Vladimir is able to use the snow to craft a comfortable enough place to sleep, aided by Arius' protection from the cold.
There are several hours before true night fall, in case there is any activity or preparation they wish to pursue.
20% chance for a night time event.
Arius settles down to rest and consider the events of the afternoon while Vladimir seeks rest. After awhile he notices that even in silence the echoing cavern affects his thoughts. They rebound upon themselves, becoming focused, allowing him to think upon them in great detail. Other times, when he is not careful, they echo upon each other leading him into frustrating circles.
Arius finishes his watch without event from beyond his ice walls. No shapes or lights danced upon their surfaces. He leaves the rest of the watch to the figurine, and finds sleep himself.
Morning comes, with the icewalls and figurine intact.
Arius awakens. He is annoyed that a knot of apprehension serves as his liaison to the day--evidence of poor discipline on his part. He waits until Vladimir begins to make signs of wakefulness, then rises to retrieve the charcoal songbird from its sentry post.
"Not a chirp from this one. A fine little guardian."
"Irn, I hope you slept well. How are you feeling?"
As the two pack their belongings and prepare for the day, Arius performs a fifteen-minute meditation to restore his spellcasting power. Inwardly he recites the syllables of words of power, re-recites them, weaves patterns from the atoms of their sounds. His chant brings him to a kind of mental room behind whose door sits the ideal form of an incantation, a tapestry of wordstuff garlanded with song and echo. Having found new words in the vision of Dormin, Arius is pleased to find that, today, new motifs are woven into that tapestry. He weaves, unweaves, and weaves again.
"I must ask you about the ritual. I was able to perceive what happened, but I'd like to know your own thoughts, too, if you will oblige--shall we discuss as we walk?"
Vladimir awakens from his slumber, and immediately releases a sigh of relief.
No nighttime visitors. Thank Erastil's mighty arrow for delivering us to today safely.
He sits up and flinches as the fresh burns sear his still recovering body. He turns to the mage and replies with a tight grin. "The snow is not my first choice of bedding, but I've slept better during worse conditions." He pauses, looking pensively towards the entrance to the cave, still obscured by Arius' icewall. He continues as the chipper apprentice gathers his belongings.
"I'm glad you wish to discuss our shared vision; we would benefit from reviewing such valuable information. I do wish to inform you that shortly before we emerge from the mouth of this cavern, I will be casting a spell to hide me from animals; even extraordinary senses such as the tremorsense of a remorhaz will be unable to perceive me. It should mask me for the majority of our journey back. I hope you don't mind. My spell shouldn't be compromised if we speak as we walk, but it will keep me safe and give us an edge should we be attacked. An edge we would need; I am wounded, and the burns on my fingers and body are far from healed." Vladimir pulls out his weapon cord and clumsily attaches his Oath Bow to his arm, gingerly avoiding moving in a way that minimizes his burning wounds.
As the two exit the cave, Vladimir casts Hide from Animals and speaks out towards his vision companion.
"That vision has relayed critical information on three important fronts", he says, holding up three fingers. It takes a great deal of effort for him to coordinate the simple motion.
"First, Azithax. Dormin has no knowledge of Azithax's death, or the battle that ensued. Unfortunately, we can't use this to assemble a timeline, because we don't know how long ago such a battle occurred, or when Dormin last walked the physical plane. However, we now have confirmation Dormin and Azithax collaborated on a mission of upmost importance, and that it relies on the Faedark. Irravin and I have encountered some of this work before, in a temple deep in the forest. We must find these Places of Power and unlock their purpose."
Vladimir scans their surroundings as they continue to trek the snowy conditions,
"Secondly, the sanctum in Mercia. The shadow revealed far less about it than I had hoped. Fortunately, we were able to glean some information before I lost the ability to maintain the connection. The sanctum is a prison for immortal creatures. This is of grave importance: are there beings within the dangerous artifacts we know Dormin has sealed away? Or are there entire beings behind the sealed door? Perhaps the kami guarding the sanctum can help us learn. Either way, clarifying the distinction and learning more is critical for the Divine Visage; it will help us understand what the demonic forces in Mercia may have been after.
A pause fills the air between the two travelers as Vladimir lets his words sink in. He makes a mental assessment of how long they have been walking. When his spell wears off, he does not plan to be caught unaware.
"Lastly, we have learned great truths about the very history of the Divine Visage. I would be unable to make such bold claims to the countenance about this, but I believe you heard the shadow's words as well? Dormin and Azithax themselves founded the Divine Visage, and Dormin has always been involved in some sort of major formative role. This means all the answers we are searching for, the answers that could prevent cataclysm, could reside in our very order! Tell me, what do you know of the records of the Divine Visage? Does the sanctum contain libraries or records? Perhaps information about Dormin, Azithax, and the Places of Power live right beneath our noses!"
20% chance on encounter.
After preparing themselves in the morning, Arius and Vladimir set out across the planes of snow. Vladimir recounts his reckoning of the vision.
Azithax and the Faedark
A fresh layer of snow came overnight, obscuring the footprints of Vladimir and Arius a day earlier. The ice tunnels of the remorhaz have become little valleys in the powder.
The Sanctum and its prisoners
Just as Vladimir's protection of animals fades away, some bird of prey with ice white wings circles overhead. Three times it circles before moving on.
The Divine Visage and Dormin
The Enclave was not far, and comes within sight before an hours walk.
The moment he spots it, Vladimir’s gaze snaps to the circling bird of prey. He attempts to identify it. Could it belong to a pack? Or a trainer?
The bird is too far to see if it bears any details to identify it as a trained or tamed bird. He does, however, recall general information of such avian predators as solo hunters.
Vladimir holds out his open hand as he stares intently at the bird of prey. He spends a brief second sizing it up as it flies away from them.
Without warning his hand snaps behind him, grabbing and nocking an arrow to his Oath bow as he points it at the departing creature.
His eyes narrow.
The bowstring tenses as it is held in a flexed position, ready to fire.
Vladimir releases a breath.
And lowers the bow. He turns to Arius.
”I am ready to conclude our journey and am in need of a rest before my paranoia worsens. Let us hurry, now that the Enclave is in sight.”
Vladimir turns back toward the Enclave, ready to continue scanning their surroundings and sweep his bow from side to side as they reach the end of his test.
Arius gives a sad grin.
“Between burned fingers and a frost-ringed bed, temperature these last days has been no friend to you. If my elemental protection from yesterday was of any help, I can once again employ that and minor magics. Nonetheless, I am impressed. I am only able to withstand this sort of thing due to my elemental affinities … your endurance is much to be envied.”
Arius winces as the lissome ranger struggles even to equip himself. He finds himself unable to retreat into that brilliant inner world of sound and sense, the syllabic vistas which can expand even the scant square feet behind his desk into interminable planes of possibility. Yesterday’s danger was more than a brush with bandits or beasts, easily squelched with mystical words and flicks of the wrist. With new focus, Arius scans the horizon as Vladimir arms and wards himself, eyes’ corners creasing whenever his gaze crosses the brave Samsaran.
