Summer 4986, 15 Akamoth
Shaloon left the Firewyrm with the journeymen, tired and literally drained but smiling since she was allowed to help them feed and clean the animal specimens. Before continuing down the hall, the Archmage turned back to the small stable. She sighed as the Firewyrm hissed at one of the specimens for crowding too close to the bucket of meat she was dishing out to them. She was like a mother chastising over-eager toddlers. Shaloon’s lips curled in a sneer, her words slipping out in a growl of mixed languages, “Appropriate. Might as well be, her samples allowed for their evolution…”
“Archmage?” Journeyman Brom looked up from bottling the Firewyrm's blood. Fool, he would know all the words she'd said… But what sentence structure had she used? She couldn’t remember and hadn’t noticed. She walked away, having been talking to herself anyway.
She walked up the spiral stairs to the larger labs on the ground floor, the laughter of the Firewyrm ringing in her ears. Perhaps mother wasn’t the right word. The girl didn’t see them as children but as something else… “toys,” treasures.
She didn’t bother to knock before entering one of two main labs on the ground floor, and Morndancer didn’t bother to look up from his book, “We need purer samples.” she stated, leaning on the doorframe and crossing her arms to look down on him in the sunken room.
Morndancer snorted, “And where do you expect to find them? We have the Firewyrm.”
Shaloon growled, not looking forward to having this argument again. “She is tainted. Her samples mix on a molecular level, and the spell that changed her…”
“She is our greatest success!” Morndancer slammed his book closed, turning wide, mad, eyes on Shaloon, “You don’t think I tried to make something pure? Something complete? Do you have any idea how many priceless samples and artifacts we wasted before creating something that could actually survive? They are the closest things we have to true-”
“And yet, instead of focusing on replicating them, we waste our time trying to breed the beast out of animals!” Shaloon shouted then cursed, pushing roughly off the door frame, “I have sent to the central Talon and requested pure samples. They will be here in a month.”
“A month…” Morndancer mouthed, then his face twisted, “You sent for them over a season ago and are just now telling me? Why not cut your way there yourself if you are that eager to split our efforts?”
Shaloon turned her nose up at that. She had been transferred here, to this frozen backwater Talon, because she was one of the few Archmages able to cut a hole through space and teleport through the outer planes. She had allowed the transfer because she'd wanted to experiment with this man. What a disappointment. He'd been the greatest mind in the central Talon, making the most substantial progress seen since the extinction. But he refused to continue that line of study, and was now starting to ignore the last fifteen years of experiments here.
“You won’t even let me use the wyvern. It’s been cloistered away in caves for the last two and a half years while you ramble about gods and Chosen…”
“I saw one, Shaloon!” he shouted, jumping to his feet and knocking his book to the ground. Shaloon gasped, rushing down the steps for the book. Picking it up, she held the priceless tome to her chest as if cradling a crying child. “The Talons must shift their focus,” Morndancer paced around the room in circles, talking more to himself than to her, “If there is one, then there will be more. The wyrms gave them the power to reach across the planes. They will be the key. The children will create their own brood…”
Reverently Shaloon placed the book back on its pedestal and turned for the door. Morndancer had finally tipped over the edge. It was the inevitable fate of anyone who exposed their minds to the type of magic they studied. And he had reached deeper than any other. The human mind wasn't meant to converse with the forces that granted their power. She would fall too, eventually.
“But until then…” she turned back to the pacing Archmage, “The samples will be here in a month, escorted by Journeyman Karlo,”
Morndancer finally looked up, "Karlo will never advance past Journeyman, He's halfway to the Outerplains already."
Shaloon smirked, "Aren't we all?" and left the lab.
***
Veon-Zih cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders while he stood in line at the docks. Waiting patiently to present his papers to the guard signing off on the passengers disembarking from Oane. A second guard passed him, heading for a wagon to inspect the goods. The enlisted men looked tense, going through the papers and goods with more focus and efficiency than they usually would, A Paladin officer hovering over them, his hands clasped tightly behind his back and silver armor gleaming in the sun.
Veon-Zih smiled at the Paladin, handing his papers to the enlisted but speaking with the knight, “As much as I appreciate your inspired diligence, Sir, this would go so much faster if you didn’t have them checking and double-checking each signature three times over.”
“Proper procedure is key in keeping us safe, Mr…” he trailed off, looking toward the soldier who flipped to the front of the Monk's massive book to show his name, “Vee… ohn… Zee… ha?”
Close enough, “That it is good Sir. Carry on.” there was no point in arguing with Paladins over proper procedures. Even when it hampered efficiency.
Behind him, the wagon driver shifted nervously as the soldier began asking questions while perusing his trade logs. “I, um… Mr. Karlo?” Veon-Zih glanced over his shoulder as the driver stuttered. The portly man breathed an audible sigh of relief as a second man hopped from the wagon and addressed the soldier. This man was tall, or at least appeared to be, with his head stretched high and back held too stiff, his long straight robe seemed to give his slender body further length. But strangest was how he moved, in snaps and jerks, his head twitching back and forth as he spoke in a whisper to the guard.
