#besides i like having designs very close to earth counterparts first before branching out into more fantasy stuff

[wanderingokali]

The Kadez is a medium-sized river chelicerate, living in particularly pure, well-oxygenated streams. It tolerates very cold temperatures and as such is often found in mountain streams. They turn over pebbles with their legs in search of small invertebrates, roe, and other small prey to eat. It is quite an active creature, and in areas where they are abundant, they'll often come up onto land for other food sources. That said, they are quite skittish, and surprisingly fast -especially underwater-, so it isn't always easy to approach them.

[rpg-adventures]

In The Wake of the Echo

Imani moved through the elven camp, regard the newfound jovial mood of the troops. Though a feast of victory had been held the the night before, pockets of the Elven army still gathered to drink and revel in the recent triumph against the drow. Several elves, none of which she knew, called her name and waved as passed — a strange gesture, she thought, but made the effort to politely bow her head to each as she passed.

As like most evenings after dusk, Imani entered the campsite and headed passed the fire to her tent. Throwing her pack inside the flap she set to work with her nightly routine — unstringing her bow and quietly taking a seat on the padded wood block beside the fire. She nodded a silent greeting, thankful her austere demeanour often guarded her from small talk as she unhooked the quiver from her hip and inspecting the ammo for signs of wear. Though it seemed as though the small talk around their fire had dwindled much since coming to see the elves.

The path so far had been unexpected, to say the least, and now Eviana had requested the group head through the Elf Gate to impersonate Drow in their own city. A shaky plan at best, she thought, even with the magical assistance offered. Shakier still, with the motley crew she travelled with. Sanakt was a skilled warrior who she had enjoyed sharing the battlefield with, though his steadfast morals seemed a touch inconvenient at times he was by far the most useful in a direct confrontation. Uyula had even seemed to find a knack for getting out of a tough spot with some kind of finesse in the recent battles. Caeldor was hardly battle worn, but his offensive magic would prove usefulness against if she could keep him conscious long enough to contribute and Lamia… well, Lamia was the most perplexing case. What business did a 17 year-old farm girl have in the middle of a war, even with that strange creature that followed her around. The creature’s strength had proven useful, alongside the girls knack for magical devices, but since the bizarre events on Devil’s elbow Lamia seemed to spend most of her time terrified, lost on the battlefield unless ordered by herself or the Paladin to perform a task. Imani couldn’t fathom what would motivate a person like that to march into battle, but she knew that hiding behind that hulking beast would not keep her safe forever.

Imani glanced around the campsite, quietly regarding her comrades that were present. Since that night back in Crying Leaf, everything seemed to be slowly drifting south. For the first time since leaving Magnimar, she found herself missing the Order. She may have been always on the outside, but the sense of trust and cohesion every squad possessed was something she could rely on above all else. For the cause. All for the cause. So much had changed in the short months passed. A soft, listless sigh pressed passed her lips as she returned her focus to her quiver, selecting the next arrow of the bunch for inspection. If this ‘squad’ passed through the Elf Gate tomorrow, would they return alive? She had her doubts. “Eviana is expecting a decision from each of us tomorrow,” she spoke up, twisting an arrow shaft between her fingers before moving on to the next. “I think this warrants a rather frank discussion of exactly what those of us who go could to be walking into. If the echo is anything to judge by… what might a whole city of Drow be like? Even with the necromancer’s assistance, Eviana’s plan is high-risk.” The tiefling frowned to herself, “Especially if we’re not all committed to cause at hand.”

***

Sana looked up from where he was sitting, his shield face up on his lap and his armour placed in careful pieces on the ground around him. Nolveniss's scorching fire and a general battering by the dragon Razorhorn, as well as days worth of misadventure meant they were looking tired and Sana's pride was dictating he spend time on them. Burrs and nicks had been sanded and scrubbed out and the front of the shield had been re-surfaced. A selection of paints — coaxed out of some of the more artistic warriors from Crying Leaf — were on the ground waiting to be mixed and applied. Sana had a whole new design in mind. He turned to Imani, his attention shifting completely from his armour to her questions.

"I would not say I am averse to personal risk. In fact, given what we have done together I doubt anyone here is. Which, now that I think about it, may be the very issue you're referring to. Hm."

Sana set the shield aside, nudging his back-plate with a boot to make room and sat forward with his elbows on his knees, looking over the fire.

"Personally speaking, as much as I have enjoyed this adventure in ways I maybe should not, my life isn't mine to spend as I would choose. I am not a free agent in this regard. I spent the early parts of my life a street-brat in Sothis and without the Lady of the River,” — he brushed the wooden icon strapped to his forearm — "I would have died a street-brat. This is not something I have doubts about.

"I probably would have suffered a worse fate after that night in the tower on the Devil's Elbow. This is proof of that." He gestured to the scar on his face.

"I have a duty. The Goddess has intervened in my life too much for me not to realise she has something planned for me. Protecting so many people from this... misdirected wrath of the elves... especially aided by other elves in the process...

"Apep, father of all evil serpents, is my Lady's twin and they will ever war against each other. I cannot see a clearer sign than that, but I worry about hiding within the corpse of a Drow to sidle up to them and put a dagger into their ribs is not the way to follow my Lady’s will."

Sana sat back, his eyes staring into the distance.

***

The voices of Imani and Sana drifted up like smoke from the campfire through the night air and filtered into the large, overhanging branches of the nearby trees. Uyula say back in the arms of a nice little nook she’d found in one of them, staring up through the dense canopy towards the clouded starts, listening.

In her hands she absently worked with a carving knife and a piece of white oak she’d unceremoniously snapped off Twill’s shoulder hours before (“It was getting too long, I’m trimming!”), which was starting to take the shape of a small hand flute. She’d never made a musical instrument before and one of the elves from the camp had offered to show her how to carve and oil it for nice proper notes once she had the basic shape.  

She wanted to talk to Imani, like they used to, but she got the feeling Imani no longer wanted to. Uyula couldn’t really tell how she knew that, only that something had changed in the tiefling’s body language, the turn and the stiffness of her shoulders,  that now shut her out. It had been that way ever since that night back at Crying Leaf. Everything had changed then — things had gone from comfortable to grueling and it was that stupid wizard’s fault.

Flick! A large chip of oak went flying off the end of her blade aggressively. She’d cut too much. Uyula sighed and dropped her work in her lap, her golden eyes slipping closed as she took a moment to breathe in the night, the sound of the creaking branches around her, the murmurs of the world of elves below and the campsite housing her travelling companions.

