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Feeling an overwhelming sense of pride in that name, Drago pulled his flaming blade, knelt down and put the blade in the ground. "Then I hereby renounce my mother's family name and take that of my father's. From this day forth, I shall be known as Drago Zakharov."
"Then rise, and let us begin begin cleansing this land." Tarja said.
As Drago stood and put his blade away, he felt a sensation upon his forehead. Looking at Tarja, he noticed a rune, his family's sigil, appeared on her forehead as well. "Before we begin that, there is one more task I need to complete. I need to locate Aliethia and see if she can be redeemed." Looking around, he thought, Now, where to start.
Bowing her head, "As you say, Stormborn."
Sādhanā sits back down on the bed and brushes tears from Ylreah’s eyes. ”I’m sorry. That’s a terrible thing to have your first love wrapped up in. You know that really was all about his issues and not you right?” Sighing she smiles at Ylrhea.
”If there’s one thing I’ve learned is that trying to live without an open heart, doesn’t work in the long run. You think you’re protecting yourself and then one day you realize that you just feel hollow. Even the pain of having your heart broken is preferable to that once you’ve experienced it long enough.”
Standing up she strips off her armor, casting a brief cantrip to clean it, then pulls her shift on over her head.
Ylrhea respectfully looks away as Sadhana changes. "Yeah, but even with that...Goldie had a way of making it feel like it was my fault. Hells, the last three pages were dedicated to blaming me in a passive-aggressive way."
She rests her head on a pillow, her orange hair covering most of her face. "That's a nice shift."
She yawns again and traces her fingers along her scars absently.
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"Hello, sister," Aliethia says to Arista as she walks into the inn. She nods at the innkeeper who brings her a glass of wine. "I heard your thoughts..."
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Arista looks up, surprised and a little confused...."Sister? I...I'm sorry, but have we met?"
"This would be our first time," Aliethia says with a faint smile. "You know my brother, Alethiro."
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Turning to Tarja, "What do you think? If you were an undead Elf that I just rejected, where would you go. Given that she has a tendency to get vengeful over something li....Arista!" Drago realized. "Come with me." He ordered. The pair made their way back to the inn.
Sādhanā smiles. "Thanks. When we get back I think I may need to visit the shops a bit. I think Arista's rubbing off on me but I didn't really care about pretty stuffall that much before."
Sitting on the bed she watches Ylrhea's fingers trace her scars. "You know those don't detract from your appearance any right? If anything they add a sort of edgy toughness to you."
Looking a little embarrassed, she smiles, "I'm so sorry. I should have realized. I'm Arista, pleased to meet you." She holds out her hand.
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Aliethia looks at the hand for a moment before taking it. "Alethiro and I used to look similar in our youth. Sometimes, I still rely on that for recognition."
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Ylrhea smiles once more before closing her eyes. "I like to think of them as a road map, pointing out where I've been before and where I'd like to go from here."
She breathes heavily. "We could all use some...pretty...stuff..."
Soon, the gnome is fast asleep.
She nods, "I understand that...it's just I didn't know him until more recently, so....and then everything happened kinda fast, ya know?"
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Aliethia laughs, the sound happy and sad at the same time. "So I've sensed. Are you happy to be with child?"
She walks out of Hadrinn's, leaving Amélie and Marcel alone again.
Smiling at the sight of Ylrhea finally falling into a peaceful sleep, Sādhanā lays down next to her freind where she can easily put an arm around her for comfort.
As her mind relaxes, she feels a pulse of emotion through her ring, not sadness but strong sentiment that made her feel that Clara might be crying at least a little. Her mind reaches into the bond and she realizes that she can tell exactly what Clara's physical condition is as well as her actual distance and direction.
Oddly enough she felt a happiness to the tears along with the constant longing for them to be back together, that was echoed in her own heart.
Kissing the ring on her hand focuses on her love for the woman whose smile means the world to her before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.
She smiles and puts a hand on her belly while she thinks for a minute.
"Yes, I am....but,I'm also a little scared outta my mind about it too. Don't get me wrong, I want this child...it just happened soooo fast."
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"Things happen that way, Arista," Aliethia sighs. "That's just life. Could always be worse."
Drago arrived at the inn, and saw Aliethia sitting with Arista. "Come to congratulate her yourself my dear?" He asked as him and Tarja entered.
Arista looks down and fidgets with her robe, "Yeah.....I know." She sighs.
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She jumps at the sound of his voice, "Yup, just talking."
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"Yes, I thought I would, Drago," Aliethia says without looking at him. "Got a new companion?"
