Malz lets Truk and Niyut continue talking to their clanspeople, leaving the fire with Garidan. "So. Need help setting up camp?" He says surprisingly.
Granted, he is simply the architect and uses summoned creatures for all the actual physical labor, but he still winds up being helpful regardless.
Asiel nods and pats the ground beside her. As Niyut takes a seat next to her greataunt, the older woman draws the broken remains of gnarled staff made from the unmistakable greyish wood of an umbrella acacia tree. Niyut instantly recognizes the staff as her mother's.
"I'm not sure why I kept it... the life in it is gone. But now that you are here, I know I was meant to pass it to you," She says handing the staff over to the oracle. "Your mother saw many things that I cannot. She spoke to our ancestors in ways I was not able. She had reason, Niyut, to go to the Nightborn but did not speak it to me. She only said that the Nightborn would not choose to break the pact that all the clans had made. She said they had asked for her to come to them. She did not fear them and went willingly, yet unknowingly, to her death.' Asiel takes a deep breath and continues, "I cannot be certain, but I believe that Leeluran has awoken from her nightmare and she seeks to take all that binds the Dreaming, destroying it forever. Without Járnviðja to dissuade them, I believe she has deceived the Nightblood and pitted them against our people... but why they wanted your mother, I do not know." The pair sit, silently watching the fire burn.
Trailing behind the other three, Raektov looked awkwardly at the Firebird people. He understood that they too were fighting for their lives but wouldn't escape through a mystical portal and leave their homes, even if they could. When led to an empty yurt, he follows them inside and does his best to help prepare a fire and make the space comfortable.
"They were taken by Asiel. I would guess she still has them," Kadesh responds when Truk'tosh asks of his mother's staff.
He grits his teeth in anger when questioned about the other Hülya that went to the pheonix. "We do not know for they never returned. We searched for them, but came upon the Nightblood before we reached the mountains and retreated before they saw us.
Surprised by Malthazir's assistance, even if it is via his summoned servants, Garidan nods appreciatively. After a handful of moments by the fire, he blinks and grins at the spellcaster before getting up and hurrying over to the supplies piled inside their largest tent. He returns quickly and hands the elf a small, tightly-stoppered jug that sloshes heavily when moved. "You know, I'd almost forgotten about that, but I think you'll quite enjoy it." He then holds up a hand to interrupt any attempt on Malthazir's part to consume the contents. "And just so you know, that's spirit of wine in there, alcohol that's been alchemically purified to the extent that a good mouthful would probably kill you."
Knowing that his companion is probably wondering why he's just been offered something that he can't drink properly, the swashbuckler explains. "Since I've been diving into that alchemy business after Pyrae and the Tower of Necromancy, I've found that I know quite a bit about the various raw ingredients that it uses, and not just the common stuff either. Probably because of that thing I got from the geist," he adds, not willing to discuss what assets the party has where strange ears may be listening, but knowing that Malthazir will understand his meaning. "Well, anyway, aside from what I can use the more exotic materials for, nearly all of it has some value for those who use magic as well. And what's in that jug there," Garidan says while tapping the containers side with a finger. "Will apparently extend the amount of time that your various servitors remain after you call them up from wherever it is that they are when you're not using them."
Malz takes the jug, uncorking it and cautiously sniffing it. Despite himself, he felt his mouth start to salivate. How long has it been since I've had proper wine? Then Malz's mood is immediately ruined by Garidan who clarifies it isn't proper wine.
"Hmm, that has some serious potential. I've made my own alterations to summoning spells to increase their duration, but hadn't considered expendable materials." He stores it away. "Although to be honest I think I'd trade it for a good glass of elven wine. Once you're away from home long enough...you start to realize the things you miss." He stares into the fire with a dead expression, lapsing into silence.
"Well, if it works for you, let me know. I'll be keeping some back for my own projects, but even that will still leave a few jugs to work with for your spells." The swashbuckler then frowns in thought while looking back at where the supplies are stored. "In fact, I might be able to actually make that, and a few other of those exotic components I mentioned. Have to look into that later," he muses before turning back to Malthazir and noting his sudden downturn in mood.
