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Session Stories - Moments in Roleplaying (updated 6/15/2023)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 8447531" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p style="text-align: center"><strong> Part XVIII - Severance - 11/4/2021</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>The sun elf sat in a patch of sun in the forest glade in the Ardeep Forest. Her eyes were closed, and her face soaking in the warmth of the sun, as she waited. Her lustrous gold hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and her tanned face was unmarred by scars or age. The beech trees rustled softly in the wind, as leaves were scattered about the clearing. It had been a long time since she had left her home in Evermeet, but it was even longer since a need was as great. She sighed and opened her eyes to watch her companion hover around the stone circle, much like a predator impatiently waiting for its prey to emerge from its burrow. The stone itself was old, the runes carved into it were older than either of them, laid near the founding of the nation of Ilefarn, 11,000 years ago. Some of the runes were worn smooth from rain, others cracked and splintered away with from icy freezes. But its secrets to its use was known to a few, the sigils kept in dusty tomes hidden in libraries of the knowledgeable. One such record was found in the private library of the Ustina’s, and of that house only two knew the sigils by heart. One of them was Kylan, who continued his circling of the stone with a deep scowl on this face. All because the other one who did know, was late.</p><p></p><p>“You would think that she would understand the courtesy of being punctual with as much that is at stake here,” Kylan grumbled impatiently.</p><p></p><p>“It does not matter Kylan,” the sun elf said. “I am certain that there was a reason for it.”</p><p></p><p>“I thought I instructed her on the basics of courtesy. She at least should have sent a message.”</p><p></p><p>“Kylan, you did say she needed to collect some things for the ritual, and she would be here before midday. The sun has just reached its zenith. Patience.”</p><p></p><p>Kylan stopped and looked upwards at the sky and sighed. “You are correct. I just want this to be done with.”</p><p></p><p>“I am sure they do as well.”</p><p></p><p>Kylan was silent for a moment when they both felt it; a pinching of the Weave as the sigils on the stone, illuminated with a blue light, showing the delicate runes true form, now lost to the elements. The runes flared briefly and as the light dimmed, four figures were now visible on the stone.</p><p></p><p>Kylan looked at them in turn. The first one he saw was an eladrin, her hair was an emerald green, with leaves woven amongst the wild braids, and her solid-colored eyes matching. She was clad in leather armor, stamped and colored with leaves, and she carried a staff with a green gem on top. He knew her name was Zinetra, an heir to a noble eladrin in the Feywild, and it was by her reputation which made much of this possible. The second was the half-elf Rafelor, his mace was in hand at the ready as he looked around uncomfortably at what must had been a sudden change in location. He saw Kylan and nodded curtly and breathed a bit easier. Following him, on a glowing yellow disk lay the mishappen form of Arnara’s clone, dressed in a plain white robe and nestled among a set of blankets. Finally, next to her stood Kylan’s daughter Arnara herself, her rapier at her side. She noticed Kylan and quickly stepped over to him.</p><p></p><p>“It took a little longer to find what I needed; Candlekeep is not as stocked as a normal town is and we had to find some creative solutions,” Arnara explained.</p><p></p><p>Kylan opened his mouth to respond, but he stopped himself and shook his head. “It is fine. This has been a tiresome journey, and I would like to see it through. How are—”</p><p></p><p>Arnara looked at the mishappen form of herself on the disk. The clone was already laying back with her eyes shut tight and covering her ears. Turning back to Kylan she said, “She is enduring…I must keep conversations short in her presence.”</p><p></p><p>Kylan looked at the clone with sympathy and nodded. “Of course. Arnara…both of you, the Royal Council has asked <em>Selu’tar </em>Salensyna Durothil to perform the ritual.</p><p></p><p>Arnara’s eyes widened suddenly, and she bowed her head respectfully. “<em>A’Sum</em> <em>Selsharra</em>. It is an honor.”</p><p></p><p>Rafelor looked around awkwardly, and said “Um…greetings, <em>A’Sum</em> <em>Selsharra</em>.”</p><p></p><p>Salensyna arched an eyebrow and smiled at Rafelor. As he looked at her, he noticed that in her eyes, she appeared to have moon shaped cataracts. He remembered that this indicated that she was near her the end of her days, and it would be time to go to Arvandor. Looking at the half-elf closely nodding ever so slightly, she spoke; “You are the bridge then. I hope you are ready.”