Session 5a: Kyrrha's Vision

 

Kyrrha’s Vision

 

As consciousness faded, before I was able to regain my footing, my sight faded. When I opened my eyes, I found myself not in the lands of Albion, but a shadowed reflection of the world. I stood on a desolate plain. A battlefield, littered with various bodies, many were Elven, and some were Human. A few bodies among the multitude I was able to pick out; each face contorted with a twinge of fear and betrayal.

The first body I recognised was that of the gold Dragonborn Sora, the one whom I remember now knocked me out, her scales stained in her own blood. Blades had pierced her form; the precision of the cuts and jabs felt somewhat familiar to me. Her expression was visible and explained everything, her look of anguish and betrayal, an almost seething anger.

The next body I saw was the Human ranger, Hugh Greenglade, again with similar marks. His face bore the weight of failing to fulfill his wish to avenge his father; anger and frustration were painted across his worn face, bloodied and bruised. As lifeless as Sora. I found the wizard Thia next; her body broke easily, it would seem. She wore a face of concentration, a vain attempt at keeping alive. Once more, I found similar cuts and marks across her slumped form. I quickly moved on and found the druid Thaumat, a look of shock and surprise on her face. With each body I found on the desolate battlefield I began to piece thing together: they were killed, and with a blade I recognised it was all too familiar with me.

The last body I found was short in stature and unmistakable, already with a blade protruding from an extended and bloated belly. It was the Sshamath’enil, The Shadowblade, its obsidian hue unmistakable to me. A saw a hand caressing the hilt, a sleek, feminine form hovering over the body of Alto. A form all too familiar, for I saw myself, standing over the halfling, taking the blade and striking the body repeatedly. A wicked grin placed on my face, but thinking at the same time, this cannot possibly be me, could it?

“You belong to me, mortal.” A voice resonated like thunder across the shadowed plain, A voice all too familiar with me, My Patron, the source of my powers. A figure, clad in dark plate and billowing cloak stood beside my double. The figure pointed a gauntleted hand toward me. “You will feed me souls: even if they must be those around you. You will kill them. They will all betray you, foolish drow. You cannot trust them, even the halfling cannot be trusted. Kyrrha of House T’sarran. You belong to me.” The voice, my patron, was commanding and assertive, it beckoned me forward. “If the soul of the bandit isn’t sufficient enough, then mayhap your companions will sate the blade’s hunger.” The figure gestured and I saw myself, the other Kyrrha, heading toward me. I could feel the blade’s insatiable hunger, its energy now directed toward me. A sharp pain in my chest. I saw the other Kyrrha plunge Sshamath’enil into my chest. I vainly clutched at the wound instinctively. This cannot be. My very weapon turned against me… And by myself no less… This cannot be true…

 My chest felt heavy, a feeling of pure dread almost suffocated me as my vision began to fade. Consciousness began to fade once more as another voice resonated within my mind. An unknown voice, a feminine voice.

“Redemption is a long, arduous road, young T’sarran. You cannot keep your heart in shadow forever.” The voice proclaimed. The tone of the voice was oddly soothing, a stark contrast to that of my patron. Another form appeared before my blurred vision, a drow form, with silvery white hair and a beautifully radiant silver corona, reminiscent of moonlight. “You can trust your companions, all of them. All you need is to open yourself to them. Let them in and trust. The surface world may seem as cruel as your underground home, but it has its beauty. Be free.” The voice trailed off. The last thing I heard resonated within me: “Be free.”

I woke. I found yourself not in a place I last remembered. I found myself in a room, the obsidian dagger Sshamath’enil at my bedside. This is surely the Winking Treant, in my blurry eyes I saw a figure leaving, the figure of Leila, the Aasimar bar maid. I could sense another figure beside me, Thaumat pressed my head with a soaked towel. “You’ve been out for a few hours. You’re just in time for some lunch.” The serene voice of Thaumat almost reminded me of my vision. I got the feeling, an unshakable feeling, that a divine eye was on me. Could it be I was visited by an aspect of a god? Surely not. I attempted to compose myself, somehow, I was still miraculously in my disguise. Beside the obsidian dagger I could just make out a formerly worded apology. Recognising the writing to be Sora’s handiwork I sneered. She just knocked you out. I thought to myself. “Whenever you’re ready, we can go downstairs. The others are waiting for you. Can’t collect the reward without you.” Thaumat said, a slight smile managed to creep across her face. It took me a few minutes to clear my head and my vision. Sshamath’enil was in its sheath. Thankfully. Whomever had picked it up must have thought the blade poisoned and wore a covering before placing it in the sheath. Had they not they would have realised the blade protected itself as well as me. I collected my belongings and followed the druid downstairs, where I found the other companions sat waiting in anticipation. I caught  Sora’s eyes, an urge to punch her I struggled to overcome. “Keep composed, Kyrrha.” I heard a voice say, the same feminine voice I heard in my vision. I looked at  the elven wizard Thia, eye to eye. I saw a look of worry across her face, she seemed to hold something, it looked like a letter or document of some kind. She did not waver in her eye contact, she had a knowing look. None of the others seemed to share in Thia’s worry. It was apparent that she hadn’t shown this document to the others. I wondered why…

I began asking yourself: Why does this High Elf look so worried for a stranger like me?

It finally dawned on me,

She knows… Hells, she knows… She knows the truth…

The voice from my vision returned imploring:

“Keep composed… Trust them and they will trust you in return… You don’t need to feed them to the Shadowblade or to the Shadow King…  Open yourself, don’t close yourself off…More importantly, You need them as they will need you…”

Thaumat sat down. I remained standing. I began slowly……”My name is Kyrrha T’sarran of House T’sarran. I am T’sarran no longer. I fled the underdark.  After spending some time on the surface, staying far away from any known entrance to the underdark, I wandered the land of Gadarillan. Not making home wherever I went, I kept to the outer fringes, keeping to slums and making myself scarce.

Eventually, I overheard rumours of the civil war, the War of the Spider, escalating. I heard of refugees being found in the Border Mountains, trying to escape much like I had done. I am hunted for a stole the blade, Sshamath’enil, the Shadow Blade, this dagger. The blade calls for souls. I have to give it those souls… But who? I initially thought to myself. There are no souls to speak of that would satiate the blade’s hunger.

I overheard more rumours. Of an academy of magic, the Greyspire Academy. Perhaps here would be someone who could potentially help me discern the blade’s purpose?

I found passage, taking me from Gadarillan to Erandas, a port city on Albion.

It was a long journey overseas. I Smuggled myself onto a travelling merchant caravan, I made the journey to Avalon, the Capital of Albion and the seat of the Imperial Empire. Over a little time, I heard of raids happening in Greendale. Then I overheard you in the inn, you mentioned Greendale. The rest you know.

“I hate Drow, I hate them for what they did to me, not as an Elf but as……” Kyrrha uttered the words ‘Vezof Tala’. Once uttered her disguise, for that was what it was, disappeared to reveal a tall, thin, slender female Drow with silver hair, purple eyes and charcoal grey skin. 

“I am what I am, and I am what I’ve become”.