Not quite sure what he can offer the elf to lift his spirits, Garidan is silent for a time. Then he cocks his head to one side and once more looks toward where the supplies are as he begins to speak. "You know, I'm not a vintner or anything like that, but I do have most, if not all, of the tools that one would use. And while there are undoubtedly details specific to the craft that I don't know, what I know about alchemy isn't too far off," he thoughtfully. "I mean, I do know exactly what I would need to do to brew a decent ale, at any rate. No doubt I could, with a bit of time, come up with something acceptable to your palate. It wouldn't be what you're accustomed to, obviously, but it would certainly be more than what you have to drink now."
He turns back to face Malthazir as he continues. "Fair warning though, because of the method I'd have no choice but to use in this, whatever I make would almost certainly be alchemically fortified in some manner." He tone of voice is tentative, extending the offer unspoken to his depressed companion to accept or not as he chooses.
Malz closes his eyes, slowly inhaling through his nose.
You need to talk about it.
Silence.
It is consuming you.
I said silence.
Ignoring it won't make it go away.
Silence!
...please. For your own sake. If you trust me on nothing else, trust me here. Please...talk.
He opens his eyes, continuing to stare at the fire. "Garidan...have you ever worried about what using these essences is doing to us? There are obvious benefits, yes..." He stops, shaking his head. "I've always had an enormous mental capacity, ever since I was old enough to learn, then I honed that skill to a razor's edge as I grew older and got into magic. I was a prodigy, and I quickly overtook my peers, then my teachers. It was remarkable, and always something I have taken great pride in. I also know that I can be hard to be around because of my inability to easily emphasize." He pauses as the fire splits, shifting a piece of burning log closer to the ground.
"I knew when I survived the cataclysm that took my eye, that my skills would be useful in the aftermath. What I began to learn was that not only were my skills valuable, wizards were quickly becoming a dying breed. I wasn't just valuable anymore, I was irreplaceable." Malz says this not in a boasting way, or with even a hint of pride in his voice. He says it as if it was a great weight on his shoulders. "I knew I needed to become stronger, because I had to fight and I had to win. So I used the essences to push my mind harder. To reach heights that were not possible before. I didn't think about anything else, just the power." Another pause as the fire splits again, sending up a small cloud of sparks. Malz closes his eyes again.
"I can hold multiple threads of thought at once, did you know that? I can have simultaneous conversations. With the spirit in here, with Torenz, with my dragon, while talking to the rest of the group, all while thinking about the next spell to research. I didn't even realize I was doing it at first. But just as my strengths grow...so do my weaknesses. I know that I can be hard to be around, but I've been getting worse. Far worse than I have ever been. When we had time to relax I allowed my mind a brief reprieve from the constant pressure it had been under. To feel human for a few hours. But..." He looks up at the sky, his voice cracking. "I felt no relief. I felt like a cog that had been suddenly grasped and held still when all it wanted was to keep turning. It was suffocating." The fire cracks and crashes down into the coals, sending sparks up in the air as tears streak down each side of Malz's face, reaching his robes and darkening them.
Niyut takes a long look at the shattered staff. Its dark grey wood was streaked with dark red veins. Except at the breaking point, the staff was smooth and shiny as her mother had boned rubed it with the hardened femur of a smilodon. It was crowned with a large knot that the oracle had always imagined as a wailing face ever since she was a frightened, young child. But now it wasn't scary, just sad.
Niyut rubs the knot, thinking the world seems so much bigger as a child.
She contains an ocean of tears, but they do spill out. She sits for several long minutes of silence, feeling the wood beneath her fingertips.
While she grieves, part of her mind whirls. Truth be told, she doesn't entire trust her great aunt. While she can point to nothing particularly sinister, her intuition troubles her.
"Why do you believe the Night Blood are still the answer? When it has already failed? Do you know who contacted my mother?"
Garidan listens without interruption as Malthazir unburdens himself in a surprising burst of words and emotion. For a short time, he says nothing though his expression makes it clear that he wants to. Finally, however, he does begin to speak, slowly and quietly. "I worry very much about those essences, actually. I watch the rest of you, you know, partly because I sort of see it as my job to make sure we're looked after, and partly because the alternative is to think." After a brief pause, he adds, very softly. "And if I do that too often, I'm pretty sure it'll end badly." Then, following a bitter sigh and a shake of his head, the swashbuckler continues, his voice back to a level more easily heard by those close enough. "So I watch, and I see how Niyut gets every time she gets another essence, that hunger she has for more. And then there's Gruskorb and that beartrap of his," he says with a sidelong glance at the hobgoblin. "That hunk of metal actually worries me more than Niyut, to be honest. She's at least trying to keep herself in control, but who knows what that thing is up to."
