Sevryla is an anagram for slavery

Moirean

So a shadowbound person has been spotted in Spinesreach tampering with the pylon, Teshen are boiling up from the caverns beneath Mhojave and now trouble is heard from Saluria. Iosyne summons Tralendar and Moi to go check and they have an adventure (lots of death and banter) that culminates in Ati making an appearance. Oops. Iosyne is not amused with their lack of tact and caution, so Moi slinks off to do some bashing - hopefully mindlessly killing stuff will help distract her from her embarrassment...and her concerns over what a return of Ati and the shadowbound could mean for the fate of her daughter, Sevryla, who grew and was birthed from a shadowplagued body, and is currently stuck in some sort of ageless, perma-childhood, claimed by Severn as a pawn and a tool.

The daughter and the shadowplague occurred during this massive arc about a year ago: http://forums.aetolia.com/discussion/671/the-shadowplague-saga

Thoughts are colored yellow

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

Angwe's voice resonates across the land, "RrrrRRRRAAAAAUUUUUUGH!"

Damariel, the Unbound's voice rings out across the land like the falling of hammers, "Calm down, son. It'll be all right. You'll ride this through."

You shout, "Damariel's gotten WAY less picky since Ishin offed his girlfriend."

You aim a mighty swing into a Nazetu corrupter, the blade of a somber silver-edged halberd hacking into its gut. With a snarl, you wrench your blade free, spilling its entrails in a gory display.
You have scored a CRUSHING CRITICAL hit!
Health Gain: 346
Damage done: 3003, cutting.
The final blow proves too much for a Nazetu corrupter, who expires, pitifully.
Experience Gained: 8795 (Bashing) [total: 33825030]
Your vision distorts briefly, light scattering subtly as ylem energy diffuses into the surrounding atmosphere.
You use Deathlore Harvest.
Raising your soulstone above , you snarl a guttural chant that causes a smoke-grey glyph to appear within the stone. Moments later, an ethereal stream of silver-white motes flows up from the corpse of a Nazetu corrupter and into the soulstone.
You collect 389 gold from the corpse.
Having slain a Nazetu corrupter, you retrieve the corpse.

An aura of light and calm descends upon your surroundings as Damariel, the Unbound strides into view.

"Ha!" Damariel sharply interjects, stepping forward to deliver a quick uppercut to your head, knocking you out cold.

You are unconscious and thus incapable of action.

You are unconscious and thus incapable of action. (this lasted a LONG time. He has a strong punch)

Losing your balance, you fall from your steed to the hard ground.

You regain consciousness with a start.

You say, "That was a very emotional response."

Damariel says to you, "You are fortunate that I am a merciful God."

You say to Damariel, "You are fortunate the Cabal took my sword away."

Damariel asks you, "I thought we had resolved our dispute, Imp, some years ago. Why do you persist in taunting Me?"

A ball of chitinous legs bounds in from the west.
A ball of chitinous legs snarls angrily at you and moves in for the kill.
Several barbed appendages burst forth from a ball of chitinous legs and rake across your skin.

You aim a mighty swing into a ball of chitinous legs, the blade of a somber silver-edged halberd hacking into its gut. With a snarl, you wrench your blade free, spilling its entrails in a gory display.
Spinning a somber silver-edged halberd deftly in your hands, you bring it about for another strike.
You aim a mighty swing into a ball of chitinous legs, the blade of a somber silver-edged halberd hacking into its gut. With a snarl, you wrench your blade free, spilling its entrails in a gory display.
The final blow proves too much for a ball of chitinous legs, who expires, pitifully.
Having slain a ball of chitinous legs, you retrieve the corpse.

With a shrug, wiping gore from her blade, you say, "Amusement, really. It's not spite."

Damariel seems to think for a moment before nodding slowly.

You say, "Just a joke, you know?"

You say, "You should hear the things people say about ME."

You roll your eyes.

Damariel says, "Funny. You're a funny Imp."

You say, "I doubt it."

Damariel's face is flat - expressionless.

Heaving a sigh, you say, "Fine. Fine. I'll be nice. No more shouts and all that. I...know what it's like."

A soft green glow fills the area as a Nazetu intercessor floats in from the north.
A mutated Nazetu intercessor snarls angrily at you and moves in for the kill.
You strike a mutated Nazetu intercessor with a somber silver-edged halberd.
The final blow proves too much for a mutated Nazetu intercessor, who expires, pitifully.

You say, "Favor, though-."

Damariel tilts His head curiously at you.

Careful. You only get one shot, here. Help Ryla? Protect you from the plague?

...being responsible sucks.

Damariel snorts arrogantly.

With a sigh, you say, "Ati is apparently back."

Damariel's lifts His chin a fraction of an inch.

You say, "You're powerful. The world is doomed. Help is needed, to ensure things don't get...bad. There was a plague, before, but Enorian was reluctant to listen to my warnings."

Damariel says to you, "I will involve My followers on one condition, Chairwoman."

Jaw clenching, you say, "For the sake of everyone, it would be good to hear things from a voice they trust. Save the world and all that."

"One condition." Damariel's gaze is unbroken - steady.

You have emoted: Moirean exhales slowly. She nods tersely. "And that is?" she prompts.

Damariel says, "You will convey, through the same medium used to make mock of My grief, an apology. You shall say that making light of another's grief is cruel and unjust. You shall say that you intend never to make such an insensitive and unjust remark again, and mention that since the event you describe, we have both made efforts to resolve our differences."

Tilting His head forward just the slightest bit, Damariel prompts: "Do you understand?"

Stupid Imp. Could have saved Ryla. Stupid stupid stupid, who cares about Enorian, the light, Sapience.

You have emoted: Moirean hesitates just a moment, and then lets out a short, exasperated sigh, shifting her weight with a clatter of platemail, before she sucks in a deep breath.

You shout, "My sincere apologies to Lord Damariel - mocking His pain was uncouth and childish and unbefitting of my station both as a leader, and as someone who has mourned and lost in her own ways. I am sorry for the cheap attack and will refrain from such in the future. So. There."

You see Damariel shout, "Forgiven, Imp. Don't let it happen again."

Toz tells you, "What did He do to you?"

