EZRIL IARO IS WITHOUT A CHOICE. With a vicious war raging outside the temple's gates, long-held friends calling for help, and a son slowly descending into the influence of an incurable sickness, Ezril has to unlock the secrets of the island, delve i...
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2412 Diori 19, Daleth
The rings stabbed through her tunic far too many times as she walked, but she paid them no mind. Her heart bled with a different kind of wound, anyway. She only heard whispers that the Helinfirth Queen had perished in the recently concluded battle. She had yet to confirm it, but she didn't need to be a necromancer to know it was most probably the case. Anahel gave up most of her reserves and parts of her soul to channel such extreme power from the depths of the plateau.
Which prompted another question in the back of Ezril's gut. Was that compressed magic, with its foreign feel and capability to drain its caster, an example of Maijen? She had to ask Kalael later, but it's more for confirmation than a consultation. It's possible it's not Maijen, but it might as well be.
That's why she sought out Denara's vibrant soul out of the mundane ones in the entire fortress. She took too long in arranging her affairs back in Drodham, so when she arrived, she only had time to watch over the battle in the western flank. Denara, if she was correct, was somewhere in the front lines.
Her boots, with their fur lining out of place with the plain leather builds around her, scratched against the dusty floor. Cobblestones were absent, but with how compact and dry the entire expanse was, she might as well be walking on a path laden with them. She had long shed her thick cloak upon feeling the heat in Penleth or anywhere near the northern regions. The mountains called to her, but sadly, she had her business in the flat lands.
She passed through the inner quadrant, making her way towards a set of gates leading to the fortress' center. Her senses told her Denara was somewhere there. Along the way, she passed huge, white tents waving like flags against the scant night breeze blowing humidity upon them. Nyxis gave her a quick nod when he noticed her whizz by. He then went back to concocting whatever potion he set his mind to.
Further down her path, she strolled past a stack of crates and kegs. Kymalin lounged on the stair-like edges made by the pile while she talked to a group of sprites. Nelnifa Corledia, the first-in-line heir of the Desaran Potentate, waved her arms in wide gestures as she attempted to recount the battle. Arident Sarethol, the Crown Prince of Avalora, as well as Seravel Rovodia, the Heir Apparent of the tyrannical Fire Potentate, laughed along with her, dropping their own versions of the tales. Kymalin smiled and nodded along, occasionally correcting some details.
Ezril slunk into the shadows when one of them sensed her presence. Her daughter looked to be having fun for the first time, and she had friends outside the Temple workers. What's her right to intrude on that? She should let Kymalin breathe. Their last meeting hasn't ended well either.
She'd have to find a better time to tell her daughter that she's finding a way to cure Vaeri. Kymalin needed not go out of the path of her life just to do that. It's Ezril's job as a mother, and she has never been as close. Someday. She'd tell Kymalin someday.
She continued walking, clawing at her turban which began weighing down on her head. Her platinum gray hair tumbled into view as she folded the strip of cloth and laid it over an arm. The guards flanking the gate perked up upon her approach.
