It has been a little over two decades since her last adventure, and Ophelia Iestelle Glinathir has been both hard at work and happily at rest. From her room balcony at the Stone of the Seers Academy, she lazily watches the bustling city below her. Despite the incident now known as the Skinsaw Murders, Magnimar is once again on the rise. There have been little hiccups here or there that had threatened her home’s safety, but unlike before, the elf had been strong enough to help protect it.
Ophelia glances over at a small book that she had just finished reading. She is very happy that the local Pathfinders had brought it to her attention. It is full of most useful information on the higher arts of summoning, and she has every hope that it will assist her with future endeavors. The wizard casually snaps her fingers and summons a large chest from seemingly nowhere. She quickly tosses the book inside of it, and with another snap, Ophelia sends it back to wherever it had come from.
With a flash of bright white light a lithe and beautiful nude woman with skin the color of marble appeared before Ophelia, hovering upon powerful white wings and radiating a sense of serenity.
"Fear not mortal, I mean you no harm." she says in elven native tongue. "My name is Mariah. I am an Archon of Iomedae, The Inheritor."
Her voice is like beautiful music, pure and without fault. She carries a long thin gleaming silver trumpet that is covered in swirling, natural-looking patterns. "I am here because your deeds are known to us. My mistress bids me invite you to take part in mission of dire importance. Events have been set in motion that if not stopped, will lead to a terrible evil being unleashed on Golarion. We have prepared a gift for you that will make you stronger than you've ever been before, hopefully strong enough to avert disaster. My commander awaits us, with answers for your questions. Time is of the essence, will you come with me?"
Her chest-length, midnight black curls wave gently in an unseen wind, as she extends one perfect hand out towards Ophelia, a look of urgency in her iridescent blue eyes.
A bit stunned at what had just happened, Ophelia merely tilted her head in confusion. Normally, she would be rather intent on saying something to the stranger, but their suddenness of this supposed Archon’s appearance has left the normally very verbal wizard quiet. Once her mind sets in motion again, the first thing comes to her mind is a question: [i]Why me?
If this Archon knows about her deeds, then she surely also is aware of the other Heroes of Sandpoint. Last time Ophelia had checked, they had been more powerful than her. However, Ophelia also recalls that it has been a couple of decades since the final battle with Karzoug, and she is the only living elf in what had largely been a group of humans. Maybe their strength is not what used to be? Advanced age can take a lot out of even the greatest of warriors.
Ophelia wearily looks over Mariah and silently studies the Archon. What the wizard had learned from her many years of studying the otherworld planes and their inhabitants slowly works its way into her mind. With enough study, it quickly becomes apparent that Mariah is what she claims to be. Everything from her looks to the very essence of feel of her inner magic is correct. Such radiance and power cannot be replicated by anything mortal or infernal. With a nod of resolve, Ophelia decides to trust her. Eventually, a smile works its way up Ophelia’s pretty elven face, and she quickly takes Mariah’s hand with her own. “Of course, my lady.”
It was a peaceful day in Bellis, frontier town at the northern edge of Andoran along the Sellen River. Vega, a simple looking man hailing from the Valley of Fire in Brevoy, kneels by some plants outside his temporary home here. While he has left his "noble" family and their corruption behind, he still bears the family name, for - despite their darker sides - they have good within them too... enough to honour and respect them while away.
Vega inhales deeply, taking in the scent of beeswax, honey and mead that permeates this little village. His breath is long enough to finally pick up the scent of his garden, faintly tinging the aftertaste with a mix of spice and green freshness. There is peaceful simplicity to be found in gardening, but today it cannot cleanse all of Vega's thoughts.
It will happen today. I foresaw it in my dreams, and each day it becomes more vivid. There is trouble brewing, and today I shall meet the herald of this portent. I know that with the herald comes the next step of focusing my chi, and awakening my anima... and it will quickly be put to the test.
Vega breaths in the scents of his garden once more, opens his eyes, and leans forward to trim and shape the bonsai in front of him, while the other plants shift softly in a cool breeze. The hosta leaves dance, while the nearby wisteria bends just enough to bring shade to Vega's eyes.
There is no need to trouble myself with it right now though. There is naught to do but wait until the truth is revealed. Going forwards without knowledge will just bring about greater ruin. Vega continues his contemplations while watching the going-ons of the townsfolk beyond his modest garden. Day in and day out, they toil, unaware of much of the outside world, and for the better, for in their focus of their day to day tasks, they accomplish much, and so do I. Sometimes today it will come, but until then, I will continue my personal work, and do good here while I am still here.
His hands are dirty and strong, and despite the heat from the sun on this clear day, a serene smile crosses Vega's face. Even though he knows that something but is going to happen, this moment, this one moment, is beautiful, peaceful, and full of life.
Vega continues to work in this garden. With a flash of bright white light a lithe and beautiful nude woman with skin the color of marble appears before Vega, hovering upon powerful white wings and radiating a sense of serenity. "Fear not mortal, I mean you no harm." she says in common. "My name is Mariah. I am an Archon of Iomedae, The Inheritor." Her voice is like beautiful music, pure and without fault. She carries a long thin gleaming silver trumpet that is covered in swirling, natural-looking patterns. "I am here because your deeds are known to us. My mistress bids me invite you to take part in mission of dire importance. Events have been set in motion that if not stopped, will lead to a terrible evil being unleashed on Golarion. We have prepared a gift for you that will make you stronger than you've ever been before, hopefully strong enough to avert disaster. My commander awaits us, with answers for your questions. Time is of the essence, will you come with me?" Her chest-length, midnight black curls wave gently in an unseen wind, as she extends one perfect hand out towards Vega, a look of urgency in her iridescent blue eyes.
I know. Vega thought when the herald first appeared. However, he did not answer, nor show any signs of fear or shock. Instead he continued to work with the plants before him, for the flash of light happened right in the middle of the replanting of a baby maple in freshly tilled soil. With movements practiced and perfect, he pushes the fresh soil over the roots and pats it down to secure the plant in it's new home. Slowly, he lifts his head to give his attention finally to the Archon.
"I knew today would be the day. I have dreamt of your coming, and have already prepared. This was my final task, and all of my effects are already born. Of course." Vega rises with one fluid motion, and an unseen flick of his wrists seems to have removed nearly all of the dirt at the same time. He holds his right hand forwards, palm up and fingers together to accept her hand. His eyes contrast hers, not only in their dark colour, but in their cool temperament as well. He knows he will soon find the same urgency as hers, but he also knows that there is never an appropriate time for clouded thoughts. Just before their hands connect, Vega follows up on his acceptance.
"There is no need to promise gifts for service, but boons to aid in the fight coming will not be turned away. All that matters is the very world in which so many live be protected. In that, I give you my hand. Take me where I must be."
Poppy sat on the end of the bed in her hotel room, slowly folding her clothes and reminiscing about the past three months spent in Oppara. It’s always good to get out of the adventuring grind and do something FUN for a little while. Especially in the big city. She had been extremely busy, however; planning the reception for a noble wedding was no small feat. The big party had been a few days previous, and she was definitely glad it was over. She would finish one more job, then move on to somewhere else. I suppose next I’ll head to the countryside and visit some hospitals. She picked up a piece of paper lying nearby on the bed. Or this. The paper was a message from the mayor of a small city elsewhere in Taldor, asking for help from all magic-users in dealing with a particularly vexing horde of goblins.
A loud knock on the door tore her out of her reverie. ”Who is it?” she asked in her high-pitched, adorable voice. Passing the mirror on her way to answer the door, she briefly checked her shoulder-length bright red hair and adjusted her ostenatiously poofy lime green princess dress. She pulled the door open, and found a well manicured but harried-looking woman in her early 30s on the other side. Before the woman could even open her mouth, Poppy’s eyes grew wide and she blurted out, ”Madame Laurent! I’m so sorry! I lost track of time! I’ll be ready right away.”
”Thank the Crown Prince, I was worried you’d forgotten! We’ll be in the ballroom.” With that, the woman spirited down the hallway and down the stairs out of sight. Poppy quickly closed the door, then threw on a few crystal necklaces, a matching pair of earrings, and some truly obnoxious rings. She put on a shimmering orange hat nearly taller than she was before pulling on her gold leather shoes and dashing out the door...
