When the river sings...

[Melancor]

[Closed to Visla]

In the past the Island of Corone had struggled to retain its sovereignty. Attempting to remain neutral in the turbulence created by other nations had been a challenge for the government of Corone, and civil unrest had at one point ravaged the lives of its inhabitants. Today, however, Corone enjoys a relative prosperity that for a while now has attracted more than capital to the island. Everyday refugees from Salvar and the elven nations disembark from its busy piers by the dozens. Families of all kinds, from ranks of nobility to modest country folk arrive at the island in the hopes of making for themselves a better living. With them, traditions that would otherwise seem strange to the natives of the Island seem to flourish in the outskirts of the larger cities where migrant communities separate themselves between nationality, race, and religion. Whatever the differences of the new and old inhabitants of Corone however, there is an elven tradition that arrive many years prior and has since become a holiday to be enjoyed by all, the River Jubilee.

Before the devastation of Xem'Zun through Raiaera the mythical land of the elves had enjoyed the patronage of many dieties, spirits of all types and purposes that had once helped the elves preserve the balance between the dangers of their craft and the sanctity of nature. The invasion changed all of that however. Ancestral beings that had fro millenia guarded the purity of the land suddenly found themselves overran by legions of dark spirits and demonic abominations. Although the land was eventually recovered, and the legions of Xem'Zun painstakingly defeated the blessing of the woodland spirits was forever lost.

At least that was the case with most of the spirits. Before the necromancer had ever had a fair chance at battling the guardians of Raiaera, an order of misguided men who felt threatened by their power sealed elder spirits throughout Althanas into unassuming objects. This mysterious order hoped that in sealing ever stronger spirits a balance in which either the physical realm or the spiritual one dominated would be achieved. Centuries after the disappearance of the order the land they had sought to protect would find itself deprived of its most formidable warriors. However Raiaera was spared, and in the end the seal meant to protect the world from their power had protected the imprisoned spirits from the darkness. However for a spirit to remain bound for such a long period of time can prove fatal, for the longer spirits remain separated their power wanes significantly to a point in which they can easily vanish all together. Although the elder divinities did not perish at the hands of spirits of darkness it is very likely that they have all passed onto nirvana.

"... Or atleast that is what the spirits rumor in Salvar of the former guardians of Raiaera," Ithkim found himself again talking more about the past than he would have liked. For a northern spirit he was still too young to reminisce with the certain melancholy of an old broken soul. However those days had been hard ones for the spirits all across Althanas when the almost sudden disappearance of millions of spirits and human souls had sent ripples throughout the delicate system of the spirit world.

Sylvan had learned when to give his attention and when to reserve it; often times his snakes would ramble uncontrollably about things he couldn't even begin to understand, ancient tales of old divinities they had known by name, the best way to drink a spirit, and the evolution of the species. To any mild-mannered scholar the subjects would have seemed intriguing ones, perhaps even be considered a privilege coming from the mouths of century-old spirits. Sylvan knew them for what they where, however. Inthkim and Inarak where selfish, had no capacity for food, where disgustingly proud but most importantly stubborn. But from time to time they had proved resourceful. That day he had hoped would be such occasion, but at the time he had yet to receive a straight answer.

"What does any of this have to do with the Jubilee, snake? All I've been hearing about is more of that elven sob story I don't really care to listen to again," before he'd continued the sentence Sylvan had already placed a hand around Inarak's dark body which had coiled himself around his neck.

Inarak wasted no time attempting to punish the boy's insolence with strangulation, "If you would listen you will hear your answer. In Salvar there where rumors that the seal of a guardian of a former river in Raiaera was taken by some Merchant who traded in the black market as some kind of mystical trinket. Years later we began hearing of a festival being held in Corone to honor a river spirit."

"The Jubilee," Sylvan concluded, throwing a quick glance at Ithkim; the pale snake lying limply at his side growing visibly irritated.

"There is no way he is still alive within his seal, so don't get exited," having been the former patron of the subterranean water system of Fallien, Ithkim had heard similar rumors but she knew better than to pay credence to the gossip of lesser spirits.

