Ain't No Rest For The Wizard

[Caden Law]

It was all very funny up until it actually happened.

A little over two years ago, Caden Law had written in his diary that he wanted to find and take out certain frustrations on an Elven prostitute. Later, he added that he might need two just to get the kinks out. Eventually, it hit him that such an obsession -- even passive and fanciful as it was -- was unhealthy. Then it became a joke and, once in a while, served as an effective deterrent to conversation: 'What're you here for?' someone might ask, and Caden would pleasantly answer, 'I'm looking for an Elven prostitute! I'm sure one exists out there somewhere!' And then he'd get stared at and the other person would very uncomfortably move away.

Hilarious. Really.

Up till the moment Caden actually saw it.

Anebrilith was a city in tatters, but it was still an Elf city in tatters. Caden expected that the people would have some shred of dignity left, some unbroken pride and that haughty air about them that he just loved to hate. But they didn't. All the buildings were run down, and plenty of them were piles of rubble. Some were just missing parts: Doors here, shutters there, anything flammable. There was vandalism scattered about the place. Symbols, sigils, emblems, quotes and even just the names of choice passages. A few memorials caked in mud along walls nobody stopped to look at. And the scenery was just a reflection of the people in it. Caden saw little children running in the muck, not as if they were playing, but as if they were running for their very lives. He saw men sitting broken at their front doors, slough-eyed charicatures of their former selves. The few people that were roaming the streets in anything resembling good help were actually Men, and the occasional Dwarf or Orc. All pirates and slumlords in the most literal sense, most decked out in whatever passed for their ship's uniform.

At the docks, Caden found a tavern that hadn't been gutted. It had furniture swiped straight out of a museum, and priceless art sat crooked and defaced on its walls. Most of the inhabitants were Men, harder looking than Caden would ever be. Coronians in red and stained white, Salvarans in black and blue, maybe a half-dozen Fallien rogues differentiated by both their dusky skin and the style and make of their linens. Scarabrians too, and more. All of them looked like filth to him; the kind of men who would be shot on sight for one past crime or another in most parts of the world. They weren't welcome here either, but they were the ones who had food and drink. And they had women because of it.

This is where Caden finally, finally saw her, and the joke stopped being funny. He stepped into the tavern, just to see what was going on, and there she was. Some nameless beauty, weathered and tarnished and half-naked on the floor. A fresh bruise, shaped in the print of a Man's hand, covered one of her cheeks and eyes. Something was dripping from around her mouth, and there was a Man laughing it up not three feet away from her, and his friends were laughing with him. For a full minute, Caden watched as she sat there. Her eyes were cold and unresponsive. She blinked a few times, audibly swallowed, then wiped her face off with one of her skirts and stood up. One of them tossed her a loaf of stale bread, and another offered meat if she was willing to do something Caden didn't quite hear clearly.

She didn't even stop to think about it. In full view of every single soulless thing in that tavern, she disrobed.

Caden left in short order. He went back outside, over to the edge of the docks. He leaned over those dark, troubled waters, with what looked like dead fish actually swimming in them, and he tried not to vomit as all the implications, realities, and rancid truths finally hit him at once. Elven whores did exist. And there wasn't anything worth laughing about where they were concerned.

"Oy," someone said. They had an accent thick enough to hear from one syllable. "Nice hat." And they weren't speaking Raiaeran either.

"Hat," Caden corrected them. "Capital H."

"Nice threads in gen'ral. Spidersilk, right?"

"You can't have them," Caden sighed, straightening up and looking at his visitor. It was another Man, bigger and taller than him. Pirate, judging by the off white shirt and the green bandana. Had a bona fide cutlass on each hip and a crossbow in hand.

"Oh, c'mon now," he said. The crossbow was already aimed. "No need to make hasty gen'ralizations like that. I could just want ya liver."

"Get in line."

"Real joker, arn'tcha?"

"Wizard, actually."

Which had no effect whatsoever. The pirate grinned. He had big, blocky teeth and a thinly cut goatee to boot. "N'the real question is, what's a Wiza'd doin' out here, a Man no less, unaffiliated. See, I don't recognize ya. And our good friend the Baron makes sure ev'ryone what comes he'e, knows each other-"

"I took the front door," Caden replied. "Incidentally, you might want to watch out for my associate behind you."

"Oldest trick in the book," said the pirate. And then, without looking, he whipped a throwing knife from his sleeve and hurled it over his shoulder. It sank to the hilt in a rotted old wooden beam that somehow hadn't been burned for warmth yet. "Takes more 'an that t'fool the Dread Pirate Granai, bub."

"Noted." Caden wiggled his fingers a bit. The motion wasn't lost on Grannai.

"Fingers," he said. "Thumbs, Wizzy. Oh, don't look so su'prised. I know 'bout 'ow you pricks cast ya spells."

"Good for you," Caden sighed. And then he threw up a Gravity Gambit anyway, the air warping in and out on itself less than an inch from his pinky. Hand up, the sphere grew larger. Grannai fired his bolt and Caden's spell barely caught the tail end of it with the tip less than an inch from the left lense of his glasses. The bolt went wide in reverse, snapping in half as it flew back at Grannai. The pirate threw his first weapon aside and drew both cutlasses with a laugh, rushing forward in the same breath.

Caden drew his sword just in time to bash the first strike away and scare Grannai out of making the second. The pirate lurched back, cagey and grinning like a maniac. Caden grimaced.

"Did you just feel like starting a fight for fun, or what?" he asked.

"Words already out," Grannai replied. "'Bout a Wizard chargin' straight through the gate-lines. Oh, we know all about you, blue-hat."

"Blueraven," Caden corrected. They were on a pier already. No ground to twist beneath Grannai's feet. Any attack would have to be direct. At least there weren't any ships on either immediate side. Not that the prospect of zombie fish was any more appealing than an ambush, and Caden wasn't ruling out snipers. "Your plan needed some work."

"Plan?" Grannai asked. "Fun's never planned!"

And he surged forward, leading left and swinging in right for the follow-up. Caden blocked one, parried against both, missed on his counter and barely managed to avoid the kick that followed. Grannai was twirling his left cutlass so fast it was hard to follow, but that was just a distraction and the right cutlass came swinging for Caden's face. It missed. Caden backpedaled, nearing the end of the pier as he went. Grannai charged after him, pouring on the offense. He wasn't Death Lord-grade, but he knew what he was doing. Keep up the pressure, don't let the Wizard have a chance to get his wits about him for spellcasting. There are plenty of reasons why a plain mob can take out a spellcaster: Pitchforks and torches are bloody well effective if you bring enough of them. Grannai was able to replicate that effect through sheer speed and unpredictability.

Up to the moment that Caden jumped forward and willingly took a hit square to the chest. Grannai's left cutlass stopped twirling, bounced off the breastplate so hard that it left the pirate's hand, and Grannai jumped back in surprise. Caden took a blind thrust for the man's leg and missed, barely dodging the counter with his arm intact. It didn't matter. Caden drew back with his free hand and the wand was already flipping up into his grasp. The Wizard stepped away, Grannai surged back up to his feet-

Blueraven hit him almost point blank with a blast of raw heat and force, followed by a frigid aftershock. It blew Grannai's shirt open and left a burnt patch of ice on his chest and shoulder. The pirate staggered in surprise and pain. Caden lunged in and took Grannai's right arm off in an instant, and the pirate collapsed, screaming. But he wasn't bleeding. The stump didn't even leak. A second or two later, as Caden finished realizing what was going on, Grannai rolled right off the pier and into the water. Caden rushed to see what happened to him, but the only sight that greeted the Wizard was that of bubbles churning up to the surface.

