Irravin's page

Irravin stills his mind, as always, offering up a quick, silent prayer to Sarenrae to guide him and his friends through the upcoming conflict. Something stirs in his gut, telling him that this time, something is different.

Even so, he moves with poise and grace as he stealthily stays low and sprints up noiselessly next to Vladimir, locking eyes with the ranger and preparing for combat.

Irravin listens intently to Vladimir's assessment. It is as he feared--this time, there will be no jumping on to the aurochs' back. A feeling of frustration begins to rise before being tamped down by his iron will.

"It is as you say. The longer we can bombard them from further out, the better. If you have no objections, I will stick close by you and defend you as the undead will likely start to attack you when you begin firing--which would then be a good time for the berries if we are about to be overwhelmed. If something happens elsewhere on the battlefield that requires my urgent attention, I may have to handle it. But I feel that we will emerge victorious by sticking together."

He shifts his gaze to Arius, looking into the scholar's face for answers. "Is that agreeable? I am not sure what other options we have, and I don't think we should split up."

Irravin remains troubled by the aurochs and is unsure how to handle it. Perhaps some fragment of relevant knowledge remains to him? Irravin casts back into his memory.

Knowledge Religion: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

Irravin listens intently to Vladimir's plan, nodding along grimly.

His gaze takes in the skeletal figures, alighting finally upon the dreaded aurochs. It feels like yesterday that he clung to life on its back as it rampaged through the city before they were able to take it down.

"The aurochs troubles me deeply. I fear I will be unable to attack it directly, as the fire may consume me before I can finish the job. The undead do not concern me greatly, but if you are able to find any weakness on the giant unholy beast, it would be extremely helpful."

Irravin waits to see what happens to Vladimir before taking any decisive action, but prepares himself to act at a moment's notice.

Irravin breathes a sigh of relief as the swarms are finally dispatched, looking around to make sure everyone is intact.

Still gripping the staff tightly, Irravin feels Sarenrae's light still coursing through it. Looking at his wounded companions, he closes his eyes and uses the staff's remaining power to heal his allies.

Channel Energy: 2d6 ⇒ (6, 5) = 11
Everyone, lay thy gaze upon her radiance...and be healed for 11 HP.

An intensely bright flare fairly booms out of the staff, rippling through the party, and leaves a pleasant tingling sensation in Irravin's body. His companions look immediately refreshed and grateful.

Irravin is again awed at the depth of his deity's compassion as she yet again watches faithfully over him.
Blessed be you, Healing Flame. My eternal gratitude burns brighter every day.

He looks at the party and grimaces at Arius' question.

"More so in recent days, it seems. I fear that much and more has befallen the city since we left. We can afford to lose no more time."

He looks at Elion, who is still clearly in pain and distress.

"My faithful friend...we cannot thank you enough for your service. If you need succor, come with us and no harm will befall you. If you prefer to return on your own, no one will begrudge you that right. Know that we are profoundly thankful for what you have undergone for us...but we cannot stay here. The city needs us and we must go, now. If anyone would speak, now is the time...but I fear the time for speaking is over, and our deeds will speak for us in the coming days."

He again looks at Arius as he speaks.

"First, we need to find our companion, Razi'el. Look for a...well...distinct...personage. He will have a giant, gleaming serpent eidolon near him. And he will almost certainly be at the center of some kind of enormous commotion."

If no one has anything else to say or any objections, Irravin secures his gear, casts Mage Armor with Verndar's help and takes off at a brisk jog towards the city.

Irravin grits his teeth as he finds himself in the middle of the murderous swarm of crows, doing his best to avoid the birds. Their talons occasionally find purchase as they swirl around the party, but he remains upright.

Again, he calls upon Sarenrae's holy light through her majestic staff.

Channel Energy: 2d6 ⇒ (4, 4) = 8

Bursting forth once more, a wave of light fairly explodes from the staff, burning the crows with its radiance.

Irravin finds his footing as Elion sets the cage on the ground, and watches as Vladimir disperses one of the swarms.

The warpriest feels drawn to the staff, and the feeling he gets from gripping it tightly is the same one that he felt when Sarenrae saved him. Wary of using all of the staff's power before they even set foot in Mercia--gods only know what await us inside--he says a silent prayer to Sarenrae as he channels energy through her staff, lifting it to the heavens.

Channel Energy: 2d6 ⇒ (5, 1) = 6

A wave of energy radiates outward, and the healing light rolls over and singes the undead swarm.

Irravin grits his teeth as the cage continues to plummet. He watches Vladimir unleash a furious, lightning-fast burst of arrows that all find purchase in swift succession.

Still clutching the bars of the cage, Irravin readies his Holy Staff once more. Sure that the burst of light can reach both crows, he pours his intention into the weapon as it becomes a channel for Sarenrae's divine light.

Holy Smite on Crow #1: 3d8 ⇒ (8, 2, 8) = 18
Holy Smite on Crow #2: 3d8 ⇒ (6, 3, 7) = 16

A giant wave of energy crests outward from the staff, jetting towards their blood-soaked feathers.

Amidst the chaos, Irravin feels a pulsing in his chest as Verndar speaks into his mind.

And what of the gift that was given?

Suddenly aware of himself, Irravin unsheaths Sarenrae's Holy Staff from behind his back. Its dazzling white color gleams in the sunlight as he feels its power.

Acrobatics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

The cage lurches violently, but Irravin's recent training over the pit comes in handy as he easily rolls to the side, catching a bar in one hand and aiming the staff towards the other crow.

Holy Smite: 3d8 ⇒ (2, 2, 1) = 5

I'm assuming the crows are far enough apart that only the one that Vladimir did not attack will be affected--the radius of the blast is 20 ft.

As it is Irravin's first time using this spell, he falters slightly as the cage lurches again, and the blast is much weaker than it normally would be. A beam of light sizzles out from the staff and lances toward the giant crow.

Irravin opens his mouth to thank Arius for speaking with him, when he hears Vladimir's shout of warning. The two men exchange a wordless glance as Irravin's body tightens in preparation, and as the eldritch beasts shriek and wheel closer to the carriage, the too-familiar icy thrill of danger ripples down his spine.