Looking at Tarja before answering, "Yes I did. She's a part of my father's legacy, and she is here to assist in cleansing this land of the evil that permeates it."
"I am known as Tarja Silverscales. Shall I dispatch her Stormborn?"
Putting an arm in front of his new companion, "No Tarja, first, I must speak with her."
"As you wish." She responded before taking a non-aggressive posture.
Turning back to the Elf, "Aliethia, you and I need to talk once more."
"If you must, Drago," Aliethia says, turning to face the dhampir. "You look a little...different. More self-confident, it seems."
As their words are exchanged, Arista sits for a moment in disbelief before standing. "Just....just hold on one minute....please. Before this turns into something it doesn't need to...." Looking from one to the other, "Couldn't you just sit down and talk? Why must everything be so dramatic?"
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"Our history demands that everything be dramatic," Aliethia laughs. "I used to be a bard, so I think I enjoy it as well."
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She looks about ready to say something else, but gets a strange look on her face. "Uummm...I need to...do something...Ill be back shortly." With that she rushes upstairs.
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"So we are alone again," Aliethia says to Drago after Arista heads upstairs. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Can I get a roll to go, Hadrinn?" Gerard asks, leaving four copper on the table.
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The horizon was a thin line, separating the sea and sky. A moon hung in the air, but it was orange - that wasn't to be expected for a few months.
Upon the water lay a raft, little more than bound driftwood. Atop it lay Harakhty, himself starkly absent of any garb, possession, or companion - except one: his lion tooth pendant. Above the vessel ... somewhere ... was Harakhty, omniscient in his own subconsciousness, paradoxically clouded by the fog of his mind. His consciousness reoriented itself as he came into his dream. But no matter which way he looked, there was nothing. Nothing but water, cold emptiness, and a raft.
With him.
Yet he was different somehow. It took him a while to see it in the pale moonlight, but his fur was no longer the zebra-shaded aberration of the waking world, but the golden fur of the Suntooths. And with that observation came his first doubt: That can't be!..
And with his first doubt, he awoke. The simian husk of himself stood on the raft, bent his head back and looked at the sky - not at the moon, but right into Harakhty's consciousness. Into his soul. With an empty glare of solid black eyes, the not-him stared for a moment. In its eyes lay a sucking void. It drew Harakhty's consciousness to the eyes, his focus kept from the surroundings of the surreal ocean.
Then the creature dove.
When it hit the water, Harakhty felt his consciousness sucked towards him, but control over his vision's focus returned. His field of vision widening, it seemed the ocean was falling with the vanara, an inverted cone of air pushing downward to dispel the water around him. The vortex-like creation steepened in depth, perfectly stretching to match the mammal's fall. The diver's fingers never penetrated the surface of the water, just touching the meniscus.
As his periphery became clearer, Harakhty's consciousness noticed things in the water. Buildings. People. Livestock. Trees. Fish. Things that should and things that should not have been there floated in the water pushed aside for them, beautifully macabre in the nonsensical juxtaposition of immense proportions.
A faint vista of light appeared underneath the diving vanara, his tail flipping in the air, sometimes obscuring the vision of the consciousness following it. The water left the diver's fingers, the apex of the cone gradually giving way to a circle of nothingness. The water around now formed a tunnel, a cylinder some distance from the plummeting dreampeople.
What is this madness?!
Again, the thought caused change. First, a transparent floor came up to meet them, seemingly endless in width, yet no thicker than a hand's breadth. Gravity seemed to relax it's grip on Harakhty's husk, the humanoid easily handspringing himself to a comfortable landing. The vista below shot into view beneath the floor - a star of beautiful brightness. It's rays split into colorful sprays as they shone through the crystal floor, the moon above far distant now, a speck of pumpkin hanging distant above.
Then, the sea came down around them.
The cylinder collapsed on itself, spreading away from them as it hit the floor. Drowned cattle pummeled against the quartz surface, bones cracking, then subsequently washed away. Whales crushed under the weight of impact. People of all corners and races were destroyed as the seemingly infinite stream of water bashed them into the surreal ground. It then occurred to Harakhty's consciousness while he'd seen plenty in the dream, these were the first sounds he'd heard. And while he could hear the roaring fall of water, each smattering of matter contained within rolled perfectly to his ears. Each timber of a tavern snapping, every brick of a castle cashing - the devastating din was heard in flawless accuracy by his intangible form. The husk below stood calm, motionless though - as if it were blind and deaf. After what seemed like hours but was likely seconds, the jettison stopped. The debris was forced outward beyond the infinite horizon by more water, the impossibly large cylinder meeting its end.