"Huh," he sounded to himself. Waited. Stabbed his sword hilt deep through the pier, just to be safe. Drew it back up, no blood. He then inspected the arm. Which was still twitching slightly. It bore a mark like a very stylized K.

[Caden Law]

When he arrived back at the theater, Caden was greeted with raised riflestaves and a drawn sword, and a pitchfork wielded by an apprentice who'd apparently lost his staff and not had proper time to craft a replacement. Caden replied by slapping Gannai's severed arm right onto the prongs. The apprentice, an Elven girl who barely looked seventeen, shrieked in surprise and put a lightning burst through the theater ceiling. Caden blithely swiped her pitchfork with one hand and carried it like a travel staff, down the stairs and into the basement. There, he met Vara and company again. Most of the senior Rangers were there, if any could truly be considered senior at this point.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything." He brandished the pitchfork, and the arm with it. "Want a bite?"

"How was she?" Shaul asked, almost unphased. It was like a numb kind of acceptance had replaced his murderous rage from before. The fact that he could stand now, albeit stiffly, probably helped. At this point, the Ranger looked like he needed a good lay worse than Caden did. "Blueraven?"

"Huh?" Caden asked, shaking his head.

"How was the whore?" Shaul asked, blunter this time. Several Wanderers looked at him in thinly veiled disgust.

Caden just thought about it for a few seconds, then shrugged. "Disillusioning," he said, trying not to think about the Why? of that Elf's actions. "Incidentally, you lot have some explaining to do." He twisted the pitchfork, flipping the arm at its end to show the stylized K to them. "Starting with this."

Shaul looked at Vara looked at one of the other Rangers -- the Drow who'd let Caden in, judging by the armor and robes, now sans mask and much more beautiful for it. Even with the scar gnarling from the ivory hairline of her forehead to the left collarbone, skipping a spot or two for an eye and the nape of the neck. She also shrugged, tried to pass the obligation to someone else, and failed miserably. Then she answered, "That's the Mark of the Dead Baron. It's what allows outsiders to come and go as they please, safe and secure in the knowledge that they won't be accosted by Kaverre's forces during their stay. It's also a status symbol, entitling them to...anything they want. Because they're safety. Fickle, well-supplied safety that can snap away at a whim, but still better than the alternatives."

Caden didn't ask what the alternatives were. Instead, he asked, "And why are these people allowed to operate when you're here?"

"Take a look at our forces, Wizard," another Ranger cut in. This was a male Drow, older and harder looking than Shaul. He actually managed to look grimmer without the mask than he did with it. "Until tonight, we had no Seers left. There are five fully realized Rangers and a bunch of apprentices whose masters were killed in the months we've been here. Our healers are all gone. The ship we used to infiltrate Kaverre's necrotic blockade is at the bottom of the bay, and any time we so much as try to harry or suppress the black marketeers, the Baron launches an attack that leaves dozens of dead that walk. This is an utter no-win situation and we cannot even escape from it."

"Wonderful mindset you have there," Caden replied, dropping the pitchfork for emphasis. Its owner rushed over to pick it up, finally.

"What do you know?" the Ranger sneered. "You're not an Elf. You're practically no different from one of Kaverre's auxilliaries. You could probably buy your way out of here on any ship you wanted and never lose a single night's sleep over it, and he'd let you, and-"

"What's your name, Ranger." Not a question. It was an order. The temperature in the theater's basement was starting to drop. Vara sighed and looked away. Shaul put his face in one hand.

"Hessran," said the Wanderer. "Hessran Ko'Vaun. Why?"

"Because if you keep talking like that, I'm going to kill you. It'd be impolite to bury you without a proper gravemarker."

Hessran brought his riflestaff to bear. In the same instant, he had a sword at his throat and a wand at his temple. Caden didn't budge one inch, not even to breathe. Hessran didn't even blink. "Why the sudden change of heart, Seer?" the Ranger asked through grit teeth. "Has his madness affected you too?"

"I absolutely detest this Wizard," Vara replied. "His involvement lead to the deaths of my brother and sister and the scourging of Tembrethnil. But he gets results, and the Necromancer has a bounty on him by Name. One does not carry that kind of distinction without earning it the hard way." She waited for a moment, perfectly still except for the movements of her eyes: She looked to Caden, her expression neutral and her voice terse. "I have been idle for far too long. And at least the Wizard still has the will to try and win this fight."

"As if it could be won," Hessran muttered.

Can I kill him now? Caden pointedly did not ask. He was certainly thinking it though. For all his probable expertise, Hessran was a walking blight on morale and it showed. Not even the semi-miraculous return of one of the Seers seemed to be lightening his mood.

"You haven't seen the things I have, Seer. You have been idle too long. Whatever opportunity we had to win, to even fight that Godsdamned Baron, it's long gone."

"I disagree," said Shaul, which seemed to be the final word on the matter. Hessran waited for just a few moments, as if trying to convey resentment and hopelessness through sheer body language, and then he finally lowered the staff without a single word. For their own emphases, Shaul and Vara held him at their mercy just a while longer. The point had to be made. The fragmented chain of command had to be re-established somehow: Vara was the leader, Shaul was her second, and Caden was willing to guess that Hessran was no longer third, fourth, or even really fifth. He had, symbolically at least, just been kicked down to a level with the apprentices.

"Well, now that that's out of the way," Caden said, relaxing only slightly, "I feel compelled to point out that the enemy is unaware of the good Seer's return. And it's in our best interest to act slowly to capitalize on that fact."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Vara asked as she sheathed her sword. The look of distaste on her face could've inspired beautiful, if macabre, poetry.

"Find potential magi. Train them in the basics," Caden explained. Understanding lit through her eyes without need for all the details.

"There are kinks in your plan," she said. "The paths of Seer, Faithful and Bard are not to be taken lightly, or quickly. And though I've walked both the paths of Faithful and Bard, I can only teach Seers."

Caden smiled like an anarchist vandal in a state-owned church. "At Eluriand, I had seven completely untrained Men of talent practicing basic Bladesinger spellcraft in less than an hour. In Salvar, I taught a barely schooled six year old how to combust icewater in a day."

"You're suggesting we train Elves as Wizards?" Another Ranger asked, this one a Drow female who managed to pull off that fae beauty with a haircut more butch than some men.

"Basically, yes," Caden shrugged. "At least in the same basic spellcraft Wizards start on. How they develop after that is anyone's guess."

"Isn't that minor league heresy?" Balakai snipped, and was promptly stared down by every adult Wanderer in the room. And some of the kids too. Caden grinned and scruffed her hair instead.

"It's the best kind of heresy, kiddo."

"I'm not-what-stop that."

Caden didn't.

"Wizard," Vara sighed.

"Fine, fine."

"What about the harpies?" Shaul asked. "They see everything."

