Unti Family/Nerta/A2S1

Roleplay from Nerta the Weaver

Message sent to Everyone in the Agyrian Academy

The expansive Agyrian Academy stretched out before them was almost impossible to comprehend. The sprawling complex of grand buildings dwarfed many of the larger hamlets the troupe had visited and a small army of scribes and scholars drifted between each. One could study anything here, each building dedicated to the study of some art or philosophy and then there was the library. No where else was there such a collection of lore: uncountable shelves of books and scrolls, mountains of stone tablets, painted hide sheets and faded parchment. One could spend days just walking about, and no doubt years uncovering the unknown but the unseen guide tugged Nerta and her company toward obscured passages and down twisting halls. As the party entered a reliquary deep within the complex an old librarian halted them with questions, whose answers he was ill prepared to receive. A short exchange later the man scampers off, leaving the group to move deeper past relics of bygone ages. Soon they stood before a massive stone table littered with the discarded books and pages of chaotic research. The scene was lit with braziers of violet flame that flickered and cast deep shadows along with their pale light. The silence was heavy in the soft darkness, leaving them to wait until the nervous librarian came with a mirror to once again reveal the scholar-king of old. He stood there before the strange stone table, his expression wistful as the ethereal hand passed through the pages scattered atop. Realizing he was visible once more at the librarian’s gasp, Aldo straightens and offers a wane smile. “These halls are more familiar to me than the back of my own hand…” For a fleeting instant the old specter seems to feel his age, his corpus growing faint, features blurring but he sharpens once more and pressed on, “For you all to understand what must be done you need a bit of context.”

Nerta the Weaver (Foederati)

Orders from Nerta the Weaver

Message sent to Everyone in the Agyrian Academy

“Long ago the Gods fought with Dragons for control of the world. The Gods won, but at a terrible cost. The Gods quickly learned that Dragons could not be destroyed for they are,” he paused as though searching for words, “necessary. Necessary but problematic, and so they were cast into the void and contained in part with their own power.” Drifting around the table the ghost sighs, “It was a foolish plan to be sure, but the Gods were young and certain of their strength. By the time they realized there were cracks in the prison it was too late, some of the lesser Dragons had slipped free and found hosts to manifest: We have known them as Daimons, but they are dragon-kin.” “Many of the Daimons have been shall we say; distracted by their return to the world. Others have been thwarted by the Children of the Gods or even occasionally by humanity,” the rueful tone passes as quickly as it came, “But some of the dragon-kin have been working hard to free their brothers and sisters from the prison and they have nearly succeeded.” A glance to the lingering Nerta had the specter’s voice grave, “Do you remember when we first saw the Eternal Flame? How small it seemed? That flame does many things but among them is to burn off excess power from the Dragon’s prison. That the flame gutters and fades says there is little to spare. All because of the Blight.” “The prison is powered by ley lines, veins of energy that flow through the earth. Dragon Blood, as they are called in the texts. But the Blight swallowed many of the loci, the junctions in that web, sending them to the other world and weakening the network of power.” Raising a hand to forestall questions a bit longer Aldo presses on, “I know all this for the same reason I am here: back when I was alive I stole the knowledge from the Gods. The Third Invasion brought the Daimons to Beluaterra and the agents of the Gods tried everything to stop them. They were dark times with humanity divided, those who wished to stop the Daimons and those who wished to help them. Or at least save their own skin.” His hands clenched even as he glanced down at the table, “I had been given a scroll, a map, by an agent of the Gods but I could not read it despite knowing a multitude of tongues. And so I risked it all to find this table which can translate anything into the tongue of beasts and once it was done…” he runs a hand through his hair, “Once it was done I left the Republic on pilgrimage. I followed the map to the home of the Dark Mistress and stole her books.” “I gained much knowledge that day: Knowledge of what the Gods had done; knowledge of what might come to pass, and now that it has; knowledge of how to fix it.” “We must collect the Dragon Tears, the portal stones; follow the maps contained in the books I stole to uncover the remaining loci; and then restore the network through arcane rituals that we must yet devise.” Smiling faintly the apparition spreads his hands, “Or you know, do nothing and let humanity fade as the world is taken from us.”

Nerta the Weaver (Foederati)

Roleplay from Jacinda the Driven

Message sent to Everyone in the Agyrian Academy

Her face was impassive. "Saving the Gods and humanity from a foe even greater than the Daimons, by a ritual we know nothing about, using power we do not have, in locations we cannot control. An impossible task." Jacinda's lips quirked into a wry smile. "But so is killing every necromancer on the continent, and I swore to that readily enough. Though I suppose the Dragons will do it for me if we fail, so at least there is that." She drew her favourite sword, short with a wicked hilt nearly as deadly as the blade, and held it in front of her. And while her grin remained, her eyes were serious. "I believe the only thing left to say is this: You have my sword."

