Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies

To Serve His Radiance

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Iridni Ren:

The Divine, as called by those of holy and godly inclinations; or positive energies as those of study might refer to it is the animating vitalising energy which runs through all those who live. It operates in opposition to the dark “negative energy”; and the two have a tempestuous relationship; often negating, cancelling or reacting violently to one another.

While positive energy often takes the form of healing spells and blessings, ones which can mend and repair physical wounds, it does not always take a beneficiary stance…Even those of clerical practice call forth positive energy to harm, such as Searing Light; which is a harmful ray of light-inducing splendour. When it strikes a living individual it harms them, more so an undead being, given their animating force.
The Labyrinthine of Nexus and Convergence by Yúnon Percival Ambrosiús
Yunon's words continued to echo in Iridni’s mind as she studied an anatomical drawing of a human skeleton. From her youngest memory she had feared and loathed the image depicted on the parchment as symbolic of undead anathema.

She felt of the bones in her slender wrist and visualized how each corresponded to another in the illustration. Now she pressed the softness underneath one of her ribs, until her fingers could trace the firmer outline above. Beneath the supple skin and yielding exterior of her flesh, her abdomen, she, too, was hard bone. Beneath the expression of her warm and pleasant face grinned a cold and rigid skull. When her gentle, comforting form withered and then decomposed in the grave, the calcified framework sheathed for a season by her beauty would go on, so that—were her bones disturbed—the image of her carried forward through time would not be the pretty young woman she saw reflected each morning in her looking glass, but something frightful and presumed by appearance malevolent.

Her armor, Radiant Defender, rested in the corner, possessing some of the same life force of her as her own body. Although Yunon had long ago warned her that sky metal was dark and negative in origin, she found the armor's sky blue and bright golden hues lovely and enjoyed encasing herself in it, making herself resemble Pelor’s sacred Ki-Rin, Star Thought. Should she ought not feel a similar fondness for the bones within her that had protected her and carried her ever since birth as she did for the adamantine shell so recently acquired? Why was one beautiful and the other hideous to her? The latter, in fact, was human forged and concealed nature's gifts to her, whereas the former gave structure to that divine artistry.

More to the point, then, why when the man seeking her help had removed the covering of his face and chest had she felt such repulsion, rather than pity for his affliction? For more than a year she had witnessed his humble struggle and felt she knew his character, but it took all her will to remember who stood before her—a supplicant man—and not an undead monster that her god commanded she destroy. Was she no better than a superstitious Barovian, who would similarly call her a witch and want her burned, if ever allowed to see her god’s full power arcing through her?

No. The accursed man sought redemption, and as much as she recoiled from his appearance, she must aid any who would seek a path back to the Light. She did not possess the knowledge to guide him to a cure, but she prayed that Pelor would grant her the wisdom to recognize one should they together discover it.

And so she must make yet another journey. Since Zephyr’s return the two had barely a moment together and alone. Always it seemed their lot would be thus, but she promised herself no more. As she prayed and then girded herself for the long road, she ached with all her being for a home life devoid of solitary service to others—filled instead with Zephyr and the children they would raise together.

She wanted to be appreciated, rather than resented, needed, rather than treated like an interference. And above all she wanted to learn to receive affection and devotion, rather than only be at ease giving both to others. Her bones and her armor would outlast the softer tissues between, including her heart, and that briefest, most fragile bloom yearned for its moment in the sun.

Iridni Ren:

Out on the sea, we’d be forgiven
Our bodies stopped the spirit living
Wouldn’t you like to know
How far you’ve got left to go?

Somebody’s child, nobody made you
It’s not what you stole, it's what they gave you
In or out, you go
In your silence, your soul....

The priestess stood alone on an outcrop, the night's darkness surrounding her as black as her own raven hair, the thunderous crash of waves beneath her. She smelled the salt air, and felt the breeze buffet her, as though it yearned to sway her over the edge and dash her small and insignificant form on the rocks below. She drew her scarf down about her pale face, looking across the sea's tumult to where the world faded to nothingness. Above her stretched a similar ocean of black sky. And far behind her loomed the towering expanse of cold, indifferent stone.

