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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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The adventurers were helpless as they watched Torriel easily fly over to Aethelle. Her eyes wide, but unable to scream, felt him lay a hand upon her bare skin, shooting a searing pain through her. She closed her eyes, feeling what she had felt so long ago to the hands of the very same man: unfathomable suffering.
Aethelle felt the prison of time release her, and she slumped to the ground. Her vision blurry, she looked up to see her companions still frozen. Shadowheart desperately ran towards Aethelle, trying send a blast of healing energy at her. With a wave of his hand, Torriel easily deflected the spell again. This time the force of his repulsion sent Shadowheart flying into Ryn, the two companions only being caught by the wall behind them.
"You dared to come here and embarrass me, in my own home? You dared to challenge me again?" shouted the necromancer, kicking the sorceress in the stomach. She coughed at the pain, and felt the blood drip from her mouth. All at once, she felt Torriel’s hand grip her arm and pull her to her feet. Aethelle could barely stand, but she did not need to, as Torriel gripped her throat and raised her off the ground. She clawed at his hand in despair, choking and sputtering as her legs dangled helplessly off the ground.
"No. I will break you. I will take the rest of your power, and then raise you from the dead to be my servant forevermore. Then, we will be together again, like we once were."
Aethelle felt her life leave her once again. To her, it felt like a millennia of torture. As if the physical pain wasn't enough, she glanced over at Astarion, his eyes wide, trapped in his own body. She allowed her eyes to close, and a few memories flickered across her mind. She saw her and Torriel in the meadow, laughing underneath the rain. She saw Ryn clutching her in her home, holding her as the two sobbed. She saw Shadowheart throwing the spear over the side of the Shadowfell and laying a hand on the aasimar. She saw herself talking to Gale, encouraging him before he touched the statue of Mystra, facing the goddess once more. She saw her companions sitting along the campfire, everyone laughing as she retold the story about visiting Jaheira's house.
The final memory that flickered through her mind was her favorite. She ran from Astarion, up the stairs of her home, as he chased her. They were laughing so hard they could barely contain themselves. She let herself settle into this memory for a moment, dreaming up the life she would have lived with him. It was her last comfort, imagining the two of them reading while lounging on a chaise, or him taking down a book for her on a high shelf before spinning her around. Perhaps she could die happy if she let herself live in this fantasy for her final moments.
Aethelle felt the storm surge within her, creeping to the surface. The air in the room brimmed with power. A crack of thunder roared outside and shook the glasses of champagne on the tables.
Her eyes ripped open, breaking her from the fantasy. She gripped the hand around her throat, and as she looked down upon it, she saw the lightning streak across her skin like veins itself. Torriel realized all too late what was about to occur.
In the penultimate moment, she screamed and let the power rip through her. The lightning burst from her hand and electrocuted Torriel with such ferocity that he stumbled backwards from the agonizing strike, freeing Aethelle from his grasp. She struggled for breath as she watched her companions able to freely move once more.
The sorceress raised a hand to the necromancer, and summoned a blast of lightning so powerful it screeched as it tore the air apart. Torriel was shot backwards, fragments of lightning crackling around his limp body. He coughed blood as he backed away from her on the ground.
Ryn watched the surge he had once seen so many years ago. Aethelle's skin burned blue with streaks of lightning. The air was thick and electric, a flurry of energy feeling as if it could burst at any moment. As the sorceress glowed with power, he saw Torriel begin to glow as well, and the necromancer fired his own bolt of lightning at her. Aethelle halted the lightning with her hands, and as it crackled in suspense, she redirected it right back at Torriel. He screamed as his flesh burned, and she flew over to him.
Torriel sputtered blood onto the floor.
"It didn't have to be like this, Aeth."
"Don't lecture me on what this could have been," the sorceress's breath shook as tears rolled down her face. The streaks of lightning on her skin slowly disappeared, and the glow of the two mages grew fainter and fainter. Ryn felt the air settle around him.
"I'm sorry," coughed Torriel. "I am."
"Oh I know you are not!" yelled Aethelle, sobbing. "How could you be after all this time?"
"Because I've had a long time to think on my actions," the necromancer said softly. "And I regret my mistakes. But I already had a piece of you in me. I knew we could not change events long past, or what had to happen in the present."
