of terror, the twisted demons and Drow set to destroy those she cared for.

“How do I let it go?” She asked her party after a moment of palpable silence, “What if… what if I stop fighting but the memories don’t? What if they overrun me? What then?”

***

Imani listened patiently to the young girl’s fears, the spidery scars across her brow creasing as she frowned. Lamia was only four years younger than herself, but instead of growing up on the bottom-rung of one of the most skilled hunting families in Katapesh, this girl grew up rearing animals surrounded by a very different family. Despite their obvious differences, Imani didn’t believe Lamia was just an ordinary farm girl — not with that silent beast she could summon to her side. Perhaps the creature’s protection had sheltered her too much, much like she suspected Twill had Uyula — leaving their potential untapped and ill-formed from misuse.

“You make a decision.” Imani said simply, “Then, when your resolve starts to slip — and it will — you make the decision again. Over and over again until you realize you haven’t had to force yourself to keep going in a while.”

Imani tugged on the sleeves of her undershirt, the grey fabric that hid the meticulous rows of scarring from the eyes of her fellow. Each short mark a had been a litany — a promise — to be better. Perfect. But since the night of Devil’s Elbow, she had not taken steel to her flesh again. She had understood the message in the shadows clearer than any prayer offered to the light — perfection was an illusion and she had realised that even a well-trained mind could play tricks on it’s owner if care was not taken.

“It is not magic… it is a process.” she continued, “If you truly wish to continue this path Lamia, I will be here to remind you when you need it. But… do you wish to continue?” — she paused, as if trying to find the proper words — “Surely you realise that whatever you are, you are not just some simple farm girl? I cannot know if continuing onward is the right choice for you, but I think you have something within you not even you seem to acknowledge. Perhaps you are more capable than you give yourself credit.”

The halfbreed fell quiet once more. It was perhaps the most she had ever spoken at once to the group, realizing perhaps her muted nature was just as much to blame for the lack of rapport as Caeldor’s pride, or Uyula’s petulance. Leaning forward into her knees, Imani poked a wayward stick carefully back into the flames. Knowing Sana was the only one present who could understand her, she spoke in her native tongue softly, “The farm girl cannot trust herself, Uyula acts as though she trusts only herself. You and I seem to hold a kind of esteem, but I am no leader, friend. I am but a shadow trained to hunt. We need a leader who can rally trust in his comrades, as well as respect.”

Imani lifted her attention from the flames, seeking out Sana with her eerie gaze, “I would gladly follow you into the Drow city — my bow and finesse alongside your might and mind, but we alone are hardly a task force. I feel each present would follow as I would if they felt the support of a team behind them. This is the point where we must come together, or I believe some of us will not return. Our group may be struggling, but I believe they will find strength in a leader — perhaps one such as you...”

***

Sana rocked back. As Lamia had pleaded, and Imani explained, he had been sitting forwards more. Partly an unconscious desire to aid the ailing girl and then to catch the words of the tiefling. Imani had always been quiet; Sana considered it a matter of respect to pay attention whenever she spoke, as it was often well thought out. That she had continued talking directly to him and only him, and to ask him to not just continue to aid, but to lead… it wasn’t something he’d ever have sought for himself. The temple had taught him how to care for others, to share what little they had when it would have been easier to hoard for the hard times. The principle had been the same through most of what Wadjet’s followers preached: protect others, aid and guide them as the River Sphinx did for Osirion. What Imani was saying was the extension of that; aid and guide this group. Protect the settlements, all the settlements, of the Inner Sea region from the predations of the Drow and their ruthless destruction. None of them had the resources in time or personnel or reconnaissance to fight this. He still felt more stunted than when the Drow had charmed his mind into wanting to catch Akata for breeding.

He blinked and brought his mind back to the present. “I’m honoured you think so.” he replied in their native tongue. “If I do lead, I need your aid tonight to properly forge us. Can you do that?”

***

Continuing to listen in like a curious thief in the night, Uyula’s face scrunched with annoyance as the other two delved into a language she couldn’t understand. She hadn’t ever heard Imani speak it before, and from the tones of their voices, the subject was a serious one. She felt uncharacteristic paranoia make her heart beat faster. It had been easy enough to ignore the problems when potential death and destruction was around every corner.

It had been getting back to the camp, in amongst the celebration of a battle won, that the uncomfortable feelings of betrayal and mistrust had crept back up on her. At first she'd tried. She drunk everything every elf handed her until sufficiently tipsy, followed at Imani's heels as Eviana’s plan lead them to the tent with the necromancer, been obnoxious for a little bit. She remembered watching the arcanist inspecting the Drow bodies and remembering the times he'd fallen, wounded and unconscious; remembered staring briefly and contemplating rushing over to heal him, then simply turning the other way. That side of her bothered Uyula. The one that so easily left him there, even if he was a threat — and those feelings were confusing, because she shouldn't feel bad for not helping someone who had meant her harm. So she'd slunk off, and hidden in the far corner of the camp. Some elven bard and his friends had been sitting around a fire and he'd told stories, that she'd listened to until Twill suggested they find somewhere to sleep. Uyula was already halfway back to the tent her friends were in to string up her hammock when she remembered things were different now.

The girl closed her eyes, pressing them shut tightly. She wondered if Imani and Sana would send Lamia away. She wondered if they'd send her away, as though she were a child too. She wondered if Gozreh would be dismayed, and take from her their blessing. She wondered if the bandits of Churlwood had raided her treehouse bare while she'd been gone. She wondered too many things, and they made aches in her head and knots in her chest. Such feelings only made her more flustered.

'Since when were you afraid of confrontation?' Twill's voice sounded in her mind, snapping her out of the reverie, 'if that is what you think will happen, then come down, let it take place, and we will be on our way. Lurking in the shadows suits you not.'

Uyula hugged her shoulders. It was starting to get chilly, so far from the fire. 'But it will hurt.'

'Does it not hurt already?'

That knot welled up in the base of her throat again. Reluctantly (feeling her hands flutter and tremble, nerves unlike her to have), she crawled down the branch to the trunk of the tree and sprung back to the ground, landing in a careful and steady crouch without a sound.

