Her eyes were closed, but her mind was very much awake. "Was there even a point in reverie here?" she thought as she tried to concentrate on what was happening to her. For some reason she could not remember any of her spells and her tel'kiira spellbook was missing. She consoled herself to pray to her goddess, hoping for solace and direction.
"Lady of Mysteries. . . I don't know where I am. Please, help your servant. I feel lost. I feel afraid. My heart is disquieted with uncertainty and doubts. The denizens of the fell planes call for me and I will not answer them for you, Mother of All Magic, are the one to whom my heart belongs. If I am dead, departed from the living, come for me. Send your servants to take me to the place you have promised: your own realm where those who serve you will become one with magic forevermore."
"Are you sure, Aeili of Mystra?" came that irksome, cunning voice once more. "Is it not more the case that your goddess has abandoned you? You are cut off from her Weave, unable to tap any of her powers, remember any of your spells and yet you still think she will come to get you?" A deep, throaty laugh accompanied the subtle mocking.
Uncertain green eyes looked up once more. The words were true. They cut deeply. She had no powers here. She was alone here. The emptiness of the place was so thick it could almost be touched with the fingertips.
"Begone from me!" she muttered unenthusiastically. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Oh, now that's ripe coming from a diviner, isn't it?" the mocking voice continued. "Why, you had -so- many things to say to others, and now that they're not here, you have nothing. Well, Aeili, we can offer you -something-. A place. Certainty. We know that if you come with us, you will start your new life in the realms beneath. Why, if you work hard enough you might even be promoted, and find an opportunity to see your friends again. Even Charraj."
That last word pierced her heart sharper than an adamantine dagger."Charraj. By Mystra, Charraj!" was her all encompassing, all consuming thought. She closed her eyes and slumped down.
"Yes, that's right. We know where he is, mourning for his pretty little priestess. He's not taking it so well you know. Why, we might even be able to persuade him to take his own life! Wouldn't that be something! Two Mystrans in one day! And considering just how unstable he is, I'm sure he will be far easier to convince to join us in an honest, second chance!" the baatezu exclaimed with pseudo-sincerity, baring its teeth in that horrid, devilish grin.
Aeili clutched at her neck, the usual resting place for her holy symbol. It was not there. Her heart sank. Her mind wandered aimlessly in the depths of despair. "Charraj. . ." she whimpered, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Join us, Aeili. We will guarantee you will see your beloved Charraj again. Mystra has lied to you. She is not coming for you. You are lost, and we can save both you. . . and him."
The words were delectable. Enticing. Believable. If it were not for the most poignant fact of all: it was still a devil. Aeili's hand drifted to her chest, about the place where her holy symbol usually hung. It clutched at the material nothingness, but the immaterial remembrance she latched hold of with full fervour.
"Away from me, fiend. Mystra is my goddess and my soul rests with her, and her alone. Even if what you say is true, which it isn't, I would rather perish in this gloomy place than do your diabolical bidding."
A vicious hiss emanated immediately from the baatezu's snapping jaws. "Such a waste," it snarled and it was gone as suddenly as it had came. Suddenly a feeling of peace fell over her, like the peace that one feels when sitting at table with family at a feast day. The peace of laying in the arms of her beloved, feeling wanted, appreciated, needed. The peace of a blossoming meadow, filled with the first flowers of spring, watered by the chill mountain streams of melting snow and home to the chirping crickets and singing birds. She lay down and closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, the elf drifted off into the realm of sleep.
~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~
"Aeili of Mystra," came a commanding, but pleasant, male voice. She turned and opened her eyes to see who it was this time. A saintly figure, tall, glowing with iridescent light stood by her left side. Just behind the angelic figure stood another: this one was feminine with broad, white-plumed wings and a mellow, placid look on her face. She watched in stunned amazement, paralysed with holy fear. He reached down and touched her shoulder with a reassuring smile.
"Aeili of Mystra, I come to take you to the realm of your goddess, Mystra: to Dweomerheart, just as she promised you. But. . . there has been a complication. . ." he exclaimed simply and matter of factly, turning to look at the other angel present there.
"Arvandor also calls you, daughter of the Seldarine," the feminine figure followed on immediately and fluently as a scripted actress. "Your worship of Sehanine and the Elf-Father Corellon has not been ignored, Aeili, even if your life has lead you to choose another path. The gateway to your people is open, and you need only give the word and it shall be your destiny forever." The angels fell silent, and they both fixed their eyes upon her.
Those soft, gentle eyes drifted from the one to the other before turning aside to stare at the empty gloom of the Fugue Plane. She had chosen once before: her people or her goddess. She had once before tried to mingle the two: her people and her goddess. Now it had returned full circle, like the cycle of the zodiac or the phases of sweet Selune. This time, however, her choice seemed far more permanent. Her eternal fate was now in the balance. The promises of her people stood before her on her right, and to her left everything she had sacrificed to gain: the promise of eternal magic. Her face wrinkled with deep thought and she closed her eyes. Her tongue quivered against her palate as her lips creaked open. A puff of breath sailed gently across her teeth as she opened her eyes. She had made her choice.
