Meditations and Reflections

Something woke Myra with a start. Perhaps it was the tingling that seemed to radiate from the marks on her arms, or perhaps it was a pulling she felt deep within herself. No matter the cause, she felt herself drawn. To where... she knew where this nights pullings would lead her and she knew how to safely reach Baal'morda. Trenton had made it clear to her, with his most direct words that she would be the only one to kill the Lord of the Dead.

And so she quickly made her way towards Tel'Ruid. This night, there would be a group of people she had always called friends gathering to journey to the bowels of Hythloth in hopes of destroying Baal'morda, once and for all; hoping that they could succeed where the Sacred Order of the Ankh had failed so many centuries ago.

Failing to check her quiver, or her other provisions, she belatedly remembered she needed a sword with which to wound the daemon. Finding one, she was assigned to a group and they gated to the ominous opening to the Dungeon Hythloth. Just as they were about to enter, a beastly daemon appeared, belittling the force gathered to slay him. As the daemon disappeared in a flash of brimstone, undead clawed their way clear of the ground, assaulting the group of brave warriors. Myra kept herself amid a group of them, hoping to keep herself well enough to face that daemon that she knew lay in wait for her.

The exodus towards Baal'morda's lair was dangerous, if not tedious at times. Multiple packs of hell hounds greeted the group as they entered. Never had Myra seen so many wolves come together for a common goal. And these hellish fiends' goal? To slay those who would seek the death of their master. After some time, the group made it's way past them, only to be greeted by unholy trees that sprang from the decrepit earth of the hellspawn crypt. Myra kept her bow unstrung, but left her hand over her harp, ready to play a quick tune that would aid in the advancement of the group. Her off hand hovered above the hilt of the blade at her side.

After a time she found herself jumping as deep into the fray as well armored warrior. In her haste, she had neglected to put on her own armor and was traveling in what Ian had referred to as "a party dress". Cursing her lack of forethought, all worries were erased as a gargoyle fell to her blade and she suddenly felt revitalized. All weariness melted away as the abyssal creature's life force refueled her own.

The nearer they came to the Lord of the Dead, the more gargoyles appeared and sought to stop them. And the more gargoyles appeared, the more Myra's blade could be flashing amongst the blades of the others, felling the beasts. With each death, Myra felt more alive. She felt she was truly ready to slay Baal'morda. And at that thought, a dark set of stairs awaited the group.

Myra looked down into the darkness. There was part of her destiny. Not a part she wanted to embrace, but a part she felt she had no choice. If indeed Trenton had set her up as a tool... to drain Baal'morda's power and essence into himself... then she was damned if she went through with killing the daemon, and just as damned if she didn't. From what she had learned, Trenton Sythe was a cold, calculating, and cruel man. If she would not feed him Baal'morda's spirit, he surely had some other plan already in action to remedy that. And with those thoughts she took a deep breath and proceeded down the stairs with the others.

The daemon barreled towards the group. Myra had crept closer to it, her sword held tightly in her hand. Her small figure seemed even smaller next to the girth of the daemon lord. She smelled sulfur and brimstone around her, but her full attention focused on the daemon. "Be sure your blade cuts deeply" Trenton's words to her rang in her mind. She raised the sword above her head and charged the daemon.

"Stay back you ensorcelled wench!" Baal'morda cried as her sword's blade bit into him again and again. She swung his hand at her knocking her into the nearby wall. She fell to the floor, breathless. He turned his attention to the others with her. Stumbling to her feet, she glared at the daemon and gripped her sword tighter, and ran at him again. Three times she did this, and three times he swatted her away. But she persisted and eventually the daemon screamed and fell.

Chaos ensued as lesser minions of the Lord of the Dead continued to swarm the group. Myra retreated to the upper room. She felt somewhat invigorated, but something was awkward. Something wasn't right. A gate was opened and she stepped through, back to Tel'Ruid. Back home. But that wasn't the end she knew... Something just told her. Then the questions came. The accusing stares, the curious looks, the whispers of distrust and disbelief. And the stinging.