"I'm a geomancer," Caden replied. "The real trick will be keeping the tunnels hidden and making sure nobody notices the trainees. We could hide the first few disappearances, chalk that up to whatever you please, but if Anebrilith has a lot of residual talent left over..."

"It probably doesn't," Hessran sighed. "The Bladesingers plucked up most potential magi early on, and took them out when they fled. Anyone with obvious talent after that was usually taken in the night, either by harpies or pirates."

"Coincidentally, we're going to have to solve the pirate problem soon," Caden replied.

"Then it would appear we have our work cut out for us," Vara said, followed by a rueful little smile. "Just like old times."

[Caden Law]

In a lonely, desolate theater in the run-down, perpetually besieged city of Anebrilith, there was a Man sprawled on the floor, partially leaned back against an overlarge goat with a saddle on its back. The Man wore a rather pointed Hat, tall and blue and wide in the brim, and in this Hat there was a book. A few of its more recent pages were stained with something that may or may not qualify as blood. Beneath the stains, most of which were fading as the book's self-sustaining magic worked itself full throttle, you'd find ink. Lots and lots of ink. Words. The story of a very nascent, quite possibly doomed spot of hope in otherwise dark and wretched times.

This is that story.

(What parts can be read beneath the stains.)

ALF Commander Blueraven's Log, Day Zero: Have decided to save the world. Technically. Will be keeping a log for both posterity's sake and because it's the only thing keeping me from throwing several co-conspirators down the nearest well and bombing it.

I have, in effect, joined the remnants of Witherwind Enclave* in order to form the Anebrilith Liberation Force (ALF). I am the only human in the ALF's ranks. I am also, technically speaking, the ranking military officer within the force. Hilarity ensued when Ranger Hessran voiced objections and declared, "I will not profane myself by taking orders from a Man." Hilarity was trial-by-combat. Not so funny at the time. Won trial by tripping him up and cracking his jaw with uppercut-pillar. No teeth knocked out, regrettably. Authority was reconciled with the Enclave in short order: I am now Second-in-Command of the Enclave. Ranger Shaul was less than thrilled, but no further objections.

* Apparently, Enclaves disband and form completely anew after major losses on any mission. Witherwind is technically the reteam of Farstrike.

First act was to establish hierarchy within the Enclave. Is as follows:

Seer Vara Yenuial (Hates me)
Self (Truly awesome)
Ranger Shaul Karna (Still limping, less homicidal)
Ranger Nolara Nagat (Short-hair, fantastic rack)
Ranger Fiera Grethel (Long-hair, nice ass)
Ranger Hessran Ko'Vaun (Prick, no missing teeth)
Ranger Apprentice Jailbait (I am too old to be thinking like that about her. Actual name is Farana or something)
The Apprentices after Jailbait are equal in rank (if nothing else)

Work begins tomorrow.

Day One: Slow day.

Sent most of the Enclave out on what passes for their "usual business," which means most spent the day sniping on the wall and a few went scavenging for food with secondary instructions to scout potential Talents. (From a distance and without being detected, of course.) This left me sharing basement with Vara all day while I tried to divine the layout of Anebrilith's sewer system and whether or not I could tunnel through it without any gaps. We did not speak much. Vara has taken my advice to remain inside and out of sight for the duration: The longer we can keep her existence a secret, the better. And if I don't leave the theater, the enemy may believe me to be dead or in hiding or imprisoned by the Wanderers. We will see.

Once divination is complete, work can begin.

Day Two: Work begun on tunnel system for future apprentices. Wanderers have spotted four potential Talents thus far. One Apprentice is MIA, presumed harpied (his leg fell on Ranger Shaul's head during the search). Commented, "Hopefully he died fighting. Preferably with his head getting annihilated in the process." Was promptly slapped by Seer Vara on behalf of Apprentice's sibling. No hard feelings.

Tunneled through a large stretch of stone, passing through the sewers without outwardly damaging them. Somewhat disturbed though: Vara and I both sensed something through the walls. Rangers instructed to place runes where and as told during their rounds. We'll have a warning system up by tomorrow, with any luck.

No fresh Talent uncovered.

Day Three: Warning system did no good. One Apprentice killed, one Undead.

I had just finished shaping the first chamber beneath the sewers when something clawed in through the ceiling and took the head of Apprentice Riven. It was a ghoul, one of half-dozen. Lead ghoul pinned me while Vara fought two. Apprentice Durandelf was bitten deeply in the arm and went ghoul by fighting's end. Apprentices Deithor and Balakai put him down before he could cause any harm.

Current ALF personnel count: 6 Command, 1 Junior, 6 Apprentices.
Fatalities: 3 (Sojakai, Riven, Durandelf).
Talents spotted: 5 (4, +1 today)

Day Four: Warning system in place. Have found underground tunnels leading into the sewers. Rangers Shaul and Hessran dispatched to seal them up using Seerstones for urgency's sake. Stones conjured to my specifications caused the tunnels to literally seal. Magic bears my thumbprint to avoid tipping our hand. Not sure how Vara did that. Warning runes in place to make sure the tunnels remain closed. Rangers Nolara and Fiera spent the day cleaning out zombies. Apprentices allowed to take potshots at the harpies. No casualties today.

Training area is almost complete. Chamber 1 will be junction. Planned entrances in several places in both the sewers and aboveground (out of harpy sight). Chamber 2 will be largest, most reinforced. Planned instruction area.

Talents spotted: 7 (2 more found near the piers; Apprentice Haldreth basically kidnapped them for their own good).
Security: Somehow not compromised. Jailbait was pleased. Nolara's got a better rack.

Day Five: Chamber 2 complete (structure). Securities in progress.

Day Six: Chambers completed. Work on auxilliary tunnels begins. Instructions begun with my very first true apprentices, Dylver and Kienelas. Dylver shows promise for Thermals but not much else, Kienelas has little talent but strong grasp of the basics. Thirdcomer, Bolabas, joined us late in the day. Have already introduced them to Concept Bypass and Runic Spellwork as a means of increasing productivity. May attempt to instruct them in basic alchemy for supply's sake.

Day Seven: Going too fast. Dylver almost got us all killed. Nothing else to report.

Day Eight: I saw the face of the enemy for the first time: Baron Kaverre himself, making a front-line inspection accompanied by what looked like a handful of necromancer auxilliaries and a bodyguard of ancient dead. Very well preserved. I spotted several signs of high status and advanced defenses throughout: He rode a demonic horse, wore Nobles' clothing over armor similar to what I saw on Ghez Hokan, was flanked by Blackstaves bearing the Necromancer's Eye and Standards, and wore several bits of jewelry that disquieted me to look at them. I instructed Ranger Cessae, TRAFKAJB* to take a shot at him from the battlements. The spell was disrupted by magicks similar to Blightcrow's Scattershot Barrier, but much more powerful and better controlled: Damage was so spread out among the ancient dead and the surrounding terrain that none of the individual spell fragments caused more than pits in dirt and rotten, leathery flesh. Nothing got through to him or his auxilliaries. I could hear his laughter more than 200 feet away.

Foppish bastard.

* The Ranger Apprentice Formerly Known As Jailbait

Addendum: Harpies attacked at the eastern tower. Some injuries, no dead on our side. One of the harpy corpses had a letter and Haldreth had common sense. He left the letter unopened and handed it to me with great care after disposing of the bodies. In short: "Welcome, Wizard Blueraven, to the end of your ragged flight from Death. May His tender mercies never leave you, as you shall never leave this place intact." It was signed with the Baron's Mark. No traps built in, but we burned the thing anyway.

