Chapter the Third: A Bridge Too Far:

Shandaal crouched, frozen, staring at the motionless urn, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

The silence extended for some moments, before the disembodied voice echoed once more:

“I asked a question of you, girl…What fresh hell is it that disturbs my repose? Who activated the Earth Node, and what thief has dared to remove the ashes of Theadoraal, Daughter of Hexanthaal, Daughter of Neandrathaal, with blood reaching back to Vashkiri Herself, from our Sacred Sanctum? Speak, or I shall end you!”

The voice was clearly female, though scarcely feminine any longer. It brought to mind the pipe-seers who would pass through Throđin lands during Shandaal’s childhood; their vocals and lungs heavy and ashy from the herb they inhaled to prompt their visions.

Despite her terror, the accusation of Shandaal’s theft caused pride to get the better of her, allowing her to find her voice.

“I am no thief, Grandmother, but rather a scion of the Most Unholy Order of Eternal Shade! My name is Shandaal Demura of Throđin; Firstborn Daughter of Eythaal, Daughter of Sophaal, and Acting High Priestess. It was I, who have rescued your ashes from the Inner Sanctum before it was sacked. I, who prevented your despoliation and destruction! I, alone who had the reverence and resourcefulness to bring you to this…er… place of power to preserve the last vestiges of our Order’s legacy! I, who place myself at your mercy, oh most Wise One!”
The urn was silent again for a time.

“Come closer, Daughter; raise me into your arms. Open yourself so I can truly See you”

Shandaal’s fascination warred with her trepidation. Slowly, catlike, she eased forward and reached out, gingerly raising the urn and cradling it to her bosom. The hairs on her arms stood on end and she became temporarily paralyzed; able to feel a curious, tangible energy pulsing from within the receptacle, probing her from head-to-toe.

“Yesss…. I see... Your soul bears all to me…. To meeee… A Matron of Shadow can pierce the shroud… I see your Grandmother Sophaal; what power she possessed in her day?! Eythaal, your mother; what a beauty! It seems you must take after your father for looks… I see… Your Elder sisters??  You are no priestess at all, but a third-born thrall?! You were raised to pay the blood-tithe to your superiors! Your sacrifice would have made them mighty and yet you live while they rot? PAH, release me, chattel!”

The urn made a sound reminiscent of phlegmatic sputum being expelled from non-existent lips and a shock jilted through Shandaal’s arms, causing her to drop the ashes and be thrown backward. The urn bounced along the earthen floor of the tent, emitting a small puff of ash and promoting another lengthy coughing fit from Theadorral.

Having regained her faculties, Shandaal could feel tears streaking down her cheeks, smudging the black dyes around her eyelids which she had taken such care to apply. A frustrated fury was building within her and she hated herself for sobbing when confronted by such frank veracity.

What Theadorral had spoken was, of course, the truth. A truth which Shandaal had spent she better part of ten years obfuscating, covering in in a web of falsehoods so automatic to her now that she had fallen for her own lie.

Though she had enjoyed the comparatively pampered life of the gentry, surrounded by the servants and luxury of the Order, she possessed no more magical prowess than the Throđin and Daeđin peasants who worked the fields below their keep.

When a Priestess of the Eternal Shade first chose a concubine to sow her womb, the curse she placed on his seed would be imbued with a great magical potence at the cost of his life-force, to be transferred to the female offspring. These plaudits had been granted to her eldest sister Anastasiaal.

Unfortunately, however, as the Sixth Law of Magic dictated:
Subsequent replications of a curse will suffer severe diminishing gains; your first curse is your worst curse!

Many of the Priestesses of the Order managed to pass on their curse to three or four of their thralls before the power exhausted; however, whilst Eythaal Demura’s beauty was renowned, her womb was as malicious and hostile a place to grow as her disposition was cruel. Shandaal’s second sister, Samyraal, possessed far less ability to weave the winds of magic than Anastasiaal.

Shandaal was reminded frequently by her gleeful sisters that her own father; poor sod, scarcely survived the coitus long enough to copulate, and the curse it seemed, didn’t take.

So was Shandaal destined to grow as a magical test subject and plaything for the whimsy of her elder siblings. Spurned by her mother, Shandaal’s purpose was to be raised as a fatted calf; an eventual ritual sacrifice to make her sisters stronger and grant them status within the Order.

By some twist of fortune, the end of the Order of Eternal Shade had come before the end of Shandaal Demura. She had abandoned her mother and sisters while the keep burned, daring to fly to the Order of Eternal Shade’s forbidden Inner Sanctum.

Ironically, it was the very magic that the Priestesses had woven to shield the Temple and entomb the ashes of their former Queens (who it turns out, could be quite dangerous, even in death), which had protected Shandaal from the scrying spells of her family.

On a whim, she had removed an urn from the pedestal under which she had taken shelter. This urn now stood before her. Speaking to her.

The voice of Theadoraal had begun muttering dark non-sequiturs to herself, in the way a doddering and wretched beggar can sometimes be heard when passing street corners in impoverished towns.

“What fate has befallen Vancumar?!
What weakness in our once-glorious lineage has allowed our Temple to fall?!
What doomed existence have you awakened me to share in?!
Oh, woe is me!
I should scatter myself and be done with it!”

Rising as high as the canopy would allow, to a stooped standing position, Shandaal snarled and kicked the heavy urn across the tent, so it landed near the entrance. A fresh, involuntary second wave of tears bloomed from her eyes, this time prompted by her throbbing toe, rather than her inner shame. Her determination narrowly won out as she suppressed a wail of pain.

A low growl emitted from the depths of the urn.

“Show some respect to your elders, girl! I have eaten poultry with more magical aptitude than you!”

“You may claim I cannot conjure magic, but if you wish to be scattered, perhaps I can grant wishes… Grandmother.”

Shandaal strode across the tent with purpose, scooped up the urn and wandered out into the thinning woodlands which surrounded their camp. Dawn was still a ways-away, and a light drizzle fell upon the wet earth.

“Wait, Girl! Do not make a foolish mistake you will live to regret!” The wheezy voice had taken on an unmistakable whinge of desperation. “There is yet strength me! I can imbue it unto you! There is hope yet for the Order. We can build a new era, upon the Ashes of the old!”

Shandaal paused, her breath coming in heavy pants which fogged just slightly in the damp air.She placed the urn, containing the remains of Theodoraal on a patch of grass and walked three steps away, turning her back.

“Think on it… Priestess. While I am at your side, we can be what you have always dreamed….”

Shandaal was not certain for how long she stood this way; only dimly aware of her surroundings coming clearer around her as dawn broke.

At some point, she heard stirring from coming from the site nearby. By the heavy footfalls, she could tell it was Badger, and not Garvaal who approached.

“Lady Shandaal?” he asked from over her shoulder, “I mean to leave upon the hour. If we make haste, we can reach the River Fornarda before nightfall. The nearest crossing is a four-day march from there and then we shall have an easier Road on the East bank River Way to Rish’Nar.”

Shandaal nodded once and went toward him, strangely subdued.

“Very well Badger, lead the way.”

“Milady? You have forgotten your… er… Chamber pot,”

Turning back, Shandaal gathered the urn and followed Badger in the direction of the camp.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:38, Wed 06 Apr 2022.