White Halls

Alalla tucks the paper into a belt pouch when Dok isn't looking. Dok is helpful and best and harmless at worst, but ingesting whatever weirdness is handed to you by strange creatures is typically unwise. The blood hunters are proof enough of that, and her own heart a bitter reminder as well.

"Please, Halla," Alalla pleads. "Is Kuldahar the tree more important than Kuldahar the people? It is definitely not more important than this whole plane. Thaistius is not wrong about the demon lords. Demagorgon is... he's..." She puts a hand to her head with a grimace and nearly sways as recalling the abomination brings her close to her prior madness.

"Trust me," Al insists instead of trying to describe her experience. She attempts to impress her seriousness upon Reothadh and Halla as she looks between them. "Turning Icewind Dale and the Kuldahar tree and the Spine to ash is worth preventing him from touching the plane. It's a heavy price, but worth paying if we can save the rest of Faerun's land, and this land's people."

Ras's joy at seeing his old friends dwindles quickly as Dok hands him the torn parchment. Ras crumples the smelly paper into a ball and pretends to put it in his mouth, his jaw making exagerrated chewing motions. He smiles at Dok and nods.

Then he returns to hiding behind Ug. He knows very little of what these people are speaking about. He is just a gnome. Why do they expect so much from him?

"She is an...aasimar as well, I believe," Zenithral says to Myllandra. "She has...broken wings," he explains. "Is there a way to heal her while in these halls?"

Ilmadia stiffens, eyes glinting. Others might think it simply anger, but it looks more conflicted than that to Zenithral.

"Don't trouble her about that, my dear. I am sure she is already well aware. Besides, Ilmater rarely heals. He prefers to pass ailments around. Will you trade your wings for mine?" Ilmadia pauses, seeming to regret the question as she realizes who she has posed it to.

"I don't need wings," she continues, too quickly for Zenithral to answer. "I am accustomed to being seen as broken." She shakes the bitterness from her voice and looks at Myllandra once more. "What I need is power and authority. And you need an agent. Or will you let your ward enter this conflict once more without your aid?"

Vincent silently watches the conversation flow back and forth. A silent glowering observer off to the side. Holding the scrap of dripping parchment in his fingers Why was it wet? Vincent waits to see if the others eat it or not. Seeing both responses, Vincent just sort of freezes. Wanting to be included, but obviously wary, Vincent remains undecided and awkwardly holds the paper out in front of him.

Upon seeing the hesitation of some, the little goblin approaches Vincent.

"No be ‘fraid, Ug me-tell you has Nooginspeak already, you eat and make more powerful for hour."

Cringing, Vincent slowly and reluctantly eats the scrap of parchment.

Mentally talking with Dok, Vincent says, "More powerful how? I don't feel any different."

Halla turns sharply to Alalla. "Yes. Yes, it is! People come and go, but the Great Oak was planted and nurtured by Silvanus himself. It is more than a big tree. It is a living thing with its own soul. It..." She struggles to form the right words. "'Tis a wise being who shelters those under its boughs. We cannot simply abandon it - I cannot abandon it."

Her eyes flash a dangerous yellow. "I will not."

Myllandra meets Ilmadia's gaze levelly. "Your life has been an unfortunate one, Ilmadia. But you are not the one to blame for your predicament." She gestures around the group to the white halls and shining windows. "This is a place of purity and justice and goodness... but the simple truth is that sometimes mistakes are made. Just as I am assigned to Zenithral to be his guide, there was an angel assigned to you. She was to help you find your purpose and give you counsel. She..." The angel glances at Thaistius before returning to Ilmadia. "She fell. Her name was struck from our records - and because she was assigned to you, yours was as well."

The angel shakes her head sorrowfully. "We are not supposed to disobey. We are better than that. Or so we like to think... So when an angel shirks their duty, the heavens shake. Your guide took your name and your assignment with her, and we have been unable to take it back or restore it. As a result, you have grown up in this world with a part of you missing, and with us unable to reach out to you. The purpose for which Ilmater sent you to this world was lost and broken, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone, with no way of knowing what you were searching for.

Because of the nature of the bond between guide and aasimar, Ilmater was unable to reach out to you himself to relieve your suffering." She rests a hand on Zenithral's shoulder. "And so he made arrangements for your son to be the one to help you. From birth Zenithral was set on the path to make up for the wrongs that were dealt to you, and to bring you back into the light. He freed you from your incurred debts and turned you away from dark paths." She looks fondly at the archer. "Perhaps together you may find a way to restore the rest of what you are meant to be, Ilmadia. Though that will not happen here or now."

Myllandra raises her gauntleted hands to her face. "But what I can do for you, I will. However unorthodox the method may be."

She pulls back her cowl.

Her features are indescribable, but radiate truth, might, and wisdom. Her hands are bare and white, but marked by angry red burns that coil around her palms like a cord. Even Thaistius bows his head reverently at the sight. "Zenithral knows me as Myllandra, but my true title is Al-Dimeneira. Long ago I was present when seven liches bound their souls together to create the artifact now known as Crenshinibon. I seized the crystal shard to destroy it, and it burnt my hands. Unable to harm it, and with evil forces closing in, I was forced to hurl it across the planes, where it has caused trouble for millennia.

