Lurking in the Shadows

It's a day for gray skies. The sort of day where the shadows all meld together. Where they exist in a sort of fluidity that makes it hard to tell one from the other. All the world stands in the shadow of the sky.

The grass is amazingly green and slightly damp. As if the sun had never quite managed to collect the dew. Leaves are heavy with drips and drops. Occasionally they drop their bounty on an unsuspecting head. It's quiet. No birds seem to be out hunting for spring bugs. No insects buzzing about the ample supply of water. No squirrels hunting for acorns. It's a quiet, gray day.

An uttered prayer is followed by a light glow. The fallen tree, tangled in the undergrowth, slowly rises at one end.

With a grunt, the albino Goblin heaves on the tree, slowly pulling it along a small deer trail.

"Ooof. This should be plenty of wood for a while."

Dirk slowly creeps through the underbrush, hunkered down to observe the forest floor. His little owl Lulu perches atop his shoulder, twisting her head this way and that. She ruffles her feather and gives a soft little hoot. Looking up, Dirk freezes and swings up his thunderbelcher. He sights, and shoots. CHK-BOOM! The gunshot cracks through the forest, sending a few birds flitting out of the canopy above. "Good eye, lassie!" he says to Lulu as he trots over to where he's downed his quarry. A deer lays upon the ground, eyes glassing over as the last of its life pumps out through a flawless heart-shot. Rubbing his hands together, Dirk sends Lulu up to roost in a branch before he unslings his pack and starts unloading his field-dressing equipment.

But as he sets to work skinning, gutting, and jointing the carcass, Lulu notices something odd. A tree moving of its own accord. She flutters her wings, giving a warning hoo-hoot. She fans her wings out behind her like a cloak and tips forward on her feet, eyes wide as she stares at the strange occurrence. Dirk looks up as well, squinting through the underbrush. "Oh! It's wee Simony!" he booms cheerfully. "Not tae fret, Lulu, we've adventured wi' Simony afore!"

Cor'lana finds herself here in the forest for one reason and one reason primarily. The flowers are in bloom, and there's one that she is looking for, one to bring with her to her next visit to the Temple of Vardama. It's for this reason that her violet eyes are searching in the foliage on the ground, Pothy on her cloaked shoulder.

"Yarrow for healing," she murmurs, looking for those familiar white flowers. "Which my soul needs, and which his may need as well. Keep an eye out, Pothy--"

And then there's the sound of the gunshot, which sends Cor'lana up for a small jump into the air and startles the white raven on her shoulder. She looks over a short distance away--some twenty feet--to spot Dirk, and she sighs lightly, a mildly relieved expression on her face.

"Good day," she calls out to Dirk, followed by the murmured incantation of a protection spell over herself. It's not that she suspects him of any untoward design. It's that she's been reminded the world continues to be a dangerous place.

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 14 DC: 18

Some days, even the very best err.

High up in the trees above, the branches abruptly shake their leaves and water all over those gathered below them, and a crack from above of snapping branches creates a sharp report without warning or prior announcement. Peering up into the branches will reveal a pair of armored feet are visible, hanging a good fifteen feet off the ground.

Not unlike her sister-be-bond, Verna is also out in the wilderness in search of local flora. In this case, herbs rather than flowers. Whilst far from an expert (her thumbs are gray afterall), she has acquired some knowledge from those far, far her better. While her complexion may blend in with some of the sky, her dress is very much aligned with the grass and ground in shades of verdant green and loamy browns. A basket is carried in the crook of one elbow. There might be soft sounds of humming, but all is shattered with the gunshot. That steals Verna's attention and causes her to divert her interests and course towards the source.

Immediately after the gunshot, the tree comes to a stop, and Simony throws herself into the undergrowth, disappearing from view.

The sound of talking, by Dirk and then Ravenstongue, encourages the Goblin to peek from behind the bush she uses for cover.

The sudden shower of water, and ominous cracking from above has Simony hiding once more.

