[Fall 19 Seasonal Quest] Ripple Me This

by **Caspian** on September 27th, 2019, 7:24 pm

When was the last time he had fallen so utterly in love?

It takes a moment to think back, that thinking back an uncovering of something he’d interred now some three-going-on-four-is-it-nearly-five? years past. It might have been, perhaps, when he’d first walked unimpeded into Ravok, into the city proper, onto the Docks and passed through quite fairly on accident to the Merchant’s Ring, stumbled inwards in aesthetic escalation to the Noble quarters of the city, from which he’d taken a ravosala nowhere in particular, just because a driver at that moment had prompted. The vessel had turned and on the new bend of the canal another ravosala had approached, lithe and languid, bearing a masked woman in a dress constructed of flurries of hammered satin and strewn with jewels, like a rose in bloom, laden with dew. Flanking her on all sides were three male companions, all also masked and in sleek suits of black, the only variance between them the colored cravats at their necks. They were in no hurry, the party goers, nor was their driver - it was as if the ritual necessitated this, the promenade, the display of the body and in turn the mind, even the interims of their night a cause for celebration.

Ravok had been a moment - but it had not been so all-encompassing nor so mindless as what’s come over him now. Going deeper, then, past the iron and bedrock, to an old, dormant core - and he remembers, suddenly, a time when he was 20 and a Sunberthian scoundrel had distinguished himself above all the rest. Of all admirable traits, Halston Grimes had a fair hand at burglary, a fairer one at cards, and to look upon had been quite fair himself. In retrospect, Halston’s qualifications for the level of devotion Caspian had poured into him had been quotidian at best, making the memory all the more - not exactly regrettable, but too keenly representative of how addled one might be if 20 and in love.

Caspian supposes it was the mandolin and the occasional crooning that had won him over.

Here and now, then - is it the euphonious timbre of The Voice alone that so tightly seems to grip him by his throat?

The story of The Voice’s coming to be are a funeral dirge, two thousand years’ worth of unabated verse and refrain. In two thousand years, does the memory get any easier? Or even just the retelling?

Would he have poisoned his stepfather Taaldros? He hadn’t, though, really hadn’t even tried, had gone so far as to imagine skulking into his room and slitting his throat, swiftly enough that the deed would be done before the creaking floorboards could give him away. But he hadn’t done that either, had only scrounged enough desperation to run away some small handful of times, and one of those would have been deadly if not for Shiress. So he admires The Voice ever more now, though trepidation creeps silently upon him - for one can love and fear in equal measure.

The sudden mention of Taldera, though, is The Voice’s grip leaving his throat, only to plunge a dagger into his heart.

Countless nights in Sunberth, he’d shut his eyes against the moonlight and tried to conjure up the visage of his father Haalram in Avanthal. It had been easy at first, something to reach for when Taaldros had been ghastly, when Zhassel was transfigured into a contorted snarl, when the brutes ransacked the rum on the floor below and even Taalviel had presented to him an expression unreachable and seemingly of love devoid. But as the years passed it became more difficult to remember the length of his father’s hair, his beard, his gait - and after a time, even his voice, and the degrees to which in vibrato he bent his fiddle’s pitch.

Then the time came for leaving, and instead of Avanthal as he’d first dreamt of returning -

He ended up here, in Ravok, a city gleaming with obsidian light.

He might have left any time, continued heading north and west - but he hadn’t, just as he hadn’t poisoned his stepfather, or ended his life as many might have agreed he deserved. In Ravok his life was filled with parties and plays, gavottes and gowns, sugar and steam and all else besides - why leave what he could and can see, in favor of a great unknown?

The idea that he might suddenly be whisked away to the place he spent years declaring he’d return to after violently being ripped away, then years no longer declaring but instead dampening, has him reeling.

“Where-“ Caspian’s voice cracks. Reddening slightly, he coughs and clears his throat. “Where in Taldera, exactly?”

Of course Rohka will go. It hadn’t taken the light batting against Hauk for him to know that, her devotion to the city’s theocracy written into her being from the moment they’d met. And wherever she goes - would he not follow?

Happiness is where you left it, the dice had told the both of them.

How often do fortune tellers get to see their prophecies spun out in the flesh?

x

by **Shiress** on September 27th, 2019, 10:52 pm

Where Shiress sat in awe of the raven-haired immortal, unable to, or unwilling, to meet her eyes, she now sat with awe mounting, emerald eyes locked onto colorless orbs, a new reverential respect for The Voice washing through her as the immortal's story unfolded.

Finding out The Voice was over 2000 years old amazed Shiress. Finding out that she was once human amazed her further, but the telling of her story, the unfolding of her life, staggered Shiress. In so many ways, it mirrored her own. Shiress, too, was taken from her family as a child and enslaved. Though she never knew their fate, the pain of not knowing often felt to her like mourning the dead. Shiress had also had killed her slavemaster, but her flight to freedom drastically differed from that of The Voice. Shiress had had no savior, no happily ever after, no ascension to near godhood.

Like a lantern suddenly illuminates a dark room, something unthought of, unbidden, occurred to Shiress. If not for her gnosis she would have never been enslaved and thus would have never arrived in Ravok. Eyes widening, a new thought ghosted through her mind; she was marked by the goddess, Bala, in Autumn, Enslaved in Autumn and escaped her enslavement in Autumn. Shiress was even born in Autumn.

It was Autumn!

The Zeltivan's widened gaze shifted to Rohka just as the woman stood to speak. Shiress now regarded the Sybil with a newfound respect and not a small amount of trepidation for her and her craft.

"Look to the Autumn, amongst the fallen leaves, in the past, present, and future. Seek the good and the bad, the concealed and newly revealed."

Shiress shook her head in wonderment, question, or trepidation vanquished by her trust in Rohka. Drawing in a breath, Shiress prepared to speak in the quiet following Hollis's words.

"I must confess," began Shiress, planting a rogue strand of hair behind an ear, "I know little to nothing about Rhysol or yourself. Im not from Ravok, but your story.." she straightened, warming to the idea of accepting this challenge "your story is so much like my own. I too lost my family at a young age and was enslaved. I also killed my slavemaster, both of them." Here she paused to glance fixedly at Caspian, for one, the first, was his slavemaster once, if briefly.

"I must say that inspires me. You inspire me, and I too would like to offer my help. But, as I said before, I know nothing of Rhysol. If a caretaker is a devoted follower of Rhysol and a protector and guide for his faithful, Im afraid, I lack the knowledge to fulfill the role you seek."

by **Sevris** on September 29th, 2019, 2:21 am

The Voice had forgotten no one as she explained to each of them the answers to the questions they sought. When she had explained to Sevris who exactly Myleena was, his eyes widened slightly. She is the Goddess of Fear? And the former Voice. To his knowledge he had never come across word of a Goddess of Fear. Apparently she had recently taken the mantle during the Djed Storm.

