Character Information
Name: Gryphienne Eventus
Aliases: Gryf
Gender: Female
Race: Aasimar (actually half-angel, but still Aasimar)
Age: 21
Languages: Celestial
Accent: Celestial (clear enunciation, very little use of slang or contractions)
Physical Information
Height: 5'5"
Build: Slender, with lean muscle that only shows during strenuous activity
Skin: Golden-tinged
Hair: An almost metallic silver, long and straight, halfway down her back
Eyes: Jet-black pupils and irises, which shine like perfect mirrors in the light
Tattoos: Beneath each of her eyes, a stylized dragon that appears black at a distance but is actually a dark platinum when viewed close-up
Additional appearance: When given the choice, she prefers to dress in shades of gold, silver, and black.
OOC Character Traits
Alignment: NG (bordering on lawful)
Philosophy: Concerned more with the common good than anything else, but also is very cognizant of the good of each individual she encounters. Normally, she tends to fall on the strictly lawful side of the spectrum, but when her guard is down will tend to reveal a strong belief in the free will of the individual, one that she sometimes affects shame over.
Personality: she tends to believe that most beings will, if given the choice, choose to be good, and that almost any creature that has fallen to evil can be redeemed (true devils and demons excepted, of course). She has a ready sense of humor, and will often tease, although she is also always worried about giving offense.
Deity: Bahamut. She does not carry a holy symbol, the tattoos beneath her eyes serving this purpose.
Take These Broken Wings
-
*Dedic8ed
- Posts: 112
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
"Eventus"
The slopes of Mount Celestia seen blurred through a haze of tears.
This, more than anything else, would be the lasting image that I would take from this day. True, the kindness and well-wishes of my "sisters" and even the hope shining forth from the faces of my tutors and guides would stay with me as a touchstone for the times to come, but it was the deep, heartfelt sadness that would stay with me, and the cloudless skies shining above, lending bright illumination to my darkest day... my last day upon this plane for a considerable time to come. My last day of knowing the freedom of flight, and the all-encompassing love of those I had spent nearly every waking moment of my life among.
What felt like the hundredth hug of the day (but was only the eleventh) ended as the last of the sisters of my cadre stepped back. Archathia, eldest of my cadre, her own eyes as tear-filled as my own. Yes, she was fully expected to ascend to Monadic within the next year, so our friendship would most likely have waned regardless, but there still would have been time, preparation. Not this clean cut from my life, from hers, from all my sisters'. And it was then that I realized it wasn't only my own life which was altered by my decisions, but also those of those young women with whom I had played, learned, and truly loved as more than friends, even more than "true" sisters since my earliest memories. Just as their absence lies as a gaping hole in my heart, so my absence surely causes pain to them. No words were necessary, only a nod as a strained smile stretched her lips, mirroring the one which I attempted. Yet still, everyone showed a brave face, as if this leavetaking was a matter of choice.
Ten years it was to be, by the reckoning of the Primes. Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days. By the command of the planetars who presided over the fallout of my error in judgement, one that I still find difficult to see as wrong. But of course, that is the reason for this geas, the reason that I will be declared "Eventus", exile, until such time passes. That spending those many days in the place called "Sigil" will teach me the reason that the words I espoused cannot be countenanced upon the Mount. Some have told me that this is too harsh a punishment, but I refuse to see it that way. On the other hand, there are Archons who have been heard to claim it is not harsh enough. But harsh or not, it is in my mind a quest... a search for truth that will return me to the loving arms of those who I left that day, time for reflection on what eternity will hold for me.
And it is so that as my goodbyes were completed, I dashed the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand and turned to face the shining disc standing before me. Perhaps a part of my mind quailed as the booming chant began behind me, more felt than heard, the sensation of my wings shrinking in upon themselves before folding into my back and vanishing beneath the skin one I had never dreamed of knowing. But as the inner light faded from my skin, the silver of my eyes fading to a glossy black, I could still feel something deep inside that kept it from breaking my composure, that prevented me from sobbing uncontrollably. Deep within, I could still feel Bahamut's approval of who I was, the knowledge that redemption was not only possible... but expected.
Looking back was not an option. When the future is set, one needs to face it and not rue what might have been. And so it was that a smile was forced upon trembling lips, one foot stepping before the other. No wings to balance with would take some getting used to. So would actually meeting beings who hailed from planes that did not properly revere the light. But such a future was to be mine for the next decade. Melancholy was sure to come, but that first step into the portal was surprisingly easy. And as cerulean light bloomed around me, home was left behind... and a new home to find when the step touched down.
The slopes of Mount Celestia seen blurred through a haze of tears.
This, more than anything else, would be the lasting image that I would take from this day. True, the kindness and well-wishes of my "sisters" and even the hope shining forth from the faces of my tutors and guides would stay with me as a touchstone for the times to come, but it was the deep, heartfelt sadness that would stay with me, and the cloudless skies shining above, lending bright illumination to my darkest day... my last day upon this plane for a considerable time to come. My last day of knowing the freedom of flight, and the all-encompassing love of those I had spent nearly every waking moment of my life among.
What felt like the hundredth hug of the day (but was only the eleventh) ended as the last of the sisters of my cadre stepped back. Archathia, eldest of my cadre, her own eyes as tear-filled as my own. Yes, she was fully expected to ascend to Monadic within the next year, so our friendship would most likely have waned regardless, but there still would have been time, preparation. Not this clean cut from my life, from hers, from all my sisters'. And it was then that I realized it wasn't only my own life which was altered by my decisions, but also those of those young women with whom I had played, learned, and truly loved as more than friends, even more than "true" sisters since my earliest memories. Just as their absence lies as a gaping hole in my heart, so my absence surely causes pain to them. No words were necessary, only a nod as a strained smile stretched her lips, mirroring the one which I attempted. Yet still, everyone showed a brave face, as if this leavetaking was a matter of choice.
Ten years it was to be, by the reckoning of the Primes. Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days. By the command of the planetars who presided over the fallout of my error in judgement, one that I still find difficult to see as wrong. But of course, that is the reason for this geas, the reason that I will be declared "Eventus", exile, until such time passes. That spending those many days in the place called "Sigil" will teach me the reason that the words I espoused cannot be countenanced upon the Mount. Some have told me that this is too harsh a punishment, but I refuse to see it that way. On the other hand, there are Archons who have been heard to claim it is not harsh enough. But harsh or not, it is in my mind a quest... a search for truth that will return me to the loving arms of those who I left that day, time for reflection on what eternity will hold for me.
And it is so that as my goodbyes were completed, I dashed the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand and turned to face the shining disc standing before me. Perhaps a part of my mind quailed as the booming chant began behind me, more felt than heard, the sensation of my wings shrinking in upon themselves before folding into my back and vanishing beneath the skin one I had never dreamed of knowing. But as the inner light faded from my skin, the silver of my eyes fading to a glossy black, I could still feel something deep inside that kept it from breaking my composure, that prevented me from sobbing uncontrollably. Deep within, I could still feel Bahamut's approval of who I was, the knowledge that redemption was not only possible... but expected.
Looking back was not an option. When the future is set, one needs to face it and not rue what might have been. And so it was that a smile was forced upon trembling lips, one foot stepping before the other. No wings to balance with would take some getting used to. So would actually meeting beings who hailed from planes that did not properly revere the light. But such a future was to be mine for the next decade. Melancholy was sure to come, but that first step into the portal was surprisingly easy. And as cerulean light bloomed around me, home was left behind... and a new home to find when the step touched down.
-
*Dedic8ed
- Posts: 112
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
"Feritas"
I never knew my parents.
Okay, let me change that. Such words from a mortal usually tend to preface reasons as to why they have done something that puts them outside the bounds of normality, of civilization. Life without a father's guiding hand, and that is why they stabbed a man in a bar fight. Missing a mother's love, so it's not really their fault that they raped those women. As a very wise tutor of mine once said, "Excuses are no excuse." It is up to every thinking being to make that decision between right and wrong, and either turn to the light or face the inevitable consequences, in this life or the next. And my statement is not meant to lessen those things I have done in my life that, were I to choose again, I might have done differently.
For being an orphan in Sigil is one thing, and a difficult beginning to overcome... but the life of one upon Mount Celestia is quite another. And even the use of the word "knew" takes on a different tenor when amongst angels. You see, my mother was one. An angel, that is. And not just some pretty thing with wings, either: an astral deva, known across the Mount for her wise counsel, her knowledge of healing, and for her skill with a mace. And even my father's life is known well to me, a champion of Bahamut, a friend of dragons and enemy of evil. His death predates my birth, standing tall against the demon-worshipping hordes that threatened the peace of his world. My mother passed within my first year, but not before slaying the marilith who started that very war. True, they do still exist, although not in any state to be able to raise a child. Both returned to the light, nay, became the light, he among the archons, and she as a revered angelic remnant, one of holy few known as light aasimons.