GAME: Dirk rolls Perception+4: (13)+17+4: 34
GAME: Simony rolls perception: (12)+10: 22
GAME: Verna rolls perception: (9)+29: 38
GAME: Seldan rolls perception: (10)+25: 35
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception: (20)+18: 38
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Will: (16)+16: 32
GAME: Verna rolls will: (10)+24: 34

Dirk perks up as he hears Cor'lana, and he reaches up to offer a hearty wave over his head. "Hello Lana!" he booms cheerfully. He quickly wipes off his hands on a cloth and trundles over with a warm smile. "I'd offer ye a hug, but I been dressin' a deer I brung down. Sorry if I startled ye. What brings ye out tae the wood?" Pothy is given a warm smile as well. "Oy, Pothy! D' ye like gibblets? Got a whole load o' deer bits if ye'd like tae have some!"

When the water showers down from above, the old snowbeard ducks down with a yelp. "HEEK!" He looks up, squinting into the branches. "Seldan? Is that you, laddie? Och, what're ye doin' up there?" Verna's arrival does not go unmarked either. "Och, it's a regular gatherin' o' friends, innit? An' me wi'out any delicious treats tae share! Though I suppose if ye all dinnae mind the wait, I could smoke some o' this venison I've got..."

There is no answer at first, only more shaking of branches as a pair of feet become a shadow in the trees that clanks. "A moment, I ask of you." It is indeed Seldan's voice from the tree, but strained as in one focusing on a task. A few moments later, the trees shake again and a damp Seldan, festooned with leaves in his hair, a few twigs, and plenty of water droplets, drops out of the trees on white angel wings that are similarly festooned. The landing is, again, a little rough- a drop straight down with little room for error leaves him on his bum, the massive feathered wings vanishing even as he lies flat on his back, groaning.

Once she is near enough, Verna recognizes several familiar and welcomed faces. The lack of alarm is assuring, and Dirk's kill would explain the report. "Dirk. Cor'lana." She extends the greeting. "It is good to see you bo-"

The shaking of the tree above interrupts her to look upwards. Brows lift in surprise as Dirk offers a call to the boots in the trees and Verna peers further. "I presume you did not intend to alight upon the tree?" She does not ask if he is well, as he appears generally so and asked for a moment

As well, there is more rustling in the previously rather quiet woods, so she turns again, now to see Simony peeking out. She offers a nod of acknowledgement. Just as she begins to wonder if she was unduly apprehensive, there is yet another flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. Verna pivots yet again to look further, even the concern has shifted towards presumptive acceptance of serendipity. "Yet another acquaintance arrives unexpectedly?"

Cor'lana opens her mouth to respond to the questions and conversation--and to be truthful, the open mouth is, in part, a reaction to the angel wings that Seldan has manifested, a flicker of something in her violet eyes--but something quickly has her... distracted. It's a feeling in her head, a thing that she shakes off visibly and internally. "Sorry--"

Then she sees something out of the corner of her eyes as she speaks, something that causes her to wheel around and lift a hand up, especially as Pothy squawks upon being lifted up from her shoulders...

There's a... Suit of armor standing behind Cor'lana. Black as shadow. A black swords sheathed at the personage's hip. Male? Female? Human? Elf? It's impossible to say. Simply someone standing there where none had been before. Holding Pothy securely in their hands.

GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/the planes: (9)+12: 21
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Knowledge/The Planes+2: (12)+8+2: 22
GAME: Dirk rolls Knowledge/The Planes: (14)+3: 17

The Goblin scuttles out of the underbrush, standing up to peer down at Seldan. Simony offers the Paladin a hand, to assist in recovering his feet. "Are you alright, Sir Seldan?" She clears her throat. "I uhm will deny ever seeing that."

Then her gaze is drawn to Cor'lana, and her distraction.

With the suit of armor suddenly appearing, the Goblin lets out a scream.

GAME: Verna rolls knowledge/the planes: (2)+12: 14

Dirk boggles as that black knight appears and steals Pothy off Lana's shoulder. He skitters back, snatching up his thunderbelcher and snapping it up. "Oy! That's yer lot!" he growls angrily. "You let that lad go an' back off, right? Unless ye'd rather me put some holes in that pretty helm yer wearin'!"

