Tuujaimaa

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

As Caleb recounted the story of his imprisonment, his torture, and his fall Deo’Irah’s face was calamitously stern–only her eyes betrayed her shifting emotions, between seething contempt and heart-wrenching compassion. She made a note to remember the name of the perpetrator of these misdeeds, the deigan mage, immediately–he would be delivered the consequences of his actions, at some point. The pain that he had already inflicted would be far harder to heal than to simply continue the cycle of suffering and deliver to him the suffering that he had rightly earned, but it was in the rigour of forbearance that goodness blossomed. What made goodness so much less of an alluring choice was indeed that it required one sacrifice something with no hope of reward–whereas evil… evil was typically very direct about its rewards. It was with that in mind that she chose the path of forbearance, electing not to focus on the vengeance of the past but instead on the building of a new future.

Caleb was not a mundane. So easily the quick children of man forgot the ravages of time, and though a hundred years was well over a typical lifetime to them it was much less monumental to the deigan, whose youthful abundance lasted until snuffed out. It was even less still to a divine, who would simply discorporate from Reniam and return to their native realms. This short-sighted notion of exile with no means of recourse was not one that she could rightfully permit Caleb to indulge himself in. Trapped in a vessel that disgusted him, yes, he would rather simply end it all and sulk–but it would not redress what had been done to him, and as a divine he would not heal from those wounds without closure. Until he knew that Hai’vreh’era could never make anyone suffer like he and Feevesha did he would fester and spoil from within, left eternally to the agony of a spiritual malaise without end. If he did not secure a patron, given that he had fallen… that agony could mutate him in ways that would only lash out at others, and that was not a permissible fate for him or the innocents he’d potentially hurt.

“There are not words to console you, Caleb, for the suffering and abandonment you have been put through. I would speak them if there were, but… I fear it is action alone that will bring you peace. Forever is a long time, and the years will curdle that hatred within you into something that might change you forever, in ways that you might not want–to cut yourself off from anyone who might offer you companionship cannot do you any good. If it isn’t too much to ask… would you put your faith in me? I cannot promise it will be fast… but I will do aught I can to ensure the pain you suffered ends with you, and to ameliorate your pain wherever possible. If I might be so bold… I do not think the Glittering Lord deserves your forgiveness, Caleb. The Gods are a wondrous source of power, of purpose and direction, but the closer they get to the abstract the further away they get from the real. If they are so removed from you that they cannot or will not even come to your aid, are they worthy of your fidelity, of your oath? I know you must not look favourably on this world that took Feevesha from you, but… it also had to be capable of producing her and people like her to begin with. If we live our lives, make our choices, according to the principles she felt strongly enough to sacrifice herself for… it is like the most beautiful part of her is with us still. It cannot replace her warmth and her life… but it can pave the way for new life, and perhaps there will be more people like her if we forge a world worthy of them.” Irah spoke, her tone becoming very soft and affable–there was always a distinct force with which she spoke, an intensity that could be felt behind her words, and here it seemed far less commanding and direct so much as earnestly hopeful. After she finished speaking she inhaled sharply through her nose and composed herself, taking a quick moment to ensure her robes still felt comfortable and straighten them out. She picked herself up after Sir Yanin’s extra round of questioning, nodding at his assertion that she should talk. Her eyes flashed over to Sir Freagon, curious as to what his reaction to her speech might have been, but it was impossible for her to read the man at all. Her thoughts turned immediately then to Jaelnec, and that he would likely be her best bet at getting some information on Freagon–he’d seemed quite smitten earlier, and she could leverage that to get him to open up a little… though she would have to be gentle. She didn’t know Jaelnec very well, but something in his earnestness and lack of confidence roused a protective instinct within her–he represented a lot of the innocence that she sought to protect and appreciate, and she still had much of that earnest goodness flowing through her in that moment… but, through those rose-tinted lenses, she saw a beautiful confluence of her two favourite things: an opportunity to do good, and an opportunity to advance her understanding of a situation and further her goals. Good… well, good did not have to mean impractical, did it?

She looked over at Lhirin, and remarked to herself how similarly she felt about him with this little lens of rosy pink as she did without. She put it aside, though she could not help the corner of her mouth creeping into a little smile for a second. She composed herself, gave everyone a meaningful glance, and settled last on Caleb. With how much energy he’d spent… she wondered if he was even capable of maintaining an illusion on himself at the moment–and given that the Lady Bor had been an adventurer of some renown, if it was worth attempting to deceive her. The cost was not insubstantial if things went awry, and here in Rodoria people were much more ready to listen to a tale of aspiring heroism than anywhere else in the world. They’d come here precisely to sing that very song and listen to what the Lady Bor had to say, so earnest diplomacy did strike her as the avenue most practised as well as most safe–though she wondered to what extent Sir Yanin would ask her obfuscate certain details to maintain peace before Caleb could be smuggled out and events settled. Still… as matron to the people they were trying to save, though an ersatz one, Deo’Irah was confident the penin would truly want what was best for her people above all else and was open-minded enough to have entertained a summoner to begin with.

