Naya Sharpe - Eternal Optimist

12/14/2014

With the journal decoded, Naya took a deep breath, and rubbed the bandage on her arm. It was time to deal with that. She reached under the desk and pulled out a leather trunk. Carefully, she lifted the lid, and pulled out beakers, vials, and various alchemical substances, clearing a spot on the desk for each of them. After a few minutes, she surveyed her handiwork, and nodded., then grabbed a glass measuring cup.   

Naya got up and walked over to the closet. Pushing the suitcases, and coats out of the way, she revealed a wooden keg, with a cork in the top. Carefully, she pulled the cork out, and poured a small amount of the powder into the cup. She slowly walked back to the desk, and put the cup on the desk, then sat down. She pulled a small vial out of the top drawer on the desk, drank it, then got to work.
 
Tell me your secrets...

 

1/13/2015

Over the past couple days, Naya had become a near permanent fixture in the Golden Plow. With her room nearly uninhabitable, following a recent chemical spill, Naya had started doing her research more mundane research down on the main floor of the Plow. During the first day or two, some of the bar's rowdier customers had disrupted her work, but after some strong words (and a well-timed mutagen) they left her alone.
 
"The forging of a weapon is the essence of creation. Before attempting to create, one must cleanse their spirit. An impure spirit fouls the creation, before the first hammer blow is struck." Naya nearly choked on her ale, as she read the passage.

Stifling her laughter, she checked the title of the book, making a mental note to never read anything by the author again, before tossing on top of a growing heap of books at the other end of the table.

A weapon is a tool. Nothing more, nothing less.

Naya began reaching for another tome, when a drow woman, with a bow on her approaches the barkeep, a coin purse in hand, and asks in a haughty, yet gracious, voice that carries through the Plow "I was wondering if you would be able to point me in the direction of a... capable... weapon enchanter."

Naya waited for the inevitable feeding frenzy as every two-bit vendor and wannabe mage scrambled for work, but the frenzy never came. The Plow was quiet.

Well... here goes nothing.

Naya raised her hand, and waved the drow over, and motioned for her to sit down. "What's the job?"

The woman's eyes narrowed when she got a good glimpse of Naya. "You."

"Yes, me. Have we, uh, met?"

"You were the one who contracted me for a suicide mission, and yet you don't have the humility to remember my name?"

"I send a lot of people to do a lot of things," Naya took a sip of ale, " 'sides, couldn't have been that bad, I mean, you're still here."

"I was dismembered by a Shoggoth. Three times."

A spark of recognition flashed in her eyes, "OH, you were in that party."

Adraste glared back at her.

The two woman sat in silence for a moment before Naya continued, " So... what'd you need me to do?"

The drow placed her bow on the table, "I would be appreciative if you were to put a few simple impact enchantments on it, in addition to enchanting the wood so it will adapt to my strength should I need to in the future."

Naya carefully picked up the bow and examined it, for a few moments, before placing it back on the table. "Yeah, that looks like it'll be pretty easy."

"Looks like?" Adraste replied, raising an eyebrow.

"That's what I said.," Naya replied, taking another sip of ale, "If enchanting is as easy as the books say, this should take me more than a couple hours."

"You have done this before, haven't you?" she says, glancing warily at the half-elf.

"There's a first time for everything," Naya said, reaching for a leather-bound tome.

1/26/2015

It had been nearly eight months since Naya had first encountered the hobgoblin explosive powder, and in that time, she'd made little progress towards unlocking the secrets. Despite months of experimentation and testing, she only knew the most rudimentary things about the chemical composition of the explosive. Field tests had proved that the powder had applications beyond suicide vest, if placed in a suitably brittle vessel, the explosion would cause the container to fragment, spraying the surround area with shrapnel, and the attacking by the dopplegangers proved that in sufficient quantity it could used for demolition. But all she had were theories and a limited field tests.

So far, she had learned that the powder was a mixture of some kind of plant material, sulfur, and a third, unidentified compound. Frustrated at the lack of progress, and willing to try anything to make a break through, Naya began to look for plants which burned violently, hoping the unidentified compound might be contained within.

After several weeks of searching, she came across an old chronicle, which told of a glowing blue mushroom, deep within the sewer tunnels which had been used by the local Kobolds as a primitive explosive. Out of options, Naya headed down into the tunnels beneath Rook, to try and find the location described by the chronicle. After a less than favorable encounter with a small group of Kobolds, she managed to find a small patch of the fungus, and harvest it for further study.
Upon returning to the surface, and having a hot shower, she began to work with the samples. She carefully ground up the fungus and mixed it into a paste, then combined it with a charcoal-sulfur mixture. However, upon contact with the sulfur, the fungus emitted a blinding flash of light.