Knowledge Religion: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

A memory, wispy as a strand of smoke, floats through Irravin's mind. It's years ago during his training, and he is sitting in a mandatory lecture on the traits and features of dangerous wild creatures of the world. A shriveled scholar shuffles slowly along the front of the room, droning on about various beasts of the air. Irravin had sparred for over six hours the day before, and spent the whole night in a mental fortitude exercise that he can no longer remember the specifics of. He begins to nod off at the gravelly cadence of the instructor's voice, catching only snippets of what is being said as the young student drifts in and out of sleep at his desk.

...these foul creatures...wings black as pitch...taste for blood...

Irravin grimaces and inwardly curses his lack of classroom attentiveness.

As it stands, he is the first to act.

Refusing to feel helpless this time, Irravin springs into action, scrambling up in the inside of the cage.

Acrobatics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

He reaches out through the bars, holding on with one hand and with the other, touching Elion's claw that clutches the cage.

He casts Shield of Faith, giving a +2 deflection bonus to Elion's AC and an additional +1 since Irravin is at level 6, for a total of +3 AC.

Irravin relaxes slightly at the measured cadence of Arius' voice. The power of knowledge seems to be behind each word, and the humble way in which he discusses such great feats of the mind suggests that truly inspiring works have been left in his wake.

"Ah, my katas. They began as a martial exercise, on the very grounds we just departed. A wise master of our order shared with me the secrets of the meditative body's motion...and stillness."

Irravin nearly grimaces at an almost-forgotten memory: holding the Crane pose, clad only in a loincloth, atop a column in a blizzard for twelve hours, while a wizened and ornery monk occasionally came outside to wordlessly crack his leg with a metal rod."

"Though I suppose they are more a part of my spirit now than a training exercise. The power of ritual holds more and more sway over me as time goes on, and my body and soul fairly cry out to be an instrument of the divine justice that is as finely-tuned as can be."

He hears Arius' eager offer of assistance, and is pleased.

"I would be truly grateful if you would lend a hand in this exercise--there are almost certainly things that I am missing, and I am sure your help would expedite the process. And magical assistance in the heat of battle would most certainly be welcome--my hands have been rather too full to pull out a book when I've most needed to communicate with Razi'el."

Irravin is suddenly filled with gratitude at the addition of the scholar to their party, and wishes to connect more deeply with him.

To think of what it would take to willingly leave his life behind and fly straight into the mouth of mortal peril, for men he barely knows...

"I would know more of your life and works, friend Arius. It seems we have walked entirely different paths, but both have led us here, together into this lighted place we share in dark times. I fear that we may have much on our hands upon our return, but when we do have a moment, I believe we have much to discuss."

What is Arius' main area of expertise? For example, Irravin would like to know more about the history of the Divine Visage, or the pantheon of deities (obviously Sarenrae, but others as well) for while he has experienced divine intervention in his own life, he has received almost zero formal education.

Irravin looks up to find Arius' serene but focused gaze upon him. This is the first chance he has really had to speak alone with their newest traveling companion. He looks down at the book in his hands, and Verndar thrums softly in his chest as he closes it shut.

"I think you may be wiser than me on such matters," Irravin offers with a smile, "but I've been trying to learn the Abyssal tongue with the help of this tome."

Irravin offers the book to Arius to examine.

"Our companion Razi'el has been...stricken...by a strange affliction that sometimes causes his mind and tongue to only operate in this damnable language."

He grimaces, remembering the dire situation when it occurred mid-battle.

"I wish to be able to communicate with him when the affliction strikes him. Unfortunately, I am...not exactly a scholar, and the going is slow."

He looks up thoughtfully.

"As I said, that was quite quick thinking with the elementals earlier. So I would ask: are you a master of tongues, and the learning thereof? If you could assist me with this task in any way, I would be grateful."

Still slightly on edge from the encounter with the elementals, Irravin finds himself restless. His daily katas done for the day, and tiring of continually centering his mind's restless energy, he opens his bag and reaches inside. Almost as if drawn to it, his hand immediately brushes the Abyssal tome that he was given at the Enclave.

Unsure if it's merely a trick of his imagination, for a moment, Irravin feels a slight pulse come from the book at his touch. Not entirely malevolent...but not entirely unlike a sleeping serpent opening one wary eye, either. Realizing that he's been neglecting his duty to Razi'el, he grudgingly opens the gnarled volume.

I need to prepare for the worst. There's no telling what could happen when we end up in combat again...last time, Razi'el was almost lost.

I won't let that happen.

Though learning from books has never been his strength, Irravin settles comfortably into a slow-paced routine, and silently mouths the bizarre words to himself as he attempts to immerse himself in his reading.

Irravin looks up from his brooding at the approach of his Samsaran companion, nodding thoughtfully as he speaks. He is moved by the compassion and understanding offered him, especially as he tried to keep his feelings to himself.

"I deeply appreciate your concern, brother." Irravin offers a rare yet subtle smile as he looks at Vladimir. "It is generous that you would share with me so. Though, I would prefer to do as I have been called to do; to be the shield of life. Should we be attacked again, I will not let anyone come to harm here."

He looks meaningfully at Arius to make sure he has heard this last. As he so often has before, Irravin will protect his allies, even if it means being in harm's way with no way to protect himself. Though Arius is newer to their group, Irravin is thoroughly impressed by his conduct thus far and would not hesitate to jump in front of an arrow--or a bolt of lightning--for him.

Vladimir's compassion reminds him of his purpose, and the monk relaxes slightly, certain again of his power and will to guard his friends at any cost.

Irravin's breathing begins to slow as the elementals careen further and further away from the carriage. His muscles relax as he shares a relieved glance with Vladimir, and bows his head in gratitude to Arius.

"That was quite a display, brother. I am unsure how we would have escaped so unscathed were it not for your bravery and quick thinking."

He raises the volume of his voice as he calls to Elion.

"We thank you for keeping us safe on this journey yet again! May your blessed wings remain untouched for the duration of our travels!"

