Deeproar » Lair » Fyorta

Fyorta

(#40145343)

Level 1 Skydancer

Familiar

Lux Spectre

Energy: 47/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

4.38 m

Wingspan

5.95 m

Weight

835.13 kg

Genetics

Wine
Python

Wine
Morph

Strawberry
Opal

Hatchday

Mar 16, 2018
(6 years)

Breed

Adult
Skydancer

Eye Type

Fire
Common

Level 1 Skydancer

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

FYORTA
The passionate.

The temple is alive with the roar of flames and the hiss of water baths and the heartbeat rhythm of strikes, and Fyorta feels euphoria streaming through her veins.

Fire temples double as forges, where worship of the Great Smith takes place in a practical manner. The magehood too doubles as a team of smiths when local supply is lacking. Such is the way of life in the Waste - nothing spared, and everything used. Some members of the magehood would rather prefer to leave the physical work to others when possible, but Fyorta simply adores attending the forge and overseeing the smiths toil away. It's the highest form of worship, she thinks, to devote yourself to the craft that your god so treasures.

So it's an unpleasant shock to her when Apprentice Embara rushes in, breathless and distressed, and requests her presence with the commonfolk outside.

The sun is beginning to peek over the horizon, illuminating the grasslands of the Ruins. It also illuminates the ravaging of the local Light chapel, and she swallows down a word as she beholds the grisly sight.

Priest Radia, Caller bless her, is crumpled on the ground with her head in her hands and her acolytes flitting around, ashen-faced. Fyorta parts the angry crowd with her bulky frame and kneels down beside the Nocturne. She reaches out to cup her shoulder, mindful not to smear too much soot.

"Priest?"

Radia looks up, watery yellow eyes registering her presence. "O-oh, Mage Fyorta! I-I'm sorry for the trouble, oh, Radiance bless you, but I woke up to attend the morning rituals and-and-"

Fyorta hushes her and looks up at the chapel's ruined facade. Crude graffiti and pockmarks mar the chapel's pretty bricks and marble, and she feels herself flush red with anger. "Them, again?"

Radia nods, blotting her tears with an offered handkerchief. She stares up at the building before breaking into a fresh outburst of sobs, and the crowd huddles around her.

Smoke jets out of Fyorta's nostrils and the corners of her mouth, and she begins to assemble a crew for the cleanup. Holy sites across Sornieth are being vandalised left right and centre, and Arcane and Light sites being targeted with a vengeance. It's sparked a rare camaraderie amongst the different religious bodies across the land, and old grudges are set aside in favour of an uncharacteristic aid.

In the bustling town of Port Daring, attacks happen with random, uncertain frequency - months can pass before a frightful spate of violence, or a string of vandalism can have a town in its grip for consecutive weeks. There's no rhyme or rhythm to the attacks, and worst of all, no hint as to the identities of the perpetrators.

There are rumours, though, and Fyorta has heard a name spat from the mouths of the top ranks of the magehood. The Way of the Arcane Death, or so they say: a vicious cult that regards the Arcanist as the end of all life, and decrees a doomsday fate for all of Sornieth. Initially regarded as a group that had steeped their Starwood tea for a touch too long, but after a violent attempted coup of the Flight's Celestial Church, their so-called saviour banished them from the Isles. Which, as the world would come to know, was a bad idea that only hastened the cult's efforts and led to the poor Arcanist locking himself away.

But why they hold such a grudge against the Light flight is unexplained, and Fyorta can only curse their name as her band of dragons clean up the chapel and restore it to its former beauty.

***

Radia latches onto her arm when the cleanup is done. Fyorta blinks, her orange-red eyes gazing at the smaller dragon from under her hood.

"Thank you, Mage. Truly. I am grateful for your aid."

Fyorta's glad her cherry-red skin hides her blush. "Of course, Priest. In these troubled times, the best we can do is to help each other."

The Nocturne looks down and around, her spindly fingers tightening. "May-may I invite you inside?"

Fyorta's cheeks could cook eggs, but she doesn't say anything and lets the smaller dragon lead her inside to a secluded little parlour. Surely she's not intending to-

Radia lowers her hood, horns jutting out. "I'm sorry for being so forthcoming," she breathes, and her mousy voice has lowered to something darker. "But I have news, and I wanted to share it with you before anyone else."

"Is that so?" She struggles to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"Yes, indeed." Radia seems to not have noticed, thank the Caller. "A caravan from one of our larger churches in Severance has left for Port Daring, and it carries a tremendous amount of supplies for us. I fear it may fall victim to sabotage."

Oh. That is news.

Fyorta tests her tongue. "Would you like a delegation sent out to meet and escort them?"

"Oh, if it's not too much of a hassle; I wouldn't want to pull you away from your forge," Radia jumps, voice taking on a trembling tenor. "But it took a lot of paperwork and grovelling to obtain the necessary permission from the High Priest, and I am rather keen on the supplies it carries."

Damn woman, she knows I can't say no to her, is the first thought that flits into Fyorta's mind, before another voice counters, Even if she knew, it's not like you can say no anyway..

Oh, passion is a fickle mistress.

She draws herself up to her full height. "Of course. I will personally attend the escort, Priest Radia. You have my word as a Mage of Fire."

Radia seems fit to burst into more waterworks before she catches herself, and smiles up at her. "Thank you, Mage Fyorta. The Priesthood thanks you."

The radiance of her smile quashes any of Fyorta's previous indignance, and she sets off on a mission.

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Exalting Fyorta to the service of the Tidelord will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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