He stares at the fire, hands unconsciously twisting together as he considers what else to say, how much to reveal. "And I've had dreams," he finally says. "Or at least, that's what I call them since they only happen when I'm sleeping. I don't remember much of them after I wake up, but what little sticks with me is mostly the same every time. All of the people and things that I've taken an essence from, gathered with my family at our home, and they're all just... together. Talking, arguing, sometimes playing." Garidan frowns as he thinks over what he just said. "I thought that they were just dreams, weird ones to be sure, but nothing more. But after what you just said about what's going on in your own head, I'm not so sure anymore." He shifts his gaze briefly to the elf at his side, then looks off to where he last saw Truk'tosh. "And that's four of us now, being affected in some way by these essences. So I'm not at all willing to bet that Truk'tosh alone is untouched. I just hope that whatever the effect is on him, it's not liable to turn around on us."
Surprisingly, Garidan then laughs softly, and his next words are spoken in a slightly amused tone. "I know that I'm horribly provincial as far as my education goes, and I'll likely never know as much as someone like you has forgotten. But still, I'm not a complete bumpkin, and I've been occasionally going over what little I do know. And I've come to wonder if we left part of ourselves behind in that Rift when we were pulled out of it, and the essences are filling in the missing bit. And because of that hole, they're able to reach us and affect us in a way that they normally couldn't for someone who was, well, not broken."
Recognizing Kadesh's pain, Truk'tosh rests a hand on the ranger's shoulder. "It is known that the Hülya are the bravest among us. We all share in their loss. It remains to us to prove that we are worthy of their sacrifice."
Thinking on what he's been told, Truk retrieves a small bundle of dried sage tightly bound a downy feather the bright flames.
"What are your thoughts on the elders' wisdom? Do you believe the Nightblood have broken faith?"
Part of ourselves left behind... Malz unconsciously reaches up, touching the area around his mutilated eye socket. "Well. Your theory doesn't inspire confidence. That we are broken and our missing pieces are being replaced by monsters."
Is that why you're so hostile to me? You think I'm trying to replace part of you?
You have taken over my body.
I...
.
.
.
I'm sorry. I didn't think about how that might affect you. You were so concerned about being powerful enough to win that fight-
"So you thought the power was more important than my autonomy!?!" Malz suddenly cries out. He breathes for a few seconds, then looks surprised that he spoke aloud.
You will be buried.
Wait, Mal-!
Malz turns from the camp, taking fast strides away into the night. His dragon, who was snoozing peacefully by the fire, scrambles to her feet and starts chasing after Malz. He turns with a furious expression. "Leave me alone!" With a sharp gesture the dragon crashes into the ground with a pained cry. Malz whisks back around, disappearing into the darkness.
Reaching out with her feelings, Niyut does not sense any dishonesty from her great aunt. The woman appears truly distraught and uncertain for the future.
"I trust your mother's judgement. She was a special woman; destined to lead the Firebird, I believe," she says with sadness and regret. "I don't know what inspired her thoughts, but she was utterly convinced of her actions."
As Malthazir storms into the night, Gruskorb enters the yurt followed by Raektov. "Uh... we got a few pieces of firewood. They wouldn't spare much... so... yea..." the hobgoblin hesitates, loooking back into the darkness at the cowering pseudodragon. "What was that about? Did you say something?"
Kadesh smiles and puts his hand on the half-orc's powerful arm. "We will proudly remember their sacrifice," he finally says. "I do not know what to make of the elders. All of them agreed with Asulad. But, after she was defeated, they were unsure how to proceed... until Prisca arrived. She began to speak of Chana and her children... that we needed them to help us against the Nightblood. Only Asiel opposed her."
Niyut clasps the much older woman's hand and gives her a reassuring squeeze.
"Do you mind if I search her belongings to see if I can get any insight into her thought?"
To avoid letting her grief overwhelm her, Niyut tries to focus on the next steps.
Garidan watches in shock as Malthazir suddenly rushes away from the fire, but isn't able to muster any words before the former is out of earshot. Gruskorb's question simply draws a confused shrug in response. "I said a few things, but nothing that could have done that," he says while waving a hand in the direction in which the elf has gone. Rising, he checks his equipment, then moves to follow. "This place might be safe, but I'm going to go after him and make sure he doesn't run out path whatever defenses might be set up. The last thing we need is for him to get eaten by something because he wasn't up to paying attention to his surroundings." With that, the swashbuckler leaves the fire as well, doing his best to follow Malthazir's path.
