And though the darkness shall fear him, Hunt him, seek his destruction, He is the savior of holiness, And the gods themselves shall bow to him
-Advent of the Lightbringer by Psandros the Younger
Days and weeks pass. The moons cycle through various phases. Life returns to normal in the Lordcity of Istar. Shops resume normal business. The streets are clean once again and Scata patrols go back to normal levels. In fact, the Scata seem to be slightly less common now.
A week after Bormophan two Dromas - the largest Istarian military unit consisting of ten thousand Scata each - march south to the deserts bordering on Silvanesti. While they have not yet reached the border, there is no doubt that war is imminent. Few would believe you that the "attack" on the Kingpriest during Bormophan was a fake. But that is not the only attack made by "Silvanesti". Rumors spread of several previous attacks over the last two months. It is not clear whether Taylor was behind those or not, but it would seem probable. This most recent one was simply the most public, but with public focus on the events - and the high degree of support for the Kingpriest - the people of Istar clamor for war. King Lorac's presence during the last attack only serves as additional "evidence" for Silvanesti guilt. All attempts to reason against war are refused and drowned out by far more cries in favor of it.
Elves are openly attacked daily in the empire - and not just by angry civilians. Scata and Knights of the Divine Hammer are also involved in unprovoked attacks on elves, usually civilians. Those who try to interfere to stop such atrocities are met with arguments of racism and prejudice. It's a clear sign towards increased intolerance within the empire. Those of your party with elven blood need to take precautions against being noticed.
Knight Subcaptain Marcus Colfax, the Solamnic emissary to Istar, takes a leave of absense to track down those responsible for the attack on the Kingpriest. It appears Lutgar's letter to him has had some effect on him: rumors about him mention he appears more interested in finding the truth and finding an elf matching Elessar's description than with extracting revenge.
Rubin recovers fully from his ordeal with Brack. Within a couple of days he has the shop up and running as normal.
Marwort takes the time to ensure that Seraphi and Elessar properly copy the River Watch spell into their spellbooks. He then spends considerable time devoted to trying to locate Taylor with divination magics. He even recruits the best diviners at the Tower to help in the task. Despite this, they come up short again and again. Occasionally they seem to get a lead, but each time it inevitably turns out to be a false lead. Of Taylor or her remaining accomplices there is no sign. She has simply disappeared without a trace. Marwort appears to be taking it personally, especially since he had key knowledge stolen from his mind during her manipulation of the Test.
The only hint of anything related to her group of time travellers is Regis. She mentioned him in her letter as having abandoned them and gained a group of sycophants in Xak Tsaroth, a city state in Kharolis half-way across the continent. Elan Huring, a renegade hunter local to the area is dispatched to locate Regis, but is simply told to await others. Marwort and Valiana have requested your involvement in finding Regis and Marwort has hinted at substantial reward in the form of valuable items from the Tower's storerooms. Finding out everything he knows could prove key to learning what Taylor is doing and how to stop her.
Taylor had mentioned Elan as having chased her in her timeline, but she considers him an idiot.
Other renegade hunters bring in the other - younger - Brack. After much questioning he is released for having no useful information. His memories match what Lutgar remembers of their time together, but is definitely not from the future. Examination of the older Brack's body with the River Watch spell gives a moderate bluish glow, as does all equipment taken from him. According to the spell, it is unmistakable evidence of him being from the future.
Examination of the velvet pouch which Kestrel took from Taylor also gives off the same blue color of the same intensity.
Valiana spends much of her time alternately consulting with Vincil de Jerva, the Highmage, and Iriale, the Master of the Tower of Daltigoth. She occasionally mentions that Vincil has made some progress on the idea of Taylor trying to use a Dragon Orb. From her reports it seems like it might be possible to create Test like environments outside of the Towers, but that it is not clear how those environments could be controlled, let alone counteracted. Iriale seems to be providing Valiana with access to restricted knowledge from Daltigoth which Taylor might have. Information on this front is scarce and full of boring technicalities. It's not even clear if the Dragon Orb taken by King Lorac is really what Taylor is interested in.
With the looming war - and the number of lives that could be lost in it - it only seems prudent to find all possible information as soon as possible from Regis.