I, meanwhile, was raised among a cadre, a group of twelve girls, all of whom either had no parents, or were of parents whose duties did not permit them to stay. Of course, this is normally the way upon the Mount. The Prime tradition of a household, a true "family" linked by blood, may be fitting when the continuation of a name is at stake... but in Celestia, we are all of the light. Even the human blood in my veins was consecrated by my presence upon the Mount, and those girls were my sisters in truth, although we were in many cases as different as night and day. Eleven Agathinon, and one Aasimar, but all existing to serve the light. We learned together, we played together, we worked together. We dreamed together of a far future, where with mace and star, sword and bow, we stood among the greatest of the Platinum Dragon's servants and foiled the plots of Baatezu and Tanar'ri. We boasted of the feats of healing we would perform, and of the many worlds which would embrace the light at our call.
But there is one thing that we... nay, I.... was not prepared for.
He was Galinn, and her name was Lariele, Gheale of puissant power and stunning beauty. It was not uncommon for the natives of the other planes of good to visit the Mount, although Eladrin were rarer than most. After all, in addition to being creatures of great good, they also embody chaos, albeit in a mostly benign form. And it was not their striking looks that drew me, nor the bed-games we played. There are few beings on the Mount not possessing a beauty the equal of theirs, and such games were hardly new, being played readily among the girls in the cadre since we first flowered. No, it was the fact that these beings were far-travelled, with many tales of distant vistas and battles against dire foes. And it may also have been the fact that they found me interesting... little Gryf of the silver hair, whose blood coursed with the curiosity and wonder of my mortal sire. Thus I was to find myself listening to their philosophy, and to find that their ideas of freedom and self-reliance rang in my soul, so very different from those mores I had been taught to cherish.
Perhaps those who watched over me believed that this was simply a physical infatuation, that once the Ghaele returned to Arborea that I would forget their influence. But that was not to be, and questioning the standards of Celestial life became commonplace. Why did we not strive for individuality? Why could our art, our music, not embrace the wildness of nature, the ephemeral nature of the gusting wind? Perhaps acceptable behavior in some spheres, even exemplary, as I have seen in my time in Sigil. But such is not the way of life upon the Mount. "Feritas", the Wildness, cannot be allowed within such a place. And perhaps I do understand why, that any attacks upon the lawful nature of the Mount could result in a weakening of law throughout all of existance. As I look around Sigil, I can see that in action: the only true law here is the law of might, enforced by the Harmonium and the Lady herself. There is far too much chaos for any other way to work, and I see little hope of guiding those infected with the flavor of Limbo to a lawful existence. And so even though my doubts remain, I realize that the planetars were in the right, at least so far as what Celestia needs. And the light knows, I do have time to purge those doubts from me. Stil, why do I get the feeling that doing so will be no easy feat?
*A small note is scribbled at the bottom*
A thousand "cutters,", and a thousand different ideas as to what the "Lady of Pain" is. Still, aside from her fearsome name and obvious power, there is little to inspire true dread. Ten years... I wonder if in that time I shall get to meet this Power? It would truly be a wondrous thing, and give me a touchstone to compare to the glorious might of the Solars, and the peaceable but eternal strength that is the Lord of the North Wind.
I never knew my parents.
Okay, let me change that. Such words from a mortal usually tend to preface reasons as to why they have done something that puts them outside the bounds of normality, of civilization. Life without a father's guiding hand, and that is why they stabbed a man in a bar fight. Missing a mother's love, so it's not really their fault that they raped those women. As a very wise tutor of mine once said, "Excuses are no excuse." It is up to every thinking being to make that decision between right and wrong, and either turn to the light or face the inevitable consequences, in this life or the next. And my statement is not meant to lessen those things I have done in my life that, were I to choose again, I might have done differently.
For being an orphan in Sigil is one thing, and a difficult beginning to overcome... but the life of one upon Mount Celestia is quite another. And even the use of the word "knew" takes on a different tenor when amongst angels. You see, my mother was one. An angel, that is. And not just some pretty thing with wings, either: an astral deva, known across the Mount for her wise counsel, her knowledge of healing, and for her skill with a mace. And even my father's life is known well to me, a champion of Bahamut, a friend of dragons and enemy of evil. His death predates my birth, standing tall against the demon-worshipping hordes that threatened the peace of his world. My mother passed within my first year, but not before slaying the marilith who started that very war. True, they do still exist, although not in any state to be able to raise a child. Both returned to the light, nay, became the light, he among the archons, and she as a revered angelic remnant, one of holy few known as light aasimons.
I, meanwhile, was raised among a cadre, a group of twelve girls, all of whom either had no parents, or were of parents whose duties did not permit them to stay. Of course, this is normally the way upon the Mount. The Prime tradition of a household, a true "family" linked by blood, may be fitting when the continuation of a name is at stake... but in Celestia, we are all of the light. Even the human blood in my veins was consecrated by my presence upon the Mount, and those girls were my sisters in truth, although we were in many cases as different as night and day. Eleven Agathinon, and one Aasimar, but all existing to serve the light. We learned together, we played together, we worked together. We dreamed together of a far future, where with mace and star, sword and bow, we stood among the greatest of the Platinum Dragon's servants and foiled the plots of Baatezu and Tanar'ri. We boasted of the feats of healing we would perform, and of the many worlds which would embrace the light at our call.
But there is one thing that we... nay, I.... was not prepared for.
He was Galinn, and her name was Lariele, Gheale of puissant power and stunning beauty. It was not uncommon for the natives of the other planes of good to visit the Mount, although Eladrin were rarer than most. After all, in addition to being creatures of great good, they also embody chaos, albeit in a mostly benign form. And it was not their striking looks that drew me, nor the bed-games we played. There are few beings on the Mount not possessing a beauty the equal of theirs, and such games were hardly new, being played readily among the girls in the cadre since we first flowered. No, it was the fact that these beings were far-travelled, with many tales of distant vistas and battles against dire foes. And it may also have been the fact that they found me interesting... little Gryf of the silver hair, whose blood coursed with the curiosity and wonder of my mortal sire. Thus I was to find myself listening to their philosophy, and to find that their ideas of freedom and self-reliance rang in my soul, so very different from those mores I had been taught to cherish.
Perhaps those who watched over me believed that this was simply a physical infatuation, that once the Ghaele returned to Arborea that I would forget their influence. But that was not to be, and questioning the standards of Celestial life became commonplace. Why did we not strive for individuality? Why could our art, our music, not embrace the wildness of nature, the ephemeral nature of the gusting wind? Perhaps acceptable behavior in some spheres, even exemplary, as I have seen in my time in Sigil. But such is not the way of life upon the Mount. "Feritas", the Wildness, cannot be allowed within such a place. And perhaps I do understand why, that any attacks upon the lawful nature of the Mount could result in a weakening of law throughout all of existance. As I look around Sigil, I can see that in action: the only true law here is the law of might, enforced by the Harmonium and the Lady herself. There is far too much chaos for any other way to work, and I see little hope of guiding those infected with the flavor of Limbo to a lawful existence. And so even though my doubts remain, I realize that the planetars were in the right, at least so far as what Celestia needs. And the light knows, I do have time to purge those doubts from me. Stil, why do I get the feeling that doing so will be no easy feat?
*A small note is scribbled at the bottom*
A thousand "cutters,", and a thousand different ideas as to what the "Lady of Pain" is. Still, aside from her fearsome name and obvious power, there is little to inspire true dread. Ten years... I wonder if in that time I shall get to meet this Power? It would truly be a wondrous thing, and give me a touchstone to compare to the glorious might of the Solars, and the peaceable but eternal strength that is the Lord of the North Wind.
-
*Dedic8ed
- Posts: 112
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
"Perficio"
I dreamed last night. Yet another gift from that human blood, something that has always set me apart from my sisters. No... I've never dreamed every night as true humans do. The dreams come rarely, and when they do I recall them in crystalline clarity. This dream... it was the first in, I'm sure, at least a season, definitely the first here in Sigil. Perhaps the many disturbing things I've learned about this place forced my subconscious to bring this forth. Or perhaps it is a veiled message from the Platinum Dragon, but who can be certain of such things? And what can such an odd event mean?