Seldan looks up, a small, self-deprecating smile touching his lips that instantly vanishes at the squawk. A quick grasp Simony's hand, but he pulls himself to feet on his own power, dropping it and striding forward. "You do not belong here," he echoes Dirk. Yes, the collection of leaves in hair and armor makes him look less than angry, were it not for the level stare he directs at the black-helmed creature. "Let the bird go and explain yourself.'

The details of black armor and weapons are far from unique identifiers. Regardless, it has grabbed Apotheosis. Pothy is family. Verna's prior shift towards lightness reverses course into a flat expression with strong traces of frown. The basket is dropped aside as she turns to focus upon the unknown individual. "Release the corvid and state your business." She and Seldan are in solid agreement there.

Cor'lana gnashes her teeth as she looks at the entity in black. Violet eyes flare with rage, and a hiss of air escapes her mouth as she takes in a sharp breath. Seldan, Verna, and Dirk are with her and they're registered in her head--and yet there is that dark feeling within her bloodline urging her to vengeance.

"Unhand my familiar and give him back to me unharmed," she demands. "I will give you only one chance."

"Lana," Pothy meekly says in a mimic of a woman's voice that is like her own, but deeper. Hearing this voice in particular puts a sort of deep pain into Cor'lana's eyes that ignites into a further sort of fury, her hands still raised.

"I said what I said," Cor'lana growls.

The entity speaks, but its voice is indeterminable. A growl. An echo. Oddly hollow. "No." A step back is taken, Pothy held carefully in those armored hands. The bird looks so pale encompassed by such darkness. The words are in Sylvan, not common. Offering at least a hint as to its nature. "Apotheosis must come."

All around the shadows shift and move. Are there more of this armored creature?

GAME: Seldan rolls will: (18)+32: 50
GAME: Simony rolls will: (15)+9: 24
GAME: Dirk rolls Will+4: (2)+8+4: 14

The Goblin clings to Seldan's hand, only letting go when he has risen to his feet. Simony makes a choking sound, moving to stand behind the Paladin, peering at the suit of armor.

"Why does Pothy need to go?", she calls out. "He's not yours to take!"

She reaches up and pulls a large leaf out from Seldan's armor.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Spellcraft: (4)+17: 21

"To where? Who are you? Whom do you represent?" Verna adds to Simony's inquiry. These are not the only questions on her mind, but they are the foremost. That they are asked before securing Pothy could be considered a courtesy. "You believe you have cause to take him against his will and those of others. What is your justification? Why should we allow either of you to depart?" She alters her point of focus briefly to Apotheosis with a questioning glance before her eyes shift askew to, "Cor'lana, do you have any knowledge of this?"

Dirk's face turns pale, and he swallows hard. His knees start to shake, but he doesn't back down. His knuckles turn white around the grip of his thunderbelcher, and he holds it trained on the black knight. "Y-y-you just let 'im go, an' leave us alone!" he quavers, fear making his voice tight.

GAME: Seldan rolls ranged+1: (17)+19+1: 37
GAME: Seldan casts Dimensional Anchor. Caster Level: 16 DC: 22
GAME: Seldan rolls 1d20+16+4: (14)+16+4: 34

"You will depart when we are satisfied, and not before." Seldan's tones are still steady, ice tinged with steel beneath the words, and he raises a gauntleted hand to draw several interlocking symbols before him. A phrase of power that sounds like a snarl, and they burst into emerald-green glow before him.

He reaches into the midst of the sigils, and all three sigils collapse into his hand, which he then holds, palm outstretched. His aim with the green ray that bursts forth is unerring, and in a flash, the emerald-green fire envelops the creature.

"Enough. Explain yourself, in the language of those upon this plane."

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Dimensional Anchor. Caster Level: 14 DC: 21
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls ranged+2: (1)+9+2: 12 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls ranged: (16)+9: 25
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20+14+2: (17)+14+2: 33

The Sylvan words cause a reaction very much like that of her noble Grandfather, fury igniting fully in Cor'lana's violet eyes. She is not afraid. She is the exact opposite.

