Return from Mortal Hellscape to Valkurs Roar - Ashen Isle

[Runa Rothgar]

The Priestess of Oghma, Runa Rothgar planted her scorched gauntlets upon the railing of the Seasalt as her eyes drifted over the horizon in silence.  The bow of the large vessel offered her respite as the cool, spring wind was a sharp contrast from the Ashen Isle and it's Lava Pools.


No helmet hair while out to see.  Runa's dark magenta strands flutter and cling to clasps that barely held her style at bay.  Green orbs narrow, calm, and serene while the Oghmanyte's mind drifted without a sail to focus.


Thoughts returned to the Ashen Isle; decisions, commands, rebukes, battles, losses, and victories. 


Runa begins to speak to her Book Father,


"That hellscape will leave a mark in the pages of my life.  Turning to that page time, Oghma, it will smell of suffocating ash and scorched..."


"I know you laugh and I know you see it as a tidbit of knowledge gained compared to the expanse of your bountiful shelves, My Lord."


"I suppose I laugh with you as I should not be brought down by emotions, spill tears for the fallen.  Plenty of tears within history, should I cry for them all?  Is it inhuman to not cry anymore?" 


"I shall remain numb and pray for those who lost their loved ones.  That they have the knowledge to cope with such losses.  That they understand the reason behind decisions made. " 


"No one in Valkurs Roar ever celebrate the victory as we truly should.  We deal with the fallen and strive to be respectful.  All I know is.."


"If I perished at the Isle and found myself bound by a sapphire, soon to be released to your domain, Oghma.  I would want them to celebrate in the victory and be grateful for it.  To always think that those who perish want us to sob and weep so long. "


"Everyone thinking for others... I do hate being presumptuous ... but I believe I am right in this.  If those who fell are bitter against us, why should we be bitter for their happiness?"


" No Oghma,  I will not change myself for them, I will be who you desire me to be.  I shall be merry, I shall be respectful, but I shall not frown or be bitter."


"Everyone else can be black as the sapphires crushed by Lady Mnomene's hand..."



The ship finally makes dock.  The battered crew, exhausted , begin to secure the vessels,  2 out of 3,  and finally the Surveyors depart.


The Captain,  although a priestess, replenished herself with Restoration, yet still battered in the mind she  made sure the guards assisted and met with Inquisitor Vera and perhaps Sir Baemarq.


After a time of debriefing the priestess scribed her reports and quietly made way back to the Museum. 
 

The Captain wanted to be a priestess for awhile and wandered the Museum quietly.  


At last, the Oghmanyte found herself kneeling to Oghma again, silent and in meditation. 


"Clear my mind and help me focus, Bind me once again to your will so that I may continue to serve in the capacity that pleased you."



After an half hourglass time, the priestess slumps and leans... starboard... to rest gently upon her side as if -someone- gave her hand.

It was not the first time this priestess would have a good night sleep in front of the shrine... nor will it be the last.


(Open if anyone else wishes to add to the Return Voyage)

[DM Grizwald]

*Bunar stares in wonder as he hears everyone's tales. He writes them in his journal as they sail back to Valkurs Roar. From time to time he gives the rope around his waist a good tug, making sure he is still fastened to the center mast of the ship.

"What it could have been..." he wonders to himself. "Someone had to stay with the ships."

[Script Wrecked]

It had taken some time to convince Naldin to board one of the two remaining vessels to return to Valkur's Roar.

Apparently, after the Zenith had sunk beneath him after being rammed by some scow commanded by kobolds from the Ashen Island (who knew kobolds could sail?), and he had barely survived by hanging on to a door he had commandeered from said sinking ship (some dwarves are not very buoyant), and been rescued by Eranin and the Castellan (there might have been some guided giant frog searching the waters as well) from his plight (including a circling shark!), yes, after all that, for some reason, Naldin had decided never to set foot on a boat, much less an ocean going ship, again!

The entire Zenith crew had been lost, and this weighed heavily on Naldin and the point of their mission.

After the "Seasalt Tears" and the "Red Dove" had dropped anchor as close as they dared to the forbidding island, the Reserves had had to wade through scalding hot waters (like lobster cooking hot, even, or despite, the heat protection afforded by the gift of cloaks from the Mystrians). Naldin had thrown himself onto the lovely firm, solid (if some what warm) ground and vowed never to leave it again. He had even anointed himself with a handful of dirt and soil to drive out any lingering malevolent water spirits that might still be haunting him; he had not slept well after the sinking.