Naya smiled. Now that was interesting.

Naya put the book down, laid back on the bed, and pulled out a joint. She was ninety-nine percent certain that it was a crock of shit, but, that last one percent gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. It had been nearly a week since she had communed with the artifact, and thoughts of that day still dominated her mind. She went over it again and again, the scenes started out so vivid and distinct, each one a work of art, to be analyzed and examined. Then another one came, and another, until it was a raging torrent of sensation. Like a wineglass under a waterfall, she struggled to retain even a tiny fraction of the flow. Faster and faster they came, she felt her mind cracking under the pressure then... nothing. A cold floor and a desperate struggle.

Naya turned the events over and over in her mind, the artifact and shown her everything, she just had to remember it. The answer was on the tip of her tongue, she just had to figure out how to say it.

Taking a deep breath, she put the joint on the nightstand, and began the exercise. Naya lay there, nearly immobile, breathing deep and regular, then began to let go and sink into the depths of her mind.

The harsh light of dawn filtered through the grimy curtains, and across Naya's face. She reflexively rolled out of the light, and bumped into a leg of the desk. The impact dislodged one of the books, which hit the ground with a resounding thud. Naya jerked awake. Head pounding, eyes bleary with sleep, she shakily rose to her feet.

Gods, what happened last night? My head...

The bitter taste of greenblood oil and liquor lay on her tongue like a canvas sheet. Naya collapsed on the bed, and reached for a deflated water skin, then shook the last few drops into her mouth.As she lay there, eyes straining to focus on the cracks and cobwebs on the ceiling, she thought back to the previous night, and tried to remember what she'd done.

Her mind was shrouded in fog, but she fought past it. She remembered attempting the autohypnosis and it worked. Naya remembered entering a state of perfect awareness, then... then she tried to access the memories of that day. After that, she only had bits and pieces, scenes with no context, frantic scribblings in a journal, a bottle of cheap liquor, mixing chemicals, dancing on a table, other maddeningly vague bits of information.

Naya glanced over to the nightstand, and saw her formulae book there, with a page marked. Curious about her exploits, Naya opened to the page and began to read. Unwilling and unable to process the information, she read it again and again. But there it was, in her handwriting. A detailed alchemical breakdown of the explosive powder.

Naya lept to her feet, then nearly fell as the pounding in her head grew worse. She stumbled over to the desk, and looked for the results of last night's experiment. There it was. A single glass measuring cup filled with a coarse grey-black powder. Naya took a small pinch of the powder and rubbed it between her fingers.

I did it.

Naya carefully poured the last of the powder into the metal casing, sealed it, and stuck the fuse in. She carefully placed the bomb in the crate along with the others. Satisfied with her progress, she pulled a bottle of ink out of the desk, and reached for a sheet of paper.

To Whom it may concern,
My name is Naya Sharpe, and I have recently developed a new kind of explosive, one whose destructive power dwarfs that of any other conventional weapon. A single soldier armed with a small supply of my weapons could easily wipe out a squad of enemy soldiers, without putting themselves, or their comrades in harm's way. The explosive nature of my weapons makes them extremely effective against tightly massed or heavily armored targets, things which the Rook military still struggles to deal with. Needless to say, my weapon could give Rook a significant advantage in the upcoming war, or be a significant detriment if it were to fall into the wrong hands. I have prepared a small number of the weapons and am willing to offer a demonstration, if it's required. You may get in touch with me by leaving a message in the Southern Slums guard-post.

Sincerely,
Naya Sharpe

As she finished the letter, the dull grey light of dawn began to spread across the eastern horizon. Naya sealed the letter with wax, then grabbed her cloak off a peg on the wall, and headed out of the Plow. The freezing drizzle pattered against the hood of her cloak, as she made her way through the darkened streets to the guard-post. She arrived just in time to see two young guards sleepily unlock the door, and head into the darkened building. Naya caught the door as it swung closed, and headed into the station. The two guards, eyes bleary with sleep, turned to look at her. Before either of them could say anything, she produced the letter and a small sack of coin. "Please deliver this to Derry Ravenshaw, tell him it's an important message for Commander Bergstein."

The guards looked at each other, then to Naya and one of them began to speak, before she cut him off "This is a matter of utmost importance, I can't trust a common courier. There's twenty-five gold pieces in the bag, do with it what you will, just see that my message gets delivered."

With that, Naya turned, and walked out into the gathering storm.