“Now is the time to choose, then: diplomacy or subterfuge? I suspect we would be best served by diplomacy, though..?” she began directed at Caleb, but trailed off as she shot Sir Yanin an inquisitive glance to see if he had any thoughts or objections they needed to consider. Lhirin and Sir Freagon could be expected to voice their concerns should they arise, so it was simply Sir Yanin and Caleb she focused on–if neither had anything to add that would change their plans, she’d turn around to go outside and meet Lady Bor with the others in tow.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Deo’Irah, quite emphatically, trusted Lhirin more than anyone else in the room. She would believe his assertions over practically anything that anyone else said–even to the contrary of the obvious or the easily missed. Deception was at least possible in anyone else, but Lhirin? He would not lie to her, he would not betray her–never. She knew it in her bones, and she would never betray him either. The others… Well, that was far more up in the air–and dealing with a Fallen Thalk? Deception on some level was practically guaranteed, but whether that was half-truths or outright lies she did not know. To her mind it relied quite heavily on the contents of that book, and… well, Lhirin was the only being she trusted in her immediate vicinity who could read Melenian. Irah set about examining his soul magically as soon as her thoughts slowed down enough for her to focus again–eager to observe the effects of the piaan and add them to her mental list of notes… which she’d have Lhirin transcribe himself later. He always enjoyed the particular insights into his soul that her improved senses offered–that was one of the many bonding experiences they’d had that had cemented the unbreakable trust in their relationship. Lhirin, predictably, went right for the book–and Irah raised her own eyebrow, quite impressed with the display of fortitude he’d displayed at not devouring it immediately–that certainly was his ordinary reaction to any sort of writing that might advance his understanding of… well, anything.

She had cause for concern as her examination of his soul revealed something quite peculiar–it was, for a fragment of a second, as though he’d briefly slipped into the Ether… as though he’d entered a slumber deep enough to actively refill his magical energy. It was peculiar because that was quite patently not how any of the piaan he’d imbibed previously had ever worked. She could not rule out that perhaps this batch was different, but much to her envy and chagrin the Melenians truly were peerless alchemists–she doubted very much that the product itself would cause such an anomalous side effect… and if it did, it’d affect the entire batch. Given that he then found himself drawn back to her, and even surreptitiously communicated with her using their sign language… Hm. Something was not as it seemed.

Without hesitation Irah extended her magical senses out to brush against Caleb, deliberately avoiding Freagon (with a sense of forbearance and restraint that Lhirin would likely not notice but find comparably incredible to her own) and attempting to work out what precisely had happened here–and she was intrigued by the information she received: his capacity was dismally low, about half of what she’d expect for a mundane completely untrained in magic. It was increasing steadily, indicating Caleb did indeed still have a connection to the Neverrealm and was syphoning energy from there… or another source, she supposed, though that seemed to add up in her mind. What could Lhirin mean that didn’t add up, then, if not the initial premise they’d accepted without concrete evidence: that Caleb’s full summoning did, indeed, arise from Feevesha’s sacrifice?

Well. That was inconvenient. Caleb’s eyes had met hers the second she’d began examining his soul, and she had to imagine that his eyes had followed hers as she’d looked down at Lhirin’s signs–their secrecy would not work with a divine, she knew that much. Any attempt to communicate was sufficient for them to understand. The situation was precarious, now: sufficient doubt had been introduced to the story, and if Irah said as much she could not be sure that Freagon would not simply slay Caleb where he stood. She did not want him to do that, not unless Caleb’s guilt was undeniable within her mind, and from Caleb’s soul she could sense his confusion at parsing what had been communicated to her. Wordlessly she reached out to Caleb again, hoping that some warning would convince him of at least her earnestness (if she had not already):

“It has never been my intention to deceive you–but there are things I must ask in the open. Please do not think me hostile, Caleb.” she thought, a glimmer of something in her eyes that she could not quite explain.

“... I am no stranger to deception, though I hope you believe me when I say that I do not relish it. There is little point in us not being open and forthcoming at this point: I have reason to… not be certain that events happened as we have thus far surmised they had. We have operated under the assumption that it was indeed Feevesha’s sacrifice that permitted your full summoning–is that true, to the best of your knowledge, Caleb? I know that mundanes have deceived and imprisoned you in the past, and that an understandable amount of doubt must linger in your mind about the intentions of all of us… but I swear to you that I have been nothing but open and honest, and that I attribute to you the same level of personhood as I do anyone else in this room. You might be inclined to believe that all of us are rotten, but you would be wrong–kindness and compassion can blossom within all of us, and I would show you that through both deed and word. What happened, Lhirin? It was like you fell asleep–deeply asleep enough to enter the Ether for a brief moment. We cannot resort to subterfuge if we are to display our earnestness to a Fallen Angel of Deceit. Your energy is terribly low, too, Caleb–barely enough energy to fill half of a mundane’s soul untrained in magic.” she said, well aware that her lengthy monologue would give Caleb plenty of time to respond–and her tone was one of carefully chosen words, curious but not accusatory. She broke eye contact with him as she began speaking, looking over at Freagon and then towards Roct, though her expression was one of genuine worry. It was this that Freagon had apparently missed–why would an Angel, by their own account imprisoned, lonely and forgotten and abused by mundanes, whose friend had ostensibly perished for offering to help, ever believe that someone threatening them so readily was any different? Perhaps he truly had no sense of empathy, or simply did not believe divines to be equivalent to people? Perhaps he was just a misanthrope.

