Dominique Darkwatch
Dominique Darkwatch decides she will do a bit of routine practice sword work. But what happens is anything but routine.
After Dominique finished her morning prayers in the Sylvan cleric hall, she journeyed to the arena. The startling recent appearance of several drow and Torgans at the hall reminded her that she was vulnerable and in bad need of practice with her sword to be prepared to defend herself.
She positioned herself near a practice dummy and drew her sword, the one that was blessed by Eonwe and imbued with strength and balance. She had religiously polished and cleaned it weekly, even though she had not used it.
As she drew the sword, she noticed that it felt different in her hands. There was something about it that seemed strange and unfamiliar.
Dom quickly dismissed the strangeness as arising from a lack of practice, and lifted the sword with both hands, poised to attack and slash at the dummy. Again she noted that it seemed heavier and less balanced, but she steeled herself and prepared to attack. She raised the sword and swung it in a downward arc, hoping to deal damage to the practice dummy. But suddenly the sword seemed to swerve and instead of biting into the wood of the dummy, it glanced off and bounce right back at the cleric.
This took her totally by surprise and the sword's blade bit deeply into her flesh as if rebelling against its owner.
As a battle healer, Dom had experienced the bite of many hostile blades, but this time she did something that she had never done before. She cursed and swore.
"BURZIM-ISHI KRIMPITUL!"
What came out of the high cleric's mouth was, in fact, neither elvish nor of the language of any race seen since the end of the 3rd age. She cursed in the language of the Black Speech.
Even though she had never heard it, read it or spoke it before, she knew what it was the instant it rolled off her tongue and out of her mouth. She suddenly dropped the sword and covered her mouth with her hands. She looked furtively around to see if any were around to hear. In her astonishment, she had momentarily forgotten about her wound, but blood was pouring out of her, and she saw her hands covered in it. But she was not terribly concerned, for she was an arch healer of Sylvhara. Healing is what she did and she had healed herself many times in battle.
Dom knelt down, closed her eyes and called upon the gifts of her patron Valie, Nienna, the ainu of compassion. As she prayed Dom suddenly became aware that the familiar sensations of healing were very slow in coming and faint and weak, barely enough to begin to close the wound. Gradually Dom became aware that the warmth and closeness she had felt in communing with Nienna was no longer there. Nienna was present, but there was a vagueness that was never there before. A distance she had not known, especially since the ceremony at Alqualonde.
She continued to lose blood through the wound that was not closing fast enough. So great was Dom's faith that she had not bothered to bring any bandages or even healing potions with her. She began to wonder if her faith was misplaced, and doubt began creeping in. Dom concentrated again, only this time she called upon the healing powers of Este and was promptly rewarded with feeling her body bathed in a healing glow that closed the wound and stopped the bleeding. She was still weakened and collapsed in her own blood, laying there, resting until strength began returning.
Finally she crawled to her feet, and gingerly picked up the sword, now dirty and bloody. She decided she would carry it instead of sheathing it, and gradually her strength returned enough so she could return to the cleric hall, clean herself up, take a healing potion and rest properly.
As she lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling and listened to the sounds of the crickets outside, she reflected on what had happened. Something was definitely not right. It was only when she resolved what she must do that she was finally able to release herself to sleep and the realms of Irmo. She needed to take her swan Lu, and return to Alqualonde and consult with Nienna herself. Hopefully she was still there. And so that was Dom's last waking thought of the night. Nienna would know what to do.
After Dominique finished her morning prayers in the Sylvan cleric hall, she journeyed to the arena. The startling recent appearance of several drow and Torgans at the hall reminded her that she was vulnerable and in bad need of practice with her sword to be prepared to defend herself.
She positioned herself near a practice dummy and drew her sword, the one that was blessed by Eonwe and imbued with strength and balance. She had religiously polished and cleaned it weekly, even though she had not used it.
As she drew the sword, she noticed that it felt different in her hands. There was something about it that seemed strange and unfamiliar.
Dom quickly dismissed the strangeness as arising from a lack of practice, and lifted the sword with both hands, poised to attack and slash at the dummy. Again she noted that it seemed heavier and less balanced, but she steeled herself and prepared to attack. She raised the sword and swung it in a downward arc, hoping to deal damage to the practice dummy. But suddenly the sword seemed to swerve and instead of biting into the wood of the dummy, it glanced off and bounce right back at the cleric.
This took her totally by surprise and the sword's blade bit deeply into her flesh as if rebelling against its owner.
As a battle healer, Dom had experienced the bite of many hostile blades, but this time she did something that she had never done before. She cursed and swore.
"BURZIM-ISHI KRIMPITUL!"
What came out of the high cleric's mouth was, in fact, neither elvish nor of the language of any race seen since the end of the 3rd age. She cursed in the language of the Black Speech.
Even though she had never heard it, read it or spoke it before, she knew what it was the instant it rolled off her tongue and out of her mouth. She suddenly dropped the sword and covered her mouth with her hands. She looked furtively around to see if any were around to hear. In her astonishment, she had momentarily forgotten about her wound, but blood was pouring out of her, and she saw her hands covered in it. But she was not terribly concerned, for she was an arch healer of Sylvhara. Healing is what she did and she had healed herself many times in battle.
Dom knelt down, closed her eyes and called upon the gifts of her patron Valie, Nienna, the ainu of compassion. As she prayed Dom suddenly became aware that the familiar sensations of healing were very slow in coming and faint and weak, barely enough to begin to close the wound. Gradually Dom became aware that the warmth and closeness she had felt in communing with Nienna was no longer there. Nienna was present, but there was a vagueness that was never there before. A distance she had not known, especially since the ceremony at Alqualonde.
She continued to lose blood through the wound that was not closing fast enough. So great was Dom's faith that she had not bothered to bring any bandages or even healing potions with her. She began to wonder if her faith was misplaced, and doubt began creeping in. Dom concentrated again, only this time she called upon the healing powers of Este and was promptly rewarded with feeling her body bathed in a healing glow that closed the wound and stopped the bleeding. She was still weakened and collapsed in her own blood, laying there, resting until strength began returning.
Finally she crawled to her feet, and gingerly picked up the sword, now dirty and bloody. She decided she would carry it instead of sheathing it, and gradually her strength returned enough so she could return to the cleric hall, clean herself up, take a healing potion and rest properly.
As she lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling and listened to the sounds of the crickets outside, she reflected on what had happened. Something was definitely not right. It was only when she resolved what she must do that she was finally able to release herself to sleep and the realms of Irmo. She needed to take her swan Lu, and return to Alqualonde and consult with Nienna herself. Hopefully she was still there. And so that was Dom's last waking thought of the night. Nienna would know what to do.
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