Vignette: Go to the Light

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Barran Plot

Gettysburg Staff
28 Azthrayir, 1123 on Barran, night of Queens' Fall.

It felt as though they had only just freed Queen Na’Rab from her imprisonment within the circle and the life that the dwarven general had given for his Queen to separate her from Varatesh. Sonya had the Queen working out of her office in Knoch’len for want of a better place, recovering her strength and regaining her power.

It was too obvious, a wonder she hadn’t been located sooner.

Ra’Ban Zatarum, Consort of the Undying King, Maiden of Apocalypse, was en route with her blood-bound generals. “Are you certain this is what you want to do?” Sonya asked, in a dry tone that required no half-measures. Though they shucked the title of “Elder” at every opportunity, the human had grown into their own as a fire-tested leader, a far cry from the nervous wreck they’d been when their mentor, Celestian, had crumbled to fine white dust in front of them.

“It is what I must do. For Barran. If I remain, so does she. Our conflict, our mere existence will rend the world again. I can keep her occupied until our defenders can pick through her generals. I can limit the blood shed by my family. I must.”

Sonya looked sharply away, her remaining unscarred eye dewy, and flicked a tear away with her thumb, a tacit acknowledgement that there was no time for sentimentality. Perhaps, a moment. They took a simple, mundane necklace from around their neck and placed it into the True Queen’s palm. On one side, there was a Sun-In-Splendour, on the other face, a crescent moon with stars behind. “For Barran.”

When the Queen strode out, in relatively simple clothing for a woman of her power and station, she did so without weapons or armor. Only a small contingent of her lieutenants and guards from the Barony assured her safe travel out of Knoch’Len and to the courtyard where she would face her sister.

When the circle fell, Ra’Ban awaited her death patiently. It had been too long, many hundreds of years, locked in nigh-eternal combat, knowing that while she lived her wicked sister would sacrifice countless lives to ensure her unending supremacy. As the crackling eldritch force of their circle fell, she looked up to faces familiar and unfamiliar, calling upon the power of the Planes of the Anan’ta, the ascended Elder, to end their reign.

As they were, they were no more, undone by the power of the planes themselves. It was sudden and jarring and finally…

In the heat, the light, the waves of elemental energy, the sheer arcane power, there was finally peace. If not for Barran, then for the indefinite conflict of the sisters.
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