Seeking Comfort, Not Conscription (Plot)|Naurorod

[Skittlebug]

Naomi paces on the sands, unable to rest. She's managed to seek refuge with one of the clans along with all the others who'd decided to flee from the Mystic temple. A knot has been working its way through her stomach since the decision, she can't help but feel badly about leaving the others at the temple, their choice or no. Guilty about being safe while they weren't.

Finally needing to do something she sits down and crosses her legs, preparing to meditate. Without her typical ritual, and with her so stressed, it takes a long time to reach the state she needs for a vision. But she does manage it eventually. Hopefully she can see something about the others, one way or another, she'll feel better knowing.

[Kender Bard]

Within the trancelike state, a deep, rumbling voice rolled through Naomi's head.

You shouldn't feel guilty. They will soon be at peace, ushered to my side for eternal rest and reward. There is no rest for the living. Not while the abominations crawl across the land. Etaf and some of my brothers and sisters gave warnings to you and yours, but we were rushed. The nature of the threat to your former home is far more sinister than you could have expected.

He replayed the summoning of the demons to her, a bit edited, a bit rushed, and focusing on the kinds of damage they could inflict upon others.

The Forces have need of our most stalwart mortal champions. It is not an easy mission for you or for them but we call upon you. If you wish to pass aside this burden, go join your fellows at the temple. Living is for struggle and service. I have six rings. Find each of my champions and deliver a ring to them, so they will be ready and available when I call.

Christian. His name was uttered with love and respect. The solemn faced man in ornate robes stood at the highest point in the temple of Athrug, overseeing the dead land that stretched out before him. He murmurs something to himself, a name on his lips, before turning and stalking off to see to the needs of the dead. Athrug, my home.

Morrigan. The tall, plain, blonde priestess was kneeling in front of a grieving child, brushing away tears and offering quietly spoken comfort. Anarlina.

Michael. The dual-faithed priest was checking over the books of his assigned column with meticulous precision, an image of Thuothian study; but the symbols of Taed also graced his robes. Mentis.

Tadeus. Spoken with the faintest amount of amusement. The priest was seen walking around with his winged female friend at his side, the hint of a smile forming on his face but never fully forming, wearing his priestly robes even now, at rest. Khelek.

Zevran. The dark complexioned thief was relaxing with his fellows in the Thieves' Den, quaffing back the rest of his drink before rising to go practice with his weapons for deadly efficiency. Talen'sul.

Nicolaus. Tall, bespectacled, the brown haired man was playing a dirge-like melody on his violin. Just out of sight was blood trickling across the floor.... Talen'sul

There. Go get them.

And with that concluded, Taed slipped out of her mind like a shadow, to ease his passing and not cause her more stress than he probably already had.

[Skittlebug]

Once she's recovered from the dramatic vision, Naomi sits there in the sand, poking at the rings that were now in her lap. Like hell she was going to crawl back to the temple to die, she's not done with this life yet thank you. She still feels a pang for her brethren at the temple, but now she has another purpose to devote herself to. Finally pushing herself up, she heads into the clan to ask about supplies, and directions.