During your recovery from the ordeals surrounding Bormophan, you are beset by various dreams. They each seem to hint at Taylor in some way. Should you approach Valiana about the nature of the dreams, the only explanation she gives is to guess that it could be a side-effect of Taylor's widescale manipulation of Elessar's Test. By stealing knowledge from Marwort during that Test Taylor could have theoretically touched the minds of everyone in the Tower. She can only guess that when Taylor touched so many minds some of her memories could be passed to you. However, this is all pure speculation on her part as no one knows exactly what Taylor did when she manipulated the Test. No others have reported strange dreams.
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. - Sherlock Holmes
She sits at a dinner table. She feels taller than normal, as if she were the same height as a human. Her slender fingers look different as they grasp the silverware. She can see she's wearing a silver dress. It has some sort of pattern woven into it and it is a tad revealing. Whatever is on her feet feels like slippers or something similar, but she can't see below the tablecloth.
The table is long and she sits at one end. At the other sits the only other diner: a man who is clearly Solamnic. He wears ceremonial armor which shines brightly. Instead of feeling impressed, Kestrel feels like it's amusing, like a child trying to show off a shiny toy. The man is handsome and charming, but doesn't feel like her type. But there is something about him that she likes. His armor has the image of a sword emblazoned in it, showing he is a Solamnic Knight. He is clean shaven, except for a long curled mustache which is the style in Solamnia. Dark brown hair flows past his shoulders and there is a hint of a few grey strands starting to appear. The way he handles himself indicates a courtly manner which is well practiced.
The food which she picks at is quite good: some form of chicken stuffed with various herbs and an assortment of sliced vegetables smothered in a creamy sauce. Despite the taste, she eats little. This seems like a normal state of affairs, as if she has always been a picky eater. In the middle of the table sits a bowl of fruit and berries which she secretly eyes.
"I can't help but wonder why you are here Ms. Maerden. Not many visitors as gracious as yourself have enlivened my halls with their prescence in the last few years." The man speaks. There is something unspoken about a family disgrace which is the cause of the lack of visitors.
"Please, just Raqel." She blushes. While the blushing has it's effect on the knight, it is faked. "I'm here to seek your aid in a rather ... difficult task Arlan." He seems taken aback for a moment at her lack of protocol by using his first name, but seems to let it pass.
"I'm always willing to help a lady facing difficulties. Please go on."
'He plays it well' she thinks to herself. "I hear you are not sympathetic to the Kingpriest, that you find The Faith he inspires to be a disturbing influence on this world. The gods are one thing, but he needs to be stopped."
Arlan stares back at her in shock.
'Yes, he does play it well for someone so untrained.' an inner voice similar to her own echoes in her mind.
Arlan stands and picks up a small bell from beside his plate. He rings it and a servant appears.
"Bring the guards." He sternly orders the servant who immediately rushes out.
She smiles, unfazed. She feels no worry about the guards. Amused, she leans forward.
"Your uncle was killed for believing what you now believe. I believe the same."
"I'll see to it personally that the Querists get to you for your lies!" He spouts.
'Okay, now that was just sad.' Her inner voice laughs.
"Have you heard of Lunitari's Shadow? It's an idiotic nicname the Querists have given to an illusionist who works against the Kingpriest and seems to have a knack for not getting caught," she inquires.
Rolling his eyes, he answers. "Yes. The Querists make a point of asking me if I'm seen any hint of her."
"You've been looking for her, asking renegade mages about her."
"I kill mages on sight." An obvious lie.
"Don't lie to me Arlan."
He looks infuriated. The servant enters again carrying a few things. Arlan looks at him with confusion. A single sheet of parchment, a vial of ink and a quill are placed in front of him. She makes a mental note about the quill being too cheap to use for anything but the mundane. In front of her is placed a bowl of raspberries. The servant then retreats to the door.
"Will that be all m'lord?"
"I told you to get the guards!"
"Very good sire." The servant leaves and Arlan looks exacerbated.
She casually takes a small handful of the berries and drops them into her tea. She waits and then takes a sip, enjoying it. Looking over the edge of her cup, she smiles with her eyes at Arlan.
He still stands there, looking confused.