Deo’Irah pitied him, in many ways, to have seen such tremendous suffering as to no longer be able to believe in the potential goodness within people. She knew full well that plenty of people who espoused virtue had not a shred of it within their souls–her mind drifted immediately to the Ascended Deigan and the War of the Feathers–and also that much of the time evil was simply banal, the result of circumstances often beyond an individual’s control. The world was so much more complex than that–and the kind of cynicism that had wormed its way into Caleb and Freagon’s heart was dangerous in the most perilous way of all–dangerous to their very souls… but convincing them to abandon their vigilance close to paranoia was extremely unlikely in a single encounter. To wit, she figured that simply getting Lhirin to share the information he’d received would be the best course of action–keeping Caleb out of the loop could only end poorly. Deceit was a part of his nature, yes, but nature could be overcome–one could always choose to be different; to be better.

If asked, Irah would respond with a truthful account of the situation as she understood it.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Deo’Irah offered Caleb a solemn nod at his assertions; she would not stop him if he tried to leave, that much was true–but there were considerations and revelations to be had here yet. Pieces of the puzzle they’d not have been able to intuit–nor able to extract from the tight-lipped Freagon–had been willingly proffered by Caleb… and it would be a waste to not investigate such things already. She sighed internally, also chiding herself a little at how emotional she’d gotten–she could not deny that Freagon’s logic had been sound, that much was true, but she was used to receiving that sort of information from Lhirin (who cooperated with her freely–Freagon was far too reticent and wilful to possibly be of the same use) and factoring those things in more freely. Proceeding from here was going to be very tenuous indeed, especially with Lady Bor and her entourage still waiting outside.

“I will not stop you, no. Though I would urge that you disguise yourself or otherwise make yourself unseen and leave with us–the owner of this house and her entourage are stationed outside, awaiting the results of our efforts. It would be… challenging to explain to her and the assembled townsfolk what precisely has happened here, especially so soon after the bandit attack. They are scared and in a tremendous amount of pain–seeing you as you are would only serve to incite further hurt in these beleaguered people… not that I am suggesting that their apprehension is right, merely that it is real and we must consider it.” Irah began, before turning to Sir Yanin (still fairly close to her) and taking a second or two to think before speaking again. He had proven meticulous with numbers, consistently checked what they thought they knew, and had a keen eye for detail–she had revealed enough to indict herself already, should he wish to take action against her, but he seemed quite eminently sensible. With only the four of them in the room and Lhirin already knowing her secrets… well, she had little to lose at this point. She figured that she might as well be honest.

“A swaigh, or Angel of Fear, is my second. I sense the question hangs in your mind. You might have been suspect of my extraordinary senses earlier, too, but it should be obvious in retrospect that those senses were Kinder’s, the iriao, rather than my own… but you would be correct in assuming that I am also learned in necromancy. More specifically in freeing spirits afflicted by undeath from their torment on this plane, not as some crude profaner of dead flesh. I offer this information knowing full well the danger of doing so, especially after what happened here, but you have proven sensible and keen. I trust that you will appreciate having a better grasp on my capabilities for what is to come, and we will leave it at that.” she spoke, quieting her voice considerably (certainly low enough for none outside the room to risk overhearing)–she intended primarily for Sir Yanin to hear it, though she was certain Freagon would too–and Caleb, most definitely. It was a risk, to be certain, but… if their temporary alliance were to end after the bandits had been apprehended and the healer returned, she and Lhirin could part ways with them and head towards Anaxim Forest as had been their loose idea beforehand, no worse for wear.

She then looked towards Sir Freagon, something in her expression having changed from the cold fury of before, now more akin to the embers of curiosity mixed with apprehension.

