Orc Cave

Ilmadia’s eyes snap open, and she throws herself into a roll, taking Mona with her, just before the pillar explodes upward to pummel the ceiling. She finds her footing and glares at Halla. "I should have -"

Silence. Stunning, absolute silence.

Erevain drops from thin air behind Ilmadia, protected from Lance’s spell by the nature of his pocket dimension. He looks at Alalla and waves, trying to catch her eye. His lips move, but she cannot hear what he says.

Tears of anger and frustration fill Ilmadia’s eyes, and she silently draws her sword and levels it at Halla. She tucks Mona behind her and, between staring down the druid, shoots frantic glances at Lance who is writhing on the floor between her and Halla.

As Zenithral does his best to take stock of the situation, he notices a figure standing at the cave entrance. Arannis, face in anguish, raises his bow and draws a bead on Ilmadia.

Alalla's heart finally remembers that it belongs to a stoic warrior now and not a cowardly dragon, and eases into a reliable rhythm. She stands and grips her glaive, staring down the laughing illusion of her husband.

The fear still twists in her gut, but this is not the worst case scenario. Worst case scenario, Erevain escapes alive.

Her first attack should hit have hit, but Erevain sidesteps and sends her staggering by. She trips and smacks against the wall of the cave, and Erevain chuckles viciously.

"Becoming planetouched did not give you any more grace. A half-orc, Erevain? What were you thinking?" He shakes his head and the orcs beside him snicker, tusks glistening in the light.

He dodges another blow, but her third strike hits. She tries to channel Torm's power to damage him further, but her smite fizzles out. Erevain laughs again and draws his sword.

Gut wrenching, Al nearly moves to attack him again when movement catches her eye. She risks a glance and sees... Erevain. Just as he was when he went into the rope trick.

She tries to express her surprise but no sound emerges, and she realizes that she only sounds she has heard for a while were from Erevain and the orcs.

Alalla looks at her husband in surprise. The truth strikes her, and the illusions dissipate, and the fear in her gut vanishes.

Fluphy, tell Ilmadia she doesn't mean it! There's a fear spell over her! It was my fault!

Zenithral leaps between. Halla and Ilmadia, standing over Lance and looking Halla in the eyes. Calm. Trying to help her overcome the fear.

Unable to breathe, the water is rising; cold, how it bites now, the alien feeling to one who’s blood is tainted by frost giants. The figure of his friend, now traitor, walks away, darkened by the diffusion of light in the frigid waters. If only he could rise up before the darkness swallows him up forever.

Remembering has brought that frigid cold back to Reòthadh’s spine, his muscles tense up to the shock of the cold. fool of a boy, what are you doing now. he reaches out, fighting to move, he tries to head to the entrance to leave the zone of silence. Letting loose an incantation and reaching with his fingers toward his axe, the ancient nomad focuses the frigid cold of the depths at the source of his fear, hoping to rid himself of the terror.

Reòthadh cast hold person targeting Lance. Reòthadh takes 26 psychic damage.

Halla blinks as her mind clears, then her eyes focus on Zenithral’s. Her hand goes to her mouth as she realizes what she has done, and she steps backward from Zenithral and Ilmadia.

A few feet to the side and behind Ilmadia, Erevain makes eye contact with Alalla to make sure she is alright, then he rests one hand on his sword hilt, not yet drawing it.

On the floor before Ilmadia, Lance continues to twist and writhe. Reòthadh feels his spell slip off of the cambion like water off of a duck’s back. Apparently there is more fiend than mortal in the boy (Hold Person fails because Lance is not a humanoid).

The tip of Ilmadia’s sword does not dip as Zenithral makes his plea through Fluphy, but neither does she strike. Indecision is stark on her face, but her cheeks are also flushed with anger.

Ilmadia is not the only one who struggles with indecision. Arannis’ bow trembles as he holds the fletching of an arrow to his ear. This elf, aged by grief and sorrow even beyond his centuries of life, looks on a daughter who to him seems as lost and broken as the poor souls trapped in the Severed Hand. He could not bear to put them out of their misery. But his daughter, his only daughter... Could he be strong enough for her?