Frowning, you say, "You and Yours will help, now?"

//----- Mobs keep coming in, cuz Tiyen ----\\

Lowering His gaze, Damariel says to you, "Now. Tell Me about Ryla."

You have emoted: Moirean shrinks back at that, eyes narrowing. "Was this all a joke, then?" she spits back, hugging her polearm tight across her body. "Get me to embarrass myself and now...threats?"

You say, in Imp, "Bye!"
Placing a bone stepladder on the ground, you quickly scramble up it - upon reaching the top, a cloud of smoke erupts and you find yourself, for once, taller than everyone. (mywings)
Damariel follows you to the ether.
^--- Haxor
Perched above the world. (Edge of Reality.)
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, northwest, up, down, in, and out.

Damariel chuckles long and heartily.

Damariel asks you, "No. I want to help you save your child, as a show of My good faith. Surely you can understand that manner of selflessness, Imp?"

"However," Damariel adds, wiping blood from His gauntlets, "I need details. I need to know what's happened."

Scowling, you say, "Go away. Liar."

His eyebrows rising, Damariel says, "I don't lie."

A black whip of shadow energy snakes into the room, slithering up into a corkscrew shape and falling away to reveal the form of Iosyne.

Iosyne, the Malevolent says, "Her child's whereabouts are not Your concern, Brother."

You have emoted: Moirean risks a peek back over her shoulder at Damariel, expression guarded and wary. "...Maybe not," she admits, although the words are forced and given begrudgingly. She seems about to move onwards, but halts in place as Iosyne appears. She flushes and drops her gaze, mumbling, "Malevolent!"

Quietly, like a child who's been scolded, you say, "Sorry again about the whole unleashing Ati thing...."

His arms folding across His breastplate with a soft rasp, Damariel nods. "Sister."

You tell Toz, "Nothing. He is - was? - going to help."

Toz tells you, "Ah, I see."

The Goddess appears almost possessive of Her follower, moving to stand between mortal and God in defiance. "I will not see His work undone, even if He is not here to defend it," She announces, only a flicker of hesitation - or fear? - present in Her declaration.

You have emoted: Moirean bristles at that, hands balling into fists. She says nothing, teeth clenching as she holds in her words, but she's mortal - her thoughts bleed through, emotionally charged and as loud as screaming: His WORK stole her from me. His WORK has trapped her. She's not a PROPHET, she's my girl, and now the shadows are going to TAKE her.

His eyebrows and chin lifting as He draws in breath, Damariel says to Iosyne, "Oh, He's involved? All the more reason for Me to be, I should think. Sister, there's a child in the balance. You have fallen far, but I know you must realize that no child deserves to be without its mother."

You have emoted: Moirean's words, when they come, are somewhat forced, but staunchly loyal, as she stiffly defends, "The Malevolent has not fallen. She is strong and powerful and beautiful."

Toz tells you, "Would you care to remove a raiding Sentinel?"

You tell Toz, "I am...slightly busy."

Toz tells you, "I see."

Iosyne holds Her position before Damariel, Her bare foot digging into the soft earth. "Her desires are not something to be seduced. Are you to use this mortal as some gambling chip? I thought more of You."

"I never disputed any of that," Damariel remarks quietly to you. "She is My Sister, and I love Her, and She has always been strong and powerful and beautiful. Yet She is much diminished from the Sister that taught Me how to hold a brush - how to guide a line across parchment - how to make dead ink come alive with a turn of the wrist." He takes a moment of silence - turns to Iosyne, and addresses Her. "I find My Brother's manipulation of children abhorrent, Sister, and though it may serve My purposes to help her and to save her child, you understand that My personal character has no bearing on the undeniable fact that He is denying a mother her child - and that child its freedom."

You have emoted: Moirean draws in a quick breath, almost automatically insisting, "Her carnage is more lovely than any painting." The statement is more formulaic than fervent, but her words do not falter. She hesitates a moment and then, tentatively, clarifies, "...But she is not...taken. Not exactly. I have her, physically. For now."

The Djeirani Goddess flinches, but only barely. If Damariel's words penetrate Her defenses, She does not make it known. "It is not Your concern either way. If she desires something, she would come to Me. Not You." With this, the Goddess gives a wayward glance to the Imp in question.

His arms swinging loosely as He circles the breathtaking overlook, Damariel says to Iosyne, "With respect, Sister, there is a great deal that you cannot offer Her."

You have emoted: Moirean flushes, almost guiltily, but nods at Iosyne's words. "My Malevolent protects me and challenges me," she staunchly says aloud. In a whisper, her thoughts slip out like a sigh, though, carrying shreds of pained images: Her arm ripped away, the Shadowplague swallowing her body, the Goddess Herself - warped and twisted and crawling with darkness - seizing a baby.

Iosyne shifts Her position, adopting a posture akin to a Tekura user, until four obsidian scimitars warp into Her possession, changing the image entirely. "Try Me," is Her challenge, Her voice breaking only slightly.

Damariel removes Maraxis, the Godhammer.

Damariel drops Maraxis, the Godhammer.

Damariel shakes His head at Iosyne.

With Maraxis at His feet, Damariel says to Iosyne, "We fought Odravh together. I have no wish to kill You."

His voice cracking slightly, although His expression hardly changes, Damariel adds, more softly: "I love You, Sister."

You have emoted: Moirean draws in a sharp breath, eyes growing wide as her hands slip up to cover her mouth. She shakes her head slowly, but doesn't dare to say anything, only watching in trepidation as Iosyne challenges Damariel.

Frustrated, Iosyne demands of Damariel, "Then what do You want?"

With a helpless shake of His head, Damariel says to Iosyne, "I want the Imp's child back. Ten of her guards are dead by My hand. Let Me save one, just this once. Let Me save one."

Oh I love Her, She's magnificent, beautiful, strong but so is He, He could help, was going to help, everything's falling APART because you're so SELFISH you stupid STUPID Imp.

The countenance of the Malevolent Goddess hardens, and where Her gaze travels is anybody's guess. She finally rights Herself, the scimitars vanishing from all four of Her hands, freeing them to focus on summoning a sworl of stormy darkness in Her control. "You will break what I tell You to," She says to Damariel - too pleading to be an order, but She speaks with such implied authority that it appears as such.

