• Graded • The River's Daughter

[Hart]

He had spoken aloud, "I Wish."

And that was enough.

The man standing on the riverbank burst into light. His Fractures burned bright and brighter, silver to white to a white so incandescent it was blue. The light was brilliant; for half a trill it lit the night near the river, illuminating its waters all the way through to their depths.

And then that half a trill passed and the Fractures were gone. Except for a new Fracture, which ran like tributaries through the veins on the mark of Daia on the man's chest. This new Fracture burned from within him with a sun's hot blue light.

The man had fallen to his knees. Now he sat back on his heels. He hardly heard the spirits screaming.

He put a hand to his chest as if to make sure he was there.

“You!” someone said nearby. Was someone shouting at him? “The things I did for you." It was Brent Forrester, someone he- knew. "And you turn out to be a treacherous outlander!” Brent picked up a knife from the riverbank.

It was the knife he had used-

No, not him.

The knife that had been used against the spirit.

He was at the river Vynmur.

Had he died?

But if he had died, how was he here?

Oh, he thought.

He had not been himself.

With a breath, Hart pushed up from where he was sitting back against his heels. For a moment it felt as if he might simply fall unconscious. And then the moment passed, and he felt well.

"Sorry," he said, and put up his hands. "I just-" He walked by Brent, if the man allowed, to get to the bag that had been left on the river's bank. If Brent allowed it he would rummage through the bag. But the bag was mostly empty. Hart was surprised the old watermelon wasn't there.

His shirt was lying nearby and he pulled it on. The socks and boots he didn't put on, knotting the strings of the boots together. He grabbed the necklace from the riverbank and put it in the bag. The boots and bag he hung over his shoulder.

Hart looked up.

Other than Brent, there was a mortalborn here he didn't know, though there was- something about him. And there was an ithecal who seemed- familiar. Hart nodded to them both.

Then he looked to Brent.

"I wish you wouldn't," he said softly. "But tell the guard if you must." Those were words he had died by once.

"But if you don't mind, I'd like to go with you and the spirits." He glanced around at them all. "I don't like them," he said simply, though without malice. He smiled at the spirit who glared at him. "These spirits, if they are spirits, have hurt people and lied. And I'm worried they might be lying still."

OOC: Hart is not Wishing when he says "I wish you wouldn't." :p

[Praetorum]

Date: 121st of Ashan, Arc 720

Status: Waiting

Weapons: Buckler, Quarterstaff

Armor: Plate-like Leather

No Current Magical Effects

Prae smiled encouragingly at the shy little spirit, keeping still as she gingerly approached him like a stray cat in an alley. Before he could say anything else to her though, there was a scream from the first sister, and then a flash of light that had Prae blinking away stars. 



When he was able to see again, he found that the older man from before had transformed, into a slender young human who......


Hadn't Prae seen him before, somewhere?


The thought was quickly chased out of his mind as all four spirits began to writhe and cry out as if in pain. Reflexively, he reached his tail out, draping it comfortingly over Framilia's shoulders as he looked around to try and figure out what was going on. But Prae could find no clear source for their pain, until the eldest cried out to her sisters. 



The Truth shall set us free



We are not the line of Vynmur


Praetorum had come here half expecting a trap, and it seemed his paranoia had proven justified. 



Sort of. 



If there was any significance to their lineage, or lack of, Prae did not understand it, and saw no reason to be concerned. 



What did concern him, however, was what else they might have lied about. The ones who had gathered had all given their secrets, with the understanding that those secrets would be erased from the world. If the spirits had lied about that too.... The secret Prae had given was useless, more or less, given for his own peace of mind than any practical purpose—he had no reasons to believe Grimnir's artifact could be repaired at all, only fears. But he didn't know what secrets the others had told. He worried that he would. 



Unlike the others, Prae had nothing to say to the spirits, angry or otherwise. He simply waited, tail still half curled around Framilia's shoulders.

[Pig Boy]

The River's Daughter

The following moments were tense, and full of confusion as the four companions began to bicker among themselves and the spirits. Brent launched into a defense of the Melrathi, claiming that their loss of their way was in part because of the spirits' beginning to act in ways that were contrary to their nature. Vitria's eyes shone in the darkness that followed the light of Hart's fracture wounds when Brent mentioned the Immortals, but shortly after dimmed, as she listened to his willingness to be shown to the River's Daughter.

