The woman’s gentle laugh makes the blood rush to his face and hands, along with other parts of his body. There is no accusation or judgement; no mocking in her laughter. There is only joy, pleasure, and happiness. She turns back to look at Boros, approaching him slowly and stopping alluringly close. The fur lining from her dress brushes up against his bare chest as he looks deep into the eyes of the beautiful woman. ”You can yet still be a powerful agent for my mistress. There is much she would have you do. You think this experience with chaos is a test, but you are wrong.” She reaches up to caress the feathered cheek of the Aasimar before breaking the contact and walking past him again, back inside the room.
”This is not a test.” she says, turning her head ever so slightly to speak over her shoulder. Her hips sway as she slowly walks away from him. ”This is not some heavy burden that my mistress has foisted upon you to bear. This is not an arduous path to test your fealty. It was just something that happened. There is no deeper meaning.” The woman turns back to face Boros, hands clasped in front of her. ”You should have been dead. Truth be told, this is not the first time since your graduation into the ranks of the society that you should have been dead,” she says with a smile, taking an opportunity to sit on an old bed and cross her legs under the fabric of the gown. Her posture is perfect, the picture of elegance and charm. She leans forward, crossing her arms and resting her chin on one of her palms.
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The confusion swirls in Boros’ mind. Confusion turns to frustration when the chaos of his thoughts do not sort themselves out, as has been the norm since that fateful night in Carrion Hill. Nothing makes any sense.
No meaning? Is this what fate is supposed to be? How can something like that mean nothing? Does she even know what happened to me? He finally screws up the courage to speak again. ”Surely you don’t understand. You see, I’ve been having these dreams…” He begins to try to explain. His words are flustered as he struggles with where to begin to make her understand.
”My dear Boros,” the lady interrupts again with a disarming smile and stands up again, ”but I do understand. It is you who are lost, not me. Remember? Think! What were you before all of this? Before Carrion Hill. Before the pathfinder society. Before my mistress found you. Even before you came to live with the dwarves. Who were you before the ogres came? Do you even remember? Do you remember what it feels like to fly? Do you remember those small pleasures in life?” she says, emphasizing the last word as if it was the most important part. With each sentence she takes a step towards Boros, bringing her body close to his, and finally reaching up to run the feathers of his head through her fingers, a dainty arm leaning on each of his shoulders.
She continues, oblivious to his thoughts, ”My mistress is indeed the goddess of vengeance. There is no fury, wrath, or judgement in this world or any other, like that of a woman scorned.” she says, now running her fingers down some of the scars on his shoulder as if to subtly remind him. ”But there is more to my goddess than the vengeance you have chosen to define your life.” Turning away yet again from him, she walks around to the side of the bed in the chamber, her back to him. She looks over her shoulder coyly, and suddenly the dress releases its tight hold on her body, sagging on her arms but not yet falling to the floor.
”You are out of balance. You are far too focused on your revenge and your deadly craft. Look to your friends. Look to the beauty around you that daily passes you by. Look to your own pleasures and those of the people you care about. Stop defining yourself on what you have done and what has been done to you, and you will find your peace.” She finally allows the dress to fall to the floor. With a smile she slides into the bed beside her.
Laughing again, she folds one naked leg over the other, finding just the right position to hide her most delicate parts from view. ”I will explain one more time then. It can have meaning to you, if you want, or it can be nothing. An unfortunate memory. Take from it what you need and leave the rest behind. The important part is that it doesn’t define you. You are an Aasimar with the blood of the Garuda in your veins. Even more than that, you are chosen by my goddess, and that is enough for me. It should be enough for you as well. Now get over here and let me show you what I mean.”
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Boros' and Glarifyur's time at home passed swiftly. The dwarf worked the forges with his brothers and sisters and sang songs of their ancestors, drinking and celebrating as hard as he worked. Boros spent time both in the company of his adopted dwarven bretheren as well as in the ruins of the aerie where he grew up with his blood family. Though not made for the forge, Boros was thrown into the revelry and in time and with much prayer to Torag, Glarifyur saw his aasimar companion's spirits return just as his had. Weeks poured into months, and the two of them found comfort and support in the Egdoras Clanholds. But those of their kind rarely suffer extended peace and it seemed all too short a time before a letter sealed with the wax signet of the Pathfinder Society arrived with another large shipment of ale from the very same merchant they had accompanied on their trip home.
"Looks like I'll have some extra guard on my way out this time, eh boys?"
Biggithun the merchant smiled through his rough beard as Glarifyur and Boros together cracked the wax seal and began to read their new missive.