Poppy stood before the entrance to the grand ballroom of the hotel and took several deep breaths. You can do this. You’ve fought beings from other planes. You’ve convinced heads of state to go to war. Just open the door. From the other side of the door, Poppy could hear chaotic shouting and insane laughter. It sounded like tables were being overturned in a reckless frenzy. Go.
She plastered an enormous smile on her face and pushed open the double doors. She spread out her arms and a dazzling rainbow shot out of each hand all the way to the ballroom’s high ceiling. Dozens of little voices breathed, ”Wooooooooooow!” She did a twirl and sashayed onto a stage on one side of the room. She stopped in the middle of the stage and conjured a small garden scene made entirely out of sunlight. She sniffed a sunshine flower, waved with both hands and called out, ”Happy birthday, Stephanie!”
Approximately 25 five-year-old girls sat riveted on tiny chairs facing the stage. In the middle of the first row, a brown-haired girl dressed in a purple party dress and a little silver tiara clapped excitedly. Poppy smiled again and a puppy made of thousands of tiny twinkling stars appeared in her hands. The puppy leapt down from the stage and bounded joyfully into the little girl’s lap. Then, five more star puppies appeared out of Poppy’s hands and ran around the chairs, stopping to play with the rest of the girls. The girls clapped in utter delight. ”Make a dolphin! Make a dolphin!” the birthday girl squealed.
As Poppy did her best to entertain the small army of noble children, she became distracted by the parents standing in the back of the room having a cocktail while they kept an eye on their daughters. One of the moms stood out to her in particular. She was supernaturally pale, even paler than Poppy. Her ivory above-the-knee sheath dress was receding into her flesh until it completely disappeared, leaving only skin the color of marble. Naked at a children’s party? I just don’t understand human fashions! The woman stared directly at Poppy. Suddenly, the cheering children froze and were silent. The parents stopped chatting and stood in their places. The star puppies, rainbows, and sunlight garden disappeared. Only Poppy and the naked woman were still able to move, think, or speak.
With a flash of bright white light, the lithe and beautiful nude woman appeared directly in front of her, covering the entire distance of the room in a split second. She hovered serenely upon powerful white wings. "Fear not mortal, I mean you no harm," she said in the Gnomish tongue. "My name is Mariah. I am an Archon of Iomedae, The Inheritor." Her voice was like beautiful music, pure and without fault. She carried a long thin gleaming silver trumpet that was covered in swirling, natural-looking patterns. "I am here because your deeds are known to us. My mistress bids me invite you to take part in mission of dire importance. Events have been set in motion that if not stopped, will lead to a terrible evil being unleashed on Golarion. We have prepared a gift for you that will make you stronger than you've ever been before, hopefully strong enough to avert disaster. My commander awaits us, with answers for your questions. Time is of the essence, will you come with me?" Her chest-length, midnight black curls waved gently in an unseen wind, as she extended one perfect hand toward Poppy, a look of urgency in her iridescent blue eyes.
Poppy’s stomach leaped for a split second, but her fear turned into awe and then into admiration. She looked straight up at Mariah’s face, clasped her hands in front of her chest, and said, ”You are SO GORGEOUS! How do you do it?” Poppy lowered her arms and glanced down at both of her shoulders. ”I wish I had wings.”
The Archon cocked her head in confusion. ”How do I do what?”
“Look so glowing and glamorous!”
”I don’t understand. Don’t try to distract me. I told you, time is of the essence!”
Poppy shrugged her shoulders. ”Well, after this party, I’m free for the foreseeable future. But I need to finish my show, or I’ll get a bad reputation in this city, and these nobles pay lots of money for my appearances and parties.”
”There is no time for such worries. They will never remember that this happened."[/b] Anticipating Poppy's next request Mariah continues, "Your belongings will be brought to you. We must go." Mariah offers her hand again.
Dorialis sat impatiently across the table from the priestess as she counted out coins into a leather purse. The priestess lets out a startled yelp at as flash of bright white light precedes the appearance of a lithe and beautiful nude woman with skin the color of marble before them, hovering upon powerful white wings and radiating a sense of serenity. "Fear not mortal, I mean you no harm." she says in your d’ziriak. "My name is Mariah. I am an Archon of Iomedae, The Inheritor."
Her voice is like beautiful music, pure and without fault. She carries a long thin gleaming silver trumpet that is covered in swirling, natural-looking patterns. "I am here because your deeds are known to us. My mistress bids me invite you to take part in mission of dire importance. Events have been set in motion that if not stopped, will lead to a terrible evil being unleashed on Golarion. We have prepared a gift for you that will make you stronger than you've ever been before, hopefully strong enough to avert disaster. My commander awaits us, with answers for your questions. Time is of the essence, will you come with me?" Her chest-length, midnight black curls wave gently in an unseen wind, as she extends one perfect hand out towards Dorialis, a look of urgency in her iridescent blue eyes
The fetchling's eyes flick one last time to the pile of gold on the table, and the shocked priestess standing there with her mouth open. All the jobs I do are of dire importance. Those are the only ones worth doing. Dori reaches out and takes the Archon’s hand, payment for her last job forgotten on the table of the Desna priestess.
Something was afoot in the Witch Queen’s realm; Gror could smell it. The elders nodded when he tried to rally them, but they were moving too slowly, if at all. The Blackravens were active, but not disciplined, not strategic enough -- moving, but not in the right direction. OK then, for now I’ll scout alone. With luck perhaps I’ll uncover enough to figure it out. he thought to himself. Gror started cautiously, methodically, making forays into Irissen territory. Just scouting, unless he saw an easy patrol to bring down. He was looking for information right now, not trouble. It was slow going, but the bite of the cold and the wind was oddly comforting: he was out. He was facing whatever was coming. Long days passed, with nothing much to show for them. Leads kept turning into dead ends.
Gror’s certainty was unabated, but his supplies were getting depleted. With a heavy heart, he packed his backpack to return toward the Land of the Linnorm Kings, when with a flash of bright white light a lithe and beautiful nude woman with skin the color of marble appears before him, hovering upon powerful white wings and radiating a sense of serenity. "Fear not mortal, I mean you no harm." she says in your native tongue. "My name is Mariah. I am an Archon of Iomedae, The Inheritor." Her voice is like beautiful music, pure and without fault. She carries a long thin gleaming silver trumpet that is covered in swirling, natural-looking patterns. "I am here because your deeds are known to us. My mistress bids me invite you to take part in mission of dire importance. Events have been set in motion that if not stopped, will lead to a terrible evil being unleashed on Golarion. We have prepared a gift for you that will make you stronger than you've ever been before, hopefully strong enough to avert disaster. My commander awaits us, with answers for your questions. Time is of the essence, will you come with me?" Her chest-length, midnight black curls wave gently in an unseen wind, as she extends one perfect hand out towards Gror, a look of urgency in her iridescent blue eyes.
Gror stared briefly. He squinted at her. Was this some Irrisen witchery? Some demonic trick? No, he was certain. She was what she claimed. He had prayed each night for Angradd and Torag to send him the strength he needed to confront the the witches of Irrisen. Those sorts of prayers weren’t always answered...but this might be the aid he sought. He nodded to the Archon. ”Very well, Mariah. I think your god and I might be on the same trail, and I’ll make alliance with anyone I need to, to abate the darkness I see on the horizon." With that took her hand.
Far beyond the concerns of Avistan and the Inner Sea region, the shrouded continent of Arcadia is home to myriad civilizations and peoples unfamiliar to the eastern world. Among these civilizations are the tribes of humans that have existed in relative isolation for thousands of years. In Arcadia's northern reaches in regions of high mountains and dense forests live the Rankoskha, a tribe of humans living in a Stone Age society with a surprisingly advanced notion of medicine and magical artistry. Developed independently of the uplifting of humanity by the Aboleth, this civilization offers a tantalizing view into the original path of human destiny before the Aboleth's intervention, and eerily parallels the ways of the Shoanti and Kellid tribes of Varisia prior to their manipulation by Thassilonian influences.
Among the peoples of the Rankoshka the position of earth speaker is a sacred one, an inherited title belonging to spiritual leaders of their people vested in ancient Druidic traditions. The earth speakers of the Rankoshka utilize their training to tap into the ley lines that crisscross Golarion, dawning from them power for this magic and influence over the denizens of the spirit world. They are a shield against the wild beasts of the land, of the predatory fey from the First World, and from the restless dead come from beyond.
