FROM PROFANITY: REVELATION, FROM IMMOLATION: TRANSMOGRIFICATION.
FIRST OF THE THREE SACRED WOUNDS OF DJION
And so it came to pass, that on this day 23rd of Myrkul DR1354, the worthy life of maiden Djion would first meet it's end, in an act so profane and blasphemous, that to this day it lives in infamy. Verily, even in a city so beset by a decade of war and plague and undeath and tragedy, this date would long linger as the darkest in heart of mind for all but a few of those who lived though such dark and terrible times.
It began a day like any other, but by it's end, the lives of many hundreds would be changed forever; and the lives of five score more ended in a scant hundred heartbeats of fire and fury. For the subject of our biography, however, t'would herald the beginning of revelation and ascension to a higher, far more spiritual order than that rarely or often attainable by one so young -whether male or female- of any race. Even within the storied confines of the age.
And so, on a busy market day in that quarter of the city called the Wide, blessed, not yet sacred Djion set her foot upon a sundial. She had, we are told, little time to prepare the wise words she was to impart that day. A call to arms, perhaps, one chronicler, Gestrude of Amn, suggests. A plea for spend-easy folk to think of charity for the people of Tyrmount, suggests another. Yet history, much to the loss of all, records not what words of oratory the Blessed Djion had intended to impart. Instead, the blessed Djion would so very nearly lose her life for good.
As she first spoke, breath was torn from her lungs by a fiery explosion. Not one to keep her own self from risk of harm when danger to others portends, the blessed Djion was among the closest souls who rushed to the noise, pressing her way through the crowds fleeing from it and towards her. Not more than thirty paces had she pressed forward through the flames than a second eruption occurred behind her, blocking the way to all those brave souls who followed in her wake.
Tending to a wounded woman she was, horribly burned, whose name has been lost to all save the Gods themselves and those beloved souls who survive her, when a third conflagration of smoke of flames originating not ten paces from her kneeling form all but obliterated our young beati from the sight and mind of all but a few.
And so, the writings tell us, did Djion find herself standing upon a golden plane, a great portal in the shape of the sun presented before her. And before that portal, a man golden and handsome in form who warded the way, arms spread to either side. And so the recorded words of the Blessed Djion tell us:
"I stood there, upon the cusp of true death, where a shining figure waited. A lad of so handsome and kind, of an appearance so profound I wept merely to look upon him. Tearing my eyes away, lest I profane the sight with my unworthy eyes, I saw once more that I was whole and hale and unharmed, and garbed in cloth of pink and yellow, orange and gold, in a simple, shimmering cloth that was at first one shade and then another, in all the myriad tones and colours of the dawn.
The figure spoke then, and though His word was for mine ear alone and I will not share it, I will speak of the gist of it. Peace and freedom from pain, from sorrow, from all aches of heart and body, awaited me beyond that portal would I so choose it. But none, then, save for those few lives I had touched upon in my time would ever have recall of me. And all knowledge of my life and deeds would expire from the realms of mortals with the deaths of them that knew me most.
And yet, did I but choose to voices calling me, the figure could promise nought by pain and sorrow, heartache and fear, wounds and loss and a life of service beset by sorrow and strife. And yet, He gently told, my gentle nature would touch upon the lives of many, that the tales of my deeds would echo for an age, and inspire others, girls such as myself, from homes as poor in wealth and rich in love as my own, to set out into the world with blade and bow and spell, and put right to many wrongs. That I would touch upon the lives of untold thousands, if only I chose the painful path into the briars, to live on and strive to good works in his name."
-Ascribed to the Blessed Djion, Providence Unknown
Even then, blasted and burned, her flame-ravaged young form obscured from sight by smoke and ash and the press of many bodies, Our Solar Father did not abandoned his chosen servant. For stout Michael Dunn and a brave, yet oft profane teifling warrior whose name has been obliterated -quite intentionally, it seems- from the records of Djion's life, saw whence the lass fell. Quick of hand of voice, and possessed of a great scroll of healing magic penned, it is said, by luminaries of our Lord Lathander in Bereghost's Holy Temple, discerned which of the many fire-blackened and charred forms littering the burning streets belonged to Djion herself.
This voice, it was, that the beati heard calling her home from the glowing plain's of Lathander's Realm. And this voice too,it was, and not the other, to which she turned her feet and walked.