“You should go down to the campfire,” Twill purred quietly, “it is much warmer there.” The Eidolon, reduced back to her usual size for the time being, was stretched across a fatter branch not too far from her summoner, her head resting on folded paws and wings spread to keep her comfortably balanced, looking to be part of the tree itself.

“Don’t wanna.” Uyula countered, perhaps a little childishly.

“Then,” Twill canted her head with a sigh, “Imani is right in being concerned.”

“You were the one who said ‘us and them’,”

“I was — and you agreed with me when it suited you.”

Uyula tucked the knife away back on her belt and wormed around to straddle the branch, peering downwards towards the warm hue of the fire. “...it’s not like I can’t go. I have to. Gozreh told me I have to look after his earth.”

A soft growl came from beneath the wolf’s husky voice. “Make no mistake little one. My sole concern is you — but if you walk into that other realm with that attitude, unable to work with your fellows, you will get yourself killed. Have you not learned, from how we barely scraped through this battle? None of you are working together. Not well.”

Much like her summoned counterpart, Uyula folded her arms against the bark and rested her chin on them. She quietly missed the days when all she had to worry about was Twill, herself, bandits and the next meal. Life was so much more complicated now. Other people were complicated in ways she had never been able to fathom in the past and the more she travelled with them, the more she too felt herself changing and becoming less… pure. Was pure the word? Her thoughts and feelings which used to be sharp and on-point, marred with layers of murky water that had never been there before.

With a touch of bitterness and more than a little regret, she wondered if all would have been better off if she’d simply stayed in her far smaller world within Churlwood.

***

Lamia sat quietly beside Sana, she hadn’t spent much time talking to the other elves and watched him buff and paint his shield with interest. His strong hands worked with the grace one might not find in your average fighter. Though someone graced with the powers of a god, the powers to bring those back from the dead and to heal mortal wounds, was hardly an average fighter. The night was warm and the relief victory of the elves was palpable and the celebrations were large. Once she might have joined in on the festivities she couldn’t bring herself to smile, banter and drink any more. So she sat there mute and thoughtful her eyes soft and trained on Sana’s hands.

Her concentration was broken when Imani sat down and in her short and sharp way asked if everyone was alright. Sana spoke first, Lamia listened intently feeling guilt run through her when the man had finished.  Truth be told the girl had a relatively easy life up until the past couple of months. Her farm had never come to any real hardships in her lifetime. It had been the simple and pleasant life of toiling to keep alive, a day’s hard work and then a night’s relaxing fun. She loved her brothers who taught her poker at an early age, she loved her father who taught her how to handle animals and she loved her mother who taught her strange arcane arts and how to commune with her horned shadow.

In contrast Lamia had no reason to be feeling the way she did, it was time to give back to the world for the simple and good life she’d lead so far. ‘When you get something good, you give back something better,’ her father would say. Sana was righteous, noble and strong. He gave back more than he got.

And what of Lamia? Well, she couldn’t bring herself to commit to it. How could she? When she’d seen the horrors of what ‘giving back’ brought. She’d seen her friends torn to shreds, she’d felt poison turn her stomach inside-out, felt the spears of demons pierce her sides until she passed out from the pain.

The girl curled up further as she thought of the recent pains, her knees coming to her chest and her face twisted into a sad grimace. An expression that seemed to be a common look on the ragged girl nowadays.

***

Imani regarded the paladin through the soft hue of the firelight thoughtfully before laying her quiver down to afford him the same respect of her full attention.

“Mm… your faith wears well on you, my friend,” she stated quietly, a hint of mirth to her strangely, blackened eyes.

Shifting her gaze to the flames, the tiefling squinted thoughtfully as she considered Sivannah, her own Goddess. “My Lady’s will is not so clear, though she bares no love for those who use magic for tyranny, Zon-Kuthon’s ilk or otherwise. Part of me wishes she would intervene as clearly as you have felt it, but despite Sivanah’s subtle ways, I also have a duty.”

“Though the further I travel, the more I feel that duty changing.” she studied Sana through the soft hue of the campfire thoughtfully, “I now find myself ever-striving to pull back that Seventh Veil. This Drow business, this… Earthfall — it’s not something I can walk away from, either.”

Imani pulled her cloak further around her shoulders and leaned into the warmth. Sivanah seemed to have no qualms with the necromancer’s ends justifying the means, but the Order’s teachings were clear  — necromancy was abhorrent. In truth she wasn’t very comfortable with the idea, but she saw little other option.

“I struggle to see Giseil’s assistance as the prudent course of action but with the elves eager to seal the Gate I fear we are short on time to consider much else,” she conceded reluctantly, “The Drow seem quite skilled in magic, no doubt more simple illusions would not fare well against their scrutiny.” “Not that our hosts haven’t shown themselves to be trustworthy, but perhaps we should conduct our own divinations on the subject?” she suggested, “I’d wager Caeldor can assist…”  — she trailed off softly, straightening a little and scanning the campsite  — “Assuming he’s not revelling with the rest of the elves.”

***

Was it just gods? Lamia listened to the two devoted talk. They spoke as if the will of their gods were the only thing that was carrying them on. Surely it had to be more than that, but what kept them from being crushed under the weight of it all?

Lamia looked up, the light of the fire light her face from below giving her a small eerie look. “How do you do it?” She asked, her small voice cutting through the heavy silence like… Sana’s sword through undead. “How do you keep going?” Her voice wavered, nearly cracking as she spoke. It seemed so hard asking for help from them. No one else needed it and Lamia didn’t want to seem weak, but it was now or never. “How do you keep on fighting, after everything we’ve been through, the death, the pain all of it… How?”

***

Uyula and Lamia had the most in common out of anyone in the group simply for being summoners, however they tended to speak very little. Uyula surmised the girl looked down on her and thought her simple from the looks she gave sometimes when the half-elf opened her mouth and their tactics in battle were fairly separate. From the way she was often found trembling like a leaf in the midst of battle Uyula could’ve easily guessed she was feeling scared, thought what could she say? Any time she began to reach out to offer comfort or a kind word, all she could think of was Caeldor’s damnable beard wrapping around her neck and how the people she’d thought were her ‘pack’, she didn’t really know at all.

In a flurry of leaves, Twill was suddenly gone from her side. Uyula blinked and whispered furiously for her to come back, but it was too late — her leafy wings and spread and she touched down at the campsite lightly on Lamia’s other side, shaking herself out.