Naya blinked in the afternoon sun, yawned, and finally decided to get up. She still had research to do for Duade, and demonstration was tomorrow; but fuck it all. Norrel was on business to the outer planes, which meant she had a few days without the eye of Heaven directly upon her; a few days to have fun. She debated going to another club in Cloud City, but remembered the nearly fatal hangover she’d had last time, and decided against it. Many of the drugs relied upon their consumers being resistant to electricity; a fact Naya had discovered the hard way on her last trip to Cloud City. Besides, she thought, the fake ID she’d used last time probably wasn’t going to work again; the Lorel family had been asking questions.

Naya stood before the cracked mirror, and idly used the sleeves to flip through dresses. With Cloud City off the table, she was free to dress as she wanted, rather than needing to conform to the city’s ridiculous fashion trends. She flipped to an academy uniform, as she considered trawling the pubs in the knowledge district again, before discarding the outfit after deciding against it. She tried on a dark red cocktail dress and smiled; tonight wasn’t a night for conversation.

After a bit of deliberation, she settled on a club in the chalice district, the Crystal Crown. For a moment she considered dropping into Roth’s club, but decided against it; too many adventurers, too great a chance she’d be recognized. Naya still had to work with these people, couldn’t have them talking. The line outside the club stretched down to the end of the block, and then some; but a few choice words to the bouncer, and a coin slipped into his pocket, expedited the process significantly. Outside the door she drank an antitoxin, and the contents of a small metal vial. Instantly the heroism did its work, and she felt a fresh surge of confidence sweep over her.

Time to have some fun.

The club was fairly crowded, Naya handed her cloak off at the door, and made her way up to the bar. The bartender glanced up, “what’ll ya have?” Naya thought for a moment, then asked for a bottle of their best absinthe. The bartender raised an eyebrow quizzically, as if to ask if Naya was paying for herself, or opening a tab. She gave him an icy smile, pulled a pouch of gold out of her bag, and dropped it on the bar. The bartender shrugged and placed a bottle full of green liquid on the bar. She thanked him, and poured a glass. She held the bitter liquid in her mouth for a moment, savoring the heavy floral taste. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a middle aged man reaching for the bag under her stool.

In a single fluid motion, she caught the man’s hand, and wrenched in painfully downwards. “I’d suggest you leave. Now.” She whispered voice full of barely contained fury.

The man went goggle eyed, and hissed through teeth clenched in pain, “I-I dropped my purse.” He whimpered softly as Naya tightened her grip.

Naya looked down and saw a small brown coin purse lying next to bag, and instantly released the man’s hand, picked up the coin purse and handed it to him, “I-I’m sorry I didn’t--”

The man snatched the purse, and then beat a hasty retreat to the other side of the club, while cradling his swollen hand.

“You should put some ice on that!” Naya called after him. The man ignored her and continued getting as far away from the half-elf as possible. Naya shrugged and went back to her drink, then noticed the two people on the other side had taken their drinks and were moving to the far end of the bar. Naya sighed and finished the glass in a single gulp.

You need to relax. No one here is going to hurt you. You’re safe.

She poured another glass. A new band came up, and began to play a jaunty tune. I should dance, that’s what I did right? I liked dancing. I should dance. She handed her bag and the rest of the bottle to the bartender, who shrugged and placed them under the bar. Naya pushed her way through the crowd, and spent a moment taking it all in. The chorus started up again, and she let the music carry her away. She felt the stress disappear as she became one with the crowd.

Knife!

She whirled to face the assailant, pulse pounding she reflexively reached for where her rapier should be. It wasn’t there. Eyes wide with fear she looked around wildly, hoping to find a stool, a tankard something to defend herself with. Then it was gone. There was no knife, no assailant, just the light reflecting off a piece of gaudy silver jewelry.

People stopped dancing and stared at her, backing slowly away. Naya recomposed herself, and smiled, in a desperate attempt to pass it off as a joke. Beads of sweat rolled down her face. Who do you think you’re fooling? Quietly, she slunk back to the bar, retrieved the bottle of absinthe, and poured another glass.

As the night dragged on, the lights grew low, and the music grew louder. Naya sipped on the last of absinthe, while musing about the musicians’ skills and how they clearly believed volume was an adequate substitute for talent. The boy, at the end was looking at her again.

The night’s not getting any younger and this is what you came here for…

She drained the last of the absinthe, savoring the cool liquid. Naya discreetly adjusted her dress, and then glanced at boy, just long enough to catch his attention, before looking away and blushing. She smiled as she saw him get up and make his way over to her.

“What’re you drinking?” He asked, taking a seat beside her.

Naya looked him over; he was fairly handsome, with short black hair and piercing green eyes. He was young, too young maybe, he didn’t look a day over twenty-two. She gestured to the empty bottle, “nothing right now.”