The rasping sounds of skittering legs heralds a horde of hundreds of tiny centipedes scurrying by. In their wake, they drop Sevryla and hasten off into the shadows.

The child Imp appears in the grasp of the Goddess, lowering to set on the ground between Her and Damariel. "Free her from the ageless curse," She asks Damariel, lowering Her gaze. "If you wish to save someone, do this."

Sevryla:
Upright on steady legs, this Imp youth stands out from her average kin. Wisps of shadows flicker in and out of existence, curling around her lithe body in a near constant, smokey haze. Skin the color of dark bronze covers her body, while a pair of wings jut from her back, still growing to their proper size and strength. Her smooth, child-like face wears a near always present grin, mischievous as her heritage dictates. A stubby pair of horns raise from atop her brow, curling slightly as they do so. Ragged, bright red curls fall from her scalp and partially obscure the bright, pupil-less yellow eyes that stare out from behind them. She is dressed in plain clothing and drags a miniature warhammer with her wherever she goes.

You have emoted: Moirean's obedient and loyal stance falters at this change - she flinches, once, as if expecting pain, but does not hesitate to move towards her girl, dropping onto a knee and opening her arms for the child. Quietly, she murmurs to her, doing her best to soothe the girl's agitation - it's quite clear that something about Iosyne is absolutely unnerving the child.

Damariel bends His knees, stoops, and reaches to collect Maraxis, the Godhammer. He doesn't answer. His eyes turn to you.

Quietly, nodding towards Iosyne, you say to Sevryla, "Remember, it was just a game, She and I were just playing a game. She won't hurt you."

Softly, Damariel says to you, "Moirean Seirath - do you wish Me to free your daughter?"

The form of the many-limbed Goddess is surely monstrous before the child, though the Malevolent does nothing but take a knee.

You have emoted: Moirean blinks at the direct question. Her arms tighten a bit about the girl. She swallows, and then asks, "Will Severn still claim her? Will they still want her, call her their Tao'Chaka? Will the Shadowmother-" She glances down, towards the child, and carefully smooths down a tangled curl, keeping her voice light as she quietly asks, "...How will she be best safe? Will it hurt the rest of us? She is my girl, but Toz says, he says we have to trust Severn-"

You tell Toz, "They can cure her. Ryla. Maybe. I don't know if this is a trap, a trick, will changing her ruin things-."

//------ Much PK happening, there's a lesser. Toz be busy -----\\

At this, Iosyne moves to crouch beside Her General and the Imp child. "She is just a mortal," the Goddess speaks, though to Whom, it is uncertain. "This burden should never have been placed on her to begin with."

Damariel's gaze turns - to the girl, to Iosyne. He straightens up from His pause to address you. "If she is freed, then the repercussions cannot be accurately reckoned. You make the choice, as every parent does, to place her in danger by granting her her freedom. You must decide what is better for the child, Moirean-" His hand tightens on the haft of His hammer, "That she live a free life, possibly in danger of reprisal from My Brother and His own... or that she remain within His sway, and possibly safer for it."

You have emoted: Moirean swallows again, burying her face in the girl's curls for a moment to give her a kiss, eyes closing. She draws in a deep breath as she lifts her head, expression wan, and then she admits, "I would damn the entire world to keep her safe. He says she is needed, but..." A sort of plaintive note enters her voice. "I can only be so responsible. It's hard, and I'm not patient-" Her eyes fix on Iosyne and, almost pleading, she asks, "You pick. You pick for me."

In simple silence, Damariel nods to Iosyne - affirming your choice.

The Goddess rises to Her feet, Her arms slack. The child in question barely reaches the height of Her knees, and Iosyne looks as if for a moment She might take that to Her advantage of that - with a swift kick, or a slap, or something equally cruel. Instead, She closes Her unseeing eyes, extinguishing the luminescent glow they emit. "If anyone could weather His potential wrath, I can," She solemnly states. "I can weather His storm."

Damariel swings Maraxis, the Godhammer - and in the silhouette of its sudden, sharp glow, the outline of an axe appears - the outline of chains, breaking, tenfold, a hundredfold, shattering into gleaming shards. Light envelops Sevryla, and she is consumed, the shadow seething beneath the weight of the Godhammer, fighting, attempting to survive... but ultimately, it is moot before the Lord's power.

You have emoted: Moirean falls back at the swing, eyes closing against the searing, brilliant light. One arm stays clutched tightly around the girl's waist, as if unwilling to part with her even through this sundering, holding on to her daughter through the blow, and the breaking, and even through the shattering of the shadows.

The shadows engulfing Sevryla dissipate slowly, like a hazy dream gradually aging - she fades into the form she would have - might have - been, were her enchantment never present.

New Sevryla description:
Standing firm and strong, this Imp stands apart from her average kin. Wisps of shadow flicker in and out of her existence, curling around her lithe body in a near constant, smoky haze. Skin the color of dark bronze covers her body, while a pair of wings jut from her back, swooping out from her frame like a bat's wingspan. Her flawless countenance adopts a near omnipresent grin, mischievous as her heritage earns her. A curved pair of horns raise from atop her brow, curling slightly as they do so. Ragged, bright red curls fall from her scalp and partially obscure the bright yellow eyes that stare out from behind them. She wears the clothing and armor of the Carnifex, a warhammer held confidently in her grip.

Sevryla shields her eyes from the blinding light emitting from Damariel, emerging slightly confused from the ordeal. "Wh... what's goin' on, momma?"

Damariel whips the Godhammer back, letting it turn across His shoulders in an audible, whirring blur before He secures it at His shoulder, gauntlets falling. "The curse is broken," He says, glancing up at Iosyne. "I'm proud of You, Sister. You made the right choice."

You have emoted: Moirean's eyes open somewhere during the slow, hazy sort of aging, and she remains transfixed, watching the child transform. She's speechless for a span, finally broken out of her reverie by the girl - woman's - question. She blinks, and lets out a shaky breath as she pulls the other Imp into a tight hug. There is thrilled and nervous laughter in her voice as she answers, "You're free, love. Free as a bird-"

You have emoted: Over her daughter's shoulder, Moirean's gaze finds the divine. She blushes, risking only momentarily glances at each of them, before her attention turns back to the woman, focusing fully on her with a hungry, avid interest. She squeezes her even tighter, as if to prove she's real, and lets out a hiccuping laugh.