</p><p></p><p>He let out a nervous laugh. “About as ready as I'm gonna be.”</p><p></p><p>Salensyna nodded, “This may be the last time this ritual will ever be performed. And certainly, it was never intended to be used in this way. But the Royal Council feels the attempt must be made to undo the hag's crimes.”</p><p></p><p>Arnara looked at Rafelor and explained, “High Magic is...an art we are choosing to forget. Salensyna is one of the last of the high mages. No one is being taught the rituals anymore.”</p><p></p><p>Rafelor looked at Arnara in confusion. “What's wrong with High Magic?”</p><p></p><p>The woman on the disc moaned and Arnara snapped her mouth shut. Zinetra then continued, “High Magic is a wonderous thing that only elves can perform. Its power is far greater than any wizard of Netheril ever dreamed of.” Zinetra looked off to the side sadly. “But during the First Flowering of the elves, we were...arrogant. We used High Magic for wars against our kin. We turned forests to ash. And we, split the world apart to create Evermeet. The damage was so great, that the Seldarine had to lend us their divine power to fix it. Because of this...the dangers, it is a temptation best left forgotten.”</p><p></p><p>“And yet here we are, For the last time...wow. Today's going to be a day to remember. For all of us.” Rafelor as he realized the rarity of the event about to unfold.</p><p></p><p>“True,” Zinetra acknowledged. “But Arnara and I think that High Magic, in combination with the Netherese necromantic ritual, is the only way to save them both. Or so we hope.”</p><p></p><p>Rafelor nodded. “So, I'm here now. What happens next?”</p><p></p><p>Zinetra smiles, “<em>Akh'Faen'Tel'Quess </em>will make the Weave, pliable. It allows for an elf to be transformed into another form. During this time, I will attempt to split their souls in twain, using the Netherese ritual. This happens naturally on rare occasions, when identical twins are born. At such times, we believe the souls repair themselves. But here things will be more complicated. Which is why we need you.”</p><p></p><p>“Cool. Cool. Just uh, tell me where to stand.” The half-elf said trying to calm his nerves.</p><p></p><p>“Actually, you will lie between them,” corrected Zinetra. “Standing would be problematic for all of you. As you lay there, you will guide them. Their soul will share each other’s memories, and they may become torn or fragmented during the separation. You, Rafelor, will help by acting as bridge through the Weave. Holding their memories together until the souls can do it themselves. I cannot tell you what you will see or feel. You will have to discover this on your own.”</p><p></p><p>“That doesn't sound too bad.” Rafelor said confidently, “So, if I'm taking trip down memory lane, what's Kylan's gig?”</p><p></p><p>“I will be assisting the <em>Selu’tar,” </em>Kylan said evenly. “The ritual is demanding, and so I must address her needs during it. And ensure that we will not be disturbed.”</p><p></p><p>“Gotcha,” Rafelor said, unsurprised that Kylan had the easy job.</p><p></p><p>Kylan continued, “The Fane of Naralis Analor is a part of the Crypts of the Deepening Moon. Fortunately, we have already spoken to the guardians before you arrived. We should not be disturbed, so long that we leave the <em>Laranlors </em>and <em>Laranlas</em> undisturbed—”</p><p></p><p>“—Huh?” Rafelor said, unfamiliar with the old elvish words.</p><p></p><p>“Kings and Queens. This was once part of Ilefarn, and then later the moon elf realm of Ardeep. The Fane itself is over 10,000 years old, so…be respectful <em>A’Tel’Quessir.</em>” Kylan said to Rafelor. “Come let us get below.”</p><p></p><p>Kylan took out of his pouch a small orb and whispered to it, causing it to burst with light. It then drifted above the elf, and he led them through the ruin. Nearby a set of stone stairs descended deep into the rock below. Deep into the Fane of Naralis Analor.</p><p></p><p>Time had worn on the stone here, as ancient carvings on the wall had cracked away and faded to almost smooth ridges on the side of the passage. The driftglobe’s warm yellow light was a comfort in this hallowed place of death. Soon the tunnel opened wide into a large chamber. In the center were four biers, each large enough for pairs of people to lay in state in preparation for burial ceremonies. Set in between the biers, were old braziers, already lit by Kylan and Salensyna before the other’s arrival. On one bier set on a white cloth, were a set of silver goblets, and a bottle holding a sparkling yellow liquid. Then Salensyna stepped next to Rafelor and bent down and laid a hand on the reclining elf on the disc and spoke to her. “Are you ready?”