Ulthuan

Ulthuan, Home of the Asur
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 Post subject: The Edrai Exiles.
PostPosted: Thu Sep 06, 2018 11:55 am 
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Chronicler

Joined: Mon Nov 10, 2014 11:47 am
Posts: 219
Location: Brisbane, Australia.
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"Repent? Beg for your help, for healing? Because you think I have something to fear? You never did understand, did you? The thing about a phoenix, cousin, is that they have to die before they can be reborn." - attributed to Valraith Allisarian, The Fool of Loec.


The vast fang listed horribly, like a rotting tooth in the mouth of a senile hound. No gardens surrounded it; no statues, no paths, no waystones. Just rubble. Whatever great cataclysm had desecrated this mighty tower of aelven magecraft left no room for remembrance of habitation. But thought and dream and imagination have always been a powerful force and they drew the two edrai towards it as moon draws moth. Ancestors had lived here, loved here, fought battles and duels and crafted destinies here and that left a mark, for those with eyes to see it. Within these walls, dilapidated as they were, were locks and keys made of the mind. Some of those memories may have been made by their father, for he had supposedly inhabited this place for a time in his long life, but finding them was no goal the twins had set. It would be, if anything, a hinderance.

Odraith was the first to move, the first to shake off the gravity of the scene before them. He had learned the dance of war during decades spent stalking the paths of Athel Caiellin and the essence of Sevekai was strong within his blood. He felt fear seldom and only as some detached whimpering thing when it came and the possibility of ambush gave him no pause. Vairahan followed in his wake, as she was wont to do most often, more attuned to the mind-magic that surrounded them and cataloguing all the many souls that had once given this white tower life.
“Ildor and his Reapers hold the site against incursion sister; we have no reason to tarry.” It was true enough. The axe-wielding foot soldiers had surrounded the tower, on the empty steppes of Hysh, and there were few who would ever hope to be their equal in battle. In addition, Wychwenghol and his wardancers were further afield, mounted on their feral steeds. The native born edrai of Athel Caiellin looked down on those who had made the long march from Mirai to join the cause and Wychwenghol did not like his troupe mixing with the Reapers when it could be avoided but they would provide a deadly net against any attack, should that become necessary. Such considerations were not the cause of Vairahan’s lax pace though.
“We have time enough to pay our respects, brother. Asur lived here once. Perhaps they might once more. But before that comes to pass we should not so quickly forget those who were our ancestors, those who served the Phoenix or did great works in his name.” It was enough to mollify Odraith, to ground him in the true scope of what they intended. There were few in any of the Realms who could hope to do this but Vairahan had been blessed by Liandra and was her avatar. She provided a counter, a balance to her brother’s more explosive ways; something that not Malerion or Teclis or Alarielle had ever managed. Only her; only her and the princess Zendri Nenuvar. It was on account of that that Vairahan had joined this little excursion.

Zendri was an anomaly within the tiny edrai clans; she was neither born in Athel Caiellin nor was she dragged from the depths of Mirai. Her origins were elsewhere, to places she could not even remember and no magic could pry from her mind. But the girl manipulated the Dream Weave as though she had been born to it and her name at least was something that could be tracked. Back through the Ages to the World-That-Was, to Ulthuan and the place called Saphery. This tower and the fragmented stone it sat upon might very well be the only part of it left. Or it could be another dead end, one that would frustrate Odraith enough to indulge his darker instincts again. As the edrai could ill afford another Wild Hunt through the nightmares of the Mortal Realms and as the souls of the ancient aelves were returning at an ever-increasing pace, it was a distraction that Vairahan would not allow. Odraith had been getting progressively more obsessed with the woman since her arrival in Tal Allisur; spending time at the cellar she had established, singing old ballads and showering her with ancient heirlooms. Whilst Atolmis had assured Vairahan that the blood ran true to the flame in her and whilst the girl was perfectly pleasant in her own right, the heir of Orion’s attention was not to be wasted on such mundane things as the pursuit of romance. Particularly when it seemed one-sided.

The new aelven pantheon had done a good job of harnessing She-Who-Thirsts and retrieving the souls she had devoured but they were as blind to the ramifications of their trap as they had been when they torn the World-That-Was asunder. For among those taken by Slaanesh were aelves so powerful that their names still sat astride the Realms their descendants had created. Darkblade, Anar, Dragontamer; these were but a few, a vanguard of what Vairahan knew would come. Eventually a soul would be reborn to the aelves that would change everything. Eventually a soul would be reborn that could unite them all beneath his rule. It was his blood, his lineage that still gave the aelves their strength. It had been his arm that raised legions in the first great war against Chaos, he who had beaten them back, he who had been blessed by Asuryan and Isha and Khaela Mensha Khaine.

Aenarion, the once and future Phoenix King; the one soul that could and would lead the aelves into a new golden age. Vairahan had seen his coming in a maddened dream at the moment of her birth and many of the rambling memories of her father had confirmed the augury. Aenarion was coming and gods and tyrants and kings would all move mountains to ensure he was born into their care.

This Vairahan could not allow.
This the edrai, who had dwelled in Athel Caiellin since the end of times, would not allow.

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Only in the Dreaming Woods are Mortals truly free, t'was always thus and always thus will be.

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Makiwara wrote:
Smiths in Nagarythe that can repair the holiest piece of armour worn by the Shadow Prince himself... 0 apparently.


Duct tape counts!!


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 Post subject: Re: The Edrai Exiles.
PostPosted: Fri Sep 07, 2018 8:41 pm 
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Green Istari

Joined: Sat Sep 13, 2008 11:26 am
Posts: 12167
Location: Otherworld
Very nice Makiwara, thank you! Been a long time since I read something like this.

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