He looked at the label, then back to Naya, ”Absinthe, interesting choice. Can’t say I’ve had that before,” he waved down the bartender, “two glasses of absinthe, please.”

Naya waved the bartender away, “none for me.”

The boy looked at her and laughed, “Who said these were for you? Gotta have one glass to taste, and one to enjoy.” The bartender returned with two glasses of translucent green liquid, the boy dropped a platinum piece on the counter, “keep the change,” he said, smiling. “Well, here’s to nothing,” he said, taking a long draw off one of the glasses. In a matter of seconds his face went from disgust to confusion to pleasure, back to disgust, before finally settling on confusion. Naya stifled a laugh, as he sputtered, “woah, that’s—that’s a helluva thing.” He narrowed his eyes and looked at the rest of the glass, as if trying to decide whether to drink it, or use it to remove paint. “If you’re drinking this stuff you’re far braver than I am Ms…” his voice trailed off.

Smooth.

“Caroline,” Naya lied, “and yeah, it’s an acquired taste. I considered warning you, but I thought it’d be funnier to watch to try to drink it.” Naya tensed up as she saw what looked like a guild tattoo on his left wrist.

Shit. Shit. Shit. They know, they’ve finally found you. This is where you die.

The boy laughed, apparently not noticing, “fair enough, I’m Whyrin by the way, not that you asked.” He narrowed his eyes, and looked at the glasses with mock seriousness, “well now I seem to have a problem. There’s a whole ‘nother glass of this vile liquid, how will I ever get rid of it?”

Hit him with the bottle buy yourself time, retrieve the rapier. Take him out quickly. Does he have back up? Absolutely. Worry about them later; focus on the primary.

Naya chuckled and reached for the glass, “smooth.” In a single motion, she raised the glass to her lips and downed it.

Go on three. One.

Naya picked up the bottle, and smelled deeply of the fumes.

Two.

Naya placed her hand around the neck of the bottle, and turned it over in her hand, “pretty isn’t it?”

Thre—

She caught another glimpse of his left wrist. Nothing. No tattoo. Her hand unclenched from the neck of the bottle.

I—I’m not crazy. I saw it, he had the tattoo. Didn’t he? Gods, he didn’t. He never did. I almost killed an innocent man because-because I don’t know why.

Whyrin paused for a second and looked at her, “Caroline, you okay?”

Naya tamped down the thoughts and nodded, “yeah, I’m fine. Just a little drunk.”

They talked for the better part of an hour. Naya told him about her exciting career as a florist, and Whyrin regaled her with riveting tales of his time as an apprentice barrister. Over the course of the conversation, Naya managed to discover that Whyrin was the youngest child of a minor noble family, had an older brother on the Low Council, and was in fact twenty-four. A fact which went a long way towards making Naya feel better about what happened next.

Naya awoke the smell of breakfast cooking. For a moment she lay there, and tried to forget about the world, gods she forgot how wonderful real sheets felt. She was jerked back to reality by the realization that she had a presentation to give at eleven. She spotted a clock on the wall, and tried to read it as her eyes readjusted. Nine in the morning, she still had two hours. Naya breathed a sigh of relief, then got out of bed, and began to retrieve her discarded garments from the floor.

Naya spoke the command word, and opened up the hidden compartment on her pathfinder pouch. She quickly removed her armor, and sword belt, before deciding against the sword, and replacing it in the compartment. From the normal compartment, she retrieved a fresh undershirt, and her boots. She used the sleeves to cover up her armor, and make it look like she was still wearing last night’s dress.

Out in the main room, she saw Whyrin hunched over a stove cooking, or more accurately burning, something which may have once been sausage. Upon hearing her enter, he looked up and smiled. “Morning! I, uh, tried to make you breakfast, but, as it turns out, I am very bad at cooking. So, we have charcoal cakes, and carbonized links of what may have once been sausage.”

Naya smiled, “Sounds good but, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I need to get to work.”

Whyrin looked puzzled for a moment, “I thought you said you were between jobs.”

Shit.

Naya’s mind strained to push through the alcoholic haze blanketing her thoughts, “yeah, working on finding a job. It’s silly, but phrasing it like that makes me sound slightly less pathetic.”

Whyrin looked like he wanted to question her, then shrugged. As Naya opened the door he called out, “wait! I’d like to see you again, how can I get in contact with you?”
Naya faked another smile, “don’t worry, I know where to find you.” The door shut behind her.

That one was nice. He doesn’t deserve this; he never asked to be a part of my fucked up world and it was selfish to get him involved.

