Post by winterglass on Aug 10, 2020 8:18:52 GMT -5
"In Kara-Tur, they call it 'ki'."
The adept's voice was calm, measured, confident. Sighing inwardly, Lindra reflected that she'd quite like to possess at least one of those qualities - or, if the frown directed her way by said adept was anything to go by, she'd settle for 'capable of an attention span greater than that of a hummingbird'.
"In the Five Kingdoms, 'mana'; in Durpar and Malatra, 'shakti'. Here, you will learn of it as the Inner Light, and it is not only the source of your strength and the well of your power - it is the energy of your soul, of your spirit. It is you."
"Many monasteries across Faerun still call it Ki. We consider this a grave error in thinking, unless you're from Kara Tur yourself. Consider the word, and how it appears to your mind: 'Ki' is exotic. It is foreign. The Inner Light isn't foreign! It's not from outside or elsewhere. It's more a part of you than your own blood, bones and breath, and so you will describe it always either in Common speech or in the tongue that feels most natural to you."
"Ellam...ceviran", Lindra tried in her own people's language, as a murmur of different dialects broke out among the class.
It didn't feel right.
* * *
Twenty Years Earlier
To the High Abbot of the Monastery of the Sun Soul, Sea Ward, Waterdeep; greetings and salutations.
You may or may not hold true and accurate records of the events of the year DR 970. Much is lost when generations pass on, and among your kind, generations pass more swiftly.
As such you are to be forgiven if you do not recall how your Sun Soul monks saved the life of my father, Aenar Lyrosiel.
Upon that day, he offered that a debt would be owed. They declined.
Even so, we ourselves feel most keenly that the line of Lyrosiel is indebted, and more so, that a bond of trust exists.
It pains me more than you can ever know, to admit that we cannot at this time keep safe the treasures of our family.
For a time, therefore, we entrust the dearest of them to your care.
May your Morning Lord bless and keep you, human.
Orivion Lyrosiel
The aged monk rubbed at his brow in perplexity, staring between the beautifully-calligraphed letter and the woven basket that it had accompanied.
From within, a blonde-haired child, little more than a baby, thin-limbed and point-eared, watched him in solemn silence.
* * *
The adept's voice was calm, measured, confident. Sighing inwardly, Lindra reflected that she'd quite like to possess at least one of those qualities - or, if the frown directed her way by said adept was anything to go by, she'd settle for 'capable of an attention span greater than that of a hummingbird'.
"In the Five Kingdoms, 'mana'; in Durpar and Malatra, 'shakti'. Here, you will learn of it as the Inner Light, and it is not only the source of your strength and the well of your power - it is the energy of your soul, of your spirit. It is you."
"Many monasteries across Faerun still call it Ki. We consider this a grave error in thinking, unless you're from Kara Tur yourself. Consider the word, and how it appears to your mind: 'Ki' is exotic. It is foreign. The Inner Light isn't foreign! It's not from outside or elsewhere. It's more a part of you than your own blood, bones and breath, and so you will describe it always either in Common speech or in the tongue that feels most natural to you."
"Ellam...ceviran", Lindra tried in her own people's language, as a murmur of different dialects broke out among the class.
It didn't feel right.
* * *
Twenty Years Earlier
To the High Abbot of the Monastery of the Sun Soul, Sea Ward, Waterdeep; greetings and salutations.
You may or may not hold true and accurate records of the events of the year DR 970. Much is lost when generations pass on, and among your kind, generations pass more swiftly.
As such you are to be forgiven if you do not recall how your Sun Soul monks saved the life of my father, Aenar Lyrosiel.
Upon that day, he offered that a debt would be owed. They declined.
Even so, we ourselves feel most keenly that the line of Lyrosiel is indebted, and more so, that a bond of trust exists.
It pains me more than you can ever know, to admit that we cannot at this time keep safe the treasures of our family.
For a time, therefore, we entrust the dearest of them to your care.
May your Morning Lord bless and keep you, human.
Orivion Lyrosiel
The aged monk rubbed at his brow in perplexity, staring between the beautifully-calligraphed letter and the woven basket that it had accompanied.
From within, a blonde-haired child, little more than a baby, thin-limbed and point-eared, watched him in solemn silence.
* * *