The blue haze receded as quickly as it had arisen, taking with it the vision of the three women. Alriak, Alias and Quin were once more stood upon the deck of the Princess Parizade, beneath the Royal Pavilion, the words of the White Witch echoing in their ears, “Come to me, come to me.”
Jamila rushed to the Prophet and lowered him to the deck of the ship, the human had an unusual look upon his face. The earlier look of rare happiness had become one of unbridled, divine joy.
“Rhea!” The Prophet whispered in awe, before his eyes rolled up in his head and he lapsed into unconsciousness with that same blissful look unchanged.
The sand storm continued to rage about them, but it had lessened somewhat. Parizade and Jamila rushed to them. The genie handed Alriak his blue orb, once more returned to it’s normal size.
“What happened to you?” She asked.
“I am not really sure how to explain what has taken place,” The whole experience had left Alriak weak and emotionally drained. He accepted the small blue orb, “But I believe we were just brought into the presence of Anwen and her angels. The White Witch has beckoned us come to her at the Womb-Grove.”
Princess Parizade’s eyes were wide indeed, “The Womb-Grove!”
Every child ever born had likely heard tales of the sacred Womb-Grove of Anwen, spiritual and literal home of the Mother-Goddess. It was located on the very peaks of Mount Anwen, the World Mountain, but few were those who ever made that pilgrimage. The Queen of the Seelie was known to have made the climb to seek counsel with the Goddess after the Sand King’s revolt, but this was the stuff of ancient fey legend.
Alriak glanced at the sphere before returning it to his pouch and slowly lowering himself to the deck below his feet. He looked to the night sky and said, "There is an even greater storm than this on our horizon, Princess. One that we must face bravely.
by Ian Hewitt
Game Master (Ian Hewitt)