As they walk, Arius muses on each question. They gnaw at him, too, if perhaps not with the splanchnic dagger-toothed pang which he imagines must ever tear at Irn.
“How many of these places of power have you encountered? Only this forest temple? What was there to unlock or uncover there—an artifact, a locus of magic energies? A ley line convergence, a guardian?
“As to your second point, I have not personally conversed with the sanctum's kami. If even these meager points—and they are tantalizing—have power to persuade, perhaps we may be able to convince even so dedicated a guardian to make vulnerable its ward. An intriguing prospect—though I fear less the kami's staunchness than ignorance. The best wardens are often poorest informed: such is my experience of things. Have you contacted this kami before?”
Arius considers the third point and the pregnant pause before it.
“On the matter of the Visage’s records, I know more than most, but there is, sadly, precious little to know for sure. We who pride ourselves on scholarship may bicker and assert, expatiate and extrapolate, but, in the end, our first-hand sources disagree, our second-hand sources are vague, and much of what remains lies in fragments, indecipherable lost tongues, ravings …
“I myself command nine languages and can say without exaggeration that my theoretical understanding of texts and arcana ranks among the best in the Visage. I say this not to gloat, but so that you may appreciate what I say next: I can read but a tenth of our Order’s history, and I trust not a tenth of that. Our redoubts have not always stood secure: even the Citadel has been laid low by vicious incursions, its profoundest secrets held in devilish tenure—despite our mastery of magical security, the bricks of secret passages and the tomes of our most forbidden records may all have been tampered with, razed, or intentionally tampered with.
“The world swallows kingdoms; our Visage, gorged on and regurgitated over its centuries, has outlasted cultures and tongues. Even its origins have long been a point of contention. They have now been disclosed to you with authority, the nearest to absolute truth we are likely to find.
“And that, my respected companion, is what gives me hope. To answer your question: the sanctum’s libraries, while treasured, are little more than playgrounds for idle scholarship, its record books as sodden with falsehood as a sea captain’s logs with salt. But Dormin has been with the Visage since the beginning! Not at all times and not for all things, but for many things! You and the beings to which you are connected may well be the dowsing rod that leads us thirsting to the waters of understanding, the magnet that draws the iron needle from a haystack of madness. I ask you: do you have any reliable means of getting minor information from Dormin or your past incarnations? Nothing like what we just observed, but … hunches? Inclinations? If we could examine some texts together, verify or discredit some competing assumptions … ”
Arius extends a hand for a companionable clasp, careful to ensure that he invites thereby Irn's non-wounded limb.
"It was an honor. I thank you, truly. Your battle acumen and courage surely saved us out there ... I hope I may be of equal service to you in future. Please let me know if I can be of any aid to you.
"For now, rest well, and prepare your wits. Soon we shall have to make our report."
Vladimir's nerves are continually on edge as he sweeps the horizon for possible threats. But still Arius' words move to the beat of his strides and stir the thoughts in his mind.
Facts and guesses, thoughts and intentions.
In a time that is shorter than it feels to Vladimir, the pair return safely the Enclave. And they part.
It is late morning on May 26th.
Arius must make his report to Ivor, and knows that Ia will send for him to share his experience as well.
Vladimir may do as he wishes, but expects to be summoned by Ivor soon. If he inquires, he learns that he may receive healing at the temple at the center of the Enclave or the Sky Tower.
Irravin rises refreshed from his studies, both mental and physical. He may have worried over Vladimir's absence overnight, but will quickly learn of his safe return. Irravin, too, is still in need of healing.
Vladimir pauses for only a moment before reaching his less wounded hand and clasping Arius in a solid handshake.
He really seems different from his master; so much more calm and sanguine. I can’t help but wonder what their dynamic is like.
Vladimir’s pupilless eyes gaze into Arius’ and the burnt ranger smiles.
His expression becomes pensive, grim even, when Arius mentions their report, presumably to the countenance.
”I worry about how this report will be received, my friend. To be frank, I received a strong sense of expected failure from Ia during the end of my trial. I’m doubtful she expected Dormin to exist, and doubtless that she does not expect him to be our founder. Even neutral or friendly parties such as Ivor or Geralt would be skeptical of such a bold claim. I expect skepticism from them, and fierce pushback from Ia. Perhaps I am being overly cautious, but I wanted to warn you of what may come.”
Vladimir is ready to move on to the enclave.
Arius returns the smile, glad to receive the epithet "friend." Respect for the ranger and fervent interest in their recent visionary experience hum in his heart; at Vladimir's words, an apprehensive note now tempers the tune.
"Fear not. Tempestuous as Ia may be, she will listen to reason. The testimony of two is not to be ignored. Let us simply tell the truth and lay bare what we can to magical scrutiny.
For now, I shall record as much as I can of our encounter. I'd like our documentation, both mundane and magical, to be unimpeachable, as I expect Ivor will expect my report soon.
I wish you luck with what comes next. Should you require anything, word or weapon, research or redoubt, I am at your service. Be well, my friend."
Arius returns to his desk to record the proceedings of their encounter. He will employ any magical means at his disposal to ensure their verity.
If he has any time before Ivor's summons, he will begin idly jotting notes about words of internal divination--he has an idea for a pretty good word to research.
Irravin wakes, feeling invigorated. The world seems full of promise--balance and order feel within reach. As he goes through his morning katas, however, his body rebels slightly, reminding him of the need to restore harmony between body and mind after his tremendous exertions over the pit yesterday.
While taking a simple breakfast alongside some of the other monks, Irravin almost immediately hears of Vladimir's safe return. Longing to see his friend and share experiences, he quickly finishes his meal and looks for Vladimir at his quarters and outside on the Enclave's grounds.
Irravin intends to find Vladimir, and offer to go with him to the Sky Tower, so that they may talk on the way and that Irravin can pray to the Dawnflower and receive healing.
Arius does not have much time to further organize and record his experience, for Ivor's summon comes to him soon after his arrival. The summons guides him to the base of a tower within the Enclave. Ivor sits at broad desk in the center of the cicular room. He works carefully through numerous papers: affixing a beautiful signature and selecting the appropriate seal for each.
He smiles as Arius enters, offering a friendly greeting. He complete's his current seal before standing and grasping Arius' arm.
"Speak Arius. Tell me what your sorceries have uncovered. The samsaran has made some brazen claims, is there truth to them?"
Arius returns greetings with similar warmth.
"Troubling things, Ivor, but exciting. I can't imagine that Irn would have lied, nor do I think that a lie would appear less likely than the truth in this case.