"He heard you tell him to bring those." She points to the writing materials.
"I told him to get me the guards!"
"That's not what he heard." She smiles playfully.
"How in the Abyss?"
"Manners!" She jokingly scolds him before taking another sip and then eyeing him over the rim.
He stares back and his expression changes.
'Finally.' Her inner voice speaks.
"The mages all say something about that illusionist. She can't be caught. 'You can't catch Taylor Leighton.' It's like they idolize her." He says, admitting to his conversations with mages.
"Some do. I find the attention amusing sometimes. At least it gives me my pick of apprentices."
"You! You're Taylor Leighton!?"
'Do I have to spell this out for him? Charming, but not so bright.' Her inner voice sounds annoyed at his inability to pick up who she is.
He continues. "I thought you were more subtle."
"Subtlety certainly has it's uses. But true deception is based on what one expects to see and what one believes to be true. Subtlety can often pale in comparison." She sets the cup down and picks up another berry from the bowl. It's juices stain one her fingers and she places the finger to her lip, flirting. "I need your help. And in your case I need you to know who I am."
"Oh." He seems taken aback. "With what?"
"I'm going to try something which could change things. I don't know if it will end The Faith, but it's worth a shot."
"I thought you were already infiltrating practically everywhere at will. What could you possibly need my help with?"
"I need you to write a note. That is all ... for now."
"A note? For who?"
"For you."
"What?"
She stands and gracefully walks over to him, captivating him with her eyes. As she walks the sleeves of her dress rub up against her wrist. On the back of her wrist it doesn't bother her, but on the front it just bugs her. It's stupid, but she can't stand it. However, her clips are a dead giveaway so she doesn't wear them.
She leans in and whispers in his ear. "I'm going to change history."
He stares in disbelief.
She sits on the edge of the table and continues. "I don't have ... room to take you back with me, but I still want your help when I get there. So I need you to write something convincing to your younger self - something which couldn't be faked. Include something only you would know." She picks the quill up and expertly dips it into the ink before handing it to him.
Excited, he starts writing. "Will I continue to exist when you change things?"
'At least he's bright enough to ask that.'
"No. At least I don't think so."
He continues writing and mumbles a well known phrase.
"My honor is my life."
When he is finished, he signs his name and hands the short letter to her. She neatly folds it and holds it in one hand. She leans in close to him. "I know it's going to bug you that the servant didn't do as you commanded. Things like that can lead to problems for me."
He looks into her eyes and she begins speaking soft spidery words. It goes on for about a minute and he stares at her, enraptured, clearly showing signs of attraction. When she is done, she is the only one with a memory of the evening's events. She has absorbed his memories. He stares up in confusion for a moment and she mutters more words and he drifts off to sleep.
She plays his memories in her mind for a moment, as if critiquing her own work.
The she gently lays his head down on the table and pulls a small vial from her robe, dropping some of it into his wine. It's a weak poison, but she does not actually administer any to him. Her intention is to make it look like she had poisoned him. There is also some subtle point which she reminds herself of about the poison being used as an excuse to explain his odd requests to the servant. Plus she may need him again, so no use in having him suspected of associating with her willingly. That finished, she grabs a handful of berries and leaves.
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. - Sherlock Holmes
You are standing in a room with a window overlooking a small forest. You're perhaps a hundred feet up. From the angle of the sun you'd guess it's about noon. Smoke comes from somewhere nearby, occasionally dimming the light of the sun on the trees. You turn from the window and look down. There is a body laying in front of you. It's Maleesa. Blood pools under them. They've clearly been stabbed many times in the chest and have a burn mark along the entire left side of their body. You feel a pain in your right leg. It feels almost like you've been burned. The pain is agonizing: you can barely stand now that you're aware of it. But worse than the pain in your leg is the emotional pain of her death. As you look down at them you notice your robe is burned on your right side. It's still intact, but has a giant scorch mark perhaps a foot and a half in diameter. It is near this burn mark that your leg hurts. You get the impression that the two of you were looking at eachother whenever you were burned. You must've passed out and just awoken.