Sevris remembered the event vividly. It was one of the most dangerous times in his life, a chaotic storm with divine proportions. Even destroying the great city of Denval. It was a terrible time and it took many years for cities to recover from the damage ensued.

He had been enlightened on a part of history that was relevant to him and the city. Now he would wish to meet Ssena one day. But his learning of the Caretakers essence within them was the groundbreaking discovery. They had a meaning in the evergoing plan of the Voice and Rhysol.

Shiress's question gave them a light into the life of the Voice. Sevris turned his head to both of them as she spun her tale. Horrible and inspiring. They had learned a great deal of her history before becoming the Voice. She was also 2,000 years old. She was a human from before the Valterrian, but she did what many could not, and attained Divinity. She was everything that embodied the Voice, it made sense why she was chosen.

But the Voice began to give them reason for their summoning. The Shrine had been reactivated. Caretakers had usage of portals to their disposal, so that they could move from Shrine to Shrine with ease. The Voice had noticed their connection and chose to give them access to the portal.

Hauk was the first to respond, he had his own questions about the mission himself. The Solider sat up straighter as he listened calmly to him. Then Rohka responded strongly, making a point that the Voice would not lead them to danger. Hollis also agreed, showing that she had faith in the Voice as well. It was heartening to see that there bond was more than the essence found. They showed a common bond to Rhysol, no matter the thread.

Caspian asked a good question as to where the Shrine was located in the vast region of Taldera. Shiress expressed herself after hearing the Voice, and honest response. The Lazarin would speak up after they all had voiced their words. Voicing himself to the ones gathered. "No matter what lies on the other end of the portal. We will face it together. The Voice chose us for a reason, we are the ones to help Rhysol." He almost reached to touch his Chaon flashing on his shoulder under his shirt. Sevris attempted to inspire them go on this mission.

He looked towards the Voice. "I will enter the portal. Whatever is on the other side. With your guidance, it will steer us on this mission, and I will fight to protect it. Lets see what answers can be found at the Shrine." As a Solider in the Ebonstryfe he would use his skills to protect everyone if it was needed. Even if it meant giving his life. Such was his duty to the Voice and Rhysol.

by **Orias** on September 29th, 2019, 6:23 am

As the Voice spoke of being able to sense the connection the seven currently present before her shared - their essence, Orias felt another tug within him and couldn't resist the urge to view each in turn once more. A common bond, something so simple and yet so huge, something the orphan in him had craved all his life while resisting at the same time. The fact that it was not only just a bond.. but one crafted by the Voice, herself, when she crafted the Caretakers, put his mind further into a spin. This was all truly a work of the divine.. truly a miracle.

A mixture of emotions filled him as his brow furrowed and he missed some of the Voice's words, mind still reeling at the concept. There was no doubt, just a boy grappling with a tangled mess this information brought upon him, exposing it all - the fear of the thing he had never had - until it sat solidly like a weight on his chest. And yet.. the thrill of it sent a wave of gooseflesh across his arms.

He had been no one... had no one... and now?

He forced himself out of his mind and back into the present and focused once more on her words, letting them caress with their humanity and soothe with their gentle empathy. The way in which she addressed each so effortlessly, even going so far as to speak of her own humble origins, stirred yet more emotions within the blond sailor. It was not hard to find a connection to her beautifully woven stories and words; the rawness, the humility and the honesty in which she spoke drawing out a greater reverence and - moreso - faith in the form of trust. She had been just like them once, two-thousand years ago, until Rhysol rescued her from what could have been a terrible fate. This image of Rhysol was the sort he was most familiar with, the one drummed into him all through his younger years, and hearing her speak of their Lord in such a way only further cemented this view.

And, although he was a believer prior to today, he was irrevocably hooked now.

As she went about answering Sevris' question regarding Myleena Vos, Orias found himself regretting not paying more attention to his schooling. The history lesson on Ravok's founding and Myleena's reign as the Voice was welcomed and eaten up like sweets when delivered in the way the Voice casually spoke, sitting on a pew as if she were one of them. The blond had little doubt that some of those here might admire - and possibly envy - the ambition and foresight Myleena had to harness the power of the Djed storm to ascend God-hood as Ssena, the Goddess of Fear. As much as he liked to consider himself content with his lot in life, he couldn't help but wonder if he would act similarly if given such an opportunity.

He found himself leaning forward, straining towards her like a flower towards the sun as she began to offer more details about the Caretakers, the shrines and of the reasoning for the group of seven being here. The fact that the shrines had acted like portals as well as covert places of worship and understanding hearkened him back to another teaching about moving through time in pre-Valterrian days, yet his memory of the lesson failed him. What he did understand in this instance was that it was all the divine's handiwork - something Orias had suspected - but it was still so surreal to be needed by a God, to possess something inside him that could somehow interact with something divinely created.

Inwardly, he found himself questioning everything he was, everything that made him who he was. Unlike those who had touched on remuneration, Orias found himself simply blessed to be a part of this, to potentially work alongside the Voice and Rhysol as they puzzled out what was behind this strange turn of events that led to the awakening of a long dormant shrine that sat somewhere in the northern reaches of a place he had never even heard of.

The questions that came did not surprise the blond. As much as he would blindly go wherever the Voice or Rhysol sent him, he was still a sailor at heart and he understood the importance of preparation. Hauk's concern was not unfounded, yet the blond Ravokian felt a knee jerk reaction just as the other native's in the temple felt as the hunter accused the Voice and their Lord of setting the group up to walk into a trap. He did not need to speak, for Rohka's empassioned words and Hollis' support and devotion spoke for him. He learned more of each with what they spoke, and then more of Shiress, whose confession drew his near-black eyes to her. Yet, such candour had been present from the beginning - both with her and the Voice - that he shouldn't have been surprised. Her final words, however, left him thinking.

The essence, the connection to the Caretaker they derived from was distant. As much as the Ravokian in him found it odd to not believe in Rhysol, there was a rational side of him, that welcoming side, that tried to understand how this disconnect could occur. But still, they were all here for a reason.

Sevris' words echoed in his mind as he straightened and turned to better regard the hunter. It seemed he was the only one left convincing and so, the sailor did his best, "It is wise to want to be prepared. I can't deny that I, like the others here, would go blindly into whatever stood before us. But knowing that Rhysol.." He paused to turn his attention towards the Voice, motioning towards her, "and the Voice," his attention once more returned to Hauk, "are behind us.. does that not ease your worries? We possess the very thing they both need."

And then, what was left unsaid: "Surely we cannot be disposable."

Turning himself back towards the Voice, his hands found his lap, "I will echo the foreign hunter in one respect -- if this shrine is where you claim it to be and we will be accessing it by way of a portal, then will we be needing certain supplies? Are you to provide them or must we source them ourselves?"