The crysal floor was untouched though. And through it, the star's rays shone brighter now. Bright enough to make gazing at them hard. Just when he could not stand to stare at the potent spectrum any longer, the colorful light began to bend and twist as it came through the crystal. The rainbow of energy meandered towards a nexus in front of the body still standing there. Slowly, then quickly, the light formed a ball that ever so imperceptibly began to sprout crude pseudopods. The pseudopods became limbs - including a tail.
With a final radiant flash, the entity was no longer light, but matter. In front of the husk stood another vanara, one taller, more muscular than the former. The color of his fur was a deep gold, unlike the shade of bronze the husk possessed. As the diver, this new creation neither held nor wore anything, its only possession a smile.
It was Naeem. Naeem!
Elation filled Harakhty's consciousness. He struggled within his own mind to move his point in space closer to his mate, but he could not. Not the slightest movement of the consciousness occurred as Naeem approached the body Harakhty did not possess.
"I've been waiting so long."
His own tongue sounded alien to him - it had been so long. Yet it returned to his ears with ready enjoyment being spoken by Naeem. His baritone pitch carried to his ears with as much precision at the catastrophe around him had. It was as music, the notes a motif in his head.
Harakhty's husk took his first movements since landing. He shook his head, a single tear rolling down his left cheek.
"I'm sorry..."
Naeem took a few paces back, the smile gone, his eyes never deviating from the black pits of the husk. In Harakhty's mind, he reached out for the retreating Naeem. So too did the body below. Just then, with his hand outstretched, the one object that had not reappeared from the time where water was present did: the raft.
Piece by piece, the driftwood pieces fell from the sky. Their large, weighty forms plummeted right past Harakhty's consciousness, and his view of them was perfect. Unlike when the raft was on the water, he now saw the ends of the timbers. Into each of the ends were faces. Familiar faces. One was Hasina's. One was Arista's. Godrick's, Cyna's, Drago's, Skaar's, Clara's ... the list went on.
Yet these were not carvings. No, these were the actual faces, somehow merged with the wood. The lifeless eyes gazed below as they fell, seemingly watching for their final destination. Each piece of the raft fell on the husk. As before, the collisions rang to Harakhty's ears perfectly, each snapping of bone excellently rendered upon his tympani.
So was the pain.
Silent screams of agony consumed him as the battering transcended the body below into his mind. The wood seemed endless, pulverizing the now-prone figure on the still-unscathed crystal floor. It was not until each bone in the body was broken, teeth dispelled from the mouth, the rain of pain came to a close.
By some miracle - or curse - Harakhty was still alive. Unnoticed, his point in space had moved much closer to the body - right above it. Barely able to comprehend through the pain, he saw Naeem stretch out his hand towards the prove body. Feeling a stitting motion beneath the near-corpse under him, Harakhty began to ethereally writhe one more as a cutting motion was felt on his nonexistent chest. Something digging into it, first through his skin, then his flesh, caused somehow more suffering than the falling face-woods. But when the agonizing arrowhead pieced his heart ... the torment was otherworldly. The vision became a blur, the periphery fading into darkness as it seemed whatever lifeforce lay in this nightmare began to ebb from him. His consciousness merged with the husk, the two now one. A force of the object in his chest shook him, pushed him over, ripping through more of his heart in the process before extracting the organ completely through the front of his chest - now upward-facing.
Naeem had not moved, his hand outstretched, but a smile was once again on his face. It was not a benign expression, but a malicious smirk. The heart held on the floating object - a lion's tooth - began to vaporize, the mist of blood and sinew flowing towards Naeem's mouth and nostrils. Ventilating the gasses, the tooth soon was clean one again - a beautiful shade of ivory, smooth, but sharp. His mate dropped his hand, the tooth falling with it - right into the cavity in Harakhty's chest. His consciousness was too far gone to process any further pain. The soup of surrealism began to blend together as the crystal floor shattered, the fresh corpse beginning to fall towards the star below...
His eyes snapped open, the darkness of a room without light around him. He was hyperventilating, overheating, his hands shaking. Moments passed before he could even control himself, his muscles alien to him. Harakhty put a hand to his heart, hoping, praying it had all been a dream. There was no cavity - and his heart was beating much faster than it ever should.
Yet on his chest lay his lion tooth necklace, precisely where Naeem had dropped it. A single drop of blood lay on its tip, a shallow puncture wound to match beneath it on his chest.
The stress was more than Harakhty's body could take. He slipped from consciousness again - this time, into a blissful void until morn.