Then, shuddering with the weight of a decision made, he adjusts his aim and lets loose the arrow. The hum of its flight abruptly ceases as it enters the zone of magical silence, and then the arrow finds its mark in Ilmadia’s calf (Ilmadia takes 16 damage). A shot to maim, not kill.

Arannis hurls his bow to the ground and falls to his knees, face in his hands.

Ilmadia jerks in pain at the sudden bite of the arrow, but then looks down in amazement to see light streaming from her wound into Mona (Mona uses Martyr’s Empathy and takes the 16 damage for Ilmadia). The cambion girl sags as her own leg gives way, but her small hands clutches tightly at her mother’s armor.

Fluphy, determined to do its part and bolstered by Zenithral’s spell, does the only thing it can think of to help. With Ilmadia distracted, it dives close and lays a tendril on her cheek, then stretches out as far as it can to reach Zenithral. Their minds touch, and Zenithral is flooded with a rush of emotions and memories, none of them his own...

Saki, looking much younger, is bent over an injured man. Bites and claw marks cover his arms. A wolf attack. Common enough in these mountains when winter has been long. Saki moves with confidence and a practiced hand.

"It's alright," Saki soothes with a smile. "My daughter and I serve Ilmater." She places a gentle hand on his arm, unconcerned about his flinching or the blood seeping up between her fingers from the deep bite wound. "Ilmadia, please fetch the bandages." She turns to look at her daughter. "Ilmadia."

Ilmadia tears her eyes away from the torn flesh and goes to their cart to collect the supplies. She turns to deliver them just as a holy light shines beneath Saki's fingers, and the gruesome wound appears on her own arm. She carefully cleans the blood from the man's arm with skirt of her robes.

"Ilmadia?" Blood rushing in her ears, the young half-elf looks at her mother. "Come here, Ilmadia, this man needs help." Saki reaches her hand out to her daughter.

Ilmadia raises her eyebrows. Her mother's arm is now oozing blood and she looks to this man's injuries? She looks at her mother's outstretched hand, then the man's face, pale with shock and blood loss. They don't hold her attention for long. Soon the blood and mangled skin fills her eyes again. Does her mother expect her to take that on? Her stomach churns with fear. Before she knows what she is doing, she drops the supplies and flees.

Some time later Ilmadia kneels on the rocky ground, knees aching above the icy, sharp stones. "Help me, please," she begs. Her nausea has ceased and her mind is clear of the gore, but another image has fixed itself in place: Saki's face, creased with disappointment and irritation. "I know there's something wrong with me. I can tell. Just fix it and I'll be better. I can be good enough." Her chattering teeth are the only things breaking the silence as she waits. "I learned your name before I learned my own. My name is your name. Why won't you help me?" Her voice is hoarse. How long has she been here? The rocks have pierced her skin through her clothes by now. "Please..."

It's long past dark when she returns to camp. Her father gives her a level look and says nothing, only directs her to the family tent with a gesture. Her mother is waiting for her there.

"Ilmadia! Where have you been?" Ilmadia opens her mouth but Saki isn't finished. "Was that man not enough of a warning? You could have been attacked!"

Ilmadia looks at the bandages on Saki's arms. "Is that worse than being bit by proxy?" Saki's eyes flash, and Ilmadia regrets her sass. That is, until her mother replies.

"You should be more diligent in your prayers to Ilmater. He will help you curb this... selfishness."

Ilmadia clenches her fists. "I somehow doubt that," she mutters. A thin trail of blood trickles unseen from her aching knees.

.......

The caravan wheels make a squeaking noise through the snow as they travel away from Bryn Shander. Ilmadia loves the sound, but it's been the only thing to keep her company for hours, and one can only take pleasure in it for so long.

The caravan headed south is small. Only four guards, including her father, three merchants, including her mother, and two carts. Only one girl.

Ilmadia glances back at the city walls, now a few hours behind them, and shakes off the feeling in her gut at leaving behind the friends she made in her short visit. She sidles up to her mother and the woman she is speaking to.