“... I should examine your soul now. You know now that my senses are keen enough to discern plenty… but I would rather you offer it freely than perpetuate this escalation of hostilities we have found ourselves in. May we talk before we head off to find the bandits?” she asked, her tone soft and only just verging on reproachful. A tiny part of her thought it might be wise to offer an apology, for things getting as out of hand as they had, but her pride and her anger stopped that thought dead in its tracks. Perhaps after she’d calmed down she’d feel differently, but… the bitter sting in her voice was not fully gone just yet, even as she took more steadying breaths to calm and centre herself in the situation they found themselves in. She shot Lhirin a quick glance and directed him towards the book that he’d been so enamoured with, also curious to learn of its contents. She could not discount that something in the diary, presumably Feevesha’s words, might contradict its account of having been gifted his summoner’s flesh in a moment of desperation. It would be good to confirm that before they proceeded further.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Irah’s look of anger melted away into a stunned look of genuine sorrow, her face crestfallen at Caleb’s words. She could not discount in her mind that this was potentially just a trick–Thalks would happily seek to divide and conquer alliances so as to improve their odds if they could help it… but she found herself in a position of trusting Caleb far more than she trusted Freagon, who clearly could have dealt with all of these threats alone and not batted an eye. Who’d been appraising them from the start, as best as she could tell. It did not fill her with confidence in his ability to work with others at all. The others… Sir Yanin especially seemed very competent, as did Madara. Jordan, Jaelnec, and Nabi had not gotten the chance to do much, but Irah could tell in the way that the stranger from afar moved and how she held herself that she was simply beset by inexperience with the type of foes they were dealing with and not wanting to make a terrible situation worse. Freagon alone stuck out as the one who did not fit in with them, and she struggled to clear that seed of doubt from her mind. She began to take careful steps into the room, glancing up at Sir Yanin as she did so in an implicit request for permission, before carefully moving herself around the various objects and stains on the floor. She did not get that far into the room, but got a little closer to Caleb and held her hands up, open-palmed, facing towards him as she spoke.

“The truth is, Caleb, that I am not much of a summoner at all. I know how to summon precisely two angels, and have no means of binding your will beyond diplomacy or persuasion. I seek to work in concert with angels, not to dominate them to my will and loose them against my enemies, as though you are nothing but tools.” Irah spoke far more softly than before, unable to keep the slightest hint of a quiver from her otherwise thus-far composed (well, controlled) voice.

“If anyone wishes to harm you, they will have to kill me. I meant what I said earlier: I would never enslave another soul. When I have rested, I will lend you what magical energy I can–and we can discuss our plans for what happens next.” she added, her voice regaining some of its usual steely composure as she straightened herself up and inhaled sharply, fighting back the barest hint of a tear from the corner of one of her eyes. She did not display the surprise on her face at the information Caleb had provided them with–namely, that the Sartal relic Sir Freagon carried with him had a spirit within it, and something within her squirmed uncomfortably. She was going to have to stick it out with him, then–she could not ignore the whispers of fate that surrounded him, nor the strangeness of his blade’s origins and its newly-revealed inhabitant. She did not relish the idea of spending more time around him, that much was certain, but her mind drifted back to poor Jaelnec. She could not leave him to Freagon’s devices, and wondered to herself if he was mistreating the lad in some way. Either way… nobody should have to travel with such an odious individual alone–she refused steadfastly to abandon Jaelnec to such a miserable fate. She also found herself bristling at the implications of his having concealed something as massive as a spirit inhabiting his Sartal blade–the deception irked her in ways that she could not (or, at least, did not) permit herself to think on too deeply lest she act rashly. Now was a time to mend fractured bonds rather than divide them further, if they were to save the town’s healer with a minimum of fuss.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Though Deo’Irah had not seen Lhirinthyl consume the piaan, something about the nature of his actions was… different, when next she observed her companion attempting to barge through Yanin in order to get a better look at what was going on in the room–she knew he’d go right for the book before he even indicated his interest… that alone wasn’t out of the ordinary–Lhirinthyl did not often consider the social consequences of his actions before he took them at the best of times, least of all when the prize of knowledge on offer was so tantalising… but something about his gait was energised and purposeful, whereas before she had noticed it was flagging–and she suspected that if she extended her magical senses out towards him she would confirm that he was suddenly replete with energy. Inconvenient timing, and wholly unnecessary, but she could not fault him for wanting to be prepared in case things went awry… in case this was a deception. It was… well, Irah hated to admit it to herself, but not a terrible course of action in principle. Trampling all over the scene that Sir Yanin was still observing, and potentially misconstruing his intent to Caleb (with whom their truce was only tentative still) was also certainly not out of character–he was very much like that anyway… Irah felt a sigh leave her lips that was not as disapproving as her internal monologue suggested, and she shot him a withering glare to compensate for the fact she was quite enamoured with his conviction and made a quick motion with her head to nudge him back–but Yanin’s gauntlet had already made quite plain his lack of permission to enter.

Caleb’s manner of speech was not unusual to Irah–she communed with angels directly fairly often, though usually not in the flesh… and not with other people. And the other people that she did meet in the presence of Kahr’wai’iel–also a fully summoned divine–spoke the same language that she did, and thus they all heard it as Fermian. There was something a little jarring about hearing a question asked in Rodorian and answered, to her ears, in Fermian–but it made sense in her mind and she was able to brush it off with little consequence. What interested her most was how Caleb answered the questions, the pauses he took, the tone of voice that he spoke in. It was… not easy to tell, with a Thalk’s face and True Words being used, but…

Irah had been so focused and the movement of Freagon’s throw so blindingly fast that she only saw the glint of silver in the air and heard the crash of its force sending Caleb back into the wall as he was hit squarely in the forehead. Her eyes opened wide with shock, at the sheer provocativeness if nothing else, and she whipped around to look at the source of the action as soon as Freagon began speaking and confirmed that he was the one that did it.