That’s why I can’t see him again.

The committee was already waiting for Naya by the time she got to the field on the outskirts of the city. Derry Ravenshaw pulled out a brass pocket watch, and looked down his nose at Naya, “Ah, Ms. Sharpe, so good of you to join us.”

Naya, placed a large crate on the ground, and looked to the committee, “I’m incredibly sorry for the delay, I was . . . indisposed. But I’m here now, and this shouldn’t take too long, I’m confident my product speaks for itself”

Derry smirked, “we shall see Ms. Sharpe, we shall see.”

Naya spent the next quarter of an hour setting up the demonstration, carefully arranging sets of armor, both orc and imperial in varying formations. As she was finishing up, a small cart pulled up by the field. The driver got out, and began to unload four medium pig carcasses. Naya thanked the man, and began to carry the pigs into the shack, a few of the committee members raised their eyebrows, and one of the guards let out a snicker. One of the captains began to speak, “I don’t see the point of th—“but he was quickly shushed by a thin bespectacled man.

After taking a moment to inspect her handiwork, Naya turned back to the men. “Gentleman, we’re here for one reason and one reason only, the protection of Rook. The orcs to the north vastly outnumber our forces, and the Imperium to the east is far better equipped, a war with either of them would be disastrous. We are currently at peace with both of them, but, as I’m sure you know, both sides have begun taking aggressive action against Rook. The Imperium has directly attacked one of Rook’s border keeps and our recent intervention in orcish politics has done nothing to endear us to the local warlords. I’m sure we all hope for peace, but we can’t ignore the signs of war.”

A murmur of agreement echoed through the crowd. Naya continued, “What I’m offering is a way to even the odds. I’m offering you a weapon which can rip through the strongest of armors, and allow one soldier to wipe out a squadron of orcs. But don’t take my word for it, please direct your attention to the mock orchish squadron behind me.” A few seconds later, there was a deafening explosion, as the arranged suits of orcish armor were engulfed in a fireball. Thank gods that fuse worked. A few of the assembly members flinched at the sight of the explosion. Naya looked at them and smiled. “Shall we survey the damage?”

A few of the committee members cautiously followed Naya, who began to gesture to the various suits of armor. “Dead, dead, gravely wounded, armor destroyed and bleeding, dead. This is what a single one of my weapons is capable of, but we both know Orcish armor is horrible, hide provides little protection even against conventional weapons. Allow me to demonstrate on a set of Imperial armor. If you would please stand back.” Naya ran up to the arranged imperial armor, and lit the fuse on a small black sphere.

A few seconds later, another deafening explosion shattered the midday silence. Once the smoke cleared, Naya walked over, and retrieved one of the breastplates. Holding it up in one hand, she pointed out the damage. “See, this breastplate was fifteen feet from the explosion, but the shrapnel still pierced through the steel. There’s even a hole in the center crease, that’s nearly three-tenths of an inch of steel, ripped through like it was nothing.”

A few of the men muttered something about inferior steel, but they fell silent when one of the captains, a middle aged human, with graying hair and a bit of a paunch stepped forward, and asked to inspect the breastplate. Naya handed it to him, and after a few minutes the man handed it back, declaring the armor to be of exceptional quality. Naya grinned, “I’m glad you agree. I’ve used the best armor I could acquire for these tests, that’s how much I trust my work. Now, you’ve seen the effects upon armor, but what about flesh?” A murmur echoed through the crowd, Naya quickly backpedaled, “the pigs, that’s what the pig carcasses are for, I’m not testing this on people. Although, I have tested these against kobolds with a moderate degree of success,” she added quietly.

Naya led the group over to the brick shed, and swung the door open. Inside the three pig carcasses hung from the roof. She pulled a small black sphere out of her bag, lit it, then tossed it inside and slammed the door. A few seconds later, there was another explosion, and several loud thumps as the shrapnel struck the door. The smell of burning meat filled the air. Naya swung the door open, and revealed the gruesome display within; the three pigs had nearly been eviscerated by the blast. She turned back to the group, “I think this speaks for itself.” Dead silence. “Now then, any questions?”

After a brief pause, the bespectacled man spoke up. “Your compound, how stable is it? Can it be easily transported?”

Naya thought for a moment, “it’s fairly stable; but you need to avoid extreme heat, sparks, or water. The powder is incredibly flammable, and is ruined by water; that’s part of the reason I started packing it in the grenades. The casing is water proof, and the only way to spark it is with the fuse. Any oth--”

The man continued, “Have you experimented with potential demolition applications?”

She paused, “I have not; but last year’s attack on the councilor proves that this technology can be easily adapted for building destruction.”

