If knowledge roll indicates ice can affect the aurochs:
The pain that stolen body must have suffered! The word for pain that is itself pain springs to his lips. The cold bones unceremoniously heated! The word for frost that tell frost how to freeze chatters his teeth. As the syllables commingle, a scimitar of ice appears, his fist encased in the frozen hilt. It at first droops like an icicle from eaves, then snaps backward, flintflakes of snow sloughing off till the blade is crisp.
If knowledge roll indicates ice can affect the aurochs:
The pain that stolen body must have suffered! The word for pain that is itself pain springs to his lips. The cold bones unceremoniously heated! The word for frost that tell frost how to freeze chatters his teeth. As the syllables commingle, a gauntlet of ice encases his fist.
Arius assesses if anything of the Aurochs excites an echo.
Any information on the aurochs--what it might be vulnerable to, etc.
Knowledge (arcana):1d20 + 11 ⇒ (11) + 11 = 22
Arius meets the sun of the monk's gaze, hoping at least to gleam with full moon hope. "Indeed--we stand our best chance standing together. I do not hanker for a lonely battle against unknown foes--at the very least, by staying near, when one finds the foes' weakness, all will know. I wonder: since your staff and my spells are best wielded against massed foes, perhaps we should play the shepherds, attempting to draw the foes into one flock."
Cowboy Arius rolls Knowledge (undead russlin').
"When we approach, I shall be able to provide the same temporal acceleration spell as before. Vladimir, as I am not adept at staying hidden, please say when the time for such preparations is right."
Arius peers again into the distance. Even from here he sees embers slough off the aurochs's back; he catches a charnel whiff--if only imagined--of flaking bone and gristle under friction.
If knowledge roll indicates ice can affect the aurochs:
The pain that stolen body must have suffered! The word for pain that is itself pain springs to his lips. The cold bones unceremoniously heated! The word for frost that tell frost how to freeze chatters his teeth. As the syllables commingle, a gauntlet of ice encases his fist.
Intensified frost fingers + wrack!
"If nothing else, I think ice answers fire."
Otherwise:
Arius's jaw almost cracks as he spits a word out. Yet the word seems to make no sound--or the sound of the word is more substance than sound. A galvanic arc radiates from the tip of Arius's tongue and alights on his hand. The crackling energy sparks and limns a shape. A trident would be suggested, if one could look straight into the flickers. Arius hefts it, if in fact heft it has, and sends his silent gratefulness to Ia. Teacher, guide well my lightning.
Are we able to discern anything about the undead? Basic anatomy--are they humanoid? Armed?
The gates: how are they holding up? They are manned, but are the defenders taking any offensive action against the Aurochs? Any ranged fire from the walls that we can see?
The adrenal rush of combat, always an albeit irregular acquaintance, comes to assume a comrade's constancy. As it washes away, Arius observes the party with first concern, then relief, as the worst wounds are knit. What wonderful magic makes the injured hale--how pleasant the sound of a healing word must be if such words be--
"Glad to see we're all intact. Is the way to Mercia usually so dangerous?"
As the murder crows burst into pullulating hordes, the spell welling in Arius's throat and mind takes form. The lightning whose name he learned in Ia's honor shrieks through pestilential wings, jagged arcs crackling between jigsaw feathers.
Lightning blast burst, DC 20 Reflex. If Arius can capture both in the blast without harming allies, he will; otherwise, he will strike only the injured swarm.
Arius raises his arms and keeps a wary eye on the crows, a syllable of explosive power caught in his throat.
I shall attempt to clear out any swarm that should arise. Keep a wide berth--my evocation must diffuse itself over an area to harm whatever teeming pests arise.
Arius readies an action to cast a spell should one of the murder crows become a murder due to murder.
Careful! These beasts are Murder Crows, a name double apt: for each, upon its death, becomes a murder unto itself, a teeming cloud of nuisance beasts, still deadly. From now, I will stay my hand until one of you strikes a killing blow--a magical evocation will be best suited to slay such swarms. See, too, the putrescence of their flesh--these beings resemble the undead, so a powerful burst of holy energies may also dispose handily of the coming swarms.