Cho'ankai Aju-Taash is the sixteenth earth speaker of the Rankoshka, born over 100 years ago and believed by his people to have been chosen by the sky spirits to guide their people. Cho'ankai, despite his great age, still shows great vitality and youth beneath his sun-battered skin. While his people suggested he should lead them directly, Cho'ankai refuses to change the traditional position of earth speaker as an advisor and shaman to his tribe.
In the decades of service to his people, Cho'ankai has guarded the Rankoshka against threats from both wild beasts, spirits, and even foreign invaders from beyond the Arcadian ocean. Battling imcursios of the Ulfen warriors from their frontier city of Valenhall, Cho'ankai has begun to realize that beyond his people's ancestral home lies things he has little understanding of, things he cannot protect his people from, and that by ignoring the world beyond his people are endangering themselves.
Contemplating these notions of insular existence and isolation, Cho'ankai took a leave from his people to spend time within the Akmanshan mountains, looking to the heavens and the voices of the world itself for answers to his concerns of foreign invaders and ideas. Cho'ankai's introspection was answered by the presence of a celestial being, the first sky person his people had seen in generations.
Introducing herself as a herald of celestial powers unfamiliar to Cho'ankai's ears, this angelic being spoke from her heart, spoke with desperation, and most importantly spoke humbly. While Cho'ankai recognized that this entity and her troubles were far removed from his own knowledge and home, he recognized the value in learning from her, from outsiders of Arcadia...Or if nothing else, learning how to defeat them all. He reached out and accepted her hand.
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As each of the chosen reach out and take Mariah's hand she smiles. Her flesh is soft and pleasant as warm milk. Gripping their hands firmly, she raises her long trumpet to her lips and blasts a long clarion note. As she does so the world twists and swirls together. The sound of her trumpet seems to stretch out forever until it turns into an electric sounding hum. Time stops, and for a indeterminable period of time there is nothing. Then reality comes crashing back. It's like emerging from being submerged in deep water. Sight, sound, smell and feeling all slap them selves back into place. The chosen find themselves standing on a tiny island. The air is cool and moist, but not unpleasantly so. It is foggy enough that anything beyond the island fades into oneness with the grey-blue waves that are slowly lapping against the rocky shore. Mariah is there before them, hovering a few paces off the ground in-between the three stunty, twisted pines, fireflies flitting around her lighting the fog periodically with their dim yellow glow. "Wait just one moment please." She says to the six humanoids on the island. Though you're now certain she's not actually speaking your mother tongue, you hear it as though she were. It's quite uncanny. "Now that I've picked up everyone, my commander will open a gate."
She closes her eyes briefly in concentration and then behind her starting about a foot off the ground, the air spits open with a release of vibrant pink energy. An ovoid window into another place rapidly opens there in a the air, bounded by a crackling aura of pink electricity. The hoop shaped gate is fifteen feet across. A beautiful garden-like landscape can be seen on the other side as if looking through a window. Floating there in the daytime sun is a ten foot tall handsome golden skinned humanoid man surrounded by a nimbus of pearly light. He is wearing full plate male armor emblazoned with the longsword starburst symbol of Iomedae on the chest. He carries a golden starknife in one hand, and there is a large, star shaped metal shield strapped to his back.
Mariah guestures towards the portal. "That is my commander, the star archon, Josiah. He will take over from here. I have other duties to attend to. Please enter." She bows, and then with another flash of white light Mariah is gone, leaving the six strangers alone on a damp rock. The archon on the other side of the gate waits impassively, his face an emotionless mask. The only sound is that of the water, and of the chirping and buzzing of insects and frogs.
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"Iye-checa Wakan Tanka," is a phrase in an unfamiliar tongue spoken by one of the gathered. A short, wiry man with clay red skin and coarse, dark hair worn down to the small of his back. On one knee, he has placed a hand over his mouth after speaking that phrase. Then, gently, he presses his fingertips to the ground with eyes closed. As his dark eyes open, the human of unfamiliar ethnicity stares into the portal with a soft and humble expression.
The stranger looks older than he is, with sun-weathered skin creased with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and brow. Laugh-lines are clearly defined and thin scars trace a history of conflicts across what is visible of his neck and jawline. Dressed as he is, he must have come from a colder climate. Heavy furs and leather clothing insulates from the cold, but the colorful dyed hemp belt around his waist is vibrantly colored in contrast to the browns and tans of his cold-weather gear. It is patterns of vibrant orange, clear turquoise against swatches of black in geometric shapes that make the belt stand out. The same colors are visible in wide bracelets of cloth on his wrists and one hanging around his neck, each with differently woven patterning. Small stones woven into the necklace and belt radiate a faint colorless light, and these pieces of polished turquoise look exquisite in quality.
He looks briefly to the others gathered, then rises to stand up straight, holding at his side a tall staff of uncarved wood. The staff looks unremarbale, made from knotty oak and still possessing most of its bark. It splits up near the top into four leafless branches of differing lengths, each one wrapped with sinew holding fragments of bones to the wood. The branches have also been engraved with tightly packed and elaborate spiral symbols and other coil variations.
"Rankoshka" The statement is said with resolve and clarify, but in the tongue of the Heavens rather than that of whatever ethnicity he is of. Standing tall, the wiry man strides forward towards the crackling portal without fear or hesitation, listening to the sounds of the frogs and insects in the air. When the stranger walks, small eddies and currents of fog swirl around his ankles, and beads braided into the traps of his rawhide boots glitter with internal light. Only when he arrives at the portal does the dark-haired human pause, tilting his chin up into the air and closing his eyes.
He turns, looking back over his shoulder to the other six gathered and furrows his brows. The look is a stern, urging one that conveys with it a paternal sense of obligation. As if he is subtly chastising the others for not yet having followed him into the portal, or perhaps challenging them to follow his lead. Turning back to the portal, he pushes the head of his staff through the opening to lead the way, streamers of iridescent rainbow-hued light drifting away from where the staff's head breaches the doorway.
Without another word, the strange man follows the guidance given and moves to join Josiah.
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In the image of the Great Spirit...
We Rankoshka do as the spirits ask of us.
You see a Northern dwarven warrior, 4’2” tall and almost as broad. His red beard is laced with frost and snow sticks to his boots in clumps. On his back is a greataxe and a large traveling pack with bedroll and tent. He’s wearing well made, well worn, practical winter gear. His leather baldric has an intricate pattern of interwoven hammers, forges, and fire. His cloak is grey, with a slight metalic shimmer to it, and the stylized mithril axe amulet he wears around his neck is recognizable to those that know the dwarven gods as Angradd’s holy symbol.
He turns to appraise each of you in turn. As he does so, the yellow sapphire seated in his beaten copper headband appears almost to be a third eye. Huhnff. This is an odd assortment. Two humans, but from far from the Land of the Linnorm Kings. Was I wrong to think that this has something to do with the Witch Queen? And three gnomes? No, one gnome...and two magically reduced people, elvish and...fetchling? One of the humans at least seems accustomed to the bite of snow and wind. The others? I’ll have to hope that Iomedae knows what she’s doing...and I still trust that Angradd or at least Torag has a hand in this as well.
In common: ”Are we the ones chosen by Iomedae for this Great Mission? Very well then. At the very least, I think it proves that She has a sense of humor! At any rate, that human seems to have the right idea. Onward, to meet our fate!” With that the dwarf laughs from his belly and follows the first two into the portal.
The kayal was surprised by the sudden change of venue. Taking the opportunity to give the other travelers a once over she realized that this was a potential force to rock Golarion to its foundation. A hand rose and grabbed the cowl of her cloak, but held as she was torn between leaving it down or pulling it up over her raven hair. She grimaced at the abundance of light and lack of shadows on the island... a demiplane? Her bluish-green eyes sparked as she looked about the island a little closer.
Turning her attention to the others the Archon had brought she considered them carefully...
She didn't recognize the first one to speak, his features indicated some celestial blood, probably explained his understanding of the heavenly language.
