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| Action Id: 1313 | Crisis: | Participants: Morrighan and Freja(RIP) | |
| Status: Resolved | Submitted: Oct. 27, 2017, 3:50 p.m. | Public: True | GM: Puffin |
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Action by Morrighan
After the events that took place on Weeping Daughter Isle, when Morrighan and others went in search of the hidden weapon, now more than ever she's gaining certainty that she carries an old soul. The fire spirit on the island gave plenty of indication, yet she still doesn't know the identity of her other self. Feeling this knowledge could be important, she's sought out the help of Freja, hoping that the noble shamaness can perform a ritual that will open Morrighan up to her past life, so that it might help to find out who she had once been.
Action by Freja(RIP)
Result
Her father would be home soon. As she played games with the salamander he left for her, the companion of his many years, as she read and studied and learned about the world around her, and went for walks and played in the cold of the island she knew one thing above all else - he would come home soon. He traveled often, the man they called 'Brimstone' - but he always, always came home. His promise to her, and she was secure in the knowledge that her father kept his promises. And so as she played in the evening, while the night turned cold, she was not in her innocence prepared to look up to find a horribly burned stranger at the mouth of the cave, staring at her with her father's eyes.
"Daddy?"
"I'm home, baby, but not for long." She knew that, she could see it in the way he held himself. So horribly burned, so dreadfully injured. Her father was dying and she couldn't stop it. She moved to help him and started to cry, all at the same time.
"What happened?" She couldn't stop crying as he put his arm across her shoulder, leaning on her to take slow steps into their home, passing bedrooms and storage areas and living areas and moving to his workroom. All the way, he was explaining - something about traitors and dragons and attacks, but she couldn't hear him over the pounding in her head. It was just so loud. And still she couldn't stop crying.
They reached his workroom and he pulled her close, holding her while she sobbed despite the pain it must have caused him. And then he kissed her forehead and his eyes turned the color of molten fire and she could see the magic pour out from him in his final moment, pour out from him and into the salamander, who grew, and changed, and shrank, and spun, and was suddenly as vivid as her father was not. As he slumped to the floor with his final breath she wept, and she could not stop as she laid him out, and placed the weapon in his hands, and covered it with his charred hands.
The warmth of the salamander felt so distant now, as everything in her turned to ice. She gathered her things by memory, and she collected her caretaker and headed to the ship that brought her father home to die, and everywhere she walked turned to ice, forever frozen in that one moment of grief. It could not be borne. It would not be borne, and so she poured her sorrow out with her tears, and though she would never again do magic like this, where she stepped the island stopped, frozen in grief and misery, this moment preserved. She left the salamander behind and did not look back, did not see as the island was encased completely. She sailed away from grief as she wept, but forever left behind too was the welcome of home.
To the sailors who saw it, they started calling it the Weeping Daughter Isle, and some regarded it as a place sacred to love forever remembered, and others viewed it as a bad omen of loss and suffering. It faded in men's memories over time, and no one came to see the island, and the memory of the Weeping Daughter's grief faded. But still the island waited, and high in a cave in the mountain the salamander waited too, for a time when the world would remember.