Day Nine: New apprentice. I am not satisfied? happy? comfortable? with this one.

Her name is Neesal Danfras. She was doing it for her daughter, Iera.

I don't think I'll ever make that joke again.

Addendum: Iera's a half-elf. I have had to exercise authority and pull against Vara to ensure Iera's acceptance into our shelters. Father unknown. Perhaps best that way. Need to watch for Hessran; he's showing an attitude again.

Day Ten: Full class of 7; would be 8 but one of the prospective Talents is missing. Have crashcoursed the newcomers to semi-even footing with Dylver and Kienelas. Roster/specialties are as follows:

Dylver Tracen (Thermal; has already worked out the theory for a tornado of ice and fire. I must steal this)
Kienelas Tracen (Basics; still weak, but his magic is durable)
Warram Cael (Noncombatant; good grasp of runes, useful for group spellcasting, useless in a combat situation on her own)
Quel'thas Mjoln (Arcane; weak, flimsy, but spellwork quick and nimble)
Neesal Danfras (Pyromancer; natural but very low control. Indirect combatant)
Nethenor Eralas (Thermal, best with energy drain/ice; may pair him with Neesal or Kienalas)
Sigel Ventre (?????; talents are very, very hard to pin down. See below)

Acting in my capacity as both a Wizard and military commander, and in keeping with my authority as a Sorcerer*, I have assigned all seven of my students with the rank of Apprentice and the title of Mage. None of them have Hats, Staves or anything like that. Several of the Wanderers have helped us all in constructing wands and rods for them, among other things. Some of the Magi (and a few of the Apprentice Rangers) show talent for alchemy as well, though I'm not adept enough to teach them the finer points of it.

Insofar as trying to make them useful, results are mixed. Dylver and Neesal are by far the strongest of the lot, but also the hardest to predict and control. Dylver's magic is powerful, but he has little control, poor range and is rebellious by nature. Neesal has been through Hell. I don't fault her for it, but it's made a visible mark on her spellwork: The woman's a natural Pyromancer on a level that may well surpass me in terms of talent, power and control. But she's angry and nervous and loses focus easily. On top of that, she panics. I've decided to remove her from direct combat and teach her to cast fire at range**. Hopefully we can get her emotions under control.

Nethenor and Kienelas are a natural team. Nethenor's abilities to drain energy (and time, patience, sanity, will to live...) are incredible, enough to resemble elemental ice magic (which he may also be useful at, if he could find a good teacher). Kienelas has very low power, but his magicks are sturdy and he can make use of background energy very easily. Together, Nethenor drains power from a target and Kienelas uses the stored energy to work his magic at a higher level.

Warram and Quel'thas are not especially noteworthy. Warram is decidedly noncombatant. With a better teacher, she would probably grow into an excellent healer or spy, but I'm limited to teaching her runes and alchemy. She absorbs both well enough and has no problems serving as an auxilliary to other Mages. Quel'thas is very good at improvised spellcasting and thinking on his feet. He's weaker than any of them, but he's probably the best suited for fighting. I've got him running drills with a few of the junior Rangers. He and Cessae have hit it off quite nicely.***

Sigel is impossible to pin down. He handles the basics well enough, but whatever his affinities are, I'm missing them. The closest I've come to pinning them down is Ectomancy, which straddles dangerously close to at least half a dozen forms of dark (re: Black, Aberrant, Vile, Evil, Horrible, etc) magic. His actual talents are small, but it's probably good we got him first. I've tried to get him started on basic Conjuration with Ectomancy as a base, but it's not easy going and the Rangers are weary of him.

All Magi are crosstraining and learning to cast in groups. They seem to be establishing a good dynamic overall, but I still worry. It bears mention that, when we found them, their talents were all very low. I mentioned this to Vara and she explained to me that, "They are all tonedeaf. Elven magic, even my own, is based on song and rhythm. None of your Magi have that. That is why they were never trained and were able to slip under the enemies' watch like they have."

This actually answers a few questions I've had. Like why in the nine Hells Raiaera didn't have any schools of magic explicitly based on something other than Bardic tradition. As it turns out, they're just music-biased to the point of stupidity.

* Sorcery means direct connection to the Tap, the source of all magic. If that isn't entitlement to authority in magical affairs, nothing is.
** Need to expand and/or add another chamber.
*** And by 'hit it off' I mean 'while half-naked.' Vara was most displeased. I gave Quel high-five afterwards. Nice to see the young people still have hope enough to do what young people do.*****
**** Which is screw like rabbits.

Wait.

I'm not that old!

Addendum: Saw Gannai today. He has a new arm, much browner than the rest of him. I have spoken to the Wanderers and we've agreed to try and get some kind of information from the Pirates and their ilk. Wanderers pushing for Neesal to go under cover. Have put foot down. Not happening.

Day Eleven: Sigel scares me. He's managed to use Ectomancy as a basis for Geomancy. Something about it feels wrong to me and I'm not sure what. We constructed a new chamber with the help of my class and Vara (which is going increasingly stir-crazy in her confinement). Neesal got the honors of First Spell and charred a wall until it looked like black glass. Warram made herself useful by transmuting black glass to target signs. Rangers and Magi have made use of it as a joint firing range. Morale has increased.

I'll be holding my first combat exercise tomorrow. Will try to keep from maiming or killing anyone, but restraint is difficult for mages at any level. Wizardry just means subtlety, education and skill. Not necessarily lowered lethality. Vara has agreed to step in and keep things under control if necessary.

Day Twelve: Ow.

No casualties.

Except maybe my spleen.

Day Thirteen: Second round of combat training. I was ready for them this time. They mostly performed to expectations. Dylver almost killed me. Quel'thas is surprisingly good with the sword that I did not give him. Neesal still needs to learn some restraint*.

* Human men are on her barbecue-with-hatred list: "I hope you all die! You godsforsaken apes!"

She apologized later. I forgave her. First time an Elf has hugged me without clawing at their flesh and mumbling, "Unclean! Unclean!"

...and Iera is adorable. She took her first steps today. I think I need to go kick a puppy or two, but it looks like the citizens ate them all.

Addendum: A dead ent came stomping through the docks today. It killed ten people before the Rangers and I were able to destroy it. There were a few ravagers* hiding inside. The Rangers are currently mopping up, but Hessran was severely injured by a pirate in the fighting. One building destroyed. Not a good day.

* Ravagers are a somewhat new form of zombie: Fast, mindless, criminally insane and just intelligent enough to be a longterm pain in the ass if not dealt with early on. Not quite as strong or tough as ghouls, but their speed and ability to hide better make them more dangerous.

Addendum: Magi have all opted for a day of rest. Rangers all out. Time to take a break.

Addendum: Have been asked to handle a very important matter. Wll do so with somber dedication and professional detachment.

And here ends our little story.

In a lonely, desolate theater in the run-down, perpetually besieged city of Anebrilith, there was a Man sprawled on the floor, partially leaned back against an overlarge goat with a saddle on its back. The Man wore a rather pointed Hat, tall and blue and wide in the brim, and in this Hat there was a book. A few of its more recent pages were stained with something that may or may not qualify as blood. Beneath the stains, most of which were fading as the book's self-sustaining magic worked itself full throttle, you'd find ink. Lots and lots of ink. Words. The story of a very nascent, quite possibly doomed spot of hope in otherwise dark and wretched times.