The gnome though, she was someone that Dorialis recognized. The backpack was distinctive in the choice of colors. Last she heard, the gnome was working for some noble in Cassomir. She'd have to check with one of her sources later to verify that.
The dwarf was another mystery to her. It was obvious that he was traveled, but not anywhere she had worked.
The elf though, she was known throughout Varisia. In fact, if it hadn't been for her work in Magnimar, Dorialis might not have finished a mission there a couple years ago. Fortunately, the elf's party had provided enough distraction for Dorialis to sneak in and grab the artifact she was hunting.
The human male was kinda cute, but not anyone she knew by looking at him.
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As Mariah asks for her to wait a moment to do… something, Ophelia takes the time to look at her surroundings.
Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. I was inclined to think that the Celestial Realms would more closely resemble the summer skies, not a swamp. Granted, this land could very well be a demiplane, or perhaps just a well-hidden spot somewhere else on the planet, Ophelia muses thoughtfully to herself as she takes in the gorgeous scenery.
Her long elven ears twitch upon hearing soft, tiny vibrations nearby, and Ophelia notices a glittery silver and blue dragonfly hovering above the waters not too far away. Almost absentmindedly, the small elf extends a thin, dainty hand toward it, spreading out her painted sapphire blue fingertips to give it more area. Much to the elf’s delight, the insect is quick to land on her smooth golden skin, and Ophelia looks it over casually with curious azure eyes. About ten seconds later, the dragonfly goes on its merry way to a distant reed, and the wizard turns her tiny head to watch it go, causing her long blonde braids to shift a bit.
Ophelia pauses upon hearing Mariah speak again, and out of instinct, she looks over toward the trumpet wielding Archon. The elven wizard watches quietly as the celestial being introduces and turns matters over to her superior – a towering, heavily armored warrior that pulsates holy light named Josiah – before vanishing off to Desna knows where. Before Ophelia can approach Josiah with her ever increasing list of questions, she first fully notices the five other mortals and quickly notes the diversity of the group that has been assembled.
The first to catch her observing gaze are the two human males, both sporting dark hair and tanned skin. Oddly enough, as indicated by their style of dress, they look as if they hail from vastly different cultures, and yet their aura of self-discipline seems second to none. It does not take long for Ophelia to see aspects of her brother Janus in their demeanor; they certainly carry themselves like experienced leaders. Now that she thinks about it, she even recognizes the one in the monk’s outfit from somewhere…
The next pair draws a giggle from the miniature elf. Out of all the mortals present, Ophelia finds it rather funny that the women are all, as one of her students once put it, “fun-sized” like herself. The redheaded gnome seems very familiar, and with her colorful, royal getup, she is certainly dressed the best of everyone present. Perhaps they have met once; Ophelia wants to say at a party. The other one though… An enigma. Sans her teal eyes, the cloaked fetchling would be very hard to pick out of a crowd. The phrase “living shadow” seems oddly apt here, especially with all of that grey and black clothing she wears. Still, Ophelia cannot help but wonder why she is so small; the elf recalls reading somewhere that fetchlings are generally human-sized.
The last individual, a red bearded dwarf covered from head to toe in worn winter gear, seems to be giving her a rather strange stare. Right off hand, Ophelia gets the feeling that he is a highly seasoned warrior. The look is not dismissive or mocking. If Ophelia has to guess, she decides that the look is merely curious because the dwarf likely has been given the same summons as her and wishes to know who he is working with.
The elven wizard glances downward at her clothing. Sans her golden headband, bracelets, and belt, none of it is not anything special: just a fitting white silk robe and comfortable, well-made sandals. Combined with her small size, Ophelia would certainly not strike many people as imposing. Then again, I had planned to spend my day studying. Anyway, might as well intro-
The elf then notices everyone else heading through the portal, and after a second, she shrugs and quickly follows them.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained; might as well hear the briefing first,” Ophelia softly murmurs to herself as she trails the others into the portal.
So that's what that feels like.
Vega remained silent and observant throughout the brief detour to the extra-dimensional island. While he was tempted to run his hands through the local flora, he decided against such a potential desecration. Instead, he breathes slowly and deeply, taking in the strange air and acclimating his nervous system the new sensation of planar travel. While experienced in the world, he has never traversed a dimensional barrier, until this moment.
In addition to his simple garbs, a glint of something more shines through. Under his short black hair rests a white-bronze and green headband and the glint of a silver circlet. Hidden below the neckline of his robes rests an amulet of carved white wood in the shape of a yin-yang, which matches one of his rings that forms the same symbol in white crystal and black onyx.
As with the others, Vega also takes a moment to appraise the others gathered here. He cannot help but smile. It is a soft smile, not overly dramatic, yet it accentuates a number of laugh lines around his eyes and the corners of his lips. Yet despite this simple facial expression, Vega himself seems to be perfectly motionless. He could be a stoic statue upon this isle if he wasn't actually made from flesh and covered in cloth. He remains as such for a moment whilst the others react.
Indeed.
Vega nods knowingly to Ophelia after her murmur, but keeps his tongue for the time being.
Introductions will have to wait for now. The gods themselves have begun to stir, and to delay now would be unwise.
Vega lifts his left hand and gestures towards the opened portal to the garden-like landscape, inviting all to go forth before him and ensuring that all make it through safely before proceeding himself.
The spirits that exist in all things are strong here. They all brim with energy and purpose. Now is the time to listen. Speak and I will hear.
With one final breath and the gentleness of a breeze gliding over free growing grass, Vega enters the portal into the garden beyond.
As first Cho'Ankai and then the other chosen come through the portal, Josiah smiles. "Welcome." He says, extending his arms out to the sides in a universal gesture that reinforces his greeting. "This is my garden." He continues in a friendly tone, spinning slowly one revolution in place in the air, as if to draw attention to the entire vista before them. They stand in something of an Eden. The vibrant colors of autumnal foliage blend together with the buds and blossoms of spring in an impossible panoply of color. The air is thick laden with the scents of fresh flowing water, and floral life. Colorful songbirds flit freely from tree to tree, twittering and trilling their delight. As the archon completes his revolution, he continues speaking in his deep brassy voice. Just like with Mariah, his speech is understood in your mother tongue. "My name is Josiah, and it is I who summoned you here. Please walk with me as I explain my reasons."
The fact that he's not actually walking doesn't stop him from beginning down one of the nearby paths. "Each of you is known to my Mistress by your deeds. She has seen that you are uniquely suited to the task at hand. Namely, breaking into an icy necropolis built five hundred years ago by Baba Yaga to house the bodies of those who defied her in the Witchwar, and recovering the Torc of Kostchtchie, an artifact which contains the demon lord's mortal soul. This has become necessary as Queen Elvanna of Irrisen sees fit to repeat her ancestor-sister Tashanna's mistakes, and has broken into the Veil of Frozen Tears." Pausing to let that sink in for a moment he leads the group over a small stone bridge. Then down a shaded path along a pond. "When Elvanna broke into the Veil, she destroyed some of the wards protecting the place. This allowed Kostchtchie to discover the location of his soul. Permitting the Torc to fail into either party's hands would have dire consequences. Unfortunately, both parties already have agents at the Veil." The path leads them back into sunlight at the far end of the pond, and continues over another larger, wooden bridge. The flowering bush near the stream is swarming with bees busy collecting pollen and there are even several butterflies sampling its blossoms. As they watch, an iridescent hummingbird swoops out from under the bridge and joins in the feeding frenzy amongst the blooms. Its long beak cracks open, and its thin pink tongue darts into the center of the flowers, slurping up the nectar. Josiah stops and turns back to face the group, raising one eyebrow he asks, "Are you all following so far?"
Cho'ankai is silent as Josiah explains the situation, though the names and places referenced hold no significance to the Arcadian. Using his ancient staff as a walking stick, he offers a wordless nod in acknowledgement of understanding the significance of the events described. Queens, the souls of demons, all of these things -- the foreign notions of monarchy, the intimate danger of demons -- simple concepts to grasp.
To Poppy, Cho'ankai offers a single raised brow. The fey-like creature struck Cho as familiar, much like the jungle dwelling tribes of gnomes in southern Arcadia, far from his ancestral home, but where his long-striding journeys had taken him once, long ago. Looking back to Josiah, the patient Arcadian looks expectant. All of this pretense and explanation would lead to the inevitable, being charged with a task.