"But to see the River's Daughter, you must trust me." Vitria said. The serpent around her neck began to extend toward Brent, and another slipped out of the water towards Hart. Apparently the same snake had two heads. "This one may help," She said of Hart. "Don't hold it against him that he struck us. He meant little harm, and the wound was mere happenstance. What followed was what would've come in any event. He was... not himself."

Svellhulda rolled her eyes at Azrael. "We're shadows of what could be. Shadows cast against a great figure by a hidden light." She said it in a faux dramatic tone of voice. "We're spirits, it's true. Just not as great as the River's Daughter, but birthed by the happenstance of her creation. We are spirits of purpose rather than nature."

Framilia continued to cry, meanwhile, cowering behind Praetorum. However, he would notice as his fears for the secret he'd given (which was gone from his mind as well), she seemed to draw strength and became a little less afraid. Her sense of terror was palpable, but lessened considerably when she drew near to Praetorum.

If all of them consented to follow Vitria and the rest to the River's Daughter, they would proceed to approach each of the companions. Vitria's serpent approached Brent and hart, opening its mouth and baring its fangs. Venom dripped from the fangs, but it did not bite them without consent. Merely drifted a foot or so from each of the men. "Take my venom into your blood, and you will be able to meet the River's Daughter."

Svellhulda, meanwhile, sidled up to Azrael, and wrapped him in a feathery embrace. If he was taken off guard by this, he might've been a little confused by her next action, which was to nip at his neck. He would feel a strange sensation flooding into him then, and a sudden compulsion to dive into the river.

Meanwhile, Framilia, having grown bolder, began to wrap herself around Prae with her tail and her snake-like arms. Pulling him into an embrace. He would also feel a strong compulsion to enter the water.

"Trust us, the River's Daughter is beneath the banks of the river. We will show you."

[Brent Forrester]

So who gave us the bad dreams?

It soon became apparent through the actions of the sisters, starting with the menacing black serpent around Vitria’s neck. Brent took an involuntary step backwards. While it was not identical to what he had seen in his dream, the resemblance was striking.

To trust.

While Brent had initially swooned at the sight of the spirits, they had now made their deception clear and the Melrathi was mentally on guard. There had been no acknowledgement of their poor behaviour, nor any attempt to reason or defend their actions. It was clear that they had a plan that they sought to carry out without any regard for their role in it. Knowledge, riches and power. Fickle words of a snake preparing a trap.

Brent took a couple more steps away to add distance between both Vitria and Eihr. He still had the crazed man’s knife, but Eihr’s response had been strange and lackluster at best. Brent had considered the man ‘odd’ but now Eihr’s actions seemed to make even less sense. So long as the man didn’t have any other weapons on him, then Brent would keep the knife out of reach. Vitria, on the other hand, seemed to insist that Eihr was harmless and didn’t mean what he had done. It was puzzling, especially as it was she that had been wounded.

The request for ‘trust’ still mulled over in Brent’s head. He did not trust these beings as they had done nothing to prove themselves trustworthy. They were so unlike Svariella, a spirit he had never laid eyes upon but that had shown her power for good and healing through the lake and stone in which she embodied. He idly considered following along with the River’s ‘daughters’, feigning trust, until Vitria put it to the test.

Take my venom into your blood, and you will be able to meet the River's Daughter.

Brent took another step back as the serpent bared its fangs, venom dripping from it. There was no doubt at all in his mind as to who had summoned the dreams. Dreams that now were intended to infuse into reality. Dreams that were meant to ensnare.

“You ask for my trust, but you have done nothing to earn it. Quite conversely. If Vynmur or his daughter would like to reveal themselves to me on their own accord, then so be it. But I will not be baited by false promises of knowledge and wealth laced by lies. You have not earned my trust or respect.”

Knowing that there was potential for backlash, he only turned away once he deemed himself out of reach from the fanged black serpent. These were not the spirits he had believed in and put his faith in. His horse was not too far away and had miraculously remained calm throughout this, simply grazing on the riverbank vegetation.

Glancing back, Brent added one last thing. “I know I am a mere mortal, but if you truly want to restore the Melrathi faith, I’d suggest you seek guidance from Lady Svariella. She is one deserving of trust and faith, and you could learn much from her.”

