Strides slowing once she entered the grounds of the warren, Althena pauses, gazing at the shining white shrine that she had first built when she entered the service of Avaren. She could feel the power of the Prime emanating from it, and it comforted her, as it always had. Her mind wandered back to the dark spire, and Dhuroscht’s slave’s words about how Avaren never listened nor heard her prayers. A slight smile crossed her face as she stepped nearer, taking up a prime-imbued cloth to wipe down the stone, rubbing away the debris from the trees above. The fool had no idea that Avaren always spoke to her, was carried within her heart, mind and soul. And now he was dead. And she took a certain joy in that knowledge.
She needed no promise of power, retribution or wealth; she had almost everything she would ever need in the carrying out of Her word. The rest was seen to by her Love.
But, her heart was heavy. The events of these last few days had been trying for the healer, and she realized she had a choice - or rather choices - to make. When she first arrived in Jastrey, she had pledged to offer assistance to all those in need. She took strength in her convictions and her belief. And she would continue to do so.
Now, however, she may have need of another strength, one she had not called upon since a young girl. With a sigh, she knelt before the altar, folding and setting the cloth upon her lap. With a deep breath, she bowed her head, and settled into meditation as she reflected upon what these new circumstances may mean for Jastrey, the citizens therein, and herself.