"I cast many of Irn's past names into the cavern. I had expected perhaps echoes, an oracle to be divined, but we were instead thrust into a full illusory landscape, or perhaps a shared hallucination--a vision. We found ourselves in an ornate temple full of figures bearing masks. We briefly encountered several figures, one of which I shall elucidate later, for it has provided me some proof of my claims. Another seems to have been Azithax.
"We then witnessed a manifestation or fragment of Dormin. Irn was able to ask her a number of questions before the connection was severed. I can relay the contents of their discussion; I doubt my own transcription will differ from Irn's report. Of note is her characterization of the Sanctum as a prison or repository, replete with evil beings and baleful artifacts. She seemed to be admonishing us, as though some force might seek to breach the Sanctum--though she never made a specific claim."
Arius considers before continuing. This last was a bit of conjecture, but, the more he thinks of it, the more a sense of solicitude grips his chest--why mention the Sanctum's nature and its attractiveness to malefic forces if not to turn our attention there? And why so offhand--was something preventing this version of Dormin from saying more?
Arius returns to the discussion at hand.
"Now, as to proof. One of the beings we encountered during the vision was a whirl of sigils, composed as it were of words of power. When I inspected it more closely, I was able to discern many words comprising it; I could not grasp all at once, but I was able to learn two new words of power. And this is my proof: two words, learned as if instantaneously. I can demonstrate them now if you like.
"I believe what we witnessed was a powerful phenomenon. Given that this phenomenon arose from the casting of Irn's past names, I must believe that what we witnessed bears a strong connection to his past. It is, of course, impossible to say with certainty what transpired--a malevolent invader may have inveigled us, perhaps--but the simplest explanation is this: Dormin is real and Irn's claims should be credited and investigated."
Vladimir barely has time to remove his now-charred Eagle's Cape before Irravin's face pops into their quarters, glowing with excitement. He hopes the friendly monk didn't see him wince in pain at such routine movements. He always worries so.
"Irravin! I must hear of your test, and tell you of mine. But first, I am in dire need of healing." He holds up his burnt and mottled hands.
"Shall we find Essaera and see if we can hunt down a place to pray to your God and protector?" He smiles.
As they walk through the Enclave to find Essaera, Vladimir recounts his test, not embellishing his fight with the Remorhaz. A fight like that didn't need exaggerations.
"...and then the beast toppled to the ground in a fiery heap!"
Vladimir continues, explaining the vision and recounting the takeaways he discussed with Arius.
"What do you think of this new information? I've been anxious to hear your thoughts, old friend. And what of your test? Was it similarly challenging or insightful?"
Vladimir is ready to find Essaera and ask her where they may heal, once he and Irravin are done discussing their experiences.
Irravin immediately notices Vladimir's strain to appear unharmed, but is too glad to see his companion to mention it. He voices his assent at the notion of finding healing, as they both are in need.
As they make their way outside to find Essaera, Irravin listens with rapt attention at the recounting of Vladimir's tale.
"My brother...that is quite a tale! It pains me that I was not there to aid you. I dislike being separated from you for so long...I know you had to face the test on your own, but it is a lesson I will not soon forget. I am happy that you survived...well, mostly unscathed."
Irravin smirks awkwardly at his rare attempt of a joke.
"My test was different, but similar...I was asked to look as deeply into myself as I dared gaze. I was asked to sacrifice my own life in service of the Divine Visage, and when I had committed myself fully to my death, I was pulled back from the brink. And now I feel renewed, invigorated...as if anything is possible. I fear that we will need our strength and optimism more than ever in the coming days."
The two wind their way through the frosty courtyards at a leisurely pace, focused on the conversation but keeping their awareness up as always.
"I'm sure that your vision is more significant than I can imagine at the moment. We must find the places of power, venturing into the Faedark once more. I would like to examine Dormin's sanctum again--perhaps an item or clue will emerge now that we have this knowledge. Of course, ensuring Xok turns over the Orb to the Divine Visage is of utmost importance as well. We also must make sure that Arius becomes Headmaster of the University. "
He pauses briefly, nodding to a cluster of monks as they walk in the opposite direction.
"We need to make use of the tools we have here, and quickly. I fear that the Divine Visage and its archives only have so much to offer--what we need is swift and decisive action! I long to return to Mercia, to the mysteries of the Faedark, and to the wayward Raziel. We should work quickly to conclude our business here and return--there is much to do."
"I have heard of children here that may have an oracle's sight--perhaps we could consult with them. I also must undertake the ritual of the Shaem before we depart, securing my purpose and faith. I am eager to hear your thoughts as well."
Irravin sits with a feeling of patience, but urgency as the two move through the grounds.
The two make their way to the Sky Tower, moving slowly but with a sense of purpose. The conversation falls relatively silent as the two conclude swapping tales of what transpired in each others' absence, each thinking of past triumphs and trials to come.
Looking up at the tower briefly before they enter, Irravin takes stock of the way he feels now compared to how he felt before his fateful meeting with Gerralt. Hope blossoms in his heart, being so near to the place where Sarenrae appeared to him, and knowing that her grace touched him forever. He realizes that he's been gazing up at the tower for some time now, smiles at Vladimir's searching glance, and makes his way inside and up the steps.
They emerge in a room filled with devotional material and hushed conversation. The place has the feeling of a hallowed sanctuary, and is just now beginning to catch the thin but full and warming touch of the day's sunlight. Priests and priestesses shuffle quietly about, and despite the early hour, the chamber is already bustling.
A young acolyte notices them enter and greets them warmly. "Have you come to seek healing?"
Irravin nods. "My companion has only just returned from the frozen wastes, and needs care more urgently than me. If you have time and energy to restore our strength, we would be much indebted."
They are led over to an east-facing section of the tower, soaking in the full glory of the sun's rays. The acolyte smiles at them once more.
"Please wait here. A healer will be with you shortly."
Irravin motions for Vladimir to take a seat on the ground, and they sit in the lotus position, facing the sun. Soon a tall, limber woman makes her way over and sits on the ground in between them, also facing the sun. Her skin is dark, but smooth, and she is clad in baggy, flowing garments, in differing shades of white. Her slender hands emerge from cream-colored sleeves as she places one hand delicately on her chest, momentarily covering the heavy gold sun medallion around her neck. Her voice is a sunbeam, filtering through the trees and landing on an untouched forest floor.
"I am Aylina, priestess of Sarenrae. May her light guide and nourish you. I understand that you two are in need of healing, and I hope to be able to help you."
Irravin voices his agreement. "Though our hearts are hopeful, our bodies have been weakened and we are both in need of restoration."
Aylina nods gravely, first inspecting Vladimir's hands, then placing one on Irravin's forehead.
"Please join me in raising our voices to the sun. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and lift your voices with mine."
She exhales deeply, inhaling fully and letting her voice slowly rise. It begins like the sound "aahh" quietly, but before long, and as Irravin and Vladimir join and harmonize with her, her voice begins to resonate and vibrate.