"Careful, Aethelle," spat Ryn. "Do not let his flowery words overcome you."
"You have to kill me, Aethelflaed," said Torriel calmly. "Take your power back from me."
"Why are you saying this?" The sorceress fell to her knees between sobs. "Why didn't you just give it back to me, then, if you realized this?"
"It had to be you or me."
"You just tried to kill me!" she screamed. "You sick, twisted man. Do not act like you did me some big favor!"
"I was too much of a coward to take my life myself. I won't lie to you. If there was a chance for me to live, and make up for my mistakes, I wanted to take it. Your death would have burdened me forevermore, but I could atone." Torriel leaned up, locking his eyes with hers. "You've beaten me. Kill me, as you were meant to do. Free me of this suffering."
"Do not speak to me of suffering! I have suffered much more than you, since the day you murdered me!" Aethelle leaned over, her head in her hands, her body shaking with her sobs. "I have suffered much more than you, since the day you broke my heart."
Astarion began to go to her, but Gale took his arm and stopped him. "Remember the palace," mouthed Gale to Astarion. Astarion suddenly remembered the way he screamed and sobbed after killing Cazador. His companions let him take his moment of healing by himself, until he was ready to leave. He let himself remain at Gale's side, but his body remained alert.
"Aeth," smiled the necromancer weakly. "Do you remember the rest of the memory I showed you?"
"Do you remember?"
"Shut up! Just shut up!" sputtered Aethelle, before giving the wizard a faint nod.
"The rain fell harder, and we were soaked," laughed Torriel. "But we didn't go back to the house. You wanted to stay in the meadow."
"I didn't want to leave," Aethelle said through her sobs. "Because if we left, then we'd have to go back to our parents."
"So we ran to the willow tree, and sat beneath it for hours, shivering and laughing," continued Torriel.
"But it didn't matter, because we held each other until it stopped."
"And then you told me—"
"And then I told you I loved you, too." Aethelle locked her eyes with Torriel.
"It's my fondest memory," murmured Torriel. "Thank you for letting me relive that memory with you one more time. Now, let me go."
The sorceress brought herself to her feet. As she pointed at the necromancer, her hand glowing, a thin green ray of light shot from her finger. As the luminance engrossed Torriel, his body disintegrated into a fine grey dust, slowly disappearing into the air.
Aethelle fell to her knees once more, screaming and sobbing. She hit the ground with her fists repeatedly before burying her head in her hands, still weeping. As she wept, she did not see the luminescent blue orb from the place Torriel lay, and how it slowly made its way back to her.
Gale gently patted Astarion and nodded at him in approval. As Astarion went to her, the glowing blue orb expanded to the surround the sorceress. He was suddenly thrown backwards, along with the rest of his companions. They watched, as the orb levitated her upwards, her body limp. Soon the orb itself was so bright, they could only see the outline of her body in the center of the radiant blue.
"What is that?" asked Shadowheart from underneath Ryn’s protective arm, as she covered her eyes from the bright blue light.
"I... I don’t know."
"My child, how I’ve waited for you."
Aethelle’s eyes suddenly opened. She heaved and looked around frantically, seeing nothing but grey clouds, as if she was the center of a storm itself. She looked down to see she was not standing, but simply levitated in the air, though not of her own doing.
All at once, a beautiful avariel appeared in front of the sorceress. Her skin was pale blue, her wings of pure white reflecting colors like a prism. Her silver hair fell in waves to her waist, decorated with feathers throughout. She was clad in white silken robes, decorated with silver embroidery. Atop her head was a silver crown, and in the center of the crown was a silver bird in front of a sapphire cloud. The avariel looked at her with piercing lavender eyes.
"Are you... Aennaflaed?" asked Aethelle in disbelief. "Did I.. Did I die?"
"I am not Aennaflaed, and you did not die," smiled the avariel. "I am the Winged Mother, the Queen of the Avariel, the unending and unyielding tempest."
"You... you’re Aerdrie Faenya."
"I am. I am glad to see you have made yourself whole once more," smiled the goddess.
"Why are you here?" asked Aethelle. "I don’t understand."
"Long ago, your ancestor Aennaflaed was slain in battle. I loved Aennaflaed deeply, and I suffered greatly from her loss," replied Aerdrie. "I vowed I would honor her, and return the power I bestowed upon her to the tenth generation of her line, which happens to be you."
