Alalla pauses, surprised. "That's a thing? Huh. I thought it had been a while since I had a cold." She frowns at the talk of plagues, but she trusts whatever Zenithral is up to with Aribeth, and continues digging out anything non-fleshy or disturbing to identify the corpses by.
The Triad
Alalla pauses, surprised. "That's a thing? Huh. I thought it had been a while since I had a cold." She frowns at the talk of plagues, but she trusts whatever Zenithral is up to with Aribeth, and continues digging out anything non-fleshy or disturbing to identify the corpses by.
"At any rate, let's get going." he says, beginning towards the portal again. "I don't see any reason to keep rummaging around enemy insides...They're almost as disgusting as their outsides."
"I was angry at them. The gods. I felt their rejection, and thought I could fight the Hells--both the Nine, and Nishrek--on my own. When the foolishness of that was made devastatingly apparent to me, a father-figure pointed me to Torm. I am blessed that Torm didn't reject me because of what I am, and instead gave me strength to defend my home and save my people. All of them." Al washes her hands and stands, replacing her gauntlets with a smile of pride.
"Did you know there's a small order of orcish paladins of Torm in Icewind Dale? Full-blooded. I've delegated their leadership to an orog. I think he's more devoted than me."
"Does that apply to drinking?"
Al gives Erevain a concerned look at his yelp, but laughs at Zenithral's question. "I wouldn't know. Orcs are angry drunks. The others have followed my lead and sworn off spirits."
She nods. "I think I have what we need. Let's go."
She averts her eyes once more. "Onward, then."
Their surroundings disappear and are suddenly replaced with an ocean of light, as though every star imaginable has fallen to the ground about them. But no, the stars yet hang in their places above, shining more brightly than ever. A wind blows, and the lights on the ground dance in response. These are not stars, but glowing flowers, dizzying and beautiful in the breeze.
On the far side of this meadow of light, rising above the tops of trees, shine the spires of an awesome palace. Looking in that direction, Zenithral notices a trail of darkness through the meadow - places where the flowers have been crushed, their stems broken, never again to dance in the twilight wind.
Her face is as impassive as ever, but her friends can see her discomfort. She opens her mouth to say something to Erevain, but stops before the Orcish can sully the air. She doesn't try again in Common. Instead she makes herself as unnoticeable as a 6'2 woman in plate armour can be, letting the elven blood enjoy the place and take the front until she is needed.
Past Halla, he sees Alalla and her unease, trying to discern what might be bothering her. Perhaps she worries about the mission, and her people...wondering whether they'll ever have a place beyond as peaceful as this...
He breaths a sigh, then looks up, gaping at the stars and suddenly feeling insignificant. He had scarcely explored the Icewind Dale, let alone the rest of Faerûn, and there was yet infinitely more of the universe beyond.
After a few more moments, he releases Halla's hand and breaks the silence. "Shall we take the trail?" he asks, pointing. "I can't help but wonder if these flowers, as beautiful as they are, may have ill effects for us...mortals."
When Zenithral gives his suggestion she nods and follows.
Heedless of her husband's warning about the flowers, she cups a blue blossom in her hand and brings it to her nose. "They aren't poisonous or harmful, no. But there is a different danger here, on this plane. I could kneel here forever enjoying the sights and smells... Forever. Long enough to starve, at the very least."
The druid looks up. "I fear the longer we stay on this plane, the harder it will be to leave."
"I'd like to think this path was formed by travelers over time," Zenithral continues musing. "But I can't help but wonder if it was created by something in particular..."
His doubts, worries, and concerns about traveling in such an alien land continue in this manner for quite some time.
They soon reach the edge of the meadow and leave behind its soft blue lights. Now golden fireflies guide their way through a copse of trees, and before long they arrive at the courtyard of the palace. There is no wall surrounding the grounds, but the perimeter is marked by tall, graceful columns, and within are beautiful gardens and even more beautiful folk. Each eladrin in sight moves with an unconscious grace that somehow set's the party's hearts aching. At the moment, the eladrin are all silent, their attention on a curious sight in the middle of the courtyard...
A stunning eladrin sits cross-legged in the grass with an ornate flute held to his lips. Eyes closed, he plays a soft, wandering melody. Almost as if in response, a single maple leaf floats down into the courtyard, drifting to and fro in the breeze. A soft applause comes from the gathered eladrin, and then they still once more as flute and leaf begin a complementary song and dance. The sitting eladrin never opens his eyes, but his expression is calm and serene. So enrapturing is the spectacle that the party find themselves wondering if it is music lifting the leaf through the air, or the breeze itself that passes through the flute to create the entrancing music.
But that sweet music. He wanted to enjoy it. But he had to stay focused and...safe.
He took out his familiar sleeping chain, magically warmed it, and placed it on his head. Perhaps if he got too distracted, the habit of awaking to suddenly cold steel would kick in.
"So..." Zenithral asks the group. "Who do we suppose we can ask about an audience with Corellon...? Or does that just so happen to be him?"
She has met two gods: a god of bloodlust and anger, and one of duty and protection. They both were more or less what she expected them to be. But a god of whimsy and beauty? Alalla has no idea how to frame such a thing.
She gives Zenithral a clueless shrug.
She intends to remain silent further, but Erevain's behaviour worries her.
"I don't think we should watch," she whispers to Zenithral, careful to use Common--her Elvish is still bears an Orcish accent. "Ask one of the eladrin on the edge where we should go."