In the dream, I watched an angel fly among the clouds over the Mount. Tall and majestic, she soared with a grace that the most regal of raptors would envy, embossed light armor of bright gold throwing off dazzling reflections of the sun above. Wings of purest white tipped with deep bronze beat strongly, and with each of her movements her bare arms, showing skin of burnished copper with a faintly greenish tint, swung with an effortless grace, every movement a thing of poetry. A mighty planetar, indeed!
Even as I began to wonder who this paragon might be, my view swung around to the being's front, zooming in to see her more closely. And it was then that my bodiless mind was struck nearly senseless. The long, silver hair was bound into hundreds of braids, while eyes of bright silver shone out at me, but there was no doubt as to the facial features, the epicanthic folds of the eyes, and the unmistakable tattoos high on the cheeks and below the eyes. This creature was me... but in a form I could hardly dream of wearing, and showing a confidence and grace that I doubt to ever know. Of course I had dreamed before of joining the celestial hosts, perhaps someday being granted a devic form... yet this was far beyond my wildest fantasies. Aasimar simply do not become such.
As my mind whirled with wonder at this visage, the view shifted again, allowing me to see the figure alight upon an upthrust spire of granite. Without a moment's notice, another figure rose into view from the valley below. A reptilian head the size of a house, compassionate eyes, and an aura of both power and peace. Had I eyes to close and knees to bend, I'd have been prostate in devotion before my Lord, the one whose presence I have only stood directly in but twice in all my years. But a dreamer does not always have control of her actions, and such was the case this time, my soul singing with elation. For even in dreams, the presence of a god is more than simply a figment. This was real to me... and I still find myself wondering how much of Him was conscious of my mind's production.
But it was only when the figure, the hypothetical "me", spoke that the dream took on its truest import, dropping to one knee and bowing her head in reverence. "My lord," a voice resonating with notes of the clearest soprano yet rumbling with the power of a mountain on the move spoke, even the conversational tone of her words carrying further than a mortal's shout. "The City of Doors... is ours." And it was then that I noticed the sword slung upon a simple loop at her belt. A sword dripping with ichor and blood, and notched from combat. The sound of wings, sudden and loud, drowned out all thought as dozens, then scores, then hundreds of devas begain to descend around her. And every one of them had their own well-used weapon....
And much like the way of dreams, it was then that I found myself sitting bolt upright in bed. I'm still not certain whether my shaking was from awe or terror. But... I do believe I will need to pray upon it.
I dreamed last night. Yet another gift from that human blood, something that has always set me apart from my sisters. No... I've never dreamed every night as true humans do. The dreams come rarely, and when they do I recall them in crystalline clarity. This dream... it was the first in, I'm sure, at least a season, definitely the first here in Sigil. Perhaps the many disturbing things I've learned about this place forced my subconscious to bring this forth. Or perhaps it is a veiled message from the Platinum Dragon, but who can be certain of such things? And what can such an odd event mean?
In the dream, I watched an angel fly among the clouds over the Mount. Tall and majestic, she soared with a grace that the most regal of raptors would envy, embossed light armor of bright gold throwing off dazzling reflections of the sun above. Wings of purest white tipped with deep bronze beat strongly, and with each of her movements her bare arms, showing skin of burnished copper with a faintly greenish tint, swung with an effortless grace, every movement a thing of poetry. A mighty planetar, indeed!
Even as I began to wonder who this paragon might be, my view swung around to the being's front, zooming in to see her more closely. And it was then that my bodiless mind was struck nearly senseless. The long, silver hair was bound into hundreds of braids, while eyes of bright silver shone out at me, but there was no doubt as to the facial features, the epicanthic folds of the eyes, and the unmistakable tattoos high on the cheeks and below the eyes. This creature was me... but in a form I could hardly dream of wearing, and showing a confidence and grace that I doubt to ever know. Of course I had dreamed before of joining the celestial hosts, perhaps someday being granted a devic form... yet this was far beyond my wildest fantasies. Aasimar simply do not become such.
As my mind whirled with wonder at this visage, the view shifted again, allowing me to see the figure alight upon an upthrust spire of granite. Without a moment's notice, another figure rose into view from the valley below. A reptilian head the size of a house, compassionate eyes, and an aura of both power and peace. Had I eyes to close and knees to bend, I'd have been prostate in devotion before my Lord, the one whose presence I have only stood directly in but twice in all my years. But a dreamer does not always have control of her actions, and such was the case this time, my soul singing with elation. For even in dreams, the presence of a god is more than simply a figment. This was real to me... and I still find myself wondering how much of Him was conscious of my mind's production.
But it was only when the figure, the hypothetical "me", spoke that the dream took on its truest import, dropping to one knee and bowing her head in reverence. "My lord," a voice resonating with notes of the clearest soprano yet rumbling with the power of a mountain on the move spoke, even the conversational tone of her words carrying further than a mortal's shout. "The City of Doors... is ours." And it was then that I noticed the sword slung upon a simple loop at her belt. A sword dripping with ichor and blood, and notched from combat. The sound of wings, sudden and loud, drowned out all thought as dozens, then scores, then hundreds of devas begain to descend around her. And every one of them had their own well-used weapon....
And much like the way of dreams, it was then that I found myself sitting bolt upright in bed. I'm still not certain whether my shaking was from awe or terror. But... I do believe I will need to pray upon it.
-
*Dedic8ed
- Posts: 112
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
"Comitis"
No dreams to report, thankfully. Not on the heels of such horrid happennings. Perhaps in some other instance this would be the point where I complain of having to waste money to find lodgings in the Lady's Ward, but such things pale in comparison. The mighty boom, and a tower of smoke rising high into the dusty air. The black snowfall... yes, I shall call it simply that. Better to chance misnaming something than to brood on just what... or who... those drifting sooty flakes may have been. Even hours afterwards, as I was inevitably drawn back to see the scene of devestation, if only to see if my limited healing abilities might be neeeded, the smell of roasting flesh rose from the rubble. And I thought then, that this is what I needed to see. It is true, a lessening of order can seem like an
innocuous thing in some instances. But this, here, now: proof to me as to what an overabundance of chaos can bring. But it seems that there was nothing that law could have done to prevent this. So if chaos is surely a disastrous course, yet law finds itself powerless, how am I to react? I will not turn to chaos' entropic embrace simply because it seems to have deeper strength, but nor can I simply shrug at law's failure and continue to believe that rules and laws will simply have effect by their very existence. After all, I'm rather certain that destroying buildings and
killing scores of innocents is in some way or another illegal in Sigil. Perhaps there is another course, another way to look at things, that can reconcile this confusion within me.
The rumors, too. They begin to tell a more coherent story, and a certainty has taken hold among the masses that this was not simply an unfortunate mistake. Rather, this was done on purpose... but the planner of this catastrophe, regardless of which rumor holds true, is surely dead. Chaos has won in this instance, as too many lives can never be truly restored, and no chance exists to bring justice upon the perpetrator.
Despite the horror, despite the undeniable loss of the day, all of this would be simply an exercise in learning, were it not for the fact that my new friend, Sondaal, turned out to be one of the victims of this event. Have I not spoken of her? No? The wake of tragedy hardly seems the time to detail the blooming of a nascent friendship with one of my few fellow celestial-blooded within this dreary place. Let it simply be said that her strength and courage give me something to aspire to, her wry wit and clever banter bring forth laughter that might otherwise be missing, and her guidance has kept me from mistakes I would surely have otherwise made. She isn't too difficult to look at either, to tell the truth, although that is beside the facts. True, there are several others who I'd count as friends within my short time here, and even more that I could see myself befriending in time, but in this, my first week of Eventus, it is she who stands out.
Just as it was she who I found staggering down the street. I must admit, those who practice healing here do seem possessed of surprising skill. Upon seeing her state, the barely-healed fractures, the missing hand, the burns and scars, and the hairless scalp that nearly brought tears to my eyes, my first thought was to attempt my own healing... and to find that it was less than worthless. I had to stop before my attempts at helping wound up causing harm instead. I do feel, however, that by providing some companionship I was able to help. Perhaps her body's wounds will take more than I have to give to repair, but I do hope that the wounds upon her mind, her soul, were assauged from my actions.