“That’s not at all suspicious…” Veon-Zih muttered, taking his papers back from his own soldier and stepping out of the way of the line. Those who had gone before him had already disappeared into the port city, and those behind moved forward to take his place, passing the wagon to reach the free guard.
The driver had the unmistakable look of a merchant, with pouches lining his belt and his guild's badge displayed on his left breast. He should've crossed the straight to Clearhelm many times over as an apprentice before going solo. And yet, he'd stuttered nervously and deferred to his passenger, who was clearly not of the Merchants Guild. Most likely a Mage based on his robe's lack of a religious emblem.
Veon-Zih narrowed his eyes at the strange man as he passed over his papers. The book was nearly as thick as his own, though it bulged with the thickness. Either the Mage hadn’t updated the cover despite the increased pages or…
Veon-Zih cleared his throat, getting the Paladin’s attention, and gestured with his chin towards the wagon. The Paladin looked him over for a moment, his brow furrowed, then glanced towards the wagon. He had no reason to trust Veon-Zih but Paladins were not ordinary soldiers. If there was reason to worry, Hengist would urge him to look for the signs.
The guard shifted his weight just enough to turn his back to the Paladin before opening the book. Veon-Zih sighed, watching the man move. He wasn’t just turning pages. His arm pulled too far back rather than to the side. Most likely slipping something into his coat. The Paladin might not have been able to see, but he'd already caught the scent that something wasn’t right here and started forward, placing his hand on the guard’s shoulder.
“Everything seems to be in order, Sir…” the guard had a superb poker face, a sure sign he'd taken bribes before. He handed the Mage back his papers and turned to wave the wagon on.
Veon-Zih stepped forward just as the Paladin held out his hand to stop the driver. “Headed for the Mages Guild, perhaps?” Veon-Zih asked curiously, trying to sound innocent.
The Mage twitched violently, turning stunning purple eyes on Veon-Zih, “Yes. Very important samples…” he spoke slowly, as if he needed to consider each word before saying them out loud.
“Then why not take a gate?” Veon-Zih chuckled, “I’ve been across this fine kingdom of Daanlan many times over, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a wagon carrying Mage goods…” he tapped his own impressive book of papers against his leg, demonstrating his experiential authority on the matter. “What about you, Sir Knight?” he asked the Paladin, ceding control back to the Temple representative.
“Your papers,” the Paladin ordered, holding his hand out for the Mage's book. The Mage nearly vibrated with the speed of his twitching. The driver blanched but swallowed, keeping silent. Though it was his wagon. The Mage handed over his papers again, but then the Paladin added an order to the soldier, “Open the crates.”
The Mage’s eyes bulged, as the soldier he'd bribed moved towards the cart. Veon-Zih and the Mage both stared as the guard climbed into the wagon, opening the nearest crate without removing it. He nodded at the contents then closed the crate again. He had definitely accepted smuggling bribes before.
“Hold, good man…” Veon-Zih called. The guard glared at Veon-Zih, and the Monk grinned. If looks could kill…
“Sir.” the guard said indignantly to the Paladin as though the knight should be offended that Veon-Zih had inserted himself into this business. The Paladin, however, just frowned, waving the man down and nodding to Veon-Zih. Something in the knight's gut insisted that the Monk was to be trusted, and Veon-Zih’s grin widened as he approached the wagon.
Digging past some bottles labeled "griffin blood", he found what was making the driver so nervous, “Scales… dragon scale.” a nearly impossible-to-find, and highly restricted, magical component. Their owners having gone extinct millennia ago.
The Paladin growled, “All of you will come with me. Now.” he snapped the papers closed, shoving them under his arm and turning on his heel towards the Temple.
The Mage hissed like a snake, his arms coming up and black fire shooting from his splayed fingers toward the Paladin’s back. Veon-Zih grabbed the side of the wagon, swinging around it and sliding along the ground, he kicked the Mage's feet out from under him. The Mage tumbled backward, his fire barely licking the Paladin’s blue cape before going out.
The Paladin turned, reaching for his sword, but the Mage had blinked, disappearing before he hit the ground and reappearing ten feet away. “Damn magic users…” Veon-Zih jumped to his feet as the Mage began to chant, his arms becoming wreathed in shadow.
The guard who had inspected Veon-Zih’s papers drew his short sword and started for the Mage. A good man. Stupid. But his heart was in the right place.
Tentacles sprouted from where the Mage’s arms had been, twitching and writhing with the same jerky movements of the man himself. Veon-Zih sprinted forward, trying to close the distance and distract from the guard.