</p><p></p><p>Arnara’s clone who had been focusing on shutting everything out, nodded and opened her eyes and uncovered her ears and looked at the <em>Selu’tar</em>, “I think so.”</p><p></p><p>Salensyna nodded, “Have you chosen a form, and have you chosen a name?”</p><p></p><p>“Whatever the ritual decides is fine, I just…don’t want to look like Arnara. But as for a name…I..I choose my adult name to be Apolyta.”</p><p></p><p>Arnara turned to look at Apolyta and choked up a moment as she spoke, “That’s…a good name.”</p><p></p><p>Rafelor laughed. “Apolyta. Not bad. It's familiar...rolls off the tongue nicely...not too hard to spell. You know, it's almost as good of a name as Rafelor.”</p><p></p><p>Apolyta smiled at Rafelor and Salensyna nodded and spoke again gesturing at the two elven women, “Please, you will both need to lay on the bier over here. Rafelor, please assist Apolyta. Kylan, pour the Blessed Evermead into the goblets and serve them to everyone,” she said in a soft gracious tone. The patriarch of House Ustina, Kylan bowed his head and made his way to the bottle and goblets and began to pour. He then served each one of the participants a cup.</p><p></p><p>Salensyna then spoke reverently in Elvish;</p><p></p><p><em>“Naralis Analor, we ask you for your doves to guide us this day and for you to shield us from harm in your temple. We drink of the mead of our eldest cousins and open ourselves to your blessing. I ask your forgiveness as I transgress against the Weave to undo a greater transgression. I beg your wisdom as I sing, <strong>‘Life of Duty, Form of the Peoples Need’ </strong>for Apolyta and make her one from Arnara. Blessed may we be.” </em></p><p></p><p>She then took a sip from the silver goblet as did the others. Rafelor swirled the wine in his glass a few times before taking a sip. Once he did so, he realized that this was the greatest wine he had tasted in his life. His focus trailed off into his taste buds as he quietly uttered to himself, “Hooolllllyyyy naughty word.”</p><p></p><p>Arnara elbowed Rafelor and gave him a reproachful glare. Then Apolyta spoke to him softly, “Rafelor, help me please.” She pulled herself upright from the disc and swung her uneven legs down, sitting up. She then unfastened the leather belt holding her robe, and then slid out her arms from its folds, exposing her shoulders, chest and back. Across her back were the lasting memories of pain at the hands and tools of the Sewn Sisters. </p><p></p><p>Rafelor had witnessed many punishments of whippings in cities, burns on the arms of smiths, and scars from soldiers. But Apolyta’s skin was covered in many such marks, far more than criminals, unlucky smiths or hapless soldiers ever bore. She sat there shivering and extended her one good hand to Rafelor in a silent plea for help. Rafelor said nothing, and lifted Apolyta from the disc and set her naked form on the stone bier. After looking up, he saw that Arnara, had also undressed. Her skin was by comparison flawless; unmarked by any blemish, even though Rafelor knew that she had been wounded before. The magic of various healers prevented many scars or marks from setting into her skin. She looked down demurely, swallowed, and sat down on bier before swinging her legs onto it, trying to forget her nakedness as she laid down on the other side of the bier opposite of Apolyta.</p><p></p><p>Rafelor looked at Salensyna helplessly a moment, before she tilted her head and spoke, “No…you do not need to be skyclad as they do as you are not the intended target of my ritual. But you should disarm, lay between them, and hold their hands together with your own. He nodded, laid down his mace, and crawled up onto the cloth and slowly reclined between the two women. They both reached forward with a hand and Rafelor guided them so they could grasp each other, and both were clasped together on his chest. The silence in these moments caused the nerves in Rafelor to fester.</p><p></p><p>Arnara and Apolyta lay there a moment, before propping themselves up a bit so they could look at each other in the eyes. They then each glanced at Rafelor with small smiles that spoke volumes about their nervousness, and their relief of a friend so close to them. <em>“Sal o, Aral’Sha Rafelor,” </em>Arnara said, echoed by Apolyta. And they closed their eyes and lay back and clung to Rafelor’s hands and waited.</p><p></p><p>Salensyna then spread her arms wide and began to sing. The song was in a language that was distinctly elvish, but the words and diction where unlike any elvish he had heard before. The words reverberated in the chamber, and he felt the Weave quiver in response. It was similar how the Bladesong felt, but here there was no river of magic, but an ocean. An ocean that was pulling them deeper into its depths. He felt warmth build and spread from the elves that lay next to him, and felt it flow through his hands. Turning his head, he saw Arnara face, and it started to glow with the power of the Weave, working its way through her. Turning to the other side, he saw that Apolyta shared the same glow.