And in his arms, you'd find a soundly sleeping baby. The only one of her kind in an entire city for so many reasons.

(One of which was that none of the others had their own personal teddy-Wizard.)

[Caden Law]

Day fourteen saw a meeting of the minds.

"It is well past time that the Wizard proved his worth!"

Sort of.

"While he and his tonedeaf drones cause minor tremors and put a drain on our already sparse supplies, the Rangers in Starlight are out there! Above the streets, trying to put up a fight for all they are worth!"

"And if I recall, Hessran," Caden replied, thumbing his glasses into place. "You used to think we didn't stand a chance and should stop fighting entirely."

Hessran couldn't have been any quieter if Caden had broken his jaw. Several of the Rangers shared whatever shame the Wizard had lumped on their self-appointed spokesman, but no-one else spoke out in condemnation of him either. Vara let the words hang still far longer than she needed to, just for emphasis. Then she cleared her throat and spoke up, "It is time for us to start counter-attacking. The raids have grown worse. People are getting restless again, as happens when begin to hope just enough to feel desperation and fear again. Such is the consequence of uncertainty. At least before, they knew they were going to die. Now, they don't even have that. If nothing else, the Magi may serve in an auxilliary role while the Rangers take the fight to our enemies."

Caden was about to open his mouth when, of all people, Shaul spoke up ahead of him: "I disagree." All eyes flew to the former Farstriker, who in turn remained calm and collected. "I have my doubts as to how well a barely trained squadron of hedgemagi would perform under the best of circumstances. Ours are still recovering from physical and emotional trauma alike. The Rangers would also need some kind of rest in order to be effective."

"We need to do something," Hessran persisted.

"Strike at the black market," Neesal suddenly spoke up. "And the foul men supporting it."

For a split second, it actually looked like they would all ignore her. Caden would've approved of that, from a purely rational point of view. Whatever Neesal had been through in the past years, a few days of combusting walls into black glass and trying to flash-fry her teacher weren't enough to make it go away. Her judgement wasn't especially sound where the black market was concerned, nevermind its associated cancers.

And then that moment of sanity ended when Vara said, "I agree. The Wizard and I will handle it."

Two concerns immediately voiced themselves, from Fiera and Hessran respectively: "But any strike at the pirates is immediately retaliated against in overwhelming force!" followed by "Your wounds still haven't healed yet!"

Vara brushed them both aside: "I am unwounded, Ranger Hessran. Merely idle. I tire of sitting by while those under my Sight are picked off, killed by inches under the pretense of maintaining some element of surprise that would scarcely benefit us at all. And, Ranger Fiera, you would do well to remember that this is a war. Eventually, the Baron will tire of playing with his food. When that happens, I'd rather not fight a last stand on the walls as the city falls from within as well as without. These Men...these fell monsters wearing the flesh of them, are not worthy of living on Raiaeran soil or desecrating Elven sea."

Neesal grinned with a palpable sense of excitement. Several of the Apprentices, and some of Caden's Magi, weren't too far behind her. The Wizard himself set his face in a near-neutral grimace. He and Vara met eyes.

"Unless the Wizard has an objection, of course."

Funny, really. Vara hadn't been so rough around the edges back in Tembrethnil. Even upon waking up and putting a (now mostly faded) bruise on his chin, she was still mildly pleasant throughout most of the past two weeks. It almost reminded him of Nalith Celiniel, the Bard who'd come within a few inches of setting Caden on fire back in Eluriand.

"Not especially," Caden lied. "Only that we spend another day gathering intelligence and setting up contingencies."

"Indeed," said the Seer. "Handle your Magi. I will set up a succession plan among the Rangers. We meet tonight, alone, to discuss initial plans, and again in the morning to finalize our strategy."

Caden didn't like this. He didn't like any of it.

"Works for me."

Not one bit.

[Caden Law]

Not as planned.

There was a sword at his throat. One that looked like it was made of molten glass. His back was to the wall, his head was tilted as far from the blade as he could manage. Vara stood still as a statue, leaned towards him, arms outstretched so that one held the sword and the other braced its blade. They were alone in the dark, the only light coming from a few runes etched into the chamber ceiling and flickering like feeble candles in the abyss. If not for the weapon, the armor, the risk, it would've looked like the start of something intimate. Even with all that, it still came close to looking like the start of something intimate. By necessity of existing, fewer things can possibly be more intimate than murder at point blank range.

"Not as planned at all," Caden mumbled to himself, though he dared not swallow on the lump in his throat. The edge was too close and he wasn't feeling especially risky. "Care to explain, or do I get to haunt you later?" he asked, managing to keep his voice perfectly level in spite of the fact that his heart was pounding like a military drum on parade.

"Aldinar," she said. "Eledier." The blade didn't so much as twitch. "Tembrethnil Forest." Her voice wavered though. "And now, Anebrilith teeters on the brink." Barely. "I will not allow this city to fall, to be corrupted like the forest was. I can still remember that awful crow. I still hear Mother Tembrethnil crying out in pain. You are a Marked Man, Wizard, in every sense. Shaul despises you. Hessran would have your head. Nolara and Fiera could care less either way. I want you dead for the misery and the shame you have caused me. So tell me. Please, Blueraven -- Caden Law -- tell me one thing. And then tell me every thing."

"...a common complaint among men is that human women speak in riddles," Caden replied. "I think they'll sound simple by the time I leave this Godsforsaken country."

"THE GODS HAVE NOT FORSAKEN RAIAERA!"

The blade came so close he could feel its edge on his skin, pushing at it but not splitting it. Just sitting there, being there. One good nudge and it'd end up right between vertebrae without ever having to cut bone. Caden closed his eyes and asked, "What do you want?"

"Your hands," Vara said. "Your eyes, your breath, your very soul. You have signs of the Taint all over you -- Necromancy. The same power that brought this ruin to my lands. To use that power is to become that power, no better than that blighted Baron's auxilliaries. No better than the Death Lord himself. Your crimes are without measure in this realm. What I want to know first, Wizard, is why I should let you live."

"...because you would be chopping off your nose to spite your face? I'm useful, you know. Elven magicks wouldn't take with my students, they-"

"That's a coward's answer, a moment's compromise for some intangible good. I want your answer," she said, and finally deigned to look up at him. Vara hadn't worn her helm or mask for this, and Caden could see something flickering in her eyes. He didn't want to pin a name to it. Names give power give delusions. "Why should I let you live, Caden?"

This would've been the perfect instant, that cold rational part of his Wizard's mind thought, to use his Voice. To get grand, to hit hard and fast and make the point by force. He didn't. She wasn't asking Blueraven now. Maybe she wasn't even asking Caden himself. Maybe, he thought in the span of a second, Vara was asking her own conscience to reconcile belief with reality with what needed to be done. And maybe he was giving her too much credit, or not enough at all. Whatever the case was, he answered without hesitation.

"Because I chose to live," he said. "And I'm not compromising. There won't be any apocalypses."