Irravin settles down into his favored seated lotus posture, inwardly noticing the gnawing knot of impotence that remains in his stomach.

If we are attacked in the air again...what can I possibly do?

The carriage feels more like a cage than ever as the bracing wind continues to roar over his skin.

Perception: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (18) + 13 = 31

Irravin feels the familiar sickening thrill of danger as the elementals move in towards the cage.

The cage is metal! This won't end well if they're hostile...

He yells over the rushing wind to his companions.

"There are five of them! Irn--be ready to aim for the big one!"

"Did anyone understand them? Do they mean us harm?"

Irravin mentally prepares himself for any confrontation--though he feels a rare instance of impotence, racking his brain and coming up with blanks for how he could possibly respond if things go wrong.

Irravin finds himself wishing he could stay at the Enclave for a multitude of reasons. The ley lines, Verndar's desire to explore, Sarenrae's healers...training over the now-beloved pole pit.

However, the thought of returning to Raziel, who languishes alone in the tormented Mercia, is a powerful mission that must be fulfilled. Now more than ever, he feels the need for the party to move with purpose.

Irravin is satisfied to collect his minimal belongings (paying special care to his newly blessed staff) and depart when the rest of the travelers are ready. The intensity of the mask ceremony was as much of a formal goodbye to the Countenance--and the body of the Divine Visage itself--as the laconic monk could possibly hope for.

Irravin stands tall and dismisses his mask, watching it swirl into white mist and coalescing on his shadow. For a moment, his shadow bears the shape of a white oval on its face, mirroring where Irravin's mask would be on his body. He then summons the mask again, and the mist swirls down the length of the shadow and up his body, returning to form on his face.

He offers a wordless arm clasp and a bow to Gerralt before departing the Sanctuary with Vladimir.

Irravin feels the swell and pounding of the drums reverberating through the Sanctuary, as if the vibrations will bring down the very walls. The driving rhythm pulses in his bloodstream until it feels as if his spirit will turn into pure energy. He looks at Vladimir, and with a lengthy wordless gaze between them, Irravin nods slightly and steps into the shrine.

Inside, the air seems stilled, muffled. The strange items laid out ceremonially are unfamiliar to his eyes, but seem to answer something ancient calling out from within him. Almost in a trance, he walks over to the mirror on the table and gazes into it for a moment. Shadows seems thicker in it, yet the lighted surfaces also seem brighter, and his pale face glows even as the air blackens slightly behind him. He takes a handful of ash and smears it across the mirror, obscuring the view of his face.

Irravin closes his eyes briefly, and says a short prayer to Sarenrae and the other gods present. "Blessed Light, be my ally, that I may walk this land with your spirit beside me, your nobility within me, and that I may be an instrument of your will and divine justice."

Reverently, he gently lifts the dagger from the altar. Slowly and delicately, he makes one angled slice on either cheek, starting parallel with his eyes and ending underneath the center of each eye. The cuts are not deep, but are enough to send blood trickling down his face. Removing one stone and cupping it in both hands, the blood drips one drop at a time off his chin and onto the stone.

With each drop, the stone begins to glow slightly brighter, emitting an unearthly color that Irravin has never seen before. Before long, it feels heavier in his hands, and the glow seems almost oppressively bright, though he finds that he has no problem looking directly at it.

When the stone seems to have drank its fill, Irravin places it on the ash-covered mirror. He cups a handful of water from the bowl and allows it to drip onto the stone and ash, and the mixture begins to swirl like a tornado. The stone begins to dissolve, seeming to sink into the mirror, as the water and ash begin to be absorbed as well. An utterly blinding light flashes with a sound like a fireball, followed by a glimpse of darkness so pure that Irravin momentarily is in the grip of genuine terror the likes of which he has never felt. Slowly, like dawn breaking over the frozen mountains, light and sensation return to the small chamber.

Catching his breath as the shrine becomes still once again, Irravin cautiously peers into the now-pristine mirror. Where his face was once before, all that can be seen now in the reflection is a patch of swirling white mist. He touches his face with his hands, and though the cuts have healed, it otherwise feels normal to the touch. He tentatively reaches out and touches the mirror, and his hand sticks fast. The mist on the face of his reflection begins to swirl around and down mirror-Irravin's arm, spiraling towards his real hand. The mist pours out slowly, and then all at once as his hand comes free from the mirror. It circles his arm, spreading out over his chest and down his legs, and encircling his body fully.

The mist accelerates, swirling frantically around him and towards his head. With a rushing, rumbling sound like wind and earth together, he feels it coalesce over his face and harden. His fingers explore it and find it to be delicate, but strong, molded to the curves of his face as if it were a second skin. He cautiously peers over the mirror once more, and sees his true mask shimmering in the reflection.

At once appearing reflective and absorptive, luminous and dim, it carries an elegant simplicity that nearly takes his breath away. Wisps of shadow flit across the mask itself, yet an ethereal white glow hums in the space around it. A feeling of pride and deep humility resonates within Irravin as he composes himself.

This is what it truly means to be a part of something more...something I could never do alone. The light and the darkness reside both within me...I will become them.

Irravin steps back out into the Sanctuary to the furious roar of the chanting and drums.

Irravin receives the news without any change in his expression, though his heart seems to leap into his throat. His body feels solid, dense, and his thoughts race as he imagines what further secrets of the order will be bestowed on him.

To further serve the Divine Visage...

"To say that you honor me would be an understatement. I am glad of the opportunity to advance my service for the cause."

"Thank you for the advice. I will remain vigilant as always, and keep the desire close by as the ceremony takes place. I am ready to begin whenever the Countenace needs me."

Irravin has much he would do at the Enclave, but time is one thing he doesn't have in abundance.

The Shaem...the magic of the Sky Tower priestess...the oracle children...

Verndar hums faintly.

The ley lines.

A grimace crosses his face as he resigns himself to departing with all haste for Mercia. Doubtless, much turmoil and strife await him, but he intends to go to his task with resolve and vigor.

Seeking out Gerralt once more, Irravin finds him at the training grounds. Perched on a lookout overseeing the area, it's obvious that the older man is brooding, likely upset by the recent news. Irravin approaches him with a simple request.