"Mistress Carter, I'm so bored. Tell me another of your stories?" Mistress Carter smiles at her but Saki sighs. "Please, Ilmadia. We are in the middle of a conversation. Aren't you supposed to be practicing?"

Ilmadia scowls and pulls her bow from her back. She lets the women pull ahead of her as they walk. "One, two..." She draws back her bowstring and gently returns it to its place of rest, counting each pull. She hates the task, but she dutifully pays careful attention to her technique and control- for a while. Soon she is watching her father speak to one of the other guards. She's hardly seen so many words out of him to a stranger, especially on this trip with how much he hates coming north. What's more, this man is an elf too.

She gravitates towards them, curiosity taking over. She knows so little about elves, despite having one for a father and being half-elven herself. She eavesdrops in, still going through the motions of her practicing. They're speaking elvish. She creeps closer. Her rolls her eyes. They're talking about archery.

"Pull straight back Ilmadia," Arannis calls. Ilmadia jumps. "All the way to your ear."

"Father, I've done this so many times," Ilmadia complains in accented Elvish as she pulls closer. "I'm bored."

Arannis doesn't look at her, vigilant as he is in his job as caravan guard. The elf beside him spares her a kind look.

"If you are bored, then we can continue your next lesson. Where did we leave off?"

"Honesty," Ilmadia says with a sigh.

"Yes, honesty. Honesty is the cornerstone of trust. It is the foundation of cooperation. It is the weave of friendship.

Without it, you cannot lead. You cannot watch. You cannot protect. You are-"

"What happened at the Hand of the Seldarine?" Ilmadia asks the new elf.

Arannis stiffens, and the man beside him glances his way nervously. "I dont know if it is my place to say, child."

Ilmadia looks expectantly at her father.

"Ilmadia. You know I won't speak of it."

"But why?"

"I won't speak of it."

"What about honesty?"

"Ilmadia-"

"What kind of cornerstone are you building for our trust? I think our friendship weave is-"

"I am not your friend," Arannis interrupts harshly. "I am your father. And I will not hear another word."

Ilmadia feels it like a slap. She grips her bow tightly and looks at her feet. "Yes, Father." The pit gapes in her stomach again.

After a moment, the elven guard speaks quietly. "Your Elvish is good for growing up so isolated from your heritage. Still, we could practice together while we travel. It helps to hear the words spoken by more than one person." He nods respectfully towards Arannis.

Ilmadia looks up with an excited grin, but her father cuts off her reply.

"Ilmadia has other studies to attend to. Until she shows she can remain focused, taking on more would be unwise."

Ilmadia deflates. Her father gives her a look and she sets her bow, ready to draw. "One, two, three..."

As the memory fades, Zenithral is struck by the weight on his young mother's mind. She is a young girl, distracted and excitable. But it is not this keeping her from a task she dislikes. It is the consuming ache of loneliness.

......

"First labours are often the hardest, but I believe that was one of the most difficult I've ever seen." The kindly priestess fusses with Ilmadia's sheets while another takes her pulse, but Ilmadia ignores them, trying to peer over their shoulders at the two women across the room, fussing with a small bundle.

"So much for Ilmater helping to relieve pain."

The two women exchange an awkward glance. "Ilmater does relieve pain, but he mostly helps us to endure it. He-"

"How is my baby?" Ilmadia calls out. The women's whispers were making her nervous.

They turn slowly with awed smiles. "He is perfect," one says with reverence in her voice as they cross the room.

"Most children do not survive such a birth," the other adds, cradling the precious bundle, "but Ilmater helped him endure. Look." She places the baby onto Ilmadia's chest.

Ilmadia's heart nearly bursts as she looks over the tiny creature. She wants to spend forever tracing the baby fuzz on the point of his ear, his skinny little fingers, the wrinkled skin on his back-

Her mouth drops as the priestess pulls the blanket down away from her son's back. Two tiny, spectral wings are folded against his purple skin. He yawns and blinks sleepily, and his unfocused eyes shine with light. In an instant he returns to normal. No different than any other baby half-elf.

