/ Mid afternoon / 3:28 Pm / Moonda, thrirdday 3, Year 522 AC / Waxing Cleft / Base of the Shattered Spite, Howling Cleft /,Late Spring / Electrically charged, howling wind now has a sharper, almost angry tone /
It connected directly from the monolith to the figure's back, humming with energy. The air around it crackles with static, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. The howling wind above grew more intense, as if the mountain itself were holding its breath.
I knelt beside the figure, my movements slow and deliberate. The air crackled intensely as I reached out to turn the figure onto their back. The moment my scaled fingers touched the robe's shoulder, the silent lightning tether connected to their back flared violently.
A jolt of power shot up my arm -a searing, cold burst o lightning that made my muscles tense and my teeth grit. My innate resistance to lightning dampened the worst of it, yet the force remained signaficant.
Despite the shock, I managed to roll the figure onto its back. It was a woman, likely human or perhaps a half-elf, with sharp features now locked in an expression of strained concentration rather than pain. The unnatural pallor and subsurface lighting patterns were even more evident on her face. Around her neck, on a fine silver chain, hung a pendant: a stylised letter "A" wrought in silver, cradling a small, dark blue stone.
The lightning tether dissapated as she moved, the energy snapped back to the monolith in a soundless flash. The howling wind above seemed to respond, growing sharper and more focussed.
The woman was unconscious bit alive;her pulse was slow and thread, and she was ice-cold to the touch. The silent lightning continues to dance across the monolith, but now it seemed agitated, it's arcs lashing out more erratically.
I quickly searched her satchel, however, despite it's useful contents, no healing potion or tonic was discovered. A cracked, cloudy crystal felt warm to the touch, but, pressed for time, I set my curiosity aside and placed it back in the satchel. Instead, I took the healing potion from my own bag to stabilise her. I administered it by trickling the crimson liquid between her lips; this halted deterioration and caused her eyelids to flutter but left her unconscious.
The environment reacted: the howling wind became even sharper and more furious, the monolith's lightning arcs became erratic and lashed out, with one strike knocking stone from the cave roof as a warning, and the woman's pendant glowed a soft cool light.
I slung her satchel over my shoulder, adding it to my own pack, and then carried her to a sheltered spot beneath an overhang to escape the worst of the energy. As I picked her up to leave, the monolith erupted with targeting arcs, seeking us out. With rapid movements, I darted between covers, feeling static electricity pickling my scales. After a tense minute, I reached the tunnel mouth.
Luckily, the lightning could not pursue into the tunnel, though the charged hum seemed to linger for a moment longer. During the scramble, I again felt the Monolith's energy closely. I noticed the pendant now glowed brighter while the woman remained unconscious but breathed more steadily; her pulse remained slow and threadyband her skin was still ice-cold, with the network of blue-white subsurface patterns still visible.
As I settled into a steady, ground-eating walk, the rhythm of my steps and the woman's slight weight in my arms became familiar. This provided just enough light for me to observe her more closely.
She appeared to be in her early twenties, with sharp, intelligent features now slack in unconsciousness. Even in unconsciousness, her beauty was undeniable. Her dark hair was matted with dust and sweat, but it had clearly once been neatly kept. The most striking detail remained the network of faint blue-white lines visible beneath her pale skin-along her temples, down her neck, tracing the veins on her hands. They pulsed softly, in time with some slow, internal rhythm, like dormant lightning waiting to be called.
Her clothing, though travel-worn, was of good quality - sturdy robes suited for fieldwork, with reinforced stitching at the knees and elbows. The silver "A" pendant continued to glow with the same soft, cool light. As I watched, I noticed the glow seemed to brighten slightly when it came near the scaled skin of my own arm, as if responding to the storm energy within me.
She breathed evenly now, thanks to the potion, but there was a lingering sense of energy drain about her- a hollowed-out feeling, as if part of her essence was siphoned away by the monolith. She didn't stir or show signs of waking.
The tunnel stretched ahead, the familiar downward slope now felt longer as I carried my burden. My footsteps, her steady breathing and the distant, constant sigh of the mountain were the only sounds.
As I continued my trek, I asked, although I knew she couldn't answer because she was unconscious, "You're not Althaea, are you?"
"Or perhaps you know her? No matter, rest now. Elder Zhorath might know how to help you. In the meantime why don't I tell you some stories." And so I started telling her stories from my childhood to break the quiet.