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By Rowyne
The Tidesage adjusted her habit and knelt in the surf, sucking in a breath through her nose as the cold water soaked through up to her waist. This was a strange shore to her, but the waters were still the same as what washed over the rocks at home. Sea, tide, and storm all fell under the Tidemother’s power no matter where they were.
She placed her hands on her knees and folded forward until her face almost brushed the water. “Tidemother, aid us…” she breathed, and then began the ritual chant. Tirassi echoed across the water as the initiates on either side of her joined in, voices rising almost like song. One verse, another verse, the words memorized years ago, and still felt so deeply in this moment.
Preserve us, oh mother of the waves. Anchor us in the darkness below. Wield us, oh maker of the storms, and -
Her breath was pulled from her chest in a single moment, icy pain searing through her lungs. Her vision went black and thunder filled her ears for a long moment, only to be replaced by a blur of white. Clouds, snow, ice raced passed her sight as she was pulled upwards and inwards, rushing up mountainsides.
There was a flash of lightning from the storm around her and then her vision started to clear. She was floating above a long valley, ringed by steep mountains. Snow fell heavily around her, and the trees below were already covered. The storm above seemed to spin outwards from a central eye, almost like a slow, ice filled hurricane.
She caught a glimpse of a trio of yeti far below, trudging through thigh deep snowbanks. The leader tipped their head back and roared at the clouds above, and the sound echoed down the valley. Underneath the rushing of the wind, she started to hear another sound: drums, booming from somewhere further north, echoes rumbling across the mountainsides. The beat rose in a faster rhythm, matched by the flashes of lightning above. The air grew thin as the drums reached a crescendo and with a thunderous boom, everything froze. The temperature in the air dropped, the yetis below were encased in ice, and the storm above halted its spinning.
.In the stillness, a deep and resonant voice whispered into her ear. “Beware, beware, oh daughter of the waves.”
A bolt of lightning flashed out of the storm above and struck her in the chest. She screamed in pain, and broke off into hacking coughs. Hands grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled, and she blinked frantically to clear the white from her vision to see the sandy bank of Hillsbrad beneath her. She was panting like she had just finished a race, and her chest burned almost as if the lightning strike had been real. As she knelt there, digging her fingers into the sand to try and find any sense of orientation, the voice returned.
“Beware, beware, he wakes.”