She peered at the small human quietly for a few moments, her golden eyes alight with the reflection of the fire, then padded over and sat herself down around Lamia’s lithe form, resting her large, white-oak head in the girl’s lap with an expectant ‘pet me’ sort of look.

***

Lamia’s melancholy look was quickly broken by the rustle of living leaves and the weight of an oversized tree-dog on her lap. Dumbfounded and confused Lamia’s hand slowly came down onto Twill’s head and started to trace the knots and plaited roots that formed her face. She was somewhat unsure how to ‘pet’ an unyielding mass of trees and flowers.

***

Unsure as to how to respond, Imani let Lamia’s question hung in the air a moment. The tiefling frowned to herself, struggling to remember a time where she may have felt the same. She recalled a time when she was about 10 years-old, her first time at the Order’s main hall in sandy Katapesh, nestled on the outskirts the chaotic Market district. Papa Jazeem had ordered her to stay in the tutors apartments while he accompanied the local squads on a raid, but the way everyone was so unnerved had piqued her curiosity and she had disobeyed. She had learnt that eve — as the cultists had captured her and carved the flesh of her face — how dangerous it was to sneak into the fray without training and the support of a good team.

Imani’s pale fingers slid over the rows of scarring across her chin thoughtfully before regarding Lamia carefully, “I learned long ago that flesh and mind are far more durable than most give credit for… and when you reach your limit, your team should be there to support you. In Katapesh, our teams were family. We could rely on one another and we fought hard to keep each other safe.”

“What is it Varisians like to say…” her soft, Osiriani accent rolled around her mouth as she spoke, looking for the correct adage, “... ‘that which does not kill us, makes us stronger’ — I believe.”

“You’re still alive, yes?” the tiefling’s tone was gentle, despite the rough phrasing, “Your flesh and mind are still your own.”

***

Sana opened his mouth and furrowed his brow. ‘What an inane piece of trite!’ he wanted to say. ‘Food does not kill me and gives me sustenance. The application of that saying is so broad as to render it a bland platitude,’ but he stopped, looking at Lamia and realising it was what she needed to hear. He’d tear apart the nonsense of the Varisians and their language later, when the poor girl wasn’t bearing her soul. He looked at her and his expression softened.

“I could tell you,” he began kindly, “that I see my life divided by one major event, two paths separated by the willingness of the temple to call me Son. One path leads here — and all it entails — and the other would have ended in oblivion years ago. That my choice to go on is based on a choice between this and nothingness.

“That would not be true.”

“I have ever been ready to throw the first stone, swing the first punch. It was who I was since I knew it to be the fastest way of imposing my will on another person. I got into more fights than I can justify, on too many boats, between Sothis and Riddleport. I have always been faced with choices, when to allow that part of my nature to rule and when to think and slow down. “I think what is important is to understand how to stop fighting. This is harder than going on. I think that the Drow are proof of that; Earthfall was so long ago and yet they hold their hate close and use it for fuel. Surviving the armageddon was the easy part — greeting with open hearts, those who fled it was what the Drow could not do. “Child, tonight you need to stop fighting. Tomorrow, whether we greet it or not this war will go on and we will be drawn into the fight again in some way, sooner or later. Tonight you need to let go of what we have fought. Stop fighting the undead of fire, stop fighting the demons who would pierce you with spears, the sorcerers and their magics. As long as you fight them in your mind, re-live the injuries done to you and others, they live also and as long as you fight them they are undefeatable. Put them aside, if you can, though I know it is difficult and they will become as much vapour as Caeldor’s mirror-doubles. They will die their final death.

“Imani is right. Your flesh and mind do still belong to you. Do not let them be a place for enemies to reside.”

Sana sat back, hoping Lamia could take on what he’d said. It had been a hard lesson for him when he was younger and he could think of better times to attempt to pass it on to another. He looked at Lamia’s lap and tried to meet the golden, half-lidded eyes of Uyula’s companion there. Lamia was not the only one he’d hoped to speak to with that message.

***

Lamia assumed that her friends were trying to comfort her. They weren’t her mother that’s for sure, she was homely sweet and full of smiles. However they were trying, which was… something. Sana was eloquent as always, his deep smooth voice rolled over her like the warm sun and the sentiment was appreciated.

While it wasn’t what she wanted, Imani and Sana told the truth — she was alright, they were all right. Despite it all they had survived. However, how could she give up what she’d been through? Maybe it was easier for the others, they were older and had seen far more than she had. Lamia was still a child, despite her parents insisting that she was a woman, she felt like a child. Especially when compared to Sana and Imani.

Her eyes seemed far away, distant with thought and sorrow. How could she let what she’d been through go? Her father had always said, ‘take everything in, learn from it and make it part of yourself,’ but Lamia didn’t like the whole these parts were creating. She didn’t like the fear, the sleepless nights of terror, the twisted demons and Drow set to destroy those she cared for.

“How do I let it go?” She asked her party after a moment of palpable silence, “What if… what if I stop fighting but the memories don’t? What if they overrun me? What then?”

***

Imani listened patiently to the young girl’s fears, the spidery scars across her brow creasing as she frowned. Lamia was only four years younger than herself, but instead of growing up on the bottom-rung of one of the most skilled hunting families in Katapesh, this girl grew up rearing animals surrounded by a very different family. Despite their obvious differences, Imani didn’t believe Lamia was just an ordinary farm girl — not with that silent beast she could summon to her side. Perhaps the creature’s protection had sheltered her too much, much like she suspected Twill had Uyula — leaving their potential untapped and ill-formed from misuse.

“You make a decision.” Imani said simply, “Then, when your resolve starts to slip — and it will — you make the decision again. Over and over again until you realize you haven’t had to force yourself to keep going in a while.”

Imani tugged on the sleeves of her undershirt, the grey fabric that hid the meticulous rows of scarring from the eyes of her fellow. Each short mark a had been a litany  — a promise — to be better. Perfect. But since the night of Devil’s Elbow, she had not taken steel to her flesh again. She had understood the message in the shadows clearer than any prayer offered to the light — perfection was an illusion and she had realised that even a well-trained mind could play tricks on it’s owner if care was not taken.