Cor'lana raises her chin. "I know what this is," she says, growling around the edges of her words. "A lord of the Queen of Air and Darkness's Court challenged Pothy to a duel to the death. One that he would lose and one that I do not intend on letting him go to without a champion in his stead."

"Are you a representative of Lord Foldendel? Or are you him in the flesh?" Cor'lana inquires, right before she casts a spell on Pothy to prevent him from being taken, an incantation falling from her lips with the flicker of magic. Her little brother will not be taken from her.

The being in black seems undismayed by the spell that prevents it from leaving. It's impossible to even see it's eyes. How can one tell what this thing is thinking? What it intends? What it is? "Will not release Apotheosis." It says, still in Sylvan. Yet responding to their commonly spoken words with understanding. "No. No." Each answer is simply given.

"It is time to go." A blur of motion comes from behind the creature, a buzz of blue-green illumination. It takes a moment to realize what it is. This thing has wings? Dragonfly wings.

Dirk narrows his eyes. "Damn it, I cannae understand what ye all are sayin'!" he grumbles. He takes a step back, keeping his weapon trained on the black knight. But those dragonfly wings--those are something different. The old snowbeard's eyes get wide, then narrow again. With a flick of his thumb over the loops on his bandolier, he changes up the load in his thunderbelcher's firing chamber. "Lana? I got cold iron loaded! Are we fightin' this thing or no?" he calls.

GAME: Simony rolls ranged: (1)+7: 8 (EPIC FAIL)

"My lady, I will face this creature with steel, do you so desire. It is of evil intent." Seldan's words again hold ice and steel, but he does not yet make another move. "I understand not its tongue. The decision is yours." He assumes a warrior's ready stance, balanced between the balls and heels of his feet, but seems to be - waiting.

The Goblin has been ducked down behind Seldan, frantically searching through the bag that normally hangs at her hip. "Healing, healing healing... what's this say? Never buy from the market, this reads like a doctor's note. Remove para... not holy water."

"Ah, here we go.." Simony steps to the side slightly, peering out from behind Seldan. She leans back, the vial of holy water in her hand, and lets fly... she winces and looks away as the vial smashes into Seldan's armored backside. "Wrong suit of armor..."

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Hold Monster/Persistent. Caster Level: 14 DC: 24
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20+14+2: (6)+14+2: 22
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20+14+2: (15)+14+2: 31
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+18: (7)+18: 25

"It is not a representative nor is it the lord that has challenged Pothy," Cor'lana states. It seems she is very much following in the footsteps of her Grandfather, for this lack of identification nor reasoning means it is on fair grounds for torment. "And therefore that means I care not for who sent it--just that it's trying to take my brother. Everyone, with me, take it down!"

She lifts up her hand and casts a noxious spell, concentrating on it with all of her everything, locking this entity down with rage in her violet eyes. The wings on the creature lock up, seeming to be effective.

GAME: Simony used a Holy Water.
GAME: Verna casts Enervation. Caster Level: 19 DC: 22
GAME: Verna rolls ranged: (20)+12: 32 (THREAT)
GAME: Verna rolls ranged: (15)+12: 27
GAME: Verna rolls 1d20+20+4: (3)+20+4: 27
GAME: Verna rolls 1d20+20+4: (3)+20+4: 27

It was questioned and refused to provide justification. It was bid to stay and it sought to leave, with Apotheosis. There is no further cause for discourse, per Verna's own sister. While it is now restrained, it is yet powerful, so Verna seeks to lessen that. With a gesture and incantation, she conjures negative energies to her hand before launching them as a black ray into the knight's cuirass.

The anathema to living bores through equally dark plate, only to then be dissipated by the green glow revealed within. No chest, nor body, only the emerald light. Verna blinks. "It is... possessed? A construct?" Which would certainly explain why the energy had no other discernible effect.

GAME: Dirk rolls Shoot-2: aliased to Ranged+1-3-2: (9)+15+1+-3+-2: 20
GAME: Dirk rolls Shoot-7: aliased to Ranged+1-3-7: (15)+15+1+-3+-7: 21
GAME: Dirk rolls Shoot-12: aliased to Ranged+1-3-12: (6)+15+1+-3+-12: 7

Dirk swallows hard as Lana gives the order to attack. And attack he does! CHK-BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! He cracks off three shots in rapid succession. And yet, for all his skill with his firearm, all three bullets miss the winged knight. His jaw drops, and he can only stare for a moment. "Ohh piss up my arse," he whimpers softly.