After all, they were but children. Despite the urge to meet the newly born River’s Daughter and delve more into the spirit world, he was a man of integrity and these three spirits had left him with a bitter sense of disappointment.

With a loping gait, Brent reached his horse, mounted, and set off into the night.

✕✕✕

Template Credit: Navyri

[Azrael]

121 Ashan 720 | Azrael Blackfire | The Wilds

Calm down, Brent. Azrael would never say it but he thought Brent was being unfair to the man who'd stabbed the spirits. He felt that under the circumstances, the man's actions had been justified... then again he had stabbed the spirit before the deception was revealed so maybe Brent didn't see it that way. Azrael didn't particularly care to get involved in any disputes that involved guards so he stayed out of it. He was an outlander too.

"And what is your purpose?" Azrael asked curiously when Svellhulda gave her rather dramatic description. He could respect, and enjoy, a flair for theatrics but these spirits were taking things little far with all the dreams, lies, watermelons, stabbings, and now surprise cuddles. Azrael didn't mind the feathers as Svellhulda embraced him. It wasn't all that different than an Avriel and they were nice enough. Then she nibbled at his neck which came as a surprise for sure, but a welcome one. Azrael grinned at first thinking a smug, childish thought, and then he felt the strange sensation take over. He wasn't entirely sure she wasn't trying to get him to drown himself so that he wouldn't tell anyone about their lies, but he didn't really think about that in the moment. He just felt a drive to go into the water.

Azrael sadly left the embrace and moved closer to the river while Brent declared his spite for the spirits who'd deceived them. Azrael had been bitten and he felt the draw to the river. He wasn't a great swimmer though so he didn't like the idea of going into the water and couldn't help but rage against the idea of just diving in. Some sense of self preservation kept him from just diving in. If he died, the child would be left with the woman and he wasn't sure he wanted that.

He turned back to the spirits to look at them one more them and then to the others who had arrived at the river. "It seems like a lot of effort to go through just to kill us." Azrael mused to himself and the others before looking at his clothing. Did he want to get everything wet? Did he want to see a spirit in his underclothes? Azrael thought about leaving his sword but even now he wanted it with him. He would go in pending two things, the answer to his question and the decision of the others.

[Hart]

The serpent emerged from the river; by appearances, it was the same serpent that uncoiled from the spirit Vitra's neck. Brent seemed repulsed by the spirit's duplicity, her lies. He made his arguments and, without farewell, departed.

The ithecal was tangled up by the spirit he had been speaking to. The way she wrapped herself around him made Hart think of serpents that twist and wrap and squeeze until death. "Be careful," he said.

The mortalborn, too, was wrapped up by his spirit. The spirit Svel pressed her mouth to his neck. He stepped away from her, and Hart thought perhaps he might leave, too. But then the man stepped nearer to the river.

"Please don't go with them," Hart said to the mortalborn. "You must know by now that we can't trust these spirits."

Hart looked at the river, meaning to simply glance at the waters and then away. But his gaze remained on the water, contemplative.

" 'Just not as great as the River's Daughter,' " he murmured.

Brent had questioned, in his way, why the spirits were here.

Now Hart contemplated the same question. Why were they speaking to these spirits? Why weren't they speaking to the River's Daughter, herself?

"Why has the River's Daughter not prevented the spirits from lying to us?" Hart murmured. If the River's Daughter was a great spirit, as Svel had said... surely she was powerful enough to prevent this situation. "The spirits lied and pretended to be her. Why has she not prevented them from doing this?"

"For that matter, why has she not prevented them from stealing from us?" he asked. "The spirits wanted us to sacrifice to them. But they were pretending to be the river's daughters. They lied to us, to steal."

They were spirits of purpose.

But what was their purpose?

The spirits had pretended to be the river's daughters. They had used Vynmur's name to get sacrifices. But would the sacrifices have been made, if the others had known the spirits were lying?

And, a sacrifice was not only valuable to the person who made it. It was valuable to whomever it was made to. The spirits had taken as much from the River's Daughter as they had from the people they had lied to. They had taken away sacrifices that were meant for her.

"Why has she not prevented them from stealing from her?" he asked.

Hart looked at the river.

"We can't trust the spirits," he finally said. "They're doing the same thing they did, prior to telling the "truth". They used Vynmur's name to get sacrifices. Now they're using his name -his daughter's name- to get us into the water."