He couldn't deny Hauk's hesitation had affected him, helped him shake away the glamour, so his next words lacked the passions those spoke with previously, instead more measured, "I do share his interest in knowing what you might know of the disturbance.. of what may have awakened the shrine, as well as what we might expect once we reach it, if you have such information. But do know, I do not ask you this with any doubt in my heart. I am just as dedicated as those who have pledged themselves before me and am honoured and humbled by the opportunity to act on your behalf. I will go, without question, yet any further information we might get is welcomed."

by **Gillar** on October 7th, 2019, 4:22 am

The Voice listened and watched as the group reacted to her words. There were more questions; to be expected, as well as concern. Hauk’s consideration of a possible trap caused Rohka to jump to The Voice’s defense; including the use of a magical item. The Voice felt the magic of the item before Rohka ever spoke the words to activate it. As the group continued to speak both to each other as well as The Voice, she held the magic of Rokha’s medallion in place; wishing to hear out the others before allowing item’s magic to function. When finally she spoke, she addressed the individual questions to the group.

“Your faith is appreciated and so is your doubt and concern. The shrine has been dormant for centuries. My knowledge of it is centuries old. It is located in an isolated part of northern central Taldera. In my time, the shrine sat on the shore of a deep-water lake, surrounded by forests. The shrine itself was rather unassuming, a stone building with high-set windows designed to capture as much light as possible in an area where twilight reigned. There was a small collection of huts next to the shrine where the faithful lived. They lived in peace, learning from the Caretaker not to shun or hide from the darker aspects of life but to understand them and gain strength from them.” The Voice continued as the magic of Rohka’s medallion remained in check. Rohka could feel the item was working but felt the resistance.

“I do not know who or what activated the shrine. However, I know that it is likely not a trap. It is precisely because of a possible reaction from Rhysol that I don’t think any god strong enough to do such a thing, would. Direct divine conflict upon the mortal world is something they tend to avoid. Also, the animal aggression and attacks do not fit with normal methods of divine interference as even Caiyha, Goddess of Nature, does not act in this way. I believe it to be something that is unaware of what its presence has caused or simply has no concern. It has not entered the shrine itself else Rhysol would know exactly what it was. As the portal should open within the shrine, you will be safe inside.” The Voice then looked to each individual.

She looked to Sevris then Hollis and Orias then to Shiress, Caspian and Hauk. “Your faith and your doubt, your concern and apprehension, they all make you strong and more than worthy of being chosen for this task.” The Voice then looked at Rohka.

As the colorless pools of white that were her eyes looked upon Rohka, the magic of the medallion was allowed to touch The Voice. In an instant, each of the group found themselves somewhere else. Each of them viewed the same thing from the same perspective; that of a young girl huddled against the headboard of a bed. They each experienced things as if they were her. They saw a room, dimly lit by a candle on a small stand next to the bed. The room was not much bigger than a large closet, there were no windows, only a door. The door was locked and sounds of looting and killing could be heard coming from the other side. Then someone began pounding on the door, throwing themselves against it in an attempt to open it.

The lord of the castle was dead, his men were pillaging and plundering. Just when it looked like the door would be flung from its hinges, the girl whispered a prayer for help. She’d given up praying long ago when, no matter what horrors she suffered, no god would answer. She figured it was the end and she was the cause. If her recent actions didn’t get the attention of a god, nothing would. Following her few short words of prayer, the sounds stopped…all of them. Everything was strangely quiet. A few silent moments passed before the door opened as if the lock was never there.

The girl’s eyes saw the open doorway illuminated in soft white light. From that light, a figure engulfed in black fire emerged. The black flames quickly faded and she could see a man. He was dressed in a simple black silk shirt, black pants and black leather boots. His pale skin was flawless and long black hair fell past his shoulders. His eyes were devoid of color, no iris’, no pupils, only deep pools of white. When he spoke, his voice was soothing yet masculine and powerful.

“My child, I saw what you did and heard your prayer. I am here to answer it. My name…is Rhysol.” The man offered a caring smile.

The girl was unable to move or speak. Rhysol. She knew the name. The God of Evil.

Rhysol remained just inside the doorway. “I see the perception of others has preceded me. I am not the monster your mother used to tell you stories about to keep you out of trouble. I am not the source of all the bad things people do in this world; I am a reflection of it. As such, I can teach you to understand those things and never let them harm you again. All you need to do is take my hand.” Rhysol took a step forward and offered his open hand to the girl.

The fear that had initially gripped her melted away as she heard his words and looked upon the man’s face with his hand held out to her. In his colorless eyes, she saw her own reflection; she saw a woman who was respected as well as feared. She saw a woman with great power who would lead others and become the voice of the gods. Slowly, she slid off the bed and took a few steps forward. She raised her hand and put it in Rhysol’s. Rhysol pulled the girl into his embrace. Through the girl, the onlookers felt themselves filled with love…unconditional love. Surrounding that love on all sides was feelings of fear, hatred, betrayal. Swimming throughout these feelings were lies, anarchy and complete chaos yet that unconditional love held those things at bay. It all felt so tangible, as if all those dark things had substance and could physically be touched or at least observed and learned from all while being protected by that love. All that was needed was for the girl to open herself to that love.

In Rhysol’s embrace, the girl hugged him tightly and cried. She allowed him in.

The group was once more sitting in the pews at the Temple. It was as if nothing had happened with one exception. Leaning in from behind Rohka, his face next to hers, his lips almost touching her ear, a familiar figure just seen, whispered in a familiar voice just heard, “Child, you best take care with using such things upon a divine being. It doesn’t always turn out so well.”

Rhysol smiled and walked around the pews to stand next to The Voice before speaking again to the group. “Indeed, we do not know what has awakened my shrine or caused the issues with the animals. I can sense the presence through the damaged link between the shrine and the temple but its true identity has remained hidden. It is through this damaged link that the animals were affected. The reason we need you is because you are the only ones who can open the portal and thus can travel to the shrine and discover the true nature of what has done this. Of course, I could go there but as mentioned, the presence of the divine on the other side could result in a conflict I do not wish. Thus, you go in my stead as my emissaries. Find out what has caused this and return. You will have my thanks and all that comes with such a thing.” Rhysol paused for a moment before adding, "Your being here now, with the essence of the Caretaker, did not happen easily. You are indeed special and I would never knowingly risk harm to you. Despite what so many think of me, I am not one to sabotage my own wishes."

The Voice then spoke, “You will have time to ponder this and prepare. I will attempt to open the portal tomorrow at midday. Return prepared for a journey to someplace cold. I will have waiting supplies and a few extra things to help you; simple bring yourselves and whatever else you wish to take with you.” There was time for any other words to be spoken and/or questions to be asked before the group would leave the Temple and prepare for the next day.