Gror blurts out:
"By Angradd's beard, the Witch Queen has pierced the Veil! Lunacy. I knew there was something afoot...and no wonder then that activity near the border was lighter than usual: they're deep in Irrisen on her foolish quest. I should've put this together myself.
And you say both Kostchtchie and Elvanna have agents at the Veil? Time is clearly of the essence! we'll need to move quickly"
He looks around at the team that Iomedae has gathered. They clearly each possess power. That's good. And some of them possess discipline...
After exiting the shimmering portal, Ophelia lets out a low whistle at the vivid richness of the natural wonder of the demiplane. Now this is certainly more like what she thought a powerful Archon would use as a base of operations. Given the large variety of colorful plant life, striking geographical features, and well-crafted infrastructure, the blonde wizard starts to think that this place has existed for a while, perhaps even several elven lifetimes.
…I need to find the key to that old demiplane Janus made, the wizard concludes after taking a look around. Hopefully those Permanency spells are still holding.
Without a word, the elf casually strides alongside the other mortals and takes in the sites. She notices that the well-dressed gnome with red hair starts to become utterly giddy as a hummingbird makes itself known to them. She giggles lightly at the other woman’s antics. Ophelia has always found gnomes to be highly amusing, and seeing life at their height has certainly been an interesting experience.
After the group stops, Ophelia listens intently as Josiah explains the situation.
“Wait? Elvanna is still in power? I thought she would have been removed eighteen…” she says after the Archon finishes. The elf pauses and does some mental math on her tiny fingers. A moment later, Ophelia slaps her forehead, chuckles, and messages her temples. “And it seems that it has only been two years since those deeds you speak of. For whatever reason, I woke up today thinking it had been a full twenty. I really need to get lay off the jerky before bedtime.
“Anyway, I follow, my lord. I must say that I never would have guessed Lady Iomedae was so… proactive,” muses Ophelia. After a bit of brain rattling, the elf quickly recalls a rather important piece on information. “Then again, all of scriptures I've ever read indicate that the Inheritor utterly despises Kostchtchie. Hence her taking action to hamper his goals makes logical sense, and doing so via mortal proxy likely avoids this issue impacting the cosmos any more than necessary.”
Ophelia pauses yet again as another thought comes to her mind.
“Lord Joshia, I understand the situation is dire, and I will gladly help anyway I can, but what of Baba Yaga? Is she not supposed to return this year and take Elvanna off the throne? The last time one of the Witch Queens of Irrisen tried to use the Torc against the crone, Baba Yaga easily defeated her, Kostchtchie, and their entire army.”
Gror is clearly confused by the diminutive elf's historical math. "Yaga returns like clockwork on the 13th year of every decade. Since this is 4710, we wouldn't expect her for another few years...unless these events hasten her return."
I have to trust that Iomedae knows what she's doing, and that her judgement is tempered by Torag's, who surely is involved as well. Gods help me, these will be the people whose hands I put my life -- and the success of this mission -- in, in what I suspect will be just a few short hours.
Upon hearing that tidbit, Ophelia pauses for a long second and then quickly starts to redo the math on her fingers. A moment later, she slaps her forehead again and sighs. Yeah... No more jerky before bedtime.
"...Huh. It seems that forgot to carry a three," the blonde elf mumbles as she sheepishly rubs the back of her head. "The good dwarf is right. Well, unless Baba Yaga can see across time and space, that is one less variable we have to deal with. Then again, if the one of the few individuals who can defeat these two is unlikely to intervene, then all the more reason that we need to stop Elvanna and Kostchtchie now. We cannot afford to let either have free reign of the Torc for three entire years."
With a smile of appreciation, Ophelia looks up at the dwarf (something she never thought she would do in her long lifetime) and offers him a dainty hand. "Thank you for correcting me, good sir. My name is Ophelia Glinathir. Sorry, Varisia is just rather far from Irrisen. By chances do you hail from there?"
Gror pulls off his glove and shakes Ophelia's hand.
"Ophelia Glinathir, well met. I'm Gror Durrikson, a defender of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings. I know far less about Kostchtchie, but my family has been fighting against the Witch Queen and her minions since the days of the Winter War.
I don't need you to know the history of Irrisen as well as I do; I'm just grateful that you heeded the call to keep Elvanna -- or Kostchtchie -- from gaining access to the Torc. Worthy allies are hard to find, and in dire need in these dark days."
Josiah replies to Ophelia "Elvanna rebelling is one possibility. What if Kostchtchie gets the torc instead? He could make himself truly immortal. What if the Witch Queen still abdicates the throne, and chooses to use the Torc's power for herself? There are many possibilities that don't end with Baba Yaga returning to clean up the mess. No, the torc must be recovered and destroyed."
Gror is pleased that -- though she's clearly not from the North -- this small elf knows something of his realm.
"Aye, this is the year she returns. It'll be the first return in my lifetime. They're dangerous times at best, and Elvanna and Kostchtchie being afoot makes my hair stand on end.
"I'm Gror Durrikson, a defender of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings. I know only bits about Kostchtchie, but my family has been fighting against the Witch Queen and her minions since the days of the Winter War. I'm grateful that people from far afield of the Northlands heeded the call to keep Elvanna -- or Kostchtchie -- from gaining access to the Torc. Worthy allies are hard to find, and in dire need in these dark days."
He takes his glove off and extends his hand to her. "Well met."
With a kind smile on her small face, Ophelia looks up at the northern dwarf and is quick to take Gror's much larger hand with her own little dainty one. She finds it rather funny that his strong grip practically covers the entirety of her own. However, it only further serves her theory that he is a very seasoned warrior.
"Well met, good sir, and agreed. Worthy allies certainly make all the difference. My name is Ophelia Glinathir, and I am from Magnimar, Varisia. It is nice to know that we will have someone on the team who understands the Witch Queen and her minions. I fear that I might only know some dated facts on the matter."
Once Ophelia is finished introducing herself, she turns to face the much larger Josiah and politely courtsies to the noble Archon.
"Please forgive my lack of clarity, my lord. Here is what I meant to say. Given what history says of her personal power, I am concerned about Baba Yaga returning in the middle of this conflict, and I was curious if you knew anything about her, her whereabouts, or her impending arrival in our world. Hopefully, we still have some time before she comes back. Regardless, I agree; given the numerous terrible possibilities, the Torc is best destroyed once and for all."
I try to stay out of Irrisen. Especially with the Riders out and about. But I hadn't heard of the Torc being located. This bodes ill. While talking Dori pulled a bit of cloth from a pocket, the one significant piece of color she had on her, a deep izmir purple, the significance of the silk lost in the history of years.
I've spent many years as an asset relocation specialist. First time I'm taking a job from someone as lofty as yerself.
Stuffing the cloth back into a pocket she noticed the girl looking at her, raised an eyebrow. Wish I could remember where I'd seen her before.
"She will return at the end of the year. There is yet time. It is not the Mother of Witches you need fear, but her daughter and that damned frozen giants' minions." Josiah replies to the diminutive elf. "I'm not hearing any further inquiries, so I'll assume you all understand what I'm asking you to do. As it stands now, you would have no chance of success. A handful of the giants camped outside the necropolis would likely be a match for your group." There is no judgement in his voice, simply a statement of fact. "To remedy the situation, the Inheritor has prepared for you a most precious and unique gift. The souls of six of her most loyal and noble mortal paladins have agreed to give up their afterlife, their very beings, so that they might become bound symbiotically with you. They will become your eidolons, living suits that protect and empower you both physically and magically. They will seek out your deepest desires and skills, make themselves into a form suitable for you to inhabit. As you grow, so will they. You will be as one." Josiah looks hard at each one directly in the eyes for several seconds. As he does so, the twittering birds and even the bees stop, all is dead silent. When the celestial general continues speaking his voice is deadly calm, and evenly paced, "Of course we do not grant such gifts without a 'catch', I believe is the way your mortals say it. By accepting this power you will also be accepting responsibility. You will serve us in this endeavor to the best of your efforts, and you will have no dealings with either the servants of Elvanna or Kostchtchie. Should you at any point do something evil, or attempt to break our trust in any way, the eidolon will abandon you and I will hunt you down. You will not enjoy what I do to you when I find you..." Eyes narrowed he holds the tension for a few moments before breaking into a broad smile. "Of course, should you succeed you will be rewarded with any treasure you might find in the necropolis as well as freedom from my Lady's service if that is your desire. If you choose to stay on, then the eidolon will be yours permanently. Ask me any questions you have now, before you decide. If you agree to bond an eidolon, there is no turning back."