Sounds of screaming nearby alert you to danger. You get the feeling you're in danger - serious danger. There are people after you. Soldiers. But it's not just you, it's everyone you know. These soldiers are responsible for Maleesa's death. That much you've sure of. And, there is more than one. A lot more. You know there is a battle going on. People are fighting for their lives against these soldiers, but you know it's a lost cause. There is no hope for victory in this fight. Escaping this place - wherever it is - is your only hope of survival. Just walking out would be suicide. You'd be killed by the soldiers. You need a way out through some sort of trickery. Some spell may get you out. As you search your mind for spells, you feel weak, as if the burn and emotional pain weren't enough to deal with. Something is wrong with the Moons. Magic feels sluggish, even more so than when Solinari is in Low Sanction.
As you contemplate your possible escapes, you know there is an even higher priority: you must find something. Logic fights against emotion: escaping now is going to be hard enough as is, but this ... something ... could prove to be important. You're not sure if it's greed that drives you to want whatever it is or some altruistic goal. Perhaps it's some combination of both. Taking the time to find this something will only make the odds worse. But you have to find it.
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. - Sherlock Holmes
Lutgar bends down to pick up a stone for the fourth time. It's covered in ash and dust so its color is hard to determine. The stone is perhaps the size of a fist, yet surprisingly heavy. He's never felt a stone this heavy before. As he considers that, he realizes that his pack feels much heavier than normal. Yet he knows everything that is in it. Maybe it's just temporary weakness?
He brushes off the stone and puts it in his pocket, feeling a sense of dread at doing this one more time.
Looking up, he is surprised to see an elf woman standing before him. She wears white wizard's robes. Oddly enough the robes are on fire, completely engulfed in flames. Somehow the flames don't touch the elf and she seems to pay them no attention.
She looks familiar and somehow Lutgar is able to put a name to her easily:
Thyanel Silvermoon.
Somehow he feels like she is his best friend. Maybe a bit of an odd couple for friends with radically different philosophies, but still someone he can confide in.
Something in his memory nags at him that he doesn't actually know anyone named Thyanel.
Her strawberry blonde hair hangs past her shoulder and for some reason an old argument comes to mind about how she would look better if it was a little shorter. But that was a playful argument and the elf's expression indicates there's about to be another one, this time far more serious. Her green eyes are the brightest green he's ever seen in someone, almost hinting at yellow, as they glare at the dwarf. "You're going to get my people killed!? What happened to stopping all this madness? You're making things WORSE! ON PURPOSE! What in the Abyss is wrong with you!?" Thyanel absolutely fumes.
For some reason it feels like Lutgar responds, yet he doesn't actually say anything.
"I'd kill you on the spot,, but we both know you're not really here." Thyanel continues, the sarcasm in her voice not even remotely hidden.
He turns around and walks away from her. She mutters arcane words. Words familiar to him, though in some ways more advanced. Yet somehow below his understanding. The contradiction is very strange. He knows what's coming. The words finish and he vanishes.
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. - Sherlock Holmes
You stand in front of Balakan Grove, the grove surrounding the Tower of Istar. Gnarled olive trees cast ominous shadows in the moonlight. Two moons shine this night, but the moonlight looks different than normal. Lunitari and Nuitari, the red and black moons, are both full. What strikes you as particularly odd this night is that normally only Black Robes, followers of Nuitari, can ever see Nuitari. Yet somehow you can see it clearly tonight. It is as clear as Lunitari. The "bloody-fingered" Tower looks particularly evil this night. Perhaps it's merely the combination of the moonlight and the shadows cast by the grove between you and it. Perhaps it's the dense fog that seems to be rolling over the entire area, changing the shadows amongst the trees. You can see for perhaps a dozen feet or so with the shifting fog occasionally giving glimpses further out, so periodically the Tower vanishes from view, only to seemingly jump out at you when it reappears in the fog. Your father, Maladar, stands beside you. His black robes almost seem to glow in Nuitari's light. He looks you in the eyes - the same eyes you share with him, that you inherited from him. "You have my gift Seraphi." He touches your robe and you notice for the first time that it's black in color, not your usual red. Your father's skill with summoning magics is well known. Most summoners have traditionally been Black Robes, so it only seems natural to take up the Black Robes after him. There is no doubt that while your mother may be the more skilled mage, your knack for conjuration magic comes from him. Beside him stands an impish creature. Something out of a nightmare. It is small, perhaps two and half feet in height with twisted limbs. It occasionally wipes