The Triad

Myllandra clasps gauntleted hands together before her, hood raised to obscure her celestial face. She floats several inches above the floor of Zenithral’s room. "Greetings, dear one." The words cast by her soft voice reach not only his ears, but also his mind. "It has been good for your life to be quiet for a time. But Ilmater has a task for you. Will you answer his call?"

An angel clad head to foot in radiant armor appears in Alalla’s tent, the top of his helmet barely scraping the ceiling. "Well?" Thaistius’ voice booms. "You are needed." His form fuzzes for a moment, and he cocks his head. A weary sigh whistles through the slits of his visor, then he straightens and changes his tone. "Lady Alalla… Torm wishes to meet with you in person in his realm of Trueheart. Will you attend?"

Alalla snaps herself and her glaive -summoned hastily when she first sensed an intruder- up from their threatening stance to attention. The act is still natural for her, despite it being some time since she was commanded, rather than commander.

Thaistius' news makes her blink in surprise, but she nods after only a bare second of hesitation and a glance back at the small, sleeping bundle in the cot behind her. "Of course."

Squeezing his eyes shut from the light, Zenithral groans and turns over in the bed, resting an arm on Halla's.

He sighs.

"Can it wait 'til morning this time?"

Barely a moment after Alalla herself rises, two more figures burst into her tent. Erevain holds his broadsword at the ready, and Keggruk brandishes a handaxe. At the sight of Thaistius, Erevain lowers his weapon and motions for Keggruk to do the same.

The elf raises an eyebrow at the angel. "Where she goes, I go."

Myllandra shakes her hooded head. "The time long-awaited is at hand, in which the hold of He Who Never Sleeps is weakened over Faerun. For the sake of a people enslaved for eons, it is time to rise and act." She holds out a gauntleted hand. "When you are ready, take my hand."

Thaistius sighs once more. "As you wish. I have no time to argue today. When you are ready to leave, stand before me."

Halla throws the sheets from the bed and snatches her oak leaf necklace from a branch growing out of the wall. "You are not taking him from me, Myllandra. Whatever his task, 'tis one I will join!"

"It's urgent?" Al asks the angel. And maybe more than a meeting...she thinks, apprehension growing. She glances at Erevain, but keeps herself from looking back at their baby again. She does look at her armour hanging on its stand. "Do I need to bring anything?"

"He Who Never Sleeps?" Zenithral asks groggily. "Fitting..." He rolls off the bed and onto his feet, then walks across the room to pick up his travel pack, belt, and bow. He smiles affectionately at Halla's protective vigor as he equips himself.

Since the Kuldihar militia had become self-sufficient over the last and half, he had lost his old militia habit of warming a metal chain with prestidigitation to wake him up on an hourly basis. It was really his own fault he wasn't always alert and ready like he used to be. He had to admit though---he had gotten rather bored. There were only so many local threats nowadays that required more than a days' work to clean up. Regardless, though, if Mylandra was calling for him to help free a long-enslaved people, he would answer.

But what was it with heavenly messengers appearing in the middle of the night? Why couldn't they show up after breakfast?

Zenithral tightens his belt, slings his bow over his shoulder, then takes Halla's hand. "Shall we?" he asks, then takes Myllandra's hand.

Thaistius snorts in derision. "Is your god one of peace, who calls you to bake bread? Bring your arms and armor! Would that the Triad saw fit to send myself on a glorious quest..."

Keggruk offers a snort of his own, his massive sinuses easily matching the angel's. "Thur'kafaz could manage any quest you give her barehanded. And if she needs a weapon wielded, I would be proud to offer my own!" The orog turns to kneel before Alalla. "Might I also accompany you, Thur'kafaz?"

To the side of Alalla's cot, the baby begins to fuss.

Halla grabs some things of her own, including an assortment of vials and potions, as well as the staff that is hers as Archdruid of Kuldahar. "Natalie can mind things while we are gone... I am ready."

The woman takes Zenithral's hand as he touches Myllandra's. There is a flash of light and all three of them vanish, leaving empty the cottage once home to Arundel...

"You said he called for a meeting," Alalla can't help but snark, retrieving her pack and hand axes. "Perhaps they would, if they could trust you to deliver a message properly." The whole Triad..?

Equipment gathered, save her armour, Al picks up her fussing baby. "Thank you, Keggruk, but I need you here to lead the tribe while I'm gone." She gives her baby a squeeze and a kiss, breathing in the baby smell, then hands her to Keggruk. "Bring Shelur to Chaide. Tell her we don't know when we'll be back."

Hastening to her plate before Thaistius or Keggruk can see her eyes moistening, Al dons her armour as quickly as she can. As soon as she and Erevain are done strapping her into the metal plates, she slings her pack over her shoulder and stands before Thaistius. "I'm ready," she says firmly, summoning her glaive.

Erevain leans over to softly kiss the baby's brow. "Farewell, little Aiwe. Namarie." He exhales and takes his place next to Alalla.

A moment later they are gone, leaving only Keggruk holding a small bundle of hope...

Before them stands Torm himself, girded in magnificent plate armor, features hidden beneath his helm. He stands only slightly taller than the average man but emits an aura of undisputable power. He nods in greeting, and then his rich voice intones:

"Lady Alalla Thur’kafaz, it is good to see you again." His pronunciation of the Orcish word is perfect. "Erevain Blacksheaf, it is good we finally meet."

"Zenithral Melerelel, your skill with a bow is matched only by your compassion. Ilmater would be proud of you, could He ever be guilty of pride. And Halla, foster-daughter of Arundel, welcome."

He turns to the last two members of the group, a half-elven woman in gleaming armor and an elven man. "Aribeth de Tylmarande and Fenthick Moss, hailing from Waterdeep. You are called the very Sword and Scales of Tyr." Both blink in astonishment, though being in the presence of a deity this is hardly surprising.

"Welcome to Trueheart, heroes."

"Myllandra!" Zenithral snaps, suddenly wide awake. "You didn't say anything about meeting the gods!" He sniffs his plain traveler's shirt, grimaces, and waves a hand to cast *prestidigitation* and freshen himself up. "Thank my elven blood I don't have to shave..." Zenithral coughs and clears his throat.

"Lord Torm! he exclaims still exasperated, glancing around. "Er, Alalla, Erevain. Good to see you two here as well." He says, eying their armor and clenching his teeth, only now remembering he had forgotten his own. That, he couldn't blame Myllandra for.

He purses his lips and shifts uncomfortably, then relaxes as he notices the impossibly exquisite scenery.

"My Lord, it is an honour." Alalla gives her master the crispest salute she is capable of, then stands at attention, breaking only to nod at the others in the group, with the addition of a raised eyebrow and slight smile she couldn't keep away for Zenithral and Halla.