𝘏 𝘌 𝘓 𝘓 ' 𝘚 𝘎 𝘈 𝘛 𝘌 «𝔡𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔰»

●︎ 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙣

(The scene depicted below was created as a writing practice. My apologies to my players' characters if they seem out of character. I do not consider all of this piece to be canon to the campaign)

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"What do you know about her?"

The aasimar looked up abruptly from his mug of ale. It was quiet in the tavern then. Most of the patrons had retired to their chambers (thus including Calypso and Lorelei), and the steady patter of rain rattled on the roof above them. The candles burned and melted, the sleepy bard plucked lazily at the strings on her lyre, and the tavern owner took his time cleaning the dishes and bottles laid before him. It was a slow night, and the party had felt the effects of their adventure hit them much earlier—Cedric and Tarthuul mustered the strength to spend the last of their spare time together in the dining hall (splitting the bill, as both refused to let the other pay fully).

Cedric raised an eyebrow. "About who?" Tarthuul made a feeble attempt to make a halo above his head with his wrapped hands. "Leiora?" Tarthuul nodded. "Uh, well..." Cedric swirled the last bit of alcohol at the bottom of his glass and rested his head on his fist. "Why do you ask?"

"Dunno. I'm a bit worried, I guess. I feel like I'm signing some of my life away to someone." The goblin cringed at his own words. "Sorry. That's not what I meant."

"No, no, I get it. She's a force of power. We've had problems with patrons and deities before." They both fell silent. The idea of Asinis seemed to dance mockingly in the back of their minds, taunting them with clawed, blood red fingers and a shining, dangerous and crooked grin. "You don't have to devote yourself to her, Tarthuul—"

Immediately Tarthuul jumped forward with his hands slamming a bit loudly on the wooden table saying, "I want to!" The lingering patrons in the tavern shot them weary sharp looks. Tarthuul flushed, embarrassed, and he sat himself back down with his hands lingering on the table. "I do. I want to. It feels right, I'm sure about it. I mean, look at you. She's helping you. I saw what happened outside of that cult place in Westfalen. I've seen so much...bad stuff in the world recently, and she just seems good. A goblin's intuition's always reliable. Or, y'know, however my dad says it." He chuckled. "But...I just don't know anything about her. I know," he began to count on his fingers, "she's some kind of angel. She helps both of us heal people. She's got a big ass sword and wings. And...yeah, nope. That's about it."

"Would knowing a bit more about her make you feel better about the choice you made?"

Tarthuul studied his hands for a few moments after hearing that. He had used his hands for as long as he could remember for fighting, stealing, or providing for his guild and family. But now he had chosen to use his hands to heal—to bring life in places of darkness. He had chosen this—and Leiora had chosen him. But why was he still afraid? Tarthuul had been fairly confident in his direction of life for many, many years...maybe it was all the adventuring that had him second guessing every step he took. After all, each step away was a step from his wife and daughter. Each step brought the group to new places to make new decisions; decisions that would decide the fate of many lives.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I think so."

"Alright. I'll tell you what I know. But I'm still learning a lot as I go, too." The aasimar and goblin smiled to each other.

"When I was a kid I always had this imaginary friend that would come to me every once in a while. It was fun, having a friend that other people couldn't see. It felt like my own little secret. I called her Leiora because everything felt so bright whenever she was around. Looking back now, I'm sure she told me in some way what her name was, but I decided to claim that I named her. And from what she told me recently, she was my guardian angel of sorts. Because I was born an aasimar. Honestly I'm not sure if every aasimar gets one, but she was with me since the beginning. When the Blight came and I took the Hunter's Bane, my connection with her was completely severed. I think a lot of memories of her were taken, too."

Her words rang in Cedric's head. I watched over you when I couldn't be beside you. Even though you could not see me, I was there. I'm so sorry for these years when you thought you were alone.

"Then there's what we know now: she's a servant of Helm, she gets to choose who takes her power, and..." Cedric tapped his fingers on his glass and shrugged. "That's about it."

"Huh." Tarthuul crossed his arms. "We really don't know anything."

"Yeah, not many history books detail the people who work for the gods."

They went quiet again swirling in their own thoughts before Tarthuul spoke up again. "So what do we think is her deal?"

Cedric grinned. "Her deal?"

"Yeah! Do you think she was an aasimar, too? Was she born an angel? Are angels born? How does that work? Was she created by Helm? Maybe she's got a thing for Helm and he promoted her because he likes her back."

"That sounds strangely sacrilegious." Tarthuul snorted at that. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"You should ask her!"

"Me? Why me?"

"She's known you the longest?"

"Okay, true, but she chose you."

"I asked for her help."

"That doesn't defeat the fact that you're a cleric of Leiora now."

Tarthuul tilted his head with a curious look. "Touché."

Around them a bell rang so quietly that no man or woman was able to hear it. It was a silver bell, clear and joyful, ringing again and again through their conversation. Leiora listened to her chosen two with a warm smile, her hidden, melodious laugh ringing again and again. She found it funny—their theories, their elaborate tales of how she could have come to serve Helm—all the little things. But they didn't realize just how similar she was so them, how her world was morphed into reality by those she loved and lost. This time—this time surely—she would be enough. With them. She knew Cedric and Tarthuul were worthy—capable of protecting and spreading light through this ever dying land. They would do so with their dying breaths. That is why she chose them.