"Hail, Gerralt. I hope I'm not disturbing your meditations here. I come to ask one thing of you before we set off once more--that is, I had hoped you could aid us somehow with cutting through Zadan's deceptive magics. Is there an artifact, a spell perhaps, that could aid us in piercing his illusions? It is my fear that we will find ourselves fighting shadows and shades while our true enemy is free to do as he pleases. We have not experienced much in the way of illusory magic and deception, and any words you could offer us would be of great assistance."

Irravin nods along as both Razi'el and Vladimir speak. The burning desire to spring into action remains, but as always, the voices of his companions ring true.

"Razi'el, my friend--we will make every preparation to return to you as soon as possible. There can be no doubt that our combined strength will be needed immediately. We again commend you for your efforts thus far--know that we will not be long in coming to your aid."

After Razi'el's image returns to lifelessness, Irravin turns to Vladimir, well aware of the smoldering anger in his companion's eyes.

"This is unconscionable. He had no right--I can only imagine what you're feeling right now. We must return to the Countenance--I will find Gerralt immediately. Arius must know of this as well. Something tells me we will need all the help we can get. I agree with you wholeheartedly, there is no time or manpower to spare."

After their discussion is concluded, Irravin will hastily make his way back to the grounds, seeking out Gerralt or any member of the Countenance. All plans of performing the Sha'em ritual have been abandoned for the time being--he will have to return to it later in his journey.

Irravin becomes aware of a presence nearby, and is pleased to be roused by Vladimir as his companion sits down close to him. Steam is coming off his body as he dons his clothing and accessories again. The reality of how low the temperature has dropped hits him at once, but he feels a fire burning within that refuses to be dampened. He and Vladimir exchange pleasantries and thoughts before the likeness of Raziel suddenly speaks, powerful words flowing forth like a river behind a broken dam.

Irravin's gaze grows stonier as Raziel recounts the summary of what transpired in Mercia. As much light has been surrounding him and glowing from within him, he is quickly reminded of the darkness that exists as a counter in the world.

As tragic as the deaths are, and as dire as the situation seems--this is where Irravin thrives, where things make sense. Powerful evil needs powerful good to fight it, and he feels like the tip of the spear on the front lines. Knowing that people need him--need him to be an instrument of the good in the world--is invigorating and humbling. A muted pride mixed with adoration for Raziel so aptly carrying the banner in their absence swells in his chest.

He and Vladimir exchange speechless glances, and Irravin, uncharacteristically, is the first one to speak.

"Raziel...my friend...it is very good to hear your voice once more. You have done exceptionally well without us. It pains me that we could not be by your side for all of this. What is done is done, but know that it affects me deeply that you have suffered so in our absence. Know that I am humbled and awed by what you have done and the way you have stood up for our city." Irravin realizes after he speaks that this is the first time he's referred to Mercia as his own. Our own.

"We have endured strenuous tests, and return to serving the Divine Visage with renewed vigor. We will tell you details later--the situation in Mercia is obviously dire and I will strongly advocate for our immediate return."

Irravin turns to Vladimir, ready to hear agreement from his brother. The familiar call of duty is bursting from Irravin's every pore, and it takes everything in him to not immediately dash down the mountain and spring into action.

Irravin feels the cold slowly seeping into his blood. Despite his mental focus and clarity, it isn't long before he starts to lose sensation in his hands and feet.

How would I know if that's from the meditation or from the cold?

At this point, it becomes impossible to tell. Many times, deep meditation has taken him to a place beyond all sensation. It only now occurs to Irravin that this may be dangerous, and it may be too late if his body fails him while he is deep in a trance.

I must trust the connection between body, mind, and spirit.

As the cold continues to descend, numbing him further, his awareness begins to fade. Dimly, his waking mind recognizes the peril, but the tide of the unconscious mind pulls too strongly to rouse him.

Visions of the life blood that has been spilled all around him--the destruction, the madness, the peril--swarm his thoughts. Unbidden, tormented scenes fly past his awareness-- lightning-fast images of a frantic Razi'el suspended over an interdimensional pit, of a bloodied Vladimir nocking three arrows with a war cry on his lips, of Zadan handcuffed in a cell, of the Dark Seer summoning his horrific minions to wreak havoc on a battered city.

Slowly, as if a fire is being stirred from embers and reignited, he sees a faint outline begin to form. A sensation of falling, freezing, and soaring simultaneously overcome him as fiery wings seem to spread within his chest. Breaking the chains of the ferocious visions, his attachments to the material world float away like so much ash on the wind. Warmth spreads within his body and through the meditative trance, and he knows at a deep level that his body and mind are in harmony.

He continues the meditation confidently, knowing that he will come out of the trance hale, whole and at the appropriate time.

Irravin wastes no time after speaking to the monk holding vigil. Witnessing the Shaem up close again leaves him feeling invigorated and inspired. The mysterious rituals of the order seem tantalizingly close, but so far from his understanding. He leaves a quick note on his door for Vladimir before hastily making his way into the snow.

Trudging up a ridge a short ways from the enclave, Irravin finds a sunny spot that looks back over the Divine Visage in all its glory. Stripping to the waist, he folds his clothes and places his possessions neatly in a pile on a nearby rock. Sitting down in the lotus position on the edge of the cliff, he is instantly chilled to the bone by the snow and frosty air.

Taking several deep breaths, Irravin feels his mind begin to calm as the sunlight caresses his skin and warms him slightly. He settles into a familiar mental space, and his body begins to unite with his surroundings. Shortly, his mind ceases to recognize the flow of time--there is only his breath, and the boundaries of his body become one with the very air and earth around him.

He intends to remain in this position for 24 hours.

Irravin listens to Vladimir, nodding his assent.

"As always, your decision-making is prudent. I will take to my task with haste and find you afterwards."

The warpriest takes his leave, intending to return to the first area where he saw the Shaem ritual being performed so he can finally participate.

The two make their way to the Sky Tower, moving slowly but with a sense of purpose. The conversation falls relatively silent as the two conclude swapping tales of what transpired in each others' absence, each thinking of past triumphs and trials to come.