“By Rilon’s spite, you’re an arse. What were you thinking?!” Deo’Irah began, echoing Sir Yanin’s chastisement albeit with much more obvious anger. She turned her intense gaze towards him, once again roiling and seething with anger, but after a few seconds she exhaled sharply through her nose and took a measured intake of breath through her mouth.

“Your urge to confirm the presence of illusions is understandable, but your lack of decorum is not. Comport yourself better, and apologise to Caleb immediately.” she added, her voice taking on a note of the frosty fury that it had earlier, albeit to a much lesser degree. She quickly turned to look over at Caleb, her intensity becoming something much closer to concern as she appraised him–he’d healed already, of course, but she was more worried for his mental wellbeing than his physical safety. She knew from experience that Divines did not even need to be able to hear someone speak thanks to the power of True Words–simply intending for them to hear what you had to say was enough. It was something she’d done with Kinder before, working out what had happened to someone who’d been paralysed and had been unable to speak to get an account of events so as to assist with their healing. She did not speak out loud as she directed her thoughts out to Caleb, knowing that the intent of conveying her thoughts and feelings would be sufficient for him to understand:

“I am sorry, Caleb, for him–he… that was uncalled for. Please do not let it impact the progress we’ve made–I would hate for this to end in any more bloodshed, any more loss.” she offered, her lips turning down into a sad smile, reproachful and hopeful–but her eyes remained as intense as ever, and she could not stop herself from stealing angry glances at Freagon for his act of thuggery.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Irah’s expression immediately softened upon the mention of having Fallen, her features softening into a pale imitation of the resplendently beautiful sadness she knew from another divine’s face, a pang of empathy rippling across her being. The poor thing–she wondered when, precisely, it had fallen. Before Feveesha knew it? During? After? With just how much the sadness had struck it… she would not be surprised if it was during, and Feveesha had been one of the few sources of power available to it. Perhaps the only source. Irah wondered precisely how it had come to be fully summoned at all–surely, given its reaction, it would not have wanted her to perish? She could feel a certain amount of suspicion in it still, though, and she would have to temper her advances carefully–Thalks were wily, and she could not be too hasty with her words or risk the fragile truce. She took a moment to recall the information presented to her with a deep breath, letting her hands drop down to her sides.

“I believe so, though... The Lady Bor told us that she’d been trying to convince some of her guests–Feevesha included–to help save the town’s healer. One of her guards mentioned the attack was last night, and before we came to the manor here we tended to some wounded in the Fadewatcher station nearby–I assumed it was the same bandits, though I admit that I am uncertain of the details. The alarm bells went off in the Manor, we rushed over and were apprised of the situation, and the rest you know.” Deo’Irah began, turning for a quick moment to Yanin, Freagon, and then Lhirin in order to query whether she’d missed any other information.

”We mean to ensure the safety of the healer and return him hale and whole. I… am sorry for your loss, Caleb. I did not know Feevesha, but she was noble enough to risk herself to help… and though she has now paid the ultimate price, we owe it to her memory to ensure her last wishes are done. I cannot speak for everyone… but I am of the opinion that now you are here, it would be an affront to her life to simply return you from whence you came. So long as you can remain here without harming the innocent, there is no reason at all to harm you.” Irah spoke, her voice filled with both melancholy and sympathy. She took a brief moment to take stock of the situation, looking over to her newfound allies and her old companion with a brief glance. The expression on her face was not… pleading, exactly, but sombre and determined. Many more thoughts crossed her mind as she looked at the illusory Archangel, but most prominently that the charade truly was not necessary anymore. Now that this Fallen angel was untethered, each expenditure of energy was precious–and even though it would be advantageous were they to try and slay it, Irah was not willing to compromise how she felt for a base (though effective) tactic at its expense, when it had at least been willing to speak with them.

