A Wave of Enlightenment
As Meera walked through the halls of her childhood castle, a sense of unease gripped her heart. The once vibrant and bustling corridors now lay desolate and silent. Shadows danced along the walls, casting an eerie pallor over the familiar surroundings. Her footsteps echoed through the emptiness, each one a reminder of the absence that permeated the air.
Her eyes caught sight of a glimmering light ahead, drawing her closer. On an ornate altar, bathed in a soft ethereal glow, rested her ancestral Moonblade. Its silver blade shimmered with ancient magic, beckoning her. Caution mingled with curiosity as she approached, her hand trembling slightly as it reached for the hilt.
As her fingers closed around the familiar grip, the world around her seemed to shift. Ghostly figures materialized their ethereal forms surrounding her. Their mouths moved as if speaking urgently, but no sound reached her ears. She strained to comprehend their words, but they remained distant and muffled, lost in the void of her dream.
A whirlwind of emotions swept through Meera as she gazed upon the translucent faces of her ancestors. Pride, love, and a yearning for guidance intertwined within her, tugging at her soul. She tried to reach out, to bridge the gap between the living and the spirits of her lineage, but they remained just beyond her grasp.
Abruptly, Meera's eyes snapped open, her body drenched in a cold sweat. The last remnants of her dream clung to her consciousness, lingering like a fading echo. The moon's pale light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow upon her disheveled room. The realization dawned upon her—it was only hours before dawn, the world outside still cloaked in darkness.
Meera sat up, her heart pounding in her chest. The dream had unsettled her, its significance shrouded in mystery. She knew deep down that it held a message, a call to uncover the truths hidden within her lineage.
Meera sat in front of her small mirror, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on her face. With each brushstroke, she untangled the long strands of her pitch-black hair, her thoughts focused and determined. Her armor lay beside her, gleaming in the soft glow, a testament to her unwavering resolve.
As she carefully donned each piece of armor, the familiar weight settled upon her shoulders, bringing a sense of comfort and readiness. She fastened the clasps and adjusted the straps, ensuring a snug fit that allowed for both mobility and protection. The armor became an extension of herself, a shield against the perils that awaited beyond the confines of her tent.
Next, she reached for her trusted swordbelt, its leather worn and weathered. The sound of metal clinking against metal filled the air as she slid her Moonblade into its scabbard, the hilt resting securely at her side. With a swift motion, she tightened the belt around her waist, the familiar weight and presence of her weapon offering a sense of assurance.
Emerging from the tent, Meera found herself greeted by the tranquil darkness of the early morning. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a gentle glow upon the encampment. The silence of the sleeping camp enveloped her, broken only by the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore.
As she walked along the perimeter, Meera's gaze turned toward the vast expanse of the Shining Sea. Her eyes traced the silhouette of the fleet of ships anchored in the harbor, their masts reaching for the stars. The sight filled her with a sense of awe and gratitude, knowing that these vessels had carried them across treacherous waters to their current destination.
The sea stretched out before her, its surface shimmering with the moon's reflection. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide seemed to mirror the pulse of her determination, a reminder of the challenges that lay ahead. Meera took a moment to breathe in the salty air, letting it fill her lungs and invigorate her spirit.
Lost in her thoughts, Meera stood by the sea's edge, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Memories of her mother and sisters flooded her mind, their laughter and loving embraces etched deep within her heart. She yearned for their presence, the comfort they brought in times of uncertainty.
A gentle breeze ruffled her hair, carrying with it the scent of salt and adventure. Meera closed her eyes, allowing the cool touch of the wind to brush against her cheeks. At this moment, she could almost imagine her mother's gentle caress, a silent reassurance that she carried with her wherever she went.
Opening her eyes, Meera ventured through the camp, exploring the outskirts where the soldiers and sailors mingled in the early morning air. The camaraderie was palpable as they prepared for the day ahead, their voices mingling with the sound of clanging armor and bustling activity.
Among the soldiers, she noticed a group of archers practicing their aim, their arrows slicing through the air with precision. Each shot represented not only their skill but also their unwavering commitment to protecting their comrades and fulfilling their duty. Meera found solace in their determination, drawing strength from their unwavering focus.