And so I sit here, for the second time in a week in an unfamiliar room that I call "mine", albeit this time considerably lighter in my purse. They talk already of building a new inn, of raising a memorial to honor the dead. Perhaps when they do, I'll return there. But one thing has been proven to me beyond the shadow of a doubt. There is peril indeed within Sigil, and there will always be those who need shelter against it, whether the protection of weapon and shield, or a healing hand afterwards. If I hope to serve as that shelter when I may, I must put aside
simple things. No more can I simply run errands for jink, or spend my days in idle chatter. No, my need is to become stronger and wiser... and now, I must simply find ways to do that. Perhaps the portals... yes, perhaps the portals.
*A small note is scribbled at the bottom*
Should I ever manage to meet the Lady of Pain, my first question will most certainly be regarding today. "Where were you?"
No dreams to report, thankfully. Not on the heels of such horrid happennings. Perhaps in some other instance this would be the point where I complain of having to waste money to find lodgings in the Lady's Ward, but such things pale in comparison. The mighty boom, and a tower of smoke rising high into the dusty air. The black snowfall... yes, I shall call it simply that. Better to chance misnaming something than to brood on just what... or who... those drifting sooty flakes may have been. Even hours afterwards, as I was inevitably drawn back to see the scene of devestation, if only to see if my limited healing abilities might be neeeded, the smell of roasting flesh rose from the rubble. And I thought then, that this is what I needed to see. It is true, a lessening of order can seem like an
innocuous thing in some instances. But this, here, now: proof to me as to what an overabundance of chaos can bring. But it seems that there was nothing that law could have done to prevent this. So if chaos is surely a disastrous course, yet law finds itself powerless, how am I to react? I will not turn to chaos' entropic embrace simply because it seems to have deeper strength, but nor can I simply shrug at law's failure and continue to believe that rules and laws will simply have effect by their very existence. After all, I'm rather certain that destroying buildings and
killing scores of innocents is in some way or another illegal in Sigil. Perhaps there is another course, another way to look at things, that can reconcile this confusion within me.
The rumors, too. They begin to tell a more coherent story, and a certainty has taken hold among the masses that this was not simply an unfortunate mistake. Rather, this was done on purpose... but the planner of this catastrophe, regardless of which rumor holds true, is surely dead. Chaos has won in this instance, as too many lives can never be truly restored, and no chance exists to bring justice upon the perpetrator.
Despite the horror, despite the undeniable loss of the day, all of this would be simply an exercise in learning, were it not for the fact that my new friend, Sondaal, turned out to be one of the victims of this event. Have I not spoken of her? No? The wake of tragedy hardly seems the time to detail the blooming of a nascent friendship with one of my few fellow celestial-blooded within this dreary place. Let it simply be said that her strength and courage give me something to aspire to, her wry wit and clever banter bring forth laughter that might otherwise be missing, and her guidance has kept me from mistakes I would surely have otherwise made. She isn't too difficult to look at either, to tell the truth, although that is beside the facts. True, there are several others who I'd count as friends within my short time here, and even more that I could see myself befriending in time, but in this, my first week of Eventus, it is she who stands out.
Just as it was she who I found staggering down the street. I must admit, those who practice healing here do seem possessed of surprising skill. Upon seeing her state, the barely-healed fractures, the missing hand, the burns and scars, and the hairless scalp that nearly brought tears to my eyes, my first thought was to attempt my own healing... and to find that it was less than worthless. I had to stop before my attempts at helping wound up causing harm instead. I do feel, however, that by providing some companionship I was able to help. Perhaps her body's wounds will take more than I have to give to repair, but I do hope that the wounds upon her mind, her soul, were assauged from my actions.
And so I sit here, for the second time in a week in an unfamiliar room that I call "mine", albeit this time considerably lighter in my purse. They talk already of building a new inn, of raising a memorial to honor the dead. Perhaps when they do, I'll return there. But one thing has been proven to me beyond the shadow of a doubt. There is peril indeed within Sigil, and there will always be those who need shelter against it, whether the protection of weapon and shield, or a healing hand afterwards. If I hope to serve as that shelter when I may, I must put aside
simple things. No more can I simply run errands for jink, or spend my days in idle chatter. No, my need is to become stronger and wiser... and now, I must simply find ways to do that. Perhaps the portals... yes, perhaps the portals.
*A small note is scribbled at the bottom*
Should I ever manage to meet the Lady of Pain, my first question will most certainly be regarding today. "Where were you?"
-
*Dedic8ed
- Posts: 112
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
"Campeador"
At times, there is a part of me that finds the putting down of thoughts, of experiences, to be somewhat of a chore. Who, I ask myself, will read this? Am I putting forth great truths to act as touchstones to those who might look through these pages after I'm gone? And over the past few weeks, that voice has been the stronger. New friends, new experiences, and the seemingly ever-changing nature of myself during this time have all combined to leave me weary by the time I return to my rooms above the inn, while as I rise in the morning the bustle of the markets and the prospect of the day quickly hie me from my chambers. To be entirely truthful, it seemed as though there would always be some excuse to avoid this book, this thing that was seemingly becoming a task to me.
But that was to change, with first a journey, and then a dream. Sigil's most common nickname is "the City of Doors," primarily because of its many portals, which rumor says reach to nearly everyplace in the multiverse. From the highest peaks of the Mount to the lowest tiers of Hell, from the clockwork cities of Mechanus to the swirling insanity of Limbo, and countless thousands of Prime worlds. And 'tis true, I can see myself believing such tales, having visited the bright shores of a beach in Elysium, a tranquil mountain waterfall in the beastlands, and even peered through another to see Mercuria itself, a realm that I'm certain I have flown over in a past life. Meanwhile, the "cutters" about town speak of visiting Baator, the Abyss, and other inhospitable places. The Primes of Sigil itself, most of whom never planned their sojourn here, but speaking of worlds such as Toril and Oerth, Krynn and Athas, Aebrynis and Nehwon, and countless worlds simply known by the natives' names for "earth" or "dirt", oddly enough.
Since arriving here, I had simply thought that I could learn all that needed learning within Sigil itself, not needing to actually seek out these portals. True, many of the adventurers who I've met enjoy these trips, slaying foul monsters and finding various types of loot. But me? I hardly saw myself in the same vein as those folk. Until, that is, the Gray Wastes. I had heard of this portal multiple times, it seems from my first day here. A woman on the street needing to find her way through it; the sage in the Hammer (and now in the Spirit) was more than happy to speak of it at length. But it was the oddest idea that came to me as I walked the street past the portal's location, a faint magical tingle emanating from my pack as the obsidian within it caused the portal to rip open. From my journeys elsewhere, I knew that these curious "keyed portals" would open from either side by use of the proper key, and obsidian was hardly an uncommon thing. And a realization came upon me... that should some malefactor wish, they could easily open the portal from its nether end, providing a conduit for the undead, or even worse, things such as yugoloths and their ilk, to make their way into Sigil. This... was something worth looking into, if only to calm my own worries with their unfoundedness.
And so it was that I made my way through the portal. It was easy enough to find some friendly questors who wished to visit the plane themselves and attach myself to their party, using what protections I could give to keep them safe at my side. And the trip, yes, did turn out to be fruitful in one way. There was no great malign intelligence waiting to pour armies through the gate, but rather simply an unending tide of revenants and ghouls, roaming mindlessly about the Wastes. True, without the grace of the Lord of the North Wind to protect me, I could have been in great danger, but even should some of them cross the portal, they are nothing that the Harmonium could not deal with. A deep cave held some threat... but even its inhabitants, although much stronger than those without, were unlikely to imperil Sigil, especially after the Light of Bahamut smote them from existence. Certainly, some other will come to take their place, but this was hardly the threat of yugoloths which I had feared.
And so it was with some relief that I returned to the city, but also with a realization that I had never contemplated. Even when running courier service between the merchants of the Bazaar and Mniitvaak in Undersigil, I may have had to perform combat with the lowly goblins and illithid thralls below, and in my limited visits to the beastlands had been forced to defend myself from Unseelie and monstrous animals, but that time in the wastes was the first time in my life I had actually... and it still seems odd to write this... enjoyed battle. I am certain it was the foe I faced, the destruction of such a true personification of evil as undeath being certain to please me, but it was more than that. It was the faith in myself, the pride in my own courage in the face of such unnatural things, and the power of Bahamut which flowed through me to cast ghouls into dust that gave me a new outlook on certain things. Was this what the so-called "adventurers" felt all the time? Even through the pain of the injuries sustained in the effort, a thrill of success, of victory over my enemies, suffused me. Of course, such was also the life of my mother, slaying the foes of good, but it was not until later that I realized this. Until the dream.