</p><p></p><p>As Rafelor processed this, from behind him, he heard the swishing leathers of Zinetra approach, and then she whispered into his ear, “It’s Seldruin you are hearing, the first language of the elves, and she…she is one of its last speakers. I am going to start my ritual now.</p><p></p><p>Rafelor quietly nodded, bracing himself for whatever would happen next, as Zinetra continued, “I am sorry, but the ritual I have to perform is not kind or subtle. You will understand. Just hold them in your hands and keep close your memories. Hold them all tightly, as there is no turning back once I start.”</p><p></p><p>He had the feeling of a gentle wave, that felt comfort as it washed over him. As he felt the waves of light had cresting and flowing through him, he realized he didn’t only feel himself. But he could feel them…no their soul. A single soul stretched impossibly thin, and that bound the two together. He could feel a constant trickle from Arnara to Apolyta. And it was then he realized the awful truth.</p><p></p><p>They were imbalanced, Arnara’s soul was smaller somehow, and it was slowly bleeding into Apolyta. But Arnara’s side, as strong and fiery as she could be, seemed to be waning. The flow to Apolyta was more than Arnara could take, and there wasn’t enough for either Apolyta or Arnara to survive. Both halves of the single connected soul were doomed.</p><p></p><p>“No…the souls…”</p><p></p><p>The Eladrin had a puzzled look as she stood behind Rafelor. He could hear a book set down next to his head. She then placed a hand on his forehead, and she began to read the text. The tongue was harsh, almost guttural. But Zinetra read in confidence. From where she touched him, he felt another swirl of energy within him, lash out towards the soul of Arnara and Apolyta. It struck the trio violently, causing them all to shudder and shake. The lash of energy pulled at the single soul and started to pull them apart. The soul’s halves started to separate each other, with the connection between them, growing thinner and more tenuous. Then he felt a second lash, and then connection snapped. The waves of energy rebounded within Rafelor, as he felt as if he was being whipped by the two sundered souls. But this was a momentary feeling as then he felt the new sundered souls lash out and strike him. He felt them grasping, clinging and tearing into his own.</p><p></p><p>Rafelor opened his mouth and howled, as the two elves’ souls, ravaged his, tearing at it, seeking a way into himself, and claiming a part of him. They peeled away Rafelor’s soul in strips and as he howled to heavens, his vision started to fade as whisps of smoke and vapor filled his mind and eyes...</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 8447531, member: 6971069"] [CENTER][B] Part XVIII - Severance - 11/4/2021[/B][/CENTER] The sun elf sat in a patch of sun in the forest glade in the Ardeep Forest. Her eyes were closed, and her face soaking in the warmth of the sun, as she waited. Her lustrous gold hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and her tanned face was unmarred by scars or age. The beech trees rustled softly in the wind, as leaves were scattered about the clearing. It had been a long time since she had left her home in Evermeet, but it was even longer since a need was as great. She sighed and opened her eyes to watch her companion hover around the stone circle, much like a predator impatiently waiting for its prey to emerge from its burrow. The stone itself was old, the runes carved into it were older than either of them, laid near the founding of the nation of Ilefarn, 11,000 years ago. Some of the runes were worn smooth from rain, others cracked and splintered away with from icy freezes. But its secrets to its use was known to a few, the sigils kept in dusty tomes hidden in libraries of the knowledgeable. One such record was found in the private library of the Ustina’s, and of that house only two knew the sigils by heart. One of them was Kylan, who continued his circling of the stone with a deep scowl on this face. All because the other one who did know, was late. “You would think that she would understand the courtesy of being punctual with as much that is at stake here,” Kylan grumbled impatiently. “It does not matter Kylan,” the sun elf said. “I am certain that there was a reason for it.” “I thought I instructed her on the basics of courtesy. She at least should have sent a message.” “Kylan, you did say she needed to collect some things for the ritual, and she would be here before midday. The sun has just reached its zenith. Patience.” Kylan stopped and looked upwards at the sky and sighed. “You are correct. I just want this to be done with.” “I am sure they do as well.” Kylan