The next day, when the group returned to the Temple, The Voice was waiting for them although Rhysol was not.

“Welcome back, it is good to see you again. My apologies if yesterday was a bit intense but it won’t get any less so I’m afraid. As promised though, I’ve gathered some supplies for your journey.” The Voice gestured to a collection of furs, a pack filled with rations and general survival gear as well as seven unlit torches strapped together for ease of carry all sitting next to the altar.

“I’ve also prepared a few items to help with whatever you may face on the other side.” The Voice motioned to the top of the altar where sat a collection of items. “Before I present the to you, are there any final thoughts or questions?”

by **Sevris** on October 7th, 2019, 5:41 pm

After listening to the groups own interaction with each other. The Voice was quick to answer their questions and worries. To Caspians great question, she described in detail where this particular shrine was located. A forgetable stone structure located next to a lake and surrounded by forested area. There was huts supposedly close by where people lived that were beholden to the Caretaker. Learning from the Caretakers as students would.

The Alvina also explained that they did not know exactly what activated the shrine. But it was most likely not a trap, no one even with divine powers wanted to cross Rhysol. However as she was explaining this, they were suddenly transported.

Well that was what it seemed like as first, the world around them was warped. Turned inside out and then they were suddenly watching a little girl huddled in fear on a bed. There was sounds of men looting the area that could be heard outside of the closeted door.

Sevris was shocked as he looked around trying to decipher what it was that he was seeing. Then banging on the door turned his attention. He was with the others as well and they were directed to someone trying to enter the door by slamming their full weight against it.

The Lazarin also felt fear for the girl, this was a damning situation. Then it stopped all of sudden. The door opened on his own and they were able to see a figure standing with black fire enveloping it. Sevris was quick to notice who it was, as they had met once before. This seemed to be a memory of the God of Evil.

And he began to speak to the girl, giving her comfort that she was safe with him. She was taken aback, but she accepted the help of the God. Who had certainly saved her from certain death. His position as the God of Evil gave false views of him, he was a savior to those who deemed worthy.

Then just like that, they were back in the temple. There was no warning, as they noticed a figure leaning near the ear of the Rohka. Sevris froze up immediately as he knew this was no illusion. Rhysol was walking among mortals. He smiled and joined the Voice in front of them. There he told them the details of their mission.

That they were the only ones who could go through the portal to see how the shrine became active once more. For the same reason The Voice had given, he could not go himself or else that would cause grave problems for the world of mortals.

They were to be his emissaries, and they were to find out whatever they could and were to return. Sevris's Chaon blazed even greater in the presence of the Voice and Rhysol being so close. It was not excruciating pain he first felt when Rhysol touched his shoulder. But the second feeling he felt, it was the greatest bliss one could ever feel. There was no love making or drug that could ever match the feeling. Rhysol even noted that they were special, and that he would not intentionally put them in harms way. They had work to do.

He focused his attention on the dynamic duo. This was the first time in six years that he had seen the God of Lies and Betrayal in person. And he was filled with many emotions, but with the new revelation, he had an honest question. With the shrine being active that left one possibility.

The Voice spoke again saying they were to ponder their decisions. Then the next day at midday they were to return so that their journey could begin. But Sevris had a question for Rhysol and the Voice. "My lord, it is an honor to see you again. I wanted to inquire further on the shrine. Now that is active, is it possible that you will have need of new Caretaker among us?"

Sevris didn't know the resolve about the others, but he had pretty much given his life to be in servitude of the God and the city of Ravok. He would serve in any facet that he deemed worthy. If a Caretaker was to be chosen he would offer his services if it was needed. Once the Voice or Rhysol answered he would wait to see if the others needed speak as well.

Then he would bow his head to both of them in honor of their presence. Dismissing himself as they needed to get ready for the journey the next day.

------------------------

The next day Sevris showed back up early, along with the others had who would arrive in good time. He was wearing his Brigantine armor and armed with his helmet and longsword on his sash. On his back was his double-bladed sword as well. The Voice was there but the God of Evil had returned to his pantheon watching over them as he always did. She spoke to them thanking them for showing up again, noting the intense pressure from yesterday. Sevris nodded as he had experienced it before and was fine. He had seen the very thing that gave him willpower to jump in the portal to the unknown.

The Voice had pointed out a number of furs and rations they would need. Sevris grabbed himself a fur coat to throw over his armor, and the packed the rations with a torch had already been fitted for them. He picked up the bundle and lifted it on his back. He thanked the Voice and bowed once again to her. "I am ready." He simply said his questions had been quenched for the moment. After they returned they would be the ones with answers now.

by **Rohka** on October 11th, 2019, 3:51 am

The sybil slowly took in a breath of air as the whispered words worked through her whirling world. Her hand reached out for the closest source of stability and found Hollis, gripping the woman’s arm to steady her light-headedness, as if taking hold of another human—especially one with such conviction and faith—could somehow ground a body that felt suddenly weightless in the presence of…

…Rhysol.

His voice had been smooth, pleasant, even when his message served a warning. For a moment she was scared, frozen, eyes slowly rolling back and closing to process the words, completely unaware of who had been speaking in her ear until the man moved to stand in front of them all, smiling. It was then when she carefully and slowly let go of the arm she was holding, gently lowering herself to the floor, to her knees, sitting down between her feet, keeping her heels and shins alongside her hips.

The sybil sat up straight in this more comfortable position. A position where she could look up at her God and listen to him with her palms down on her thighs and her blessed tail resting on the cold temple floor. Here was the God she always dreamed to meet, the God she put her faith in, the God she was taught to trust. There was no mistaking the long black hair and a face so pale that it rivalled the light of Leth—the same face she’d seen in the doorway of the young girl who’d prayed for an answer.

She certainly got answers. They all did. Thanks to present version of the past: The Voice, who transformed the magic of the sybil’s medallion into a vivid, living experience.

Rohka had been entranced by the tangible substance to all of it. She felt like she’d finally glimpsed something she’d longed to feel for her entire life, and yet she couldn’t begin to articulate what it was that she saw. To her, love had always been conditional. This display of a protective love without conditions was something she didn’t completely recognize. What was clear, however, was that this feeling she was being filled with was not meant to be permanent until the girl took his hand. This feeling was allowed to exist completely once the girl allowed it in.

Rohka couldn’t help but notice this condition. It was one she tended to realize within her own family. The sybil was painfully aware that the love she was given was solely based on the condition that she was the child of the Calicos. Thus, the feeling that the power of the medallion allowed the sybil to feel was not something she knew how to explain. Yet now, sitting here, on the black marble floor of the temple, Rohka felt no need to speak. Instead, she drank in every word that he spoke, her daring gaze staring ever deeper into his blank voids.