Looking up at the tower briefly before they enter, Irravin takes stock of the way he feels now compared to how he felt before his fateful meeting with Gerralt. Hope blossoms in his heart, being so near to the place where Sarenrae appeared to him, and knowing that her grace touched him forever. He realizes that he's been gazing up at the tower for some time now, smiles at Vladimir's searching glance, and makes his way inside and up the steps.

They emerge in a room filled with devotional material and hushed conversation. The place has the feeling of a hallowed sanctuary, and is just now beginning to catch the thin but full and warming touch of the day's sunlight. Priests and priestesses shuffle quietly about, and despite the early hour, the chamber is already bustling.

A young acolyte notices them enter and greets them warmly. "Have you come to seek healing?"

Irravin nods. "My companion has only just returned from the frozen wastes, and needs care more urgently than me. If you have time and energy to restore our strength, we would be much indebted."

They are led over to an east-facing section of the tower, soaking in the full glory of the sun's rays. The acolyte smiles at them once more.

"Please wait here. A healer will be with you shortly."

Irravin motions for Vladimir to take a seat on the ground, and they sit in the lotus position, facing the sun. Soon a tall, limber woman makes her way over and sits on the ground in between them, also facing the sun. Her skin is dark, but smooth, and she is clad in baggy, flowing garments, in differing shades of white. Her slender hands emerge from cream-colored sleeves as she places one hand delicately on her chest, momentarily covering the heavy gold sun medallion around her neck. Her voice is a sunbeam, filtering through the trees and landing on an untouched forest floor.

"I am Aylina, priestess of Sarenrae. May her light guide and nourish you. I understand that you two are in need of healing, and I hope to be able to help you."

Irravin voices his agreement. "Though our hearts are hopeful, our bodies have been weakened and we are both in need of restoration."

Aylina nods gravely, first inspecting Vladimir's hands, then placing one on Irravin's forehead.

"Please join me in raising our voices to the sun. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and lift your voices with mine."

She exhales deeply, inhaling fully and letting her voice slowly rise. It begins like the sound "aahh" quietly, but before long, and as Irravin and Vladimir join and harmonize with her, her voice begins to resonate and vibrate.

The glow of the sun feels warmer by degrees, and as the air is emptied from their lungs and the chant fades, it feels as if the sound will be resonating softly in their eardrums for some time.

The three of them sit silently as Aylina lays her hands first on Vladimir, then on Irravin. The motions of the attendants around them fade to a dull murmur, and gradually the only sound is the soft resonance of the chant. Irravin feels only the warmth of the sun, pleasantly dancing on his skin. Behind his eyes, the dim outline of a pair of wings drifts across his vision.

A gentle voice stirs in his ear.

"Irravin...how do you feel?"

He opens his eyes to see that the sun has moved across the sky by a noticeable margin, then flexes his fingers and toes, feeling invigorated. He rolls his neck around to find the soreness in his back and torso almost entirely gone.

It feels like wearing new clothing--and in fact, the Holy Staff strapped to his back feels warm where it touches him. Over his shoulder, he sees it pulse and glow slightly with an ethereal light.

He looks across to find a dreamy, sedated look on Vladimir's face. Looking up at Aylina, he speaks for the first time in what feels like days.

"I feel...whole. Filled with life and light. Ready to face the day and the challenges ahead." He looks at her meaningfully. "Your healing touch has done much for me. We are very grateful for the assistance."

Aylina looks down at the two men with a kind gaze. "You are always welcome in the house of the Blessed Zenith. May Sarenrae's guidance and protection remain with you." She touches each of their hands softly once, then takes her leave.

Irravin looks to Vladimir as they compose themselves and begin to stretch and stand. "Brother," he intones, "now that we are whole again, there is much on our plate. There is important business for us to take care of--how should we proceed?"

Irravin immediately notices Vladimir's strain to appear unharmed, but is too glad to see his companion to mention it. He voices his assent at the notion of finding healing, as they both are in need.

As they make their way outside to find Essaera, Irravin listens with rapt attention at the recounting of Vladimir's tale.

"My brother...that is quite a tale! It pains me that I was not there to aid you. I dislike being separated from you for so long...I know you had to face the test on your own, but it is a lesson I will not soon forget. I am happy that you survived...well, mostly unscathed."

Irravin smirks awkwardly at his rare attempt of a joke.

"My test was different, but similar...I was asked to look as deeply into myself as I dared gaze. I was asked to sacrifice my own life in service of the Divine Visage, and when I had committed myself fully to my death, I was pulled back from the brink. And now I feel renewed, invigorated...as if anything is possible. I fear that we will need our strength and optimism more than ever in the coming days."

The two wind their way through the frosty courtyards at a leisurely pace, focused on the conversation but keeping their awareness up as always.

"I'm sure that your vision is more significant than I can imagine at the moment. We must find the places of power, venturing into the Faedark once more. I would like to examine Dormin's sanctum again--perhaps an item or clue will emerge now that we have this knowledge. Of course, ensuring Xok turns over the Orb to the Divine Visage is of utmost importance as well. We also must make sure that Arius becomes Headmaster of the University. "

He pauses briefly, nodding to a cluster of monks as they walk in the opposite direction.

"We need to make use of the tools we have here, and quickly. I fear that the Divine Visage and its archives only have so much to offer--what we need is swift and decisive action! I long to return to Mercia, to the mysteries of the Faedark, and to the wayward Raziel. We should work quickly to conclude our business here and return--there is much to do."

"I have heard of children here that may have an oracle's sight--perhaps we could consult with them. I also must undertake the ritual of the Shaem before we depart, securing my purpose and faith. I am eager to hear your thoughts as well."

Irravin sits with a feeling of patience, but urgency as the two move through the grounds.

Irravin wakes, feeling invigorated. The world seems full of promise--balance and order feel within reach. As he goes through his morning katas, however, his body rebels slightly, reminding him of the need to restore harmony between body and mind after his tremendous exertions over the pit yesterday.