Gruskorb shrugs his shoulders at the young wizard, who goes about starting a small fire.
Niyut begins a thorough search of her mother's things, looking for insight into her mental state and choices. Silent tears begin to flow down her cheeks.
Niyut sorts through her mother's posessions, not finding anything magical. Nothing of note stands out to her. Asulad had taken her traveling gear, including her warm clothes, blankets and boots. Her few pieces of adornment had been left behind, other than her favorite necklace of a worn topaz stone that had been gifted down through her household for several generations. It had no significance culturally, but had always been a favorite of her mothers. Likely, she took it with her as a reminder her of her home while traveling.
Niyut gains no other insight.
Garidan steps out of the yurt and looks around the surrounding area. For a moment, he hears the elf's voice, but turning he sees nothing. Picking up the voices inside the small hut, the swashbuckler listens to Gruskorb and Raektov debate what they have for dinner if they were in a well-stocked tavern enjoying a moonlit night before the Shaping.
Niyut wipes away her silent tears. She is frustrated that there are no clues in her mother's belongings. However, she did not expect there to be. Unlike the lowlands, books and journals were scarce. Her mother communicated far and wide in dreams. Why would she write notes down?
But she does have something like a plan. Prisca's plan seemed foolish to her, but it would be a simple thing for Malthazir to contact the songstress in her dreams and ask that she contact us if she is concerned about the situation. That would free them up to return to the Forest of Night and look for clues about her mother.
She walks to where she thinks her companions are carrying her mother's staff.
Searching the village, she sees Reaktov exit a small yurt that once belonged to a family she was knew. Keeping their faces and names from entering her mind, the oracle approached the hut. "Malthazir ducked out a few minutes ago... I'm going to look for him," the apprentice says to her rather awkwardly. As he heads off, Niyut sees her twin come around the corner. Truk'tosh had gone to speak with Kadesh, perhaps he learned something of value.
When she slips inside, she finds Garidan laying out the banquet that had become customary from the swashbuckler these past few days. The aroma of spices tickled her nose and brought a brief smile to her face.
Raektov entered the clearing where the wizard secretly hovered, floating with his legs crossed in quiet thought. He had gone invisible just as he left the yurt wanting to be left alone. "Um... Mr. Malthazir... sir. Are you around?" Raektov says, looking about before taking a few steps north before stopping and straining to listen for a reply.
Malz's eyes opens. Raektov. He looks down at the young wizard, a brief flash of annoyance on his face. Was I not clear? Did you track my essence trail you- His trail of thought stops as he sees Raektov pause, unsure. That poor child, he was just wandering blindly in hopes of getting lucky. Malthazir's throat tightens for a moment. And here I am, above him and able to see his path but not even making my presence known.
"Yes. I am here." Malz takes a breath, straightening up and steeling his face. He dismisses his invisibility, floating to the ground. "Malthazir is fine. Or just Malz. Malz is fine." He tries to give a confident smile, but his normally strong demeanor isn't as flawless as it normally is. "I apologize if I worried you. I just...needed to clear my head." He almost laughs at how apt the saying is.
With Malthazir gone too swiftly to follow, and not feeling comfortable with approaching any members of the Firebird to ask for directions, Garidan retreats back to their temporary quarters and resumes ensuring that things are somewhat pleasant. In in the interests of being good guests--and not stressing the local supplies if it can be avoided--Garidan is ready to offer up some of their travel rations when a section of the spell formulae on his armor flares briefly to life and a feast appears laid out and ready for consumption. Giving the food a startled look, the swashbuckler quickly turns his gaze to his armor and prods tentatively at the lines that denote the formula for the meal spell he's been enthusiastically using over the last few rest periods, but there's no response and he can feel not the faintest hint of magic within the lines.
He's so engrossed in wondering just what is going on with that spell's unexpected activiation--doubly curious for consisting of exactly the dishes that Raektov and Gruskorb were just discussing, not to mention that he'd already expended the formula's magic some hours earlier to break their fast--that he doesn't even notice the young mage leave, or Niyut arrive.
Satisfied that he's learned enough, Truk'tosh and Kadash return to the elders' fire.
