Benedetto hangs on grimly, hoping that Aisling's idea will help. With only one flight potion, he doesn't want to have to spend any of its duration he doesn't need to...
He taps the ephemeral creature carrying them and switches to Sylph
"Má thugaim cosaintí duit, a dhuine iontach, an féidir leat sinn a chosaint freisin agus muid ag druidim lenár sprioc?"
With low, rumbling voice, the manta replies of slow Sylph.
yes, I will do my best to protect you. You must right what is wrong.
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Gabe hears some rumbling from the space beneath him where the presumed manta existed. Sensing some movement was about to happen, Gabe prepares to hang on for dear life.
Aisling uses all his protective potions on the creature carrying them. He might regret it later. Probably will. But this creature is carrying them into danger without worrying about itself.
He chooses fire, hoping the acid part will only be from direct assault. Praying the creature can protect its passengers.
"What is your name, great one? In your own language and in Sylph? To know who to thank in my prayers and whonto recommend to The Mother."
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After the bright empty sky, Gabe welcomes the waiting gloom like an old friend.
Aisling uses all his protective potions on the creature carrying them. He might regret it later. Probably will. But this creature is carrying them into danger without worrying about itself.
He chooses fire, hoping the acid part will only be from direct assault. Praying the creature can protect its passengers.
"What is your name, great one? In your own language and in Sylph? To know who to thank in my prayers and whonto recommend to The Mother."
Now that you are in friendly contact with the mobula, you find communication easier. The ray's mental voice is like a warm breeze, strong enough to bowl you over. To small talking ones such as yourself, I am Eryddan. I am warm currents and cold; I am in the bestirring zephyrs and I live in howling gusts.
And you, who speaks with such fair words in troubled times? Who are you and your companions?
As the potions soak in and take effect, the manta's skin emits a small amount of phosphorescence in response. The mobula adjusts the various protrusions on its back, and takes you into its protective grooves. You can see all around you, thanks to the manta's tranlucense, while being neatly enclosed by its magic-infused hide.
You feel the mobula picking up speed, and the winds buffet your eyes and ears. The darkest clouds, the heart of the thunderstorm, draws nearer.
Benedetto holds on tightly, as much as he wants to shift his grip to the hilt of his sword, or maybe get out his bow. Until they get closer, the most he can do is watch his companions for signs of needing healing.
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The ray's mental voice is like a warm breeze, strong enough to bowl you over. To small talking ones such as yourself, I am Eryddan. I am warm currents and cold; I am in the bestirring zephyrs and I live in howling gusts.
And you, who speaks with such fair words in troubled times? Who are you and your companions?
"Táimid ag spreagadh athruithe sa chaidreamh idir déithe. Tá Dark ag truailliú an Bolcán dílis, tá an bhliainty faoi bhagairt, táimid ag dul amú ar an troid. Ach táimid, na cinn bheaga, athléimneach agus tapaímid chun athrú a dhéanamh.
Is é an rud a fheiceann tú anseo ná beirt, Gabriel, duine amháin ceangailte le heitleán eile, agus Samen, tá a chumhacht inmheánach, is é a intinn a chumhacht. Glantar an dá cheann ag cumhacht ársa na Gréine ó fhuil eiliminteach.
Is Ifrit é Benedetto, ridire naofa, a bhíodh ar Bolcán, atá anois ina churadh ar chumhacht chomhcheangailte na tine agus an aeir, leantóir bródúil as an Fhionnuisce.
Is é an ceann atá ceangailte ar an taobh ná Tallmind Theta, foirm ársa daonna saortha ón Dorchadas. Níl mórán eolais againn fúthu fós.
Is mise Aisling Catalys, The Dream of Sylph, iar-ghníomhaire don teampall atá tite go dtí an Dorchadas, soiscéalaí The Sky anois, The Tears mar chomhartha dá saol fiú agus an bhliainty tar éis dearmad go mall nach bhfuil sí marbh. Agus anois dúisíonn sí arís. Agus tusa, Eryddan, is laoch tú."
"We are harbringers of change in the relations between gods. Dark is corrupting the Volcano faithful, elenity is under threat, we're losing the fight. But we, small ones, are resilient and quick to change.
What you see here are two humans, Gabriel, one joined with another plane, and Samen, his power is internal, his mind is his power. Both are cleansed by an ancient power of Sun from elemental blood.
Benedetto is an Ifrit, a paladin, formerly of Volcano, now champion of the joined power of fire and air, proud follower of Phoenix.
The one joined on the side is Tallmind Theta, an ancient form of human freed from The Dark. We don't know much about them yet.