Iosyne stands, Her gaze still shut and averted for a long moment until Her eyelids slowly raise in a controlled sort of manner. She regards the younger Imp child with slightly more than idle cuioristy. She addresses Damariel with Her response, "There was no question of what was meant to be here. I could not override His touch, You certainly know that." There is a flawed touch in Her manner of speaking, something that is not quite genuine, and She spares Him a grateful glance.

Damariel only has one answer - a gauntlet, pressed to His lips, and then outstretched toward Iosyne.

Damariel smiles at Iosyne.

Damariel, the Unbound turns and strides away, His aura of light and calm fading as He goes.

You have emoted: Moirean seems happily oblivious to the Gods, entranced with her daughter's changes. The two of them have already settled in close, arms twined around each other and tails tangled together, and are busy chattering away, voices shrill, high-pitched and Impish, and heavily punctuated with giggles and snickers.

The Malevolent, without fanfare, has faded into the background, blending into the surrounding din over time and fading with its gradual ebb.

You have emoted: Mother and daughter gradually lapse into a comfortable sort of silence, leaning against each other at the very edge of the precipice, Sevryla resting her head on Moirean's shoulder and lazily listening as her mother points out various landmarks and important features of Sapience far below. It's calm, and quiet, a content, peaceful moment, and the two of them seem happy to savor it together for as long as it can last.

Faerah

This was so sweet.

Moirean

Welp. This is why Moi can't have nice things. Warning: a bit of possible-event spoilery.

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

You tell Sevryla Seirath, "Where did you run off to? Training?"

Sevryla Seirath tells you, "Erm, something of the sort, mother."

You tell Sevryla Seirath, "Your father will work on that new hammer when he has time. Shall we leave it at the Keep when it's done?"

Sevryla Seirath tells you, "Umm- Yes. Yes that will be fine."

You tell Sevryla Seirath, "...You sound like me when I've done something Toz wouldn't like. What have you done?"

Sevryla Seirath tells you, "No-no-no-nothing! I have done nothing, mother."

You tell Sevryla Seirath, "Uh huh. Just make sure to bury the bodies and sweep up the rubble."

Sevryla Seirath tells you, "Welllll...."

You tell Sevryla Seirath, "Out with it."

Sevryla Seirath tells you, "I uh. I'm not sure how to put it."

You tell Sevryla Seirath, "Try using words. Or a firework! Saying it with fireworks is always fun!"

Sevryla Seirath tells you, "Ok. When you put it that way."

Sevryla Seirath tells you, "I umm. Well, that is. I'm leaving?"

You tell Sevryla Seirath, "...leaving? For where - what?!"

Sevryla Seirath tells you, "It's all rather complicated, mother. Well actually it isn't when you think about it but that is beside the point. Ahem, I've been summoned... so to speak."

You shout, "Sevryla Seirath, you get over here right now, young woman!"

Plateau of Mount Gallows. (Tarea Mountains.)
The bright sun shines down, blanketing you with its life-giving warmth. Dripping black ichor, a heaping skeleton of bone creates a construct from the earth here. An imposing monument of iron depicts two warriors engaged in a fierce battle. Scattered sparsely, a few pine trees grow tenaciously amongst the snow. An oversized stone battleaxe juts out of the ground. A gentle pony grazes contentedly nearby. Dominating the western plateau is a large, menacing fortress of black steel.
You see a single exit leading north.

Clinking and clacking, the portcullis slowly rolls up and locks into place. You walk through, the portcullis crashing back down behind you.
Between the portcullises.
Medeya, the Carnifex gatewarden stands here tall and imposing. There are 2 monolith sigils here. A weapons rack of metal hounds is here, blades held firmly in iron snarls. Medeya, the gatewarden is a tutor you can learn your skills from, view HELP LEARNING for more information. A murky darkness has settled in here.
You see exits leading north, east, south, west, and up.

A spacious common room. (Shadow Keep.)
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A soft slate suede couch spans the west wall, large and inviting. A beautifully carved chess board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. There are 3 arcane black rings here. An obsidian earring is here, fashioned in the shape of a spider. An elegant ring lies here, intricately engraved. His thick robes covered in talismans and runes, this aged shaman leans on his staff. Scarred and covered in battle trophies, this muscular minotaur exudes a cold demeanor. A massive stone fireplace dominates the room's northeastern wall. A youthful, female minotaur stands here at the ready. Sevryla Seirath is here. She wields a petite warhammer in both hands. A murky darkness has settled in here.
You see exits leading north, east, and down.

You stare implacably at Sevryla Seirath.

Sevryla Seirath says, "Ah hah hah, mother, hello!"

Ryla:
Taller and a bit bulkier than her average kin, this Imp stands apart from her surroundings. Shadowy tendrils flicker in and out of existence, draping her body in a hazy shroud. Skin the color of dark bronze covers her from head to toe and seems to give off a dull glow at times. Bat-like in shape and form, a pair of small wings jut from her back. Two horns of an onyx hue rise up from atop her brow, curling outward with the tips directed outwards. Ragged, bright red curls fall from her scalp and partially obscure the eerie yellow orbs that serve for her eyes.

________________________ (on her pinky finger) : a ring of pestilence
_________ (peeking out from beneath her armor) : a fighter's red leather shirt
_____________________________ (neatly pressed) : ebony trousers, banded with ivory and crimson
________________________ (polished to a shine) : black Carnifex plate with menacing spikes
___________ (wrapped tightly around her waist) : a dual-sheathed weaponbelt
_________________ (clinking against her armor) : a medal of the iron hammer
__________________________ (proudly displayed) : garishly bright pink boots

Shaking her head frantically, you say to Sevryla Seirath, "No no no no no, Damariel used His POWER! He broke the THING and now you're FREE and WHAT is going ON!"

You stare implacably at Norak, Speaker of the Runes.