“It is not magic…  it is a process.” she continued, “If you truly wish to continue this path Lamia, I will be here to remind you when you need it. But… do you wish to continue?” — she paused, as if trying to find the proper words — “Surely you realise that whatever you are, you are not just some simple farm girl? I cannot know if continuing onward is the right choice for you, but I think you have something within you not even you seem to acknowledge. Perhaps you are more capable than you give yourself credit.”

The halfbreed fell quiet once more. It was perhaps the most she had ever spoken at once to the group, realizing perhaps her muted nature was just as much to blame for the lack of rapport as Caeldor’s pride, or Uyula’s petulance. Leaning forward into her knees, Imani poked a wayward stick carefully back into the flames. Knowing Sana was the only one present who could understand her, she spoke in her native tongue softly, “The farm girl cannot trust herself, Uyula acts as though she trusts only herself. You and I seem to hold a kind of esteem, but I am no leader, friend. I am but a shadow trained to hunt. We need a leader who can rally trust in his comrades, as well as respect.”

Imani lifted her attention from the flames, seeking out Sana with her eerie gaze, “I would gladly follow you into the Drow city — my bow and finesse alongside your might and mind, but we alone are hardly a task force. I feel each present would follow as I would if they felt the support of a team behind them. This is the point where we must come together, or I believe some of us will not return. Our group may be struggling, but I believe they will find strength in a leader — perhaps one such as you...”

***

Sana rocked back. As Lamia had pleaded, and Imani explained, he had been sitting forwards more. Partly an unconscious desire to aid the ailing girl and then to catch the words of the tiefling. Imani had always been quiet; Sana considered it a matter of respect to pay attention whenever she spoke, as it was often well thought out. That she had continued talking directly to him and only him, and to ask him to not just continue to aid, but to lead… it wasn’t something he’d ever have sought for himself. The temple had taught him how to care for others, to share what little they had when it would have been easier to hoard for the hard times. The principle had been the same through most of what Wadjet’s followers preached: protect others, aid and guide them as the River Sphinx did for Osirion. What Imani was saying was the extension of that; aid and guide this group. Protect the settlements, all the settlements, of the Inner Sea region from the predations of the Drow and their ruthless destruction. None of them had the resources in time or personnel or reconnaissance to fight this. He still felt more stunted than when the Drow had charmed his mind into wanting to catch Akata for breeding.

He blinked and brought his mind back to the present. “I’m honoured you think so.” he replied in their native tongue. “If I do lead, I need your aid tonight to properly forge us. Can you do that?”

***

Continuing to listen in like a curious thief in the night, Uyula’s face scrunched with annoyance as the other two delved into a language she couldn’t understand. She hadn’t ever heard Imani speak it before, and from the tones of their voices, the subject was a serious one. She felt uncharacteristic paranoia make her heart beat faster. It had been easy enough to ignore the problems when potential death and destruction was around every corner.

It had been getting back to the camp, in amongst the celebration of a battle won, that the uncomfortable feelings of betrayal and mistrust had crept back up on her. At first she'd tried. She drunk everything every elf handed her until sufficiently tipsy, followed at Imani's heels as Eviana’s plan lead them to the tent with the necromancer, been obnoxious for a little bit. She remembered watching the arcanist inspecting the Drow bodies and remembering the times he'd fallen, wounded and unconscious; remembered staring briefly and contemplating rushing over to heal him, then simply turning the other way. That side of her bothered Uyula. The one that so easily left him there, even if he was a threat — and those feelings were confusing, because she shouldn't feel bad for not helping someone who had meant her harm. So she'd slunk off, and hidden in the far corner of the camp. Some elven bard and his friends had been sitting around a fire and he'd told stories, that she'd listened to until Twill suggested they find somewhere to sleep. Uyula was already halfway back to the tent her friends were in to string up her hammock when she remembered things were different now.

The girl closed her eyes, pressing them shut tightly. She wondered if Imani and Sana would send Lamia away. She wondered if they'd send her away, as though she were a child too. She wondered if Gozreh would be dismayed, and take from her their blessing. She wondered if the bandits of Churlwood had raided her treehouse bare while she'd been gone. She wondered too many things, and they made aches in her head and knots in her chest. Such feelings only made her more flustered.

'Since when were you afraid of confrontation?' Twill's voice sounded in her mind, snapping her out of the reverie, 'if that is what you think will happen, then come down, let it take place, and we will be on our way. Lurking in the shadows suits you not.'

Uyula hugged her shoulders. It was starting to get chilly, so far from the fire. 'But it will hurt.'

'Does it not hurt already?'

That knot welled up in the base of her throat again. Reluctantly (feeling her hands flutter and tremble, nerves unlike her to have), she crawled down the branch to the trunk of the tree and sprung back to the ground, landing in a careful and steady crouch without a sound.

Aggressively tugging up the hood of her poncho over her matted hair, she walked in a stiff line towards the fire and sat down beside Twill on Lamia’s other side… where she folded her legs beneath her, stared into the fire with her hands held out to it and for once, said nothing.  

***

Imani’s shoulder slackened slightly as Sana spoke, like a weight lifted from them and for the first time since leaving Magnimar she felt the relief of consciously relying on another for support. That he was open to the suggestion brought her hope that the issues at hand could be resolved with some effort.

The tieflings attention wavered from the conversation briefly, her keen night vision picking up on Uyula’s noiseless decent before she crept up to the fire beside her bark-skinned companion. Returning her focus, she nodded to Sana.

“I will help in any way I can,” the answer rolled off her tongue in Osiriani, “I am eager to find a resolution. This buried conflict can only lead to chaos.”

***

Lamia’s eyes slid to the side when she saw Uyula, her mind not focusing on the conversation happening around her. She had enough to think on, though she did try to put on a smile for the half-elf. For all that had gone on, Uyula had experienced it to and more — Lamia had not been attacked by one she trusted. The girl understood why Uyula was distant, even if it meant that they were falling apart as a team.

Then it clicked. A team. No. Family. Her eyes lit up at the sudden realization. Imani spoke of convincing oneself that you didn’t need to fight, but that didn’t seem right to Lamia. Darkness lay below her, an open maw ready to swallow her and never let go. She felt she couldn’t let the memory slip away. That wasn’t her. She was frightened of herself, of the danger and of the future, but that was alright. Because it was a price to pay for something far more important.

Them. It might not have been perfect, but Imani had been there on Devil’s Elbow when Lamia hit her low point, Sana held her during her feverish night of terror in the echo, Caeldor had taught her a great many things and Uyula showed her new ways of thinking.