Aggressively tugging up the hood of her poncho over her matted hair, she walked in a stiff line towards the fire and sat down beside Twill on Lamia’s other side… where she folded her legs beneath her, stared into the fire with her hands held out to it and for once, said nothing.

***

Imani’s shoulder slackened slightly as Sana spoke, like a weight lifted from them and for the first time since leaving Magnimar she felt the relief of consciously relying on another for support. That he was open to the suggestion brought her hope that the issues at hand could be resolved with some effort.

The tieflings attention wavered from the conversation briefly, her keen night vision picking up on Uyula’s noiseless decent before she crept up to the fire beside her bark-skinned companion. Returning her focus, she nodded to Sana.

“I will help in any way I can,” the answer rolled off her tongue in Osiriani, “I am eager to find a resolution. This buried conflict can only lead to chaos.”

***

Lamia’s eyes slid to the side when she saw Uyula, her mind not focusing on the conversation happening around her. She had enough to think on, though she did try to put on a smile for the half-elf. For all that had gone on, Uyula had experienced it to and more — Lamia had not been attacked by one she trusted. The girl understood why Uyula was distant, even if it meant that they were falling apart as a team.

Then it clicked. A team. No. Family. Her eyes lit up at the sudden realization. Imani spoke of convincing oneself that you didn’t need to fight, but that didn’t seem right to Lamia. Darkness lay below her, an open maw ready to swallow her and never let go. She felt she couldn’t let the memory slip away. That wasn’t her. She was frightened of herself, of the danger and of the future, but that was alright. Because it was a price to pay for something far more important.

Them. It might not have been perfect, but Imani had been there on Devil’s Elbow when Lamia hit her low point, Sana held her during her feverish night of terror in the echo, Caeldor had taught her a great many things and Uyula showed her new ways of thinking.

“I can’t let go,” Lamia said softly, “if I do then I’ll fall into an abyss. But I don’t want to let go.” She didn’t want to be here, but she needed to be. The purpose she had lacked she finally found. Sana, Imani and Uyla had their gods, Caeldor had his pride. Lamia had them. Her new family. “But I know that I can fight and I can win. Because of all of you. Because I need to win for you, because you need me to win.” Her face resolute, though her eyes still showed fear. Fear was part of her and it would make her fight harder for them, “I will come with you Imani, Sana, I’ll go underground and fight to protect you all.” Her eyes turned to look at Uyula after a moment showing her a quiet empathy and a plea to trust her.

***

Caledor had always found solace in his studies, be it the acquisition and practice of new spells, trawling through arcane or historical tomes or divining the secret inner workings of magical artifice. The young elf's insatiable curiosity and endless search for new knowledge resulted in such pursuits becoming second nature to him. So much in fact, that he had come to rely on the peace and solitude these periods of study afforded him in order to maintain his composure and come to terms with difficulties of any kind he may be experiencing.

Still warm and comfortable from the wine he had consumed earlier, he noted the all but spent candle he had appropriated before the night's festivities had finally begun to sputter and die, Caledor reached up and lightly caressed the small stone hanging from the ceiling of his tent. With a single word and barely a stray thought, the stone began to glow, spreading a soft blue-white illumination in all directions, providing just the right amount of light to work comfortably in.

Tonight however, something was different. The sense of calm detachment he was accustomed to feeling simply refused to assert itself in light of all that had happened. This alone, disturbed Caledor more than he would like to admit and left him more than a little uneasy. Yet this dilemma was but one of a number thoughts drifting through his troubled mind. For someone who had fancied himself superior among an already elitist people, the last few months experiences had forced Caledor to re-examine many of the ideals responsible for this state of mind. While his pride railed against even considering such a thing, the logical — and thus far more objective — part of his mind strove to pursue this idea.

Satisfied the light was sufficient to avoid straining his eyes, Caledor retrieved the yew quarterstaff leaning against the wall of his tent and dismissed the cantrip he had placed on it before the night's revelling. With a slight rippling distortion in the air, like a wave of heat off hot stone, gnarled wood gave way to bleached bone and a fire that seemed to consume light rather than provide it. Despite its ominous appearance, the Staff of Dark Flame was a marvel of arcane craftsmanship. Positioning himself cross-legged on a cushion adjacent to the low work bench opposite his bedroll, Caledor gently lay the staff upon the bench and began taking mental notes of any and all notable features, searching for some detail he may have missed. Anything that might may give him some insight into the nature of the Drow.

Despite his comparatively long life so far, Caledor had little real life experience outside of his studies. The idea that children of lesser races could be so much more worldly than he, was a completely foreign concept to him and certainly not one he would have ordinarily given credence to. Whilst certainly not royalty or even nobility by birth, his family was known for producing some of the finest mages of his entire community. This, combined with his uncanny affinity for understanding the inner workings of magic itself had led to Caledor being held in high regard among the vast majority of his kind in the past.

Moreover, his almost sheltered lifestyle until coming to riddleport was largely responsible for cementing his high opinion of himself, his race in general and heightened his already growing pride and arrogance due to a lack of anything to contradict this. An extended stay in Riddleport did nothing if not reinforce these feelings and thus it was not until the voyage to the island known as Devil's Elbow that subtle doubts began to creep into the back of Caledor's mind. No doubt existed of his academic superiority but when time and circumstance had called for action, even he had to admit he had been woefully underprepared. While many of those doubts were initially dispelled by the vision he had experienced after the tower's collapse on that thrice damned island, his companions continually proving themselves to be ready and willing to face whatever trials befell — often more adequately than he — had them kept him wondering if perhaps it had just been a dream.

As he continued his examination, feeling the magic within the weapon, memorising different spells and components necessary to replenish or if necessary replace it, Caledor noticed the massive amount of magical energy infused within the staff went beyond what should be possible. Nolvaniss must have possessed great knowledge indeed to be capable of such a feat. Or perhaps these Drow possess powers even greater than Caledor or even the other elves first believed. Either way this was simply another item to add to the list of things he was not prepared for. Yet all of these thoughts paled in comparison to that which weighed most heavily upon Caledor: His own mortality.