The powerful pair answered everything that the group had wanted to know. Hauk was assured that the shrine’s activation was a mystery yet not a trap; Caspian was given details on the shrine’s location from The Voice’s memory; Shiress was guaranteed Rhysol’s generous gratitude in return for completing that which was asked, and Orias was provided with the promise of extra preparations.

It was Sevris who spoke first. The Stryfer had apparently met the God before, and was now wondering if the divine beings had a need for a new Caretaker…

Weren’t they all carrying the old Caretaker’s essence? Weren’t the Caretakers created by The Voice herself? Couldn’t she just create a new Caretaker if she wanted to?

It was along this train of thought that the sybil remembered what The Voice had said about how the portals became inaccessible in the first place.

“Rhysol,” she began, her hands still on her thighs, palms down. “May I ask you, lord, about the Valterrian?”

Rohka felt her heart begin to beat much quicker as the anxiety built within her. She knew she needed to provide details for the reasoning behind her question, fearing that it may seem so far out of the realm of relevance.

“I want to ask because, well, firstly,” she felt herself stumbling now. The sybil gritted her teeth and willed onwards, knowing in her heart that all she wanted to do was help her God find the truth that he was looking for.

“I know that I’m scared. But I trust you. You’ve been the reason for this city’s safety and flourishing, and I’m so grateful for that—my whole family is grateful for that. It is the least I can do in return for your consistent protection to provide any form of assistance in opening this portal you speak of, and finding the source of this shrine’s current state. Sharing resources and information among your faithfuls and devoted sounds like it would bring an increase to well-being and prosperity to those in your care, so it feels in our best interest to help. I will prepare as best as I can. I just wish to understand the history of these shrines more clearly, if possible, to get a better idea of where to look for answers.” Rohka cast her eyes down to the floor for a tick before looking up at him again.

“If we are to find out what caused the awakening, I thought it might help to understand what caused the initial destruction. The Valterrian laid these shrines dormant, yes? And the Caretakers who weren’t killed during the destruction didn’t survive the divine fallout, as you said.” She looked and nodded towards The Voice. “Now, apparently, the shrine has awakened due to what can only be the direct presence of a divine force. If that force wasn’t from you, who could it come from? Would it help if we knew what happened with the divine during the time of the Valterrian? Were you involved, Rhysol?” Rohka asked him with an earnestness and curiosity akin to the attention she put forth upon her cards. “Has something been provoking the divine again, in addition to the loss of Morwen?”

In this last question, her eyes darkened, and she once again looked down to the marble. The sybil felt at once like she’d asked too much. Like she’d spoken for too long. She continued to sit patiently, listening to the answers and questions from the group.

________________

~That Evening, Near Midnight~

Grayson watched her as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked away, knowing that he’d started to think. It frightened her.

They’d been speaking for a few bells now, trying to come up with explanations or a strategy or something that would be enough to hold… to hold what? Their sanity, perhaps. They each couldn’t speak of this directly. They each had their reasons.

“The Gods, they’re—“

“Don’t blame it on the Gods, Rohka.”

She refused to look at him. Instead, she looked up. Frustration boiled while his words sunk in, creating more depth to her already cavernous void of knowledge. The man had a knack for calling out her shyke, especially when the art of her craft spilled over into creating excuses for her illusory lack of agency. They both stood by the back corner of the Malt House that night. The establishment was empty at this time, and comfortably quiet. The sybil leaned against the wooden panels of the wall while staring at the source of the shadows casting on the face of the forty-two year old man who stood with his arms in his pockets. Their faces were poorly lit by a single candlestick above them, so small, its melting wax slowly dripping into the old bronze holder. Rohka directed her attention to the flame and stifled an exasperated sigh.

She reached out for his hand and pulled him closer.

“I’m not blaming them. I’m thanking them.”

Grayson smiled. His voice softened as he held her hand in his, stroking the base of her thumb.

“You hate thanking them.”

Her cheeks flushed and her eyes quickly shifted back up to the flame. He could read her better than anyone she knew and it killed her to accept it. A familiar tightness began to form in her throat, but she pushed through, determined to prove him wrong, even though she couldn’t form the reasoning in her mind. She had to speak it out.

“They’re,” she paused, her voice barely a whisper. “Strong. So strong.”

“So get stronger.” He grinned, a small chuckle escaping through what was supposed to be a serious tone. The sybil flashed a smile as well while she wiped away the tears in the corners of her glassy gaze.

“Right. Easy. Gods, I hate you.”

Grayson shook his head and pulled her into an embrace, one arm around her waist, the other gently guiding her head to the crook of his neck where she nuzzled into him, more tears streaming down her face and an audible laughter escaping from her lips. He held her, stroking her hair, the hug so incredibly welcomed after what felt like an eternity without his affection. Her arms around his back tightened to return the show of care, eliciting a pleased groan from the old bartender.

It was at that moment she realized how faithful she would become.

________________

~The Next Day, Near Midday~

Rohka arrived at the temple that day with everything she thought she would need. Her morning was spent buying extra items, like a slingshot and a dagger from The Defiled Blade, a blank leather-bound book from The Owl’s Den, and some warmer items of clothing from the kindest Alira who was happy to help her choose a fashionable fur-lined brocade jacket that was long enough to cover her entire figure, including her tail, and pretty enough to pair well with a coif.

Why she felt the need to have not one, but four different types of weapons strapped to her form was hard to say. Perhaps the sybil felt the need to overcompensate for her lack of ability. Or perhaps she was sensing a potential for danger. Whatever the case, Rohka now had a short bow strapped to her back, her bladed boots on her feet, and both a sheathed dagger plus a slingshot with a pouch of bullets tied to her belt.

She also felt the need to protect the others in the group as well—her fellow friends and detectives of sorts in this mission. When she’d gone to the market to pick up some rations, she found a stall with an older woman selling alligator meat and leather, but what had caught her eyes were the teeth that were being displayed right at the front. The sharp ivory seemed to pull at something deep within her so she asked to buy the entire set. The sybil started walking away from the stall and immediately questioned her purchase, confused as to why she needed them.

That was when she found Herman. His entire stall seemed to be just as disheveled as he was, but it was filled with items all crafted in the name of Rhysol. Sculptures, carvings, tiny drawings, holy symbols, poetry, jewelry… the place seemed to overflow with religious items. Rohka immediately loved the shape of the set of crystals so she bought them at once, after being told that they could be used to mark ritual boundaries. When complimenting the man on his wares, she asked about the simple, long length of wrapped cord. He explained that it was made to be sacred, to be a physical representation of energy lines that can be tied around objects, people or places to ritualistically ‘bind’ them, holding in all of their spiritual power.

An idea came to mind. The sybil asked Herman to cut her eight equal pieces of cord, and to help her attach an alligator tooth to each one.

Standing in front of the Voice now, she held out the eight necklaces in her hand and gently placed seven of them on the altar before she spoke.

