Neverwinter Forest conduit

seconds passed. heat flared into feverish eyes and ears, under flushed skin. lips parted, tongue unfurled. the shadow stared unseeing with eyes all black, pupils blown, flesh hollow and half-abandoned for the next world. around them, the sparkle and wink of the merriment of the fae dancing all round. to meet the eyes of the fae was death, and so the shadow willed their own essence away, away, searching —

all around, the voice of @Morgana reverberated like the toll of a great bell. the shadow was enraptured, for it was she who had helped them to shed the mortal vessel like the shaking of dew drops from fur. let her be the guide then; she who had been sent by the unnamed god to ferry the prophet across the river of souls to the otherworld.

hope this is okay (: shoot me a message if it needs changes

dreamwalker.

morgana’s voice cut through prolonged silence. she stepped closer, squashing the bundle of carefully gathered mushrooms beneath her paw. she hardly took notice and she did not care for them. just a few. that was enough to send the child to the other realm. the rest could be crushed.

she fell quiet for a moment longer. she stared into their eyes that now resembled a never-ending abyss, and she did so with a smile.

child, there was an eagerness hidden in her voice, tell me what you see.

dreamwalker.

tell me what you see.

in the otherworld, the shadow whirled around in a great arc of coiling inkstain tendrils, a writhing blot of midnight among moon-silver wisps of spirits and shimmering fae. peering through the ethereal haze of blue, the shadow recognized only shards of the mortal world in this new reality. the ground dark and warped, the trees twisted and bone-pale like stone spires, the sky haunted by looming silhouettes; this was the realm of the spirits as the prophet had never experienced it before. gone was the dream-like quality, the transparency in dancing flickers like candlelight. they could feel it now, cold against their paws, could taste it stale and bitter on their tongue.

and beyond, seated high above the rest yet cast all in shadow by the mountain between, the shadow felt the whispering breath of divinity.

spirits, the shadow uttered simply, hushed.

spirits, she repeated with breathless glee. everything was slowly unfolding as she expected.

morgana followed the shadow’s gaze towards a world hidden to her. curiosity gripped her soul.

tell me, her eyes returned to the child, do you hear them?

do you hear them?

hear. always hear, the shadow said, hearing their own voice as if from afar. spirits whisper fate, and will of god. the sky in the otherworld churned, an endless blue chasm scattered with distant floating islands like stars turned to stone and diamond.

morgana smiled. what she knew had been solidified in that moment; they truly were the face that roamed through her visions.

listener, she dubbed the child. what is her will?

listener.

the word reverberated, and the world changed. the shadow, lost in a flurry of silvered sparks and stark slashes of light. the listener.

go where land ends, the listener decreed, even as the otherworld rumbled and shook with the winds of change. then beyond, to see faces of god.

they must go, they say, to where the land ends. morgana’s smile grew wider, for this is what was what was expected. what she’d hoped, anticipated, and dreamed for for many quiet moons.

and you will take us there, she whispered, it’s your destiny. your purpose.

and her’s was to aid.

purpose. yes, they could hear it now; purpose in the whispers of the spirits, in the thundering rumble reverberating through the otherworld. the listener knew morgana's words to be true.

yet questions writhed among the myriad whisper-song, too. the spirits urged her on, eager.

who are you? in the eyes of the unnamed god, who are you?

a member of your council. chosen by the daedra, the gods that whisper to you now. her chest filled with pride as she spoke.

you were chosen to hear their will. i am to speak them. i am to serve them. to serve you.

i am morgana. your speaker.

the daedra, morgana said in reverence. oh, how the listener could have laughed and laughed to hear it! it was so maddening and beautiful, the little tidbits of truth wrapped in wrongness. from merrick, from morgana, from all those who saw through eyes clouded by expectation, by desire.

and it was left to the listener to weave those bits of truth into tapestry.

the prophet of the wilds. the first of the druids.

speaker. you will not say daedra. you will speak, and say: one true god. god of many faces. unnamed god, the listener gave the second decree as the otherworld swam and shook around her.

the smile on her face fell ever so slightly as the listener corrected her. not daedra, she says.

not daedra.
not daedra

and how could that be? confusion leaked into her previously gleeful features. it were the daedra, mephala herself, who had brought them together, was it not? she’d been so sure.

i see… but she couldn’t. not now. this was a puzzle she’d need to decipher in her own time. but for now

she nodded

one true god.

good.

the listener drew up to full height, manic and glinting with dark energy. the moon thrummed above, swollen and sickly pale.

speak. serve.

morgana straightened herself.

you must choose a keeper of the secrets the god whispers to you. a guardian of their word. there was a hint of leftover bewilderment that faded in her voice the longer she spoke, though it had not completely disappeared. someone who is just as devout to the god as you and i.

you must choose a keeper.

a guardian.

the listener knew who it must be, then, and with a toss of their head dismissed it as finished. bony legs trembled under thin nightfire fur, buzzing with magick and dark divinity. the will of god, it was here, carried out in the mortal realm! it is done.

they stood. spoke an affirmation just as sure as the toss of their head. morgana nodded once and with a thoughtful hum uttered, very good.

such confidence was expected, required, of the child. but the confidence she had in this new, unnamed god? it left morgana with an uneasy soul.

a puzzle to decipher.

she fell silent, thus allowing the listener to fully detach from the mortal world and into one of spirits.

bathed in icy aethermist, the listener felt starkly the warm rush of a sighed breath at their hackles. change rippled like a spell cast; the frosted glass aura of the otherworld shattered and melted and warped and was forged anew, all at once. spirits drew in the listener, pressed into her sides, cold and dry like snake scales.

not only spirits, she realized; ancestors.

a harsh whisper in their ear, then, stark above the rest —

you will know no peace in this life, listener.

the connection was severed. the listener's head dropped, and she vomited into the cold dirt at her paws.

then, suddenly, unexpectedly, the listener leaned over themselves. out from her maw ripped a waterfall of past’s spoils.

even a powerful being such as them, with the ability to walk between worlds, was limited by the mortal’s blood that flowed through their veins.

a familiar warmth — one she’d buried and left for dead in times she wished to forget — clawed its way to the surface of morgana’s heart.

child, she breathed, dear child. your visit to the other world has made you ill. she reached out with one delicate paw to brush their shoulder, should they allow it.

when morgana spoke, it was her mortal voice that cut through the hazy veil still lingering around the listener. the void-priest shrugged off the last shreds of spirit-cloak and came away muzzy and ill, blinking. she allowed the touch, lips wrinkling with a brief flash of teeth.

the light that pierced the canopy above caused their revealed teeth to glitter, but just for a moment.

it is normal, she assured with a gentle smile.

melena- she fell silent suddenly. uttering the name sent a ghostly chill down her spine. so too did that warmth.

then, with more confidence, she repeated. melena. morgana stepped away. come. you must rest.

we can fade here if you want :)

melena.

the listener shivered with dark delight, knowing now the power in a name. shadow, trikova, melena... a whispered chorus of raw magick in all different shades. all of it belonged to her.

even in her illness, she could feel prophecy in this moment; a decree that she would have many names for the same reason her god had none.

no mortal would ever have power over her.

the listener retired to the care of their speaker, content in the knowledge gained this night.