He looked away from the river, first at the ithecal and then at the mortalborn. "I know I said I would go with you to see the River's Daughter. But really," Hart said, and he spoke imploringly- "I would much prefer we all just leave."

[Praetorum]

Date: 121st of Ashan, Arc 720

Status: Alarmed

Weapons: Buckler, Quarterstaff

Armor: Plate-like Leather

Current Magical Effects

Compulsion to enter the water

Scales and arms curled around the leather of his armor, and Prae's worries eased a little, fading like mist at daybreak. 



Behind him, Framilia straightened up a little with renewed confidence, the movement sparking a thought in his mind. Just why were his concerns dissipating? His own diri consumed the strength of others—perhaps....


It changed nothing. Prae was only here so the trap wouldn't snap shut on anyone else, or to pull them out if it did. The melrathi, who Prae had thought the most receptive to the offers of spirits, refused, riding away without turning back, and the strangely familiar human seemed on the verge of leaving as well, staying only to try and persuade them to do likewise. 



Only the man with the painted face seemed interested, already beginning to move towards the water. Prae supposed that settled it for him; he couldn't very well leave the man, and Prae was uniquely suited to go with him, as he was quite sure none of the others were defiers. Besides, it had been a great deal of time since he'd spent time with this element. 



Spirits aside, he did want to....


Did need to.....


Panic flared in Praetorum at the familiar feel of it, of something reaching into his heart to rearrange his feelings as they wished. Empath! 



Grimnir was dead, but Prae still had nightmares of complacency creeping over him as he ate, of all his rage and anger vanishing and leaving only hollowness in its wake, of crushing despair, leaping between his fighters like a wildfire before Angud intervened. 



Suspicion surged to the surface in an instant, furiously reaching out to attune to everyone within his reach, searching for the culprit.


Hart's song was disarray and concern and thoughtfulness and weariness, while Azrael was curiosity and playfulness and a desire so clear it stood out above all the rest. His own song held the same note, trying to drown out the rest, a push towards the water that still ate at him. As for the spirits....


Prae got to his feet, fixing each sister with a sharp look. As he did, Suspicion showed to him what it could feel from them: nothing.


"You want our trust, but try to compel us to follow you into the water?" He demanded, before turning to Azrael. "Focus, and think. Why do you want to follow them?"

[Pig Boy]

The River's Daughter

Svellhulda shrugged at Azrael's question and slipped away from the embrace she'd wrapped him in, her manner suddenly cold and distant. "My purpose? I offer all things under shade. Take it or leave it." So saying, she flew up into a tree branch, hanging over the river. She ignored Azrael now, and turned her face toward the waters.

Framilia's voice bubbled up from nearby Praetorum, and she said, "I offer water. Come and drink with us!" Her snake hair snapped and hissed as she spoke, spitting saliva into the air as it egged the three on.

Finally, Vitria was the last to give her own purpose, and each of the remaining three would feel it in the fiber of their being. "I offer the line between truth and falsehood. Ignorance and knowledge. What do you think lies on the other side of the river's bank? What do you think lies on this plane, above the surface? Dare you confront the River's Daughter? We are rather beginning to think you haven't the courage."

Vitria's tail emerged from the water, and it was a large serpent, angular in the head with venom dripping from its lips. Around her neck, the other end of the viper also had a head with fangs, and this dug its fangs deep into her neck. Then, she sank down, holding a hand out for anyone to take. If nobody took it within seven bits, it too would sink beneath the banks of the River.

"Come as you are, or go." Another voice, vibrating all around them, which belonged to none of the three sister spirits.

At that, Framilia frantically ran into the water, gracelessly splashing it all over as she sank beneath the surface. Svellhulda flew to a nearby tree, and seemed to sink into its boughs, unnoticed now by anyone. Only VItria's hand remained, inviting anyone to take it.

!	Message from: Pig Boy
	Okay, thread is nearing its conclusion. First one to take Vitria's hand will advance to the next stage. Only one of you may take her hand. But you will all be able to post if you wish before or after whoever takes her hand.