Arius scrambles to the back of the cage, wind whipping the feathers beneath into breakers and waves--as though a storm folded an ocean into foam. For a moment, time in its undulant variety holds him captive. He watches drop follow blood drop as they stain the feathered floor, watches feather follow feather to the curved call of the wind, gathering belief that there is a word, one perfect word, to match that flow.
So he shouts a word more-than-word, its every syllable a sculptor's finger slid in the clay of time. He presses, and some clay stretches and some clay shrinks. What he speaks is not yet sentence yet not just claim: a bit of syntax invades--he presses clay, yes, but if he presses clay it is as if with strong and many-jointed fingers, and if it is clay it is more clearly red than any other tincture.
So the truth becomes that Vladimir's time expands. He moves no faster but he has more seconds.
After this, with a small flourish, Arius raises a barrier around himself, scarcely visible save as a shimmer hovering inches above his skin.
Five-foot step, then boosted accelerate! Kind of like haste, but also allows for pounce-ish effects. Targeted on Vladimir (can't catch more than one of youse, sorry).
Also put up an arcane barrier. Arius didn't like that beak poke!
"'The power of ritual.' One thinks so often of ritual as a means to gain power, one forgets that the maintenance of ritual itself--the holding of space--embodies its own virtue. Well put, friend Irravin," Arius gratefully reciprocates the amicable and easy title.
He tries to imagine what it would be like to sustain a practice--rigorously, religiously, with one's whole being. His mind wanders to the perennial chaos of his office, half-finished books half-open among a whirl of detritus, empty cups tottering on a full desk. He stands intrigued again at his new companions' intensity. Irravin,[i] he thinks, [i]is a wheeling hawk, and should his gaze fall on the sun, his talon would grasp it.
"I will be grateful to hear tales of your order when time permits. Though Ia has been a great mentor to me, I can't say I've ever enjoyed the strict attention of a teacher. I could say my magic, too, has become part of my spirit ... but you might say it's a craft and not yet a discipline. It seems I rarely do things the same way twice--or, if I do, the results differ. A kata for my words; there's an idea!"
Arius returns his eye--which now roves the clouds and the rippling feathers beneath them--to the book, his mind--no less a rover of clouds--to the task.
"It will be a pleasure to offer what assistance I can, in matters of language or of combat. I, too, look forward to further discussion!"
Arius is unfortunately ill-versed in matters of history and religion. He is an expert in all things arcane, linguistic, and magical, so his familiarity with such things extends only to their intersection with magic. He has probably read a few epic poems featuring various gods, though.
Arius returns the smile, somehow at ease in the face of the monk's intensity. As he accepts the book, the hand from which it passes seems to him like a thing of live marble, budged by neither the high wind nor the bucking of flight.
"You put scholars to shame with your focus. The movements you do in the morning--they appear martial. Are they training or ritual?"
Impressive as Vladimir and Irravin have proven to be, Arius is intrigued at the mention Razi'el's affliction. Razi'el travels with these two. What sort of malady could subdue an adventurer of their caliber? Consternation casts a shadow on curiosity, and he represses the thought for now. He instead flips through the book.
Linguistics:1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13 What can Arius determine about the book?
"Ah, the elementals. An old Auran saga revealed the key--they regard power over the air with a certain reverence. I suppose," Arius returns from his digression with an apologetic smile, "a life squandered among books' leaves yields occasional fruit. And I will be more than happy to help you learn Abyssal! I'm not adept in it myself, but I possess certain expedients which will allow us to make headway."
The Didactic Method:
Can Arius use a combination of his mask's truespeech and linguistics checks to develop a primer of Abyssal grammar?
"I am sorry to hear about your companion."If he's taking the time to learn Abyssal, it doesn't seem they're hopeful of an expeditious remedy ..."You said he 'sometimes' speaks Abyssal. If the episodes are brief, magic will allow me to translate for now--but you'll pick up the tongue in no time."
Vladimir's pointed look inspires in Arius a thrill of warmth. His mind's eye rolls back to a scene of cold crimson: the Remorhaz spilling the brave Samsaran's vital blood, and the steam rising from pink slush, and Arius's own indecision.
This is real, Arius. You aren't reading a book. Stay focused.