For all his 157 year of life, he was still very young by the standards of his people. Only barely and adult in truth. And while he knew that someday he would eventually die, death had always seemed like a distant thing, almost surreal. Contemplation of mortality was something that the young races concerned themselves with and not the province of a people such as his. Yet how could he not? After all he had witnessed it seemed utterly impossible to ignore. The battles on Devil's Elbow had been one thing. With nothing more than the help of his peers around him, he had handled himself adequately enough to think of it as a trial more than a near death experience. Even with the whole rolling tower shenanigans.

But this war, this... Slaughter was something he could never have imagined. In the past Caledor had been desensitised almost to the point of callousness when faced with the death of the shorter lived races. After all, he himself had outlived the better part of 2 generations of creatures such as humans and he had only recently come of age. As such he had come to value the lives of his people far more than those of other races. Then to stand witness as so many of those treasured lives were winked out as easily as one might snuff a candle and being all but helpless to stop it was humbling and sobering in equal measure. If this anguish he felt was the pain of knowing mortality then what right had he to judge those who must live with that pain their entire existence, no matter how short-lived it may be?

Since that first day of battle after returning to camp and Caledor had begun questioning just how much he could accomplish on his own. And now, finally he believed he had an answer.

Caledor paused for a moment, caught in a flash of insight, eyes transfixed on and awkward ridge that appeared to be the base of the spinal column which comprised the lower-middle section of the staff. It had been fused with what looked like a thigh bone. Two completely different objects which, ordinarily, have no business being connected at all. In fact, when he really looked at it Caledor could not find a single piece of the staff that looked like it matched in any way with another. Individually they would resemble nothing more than a random assortment of leftovers from a mass grave and yet together, all these radically different pieces made up one of the most powerful magical weapons he had ever seen... Was it really that simple? Could he have truly been so full of pride that he had been blinded to the most basic of principles?

As long living things have existed, individual beings have worked together to accomplish what they could not alone. Strength in unity, safety in numbers, the instinctual need that drives living things to form packs, herds, families, friendships and communities. For all his rage at those responsible for the massacre of his people and his will to prevent these vile beings from unleashing their cataclysm on the world, this was one enemy which was simply too much for him alone. Their numbers were too many, their power too great and their abilities too shrouded in mystery for anyone being save a God to possibly take on alone. And Caledor was certainly no God. Even if his vision had been real, he was a champion at best or delusional at worst.

No this was a foe that was truly beyond him, beyond any of them. If an entire army of elves could not overcome this enemy, surely no hope existed for victory. And yet... Where that very same army had failed for generations, he... No... They had succeeded. His comrades and himself. They often disagreed, rarely coordinated with each other, got in each other's way and there were even some personal issues among them — due in no small part to Caledor's own pride. But somewhere along the line, seemingly without even realising, his concept of "himself" and "them" gave way to the concept of "us". When it really mattered, they had all managed to pull through. And they had done so together. It had all been right there the entire time and not once had the arcanist noticed.

By working together — even if only barely — they had turned the tide of an entire war for the first time since its inception but in his arrogance he had failed to see it. If this group of individuals could accomplish that much with so little cohesion, it would stand to reason that with true unity, perhaps their combined efforts would prove sufficient to overcome that which was impossible for them... For him... individually. The more he considered this, Caledor's conviction began to grow. After all, had it not been his comrades who had saved his very life more times than he would care to admit? Had they not all acquitted themselves at least as well as he in battle? Their small group was responsible for saving more elven lives already than any other unit in the war.

Finally, Caledor came to a conclusion. If he truly wished to be the "all knowledgeable teacher" had often claimed to be then it would seem he should start acting like it. If this small group was to continue fighting this was, they needed to be taught how to really work together. And if that was ever going to happen, there were many things that required settling first. With these thoughts still echoing in his mind, Caledor stood, returning the Staff of Dark Flame to its resting place and reapplying the cantrip so it so it once again resembled a simple yew stick.

At peace with his thoughts for the first time since the beginning of the war, Caledor set off intent on amending — as best he could — the worst of his failures first and left to find the half-elf or her summoned partner.

The search proved a short one, as he exited his tent to find the pair joining the group gathered around the campfire. Unsure of how best to approach the precarious situation, he opted to take a seat aside Imani and feel out the atmosphere and conversation before deciding his approach.

***

Sana nodded to Caeldor as he joined them and turned back to address Lamia. He was pleasantly surprised to see Uyula had sat down as well, but reflected that Imani’s suggestion had occupied his thoughts thoroughly. Lamia’s resolution though, it was part of what he’d hoped Imani would help with. To have Lamia make a decision, even if Sana would have preferred it came from a different source, was enough. He knew as a leader, one of his first priorities was simply to make sure his people could stand and fight.

“And we can fight,” he said to Lamia, a smile on his face.

“And we can win, because we have you by our side. If you ever need to be reminded, if you ever feel your grip slipping or your defences being overrun, just ask us where we need you. Not if we need you, where we need you.” Sana was firm on that. Even without her strange companion, Lamia had a place with them.

Echoing the epiphanies around the group, Sana thought of the way they had grown from a bunch of misfits to a power — both within the politics of a border-city in Varisia and then in the struggle against darkness. How he relied on each of them, in different ways and different roles, both when violence erupted and when treating with the varied groups they’d encountered. Imani was right: it was time for Sana to take on a new job that they sorely needed to fill. He stood, and stepped around the fire so they could all clearly see him.

“We all have a role to play. I still have my doubts about the Necromancy we are to take advantage of, and I would like to hear all your thoughts on it. We need to come to a decision on whether to accept this aid and we need to decide now.”

Sana looked at the two most fractious members of… his team.

“Uyula, Caeldor, I also need to know — will you stay with us? The Echo was one thing, but this is a step up, and we’re not soldiers. We’re here of our free will, so the decision stands with you.”

***

Uyula returned Lamia's gently, hopeful look with hesitation, while Twill's tail thumped back and forth along the ground impatiently between them. She didn't want to dash out whatever strength or resolution the girl had just found, but even after sitting about listening to the others speak, she still hadn't come to a conclusion about herself.