Not waiting for her to finish, he spoke again, “what kind of requirements, in terms of space, materials, and manpower, would you need to begin immediate production?”

Naya smiled, produced a leather bound journal from her bag, and handed it to the man. “All the information should be in there. Does this mean we’re in business?”

Derry shrugged, “we’ll need to talk it over with the commander, but this is a very impressive demonstration.”

The bespectacled man spoke up one more time, “If I may Ms. Sharpe, if this government does fund your research, what else do you plan on doing?”

Naya grinned, “I plan on changing the world.”

Naya finished her conversation with Halladin, thanked the man for his time, and trudged back towards the portal. Norrel extricated himself from her bag and began to hover beside her. She looked to the angel and shook her head, then spoke in a voice like a crackling fire, “Don’t. Just… just don’t. I know I fucked up. I know what’s coming. I know that--”

“Everyone here is going to die, and the few that don’t will envy the dead!” Gary cheerfully interjected.

Naya paused for a moment, as if hearing it out loud made it real. In a shaky voice she responded, “Gary you-you’re really not helping. Please go to sleep.” The construct got halfway through a cry of protest before it powered down. After carefully tucking the spidery body back into her bag, Naya continued, “He’s right. If we don’t do something, the Drow will wipe them out or worse. This is just such a clusterfuck, everyone would have been better off if we’d never came here.”

The angel remained silent; unable to lie, but unwilling to speak the truth.

“I don’t know what to do, I can’t talk to anyone. Ben has betrayed us. Bergstein is potentially compromised. Lorek isn’t returning my messages, and even when he does, he’s as talkative as a statue. Prim? I’ve never heard her have an original idea, she just blindly follows Lorek. Roth is probably the most helpful, but that assumes I can even find him; the man is a ghost. Miere played this smartest from the beginning, and kept out of it. Faelyn is a solid maybe, but he knows about as much as I’ve told him; I need an outside source.” Her voice trailed off as she sunk deep into thought, as they continued to walk in silence.

The sun had just dipped over the horizon by the time they reached the portal; a smattering of stars had already appeared, blazing bright against the dying of the light. One of the guards noticed her and waved; she nodded to him, and then paused. Norrel looked at her, curious why they had stopped. She spoke quietly, “I know who to ask for help.” The angel cocked his head in curiosity. “We’re gonna talk to your master.”

The angel froze for a moment, and nearly fell out of the sky. “Are you sure that’s wise? You’re aware of the danger that poses to both of us.”

Naya took a deep breath, “Yes; but what choice do we have? If it can give us the information we need to end this war,” she swallowed, “we have to try. Regardless of the risk.” The angel’s face hardened. Ignoring his silent plea, she scanned the horizon for a suitable place, before deciding on a rocky pillar a mile away.

The trek to the pillar was completely silent; Norrel steeled his mind for what was to come. Naya prepared her questions. Naya muttered a short incantation, the runes engraved in her armor shone through her shirt with a pale white light, and she flew to the top of the pillar. The wind whipped around her as she stood atop the pillar. By starlight, she prepared the ritual. A simple circle carved in stone, a drop of holy water to anoint the brow, a symbol of gold to fuel the spell, and a prayer for guidance to seal it.

Naya sat cross legged in front of the circle, as Norrel landed within it, and began to cast. As the spell began she closed her eyes, and let the magic wash over her. In a matter of moments, the angel began to speak with a voice decidedly not his own. The chanting grew deeper until it sounded like thunder echoing among the hills. Naya felt her hair stand on end as the air crackled with the power; she could feel the magic echoing in her bones. With a loud crack and a blinding flash of light, the spell completed. Naya kept her eyes closed; to look now would be a death sentence. A soft voice filled the air, “Speak child, our time is short.”

“First question, did any living part of the Worm that Walks, which contains the consciousness of Kreuvathal, pass through the portal to Rook?” Naya spoke.

Norrel twitches as a heavenly "No." emanates from its mouth.

That’s a relief if nothing else.

“Did Ben Weese inform Fuerchar that Kreuvathal is alive?”

Norrel twitches again as heavenly “Unclear.” issues forth.

Damn.

“Has Fuerchar influenced Commander Bergstein in such a way that Bergstein is no longer acting in Rook's best interest?”

"No," comes the response, chiming like the voice of a pure maiden.

Naya breathed a sigh of relief, which means Bergstein is being used, but not abused. Whatever Fuerchar intends probably has nothing to do with Rook.

“Does Absolshar intend to go to war with Orashar?”

After a few moments, the clarion call of "No." rings forth like a bell.

What? Then what do they want?