Arius grips the trident of lightning--summoned more for brandishing today than combat--and scans the skies.
"Vladimir," he croaks, then clears his throat: "those creatures were easy enough to impress, but I fear that elemental lightning may not fare so well against other beasts of the air. I can summon armaments of any element, though. I ask you: what other sorts of beings might we encounter? Would another element serve us better on this journey?"
~
During the days of flight, Arius notes Irravin's assiduous study of a weathered tome. Having only recently joined the group, Arius holds back a bit, attempting to be polite but unobtrusive. By the second day, curiosity overwhelms him.
Linguistics:1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22 Arius doesn't speak Abyssal, but can he identify it as such?
"Irravin," he begins, "I hope I am not disrupting your studies, but the book you hold is remarkable. Would you mind telling me a bit about it?"
Afternoon of May 28th:
Arius can do little as Vladimir bravely heads off their avian pursuer. He can do less than little when he returns, battered and bloodied. He stands with the others, notes of compassion in his voice as wounds are ministered.
Later, though, he withdraws his diary and marks out a new section, twenty or so pages from the back. He hesitates what to write and settles on a simple list:
I need a way to fly. I want to be able to grant my protective spells to others.
He wracks and wrings his brain for more to say. Finally, he leaves off for now.
Remember these things. You must adapt to an active life now, Arius. New skills are needed.
Well, I see half an elemental but I know a lot about them.
Arius recalls that it profits little to reason with such creatures. Last year, he had found a curious volume in the depths of the library, a rare compilation of the elementals' Auran song sagas--being at the time of only middling proficiency in the language, he had torn through it. He recalled the elementals' especial affinity for shows of control--how power meant true mastery over lightning.
Standing from his berth in Elion's carriage, he shouts, "Hear me and see me, o people of the awestruck sky! We intend you no harm, but we will pass freely! See that the very lightning is to me a limb, and my eyes span the compass of its light."
A trident of lightning appears in Arius's hand, which he brandishes at one of the elementals he can see. "Know that we command not only lightning, but the fire and the cold, and iron and pain. We would have neither our blood nor your ichor spilled without reason--but should there be a droplet of one, there will be a typhoon of the other."
Got that scroll?:1d100 ⇒ 68 Ablative Sphere
Got that scroll?:1d100 ⇒ 73 Nondetection
Hey, man, you got that scroll?:1d100 ⇒ 63 Quell Energy
Got that scroll?:1d100 ⇒ 62 Sepia Snake Sigil
Got that scroll?:1d100 ⇒ 61 Storm Step
I could really use a scroll.:1d100 ⇒ 17 Sleet Storm
Got that scroll?:1d100 ⇒ 49 Arcane Sight
What's that behind your ear? Not a scroll.:1d100 ⇒ 47 Draconic Reservoir
Got that scroll?:1d100 ⇒ 20 Aura Sight
Got that scroll?:1d100 ⇒ 48 Blood Biography
Arius considers his position. A life of dedication to his research, to education, to speaking in the ears of influence and leadership: it would not be without merit.
Yet in the presence of the warriors, just now departed like beings reborn and leaving a wake of light from shimmering masks, Arius could not help but consider the broader context: the hints of greater works to be done, the possibility that Mercia itself might soon come under attack. What would it behoove Mercia to clasp another academic within its walls when calamity sits at the gate?
"It would of course be my honor to guide the University. I know that such an act would do a service, and I would not be loath to turn to books."
Arius glances toward the exit through which the two departed.
"Yet what I learned in my brief time with Vladimir has given me cause to reflect. If danger truly threatens Mercia, even the Visage itself, I would be remiss if I did not try to forfend ill consequence. I must serve as best I can, and, much as I would throw myself into a life of guidance and growth, something compels me to turn my mind instead toward what threats whelm on the horizon, and my arm to the defense of those in need. Thus, I cannot retreat from that horizon, but must stand in the full glare of the unknown and await the dawn."
"Is there any way I may continue my service to the Visage for a time, and offer my understanding to the cause of those new-anointed Aspects?"
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.
Basically, if there is a person or repository at the Citadel through whom/which he can stock up on stuff, Arius will look for sorc/wizard-exclusive scrolls. If he can find Vladimir, he will directly ask him what might be most helpful.