As she continued her solitary walk, Meera's attention was drawn to a group of healers gathered around a makeshift medical tent. Their soothing voices and gentle touch brought comfort to the wounded, the delicate balance between strength and compassion evident in their every action. It reminded her of her own role as a guardian, not only a warrior but also a protector of life.
Meera's steps carried her further, bringing her to a small training ground where swordsmen practiced their techniques. The clash of steel against steel reverberated through the air, each strike a testament to their perseverance and unwavering dedication to honing their skills. She observed their fluid movements, the grace, and agility with which they defended and countered.
In the distance, a group of soldiers gathered around a campfire, their voices laced with humor and shared stories. The laughter that erupted from their circle reached Meera's ears, a symphony of camaraderie and resilience. It reminded her of the bonds that were formed in times of hardship, the unbreakable thread that wove them together as a united force.
As Meera observed the soldiers and sailors, she felt a deep sense of pride and connection. Each one had their own story, their reasons for embarking on this perilous journey. Together, they formed a tapestry of bravery and determination, their individual threads intertwined to create something greater.
Meera's footsteps carried her toward the western side of the camp, her gaze fixed on the dense expanse of the jungle that stretched out before her. The first rays of the rising sun painted the sky in shades of orange and gold, casting a warm glow over the verdant foliage. She was drawn to the mystery that lay within those ancient trees, a feeling that tugged at her adventurous spirit.
As she approached the edge of the camp, Meera's senses heightened, attuned to the sights and sounds of the untamed wilderness. The chorus of chirping birds and the distant rustle of leaves filled the air, mingling with her own steady breaths. She felt a sense of anticipation, a whisper of the unknown that sent a shiver down her spine.
As her gaze scanned the treeline, her attention was abruptly captured by a peculiar sight. Three small figures emerged from the shadows of the jungle, their forms obscured by thick brown robes that concealed their bodies and masked their faces in darkness. Meera's curiosity piqued, and she instinctively came to a halt.
The figures stood at a distance, their diminutive stature apparent even from afar. Meera's brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to discern their presence and purpose. But it was their eyes that seized her attention—a mesmerizing hue of yellow that glowed with an otherworldly intensity, seemingly staring directly into her soul.
Time seemed to stand still as Meera and the mysterious figures locked gazes, an unspoken exchange passing between them. A mixture of caution and fascination swirled within her, compelling her to take a step closer, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her Moonblade.
But as quickly as they appeared, the figures darted away into the jungle, disappearing amidst the thick undergrowth. Meera's heart quickened, a mix of intrigue and a gnawing sense of urgency overtaking her. Instinctively, she began to pursue them, her agile form navigating the uneven terrain with practiced ease.
The jungle swallowed her, its lush foliage closing in around her like a living, breathing entity. The air grew heavy with humidity, and the sounds of the camp faded into the distance, replaced by the symphony of nature's whispers. With each step, Meera's determination intensified, her senses honed to the task at hand.
She followed the faint traces left by the figures, her eyes scanning for any sign of movement or disturbance in the underbrush. The jungle seemed alive, a tapestry of vibrant colors and hidden secrets. The further she ventured, the more she became entwined in its enchanting embrace.
Meera dashed through the dense undergrowth, her determination propelling her forward despite the nagging voice in her mind urging her to return to the safety of the camp. The distant rustle of movement and the faint echoes of laughter spurred her on, driving her deeper into the heart of the jungle.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she weaved through the labyrinth of towering trees and tangled vines. The foliage seemed to reach out to her as if whispering secrets that danced just out of her grasp. Meera's senses remained heightened, her instincts honed to every sound and movement that surrounded her.
But her pursuit was not without consequence. The jungle, once a place of wonder and enchantment, now seemed to conspire against her. A hidden snare, cunningly crafted and concealed, awaited her unsuspecting presence. With a sudden and forceful snap, the trap sprung into action, entangling Meera's left leg and yanking her up into the trees with a violent jerk.
Pain shot through her body as her left leg was ensnared, the impact and sudden suspension leaving her disoriented. As she was flipped upside down, her head collided with a tree branch, the impact jarring her senses. A wave of dizziness washed over her, her vision swimming before she succumbed to unconsciousness.