So, when the remaining party had returned from their second foray into the Gargoyle Fortress to release the bound spirits by breaking the soul stones and close the portal to prevent the return of the infernal Governess, Naldin had already made plans to begin his own survey of the island to find the best spot to begin digging a tunnel that would take him back to the mainland. Or at least, into a subterranean cave system that might lead, well, who knows where.

However, his fellow Reserves were in no mood for such antics after the trial by ordeal they had suffered, after being baked, boiled, and burnt by the unforgiving island. Almost everyone was haggard and red of face, looking like they had spent too long at the beach on a hot day (though some, mysteriously, were unaffected). Some were more than happy to leave him and just be rid of the curse'd place. Some tried reasoning with him, pointing out that they had only lost a vessel from the kobold attack and that the sea journey had otherwise been uneventful (with that exception when Naldin thought they were all going to die when a dark mass rose from the bottom of the sea only to be a school of dolphins; ha-ha, yes, very funny). There might have even been a bit where the Castellan pointed out he had not rescued Naldin from the waters only to lose him to this wretched island (except we all know that the Castellan had already been teleported back to the safety of Valkur's Roar after his own ordeal; funny how things get added in the telling of tales).

But, of course, Naldin could not refuse a direct order to get his sorry butt onto the boat, now.

And that was the end of that.

[freezn]

The sunlight was beginning to drift through the ash and smoke clouded sky by the time the last of the Reservists boarded the remaining vessels. A sign from the gods that perhaps? Maybe things would be getting better? Tomorrow’s struggles wouldn’t be so burdensome? Meesha had long ago given up such hopes. This last push had cracked the through her hardened heart just as easily as every other ‘adventure’ had prior. No matter how often it bled and grew back stronger, it was never enough to numb the pain of the days to come.

She slunk aboard the ship, a hollow husk of the woman who had departed it. She felt as though her body could ache no more. Every nerve had been scorched. Every emotional cord snipped. It was with small satisfaction that she knew none of the others would require anything of her on the voyage home. Hells, most of them could scarcely look at her. Those that did had little to say. And she had little to offer in response. That carefully cultivated skill of communication was burnt away and hadn’t yet settled as anything more than barely checked frustration.

She crawled into a bunk, not bothering to clean herself from the trials of the Isle. Ash and sweat soaked, her burns stung as she pulled the thin covers over her head and turned towards the cabin’s wall. She didn’t mind the pain, the enchantress just wanted to close her eyes. To sleep.

With an ear-piercing scream Meesha’s eyes snapped open but the darkness did not disappear. The hull was nearly pitch black, leaving her feeling like it was encroaching in on her. Her body was soaked. Blood? No. Sweat? Maybe… the scent of copper was in the air and…

“Squish.”

The lithe sorceress gave another panicked scream, leaping out of her bunk and smacking her head against the top.

Her head swam as she collapsed back onto the floor, nothing making sense. Where was she? What was going on? She thought she saw something squirm away in the dark but she couldn’t tell where it went.

The others were stirring, asking what was happening. Most grabbing blades and preparing for combat at the speed only those who survived years in constant danger could.

She had to hide her staff.

Grabbing it from under the bed she quickly tucked it back into her satchel. Someone was coming this way.

She couldn’t deal with it now.

What would she say?

She knew what they’d think. They already thought.

Were they wrong?

No. It wasn’t the time for such things. Still laying upon the floor Meesha moved her fingers, forcing the magic out without verbal command. She needed to leave. To find someplace safe. Away from these prying eyes.

In a puff of thick black smoke, and an acrid scent the Reservists were all too used these last days, Meesha was gone. She left behind no word of where she went. Gave no warning save her screams.

When the ships pulled back into the bay, Meesha was there. Waiting for them. Her smile was as warm and inviting as ever. Her eyes bright, shimmering a brilliant emerald green. Her complexion clear. She looked once more, every bit the aspiring woman born to the graces of a court. Her shoulders were no longer slumped over carrying the weight of souls trapped. Her affable laugh wasn’t the one of somebody concerned with how others might view the revelations of the Ashen Isle.

Truly, tomorrows struggles only grew heavier.

Link to Full Post (Content Warning: Horror)

[PhatDorf]

Approaching and boarding the ships back to Valkur's Roar came the small form of the Purple Dragon, and Mage Guard, Eranin.
She, as typical was clad in her shirt of mithril chain, but with no sheen, and no polish. Scorched, burned, pounded and rent. Broken, like the woman wearing it...