Norak:
Slightly stooped, but no less tall in stature, this old bull has long since passed his prime. The exposed portions of his body show wrinkled, leathery skin and gray fur. A thick robe hangs down to his hooves, made of black bear's fur and worked with countless wooden talismans and stone runes. The runes are painted with the harsh, jagged script of his native tongue, and at times seem to give off a faint light. Hairless, his scalp has been tattooed with more of the runic language, barely any bit of flesh has been left untouched. Even his mighty, gnarled horns have been painstakingly covered in tiny writing, the meaning unknown to any outside the minotaur race. Held in his bony hands is an ancient staff of petrified wood, its surface almost indiscernible due to all of the paper wards dangling across its length.
He is loyal to Kokun, Who Hears the Phantoms.

Harun:
This brutish warrior has seen his fair share of combat, as can be seen from the numerous scars that mar exposed portions of his black fur-covered body. He is garbed in a peculiar set of armour; wooden plates overlapping leather and mail strain across his considerable bulk. Slung diagonally across his chest are a string of trophies and fetishes, mostly of bone while some are carved from wood. An open-faced helm of the same make as his armor sits atop his head, held by a thick leather strap. A single horn protrudes from above his left temple, its companion seeming to have been shorn off at its base. His leather like face is worn with age and hardened lines and he stares grimly at his surroundings. He carries a massive glaive on him at all times, its shaft decorated with what must be hundreds of tiny slips of paper inscribed with harsh looking runes.
Harun, Who Charges Blindly almost glows with nearly god-like power.
He is loyal to Valaki, Who Topples Oaks.

Da'rek:
Short, for her kind, and stocky, this female minotaur barely reaches six feet in height. Light-brown fur covers the exposed portions of her body, and she bears none of the scars or badges of honor that others of the warrior-caste might. Leather armor hides her vulnerable spots as well as her feminine assets, and a thin fur sash stretches from her left shoulder to her right hip. Affixed over her breast upon it, is a wooden disc bearing a single harsh rune in red ink. She wears no helm, and the tufts of hair atop her head have been interwoven with artificial braids adorned with beads and small bones. She wields a plain glaive of wood and steel, with only a pair of parchments tied just beneath the bladed head.
She is loyal to Valaki, Who Topples Oaks.

Sharply, you say to Norak, Speaker of the Runes, "This is all your fault, isn't it, filling her head with tales of silly shaman things."

Sevryla Seirath gives a pained sigh.

Sadly, Norak, Speaker of the Runes says, "I have done nothing that was not already in place before we came to you."

Harun, Who Charges Blindly grunts noncommittally.

Voice growing shrill and emotional, you say to Norak, Speaker of the Runes, "No! Damariel BROKE that, he FIXED things, she doesn't belong to Severn anymore, she's MY daughter, MINE-."

Turning back to the young woman, you say to Sevryla Seirath, "You don't have to do this, you don't have to listen to them-."

Sevryla Seirath says, "Mother."

Sevryla Seirath says, "Please."

Sevryla Seirath says, "They aren't making me do anything I did not already know I needed to do."

Sevryla Seirath fidgets a bit, looking away from you and absently tugging upon a crimson curl.

Stubbornly refusing to listen, you say to Sevryla Seirath, "Needed? No, no, all you NEED to do is stay here and be a soldier, you'll be a strong and good little soldi-."

Sevryla Seirath turns back to you, the haze around her body shifting as she does so. "Mother, please do not make this harder than it need be."

You have emoted: Moirean falls silent, as if sensing something in the room, or perhaps in the tone of her daughter's voice. She looks over to the shaman, the warrior, and then the fireplace, gaze lingering there a moment. "We told you stories," she finally says, her voice low as she regards the embers and the shadows they cast, shapes of soldiers dancing across the chamber. "We told you of battles and gods and how you'd grow up to be a hero yourself-"

You have emoted: Moirean slowly looks over to her daughter, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "...He didn't really do anything, did He?" she asks, tone mostly rhetorical.

Sevryla Seirath tenses at the sound of her mother's voice, reaching a hand out to you. "You raised me well, mother. Better than well... you're my mother." A slight hitch enters her voice at the end.

You have emoted: "What's between you and the Manipulator-" Moirean haltingly starts. She swallows heavily. One hand slides down to press against her stomach, and she frowns, as if recalling His power shielding the infant. Her other finds her daughter's and she gives it a squeeze. She sighs. "-it's powerful. I had hoped..."

Shaking his massive head slowly, Norak, Speaker of the Runes says, "Tao'Chaka is forever bound. It was never something made to be severed by anyone other than He who placed it."

You have emoted: "A mother always hopes," Moirean snaps over to Norak, Speaker of the Runes, but the bite in her tone is undercut and tempered to something soft and sad.

Sevryla Seirath says, "I will be fine, mother. I promise. I can take care of myself, you and father taught me well."

Harun, Who Charges Blindly smirks, looking over at Sevryla Seirath.

Glaring at the bull, Sevryla Seirath says, "And yes, you did too!"

You have emoted: Moirean gives a faint smile, and a slight nod, pulling the girl close for a tight embrace. "Love you," she mumbles by way of farewell.

Sevryla Seirath gives a muffled squeak at the embrace, her manner awkward as she returns the hug. "I.. love you too, mother."

You have emoted: Moirean grunts, stepping back and releasing Sevryla Seirath. "Go save the world or something," she gruffly says, doing her best to smile proudly at her daughter.

Blandly, Harun, Who Charges Blindly says, "As heartwarming as this all is, we have little time. We must make haste, Tao'Chaka."

You snort arrogantly at Harun, Who Charges Blindly.

Making a calming gesture, Norak, Speaker of the Runes says, "We have time, the way is yet clear. The Great Mother deserves to know what her child is getting into."

Sevryla Seirath hops back and forth, giving Norak, Speaker of the Runes a look that seems to say you most certainly do not need to know.

You have emoted: Moirean's smile falters at this, a clear touch of fear in her eyes.

Norak, Speaker of the Runes turns to look upon you, exhaling slowly. "You were there when the agent of the Enemy made its return. You know that which we were made to stand against." Looking over to Sevryla Seirath, he offers a faint smile to the young woman. "You also know that Father has not been seen for some time."