The glow of the sun feels warmer by degrees, and as the air is emptied from their lungs and the chant fades, it feels as if the sound will be resonating softly in their eardrums for some time.
The three of them sit silently as Aylina lays her hands first on Vladimir, then on Irravin. The motions of the attendants around them fade to a dull murmur, and gradually the only sound is the soft resonance of the chant. Irravin feels only the warmth of the sun, pleasantly dancing on his skin. Behind his eyes, the dim outline of a pair of wings drifts across his vision.
A gentle voice stirs in his ear.
"Irravin...how do you feel?"
He opens his eyes to see that the sun has moved across the sky by a noticeable margin, then flexes his fingers and toes, feeling invigorated. He rolls his neck around to find the soreness in his back and torso almost entirely gone.
It feels like wearing new clothing--and in fact, the Holy Staff strapped to his back feels warm where it touches him. Over his shoulder, he sees it pulse and glow slightly with an ethereal light.
He looks across to find a dreamy, sedated look on Vladimir's face. Looking up at Aylina, he speaks for the first time in what feels like days.
"I feel...whole. Filled with life and light. Ready to face the day and the challenges ahead." He looks at her meaningfully. "Your healing touch has done much for me. We are very grateful for the assistance."
Aylina looks down at the two men with a kind gaze. "You are always welcome in the house of the Blessed Zenith. May Sarenrae's guidance and protection remain with you." She touches each of their hands softly once, then takes her leave.
Irravin looks to Vladimir as they compose themselves and begin to stretch and stand. "Brother," he intones, "now that we are whole again, there is much on our plate. There is important business for us to take care of--how should we proceed?"
Vladimir opens his eyes, and uncrosses his legs. As he rises, he releases a tiny wince; not of pain, but reflex. He gazes down at his open hands. The flesh of his palms is tender, but does not bear the pain and mottle it did when the two injured adventurers walked in.
He turns to Aylina.
"Thank you. Your generously given prayers are deeply appreciated. If there is anything we can do to repay you, you have only to ask."
Vladimir turns to Irravin in response to his question.
"Indeed, there is much for us to take care of," he nods.
"I would be happy to look into the oracle children, while you look into performing the Shaem. I imagine there is a chance the Countenance will wish to speak to us when they receive the report from Arius. How does that sound?"
If Irravin agrees, Vladimir will search for Essaera to find more information about the oracle children of the Enclave, and what insights they may provide.
Irravin and Vladimir rejoice in their reunion, though they still suffer from the hardships they have endured. They recount their tests to each other as they seek healing.
Within the Tower, Aylina heals their wounds using soft hymns and a tender touch. Vladimir offers her thanks and possibly repayment for the service. Her eyes linger on Vladimir's hands, which had been twisted and burned minutes before, and responds, "I accept your thanks for my work, and offer you my gratitude for yours. No more is needed." She bows before departs, leaving them with a small bit of the peace she seems to carry with her.
As Vladimir and Irravin discuss how to move forward, a Divine Visage courier approaches. He imparts an envelope to Vladimir which arrived this morning, and quickly moves on with his remaining charges. Within the envelope there are two pieces of paper. The first is a skilled depiction of what is quite recognizably Raziel. The second is but a scrap of paper with a short message: I'll seek you each sunset until we speak. Look to my image then.
A few minutes remain before another messenger arrives seeking Vladimir. Ivor summons him.
Ivor listens to Arius' recount with sharp attention. He frequently interrupts, seeking clarifications and trying to draw out details. In particular, he seeks the minutiae of the ceremony, the masks, and the temple, seeking to place the events geographically and historically. He asks for a transcription of conversation between the Shadow of Dormin and Irn.
Arius' tale seems to invigorate Ivor, and as the conclusion comes he begins slowly pacing the circular room stroking his short beard.
"Your tidings do not trouble me, Arius. The news that Irravin and Irn brought with them, news of demonic summonings and the malicious Storm Orb, trouble me. Instead, in your words I see a path forward that we had lost. The tools and truths known to Dormin are the very foundations of our duty..."
He trails off for a moment in thought. He gives his quick a swift shake before continuing. "Bring this news to Ia, I know she is waiting for it. Also tell her that Vladimir has passed his test, for clearly his motivations were rooted in these truths. Thank you, Arius. Your insight is appreciated, as always."
As Arius leaves Ivor sends a messenger to summon Vladimir. He returns to signing the numerous letters before him, with his mind clearly elsewhere.
Irravin listens to Vladimir, nodding his assent.
"As always, your decision-making is prudent. I will take to my task with haste and find you afterwards."
The warpriest takes his leave, intending to return to the first area where he saw the Shaem ritual being performed so he can finally participate.
Vladimir sits on his humble bed within the quarters he and Irravin share, Raziel's note held in his hand. An image flashes through his mind: the mischievous summoner, doing a miraculously dextrous flip off of a tree that is falling into a deep interdimensional pit of acid. As his allies lay paralyzed and incapacitated, he flies through the air, throwing a stone that will explode into a water elemental.
Vladimir smiles, and speaks to nobody in particular.
"I eagerly await our reunion friend. Less so preventing Irravin from beating you when we learn what antics you've been up to."
The reminiscent ranger is still chuckling when the second messenger arrives, indicating a meeting with Ivor. Vladimir makes his way to Ivor's chambers.
"Hail Ivor." Vladimir says, bowing respectfully as he speaks.
"I take it Arius has reported my test to you. As the leader of my subsect within the Divine Visage, I am eager to hear your thoughts and guidance, as well as answer any questions the report may prompt. What are your thoughts on our path forward?"
Arius takes his leave of Ivor, a bit disappointed at his apparent distraction. Surely news of this nature and magnitude is worth more than cursory consideration. Perhaps Ia will be ... well, there is little use attempting to predict Ia's responses.
Arius proceeds immediately in search of Ia, reminding himself not to be overly deferential. To arouse Ia's ire would invite a detour from Irn's vision--hardly a good use of time. Arius knocks on the door and waits to be invited to speak.
"Ia," begins Arius, carefully omitting the respectful titles he is used to, "Irn has been tested, and the results were quite definitive. When I cast the many names under which Irn has been known into the cavern, a vision enveloped us, shared, though I was more passenger than participant. A vision of multiplicity--we were surrounded by many masked figures--but one dominated by the singular figures of Azithax and Dormin. At first, Dormin seemed to be one with Irn, but they were soon two, and they conversed."
Arius begins anew the tale he told Ivor.
"Dormin was not able to answer all of Irn's questions to satisfaction, but there were revelations. Dormin claimed, along with Azithax, to have founded the Divine Visage, or at least to have established the traditions from which it sprang. Among their joint accomplishments, the two apparently harnessed latent veins of power in the Faedark to open passages to other realms--Heaven, she said, and the Abyss."
