Kirthag whispers the three words to herself once again as she gently caresses yet another manuscript. She feels the weight of this loss deeply, right down into the bottom of her fathomless soul, but she mustn't cry over it. The celt knows it would do the scribe little to shed tears over her loss. The hardest part of this knowledge is that it is upon Kirthag's order that the elf is gone.
Setting the book into newly made shelves, Kirthag runs her fingers over the spines of each volume there with reverent love. Love for the knowledge encased within the bindings of each tome; love for the mind that wrote each fine letter and painted each illumination. Thinking back, the Lady realizes the author was the first person she coherently recognized upon this land called Sosaria...
~~~~~
"Please, lady, stop your struggles and let me finish this bandage," a smooth voice with a strange accent whispers softly into the ear of madness.
Kirthag moans and tries to roll away from the voice. Her sword hand is empty, she needs her blade for protection! Reaching, or attempting to, the woman grasps at empty air.
"Lady, if you do not stop I will have to enchant you for your own good," the smooth voice remains calm, that accent holding steady in its authority.
There are visions of unspeakable forms, gigantic Darks in a Void of stars, surging within the barbarian Kirthag's mind. She grunts, the pain of untold wounds racking her body, but still she reaches for a sword that isn't there.
"Enough of this then," the voice stoically utters. "An ex por," a spell is cast.
Kirthag is no longer able to move. She feels warm, thin fingers apply bandages to her head as the visions in her mind surge. She gurgles in her frustration, unable to lash out with even her fists and nails at the horrors before her mind's eye.
The hands pause for a moment, and a soft sigh is heard. "You have a madness, you poor soul. Whatever visions you spy are not of this land - they are not here to harm you..."
For how long the smooth, strange, and calming voice whispered, there is no telling. It could have been mere minutes, or days, or months. Kirthag's concept of time was shattered after all until she finally opened her eyes to view the reality around her.
Kirthag's first glimpse of this new world is filled by a face. Pale, almost translucent skin which seems to glow in the morning light, smooths over an angular face with high cheekbones and a softly pointed chin. It is the glow of eternal life that gives a rosy tinge to cheeks, and thin lips of pale peach slowly stretch into what would come to be a rather rare smile. The eyes, a sparkling lavender, are in concert with the smile showing a sincerity rare in any universe. Silvery hair bound in a loose braid frame this face, and silver hoops in many a number dangle from the telltale ears of a female elf. Her perfectly formed teeth sparkle with the smile, and she whispers, "Ahh, you are right in your mind now."
Thus Kirthag meets Katterina Syl'Vanthi.
~~~~~
She sighs deeply with the memory, and Kirthag realizes a tear slowly travels down her cheek. Wiping it with the back of her hand, the celt stares out of the window toward the setting sun in the west.
How apt is this, Kat? Here, upon the mirrored shore where you first healed my body and mind with the Shard of Napa, I now bid you fair journeys into the Unknown. Where you saved my mind in the rising sun, you now continue your journey with its setting.
As the sun breaks the line between sea and sky, a bright green flash rushes forth for just the blink of an eye. Kirthag knows she will never see her elven friend again, for Katterina has gone on to that place all elves go on their eternal journey.
Turning away, Kirthag sets her mind on the present and the tasks before her. If not only for the safety and security of the Spirit of Sosaria, but also for the memory of her longest Sosarian friend and sister.
The Shard of Catskills has a need.
Within the twilight of her newly built estate, Kirthag settles at her desk with a fresh book eager for words. It requires a charter, a mission, a statement of its purpose for existing. Picking up the mightiest of weapons ever to grace her fingers, Kirthag dabs the raven quill into an inkwell to soak up the raw vitae of all books. With the will of a thousand memories, she applies the sharpened end of the feather to the thirsting parchment, scrawling the first glyph of this new tome...