“I can’t let go,” Lamia said softly, “if I do then I’ll fall into an abyss. But I don’t want to let go.” She didn’t want to be here, but she needed to be. The purpose she had lacked she finally found. Sana, Imani and Uyla had their gods, Caeldor had his pride. Lamia had them. Her new family. “But I know that I can fight and I can win. Because of all of you. Because I need to win for you, because you need me to win.” Her face resolute, though her eyes still showed fear. Fear was part of her and it would make her fight harder for them, “I will come with you Imani, Sana, I’ll go underground and fight to protect you all.” Her eyes turned to look at Uyula after a moment showing her a quiet empathy and a plea to trust her.

***

Caledor had always found solace in his studies, be it the acquisition and practice of new spells, trawling through arcane or historical tomes or divining the secret inner workings of magical artifice. The young elf's insatiable curiosity and endless search for new knowledge resulted in such pursuits becoming second nature to him. So much in fact, that he had come to rely on the peace and solitude these periods of study afforded him in order to maintain his composure and come to terms with difficulties of any kind he may be experiencing.

Still warm and comfortable from the wine he had consumed earlier, he noted the all but spent candle he had appropriated before the night's festivities had finally begun to sputter and die, Caledor reached up and lightly caressed the small stone hanging from the ceiling of his tent. With a single word and barely a stray thought, the stone began to glow, spreading a soft blue-white illumination in all directions, providing just the right amount of light to work comfortably in.

Tonight however, something was different. The sense of calm detachment he was accustomed to feeling simply refused to assert itself in light of all that had happened. This alone, disturbed Caledor more than he would like to admit and left him more than a little uneasy. Yet this dilemma was but one of a number thoughts drifting through his troubled mind. For someone who had fancied himself superior among an already elitist people, the last few months experiences had forced Caledor to re-examine many of the ideals responsible for this state of mind. While his pride railed against even considering such a thing, the logical — and thus far more objective — part of his mind strove to pursue this idea.

Satisfied the light was sufficient to avoid straining his eyes, Caledor retrieved the yew quarterstaff leaning against the wall of his tent and dismissed the cantrip he had placed on it before the night's revelling. With a slight rippling distortion in the air, like a wave of heat off hot stone, gnarled wood gave way to bleached bone and a fire that seemed to consume light rather than provide it. Despite its ominous appearance, the Staff of Dark Flame was a marvel of arcane craftsmanship. Positioning himself cross-legged on a cushion adjacent to the low work bench opposite his bedroll, Caledor gently lay the staff upon the bench and began taking mental notes of any and all notable features, searching for some detail he may have missed. Anything that might may give him some insight into the nature of the Drow.

Despite his comparatively long life so far, Caledor had little real life experience outside of his studies. The idea that children of lesser races could be so much more worldly than he, was a completely foreign concept to him and certainly not one he would have ordinarily given credence to. Whilst certainly not royalty or even nobility by birth, his family was known for producing some of the finest mages of his entire community. This, combined with his uncanny affinity for understanding the inner workings of magic itself had led to Caledor being held in high regard among the vast majority of his kind in the past.

Moreover, his almost sheltered lifestyle until coming to riddleport was largely responsible for cementing his high opinion of himself, his race in general and heightened his already growing pride and arrogance due to a lack of anything to contradict this. An extended stay in Riddleport did nothing if not reinforce these feelings and thus it was not until the voyage to the island known as Devil's Elbow that subtle doubts began to creep into the back of Caledor's mind. No doubt existed of his academic superiority but when time and circumstance had called for action, even he had to admit he had been woefully underprepared. While many of those doubts were initially dispelled by the vision he had experienced after the tower's collapse on that thrice damned island, his companions continually proving themselves to be ready and willing to face whatever trials befell — often more adequately than he — had them kept him wondering if perhaps it had just been a dream.

As he continued his examination, feeling the magic within the weapon, memorising different spells and components necessary to replenish or if necessary replace it, Caledor noticed the massive amount of magical energy infused within the staff went beyond what should be possible. Nolvaniss must have possessed great knowledge indeed to be capable of such a feat. Or perhaps these Drow possess powers even greater than Caledor or even the other elves first believed. Either way this was simply another item to add to the list of things he was not prepared for. Yet all of these thoughts paled in comparison to that which weighed most heavily upon Caledor: His own mortality.

For all his 157 year of life, he was still very young by the standards of his people. Only barely and adult in truth. And while he knew that someday he would eventually die, death had always seemed like a distant thing, almost surreal. Contemplation of mortality was something that the young races concerned themselves with and not the province of a people such as his. Yet how could he not? After all he had witnessed it seemed utterly impossible to ignore. The battles on Devil's Elbow had been one thing. With nothing more than the help of his peers around him, he had handled himself adequately enough to think of it as a trial more than a near death experience. Even with the whole rolling tower shenanigans.

But this war, this... Slaughter was something he could never have imagined. In the past Caledor had been desensitised almost to the point of callousness when faced with the death of the shorter lived races. After all, he himself had outlived the better part of 2 generations of creatures such as humans and he had only recently come of age. As such he had come to value the lives of his people far more than those of other races. Then to stand witness as so many of those treasured lives were winked out as easily as one might snuff a candle and being all but helpless to stop it was humbling and sobering in equal measure. If this anguish he felt was the pain of knowing mortality then what right had he to judge those who must live with that pain their entire existence, no matter how short-lived it may be?

Since that first day of battle after returning to camp and Caledor had begun questioning just how much he could accomplish on his own. And now, finally he believed he had an answer.

Caledor paused for a moment, caught in a flash of insight, eyes transfixed on and awkward ridge that appeared to be the base of the spinal column which comprised the lower-middle section of the staff. It had been fused with what looked like a thigh bone. Two completely different objects which, ordinarily, have no business being connected at all. In fact, when he really looked at it Caledor could not find a single piece of the staff that looked like it matched in any way with another. Individually they would resemble nothing more than a random assortment of leftovers from a mass grave and yet together, all these radically different pieces made up one of the most powerful magical weapons he had ever seen... Was it really that simple? Could he have truly been so full of pride that he had been blinded to the most basic of principles?

As long living things have existed, individual beings have worked together to accomplish what they could not alone. Strength in unity, safety in numbers, the instinctual need that drives living things to form packs, herds, families, friendships and communities. For all his rage at those responsible for the massacre of his people and his will to prevent these vile beings from unleashing their cataclysm on the world, this was one enemy which was simply too much for him alone. Their numbers were too many, their power too great and their abilities too shrouded in mystery for anyone being save a God to possibly take on alone. And Caledor was certainly no God. Even if his vision had been real, he was a champion at best or delusional at worst.