"I've prayed for months for the power -- and the allies -- to take this fight to the Witch Queen. Now, as I'd guessed, I have the proof of its urgency...and it seems the opportunity to finally act." He pauses and looks around at the others who're being offered this choice, then shakes his head and smiles.
"Never did I dream it would take this form, but I've never been one to shy away from unorthodox tools or partnerships. I am already sworn to Angradd and Torag...and it's clear to me that in this case serving your Lady is also serving them. Nothing else is as important as thwarting Elvanna and Kostchtchie."
"Josiah, you can tell the Inheritor to count me in, and I vow to make the soul I'm bonded to proud."
There are appropriate times for everything, and for the journey through the immaculate garden, Vega was content to listen. He calmly gave each person his eyes and ears as they spoke and discussed, giving Josiah a nod of affirmation when he asked if they were following him.
He knew a fair bit about Irrisen and the Succession of Witches, but most of it was through book study and hearsay. He simply nodded in affirmation as the others spoke about the events, partially glad that what he knew about it all was not completely off base, while learning a few new things as well.
Finally the man breaks his silence. His voice is calm yet stern, and - like his movements - his words are well placed.
"The people of Irrisen and the surrounding areas suffer greatly, especially at these times of new succession. This revelation of the torc proves to be more than just a doomed repeat of history, but a potential threat beyond the already dire situation of The Old Crone's succession of daughters, threatening to consume innocent lives both within and well beyond the borders of Irrisen, like the first mist of the Lake of Viels spreading through the streets of Winterbreak between Arodus and Rova."
Josiah must know my thoughts, for I told Mariah just as much. Promises of rewards are not necessary. Threats of punishment are equally redundant. These things are only motivation for those who are not prepared or worthy to face responsibility and necessity in the first place, people who do not yet know themselves, or people who are unpure, selfish, and arrogant. These are not the kind of people to entrust with this task. Though a being such as Josiah probably cannot help but view all mortals as such, as so few of us can even come close to achieving anything even remotely resembling enlightenment, let alone the purity that his kind embody.
"My name is Vega Surtova. As I informed Mariah at my summons, I do not journey for material rewards or out of fear of retribution. What truly matters is that lives are in danger. Lives that may not have the strength to protect itself. I am here for those who deserve better, for those innocents caught in the storm, for those who need protection from fates they had no choice or chance to avoid, and for the lives of every person, creature or thing who could become better - for themselves and for others - if only they could be given the chance. For this reason, I most humbly accept your gift, this chance to experience a higher level of enlightenment, and all of the responsibilities it entails."
Vega bows deeply to Josiah as he finished his declaration. He holds the full body expression of reverence, respect, and humility for several moments before slowly standing upright once more.
Poppy stands with her hands on her hips, which are cocked to one side. "So it's going to be cold up there? I've never been. Do you think I'll catch something? The last time I was in a cold climate, I was sick for three months!" She is almost distracted by a brilliant pink flower when she refocuses. "I think I'd like to see some giants. And help your Lady. I wonder what my eidolon will look like!" she muses. "So, that's a yes, Josiah. But if you don't mind telling me, because Mariah wouldn't, how do you look so glowing?"
Josiah smiles at Poppy, "You gnomes are always so curious aren't you? My glow is a byproduct of the divine energy that suffuses my being."
Having listened to the angel's explanation of events, Cho'ankai looks to the others and listens to their more inquiries, though their words are as unfamiliar as the names the angel speaks. Their tongues are unfamiliar things, language without familiarity elicits thoughts of animals. So, Cho'ankai judges their words as he would animals, by their posture and body language. The unfamiliar sounds, as light as dead leaves to Cho, seem to carry the weight and age of mountains in them to most of the others. Drawing in a deep breath, Cho'ankai exhales it as a measure of calming.
Josiah's words, however, carry that mountainous weight. To share the soul of another in his own body, to join with a spirit as a fusion of essences. The concept is not entirely foreign to Cho'ankai, but the practice of such things has been absent in his tribe for generations. The Zipac'na of the southern arcadian tribes and his spirit guide are similar, but not of one body. This, Cho'ankai feels, will be a life-altering decision.
"நான் உன்னுடன் நடக்கிறேன். அனைத்து நன்மைக்காக." The statement is a strong affirmative, but comes with one question. "நாம் இந்த தாயத்து கண்டுபிடிக்க போது, என்ன அது மாறும்?"
And yet, it is a life-altering decision Cho'ankai makes gladly. The sky people have asked much of him, and he has much yet to give.
____
"I walk beside you. For the good of all."
"When we find this talisman, what will be done with it?"
"The Arcadian inquires what will be done with the amulet." Josiah says, assuming that not everyone speaks celestial. "It will be destroyed if possible. If not, it will be placed under guard in Heaven where it will be safe from wicked hands." he replies to Cho'Ankai.
Ophelia once again quietly sinks back into a stream of thought at the idea of truly serving a goddess, perhaps for a lifetime and beyond. The blonde wizard glances at little long-tailed bird carving on her silver ring - her arcane focus. Somewhere in her backpack is a little silver butterfly necklace she had picked up in Sandpoint so long ago. She suddenly finds herself amazed at Gror's sureness in his deities' will.
In the back of her mind, she is worried about how Desna and Shelyn, though more so Lady Luck than the Eternal Rose, would react to her vowing service to Iomedae and yet still wishing to pray to them just as she has for a hundred and forty years. (She is not too worried about vice versa; Joshia has not said anything about renouncing worship of other gods.) Yes, Desna probably would not mind if the power of this Eidolon is turned on Lamashtu at some point, but she does have a vastly different style of dealing justice than the Inheritor. As for Shelyn? After her brother's death, Ophelia has always tried to stay on the right side of his goddess; the diminutive elf did not want to spit on Janus' legacy.
However, there are very pressing matters at hand, and she technically has never made any formal agreements with Desna and Shelyn. These problems might seem distant from Varisia, but as the well-composed Vega brilliantly said, who knew how exactly they could spill over into other parts of the world?
"As I said earlier, I will help anyway I can. Vega is sadly correct when he says that there is a good chance this conflict will spill over into other lands. I would hate for the tremors to hit Magnimar or Varisia at large."
Ophelia's elven ears twitch at the sound of what she finally recognizes as Celestial. The Arcadian man's dialect has been a little difficult to understand at first, but the wizard is now finally getting used it. The diminutive elf approaches the man and says in the heavenly tongue, "அர்க்கான் சரியானதா. தர்க்கரீதியாக பேசும், அந்த விஷயம் இது இருக்கும் வைக்க நாம் மிகவும் ஆபத்தானது. வழியில், நான் ஓபிலியா இருக்கிறேன். நீங்கள் சந்திப்பதில் மிக்க மகிழ்ச்சி அது. குள்ள கோர் என்ற, மற்றும் பிற மனித வேகா உள்ளது. சிறிய பெண்கள் தங்களை அறிமுகம் இன்னும் வேண்டும்."
"The Archon is correct. Logically speaking, that thing is just too dangerous to let it keep existing. By the way, my name is Ophelia Glinathir. Pleased to meet you. In case you did not catch their names, the dwarf is Gror Durrikson, and the other human is Vega Surtova. The little women have yet to introduce themselves."
Gror heard the Arcadian speak briefly before in a language he didn't understand...but now he turns to him and asks (in Common)"You don't speak the Common Tongue, do you?"
"Магчыма дварфским?"
"Skald virker som et langskudd..."
"Eða foreldri?"
"કદાચ તમે ભૂગર્ભ વાત?"
Assuming no look of comprehension, he turns to Ophelia, "You seem to understand him. What language is this? Can you tell him that I can give him the ability to speak our languages for a time, with his permission?"