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."
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?"
With my previous post, I neglected to mention Arius's detailed summary. Between written notes and oral retelling, he would narrated the events of the vision to Ivor in as much detail as possible. I shall endeavor to include such points in this post :).
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.
I include my tentative report--not sure how Ia will respond/interrupt :).
Probably How It Goes:
"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.
"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."
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.
Arius extends a hand for a companionable clasp, careful to ensure that he invites thereby Irn's non-wounded limb.
Depending on Irn's reaction, Arius will either give a firm two-hand grip or, after a couple of seconds, lower the offered hand.
"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."
“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.
If Irn consented to any of Arius's comforting elemental protections earlier, he will reapply them.
“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 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?"
Remorhazes have a thousand words for snow
and not a single one for "saving throw."
They have no word for "eat" and none for "bowl,"
nor may they speak when using "swallow whole."
"I shall keep first watch; after that, my bird will warn us if anything should approach."
My ice structure ... mmm. Good question. DM, any way I can stretch that wall through the night with repeat castings? If so, I do that.
"This evidence will be more than satisfactory. What we have witnessed is without comparison. There is much I do not understand, but I am awed at Dormin's ambition, at the great magnanimity which drove those comrades to confront Greed ... incarnate? Some primordial manifestation of it, even a divinity? And to travel between the planes seeking utopia? I--"
Arius returns his focus to the present. Time later to consider the metaphysics of what they'd been told.
"I leave the choice to you. Considering your wounds and the approach of evening, it may be best to remain here, when morning brings some balm to hurts. Expertise in the matters of the wilderness is yours, and yours is the body we must tend to. I defer to your judgment."
As solemnly as Arius regards his mission to observe this unprecedented mystical event, he cannot help but feel something of the treasure hunter's lip-lick avarice at the wealth set before him. That six whole schools of magic sit like unbudded flowers before him reminds him yet again how scant is his knowledge of words of power, how full of holes, like a mighty spire still skeletal, its bones built but its flesh alive only in an architect's drafts and dreams.
Evocation, as always, tempts him. To access perhaps a new element, to bind the might of a new force of nature to his armament--such is often his desire. Yet he attempts to consider his magical needs rationally. He knows nothing of divination or conjuration, and precious little abjuration. Surely it is time he learned something new, something to complement and augment his current array of abilities.
With a longing thought of the not-to-be-plumbed mysteries of the other words, Arius focuses on the word of internal divination.
Arius props himself on the second couch. He begins to intone names once more, and they roll now like dry ice over the floor and crawl in storm constellations along the ceiling, drawn ever into the cavern's yawning gullet. Arius's eyes twitch independently, as though each were having a different dream, and his limbs seem to dance to a cacophony of tunes.
"I trusted your bow more than my own weapon. If this was the wrong choice, I hope you can forgive me--perhaps you might not have been so direly wounded."
Arius looks forlornly around.
"As things stand, whether we remain or depart, there is danger. And I can make our berth here far more secure, whereas traveling now might incur another encounter. Unless your condition is degrading, it may be best for us to complete the ritual now, perhaps even camping a night here, rather than risking a second journey. I have no curatives, but perhaps I can at least mitigate the cold and the burning ..."
Arius speaks a word, neither fast nor slow, neither sharp nor smooth.
(endure elements on Vladimir simply for comfort)
"Now to look after our hides."
Arius begins to sing, a high, piercing note. The ice at his feet shudders in thin strands like a dog's horripilating frightened neck. The note resolves into an incantation, and Arius now paces the perimeter of the cavern, forming a half-dome which covers the entrance, walls, ceiling, and floor, leaving the rear of the cavern open.
He returns to a place near the entrance, where he withdraws from his satchel a rough charcoal carving, similar to a small bird. He whispers to it and sets it gently on the ice.
This done, he eyes the thick floor of rime in the center of the room, and two long couches arise. On one he sets his cloak and assumes a cross-legged posture.
First off, sorry for the reveal. I knew I was going to make that mistake at some point; hope I didn't mess things up too badly. Apologies, too, for dropping off a bit this week--I had some urgent stuff come up and wasn't able to attend to this. I will be able to post today after conferring a bit with Beopere :).