GAME: Seldan rolls spellcraft: (19)+18: 37
GAME: Seldan rolls reunion+se: aliased to weapon1+charisma: (18)+24+8: 50
GAME: Seldan rolls reunion+se-5: aliased to weapon1+charisma-5: (16)+24+8+-5: 43
GAME: Seldan rolls reunion+se-10: aliased to weapon1+charisma-10: (8)+24+8+-10: 30
GAME: Seldan rolls 1d8+10+sedmg: aliased to 1d8+10+8: (1)+10+8: 19
GAME: Seldan rolls 1d8+10+sedmg: aliased to 1d8+10+8: (3)+10+8: 21
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+18: (3)+18: 21

Seldan is barely aware of the vial that just smashed into his backside. In truth, his backside has seen far bigger problems than a simple glass vial, and even as others watch, the water begins to dry up as he makes contact with the enchanted metal. He makes no move or sign. Instead, he starts to raise a hand, but stops at something he sees, nostrils flaring, and Pothy in the thing's arms makes a pained noise. "A contingency, I think. He hurts Pothy. Very well." He lashes out with the blade with precise efficiency, but avoiding Pothy necessitates a few changes to his technique, and the third strike goes wide, leaving less lethal cuts than might otherwise have been. "My lady, can you free your bird? He will hurt him, do I cast."

Aside from the small motion of squeezing Pothy on the outset of Seldan's spell, the armor does not move. Does not draw a weapon. Does not defend itself. Green light spills out of its armor where its been pierced and slashed. It makes no sound.

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Dispel Magic. Caster Level: 14 DC: 20
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20+14: (5)+14: 19
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20+14: (3)+14: 17

It's hurting Pothy. The words come through Cor'lana's mind like the cold slice of a blade in her side, and she finds herself acting as soon as Seldan discloses what it is. Her fingers fly. Her syllables leave her mouth. Yet, and yet, and yet, the magic is not enough, too muddled by the feeling of a cold sense of despair in her heart.

Pothy whimpers. "Lana!" he cries out again, this time in Telamon's voice. The poor bird is terrified, but he makes no movements, doesn't thrash--only trembling and hoping for someone to save him from his fate.

Tears bloom in Cor'lana's eyes now like the flowers of healing she'd been trying to find bloom in the woods. She fails even in this.

GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/the planes: (13)+12: 25

Dirk grits his teeth. He takes another step back, trembling in his boots. He lifts a hand from his thunderbelcher and prepares to make a pass. "By Dana an' by Gilead--" he begins. But he stops his invocation as Pothy gives a pained squawk. "Fuck! If we cast on Pothy the bastard's goin' tae crush 'im!" he cries. "Lana, what do we do?!"

GAME: Simony casts Bless. Caster Level: 5 DC: 14

"Master Stormgrip, all is not lost." Suddenly, Seldan lowers the blade, and instead, turns to reach into a side pouch of his knapsack, seemingly unconcerned by the green-light creature. "I remember such as they. Lady Lúpecyll-Atlon has already done what is needful. Mourner, I would have you do the rest." In his hand appears a scroll, and this, he quickly tosses to Verna without looking at it. "On my signal."

Inwardly, he breathes deeply, praying that Verna understands from looking at the scroll what the plan will be.

Verna is given pause at Cor'lana's pained expression, followed by Seldan's explanation and then Dirks confirming exclamation. Targeting Apotheosis with magic is unwise, but of the foe, itself. As she considers, Seldan calls to her and then throws a scroll to her. It is glanced at, and the nature of the spell named within makes the intent rather plain. The only complication would be-no, Seldan is more than aware of this.

Verna then prepares herself, hands lifted, the parchment in hand yet still otherwise coiled. "On your signal."

GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+18: (19)+18: 37
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d100: (73): 73
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+18: (16)+18: 34

Suddenly the wings blur back to life, and the armor half-lifts Pothy. Its intent is threatening. "Apotheosis must come!" It demands in Sylvan.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perform/Oratory: (3)+23: 26

Terror. Trauma. Darkness. These all swirl within Cor'lana as she sees her little brother in the grasp of this thing that will either tear him away or kill him. And maybe, just maybe, in the wake of all that has happened, the death that she has come out here into the woods to find flowers of healing for, the guilt she carries, she deserves...

"No." It's a single word that comes from her lips. She shakes her head, staring down this suit of armor, this foul thing that has the one soul that has been with her since the day she was born in its grasp. The darkness within gives way to fire, to anger, to a refusal to accept this.

"I call on Vaire, Lady of Freedom,

I call on Vaire, Lady of Song,

I call on Vaire, Lady of Fire,

I call on Vaire, Breaker of Spells!

Free a little bird from his cage!"

She has never, never grasped the concept of giving herself so wholly to a deity's embrace. None of the gods ever answered her. None save for Her. None save for Ceinara. But that little plea from before...

This is asking for intervention. This is asking for a song and a fervor to match her own. This is asking for absolution, a thing she may not deserve, but it's all the fire in her heart can ask for. A fire to empower the blaze of Verna's soon-to-be spell.

Not understanding the thing's speech, there is only one thing for Seldan to do. He lets out a breath, turning back to the creature, sword in hand but lowered. "Holy Dreamer, guide my hand. Guide the Mourner's. Send this creature whence it came, and permit it not to return! NOW!" On the last word, he slashes across his body with his free hand, a gesture that instantly dismisses the anchor holding the creature. The anchor that holds Pothy is not his to release, nor does he intend to do so, and he prays that this will be enough.

GAME: Verna casts Enervation. Caster Level: 19 DC: 22
GAME: Verna casts Banishment. Caster Level: 19 DC: 23
GAME: Verna rolls ranged: (13)+12: 25
GAME: Verna rolls 1d20+20+4+2: (14)+20+4+2: 40
GAME: Verna rolls 1d4: (2): 2
GAME: Verna rolls 1d20+20+4+2: (3)+20+4+2: 29

There is the signal. Rather than unfurl the scroll, Verna, in fact, drops it. This frees both of her hands. Her left repeats the same gestures as her prior spell, yet the incanting more rapid. Even as the dark energy gathers, her right hand makes completely different gestures. The moment the hastened invocation is completed, Verna's words shift from Mynsandraal to beseechment. "By The Harpist's Gaze, you are judged unworthy to be present in this place. Begone!"

The ray from her left looses first to strike the black cuirass once more. Whilst the Harpist's Judgement may be undeniable... that does not mean that one cannot attempt to weaken Her foes prior to its application.

Dirk glances around as his friends bring their strongest magicks to bear. Powers so far beyond his own meager ken, he may as well be a squalling babe in comparison. And yet... there is something about all this that is familiar to him. Inspiration strikes. He takes a step back, dropping a hand from his thunderbelcher to reach into his hip satchel. He brings out his totem, lifting it up before him. "I don't know who ye are, or where yer from," he growls angrily. "But this forest here is Gilead's doman! An' I am his champion! I fight fer the trees, an' fer the beasts, an' that counts Pothy!" He stomps forward a step. "Yer nae welcome in this precious forest, outsider! An' you have no power here! In Gilead's holy name, I demand ye leave here an' trouble us no more! AN' STOP SQUISHIN' POTHY, YE CLEAN-SHAVEN GIT!!"

The shadows have been lengthening, night fallen without realization of those that exist in this small space. Then, as Cor'lana begins her prayer, her poem light pours down through the trees from the moon above. Splotches of it catch in the dark. A spill of silver around Cor'lana, reflecting off her pale skin. A spill of silver around Seldan, glinting off his armor as he speaks words of benediction to the plan he has in place.

Verna speaks her words of power and they strike true to the heart of the creature that holds Pothy hostage. It vanishes without a trace. Gone in a flash of light and Pothy is forced to flap his wings. Entering into the circle of illumination that encircles Cor'lana.