Recognizing the long-eared woman's language, Cho'ankai offers her a seemingly curt nod of recognition. It seems less out of any brusque nature, but more a semblance of formality. "நான் Cho'anki, Aju-Taash, Rankoshka ஆவி அழைப்பாளர் மகன்." His words, likewise, are clipped and short, but as a manner of being as forthright as possible. While Ophelia may not be aware of the particulars of his people, Cho'ankai knows that the more words a man uses to describe himself the more he lies about who he is; the fewer the words, the better.
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"I am Cho'ankai, son of Aju-Taash, spirit caller of the Rankoshka."
Assuming no look of comprehension, he turns to Ophelia, "You seem to understand him. What language is this? Can you tell him that I can give him the ability to speak our languages for a time, with his permission?"
After giving Cho'ankai an affirmative nod of understanding, Ophelia steps over (a couple of times actually) toward Gror and explains, "Celestial. I have never heard his accent before, so it took me a moment to recognize the tongue. His name is Cho'ankai, son of Aju-Taash, and he says he is the spirit caller of the Rankoshk, which I would guess means he's a druid or cleric of some kind. And of course I can tell him that!"
Ophelia promptly scoots back over to Cho.
"கோர் நீங்கள் தற்காலிகமாக பிரச்சினை இல்லாமல் நாம் புரிந்து கொள்ள உதவும் ஒரு எழுத்துப்பிழை தெரிகிறது. அவர் நீங்கள் அவரை நீங்கள் அதை போட அனுமதிக்க வேண்டும் என்று தெரிந்து கொள்ள வேண்டும்."
"Gore knows a spell that will let you temporarily understand us without issue. He wants to know if you would permit him to cast it on you."
Brows furrowing together, Cho'ankai turns to the indicated caster of that magic. There is a bemused look that crosses the weathered Arcadian's face, followed by a wide, bright smile and an offering of his arm out towards Gror. Experiencing a new magic seems to entice Cho'ankai with the prospect of new experiences and broader horizons.
The Arcadian's smile and extended arm are all the answer Gror needs, and he laughs warmly in return.
He grasps the outstretched hand with his right, and puts his left on the stylized mithril axe around his neck, then calls out "Great Cleaver of deception and injustice, this man stands ready to fight our foes. Grant him today the gift of Tongues."
There's a brief crackle in the air and between their arms.
"Well met, fellow warrior. Gror Durrikson, at your service. I confess I don't know what a spirit caller is, but I'm a fair judge of character and I see discipline, wisdom, and bravery in you. The evil we're facing is at my doorstep...which means it's from far from whereever you hail from. If you're willing nonetheless to face it at my side, I'm grateful."
Her ears turn a slightly lighter shade of gray when she hears of her lapse in decorum. Nodding to Cho'ankai and Ophelia, என் மன்னிப்புகள்! நான் Dorialis Vdalik அறியப்படுகிறது. சொத்து இடமாற்றம் நிபுணர், தன்னிச்சையாக, செல்வ மேலாண்மை மற்றும் விநியோகம் நிபுணர், இழந்து தவறான பண்டைய பொருட்களின் அடைபவர்.
Turning to Gror, Vega, and the noisy pipsqueek she repeats in common, My apologies! I am known as Dorialis Vdalik. Asset relocation specialist, expert of involuntary wealth management and distribution, procurer of lost and misplaced antiquities.
She looks over at the noisy cricket of a gnome, you, I know you from somewhere... Andoran?
Not forgetting their host, she has but one question for him, நான் உங்கள் கடவுள் அவளுக்கு உதவ மனிதர்களின் பெற வேண்டும் என்று கடுமையான ஸ்ட்ரெயிட்ஸ் புரிந்து. நான் என் கைகளை சில இலவச நேரம் என்று கண்டுபிடிக்க. நான் ஆனால் ஒரு கவலை. இந்த, eidolons, அவர்கள் அடிபணிந்து இருக்கும்? நான் இன்னொரு பிறவி என் இலவச விருப்பத்தை சரணடைய தயங்க வேண்டும். இவ்வளவு நேரம் அது யாருக்கு உதவி யார் புரிந்து, நான் Iomedae என் சேவைகளை வழங்குகின்றன. நான் கூட என் சேவைகள் ஒரு குறிப்பிடத்தக்க தள்ளுபடி தருவேன்!
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Blinking a few times and angling his head from left to right, Cho'ankai seems perplexed by the transition from foreign tongues to his native language. Another smile, more reserved than the one before, spread across the arcadian's lips. "Long have my people praised the sky spirits," a motion is given to Josiah, "for aid they gave to us in the age when the sun was stolen from the sky. I am of the blood of the sky spirits, speaker to the spirit of the world, and carrier of my tribe's legacy." Cho'ankai looks around to the others for a moment, then back to Gror.
"It is my duty to come to the heed to the sky spirits when they call, my birthright to serve as their hand. One hundred and seventeen cycles I have walked this land, and twice that more will I continue on. In all those years, I have answered the call to protect the spirits of the land from those that would harm or disrupt them..." and with this Cho'ankai make something adamantly clear, "no matter the source."
Vega nods to each person present as introductions quickly take place. He gives Dorialis a small little smirk.
"I also understand the Celestial tongue. Alas, I have not studied more languages than that, so will be limited to either that or Taldan in our travels."
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Joasiah replies to Dorialis' question about free will by saying, "The paladins gave up their very beings. They have no will to assert over anything. Their souls have been converted into the raw building blocks of an outsider. You will be in full control of your fused form at all times."
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Very well then, I'm in.
I wonder what treasures I can pick up along the way...
"Excellent, that's everyone. Let's continue on. The ritual will take place just up ahead." Josiah says, then floats further down the path, leading the group over the bridge and through the garden for another minute or so. "The summoning should only take a minute. The first time I will supervise, after that you will be able to perform the rite on your own. When you sleep the Eidolon will return here to the garden to rest. Each morning when you wake, you may call it back." Rounding a corner they come to an open space filled with small white stones. They have been artfully raked into patterns resembling waves. Interspersed amidst the pebbles are a few brief bursts of vibrant green flora. "Here we are." Josiah says, as he stops at the edge of the stone-filled clearing. Pointing out into the pebbles he says, "Each one of those stones represents a mortal soul for whose well being I am in some measure responsible."
He stops pointing and opens his hand palm up saying "I ,Josiah, call you." The pebbles lift up off the ground and begin to float. At first one or two shoot up higher than the others but soon every stone takes to the air. They soar up, higher even than Josiah's head. The pebbles shift and blur like a shaol of a thousand-thousand fish, synchronized and alive. They swirl upward and around one another in a an ever shifting, ever intertwining globe of primal geometric patterns. It's mesmerizing. The globe shifts into all the fractal shapes one sees in the garden around them. The curve of leaves, the shape of waves and wings and feathers. A tumbling cloud morphs into a range of rugged mountains, who then dissolve and flow into the sea. The whole time, the chosen can feel the weight of a million mortal souls pushing down on them. All the love, all the hate, every dirty thought and selfless act tugs at their guts, and makes their muscles go stiff and rigid. It hits them in pulsing waves, like trying to wade through the surf of a stormy sea. Just as it is threatening to become too much, Josiah's voice cuts through everything. "Return." With that simple command the effect is broken and the pebbles rain back down into the bed, somehow managing to fall exactly back into place. It is once again but a small field of white rocks, raked into the pattern of waves.
"Your turn." He says, grinning. "One by one, do just as I did. It won't be as dramatic, and may take some time, but all you need do is call."
"...Wow," is all the normally verbose Ophelia can muster at the wondrous, otherworldly sight that just unfolded right before her sapphire blue eyes.
It is a solid reminder that Josiah is an immensely powerful entity that the wizard would rather not get on the bad side of and that, even after living a hundred and forty years, she personally still has much to see in life. It has always been marvelous things like this that have made her excited about sporting a long life span. Speaking of which...
The diminutive elf looks around at the rest of the group and smiles mischievously. She quickly steps forward and tells them all, "Well, you know they say; age before beauty, so I will go first if nobody minds."
Ophelia quickly scurries up to Josiah's side and extends her own tiny hand.
"I, Ophelia Isetlle Glinathir, call you."
Vega watches and embraces the experience like a green student in the presence of a much admired master. While his jaw does not drop, his eyes are wide.
He returns Ophelia's smile, and gives her a very slight bow of the head as she takes the lead. Patiently, curiously and silently, Vega watches.