"Many think that these tricks are about making yourself not visible. Such a trick isn't really feasible without going to the ethereal plane, or other powerful transmutation magic. In truth the magic is about creating an illusion that is skin tight, and it simply shows what is on the opposite side of you." Malz continues talking about the intricacies of illusion magic, adding helpful commentary about how it is useful in combat and out of combat situations. He seems to quickly brighten as they converse, not quite getting back to his old self but certainly seeming in much better spirits.
A few minutes after Raektov disappeared into the woods, he returns with Malz at his side. Both float lazily towards the group, wrapped up in conversation with each other about the intricacies of illusion magic.
Niyut sets her mother's staff down. My mother's staff was broken when she was betrayed."
She looks to Gruskorb and Raektov. "Will either of you mend it? It won't restore its magic, but it would make me feel better."
She sits down and begins to speak, "The elders offer options that I don't find particularly appealing. Search for the Children of Chana who have never intervened in inter-clan conflicts? It seems a thin strand of hope. Yet, I remember that Malthazir can contact people in their dreams. Malthazir, will you please help me contact Lyréla Gaelwynn, the songstress? As for what I think we should do is to track back the people who ambushed our mother. Thoughts?"
"We must learn the truth of our mother's fate", Truk'tosh adds in support of his twin's suggestion. "My instincts tell me that whatever forces conspired to strike her down are the same that kept the Hülya from reaching the Eldest Sister. Someone or something wants what remains of the peoples of the First Lands isolated."
Niyut's words bring Malz out of his conversation with Raektob. "Oh, yes, of course. I will help how I can. What is this?" He says, reaching for the staff.
Niyut sighs and repeats herself to the wizard.
Malthazir's return in considerably better spirits than his leaving is met with visible relief from Garidan, though he make a note to himself to keep a closer watch over the elf in any case. "Hopefully I can catch any other such incidents before they overwhelm him again," he muses silently.
The swashbuckler then considers the matter laid out by Niyut and Truk'tosh. "As I see it, and going by what we've been told by your elders, this isn't precisely the usual sort of inter-clan conflict that these Children of Chana normally avoid involvement in. If they could be convinced to put their tradition of neutrality on hold for a time, would their aid make up for the time spent securing it when we turn to locating your mother or her attackers?" Garidan then nods toward Truk'tosh as he addresses another point raised. "And if your supposition is correct, and this is an intentional effort toward keeping the survivors here fragmented, then wouldn't making contact with the Children as soon as possible be that much more important?"
"Oh! Oh." He sombers up, taking a look at the staff. "I'm sorry, I'll do what I can. Tonight we can attempt to gleam the veil of dreams."
Niyut responds to Garidan before responding to Malthazir.
"I'm suggesting we contact them tonight, Garidan. What I believe is foolish is to pursue them through the long night when we can both speak with them and track the NightBlood. The choice that the Elders offered is a false choice. As to your other question, while the Seven Stars clan might help us renew the Dreaming I doubt they would go to war. It would destroy their way of life and the end of their clan."
She then turns to the wizard. "We cannot restore its magic easily, but it could be mended. Though I don't know the cantrip myself. Before we contact the songstress, will you help me with part of a ritual?"
She finally turns to her brother and hugs him. Her lithe arms looking especially delicate trying, and failing to encircle his mighty chest. "Mother may be dead, but if she is, we will win back her spirit. Will you help me with a bit of magic? I need some of your blood."
Truk’tosh returns his twin’s embrace with practiced gentleness. ”Of course. If my blood will bring our mother peace, I will give it gladly.”
"Honestly, it won't directly help Mother, but it could help us find her abductors or murderers."
Anyone else, Niyut would be happy to them believe whatever they wanted. She refused to deceive Truk even by omission. She had never lied to her twin and she wasn't about to start now.
As she waits for him to reaffirm his consent she takes out the essence she got the cliff giant and absorbs it into herself.
After he consents again, she slices his hand and lets his blood spill into her mithril bowl.
As her twin's blood pours into the bowl, she begins a chant. The blood hisses and steams before it begins to whirl in the bowl. The oracle chants for a minute as her twin's blood condenses into a glowing ruby.
Truk feels a bit weak as his blood drains.
Once the spell is complete, Niyut calls upon her grandmother to heal Truk'tosh.
Niyut fixates on the ruby as it pulsates rhythmically. As her eyes adjust, she makes out a cloudy image inside the gem. The oracle gently takes hold of the gem and removes it from the frothing bowl. The blood of her twin is gone, but inside the ruby, she can now clearly see a splinter of bone.