I am Aisling Catalys, The Dream of Sylph, former agent for the temple that has fallen to the Dark, now evangelist of The Sky, The Tears being a sign of her life even as elenity slowly forgot she is not dead. And now she awakens again. And you, Eryddan, you are a hero."
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Qizz stays low against the spirit. A content stream of blue bubbles trailing behind them while they continue to tap themselves with the healy stick until the pain fades.
Smiling widely when Aisling starts rambling in a sing songy way they do not understand but Eryddan does not seem bothered by it. The dead are not limited by stupid elen languages that make no sense but sound pretty.
The mobula blushes a wave of red-crimson before becoming clear again. The manta keeps gently undulating in the winds, and it is only by the quick passage of floating rock-islands beneath you that you can measure your true speed.
"You do me too much credit, young Aisling. I will transport you through these stormy winds, but you must face this core of darkness on your own. I wish you all fortune and fair winds."
The mobula hovers near a bank of clouds, and you sense it is time to take your leave. As you all fly/float toward the imminent storm, the manta bobs once towards Aisling; a small show of respect for rising champion of Air and Sky. Indeed, even the air itself seems to obediently solidify under the party's feet, making the path easier.
A voice. firm but polite, gusts in Aisling's ears. Give us the three true names of the Sky God, if true Sky prophet you be. Speak them fair, from your own tongue. The windy voice sounds tired, but with a hint of hope it adds, Please.
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[dice=recall that many mycos worship me on 1, 2, or 3]1d12
Gabe hears the speech back and forth but understands none of it. He certainly feels the blessing from the manta though. He does not voice his thanks but he thinks towards it, hoping it gets the impression. "I guess we must away... once more into the heart of darkness." Peering into their intended path, "Literally this time."
Aisling bows low and answers somewhat forcefully
"Ní féidir liom, más rud ar bith, rinne tú é seo indéanta i ngach ciall. An féidir leat gach duine againn a shamhlú lenár eitilt mhall féin, achar gearr agus muid buailte ag na gaotha agus na heilimintí ag teacht anseo gan díobháil? IS TÚ an laoch, Eryddan!"
Switching to common he quickly blesses the creature going into ritual sing-song and swirling spiral movement of his left arm with the right extended above with fingers spread wide simulating the sun.
"Go, with the blessings of The Sun and The Sky, you who are warm currents and cold; who is in the bestirring zephyrs and lives in howling gusts. Thank you."
I absolutely do not, if anything, you made this possible in every sense. Can you imagine us each with our own slow fly, short duration and buffeted by the winds and the elements coming here unharmed? You ARE the hero, Eryddan!
A voice. firm but polite, gusts in Aisling's ears. Give us the three true names of the Sky God, if true Sky prophet you be. Speak them fair, from your own tongue. The windy voice sounds tired, but with a hint of hope it adds, Please.
Aisling thinks about his vision and the instruction
"When the black and red burn side by side, when the lost return, when the silent sing - then you may speak, and I will answer.""Let's say black and red are burning in Phoenix. Did the lost return with the Sun visible? And with few people freed from the Dark? Let's be optimistic and say 'Yes'.
Who are the silent?" he meditates a bit on that, not saying anything to the others.
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"How stupid can you be!? And you call yourself a herald. Ignore the others, they are a distracting." Aisling shakes himself from the momentary lapse in attention and proclaims softly at first, but ending with a strong voice of conviction, of an Evangelist speaking to his flock
"
Queen Zephyr,she-Sky, Mother of civilization
Caller-on-the-Horizon, soul shepherd, he-she who tries anything and everything
And finally,
The voice between the stars, god of flocks Prince Raven, he who marks the change, who surpasses limits of what is possible.
Hear me and know hope; for the change is coming!" Aisling looks at the air that whispers and whispers as he turns with his arms opened wide
"Know me, silent singers, hear me, for He returns."
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Samen brings a small quavering light to bear in his palm and considers it against the gaping umbral gloom before them. Weak, small, and insignificant. But light has an advantage over the darkness, because light is, while darkness is not.
A single mind is much like this tiny light. Insufficient, but full of hope and life. It can grow, change, and evolve. It can be smothered and extinguished.
But a mind is not the only metaphor for light. It is also knowledge and wisdom, making clear the path. It guides steps, drives efficient action, and answers questions.
But light is also unity of purpose, a small band of disparate mortals striving against the so-called gods. Each with their own mind, each with their own knowledge, but unified across the spectrum of thought in this one objective, to cast out this darkness.