She didn't blink. The blade didn't budge a fraction of an inch for the longest time, and then it was gone. Caden waited until he heard the click of sheath locking to guard, and then he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. A few seconds later, his knees gave out and he slumped back against the wall as a cold sweat materialized on his face. Vara stood still for a while longer, then said, "There is a great deal you have not told me, Wizard." It was like hearing a steel door glide into place, slammed shut at the last possible second and padlocked for no good reason at all. Caden didn't know why and he didn't want to. "You will do so now."

"You could've just asked, Vara," Caden replied, finally rubbing his throat.

"You're a liar and a fraud and a charlatan with Death nipping at his fingertips," Vara said, crouching down until she was at eye level with him. "I want the truth. The real truth. And you just gave a very good start, so please do not stop now. I want to know what made you choose, what apocalypses you speak of...everything."

"We don't have time for this," Caden said.

"Then look me in the eye," she told him, clasping her hands together and conjuring up a pale teal stone between them. A white line formed there, something like both a rune and a musical note. It glowed, and glowed brighter by the second, and it wasn't long before Caden finally did as she said. The Wizard looked squarely into the Elf's eyes.

In that moment, he finally knew why they called people like Vara Seers.

[Caden Law]

Hours later, the sun was long gone and the stars were out. They could not be seen within the war-worn walls of Anebrilith, but they were there. Watching. Waiting. Wondering, in their own awful way. Planning their next moves eons in advance, and Caden finally understood that and it was such a maddening truth that it actually affected his vision. If he looked up for too long, at the tiny gaps in the smoke, he could see their paths winding like faded neon in the dark.

"That fades," Vara said, eventually.

"It doesn't for you, does it. No wonder you're so insane."

He already knew, but it still needed to be said. Everything needed to be said now. There was an awful sense of Truth nipping at the edge of his consciousness, something that felt like the understanding he'd used to murder Wizard Blightcrow. Except worse. Speaking helped to minimize it, keep it at bay. Or at least anchor him in the here and now, the world of physical realities instead of abstract lunacies.

"I don't expect a human mind to comprehend the Path I wander," Vara said, and her accent was almost Salvic. She was actually speaking Salvic. Caden didn't think she knew what she was doing, but he knew better. Her means of coping with the Truth was to bury herself in it. The Wizard in him actually admired that, while the saner parts of him wanted to make sure the Wizard did so at a nice, safe distance.

No such luck.

They stood on a street riddled with shallow holes and stains, flanked by debris and war-torn structures on either side. Fires burned close by, painting them as if in a sunset rather than the dead of a very Undead night. Harpies cried in the skies, drowning out the static whispers of solar conspiracy. Hearing them now was almost a comfort.

"For what it's worth," Vara said, fitting her mask on as they waited for the right moment. "I'm sorry I did that. I didn't think a human mind would even grasp enough of the Truth to realize it was there."

"You thought I'd see it and just assume those were nightmares," Caden answered. "Your Pantheon is pretty struck out, Seer."

"No more so than the Elders to whom you won't pay homage," Vara said. "To be honest...Caden. I can't grasp how you can choose to live without anything to worship. You wander a lonely path yourself, with neither the comfort of a road or the light of stars to guide your way."

"I have my goals," Caden told her. "That's good enough."

They stood still for a while longer, and the air between them practically sparked with tensions that could not be named. There wasn't any time to waste before, but now...Caden knew the Truth. And it was awful. What little parts of it he understood. It left him feeling tiny, truly tiny on a cosmic scale. Insignificant in a way that not even a direct meeting with the Elder Thaynes of Althanas could achieve.

Vara had used her Sight back in the chamber. She Looked into him, deep into him, and she read his soul like an open book that contained his life story. But a Seer's gaze is a two-way street, and as Vara learned the truth of Caden Law, of his journey, his goals, his struggles, his choices and so much else, Caden learned the truth of Vara Yenuial, and of the Wanderers in Starlight and the eldritch Pantheon they worshipped.

It cast everything in new lights. Billions of them.

Vara drew her sword. Caden took out his wand and rod, banging them together a few times just to feel the shocks of impact and magic racing through his hands and wrists and arms. She gestured with one hand and conjured up a set of tiny pebbles, each one teal and runed in white, and the Wizard knew it was for the same reason.

In a very strange way, he mused -- and she did too, he knew it -- they had been more intimate than if they'd made love or murdered each other or done both at the same time. In the time they learned of each other, their souls had literally rubbed up and swapped bits, pieces, miniscule sparks that added up the way a tenth of a percentage point can shape the rise and fall of a dozen stock markets.

"Caden," Vara said, as she shuffled the stones in one hand. "I...don't think I can despise you anymore. I might even admire you now."

"That's the gaze, isn't it," Caden said. "The Sight. Affecting you like it is me."

Silence should've followed, but it didn't. Her answer was simple and without hesitation: "It is. But that's not why." She stopped shuffling. Caden inhaled magic, exhaled a few ghostly feathers from his mouth. Inhaled, exhaled. Inhaled.

"I'm sorry about Raun," Caden said, remembering what the Sight had shown him of Evernorth's most powerful Warlock. He had never expected to see the sparkle-eyed monster as a caring, wayward family man, disowned by his kin even as they sought ways of restoring him to grace.

"And I'm sorry about Veshua."

Caden heard her gulp on a lump in her throat. Oddly, he didn't feel the need to now. He almost felt giddy again, like he did the night he first found out the difference between a good book and a good girl. "Hey."

"Yes?"

"Let's live long enough to have some things that are really worth being sorry about."

Vara giggled, quite manic and Wizardly for someone of her status and mindset. And then she said, in a voice that could've been his influence or her own personality -- that unintentional flirt he'd seen back in Tembrethnil, half-hidden under layers of tradition and ritual -- peeking out again, "Maybe."

[Caden Law]

They hit hard and they hit fast. For all the imbalance the Sight left between them, Caden and Vara worked together as flawlessly as if they were the same person with two bodies and a few centuries of experience at coordinating them. Caden tore the energy out of the tavern's nearest wall, effectively freezing its constituent molecules and atoms dead in their tracks. An instant later, the wall violently expanded, tearing free of the rest of the building and then collapsing as Vara hit it with her first stone. The wall never hit the ground.

That left them with more than forty armed, angry Men with swords, crossbows, and more than a few bona fide hand cannons between them. But the element of surprise remained with the Seer and the Wizard. Vara cast her remaining stones and blew the heads and torsoes off of four of them, while Caden lanced through another two with the energy taken from the wall. Heat blasted through flesh and bone so quickly and with such intensity that it left soccer ball-sized holes in the victims, and then flash-melted a hole straight through the tavern and through the hull of a ship in the docks. Above the water line.

Counterattacks followed. One of the Pirates had magic on his side, and he cast fire at both of them. Vara stepped forward, leading a very slow, methodical charge as she cleaved the spell in two and harmlessly annihilated it in the process. Caden, tall and somehow much more imposing than usual, shot a few spells of his own over her head and shoulders. A completely unintended target dropped near the back of the tavern, while the mage Pirate lunged out of the way and one of his compatriots came up with a rifle in hand.

If it was a good bullet with proper aim, Vara would've died right then and there. But it wasn't. It was something poorly made, propelled by weak powder and a dismal spark. Caden took the Pirate's arm off with one spell and Vara chopped his head off a minute later, when they finally crossed the threshold into what was by then the site of an utter massacre.