She had liked to think for a while, that it wasn't up to her. Gozreh, god and goddess of the sky and sea had chosen her. She was just doing their will — but that was a move to use faith as an excuse. What did she want? Why was she here? Cautiously, the half-elf met Sana's expectant gaze, her eyes flickering like liquid gold in the light from the fire as Twill's did, the rune that joined them flowing faintly on her brow between messy raven hair.

To turn away would be to forsake Gozreh's will, but they wouldn't strike her down on the spot for that. She might lose the powers they had given her, but those wouldn't be needed if Uyula went back to Churlwood and resumed the role of the wood's crazy little witch who ate children... but if she did — could she bear knowing these people that she had grown to appreciate, and enjoy the company of, were going into a storm so dangerous without her help?

That was the thought that pressed her mind, as Sana gently pressed her for an answer.

“I don't trust the wizard,” she said then, flatly. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled to mention him, knowing he was just over her shoulder, “and as long as you all go on pretending what he did was was all fine, then I won't trust you either. I won't go into the jaws of the lion with people who haven't got my back.”

***

Sana heard Uyula's statement and felt the burden of leadership drop onto his shoulders. This was the internal divide he'd been worried about. He met Uyula's gaze and then turned to look at Caeldor.

"A fair objection, and past time we addressed this as a team. Without either of you resorting to contact, spellcasting or name-calling, Caeldor, can I invite you to address Uyula's concern directly?"

Sana stepped back, and sat down. He glanced at Twill, still in Lamia’s lap, and put a comforting hand lightly on Lamia’s shoulder. She, at least, had done well tonight and he was proud of her resolution.

***

Caledor was acutely aware his companion's eyes upon him as fought off the urge to object. As if he would resort to something so petty as name calling?! And how many times must he tell that young woman he was nothing so simple, so mundane as a wizard?! However, truth be told these were not all that unreasonable precautions considering the delicate nature of the situation and its dire need for a swift resolution.

Recognising this and deferring to the Paladin’s judgement in matters concerning the feelings of others, Caledor took a deep breath and began to speak — slowly and quietly, but clearly and without falter, “As I am sure you have all come to realise, I have often regarded myself more highly than the rest of you. I admit this freely as it always seemed simply natural to feel this way, despite much evidence to the contrary.”

The elf paused for the moment, his eyes sweeping his assembled peers as he watched for signs of interruption yet surprisingly, there were none. He continued, “This was a… failure on my part. While I could claim a lack of true experience with the world beyond the boundaries of my home is responsible for this, it would be nothing more than a petulant excuse not unlike that of a child. This war has taught me far more than I could have imagined when first I set out to observe the strange blot in the sky, not least of which being how little knowledge I really had of the world.”

As he continued his address, Caledor shifted his gaze yet again, this time settling it directly on Uyula before resuming, “Most importantly however, I have come to realise just how valuable it can be to know you can rely on those around you when times are truly difficult. The sense of safety, of stability it brings even in the face of hardship is something surprisingly new to me. You have lost that young one and the blame for that falls upon my shoulders. Whilst it may not mean much to you now, I am sorry for that. I will not ask for your devotion or your loyalty for broken trust is much like a severed root; if it is ever to heal, it will only do so in time.”

Glancing at each of the others in turn before returning once again to Uyula, Caledor concluded, “Sadly, time is not a luxury we have been afforded. Come tomorrow, we may all be heading into darkness with no real knowledge of what we may face and in light of this I must agree with Imani and Sanakt that we all have a place here. We all have a role to play and you are no exception. If we are to have any hope of succeeding, we must proceed through that portal knowing that we can rely on each other. Either we proceed as one, or not at all. As I said, I will not ask for your devotion, your loyalty or even your trust. What I will ask is that you find it within yourself to put aside your grudge against me so that we all may all learn to truly work together. If you can give your word that you will do this, then from this point forward I will put my trust in you until such time as I have earned back yours.”

As the words fled his lips, Caledor’s eyes wrinkled slightly around the edges in the first truly affectionate smile any of his companions had ever seen. This combined with his gratuitous beard caused him to appear as nothing more than a kindly old man.

“What say you, young one?” he asked earnestly, “Will you try?”

***

While Caledor embarked on a monologue, Twill’s satisfied purrs at the attention given to her by Lamia turned into a quiet growling — the edge of her bark-like lip curling at the side to reveal jagged rows of teeth. Uyula herself returned the elf’s gaze fiercely, her arms folded stiffly across her chest. All outer appearances suggested she was completely unmoved by his words — though her tendency to wear her heart on her sleeves had waned a little as of late. As she grew and changed, she was becoming more guarded, more difficult to read.

“You always use such pretty words,” she drawled, with a scowl not dissimilar to Twill’s own expression. “Always have the most fancy thing to say. Your words mean nothing to me, and you won’t find the reason why in any of your old, stuffy books. Do you know what a wolf pack does when an arrogant pup attacks one of the other wolves? They abandon it. If it’s too aggressive, they kill it — and if it’s young enough or they’re hungry enough they eat it.”

She rose to her feet and took a heated step towards Caledor. “A grudge is when someone is being petty about something that wasn’t so serious. You attacked me!” Her eyes brimmed with bitter, angry tears. “I trusted you and you hurt me! Over your stupid, stupid pride!”

***

“Uyula.”

Sana’s voice was firm, but not harsh — and just loud enough to command attention without being a shout.

“Please,” he gestured, his tone soft again. “Stand here, between Lamia and the fire. Caeldor,” Sana gestured with his other hand to a place a similar distance from both fire, and where Sana was sitting. “Could you stand here for me?”

When both the arcanist and summoner had moved, Sana put his hands back into his lap. He looked up at them both, and sat with his shoulders back, his pose looking as though the tiny camp-stool was the most expansive throne.

“Uyula, you are right about pups that act up within the pack. When they take play too far, or respond in a way that is not appropriate, they are rebuked for it. It comes down to the pack Alpha to decide when a pup has been dealt with appropriately.”

Sana fixed Uyula with his gaze, deep brown meeting golden.

“I claim status as Pack Alpha now. If you care to challenge me, you are welcome. Until you do, I say this: Both of you are in the wrong.