The radiant beams of light dim, but linger. A reminder perhaps that even in this world of magic more is at hand than merely that.

Seldan's eyes go wide as saucers, a few leaves in his armor fluttering to the ground around him, bathed in silver light as he sinks slowly to his knees. Reunion before him is set point down into the ground, his hands on the quillons, head resting gentle on the red gem set into the ornate pommel. "Not by chance am I here this night," he whispers, real awe and gratitude shattering the usually sober and steady mien. He says no more, lapsing into stunned and grateful silence.

Dirk's eyes also grow wide. Even though he more than likely had nothing to do with the holy display, it's impossible not to be moved by it. He presses the totem to his breast, looking up into the night sky. "Nothin' is chance, laddie," he says softly. "There's a grand design fer everything. Everything happens fer a reason." He presses a kiss to the totem's head, before tucking it back into his satchel. "Thank ye, Gilead."

Cor'lana falls to her knees in the light that falls onto her. She looks to Pothy as he flaps to her, those brilliant white wings of his, and she holds out her arms for him. It seems, to her, that he's a million miles away, and the time it takes for him to arrive in her arms is so much longer than it is in reality. But when he is in her arms, she wraps her arms so tightly around him, tears flowing from her eyes.

She feels more than herself. For the first time in her life it's more than just her and her bloodline, her and her Grandfather's magic. For the first time in her life, there is someone up above--two people up above and beyond--who care, who have answered her prayers. She feels the warmth of Vaire's fervor and she feels the benediction of her beloved's goddess, the pale embrace of Her silvered light. The one she had tried to lead Zalgiman to and failed.

She'd hoped for hope--

"Once," Cor'lana says softly. It's a word that falls out of her, and then like the tears that leave her, the rest come flooding out:

"Once, in a dream long ago,

I learned the names of the Gods

And I sought them out one by one

How a child tries out new things:

Innocently hoping beyond hope

That one day, all would be well,

That one day, all would be joy.

Once, in a dream long ago,

I reached the furthest for One

Who couldn't care nor listen

For the man was lost to Time

As He gave up care for Order:

And the world wept a little,

And the girl I was wept so much.

When Mother left me and let me go,

I could no longer find her comfort;

I had to find it all on my own

Like a thief finds jewels in darkness,

And I was left to drift at sea alone

With no boat nor paddle to save me,

And once in a dream long ago,

I learned in the hardest of ways

Why all the things had come to pass.

I have failed, I have struggled;

I have never been the woman needed,

Only the woman who had arrived,

But today of all days, tonight of all nights--

I am the woman who called on gods

And She who listened--They who listened,

They have seen me and they have answered.

For the road is long but the way is home,

For the walking is hard but the path is good,

For it is Vaire and Ni'essa who I praise.

For it is Them who have saved me."

There's a shuddering breath and then she utters, in one final voice that breaks:

"Once I was lost. I am no longer. Thank you."

And she holds tightly to Pothy as she sobs in complete and utter gratitude to the goddesses she holds dear.

So focused is she upon timing, first, and then the split attention between already intricate manipulations of mana, Verna does not notice the silvery light initially. Not until the foe is gone and Pothy flutters into it to Cor'lana. Her hands lower with some weariness, yet such born of success.

Whether by Seldan's quick thinking, her magic, Cor'lana's pleas, Vardama's blessings, Dirk's insults, Eluna's intervention, Gilead's trees, Vaire's fire, serendipity, even the fact that crushing Apotheosis requires reducing the volume of his stomach (an empirical impossibility) ... or some combination thereof, in whole or in part...

Pothy is yet here. That is the most important fact at present. One that Cor'lana makes beautifully clear with far more apt words than Verna could share. Instead, she simply listens and watches her sister's ... passion expressed. A soft smile forms, though does not grow overmuch. As much as Cor'lana expresses, Verna... thinks. And now one thought comes to mind...

If all occurs for a reason: Seldan was not present by change; there is a grand design, per Dirk's words... then there is a root cause; a reason for the attempt to retrieve the corvid. All of Cor'lana's hypothesis were proven false. Thus there is the one question that remains unspoken:

What did Pothy do this time?

-End