Samen focuses on this small guttering light and pours all he knows of his companions, their histories, their wills, their flaws, and their hopes into in a mental lens in front of it. Very carefully, he aligns the light with the magnification of his friend's live and pushes it through toward the darkness ahead.
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"How stupid can you be!? And you call yourself a herald. Ignore the others, they are a distracting." Aisling shakes himself from the momentary lapse in attention and proclaims softly at first, but ending with a strong voice of conviction, of an Evangelist speaking to his flock
"
Queen Zephyr,she-Sky, Mother of civilization
Caller-on-the-Horizon, soul shepherd, he-she who tries anything and everything
And finally,
The voice between the stars, god of flocks Prince Raven, he who marks the change, who surpasses limits of what is possible.Hear me and know hope; for the change is coming!" Aisling looks at the air that whispers and whispers as he turns with his arms opened wide
"Know me, silent singers, hear me, for He returns."
Though the titanic battle rages on about you--hurricane winds blasting apart stony cliff faces--it seems somehow removed from you, a separate concern. You feel the very godly aspects that Aisling is invoking; they are here, spread thin in this vast plane, but present nonetheless. Queen, Caller, and Prince open the way to calmer climes, and miraculously a path appears before you, a negative space where the storm lies still.
go. lance the infection, then let these wounds heal.
"Thank you!"
Turning to the party
"There are still traces of divine good will, as you can see. We won't be bothered by winds! Onward!"
Looking to the opening then back at the fighting titans, Gabe almost loses his balance at the differences of scale of the conflicts. Great forces shifting the very states of being above them while their little group sneaks into an alcove to find lingering bits of corruption. Remembering to focus on the immediate situation, he stalks toward the opening attempting to draw the shadows toward him.
Samen brings a small quavering light to bear in his palm and considers it against the gaping umbral gloom before them. Weak, small, and insignificant. But light has an advantage over the darkness, because light is, while darkness is not.
A single mind is much like this tiny light. Insufficient, but full of hope and life. It can grow, change, and evolve. It can be smothered and extinguished.
But a mind is not the only metaphor for light. It is also knowledge and wisdom, making clear the path. It guides steps, drives efficient action, and answers questions.
But light is also unity of purpose, a small band of disparate mortals striving against the so-called gods. Each with their own mind, each with their own knowledge, but unified across the spectrum of thought in this one objective, to cast out this darkness.
Samen focuses on this small guttering light and pours all he knows of his companions, their histories, their wills, their flaws, and their hopes into in a mental lens in front of it. Very carefully, he aligns the light with the magnification of his friend's live and pushes it through toward the darkness ahead.
The light that comes from your spell is a strange one, more like a spotlight concentrated on you and your allies. Though blinding at first, the laser-focus of your will is reflected all the more powerfully into the darkness. You see glimpses of who they have been; who they are; who they strive to be. Seeing your shared pasts and triumphs -- raising up the Phoenix, putting down dragons and inquisitors, spitting in the face of Moon-- dispels the gloom in front of your eyes.
***
The planes beyond the material are many things: a place of the dead, a place of the gods, and a repository of great energies. The planes also mix meanings greater than the mundane, toward the symbolic and metaphorical.
Even as you sneak into this path of calm winds, you feel yourselves descending into the corrupt air elemental, close to the heart of things, even as you leave the sounds of battle behind.
Aisling too switches from his Evangelist persona to quieter, focused retreival agent. His armor and clothing adapt to the environment and he joins Gabriel in obscurity.
He looks around, noting weird and wonderful effects the outpour of power has on the matter.
Tallmind Theta scans the local waves for the source of that silent laughter...but comes up with nothing. An elusive mind, like trying to grasp poisonous quicksilver.
Gabriel casually sheds light and dons dimness like a cloak. He concentrates mostly on observing his surroundings. At first glance, there is little to see: the huge battle in the distance, a few cubic forests even farther away, and the obscuring storm that you are plunging into.
But Gabriel notices an odd pattern -- the calm space you are flying through occasionally shakes and stretches, like a rope bridge under too much weight. The structure seems to be holding...for now.
***
Aisling blends easily into the dark rain clouds, practically a cloud himself as he soars naturally in his own gods' domain. You traveling too quickly for any lengthy intellectual field research, but one patch of cloud catches your eye-- a small handful of light gray where a lightning bolt seems to be trapped.
The Tallmind turns suddenly, the motion quick as hawk. They broadcast a warning to their companions:
These images are not reality. Breathe and focus on building a wall around your mind.
Night carrion whisper initially frightens or at least gives Aisling a twinge. But in here, where he already had contact with his patron and in sight of something he can do to help...and with his companions of all different races and powers holding each other strong, he just cannot see it as a threat.
