The Rose
Or
The Mistress of Adoration

Appearance:

Nine stars form the leaf, stalk, and petals of Oleani’s flower in the brilliant spring sky. The Mistress of Adoration watches over the spring courtships and lovers lying together to watch the scintillating stars in each other’s arms

Location:

In the spring, the Rose lies high in the northeastern skies. In the winter, it is barely visible along the horizon.

Lore:

The Rose is known as The Mistress of Adoration among many scholars. However, many societies often develop different stories and lore regarding constellations that are totally different than the tales told by other races. This tale relates the Khanshael legend or history behind this particular constellation.

The Khanshael, or the Dark Dwarves to those unfamiliar, have a long tradition in their marriages. When a pair of them mate, the wife becomes what is called a shieldwife. Her place in Khanshael society is important. She stands beside her mate, guarding his unprotected side, until he falls in battle. If her husband were to die, she would gather up his weapon and fight, standing over his corpse, until the enemy was defeated or she was killed.

The bond between these two is incredibly strong and echoed, with similar sentiments, among the marriages and relationships of several other races. Humans and elves call this bond, perhaps their strongest, a soul-bonding. The two bonded are called soulmates. The giantkin share the name shieldwife and the nature of the bond is tempered by their warrior natures, as it is among the Khanshael and the other breeds of dwarves. This type of relationship is the strongest and most sacred among the races who recognize it. Some people, regardless of their race, spend their entire lives without ever finding their soulmate or shieldwife.

Many ages ago there was a Khanshael with skin as black as night, hair forged from the silver of the moon, and eyes the color of indigo. His chosen weapon was an ensorcelled blade that he had discovered during his Rite of Naming; a blade that burst into flames at his command. From his blade he took his name – Firesteel. This dwarf was a mighty warrior and a leader among his people. His blood-clan was one of the mightiest in their freehold, thanks in no small part to his efforts as a warrior and general.

Firesteel was ordered to return to Sharath by the Dhe’nar Overlords. They ordered him to bring with him a caravan of krodera and steel, the wealth of the Khanshael. He did as he was bade, as the Khanshael are staunch allies of the Dhe’nar. He delivered the caravan, untouched and whole, unto the Dhe’nar, who lauded the dwarf for his prowess and leadership. However, they had another task for him. He was to travel many leagues distant, to a clan of distant Khanshael, who had lost contact with the Dhe’nari Warlords. He was to hold council with their leaders and insure their loyalty. It was unspoken, but understood, that if these distant dwarves were not loyal, Firesteel would also lead the army against them that would either crush them, or reunite them with their kin.

The dwarf set out across the Wastes, travelling alone. Many months passed. Soon, Firesteel came upon the freehold of the lost Khanshael. He bade their gatekeeper to let him enter. Great gears ground within the earth and the doors to their home opened before him. The leaders of these distant dwarves welcomed Firesteel, and they arranged a celebration upon his arrival. These dwarves were not Outcast. Warring tribes of orcs and hobgoblins had cut them off from Sharath. They had an army to pit against the orcs, but no truly experienced commanders to lead that army into battle and thus clear the way for these dwarves to return to Sharath. The Elders of the clan asked Firesteel to lead their armies, and reunite them with their kin.

Firesteel raised his blade and promised his leadership. Soon, the army marched on the orcs and hobgoblins. Many of the enemy’s dead were left to rot. Many more roasted in blazing funeral pyres that lit the night with a ruddy glare that would have put a smile on V’Tull’s face. The orcs and hobgoblins were defeated.

Firesteel returned to the freehold of his army. The elders awaited the news of his victory eagerly. A day of mourning and remembrance was held for those who had fallen, followed by a great celebration of the victory. During this celebration, it was declared that Firesteel would marry the daughter of the clan’s Forgelord. Firesteel did not know the woman, but he knew this would solidify the loyalty of this clan, whose armies had revealed a great strength and loyalty. He would lead the elders of the clan to Sharath, and on his return, he would marry the Forgelord’s daughter.

Among the Khanshael marriages such as this is not uncommon. Their priests research the bloodlines and approve the marriage if the offspring from a union would strengthen the bloodline. The marriage is usually arranged to cement the loyalty of a clan or faction among the Dark Dwarves. As in this case those to be wed never meet each other until the day of the wedding.

A small caravan left the freehold, headed for Sharath. Firesteel led the way, and the clan elders followed. The return trip to Sharath was not to be. A massive sandstorm descended on the caravan. They took shelter for many days as the howling winds and blinding sands pounded away at the caravan. A week passed this way. Firesteel felt the storm would soon break and set out scouting, to find the way to Sharath. He was separated from the others and became lost in the desert.

He wandered for many days after the storm cleared, lost, disoriented, and dehydrated. The caravan, having lost hope, left a trio of scouts behind to search for Firesteel, while the elders set out for Sharath.

Firesteel, more dead than alive, stumbled on the ruin of an old keep. In the center of the keep was an oasis. Pure water, surrounded by verdant growth, filled his vision. He stumbled to the side of the pool and drank until he made himself sick. Then, he drank more. He crawled into the sparse undergrowth, and hid himself the best he could while his body recovered from the dehydration and exposure.

