Tirost/Logs/Messengers-ic-fic

The Messengers

The tavern smelled of stew, sausages and mead. Murmur traveled freely among the many patrons, hurried by hope and fear. At a table by the fireplace, Tirost sat across from his sister, his hand resting on a scarred wooden mug filled with mead.

"Do you trust any of them?" Lymira asked her brother. The light of the fire caused her hair to glint like Dwarven gold.

Tirost nodded. "Two at least seem very sincere, though Huns does not agree."

"Briaen is suspicious of everyone," replied Lymira, taking a sip of her rum.

A small smile broke across Tirost's features. "The woman named Miraena seems sincere, but naive. And she will appeal to those who share those qualities."

"What does she counsel?" asked Lyrmia.

"To cease all sorcerous casting."

"Easy task," chuckled Lymira wryly. Tirost smiled.

"She and the scholar named Asildu claim to bring that message from the Heralds. Lord Ezerak has pledged his support to her message, as well as Kethrai and others."

"Perhaps they are right to do so," replied Lymira, leaning back in her chair, and taking another swig of her rum.

"Perhaps," said Tirost, "but I cannot turn back from the knowledge of sorcery without more than what they offer. Without it, perhaps Lyras or Maelshyve would rule the realms."

"Do not let your pride blind you to the truth, brother." Lymira's gaze was unflinching. She reminded Tirost of their mother. The Warrior Mage sighed and nodded.

"There were two others that have come to speak about wild magic," said Tirost. "One is called Valenal. I am told he claims to be a human warrior mage, but knows nothing of Kermorian culture and counsels more sorcery."

"Surely your favorite of the messengers," said Lymira grinning. Tirost narrowed his eyes.

"Valenal seems to represent the will of something alien to mortals. I cannot imagine his message will be well received, except by necromancers, or those who believe he can grant them personal power."

"What of the Paladin?" asked Lymira. A sudden bump to the table by a drunken human clad in hides engendered a black scowl from Lymira, who leapt to her feet and unleashed a withering string of curses and insults. Those nearby roared with laughter and encouragement for violence and more drinking.

"The Paladin," said Tirost, once the noise had subsided, "is named Unaka. She was sent here by the gods."

"Many claim to have been sent by the gods," replied Lymira skeptically.

"True," replied her brother, "but Unaka's coming was prophesied by Jaelia at a vigil to Meraud before she arrived, and she claims to have been given the ability to cast all holy spells. Truffenyi sent her to save civilization."

Lymira was silent for a moment. The bottle of rum slowly rose to her lips. "And how does she plan to save civilization?"

Tirost shook his head. "I don't know. She herself said that she is unsure of what exactly should be done, only that we should not trust everyone who claims to bring a message about wild magic."

"Perhaps she is manipulating people for power and attention," said Lymira.

"I don't think so," replied Tirost. He took a long drink of his mead. "She doesn't seem to take the same delight in the righteousness of her moral or intellectual superiority as the others. She seems like one who is called to protect."

"And what is her position on sorcery?" asked Lymira.

"That cross-realm casting has little effect at the planar level, but that high sorceries are dangerous."

"Where have I heard that before?" quipped Lymira, failing to hide a smirk.

Tirost smiled. He threw back the rest of his mead. "I need to get some rest and then get back to training." He stood up.

Lymira also rose. "We must not allow the messengers to divide us," she said. "We will get back those who were taken." The firelight glimmered in the crystal blue eyes of the siblings. Tirost nodded and embraced his sister.

"Stay safe, Lymira."

"You too."

The black mantle of the warrior mage floated above the wooden floorboards of the tavern as he drifted through the door, and into the star-vaulted winter night.