Her eyes move to the pockets of her robe where the Libre Sanguinem hides. She now has the component needed to chant the ritual that has consumed her thoughts these many weeks since she first discovered it. A splinter of bone from a relative. It is hers.
She peers back at the bone trapped in the ruby. "A relative", she thinks. Her eyes tear up as she recognizes that she has taken the bone from a relative, but which relative. Where had her mind drifted when she conjured the spell. Niyut looks into her memory to discover whose image had coalesced in her mind during the spell.
She remembers as a tear rolls down her cheek.
Then another thought comes screaming into her mind. How will this affect the ritual? Would the bone of Truk'tosh, her twin, affect the essence's transformation differently than that of her mother or her grandmother? Would the ritual affect the relative? Or their life essence? "Too many questions," she hears Viosil say.
Raektov smiles as he listens intently to the wizened words of the elvish Conjurer. As they approach the yurt, he looks up at Malthazir and opens his mouth as if to speak then closes it. Nodding to himself, he opens it again and asks, "I would like to learn to bend those illusions about myself as you explained. I've mastered the cantrip to make noise and to make my bag look empty. So, I think I could do it... would you? um?" He reaches into his satchel and extracts a brown leather tome with a pair of straps and large brass buckles. "Would you allow me to scribe the spell from your spellbook? I'd be careful and keep it safe! I don't think it would take me more than an hour. You could watch over me as I did it."
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Niyut kneels in the earth of the yurt. She take her boline and carves a figure-eight into the dirt. Then she carves a second larger figure-eight around it. Scoring the earth between the two figure-eights, she divides each lobe into four sections. In each of the sections, she inscribes a single different rune.
Then she repeats this process, creating two new figure-eights set at a 180 degree angle to the first set. These lobes too are divided into four sections, but the order of the runes is the inverse of the previous sequence.
At the center of these figure-eights, Niyut places her mithril bowl. Next she places the Liber Sanguinum to the side of her graven figures and opens it to a certain page.
She looks up at Malthazir. "When I make this gesture . .." Niyut pauses to make two gestures with her arms that seem to flow into one another and give the wizard a sense of beckoning or invitation. "You must begin this chant: 'Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem.' You must repeat this chant for about ten minutes. You will know when it is done because each line and rune here will be a glow with power. Repeat the chant back to me until I know you have it."
The elven wizard repeats the chant flawlessly after a few repetitions and a few corrections by the oracle on the precise intonation of the ancient draconic. To her minor annoyance, the speed and precision of his memory impress her.
"Now when I make this gesture . . ." Niyut pantomimes a series of gestures that Malthazir takes to be closing or abjuring before she continues, "You must begin this chant: "Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per quae facti sunt quae aethere scientia mortis.' You will know when it is done because none of the lines nor the runes here will be alight with power. Repeat the chant back to me until I know you have it."
Again, Malthazir masters the chant with impressive alacrity. When he has it, Niyut then brings forth a silvery essence and places it into the bowl with the blood ruby containing the image of a bone, throbbing with crimson power.
Niyut is finally ready for the ritual to begin. I am the path of power. I am the gate of change. In this moment, my mind, my body, my spirit are the axis upon which the cosmos pivots. With ancient rite and gesture Niyut begins the ritual.
In a commanding, demanding voice, Malthazir chants: "Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem. Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem. Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem. Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem..."
Like a great eye slowly blinking open, the runes and lines of each pair of figure-eights slowly begin to flicker and flare. The set aligned north to south blazes with silver radiance while its rune sequence thrums an angry purple. The set aligned east to west is the mirror image of the other set.
The change in Niyut is even more dramatic. She kneels before the bowl frozen in an unnaturally rigid and straight position limned with silver and purple fires.
She begins to chant: "Et viam Dei virtus est aperta. Hic locus mutare potest omnia. Hic erit scientia essentia de essentia mortis. Et viam Dei virtus est aperta. Hic locus mutare potest omnia. Hic erit scientia essentia de essentia mortis. Et viam Dei virtus est aperta. Hic locus mutare potest omnia. Hic erit scientia essentia de essentia mortis. . ."
While she chants she begins to make an arcane series of movements and gestures with her arms and fingers. This series begins rigidly with almost mathematical precision. As they continue they blur and flow together leaving after images blazing silver and purple. It appears that she has thousands of arms weaving a complicated spell.