"Little choice. Vladimir, you must escape its clutches; I will cover you as you assume a more favorable position behind me. Let us hope I can impede it adequately."
Arius utters a moan, two deliberate syllables which seem to take too long--it is as though the air thickens around them.
Probably, unless Vladimir's action changes my mind :).
The shell of echo and reverie cracks open. Arius lies on the cavern floor, sweating already from the remorhaz's aura of haze and heat. His trident still sits ready in his hand. The other he passes, palm flat, over his own body, and feels the familiar comfort of an arcane barrier. Swollen with the courage that comes of armor, he considers the scene.
"One spell before I'm in the fray ... disable the beast or empower one of us?"
Arius emits a chittering shout, then a long, plangent hum. The word of power draws Vladimir up to bob, not flounder, in time's current.
Crunch:
Move action: get up.
Swift action: arcane barrier for temp. HP.
Standard action: boosted accelerate on Vladimir, who now gets one extra attack in a full attack OR an extra movement action (decided on a per-turn basis).
"No ice? Shame. Fortunately, having seen Ia's proficiency with the magic of storms, I expanded my palette a bit. In fact, I received the word of lightning in this very cave. Allow me to prepare my weapon in case of remorhazes (and I thank you for that linguistic tidbit)."
Arius utters a brief incantation. As he speaks, the syllables seem to drip out in the form of sparks or galvanic arcs, which he collects in his hands. As he finishes speaking, he takes the gathered mass, a lambent pool of plasma, and draws it into the form of a pole. Three prongs he molds at the tip with a twist of fingers; within seconds, a trident of living lightning rests in his fist.
"Please make yourself comfortable, Vladimir. No particular posture is required, so long as there is posture. I shall begin to cast the names by which your soul has been known into the depths of the cave, spoken so as to harness their natural mystical energies. Their entourage as they go will be my own magical power; they will not return, but, if we are fortunate, they will send back an echo which is more than echo. Keep watch as long as you are able; as I may enter at points a state of rapture, I urge you to give the alarm should it become necessary."
Arius turns toward the cave's throat, its impenetrable windings of stone and sound. As he reads from his notes, he speaks names. They are not always recognizable as themselves. At times, the syllables fall into simple incoherence; at times, it is as though a vowel has been replaced by a play of light or the leaping of stones from the cave's floor. Some of the names so brim with resonance as to seem lost in the rippling weave of call and echo, and they swell like prominences in the darkness, as though the cave had yawned and bared its tender palate. What of the words becomes visible clings to Arius like moss. He sweats despite the cold, glistening through the thick wordstuff which wraps ever denser around him: an aura of densest mist suffused with brilliant moonlight. The cavern walls, too, glisten, coated as though in slime, and are not still. Whether the chatter in the air is but one voice echoing or a chorus come from Arius's lone lips: this cannot be known.
“Hmm. I appreciate your wariness, much as I hope it is not needed. I shall endeavor to keep a watchful eye, as well. What more do you know about remorhaz … remorhazzes? In addition to pluralization, do you know of any precautions we might take?”
Arius puts his notes away and scans the horizon as he responds.
“With respect to the experiential component, I inhabit equal states of ignorance and awe. I certainly expect it to be interesting. If I were to conjecture, I would say your previous visions might be something to go on. How your separation from Dormin--and Dormin's status as a composite mind--affect it, I can't say. Certainly your being separate from him will have some effect … indeed, it is on that moment of inosculation, of coming-into-union, that I plan to focus our energies. My hope is that, by conjuring the moment at which your past life ascended or transited to Dormin, we shall be able to gain insight into the nature of that process.”
Arius withdraws the moonstone from a satchel and considers it.
“For that reason, Ia gave me this moonstone. It should allow us to follow the tangled threads of your soul as we seek the knot. It may be too much to hope that we might speak directly with Dormin. However, if all goes well, Dormin's superficial being should be able to inhabit you for a time. We won't draw from the deep well of memory, nor shall we dig to the inscrutable bedrock of self, but the hills and flats of sensation should come as it were under your feet to be walked on. Your desires will be Dormin's desires and you will feel as he feels.”