Two Pirates remained, along with a few bystanders who somehow managed to dodge the mayhem. Women, all Elves, and Caden didn't feel quite as sympathetic as he had for Neesal but Vara clearly wasn't as dismissive of them as she had been before. "Go back to your homes!" she shouted.

"What's left of them," Caden added.

"We surrender!" one of the Pirates screamed.

Caden blew his head off just to be safe. That left one Man, his arms to the sky and his face covered in snot and blood and tears and his pants soiled in front and back. His eyes were bloodshot and one of his hands had been mangled. "Please!"

Caden almost killed him anyway. Vara did too. The only thing that stayed their hands, weapons and spells was what he said next: "I know things! I can help you rescue him!"

[Caden Law]

It didn't take long. In hindsight, Caden wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. The Pirate's name was Roberts. He was an amiable sort, once the bleeding stopped and the lightheadedness was replaced by an adequately rational sense of terror. He apparently had nine kids on three continents by six women and only worked the lanes and the market to bring them all gold.

Vara didn't believe him. Neither did Caden. The only reason he lived that night was because of what he told them in the tavern. Omitting the stuttering, the crying, the begging for his life, and organizing it into something roughly coherent: "Captain Baral has an Elf locked away in the hold of his ship, the Tithes Irae. The Elf is a healer. His name is Fidelnor. I can lead you to the ship if you promise to let me live."

Caden promised. Vara promised. They cauterized the injuries, then frogmarched Roberts the short distance from the tavern to the docks. Tithes Irae was waiting, and it was a sleek ship if Caden had ever seen one. A former Raiaeran cutter, if Roberts' word was to be trusted, with sails covered in runes, siege bows that fired anchors, cannon with muzzles shaped like skulls, great ribs torn from dead beasts and fixed to the hull for armor and intimidation alike. The crew was minimal at this point, most of them off whoring and terrorizing in the night, and the leftovers weren't much of a hassle either. Vara insisted on leaving no survivors. Caden insisted on leaving no bodies. They compromised with a lot of ash piles and the definate risk of scuttling the ship where it was ducked. Roberts accompanied them all the way to the top deck, then insisted on going no further.

Caden put a knife at his throat and Roberts lead them further. Ostensibly so they could keep an eye on him. Lucky for Roberts, none of his shipmates were lounging around below decks and they went the rest of the way to the ship's hold without incident. There, it was dark and stuffy. Lots of boxes, lots of stale food.

"We need to start organizing the people," Caden said as he looked at a crate full of bread. "Get all of this offloaded for the city's food reserves."

"You kiddin'?" Roberts stuttered. "Stuff ain't fittin' to eat."

"Alchemy," Caden replied.

"First things first," Vara interrupted as they came to a door at the back. It was large, heavy, pitted and splintery. Vara was probably five foot two, weighed around 150 when soaking wet and wearing her full load of armor.

She kicked the door down like it didn't even have hinges holding it in place.

What awaited them was a very dark, dismal little room. Caden saw some feet, the beginnings of legs, sticking out of the shadows inside. Without a word, he raised his wand and triggered enough energy to bring light to the situation.

And immediately wished he hadn't.

[Caden Law]

It has been about twelve hours since we returned from the hold of the Tithes Irae. Given the circumstances, I feel it necessary to make a longer entry than normal, and about a day that is otherwise uncovered in my logs thus far.

Seer Vara and I launched into an assault on a dockside tavern. Whatever its original name was, its most recent name is Rutter's Hole. The barman was named Renald Rutter. He's dead now. So are approximately sixty other piles of meat who called themselves human beings and desecrated the title with every breath they stole. Vara and I did the deed. The tavern is rubble now. I wish we would have done it sooner.

Following our raid on Rutter's Hole, we were lead to a ship called Tithes Irae by a pirate named Roberts. He said they had a Wanderer imprisoned in the hold. We followed him there and, yes, they had a Wanderer in the hold. Vara, Shaul and the others have confirmed him as Fidelnor Kolwyn. She identified him as a Faithful, the Wandering equivalent of a Cleric or something like that. He was the Enclave's third best healer, who went missing about a month into their mission. A harpy snatched him, they assumed the worst...and he's been lying in the Tithes Irae's hold ever since.

I just wish it were that simple. We could use a healer right now, and a priest of any kind would be useful for rallying the citizenry to our cause and reviving their will to fight. As it stands...

I am not sure how to word this, but they broke Fidelnor. They did things to him that make murder look outright humane. I was raised out in the country, in the township of Evernorth and the wilds of Salvar and Berevar. I heard a lot of stories about what the barbarian tribes would do to women if they captured them. It was something we took so seriously that the local Church had exemptions from sin for any woman or girl who killed herself or another to spare them from what the barbarians might do.

The crew of the Tithes Irae did that and worse to Fidelnor.

They bound him in some kind of poisoned iron, forced him into women's clothes, and then they ... ... ...

I am not sure if it's even the right use of the word, but they basically raped him. Physically. And they tortured him mentally with that knowledge, the regularity, and then the unpredictabilities of it. His recounting of their methods made every single man in the chamber cringe. Normally, men joke about that kind of thing. I've seen the aftereffects now and they are not pretty. He kept screaming about the taste and how much his insides hurt, and how it felt awful just to sit down. He did not want to change his clothes, and it took Neesal (of all people) to calm him down and allow Warram to transmute his clothes into something new and clean. And there's more besides.

In hindsight, I have to give the pirates points for hitting upon a surefire way of demoralizing an enemy. Threaten the sanctity of women, you simply raise your enemy's sword for him. Threaten the men as you would the women, and things get frightening. It's just a miracle they didn't parade him through the streets in that dress. It would've broken Anebrilith's will to live from the ground up.

And when we rescued him, Roberts tried to explain that, "It's not gay if it's an Elf!"

Fidelnor had one hand free and while his faith might be broken, I fear his powers were not. Loosed from whatever binds held him, he reduced that pirate's head to a burnt, bloody stain on the ceiling on the other side of the hold. I was impressed at first, but then he started screaming, "Ftaghn human! Ftaghn human!" and tried to visit the same retribution on me. Vara managed to calm him down, but he still reacts with abject terror and disgust whenever I stand in eyeshot of him. I can't say I blame him -- I really don't -- but his use to us has gone through the basement floor and come out somewhere in Kebiras.

Vara has decided to try a stopgap 'fix' for his condition. I have detailed Caesai Maer to the best of my abilities elsewhere in this tome, but I will summarize it here. It'll give me something to do.

Caesai Maer is a Wanderer ritual translating as Zero Step. It resets the skills and certain aspects of the Wanderer's personality to an effective blank slate (with obvious exemptions for what you'd need to get through day-to-day living, and any skills you acquired outside of the Path you took). There's some greater philosophic meaning to it as well, but even after my Insight with Vara, I have no idea what it is. She told me that if you can Wander all Paths, reset yourself one last time, you should become what she termed the Überálf. Today, she also told me that if done properly, it can reset the actual personality of a Wanderer. Or overwrite it. Or something. I don't exactly remember the term she used.