While taking a simple breakfast alongside some of the other monks, Irravin almost immediately hears of Vladimir's safe return. Longing to see his friend and share experiences, he quickly finishes his meal and looks for Vladimir at his quarters and outside on the Enclave's grounds.

Irravin intends to find Vladimir, and offer to go with him to the Sky Tower, so that they may talk on the way and that Irravin can pray to the Dawnflower and receive healing.

Irravin draws ragged gasps of breath as he watches his second opponent tumble to the floor of the pit. His body surges simultaneously with adrenaline and exhaustion. He pauses to appreciate the feeling--of testing his fortitude in combat, of being part of his beloved Divine Visage, of simply standing in the pale sunlight as a not unpleasantly icy breeze prickles his skin.

Irravin savors the feeling of simply being alive to participate in the grand cycle of life and offers a silent prayer in gratitude, both to Verndar and to Sarenrae.

He makes his way to the edge of the pit, clasping arms with each of his opponents in succession, then beckoning them closer. They form a small semi-circle as Irravin begins to speak.

"I thank each of you for the opportunity here today. All of you fought bravely, and well. My heart surges with pride--not for myself, but for the Divine Visage, that such fine warriors are counted among our ranks! We are truly blessed and I find myself more hopeful for the future for having seen your mettle."

Channel Energy: 2d6 ⇒ (4, 2) = 6

A healing aura washes over the party as Irravin's magic settles down onto them.

His voice changes timbre as he begins to intone a closing prayer.

"Sarenrae--we thank you for your blessings, and for continuing to light the way for all of us. Your presence guides and nourishes us, and we honor you always and all ways."

Unless the others have anything to say to him, Irravin will kindly part ways with the group, and make his way back to his quarters, where he will take a hot meal, perform his solitary cooldown kata, and get some much-needed rest.

THE PREVIOUS POST SHALL BE STRICKEN FROM THE RECORD
THIS IS THE TRUE ACCOUNT OF WHAT TRANSPIRED ABOVE THE PIT

Irravin's vision swims as he focuses on the remaining monk. Dimly, he feels Verndar's warning pulse through him as he sees his opponent gathering his strength.

As the last bit of power of the Handwraps surges into his arms once more, he grits his teeth and prepares to move deliberately towards the man, hoping to finally end it.

+4 to atk/dmg

I will not fall!

Power Attack 1: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (12) + 10 = 22
Power Attack 2: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 10 = 18
Power Attack 3: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25

Critical Confirmation: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Damage 1: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (7) + 12 = 19
Damage 2: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (7) + 12 = 19
Assuming the crit did not land for Damage 3
Damage 3: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (8) + 12 = 20
But just in case it did
Critical Damage: 2d10 + 24 ⇒ (8, 4) + 24 = 36

Irravin unleashes a mighty flurry of strikes at his opponent, digging deep into his last reserves of strength as he becomes a whirlwind of fists and feet.

Irravin's vision swims as he focuses on the remaining monk. Dimly, he feels Verndar's warning pulse through him as he sees his opponent gathering his strength.

As the last bit of power of the Handwraps surges into his arms once more, he grits his teeth and prepares to move deliberately towards the man, hoping to finally end it.

+4 to atk/dmg for this round.

Half Speed Movement: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

Irravin wobbles on the poles, his balance lurching sickeningly. It takes all of his strength to simply remain upright, and he realizes he will only have time to try something to defend himself before the monk attacks.

Fervor: 2d6 ⇒ (4, 3) = 7

Irravin is healed for 7 HP, bringing him to 13.

Irravin's leg is swept out from underneath him, and two savage blows knock him away from the poles toward the bottom of the pit.

Climb: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Twisting his body to an almost gruesome angle, Irravin grabs the nearest pole with two hands, using his momentum to swing around and vault back onto the original pole.

His hands form a brief mudra as the powerful magic of the Handwraps surge through his arms once more.

This is it! Last chance!

Irravin's attack/damage are +4 for this round.

With some effort, Irravin regains his balance, gritting his teeth to strike again at Hakail.

Attack 1: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (19) + 12 = 31
Damage 1: 1d10 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

A brutal thrust from Irravin's flat palm strikes Hakail solely in the middle of his chest. For a frozen moment, he stares down at Irravin's arm connecting to his solar plexus, as if he can hardly believe it is planted there. But before Hakail has time to register it, Irravin has already swept his hand away and targeted the human monk on his other side.

Attack 2: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (8) + 12 = 20
Attack 3: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Damage 2: 1d10 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

Irravin throws a flying kick behind his body in a leaping arc, hoping to connect his two feet with the human monk's jaw in quick succession.

Irravin has no time to assess what is happening with the human monk on the other pole. He is locked in a physical and mental battle with Hakail, and it takes his full concentration to fend off the many assaults.

As soon as Hakail's attacks relent, Irravin takes action, feeling the power of the Handwraps of Vigor pulsing through his arms, strengthening his fists to their fullest extent. He turns his mighty flurry on Hakail.

+4 to attack/dmg for 1 rd, -2 to attack for fighting defensively

Trip 1: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (19) + 10 = 29
Power Attack 1: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
Power Attack 2: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

Damage base is d10+5, adding +4 for power attack and +4 for Handwraps bonus

Dmg 1: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (3) + 12 = 15
Dmg 2: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (4) + 12 = 16

Irravin pivots on the toes of his foot, smoothly sweeping his leg in a full 360 degree arc and catching Hakail's knee in a precision blow. As his opponent is caught off balance, Irravin reverses direction and slams a powerful hand into the other monk's neck.

The words of an old master come back to him, landing softly in the front of his mind. An old memory of standing on a short tower with one foot on the pedestal, one leg out hiked up at the knee in front of him, jumping and landing as his teacher swings a staff at his leg. The lesson is as fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday.

The wind, Irravin! Know it...feel it. You will never triumph if you're always flapping your wings against it! Your foes will come at you from all sides...glide through them! The crane accomplishes everything he needs with one strong movement!

Irravin slides his left leg up, spreading his arms wide for balance, feeling the grace and confident poise of Crane Style, preparing to fight defensively, and maneuvering his body to a standing position in the towering elegance of the crane.

I must first be balanced and untouchable before I can move with strength.

