RP:For the Trumpet Shall Sound

This is a Devout's Guild RP.

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

OOC NOTE: The Gods of Hollow and The Ascendi are under strict rules for how/if they interact with the world and can only 
be written by/with approval from the admin team. 

Summary: In a moment of desperation, Valrae comes face to face with Daedria.

Outskirts of Sage Forest

Your journey through Sage Forest ends and begins here as the thickening wildwood prevents any further travel north. A cool breeze rolls down from the mountains to the west, carrying with it just a hint of rainfall and maybe something else you can't quite fathom. The overhang of leaves rustled gently, quivering in anticipation as the wind wafts by on its course for the tiny town hidden somewhere below. You can follow it either south or east. A Statue of Daedria is here.

Afternoon sunlight slanted long, emerald spotted gold bobbing through the trees as wind that still carried the lingering bite of winter danced through the ancient boughs of Sage forest. The undergrowth was thick here and delicately green, budding with new life as Fellsol slipped closer to Yannage. Spring was in full swing here, the sounds of an active forest comforting as the witch followed the well beaten path toward where she knew Daedria’s likeness awaited. The busy sounds of Kelay, ever the hub of activity and trade, were long behind her here. She traveled slowly and on foot, a woven basket tucked in the bend of her arm and a cloak the color of fresh cream wrapped around her snugly to beat back the chill of the afternoon. She’d come from the Sanctum of the Divine, her fingers still stained with ink from the busy work of the Guild, and there was a dull ache that rested somewhere behind the cage of her ribs. Her journey ended as the statue of a beautiful woman, her long hair unbound, came into view from the tangle of crowded trees. The thick underbrush was gone here, cleared out to make way for soft, wild sweet grass to push up bright and green, dotted with the buttery yellow of daffodils. Though moss still clung to the seemingly fluid folds of the ascendi’s stone carved dress, it had clearly been recently cleaned and tended. Offerings were placed on a reed mat at her feet; fine wines, a music box, jars of pickled vegetables. These things had been left by the witch in previous visits, something she made time for at least every fortnight since Kasyr had… Vanished before her eyes. She knelt again, the watery blue of her skirts and the white of her cloak pooling around her like an icy puddle, and she placed the newest offerings amongst the others. This time, she’d brought a small lyre, not unlike the one she’d seen Kasyr carry himself, and a bundle of fresh cut rosemary, and two very fine crystals of opal and carnelian carved as music notes. She sang an old mourning song softly as she made her offering, though it wasn’t particularly talented singing, and when she’d emptied her basket she lit a small white candle and bowed her head. The song of the forest rose in her silence. After a while, Valrae raised her head. Her hands were fisted in her lap, her knuckles white as she gripped the silk of her skirts and released a wild and defeated scream into the faraway sky.

Somewhere in the aether, a being stirs and awakens her consciousness; the scream released gathering the ascendi’s ancient attention where offerings and song had simply been accepted as her due. Primordial energies gathered and formed the shape she most favored – that of a young hobbit maid in flowing Grecian pastel robes of finest silk. Chestnut curls spilled over her shoulders, circles of purest gold embraced Daedria’s upper arms accentuating the sun-kissed tone of exposed summer skin and matched the thin circlet resting just above a finely arched brow. As the echo of that scream faded to faint crescendos, Kasyr’s patron shimmered into view with a burst of excited trumpets and trills of song birds in the forest just behind the Mayor of Cenril. Her voice, kind and a warm alto, may come as a surprise. “Child, why do you mourn so for one who served well his purpose?” She spoke of her Requiem; whom Valrae called Kasyr in life. Her question was genuinely curious, gentle and sympathetic to the young woman who had been visiting her shrine and laying offerings where other’s had forgotten.