“I am Deo’Irah, and I am sorry we meet in these circumstances. May we see your true form? These illusions must be taxing your limited energy, if you have Fallen–I would not want you to overextend. By all means hide your location, you must be cautious, but… I have not the magical energy to lend you strength at the moment. Summoning an Iriao is not an inexpensive feat…” Irah smiled, her voice softening as well. The others, in their caution, might have objections–reasonable ones, no doubt, given their inputs thus far… but an unmoored divine, she wagered, would feel significantly more at ease with someone unequivocally sympathetic towards them and willing to help them, well, live. Ease in this divine was what everyone wanted, even if some wanted to use that ease to other ends–and Irah hoped that the earnest sincerity she had displayed was enough for them to forestall their more violent impulses. The divine could certainly help with the bandits, and depending on its personality… well, a fully summoned divine was a very powerful ally. Deo’Irah would not be opposed to adding another divine to her retinue of confidantes, conspirators, and comrades if they proved their worth, and their values aligned with hers.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Deo’Irah had taken a moment to attempt to compose herself, her hands reflexively coming together and fingers steepling together as she took a deep breath in. The ocean of her soul was furious, roiling with a genuine moral affront–but with each breath she stilled its turbulence and regained control of her wits. The outburst was done, now–the social consequences were inevitable. She would pay them no mind for the moment and assess the situation depending on the outcome of current events. Sir Yanin, of course, took the position of the leader. He reminded her of Jahniv--though less effective, thanks to the gift of telepathy… reticent with his words, though each word was assessed to be as impactful as possible. Jordan and Nabissistra had wisely taken refuge in the other room–though she was more worried about Jordan than the clearly magically-trained Nabi. Divine energy parasitised Magical energy, after all–and those with more of it could withstand more accumulation of the taint.

It was Madara that most got her attention as she listened to her companions while reining her anger in–Irah missed entirely her initial reaction to the divine energy, her focus so single-minded in the moment, but the questions the half-Palanter asked might as well have been plucked from Deo’Irah’s mind, for they pressed upon the weakness she had noted earlier: why?.

Then she felt the absence of what felt only a fairly mild concentration of divine energy to her–but her resistance to divine energy was considerable, and the others must have been feeling far worse than she. The Thalk, as she was utterly convinced that was what it was, had abated its power somewhat as it pondered Madara’s words–and that was the perfect opportunity to discern more precisely what motivated this divine. That was the trick with divines, typically: they were mortals once, skewed towards the most influential aspect of their personality. Thalks were, indeed, deceitful by nature–but a Thalk of Reina would act very differently to a Thalk of Rilon.

“Your summoner, Feevesha…” Deo’Irah began, switching back to Rodorian now that her focus had returned. She took a moment to audibly exhale through her nose, her expression shifting more towards one of sympathy than of her previous rage. It crossed her mind that this could, indeed, be a part of the deception–but the vacillating quality of the illusions, the genuine moment of confusion, and the diminishing of its aura… Well. They were as close to an olive branch as one could get with a Thalk, she reckoned–and Sir Freagon seemed quite capable of slaying the thing where it stood should the tables turn.

”... she brought up the fact that she was a summoner in order to aid the townsfolk here. Bandits have taken the town’s healer, and she wanted to help recover him as there are wounded nearby. It was then that the witch-hunters turned on her, cretins that they are…” Irah finished, her rage flaring in a seething exhortation of cold fury as she all-but spat the term “witch-hunters”.

“May I ask… which deity do you serve? How would you like to be addressed?” she offered, laying bare her palms from their previous position in a gesture of what she hoped would be received as peace. With the divine energy having abated some of the palpable tension seemed to have melted away too, though the gentle listing of the sword towards Freagon was something that did not escape Irah’s attention either–they would still have to tread carefully. There was, Irah saw, a narrow path that served everyone’s interests: if, indeed, it could be convinced that its purpose was aligned with theirs, they would gain a truly formidable ally in their upcoming task. It would also be a fitting send-off for Feevesha, whose noble impulse to help had been misinterpreted by the witch-hunters… if she could not live to see it through herself, Deo’Irah would see it done herself. She made to herself a brief and silent vow of that, her focus renewed and will steeled.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

The reveal of information was relatively rapid from then on out–Sir Yanin’s diligent caution did not escape Deo’Irah’s attention, focused even on the most minute of details even now. He had certainly proven his keen intellect in her mind, though she suspected the scope of his piercing gaze might be its downfall–the price of his powerful grasp of the minutiae was a far more nebulous grasp of the wider abstract concepts at play. She made a mental note of it, and her mind turned to Jordan for the briefest of moments–that was likely his role in their partnership. He seemed… astute and unpretentious, able to avoid the common pitfall of more cerebral thinkers like his master (and indeed herself and Lhirin) thinking themselves into traps most people simply would never conceive of. Even in their movements, the flow of information and commands from the knight to his squire, there was something that naturally drew Irah’s attention. She shelved that observation for later too, focusing intently on the door that was about to be opened and the situation revealed.

She could already feel the divine energy too, offering a very quiet explanation of what precisely exposure to divine energy felt like–she was very curious as to why he was not able to feel it in the same way that they did: “You will only feel it; a prickling itch, then painful exhaustion until death. Do you not?”

Irah watched the scene around them unfold, her eyes narrowing in intensity as she attempted to emulate some of the granular attention to detail that Lhirin normally displayed, somewhat inspired by Sir Yanin, and focused on the details that mattered. In her periphery she could see Freagon’s movements, reaching into his coinpurse for… ah. Rodlin were pure silver. It was easy for her to forget, with her native currency of Kyrin being more crystalline and thus not interacting with energies in the same way that Rodlin did. Another display of aptitude from the mysterious Freagon. She continued her examinations while she awaited the inevitable result, listening out for the sound while her eyes were trained elsewhere.