“I am ready as well,” said Rohka, after Sevris. She began to tie the cord around her neck as she continued to address the Voice. “A man named Herman helped me make these.” She tried to look into the gaze of everyone around her as she spoke of the item. “It’s a cord with an alligator tooth on it. It’s a gift, a talisman if you like, to help bring us a bit of Ravokian luck for whatever is on the other side. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, but I wanted to offer something as a token of my appreciation for everyone here today, for accepting Rhysol’s mission.”

“There’s one for you too,” she said, looking at The Voice.

Purchased Items :

Items in Backpack :

by **Caspian** on October 12th, 2019, 11:17 pm

The feeling that washes over Caspian when The Voice explains where the shrine is in the vast expanse of Taldera isn’t exactly relief. It’s not Avanthal in the northwestern reach, but she’d said north all the same and that alone is enough to still him. Too close for comfort - but so is anywhere beyond Ravok’s city limits.

In the liminal space of The Voice’s vision - it’s a familiar sight, a harrowing one, a pit and an irreconcilable depth he’d found himself in as a child. It’s a comfort, when he can separate himself from the projected horror, that he and someone so storied and illustrious might have something in common. But in her past there had been a crucial deviation, and no less in the form of a god.

That’s all he’d wanted in those dark days - had he not dreamed it, at least once, that someone would sweep in and carry him away? But she had earned it, had raised the proverbial knife, and all he had done is slunk and cowered and somehow - adapted and become.

The sudden appearance of who is unmistakably Rhysol has Caspian frozen once more. Here were the songs and stories, the prayers and ballads, all the many bells and hymns echoing through the waters and streets made flesh. Morwen is chaos, and Rhysol is ice, as he’d said to Itt one day - and he’d said it out of love, of speculation, the reality engulfing and exceeding.

Seeing him approaching Rohka so intimately, and to see her fall to her knees and gaze up and back - were this anyone else, anywhere else, what would be the gallant thing for Caspian to do? But jealousy is a paltry, mortal thing, as out of place as Caspian is convinced he must be. Instead he finds there’s only desire and a different type of envy, a deeply-rooted obeisance and wonder of his own, that he might imagine himself in Rohka’s place with Rhysol at his neck.

Out of all the group, Caspian’s the first to exit. Heart pounding in his chest wildly, as if making up for the time it had stopped, he takes off for a side street on long, swift strides, and watches the rest of the group file out. Shiress and Rohka, he can very well assume where they may be heading next - but the others, the Lazarin and the hunter and -? All unknowns, even if they had just willingly bared themselves to a god.

There’s no real reason for his skulking about other than this is what he does when he’s frightened when things have gone beyond him and he hasn't quite actually grasped that’s what’s seized him - so the answer, compulsively, is to run.

From a distance - and maybe he shouldn’t have fled so far, but he couldn’t help it - he scrutinizes the expressions of the rest, their gait, their speed, whether they hold their heads bowed or high, if they linger amongst themselves, if they -

Conspire?

What would there be, even, to conspire about?

But the possibility is there, isn’t it, always is amongst many, and maybe he shouldn’t have been the very first to leave, should have spoken up more and found the angle for devotion and not succumbed so obviously - or what he’s convinced, as far as his departure, had just been a display nothing short of obvious - to trepidation and the cloud and murk that seems to hold him in crippling suspense.

What he sees only makes him feel more lowly about himself. On the way home, he walks with his hands shoved into the reaches of his funereal suit, shoulders hunched against a wind that, to him, takes on uncharacteristic and prophetic chill.

The Silver Sliver is quieter than it ought to be on a balmy summer afternoon, and his steps up the flight to his apartment thundering to his ears. When he enters, Taalviel’s sitting at his rickety dining table, back to him and gaze fixed upon Akvin’s painting on the wall, which is shifting rapidly now into a scene of torrential gloom, a fog rising and rolling in oily swathes from the depicted sea to its jagged land.

To his surprise, she’s not alone. Flat on his back in the center of his bed, arms propped behind his head, is Thancerell, and leaning over his wash basin to peer at the effect of having laced up her corset to a certain choice tightness is Saticath.

Faltering in the doorway, hand still on the knob, Caspian attempts to muster a glare but falls flat, the exhaustion stalking after him from the Temple now catching. Speaking of conspiracy, the last time they were all in a room at the same time it was because he’d gone on a sabbatical - well, bender - with a retired architect he met one night in a bar on the southerly side who was out looking for a good time because he had the time to spare, and Caspian really wasn’t out looking for anything other than what he’s always looking for lately, a thrill enough to deaden, so in the matter of an everyday miracle he and a stranger found their interests in conjunction and collision and the end result was that Caspian didn’t return home for three days. In those three days it was Saticath, and not Taalviel despite being the one actually living with him who broke first - and Saticath had gone to Thancerell’s and on coming up empty-handed the both of them riled themselves up enough to go west to Caspian’s apartment and found naught but a disinterested and largely uncommunicative bird. On the morning of the fourth day Caspian had dragged himself back and found himself similarly confronted - except it’s more like walking into a wake now, his own poltergeist in attendance.

Instinctively, with three pairs of eyes suddenly upon him - and hasn’t he been under fire enough for one day? - Caspian begins to back out into the hallway, but Saticath in all her bells and flounces catches him by the front of his dark lapels and drags him in, shutting the door with a catacomb’s slam.

“To set the record straight, I’ve not done anything I shouldn’t have. In fact, painfully the opposite,” he retorts, though no one’s yet to say a word. “That’s what I can’t stand, you know? The three of you, specifically the three of you collaborating behind closed doors. Do what you will with me, because I can see you’ve already made up your minds to it - just, Thance? If you could first get your boots off my bed?”

They pour him a drink, the first of which he doesn’t much taste, the second he finds settling with him less, while he tells them everything. They had not bound him to secrecy, Rhysol and his Voice, had done very little at all to the lot of them, the more he thinks about it - and that’s what perturbs him, one on his list of many reasons. They had phrased the expedition as a favor, as a field trip, as a fling - it had not mattered much to him that they had given the impression that they welcomed the stream of interrogatives. It had all been too sudden, too seamless -

But is that not, if they choose, precisely what gods can do?

As he declines a third filling of his glass, he wonders if it wouldn’t have been better to have stayed tucked away with the salt-and-pepper haired architect, as he’d been so bidden - but it’s a half-baked, foolish flight of an idea, because she with her sanctified missive would have found him all the same.