The Mage attacked, sending one tentacle out to strike Veon-Zih, who ducked, throwing his arm up to deflect the living whip. It shouldn’t have hurt this much. Veon-Zih blocked the pain, rolling forward. He needed to get to striking distance before…
The guard screamed, flailing his sword and cutting right through the second tentacle. As if made of smoke, the tentacle broke and reformed behind the swing, smacking the guard solidly on the head. The guard’s helmet flew off, and he dropped to the ground, clutching the side of his face. The skin between his fingers was black and blistering with red pustules.
Veon-Zih reached the Mage, striking up at the man’s chest as he stood, smacking him with the palm of his hand and knocking the wind from his lungs and spell from his lips. Lifting his foot high into the air, Veon-Zih slammed his heel down on the Mage's shoulder, sending him crumbling to the ground.
The Mage hit the stone hard, some of the cobbles breaking loose and flying into the air. His tentacled arms continued to writhe, whipping back and forth behind Veon-Zih, attacking the prone guard again as if on their own.
The Mage laughed. Giggled like a young child, his head lolling to the side, eyes staring at nothing.
Veon-Zih was forced to dodge a tentacle again, this time careful not to touch it. His arm still stung where it had burned through his clothes to reach his skin. Veon-Zih gauged the power needed to knock the man out without killing him. The Temple would want to question him. His fist hadn’t yet hit when the Mage screamed and thrashed. Veon-Zih turned to see the Paladin, sword drawn and glowing with a brilliant blue-white light, standing between the Mage's tentacles and his fallen guard. On the ground at his feet, twitched the end of one tentacle before dissolving into smoke.
The second tentacle whipped forward, thrusting like a spike to stab the knight. But the Paladin calmly cut through it, channeling the divine power of Hengist through his sword to split the tentacle down the middle. The Mage screamed again, then went quiet as Veon-Zih bopped him soundly on the base of his skull.
***
Shaloon burst through the door to Morndancer’s private rooms. The magical door made of starry night slammed into the wall and rattled the mirror across the way. “Something’s wrong.”
“Of course something is wrong,” Morndancer said absently, scratching the chin of the otherworldly pseudodragon draped over his wardrobe, “The world is being reborn, and all we can do is watch.”
“No.” she didn’t have time for his new nihilism, “Journeyman Karlo, we need to find him.”
Morndancer, for once, didn’t argue. He moved to the mirror, placing one hand in the center and holding his other out to Shaloon. She fished in her robes, pulling out a small jar, and upended it into his palm. A piece of flesh flopped into the Archmage's palm, and he closed his fingers around it, chanting softly.
The image in the mirror wavered out from his fingers as if made of water, and when it calmed again, they saw two men on its surface. A Paladin and an old man in lowly peasant garb with a shaved head. “It’s him…” Shaloon whispered.
Morndancer was more focused on the Paladin, “He’s been captured. What do they know…”
The Paladin held his helm under his arm and seemed to be watching them as he surveyed Karlo. “That was like no arcane magic I’ve ever seen before, Master Veh-oan-Zith. What kind of Mage casts spells like that?”
The Monk’s lip twitched in the merest hint of a smile, but it disappeared a moment later when he covered his chin with his hand, stroking it in thought. “The Warlock kind good Sir…”
“That’s enough,” Shaloon said with a sigh. Morndancer nodded, opening his hand and holding the lump of flesh out to her. Her shoulders slumped for a moment, another researcher lost… She draped her fingers loosely over Karlo's flesh and, with a word, set it alight with black flame.
***
“A Warlock, Master Monk? In Clearhelm?” the Paladin sounded horrified. Veon-Zih wished the knight would try and say his name again, just to add a little bit of levity to the solemn moment.
“I’m afraid so. This will be the third time I've faced one, and their magic is not one you forget,” Veon-Zih answered.
The twitchy Warlock was restrained in the center of the room, eyes open but mind far away. It appalled the Paladin how easily the man had almost gotten away with smuggling into his province, doubly so now that he knew the nature of the man’s magic. “He will be questioned thoroughly. Would you like to be present when-”
The Warlock screamed, struggling against his bonds. The Paladin reached for his sword and Veon-Zih dropped into a fighting stance but both had to shield their eyes a moment later as the Warlock burst into black flames from the inside. His eyes shriveled and burned, the flames licking out the sockets and catching his hair alight as his mouth continued to scream forth black fire.
The Paladin recovered enough to begin chanting some kind of healing or disenchanting spell but not fast enough. In mere seconds, the Warlock’s arms fell free from their bonds as they dissolved into ash, followed a moment later by the rest of his body. Leaving only the scorched chair, loose chains, and a pile of ash where once the man had been.
***
“We don’t know how much they learned,” Morndancer stated, turning accusing eyes on Shaloon.
Shaloon looked away, “They won’t find us.”
“You’re right.” Morndancer turned his back on her, “We are leaving. Make the arrangements.”
***