Again, I found my viewpoint at a distance, watching a winged figure beset by hideous foes. Nabassu and Vrock, Glabrezu and Bar-Lgura swarmed the winged figure, but mighty swings of a warhammer impelled by muscular arms of dark brown smashed the creatures from her, bright explosions of divine energy blasting into the tanar'ri foe with each strike, jet-black hair in long, thin braids swinging about her as she moved, golden fetishes woven into the strands and gleaming in the dim light of the setting. A being of beauty and grace, yet imbued with an almost wild lack of inhibition within this battle. And as my viewpoint shifted closer, I could hear the chiming tones of her laughter, and her voice raising in challenge to each who came against her.
Had it not been for my previous dream, the view as she turned would have shocked me. But I had been prepared for, even expecting this. The hair and skin were different from any I knew, but the tilt of the eyes and the markings below them were unmistakable. She was I, but this was not the same angelic being as before. No, this deva had much of chaos in her, nearly as much as there was good. And from the presence of the tattoos, the flashes of holy power bursting from her weapons, she still knew the same worship as I now profess. Finally, her face turned towards me and I could tell she was not simply looking in my direction, but at me. The obvious wink she threw my way made it certain, but I had only a moment's time before she... spoke. A single word, a word of utter power and holiness, and light burst from her. The foes surrounding her were thrown back, the sheer might of the syllable stripping their essences to nothing. Then the shock wave hit me, and everything went... white.
So again I am forced to wonder: was this truly just a meaningless mortal dream brought forth by the exhiliration of combat, or was this a sending by my Lord? The chaos inherent in the being I saw, this... potential self... was more than evident, it was an integral part of her. Should I choose to allow chaos within myself, I know I shall never be able to return to life on the Mount. Visit, perhaps, but no more would it, could it, be my home. But I serve Bahamut, and he has within his servants many who also accept chaos within themselves, dragons of a more individualistic stripe than the golds who live within his palace.
I shall need to pray upon this. Are these truly visions of possibility, it may be that I am given to choose what path I shall walk. My only certainty at this time is that I will not have it chosen for me...
A short footnote: Today I purchased a warhammer, and took lessons with it from a dwarven warrior. Yes, a good choice.
At times, there is a part of me that finds the putting down of thoughts, of experiences, to be somewhat of a chore. Who, I ask myself, will read this? Am I putting forth great truths to act as touchstones to those who might look through these pages after I'm gone? And over the past few weeks, that voice has been the stronger. New friends, new experiences, and the seemingly ever-changing nature of myself during this time have all combined to leave me weary by the time I return to my rooms above the inn, while as I rise in the morning the bustle of the markets and the prospect of the day quickly hie me from my chambers. To be entirely truthful, it seemed as though there would always be some excuse to avoid this book, this thing that was seemingly becoming a task to me.
But that was to change, with first a journey, and then a dream. Sigil's most common nickname is "the City of Doors," primarily because of its many portals, which rumor says reach to nearly everyplace in the multiverse. From the highest peaks of the Mount to the lowest tiers of Hell, from the clockwork cities of Mechanus to the swirling insanity of Limbo, and countless thousands of Prime worlds. And 'tis true, I can see myself believing such tales, having visited the bright shores of a beach in Elysium, a tranquil mountain waterfall in the beastlands, and even peered through another to see Mercuria itself, a realm that I'm certain I have flown over in a past life. Meanwhile, the "cutters" about town speak of visiting Baator, the Abyss, and other inhospitable places. The Primes of Sigil itself, most of whom never planned their sojourn here, but speaking of worlds such as Toril and Oerth, Krynn and Athas, Aebrynis and Nehwon, and countless worlds simply known by the natives' names for "earth" or "dirt", oddly enough.
Since arriving here, I had simply thought that I could learn all that needed learning within Sigil itself, not needing to actually seek out these portals. True, many of the adventurers who I've met enjoy these trips, slaying foul monsters and finding various types of loot. But me? I hardly saw myself in the same vein as those folk. Until, that is, the Gray Wastes. I had heard of this portal multiple times, it seems from my first day here. A woman on the street needing to find her way through it; the sage in the Hammer (and now in the Spirit) was more than happy to speak of it at length. But it was the oddest idea that came to me as I walked the street past the portal's location, a faint magical tingle emanating from my pack as the obsidian within it caused the portal to rip open. From my journeys elsewhere, I knew that these curious "keyed portals" would open from either side by use of the proper key, and obsidian was hardly an uncommon thing. And a realization came upon me... that should some malefactor wish, they could easily open the portal from its nether end, providing a conduit for the undead, or even worse, things such as yugoloths and their ilk, to make their way into Sigil. This... was something worth looking into, if only to calm my own worries with their unfoundedness.
And so it was that I made my way through the portal. It was easy enough to find some friendly questors who wished to visit the plane themselves and attach myself to their party, using what protections I could give to keep them safe at my side. And the trip, yes, did turn out to be fruitful in one way. There was no great malign intelligence waiting to pour armies through the gate, but rather simply an unending tide of revenants and ghouls, roaming mindlessly about the Wastes. True, without the grace of the Lord of the North Wind to protect me, I could have been in great danger, but even should some of them cross the portal, they are nothing that the Harmonium could not deal with. A deep cave held some threat... but even its inhabitants, although much stronger than those without, were unlikely to imperil Sigil, especially after the Light of Bahamut smote them from existence. Certainly, some other will come to take their place, but this was hardly the threat of yugoloths which I had feared.
And so it was with some relief that I returned to the city, but also with a realization that I had never contemplated. Even when running courier service between the merchants of the Bazaar and Mniitvaak in Undersigil, I may have had to perform combat with the lowly goblins and illithid thralls below, and in my limited visits to the beastlands had been forced to defend myself from Unseelie and monstrous animals, but that time in the wastes was the first time in my life I had actually... and it still seems odd to write this... enjoyed battle. I am certain it was the foe I faced, the destruction of such a true personification of evil as undeath being certain to please me, but it was more than that. It was the faith in myself, the pride in my own courage in the face of such unnatural things, and the power of Bahamut which flowed through me to cast ghouls into dust that gave me a new outlook on certain things. Was this what the so-called "adventurers" felt all the time? Even through the pain of the injuries sustained in the effort, a thrill of success, of victory over my enemies, suffused me. Of course, such was also the life of my mother, slaying the foes of good, but it was not until later that I realized this. Until the dream.
Again, I found my viewpoint at a distance, watching a winged figure beset by hideous foes. Nabassu and Vrock, Glabrezu and Bar-Lgura swarmed the winged figure, but mighty swings of a warhammer impelled by muscular arms of dark brown smashed the creatures from her, bright explosions of divine energy blasting into the tanar'ri foe with each strike, jet-black hair in long, thin braids swinging about her as she moved, golden fetishes woven into the strands and gleaming in the dim light of the setting. A being of beauty and grace, yet imbued with an almost wild lack of inhibition within this battle. And as my viewpoint shifted closer, I could hear the chiming tones of her laughter, and her voice raising in challenge to each who came against her.
Had it not been for my previous dream, the view as she turned would have shocked me. But I had been prepared for, even expecting this. The hair and skin were different from any I knew, but the tilt of the eyes and the markings below them were unmistakable. She was I, but this was not the same angelic being as before. No, this deva had much of chaos in her, nearly as much as there was good. And from the presence of the tattoos, the flashes of holy power bursting from her weapons, she still knew the same worship as I now profess. Finally, her face turned towards me and I could tell she was not simply looking in my direction, but at me. The obvious wink she threw my way made it certain, but I had only a moment's time before she... spoke. A single word, a word of utter power and holiness, and light burst from her. The foes surrounding her were thrown back, the sheer might of the syllable stripping their essences to nothing. Then the shock wave hit me, and everything went... white.
So again I am forced to wonder: was this truly just a meaningless mortal dream brought forth by the exhiliration of combat, or was this a sending by my Lord? The chaos inherent in the being I saw, this... potential self... was more than evident, it was an integral part of her. Should I choose to allow chaos within myself, I know I shall never be able to return to life on the Mount. Visit, perhaps, but no more would it, could it, be my home. But I serve Bahamut, and he has within his servants many who also accept chaos within themselves, dragons of a more individualistic stripe than the golds who live within his palace.
I shall need to pray upon this. Are these truly visions of possibility, it may be that I am given to choose what path I shall walk. My only certainty at this time is that I will not have it chosen for me...
A short footnote: Today I purchased a warhammer, and took lessons with it from a dwarven warrior. Yes, a good choice.