She moved with a measured caution back to the ships - every step seemingly testing the ground ahead for more searing heat.

As was normal for the young human, she remained utterly silent from the start to the end of the voyage. Exhausted emotionally and physically she tried - with bitter determination and frustration to read, and focus upon her own world, that of magic and wonderment, during the journey; seeking a retreat away from the company of others, and the quiet comfort of silent stillness.

Yet, the sickening rocking of the ship, churning of her stomach, and racing thoughts made the prospect of prolonged reading and focus a pointless endeavour. Before long Eranin was forced to go above deck, gazing out at the horizon with large blue eyes.

Her companion, the pseudodragon 'Airy' had been by her side the entire journey. He had seen and felt everything at her side, and tried his hardest to help the mission. Bled, and burned, for others he didn't know, and who would look upon him as a monster.

In starry darkness of the night, free now of the heavy volcanic clouds... Eranin stayed awake, and A'irea stayed by her side, in a comfortable silence.

Nothing new truly needed to be said.

They both knew what they had achieved together, and with their recent companions.

Eranin lamented the loss of the Unity Dust she had sought from the ruined citadel, a tool for communication she observed only once years before, but had never forgotten.

Still, it wasn't the first time they had seen the world burn around them...

And, though no words were said understanding anew blossomed between them, perhaps one that had been lost in the recent years of strife and frustration.

With a togetherness that neither had felt in some time, and perhaps never at the same time, they both allowed themselves for a few moments to be vulnerable and open.

The pair embraced with a fondness that only a chosen family had.

After arriving in Valkur's Roar, Eranin turned her dark hood back up over her head, rubbed at her sore wrists, and with no particular show, or flair, she left on her way, vanishing into the streets.

[demolicious]

A strange sight to be certain, when the victorious crew disembarks on to Valkur's Roar docks. A gray robed figure, evidently in high spirits, dances with a scythe, with large sack tied to it, as her partner across the dock. To anyone watching, it is blatantly obvious she has no idea what she's doing, even as a celestial humming, reminiscent of a funeral bell, drifts from her lips.
Quickly composing herself, scrivener Carian casts a peek from under her low drawn hood to anyone who might've seen such an embarrassing display.

Still, she has a reason for cheer, did she not? So many souls had been released from such a horrible fate, today. 36 gems relinquished their prisoners into the peace of Death. She slides a book bound in black leather from her robe pocket, turning to latest page. A small, pleased smile curls her lips as she looks them over. So many had been blessed with the Final End, her finger traces affectionately along the lines on the page. Ravenwatch. Kobolds. Crew of Zenith. Dweomerkeeper Brandt.

Many other entries have been added, checkmarks along names. They had not yet been blessed with their Final End, but they had experienced Death. Meesha. Lheonard. Runa. Naldin...
Her finger stops at "Whitelaw".

A frown overtakes the scrivener. She had raised Whitelaw from the dead. Though White hadn't been insured. It had been a thoughtless impulse. Had she been wrong to do so?
No, of course not. Whitelaw is an adventurer. She would go on to kill many more things. Yes, that was it. She had simply served the cause of greater Death, by giving one life back. That was it. She'd just mark it on White's insurance, later. Everything was properly by the book.

Having so assured herself, Morana puts the book away, taking the sack from her scythe and rolling it open and down around the object inside. A massive skull of a giant, that she'd secured from the keep. She is giddy at the thought of this mystery.

"How did you end there? Who are you? What did they do to you?"
"When did you die?"

[DOT]

Through interactions here and there, Jo would come to ponder the state of his compatriots.

Certainly, he did not share the same mission whilst he was away in service to the Freesailors, but... the weight of what they carried spoke volumes in silence.

Minor ticks, they way they stood, even something as simple as breathing... something was different.

Palpable. 

With additional thoughts of his own, he would make the journey to a once often visited memorial... a hill just outside the capital limits. 

Raising his lantern slightly higher, the light briefly shining on "1371 DR" before allowing it to fade into shade... he would read again the words before him.

And in this land I'll proudly stand

Until my dying day, sir;

For whate'er a king o'er all command,

I'll still be a Cormyte brave, sir.

He would feel... uneasy, and then close his eyes... letting out a long exhale.

Unable to shake the emotions he absorbed from others, he would his grit teeth, and leave the hill.