At first nothing happens, the pause is long enough that Ophelia begins to wonder if she'd done something wrong. Then a single pebble wiggles, shifts and lifts into the air, on the far side of the rock garden. It dips a few times as it struggles for altitude, but is soon flying smoothly and quickly towards Ophelia's palm. As the stone approaches it begins to pulse with a deep blue light, in time with the wizard's heartbeats. With each pulse of blood through her veins, the stone's light grows until it appears as a glowing star sapphire as it reaches her hand. The warm marble sized soul settles into Ophelia's palm. The warmth grows to the point of almost burning and the stone begins to melt into her hand. In a few quick seconds the stone is gone and Opehlia can feel power surging up her arm. As it reaches her chest...
As if reciting a prayer, the diminutive elf slowly brings her small hands together at the center of her chest and closes her eyes. Entering a deep trance, she pauses for a long moment, and nothing seems to happen. She merely stands perfectly still and tranquil, only breathing ever so softly. A calm wind gently makes its way through the garden and ruffles the front locks of her golden hair.
A single pulse jolts through her heart.
“Amazing…” Ophelia whispers softly.
And with that, she rapidly ascends into the cool evening air.
Ophelia begins to slowly draw her hands apart, though her palms remain open and facing each other. The first part of her transformation is subtle at first, but it becomes increasingly more evident as the seconds race by; the tiny elf’s normally tanned skin begins to gradually whiten. Not to a sickly pale but rather something akin to the radiant blue light of a newly born star.
The many braids of her hair suddenly unwind, and as if caught in the wind of a storm, the entire golden ensemble starts to wave and flow in several directions. It too lightens immensely in hue, though instead of the white-blue of her new skin tone, Ophelia’s hair now starts to resemble pure sunlight. Once the second step of the transformation is complete, the locks slowly begin to weave themselves back together by some invisible force.
Changes take place internally too. Ophelia suddenly feels decades of studying finally snap into focus; she suddenly begins to truly understand certain spells that she has studied time and again over her long wizardry career but has never kept memorized without consulting her books. Definitely not all of them, but many of her favorites are there, along with numerous new ones. She can now feel the very essence of that magic pulsing through her bones.
She once again opens her eyes as a series of small black lines begins to fall from the right one like running ink drops. While they were a strong shade of sapphire blue before, her eyes are now much more prominent hue of said color, easily the first thing that would draw attention in her appearance. Shortly afterward, a strange crest begins to appear on her forehead.
It is simple and yet complex: numerous sapphires arranged in the shape of a small angle with big beautiful wings.
Now that the winds and light display has settled, she can finally take a good look at her new form. Still three feet tall exactly, the petite elf’s figure is still clearly feminine and humanoid for the most part. While her hair is once again braided, it seems to be levitating slightly. Ophelia lazily strokes her face with a hand and pauses immediately when she notes two things: the new texture, which feels a bit like warm cloth, and her lack of a mouth. However, the instant that crosses her mind, that feature promptly materializes in an instant. Slightly shocked by what just happened, Ophelia unintentionally thinks of her original state, and her mouth disappears instantly. She does the same for her long elven ears, though she snaps two times, which causes them to vanish and then reappear just as quickly, much to the elf’s relief.
All of her clothing is still present, though her sandals and robe are now nearly the same hue as her skin, just slightly grayer to highlight the difference. Her various golden accessories are likewise there and gently glow the same color as her hair. With another snap of her dainty fingers, Ophelia’s headband, bracelets, and her sandals vanish into thin air.
A gentle aura seems to dance about her being. It is contradictory in description. However, the term shadow-like light is oddly apt in describing its nature.
Despite having experimented quite a bit with her form, Ophelia decides to take things further; she closes her eyes and concentrates intensely for about six seconds, which causes an extra pair of arms materialized into existence.
“…Wow!” Ophelia near breathlessly observes (rather literally without her mouth and all) as she inspects her new set of hands and slowly begins to descend to the ground. With a sigh, she quickly snaps again and recalls her mouth."Seems like I am still getting some hiccups out, though."
However, she remains hovering a few inches over it. Ophelia then glances at her bare feet and notices this occurrence. The wizard looks around for nothing in particular before rising again into the air. Without shame, she quickly performs a back flip before floating back down.
"So who wishes to go next?"
As he sees the seething, perfect, flying sea of souls/stones, Gror finds himself feeling somehow bigger and very much smaller, and very very still. This is...I had no idea.
He watches Ophelia’s transformation with his heart racing, and buffeting waves of fear, What will become of me?, and thrill, What will I be capable of? Is this the answer I’ve prayed for?
When her transformation is done, he stands silent for many moments with his thoughts. Then he steps forward and hold his arm out as still as he’s able. I do this for my people, my land, and for Angradd and Torag. May it be enough.
”I, Gror Durrikson, defender of the North, call you."
Gror's hand hovers in the air for just as long as Ophelia's did before anything happens. Then, just as with the first time a single stone takes to the air, this time from much closer in the garden. It whizzes towards Gror's palm, rough and uneven like a miniature boulder. As it gets close, color seems to bloom on the stone. The vibrant reds, yellows and oranges of northern lichens crawl over the stone in dotted, cloud-like patterns. The lichen-stone settles into Gror's palm, and he can feel warmth and power shooting up his sturdy axe-arm. Soon it is merging into his hand, just as Ophelia's did. A surge of energy shoots up Gror's arm, heading for his chest....
...As the surge reaches his chest (imperceptibly at first) Gror starts to vibrate. Seconds later he’s shaking to the point where he becomes an expanding blur. Gror's consciousness becomes dreamlike and foggy. He’s aware only of a thundering avalanche happening within him, filling him. Seconds or decades later, his mind returning to his body...except this body isn’t his own.
Those around him hear a deep rumbling, building to a crescendo coming from within the blur. Inside it, the group can see him in motion (writhing?) arms toward the heavens and then pounding down to the ground. When the rumble and blur settles, what the group sees at first resembles a pile of granite lying where Gror once stood.
Gror lies still for a moment. What has become of me?
He raises his shoulders, shakes his head, and lifts himself off of the ground. When he does, the pile of granite coalesces into a massive six-limbed gargoyle, 7’ high at the shoulder and nearly twice that in length. Deeply etched into his forehead is Angrad’s name-rune, with what appears to be vibrant red yellow and orange lichen inside it, a sharp contrast to the otherwise white granite of his new body.
He looks down at his new companions and starts to take in how much larger he has become. Experimenting, he rears up on his hind legs and finds he towers 14’ off the ground. When he does -- and still not believing it’s real -- Gror finds he now has six limbs, each ending in large stone claws. Thankfully his forelegs still end in hands. He stretches each limb out in turn, fascinated by their strength and grace, and finds that walking like a bear is now far more natural than upright. He’s starting (somewhat) to assimilate the transformation when he cranes his neck toward his back and notices...wings.
His brain begins to stutter at the sight. Oh Torag, Angradd, I -- No! -- How? -- Did something in *me* cause this? -- Did Iomedae? -- What have I become? A winged abomination....
Quieting his mind by sheer will, he takes several long breaths and then reminds himself: My goal is the same. I asked for power and I’ve been granted it. By whose sick humor I’ve been marred with wings I don’t understand, but it's irrelevant. I asked for power and I’ve been granted it. I asked for power and I’ve been granted it.
I will take the fight to the Witches and their demons.
"...Oh my..." murmurs Ophelia at the events that just transpired.
Without even thinking, she quickly flies over to the six-limed gargoyle and extends a tiny glowing hand toward Gror. The Sapphire Angel still strongly believes that this entity is the friendly dwarf. His reaction to his transformation is just so... realistic. Only a thinking man could display such deep emotion.
"Are you alright, Grog?" she whispers softly. It is only then that she realizes just how much size the dwarf has on her now. What had been a little over a foot was now several feet. However, Ophelia is not too nervous. Her adventures five years ago had really done a lot to instill steel nerves in her.
Still, Ophelia can't help but look over at Josiah and shot him a glance that clearly asks What happened, buddy? Yes, this Archon can probably kill her without breaking a sweat, but she still thinks an explanation is warranted. Perhaps they had been a little too keen to accept this power...