Incandescent Fading Silver

[Clerified]

The rain fell down and chilled the silver scales of the ancient dragon in the calm earthy pool. Mitchifer stood in battered reverance, to yet another slain creature of the oldest magical origin; the ancient silver dragon of Ki. It's not my fault... he kept telling himself, I couldn't save it, Anu. We weren't strong enough. The dreary scene: the bloody fighters, the lifeless bodies of tainted druids littering the mount--it was all washed away that morning--like a painting on the canvas that the artist decided was better left idle of its fullness; the watercolors saved for another time.
They; the elven vagabond, Spook; the halfling of magical transformation, Yuna; the human cleric, Mitchifer; the giddy Nela; took their last moments in the frozen picture and seceded with a final breath for their deeds this day. The giant wyrm lay still and lifeless as the drops of rain poured down on it... Mitchifer treaded the muddy trail to Dasar with its name to plead to the gods: "Azsraszha".
_____________________________________________________________
Before the Battle on the Druid's Mount

The day hung in the air, time seemed to wait for awhile. Clouds outside were getting heavy and gray, a gloomy contrast to the candle-lit halls of the Daris hospital slightly underground. Mitchifer stared into the sky through the windows near the ceiling, distracted by his study in a brief moment. Sensing something from outside came naturally to him more times then not, but in a different way then anyone might imagine. A being of outside origins with a bond to the god who dealt with banishing outsiders gave a man an extraordinary sense about these things, and more than just a feeling. He existed here under these circumstances, so he walked out of the shelter of the hospital and prepared to wander toward this eminating resonance.

Moments later, he reunited with Yunalesca and they both found their way to a new acquaintance of Mitchifer's; an elf by the odd name of Spook Willoweep who had been scouting the Dasar road in hunt of koalisks traveling uncomfortably farther out onto the road from their territory in the swamps. Still more odd, the triad soon discovered that the nature of the road leading through the swamps was quickly becoming vile and corrupt in the seconds that it took for the weather to produce the first dewdrops of a rolling storm. In the swamps, the rain was largly buffetted by the large canopy of trees that encased them within its horribly darkening atmosphere, as the eerie green air whispered of tainted acts and ancient dark rituals. Mitchifer felt the filthy power enveloping him like a thick fog, the taint eminating against the aura of Anu within him. They fought the dark wolves that appeared from the murky water and the trees, from everwhere and nowhere, as well as other writhing bulks of shady bear-like figures and not to forget the resident koalisks who were sending out patrols of their own during this dark mystery. As time crept by, countless battles between the three independent factions continued through the dusk of the day, the sheen of the air in the misty swamps disrupted by bouts of clashing weapons and blasting spells of summoning and devastation. When they ran across bridges and waded through the water, when they were silent or amidst the ringing throes of confrontation, the whistling pitch of evil never left the air. It grew louder to his ears, in his soul he could feel the source of the unnatural power looming in the distance as they traveled. As they moved farther west of the swamps, dark druids appeared in greater numbers, threatening the adventurers and protecting the location of their binding rituals.

Occassionally, another individual would pass by along the road. And so they were joined by: an anonymous assassin known only as Stabber, a female halfling archer Mitchifer had never seen before, and the always optimistic Nela.

Going west along the road of Dasar, the number of koalisks dwindled and were replaced by multitudes of dark druids. Mitchifer, Spook, Yuna, and the others advanced against them without yield through barricades and continuous battlefronts. They were swarmed with giant tigers and grizzlies and golems as the dark druids gathered all their forces to stop them. Through the slaughtering madness and masacre of claws and heat from the spells crackling in the air around them, Mitchifer caught glimpses of his comrades fighting off the druids. When they had cleared the onslaught for moments long enough to take a few breaths, he would spend those few breaths to utter words of healing or end up spewing blood in a fit of sickness that was instilled within him from the Horseman of Pestilence. During these times, the elven archer had taken a great amount of care for him to recover. The lingering disease weakened the cleric badly to the point that it became painful to breathe, but something inside of him empowered him to continue each time. He remembered the names of the heroes who fought and died for this road in his recollection. The dark powers here did not see their cause or sacrifice, nor did they form any natural balance with the land around them. Mitchifer and the others charged the druid’s mount, where the source of the dark magic could be seen in the five portruding rocks, and he was going to make sure they would not be ignored.