You have emoted: Moirean gives a faint nod, hands tightening into fists at her side. "Ati," she mumbles. "Sneak says it's as powerful as the Kerrithrim was - you can't mean for her, my little GIRL, to fight it-"

Quickly, Norak, Speaker of the Runes says, "No. Tao'Chaka bears a mighty gift, but she is not meant for that sort of battle."

Norak, Speaker of the Runes says, "Be at east, Great Mother, we do not send her into the type of danger you think."

You have emoted: Moirean's eyebrows raise as she stares at her daughter. "Gift?" she echoes nervously.

Sevryla Seirath stares upwards, away from your gaze.

Norak, Speaker of the Runes says, "The link established between Father and Tao'Chaka was something more than just a simple ward from the Shadowbound."

Norak, Speaker of the Runes says, "What you saw removed from her was merely the preservation of her physical self that was a sort of... left-over side effect."

Norak, Speaker of the Runes makes a gesture in the air with one hand. "Thus did she catch up to time."

You have emoted: Moirean shifts her weight uneasily, staring at her daughter with a growing sort of trepidation. "Is...is she even mortal?" she asks, voice halting and nervous, but cut through with a clear surge of maternal anger. "She's...she's still my DAUGHTER. She's not just His pawn-"

Sevryla Seirath reaches out, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm plenty mortal, for the most part," she says with a wry grin. "I wish I could make you see the world as I see, to know as I know... then you would understand I am not just a piece in a game, mother." There is an oddness to her words, speaking of a level of clarity that does not fit her mannerisms.
H
You have emoted: Moirean's obviously seen this sort of shift in the girl's demeanor before, this sudden sinking into something somber and sharper, and she grows quiet in the face of it, nodding once. It's clear she's frustrated, but she also seems to be slowly - finally - accepting the truth she'd blindly ignored for years. She attempts a shaky smile, weakly laughing, "...Well. Not many mothers can say that about their children."

Norak, Speaker of the Runes offers you a warm smile. "Just so. How many more mothers can say that their child will save a God?" At his words, Sevryla Seirath stiffens and bites her bottom lip.

Brightly, Sevryla Seirath says, "I'm going to go see Fath- er.. Lord Severn. At least, that is the plan anyway."

You have emoted: Moirean's eyes widen as she blinks rapidly. "Save," she blurts out. "He said SAVE."

Shaking her head, curls flying back and forth, you say, "That's not good, if HE needs saving, what can YOU do?! Send Iosyne, send Maghak, send Someone-."

The vague image of an invigorating hardy entwined grisly necklace of fanged skulls appears in the air, before Toz appears in a flash of magic.

Wasting absolutely no time on greetings, you say to Toz, "She's leaving. She's special. Severn needs saving. This is what doom sounds like."

Sevryla Seirath gives you a look, a look that falters a bit at the arrival of Toz. "Mother, please. It has to be me. It was always going to be me."

Toz shakes his head at you. "Not doom," he corrects, taking the news in stride. "I have always said we could destroy or save the world, if we set our minds to it. And given she is the best of both of us? She will manage well."

You have emoted: Moirean's voice reaches that shrill, register-topping sound again, as she squeaks out, "But SAVE a GOD?!" She fixes her stare on Sevryla Seirath, fussily insisting, "What does He want? Don't you let Him touch you anywhere! No means no!"

Sevryla Seirath puffs out her chest at Toz's words, giving a vigorous nod of her head that sends her curls flailing. "See, listen to father, mother."

Toz shrugs, brow furrowing in brief distaste. "Saving a God...I suppose if we have to risk one of our own for it, may as well be Him. He's been, strangely enough, the only One to uphold His word regularly."

Toz says to you, "Still. We knew this would happen - but she is no sacrifice. This is on her terms, is it not?"

Softly, Norak, Speaker of the Runes says, "It was Tao'Chaka that ultimately suggested it in the first place. The runes confirmed it so I was apt to see her through it."

Sevryla Seirath blinks at your sudden outburst, confusion clouding her face as she mumbles something that closely resembles 'touch me?'

You have emoted: Moirean frowns at Toz and stomps one foot, challenging Ryla, "What do you THINK Gods want little girls for?! It's all "Oh, Tao'Chaka" this and Chosen One that, but at the end of the day, every mortal I've seen hand-picked to help a God only got drained and used as a vessel for their troubles!"

With a stomp of her own foot, Sevryla Seirath says, "Well I'm -DIFFERENT-, mother! If I tell you I am going to be alright, then I will be. I have never lied to you and I haven't decided to start now."

Toz's hands go to clasp calmly behind his back. "Commander, if there is one thing I have learned in all these years? It is if you set your mind to do something, it will get done. Regardless of how I dig my claws in, I cannot stop you from marching onward towards whatever you've chosen. Why should your daughter be any different?" he prompts with a glance to you.

You have emoted: That stomp...it's a perfect mirroring of Moirean's own and for a moment, she's stunned into absolute silence, jaw dropping as she regards her daughter with wide eyes. For a long span of quiet, she's just poleaxed, unable to reply, before she draws in a sharp breath, nodding quickly. "Well," she finally states, recovering her voice and quickly regaining a brisk and decisive demeanor. "That's that, then, isn't it?" She looks over at Toz, her stare cool and challenging as she informs him, "Our daughter is off to save Severn. And the world. Stop getting in her WAY."

Sevryla Seirath quickly loses the fire in her stance and features, looking away for a moment before shifting her eyes back to you. "Mother, please. I will be alright and I will come back. I promise you."

Harun, Who Charges Blindly makes an urging gesture to Norak, Speaker of the Runes as he converses with the shaman in their guttural tongue.

You have emoted: Moirean nods firmly. "I'll be waiting," she replies, giving her daughter a faint smile. Her fingers claws at the air beside her, trying to find Toz's hand.

Toz informs Sevryla Seirath calmly, "Don't trust Him, or them, if you have a choice to. Gods do have a habit of causing...complications." you is spared a pointed look here, then he continues on towards Sevryla Seirath, "Ask for a bigger hammer. And remember your form."

Sevryla Seirath turns then, speaking to the trio of minotaur in the same harsh language. With a collective bowing of heads, they begin to shuffle out ahead of her.