Prior to wandering the Path of Faith, Fidelnor apparently took the Paths of Warrior and Forger, respectively. There's a debate going on in the Enclave over what Path he should be reset to, with the only unanimous decision being that I and my Magi should have no say in it. Vara has removed herself from the voting and Fidelnor is in no condition to make the choice himself. Hessran is leading the pack for Warrior, but he's finding staunch opposition in an apprentice of all people: Deithor. He's the oldest of the three apprentices who let me into the city. Prior to today, I thought him the weakest and certainly nothing special in the ranks of the Wanderers, but I have to say he surprised me.

You really don't expect to see a Drow of any creed arguing for a plan that would remove a powerful combatant from the mix. He justified it rather eloquently by saying, "We have two passing alchemists and a bunch of amateurs who don't know what they're doing. We also have a city to feed and shiploads of stale food. What's one sword to a thousand or more?"

I'm going to try and exercise some pull on Shaul. He seems pragmatic, siding with Hessran's pack more out of personal reasons* than anything else. We'll see.

* Shaul mentioned being around ~150 years old. Average time to walk a Path is supposed to be one century, according to Vara. Judging by the kids, you start the Path as soon as you start walking; Balakai actually said as much. Shaul could be a former Warrior.

Addendum: Persuaded Shaul. The Enclave votes tonight.

Addendum: Forger it is. This will be awkward for a simple reason: You need six people to perform the ritual of Caesai Maer, including the subject, all of whom need to be suitably versed in magic. Taking a Path means that you do not learn how to retake the Zero Step until well past the half-way mark; none of the apprentices have any idea how to do it. None of the Magi have the skill or experience to learn how to perform it or to follow instructions during it.

There are four fully realized Rangers and one Seer who do know.

Guess who that leaves.

Go on.

Gue

"Blueraven?" Nolara asked, jarring the Wizard out of his writings. "Oh. Sorry. It's time."

[Caden Law]

It was awkward.

Put very politely, it was awkward.

When handled properly, when a fully realized Wanderer has reached the end of his or her chosen Path, taking the Zero Step is one of the easiest things in the world, slightly more troublesome than seeing a blue sky or drinking a glass of water off the countertop. The entire ritual is said to be a parable in play: It's a heavily veiled re-enactment of an ancient story about the Raiaeran star-god, Selana, and her quest to preserve the gift and power of Memory until such time as the Elves need it again. Selana alone, more so than Aurient and Galatirion, Earlon and Arddunwë, Cuarye and Megillion, or even the tens of trillions of other star-gods untold who served, acknowledged, or even sopposed them; Selana alone had gone the farthest in exploring the Paths. She'd gone farthest, and she came back, and every time she returned, she had to clear her mind and prepare for the next journey. The endless road.

The Starlit Path.

Selana was the first Wanderer, the one whom all others took their cues from. And though she cleared her mind of the knowledge she gained at the end of every journey, she never truly forgot it. In times of great peril, in moments of profound introspect, when the need was great for any reason, Selana could recollect those past travels and all the knowledge that came with them.

So it was for Selana, so it was for the Wanderers in Starlight who sought to emulate her. The Elf who took the Zero Step was, in effigy if nothing else, the goddess incarnate. The Elves -- and in this case, the Man -- who aided Selana assumed the roles of the other gods.

Caden had a hard time following the details beyond that. Vara and the others chanted in an eldritch tongue that was as familiar to him as archaic latin might be to someone who spoke english as a second language. The Wizard remained silent throughout, too focused to pay attention to the words or to try and copy them. As Vara told him, "You're like the very Magi you seek to train: Tonedeaf. Your human Voice cannot carry a tune, let alone the intricate workings of our rituals. But your mind is sharp and your talents are strong, and even if you can't sing, you can still learn to play an instrument."

At the time, Caden replied to her with, "Do you have any idea how phallic that sounds?"

And now, here he was. Ritually purified -- twice, due to his humanity and dabblings with Necromancy. Holding down the third of six points, symbolically bound to Vara and Nolara. What he lacked in experience and instruction, the Wizard made up for in focused intent: The Wanderers' magic 'moved' one way and he was following it quickly and instinctively enough to 'move' with it. The spell's frequencies changed and Caden was working one step ahead. Like an expert bass player in a classical orchestra, he was out of place and that much better for it.

Fidelnor stood at the center of the star, though his feet weren't actually touching the ground. It had taken a lot of effort to get his clothes off. Twice, he tried to kill Caden in the process. Twice more, he'd settled for just trying to hurt him. Once convinced of the Wizard's relative decency, he was still so leery that he wouldn't even step into the circle until Ranger Apprentice Cessae held a riflestaff at Caden's head and promised, "If he attempts to harm you, I will end him."

She said it with conviction. It was slightly scary. Even if she was jailbait.

There were candles involved in the ritual, shaped from a combination of melted wax, string, harpy fat and alchemy courtesy of Mage Warram. The walls of the chamber, normally the one where all the tunnels met from above and below, were completely covered with arcane musical notes that hurt to look at. After a while, they glowed a ghostly white to compliment the ugly green of the candles, and not long after that the lines forming the six-point star lit up all green and blue, yellow and red.

Reality twisted into knots within the lines, and the knots stretched into shapes and the shapes congealed into detail. Tentacles reaching out of places without names, clawed hands that twisted and bent and reached on joints that were pure abstraction. Remembrance, ancient and new and as personal as it was racial, and even protected by difference in powers and his supposed tonedeafness, Caden felt it caressing the edge of his senses. Like a cat's tongue on the brain, or the passage of air through your mouth. This thing -- this memory -- took his measure and found him wanting. It moved on. Simple as that.

He almost felt insulted, but the relief was greater.

The Wizard looked up from his point in the star and saw Fidelnor slowly consumed in fires that looked and behaved nothing like flame. They were more like the idea of fire as a part of cyclical change, of entropy except somehow in reverse. The Elf's injuries were healing by the second, but his scars wouldn't fade and the stains never left his skin. Some of them grew darker. Pounds of bulk and muscle added themselves to his body, as if it was remembering a time when it actually needed them. His hair darkened by a shade, and his eyes glowed the red and yellow of a blast furnace in action. Fidelnor opened his mouth to sing, but only distant screaming came out.

The ceiling shook. Caden looked to Vara was serenely gazing to Nolara seemed to be having either a religious awakening...or multiple orgasms. Or both. Shaul, Hessran and Fiera were nowhere in sight, though their shadows somehow remained, and somehow seemed to be fashioned from the absence of darkness instead of the absence of light. Caden could still hear them singing. The ceiling shook again.

Someone in the basement was screaming.

And there was an awful laughter to accompany it, like razors edging across a chalk board.

None of the others were stopping. He looked back to Cessae and she, very clearly, had no idea what to do. Caden motioned her forward with a jerky nod, and the girl knelt beside him. He guided her hands into the place of his own, one at a time and with painstaking precision and care at that. She took his place and, very slowly, the Wizard stood. In that moment, he felt the connection to Vara and Nolara break, and felt both of them looking at him with questions they could not ask.

Whispering, Caden told Cessae, "We're under attack. Don't sing. Follow their lead. Do not deviate from it for anything, not even to answer me."

He left them there without another word. There wasn't any time for explanations. Harpies had come to the theater. Judging by the sounds of muskets, spells and monsters proclaiming themselves Men, they had not come alone.