As Lyric looked at the murmuring crowd assembled before them her heart hammered out an allegro percussion in her chest while her mouth felt like it hadn’t seen a drop of water in days. Given the looks of apprehension and fear on their faces, she was ever so grateful that she had not been the one chosen to address these villagers in this moment. Lyric would have thought that DD would have been the perfect candidate to give this speech, with his aura of knightly authority and his robust ego, but he had instead slipped off with Donnie on a mission of secret importance. So, this job had fallen on Eros, who made for an excellent choice for this task since rumors of his miraculous healing abilities and his special connection to the Gods had already flooded through the small fishing village.
Eros raised his hands to silence the crowd and addressed them with authority, his subtly Silvanesti-accented voice strangely hollowed out by the intricate mask he always wore. “The enemy at our gates has five times our number, all seasoned soldiers by the look of them…” he began, and Lyric scanned the crowd for their reaction to this grim news. Most continued to look on with a mixture of fear and uncertainty, but several few watched Eros speak with a look of rapt devotional zeal. Some of the most fervent actually sat down on their knees at the front of the crowd and held their hands above their heads in a pose of ardent devotion, seeming to absorb his dire proclamations but remaining untouched by the grim significance of their meaning; apparently more focused upon the divinity of the orator rather than the ominous message he conveyed.
Several of these adherents had repurposed some of their old Kingfisher Festival masks, painting them purple and white in a crude facsimile of Eros’ own mask. The devotion these believers showed to this man - a person they hardly knew - sent an uneasy shiver down Lyric’s spine, but she could hardly question the impact of their ardent commitment to him. With every distressing word and proclamation, they shouted their approval, and eventually even the more doubtful members of the audience soon found themselves swept up by the intensity of their fervor.
Lyric even had to admit to herself that there did seem to be some sort of celestial authority to the man that was hard to ignore. Lyric had witnessed him healing the injured with seemingly little more than a touch or a word, and it seemed clear that he did indeed harness the sort of divine magic that was said to have been withheld from the world when the Redeemers turned their backs upon the people. It was clear to Lyric that either Eros was the real deal, or he was a charlatan of the highest order. Still, Lyric could not help but feel that there was something …special… about the man. Whenever she was in his presence, she swore that the simple bluebird pendant she wore around her neck - a gift from her father that signified his devotion to Harûk - seemed to feel especially warm against her neck. Or perhaps this was just her imagination?
“…people over possessions,” Eros continued, “take only what you can carry, we will need every available ship and fishing boat to enact a full evacuation, and even this will not be enough…”
‘Thank the Gods, Eros is the one talking to them and not me,’ she thought again, as she focused instead on her part in this speech. Standing a few feet behind and beside Eros, very few people were paying attention to her despite the flowing white robes that marked her as an initiate of the Tower, as they were instead glued to every word the masked man spoke. Still, Lyric tried to remain as innocuous as possible as she focused on navigating the magical balls of light she had created in an effort to add an element of mystique and gravitas to the speech. She had created four softly glowing balls of light and merged them into one which she positioned directly behind Eros’ head which radiated with a delicate amber hue in an effort to give the man a supernatural halo-like effect as he spoke. Occasionally, Lyric would subtly shift the colors to match the theme of the speech: red for the dangers; gold for messages of hope; purple – which not coincidentally matched the decorative embellishments on his mask - for the plan. She wasn’t sure if any of this was necessary, but anything to help add a bit of mystique and authority to this outsider couldn’t hurt. They needed to calm the crowd down and get them to work together if they hoped to save as many people as possible.
“…collect every barrel and log that you can, and we need teams of sailors to tie these to the larger boats to expand their carrying capacity, while others of you make sure to collect the elderly and infirm. We will leave none behind…”
At this, Lyric caused the three purple lights to break off from the halo behind Eros which she sent streaking over the crowd, before winking them out of existence and reforming them behind Eros’ head. This little spell had been the first one that she had ever learned, mastering the intricate flourishes of her hand and mouthing the clunky arcane script while she focused on the dry sliver of wychwood clutched in her other hand, by the time she had reached her seventh year. The first lights she had ever created had winked out of existence almost as soon as they appeared, but it wasn’t long before she had much better control of them. Within weeks she could make the lights last for the span of three breaths and could even change their colors, and this had been her level of “mastery” when she cast the spell for her Uncle Ispin. He had laughed in genuine amusement at this modest spectacle when she showed the trick to him, and had even taken to calling her his “ni Faern,” or “Little Wizard” in the Elven tongue, much to her delight. This small kindness from her childhood friend set in motion her path towards studying “real” magic with the Mages of High Sorcery.
This particular bit of arcana was a gift of her blood, her mother had explained, and she told Lyric that all of their people naturally knew how make these “dancing lights.” This simple spell could be used as a light source or as a distraction by mirroring the effects of walking torches or lanterns, but it served an additional purpose for their kind. Kavrash had gone on to explain how their people would use these lights in different shapes and colors to communicate with one another at a distance within the darkness of the world below, and she had even tried to teach her some of the semaphoric code. There were other magics that her people were said to know innately but, despite years of practice, these gifts had not manifested within Lyric yet. Her mother had said to give it time, but Lyric could see the impatience in Kavrash’s eyes even as she had tried to reassure her daughter. Still, Lyric had gotten pretty good and creating these simple little lights, but never in all of her nineteen years did she think she would be using them to bolster the talking points of a speech, but here she was…
“…Sera Becklin of the Knights of Solmania and Cudgel the Ironsmile and her Ironclad Regiment will remain behind, not only as a deterrent to the enemy forces, but also to buy us time to retreat. Their heroism is truly the stuff of legend…”
At this, Lyric sent three orbs of golden light out into the crowd to circle above the heads of a few of the Ironclad mercenaries tasked with maintaining order in the audience should things turn sour, which prompted the audience to pat the soldiers on the back and offer hearty cheers of appreciation.
“…you all know what you must do. Now make haste, for there is no time to lose!”
Most of the crowd jumped to action, having been given a glimmer of hope and the makings of plan. The acolytes of Eros instead swarmed the man after his speech and began praising him for his leadership and authority. Eros seemed a little taken aback by their ardor and entreated them to get to work and help with the evacuation, which they eventually did lest they risk angering their divine herald.
When the crowd had finally all dispersed, Eros turned to walk back towards the Inn and Lyric dutifully fell in beside him. He had only taken a few steps when he stopped suddenly and stared at the sky, seemingly lost in thought though it was impossible to read any facial expression behind that eerie mask of his.
“Did…is…are you g…talking to one of the gods?” Lyric stammered, not quite sure how this whole divine magic thing worked.
Eros responded with a short shake of his head, now staring up over the cliffs overlooking Vogler.
“What is it then?” Lyric asked, trying to follow his gaze but saw nothing but a few seabirds soaring gracefully in the sky overhead.
“I am not exactly sure,” Eros said at last, as he at last resumed his walking. “I think the stress might be getting to me, but I am pretty sure that I just saw a halfling flying through the air.”