drool from its mouth with its clawed hands. "I'll see you inside," your father tells you before turning towards the Tower. He begins walking into the grove and quickly vanishes from sight. The creature follows him, its gait uncomfortably strange, its feet angled strangely and its knees at an angle you're not sure any humanoid could comfortably reproduce. You try to follow. The fog parts as you move through it. As you step past the first few trees, you again find yourself standing in front of the grove. Despite having moved forward, you are back where you started. As you wonder about this, you realize you can no longer remember your father's face. You know his eyes are similar to your own, but can only remember what yours look like in a mirror, not his. You just remember his black robe - it matches the one you currently wear. Nothing else about him comes to mind. It's as if he is just a faceless entity in a black robe in your memories. Through the fog you can still see the impish creature, not your father. Somehow the smaller creature stays visible at distances everything else isn't. It continues to hobble further and further away, getting smaller and smaller but never becoming indistinct. You try again to enter the grove, following the imp, but get the same results: you quickly find yourself back where you started. This time you find you can't remember anything about your father at all. You know you have a father, but no childhood memories come to mind, no matter how hard you try. You know you have a piece of clothing that matches something he wears, but what that piece of clothing is escapes you. Figuring out the pattern to this inability to enter the grove after him - and losing memories in the process - only makes you frustrated. As this realization dawns on you, you hear footsteps behind you. Turning around, you see three people. They appear to be Istarians, but the fog makes their details fuzzy. A woman stands between two men. You know they carry torches, but beyond that you can't tell much. Their robes are pulled over their heads, obscuring their features. The woman hands you a torch. "Go ahead," she says to you. "Burn the grove down and you can see your father again. It is impervious to normal fire, but you can enhance it." Details of magical spells flow into your mind. You realize that you could significantly enhance the effectiveness of the flame and do what the woman suggested. You find yourself torn: burn the grove and see your father again or refuse and never see him again. "Hurry up and burn it." her voice eggs you on. As she speaks, you see hints of more torches in the fog. A mob seems to be forming. They spew hatred towards mages. Completely irrational in their fear, they appear intent on carrying out violence against mages. They shout out varieties of threats at the Tower, most too vile to mention. Decided upon your action, you throw the torch to the ground. The sound of swords unsheathing fills your ears. The three hooded figures vanish from sight. The crowd steps closer to you - close enough that you can make out details on them, and they on you. "Mage!" they yell at you and you can't help but feel self-conscious about your robes. Something else comes to stand beside you: the imp. Somehow you know that it is an offer from your father. What your father is doing with such a creature escapes you, but your intuition tells you it is definitely from him. Behind you is the grove you cannot enter. In front of you are now swords pointed at you, their blades gleaming in the moonlight. Behind them are shifting shadows of dozens more figures, torches fading in and out as the fog rolls around them. Beside you is the imp, sent by your father. It offers you its hand and somehow you know that with that offer comes a quick route to power. Dark power. Power your father has. You could rip the very souls out of the crowd. They could die in agonizing pain. You consider the offer. Your father would clearly want you to take the imp's hand. On the other hand, memories of your mother come to mind. You turn down the offer. Such agony is not what you could in good conscious inflict on others, even enemies. The area darkens. The black moon fades from sight. It's still there, you just can't see it anymore. Looking down briefly, you see your robes are no longer black. They are now red. The imp is now gone. Whether it managed to hobble away while you weren't looking or whether it simply vanished isn't clear. Every night the dream is the same to this point. Every night the fight is different. Every night you try a different combinations of spells: summoning creatures to help you, casting offensive and defensive spells of every type you've heard of. Every night you defend the Tower in a hopeless fight. Every night you feel three blades cutting into your stomach. Somehow the pain is different each time - subtle differences in how they split apart your ribcage and tear through your organs. Every night you die. Every morning phantom pains from the blades lingers in your stomach.
But now the dream ends differently. As you lay bleeding to death on the cold ground, you manage to roll over to face the Tower. The grove vanishes. The fog clears. You can see the Tower perfectly clearly. You know what's coming and the wait is worse than the knowledge of what will happen. It's worse than the knowledge of your own imminent death. After many heartbeats it finally happens.