Here, here, she would make her stand. A few large rocks were easy enough to pile in a makeshift altar, and she had procured the holy water and from Aren the silver powder that would let her consecrate the shrine to Pelor. As much as could be said of any place in these dark realms, she would make this ground sacred, immune to the touch of evil and the energies that powered the undead.

She knelt and prayed, hoping she was choosing rightly, fearing that more than she knew rested on her decisions: more even than a man's life, more even than a man's eternal soul. If he were saved, however...then that success might hold some hope for those others she knew who had been polluted in similar ways.

Redemption—it was a cornerstone of a Pelorian's faith. She must believe.

The swell of the surf drowned out her soft prayers so that none but she heard them and she only in her own focused mind. Let him be saved, Pelor, not to my glory or even Thine Own, but so that others may hope. Provide me, the weakest vessel of Thy Power, with the wisdom to serve him well and reward his trust. As he has sought the path of righteousness and forsaken the acts of evil that would damn him, bless his tomorrows such that he might become a thorn to those who would tempt him to destruction. May the miracle of his salvation awaken all the sleeping and lost from peril to new life in the Light.

Nothing in the innocuous silhouette of a small priestess fervently praying alone on a cliff side, her impassioned cries inaudible, portended at all of what was soon to come.

Iridni Ren:

Although she could not put her finger on why, Iridni felt happier than she had been in ages. The grief over Yunon, Sora, and Marielle had receded, and while Zephyr still seemed reluctant to broach marriage, retreating into himself since his return from abroad and not displaying again the vulnerability that had caused her to believe he needed her as emotional support and not just a helpmate, yet he was with her. She no longer pined; she was certain of his love. She had lost the few pounds she put on during his absence, both from fewer furtive chocolates and renewed energy and enthusiasm for her work.

She was less fearful of failure as well, regardless of the current foes arrayed against the Kinship. None of them seemed as capable and manipulative as Rhea had been, or as overwhelmingly strong as Calehan. Moreover, the Wayfarers acted more unified than at any time since immediately after her joining. Perhaps, as well, the disaster off Blaustein had thickened her skin: first, her awe that someone would trust her so completely with his life and then, second, not find fault with her when his trust went unrewarded. The curse’s victim remained willing to make another attempt, and, although Zephyr was cautious, she could tell her beloved was pleased with her for trying.

Her father’s oft-repeated words came to her from across the time and distance of their separation: “When you’re sad, ‘Nee, and can’t think of a reason, stop being sad. When you’ve joy and don’t know why, stop thinking and just be happy.”

Whatever the irrational cause, she felt confident and certain, able to reassure Lucy against any desire to die in their fight. Pelor expected sacrifice, an openness to putting others before herself…and that she would do. She would also take personal risks to increase the safety of her weaker Kin, but she would never seek death, for that path was one of despair—an emotion the darkness pervading Barovia watered and tended, like a poisonous plant in the garden of one’s soul. If a man whose form had been withered away by corruption could hope to be born anew, what right did she—young, whole, healthy, and miraculously blessed Iridni—have to give up?

The Pelorian leaned against Zephyr, feeling his warmth, smelling his fragrance, as the caravan swayed through the Mists and rocked their bodies closer together, her eyes traveling over the many faces sharing the journey with them. Such good and faithful comrades she had to endure these trials with!

She almost laughed when Lucy warned her of the “hornets’ nest” in the Drain and had to bite her tongue not to remind the paladin of the latter’s criticism only a few weeks’ before. Then, Lucy had said the priestess was too prone to flounce about in dresses, ignorant of the danger her fellow Wayfarers faced. Now, Lucy seemed to think Iridni had been reckless and inciteful. The Pelorian was used to men second-guessing her actions and believing she should welcome their superior male wisdom—as well as let them shield her—but she had not expected this quick turnaround by Lucy. Regardless, the lesson only reinforced for Iridni that she must not seek overmuch to win the approval of others but only that of her god and her own conscience.

What about Zephyr, then? Why did she defer so to him? She mused on that question for a moment, reaching up to run her hand through his full hair and caressing his brow. As long as she remained in the Kinship, she must elevate both Loric’s and Zephyr’s wishes above her own and recognize that their positions of authority required her submission. For this cause, she had obeyed Zephyr when he commanded her to remain behind, no matter how much doing so cost her in pain and grief—no matter how much her heart had told her she must go with and take care of her absent-minded bon vivant.