was silent for a moment when they both felt it; a pinching of the Weave as the sigils on the stone, illuminated with a blue light, showing the delicate runes true form, now lost to the elements. The runes flared briefly and as the light dimmed, four figures were now visible on the stone. Kylan looked at them in turn. The first one he saw was an eladrin, her hair was an emerald green, with leaves woven amongst the wild braids, and her solid-colored eyes matching. She was clad in leather armor, stamped and colored with leaves, and she carried a staff with a green gem on top. He knew her name was Zinetra, an heir to a noble eladrin in the Feywild, and it was by her reputation which made much of this possible. The second was the half-elf Rafelor, his mace was in hand at the ready as he looked around uncomfortably at what must had been a sudden change in location. He saw Kylan and nodded curtly and breathed a bit easier. Following him, on a glowing yellow disk lay the mishappen form of Arnara’s clone, dressed in a plain white robe and nestled among a set of blankets. Finally, next to her stood Kylan’s daughter Arnara herself, her rapier at her side. She noticed Kylan and quickly stepped over to him. “It took a little longer to find what I needed; Candlekeep is not as stocked as a normal town is and we had to find some creative solutions,” Arnara explained. Kylan opened his mouth to respond, but he stopped himself and shook his head. “It is fine. This has been a tiresome journey, and I would like to see it through. How are—” Arnara looked at the mishappen form of herself on the disk. The clone was already laying back with her eyes shut tight and covering her ears. Turning back to Kylan she said, “She is enduring…I must keep conversations short in her presence.” Kylan looked at the clone with sympathy and nodded. “Of course. Arnara…both of you, the Royal Council has asked [I]Selu’tar [/I]Salensyna Durothil to perform the ritual. Arnara’s eyes widened suddenly, and she bowed her head respectfully. “[I]A’Sum[/I] [I]Selsharra[/I]. It is an honor.” Rafelor looked around awkwardly, and said “Um…greetings, [I]A’Sum[/I] [I]Selsharra[/I].” Salensyna arched an eyebrow and smiled at Rafelor. As he looked at her, he noticed that in her eyes, she appeared to have moon shaped cataracts. He remembered that this indicated that she was near her the end of her days, and it would be time to go to Arvandor. Looking at the half-elf closely nodding ever so slightly, she spoke; “You are the bridge then. I hope you are ready.” He let out a nervous laugh. “About as ready as I'm gonna be.” Salensyna nodded, “This may be the last time this ritual will ever be performed. And certainly, it was never intended to be used in this way. But the Royal Council feels the attempt must be made to undo the hag's crimes.” Arnara looked at Rafelor and explained, “High Magic is...an art we are choosing to forget. Salensyna is one of the last of the high mages. No one is being taught the rituals anymore.” Rafelor looked at Arnara in confusion. “What's wrong with High Magic?” The woman on the disc moaned and Arnara snapped her mouth shut. Zinetra then continued, “High Magic is a wonderous thing that only elves can perform. Its power is far greater than any wizard of Netheril ever dreamed of.” Zinetra looked off to the side sadly. “But during the First Flowering of the elves, we were...arrogant. We used High Magic for wars against our kin. We turned forests to ash. And we, split the world apart to create Evermeet. The damage was so great, that the Seldarine had to lend us their divine power to fix it. Because of this...the dangers, it is a temptation best left forgotten.” “And yet here we are, For the last time...wow. Today's going to be a day to remember. For all of us.” Rafelor as he realized the rarity of the event about to unfold. “True,” Zinetra acknowledged. “But Arnara and I think that High Magic, in combination with the Netherese necromantic ritual, is the only way to save them both. Or so we hope.” Rafelor nodded. “So, I'm here now. What happens next?” Zinetra smiles, “[I]Akh'Faen'Tel'Quess [/I]will make the Weave, pliable. It allows for an elf to be transformed into another form. During this time, I will attempt to split their souls in twain, using the Netherese ritual. This happens naturally on rare occasions, when identical twins are born. At such times, we believe the souls repair themselves. But here things will be more complicated. Which is why we need you.” “Cool. Cool. Just uh, tell me where to stand.” The half-elf said trying to calm his nerves. “Actually, you will lie between them,” corrected Zinetra. “Standing would be problematic for all of you. As you lay there, you will guide them. Their soul will share each other’s memories, and they may become torn or fragmented during the separation. You, Rafelor, will help by acting as bridge