About Thuurvi Muth-la-ZashQuote: "Diplomacy is only useful if something happens. And if someone says 'we had a useful discussion,' it means nothing happened." Thuurvi Portrait (credit Lauren Walsh Art) Links:
Memories:
Memories
In the Greenheart Megaliths
”It is decided. The child is tainted by the Demon Wastes. Rescuing her, even with noble intentions, is anathema to the Orders of Eldeen. Renounce her and keep your standing, or deposit her at the Draal Pass; this is our sentence.” For a moment Thuurvi holds her breath. Perhaps they would take her to the Shadow Marches! Or to Darguun! But her parents stand, the decision already written on their faces, and she weeps anew, screaming her rage into the implacable human palm that muffles her. Cazhaak Draal, Northside
Auntie Znar folds Thuurvi into a great hug, and the scarred old cragkin matron smiles at the slender girl. ”I’m so proud of you. Today you are Muth-la-Zash, Voice of the Great Mother.” Thuurvi returns the embrace and waves as she joins the waiting envoy of cragkin. She sighs. It’s easy enough, she thinks. Guard the door. Raise up magics if needed. No one here cares where her magics come from or look at her shadow oddly. And keep the clutch entertained. She looks down at the leathery eggs on the magically warmed black scoria. How to entertain eggs? She ponders, and then recalls an Orcish long-song. ”Sort of a lullaby, albeit with a lot of limb-chopping, but that’s appropriate for this room. Very well, children,” she says, and opens her heart and throat to sing for the developing medusae. Storm’s Teeth, Byeshk Mountains Nauvesh brings Andrangil to the cliff where Thuurvi stands looking at the the Spectre of the Brocken on the clouds below, biting her lip. ”Thuurv,” says the medusa softly, and Thuurvi remembers to look down as a reflex, seeing only medusa and storm giant feet. ”Oh for Devourer’s sake, I’m wearing a visor,” says Nauvesh, and heads back to the keep. Andrangil sits down next to the half-orc, still taller than her when seated. ”It looks larger on the clouds,” she says, her voice trying not to shudder.
”Little Fire,” says Andrangil, his voice like quiet thunder. ”Everything looks larger when projected on the Brocken.” He sighs like wind in a thousand pines. ”But...I think you are right.” He sits in the great silent presence that only a storm giant can make. ”Quests. Paths. So many smallfolk think they lead ahead! They are often circular. Did you know that some of the greatest knowledge of how to control demonic forces lie with the Ashbound? And that Eldeen-side there are several Dhakaani ruins from which they draw much of their information?” Thuurvi looks up at Andrangil and crosses her arms, fresh with healing tattoos, and speaks in Giant. ”The further I go from any damned druid or pinkskin, the better I feel. I liked it in the Crags, and I like it here. I feel safe.” Andrangil nods, and replies in booming, perfect Giant. ”And you are. Those will help,” he says, indicating the still raw tattoos, ”But you are right. Humans would have you banish the taint on your soul entirely. Some in Droaam would let it consume you. Choose a different path. Go back. The Peaks will always be here for you.” ”This is the third...fourth...home I will have left,” says Thuurvi, in the speech of the humans of the Reaches. Her voice cracks. The giant nods. ”My home was Xen’drik. I can never return. But our homes are in our friends, our stories, our songs...our hearts. You need to heal your heart. Don’t let the Wastes claim it.” ”I don’t know…” says Thuurvi, but that isn’t really true. She knows. ”Maybe your path will be a circle someday as well, Andrangil.” They sit watching the clouds until the sun sets entirely. Thuurvi Muth-la-Zash
After some quiet negotiations, the hulking near-giant is on its way. She arches a vivid eyebrow at the chief, who scowls at the loss of victuals. ”Small price to pay for not having your men pulled apart,” she quips, and his workers gulp and nod. She grins and returns to her seat away from the fire, where the flickering light will not reveal the twisted forms that roil from her shadow. One of the miners approaches her as she rummages through her pockets for rations. ”Y-you can stand up to an ogre? I thought he’d kill us all for sure,” he says. ”Did you see his medallion? No? He’s part of a Droaamish expedition and they’re wayyyy out of their jurisdiction. Not just one ogre—there are probably five at a camp and a mage somewhere abouts as well. And yeah, one ogre could squash me as well. But the Daughters of Sora Kell don’t like publicity and they tend to obey laws. Tend to. Anyhow, we’re safe now. I’m gonna go look for some trout and henstooth fungus. Tell your boss to free up two men and we can forage for a better supper.” She stands up and stretches, her mocking shadow barely visible in the gloom of the rocks behind her. Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at https://www.wolflair.com
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