No this was a foe that was truly beyond him, beyond any of them. If an entire army of elves could not overcome this enemy, surely no hope existed for victory. And yet... Where that very same army had failed for generations, he... No... They had succeeded. His comrades and himself. They often disagreed, rarely coordinated with each other, got in each other's way and there were even some personal issues among them — due in no small part to Caledor's own pride. But somewhere along the line, seemingly without even realising, his concept of "himself" and "them" gave way to the concept of "us". When it really mattered, they had all managed to pull through. And they had done so together. It had all been right there the entire time and not once had the arcanist noticed.

By working together — even if only barely — they had turned the tide of an entire war for the first time since its inception but in his arrogance he had failed to see it. If this group of individuals could accomplish that much with so little cohesion, it would stand to reason that with true unity, perhaps their combined efforts would prove sufficient to overcome that which was impossible for them... For him... individually. The more he considered this, Caledor's conviction began to grow. After all, had it not been his comrades who had saved his very life more times than he would care to admit? Had they not all acquitted themselves at least as well as he in battle? Their small group was responsible for saving more elven lives already than any other unit in the war.

Finally, Caledor came to a conclusion. If he truly wished to be the "all knowledgeable teacher" had often claimed to be then it would seem he should start acting like it. If this small group was to continue fighting this was, they needed to be taught how to really work together. And if that was ever going to happen, there were many things that required settling first. With these thoughts still echoing in his mind, Caledor stood, returning the Staff of Dark Flame to its resting place and reapplying the cantrip so it so it once again resembled a simple yew stick.

At peace with his thoughts for the first time since the beginning of the war, Caledor set off intent on amending — as best he could — the worst of his failures first and left to find the half-elf or her summoned partner.

The search proved a short one, as he exited his tent to find the pair joining the group gathered around the campfire. Unsure of how best to approach the precarious situation, he opted to take a seat aside Imani and feel out the atmosphere and conversation before deciding his approach.

***

Sana nodded to Caeldor as he joined them and turned back to address Lamia. He was pleasantly surprised to see Uyula had sat down as well, but reflected that Imani’s suggestion had occupied his thoughts thoroughly. Lamia’s resolution though, it was part of what he’d hoped Imani would help with. To have Lamia make a decision, even if Sana would have preferred it came from a different source, was enough. He knew as a leader, one of his first priorities was simply to make sure his people could stand and fight.

“And we can fight,” he said to Lamia, a smile on his face.

“And we can win, because we have you by our side. If you ever need to be reminded, if you ever feel your grip slipping or your defences being overrun, just ask us where we need you. Not if we need you, where we need you.” Sana was firm on that. Even without her strange companion, Lamia had a place with them.

Echoing the epiphanies around the group, Sana thought of the way they had grown from a bunch of misfits to a power — both within the politics of a border-city in Varisia and then in the struggle against darkness. How he relied on each of them, in different ways and different roles, both when violence erupted and when treating with the varied groups they’d encountered. Imani was right: it was time for Sana to take on a new job that they sorely needed to fill. He stood, and stepped around the fire so they could all clearly see him.

“We all have a role to play. I still have my doubts about the Necromancy we are to take advantage of, and I would like to hear all your thoughts on it. We need to come to a decision on whether to accept this aid and we need to decide now.”

Sana looked at the two most fractious members of… his team.

“Uyula, Caeldor, I also need to know — will you stay with us? The Echo was one thing, but this is a step up, and we’re not soldiers. We’re here of our free will, so the decision stands with you.”

***

Uyula returned Lamia's gently, hopeful look with hesitation, while Twill's tail thumped back and forth along the ground impatiently between them. She didn't want to dash out whatever strength or resolution the girl had just found, but even after sitting about listening to the others speak, she still hadn't come to a conclusion about herself.

She had liked to think for a while, that it wasn't up to her. Gozreh, god and goddess of the sky and sea had chosen her. She was just doing their will — but that was a move to use faith as an excuse. What did she want? Why was she here? Cautiously, the half-elf met Sana's expectant gaze, her eyes flickering like liquid gold in the light from the fire as Twill's did, the rune that joined them flowing faintly on her brow between messy raven hair.

To turn away would be to forsake Gozreh's will, but they wouldn't strike her down on the spot for that. She might lose the powers they had given her, but those wouldn't be needed if Uyula went back to Churlwood and resumed the role of the wood's crazy little witch who ate children... but if she did — could she bear knowing these people that she had grown to appreciate, and enjoy the company of, were going into a storm so dangerous without her help?

That was the thought that pressed her mind, as Sana gently pressed her for an answer.

“I don't trust the wizard,” she said then, flatly. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled to mention him, knowing he was just over her shoulder, “and as long as you all go on pretending what he did was was all fine, then I won't trust you either. I won't go into the jaws of the lion with people who haven't got my back.”

***

Sana heard Uyula's statement and felt the burden of leadership drop onto his shoulders. This was the internal divide he'd been worried about. He met Uyula's gaze and then turned to look at Caeldor.

"A fair objection, and past time we addressed this as a team. Without either of you resorting to contact, spellcasting or name-calling, Caeldor, can I invite you to address Uyula's concern directly?"

Sana stepped back, and sat down. He glanced at Twill, still in Lamia’s lap, and put a comforting hand lightly on Lamia’s shoulder. She, at least, had done well tonight and he was proud of her resolution.

***

Caledor was acutely aware his companion's eyes upon him as fought off the urge to object. As if he would resort to something so petty as name calling?! And how many times must he tell that young woman he was nothing so simple, so mundane as a wizard?! However, truth be told these were not all that unreasonable precautions considering the delicate nature of the situation and its dire need for a swift resolution.

Recognising this and deferring to the Paladin’s judgement in matters concerning the feelings of others, Caledor took a deep breath and began to speak — slowly and quietly, but clearly and without falter, “As I am sure you have all come to realise, I have often regarded myself more highly than the rest of you. I admit this freely as it always seemed simply natural to feel this way, despite much evidence to the contrary.”

The elf paused for the moment, his eyes sweeping his assembled peers as he watched for signs of interruption yet surprisingly, there were none. He continued, “This was a… failure on my part. While I could claim a lack of true experience with the world beyond the boundaries of my home is responsible for this, it would be nothing more than a petulant excuse not unlike that of a child. This war has taught me far more than I could have imagined when first I set out to observe the strange blot in the sky, not least of which being how little knowledge I really had of the world.”