Meera's mind was thrust into a realm of surreal chaos as she succumbed to the clutches of sleep. The dream enveloped her, pulling her into its twisting currents with an irresistible force. She found herself suspended from a tree, her body swaying precariously in the tempestuous winds that whipped around her. The sky darkened, and a raging ocean surged below, its frothy waves crashing against jagged rocks.
Panic gripped Meera as she struggled against the rope that bound her, her eyes wide with terror. The wind howled in her ears, drowning out her desperate cries for help. And then, with a violent snap, the rope broke, casting her into the churning waters below.
The icy embrace of the ocean swallowed her whole, dragging her deeper into its frigid depths. Meera's lungs burned as she fought against the relentless pull, her body writhing in a desperate bid for air. But no matter how hard she struggled, the ocean held her captive, its suffocating grip threatening to consume her.
In an instant, the scene shifted. Meera found herself transported to the pinnacle of a scorching mountaintop. The air crackled with searing heat, and the blinding sun beat down upon her. Strelore, the ancient and revered mage, lay before her, his body frail and withered. His blue robes and hat fluttered in the gusty wind, creating an ethereal tableau.
As Meera approached Strelore, his eyes slowly opened, their gaze meeting hers. She moved to speak, to seek his guidance, but the realization struck her like a thunderbolt. She had no mouth, no means to convey her thoughts and fears. Silent and helpless, she stood before the frail figure, her yearning for answers unanswered.
In a disorienting shift, Meera found herself in a dark chamber, surrounded by ghostly visages of Elves. Their whispers filled the air, words spoken in a language she could not comprehend. The weight of their presence bore down upon her, suffocating her with a sense of foreboding.
The ghosts drew their Moonblades, weapons gleaming with an otherworldly light, and descended upon her with cruel strikes. Meera's body writhed under the assault, pain searing through her being as she struggled against the relentless onslaught. But the ghosts were relentless, their attacks unyielding.
In a final, haunting transformation, Meera was transported to the ruins of Leuthilspar, the once-glorious home of her family and friends. The scene was one of desolation and decay, the air heavy with the stench of death. The decaying bodies of her loved ones lay scattered among the rubble, a heartbreaking tableau of loss.
With a jolt, Meera's eyes snapped open, her body drenched in a cold sweat. She found herself in a dimly lit cave, the flickering light casting eerie shadows upon the walls. Her swordbelt was gone, leaving her vulnerable and defenseless. Surrounding her were several small figures cloaked in thick brown robes, their faces hidden from view. Their piercing yellow eyes stared at her, filled with an enigmatic intensity.
Meera's heart raced as she sat up, her back pressed against the rough cave wall. Confusion and curiosity mingled within her, prompting the question that hung in the air. "Who are you people?" she inquired, her voice trembling slightly.
One of the small figures took a hesitant step forward, his right hand raised while clutching a small clay figure in his left. With a gentle tap on Meera's left leg, a surge of magical energy washed over her, granting her the ability to comprehend their language. It was as if a barrier had been lifted, allowing understanding to flow between them.
The figure nodded, acknowledging their success in casting the spell. Meera's lips curved into a slight smile. "Ah, you cast Tongues just now, didn't you?" she asked, recognizing the familiar enchantment.
Once again, the figure nodded, confirming her observation. Meera's gaze shifted among the group of robed figures, her curiosity piqued. The question that burned within her found its way into the dimly lit cave. "Why did you kidnap me?" she inquired, her voice laced with a mix of genuine curiosity and a touch of apprehension.
A figure stepped forward, offering an explanation. "We had to ensure that we could speak with one of you in solitude," they replied, their voice tinged with an air of purpose.
The urgency in their tone did not go unnoticed by Meera. Another figure chimed in, their voice filled with desperation. "We are in need of help," they pleaded, their words carrying the weight of a burden too heavy to bear alone.
A voice of caution interjected, mulling over the matter. "We must determine if she is worthy of assisting us," it stated, its tone reflecting a cautious approach.
Meera's nerves flickered, mingling with a nervous chuckle. "If you had asked, I would have spoken with all of you," she confessed, a touch of humor coloring her words.
A murmur of voices passed among the robed figures, their purpose and intentions deliberated. Meera watched intently, her gaze locked on their mysterious forms. A question lingered on her lips, an insatiable curiosity pushing her forward. "What exactly are you?" she inquired, her voice filled with genuine intrigue.