“Uyula-pup, you played too hard with Caeldor’s pride, and had Caeldor snarled or snapped at you I would call this resolved and you rebuked. He went further than that, and as Alpha it falls to me to call him to account. You have aired your grievance.”

Sana turned to Caeldor. “You defended your pride, your self image. To be expected of anyone. However, we are not just any lay-people. We are individuals of exceptional ability and we have an increased burden on us to moderate our actions. You used that exceptional ability without warning against someone who had not done anything that would separate her from any normal citizen of Golarion.

“Had you brushed her aside, had you expressed your anger verbally or walked away and called her to account later even if you had struck her with your fists, you might have been justified.

“You did not. At the time, I expected better of you. I have maintained that expectation despite my frustration at this ongoing issue. It seems from what you’ve said tonight, you are able to greet your own faults. I will ask a price from you as penance for your actions, but with it comes my hope for resolution. Thus, you are called to account.”

“Do either of you wish to challenge anything I have said so far? Now is the time for it, or the matter is closed. We have much to decide for the coming days and weeks, whatever our actions.”

***

Her head whipped around and Uyula’s eyes widened slightly on Sana, then narrowed with curiosity as she took her place where he desired her to be. The warmth of the fire licked up her left side, casting its orange hue on her dark skin.

His following words made sense to her in a way that no other language could. They weren’t pretty or hollow or full of self-importance — they were simple but wise, and very much aligned to her own thinking. She canted her head, wondering how he did that — the paladin from another land with another god, the only one not trying to make her speak like them, but endeavouring to understand her mind.

Yes, finally. We’re a pack. Not just a group of people doing the same thing. Not just friends.

She reached up to hastily wipe away the dampness from her eyes.

“Thank you for… seeing,” she managed, “I don’t challenge your status. As long as you mean what you say, for penance.”

Twill lifted her head from Lamia’s lap and rose, shaking herself out, sending flower petals and cabbage butterflies scattering. Her joints creaked like trees in the wind, in a somehow weary fashion, and she padded over to Sanakt. Without a word — though her growling had stopped — she flopped on one side and showed her belly to him. It was as hardwood as the rest of her, but the point of the gesture wasn’t lost.

“Though I won’t hunt for you,” she pointed out, licking her paw.

***

Caeldor briefly raised a single, bushy eyebrow before returning composure to his face and locking eyes with Sanakt. The elf pondered the simple ease with which the situation had been resolved after such trying tribulations — few short words and a show of dominance and it was done. Instantly recognising the stoic paladin’s obvious knack for reaching each member of the team, Caledor nodded in acknowledgement as he spoke.

“Then it is settled. I stand by my words but thus far, challenge nothing. In fact I believe the structure this may afford us will do the lot of us some good.” So saying, he returned to his seat by Imani and sat down heavily with a weary sigh.

***

Imani watched the exchange with curiosity. The elf and the half-elf, scantily a meter apart as they complied to Sana’s instructions — likely the closest they had stood together since the events of Crying Leaf had taken place. But neither party argued, nor fled. A hint of a smile flashed across her marked face as the paladin commanded them with not only the strength and grace she had expected, but with a fairness that reminded her fondly of brother Abdal — leader of the Magnimar wing of Shadow Breakers. Both were good men, fair in battle and mind. She was content in her decision to implore him to take up the burden, for he was the far better choice.

The hour was late, she noticed, as the revelry of the elves in the campsites beyond began to grow quieter. It was unlikely this eve would be one of strategy after such personal efforts had been made to set pride and perspective back in place from her companions — the morning may be a more suited time to draft a plan of action. Their first official mission as a unit and to do no less that prevent a world-ending catastrophe from reoccuring at the hand of the Drow.

As Caeldor returned to his seat beside her, she bowed her head respectfully. She had not expected such a sincere admission of his guilt on his behalf and felt it deserved some acknowledgement, despite the message being lost in translation with Uyula. Under Sana’s command, it seemed Uyula had found some kind of way to try moving forward as she’d hoped and though the outcome was tense, this discomfort was far less so than it had been in weeks. A relief she welcomed wholeheartedly.

***

With a struggle, Sana resisted the urge to pass his hands over his eyes. He was exhausted, and thanks to his new position, he knew he couldn’t show it. Like Imani, he’d hoped to have a plan for the following day and the days or weeks moving forward, but it would have to wait. They knew so little of the Drow that Sana wasn’t even sure where to start when asking questions of ethics or moral right to take this course.

He kneeled down, and rubbed a hand along Twill’s chest and stomach, before moving to scratch the back of her neck, just under her ear. It was a gesture he’d learned long ago when taming strays or the temple dogs, and he hoped Twill had enough similarities for the gesture to matter. He stood, and allowed Twill to leave to meet Uyula.

“We have a lot to do, and little time to do it. There are things all of us need to act on. Caeldor: I want a precis from you, everything you can think about regarding Giseil’s spell, every concern you have and any concern you might think I have. You have an hour.

“Imani, I gather you, or your order, might have some practice at small-group missions, and I’ve seen you organise things at the Goblin. I need from you a quick list of some of the most pertinent factors you can think of after we cross the portal tomorrow. Weaknesses, strengths, inventory. You have until I finish reading Caeldor’s list.

“Uyula, Twill, Lamia. You have the hardest task, I think. Twill and the Horned Creature are incredibly recognisable and from my understanding, Giseil’s spell cannot disguise them. It is likely they will blow whatever cover we have and jeopardize our mission. Except in private moments, we will not be able to rely on them. Take some time, as much as you need, and spend it with them.

“Other than that, all of us, prepare your gear and be ready to move tomorrow morning. No watches tonight; Eviana’s people have that covered. Go.”

Sana turned away from the group, hoping that it would act as a display of authority, and spur them all into action. He retrieved his armour and shield, and set about organising what he could. Once they’d all began to move, he sat back down after retrieving a small phylactery from his pack. He tied the band around his head and returned to painting his shield.

Sana allowed the monotony of simple tasks and brush-work to help him enter a meditative state, where he pondered the momentous task they were all about to undertake.