He continues with Dormin's claims--and his own conjectures--about the Sanctum, what it holds, and the importance of their investigating it. He concludes with the same offer to display proof in the form of his newfound words.
"Ia," he asks, now with a wistful tone, "I understand I am to be reassigned. But what I witnessed with Irn was truly spectacular, the implications about unknown--but perhaps recoverable--magics, truly tantalizing. And, on our journey, we encountered danger ... I still feel in Irn's debt. Perhaps there is a way my new assignment at the University might ... intersect with the revelations from Irn's visions?" He tests the waters, prepared for a shift in temper as a sailor awaits a storm.
Irravin returns to the Promenade seeking to learn more of the Shaem. He finds two aspirants currently undertaking the ritual now. One is frozen in the lotus position, with every bit of his posture extended and yearning upwards to the sky. The second is encapsulated in a flying kick at the very moment she would impart her blow. Both have their entire bodies submerged in clear ice, stopping only at their neck. One member of the Divine Visage holds vigil over them, though he does not stop other members from approaching the Shaem.
At one point another warrior steps onto the ice of the lotus Shaem. As soon as his foot touches the ice, the aspirants eyes open with a small gasp. The warrior seeking audience delivers his question respectfully and quickly, "Shaem, I seek to master patience. How may I seek this virtue?" The lotus Shaem replies without hesitation in a clear voice, "You must hear your echo before you speak" The warrior bows and departs the ice.
If Irravin speaks to the monk holding vigil over the Shaem, he will learn that Essaera is needed to initiate the ritual with her power over ice. Initially, the monk is incredulous that Irravin seeks the ritual, but quickly recognizes his determination, and answers respectfully. He urges Irravin to meditate in the snow without protection for a day to see if it something he truly wishes to undertake.
Vladimir finds Ivor in much the same state as Arius: shifting through scrolls and seals while signing and addressing. Although he clearly wears the same suit of armor, it seems to have changed. It is less pronounced and ceremonial than before, instead seeming reduced in size and weight to be more comfortable.
Ivor stands and clasps arms with Vladimir in greeting. "My heart is filled with light upon hearing what you spoke of in the trial has been substantiated Arius' and your vision. There is much I will share regarding what I think is our best path forward, but first I would hear your impression of Dormin yourself. How many lives do you think Dormin has lived? Do you think that they would every hide something from you in their answers? Given the chance... would you don the mask yourself?"
Vladimir senses no hostility in the questions, just sharp curiosity.
Irravin wastes no time after speaking to the monk holding vigil. Witnessing the Shaem up close again leaves him feeling invigorated and inspired. The mysterious rituals of the order seem tantalizingly close, but so far from his understanding. He leaves a quick note on his door for Vladimir before hastily making his way into the snow.
Trudging up a ridge a short ways from the enclave, Irravin finds a sunny spot that looks back over the Divine Visage in all its glory. Stripping to the waist, he folds his clothes and places his possessions neatly in a pile on a nearby rock. Sitting down in the lotus position on the edge of the cliff, he is instantly chilled to the bone by the snow and frosty air.
Taking several deep breaths, Irravin feels his mind begin to calm as the sunlight caresses his skin and warms him slightly. He settles into a familiar mental space, and his body begins to unite with his surroundings. Shortly, his mind ceases to recognize the flow of time--there is only his breath, and the boundaries of his body become one with the very air and earth around him.
He intends to remain in this position for 24 hours.
Arius finds his way to Ia’s quarters at the top of a tower within the Enclave. The location is unsurprising as Ia always seeks high and exposed locations to hear the whispers in the wind. Arius knocks and identifies himself, then waits for several moments. He senses a gentle flux of magic as she concludes whatever arcanity she was performing. He enters at her greeting.
The room is mostly filled with objects and articles belonging to the Enclave. However, the desk at the right side of the room holds the familiar artifacts of Ia’s sorcery. Figurines, scrolls, packets of various powders and substances, a river polished stone, unlit candles, and stowed banners among them. Her bags of holding line the edge of the tower behind the desk. Ia herself stands at the threshold of the small balcony across the tower.
Arius recounts the details of his experience with Ia.
“We shall speak of your duties and work in Mercia in a moment. But first…” Ia pauses a long moment in thought, her gaze turning to the snow and wind outside the tower. She speaks in a tone becalmed. “Tell me more of this creature formed by words of power. How did you feel being in its presence?” She turns her gaze back to Arius to measure his response.
**** Warning. NSWF save porn follows. Not recommended for players under the age of 18. ****
Irravin's mind welcomes the world around him. His physical form, loyal and trained as it is, follows suit. The cold upon him is as it should be. Instead of harming him, it invigorates his spirit. He becomes the cliff and the wind and the snow.
Is his mind empty? Does he contemplate anything while he remains?
Vladimir takes only a moment to respond to Ivor's inquiries; the same ones have been dwelling on the pensive ranger's mind as well.
"It is difficult to say. Dormin has occupied several, more likely even dozens, of lifetimes. It is even more difficult to uncover untold truths in their answers. I found their answer about my inquiry into the sanctum in Mercia to be short and teasing, but my focus to sustain the conversation was weakening, and perhaps they realized their words were limited. Overall, I found Dormin to be fairly forthcoming, expressing genuine emotions at hearing the apparent death of Azithax. As for donning the mask..."
Vladimir pauses, averting his gaze to the floor.
"Donning the mask is effectively giving my life to Dormin. In other words, a form of ritual suicide. The ultimate sacrifice."
A pregnant pause fills the air between Ivor and Vladimir. Then he speaks again, his voice lowered.
"I am fond of this life. Of my companions. My bonds. My adventures. My strength and growth."
Silence returns, residing even longer. It stretches across the room, over Ivor's desk, flooding the warrior's study. And then, it is broken, as Vladimir's voice returns at full volume.
"But my soul is more important than this life. As is my soul's mission. If my strength can become part of the collective in Dormin, and if I can give them the chance to use it in completing that mission, then I will not hesitate. I do not believe I have earned the right to don it yet. So in that sense, I do not feel ready. But I am prepared to overcome any obstacles and evil that may block my way."
He looks up at Ivor, his brows furrowed and his white eyes aflame. His fists clench as he finishes speaking, voice calm but resolute.
"And I will fight with the fury and strength of a dying man, so that when I find the mask, I will know my time has come, and that the right has been earned."
Arius considers the question, all the more circumspect for Ia's calm. He did not expect a question so apparently mundane, even personal, from his tempestuous master. Yet he collects himself and meets her tranquil gaze.
"Awe," he begins simply. "Countenance Ia, I can characterize the feeling no other way. Awe and a yearning to understand: these feelings occupied my heart. The entity I saw represented, it seemed to me, a wholly higher and more accomplished form of word magic than I have ever thought possible. I felt like a child babbling coarse syllables before a great orator, a blind mason paving the street at the foot of a cathedral.