The Archangel’s likeness seemed mostly to conflate with her understanding–snippets gleaned from stories, from books, from speaking with divines such as Kinder. She focused intently for a moment on the sword itself–she’d heard it described that the telekinetic ability of the Archangels functioned like an invisible hand, observable only through keen attention to the displacement of air currents about it. She attempted to discern any details regarding this that she could, and also observed the peculiar circle of fire and coursing bolts of lightning that it had chosen to display. The abilities, together, did not answer her earlier pondering over which deity this divine owed allegiance to. She then simply spoke to Kinder, keenly aware from earlier that while the senses she offered had detected the divines present it had also alerted them to hers. Indeed, Kinder had told her earlier that the divine they stood before now was attempting to hide--this flamboyant display smacked too much of a ruse, she thought, and then the ping of the Rodlin against the wall behind them chimed in too. She proceeded to commune with Kinder directly:

“Illusory, I am certain–what is your read? I am entirely uncertain to which deity it belongs, also..?” Irah began, wanting another form of confirmation before she gave Yanin the go-ahead to simply slay it where it stood. She could just imagine Lhirin reading a passage from the Deo’iel’s text reiterating that it is always safest to simply slay a divine where they stand for the sake of all living things around them. They would not perish, only return to the divine realms–it was now likely too late to save any who remained here, but even that could only truly be assessed once the threat was dealt with.

“I do not -” Kinder began, only for the archangel’s eyes to instantly shift their focus from Freagon to Irah. Though the being inside the room had appeared composed before, albeit defensive and indignant, that composure seemed to vanish as soon as it laid eyes on her, and its face twisted into a grimace of rage and hatred to match what Kinder had reported earlier.
“No!” Kinder exclaimed in a panicked tone. “Deo’irah, it is not -”
A strange sensation came over Irah at that moment; a wave of cold, like stepping through a curtain of water. It lasted only an instant before it abated… but when the chill vanished, the familiar stinging heat of Kinder had disappeared along with it.
“Hypocrites!” the archangel boomed furiously, clenching its fists and sending fingers of lightning out to caress the floor, walls and ceiling. “You hound summoners and divines mercilessly, come here to destroy me, and you bring your own angel slaves? Disgusting creatures!”

The sensation of Kinder being ripped from within her gripped her like a freezing curtain of ice, and shudders of distant recollections of a similar cold flooded her and steeled her focus. Something about the kindly nature with which she had generally held herself and presented dropped, and a spark of genuine and indignant fury sparked within her that she failed to contain.

“You dare accuse me of hypocrisy after ripping my friend and ally from me?! I have never enslaved another being!” she seethed, voice frigid with icy fury. “We act in concert to bring Reina’s mercy to this world, something her soul fundamentally longs for, and you have the gall to strip her of the means to achieve her desires after having had lives sacrificed to grant you yours?!” she continued to rant, having slipped immediately into her native Fermian without the composure to restructure her thoughts into Rodorian. She took a shaky breath in to steel herself, body feeling not… better, for Kinder’s absence, but no longer accumulating something making it worse from within as well.

The archangel scoffed at her, but gestured at Freagon. “You expect me to believe anything you say? This one comes here bearing a silver sword and declared that he would kill me, and even you said you would see me banished or slain. You mundanes are all the same. A conversation? What would that solve? You said it yourself: I do not belong here, and someone had to…” It paused for just a second, wincing. “To die for me to be here. Because of you!”

Deo’Irah took a moment to observe the divine’s reply, her world shrunk down to this interaction in an ironic twist of her earlier observations about the knight, noticing the wince and seeing it as the chink in its proverbial armour she needed to capitalise upon immediately. She allowed herself a moment of frenzied focus, allowing enough time to pass for her to consider the options available but not so much she might lose her opportunity–contingent upon the others, who’d surely made actions of their own during her outburst.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Irah considered Yanin’s words, weighing them carefully in her mind over the few seconds it would take her to respond. The simple truth was that too much remained a mystery for them to make any proper judgements or plans–they would have to observe what was happening and make a decision then. It made her uneasy, in truth–she was comfortable with following orders that she could see the sense of, that resonated with her own values. The voice of Freagon adding an offer to simply slay the thing was thoroughly discordant with her own opinions, and her eyes narrowed softly as her smile soured very slightly at the corners of her mouth.