***

“Come, little one,” Twill nudged past Uyula’s leg and walked towards the like of trees, only stopping once to glance over her shoulder while Uyula searched for something to say — some argument to put forward about how that was completely ridiculous and of course she should still summon Twill. What was the use of her going if she couldn’t have her lifelong companion by her side?

She winced a bit as Twill’s jaws gently closed around her thigh a moment. “Come. I want us to speak alone.”

Uyula raised her head, casting a quick look around the campsite as though embarrassed. The task ahead, for the first time, felt very real and very near.

“Later,” she mumbled to them, gliding her fingers briefly along the knots and branches of her summon’s back before following her back out of the camplight.

***

“I believe I can help, yes.” Imani dipped her chin curtly to affirm Sana’s assumption, “Consider it done.”

Caeldor fingers glided smoothly over his beard thoughtfully, his shrewd eyes narrowing as he began to consider the task delegated to him. He nodded slowly — a gesture more a consideration to himself than the party assembled — before rising back to his feet.

“Giseil may yet have some further information we can use. I will return shortly with an account of considerations”, the arcanist carefully collected his robes around himself as he made way to head into the camp proper.

Imani watched as Uyula followed Twill into their regular haven amongst the trees and Caeldor set out in the direction of the necromancer’s tent, seemingly pleased to have an excuse to further discuss the arcane machinations with the grey elf.

Reaching into her layered coat, the shackleborn pulled out a leather journal and unwrapped the length of charcoal caressed between the pages like a bookmark. The book was part bestiary, part journal — occasionally punctuated every so often by a torn page — reminders of letters sent back to Maginimar. Tonight may be her last chance to write back to Abdal and explain everything. Resolved by the staidness of their next venture, she vowed that once her strategy proposal was drafted, she would write her brother. It would be the prudent thing to do and she owed her Abdal much.

But for now, there were many things to consider before she could settle her affairs. Though they knew far less than she was comfortable with, they did know a little of the Drow. This Zirnikaynin was located underground, as Aviana’s priest had managed to divine and they were likely strong opponents in darkness, perhaps crippled by light — just as they would be if under the effects of Giseil’s disturbing magic. They also could assume the Drow were matriarchal in structure with some concept of nobility — though naught by what means. Blood? Power? Likely both, she considered, sliding down into the dry earth and leaning back against the padded stool as she began to scribble down her thoughts.

Imani’s gaze peered above the edge of her journal, observed Lamia’s quiet figure curled up against a camp-stool, her chin rested against her folded arms as she watched Sana silently work. The girl’s body lay in a way that seemed a little lighter than before, scarcely the remnants of a misery-laden gaze or gripping fear weighing her down — just the solemnity and thought that now pursues all their minds.

Following Lamia’s weary gaze, the tiefling considered Sana’s swift action and fair judgement this evening with a guarded smile. All things considered, Imani felt the resolution was as positive as could be expected and despite the sombre atmosphere, she saw a kind of coherency begin to form. At least now if they perished beyond the Gate, it would not be due to their own impotence. That, she decided, was a comforting thought.

Well done, zaeim. We may survive this yet.

#imani #uyula #twill #sanakt #lamia #caeldor #second darkness #pathfinder rp

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rpg-adventures · 6 years

Text

The Broken Fellowship

In the Elven outpost of Crying Leaf, the party prepared to rest before they march to Celwinvyn for a battle to take the city. The slow, steady building of tension between Uyula and Caeldor came to a volatile head as the half-elf expelled a derogatory comment about elves and Caeldor took insult. His pride wounded, the elven mage casts a spell, using his beard to catch the half-elf around the throat.

Imani raises her bow at the elf, warning him to let go, as Sana tried to sooth the sudden hostility. When Caeldor refuses, Twill lunges at him, pinning him to the wall and threatens to tear out his throat if he doesn’t let go of her charge.

The mage agrees, but driven by Uyula’s rage, the eidolon keeps Caeldor pinned a moment, before Uyula finally orders her down and bolts into the forest.

-*-

Uyula didn't really know why she ran. She knew she was angry, she knew Twill was angry - and she knew that if she'd ordered Twill to halt a second later, Caeldor's throat would've been ripped out, hanging from the eidolon's bark-like jaws. But even as her guardian, Twill was obedient. She had stopped dead at the Druidic order, ears perked as she turned her head, and as one mind they had taken off into the forest where it was safe.

Where it was safe? Wasn't being with her friends safe? Caeldor was only one. The others were as confused and angry as her. Somewhere, beneath the ropes and twists of doubt and upset, Uyula recognised that.

Just not enough of her to stop from bolting.

-*-

Imani swore under her breath as Uyula and Twill retreated from the pavilion. Withdrawing the pull on her bow, she scowled at the elven mage as she caught the Sana’s eye.

“Take care of the elf,” she growled in their native tongue, before turning to chase after her friend.

Stepping into the night, her keen eyes caught sight of the pair bolting into the forest beyond the campsite. She took pursuit, her footfalls heavy as she sprinted through the dense brush.

‘Unbelievable…’ she cursed silently as she continued the chase. ‘We are on the brink of an all out conflict with demon-worshiping psychopaths and all hell breaks loose over a fucking over-inflated sense of pride.’

An audible growl pressed out of gritted teeth as she pushed her pace to keep up with the half elf, “Uyula! For the love of the Gods… Wait!”

The shackleborn’s austere temperament shattered, her frustration wore clear on her scarred face. Caeldor’s pride had got the better of him and his rash reaction had set her temper ablaze. As impulsive and petulant as Uyula could be at times, hostile action against your own unit was unforgivable. And now, instead of resting after hard ride, she was out traipsing a drake-inhabited forest to ensure her friend wasn’t going to become something’s dinner.

“Uyula!”

It took Uyula a moment through the white noise in her ears and the rusting overgrowth to even hear the call, and even then, it was mainly Twill nipping at her ankles that made her focus. Then again, she heard a familiar voice calling out. She wouldn't have stopped for anyone else. The rest of them would have just scolded her like a child, just like how Caeldor thought he had to discipline her like a child, with pain. As she stumbled to a stop and Twill curled around her legs in a readied crouch, she absently stroked a hand down her neck. It was already starting to bruise. The half-elf whirled around. From what little light peeked through the overhead trees from the night sky, hers and Twill's golden eyes flashed wildly.

