Aroro, Savior of Asgartha

I fight against the elements that I myself created. All around, the blizzard lashes out, unfurling like a furious wave. I feel parasitic ideas in my mind: scaly skin twisting and squirming, as though I've fallen into a pit of snakes. Akesha is still shouting, but I can't hear her. I'm merely a toy for something much greater, something that has chosen me as the channel for its rage. A muffled fury rumbles within me as I become one with the storm. I am the wind that tears, the rain that stings, the snow that slices. I am the cold that freezes, the lightning that splits the air… Before me, an Eidolon appears. But I didn't summon it. Akesha? I recognize Aroro Niski, the cyclone slayer. She faces me, just as she faced the tsunami that ravaged Arkaster and threatened to engulf all of Asgartha. And I realize that's exactly what I'm becoming: a merciless gale, on the brink of devastating the world.

The Eidolon strings together one Gesture after another and covers herself in Sigils. The thunder roars around me and within me. Aroro prepares to absorb my next surge, to make her entire being a rampart, as she did so many years ago. Deep in my heart, I know I have to help her. But despite my best efforts, something is making me its instrument. The power crackles in my fingers as I send forth gust after gust of wind, which plucks up my enemies before dropping them to the ground like overripe fruit. Yet I increasingly feel the pressure that Aroro is exerting on me. I can feel her trying to contain my attacks, to counter them and cancel them out. Like a machine running out of fuel, the storm I'm creating now begins to ebb.

AFANAS

393 AC