Where once there was no pain at all, the marks on her arms suddenly began to sting. She backed away from the crowds, and found herself with her back against the wall of the Silver Arrow. People pressed in around her. A voice rose above the others "Get back! Leave her alone!" She looked up and to her side to see Glor standing on the steps, doing his best to keep the crowd back. A few others joined him in his efforts.

Just as the crowd had begun to calm, Baal'morda himself appeared. He was obviously weak. Myra didn't hear a word he said. The crowd had been taken aback by his sudden presence, and Myra, who had been whimpering from the pain in her arms suddenly had a clear purpose. Her sword was in her hand before she could think about it and she strode towards the daemon. Hate burned in her heart towards him. Because of him, her friends had been hurt, would continue to be hurt. Because of him, her life would never be the same. Her hand tightened around the hilt. The daemon ordered her to stay away. She ran up to him, words spilling from her lips, straight from her heart. With each word she slashed at the daemon, doing little damage. She began to become disheartened and with her remaining strength, she plunged her blade deep into the daemon's abdomen.

With an eruption of brimstone the daemon bellowed and fell. This time for good. Myra felt a strange sensation through out her body and instantly knew the marks on her arms had disappeared. She stared down at the corpse of the daemon, her sword fell from her hand. It was done.

Or was it? Melyanna stepped forward, announcing that Mord'sythe's tower... which had recently been locked... was now open and that she had found something that warranted investigation. Myra was instantly aware of the looks she began to receive when Melyanna suggested that she be watched until the book was read. Myra insisted on seeing it. Suddenly the daemon's body rose from the ground and floated towards the Temple. She was not certain what to do but stepped in it's way just before it reached the Temple stairs. The others gathered 'round as well. Then in her mind, she could hear Baal'morda once again. "Allow me..." he almost pleaded. Into the Temple? she thought. But asked aloud, "Allow you... where?" Some looked at her in confusion, some as if she had been possessed by the daemon... and even others claimed to hear it's voice as well. The daemon's body eventually disintegrated before their very eyes.

Myra looked about uncomfortably. More questions, she knew. Set on avoiding questions she could not answer, she satisfied some curiosities by pushing up her sleeves to show the marks were gone. Then, reminded of Trenton's tower, she started off into the forest. Many followed. Upon the shelf in Trenton's study was a letter, tucked between the books. It alluded to the plan that Myra and other's had guessed had been set into action. It was all too much to think about.

She didn't know what else to do, she didn't have answers to offer up. She had given in to the idea that perhaps, just perhaps she had only been made a somewhat willing Scion to Mord'sythe, and had fed the evil man his own master's life force. She could not deny that it was the case, she truly did not know. And she didn't know what more to think. So she trudged back to the Silver Arrow. More questions.

And when she could take no more, she had decided a time of reflection was needed. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? For those around her, it seemed that Beltaine was not just a rebirth of spring for nature, but a rebirth of spring in their lives. The Affliction of the Lord of the Dead had passed. The daemon lord himself was slain. The Afflicted were returned to health, and even Dolenamo, whom she had passed on her way to the Temple, seemed revived. A bright new horizon was before her friends. Her promises had been fulfilled.

In her own way, Myra Sunveil had helped free her loved ones from the curse of Baal'morda. She had set out to do so, at any price. But the question was, just what was the price the young elf maid had paid? She did not know, and she did not know where to find the answers. Or, more appropriately, she did not know where to find the truth. And so she sat in the Temple, her fingers rubbing all details off of the crescent pendant of Corellon that Strongbow had given her, and she waited. She waited for the sun to rise and set again, and waited to see what this new 'era' of the Glade would bring for her. Was Mord'sythe finished with her? Would she ever truly be trusted and warmly accepted in her home? She did not think things would ever be the same. She knew she would not.

As she had watched the sun rise that next morning, she wondered to herself if it was the sunrise of a new hope, or the sunrise of ...something far worse.