"What?" she barked, sounding unlike herself. By her side, she gripped the handle of her dagger so hard her dark knuckles were sickly and pale.

Imani stopped a few meters short of Uyula. The anger faded quickly and her face softened with concern as she took in the wild rage glinting in the half-elf eyes. She was silent a moment, searching for a sign of her friend behind the unfamiliar amber glare.

“Your throat,” Imani dropped her bow and took a cautious step forward.

Her voice was softer, in a way she’d only spoken to Uyula in past private moments shared between friends, of which Imani had few. No solemn posture, no perfectly-trained gaze of stone. She stood in front of her friend honestly, her blackened eyes glassy and her voice raw with concern, “Are you alright?”

Twill had started with her ears flat against her tree-like skull, teeth bared and growling lowly. As Imani approached she was the first to calm, the wrinkled roots stretched along the bridge of her snout relaxing. She gave a soft, low whine, cringing down over her front paws.

"Caeldor..." Uyula huffed raggedly, "...attacked me with his beard."

She trembled with the pumping adrenaline before breaking off into a slew of elvish swears, capped with "come no closer to me!"

Imani closed her eyes as Uyula cursed and waited patiently, letting the silence seep in before speaking, “I am not here for Caeldor, Uyula. I am here for you.”

Despite the urge to move closer, Imani respected her wishes. Her hands trembled at her sides as she stood her ground and repeated her question, “Are you hurt, sadiqati?”

The term of endearment was not one heard often. Imani had used it once before, after Uyula had saved her life in Churlwood. It’s meaning paled in translation - part family, part friend.

Uyula sucked in her bottom lip and breathed out through her nose harshly. Her usually bright, youthful eyes were cloudy, and Twill too seemed less herself than usual, somehow forced to reflect what was happening within her summoner.

"I..." she didn't know how to put it in words. She was always terrible with words. Sana was patient with her for it, Lamia sometimes bothered but never for long. Caeldor thought her unrefined and stupid, she knew that- but thinking about him just made her shiver with anger again. She took a sudden step away from Imani, cringing in a similar way that her eidolon had.

"You don't attack your pack," she blurted. It was the only thing to say that made sense, and she repeated them again, now somewhat deflated, "You don't... attack your pack..."

As Uyula repeated the words like a mantra, Imani struggled to keep her feet planted and fight the urge to move forward. When she spoke, her voice a harshly flat, “No. You do not.”

Imani could sympathise. She was brought up a part of a unit. You watched your comrades back and you trusted they would watch yours in kind. Using lethal force against a comrade was abhorrent. Using magic as a form of subjugation made her skin crawl with rage.

"He thinks I'm stupid, but I understand." she continued, her youthful voice bordering on hysterical. A nearby tiny something foraging in a bush scampered off with a sudden alarmed squeak.

"I insulted his pride, so he needed to punish me," Uyula's face creased in a scowl, and she cocked her head to spit on the ground beside her, and Twill resumed her deep grumbly growling. "Pride is poison, you see? What it does to men?"

“Perhaps in excess,” Imani conceded quietly as exhaustion started to claw at her. It had been a long trip from Riddleport to Crying Leaf, and the tiefling was not skilled at dealing with emotion so unruly. “Many people fall servant to their emotions and act unkindly. As much as we try to posture on our traditions and society we are all animals at heart.”

She looked down at her forearm, the porcelain skin between the leather of her archery guard caught the moonlight and she could clearly see the perfectly straight rows of scars lurking beneath, “Some of us are born cursed. Blood filthy with evil. Maybe that makes some of us strive harder to be human. To be civil. To be more than a beast. But a beast lies in all people’s hearts, Uyula. Whether man or woman. Sometimes we are weak.”

Imani’s eyes lifted to meet Uyula’s frantic gaze, “It takes a strong heart and a wise mind to overcome such weakness. But we are all flawed and fuelled with emotions. Pride. Rage. Love. Fear. Compassion. Lust. Envy.”

“Despite our beastly hearts, we are no longer just a part of the world. We are apart from it. Our instinct lost, replaced with dogma. Deity. Society. Something to tell our hearts how to rule us. We are beasts with no nature and...” Imani’s brow furrowed, her eyes gleamed wet in the darkness, “Sometimes we are weak and we are pitiful.”

Uyula was quiet for a little while after those solemnly spoken words. A little bit of it was beyond her, but she understood the meaning behind it. The men of her forest called the animals there 'beasts', even as they hunted in excess, raped their women and killed each other over gold and card games. They didn't know the meaning of the word; not like Imani did. The half-elf often wondered on her, and how her tiefling eyes took in the world. Here was a rare insight.

"I should have let Twill kill him," Uyula muttered bitterly, a hand raising again to tentatively feel out her throat, "I hate him. I won't travel with him any longer."

Imani’s gaze lowered and she nodded absently as she carefully pieced together her thoughts. ‘Emotions, indeed...’ she thought, taking in Uyula’s outburst.

“I would never ask you to go where you don’t wish to be,” she started, crouching low in the underbrush. “We are about to head into battle against Drow, a power thought extinct. A race of beings who not only succumb to weakness, but enslaved their entire race to demons for power. Pitiful and dangerous. I travel that way. It may also be the way Caeldor travels, alongside a hundred elves. But I do not ask you to come unless you wish to continue our journey together. I can’t leave this threat to chance, or to hands that are not my own.”

Imani curled her fingers around her bow stave, rising to her feet and slinging the bow across her back before continuing, “You follow your own heart, wherever that leads and this is not your fight. You have no oath to bind you to this fate. So make your decision, sadiqati, I will not begrudge you. If I do not see you tomorrow, I will come look for you in Churlwood when this is all over.”

Imani’s gaze began to take on it’s regular austere glaze, “If I do not, know that it has been a wonderful journey walking this road with you.” she nodded to Twill, “With both of you.”

"Don't talk so final like that! I--" Uyula looked about as though expecting a solution to be waiting somewhere nearby. She ran a hand through get messy raven hair.

