Flames… flickering red and orange consuming all.. the trees, the homes, the dead and dying…
Tears of rage and pain, mixed with the sweat and grime of exhaustion, flowed freely. Crouched deep in an untouched portion of the forest watching her homeland burn, Shyael relaxed her death grip on her blood stained swords. It was dying. Her people, her land. How could Tavril let this happen?
“Lady, we must go. We must fall back with the others and seek alliances. This is not a fight we can win, and certainly not one you can win alone.” Shyael glanced briefly at the elf next to her and held his gaze before turning her eyes back to the destruction before her.
“The main Orcri force in upon us. We must go!” Again Shyael remained silent, gazing in despair at the mounting destruction.
“Put away your pain. The rest of your people need you. You’ve done what you could. We must regroup!”
Gently the elf laid his hand on Shyael’s shoulder. Shyael jerked and spun to face the elf, fixing him with a piercing glare. The elf backed away from her slowly. He saw the pain and rage in her glare, but now overshadowed with something else… vengeance… and more… fierce determination.
“Please Shya… what more could you have done? You lead your scouts out. You brought word back of the Orcri massing. You led your scouts back out and fought with blood every inch given. Please, we must go…”
Her glare did not falter, if anything the determination only hardened. Finally she spoke, in a quiet growl that conveyed unimaginable pain, “I will not. I will sing the dirge , mourning our people, our home. I will sing my prayers of hope to Tavril as my blades dance with our dead. I will not leave our brothers and sisters. And by Tavril, I will take many of Crucia’s servants with me in my dance. Let them feel our pain.”
The elf watched her go, then turned and ran from their home. Haunting his ears as he fled, he heard her clear voice rise in song; first in somber grief, then in high praise for Tavril. He hoped the goddess heard her, but deep in his heart he knew Tavril couldn’t, for if she could, why was their home burning?
The rich sweet voice of desperation called out to her in the soul stream… “Shyael, you are needed. Hear us.”
And out of deep slumber she awoke, “Tavril? Why do you disturb? Haven’t I given you everything?”
“My daughter, you are needed. We are joined and now the Vigil and your people again have need of you. Everything is on the brink of destruction. This time all of Telara is your home. You can no longer be just a daughter of the Heart Grove. Telara needs you, save them.”
And with that she felt her soul ascending out of the stream: towards her new life with songs of hope caressing her soul as she Ascends.