The Dark Hierophant confronted them at the peak of the mount where the stones there resonated with a sickly power that bound its captive source, once existing and keeping the balance of the nature. She proclaimed their interference of the new dark order and refused it to be, as they were a helpless force to withstand such a power alone. Mitchifer and the others unleashed every part of their prowess unto the dark druidess who could not be effected. Even as she tormented them from the center of her ward of protection, they fought against the dark druids wave after wave and retained their foothold before her. Yet her spellbinding circle on the mount would not give in to their affronts as she announced their futile attempts of defeating her and dispelling the ancient rituals.

“We will not yield!” Mitchifer pledged to defend the good that existed in this place that had become his home as an outsider. For his comrades, and for his god.

“You have no choice,” the Dark Hierophant said as she approached, “I will kill you and then take control.”

Somehow, the five of them once again battled against the new horde of dark druids and summons and defeated the Dark Hierophant halfway down the hill. It began to rain heavily as Spook helped the weakened cleric to stand by carrying him on one side. Yuna and the rest of them witnessed a giant flaming mass hurl down from the sky, shaking the earth as it grounded. The stones on the mount pulsated with the crackling power of divine and arcane magic much like a heartbeat and faded away as they raced down the hill toward the path where the shimering silver dragon lay in the pouring rain, without life.

_____________________________________________________________
His Aftermath

Mitchifer entered the temple of Anu in Dasar in solemn reverence and meditated. A feeling of inequity washed over him as he worshipped. He prayed for the dragon of Ki and felt rebuked. He had single-handedly killed the golden dragon of Utu two years ago, and now he had failed to restore the silver dragon of Ki back to life. Yet, he had never once defeated any of the other dragons, like Raven or Dehak. None of it was planned, but he couldn’t ever seem to get it right. If he knew beforehand maybe… …No.

The much adored and most sacred of creatures of Anu had fallen countless times during his priesthood, and Mitchifer blamed himself. Never had he heard his god speak to him directly, but Mitchifer always preferred to talk out loud to him when he prayed. It helped him sort things out, and clear up his own thoughts as well.

“Let me know about this one thing, Anu: that I am still worthy as a servant. I will give anything of myself to sacrifice to you. I put my trust in you, as always. Please guide me again, and let me know that I can still do something to help Ki; in aiding for her great loss. I know you are always watching, always knowing. If only I knew about this one thing, and how I could aid these precious magical creatures. Please show me how I may find a way to ressurrect Azsraszha, the silver dragon of Ki.”

A fit of coughing took away his breath and he had to hold his hand to his mouth and steady himself with his other arm to stop the shaking. He felt the toll of the plague take over him once again, and couldn’t remain conscious after all of the stress he had taken on. Soon it was all he could do to get air, and he clamped his hand tighter of his mouth even as he lost all breath and fell unconscious in the temple of his god.

[Holly]

Spook coughs forth a cloud of smoke, nearly dropping his manticore-spike pipe. "An' that's wot 'apened, too." The elf proclaims, "If anyone's bein' watched over by the gods, it's Mitchifer Haventhur. To be in his presence is ta be his friend."

Can someone 'elp 'im? E's sick.

[Cirran Silverwind]

It is unclear how long the aging priest of Anu had been watching the praying man before he stepped forward from the shadow of the dais of Anu. As he helped Mitchifer to his feet, his very touch itself seemed to ease the suffering felt by the cleric. His eyes concerned and genuine, he waited til the cleric steadied himself before releasing him. In a practised, kindly voice which seemed to stretch to every corner of the temple, he spoke words which carried the weight of years of wisdom and education.

"The silver dragons of Ki... yes, I know of them. And I know also of the one of which you speak."

The old man wait for Mitchifer to look up at him before he continued.

"There is no need for pleasantries, my colleague... I know well enough who you are. Few within the service of Anu do not. You are not forsaken..." the old, kindly priest chuckled slightly at this and continued, "far from it. You are indeed gifted to have laid eyes upon so fantastic a creature."

The elder stepped from the slightly raised dais and helped Mitchifer to his feet with a surprisingly strong hand upon the arm. Nodding with a seemingly ever-present smile, the old priest then walked slowly as if to circle the temple idly, bidding Mitchifer follow beside him.

"The Gods, much as we, favor certain creatures to act as their mortal... liaisons, shall we say. Their trusted messengers and avengers to the realms they work their influences upon." The priest stopped here, and looked upward at the enormous tapestry hanging from the wall of the temple, as though losing himself in its weave aided in his recollections of the old lessons. "And sometimes, in ages long past, these creatures were appointed guardianship over sacred and valued objects, places and knowledge of divine influence." The old man glanced at Mitchifer, as if to ensure the priest still listened, then continued.