Swear to help me destroy Crenshinibon, and the Pretender who wields it, and I will be your patron and grant you the power you seek."

Even Halla pauses in her tirade to watch the celestials in awe.

Ilmadia listens to Myllandra with an unreadable expression. Only when the angel directs her to her son does her face soften to love. Love, mixed with pain and sorrow.

When Myllandra removes her cowl and offers her help, Ilmadia stares, her face completely blank in her surprise.

Then she laughs in disbelief. "Zariel. My... guide... was meant to be Zariel, wasn't it? And her devils 'guided' me instead. Incredible."

The shock of the revelations pass, and Ilmadia regains her composure. She bows her head. "I swear."

Ug chews aggressively at the wad of paper in his mouth, while definitely not Mother’s cooking it wasn’t that bad. Ug might have to get some of the lint together dom dok’s pockets and figure out the ingredients for future recipes. Ug then tries to clear his mind from the ramblings of those around him and focusses his accrue senses.

alright, he thinks, what is mighty doks plan to save friends!? How can weeweenug help?

Zenithral casts prestidigitation on his and Halla's parchments, cleaning and flavoring them before popping his into his mouth.

With Myllandra's explanation, everything suddenly made sense. He now felt even more love and compassion for his mother, now better understanding the breadth of her memories that he experienced.

Zenithral steps closer to Halla and pulls an arm around her. "Thank you for never giving up on me," he whispers.

Vincent quickly learns that he can hear the thoughts of his companions without initiating the conversation as Ug interrupts his question to Dok.

"Nooginspeak work any distance, me want us prepare fight like weenoogies. Me alway has plan Ug. Plan be not lose fight. We smarter than Pokeyfiend. And me has plenty magic for everyone snack on."

Dok raises up his ragged spellbook: pages torn out, corners and edges chewed to a pulp, and cover powdered with the contents of various spell components in the shape of small handprints.

"Mock gonna be angry me no bring him here."

"Then what do you propose we do? What's your long-term plan, Halla? Belhifet and his like have literally forever to plot and come for this portal again. The tree will only be in danger again, along with everyone else. Even if the guardians of Kuldahar and the portal are valiant and successful, there will be a price in blood. There is always a price in blood. You know that."

Alalla thumps her glaive in irritation. "I'm not abandoning the tree. I'm choosing to potentially -we're not even sure how wide the Scourge is- spend its life to save others now and hundreds of years from now. I think that the wise being might understand what's at stake here. I think that the being that shelters might understand that we're trying to protect many, many others by doing this. Kuldahar can't be Sylvanus' only wonder. Would you risk them all for one?"

She shakes her head. "But by all means," she says wearily. "I am not a tactician. If you do have a better plan than mine and than threatening a being who could punt you back to the material plane, then..." She gestures towards Thaistius and then drops her hand and gapes as Myllandra begins to remove her cowl.

Myllandra lays a white finger on Ilmadia's forehead, marking her with an angelic symbol. "I believe that the warlock pact usually manifests in something unique."

The angel whistles a note, clear and pure, and the sound of hooves echoes down the endless hall. A white horse comes into view galloping toward the group. No, not a horse - a unicorn. The majestic creature approaches, but oddly does not appear larger as it draws near. By the time it arrives next to Ilmadia, it seems to only be the size of a cat, though it is no less awe-inspiring. Its hooves shine as it takes to the air, prances in circles about Ilmadia's head and shoulders.

"This is Aluvar. He will serve as the symbol of our pact, as well as our liaison. I trust that he will be better to you than your last familiar, and that you will treat him the respect he deserves."

Myllandra raises her cowl once more. "Time moves differently here, but there is still much to be about. How do you all plan to close the portal?"

Halla's lip curls in a feral snarl and she steps forward and cranes her neck to look Alalla in the eye. Zenithral's gentle arm brings her back, however. She sighs and touches his face, then takes a deep breath. "We can worry about the Scourge later. Speaking of sacrifice, we have a priest here. Well, Everard? Are you ready to live up to your Order's duty?" Her eyes show no apology for the blunt question.

Zenithral winces at Halla's directness, but what else were they supposed to do? If he held the power to save so many, it only made sense.

But tactics...Zenithral narrows his eyes, deep in thought as he tries to assess and think through the situation. What did they know of the demons there? How could they fend them off long enough to seal the portal?

Everard seems to ignore Halla's question. He stands at the windowsill, eyes wet as he looks on Easthaven's sad remains. Broken houses, boats. The Temple of Tempus simply gone. For how many decades had he kept his vigil there, guarding the tomb of a man centuries gone? "I thought that Jerrod was weak, that he threw his life away. I thought he broke and killed himself out of fear..."

The priest shifts his weight slightly and nearly falls, but his aged hands hold him firm on the sill. A bitter, wondering smile lightly crosses his face. "The old dwarf was right. He was right all along."

Everard releases the windowsill and carefully stands straight, his old military habits fighting through his pain. He turns to the party. "I will do it. With Tempus' blessing, I will do it. Get me to the portal."

Ilmadia's stern expression as the deal is completed is broken by Aluvar's arrival. She claps her hands with delight and reaches out to scratch the tiny unicorn's ears.

"Oh you handsome, you!"