"I only studied the being for bare moments, and in that time I immediately gleaned two new words. I even feel ... ah, it is vague and difficult to describe, but the principle behind those words, some common pattern in their weave, might lead me to uncover another word still. For a moment, glimpsing that creature, a higher ordering of things was heard, far off and beyond my grasp, but thrumming with truth."
He leaves off his rhetoric, returning from rapture recollected, and once more fixes his gaze to Ia's. Now something in her question raises one in him.
"Countenance Ia, have such entities been encountered before--perhaps stories or records exist? Perhaps ... have you met one?"
Irravin feels the cold slowly seeping into his blood. Despite his mental focus and clarity, it isn't long before he starts to lose sensation in his hands and feet.
How would I know if that's from the meditation or from the cold?
At this point, it becomes impossible to tell. Many times, deep meditation has taken him to a place beyond all sensation. It only now occurs to Irravin that this may be dangerous, and it may be too late if his body fails him while he is deep in a trance.
I must trust the connection between body, mind, and spirit.
As the cold continues to descend, numbing him further, his awareness begins to fade. Dimly, his waking mind recognizes the peril, but the tide of the unconscious mind pulls too strongly to rouse him.
Visions of the life blood that has been spilled all around him--the destruction, the madness, the peril--swarm his thoughts. Unbidden, tormented scenes fly past his awareness-- lightning-fast images of a frantic Razi'el suspended over an interdimensional pit, of a bloodied Vladimir nocking three arrows with a war cry on his lips, of Zadan handcuffed in a cell, of the Dark Seer summoning his horrific minions to wreak havoc on a battered city.
Slowly, as if a fire is being stirred from embers and reignited, he sees a faint outline begin to form. A sensation of falling, freezing, and soaring simultaneously overcome him as fiery wings seem to spread within his chest. Breaking the chains of the ferocious visions, his attachments to the material world float away like so much ash on the wind. Warmth spreads within his body and through the meditative trance, and he knows at a deep level that his body and mind are in harmony.
He continues the meditation confidently, knowing that he will come out of the trance hale, whole and at the appropriate time.
Ivor listens carefully to Irn's words. He gives a solemn nod of approval upon hearing Irn's willingness to surrender himself and don the mask. After a short period of reflection and a few strokes of his beard, he replies.
"I believe you should seek out the remnants of Dormin within the forest, and make yourself ready for the possibility of ascension. I offer you this oath as well: should you heed my counsel and work with me as one mind in fighting the rising tide of evil within Mercia and the Faedark, then should you don the mask and take the title of Dormin, I will pledge myself to Dormin's service in the same manner. Shall we shake on it?"
Ivor offers his hand to Irn.
Ivor retrieves a bottle from within a pack hanging on the wall. Within it are spiraling energies and flames, ceaselessly twisting and burning. The energy within feels eager to escape, but the bottle appears sturdy.
"As a sign of trust take this. It is the bottled breath of Auzuravax. Any guidance I offer you, ultimately comes from his teachings and wisdom. So, you shall carry his strength with you as well." Ivor explains the potions properties.
Regardless of Irn's reply, Ivor continues. "Let us resolve the matter of the trial and your test. You justified your actions in dealing with Zadan because of the pressing needs of defending and learning more of the Sanctum and your heritage within the Faedark. After hearing tidings of your vision, I accept your actions and acknowledge them as justified. I hereby dismiss the charges against you. I am confident my peers will support the decision."
Ivor welcomes further discussion with Irn. Ivor says that he shall summarize his counsel and Irn's orders in a writ soon. When the discussion falls stagnant, he will dismiss Irn, and resume attending his letters.
Ia breathes in the vision Arius exhales. She conjures a silent image and slowly sculpts it, with Arius' feedback, into a semblance of the creature composed of shimmering sigils. Excitement animates her when Arius mentions drawing forth words of power from its essence. Her eyes hold some expectation, waiting for something that she does not seem to receive.
Ia responds to Arius' inquiry. "There are records of them, and indeed they are creatures of antiquity. However, I was just in the presence of one yesterday, though I did not see its form. Irn's comrade, Irravin of the Shattered Veil, carries one with him. By his own testimony, which I believe, he created the creature through his own writing. His is but a fledgling, a Lexar true, but often referred to as a wordling. To my understanding, their creation is always spontaneous. It isn't exactly something one can set out to do. I would be curious what you could learn from Irravin's Lexar, Verndar."
After a pause, her eyes narrow in focus upon other thoughts. "Tell me your thoughts of Irn. Your divination places much upon him. Can he be expected to fulfill what may be needed of him?"
Arius feels a slight pang--has he somehow disappointed his estimable teacher? Keeping his face carefully neutral, he gazes at the slowly swirling illusion as he responds.
"I would be curious about the same. I am eager to learn as much as possible about these wordlings. My own encounter, brief as it was, was monumental. Can we then assume that this Lexar is Irn's own creation, unbeknownst to him? Or something deeper--perhaps Dormin's? May I assume, then, that there will be opportunities for me to learn from Irravin's Lexar?"
Arius burns to say more, to ask more. Too many questions, too many immediate routes to disappointment--Lexars can be created, but not by setting out to do so? Ia would likely spurn any questions about how to create one intentionally. "Their creation is always spontaneous"; the corollary, then: one who sets out to create a Lexar must set out to do an unintendable thing. A paradox of intent.
Arius's focus returns with alacrity--and he offers silent thanks to the gods that the lapse was but momentary. Time later to mull on the apparent paradox.
"Irn. He is impressive. His stout heart, his indomitable will, and his unflagging vigilance kept us healthy and, perhaps, alive during our encounter. If I may surmise ... you mean that the Order will expect him to don the mask, to subsume himself within the great soul, Dormin?"
Arius presses on without pause, knowing Ia will answer this question as a cliff face answers wind.
"If you are asking whether Irn would fulfill a duty to the Visage, become Dormin if such becoming were called for, the answer is obvious. As for what Irn wants, I can't quite say. We didn't discuss it. And Dormin herself seemed to have ... presentiments. It was clear that, as much as might be gained from donning of the mask, much would also be lost--Irn's personhood not least of all."
Vladimir looks at Ivor’s outstretched hand for a moment, eyes wide in surprise at Ivor’s immediate willingness to pledge himself to Dormin.
Do I have the strength to do this? To sacrifice myself for the chance to advance my soul’s mission?
Vladimir looks down, surprised to find his open hand reflexively raised up to meet Ivor’s. Images of forest flash through his mind: his younger self, setting bold traps for dangerous beasts ravaging the forest, climbing up trees to ambush prey that would cook over his campfire, scaling grassy mountains to rise above the tree line and gasp at the view.