"Our Lord Anu is not the only God in the heavens who favors dragonkind. Early in the history of the worlds and the hells did Ki also garner the worship, love, and ultimately the lifelong devotion of a single flight of Silver Dragons. Upon the necks of these did she touch a single scale, bestowing upon them her holy symbol, the Iris, and charge them with the custody of the knowledge of nature's way and the protection of Her most sacred places." Here the priest stopped and turned to Mitchifer, laying a hand upon his shoulder with a friendly pat.

"Azsraszha, the name you spoke, was the matriarch of this flight of Dragons. The first touched. Beyond this... I fear I cannot tell you very much. Whatever Azsrashza's mission had been before her capture, it assuredly was the business of nature... and likely business of the highest and most sacred order, given the nature of the bearer. The very fact that the Dark Druids sought to keep the dragon imprisoned denotes the importance of her knowledge." The old priest looked back at the tapestry, lost in thought.

"A funny thing about knowledge... it is seldom entrusted to only one being. It seems to me your choices are twofold... you could seek out followers of the Goddess of Nature and try to learn of the dragon's purpose... or you could seek out the Dark Druids again. It is certain that they had some idea of the wyrm's mission, if they went to the danger of infuriating Ki herself to keep the dragon from completing it. I know not where you would seek, however, to find one high enough in the heirarchy of the Dark ones that would provide you with a successful interrogation. Yet it seems to me that only one very close to nature - closer than most , perhaps any- or the Grand Druid of the Dark Ones would be priviledge too what you seek."

The old priest turned then to Mitchifer and smiled again almost lovingly, sketched a small bow of respect, and clasped his hand warmly, leaving within his palm a small pendant upon a chain, the symbol of Anu gleaming in the glowing warm light of the temple. When Mitchifer looked up from the amulet to speak in return, the kind, elderly priest had vanished, without a trace.

Mitchifer stood alone in the temple beneath the tapestry for what may have been a few seconds or a few minutes before a young, handsome man wearing the vestments of a priest crossed the floor to greet him.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting, your Grace. I am the resident priest of this temple of Anu. I apologize for my delay... I am the only priest on duty today."

[Clerified]

Mitchifer was up early everyday since he returned from the city. With the plague gone, and his body healed, he had a lot to think about, and a lot to do. With the Grand Dark Druid on the move with Azsraszha's knowledge, a course of action was in order. The only problem was, the once faithful priest had a lot of catching up to do in the matter of his own spirit.

He was crushed. The plague had been his first downfall, and now the matter of the Archdruid weighed down on him heavily because he had failed to receive the message from Ki's silver dragon. All in all, Mitchifer felt that he needed a new perspective if he was going to be able to do anything helpful from now on. He sighed tiredly as he maintained his posture throughout the day. "Maybe today I will see someone who can help me," he said, "Cirran must be counting on us by now."

So he waited in the town center and meditated.

[Cirran Silverwind]

Azsraszha, the Silver Matriarch of Ki, had fallen.

He felt it, as keenly as he felt the magical attacks which even now rained down upon the protective magics he had woven over the expanse of the Great Grove. He hadn't been prepared for the attack, which had begun almost immediately after he had finished the demanding ritual prayers to Ki which consecrated the Great Grove in Her name. He was thankful that he had taken the precaution of weaving his defensive spells throughout the grove as the first salvo of twisted energy was turned away by the shields which had been suspended invisibly throughout the sky just above the barely-visible treetops of the Grove's massive twin redwoods.

Since that first shattering explosion, the incoming volleys of dark power had begun to fall like a nightmarish rain, and now it took almost every ounce of concentration he had to maintain the shield. The power of the newly anointed Holy Place of Ki bolstered him, nurtured him, and protected his sanity as each of the murky, blackish-purple orbs of magic battered his protective wards mercilessly. Each time one of the foul blasts was turned away, the mystical staff known as the Heart of the Oak pulsed with a violent bluish glow, signifying the intensity of the pain from which it was protecting its wielder.

The Circle of Standing Stones threw their bold, dark shadows across an already shadowed landscape, the peace and tranquility of the trees and blossoming flowers a stark and vivid contrast to the chaos swirling above at the epicenter of the attacks of the Dark Druids. He did not have to open his eyes to know that even now the leaves of those trees and the petals of those flowers arced gently toward him as the Grove itself strengthened him against the relentless, brutal strikes which battered the shield, seeking without success to affect the same upon his mind.