"Why... why wait so long?"
"If I restored the power any sooner, my enemies would have come again, and slain again. This gave me the chance to hide the power away, and gave me time to deal with them myself." The goddess smiled. "They will not come for you, I promise you that."
Aerdrie flew closer to Aethelle, her striking lavender eyes piercing hazel. "I knew the necromancer would steal your power. But I cannot tamper with the affairs of mortals so considerably, as I am sure you know from your experiences with the fickle Mystra. It was up to you to take it back. And thus, you have done so."
"So that's why you're here," murmured the sorceress.
"Indeed. You have done well, little tempest." Aerdrie looked at the sorceress adoringly. "In addition to the full power of your sorcery, I will bestow upon you a gift for your success. Name your wish, and I shall grant it."
Aethelle’s mind raced. This was all so much to take in, and she was still reeling from finally killing Torriel. Could she really trust the goddess to stick to her word, after seeing the fleeting loyalty of Shar and Mystra to her own companions? Perhaps Aerdrie was different, Aethelle thought, but how could she be sure? And a gift? What could she wish for? There was no limit of possibilities. Power, wealth, immortality... all of these things were suddenly at her disposal, but all of those things were of little consequence to her. No, there was but one thing she wanted.
"I... want more time."
"So you wish to live on, to be immortal?" questioned the Aerdrie.
"No. I... I want more time with Astarion," Aethelle's breath was shaky as she spoke. "He'll live on, long past me. I don't..." The sorceress could hardly fathom the words she was speaking to the goddess before her. She felt ridiculous for telling Aerdrie of her wish, but it was her wish nonetheless.
"I don't want him to feel lonely, ever again. Can you let me stay as I am with him, until it's his time to go?"
"The vampire could perish tomorrow," replied Aerdrie, her face perplexed. "Then you would be taken along with him."
"And it would be my greatest blessing," the sorceress murmured, "to have the chance to experience his love, even for the briefest time."
"Curious," the goddess chuckled, surprised at herself. "Humorous, even. You are as worthy as Aennaflaed all those centuries ago." The goddess looked warmly to Aethelle. "I thank you, little tempest, for blessing me with her presence one more time."
Aethelle sighed in relief.
"I will give you the power to remain with him, and I will give you the power to protect him. You have proven yourself worthy of being my Chosen." Aerdrie held out her hand, and in her palm Aethelle's quarterstaff Woe appeared, glowing a dull blue. "Accept your station, and you shall become immortal until felled, and you shall wield the storm in my honor."
"Your... Chosen?" the sorceress blinked. "What... what would I have to do?"
"Slay those who would pollute this world with evil. Create chaos in the skies with your storms. Sunder heretics with my lightning, and wash them away with my rain. And should I need you, I shall call upon you. Whatever you face, you shall not be alone. But I grant you the choice of your own free will. Should you decline, I will still bestow your wish upon you."
Aethelle closed her eyes. Astarion had declined the ascendancy the ritual would have granted him. Shadowheart had denied becoming a Dark Justiciar. Her companions denied such power. However, these promises were born of some of the most gruesome evils, and it had become increasingly apparent that it would trap them forever.
Her mind flickered to the wizard. Mystra harmed Gale terribly by toying with his love for her, then demanding his death. Yet, he still longed to be her Chosen once more, not out of love for the goddess, but out of his love for magic. Aerdrie seemed different in the way she spoke of Aennaflaed. But what if the goddess commanded her Chosen to die on her behalf all those centuries ago?
"I feel your doubt, child. Let me show you something."
Aethelle opened her eyes, and suddenly she stood in the familiar Underdark. Bodies lay at her feet, their armor and wings splattered with blood. Beneath the glowing branch of a sussur tree, the sorceress saw a cleric with raven hair and black wings, slumped over the spear impaled through her chest. Ever so slowly, the cleric’s body slowly turned to ash, before beginning to float away in the breeze.
Aerdrie ran to the now bare spear, shrieking and sobbing as she clung to the weapon that killed Aennaflaed. The grey dust floated gently past her pale blue cheek. Aethelle felt the goddess's feelings as if they were her own. For what good was it to be all-powerful, if you could not even save the ones you loved?
