Who: @sakkarathekeeper
Where: Sakkara's Island in Trivia's Cove
When: Several days after her quest through the Arches
Plans, as thin and insufficient as they were in their early state, were being laid to handle what needed to be done about the archfey that lay in wait for Freydis’ dying day. Tove had been clear when it came to Nintra; there was nothing to be done about her except to ensure that the fey was the first to die. There was nothing more Freydis could do at the present moment except assemble the allies who would matter most in this task and comb through ancient tomes to learn how to slay the archfey, let alone how to lure her into the material plane. But this was not the only instruction Tove had left Freydis with. Tove had imparted upon Freydis her belief that it was her destiny to return to the dead arches she had wandered in her dreams–and that it seemed these dead arches were somehow critical to the plight against the Dark One.
Not days before, Freydis had met the odd druidic woman, Sakkara, who had spoken as if the stars had delivered a message or prophesied something having to do with her, with her purpose. Freydis hadn’t understood it then, and it barely made more sense to her now, but she knew her next step needed to be to beg for an audience with the Keeper in her home in Trivia’s Cove. Her initial contact with Alessia, Torsten, and Eivor had been eased by a sudden burst of adrenaline and duty, but as she prepared to seek out the guidance of Sakkara the overwhelm of the residual grief, fear, and loss from her trials in the Arches had a vice grip on her heart. She had thought that perhaps when she awoke she was made of stronger stuff than mere humans were made of, but she knew this couldn’t be true when her emotions still managed to take the helm and drag her down when she knew there was little time to waste.
Even so, she found herself on the shoreline of Trivia’s Cove, where Sakkara had promised Freydis could find her. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat as she looked at the sight of the island, first the lavish canvas tent made up of colorful textiles, the inside of it obscured by the midday shadows. The island seemed desolate yet ready to provide all one would need at the very same moment. And then, she saw the arch. It stirred in Freydis the echoes of her family’s screams as the Aetherons invaded, the fear that froze the blood in her veins at the sight of Kalf’s murderous gaze, and the sight of Tove slowly dissipating and fading away. The grief washed over her with the strength of an ocean riptide as the tide washed over her ankles. The arch was beautiful, quiet, and serene, still as a stone but so capable of having an impactful presence. Freydis could feel her pulse quicken as all the dead arch somewhere in Iskaldrik had shown her began to echo in her mind, the depths of her loss becoming unbearable anew and the weight of the mystery of what had been granted to her in exchange so heavy she felt like she could barely breathe.