"He is blessed by Ilmater. Chosen as a special servant." The youngest priestess reaches out to caress the white fluff covering the baby's head, but Ilmadia pulls him closer to her and out of reach of the woman.

"I'd like to have some quiet to rest, now."

Another glance is shared between the priestesses. "Of course," says the senior one. "But I'll be in to check on you both in a couple hours."

When she is alone, Ilmadia weeps as her tiny son nurses ignorantly. "I'm so sorry. I chose a poor father for you." To admit it out loud, even to an infant, tears at her pride. "I'm sorry. I know what it is to be unloved by your father, but at least your mother loves you." She clutches her baby tightly. She has never felt this whole. She has never felt this love. She wants to run away and take her son with her. To never be heard from by any who know her ever again.

Ilmadia glances at the tome in the pile of her belongings on the side table, tears running down her face. However much she wishes, she can't break her contract. And though he is already a poor father, she misses her husband. She will do what she must. But it might just shatter her to pieces.

Tiny wings flicker into view once more, and Ilmadia is struck again with both with hurt-turned-anger and with relief. Hurt and anger that the god that rejected her would choose her son, and relief for her baby's childhood.

"I was afraid to bring you to them," Ilmadia murmurs, stroking one plump baby cheek, "but it was this or your father's plans. Now I'm not worried." She rubs her baby's back and breathes in his newborn smell. "You are special. They will love you. Even so, this is just for now. I promise, I'll be back for you Zenithral."

As his mother's memories vanish, Zenithral's begin.


The looks. The scowls. The fatherless families.

As Zenithral exited the medical tent, he thought he could read their lips and hear their whispers as their eyes bore into his soul.

"There's the one..." a woman said. Keleran's wife.

"He's gone..." Brighmon's daughter.

"He survived? What about my father?!" Trekob's son.

"Traitor..." Plemek's betrothed.

Zenithral wanted to stab himself in the gut and crawl back into the medical tent. It had been a week since the undead attack. People had always talked strangely about Zenithral. He was the only arcane archer among them, clearly raised in elven traditions...but was always brash instead of poised. Everyone always said have should been demoted a long time ago. His orders were frequently unorthodox, but things had always turned out well...

Until now.

....

Cold. It wasn't just his face, fingers, and toes. It was his being.

Rejection. He tried! Oh, how he tried! Apologies. Condolences. Gifts. Mourning.

The rumors circulated so fast, none except Mellora even opened their doors to him. The half-elf captain had his men keep fighting on the wall instead of falling back so that he could get away. Zenithral heard these accusations so frequently, he started to believe them.

What was a man without others, without care, without companionship? Was...he truly still alive? Certainly part of him had died. But...how could he fight for those who wanted to see him leave town and freeze to death...He couldn't...

And so he left.


Ilmadia.

Zenithral falls to his knees in the silence and looks up to Ilmadia, tears in his eyes. He tried to speak, but no words would come, and not just because of the silence.

And so he embraced her.

Words could not express such shared pain or such renewed understanding. So he embraced her. Not a hug requesting motherly comfort or protection, not a sign of pain that needed repair nor fear that needed calming. It was a hug of understanding. Of empathy. Of love.

Though sound could not reach her ears, he hoped his love would reach her heart.

Ilmadia remains stiff with shock at both the sudden surfacing of old memories, and the exchange of them and others with her son. Soon she falls to her knees as well, and though Zenithral cannot hear anything through Erevain's spell, the shuddering of her body held closely to his tells him that his mother is sobbing.

Mona shifts at their side, bringing Ilmadia suddenly to the present. She pushes Zenithral away with a start, straining to look over the taller man's shoulder at her younger son, still thrashing in fear and pain. She separates Mona from her side and puts her into Zenithral's arms before scrabbling across the floor to scoop Lance into her lap.

After a moment, when rocking and stroking does nothing to still the boy, she looks up into Zenithral's eyes. The two words she mouths are clear. "Help him."