They stay up with him past midnight, his sister and two closest friends, At one point he accepts the third glass and half of a fourth if only to aid his sleep - and when he does it is harried and fretful, dreams scattered between walking through bare winter woods and blossom rings, on to Akvin’s rocky, oil-slick shore, through acrylic strokes of waves and light. Through it all are thrumming chords, growing louder with each step he cannot help but take - the music he’d heard from the lovely quartets on the Larks’ great green barge, the waltzes he and Rohka had spun through hand in hand beneath summer sails, all of it lowing, falling discordant, turning harsh to his ears like scarring wires and glacial smash -

In the morning, they’re still there. Thancerell had fallen asleep on the floor with his doublet wadded behind his head, muddy hunter’s boots askance and beside; Saticath was to his right, turned to the wall and snoring lightly; and Taalviel had taken up her raven form to roost at the posts by their feet.

Upon his own awakening, Taalviel starts, feathers ruffling, and they regard each other in the still-early light. Beyond and below are the sounds of the tavern’s kitchen preparing for its day - and so things will go on as they always have, with or without him here.

Carefully, quietly, he sidles off the bed without rustling Saticath, steps deftly over Thancerell and pads across the room.

As always, his magical suit knows more and better than he - because when he pulls it on the transformation is more than he might have dreamed, or perhaps precisely what he could have, becoming an intricately quilted, padded coat of leather and suede that belts and buckles, with tiers of fur hanging across his shoulders and down his back like a cape, like wings, all of it in deepest, sombering black until he shifts beneath the morning light and the furs reveal themselves to take on a deep green glimmer. His pants and boots are similarly carbon-dark, sleek, and handsomely etched, and - yes, as he tests in his pacings, in all of it he might still skulk and creep.

The full sight of himself in his mirror nearly has him laughing aloud - it’s eerily reminiscent of the silhouettes he’d grown up with in Snowsong Hold, as if someone had explained to a capable but foreign tailor what a Vantha might wear. On further inspection, one of the tiers of fur is actually a hood, and tucked beneath one of the folds above his left breast is a silver pin in the shape of a fox’s head, angular eyes laden with tiny gleaming jewels. It’s much the essence of his past, diluted by the fare of the present - altered further still by Taalviel quietly but resolutely clasping his Draavlak necklace round him.

At his waist are his Obfuscate and assassin’s daggers. Were he one for swashbuckling, he supposed this might have been the time - but this is who he is, wrapped in black, and if strikes land true, if they don’t even have to land at all, it’s as good as any broadsword.

In his backpack are his slider circlet, his wooden pipe and tobacco, the flint and striker, and on further inspection, leather fur-lined gloves that Taalviel must have scrounged from somewhere on his own behalf. When he pauses by his mirror again to line his eyes with gold and kohl - is it stalling, or does he deserve to take as many of these last breaths as he can? - she only watches silently, and waits for him by the door.

Thancerell and Saticath slumber on as the half-siblings pause for one another by the threshold.

“I -“ he begins hoarsely, but she cuts him off, wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him tightly, the necklace of origins and purpose still unknown pressing between them.

There are promises he could make, try his utmost to keep, settle by meeting at half-measures and compromise under fire. But he makes none of them, and that’s something they’ve never asked of each other - they’ve never had to, and there’s no reason to start now.

“Goodbye,” he says softly instead, to her and Thance and Saticath, to the city as he stalks through in foreign garb on his way back to the Temple.

The image of his sister waiting alone by the window burns into him even as he watches the rest of the proceedings.

What the others think of him and his garb, likely odd to the Ravokian eye, he doesn’t know, and doesn’t particularly mind. When he pulls on the furs that are offered to him, the weight of them, for a moment, feels almost too much to bear - until he straightens, and wonders if this is what’s been missing from him all along.

“Always thinking full and forward, aren’t you?” he says to Rohka, gladly accepting the necklace she’s brought, though this unlike the Draavlak pendant, he doesn’t conceal.

When The Voice prompts them once more - and though he has his reasons to balk, he finds himself saying aloud, “This is - much, and personal, and perhaps too trifling to ask - but -“ His pulse hammers in his ears. “If something should happen to me, if I don’t make it back - in any case if it seems this draws itself longer than -“ He doesn’t know how many days would be too many, or what her or Rhysol’s expectations for their mission might be. “Could you please tell my sister?” he manages. “Especially if - well, she’s only come to Ravok on my behalf, to look after me. I’m not sure she’s ever cared for this city half as much as I always will. She’ll want to go back home, to our family, what’s left of it. I mean to say, if there became no reason for her to be here at all -“

He stops. Feels his face flush and curses himself for allowing it. But if he doesn’t make this request now - too little would be too late and the idea of Taalviel waiting silently for him behind the glass for day after interminable day, for a promise never made and impossible to keep, is too much to dwell upon.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “That’s all. Thank you, and - I only hope you’ll consider it.”

He looks away.

—

Black leather fur-lined gloves
5 SM x 13.5 = 6.75 GM

x

by **Hollis** on October 18th, 2019, 3:09 am

The weight of Rohka's grasp came suddenly, and, if she was honest, Hollis was glad for it. The words from Rhysol sent chills down her knape, and Hollis was certainly not prepared to be in His presence. The God leaned in, whispering into Rohka's ear, quiet enough to where Hollis could not exactly hear what He was saying. But there He was, His beautiful face right there, next to both of the women. Hollis gripped Rohka's hand, feeling lightheaded. They watched as the God walked around them and joined the Voice before them. His figure was striking, and Hollis felt more tears well in her eyes.

Watching Rohka slide down to her knees, Hollis tried to compose herself. She sat up as the God spoke to them, explaining everything that had been asked of them.

We alone are the only ones who can open and enter the portal... Our God needs us, she thought to herself, a sense of newfound pride nesting deep inside Hollis. She listened as Rhysol explained that He would not knowingly send them into harm, that they were special. She smiled widely at the God.

Before this moment she had not known such joy and awe.

Hollis listened as Sevris and Rohka spoke, and decides she has nothing to ask of the God and His Voice. Once all was said and done, Hollis turned to both the Voice and Rhysol. She genuflected to the pair, holding the position for a moment. She said nothing to them, but smiled and great big smile, baring her teeth and her joy.

On their way out, the man Caspian rushing around the group, leaving first, Hollis catches up to Rohka. She places a hand on her shoulder, and then reaches for the girl's right hand with her left. "Rohka, is it?" She looked at her soft features and felt a kind of kinship with the girl. It was not something she could articulate; maybe it was their closeness in age, maybe it was their shared, almost blind faith. But Hollis felt comforted when she was close to the girl, and she knew she would need a friend on this journey. "I just wanted to say... that I'm here for you. You know, if you need someone." She smiled at the sybil, not waiting for a response. She dropped her hand. "See ya tomorrow," she giggled, waving.

She made eye contact with Orias, and winked at him, grinning garishly.