She stared into his violet eyes with her own. That uncertain separation was in the past. For now, she was happy, and no quarrel was between them. With Pelor’s grace, it would remain forever so.

Iridni Ren:
Iridni drove the last of the hungry wolves away, but it was too late: the muscular beast exhaled a grand white puff from each nostril into the crisp air of dawn and then stopped breathing altogether, its bulky corpse collapsing to form a brown hillock on the wintry meadow. The blood of the four wolves the Pelorian had felled pooled with that of the ox to mire the snow.

She looked at the disappointed and deeply chocolate eyes of the dead ox, and for a moment, a tide of overwhelming futility threatened to drown Iridni. She could not succeed even at preserving the life of a dumb, stray animal against ordinary predators. No matter how small the goal in Barovia, all seemed to end in her defeat.

Would she similarly fail both Quinn and Crescent? Lamenting the gory wreck of the giant animal, the small priestess recalled the horror of watching Quinn’s born-again flesh crumble and fall away from him at that very moment she hoped him redeemed. She thought of Yunon’s inert ashes, wisping away on the wind in response to her call to resurrection so that nothing remained of her mentor but a lifeless urn.

Most of all in her solitary travels, Zephyr Kontos weighed on her mind, for he now seemed as unreachable to her as the family she left behind in Almor and all those beloved to her whom the perils of the Mists had taken. Where life remains, so does hope. She repeated this Pelorian mantra to herself often, but how changed and distant her soulmate seemed since his return from Paridon!

Regardless of her youthful age, she no longer could rely on others for advice or counsel as Fate had taken each from her, one by one, like crumbling scaffolding beneath a new and untested edifice.

Her work and service were all to her for now, and as long as she had those, as long as Zephyr remained alive and healthy, as long as Pelor renewed her with each sunrise, she refused to become despondent. A Pelorian must hope, a Pelorian must have faith, and a Pelorian must love.

She descended the rest of the twisting path down the Balinoks. She would not end this long journey until she had passed the wretched castle of the Count and made her way to the Village. She felt for the critical key in her pocket to reassure herself she had not lost it. The time had come once more to buy holy water.

Iridni Ren:
In the enormous shadowed room of the Blood o’ the Vine a candle shone over one corner. Outside, the sounds of the village were both ominous and plaintive. Now and again, a wailing scream alarmed from the misty, darkened alleys or out an opened window. It was difficult for Iridni to distinguish which. The summer rain drizzled without ceasing.

The small, young priestess scratched in her plain printing across the parchment, that and her soft breathing the only noises within. A letter to Bri, a letter to Zephyr…and then she would spend the rest of the night going over all she must do to make tomorrow true and in accord with her faith’s practice. For this was she birthed, raised, and trained—not to lift her arm against any soul or to live with so much locked away inside her. Never had she imagined her adulthood as one of armor and clanging strife. Of secrets rather than openness and light.

She held the note to Zephyr close to her pounding heart for a moment, picturing her troubled love in her mind’s eye. She so hoped he would journey to meet her and make her feel that her work, her passions, were meaningful to him. Her soft lips trembled for a moment as she kissed the envelope and sealed it.

Bri…did her Pelorian sister yet remain where she could be reached? Or had she and Ionathan gone to a far off place like Famorra and Vaedra…to live as she hoped that she and Zephyr someday might? Not for ourselves alone are we born, she heard her father intone from his pulpit. And so Zephyr insisted always that the two of them could not contemplate peaceful lives when so much work remained to them. When so much evil flourished.

In her troubled heart, moreover, she knew this was Pelor’s will as well. Barovia was not the Prelacy, and so more was required of her than weddings and the delivering of children. As long as Strahd ruled, as long as stories reached her ears of the atrocities in Hazlan, as long as werewolves and ghouls preyed on the innocent, she could not forget her many oaths.

Tomorrow, however, would be a triumph of light against darkness. Two souls who were once lost had now been found and were joining the fight against the shadow. She hoped only that her imperfect help would not fail the trust they had placed in her.

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