AC is now 30, 10 base, +2 Dex, +4 Wis, +1 dodge from Sacred Fist, +1 dodge from Monk's Robes, +1 dodge from Dodge feat, +4 for Mage Armor, +4 from Total Defense, +2 for acrobatics, +1 for Crane Style.

Though Irravin has no time to respond to Verndar consciously, the two have formed such a bond that the magical protection flows quickly and easily through the warpriest's being.

The monks strike quickly and efficiently, catching a normally ready Irravin off-guard.

These two have done this before!

The thought leaps rapidly into his mind, and vanishes like a puff of smoke as two brutal blows land in vulnerable spots.

Avoid Fall 1: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7
Avoid Fall 2: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

The exertion of the previous fight seems to catch up to him all at once. His vision swims and the world lurches crazily, and as he windmills his arms to try and balance himself, the pole slips out from under his feet.

Climb: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16

Irravin tumbles head over heels, and for a moment, the sky is at his feet and the bottom of the pit looms above him. Tensing his body with ferocious focus, his vision clears briefly and one hand snakes out for the pole. He jerks to a stop and looks up to find his index finger alone gripping the top of the pole and supporting his entire body weight.

Steeling himself, he vaults back up onto the pole using his weary arms and legs, gasping for air as the two monks quickly ready another attack.

Irravin bows sincerely to the dwarf, nodding respectfully as she takes her leave.

He sizes the two remaining monks up with a casual intensity not betrayed by any visible emotion on his face.

"I would welcome such a challenge. Any warrior among the ranks of the Divine Visage is more than worthy on their own, but if you see fit to both challenge me at once, I will not shy away from the opportunity."

He clasps arms with each monk in the familiar Divine Visage embrace, as the traditional greetings flow effortlessly between them. Clasping his hands in a brief prayer at the edge of the pit, Irravin springs up onto the poles and awaits their ascent on the other side.

Thanks for taking care of the specifics of that fight. Been a little while since I've been in combat!

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (5) + 11 = 16

Irravin watches the dwarf tumble towards the ground, surprised with the ease at which he was able to best her. She seemed so powerful, elegant, graceful--and her look of genuine humility from the bottom of the pit has a deep impact on Irravin.

It was not so long ago that I was easily beaten on these same training grounds. I suffered constantly at the hands of my masters during sparring like this.

Have I really come this far as a warrior? As a man? It feels like only yesterday I was desperately trying to prove myself here.

Will I always feel like my value only comes from my battle prowess?

Irravin springs across the poles deliberately and waits for the dwarf to make her way up to the top of the pit, lending a hand if necessary.

"You are a strong warrior...and a gracious host for allowing me to step in and spar with you. The Divine Visage is better for you having a place in its noble ranks. I thank you deeply."

Sorry for the staggered posting...from now on I have it down.

Right Hand Damage: 1d8 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Left Hand Damage: 1d8 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

Sorry for the staggered posting...from now on I have it down.

Right Hand Damage: 1d8 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9
Left Hand Damage: 1d8 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

Irravin slams his arms down, aiming the flats of his palms for her torso as she is tripped and attempting to knock her into the pit.

Right Hand: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Left Hand: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13

Irravin deftly avoids the dwarf's attack as his muscles go taut from the strain of both defending and staying aloft above the pit.

He quickly strikes, sweeping his foot under the dwarf's precariously balanced legs and attempting to knock her off balance.

Improved Trip: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (11) + 10 = 21

Irravin's CMB is 10, with a BAB of 6 and strength mod of +4.

Irravin nods as he turns his hands over and places them softly on the dwarf's shoulders as soothing magic pulses from his palms.

Cure Moderate Wounds: 2d8 + 6 ⇒ (2, 8) + 6 = 16

"These hands have banished much evil...but they also have done much healing. Perhaps in time, we will inhabit a world where neither is needed so frequently."

As the dwarf moves to other side of the pit to face him, Irravin springs onto the poles with lithe grace. The frosty breeze billows his cloak under the faraway gaze of the sun as he inhales deeply, feeling the battle-thrill begin to churn in his veins. He bows to his opponent, hands clasped in brief prayer.

"I begin with an offering of gratitude, safety, and strength. May we always remember why we train and who we fight for."

SPOILER STATUS

He looks up to see the dwarf in a ready posture. With a deep breath, he launches himself towards her, springing off the first pole.

Full speed movement
Acrobatics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9

Irravin's foot slips as he steps on the first pole, and for a sickening moment, his feet go over his head as he tumbles toward the bottom of the pit.

Climb: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28

Before he realizes it, his arms snakes out and grabs tightly to one of the poles, using his own momentum to propel himself back on top. Dazed and shaken, he looks up to collect himself before the dwarf's inevitable attack.

Irravin looks the dwarf up and down. She is obviously a skilled fighter and carries herself with confident ease. Though he tries to stifle any desire for unnecessary fame or praise, Irravin can't help but let a slight note of pride enter his voice as he responds.

"Naught but the training the Divine Visage has instilled in me, the help of my companions, and the blessing of Sarenrae's light. I would never have been able to do it alone, but indeed, I did battle with a demon and emerged victorious. "

He holds his palms out to her, face up.

"I'm afraid you won't find anything special about these hands. But please, feel free to look--or to see what they can do in a friendly match!"

Irravin waits until the dwarf from the previous bout has made it out of the pit, then approaches her.

"That was quite a feat! I am thoroughly impressed. Are you taking new challengers, or is there a line? I would like to test my strength against a warrior such as yourself."

Irravin's interest is piqued by both the lesson on Crane Style and the familiar-looking dark-skinned monk, but he can't help but feel his heartbeat quicken as he watches the sparring atop the tall poles.

He is reminded of the way he feels during a training match with other members of the Divine Visage--it has been far too long since he engaged in a bout that didn't have life or death on the line. The pleasant camaraderie of a good spar has long eluded him, and he finds himself wandering over towards the pit, hoping for some friendly combat.

Irravin rubs his eyes, sighing and leaning back after a few hours of reading the tome. He offers a silent and relieved prayer that reading the text has not seemed to taint him somehow. He feels Verndar's question and reflects diligently before beginning to answer.