[Azrael]

121 Ashan 720 | Azrael Blackfire | The Wilds

The other implored him not to go and yet Azrael could not deny an urge to see what they had in store for them. Hart in particular implored him not to trust the spirits- citing their lies as a reason not to trust anything they said. In most circumstances, Hart was right. Liars couldn't be trusted... but Azrael thought that everyone was a liar in one way or another. Everyone said some things they didn't mean to make people feel good- or perhaps to make them feel bad. What was truth? "Most people can't be trusted, I don't run from them." Either Azrael was making excuses for the spirits or for himself but the result was the same. Praetorum demanded Azrael focus and the sellsword turned his head toward the Ithecal. Why did he want to go? "We've asked a lot of questions but we'll never have the answer to any of them if we walk away now. I like answers. I won't ask you to come with me, but I have to know." If these three liars could take him to the River's Daughter, Azrael wanted to let them. He wasn't quite sure what other use they'd have had for the mortals they'd gathered... and even if it was something bad... he wanted to know.

The answer to his question was not the most comforting response. The spirit who'd been so friendly moments before seemed to turn cold to Azrael and the mortal born watched her fly off curiously. She offered all things under the shade? What sorts of things? Did it matter? She'd made it clear he only had two choices. Take it or leave it. That which followed would only reinforce what the winged woman had insisted. The spirits began to depart and when all that was left was an outstretched hand, Azrael moved in to take it. He had to know.

!	Message from: Pig Boy
	As Azrael takes Vitria's hand, it pulls him into the water, and he disappears into the murky depths beneath its surface. Praetorum and Hart will be unable to find him from above the surface of the water. Should they venture into it, they won't feel or see any sign of him.

[Hart]

"Don't-" Hart said, one last attempt to stop the mortalborn.

But it was too late. Just like that

the man was gone.

"Ah fuck," Hart murmured. He spared a glance to the ithecal, and in him the man would see helplessness.

But there was no time.

Hart was carrying his travel bag, and he yanked it from his shoulder. He went through the bag's contents, dumping the bag out if he had to. There was not much in the bag, so it wasn't hard to find the necklace he had taken off earlier. With a fluid movement Hart looped it back over his head.

From one moment to the next Hart was different. He was a young man, in his mid twenties; then he was older, perhaps by twenty or thirty arcs. He had put his clothes on, boots and shirt, but there was no time to remove them. He backed up a handful of paces and, with a deep inhale of breath, he ran and dived into the river.

There was no sign of the mortalborn.

The necklace made it so that Hart was able to swim, strong against the river's current. He kept his breath in as long as he was able, and dived. The boots on his feet made kicking awkward, but he swam. He swam down. Down into the murky waters, into the black. It was dark and his eyes weren't able to make out much. But as he swam, he reached out with his abilities, and looked for any sign of the mortalborn.

If he wasn't able to sense him, Hart would remain under the water for as long as possible, physically searching. Then he kicked back up to the surface, gulped in a breath, and dived back down.

He would keep searching the river for perhaps four minutes. Any less felt like too small an amount of effort. Any more felt like too much time that the man would have been underwater- too much time for the man to drown.

Cold and trembling with effort, Hart made his way back to the surface. Gasping for breath, he clumsily swam to the river's bank. He half-climbed out, prepared to go right back in despite his physical exhaustion.

"Svel," he called into the night. He squinted up at the trees where the spirit had vanished. He wasn't able to see her; he wasn't sure she was even there. But he had to try. "I'll make a deal with you if you take me to wherever they've gone."

He would offer the same to the spirits that had vanished into the water.

If he was given no response, he would go back into the river and swim, searching, until he was physically too exhausted to swim anymore.

Even when he wasn't able to swim, Hart would remain on the river's banks. His eyes would search the dark of the waters for some sign of the mortalborn. And he would look for the mortalborn as long as he was able. He wasn't used to using his ability for more than a glance at a time. But he would do it, push it, until he was as mentally exhausted as he was physically.

If the mortalborn didn't appear within the waters, Hart would remain at the river's side for a number of hours, awaiting his return.

Notes: When it says Hart is looking for Azrael using his mortalborn abilities, it means that he's using his ability Fulfillment. Fulfillment reads,

"Hart can sense when a nearby being is in need of help, and what it is the being needs. If pressed, he can also sense what the being wants, though this will double the severity of drawbacks he experiences."

Hart is attempting to use the ability to sense 1. Azrael's surface needs [if he is drowning, especially] and 2. where Azrael is in the water. The ability doesn't specifically say that Hart senses where the being in need is, so I'll leave that to the mod. However, it does say that he senses when a being is nearby.

I don't really think the ability will succeed, because of the mod note above. But Hart would try.