As the Archdruid Cirran Silverwind held his staff aloft, the light breeze stirring the Robes of Balance against his skin, he reflected in a corner of his mind the meaning behind the fall of the Great Silver Dragon, who had for time untold served the most sacred purpose of Ki, the Goddess of Nature. He had felt the creature during its capture and torment at the hands of the Dark Druids, and had felt even more keenly the moment when the noble beast's heartbeat faded and finally ceased. Even had his mind not been overwhelmed by the onslaught of the Dark Druids, the Archdruid of Balance would not have shed tears - he had learned long ago that the gift... and curse... of the Balancer was the ability to banish emotion and passion when necessary to do what was right for nature and balance. He resolved to find a nice quiet corner of the Grove and mourn when circumstances allowed. If they ever allowed...

The rhythm of the explosions overhead were lost to the Archdruid as he focused all his faculties to keeping the wards in place. Sending the dryad Shayel out to answer the call of the sorcerer Falson took only seconds, yet even that small lapse was one which Cirran could not often afford in the protection of this sacred place. Should his guard drop and the twisted magics of the Dark Druids strike the consecrated Grove, it would be desecrated and open to physical attack. So it was that Cirran Silverwind resolved not to leave this place. He knew that the Lifebearer Llarinael had druids seeking him, yet neither could he unmask his presence to them without alerting the Dark Druids to his location as well. Better they pummel his ward with their seeking spells than bring their growing number to challenge the grove physically. The Archdruid needed only wait... sooner or later the Dasarians would piece together the puzzle. He had spoken to the cleric Mitchifer, his old friend, as he was able, the scant words and directions all he could muster without giving ground to the vicious attacks from above. He knew that Ki would keep him healthy, yet the prospect of remaining for all time sequestered here turning back the attacks of generation after generation of Dark Druids did not appeal to him - nor did the idea that they may even now be moving against Daris and his friends.

With a deep breath and a gritting of his teeth, the Archdruid steeled himself for the next volley of blows from the seeking spells of the Dark Druids of Tiamat. He was thankful as he thought for a moment of the staff he held, and its gift for shielding what it touched from physical and mental pain. He resolved to say a prayer of thanks to Ki for every time the staff flared to life from that point on.

And flare it did.

[Peregrinus]

Falson Almaran stood quietly looking at the circle of stones that these strange Dark Druids held so dear. The weave of magic between them was complex and confusing, but almost made sense.

It had been a long journey to this point, and rather uneventful, the dark druids had not expected people to return so soon, but all was not going exactly to plan. He and Bogudar had hoped to make some sense of the circle, but Bogudar could not make sense of the cacophony of magic he heard no more than Falson could make sense of the tangled Weavings.

Then the earth shook.

“Hells,” Falson muttered, “We've be found out.”

Falson began weaving his own spells of protection about himself as fast as he could. Soon the assault began, the Dark Hierophant's screams of rage and annoyance echoing in the air.

“Hurry! Get in the circle!” Bogudar snapped.

Falson made his way up the hill and into the circle, watching as stones sent by the Dark Ones crashed into the hillside. Then the fire came, consuming what little grass stood on the hilltop.

“Drakin!” Falson snapped his head to the foot of the hill where Drakin had suddenly took a hit from a stone, “get out of here!”

Drakin look up at Falson, blood dripping from his face, his face twisted in a snarl.

“She doesn't play fair does she.”

“Return!”

Drakin disappeared in a circle of magic as another stone struck him, Falson turned and saw that all his companions had fallen. He still stood, barely protected by his spells.

“I've not fallen yet!” Falson shouted at the wind as he renewed the weave abut him, “do you fear me so much that you hide?”

The answer only came in another flurry of dark spells that hammered on the hilltop. Falson gritted his teeth and continued weaving, hoping that the Dark Hierophant would do something stupid and show herself.

“Come out!” Falson demanded, “if you're so great you wouldn't fear appearing in front of me!”

The bombardment stopped, and the flames receded. Suddenly she appeared with a small company of Dark Druids, her face, which might have been attractive, had it not been twisted with hate.

“Foolish mageling,” she insulted.

Falson grinned and finally tried something.

To everyone else on the hilltop it seemed as if nothing happened. Summons creatures suddenly vanished, and all but the Heirophant and one Dark Druid fell to the ground, their bodies torn by raw magical energy.