Norak, Speaker of the Runes leaves to the east.

Scanning for threats, Harun stomps quickly off to the east.

Toz tells Sevryla Seirath with a faint smile, "Salute the gatekeeper on your way out." //--- Sevryla quite enjoyed "practicing" salutes at Medeya. Repeatedly. It drove Medeya nuts. ---\\

With a stamp of her hooves, Da'rek strides off to the east.

You have emoted: Moirean lets out a snort, looking sideways as her flailing attempt to hold Toz's hand fails. Frowning, she steps closer to him and firmly grips his hand, before dragging him along with her. "We'll see her to the gates," she insists.

Toz begins to follow you.

Sevryla Seirath begins to follow you.

Toz follows you to the north.
Between the portcullises. (Shadow Keep.)
Medeya, the Carnifex gatewarden stands here tall and imposing. There are 2 monolith sigils here. A weapons rack of metal hounds is here, blades held firmly in iron snarls. Medeya, the gatewarden is a tutor you can learn your skills from, view HELP LEARNING for more information. A murky darkness has settled in here.
You see exits leading north, east, south, west, and up.

You give Medeya, the gatewarden a respectful salute.
Medeya glances your way with a twisted grin.

Medeya, the gatewarden says, "The Keep is secure. Have you come to check up on me?"

You say to Medeya, the gatewarden, "Someone's come to give you one, last, final salute."

Correcting, Toz says, "A salute before she goes. She had better salute you when she returns, as well."

Sevryla Seirath says, "I wouldn't dare forget, father."

The corners of Sevryla Seirath's mouth turn up as she grins mischievously.

Sevryla Seirath shuffles a bit as she turns to leave, instead twirling to give you one last crushing hug. "Goodbye mom," she whispers before breaking free. She gives Toz her best salute as she spins on a heel, snapping to in front of Medeya, the gatewarden.

Sevryla Seirath gives Medeya, the gatewarden a respectful salute.

Dragging her warhammer behind her, Sevryla makes off for the east in search of trouble.

You have emoted: Moirean forces out a smile, holding the girl close as long as she can - moments, only, though, before, just like that, her daughter is gone, striding out of the Keep and into the Tareans.

Toz returns the salute and gives a small nod as the girl departs. "She'll be more than they can handle," he predicts. "And she'll certainly have a name by the time she returns."

Softly, you say to Toz, "She already has a name: she's a Seirath."

//--- A bit of silence... ---\\

You say, "I lost her before just now. I wonder when it was."

Toz says to you, "Perhaps the day she was born. But, we won her back as well - just have to wait for her to return."

You have emoted: Moirean lets out a sigh and then quickly strides away, heading towards the stairs above the gatehouse. Her pace quickens, until soon she's taking them two-at-a-time in a fast jog, scrambling upwards to ascend the Keep's curtain wall.

Toz follows you to the up.
Parapets above the gate. (Shadow Keep.)
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A murky darkness has settled in here.
You see exits leading up and down.

Toz follows after you, wondering, "Going to watch her descend the mountain?" as he goes.

You have emoted: Moirean nods once at you, wasting no breath on replying as she continues her run up the stairs. Gasping and panting, she continues to scamper upwards, heading for the watch tower high above the Keep.

Toz follows you to the up.
Widowmaker's walk. (Shadow Keep.)
Its pearly surface awash in icy blue light, a massive warhorn is fixed to the ground here. A weapons rack of metal hounds is here, blades held firmly in iron snarls. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A murky darkness has settled in here.
You see a single exit leading down.

You have emoted: Moirean flings herself against the wall as soon as she reaches the top of the watchtower. Her hands dig into the stones and she exhales sharply, pulling herself up to slide into one of the crenelations, her little Impish body just the right size to perch between the fortifications. Her eyes narrow as she peers out, across the mountains.

Toz easily keeps pace in scaling upwards, moving fairly quickly along after you - though he's careful to let you stay in the lead. When they reach the walls, he moves to look over as well, prompting, "Do you see them?"

You have emoted: There is nothing, at all, to be seen, only miles of white, blank snow and skeletal trees, but Moirean continues to search, eyes squinting anyways. She lifts an arm, pointing out towards nothing really at all, far in the distance. "There?" she says, voice hesitant. She coughs and her her tone strengthens. "There!" she insists.

Toz gives you a small glance and a very faint smile. "Aye," he agrees. "I see them," he adds, dutifully looking towards the indicated spot. "She'll be back, you know," he tells you, hand lifting to rest on you shoulder. "When all this is over, said and done? They'll write of her in books. Tell stories of her. And that's the legacy she will start her life with - imagine what she'll accomplish once she has aged and had time to learn more."

You have emoted: Moirean drags her gaze away from the distant mountains to stare up at you, nodding slowly. Her emotions through the link are raw and loud, practically screaming - she wants you to convince her, to reassure her, that letting the girl go was right. She's not panicking or mourning, but it's tenuous, her emotions wavering between hopeful, proud belief in her daughter, and fearful anger at losing her.

Toz sighs and turns, moving to wrap you up in a tight embrace. "I don't want her to go either," he tells you calmly. "But it was the right choice. She has to have the same freedom you and I do - otherwise, she'll rebel and do it anyway. We have done all that can be done." Leaning forward, he pecks your forehead and tugs you in close against his chest, resting there against you.

You have emoted: That seems to be the answer Moirean was looking for - she nestles in closer, nodding in silence as she rests her cheek against your chest. She's silent for a long span, her emotions settling into a resigned sort of pride...and she does not look back out over the mountains for the girl again. If Ryla's out there, she's on her own, from this point.

A quiet, distant sort of clacking has slowly been intruding on the silence for a while, now, and it finally registers in your ears as a distinct noise. Clicking, it grows in volume, and soon you can detect a huffing accompanying the clacks.

Toz again kisses the top of your head. "She made her choice," he tells you simply. "And we will assist as we are able, just as you assist me and I assist you." He pauses as he hears the clicking, lifting his head up and turning to seek out the source of the noise.