"We are the Eshowe," one of the figures finally replied, their voice carrying a note of quiet pride.
"Eshowe?" Meera's brow furrowed, her mind sifting through her memories in search of any familiarity with the name. After a moment of contemplation, she shook her head. "I apologize, but I've never heard of you."
The figures exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of understanding and disappointment, their hidden faces veiled in shadow.
"Oh! My name is Meera, or Loreleia Moonflower, if we're being precise. But I've been going by Meera since I left home," she introduced herself, hoping to establish a connection.
The figures exchanged excited murmurs amongst themselves, their voices filled with joy and anticipation. Meera's curiosity deepened as she awaited their response.
"You are a Moon Elf, a powerful Bladesinger," one of the Eshowe stated, their words carrying an air of certainty.
Meera's brows furrowed in confusion. "Actually, no. I'm not a Bladesinger," she clarified, her tone tinged with a touch of frustration.
"But you wield a Moonblade," one of the Eshowe lifted her sword high above his head, drawing attention to the shimmering blade.
Meera's eyes widened. "Hey, give that back!" she demanded, pointing her finger at the Eshowe who held it.
The Eshowe exchanged glances, their excitement tempered by caution. The one who had cast the Tongues spell stepped forward, his voice calm and measured. "We will address that matter," he assured her.
"She says she isn't a Bladesinger," one of the Eshowe whispered in disbelief, their voices hushed but filled with uncertainty.
"How can that be?" another Eshowe questioned, their tone laced with confusion.
Meera's patience wore thin, and she asserted herself with conviction. "I happen to be a skilled sorceress and swordsman," she stated, her words leaving no room for doubt.
The Eshowe holding the Moonblade slowly unsheathed the weapon, examining it closely. "Are you the first wielder of this blade?" he inquired, his voice tinged with curiosity.
"No, the sword has been passed down through generations in my family," Meera explained, her eyes fixed on the blade she cherished.
"But this blade carries no runes," the Eshowe holding the Moonblade stated, his words causing a stir of concern among the others.
"She is a thief!" one of the Eshowe accused, their voice filled with suspicion.
"We cannot trust her!" another added, their tone ripe with skepticism.
Meera rose to her feet, her gaze unwavering as she faced the Eshowe. "I did not steal that blade," she asserted, her voice firm.
"There are no runes on this blade," the Eshowe brandishing the Moonblade repeated, emphasizing the lack of markings.
"No active runes," the caster corrected, his tone thoughtful. "It appears she did steal it."
Meera's shoulders slumped slightly as she admitted, "Well... I did take it without permission."
"She is a thief!" the accusations continued, growing in intensity.
"You took the blade but never bothered to perform the ritual to awaken it and bind it to yourself?" the caster questioned, a hint of disbelief coloring his words.
"The... ritual?" Meera's voice trailed off, her gaze fixed on the Eshowe, a mix of surprise and realization dawning on her.
Panic spread through the group of small tribal figures, their murmurs growing louder and more heated. "She's not only a thief but stupid too!" one of them exclaimed.
"We cannot rely on her!" another chimed in, their words filled with doubt.
Meera felt a warm flush creeping up her cheeks as she listened to the animated chatter of the Eshowe. "What are you all talking about? How do you know so much about Moon Elves?" she questioned, her curiosity piqued.
The Eshowe caster nodded knowingly, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "We were brought to Faerun by the majestic Couatl. They often took the form of Moon Elves and taught us much about their culture and magic," he explained.
"A Couatl?" Meera's voice was filled with disbelief. She had heard tales of the Couatl, revered as a symbol of absolute goodness.
The Eshowe nodded in affirmation, confirming her suspicions. "Indeed, a Couatl."
Meera's mind raced with thoughts, trying to comprehend the situation. "So, what does this ritual entail?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.
"You must meditate with the blade and channel the spirits of its previous wielders," the caster elaborated, his words carrying a weight of ancient knowledge.
Meera's mind drifted to the ghostly figures she had encountered in her dreams, their presence haunting yet enigmatic. She remembered her inability to communicate with them, the sense of isolation she had felt.