The cry had hardly died in her throat when the sound of otherworldly trumpets sounded in her ears. It was beautiful, far lovelier than any song that even the finest bard had ever dared to play, and so moving that tears welled before she’d even known they’d appear. The birds could not help but join the sound, their trilling joining the symphony in an instant. A gasp of shock and awe fell clumsily from her parted lips. In humility, and perhaps a touch of fear, the witch pressed her face into the earth. She hid her eyes from the beauty of the young hobbit, the most favored likeness of this ascendi, and lifted her empty and trembling hands. She felt small and dull, the forest springing to new life and vivid color in the grace of such a holy presence, and could not find her tongue to answer the question that had been posed for a long time. Her heart hammered against her chest and beat loudly in her own ears. Tears dripped from her eyes and into the rich earth at the goddess’s feet. “Daedria.” The name finally passed through her suddenly dry throat and beyond her lips. “I-” Stumbling, Valrae finally lifted her face. She resisted the urge to shield her eyes in shame. “Kasyr…” Panicked now, she urges herself to speak clearly. “We need him, Daedria. I need him.” There was grief dripping from each word, a pleading that might have otherwise shamed her further if her audience had been any less holy. “You must know what we face now?” She would not dare speak Caluss’s name in front of such beauty. To do so would be profane, it would be blasphemy. “But… That isn’t the only truth. I know that he has served you, and others, for more moons that I’ve seen and still… He deserves life. He deserves a life made of something other than service.”

All around was the faint sound of a song that the listener could swear they had heard once, a long time ago, but couldn’t put a name or lyrics to, it wrapped around Daedria like an invisible cloak, ebbed and flowed as she moved towards Valrae. “Please sit with me, Valrae, and we shall talk as women talk.” She seemed to move without moving, her bare feet skimming the very earth that drinks in the tears dripping from Val’s chin, to settle at the foot of her very own alter. Absently, as though they could hardly help themselves, slender fingers reached for the strings of the offered lyre, strumming the strings into a soft melody with a single stroke. “The one you call Kasyr, whom I call Requiem, has served many in his centuries of unlife. He is loyal, of which I am witness. He sacrificed himself so that He Whom we shall not call will not get a foothold into your world, but instead offered it to myself. It is an offering which I shall keep and hold, you shan’t have fear that I won’t.” Those glossy curls shifted across elegant curve of her throat as Daedria tilted her head in curiosity. “Do you wish for me to take Requiem from the bossom of Death and undo what is done? I am not unmoved by your pain, Little Bird. If you wish…” she let the offer trail, giving Valrae the opportunity to speak her heart’s truth.

Valrae watched with that same wide eyed awe that had taken her from the moment she’d heard the first hauntingly beautiful note of Daedria’s otherworldly entrance. The music that enveloped her like light was achingly familiar and somehow still a stranger to her, it beat back the wild pounding of her heart and settled around her in a sense of calm she’d never felt before. It was true peace in a way she’d never known, one she knew she would feel the absence of for years to follow when the goddess left her. She nearly shied away from the ascendi’s approach, though not out of fear but something more akin to meekness, but found her feet as she was kindly commanded. Her knees were as steady as mud as she followed her to sit. The witch felt as if she stumbled through the forest like a clumsy newborn deer next to Daedria’s grace. The new melody of the lyre rose up and brought fresh tears to her eyes. Again, she felt as if she could not speak. There was some unnamed emotion trapped in her throat. “And I thank you for that,” She says quickly, hoping she had not offended the goddess by forgetting to acknowledge her grace in her acceptance of Vailkrin. An action that thwarted the God of Undeath’s most sinister threat to their efforts to defeat him and stop the ruin he spread. The endearment surprised and pleased her, turning the apples of Valrae’s cheeks a shade of rose as the goddess called her ‘Little Bird’. “I…” Hesitation found her again. “I do. I wish for Kasyr to be returned. I pray for it here, as often as I can. I pray for it before I close my eyes for rest and when they open again in the morning. You probably already know that.” The color creeped over her neck now as she laughed nervously. “And I thought… I almost thought that he hadn’t this time because he… Didn’t want too.” She shakes her head, the sadness of her words at odds with the harmony that surrounded them. “I’ve sensed it in him before. A weariness? I know he’s tired but… I want him back.” Her voice broke but she did not turn away from the goddess’s face.