The Tower of Istar explodes.
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. - Sherlock Holmes
One dream in particular stands out for you, though it is quite blurry for a dream, almost as if it was half forgotten as it happens. It starts out a little different than most dreams.
You're vomiting. The smell in the cavern is unbearable. Unwashed bodies which have probably never been cleaned clog the air with their odors. Overpowering sweat is the least offensive of the smells.
"And that is why you don't bring Tower Mages." A condescending male voice speaks. It's referring to you.
"She's one of the best Dreamshapers there is!"
"So she can craft the damned Test! Big deal! What good is that out here in reality?! Not only is there a good chance she's a rat for the Orders, but she's utterly useless. Seriously, look at her. We've been around the goblins for fifteen minutes and she's thrown up at least twice."
"Give her a chance. Her illusions are the best there are."
"Ya, I'm sure." The sarcasm is thick. "When are we going to see one?" The question is directed at you. Your response is to sit down. You don't quite see where you sit, but it's uncomfortable, almost like sitting on rough rocks. Your head swims.
An elf woman approaches you. Seeing her green eyes look into yours gives you the undeniable impression that she is taking pity on you. You've heard of her. Thyanel, a renowned war mage specializing in defensive magics. Her strawberry blonde hair flows past her shoulders and is tied back with a scarf wrapped around her mouth, presumably to keep out the worst of the smells. Unlike most of the others, she wears her pristine white robes.
Footsteps can be heard and you realize where you are: tunnels underneath the Istarian countryside. Tunnels used to smuggle various races out of the Lordcity of Istar. The boots stomp almost in cadence, and everyone knows what's coming. It's the Divine Hammer, knights of Istar. They will be followed by hundreds of Scata. Between the knights and the foot soldiers there are simply too many for the half-dozen mages and a few dozen foul smelling goblins to handle. Everyone looks to Thyanel. Her talents on the battlefield make her stick out as the obvious leader in the situation.
She in turn looks at you.
"Well, you're the designated teleport out." Thyanel speaks to you softly but sternly. Somehow you know that you are supposed to teleport the mages out of danger if needed. Instead, you simply wave her off.
"See, I told you she was useless." The sarcastic male voice echoes throughout the cavern.
"Thyanel." You speak.
"Yes?"
"Don't do anything."
"What?"
"No pre-emptive strikes. We'll be fine."
"'We'll be fine'?! We're going to die because you can't be bothered to do your job and teleport us out! You probably didn't prepare any combat spells either."
You simply wave her off with a feeling that her worries are moot. What Thyanel doesn't know is that the smell is only part of the reason you've been throwing up since the group found the cavern with the goblins.
Torches can be seen coming from a tunnel and everyone seems to show varying forms of terror at the sight. No one tries to flee though. The goblins huddle up together with the stronger looking ones moving towards the front of the mass of horrid smelling bodies.
The mages prepare a variety of defensive magics. You identify a few. They are all standard protective magics and one even cast an illusion to make multiple images of himself. That one you identify by only hearing a fraction of the words spoken. Thyanel's protection spells are particularly impressive and draw jealous glances from the others as they cast.
You simply sit there.
The sarcastic voiced mage approaches you. "Okay Tower Mage. Get off your skinny butt and cast teleport like you're supposed to. We all know you're useless in combat cause all you've ever done is administer Tests."
He's cut off by the same voice which defended you earlier. "She's survived Daltigoth. Give her some credit. She is the Head 'Shaper in Palanthas for Lunitari's sake! Let the girl have a moment."
It seems that moment has already passed as the knights enter the cavern. They fan out, looking around. They wear a variety of armors and carry an assortment of weapons, showing no uniformity in their appearance like the Solamnics. Behind the dozen or so knights come a seemingly endless number of Scata. They too fan out. Some of the mages start casting but stop when they see what is happening.
None of the soldiers notices anyone in the room. Everyone moves out of the way as they explore the cavern. The soldiers look at the other tunnels out of the cavern. Eventually the knights and Scata continue on down one of the tunnels.
A look of confusion passes amongst the mages.