The goddess stepped away from the dust, closing her eyes. As she extended her hands, the remaining ash dissipated into a glittering blue light. As the light grew, it assumed the shape of a sapling, and a glowing blue flower bulb emerged from a branch.
All at once, Aethelle was back amongst grey clouds, the very same goddess before her.
"She fought for me and for the lives of her fellow avariel. I did not want to risk losing her life. But she felt a great duty, and in doing so, she made the ultimate sacrifice," said Aerdrie, her eyes looking to the clouds around her. "I knew I could not change her fate, but I knew her memory could live on."
The goddess looked again at the sorceress. "You serve her memory well, little tempest. Fate and love are powerful forces. You cannot avoid them. But you must respect them at all costs."
Aethelle breathed in sharply and nodded.
"I accept your charge."
The sorceress took her quarterstaff from the goddess's hands.
"Very well. Recite the dogma and you will become my most glorious warrior."
As Astarion looked to the orb before him, he looked to Gale for any recognition of the magic at hand. Gale looked at him, also baffled by what was happening. Seeing the ever-knowing wizard unsure certainly could not bode well.
The four companions lay there, pinned down by the crushing weight of the air. As they looked up at the glowing blue orb, they saw the outline of Aethelle begin to change. Suddenly, they heard Aethelle's voice ring out throughout the room, echoed by another voice that was not hers.
"The ever-changing reaches of the sky are the great gift of the Winged Mother."
"Gods," whispered Ryn.
"Take flight into her windswept embrace, and gambol amid the clouds."
The companions watched as the outline of wings now outstretched from the sorceress's back.
"Honor those who dwell with the Aerdrie and cherish the birds dancing on her tresses."
The outline of a quarterstaff appeared in the sorceress's hand.
"Change is beautiful and chaos births new life."
A cloak materialized on the sorceress's back, and the companions watched as her body became outlined with clothing. The blue of the orb was slowly disappearing now, allowing them to see more of Aethelle clearly, and not just her figure blotted out by radiant light.
"Ascend, soar, glide, dive, and ascend again and relish in the freedom that the Winged Mother bequeaths."
A final crack of lightning descended from the heavens and struck Aethelle. It did not harm her, but rather, she seemed to absorb it within her. The orb was now completely gone, and the companions could truly see her.
Black wings stretched out from her back, the same black as her raven hair. Her ripped gown was now gone, replaced with an elegant black mage's dress with black leather trim. The dress's fitted long sleeves were decorated with embroidered silver feathers, which continued down the neckline of the cotton fabric. The neck of the dress came down the sorceress's chest in a deep V-shape. The dress had two high slits on the sides of her legs, up to her hips. Her legs were bare, aside from the tall heeled black leather boots that hit her mid-thigh. The cloak around her back was of a black velvet, with bushy black feathers that adorned her shoulders and upper back. Her necklace and ring still remained.
The sorceress gently descended from the air, her feet effortlessly touching the ground. Her companions, now finally able to stand, approached her.
Ryn unceremoniously poked her wing. "That's new."
"What happened?" asked Shadowheart as she slapped Ryn’s hand away.
"She was waiting for me, the Winged Mother herself. I... I think I am her Chosen now."
"You think?" remarked Gale. "You surely look like you are!"
Aethelle looked down at herself and smiled. It was quite the stunning look, fitting for the Chosen of the Winged Mother herself. In her left hand was her quarterstaff Woe, but beneath the bat perched atop the rod was a raven bird, caressed in the bat's wings. Streaks of silver lightning now ran up the shaft of the rod as it glowed a faint golden light. As she turned the staff around to admire it, she noticed the black diamond still hugging her ring finger.
She looked up to see Astarion beaming at her, who couldn't find the words to speak. All he could do was hold his arms out to her, and Aethelle jumped into them. As Astarion spun her around into a hug, her arms and wings engulfed him as they embraced. They stood there for awhile, laughing and holding each other, as if nothing else mattered.
The companions sat in the lounge, their wounds cured, and finally out of their stuffy socialite formal wear. Shadowheart and Ryn had taken the time to mend them with their expert healing spells upon return to Aethelle's home, but the companions were still a little sore overall. After a night like that, all they craved was a good drink. Gale began opening the first bottle of wine, tired of waiting for Ryn to return from his home after getting out of his most hated tailcoat.