As he continued his address, Caledor shifted his gaze yet again, this time settling it directly on Uyula before resuming, “Most importantly however, I have come to realise just how valuable it can be to know you can rely on those around you when times are truly difficult. The sense of safety, of stability it brings even in the face of hardship is something surprisingly new to me. You have lost that young one and the blame for that falls upon my shoulders. Whilst it may not mean much to you now, I am sorry for that. I will not ask for your devotion or your loyalty for broken trust is much like a severed root; if it is ever to heal, it will only do so in time.”

Glancing at each of the others in turn before returning once again to Uyula, Caledor concluded, “Sadly, time is not a luxury we have been afforded. Come tomorrow, we may all be heading into darkness with no real knowledge of what we may face and in light of this I must agree with Imani and Sanakt that we all have a place here. We all have a role to play and you are no exception. If we are to have any hope of succeeding, we must proceed through that portal knowing that we can rely on each other. Either we proceed as one, or not at all. As I said, I will not ask for your devotion, your loyalty or even your trust. What I will ask is that you find it within yourself to put aside your grudge against me so that we all may all learn to truly work together. If you can give your word that you will do this, then from this point forward I will put my trust in you until such time as I have earned back yours.”

As the words fled his lips, Caledor’s eyes wrinkled slightly around the edges in the first truly affectionate smile any of his companions had ever seen. This combined with his gratuitous beard caused him to appear as nothing more than a kindly old man.

“What say you, young one?” he asked earnestly, “Will you try?”

***

While Caledor embarked on a monologue, Twill’s satisfied purrs at the attention given to her by Lamia turned into a quiet growling — the edge of her bark-like lip curling at the side to reveal jagged rows of teeth. Uyula herself returned the elf’s gaze fiercely, her arms folded stiffly across her chest. All outer appearances suggested she was completely unmoved by his words — though her tendency to wear her heart on her sleeves had waned a little as of late. As she grew and changed, she was becoming more guarded, more difficult to read.

“You always use such pretty words,” she drawled, with a scowl not dissimilar to Twill’s own expression. “Always have the most fancy thing to say. Your words mean nothing to me, and you won’t find the reason why in any of your old, stuffy books. Do you know what a wolf pack does when an arrogant pup attacks one of the other wolves? They abandon it. If it’s too aggressive, they kill it — and if it’s young enough or they’re hungry enough they eat it.”

She rose to her feet and took a heated step towards Caledor. “A grudge is when someone is being petty about something that wasn’t so serious. You attacked me!” Her eyes brimmed with bitter, angry tears. “I trusted you and you hurt me! Over your stupid, stupid pride!”

***

“Uyula.”

Sana’s voice was firm, but not harsh — and just loud enough to command attention without being a shout.

“Please,” he gestured, his tone soft again. “Stand here, between Lamia and the fire. Caeldor,” Sana gestured with his other hand to a place a similar distance from both fire, and where Sana was sitting. “Could you stand here for me?”

When both the arcanist and summoner had moved, Sana put his hands back into his lap. He looked up at them both, and sat with his shoulders back, his pose looking as though the tiny camp-stool was the most expansive throne.

“Uyula, you are right about pups that act up within the pack. When they take play too far, or respond in a way that is not appropriate, they are rebuked for it. It comes down to the pack Alpha to decide when a pup has been dealt with appropriately.”

Sana fixed Uyula with his gaze, deep brown meeting golden.

“I claim status as Pack Alpha now. If you care to challenge me, you are welcome. Until you do, I say this: Both of you are in the wrong.

“Uyula-pup, you played too hard with Caeldor’s pride, and had Caeldor snarled or snapped at you I would call this resolved and you rebuked. He went further than that, and as Alpha it falls to me to call him to account. You have aired your grievance.”

Sana turned to Caeldor. “You defended your pride, your self image. To be expected of anyone. However, we are not just any lay-people. We are individuals of exceptional ability and we have an increased burden on us to moderate our actions. You used that exceptional ability without warning against someone who had not done anything that would separate her from any normal citizen of Golarion.

“Had you brushed her aside, had you expressed your anger verbally or walked away and called her to account later even if you had struck her with your fists, you might have been justified.

“You did not. At the time, I expected better of you. I have maintained that expectation despite my frustration at this ongoing issue. It seems from what you’ve said tonight, you are able to greet your own faults. I will ask a price from you as penance for your actions, but with it comes my hope for resolution.  Thus, you are called to account.”

“Do either of you wish to challenge anything I have said so far? Now is the time for it, or the matter is closed. We have much to decide for the coming days and weeks, whatever our actions.”

***

Her head whipped around and Uyula’s eyes widened slightly on Sana, then narrowed with curiosity as she took her place where he desired her to be. The warmth of the fire licked up her left side, casting its orange hue on her dark skin.

His following words made sense to her in a way that no other language could. They weren’t pretty or hollow or full of self-importance — they were simple but wise, and very much aligned to her own thinking. She canted her head, wondering how he did that — the paladin from another land with another god, the only one not trying to make her speak like them, but endeavouring to understand her mind.

Yes, finally. We’re a pack. Not just a group of people doing the same thing. Not just friends.

She reached up to hastily wipe away the dampness from her eyes.

“Thank you for… seeing,” she managed, “I don’t challenge your status. As long as you mean what you say, for penance.”

Twill lifted her head from Lamia’s lap and rose, shaking herself out, sending flower petals and cabbage butterflies scattering. Her joints creaked like trees in the wind, in a somehow weary fashion, and she padded over to Sanakt. Without a word — though her growling had stopped — she flopped on one side and showed her belly to him. It was as hardwood as the rest of her, but the point of the gesture wasn’t lost.

“Though I won’t hunt for you,” she pointed out, licking her paw.

***

Caeldor briefly raised a single, bushy eyebrow before returning composure to his face and locking eyes with Sanakt. The elf pondered the simple ease with which the situation had been resolved after such trying tribulations — few short words and a show of dominance and it was done. Instantly recognising the stoic paladin’s obvious knack for reaching each member of the team, Caledor nodded in acknowledgement as he spoke.

“Then it is settled. I stand by my words but thus far, challenge nothing. In fact I believe the structure this may afford us will do the lot of us some good.” So saying, he returned to his seat by Imani and sat down heavily with a weary sigh.