-
*Dedic8ed
- Posts: 112
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
"Pugna"
I feel myself changing... and it frightens me. This newfound enjoyment of battle, it is almost with joy that I throw myself into harm's way. Perhaps finding that my skill with a warhammer is nearly that which I have in the healing arts is behind this, but I cannot tell. Only that on an almost daily basis, I find myself fully armored and stepping through a portal, emerging sometimes hours later splashed with viscera and ichor. And this person... I simply find it hard to accept that she is I.
If I only knew why, I might make some headway. Is this something in my blood? The Light knows, the uses to which my mother put her mace are quite well-known; after all, one can hardly carry the burden of an Astral guardian without accepting the need for battle. Is it simply a reaction to spending my time here in sigil, surrounded by adventurers and soldiers of fortune? Or is it some sort of hidden darkness within, coming to the fore now that I no longer am amidst the denizens of the Mount? When I find myself hip-deep in corpses and laughing, I cannot help but know worry. Would anything I accomplish be worthy of merit, if in success I were to lose the Light?
Ah yes, the dream. I still cannot fathom whether these nocturnal interludes are simply my mind trying to sort things out or a sending from upon high. However, being told of shouting out and thrashing in my sleep can hardly be a good sign. Of course, the difference of this one from the others, not only in mood but in outcome, is what makes it far more worrying than the others. ...I ramble.
I stand uppon a barren plain, smoke rising from the heated rock beneath my feet. Clouds scud across the sky at frightening speeds, oddly-formed things swooping and diving among them. And I? My body aches, my arms feel as lead, but my hammer swings about, lightning crackling from its head as it smashes into a tanar'ri I recognize as the type called Bar-Lgura, an apelike fiend, caving in its chest and tossing it through the air. A second passes, and I swing the heavy shield upon my other arm, bashing the spikes festooning it through the chitinous carapace of a fly-winged Chasme. Foul creatures are all about me, yet I laugh... and the laugh is not a pleasant thing to hear.
The laugh, it seems, is a trigger. I am pulled from behind my eyes, shown a vision that seems unbelievable. This figure of myself seen from behind can hardly be countenanced. Muscles swell upon bare arms protruding from a form-fitting suit of chain emblazoned upon the chest with an odd crimson sigil of a winged hammer, hair flies wild and messy about her head, and a veritable aura of meance seems to emanate. And then... oh Light, then she turns. Features set in an almost maniacal look of pleasure as that spinning hammer smites foe after foe. The look of her is feral and cruel, sharpened and elongated teeth showing in her horrible smile, wings spreading to show tattered and gray feathers. But worst of all, far more than anything else, lies below her eyes. Angry scars where dragons should be. And it is at this shock hits me that the view pulls away and I see her... companions. Cornugons and Abishai, Bueroza and Gelugons. And upon every single one of them, the same winged hammer... and one word rang through my mind, the pain of it nearly unimaginable. "Fallen"...
I did mention I awoke screaming....
I feel myself changing... and it frightens me. This newfound enjoyment of battle, it is almost with joy that I throw myself into harm's way. Perhaps finding that my skill with a warhammer is nearly that which I have in the healing arts is behind this, but I cannot tell. Only that on an almost daily basis, I find myself fully armored and stepping through a portal, emerging sometimes hours later splashed with viscera and ichor. And this person... I simply find it hard to accept that she is I.
If I only knew why, I might make some headway. Is this something in my blood? The Light knows, the uses to which my mother put her mace are quite well-known; after all, one can hardly carry the burden of an Astral guardian without accepting the need for battle. Is it simply a reaction to spending my time here in sigil, surrounded by adventurers and soldiers of fortune? Or is it some sort of hidden darkness within, coming to the fore now that I no longer am amidst the denizens of the Mount? When I find myself hip-deep in corpses and laughing, I cannot help but know worry. Would anything I accomplish be worthy of merit, if in success I were to lose the Light?
Ah yes, the dream. I still cannot fathom whether these nocturnal interludes are simply my mind trying to sort things out or a sending from upon high. However, being told of shouting out and thrashing in my sleep can hardly be a good sign. Of course, the difference of this one from the others, not only in mood but in outcome, is what makes it far more worrying than the others. ...I ramble.
I stand uppon a barren plain, smoke rising from the heated rock beneath my feet. Clouds scud across the sky at frightening speeds, oddly-formed things swooping and diving among them. And I? My body aches, my arms feel as lead, but my hammer swings about, lightning crackling from its head as it smashes into a tanar'ri I recognize as the type called Bar-Lgura, an apelike fiend, caving in its chest and tossing it through the air. A second passes, and I swing the heavy shield upon my other arm, bashing the spikes festooning it through the chitinous carapace of a fly-winged Chasme. Foul creatures are all about me, yet I laugh... and the laugh is not a pleasant thing to hear.
The laugh, it seems, is a trigger. I am pulled from behind my eyes, shown a vision that seems unbelievable. This figure of myself seen from behind can hardly be countenanced. Muscles swell upon bare arms protruding from a form-fitting suit of chain emblazoned upon the chest with an odd crimson sigil of a winged hammer, hair flies wild and messy about her head, and a veritable aura of meance seems to emanate. And then... oh Light, then she turns. Features set in an almost maniacal look of pleasure as that spinning hammer smites foe after foe. The look of her is feral and cruel, sharpened and elongated teeth showing in her horrible smile, wings spreading to show tattered and gray feathers. But worst of all, far more than anything else, lies below her eyes. Angry scars where dragons should be. And it is at this shock hits me that the view pulls away and I see her... companions. Cornugons and Abishai, Bueroza and Gelugons. And upon every single one of them, the same winged hammer... and one word rang through my mind, the pain of it nearly unimaginable. "Fallen"...
I did mention I awoke screaming....
-
*Dedic8ed
- Posts: 112
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
"Interludium"
Perhaps, as they say, prayer gives answers. But in this case, it was simply a nagging question that could seem to find no answer, no matter how much of the morning passed while I knelt before the makeshift altar in my room. Of course, Sondaal easily believed the tale of wanting to sleep in, indolence easier to explain to the rapier-wielding warrior than this constant buzzing in the back of my head. She had somewhere to go, something to do, and it would be selfish of me to ask for help shouldering this burden, simply as a pretext for companionship on a journey I must in truth make alone. Always before, it had simply been a question of axiom and anarch, for certain holding consequence yet never seeming dire. Aasimon dwelt on all of the upper planes, not just Celestia. Some were spirits as free as the Eladrin whose influence had led to her eventual life in Sigil, while others were as lawful as any Archon.
But as far as I knew, none of them would happily condone torture, regardless of the situation's extremity.
The anger that had risen within me towards the captured cultist had been real and righteous, I knew. But had my hammer simply stove in his skull during battle, there would be none of this vaccilating doubt. He had been a servant of powers that make a foul mockery of all that is right, and even the most evil of dragons does not deserve the uncontrolled rage, the loss of rational thought, or the despoiling of undeath which he and his brethren brought to the world on the other side of the portal. But to so casually cast aside a life of cleaving to certain ideals, regardless of the situation, would have to be reconciled if I hoped to go on. I knew that it was not necessarily a soul-imperiling action, as Bahamut continued to show his favor and grant me spells, but there had also been none of the sense of approval I was used to feeling through the bond of prayer, no matter to what extent I took it. No, this was something that I had to see to on my own, I was certain. And thus it was that I found myself standing once again in that certain place in the bazaar, organizing my thoughts.
Even with my time spent in Sigil, this portal seemed quite odd. State of mind as a key? I'd have considered it impossible had I not seen it myself, traveled through it twice. Not to mention oddly difficult to actually see one's self as they actually are. We all harbor some illusions about ourselves, and casting them aside is strangely hard. Do I simply picture the young celestial-blooded woman, newly come into her own martial and magical strength? Or is it the lass who strives to be more than she is, walking about Minauros and hoping that to be seen by the natives? Or perhaps the girl who realizes that there are things in the multiverse capable of surprising, from the more-than-friendship of my closest companion to her own reaction to a stressful situation. Any and all of those, and perhaps some more than others, would be true. And it is as this realization strikes me that the odd portal winks open, and with a sigh of relief I step through....
The small village was still a ruin. No surprise, as the Reds left little of value standing, and only one survivor who could hardly be expected to rebuild a settlement on her own. In but a few years, the last of the structures will crumble away, and nothing will be left of note in this place but the stub of a stone tower and a magical portal that perhaps only one being on this Prime world knows of. Just another field, and for me simply a waypoint along the journey I knew I must make.