The runes blaze in sympathetic response and begin to move. One rune in the sequence begins to move and shift. When it reaches a new rune in the sequence that rune shifts until it mirrors the original moving rune.
Eventually all runes are its copy and no rune blazes with silver light.
The blood ruby cracks and spills its gathered power onto the silvery essence.
Her chant changes: "Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. . ."
Where everything before was movement and power, this section of the ritual is characterized by stillness. The light and fire that had limned Niyut bleed away just as the after images of her gestures do. This power is gathered in the bowl.
The essence that once blazed silver is now a deep, violent purple.
Yet, suddenly silver light pulses through the purple radiance and it looks as if silver fireflies are darting through the yurt.
While there is something that might be described as concern, even fear, in Niyut's eyes her voice remains steady: "Quae hic sit transgressor huius sacri. Ut fiat id continebat. Sit modo id quod molestum est et nobis nihil ultra. Quae hic sit transgressor huius sacri. Ut fiat id continebat. Sit modo id quod molestum est et nobis nihil ultra. Quae hic sit transgressor huius sacri. Ut fiat id continebat. Sit modo id quod molestum est et nobis nihil ultra. . ."
With painful, almost excruciating, slowness the silver fireflies wink out of existence and the silver flashes in the purple essence subside to nothing.
Relief flashes through Niyut's eyes, signalling a change in her chant:
"Omnes semitae finem. Omnes portas aperuerunt occlusae. Nec animus neque vires neque ambulant transverso limite portae. Omnes semitae finem. Omnes portas aperuerunt occlusae. Nec animus neque vires neque ambulant transverso limite portae. Omnes semitae finem. Omnes portas aperuerunt occlusae. Nec animus neque vires neque ambulant transverso limite portae. Omnes semitae finem. Omnes portas aperuerunt occlusae. Nec animus neque vires neque ambulant transverso limite portae."
The silver lines of both sets of figure-eights now throb with purple rather than silver radiance.
Images of strange spirits fade into view around the yurt. None have transgressed the yurt's aperture. Each is inexorably drawn back to the figure-eights and blink out of existence.
At long last, Niyut begins the gestures of sealing and abjuring. Malthazir's strong, resonant voice blends with her far softer one as he takes over the chant: "Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per quae facti sunt quae aethere scientia mortis. Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per quae facti sunt quae aethere scientia mortis. Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per quae facti sunt quae aethere scientia mortis. . ."
With each passing minute, the light of power dims in the figure-eights as if a great eye that had once been open closes.
When the last of the radiance is gone, Niyut collapses before the bowl. I am no longer the path of power. I am no longer the gate of change. The moment has passed.
Niyut takes the violent purple essence and the two remaining hag essences and feed them to the book. The sense of weight and energy that filled the air when Niyut first bonded to the grimoire return. Dark veins appear in the pages and pulse as the book seems to . . . grow.
The oracle is barely paying attention because she is gasping out an invocation calling on her grandmother.
Niyut stands and places her hands on Malthazir, sharing with him the same gift from the spirit world.
Raektov smiles as he listens intently to the wizened words of the elvish Conjurer. As they approach the yurt, he looks up at Malthazir and opens his mouth as if to speak then closes it. Nodding to himself, he opens it again and asks, "I would like to learn to bend those illusions about myself as you explained. I've mastered the cantrip to make noise and to make my bag look empty. So, I think I could do it... would you? um?" He reaches into his satchel and extracts a brown leather tome with a pair of straps and large brass buckles. "Would you allow me to scribe the spell from your spellbook? I'd be careful and keep it safe! I don't think it would take me more than an hour. You could watch over me as I did it."
As Raektov stumbles and watches his words, Malz holds up a hand. "Stop second guessing yourself. You are young, yes, but you are a wizard. Even the most powerful fighter in the world doesn't know half as much as you do. Speak your mind, for your insight is valuable." He gives a soft smile. "And never be afraid to ask a question." Malz pauses at the spellbook request. "Yes, I think it will prove a valuable resource to you. And I would like to supervise, not because I don't trust you, but because if something happened that caused us to be separated, I would be severely handicapped until I could retrieve my spellbook."
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"Aperi modo. Oot patet per viem de potentia. Sit modus aeris scientium mortem." Malz says, almost flawless on his first try. As somebody who calls to the ether, and will plan to call much more dangerous creatures in the future, his ability to memorize and properly pronounce difficult words is a well-honed skill. "Ten minutes, positive feedback is glowing from this section." He says with a curt nod, eyes studying the runes. He almost seems like a peer, working with fellow wizards on a difficult project.
"Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per quae..." He shakes his head. Always a syllable hard to pronounce without a forked tongue. "...facti sunt quae aethere scientia mortis." He nods. "Positive feedback is these runes going dark." I appreciate the clarity of this ritual, at least when it comes to feedback. The words and gestures are complex, but manageable.
As the ritual goes along, Malz makes sure his part in it is performed exactly as detailed. He did not have enough time to study the runes so he did not fully understand the ritual, but the negative feedback is plain enough when Niyut reacts. Malz continues his part, not breaking the link of magic. From experience he knows that it is wiser to allow backlash against one caster rather than multiple, and if he remained steady he may be able to contain it should Niyut falter. But even as he makes contingency plans, she steadies the flow.
After the casting is done, Malz slowly brings his voice to a halt and his arms to his side, eyes scanning the runes. After a few moments when he is satisfied the magic subsided calmly, he exhales and stumbles back, taking Raektov's shoulder for support. "That...was a difficult ritual." He says, voice hoarse from chanting and arms trembling from constant exertion. Niyut's restorative magic aids the worst of this, allowing him to stand under his own power. "Raektov, next lesson. Making lic tea, good for the throat. After weaving such powerful magic, it is a good drink to recuperate with." He looks at Niyut with a newfound respect...and perhaps a hint of wariness.
Garidan watches wide-eyed over the remains of the food as Niyut drags Malthazir into a frenzy of magical working whose purpose he doesn't even pretend to grasp. All he can do is hastily make sure that the area of cleared of anything that could pose an interruption, and further make sure that none of their people come visiting at that very moment. To that latter end, he gathers up the remainder of the magically-provided meal and quickly relocates it all outside their shelter, to be passed out to any who desire a portion while the magic lasts. Hopefully that will distract them from anything notable that might leak forth from the shelter.
"Thank you, Malthazir. That ritual was made more difficult by using magical substitutes instead of the required component. While I'm proud that I devised a way for my magic to bolster my rituals, it was more fraught than I hoped. Perhaps, I could have done this on my own, but success would have been uncertain without your aid. I know that ritual magic and cooperative casting are rarer in the lowlands than here in the First Lands, so your skill is remarkable."
Niyut is clearly weakened by the ritual, but as in most things she relies on the powerful gifts granted to her to sustain her.
"It shows a creative mind to substitute components, especially for such...rare substances." He gives some instructions to Raektov, taking leaves out of his pack. "Luckily enough, conjuration is the school of magic where rituals are very common, rivaling that of necromancy. There are very old scrolls that tell of powerful calling spells, requiring up to a dozen casters of incredible strength chanting for a full day. Perhaps sometime in the future I may ask the same assistance from you, depending on where my studies lead me."
"We are bound together. I will assist you as I'm able."
Niyut gestures to her companions. "Please gather round. Malthazir, please use your Dream to contact the songstress. Tell her who you are. Tell her that you are the companion of the twin children of Asulad, the Dreamer. Tell her of the danger to the Dreaming. Tell her that the Firebird are sorely diminished and cannot save it alone. Tell her of the threat of the Soul Bleed. Convince her, Malthazir. Convince her to respond. I know you have a silver tongue when you desire. Keep sending her your Dream until I awaken. For my part, I will seek wisdom dreaming. I believe it is possible to use my mother's broken staff to track down those who destroyed. I will master a necromancy ritual that will empower the staff to help us seek out its lost essences and reunite with them. Those that have those essences will know what happened to my mother. Please mend the staff before I awaken. I may sleep for many hours, perhaps days. Truk'tosh, after you rest tell the elders that Malthazir is communicating with the songstress. Tell them that I am seeking our mother's ambushers in the world of the spirit. Also, if you can, I promised Garidan that one of use would help hm forage for rare herbs near our home. Please help him. Everyone, while I dream make what preparations you can. Malthazir, I know the Hazard gave you a scroll with several powerful spells. Look into that please. Also, everyone, make sure that at least someone is always guarding my sleeping body."
Raektov watches the ritual with bewildered eyes. He catches himself on several occasions not breathing or blinking, nearly passing out as a result. When the pair of casters complete the ritual, he finally sits down and relaxes.