“If being the crux of things. We simply do not know what we will face, and we will have to make a judgement swiftly. Perhaps the magical disruption we felt earlier was the traces of a previous aura fading… The vials of piaan were found here, it would be reasonable to assume that she summoned the divines here… There are far too many variables: the Melenian’s resistance, the spell she used, the realm and deity they belong to (where applicable). She might have summoned a divine into herself to better steel herself against the silvered swords of these misguided zealots. If the opportunity presents itself for this to be ended by a conversation, we should take it–if not, they must be slain and banished from our world. I will defer to your best judgement.” Irah replied to Yanin, mien thoughtful and words chosen quickly but carefully. Her coy smile returned somewhat, gaze steeled towards the first door as she took her position beside Lhirin. Ordinarily she might protest more, but her thoughts drifted back to the bandits and the abducted healer. Time was against them, and she would endeavour to save as many lives as possible. The Melenian might not be able to be saved at all–if she had died, the divine energy would likely have forced her to accept the Wanderer’s invitation to realms beyond. The cries certainly didn’t sound feline, though–she suspected that the Melenian had, indeed, perished here and what remained was an invitation. Less to heal, she supposed, though the tragedy of it pulled at her heartstrings–so much life and potential wasted, all for the fervour and lack of open mindedness of a few poor actors… but she could not get distracted. The posturing was ultimately pointless, as they would know only as soon as they opened the door and no sooner.

“Thalks revel in deception, and a stronger will appears to have been guiding these Frentits to ambush us–and it is common for Thalks to lay multiple traps, knowing that opponents will be more disarmed after the first. I am uncomfortable with death as a first resort, but… If it will save more lives, so be it. We are wasting time and there are still the bandits to deal with.” Irah added on, speaking again after Freagon had approached more closely. She noticed the way he rotated his sword very clearly, the little glints of light dancing along its surface visible in her periphery. His stance read as displeased to her, the twisting of his sword both for the purposes of minimising the gentle drops of blood that she could hear hitting the floor every now and again, and for an outlet for his restless energy. He’d not reacted the way the others had at her exposition, though his unmoving face made it difficult to tell–it was only through his movement that she could glean a sense of what he was thinking, and she could still feel that nagging sensation of being tested… but it had been pushed below the many more pressing and immediate thoughts in her mind, and she did not consider it beyond the recognition that it existed as she awaited the conclusion of this event, eager to have the tension and suspense dispelled.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Irah nodded at Lhirin’s words, opting to add in some salient details of her own: “The room is saturated with divine energy–I cannot extend my senses into it without accumulating a dangerous amount of taint. Likewise, as soon as we enter, we will be bombarded with divine energy. Those of you without any native resistance to the taint…” she began, before looking over the assembled group and attempting to get a read on their expressions as she mentioned the taint. Any of them who were caught off guard by it, any who weren’t–all of the information on their faces would be valuable… well, if she could read it. She would simply have to assume Sir Freagon was able, and she’d already healed Jaelnec–enough to have a vague understanding of his resistance to the taint.

“... will need to be swift. Merely being in the aura that lays beyond will erode your very being–to say nothing of the magic that might be brought to bear against you. The Angel within is not like the others, and if it has been fully summoned as I expect then we face not only a significantly more formidable opponent, but one who may well listen to reason… or perhaps someone yet left to save. Whatever choice we make, it must be decisive. We cannot dally once events begin to unfold and we learn the truth. If it is a Thalk, we can remove it from the area to render its current aura inert, and it will have to build up another–this will give you more time.” she spoke, directing most of her tactical advice to Sir Yanin–it seemed he was the most suited to using it, and had already taken command enough of the situation with his air of authority to be the unspoken leader.

She turned her gaze directly towards Freagon again, pulled inexorably by that stirring of a sensation within her, still fresh in her mind. It had unlocked memories from many years ago, swimming in her mind’s eye almost as clearly as when the events had actually transpired. It had taken a considerable toll on her focus to resist its pull, but time was against them–it could wait. She would not let him leave without questioning him, that much was certain in her mind. Snapping back to reality she looked over at Lhirin, motioning towards him. The combination of the nausea from the accumulated taint and the magical exhaustion was a particularly egregious weight, the interactions between the energies clear to her more refined senses–her spirit was formidable, but this assault on it could not be progressed further without terrible consequence. She had never let the taste of piaan pass her lips before, and she did not intend to now… something that seemed more relevant than ever with the situation unfolding in front of them. Lhirin would if necessary, and she could at least observe the fluctuations of his soul and commit them to memory, to further her research of the elusive substance. She shot Lhirin a knowing look and shook her head slightly almost as an afterthought, indicating that he should hold off for now--it would be wise to use such tools only when they were necessary, and they had too little information to decide that at the moment. He, too, would simply have to be swift.

Irah waited by Sir Yanin, though she shot a telling look to Lhirin asking for his presence by her side. Just as he could sense the fatigue within her, she could feel his too–his steps were subtly laboured, leadened by the diminishing of his magical energy. His soul flickered and fluttered as if a sputtering flame, but she would feel safer with him nearby nevertheless–his skill with his sword was certainly not to be understated, and he was prepared for an emergency. He always was–it was why she felt so safe around him. She also turned to look over her shoulder at Jaelnec, though it was brief--just enough to indicate that he may wish to move and join her... but her gaze lingered on Freagon again for the briefest of seconds until she snapped her head forward and committed her focus to the task ahead.