Storms of Truth (HIATUS)

2 (Revised)

"Those aligned with the moon, hear the whisper of Ase'Lunayu,

"There people are tempered not in passionate ferocity,

"But in assurity in the silver-speckled glass,

"All to counteract and dance with the glaring light of the sun."

~ Passage Two: Dragon Soul of Moonlight

Falora

County of Crackjaw

Rain battered against her face and the rocks as he fought to shield herself from the downdraft. Sheets of torrential downpour made it difficult to see the beautiful cyan from before, but the closer she came through the flank of the storm, the farther it flew away from her. Falora tucked her hood around her forehead, trying to peek through. Thunder rumbled, but the lightning ceased. The man from before long fell still.

Did he come from a capsized boat? Fear filled her heart. Or, oh Gods... what if he fell from an airship? Falora inched behind a rock to investigate before approaching the strange figure. Common sense argued at advancing on a strange man, but... what else was there to do? Falora waited for the squall to lighten until moving forward.

Falora took on a burst of speed when thunder cracked over the sea. Calling out proved hard to do over the roar of the sea storm, as if Asen'Orilion roared from his eternal prison, seeking to overpower the helplessness of the man on the beach. Sand slicked underneath her boot, while the waves crashed against the cliffs. Wind whipped her raincoat as she knelt down at his side, and pulled him onto the his back. Little droplets of rain fell down his face, but there was something almost ethereal and timeless to his features. Everything she found beautiful about a windy, yet autumn day, captured in Father's paintings. All the angles which drew attention to every fluttered point. His hair rustled gently, as if the storm was nothing more than a gentle caress of air. For a moment, the storm, the thunder, and the lightning all fell silent.

Until one sharp crack of its indiginance snapped her out of her appraisal. "Hello?" Falora grabbed his shoulder, but his lithe frame sank into the drenched sand. Falora huffed out a breath, and braced her legs as she hauled him up to support his arm. "I'm going to get you to safety."

Yet you seem too out of it to respond... hope you don't end up some evil cultist... Falora adjusted their shared weight, expecting some difficulty, but he was rather light. All the willows brushed against their fellows, to create more sheets of rain while her house's lamplight flickered. Falora grasped for the handle, and pulled her drenched self and the very obviously not as drenched stranger. Wiping her boots on the mat, she huffed when her arms pulsed with strain. Of course Flynn's room is a mess. Goddamnit... Where am I going to... It was one thing she'd never get an answer to as she heaved him into her room. Her bed wasn't an option, no way in the Six Hells.

His breathing shifted into ragged struggle, and she used her foot to pull open her closet doors. "I... apologize for this lack in guest rules, but I'm going to have to shove you in my closet for now." With her foot, she allowed the thin mattress to drop and squish itself into the floor. At least until I can clean Flynn's room up and get you to an Herbalist...

Falora rested him across, and he relaxed. Rain slammed against the roof of her house, and the storm continued on. Now that we're out of that... who are you? She knelt down at his side to investigate his clothing. Cloud furs and silk rested along his arms and shoulders. It appeared Azarian in design, yet not all of it added up. She searched for an insignia of a Celestial Templar, which would explain the surge of the elementals, to create winged imagery. Nothing on his coat revealed his identity.