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The gods are gathering groups of followers as they prepare to depart. Kataranya and Setirov have the storm chasers following them. Dahfui and the revivalists are boarding busses headed for the Metro to flood the senate chambers. Mistolin, body changed for one closer in size and shape to the Rubble Construct, has gathered a werewolf pack and is heading for his namesake town on the west coast.
A couple of people stumble when he continues. They didn’t seem to be expecting another verse here, but now he’s definitely looking at you. Singing to you.
“Of all the fates that ever were dealt, to be forgot’s the worst incurred.
Of all the tears that ever were shed, the bitt’rest is the one unheard.
But since we few have lived so near, and won so much, and loved so dear,
No fear of that have I all! Good night, and joy be with you all."
“Of all the comrades that ever I had, they’re sorry for my going away.
Of all the sweethearts that ever I had, they’d wish me one more night to stay.
But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you should not
I’ll gently rise and softly call, good night and joy be with you all!
So fill to me the parting glass, to drink your health whatever befall.
Then gently rise and softly call, good night and joy be with you all!”
The song ends. The east horizon is lightening in that strange off-center way it does here. Seth notices our heroes watching, turns and whispers to the band. “Sometimes you gotta end on the classics, y’know?”
“Of all the money that ever I spent, I spent it in good company.
And all the harm that ever I’ve done, alas it was to none but me.
And I’ve done for want of wit to memory now I can’t recall
So fill to me the parting glass. Good night and joy be with you all!”
D&D&MtG, Storm Chasers
“The power of the warmth of the sun, the invisible hands that reach around the world, the slow growth of the updrafts, the weight of the clouds… everything. We had it backwards, even when the math was right, we thought of wind like a push, but it’s a pull.” He drains his cup. “Just trying to put it all together in my head, forget as little as possible.”
“Uh…” Mul says.
“For all the good it’ll do, now that there’s no point,” Helena grumbles.
“Uh!” Mul repeats.
“Thank you, but no.” Firel is decisive. “It is better to have a body that is no body, so that by being in no place I can be in all places.”
“Thank you for being the one to contact me,” Ariel says. She might never have found Onumbrica’s worldsoul, but this is more than close enough.
“Thank you,” Firiel remains cryptic to the last, “For being there to contact.”
Can Ariel hug them?
“Of course,” Narwahye smiles, and pulls the rest of them into a group hug. Only Setirov grimaces. Firiel can’t touch, but holds her arms in position nonetheless.
“It is well.” Narwahye rises to her feet. “Now let us go to the people to whom you have given us. But know, all of you, should ever you have need of refuge, welcome, or rest, you will forever find it here.”
And at this point on, we just have plot-tying-off vignettes for individual characters.
Narwahye turns to you, and smiles. You can just barely see a little of Tigris in her--not that she looks like him, but that she looks the way you would expect Tigris to imagine her. “We owe you, our world owes you, more than even a god knows how to say. Is there anything you would ask of us in return? Speak.”
“Regarding that,” says a voice, familiar despite being entirely new. “I bring tidings.”
Ariel’s wire-listener sparks and tumbles to the ground, from it emerges mist and static and silvery light, an image of a woman projected on the air. She’s wearing a garment made of a seamless piece of cloth wound all around her. “Even now messages go out across my web. The Senate has met, and many in it have been put out, and many who have never seen it shall be brought in. You are senators no more.”
He falls out of his ‘reciting’ voice and raises a hand to forestall the human senator’s answer. “Now, I ain’t a fool. I know you recognize us, know damn well who we are. And I know that the real answer to all the questions I just asked is ‘Nobody stopped you.’ So before you say it, the real question is--do you honestly think that answer makes you look better?”
“We would know,” Mistolin growls, “Who appointed you masters of this world. Why you have withheld spellcraft, which is the right of all, from our people. Why you have pressed those with this gift into servitude to you, against their will. Why you exile those with the gift of my kinship. Why you have made no attempt to alleviate the sufferings of drought and famine in this land.”
They turn back to the heroes. "We got time for a few questions, I guess.”
The most pressing is Lotusseed’s scheme: “That’s gone. Go ahead. Try it!” The land feels back, not only no longer thin and watered down, but more vibrant and energetic than before. What’s more there are little spots, on the mana, of iridescence. Did the gods claim the Lotuses for Onumbrica? Dahfui grins “Doors work both ways. Maybe you opened it to steal, but now it’s open for you to get stole from, too.”
The crowd murmurs.
“Fear not. We have been away for too long. For too long you have needed us, have called to us, and we have not answered.” Narwahye's eyes are pained and honest and manage to look at each person as if she is talking only to them. “What can I say but beg you to forgive us? But we are here now. And there is much that shall be put right.”
And above them, standing in the air, a woman at the center of concentric halos, radiating light. She says “Whoa there.” and all can hear it as if she’s standing right next to them. Suddenly everyone finds themselves incapable of deciding to do any form of violence.
“There are senators among you here, are there not?” Setirov whispers, and the sound is that of a howling tornado. “Let them come forward. We would have words with them.”
A woman with a vest and riding skirt, inhumanly tall—8 ½ feet at least—and graceful, resting one end of a golden bow just as tall as she is on one foot.
A figure almost completely muffled in a voluminous poncho-like cloak, hood pulled over his face, that floats around him as if unaffected by gravity.
A man in a vest and tie, skin obsidian black, with nothing above his collar but a wolf mask, floating, behind which and through the eyes shine a warm saffron-colored sun.
...There’s what can only be described as a detonation that goes THROUGH everything, like all the solid objects in the world were water in a pond into which an enormous stone had been thrown. All around, people curse and stumble, parliamenter and sheriff alike. The pavillion is ripped asunder and blown away.
Inside are six people:
Sturmkraw, huddled back and shading her eyes with a wing.
A leonin-looking very like Mathael but young, with gouts of northern lights radiating from them.
Indeed, when Venqwyn tries to track Lotusseed, she immediately notices that the mana drawn from Onumbrican lands feels… off. Thin and watered down.
Lotusseed has picked this moment to try to enact his centuries-long scheme to seize personal control of the entire plane, perhaps (hopefully) prematurely.
At long last, the finale. This is going to be a long one.
(I just realized this is the first time in my life I've seen a TTRPG campaign through to the end.)
Last time, our heroes pushed through a hurricane to make a vessel for Narwahye, goddess of Light and Peace. Now only the god of wind remains.
WUBRG admin | Brewer | | Blogs for Card Kingdom | Vorthos Jenny | #nobot
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