To Falson, he had a suddenly sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Impossible, not even Raven can fully resist...”

The Hierophant sneered at Falson.

“Stupid mageling.”

She swung her sword, Falson's spells finally caved in from the pressure and raw energy the Hierophant had unleashed upon the hill. He grabbed at the weave, attempting to try one last spell against the Hierophant, but her sword cut him down, draining that last of his strength.

“Pitiful,” laughed the druidess, “you think you could oppose us in our seat of power with only four of you... You are mere annoyances.”

She turned to the last remaining Dark Druid that had not fallen in that moment when Falson had unleashed his own power.

“Clean this mess up.”

The Dark Druid nodded, and began the usual process of burning the corpses of those fallen. Falson coughed blood and shouted defiance, his eyes glazed over from pain. As the flames finally came for him, he felt himself slip away...

-------------------------

Falson awoke on the Druid Hill in Daris. The druids of the hill looked at the party with a mix of pity and anger. After a long conversation and a new plan to try and find out more about the stones of the Dark Druids, Falson collapsed, fast asleep.

[Clerified]

Mitchifer trudged through the damp forests north of the village, wondering about the whereabouts of one Minotaur Shaman he had often run into around these parts. Without any further options, and running out of ideas besides prayer, he whispered to Anu to grant him one of the divinations he had been able to conjure himself before. He closed his eyes and lifted up the prayer for Anu's intervention for one ray of sunlight, but the rain continued to fall as he recieved his answer.

"Well, I can't say I didn't try..." That was the past, and his powers dwindled presently. However, he had learned the concentration like that of the nature, which an encounter with a monk of Ki in the Whirling Serpeant had told him of. The time Mitchifer spent at the ancient tower beyond the Baraan Districts rehabilitating his wounded will had been a great aid in comforting his rising emotions after being so close to complete defeat.

Coming to a deep chasm in the center of the forest, Mitchifer closed his eyes again, but not to pray this time. The air felt brighter at this spot in the woods and the rain somehow lighter, coming through the space in the treetops with a blissful silence that calmed the priest to the marrow of his bones. The water spilling down this vortex in the streams flowed through his veins like new life, clearing his lethargic mood. Sometime passed, and he forgot about thinking as his concentration went into the nature; somewhere far off was a waterful pouring down in front of a deep cave full of Varanites.

His senses continued beyond himself... and returned like a Great Conduit. He waited patiently and the corners of his lips curled as his breath grew soft. For once, he felt like he truly had time...

"...Ulthar. Where are you?"

[Ulthar]

The tattooed minotaur walked in silence through the eaves, west of the village of Das. As with the creatures and spirits of nature, he lamented the loss of one of Ki's first blessed. Upon the whispering winds it came to the minotaur that the Silver Matriarch of Ki, Azsraszha, had perished. Even still the loss could be heard. From the rustling leaves in the trees to the murmuring waters. All of nature spoke and mourned.

In a short time, Ulthar found his way to the eaves north of Daris. He seeked the one who would know what trully had happened, and what was to be done. The Balancer would know. Suddenly an odd wind blew strongly through the eaves, whipping his mane and the feathers and beads that adorned it. Ulthar gazed up into the forest ceiling, listening to the now frantic whispers of the spirits, in hopes to discern the cause of this wind. It was then he could hear chanting from the north west. "The Ji Lyn? Could those witches be the cause of this?", the mino thought to himself. "No, the wind is not unnatural. It is as if..". Ulthar gasped and staggered. A flash of white light flooded his site. Then another. He fell to his knees and grasped his horned head. There were several other flashes. But not blinding light. These were images. And sounds. Images of people who smiled warmly to him in greeting. People he did not know. Then the images tuned to scenes of flames, of people running. Sounds of chanting, spells being cast and screams. Then the images ceased.

Releasing his head, Ulthar looked up, and shifted his eyes left and right. The odd winds still blew strongly, but the chanting of the Ji Lyn had stopped. He eased himself upon his hooves and faced north. "Was that an attempt on my being by those witches?", the mino murmured to himself. He stood there with creased look to his brow in thought. "No. No, I do not think it was"., he said somewhat unsure. The minotaur shaman then caught a scent upon the wind from the north. One he knew, not the one he sought, but one who may know something. Ulthar momentarily glanced towards the direction of where the Ji Lyn chanting had come from before heading north. In time he would see what these images hinted. But now was not the time.