Jacinda the Driven (Adventurer)

Roleplay from Nerta the Weaver

Message sent to Everyone in the Agyrian Academy

Madness. Together they'd plunged into the old Valentic Catacombs and fought against the tenacious dread champion Bakra and his minions. They'd dusted, dispelled and destroyed Ancestors for days in the dark, dueling the thing dozens of times each. Yet despite their every effort the leering champion seemed to grow in strength by leaps and bounds and they'd failed to stop those necromancers Jacinda hated so from breaking open those sepulchres and marching on the city. They'd failed to protect even these people but now we were to do the impossible? Clearly this, this was madness. Even as Jacinda drops that wicked blade from her salute Nerta steps in to lean on the table, "Don't let the Old Man's theatrics fool you into thinking this is some bard's tale Jacinda. Saving the land, slaying dragons? We can't even stop one bone lord." The specter in the mirror flickers a moment, his expression annoyed, "As I told you yesterday, the champion was siphoning power from the web. That is why you could not best it and if you do nothing such occurrences will only increase." Despite the dark portent Nerta hardly seems moved, “And as I told you Old Man, it's bad enough I have to be sacrificed for this fool quest of yours, leave the others out of it.” “Do not talk to me about sacrifice, girl. Everything and everyone I ever cared for is dead. I’m dead. All so we might have the slimmest chances to avert this apocalypse.” "Stop your self-aggrandizing, you relic. You found a way to cheat death because you thought these people couldn't save themselves without you. I may be a Weaver but you are the spider here. Now you'll throw Jacinda to the wolves all to fulfill some mad quest." The specter sighs, "We both know your affect of not caring is a lie. You may have started that way but you've thrown yourself into the jaws of death to help others without prompting often enough. Even now, you've not said no, only asked that we handle it alone. Well too bad, it's not your choice or mine. They're here because they know something is wrong and that someone must fix it." Moving out of view for a moment the specter does something only Nerta can see before stepping back into the frame, "Jacinda, I pointed out some books that will be useful, hopefully you'll get them in a second. They're journals of mine from when I took a trip to the Roof of the World to steal from the Gods. Some of the pit falls, traps, and creatures that you might run into. I'm sending you that way because I am almost certain that there is a locus somewhere in the mountains but we need to find it. We also need to find eight Dragon Tears, but with any luck one will lead to the other." "I am also certain that a locus resides in Wudenkin, no doubt a dark and corrupted one. Too many terrible things have happened in that city to be a mere coincidence." "For the rest we shall have to explore and see about deciphering the ancient books that I stole." Bending in the mirror the elder shade seems to point to a section of the stone table. Straightening he smiles, "Prepare yourselves; It's time to save the world."

Nerta the Weaver (Foederati)

Roleplay from Wren the Wacher

Message sent to Everyone in the Agyrian Academy

The Wren sat atop a pile of dusty books on a chair in the deep library, crouched with her soft-booted feet tucked up under her as usual. She listened with wide saucer-eyes as the Old Man--Aldo, she corrected herself--described his past life and delved into the depths of the lore she had been steeped in as a young one. They were familiar tales to nod along to until they weren't. He went further into stories she had not heard, of darkness and Dragon Blood, of stealing from the web. Her heart jumped when he mentioned that he had visited the Roof of the World, had stolen from the Gods. Trills of fear cooled the sense of purpose that she had been feeling. This was not Undead, this was their Masters. And the Life Bringer would smile upon the Wren and her friends for their efforts, if they survived. There were many other possible paths that her mind's eye saw vividly; many bleak and terrible futures. Were they alone to confront this threat in the name of the World and Gods? As her new friends and fellows began to pledge to his quest, the Wren's quick-blinking eyes went to Nerta. Her friend, the one like her. Nerta was suited to the web. Did she guess it? Would she need her feathered friend? Then to Kevan. Would he stay, and help? She wondered about his quest. The others, Jass- and Jet, they were strong. Decisions made fast. Good to travel with. How would the Wren help? "I can read," Wren chirruped from her perch, her eyes fixed back on her friend Nerta, "and travel swift, can fight. I want to help friend Nerta, most. I want to help Old Aldo. I know Blight. And maybe..." She shuffled in the small heavy pack at her side, downy light brown hair falling across her face, and produced a hard glossy object slightly larger than her fist with edges uneven and smooth like melted glass. It was dark blue-black and seemed to have light within, like the sun shining into deep water. Voice hopeful and unsure, she blink-blinked and offered softly, "Maybe this, is portal stone?"

Wren the Wacher (Foederati)

Roleplay from Nerta the Weaver

Message sent to Everyone in the Agyrian Academy

Determination Nerta exhales slowly, her eyes too hot, and just stares at Jacinda. So long as the scared woman drew breath she would fight. She would fight for peace, for the hopes and dreams of others; for the life she never got. Jacinda the Driven. Fingers scrape along the stone table, Nerta’s hands curling into fists as she looks away from the half smile. What could she do…? What should she do…? Was she just a pawn in the games of kings and Gods? A chirp pulls Nerta’s attention up to Wren’s perch, her gaze meeting the big brown eyes. They were two of a kind, of different tribes, but their blood was the same. Wren had seen it all, she understood. That which had been lost, the creeping corruption, the ignorance of the kingdoms. She could read too… Wren the Watcher. As the shimmering pearl was pulled out and held in the shadowy flames of Incindia all eyes turn to it. One, one of how many? It is a mad quest but… they have one. Nerta turns from the table with a sigh, seemingly making her way toward the exit, but instead she stops by one of the bookshelves. Her hand pauses over one of the tomes, a finger brushing the spine. “So you’ll do this then.” It was not a question. “We’ll need to be lucky.” Plucking the battered volume from the shelf, Nerta moves to pass it up to Wren, “Let’s get ready then, we have a long road to the mountains.” Gaze sweeping back around to the Old Man, Nerta sighs, “At least I’ll get to go home, for a short time anyway.”

Nerta the Weaver (Foederati)