"I care about this too," she continued at a more subdued but no less upset tone, her brows knitting together in the near-darkness, "and not just because Gozreh chose me. I...." Her voice wavered a little, "... I've never had a pack before, Imani. It was just me and Twill. Me and Twill for thirty years."

As she spoke of the creature she sheathed her knife and her hand wandered downwards, to stroke amongst the bristling branches of the eidolon's back, through the leaves off her peculiar wings, which petite when folded back as they were. Twill for the first time drew her large golden eyes away from Imani and lowered them, while Uyula's glimmered with tears.

"He... he ruined it. He ruined it all, 'mani."

Then she sniffed, and turned to look away. The forest was very quiet. Alive, but quiet. Not one owl, or bat. But it was still her place. still where she felt most calm and comfortable and centered... and now, where she felt close to her God. She let her eyes fall closed and took in a deep breath of forest air. A cool breeze rustled through the leaves, seemingly in response. The breath of Gozreh.

"...I told you I don't belong with people."

Imani let her feet finally move forward, drawing her arms around Uyula. She stayed there a few long moments, considering the first time her carefree companion had done the same, her excited limbs locking Imani in an affectionate embrace. It had been the first time anyone had hugged her. Back then, the gesture had seemed awkward and unnecessary. But now, Imani’s arms enveloped her friend’s body with ease as she stood there, listening to their breath in the darkness.

Imani lifted her palm to Uyula’s throat, her fingers brushing the skin gently as she whispered a prayer in her native tongue. Her hands warmed with sacred light as the healing magic did it’s work, “I don’t belong with people either.”

Uyula was very still for a breath or two, though almost vibrating with tension; as though ready to either launch back into the hug, or pull away. In the end it was Imani's soft reply that made her sink into the embrace. As the warm, healing power smoothed from Imani's hand over her neck she buried her face against her friend's shoulder, the wildling retreating and the sheltered, wide-eyed friend making an appearance.

"Why did he do that ?" She sobbed, as Twill leaned up against their legs with an anxious whine and the creak of her wooden limbs, "I d-don't understand," Even though she'd spat about the pride of men, and how she knew what had happened, part of her didn't. Part of her couldn't fathom why. "It's all ruined!"

Imani was quiet for a while as Uyula cried in her arms. Silently she smoothed a hand over the half elf’s hair, stroking the raven tresses as she dwelled on Caeldor’s actions. He had used magic to animate his beard and strangled Uyula to prove a point. That his beard wasn’t fake? That he wasn’t a ‘fake elf’? For a man who thought himself above commonality, he had certainly failed to show the dignity expected of a wise and enlightened man. Perhaps all his arcane dabbling was a corrupting influence? In all honesty, she had no sure answers.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand either.” Imani admitted. She could blame Caeldor’s overbearing pride, or Uyula’s juvenile retorts about the authenticity of his beard, or racial heritage. But both seemed ridiculous at this point. She was at a loss for an explanation that didn’t sound weak.

Imani drew back and looked up at Uyula, wiping the pads of her thumbs across her wet cheeks, “As abhorrent has his actions were, if you must leave then this will be where we part ways. I must follow this path through to it’s end. If the drow are successful in their plans, it will mean grave things for Golarion.”

Uyula shook her head sulkily, though she felt a shiver of warmth run through her at the calloused pads of Imani's thumbs stroking away her tears. A very old and faded memory of a dark-skinned woman doing the same thing, rocking her in her arms.

"I am chosen by Gozreh," she insisted, taking a deep breath, "I just... need time to think. I can't go back tonight. I know, there isn't time for this..." she kneaded her lips together and glanced across a shoulder into the dense foliage, which she felt safer in than any room or areas that damn crook mage would share with the party. "But I need to think."

"If we go back tonight I will tear out his heart before his very eyes and eat it still attached," Twill rumbled, usually the calmer and more reasonable of the two. More wolf than old lady, now.

"That too," Uyula muttered.

As soon as the half elf slept, she would no longer have Twill’s protection and that made Imani nervous. But she knew forcing her to come back to camp with her would be disastrous.

“Stay,” she conceded, “Just stay safe. The wildlife here are no meager foe and they seem to hunt in packs.” Imani frowned at her, “I would be very angry with you if you got devoured by a drake, never to be seen again.”

"I'll be fine. I'll find somewhere up in the trees," Uyula shook herself and took a step back, reaching for the hood of her netted poncho, "better than sleep near Mister My Beard Strangles People ," another shaft of light from regular Uyula, struggling for dominance through the angst.

"We have known forests longer than we have known civilisation," Twill spoke again, her voice still sounding less of wisdom than it had before, "to us, this is safer."

'To us'. There was an odd, hollow feel to the way the eidolon spoke those words. As though she and Uyula were somehow now separate from the rest of their companions. 'Us', and 'them'.

Imani caught the tone in Twill’s voice. Though soft, it cut deeply and the tiefling took a few steps backward. She busied herself a moment with repositioning her bowstring across her chest to conceal the hurt look on her face. The injury was not something new, just unexpected. She’d spent her entire life as part of a unit, but always apart.

“I shall bid you goodnight then”, she nodded, turning to head back to camp.

Uyula reached forward with a hesitant sound as Imani's pale form turned away from her. She wanted to say something. The mood between them had changed very abruptly, and she knew why... but while she understood the words, she couldn't find the right ones to say. Damage, there was damage everywhere. Too many thoughts, too much to worry about. Townsfolk... their lives, their minds were so complicated. Life in the forest had been so much simpler.

"Goodnight," she replied softly, wiping her face once more, before turning away towards the dark tangles of ancient trees and bushes. Somehow, they felt a lot less welcoming and familiar than she'd expected.

Twill was quiet as she lead the way, but inwardly she resented the irony - she thought back to her brief words with Sana on the shore of Devil's Elbow, before boarding the ship. "She is childish and naive, but I do enjoy it, because I know it is only so long before living in civilization robs her of it.. She will realise the world is not beautiful and simple... and I mourn that day already. Unless you'd like to take her innocence for her?"

Somehow, she knew that time was upon them now.

#imani #uyula #twill #second darkness #pathfinder rp #auryinlied #tehjaydek

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