I turned north, moving into to mountains before I reach the city. From the foothills, I could see the ongoing repairs, scaffolds against the walls and peopel hard at work everywhere. But returning there would do no favors for them or myself, and the land's lord is surly not the one I need to seek out. Enchantments of speed and endurance allowed me to make surprisingly good time, the orcish clans evidently having learned a lesson about accosting strangers during my last visit here. Of course, it was hardly just me at that time... Mimiko's Axe, Sahn's blade, a pair of warrior-priests, and the combined magics of Dom and Jach would tend to give anyone pause. Still, I found myself somewhat shocked to find myself standing at the cavern's entrance as the sun, oddly tied to the day's cycle in Sigil, setting among the peaks. Maybe I had wished for a longer trip, for more time to wrestle with my conscience. But waiting now would serve no purpose. With heavy feet and heart, I strode into the entryway. Within, all was as I remembered it. The winding tunnels, the gradual broadening. The gleaming pile of treasure, my own paltry gift shining upon it as I lay it. But none of that mattered. He did.
Aurenill'axailauroth the Golden, perhaps the greatest of Bahaumut's children upon this Prime. Whether he knew of my coming or simply sensed me within his lair, I may never know. But those shining eyes of molten metal stared at me from the instant I sighted him, his posture one of ease atop his hoard, legs tucked beneath like those of a cat and magnificent wings furled. In his guise of humanity, he was hardly spectacular. With the evil artifact gnawing away at his nerves, it was easy to remember him as a victim, of someone needing help. But not so now. Even considering my peculiar background and worship, my knowledge of his goodness, it took all the will I had not to fall on my face and grovel in the presence of the wyrm. But as I stood there, the hammering might of his presence seemed to dull, and the kindness in his eyes was evident, along with an unspoken question. Another mystery, whether he wondered why I had returned, or had known all along and simply waited for my reasons.
And so it was that the entire tale began gushing forth. I couldn't lie, I didn't want to lie, to this being, this paragon, so beloved of my Lord. My life upon the Mount, my exile and time in Sigil. The friends I'd made, the dreams I still believe to be sendings, the battles fought against salamanders and devils, giants and unseelie, my feelings for Sahn, my actions upon his Prime. All tumbled out, and in his wisdom he simply let me ramble on. Finally, tears coursing down my face, my throat sore from speaking constantly, and the moon seen riding high in the sky through a tunnel in the rock above him, I came to a stop. There were only two questions left to ask, after all, and those required a long pause, a mustering of will.
"Were my actions evil, Auren? And.... what can I do to atone?"
Perhaps, as they say, prayer gives answers. But in this case, it was simply a nagging question that could seem to find no answer, no matter how much of the morning passed while I knelt before the makeshift altar in my room. Of course, Sondaal easily believed the tale of wanting to sleep in, indolence easier to explain to the rapier-wielding warrior than this constant buzzing in the back of my head. She had somewhere to go, something to do, and it would be selfish of me to ask for help shouldering this burden, simply as a pretext for companionship on a journey I must in truth make alone. Always before, it had simply been a question of axiom and anarch, for certain holding consequence yet never seeming dire. Aasimon dwelt on all of the upper planes, not just Celestia. Some were spirits as free as the Eladrin whose influence had led to her eventual life in Sigil, while others were as lawful as any Archon.
But as far as I knew, none of them would happily condone torture, regardless of the situation's extremity.
The anger that had risen within me towards the captured cultist had been real and righteous, I knew. But had my hammer simply stove in his skull during battle, there would be none of this vaccilating doubt. He had been a servant of powers that make a foul mockery of all that is right, and even the most evil of dragons does not deserve the uncontrolled rage, the loss of rational thought, or the despoiling of undeath which he and his brethren brought to the world on the other side of the portal. But to so casually cast aside a life of cleaving to certain ideals, regardless of the situation, would have to be reconciled if I hoped to go on. I knew that it was not necessarily a soul-imperiling action, as Bahamut continued to show his favor and grant me spells, but there had also been none of the sense of approval I was used to feeling through the bond of prayer, no matter to what extent I took it. No, this was something that I had to see to on my own, I was certain. And thus it was that I found myself standing once again in that certain place in the bazaar, organizing my thoughts.
Even with my time spent in Sigil, this portal seemed quite odd. State of mind as a key? I'd have considered it impossible had I not seen it myself, traveled through it twice. Not to mention oddly difficult to actually see one's self as they actually are. We all harbor some illusions about ourselves, and casting them aside is strangely hard. Do I simply picture the young celestial-blooded woman, newly come into her own martial and magical strength? Or is it the lass who strives to be more than she is, walking about Minauros and hoping that to be seen by the natives? Or perhaps the girl who realizes that there are things in the multiverse capable of surprising, from the more-than-friendship of my closest companion to her own reaction to a stressful situation. Any and all of those, and perhaps some more than others, would be true. And it is as this realization strikes me that the odd portal winks open, and with a sigh of relief I step through....
The small village was still a ruin. No surprise, as the Reds left little of value standing, and only one survivor who could hardly be expected to rebuild a settlement on her own. In but a few years, the last of the structures will crumble away, and nothing will be left of note in this place but the stub of a stone tower and a magical portal that perhaps only one being on this Prime world knows of. Just another field, and for me simply a waypoint along the journey I knew I must make.
I turned north, moving into to mountains before I reach the city. From the foothills, I could see the ongoing repairs, scaffolds against the walls and peopel hard at work everywhere. But returning there would do no favors for them or myself, and the land's lord is surly not the one I need to seek out. Enchantments of speed and endurance allowed me to make surprisingly good time, the orcish clans evidently having learned a lesson about accosting strangers during my last visit here. Of course, it was hardly just me at that time... Mimiko's Axe, Sahn's blade, a pair of warrior-priests, and the combined magics of Dom and Jach would tend to give anyone pause. Still, I found myself somewhat shocked to find myself standing at the cavern's entrance as the sun, oddly tied to the day's cycle in Sigil, setting among the peaks. Maybe I had wished for a longer trip, for more time to wrestle with my conscience. But waiting now would serve no purpose. With heavy feet and heart, I strode into the entryway. Within, all was as I remembered it. The winding tunnels, the gradual broadening. The gleaming pile of treasure, my own paltry gift shining upon it as I lay it. But none of that mattered. He did.
Aurenill'axailauroth the Golden, perhaps the greatest of Bahaumut's children upon this Prime. Whether he knew of my coming or simply sensed me within his lair, I may never know. But those shining eyes of molten metal stared at me from the instant I sighted him, his posture one of ease atop his hoard, legs tucked beneath like those of a cat and magnificent wings furled. In his guise of humanity, he was hardly spectacular. With the evil artifact gnawing away at his nerves, it was easy to remember him as a victim, of someone needing help. But not so now. Even considering my peculiar background and worship, my knowledge of his goodness, it took all the will I had not to fall on my face and grovel in the presence of the wyrm. But as I stood there, the hammering might of his presence seemed to dull, and the kindness in his eyes was evident, along with an unspoken question. Another mystery, whether he wondered why I had returned, or had known all along and simply waited for my reasons.
And so it was that the entire tale began gushing forth. I couldn't lie, I didn't want to lie, to this being, this paragon, so beloved of my Lord. My life upon the Mount, my exile and time in Sigil. The friends I'd made, the dreams I still believe to be sendings, the battles fought against salamanders and devils, giants and unseelie, my feelings for Sahn, my actions upon his Prime. All tumbled out, and in his wisdom he simply let me ramble on. Finally, tears coursing down my face, my throat sore from speaking constantly, and the moon seen riding high in the sky through a tunnel in the rock above him, I came to a stop. There were only two questions left to ask, after all, and those required a long pause, a mustering of will.
"Were my actions evil, Auren? And.... what can I do to atone?"
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*Dedic8ed
- Posts: 112
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
"Lumen"
I will never call the Mount home again.
Once again I start with a statement that seems much more dire than it is, and perhaps needs some explanation. And again I laugh,as if I were setting down the truth of ages rather than a rather self-obsessed chronicle of myself. However, for the first time I find my potential future in my own hands, rather than simply responding to stimuli in my surroundings. And of course, it all started with an attempt to visit Aurenill'axailauroth again. Hrmm... perhaps more detail is necessary.
Surprisingly, his response was that atonement was only truly necessary if I felt it so. However, as my last rambling entry might suggest, I could not reconcile my deeds without such. With that said, he asked me to return in several days, meeting him at the cultists' lair on his Prime, and to bring what friends I thought I might wish with me.