Just like the Raiaeran guardians she and Inarak had at one point been sealed by the same man, and she better than anyone knew what happened to a being which had been sealed for too long. She had seen it. Her former partner and lover had also been sealed by Farook onto a pebble, and despite the best efforts of the attendants of the Jya to rescue the seal of the deity he died a long time ago in solitude with nothing but the sands to keep him company. She had been lucky. Being the major water divinity within the desert island had earned her a large following that had made of her power something that required a larger stone to be sealed in. It wasn't long until she was found and placed in a shrine dedicated to all the spirits which allowed her just enough following to continue her existence as a relatively small spirit.

"Whoever he was he must have been sealed for a very long time before being moved into the island, before you or I, Inarak," Ithkim's tone grew ever angrier as she spoke,"he must have been a god with a great following to have survived being taken outside of Raiaera. You know as well as I that once sealed not even gods can survive other regions. It is about time you get used to the idea that guardians of previous generations from us have already passed onto Nirvana," she continued now looking at Sylvan, "for as long as I can remember there haven't been any river patrons in Corone because the reach of Am'eleh stretches completely over the island. You can even feel it in the wind, it is suffocating!"

It had been a while since Sylvan had heard that name, it had been the venom of the god in his physical form that had almost destroyed his brother; there was no love between Melancor and his siblings. But in a way he had to be tankful to Am'aleh, his malice had been the act of conception for Sylvan, making him the temporary navigator of the slumbering god within him.

Inarak hadn't bothered to give an answer, sensing her anger to stem from somewhere deeper than trivial bickering. Sylvan stood up, driving his gaze to the horizon and putting an end to the topic. After all, Sylvan was not one to enjoy prolonging anyone's suffering even if it came through the remembrance of ancient memories. Having taken a small detour from the group they had perched themselves atop a small hill where the view broke through the heavy canopy of the Forrest.

"We mustn't be too far now... " Sylvan lifted a hand to his forehead, a few hours after noon the sun already beamed at an angle, "I can see the port from here," he pointed," but beyond that way all I see is trees. Save for the smoke columns, they must have lit the ceremonial fires already." Through the thick green branches of the ancient trees of the forest of Corone it would have been impossible to notice even the road which stood a few dozen yards beyond them. But now and them he would see moments of bright colors rushing through the trees; Sylvan had arrive to the island in the morning and since then masses of pilgrims streamed through the otherwise lonely forest road to reach the point of celebration. Dull blue-colored banners peaked through the low foliage of the trees, which seemed to prosper from the nourishment of the many stream that run parallel through the Forrest roads. Deep within the forest the many streams of the delta connected, the wide mountain river splintered to becoming the streams which fed the population of Corone. And it was this point where the pilgrims from all the stream-side roads, like the river, connected to celebrate the guardian spirit.

It was a beautiful procession, the rattle of the people, the sound of their bare feet, and the sea breeze through the trees all seemed to sing in unison with the tune of the water. There was something about their modest devotion that touched his heart in a way that made his throat stiff. Sylvan knew well that most of the guardian spirits sealed by Farook had extinguished centuries ago, to think the pilgrims efforts to honor a river spirit which could very well not exists would otherwise seem foolish to him, he could only pity them now. And it hurt.

"We best return to the pilgrimage, the shire can't be far from here now," giving Ithkim a weak dejected smile the words struggled through his throat, "even if not a guardian, lets hope for their sake there is someone looking after them."

[Visla Eraclaire]

A pair of women in simple leather cloaks stood, pressed together uncomfortably among a mass of passengers, on the deck of a ferryboat bound for a port in Corone. Visla's side brushed against Aelva's clawed hand and she briefly feltthe barbs dig into what little meat there was beneath her traveling garb. Visla made only the softest sound of displeasure at theincidental injury, but it did not escape her companion's notice.

“That's what you get,” the succubus scowled.

“For what?”

“For this,” she said, attempting to extend her arms in an emphatic gesture at the surrounding crush of travelers, but pulling them back before she inflicted another wound. “A woman that can teleport, can fly, and yet here we are on a hells-forsaken boat.”

“I see. I make a noise when you take a slice out of me and you take it as a license to complain,” Visla replied, attempting to peer past the forest of heads and shoulders for a glimpse of their destination.

“That was hardly a prick. If you want to see a slice, I'd be happy to oblige,” Aelva smirked and then craned her head upward, her sinuous neck stretching a bit unnaturally even through the illusion that kept her true nature concealed. “Thankfully we're almost there.”