Vladimir smiles, and thrusts his hand forward to shake Ivor’s.
If Dormin is going to shape the forests of the Faedark for the good of the realm, he’s going to need my help and expertise.
The pride is bittersweet.
”Thank you for this gift, and your support Ivor. I will guard this bottle carefully until the times I should see fit to use it. It is a great relief to have the shadow of our trial and punishment hanging over us. I won’t forget our missteps, but I’m eager to move forward and correct them. I must rejoin Irravin, but before I go, I would greatly appreciate your counsel. What do you think of Dormin’s cryptic messages regarding the sanctum and their mission with Azithax within the Faedark? Should we search for more temples? Should we engage in research? What do you advise?”
Regardless of how Ivor responds, Vladimir thanks him and embarks to find Irravin so they may observe the setting sun together.
Vladimir stows the solid, calm bottle containing the wrathful firestorm in a safe place, and seeks guidance from Ivor regarding moving forward.
"I intend to ponder carefully on this with the Countenance, and give you clear counsel before you take your leave. However, I will share my thoughts with you now. If the Divine Visage was founded on the principles made by Azithax and Dormin, as they claim, then all we discover about their purpose in the Faedark will be a boon to us. To move forward, I place our hopes in delving into the ruins and history of the Faedark. I must speak more with Ia, but it may be possible to restore and access some of the power that once flowed through that Sanctum."
"But, parallel to all other efforts, the Storm Orb must be protected." He gestures to the letters before you. "It is my task to see that that duty falls to the Divine Visage. Until then, you must ensure its safety within Mercia. For now, leave me to that task. We shall speak again."
Vladimir thanks Ivor, and seeks out Irravin.
Vladimir discovers the note Irravin left for him and seeks him out upon a snow ridge. He finds Irravin meditating shirtless with a serene expression on his face. The vantage point looks over the Enclave carved into the side of the mountain, illuminated in fading golden late.
At first the awareness is slight, in the matter of reaching the hundreds of miles necessary to seek Irravin and Vladimir. But you tap the power flowing in the land around you. The leylines of the Faedark that you have touch and guided, that flow through Mercia even now. Your awareness blossoms across the continent. Hundreds of vague impressions appear before you. Your likeness captured in wanted posters dot the cities in your homeland, and now dot your perception. You brush the dim impressions with your mind, and find the one that bears the weighty fortitude of Irravin and the sharp attention of Vladimir. You pore your conciouness into it, and find yourself looking upon your comrades on a snowy ridge, a mountain and a sinking sun behind them.
After Irravin and Vladimir greet each other and the sun finally sets, Vladimir draws forth the likeness of Raziel. For minutes, little happens. Then, suddenly, the images stretches and twists into animation. The likeness of Raziel actively meets their gaze and greets them.
As Razi'el's likeness coalesces and his eyes adjust in recognition, a scowl crosses his face.
" I hope I'm not interrupting, but you two need to return to Mercia immediately. Zidane broke in to the Sanctum, defeated the Kami, and stole at least one demonic artifact from beyond the sealed door. I tried to kill him, but he was too powerful. He vanished, and a group of us slew his eidolon. He killed a guard. On top of that, the false light is radiating necromantic power, the storm orb is sentient and harboring an evil consciousness, and the cursed necromancer I have been investigating has eluded my grasp."
The words tumbled out of Raziel's mouth, he was clearly unsettled. His usual easy confidence had been replaced by anxiety and tension. He paused just long enough to take a breath, before continuing.
"Tell me of your trial. Are you exiled? Punished? Publicly flogged for your overwhelming negligence? I'm growing impatient. You must return soon, for I can not handle the task of defending Mercia alone. Mercia needs you."
Raziel's aspect silently glowers at his companions, awaiting their response.
Irravin becomes aware of a presence nearby, and is pleased to be roused by Vladimir as his companion sits down close to him. Steam is coming off his body as he dons his clothing and accessories again. The reality of how low the temperature has dropped hits him at once, but he feels a fire burning within that refuses to be dampened. He and Vladimir exchange pleasantries and thoughts before the likeness of Raziel suddenly speaks, powerful words flowing forth like a river behind a broken dam.
Irravin's gaze grows stonier as Raziel recounts the summary of what transpired in Mercia. As much light has been surrounding him and glowing from within him, he is quickly reminded of the darkness that exists as a counter in the world.
As tragic as the deaths are, and as dire as the situation seems--this is where Irravin thrives, where things make sense. Powerful evil needs powerful good to fight it, and he feels like the tip of the spear on the front lines. Knowing that people need him--need him to be an instrument of the good in the world--is invigorating and humbling. A muted pride mixed with adoration for Raziel so aptly carrying the banner in their absence swells in his chest.
He and Vladimir exchange speechless glances, and Irravin, uncharacteristically, is the first one to speak.
"Raziel...my friend...it is very good to hear your voice once more. You have done exceptionally well without us. It pains me that we could not be by your side for all of this. What is done is done, but know that it affects me deeply that you have suffered so in our absence. Know that I am humbled and awed by what you have done and the way you have stood up for our city." Irravin realizes after he speaks that this is the first time he's referred to Mercia as his own. Our own.
"We have endured strenuous tests, and return to serving the Divine Visage with renewed vigor. We will tell you details later--the situation in Mercia is obviously dire and I will strongly advocate for our immediate return."
Irravin turns to Vladimir, ready to hear agreement from his brother. The familiar call of duty is bursting from Irravin's every pore, and it takes everything in him to not immediately dash down the mountain and spring into action.
When Razi'el begins to update Vladimir and Irravin on the state of Mercia and Dormin's sanctum, Vladimir feels his body go stiff. Irravin's mouth moves, likely forming a response to Razi'el, but all Vladimir hears is an unintelligible warble, as if hearing this from under water. He cannot hear, for his ears are involuntarily focused on a new noise. A loud, surging, roar.
Rage.
Vladimir's eyes stare into the distance.
"He broke. Into. The Sanctum."
The ranger's face and gaze snaps back to Razi'el.
"I won't rest until the tip of one of my arrows juts out of his windpipe. This abyssal dreg will face the consequences of his actions. Razi'el, thank you for contacting us and defending the city in our absence. We have cleared our names, and then some. It did not come easily, and Irravin and I both came shockingly close to death. We will return to Mercia immediately."
Vladimir looks to Irravin, eyes aflame.
"I would suggest we alert the Countenance and see if they can help us make our way back to Mercia immediately. The situation seems dire and I'd rather not fly in a cage for several days while Razi'el attempts to perform damage control."
Ephemeral light plays over Arius' face as he and Ia hold council. The tower is open to the freezing air of the icy mountainside, but the ancient magics written in the stones of this place only permit a brisk breeze to pass within its walls.
