As the young tiefling girl comes to, all she can hear is the ringing in her ear from the initial explosion, the cracking and popping of the engulfing flame around her. A glowing red light is all she can see as what was once her home is suddenly falling to ruin around her. The elegant spires and structures of this methodically constructed monastery, which once would bustle with life of all shapes and sizes, is fracturing as the wood that makes up the structures splinters and pops in the inferno. 365Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9cAL0nW6Dc
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Yavari looks around at her surroundings. Dazed, she is able to make out the blue glow of the gem at the end of her staff. Being on the ground, she crawls through the rubble and debris to her staff. Upon grabbing it, the gemstone projects three glowing orbs that emit a golden aura. A shadow can be seen, they are tall, muscular, and massive. A boar-kin maybe? No. A half-orc.
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The orcish figure exclaims, “Raeburn! Over here!” Yavari dashes out of the collapsing building as it comes crashing down. Upon stepping out of the blaze, she falls to her knees. Before her body is pulled to the ground by gravity’s magnetic force, she is grabbed by her shoulders and is pulled to her feet.
“What were you thinking? You could have been killed.” He says.
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“My apologies, Archdruid Torrig.” She mutters barely. “The children. The fire. It was too much. It was too far late by the time we arrived.” Yavari releases a sigh as she falls unconscious.
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Torrig looks up, with his student cradled in his arms, to watch the building crumble. As he gazes at the support beams, he thinks of the times his tutor would bring him to this temple to practice druidcraft and the Druidic language. The walls and books marked only by Druidic sigils. Each one, more unique and intricate than the last. They all give off a powerful, mystical feeling that only those who draw power from nature itself can understand. “Who could do such a thing?” He says, and as Torrig reminisces on the times of old, lightning strikes.
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As the flash fades quickly out of the darkened night sky which is lit by the surrounding flames. An arrow pierces the back of Torrig. He lets out a mighty roar through his jagged asymmetrical tusks. His roar booms throughout the monastery, even after he’s stopped it continues to echo off the enflamed walls.
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Torrig falls to his knees as a hooded figure, slim and tall, steps closer and closer to his back. With one quick motion and a second strike of lightning, the assailant plunges a jagged dagger into the back of the Archdruid.
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Once again, the mighty half-orc lets out a roar that echoes the surrounding forest. Now his thoughts go from his childhood and upbringing, to his son. Now realizing that if he were to give up, he would lose everything. He wouldn’t be able to raise his son.
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Torrig picks up his mace and swings it faster than any creature should be allowed to swing a weapon of such mass. The hooded assailant’s legs get shot out from underneath them. Yavari’s unconscious body falls out of his arms and naturally rolls into a tall bed of flowers. The patch of flowers are tall enough to completely engulf her.
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The assailant mutters, “so long” As a wave of purple and gold energy blast is released from his hand, sending Torrig flying into the side of the building. The assailant stands up and looks around. “Raeburn!” He draws a blood red sword. The blade, slightly curved back to slice through it’s prey. The sword emits a dark mystical aura, one that could never be natural. “Ya-vaa-riii!” He calls out. “Damn, she got away. Who knows, maybe the inferno consumed her.” As he begins to walk away, Yavari regains consciousness.
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Before getting out of the flowers, Young Raeburn simply asks one word: “Torrig?”
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The hooded figure turns around with haste, a magical wind lifts him by the cloak and drops him on the bed of flowers. He raises his cursed blade and slashes through the flowers. As the flowers begin to rapidly decay and fall, there is no sign of Yavari. The only living being left is a single Falcon flying away.
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The Falcon flies enough away to land on a tree, she turns back into herself. And there she is, Young Yavari Raeburn. Having lost it all, she begins to simply cry. As she does, the leaves begin to close in around her. The leaves contain her in what could only be described as a cocoon. Occasionally, her cries can be heard around the tree. And there, she waits, for whoever wills to get her down and help her resolve the murder of her tutor and the destruction of her home. Yavari hasn’t given up before. She never loses hope. She never loses faith in the nature of the world. But now, she’s at least questioning it.
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“What could I have possibly done?”
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