By the time Aelva had managed to see the port, the ferry was already shuddering a bit as deckhands perched precariously on the prow and stern threw tie-lines to their counterparts at the pier. The crowd began to shift, and the two women shuffled their way along toward the spot where the gangplank would be lowered. When the oaken board came down with a clap, the ocean of people broke as through a crack in a dam, rushing out onto the pier and then into the nearby town.

“Ow,” Visla shouted, much louder than in response to being grazed by her companion's claws, as a man's shoulder slammed straight into her head. Her vision blurred for a moment and she clutched her skull as the crowd continued to shove past her. Aelva's eyes narrowed. After a most momentary check that Visla was still standing, she rushed off into the crowd.

It was halfway up the pier before she caught up the the accidental assailant, a man of middle age with a Salvarian complexion and a long black beard. The image of a somber-faced and unobtrusive maiden that shrouded Aelva fell. Her vestigial wings snapped out behind her, and she reached a clawed demonic hand to grip the man by the cloak. As she dug her talons into canvas and flesh, his legs nearly came out from under him.

“Apologize to the lady,” she ordered as he turned to face her. In point of fact, Visla was just then staggering her way down the gangpank and toward the spot where her companion's transformation had already staunched the flow of people as they pooled into a small crowd.

“I see no lady. I see a foul beast from the Pit that the Sway will see wiped from the face of the world,” he spat and clutched a small emblem hung around his neck.

“The Sway? I thought we had wiped you all out,” Aelva grinned, encouraged that her random act of chivalry had caught her a true enemy.

“That's enough,” Visla said with a stern tone, her hand tensing up at the ready, though she knew not for what.

“I've never had enough of slaying zealots. We killed so many of your bothers in Salvar, I filled a basin with their blood and made a fresh warm bath every night,”Aelva crowed and released the man, if only for a moment. He grasped the golden necklace ever tighter, muttering to himself.

“The war's over. We're not here to start another. Step back and let the fool die for his god another day,” Visla commanded, more imperious still. A small point of red, crackling, arcane energy began to form around Visla's waist slowly coalescing as her unease with the situation grew.

“As the baroness wishes,” Aelva said with a mocking lilt in her voice. She had a great respect for Visla but none of it was bound up in her sovereignty over mere patches of earth. She turned from the man to take her place as a good retainer should.

“Back to the Void with you both!” the man cried as his muttering finally came to a crescendo. He thrust forth his holy symbol, now emblazoned with a corona of white light. Searing radiance poured out from it like the first light of dawn breaking over the hillside. Aelva flinched and covered her face with a hiss. Sight, sound, even scent were all overwhelmed with the furious energy. Her skin began to sizzle and even crack in places as the power coursed through her. She fell to her knees within seconds, her hiss turning to a groan and then a scream. Just as she was about to fall fully prostrate, the light went out like a snuffed candle. She heard the murmuring of onlookers as her senses returned.

The bolt that had been circling Visla was gone, but its path through the man's chest was readily apparent. His body lay motionless; his face still bore the gleeful expression that came from torturing a demon. Visla's spell had carved a bloody route through the man's heart before he could even blink. A few within the crowd muttered condemnation on either side of the conflict.

Many of the ferry's other passengers were Salvarian refugees. Had they known the man's nature they likely would have tossed him overboard without a second thought. Nevertheless, a hatred for demons and witches was not unique to the maligned Church of the Sway. These two impulses in the masses seemed to reach equilibrium. The sea of people simply parted in front of the pair and let them go on their way.


As they left and the last remnant of life finally left the cleric's body, an alabaster stream rose from the corpse and toward the departing combatants. The white wisps swirled around Visla's ring, just as the souls of the faithful had done back on the battlefields of Salvar. The sacrificed soul found its rest within the bosom of a dead god, burying itself in the pearlescent stone of the ring.


“So much for traveling unobtrusively,” Visla sighed as Aelva re-erected the illusion around her demonic form.


“See, we could have just flown,” the succubus smiled and lay her singed hand gently on the sorceress' shoulder.