Arius returns the moonstone to its pouch with reverence. His avowal of wakefulness already half forgot, he begins to scribble again.
“At that point, my role will shift from mystagogue--wielder of mysterious power! Parter of the veil!--to that of scribe and inquisitor. Ah, well. Such is the lot of one destined for a university bench … ah. In any case. While Ivor won't be present, I shall record all that transpires and pass the report to him.”
Arius scribbles notes, nodding as Vladimir speaks.
"This helps greatly--the more names and scenes we can bring to bear, the better. It is reassuring to hear with what sorts of beings Dormin kept company. With angels and bronze dragons as comrades, this sleeper must be a truly good spirit, not to mention a strong one."
Arius glances down at the rift in the snow; he does not pause but detours around it.
"Let that be my cue to mention that there are dangerous creatures nearby. Should be nothing the two of us can't handle, from what I hear of your abilities."
If Vladimir wishes to investigate:
Arius waits patiently. If Vladimir spends more than a few minutes, Arius will say,
"I'm no tracker, but unless you see cause for concern, it might be best to move on."
Moving past the rift:
Arius gestures ahead.
"But even if the risk were greater, it would be worth it. The cavern is a nexus of echoes, a geological wonder whose like one rarely finds. The cavern's acoustic properties produce fruitful interactions; because of the nature of my own magic, I have found it an excellent place for focus and discovery. Not unlike life, really: sometimes I shout into the cacophonous void, and sometimes I get exactly what I ask for."
"I must admit to a great deal of professional curiosity. If your ascended being can awaken--if we could learn how such a being is born--just think of it! You said yourself that Dormin has a mission. Consider that! A mission that spans lifetimes. More than any vain search for immortality, that seems to me a truer path to accomplishing great things."
Arius pauses and makes rare eye contact.
"Ah, my apologies. I speak of you as though you were a mere experiment. We're here to answer your questions, not bask in the glory of discovery! Please forgive me. Indeed, I should ask: what are your motives here? What do you seek to learn from your ascended self? And I realize I whisked you off rather curtly--is there anything you wish to know? Our destination or our present task?"
Arius's constant movement belies his attention. His eyes rove over the middle distance, hungry but unfocused. Yet his ears take in Vladimir's every word to the exclusion of all else.
"'Uncanny familiarity.' Well put, well put. When the world presents us an indescribable truth but conceals its causes; when our natures are obvious and our pasts obscure--you have captured that feeling perfectly."
Arius's mobile gaze fixes Vladimir's white eyes for a moment.
"But! To have even this much interaction with one's own 'ascended being' is unheard of--at least, I have never heard tales of such a thing. I can see why Ia is keen to pry the sleeper up from beds beyond time! It is exciting."
Arius produces a piece of paper. It contains an ornate diagram, adorned with small but well-formed glyphs. At the center is the name "Dormin"; a reticulum of concentric circles and radial lines connects to various nodes. At the edge of the circle can be discerned a node labeled "Irn|Dmo/Dom/Mdo...," with various words scribbled nearby, many followed by question marks, some crossed out. Arius hands this to Vladimir.
"It is not only names that bear such significance, but all words. No, let us say it better: sit with any word long enough, journey to its depths, and you will find a name of significance. Tell me, what do you know of the meaning of 'Irn'? What of Dormin's other lives--do you have names? Places? Deeds?"
Arius instinctively analyzes everything he is told: for lying is commonplace, and truth is rare, and the verbal space between is vast and twisted. Does Arius detect deception or dissimulation?
Sense Motive:1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27
DC 25 Sense Motive:
Arius is highly intrigued. He seems tantalized but wary about the possibility of accessing one's "ascended being."
"Irn. Glad to meet you. I am Arius of the Divine Visage--though not, I suppose, for much longer.
Ia has asked me to speak with you, and delve into the echoes of your past lives. I understand that you have access to a sort of greater self--Dormin--"dormient," perhaps, your sleeper within--with names there are never accidents. We're to awaken that sleeper, it seems, for a talk. Can you tell me what you know, what you have tried before?"
Without pausing Arius keeps his stride looking to Vladimir to fall in with him.