through the Weave. Holding their memories together until the souls can do it themselves. I cannot tell you what you will see or feel. You will have to discover this on your own.” “That doesn't sound too bad.” Rafelor said confidently, “So, if I'm taking trip down memory lane, what's Kylan's gig?” “I will be assisting the [I]Selu’tar,” [/I]Kylan said evenly. “The ritual is demanding, and so I must address her needs during it. And ensure that we will not be disturbed.” “Gotcha,” Rafelor said, unsurprised that Kylan had the easy job. Kylan continued, “The Fane of Naralis Analor is a part of the Crypts of the Deepening Moon. Fortunately, we have already spoken to the guardians before you arrived. We should not be disturbed, so long that we leave the [I]Laranlors [/I]and [I]Laranlas[/I] undisturbed—” “—Huh?” Rafelor said, unfamiliar with the old elvish words. “Kings and Queens. This was once part of Ilefarn, and then later the moon elf realm of Ardeep. The Fane itself is over 10,000 years old, so…be respectful [I]A’Tel’Quessir.[/I]” Kylan said to Rafelor. “Come let us get below.” Kylan took out of his pouch a small orb and whispered to it, causing it to burst with light. It then drifted above the elf, and he led them through the ruin. Nearby a set of stone stairs descended deep into the rock below. Deep into the Fane of Naralis Analor. Time had worn on the stone here, as ancient carvings on the wall had cracked away and faded to almost smooth ridges on the side of the passage. The driftglobe’s warm yellow light was a comfort in this hallowed place of death. Soon the tunnel opened wide into a large chamber. In the center were four biers, each large enough for pairs of people to lay in state in preparation for burial ceremonies. Set in between the biers, were old braziers, already lit by Kylan and Salensyna before the other’s arrival. On one bier set on a white cloth, were a set of silver goblets, and a bottle holding a sparkling yellow liquid. Then Salensyna stepped next to Rafelor and bent down and laid a hand on the reclining elf on the disc and spoke to her. “Are you ready?” Arnara’s clone who had been focusing on shutting everything out, nodded and opened her eyes and uncovered her ears and looked at the [I]Selu’tar[/I], “I think so.” Salensyna nodded, “Have you chosen a form, and have you chosen a name?” “Whatever the ritual decides is fine, I just…don’t want to look like Arnara. But as for a name…I..I choose my adult name to be Apolyta.” Arnara turned to look at Apolyta and choked up a moment as she spoke, “That’s…a good name.” Rafelor laughed. “Apolyta. Not bad. It's familiar...rolls off the tongue nicely...not too hard to spell. You know, it's almost as good of a name as Rafelor.” Apolyta smiled at Rafelor and Salensyna nodded and spoke again gesturing at the two elven women, “Please, you will both need to lay on the bier over here. Rafelor, please assist Apolyta. Kylan, pour the Blessed Evermead into the goblets and serve them to everyone,” she said in a soft gracious tone. The patriarch of House Ustina, Kylan bowed his head and made his way to the bottle and goblets and began to pour. He then served each one of the participants a cup. Salensyna then spoke reverently in Elvish; [I]“Naralis Analor, we ask you for your doves to guide us this day and for you to shield us from harm in your temple. We drink of the mead of our eldest cousins and open ourselves to your blessing. I ask your forgiveness as I transgress against the Weave to undo a greater transgression. I beg your wisdom as I sing, [B]‘Life of Duty, Form of the Peoples Need’ [/B]for Apolyta and make her one from Arnara. Blessed may we be.” [/I] She then took a sip from the silver goblet as did the others. Rafelor swirled the wine in his glass a few times before taking a sip. Once he did so, he realized that this was the greatest wine he had tasted in his life. His focus trailed off into his taste buds as he quietly uttered to himself, “Hooolllllyyyy naughty word.” Arnara elbowed Rafelor and gave him a reproachful glare. Then Apolyta spoke to him softly, “Rafelor, help me please.” She pulled herself upright from the disc and swung her uneven legs down, sitting up. She then unfastened the leather belt holding her robe, and then slid out her arms from its folds, exposing her shoulders, chest and back. Across her back were the lasting memories of pain at the hands and tools of the Sewn Sisters. Rafelor had witnessed many punishments of whippings in cities, burns on the arms of smiths, and scars from soldiers. But Apolyta’s skin was covered in many such marks, far more than criminals, unlucky smiths or hapless soldiers ever bore. She sat there shivering and extended her one good hand to Rafelor in a silent plea for help. Rafelor said nothing, and lifted Apolyta from the disc and set her naked form on the stone bier. After looking up, he saw that