He awoke at night. The stars sparkled in the sky far above. The moons cast their light across the desert. It was not any of these things that woke Firesteel, however. It was the singing that woke him. A woman's voice sang a song of the Khanshael. The voice was beautiful and Firesteel could not assuage his curiosity by simply lying still. He crawled from the brush as quietly as he could.

She was resplendent in the night. She bathed in the water, her clothes stacked neatly beside the pool. Water shone brightly in the moonlight off skin the color of ebony. Her hair and beard were loose, long and flowing, like molten silver floating on the surface of the water. She turned into the light and Firesteel gasped as he caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were deep, emerald green, a rare color among the Khanshael. She was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen.

The woman heard his gasp. She dove for the knife among her clothing at the side of the pool. Firesteel stepped forward, to try and proclaim his name, and that he came in peace, but all that escaped his lips was the rattle of dry breath as he passed out. He had not yet had enough time to recover from his hardship in the desert.

He awoke again to singing and a cool cloth on his forehead. The woman sat next to him, with his head in her lap. The ancient words of a Khanshael forge song soothed his ears and his exhausted mind. She spoke to him then, softly, and revealed her name. She was Stormsister, named for her rage in battle, as she fought with twin Dhe’nari whip-blades. She was of the Kovokan, the Khanshael bards.

For many weeks she nursed Firesteel back to health. During those weeks, the two Khanshael fell in love. Firesteel felt a kindred spirit in Stormsister and she likewise in him. Firesteel told her of his vow to marry the daughter of the elder of the distant clan. Stormsister understood. The two cherished their time together, until finally, the scouts the elders had left behind discovered the ruin. Stormsister returned to her home and Firesteel and the scouts returned to Sharath.

During his travels back to Sharath, Firesteel scarcely slept. His love for Stormsister burned in his breast like the fires of Phoen’s shield -- the sun. When he did sleep, dreams of emerald eyes, bearing a shield and standing beside him as he fought, haunted him.

He returned to Sharath, fully prepared to fulfill his duty. Entering the city, great masses of wild black roses caught his eye. The thorned vines crawled up the walls like thousands of curious serpents. The flowers were starkly beautiful and reminded him painfully of Stormsister. Each night, he bade a messenger to carry one of the flowers to Stormsister, as a token of his love.

A week passed as the elders made their vows to the Dhe’nari Overlords. Their fealty assured, they were allowed to leave. Firesteel would accompany them to their freehold and fulfill his vow of marriage to the Forgelord’s daughter.

Firesteel again led a caravan to the freehold. As they approached the freehold, the signs of battle loomed on the horizon, still several days travel away. The elders sent scouts, who returned bearing tales of desert trolls and hordes of orcs laying siege to the freehold. Firesteel and the elders nodded grimly, and prepared themselves for battle. Two nights the caravan would march and then the battle would be joined.

On the night before the caravan was to join the battle, an exhausted Khanshael messenger arrived. He bore two things, a black rose, and a promise of aid from Stormsister’s clan. Somehow, Stormsister’s clan had heard of the plight of the freehold. The next night, as the sun set over the freehold, an army of Khanshael charged the battle. Firesteel and his caravan charged as well, axes and weapons held high.

Firesteel and his caravan of warriors descended on the remains of the freehold. They lost heart when they realized the freehold would hold no survivors. Corpses of the Khanshael defenders lay stacked like cordwood, accorded unusual honor by their orcish attackers. Firesteel and his band attacked. Their battle grew fierce and heated, outnumbered as they were, until a battle horn sounded from beyond a rise. Streams of Khanshael warriors, Stormsister’s clan, poured down the rise and into the battle, against overwhelming odds.

The battle raged on for another night and a day, until Firesteel, his fiery blade blazing bright, and Stormsister, bearing a shield of blackened krodera at his side, were the only Khanshael left, fighting ferociously at the freehold doors. The corpses of the fallen lay around them, and the trolls and orcs seemed unending.

Eventually, Firesteel fell. Some say it was to the claws of a massive desert troll. Others say it was to the arrows of an orcish archer. Regardless, he fell. Stormsister took up his axe, drew one of her whip-blades and fought valiantly until her own death. Their blood flowed on the ground, mingled together in death.

Oleani, drawn by the pure, soul-rending strength of the love between Firesteel and Stormsister stood, invisibly, above the battlefield. Her tears flowed freely, and mingled with the blood of the two fallen Khanshael. She smiled wanly, knowing the two were bound forever in the most precious way they knew. She turned and strode invisibly away.

Thorny vines erupted from the blood pooled around the fallen corpses. They lashed violently, killing orc and troll alike. The vines attacked the orcish army with malevolent and almost intelligent purpose. Within hours, the orcish horde was annihilated and their corpses littered the field. The thorny vines crawled over every surface upon which they could find purchase. Fed by the blood of the fallen Khanshael and the orcish horde the vines bloomed with fist-sized ebon flowers, as dark as the night sky.

Legends persist of a lost Khanshael freehold, overrun by wild black roses. The Spirit Borne, the Khanshael priests, say the roses protect the freehold until other Khanshael can free it.

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