For this is no longer a faraway dream. This is the reality!
Samen combats the creeping dread by analyzing its implications.
What an intriguing, yet inconsistent mental attack. Clearly the aggressor is using residual concerns, but does not possess adequate knowledge to create believable phantoms. I suppose authenticity and accuracy are not required to induce panic, but if it read my mind or otherwise tracked my circumstances, it would know I at least believe my sister to be around Light, not here. Therefore, our foe is not nearly as powerful as they would like us to believe. This is more encouraging than frightening.
Samen stands at the ready to cast Remove Fear if anyone fails their saves.
"This may be the place of the forgotten, but we are here to remember. To allow others to remember. The remembering of a lost god. Though... some things are better left forgotten. The creature that crawled of the depths of the temple that called itself Gabe. That Dark infested being would be better off forgotten..." Gabe's introspection leaves no place for the fear to take hold.
Benedetto is there again on the field of battle, the darkspawn looming over his unit. He recognizes the thought--this is a pointless way to die, this is a never-ending meatgrinder, there's no way to win in the endless war...
But he knows the truth. That it *was* designed to be a meatgrinder. That while he shouldn't have deserted in the middle of combat, in the end he's been able to make something good out of himself. And while there's no guarantee he won't err again, he's not going to give up without a fight.
Shaking her head and shattering red ichor. It looks black again for a moment. All that dripping red that constantly reminds her she is dead and brings only death is black blood again. Tightening her fingers but its nails not claws. Sucking in a deep and unnecessary breath that tastes like ash. Inam.
Closing her eyes. Older battles playing out. Slapping her axe against her leg. A dead elen in an alley. Slap. Ibinu gave up so much for her. Her blood. He was bound to that monster, and she gave nothing. Just left him therer. Slap. Inam is gone. Thunk. Egret is gone. Thunk. Hiding from her grandfather. Thunk. Krz.. Thunk.
Aisling wonders at the lightning caught like that. Would it loke to exist trapped like that, but longer. Or would it like to be free, rush out, expend the energy in just a moment and be gone?
He considers metal flask, glass flask with metal stopper or glass with wood. He chooses the last option in the end, metal might disrupt the delicate balance keeping it together. After coaxing the bolt into the flask, he rushes after the others not to be left behind too much.
Samen, Tallmind Theta is in front of you, in that sudden, unnerving way. Their face shows the same non-expression as always: not slack or stupid, but more the alert, unblinking stare of a telepathic alien hivemind ape.
Narrowcast, they ask, Am I reading your emotional spectrums, correctly, Samen the 'Cleansed'? Did you used to have feelings for this hungry creature that now stalks us? Do these feelings still cloud your Mind? These questions are asked dispassionately in Tallmind's gender-neutral telepathy, but you can hear a hint of judgement in the wording.
***
You follow the path of calm air, storms still raging behind you, when you comes across a series of confounding currents. The airstreams seem like a spherical knot---the calm air continues on the other side, but you have nearly two brutbreve fields worth of turbulent air to cover to get to the far end.
You may be imagining things, but you swear you saw some charging shapes within the swirling cloud...horses, or rams, perhaps.
***
As you progress deeper into the layers of this battleground plane, the more you are bathed in the emotional maelstrom of Sky's Tears. Part of the vast tornado-thing that rages outside and beyond is composed of Sky's Tears, along with the deaths and regrets of the betrayed Sky gods of old.
Floating platforms of vulture bone and stretched bird-leather flank your path now; you feel the scrutiny of those empty sockets bore into the top of your head, the nape of your neck, and the tender kidneys of your back. A squall of negative emotion blows red-hot in your face, forcing anger, sorrow, helplessness, pain, and--worst of all--hopelessness down your throat like bitter medicine.
***
Absolute vacuum. Every sylph has a nightmare of asphyxiation death at least once in their life. The greatest pain - cut off from the very core of your being. Superstitions still persist that one's soul is destroyed if they die in the old ways: dehydration for a sylph, hypothermia for an ifrit, and so forth.
After the carrion altars, there is a terrible space that somehow drains the ambient light of the surroundings. Samen's spell still holds, and you can see each other, but everything is dimmed, like a candle seen though a dirty window.
Tiny pinpricks of light, like distant fireflies, float in the ugly space like dead fish. There is no motion or life in them, and the impression of an ocean persists, invisible waves of nothing that you must swim through.
At the boundary to this dim, awful place, you sense the air is poisonous, and thin. To breathe such an atmosphere for even a minute or two would be certain death.