Two souls, bound by blood and scale.
Are you one creature, split in twain and acting in unison? Are you a pair of voices harmonizing? Creatures traveling in parallel?
Your bond absolutely befuddles me. When one of you is diplomatic, the other stokes conflict. When one of you is precise, the other artfully creates chaos. Just when I think I have my finger on the final difference between you two, you create a new dichotomy and rush off in opposite directions.
Even more confounding, I cannot seem to find your origin. I’ve seen both of you spin a dozen tales together about how you two came to be. A dragon and a kobold reborn. Twin nobles separated at birth. Copies and clones searching for a lost original. You have used the power of the Song of Creation to obscure even my view.
But your dreams betray your true desire: To unite once more.
In every dream, I find you both, and I feel the rapturous joy of being in each other’s company. Whether as a harmonizing performance, or a perfect dance of blades in combat, I have never seen two souls so perfectly fit each other.
The truth of the matter is that you are greater than the sum of your parts. But such power would always be noticed. If not by me and my kind, then by the mortals that would make themselves your rivals. If they knew the true magic and skill you possess, they would attempt to harness it even if it meant your demise. And so, you must remain apart.
And yet you dream of each other, nightly. Fleeting moments and visions of the other self, always accompanied by a sense of loss. Some dreams are wholly fiction, some are pure memory, but most are a blend of the two.
There is a longing within each of you — to be whole, whatever that means to you.
So you tempt fate and reunite once a year, with a surge of energy flowing back and forth. It’s a simple matter for a pair of bards to channel it into a performance. But you cannot risk the dangers of prolonged proximity, and venture apart after a few days’ time.
From what little I have seen, I would deem you worthy of forgiveness. But my instincts tell me, if you were made whole permanently? Only condemnation awaits you, Urvosk.
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Orcanist 