“Have the actions of Ben Weese or Fuerchar placed the general populace of the Shar Collective in danger?”

"Yes." echoes out of Norrel, his eyes ablaze with holy light.

If they’re not going to war… then what’s putting them in danger? One question left.

Naya thought for a second, then spoke one last time. “Would turning Ben and Fuerchar over to the Council of Orashar help ensure the security of the general populace of Rook or the Shar collective?”

There is a slightly longer pause, before the answer "Unclear, but maybe." comes forth.

Shit.

Naya opened her eyes, and saw Norrel collapsed in a heap in the center of the stone circle, the edges of which were rimed with frost. In a weak voice he spoke again, “Did-did you get the information you wanted?”

Naya thought for a moment. “Some. We need to find Lorek.”

A blast of frigid air fills the Golden Plow as Naya steps inside. She knocks the snow off her black leather boots, and pulls her hood back, revealing a tangled mess of strawberry-blonde hair, and distinctly elven features. She quickly brushes a bit of hair over her left, to cover up a ragged chunk missing from it. She unbuttons her traveling cloak, uncovering a finely made green shirt, trimmed with gold, and a mithril-etched rapier hanging from a brown leather baldric. All eyes look to her, as she surveys the room, and walks towards the bar.

She moves with purpose, every gesture, word, and expression projects an aura of unshakable of confidence, demanding the respect of any who would approach. Golden hawk-like eyes move from person to person, silently daring them to try something. Her hand rests dangerously close to the hilt of her rapier, as she sifts through the crowd. She catches the glimpse of the brand of Appolyon on the forearm of an unkempt man hunched over a low table and whispering quietly to a small group. She stares at the man for a moment, as her eyes begin to glow, stripping away the physical to examine the nature of his soul. Sensing the intrusion, the unkempt man turns to meet her gaze, and an almost imperceptible sneer crosses her face, her fingers twitch in anticipation of the conflict. The man glares back at her for a moment, then rises to his feet with a snarl and grabs a wicked curved blade. The three others follow suit. Naya turns her full attention to the group, then raises an eyebrow and speaks quietly, “put them down.”

The man spits and takes another step, brandishing the sword. Before the rest of the group can follow him, Naya rises to her feet, towering nearly half a head above everyone in the bar, and draws her rapier as a pair of dazzling white wings materializes, “I said, put them down,” she demands, in a voice that shakes the bar. There’s a moment of silence, all eyes focused on Naya, the man falters under the weight of her gaze. Naya takes a step forward, as the ashen blade in her hand begins to glow with a soft light. The man drops his sword and begins to beat a hasty retreat, as the rest of his comrades do the same.

As the door swings shut behind them, Naya takes a deep breath as her wings dissipate into mist; she sheathes the blade, as the rest of the bar stares at her, silently. She glances around the bar, and then returns to her drink.

Naya opened the back door and stepped out into the chilly night air. The children were finally asleep, the old man’s was breathing shallow, but steady; he’d live through the night at the very least. She sank into a rickety wooden chair, and closed her eyes, enjoying the silence and solitude. For a moment, she summoned up her will and focused inwards, shutting out the rest of the world. Naya felt the soul of the world fade away, the pain, the anger, the fear, the quiet desperation, all swallowed by the void. For the first time since her ascendance, she was alone. For the first time, she was free.

A searing pain in her shoulder returned Naya to reality, bringing her mental barricade crashing down. Naya opened her eyes, and looked to the golden specter before her, as it withdrew a hand from her shoulder. Upon seeing her awake, the specter spoke, “You wished to speak with me?”

Naya sat up straight, “weeks ago.” Her voice was a gentle monotone, betraying no emotion, “I needed you weeks ago; and you never showed up.”

The man smiled sadly and shook his head, “my apologies, I had other business to attend to; but I am here now.” Naya winced as the world returned to her all at once; the man cocked his head, “are you alright?”

Naya shook her head, slowly rose to her feet, and walked to the edge of the patio. She stared up at the stars, hands clasped firmly behind her. The two stood there in silence for several minutes, before the man turned to leave. As he did, Naya began to speak, “I used to look up at the stars and feel excitement, the idea that there could be others out there, new civilizations to discover, new places to explore, filled me with wonder. Now?” She shook her head, and looked back to the man, “I look up at the night sky and feel small.” The man’s face grew serious, as she continued, “there’s so many of them, and so little of me. How can I help them all?”

“You can’t.” He replied, gently, “but you don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. I can feel them all around me, I can feel their pain, their fear, and their evil. I wear my soul like flesh, there’s no buffer, no barrier, nothing to dull the raw evil. Every second of the day I feel it and,“ Naya’s voice cracked, “it burns me.”