Next day, Midday

Hollis arrived in a timely manner, as she always did. She came dressed in an outfit she had purchased the day prior, after they had all left the Temple. She wore a cream button-down blouse made of a thick cotton, trimmed with white lace around the cuffs of the sleeves, a tan medium wool skirt that came down to her knees, with a pair of black woolen stockings. She bought a brand new pair of high leather boots, and a wool jacket trimmed with fur. She also wore a cowl the color of eggshell framing her face. It was made of isuas, embroidered with beautiful red and blue birds. It cost more than she really needed to spend but she couldn't help herself. As soon as she saw it she knew she had to have it.

Before the Voice once more Hollis felt smaller than she did the day prior. A little of the grandeur of the situation had worn off, and she was beginning to feel a little nervous. Afterall, she was about to go through a mystical portal of some sort in order to visit an ancient God-shrine that she was...somehow mystically connected to, along with a group of six other people? The entire thing seemed coconuts. Her faith was strong, indeed, but so was her anxiety.

When Rohka presented the group with the pendant, Hollis took it in her hand and looked at it in her palm. Not exactly her taste in jewelry, but she appreciated the sentiment behind it. "Thank you," she said with a smile. She pulled down the hood of her cowl and pulled a lock of hair to the left side of her face. She looked to Orias where he stood.

"Be a dear, tie this in for me? I want to wear it in my hair." Harmless as it was, the djed on her tongue felt like sick, something she had never quite adjusted to. Something about Orias intrigued the girl, and she wanted him to notice her. The young Hypnotist let the djed flow to the man with the beautiful eyes and messy hair, sending her gentle suggestion his way. The night prior she had made sure to pay a visit to the Bathhouses and wondered if he could smell the scent of the floral shampoos she had used.

-

"I am ready as well," Hollis said in a proud voice. She looked around the group, noticing their various weapons, some people carrying more than just one. She whispered loudly to the group, "I'm sorry, but was I supposed to bring my own blade?"

Always proud, and sometimes quite daft, that Hollis.

Ledger :

by **Shiress** on November 4th, 2019, 12:04 am

It took Shiress's eyes several ticks to catch up to her mind and realize they no longer saw the temple and that she, indeed, was no longer Shiress. The events before her were more experienced than witnessed by Shiress as they played out. The cacophony of the apparent melee surrounding the darkened room assaulted her ears as terror filled her heart. A brief moment passed by, or so it seemed so to her mind's eye before she was in the arms of a man, of Rhysol, and then she had returned to the temple.

A gasp escaped her lips, but it wasn't the sudden transition back to reality that had drawn it forth but the unexpected presence of the man who straightened from whispering something in Rohka's ear. Shiress knew him immediately as her eyes tracked his form. God Rhysol himself now stood before her and her companions, studying each one of them in turn with his colorless orbs. The immortal seemed so....human but with an aura of so much more than Shiress knew she would ever be able to understand.

Rhysol spoke, and his voice was oddly soothing, greatly contradicting everything the girl had heard of the God. Chaos, lies, and betrayal were not present in his voice, but Shiress was no fool. Those attributes were here, lying dormant for the time being in the abyss of those colorless pools. A shiver ran down Shiress's spine as the conflict of this evil god and the kind and gentle man that had wrapped his arms around that little girl warred in her head. Shiress remained silent as others around her spoke, but her emerald gaze never wavered from Rhysol.

Was she really going to devote herself to this God? To Rhysol? Shiress was not a pious woman by any means, so why would she potentially lay not only her life but the unborn life of her baby on the line for a god she knew nothing about and had done nothing for her. Not to mention a god that obviously allowed his followers to be enslaved or, at the very least, turned a blind eye to slavery. But still, Shiress had witnessed the deity's kindness and protection, shyke, she had felt it for herself and for some reason, still not wholly understood, Shiress had been chosen by Rhysol, singled out, and plucked from normalcy to do his bidding.

Who could turn away from that fact and ignore the possible repercussions?

Who says no to a god?

Those surrounding her stood and began shuffling toward the exit, and Shiress rose to do the same. Still, halfway to her destination, she paused, placing a protective hand over her stomach, letting the others pass by her until she was the last mortal in the room. That thought scared the shyke out of her and nearly had her bolting for the door. But, she stilled herself, turned on her heel, and with her heart pounding in her chest, walked back toward Rhysol and The Voice. Suddenly, she felt as if she were walking into a den of wolves to beg the alpha for protection.

Shiress came to a stop, not an arm's length away from Rhysol and not knowing whether to kneel, bow, or fall to her face before the god, bobbed her head in deference, eyes lowered.

"Lord Rhysol," Shiress began, then with growing confidence, lifted her eyes to meet the gaze of the god of chaos. "Tomorrow I will return here and embark on a journey founded solely in the faith of your will and.." Shiress's back straightened slightly "I ask for your protection of my unborn baby as I do. I ask that no harm comes to him or her, short of my own death."

Next Day, near the 12th bell
-------------------------------------------------

Thank the gods for Bella and her vast wardrobe.

Aside from the thickly lined, black riding pants and a dense, dark blue bastion tunic Shiress currently wore, Bella had filled her bag with another pair of pants, extra tunic, and a couple of fur-lined gloves that oddly matched a pair of fur-lined boots. Shiress had foregone the offered coat but had gladly accepted a thick cloak, donning it with an appreciative smile.

Bella now stood behind Shiress, arranging her hair in a long braided tail that swayed down the length of her back. Sensing her friend's nerves, Bella paused, wrapping her arms around Shiress.

"You'll be okay." Bella assured, and Shiress leaned into the embrace, sighing.

"I don't know what Im walking into, Bella." Turning to face her friend, she continued. "The Voice explained everything, but I still have little understanding of what to expect or what Im to do."

Bella turned and lowered herself down on the bed, pulling Shiress down to sit beside her. "I think that's the idea, honestly. It seems more of a leap of faith than something you are supposed to be educated about beforehand." Bella hugged Shiress again "You'll be fine, and I'll be here waiting for you when you get back to hear all about the adventure."

Shiress returned the hug then stood, slinging her pack around her shoulders and headed for the door, Bella on her heels. "I hope you are right." Shiress said, opening the door. "I have a feeling my life is about to change. I just hope it's for the better."

Shiress arrived at the temple to find most everyone who had been summoned the day before had returned. As she made her way to where The Voice waited, her steps slowed as she eyed the supplies laid out before them, trepidation settling into her gut. Before she lost any and all courage, she turned from the front and made her way to where Rohka and Caspian stood. Rohka was speaking as she stepped up to each of her companions, placing a medallion around their necks. Shiress accepted hers with a gracious smile, watching as her friend continued down the line.

If Shiress could find comfort in anything, it was that she would do this thing among friends and among those that would, hopefully, become friends. Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

"Im ready for this." she breathed out.

OOCTo Gillar and the rest of the quest writers Im so sorry I held you guys up. I will work hard to keep this from happening again in the future. Agian Im so sorry and thank you for your patience, Gill!

Quest [Fall 19 Seasonal Quest] Ripple Me This