They all look at you.
You look back at Thyanel and shrug. "Sorry, it was embarrassingly crude but it was the best I could do breathing that stench in."
"What did you do?!" The sarcastic voice asks in a way that is much more toned down than before. "No one saw you cast anything."
"A little spell of my own invention." You shrug suggestively. You try standing but have to sit back down as you head swims.
"There's a spell which mimics how the Test fools you into thinking the room you're in is somehow different. Did you never realize that the rooms you were Tested in simply weren't big enough to accomodate the areas you saw in the Test? The Test is dynamic in reshaping the area so you don't bump into the Tower walls. The magic is amplified significantly inside the Towers, but this part of the Test can be done outside them. Plus it's static without the Towers to amplify it, so it's very limited in that respect. It's a little straining though. Why do you think I was throwing up?" You wink flirtateously in his direction and gracefully accept his hand to help you up. The touch brings back a painful memory which you suppress.
"So casting a spell which mimics part of the Test to fool the Hammer that no one is here is 'crude'?" The voice which defended you speaks in awe.
Your eyes meet Thyanel's and she nods in approval, clearly impressed. You pull out a blue hand fan and use it to get some of the stench from in front of your face.
"I wonder what you'd be like on the battlefield." Thyanel speaks aloud.
The dream fades away as you respond. "I'd change who was fighting in the first place. I'd change everything ... "
After waking, you realize where you've seen the same fan before. It was the one awarded to Elessar in his Test. However, checking it with River Watch shows it is from the current time and not the future.
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. - Sherlock Holmes
“It wasn’t very nice of her to poison him. What I don’t get is why she thinks she can use him again if he isn’t going to exist because his younger self changes things here.” Kestrel sounds confused. She has explained her dream, first to Valiana, then to Marwort, and now to Seraphi, Taither, Lutgar, and Elessar. The first two did not answer any of her questions, which she thought a bit rude. They did not seem amused when she pointed such things out to them.
“I’d say, if you want to find Taylor, you look for someone who is munching on a lot of fruit and putting berries into his or her tea.” Kestrel finishes tearing apart the pastry and shoves it into her mouth, silencing her for all of about five seconds and she chews and tries to lick her fingers at the same time.
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
Seraphi leaves the lab on the 11th floor of the Tower and heads for her room. I have to meet Kes for supper tonight. She'll be cross if I miss out again and she wanted to go out to see Lutgar. In the days since the small group of companions was able to defeat Brack, Seraphi has spent her time at the Tower. She has delved into a number of tasks relating to her profession. Between the magical research, the item crafting, translating Brack's spell book, and helping her mother the young wizardess has had little time to herself.
Returning to her room Seraphi grabs a towel and dips it into the bowl of magically heated water. She applies the towel to her face and lets the heat soak in for a few moments. The heat drains the tension from her jaw and rests her tired eyes, nearly instantly improving her mood. Feeling better already, Seraphi scrubs her face thoroughly with the cloth before tossing it to the laundry hamper. Turning to her small chiffarobe she moves over to select an outfit.
As she goes through her selection of clothing she briefly wonders if Elessar will be coming. She hasn't seen much of him lately and she misses him more than she would admit to. While she was even younger than now she studied with the elf for a short time. his elven grace and wordliness was quite attractive for a young girl craving excitement. Given his elven heritage she knows that he likely hasn't spent much time in the city and may not come. But just in case he does come she selects the red dress with the low cut top. Although not too bold the dress is both mildly flirtaceous and incredibly in fashion right now.
Dresssing quickly, the young woman moves over to her desk and pulls out a small hand mirror. A few whispered words and she quickly goes to work with her minor magics. The prestidigitation cleans, curls, and glosses her hair as if she had spent 2 hours at the salon. A few touches of light rouge to the lips and a little darkening around the eyes to make them seem larger and she is ready to go. Black heeled boots, a black velvet cloak complete with wand holster, and the young wizardess swirls out of her room. A whispered word locks the door and she is off to meet Kestrel.