Daedria’s sigh is soft, like a breeze that sets wind-chimes singing on a warm summer evening. It’s that same warmth that Valrae will feel wrapping around her mortal form as the deity offers what comfort she can, moving closer to embrace the woman. “Little Bird, he is tired and needs his rest. I wish that I could ease your heartache. I can see that you…” Daedria hesitated. Valrae loved Kasyr, as a friend or more, it was clear to the Bard. “One day, he will return. When he is needed. I can make that promise to you. And one day, you will have an eternity with him.” As she had once, long ago when she had first accepted Kasyr as her Personal Paladin, Daedria reached through the veil of words to retrieve the Lyre Requiem, whole and as powerful as it had been when first created. “I can offer you this and a word of caution. He is not defeated. I give you Requiem, my Little Bird, that in your direst hour you play the song that lives within your heart and the help you need will come.” What form that help took, Daedria would not say as the symphony of one’s heart is different for all living things, and only the composer could create what they needed. The lyre hummed, as though anticipating once more going into battle in honor of its Mistress and new partner, should she accept the bond being offered.

Valrae felt the goddess’s sigh enveloping her as a comfort, lovely and warm and bright, it was filled with promise and hope and everything she’d been desperate for since the winter that had taken Kasyr away. She accepted the embrace and clung to Daedria like a child, a single sob of appreciation and mourning tumbling from her lips. When she pulled away the witch devoured her words hungirly, clinging to them as much as she had her form. It was like water after days of being lost in a desert. It was like air after being stuck underneath the murky water of a storm tossed sea. She doesn’t feel the need to clarify her love for the revenant, knowing that the ascendi already knew her own heart as surely as she did herself, and only nods as tears slide over her cheeks. When Daedria produces the Lyre, whole and new again, she gasps just as she had when the goddess had first appeared. Trembling, she took the instrument offered to her. The witch held it carefully and close, her movements as gentle as if she were holding spun glass. She could *feel* the humming. It warmed her blood, rushing like fire from her fingers to her toes, the holy magic permeating around them as her dark eyes flashed with surprise and delight. “Thank you, Daedria.” The words felt small, insignificant and meaningless, and inadequate to communicate what she’d felt now. Humbled, grateful, seen… She’d hardly even begun to process how profound it was to be in the presence of an ascendi, somehow blessed enough to speak to her, let alone receive such kindness. “It’s not enough,” She amends, “Saying thank you is not enough.” When her eyes meet the goddesses again, Valrae can only hope that she knew now how much this moment meant to her. Never in her wildest dreams would she have considered herself worthy of Divine attention, how it had come to her now she might never know, but she would treasure the moment until her final days.

Daedria’s smile flashes bright before her attention is turned to something only she could hear. “It is time for me to return to my realm, Little Bird. Do not worry that you don’t know how to play, Requiem will guide you. Trust him, always, to be there for you.” The lyre or paladin? They might as well be one and the same and may even be so. “He will speak to you if you just listen, Little Bird.” With her parting words, the goddess fades back to the ether from which she’d been born, the warmth lingering as a reminder that yes, Valrae, this did really happen if the gifted Lyre wasn’t evidence enough for the witch.

Valrae can only nod, speechless as the goddess offers her the final parting words of wisdom. She watches as Daedria fades, a dreadful longing filling her even as the warmth remains. The sense that something beyond her had not faded, as well as the peace that had been gifted to her just as truly as the Lyre had. She clings to both, remaining seated where she’d been so close to divinity for several hours as she spoke every prayer of thanks to the darkening forest. When the cold began to creep from the ground and into her bones, the witch finally moved to stand. She left the offerings, the candle having long burned into a pool of glossy wax, and said one finally parting thank you before she headed back toward Kelay with tears still gleaming in her eyes. The warmth followed her there, as well as a new sense of hope that she’d long lost.