[Melancor]

Something caught his eye as he descended. A small group of people had gathered at the pier where a couple of female figures had engaged a man who was visibly upset. While one of the females held her head, it had become obvious the man had acted recklessly. Bickering between passengers wasn't unusual, after all the conditions in the passenger ships that transited the sea were deplorable. But as soon as people began gathering round in circles Sylvan had learned to feel anxious; in the past he had seen simple bickering turn into all out brawls. The clatter escalated when the source of the man's displeasure was revealed to the rest of the passengers.

Sylvan caught his footing, something serious was happening.

"Hah. Not even bath of blood can clean away the anger, demon. What's worse, that won't even help bring down the numbers. Them humans are worse than vermin," there was a certain malicious feeling Sylvan gathered from Inarak's words that made him shudder. For a second he was amazed at the abilities of the Quals to telepathically listen in to the conversation even at a distance. But Sylvan's amazement in the sophistication of the snakes was always dashed away by the sordid remarks that seemingly followed without fail. For such an old spirit who'd spent much of its time in Salvar, Inarak had never been able to grasp the cause and implications of the struggle in Salvar.

"What the hell?" Sylvan focused on the male figure as his voice seemed to command an aura of light around him.


"Shit!" Without expecting Sylvan's command Ithkim retrieved immediately into his ring which began to glow as if to brace for something.

Still trying to understand the situation Sylvan joined Inarak. Mesmerized, both of them observed with anticipation. Just a second later the sky lit up with the intensity of an explosion, a white light that for a second seemed to overcome even the sun forced him to cover his eyes.

"Idiot!" Ithkim's voice echoed throughout their mental bond.

Sylvan was knocked to the floor, not by the explosion of light which was devoid of actual force, but by Inarak's entire mass being blasted into the sky. For a moment a horrible shrieking had Sylvan think his familiar mortally injured. Without a second though he recalled Inarak into the safety of the ring before the snake disappeared into the sky, only to realize that the horrible wail continued.

"Damn Sway pigs, bring their beast of light unto this island!" Just as her furious words resounded through their bound the light began to diminish.

"What on earth was that!?" Sylvan couldn't believe his eyes, in his few years he had yet to see something as spectacular as that.

"The Sway's god. He's always been one to easily award blessings, no doubt he heeds the whims of a follower!"

No soon did the light completely disappeared that Sylvan was again able to clearly see what had transpired. What he saw he hadn't expected.

"You have to stand clear next time, you absolutely have to," Ithkim had been too busy worrying about the blast to absorb the situation, "We have to be weary of these deities, especially that beast of Salvar, he's become much more powerful since our time."

"Not enough it seems. He's dead!" Inarak was amazed, "Hah! He called his god and he still died!"

"Are they okay?" Sylvan asked still confused on what had done the killing. He watched as the object of his worried disappeared in the multitude of people

A few facts passed quickly through his mind; demon, The Sway, light and death. Without much more thought Sylvan raced down the hill at a speed that nearly made him tumble, finally re-joining the steady stream of pilgrims. Curiosity had taken over his mind, knowing became a primordial need.

Knowing his intentions the Quals went on ahead, gliding swiftly through the wind, masterfully rolling through the multitudes before many had a clear look at them. It didn't take long for them to find the woman and her companion. Among the multitude and the dozens who rushed to the place where the body still bled it would have been difficult for anyone else to set them apart. But for the snakes, and especially Ithkim who had skimmed every other persons thoughts it had been much easier.

As furtively as possible Inarak followed the two figures, hiding behind the many trappings and decorations of the street front roofs, while Ithkim followed slowly behind their opposite flank. While Sylvan struggled to catch up to them, Ithikim did her best to probe the minds of both beings hoping the intrusion would go unnoticed. Although their stalking efforts had begun with the simple purpose of finding them so Sylvan could so some stalking of his own, she took the opportunity to confirm something that was bothering her. Back there after the flash of light for an instant she had felt the slight presence of something much older than herself, and much different than the Salvar god. Something drew her into one of the women, but she couldn't tell what.

She was only able to gather a few images, of a serious girl and an important-looking signet, before she got the feeling that continuing could prove dangerous. Just then Sylvan emerged from the crowd clad in his dark hood he moved but a few yards from the two figures.

"Oh pilgrims where from here on out?" Sylvan thought in a mischievous tone, "let's not mess it up this time, guys."