Now that was a challenge. Of course, there was no question but that Sahn would come along. I would not dream of doing this without her by my side... and she'd never forgive me for doing it without her. But who else do I not only consider a friend, but also trust enough to unburden myself to, revealing the doubt within? It took almost the entire time before my return to figure this out, but two names came to mind without much effort. Dom is one of the few who know of my full past, and of the sendings (or perhaps simply dreams) I have experienced, and despite the often silly nature of our friendship, he is also one of the few that I truly feel trust towards. The other was Neli La Meor, if for no other reason than that I feel that same trust towards her, even if I am sometimes unsure if our minds are even close to similar. Of course, bringing Neli led to inviting Gwynn along as well... she is a mystery to me at times, but if nothing else her constant humor would keep me from getting too depressed. And speaking of depressed, somehow Amir caught wind of my issues from Sondaal. I'd not have considered him on my own... but in his own unique way, he is a good man. Er... elf, but the rest fits.
And so it was with those five that I returned to the portal... and an odd dilemma. The portal had always opened easily to me before... but each time I tried it, fixing those images of myself in my mind, the portal started to form, then would dissolve. One time, it even shattered... I don't know a lot about portals, but that can't be good. Finally, Sahn was able to open it, and on the far side we found Auren waiting for us. Great and ready to go, right? No... when Auren was told of my problems with the portal, he insisted that something else had to come first.
I had to be able to truly envision myself.
No need to go into detail here, except that eventually Neli suggested I use the harmony stone of the Sensates. And so it was that I found myself grasping it... and thrown into my own mind. This may have been one of the most difficult things I've ever done... because I found myself being forced to make those decisions I had been putting off. The worlds I was within seemed real to me... and it was my friends whose lives hinged on those decisions. Three of them.
In the first, Dom (not the real one, but one my mind had conceived) had been sentenced to death for the theft of an urn. Evidence was purely circumstantial, but by the laws of this place his life was forfeit. And my choices: adhere to pure interpretation of unjust law and watch a good (and most likely innocent) man die, or stand against it despite how the Archons might see it. I found I could not live with supporting the law in this case, and demanded his freedom.
In the second, Dream-Neli had relized an ambition I know she harbors... the construction of a spelljammer ship to sail the phlogiston of the astral plane. My heart soared with pride at her accomplishment... until a terrible discovery. To power the ship, she had convinced one of her friends to sacrifice his soul, an act of true evil. I tried to convince her not to do it, but she argued that this person had voluntary chosen this... still, I could do nothing but turn my back on her, and renounce our friendship.
The third was by far the hardest. I found myself in a burning building, with Sahn trapped behind a locked door while all of the others who had joined me earlier were bound in another room. The ceiling was about to collapse, and I knew I could either save my dearest friend, or save a larger group of others. But whichever choice I made, I was consigning those I did not choose to death... and I had but moments to act. Sahn, I can truly say, is the light of my heart... but Bahamut teaches that the greater good must always be strived for... and saving four must supercede saving one, regardless of what that one might mean to me personally.
And so it was that i found myself facing my dream-guide, who appeared as Aurenill'axailauroth the Golden, and realizing the vision I was within. And it was then that the truth of myself was made clear to me, the repercussions of my choices. Abandoning the strictures of law told me that I could never truly fit in on the Mount. Even were they to accept me back, I could never truly find happiness or fulfill my full potential there. Casting aside a friend who was determined to do evil assured my adherence to good over personal feelings. And finally, my choice in the fire reaffirmed that my faith was still the primary touchstone of my life.
I doubt if I will ever relate the truth of my visions to my friends... even Sahn. But now, I do know myself better... and am prepared to undergo that redemption I seek. Soon, I will be returning to Auren's world again... but for now, I am more able to accept myself for what I am, and what I might be.
*A note is scrawled at the bottom*
I wonder what I would look like with all my hair braided? Or would that be too close to trying to match the second sending?
I will never call the Mount home again.
Once again I start with a statement that seems much more dire than it is, and perhaps needs some explanation. And again I laugh,as if I were setting down the truth of ages rather than a rather self-obsessed chronicle of myself. However, for the first time I find my potential future in my own hands, rather than simply responding to stimuli in my surroundings. And of course, it all started with an attempt to visit Aurenill'axailauroth again. Hrmm... perhaps more detail is necessary.
Surprisingly, his response was that atonement was only truly necessary if I felt it so. However, as my last rambling entry might suggest, I could not reconcile my deeds without such. With that said, he asked me to return in several days, meeting him at the cultists' lair on his Prime, and to bring what friends I thought I might wish with me.
Now that was a challenge. Of course, there was no question but that Sahn would come along. I would not dream of doing this without her by my side... and she'd never forgive me for doing it without her. But who else do I not only consider a friend, but also trust enough to unburden myself to, revealing the doubt within? It took almost the entire time before my return to figure this out, but two names came to mind without much effort. Dom is one of the few who know of my full past, and of the sendings (or perhaps simply dreams) I have experienced, and despite the often silly nature of our friendship, he is also one of the few that I truly feel trust towards. The other was Neli La Meor, if for no other reason than that I feel that same trust towards her, even if I am sometimes unsure if our minds are even close to similar. Of course, bringing Neli led to inviting Gwynn along as well... she is a mystery to me at times, but if nothing else her constant humor would keep me from getting too depressed. And speaking of depressed, somehow Amir caught wind of my issues from Sondaal. I'd not have considered him on my own... but in his own unique way, he is a good man. Er... elf, but the rest fits.
And so it was with those five that I returned to the portal... and an odd dilemma. The portal had always opened easily to me before... but each time I tried it, fixing those images of myself in my mind, the portal started to form, then would dissolve. One time, it even shattered... I don't know a lot about portals, but that can't be good. Finally, Sahn was able to open it, and on the far side we found Auren waiting for us. Great and ready to go, right? No... when Auren was told of my problems with the portal, he insisted that something else had to come first.
I had to be able to truly envision myself.
No need to go into detail here, except that eventually Neli suggested I use the harmony stone of the Sensates. And so it was that I found myself grasping it... and thrown into my own mind. This may have been one of the most difficult things I've ever done... because I found myself being forced to make those decisions I had been putting off. The worlds I was within seemed real to me... and it was my friends whose lives hinged on those decisions. Three of them.
In the first, Dom (not the real one, but one my mind had conceived) had been sentenced to death for the theft of an urn. Evidence was purely circumstantial, but by the laws of this place his life was forfeit. And my choices: adhere to pure interpretation of unjust law and watch a good (and most likely innocent) man die, or stand against it despite how the Archons might see it. I found I could not live with supporting the law in this case, and demanded his freedom.
In the second, Dream-Neli had relized an ambition I know she harbors... the construction of a spelljammer ship to sail the phlogiston of the astral plane. My heart soared with pride at her accomplishment... until a terrible discovery. To power the ship, she had convinced one of her friends to sacrifice his soul, an act of true evil. I tried to convince her not to do it, but she argued that this person had voluntary chosen this... still, I could do nothing but turn my back on her, and renounce our friendship.
The third was by far the hardest. I found myself in a burning building, with Sahn trapped behind a locked door while all of the others who had joined me earlier were bound in another room. The ceiling was about to collapse, and I knew I could either save my dearest friend, or save a larger group of others. But whichever choice I made, I was consigning those I did not choose to death... and I had but moments to act. Sahn, I can truly say, is the light of my heart... but Bahamut teaches that the greater good must always be strived for... and saving four must supercede saving one, regardless of what that one might mean to me personally.
And so it was that i found myself facing my dream-guide, who appeared as Aurenill'axailauroth the Golden, and realizing the vision I was within. And it was then that the truth of myself was made clear to me, the repercussions of my choices. Abandoning the strictures of law told me that I could never truly fit in on the Mount. Even were they to accept me back, I could never truly find happiness or fulfill my full potential there. Casting aside a friend who was determined to do evil assured my adherence to good over personal feelings. And finally, my choice in the fire reaffirmed that my faith was still the primary touchstone of my life.
I doubt if I will ever relate the truth of my visions to my friends... even Sahn. But now, I do know myself better... and am prepared to undergo that redemption I seek. Soon, I will be returning to Auren's world again... but for now, I am more able to accept myself for what I am, and what I might be.
*A note is scrawled at the bottom*
I wonder what I would look like with all my hair braided? Or would that be too close to trying to match the second sending?