There was no connection.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Meera finally voiced her question, her eyes searching the faces of the Eshowe for answers.
"We are in dire need of help," one of the Eshowe stated plainly, their voice tinged with a sense of urgency.
"Help with what?" Meera pressed, her curiosity overshadowed by a growing concern.
"With whom," the caster corrected her, his tone somber. "We are teetering on the edge of extinction. We are hunted relentlessly by a villain known as Ras Nsi."
"Ras Nsi?" Meera repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion. The name held no familiarity to her.
"He is a ruthless Yuan-ti," another Eshowe interjected, their voice filled with disdain.
"He's vile!" added another, their voice seething with contempt.
"Ras Nsi has nearly decimated our entire tribe. We are in desperate need of aid, or we shall all perish," the caster revealed, his words heavy with the weight of their predicament.
"And you believe that Aberrant Shield can help you?" Meera questioned, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and uncertainty.
"Aberrant Shield? Is that what you call yourselves?" one of the Eshowe chuckled softly.
"We shall not refuse any willing to offer their assistance," the caster confirmed with a nod.
"We had hoped you were a Bladesinger," the figure holding her Moonblade admitted, their voice tinged with a touch of disappointment.
"We believe that a lone Bladesinger has the potential to defeat Ras Nsi," the caster explained, hope seeping into his words. "His demise would bring about the restoration of the true Mezro in Chult."
"The rest of the Bara will rally behind us then," another Eshowe chimed in, their voice filled with anticipation.
Meera stared at the Eshowe, the weight of their words sinking in. The fate of an entire tribe and the revival of a lost city now rested, in part, upon her shoulders.
Determination surged within Meera's heart as she made her decision. "I will lend my aid," she declared firmly, her voice resonating with resolve. "I offer you my sword in the battle against your enemy. But in return, I ask for your assistance in awakening the dormant power within my blade."
The Eshowe erupted into cheers and excited murmurs, their joy palpable in the dimly lit cave. Meera couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope flickering within her, buoyed by the support of these small figures who had become unexpected allies in her journey.
Meera sat in the depths of the cavern, the glow of the rainbow-colored candles casting a mesmerizing play of light and shadow upon her face. Her legs were crossed, and she held her Moonblade delicately across her lap. The Eshowe, their small figures huddled around her, guided her through the process of awakening the dormant power within the ancient weapon.
"Take slow and deliberate breaths, Meera," one of the Eshowe instructed softly. "Focus your mind and connect your magical essence to that of the Moonblade. Allow the bond to strengthen between you and the spirits of its past wielders."
With each breath, Meera let her consciousness sink deeper into a state of profound meditation. She closed her eyes, shutting out the physical realm, and delved into the realm of her inner self. Time seemed to lose its meaning as she surrendered to the spiritual journey that lay ahead.
As Meera journeyed further into her meditation, her mind became untethered from her physical form. Suddenly, she found herself standing in an ethereal chamber bathed in the soft glow of purple-white fires burning in pits. The air felt charged with ancient magic, and she sensed the presence of powerful spirits surrounding her.
Ghosts of Elves, adorned in gleaming armor and flowing silken robes, materialized before her. Their forms were translucent, their eyes shining with wisdom and sorrow. They seemed to be a reflection of the ancestral lineage she had seen in her dreams. Meera's heart skipped a beat as she realized she stood in the presence of her ancestors.
The ghostly visages regarded her with a mix of curiosity and expectation. They emanated an otherworldly aura, as if the weight of countless memories and experiences rested upon their spectral shoulders. Meera's gaze moved from one ethereal figure to another, feeling a deep sense of connection and reverence.
"You seek connection with the Moonblade?" one of the spectral figures questioned, his voice resonating with a sense of authority. He appeared in a ghostly form, wearing a flowing robe and a delicate flower adorning his hair.
Meera nodded respectfully. "Yes, that is my intent."
A woman with a sharp face and form-fitting armor spoke next, her voice cutting through the air like a well-honed blade. "You took the blade without its rightful consent, didn't you?"
Meera remained silent, understanding the weight of her actions.
Another spirit emerged, wearing robes that were comically small for his broad frame. "And you have renounced your name and the responsibilities that come with your noble lineage," he said, his tone tinged with disapproval.