Arnara, had also undressed. Her skin was by comparison flawless; unmarked by any blemish, even though Rafelor knew that she had been wounded before. The magic of various healers prevented many scars or marks from setting into her skin. She looked down demurely, swallowed, and sat down on bier before swinging her legs onto it, trying to forget her nakedness as she laid down on the other side of the bier opposite of Apolyta. Rafelor looked at Salensyna helplessly a moment, before she tilted her head and spoke, “No…you do not need to be skyclad as they do as you are not the intended target of my ritual. But you should disarm, lay between them, and hold their hands together with your own. He nodded, laid down his mace, and crawled up onto the cloth and slowly reclined between the two women. They both reached forward with a hand and Rafelor guided them so they could grasp each other, and both were clasped together on his chest. The silence in these moments caused the nerves in Rafelor to fester. Arnara and Apolyta lay there a moment, before propping themselves up a bit so they could look at each other in the eyes. They then each glanced at Rafelor with small smiles that spoke volumes about their nervousness, and their relief of a friend so close to them. [I]“Sal o, Aral’Sha Rafelor,” [/I]Arnara said, echoed by Apolyta. And they closed their eyes and lay back and clung to Rafelor’s hands and waited. Salensyna then spread her arms wide and began to sing. The song was in a language that was distinctly elvish, but the words and diction where unlike any elvish he had heard before. The words reverberated in the chamber, and he felt the Weave quiver in response. It was similar how the Bladesong felt, but here there was no river of magic, but an ocean. An ocean that was pulling them deeper into its depths. He felt warmth build and spread from the elves that lay next to him, and felt it flow through his hands. Turning his head, he saw Arnara face, and it started to glow with the power of the Weave, working its way through her. Turning to the other side, he saw that Apolyta shared the same glow. As Rafelor processed this, from behind him, he heard the swishing leathers of Zinetra approach, and then she whispered into his ear, “It’s Seldruin you are hearing, the first language of the elves, and she…she is one of its last speakers. I am going to start my ritual now. Rafelor quietly nodded, bracing himself for whatever would happen next, as Zinetra continued, “I am sorry, but the ritual I have to perform is not kind or subtle. You will understand. Just hold them in your hands and keep close your memories. Hold them all tightly, as there is no turning back once I start.” He had the feeling of a gentle wave, that felt comfort as it washed over him. As he felt the waves of light had cresting and flowing through him, he realized he didn’t only feel himself. But he could feel them…no their soul. A single soul stretched impossibly thin, and that bound the two together. He could feel a constant trickle from Arnara to Apolyta. And it was then he realized the awful truth. They were imbalanced, Arnara’s soul was smaller somehow, and it was slowly bleeding into Apolyta. But Arnara’s side, as strong and fiery as she could be, seemed to be waning. The flow to Apolyta was more than Arnara could take, and there wasn’t enough for either Apolyta or Arnara to survive. Both halves of the single connected soul were doomed. “No…the souls…” The Eladrin had a puzzled look as she stood behind Rafelor. He could hear a book set down next to his head. She then placed a hand on his forehead, and she began to read the text. The tongue was harsh, almost guttural. But Zinetra read in confidence. From where she touched him, he felt another swirl of energy within him, lash out towards the soul of Arnara and Apolyta. It struck the trio violently, causing them all to shudder and shake. The lash of energy pulled at the single soul and started to pull them apart. The soul’s halves started to separate each other, with the connection between them, growing thinner and more tenuous. Then he felt a second lash, and then connection snapped. The waves of energy rebounded within Rafelor, as he felt as if he was being whipped by the two sundered souls. But this was a momentary feeling as then he felt the new sundered souls lash out and strike him. He felt them grasping, clinging and tearing into his own. Rafelor opened his mouth and howled, as the two elves’ souls, ravaged his, tearing at it, seeking a way into himself, and claiming a part of him. They peeled away Rafelor’s soul in strips and as he howled to heavens, his vision started to fade as whisps of smoke and vapor filled his mind and eyes... [/QUOTE]
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Session Stories - Moments in Roleplaying (updated 6/15/2023)
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