Knowledge itself cannot act, and therefore cannot commit evil. But there is certain knowledge that can drive a man to impatience, improper action, violence--even hatred. The first step towards committing right action is right thought--and as soon as mortal man's thoughts are tainted, his actions may not be far behind.

The world of men thrives on secrets. There is much that would be harmful for many men to learn. Would the world be better or worse if every man had access to the same dark secrets as Zadan? Of course, it is up to man at an individual level to decide how to use knowledge, but in the interest of maintaining our fragile and functioning society, there must be a measure of caution in what mortal minds are exposed to.

Irravin sighs, knowing and feeling Verndar well enough to anticipate a further question before it is asked.

True freedom of information is the ideal, of course. Would that we lived in a time when man could freely share with man, talking of his lofty ideas and delighting in shared knowledge under the clear sky! Alas, we are destined to live in an epoch of darkness, violence, and confusion. Our ideals at the Divine Visage are centered in developing knowledge of self, knowledge of the world, and compassion for the world. Sometimes the best way to be compassionate for someone or something is to keep it entirely sequestered. There is no chance of man doing something terrible with forbidden knowledge if he's never exposed to it in the first place. It is a fine line we walk between valuing freedom and safety.

Irravin finds himself rambling and stops abruptly, unsure any longer of whether he's trying to convince Verndar, or himself.

These mental exercises strain me, my friend. I wish to exercise my body now.

Irravin stretches and stalks purposefully out into the training yard to find a sparring partner.

Irravin sits in his chambers, turning over the abyssal tome in his hands. He grimaces at the thought of learning a cursed language--and a share of the grimace is reserved for having to even read a book at all. The monk, humble in both thought and action, can't remember the last time he even read an entire one cover to cover.

Still, diligently, he creaks the cover open and gingerly turns to the first page. At least he has a companion with a boundless thirst for knowledge.

Verndar--let's see what we can see. Keep me on track, my friend.

Irravin will spend the majority of the rest of the day reading, stopping briefly to eat a simple meal and go through some martial exercises.

Irravin says a silent prayer to the Dawnflower for gifting him such a wonderful and valuable tool, swearing to use it in service of the Light and her allies. The weight of it feels good in his hands, and he can almost feel the sun's warmth emanating from within.

Irravin decides to use it right away, casting Detect Evil on the mysterious ring that he found during their recent travels. If nothing is detected, he will repeat the same process he did for the staff, meditating with it and Verndar and seeing if any new information arises.

Irravin takes in all of this new information with great relish. Relief washes over him as Gerallt tells him what he hardly dared to hope--that the hellfire may not be permanent.

"I forgive you. I understand that it was my recklessness that put you in such a position in the first place. I apologize that you had to resort to such methods. I pray that we are able to accomplish all of our ends without the use of any kind of darkness or deception."

"And truly, you honor me. I thank you for the consideration and I pray that I may continue to help our order grow, and with this new rank, I vow to redouble my efforts in our sacred mission."

Irravin's voice takes on a new, harsher timbre as he turns the book over in his hands.

"It pains me to even hold such a tome. But...it would be of great help to my companion to aid him in times of battle and terror. I will dedicate my learning to this language, so that I might both aid him and better know my enemy."

He looks up to the acolytes of Sarenrae.

"Thank you for your service and for the book. I would pay obeisance to Sarenrae at the temple here soon, if I may."

Irravin looks at Gerallt again and smiles. "Thank you for everything you've done for me. I have many tools to aid in my quest, not the least of which has been your guidance and tutelage. I must rest, but I will certainly be seeking your counsel sooner rather than later...I would know how to finally purge this hellfire once and for all. As always, I am your faithful servant. I am available if there is anything you wish to discuss or ask of me."

If Gerallt or the acolytes don't have anything else to say, Irravin will fall back into a deep slumber for some time.

When he awakes, he will collect himself and his belongings and return to his quarters. Eventually, he will make his way to Sarenrae's Temple of Blessed Light to offer an extended prayer and meditation, but for now he wishes to be alone in his chambers.

He sinks into a deep meditation with the Holy Staff as the focus, including Verndar in the process, hoping to tap into the secrets within.

There is divinity inside this staff, my friend. Let's see what we can see.

Irravin slowly awakens, his gaze drifting slowly upwards to meet Gerallt's. He is aware that Gerallt has asked him a question--he sees the older man's lips move as though from a great distance, barely hearing the sound. Time seems to exist in a vacuum as he turns the words over in his head. The soft light filling the room seems dreamy and thick, as though being refracted by a great river.

Irravin takes his time in formulating an answer. Though it is obvious that Gerallt is eager to hear what happened, Irravin's thoughts and words form at too slow of a pace to respond quickly. Joining the ranks of men who have stepped to the edge of death and yet returned to the Material Plane, has left no small impact on his body and soul.

With deliberate, languid effort, Irravin begins to speak. His voice carries a new note of depth and sincerity that it did not hold before.

"My captain...my teacher...my brother. Thank you for the lessons you have always shown me...and for sparing my life. As the river carves away the stone, so has my being been carved anew."

He breathes deeply and patiently for a few counts before he speaks again, drinking in the simple beauty of the awareness of his intact being. Gerallt waits expectantly but silently for Irravin to continue.

"Sarenrae came to me twice today. Once, in the deepest throes of anguish, I glimpsed her rise over the distant mountains, spreading her wings and extending a hand towards me. She spoke not to me, yet her presence soothed and guided me. It was as if she had spoken directly into my heart, whispering to stay the course and follow the light. Then again, after the plunge from the tower, my consciousness left me, and my awareness of my body sank into the very earth. I beheld a powerful vision...I was one with the land, the water and the sky. She again appeared to me from above, and her light did not burn me! I was able to gaze directly upon her radiant heart, and she blessed me with a single kiss, cleansing me and fully restoring my being. She left me then, but her presence remained, sinking into my Holy Staff."

He looks over to the pair dressed in Sarenrae's robes and smiles.

"I pray she will stay with me for the rest of my days."