***

Imani watched the exchange with curiosity. The elf and the half-elf, scantily a meter apart as they complied to Sana’s instructions — likely the closest they had stood together since the events of Crying Leaf had taken place. But neither party argued, nor fled. A hint of a smile flashed across her marked face as the paladin commanded them with not only the strength and grace she had expected, but with a fairness that reminded her fondly of brother Abdal — leader of the Magnimar wing of Shadow Breakers. Both were good men, fair in battle and mind. She was content in her decision to implore him to take up the burden, for he was the far better choice.

The hour was late, she noticed, as the revelry of the elves in the campsites beyond began to grow quieter. It was unlikely this eve would be one of strategy after such personal efforts had been made to set pride and perspective back in place from her companions — the morning may be a more suited time to draft a plan of action. Their first official mission as a unit and to do no less that prevent a world-ending catastrophe from reoccuring at the hand of the Drow.

As Caeldor returned to his seat beside her, she bowed her head respectfully. She had not expected such a sincere admission of his guilt on his behalf and felt it deserved some acknowledgement, despite the message being lost in translation with Uyula. Under Sana’s command, it seemed Uyula had found some kind of way to try moving forward as she’d hoped and though the outcome was tense, this discomfort was far less so than it had been in weeks. A relief she welcomed wholeheartedly.

***

With a struggle, Sana resisted the urge to pass his hands over his eyes. He was exhausted, and thanks to his new position, he knew he couldn’t show it. Like Imani, he’d hoped to have a plan for the following day and the days or weeks moving forward, but it would have to wait. They knew so little of the Drow that Sana wasn’t even sure where to start when asking questions of ethics or moral right to take this course.

He kneeled down, and rubbed a hand along Twill’s chest and stomach, before moving to scratch the back of her neck, just under her ear. It was a gesture he’d learned long ago when taming strays or the temple dogs, and he hoped Twill had enough similarities for the gesture to matter. He stood, and allowed Twill to leave to meet Uyula.

“We have a lot to do, and little time to do it. There are things all of us need to act on. Caeldor: I want a precis from you, everything you can think about regarding Giseil’s spell, every concern you have and any concern you might think I have. You have an hour.

“Imani, I gather you, or your order, might have some practice at small-group missions, and I’ve seen you organise things at the Goblin. I need from you a quick list of some of the most pertinent factors you can think of after we cross the portal tomorrow. Weaknesses, strengths, inventory. You have until I finish reading Caeldor’s list.

“Uyula, Twill, Lamia. You have the hardest task, I think. Twill and the Horned Creature are incredibly recognisable and from my understanding, Giseil’s spell cannot disguise them. It is likely they will blow whatever cover we have and jeopardize our mission. Except in private moments, we will not be able to rely on them. Take some time, as much as you need, and spend it with them.

“Other than that, all of us, prepare your gear and be ready to move tomorrow morning. No watches tonight; Eviana’s people have that covered. Go.”

Sana turned away from the group, hoping that it would act as a display of authority, and spur them all into action. He retrieved his armour and shield, and set about organising what he could. Once they’d all began to move, he sat back down after retrieving a small phylactery from his pack. He tied the band around his head and returned to painting his shield.

Sana allowed the monotony of simple tasks and brush-work to help him enter a meditative state, where he pondered the momentous task they were all about to undertake.

***

“Come, little one,” Twill nudged past Uyula’s leg and walked towards the like of trees, only stopping once to glance over her shoulder while Uyula searched for something to say — some argument to put forward about how that was completely ridiculous and of course she should still summon Twill. What was the use of her going if she couldn’t have her lifelong companion by her side?

She winced a bit as Twill’s jaws gently closed around her thigh a moment. “Come. I want us to speak alone.”

Uyula raised her head, casting a quick look around the campsite as though embarrassed. The task ahead, for the first time, felt very real and very near.

“Later,” she mumbled to them, gliding her fingers briefly along the knots and branches of her summon’s back before following her back out of the camplight.

***

“I believe I can help, yes.” Imani dipped her chin curtly to affirm Sana’s assumption, “Consider it done.”

Caeldor fingers glided smoothly over his beard thoughtfully, his shrewd eyes narrowing as he began to consider the task delegated to him. He nodded slowly — a gesture more a consideration to himself than the party assembled — before rising back to his feet.

“Giseil may yet have some further information we can use. I will return shortly with an account of considerations”, the arcanist carefully collected his robes around himself as he made way to head into the camp proper.

Imani watched as Uyula followed Twill into their regular haven amongst the trees and Caeldor set out in the direction of the necromancer’s tent, seemingly pleased to have an excuse to further discuss the arcane machinations with the grey elf.

Reaching into her layered coat, the shackleborn pulled out a leather journal and unwrapped the length of charcoal caressed between the pages like a bookmark. The book was part bestiary, part journal — occasionally punctuated every so often by a torn page — reminders of letters sent back to Maginimar. Tonight may be her last chance to write back to Abdal and explain everything. Resolved by the staidness of their next venture, she vowed that once her strategy proposal was drafted, she would write her brother. It would be the prudent thing to do and she owed her Abdal much.

But for now, there were many things to consider before she could settle her affairs. Though they knew far less than she was comfortable with, they did know a little of the Drow. This Zirnikaynin was located underground, as Aviana’s priest had managed to divine and they were likely strong opponents in darkness, perhaps crippled by light — just as they would be if under the effects of Giseil’s disturbing magic. They also could assume the Drow were matriarchal in structure with some concept of nobility — though naught by what means. Blood? Power? Likely both, she considered, sliding down into the dry earth and leaning back against the padded stool as she began to scribble down her thoughts.

Imani’s gaze peered above the edge of her journal, observed Lamia’s quiet figure curled up against a camp-stool, her chin rested against her folded arms as she watched Sana silently work. The girl’s body lay in a way that seemed a little lighter than before, scarcely the remnants of a misery-laden gaze or gripping fear weighing her down — just the solemnity and thought that now pursues all their minds.

Following Lamia’s weary gaze, the tiefling considered Sana’s swift action and fair judgement this evening with a guarded smile. All things considered, Imani felt the resolution was as positive as could be expected and despite the sombre atmosphere, she saw a kind of coherency begin to form. At least now if they perished beyond the Gate, it would not be due to their own impotence. That, she decided, was a comforting thought.

Well done, zaeim. We may survive this yet.