Meera met their gaze, her expression filled with a mixture of remorse and determination.
"I have, yes. But, well, I have no reason really. I suppose I wanted to be harder to track." She looked around at the spirits and counted seven of them in total.
"I am Vulman Moonflower, the first wielder of this blade," the spirit with the flower in his hair declared.
"I am Syvis Moonflower, the second wielder of this blade," the woman with the sharp face nodded.
"I am Naexi Moonflower, the third wielder," a tall woman with a flat nose said.
"I am Jastira Moonflower, the fourth," a bald woman with pointier ears than any Elf Meera had ever seen.
"I am Virion Moonflower, the fifth," the man in the small robes declared proudly.
"I am Shalaevar Moonflower, the sixth," a broad-shoulder man with a bald head proclaimed.
"I am Cellica, the seventh," a woman with mismatched eyes and small curved horns smiled.
"We stand before you as proud members of the Moonflower Family," Syvis declared.
"It is important for you to remember who you are and be true unto yourself," Virion nodded.
"Once you attempt to bond yourself to the blade, it will judge you," Cellica said ominously.
"The blade shall peer into your soul and judge if you are worthy to wield its true power," Jastira stated.
"If you are found unworthy, then you shall be turned to ash by arcane flames," Vulman smiled slightly.
"Do you believe yourself to be ready for such an outcome?" Shalavaer questioned.
With determination shining in her eyes, Meera nodded firmly. "I am ready for whatever may come. I am willing to lay my life on the line to awaken the true power of the Moonblade. It is through this power that I can offer greater aid to the Eshowe."
Naexi's smile widened, reflecting approval and admiration. "Then, tell us, what is your name?" she asked.
Meera gazed upon the visages of the seven ancestral spirits, her heart swelling with reverence and understanding. She recognized the significance of her heritage and the importance of acknowledging her true identity.
Taking a deep breath, she spoke with unwavering conviction. "I am Loreleia Moonflower," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of her ancestry.
The spirits regarded her with a mixture of pride and anticipation. Loreleia felt a surge of connection to her roots, as if the spirits themselves were whispering their support and guidance. She knew that she had embarked on a path that would test her in ways she couldn't yet fathom. Yet, with the strength of her lineage and the newfound bond with the Moonblade, she was ready to embrace her destiny and face whatever challenges awaited her.
In that pivotal moment, Loreleia felt a surge of intense energy emanating from the Moonblade, resonating with her declaration of identity. The blade seemed to come alive, its ethereal blue glow illuminating the cave and casting a mesmerizing aura upon her face. The flames of the seven candles flickered and danced with renewed intensity, as if acknowledging the significance of the unfolding event.
As Loreleia stood there, her connection to the Moonblade deepening, she witnessed a remarkable transformation taking place before her eyes. A series of intricate Elvish runes materialized on the blade, beginning at its hilt and gradually ascending toward the gleaming tip. These runes, carefully etched and shimmering with a divine light, represented the blessings bestowed by the previous wielders of the Moonblade.
Each rune symbolized a unique aspect of the Moonflower legacy, encapsulating the wisdom, courage, and power passed down through the generations. They served as a testament to the journey traveled by those who came before, their essence forever imprinted upon the enchanted weapon.
Loreleia marveled at the sight, a mixture of awe and humility swelling within her heart. The radiant blue light and the ancient runes seemed to embrace her, merging her own essence with the legacy of her ancestors. It was a profound union, an affirmation of her place within the Moonflower lineage and her role as a guardian of her people's history.
With the Moonblade aglow, its runes pulsating with ethereal energy, Loreleia felt an unwavering resolve taking hold. She had been chosen to carry forth the legacy, to wield the true power of the Moonblade. In that moment, she knew that her journey was no longer just about herself—it was about fulfilling a destiny, about being a beacon of hope for the Eshowe and bringing about a new era of prosperity.
Drawing strength from the Moonflower legacy coursing through her veins, Loreleia stood tall, her eyes gleaming with determination. She had proven herself worthy of the Moonblade's true power. The time for her awakening had arrived, and she embraced it wholeheartedly, ready to face the challenges that awaited her with unwavering resolve and the blessings of her predecessors.