She arrives on the ground floor to see the kender impatiently tapping her left foot, taking out her frustration on some poor hapless kitchen staff. "Kestrel dear, I'm ready," she says upon entering the room. She spins around to show off her outfit before adding, "A girls night out on the town is just what we need." Having caught the last bit of the conversation she adds, "Really Kes, you shouldn't be telling just everyone your fanciful dreams." Grabbing the kender by the hand she leads her off towards the entry hall.
As they prepare to leave, Seraphi's brows knit together in thought. "That is a great suggestion Kestrel. I wonder why nobody thought of that. I guess we all just assumed Taylor left the Tower since none of us have seen or heard from her." Needless to say, despite her earlier comment, Seraphi takes Kester's dreams very seriously. Especially since the two have shared them back and forth together more than once. The only difference is that Seraphi has been having her own dream, or a variation of it, since she passed the Test. "Maybe we should suggest it to the Council before we leave. They have suggested we go in search of that missing contact of Taylor's." With a final glance at her outfit to make sure nothing is out of place, Seraphi motions to the door. "Ready to go and meet Lutgar?"
Kestrel blinks, her mouth falling open in honest surprise when Seraphi states she thought Taylor had just left. She blinks a few times, her mouth working but no sound coming out for a few seconds. “But Seri, where else would she go? She worked very hard to set things in motion and she doesn’t seem like to type to just set up her stuff and let it play out without overseeing every detail.”
Kestrel turns and shakes the hand of one of the kitchen staff. “Thank you for letting me wait here. Oh, hey, what a pretty ring.” Kes looks down at the silver band carved in a ring of ivy that seems to have suddenly appeared in her hand. “Oh, is this yours? You should be more careful and have it tightened. It might have fallen in the soup and someone could have choked on it,” she tells the woman standing there gaping down at her.
Kestrel leaves the woman standing there staring after them as she heads out with Seraphi. They turn a corner and she holds out a silk napkin with several pastries wrapped in it. The pastries are still warm and Seraphi can smell the promise of hot berries. “Here, this is a good start to our girl’s night out. Although, I’m not sure how it can be a true girl’s night out if we are going to find Lutgar. And my dreams aren’t fanciful. Everyone knows kender don’t dream. It is like I was living her memories or something. The best part was getting to see what it felt like to be human. It actually felt a lot like it does to be a kender, only a kender when in Kenderhome where everything is our size; not here where everything is too big. No offense. Everything seemed to taste the same too. I mean, what little she did bother to eat. She is entirely too picky, which is why she is so thin. You would never see a respectful kender turning down a good meal. I was hoping things would taste different as a human but berries just tasted like berries.” She manages to eat the pastry, lick her fingers and talk all at the same time.
Kestrel natters on as they make their way through the Tower.
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
Lutgar has no problems fixing up the bow he recovered. When restored, it seems every bit the equal to his own. However, it still stings any elf who touches it and would no doubt prove invaluable in a fight against any of those race. Given Taylor's half-elven heritage, he feels confident the bow would prove effective against her as well.
Lutgar's request to Valiana and Marwort for something to help them is at first rebuffed. However, it seems that they relent and are willing to give you small tokens to aid you when they realize the danger posed by those who are meddling with the timeline. Each member of your party is given a gold ring. You are told that the rings are not made by wizards but were made by priests in the Istarian Church. Over the centuries mages at the Tower acquired many such rings (usually through trade). When they died the rings went into storage.
They also dig out several sets of bracers from storage. Some of the bracers were made by elven mages and give their owners a natural affinity for bows. Even those who already know how to use such weapons benefit from wearing them. The engravings on these bracers are clearly Silvanesti in style. They give one set of these bracers to Elessar, Kestrel and Lutgar (one pair each).
Valiana digs out a pair of bracers she made herself. They are old and dusty but still effective. Gifting them to Seraphi, she tells her daughter that they will provide protection from weapons similar to armor.
Elessar, Kestrel and Lutgar: Bracers of Archery, Lesser Seraphi: Bracers of Armor +2
After much searching, they find an item appropriate for Taither. It's clearly an antique piece of magical cloth in the form of a sash, dating back to the last Dragon War. When worn, Taither feels slightly bolder. However, his gifted abilities from Lunitari make that part of the effect largely irrelevant. But the sash seems to sit in a way which makes his armor feel looser and easier to shift around in.