You have emoted: Moirean's own head lifts too, looking towards the stairs - and soon, the sound's source emerges, clambering slowly to the top of the steps: a warhound runt, aging and tired, barely able to manage the final part of the climb, but still trying anyways. His tongue lolls out as he spies the two of you, and he puts on a burst of speed in a second wind to come barreling towards you, tail wagging.

a runty, ancient warhound (Ryla's pet dog, a runt spared from slaughter, who's slowly aged into this decrepit old thing):
A rather poor example of the warhounds typically whelped in the Carnifex kennels, this ancient beast is far smaller than his brethren, with absolutely none of their fierce brutality. For some reason, the kennelmaster has spared him from the usual slaughter reserved for runts and the creature has grown to a ripe, happy old age, blissfully ignorant of his lucky fate. Cloudy, cataracted ears and a limp in one leg combine to give him an ungainly, gawky gambol, while his clumsy movements confer a tendency to crash and stumble into pretty much everything in his way, all detracting from any resemblance he might bear to an actual fighting beast. Indeed, to judge from his lolling tongue, toothless mouth and hopefully wagging tail, it seems that a furious licking is the most savage attack this warhound is capable of.

Quietly, you say, "Roone.."

Toz nods to you. "Aye I suppose he'll have to retire from his job as guardian of our daughter, with her deployed," he muses quietly to you. "Perhaps have him serve as the test subject for our kennel's latest beds for the rest of his days?" he wonders, giving you a tight squeeze before letting go and dropping carefully to a knee, large hand extending carefully to halt the barreling hound's advance as gently as he can manage.

You have emoted: Moirean smiles sadly at your suggestion, nodding once - it seems she doesn't quite trust her voice just now, and instead bites her lip, staring at the aging hound. The dog himself seems happy enough, sliding into you with a familiar crash, although his age clearly shows, the collision far more gentle than before, and the beast's weight almost featherlight, his body mostly skin and bones.

Toz nods down to the creature, scratching behind its ear. "A good companion is hard to find," he says, though if he's speaking to you or the dog isn't clear. "That seems at least a proper job befitting a hound like this one." If he's bothered by the bump, he doesn't show it, expression remaining cleanly neutral as he continues to pet the beast. To you, glancing briefly back, "...Besides. I don't wish to invoke the wrath of the God-Saver when she returns, having treated her friend poorly."

You have emoted: The ancient dog's eyes close as he happily endures your petting, his tongue slowly slipping out to give you a dry, tentative lick on the palm, as his tail thumps slowly against the ground in a lazy, weak wag. Beside you, Moirean settles in closer, apparently content to watch you and the hound interact, as she muses, "...a spot by the fire, and a bowl of ground meat at every meal?"

Toz nods in agreement with you. "Aye. Make the recruits carry him down these stairs as well," he suggests. "I'd rather him not fall." He pets for a moment longer before rising to his feet again, absently wiping his hand on his armor. "We have work to do at some point, Commander...have you received Sneak's notes yet?"

You have emoted: Moirean sinks down to a crouch beside the dog, gathering the runt in her arms in a hug as she shakes her head. "Not yet," she answers, looking up at you with a demanding sort of stare. "Fireplace," she insists, pulling the dog into her lap and waggling her wings imperiously. "Pleaaaase."

Toz gives a nod to you. "That will do, then," he agrees. Starting off at a slow pace, he adds on, "Be careful with him," absently. Step by step, he makes his way down and towards a fireplace.

You follow Toz to the west.
A spacious common room. (Shadow Keep.)
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A soft slate suede couch spans the west wall, large and inviting. A beautifully carved chess board is attached firmly to a heavy stand here. A massive stone fireplace dominates the room's northeastern wall. A murky darkness has settled in here.
You see exits leading north, east, and down.

You have emoted: Moirean tugs the dog over towards the fireplace, carefully setting down the old bag-of-bones right beside the hearth. She sinks into a seat beside him, her gaze going towards the flames, as she lapses into a moody silence. One hand drifts sideways to pet the hound, fingers thoughtfully curling in his wispy fur.

Toz goes to settle cross-legged besides you. "I am not awake for much longer," he warns you quietly, nestling in against your side. "But I suppose I will sit with you by the fire for a time." His tail goes to curl around your, arm winding around you waist.

You have emoted: Moirean comfortably settles back against you, the nestling a smooth, unthinking movement. Her head tilts up and she stares at your face. "I wrote a post," she finally says. "To the world. To let them know what's coming..." Her eyes close and she frowns, then, adding, "...I did not know all of it, though - I assumed Severn would use the lance, but He needed Ryla..."

Troubled, you say, "Something has gone very wrong for Him. He may be no help in the coming months."

Toz shrugs faintly. "There are other ways," he tells you. Meeting your gaze, he adds, "There are always other ways. No defeat is forever unless you allow it to be." His free hand lifts to curl around your cheek, cradling it softly for a moment before dropping away again. "We will survive."

You have emoted: Moirean twists in closer to you, arms lifting to loop around your neck. Softly, she presses her lips to yours, and gently bumps your nose with her own. "You'll be another way," she says - her words are echoed by a thrill of pride and, beneath that, a quiet little tingle of excitement. "You'll forge what has not been forged for aeons, and it will take down the monster."

Toz tells you, pecking back at you lips, "I will, as always, do what I can. If that involves forging weapons, I will. If it involves fighting them myself, I will." This is said simply, without hesitation. "Between us, we can do anything. And with Sevryla assisting, everything will be fine in the end." He gives you nose a bump back, then admits, "It is time for me to rest though, Commander."

You have emoted: Moirean kisses you again, and this time there's nothing soft or tentative about it. Her touch is firm and hungry and demanding. "Mine," she pouts, clearly disappointed with having to relinquish you.

Toz nods to you after returning the kiss. "Yours," he agrees simply. He gives you another light peck on the lips before moving to stand, hand straying over to ruffle the old hound at you side's ears. "I will see you soon," he promises.

Softly, you say, "Bye."

Slyphe

Absolutely incredible job done on all parts here. The deeper subtext behind some of Moirean's comments is almost chilling, but the character revealed through them is tremendous.

Bravo. Very, very well done.

EDIT: Seems you posted part II while I was reading. WELLP that was in regards to part I, but I imagine the same will apply here too.