The golden man nodded slowly, “Yes. That is price we pay. We—“

“So, you understand.” Naya interjected, eyes alight, “then you-you know why I need to help these people, why I need to fix them. Why I need to fix all of them.” She gestured to the man and back to herself, “we see things as they are, bu—“

The golden man raised a hand to stop her, then spoke, his voice never rising above an even soothing timbre, “have you ever wondered why there are so few of us? Surely you must have thought about it at least in passing. The ritual isn’t difficult, provided you have the patronage of an outsider, and the results are breathe taking. Surely it would be in the best interests of the upper planes to have as many nigh-immortal servitors as possible.” Naya began to protest, but the man gently held out his hand, “please, let me finish. What you’re feeling is completely normal, for a celestial the presence of evil is a pain they learn to live with, because they know nothing else. But we are not like them, as mortals we knew a life free from pain. We also have an incredibly powerful survival instinct, one which tells us pain is unnatural, and needs to be prevented. Many of the other ascendant celestials I’ve met struggled with the same conflict you’re dealing with right now; natural instinct, in an unnatural form, seen through the lens of a would-be force for good.”

Naya’s eyes widened slightly, “you know of more? Can I meet them? Can I talk to them?”

The man looked back at her, a deep sadness in his eyes, “I’m afraid not, that’s what I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you. Of the ascendants I personally have met, two have fallen, and the rest are dead.”

“How?” Naya demanded.

“They believed as you did, they thought it was their duty to fix the world; and did whatever they believed was necessary to accomplish that goal. Some died in pursuit of that goal, some descended into madness, some were unable to live with the internal conflict and took their own lives, but the majority of them,” he thought for a second, as if looking for a way to soften the blow, “went too far, and were killed by their patrons. Often to prevent them from doing something truly monstrous.” He stopped for a moment, to allow his words to sink in. Naya’s face betrayed no emotion. “That’s why there are so few of us. We’re dangerous; we have the conviction of celestials and the fallibility of mortals. We will march to the gates of Hell, believing it to be the path to Heaven.”

Naya fell silent, then after a long pause, she spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, “you knew this. Yet still offered to help me; you knew this power would destroy me, but you blindly led me on, without so much as a warning?”

The man blinked, “I didn’t believe it would destroy you, I still don’t. I believe you’re strong enough to overcome, to break the cycle.”

“Why me? Why now?”

The specter half shrugged, “Because the world needs someone, now more than ever; things are growing more dangerous by the day, powerful forces are stirring in their slumber. Something big is coming, what and when, I don’t know, but I know someone needs to take a stand against it. I believed you had the potential to do so. I still believe that, your recent victory over Nerull seems to have confirmed my faith in you. From what I’ve seen, you’re doing well.” Naya began to object, but he cut her off, “even if you don’t feel like it. You’re learning from the past, rather than descending into self-pity, you’ve done what you can to salvage the remnants of Freygate. I’m sorry about what happened, I know what…” his voice trailed off.

Naya blushed faintly, “You knew?”

The specter nodded, “nothing distasteful, I assure you, but I have been keeping tabs on who you choose to associate with. Which leads me to ask, have you decided what to do about—“

Naya quickly spoke, “nothing yet, it’s not a decision I take lightly. Do you have any guidance on the matter?”

The man thought for a moment, “I wouldn’t,” he shrugged, “but I’m a healer, not a fighter.”

“I’m not either,” Naya replied, defensively.

He laughed, “Naya, you’ve always been a fighter; you just don’t want to admit it. You've been fighting your whole life, which is part of why I chose you." He looked up quickly, "Now then, I believe you have company coming shortly, so I will take my leave.” The man said as he turned to leave.

“Wait,” Naya called out, “before you go, how did you solve the conflict? Why didn’t you end up like the others?”

The man turned back to her, “I did what I always do when a fight starts. Hide. I haven’t set foot on the material plane since the day of my ascendance.”

Naya heard footsteps coming around the side of the house, and glanced over to see who it was, and when she looked back, the specter was gone. She heard a small cough behind her, and turned to face the visitor. He was a nervous lad, about seventeen, dressed in ill fitting clothing with a short sword hanging at his side. “Um uh, Lady Kinn, I uh, I mean, Lady, uh um Sharpe—“

Naya cut him off, “yes? Speak.”

The boy gulped and nodded nervously, “there’s an-uh-disturbance in the camp. L-looks like there’s going to be a, um uh, fight.”

Naya nodded, “Then let’s move.” As they left, she paused for a moment, and looked up at the stars.