"The creation of Irravin's Lexar, as I measure, is equal parts intent, accident, and destiny. Indeed, there should be opportunity for you to study it during your appointment in Mercia. Make good use of it, as any hints about the nature of your command over Words of Power may lead to meaningful revelations regarding the operation of the Citadel, or other places inscribed with their power."
Ia's eyes gain a faraway look as she considers Arius' question regarding Irn and Dormin's mask. "The Countenance met while you pursued Irn's vision. We considered the question of whether we could ask such a thing of Irn, if all proved to be true. The conclusion was... we could not require it." Her eyes return from wherever they were, and focus upon Arius. "But we may suggest it, indeed even arrange for that possibility. And this I would ask of you, though you will be my student no more: restore the Faedark so that it may be possible. Counsel him to don the mask. What the world stands to gain is for more than you or I or Irn... Or Vladimir."
Razi'el observes the responses of his companions.
The tempest of dark tidings washes over Irravin's stoic disposition like waves on solid rock. His face betrays not the slightest hint of the apprehension that has clouded Razi'el's mind of late.
Vladimir's explosion hardly surprises Razi'el. Razi'el is briefly reminded of every time Vladimir's ire had found a new target. Including himself.
Razi'el speaks to both of them, drily.
I don't understand how both of you came close to death during a trial to determine your innocence, but I am elated to hear that your names have been cleared and that you are as eager as I am to return to our quest. I have more to tell you, but nothing urgent. Unless you have more to tell me, I will await your return in Mercia.
After Irravin and Vladimir say their final words, Razi'el's image contorts and solidifies into an emotionless picture.
Irravin nods along as both Razi'el and Vladimir speak. The burning desire to spring into action remains, but as always, the voices of his companions ring true.
"Razi'el, my friend--we will make every preparation to return to you as soon as possible. There can be no doubt that our combined strength will be needed immediately. We again commend you for your efforts thus far--know that we will not be long in coming to your aid."
After Razi'el's image returns to lifelessness, Irravin turns to Vladimir, well aware of the smoldering anger in his companion's eyes.
"This is unconscionable. He had no right--I can only imagine what you're feeling right now. We must return to the Countenance--I will find Gerralt immediately. Arius must know of this as well. Something tells me we will need all the help we can get. I agree with you wholeheartedly, there is no time or manpower to spare."
After their discussion is concluded, Irravin will hastily make his way back to the grounds, seeking out Gerralt or any member of the Countenance. All plans of performing the Sha'em ritual have been abandoned for the time being--he will have to return to it later in his journey.
Vladimir barks one last response to Razi'el before his image becomes still.
"Dryness ill suits you. Perk up. We'll see you soon"
He turns away, and hears Irravin's response.
"That sounds like a good plan. I'll find Ivor, and see if I can find someone on the way to alert Arius."
Vladimir departs, immediately rushing back to Ivor's quarters.
If he sees anyone on the way that he recognizes, such as Essaera, he will ask them to send word to Arius that "the sanctum in Mercia has been compromised, find Vladimir and Irravin immediately."
If Vladimir is able to successfully find Ivor, he immediately relays all of Razi'el's information and asks Ivor what their quickest option is back to Mercia.
Vladimir, Irravin, and Raziel complete their distant reunion. Raziel’s sharp eyes fade to a simple likeness once more. Sadly, the occasion was one of grim foreboding. The frozen landscape around Irravin and Vladimir has finally plunged into darkness. But it only lasts a short while. Red and violet hues splash across the mountain tops in the distance as Incarnus rises. The light is helpful to find their way rapidly back to the Enclave from the snowy hill, but the unblinking Eye seems to bear down upon them, and their dark mood is not brightened.
Vladimir and Irravin seek out Ivor and Gerralt and share the foul tidings. The Sanctum violated. False light radiating necromantic power, while the rogue necromancer evades capture. The Storm Orb’s evil consciousness. The news is received in furious focus by Gerralt, and met by curses from Ivor.
A summons is sent to Elion to bear passage back to Mercia: the swiftest that can be offered in short time. Vladimir and Irravin are told to prepare to leave with the morning light. The Countenance meets once again, to decide what other measures must be taken.
Ia and Arius’ arcane discussion over creatures composed of symbols and masks made of the night sky is interrupted as Ia is summoned to join the Countenance. Arius receives brief word of the news, and is to make ready to leave as well.
And thus Irravin, Vladimir, and Arius have their final private hours at the Enclave.
Irravin has much he would do at the Enclave, but time is one thing he doesn't have in abundance.
The Shaem...the magic of the Sky Tower priestess...the oracle children...
Verndar hums faintly.
The ley lines.
A grimace crosses his face as he resigns himself to departing with all haste for Mercia. Doubtless, much turmoil and strife await him, but he intends to go to his task with resolve and vigor.
Seeking out Gerralt once more, Irravin finds him at the training grounds. Perched on a lookout overseeing the area, it's obvious that the older man is brooding, likely upset by the recent news. Irravin approaches him with a simple request.
"Hail, Gerralt. I hope I'm not disturbing your meditations here. I come to ask one thing of you before we set off once more--that is, I had hoped you could aid us somehow with cutting through Zadan's deceptive magics. Is there an artifact, a spell perhaps, that could aid us in piercing his illusions? It is my fear that we will find ourselves fighting shadows and shades while our true enemy is free to do as he pleases. We have not experienced much in the way of illusory magic and deception, and any words you could offer us would be of great assistance."
Ia's pronouncements strike Arius's ears with the finality of lightning strikes. "[M]y student no more." "Counsel him." The crisp breeze here is as nothing to him--today his body is attuned to frost--yet he shivers. What words does this wind carry, and from what unseen future?
"I understand, Countenance Ia. To restore the Faedark: I take this task on gladly. I shall apply all you have taught me and all I may yet learn to accomplish this. And I shall advise in favor of donning the mask, whenever and however my counsel can have effect."
The next part scratches his throat to say; he begins to pronounce, solemnly, "I swear it, not as student swears to teacher, but as the faithful swear to heed the wise"--but the summons comes, and Ia, ever inscrutable, billows away.
As Arius heads back to his study, his own summons arrives. He scrambles to pack only necessities and what can be of use in either battle or the study of old magics: a few reference texts and dictionaries pertaining to magical languages, particularly Draconic, his next linguistic conquest. A single luxury--a small, leather-bound volume of ecstatic verses by an Aklo-speaking mystic--he keeps tucked in a pocket of his pack.
Finally, a single drawer fixes his eyes. He crosses the room and withdraws a smooth stone--heavy, round, black, but unremarkable--set in a dull iron cradle affixed to a chain. Something he'd found in the ebb of the storm his teacher--former teacher--calmed so long ago. He secures this around his neck.
Finally, he casts around for scrolls of protective magic or divinations. Knowing by rumor the general capabilities of the group with which he will be traveling, he focuses on those spells whose nuances arcanists alone can plumb.