Ashiakin
12-11-07, 09:15 PM
((This quest takes place before the events of the current Featured Quest, more specifically about two weeks before the initial events of Scaling Heaven (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=8834). Closed and solo.))
“You’re familiar with the War of the Sixth School?” asked Iorlan Rathaxea, King of Salvar, as he flipped through a dusty tome in a cramped, windowless library situated snugly in the midst of Castle Rathaxea. The room was crowded with rickety desks and haphazard shelves, all piled high with dusty, yellowed books, their titles printed finely in Raiaeran script. The place, the personal library of the kings of Salvar for Raiaeran literature, had the musty smell of knowledge.
“Yes,” said Ashiakin with a slight smile, looking at the elven paintings draped across the walls. The room was lit by overhanging lamps that, combined with the narrowness of the room, gave the place the air of a cave. “There was once a sixth School of Magic in Raiaera, it concentrated on… darker things. They had their own city and army, more or less, and rebelled and were eventually defeated?”
“Correct,” said the King, closing the book and looking Ashiakin in the eye. He was a young king, only in his mid-forties, though his dark hair was already streaked with gray. “But you also know they were not entirely defeated. The remnants fled here. They made a deal with the king—I cannot recall his name, he was obviously not of my line. They reside to this day in the Warded Wood, doing… research, under our protection.”
Ashiakin snorted and then held out his hand as if in apology. “Protection?” he asked. “You aren’t suggesting that the School of Enarlin needs our protection, are you?”
The king’s fingers trailed through his beard. “Perhaps not quite,” he said. “It’s more that they value the anonymity and secrecy we give them. The fact that they live in an enchanted wood with no fixed location seriously prohibits their destruction. Honestly, there are very few people alive that know they still exist.” The king smiled. “It’s been too long since we spoke with them. With all the recent tensions with the Church… I’d like to know that they’re still loyal to Salvar. I want you to go see them.”
Ashiakin’s eyes widened. It was as if Iorlan had asked him to visit the moon. “What?” he asked incredulously. “You said yourself that the Warded Wood has no fixed location. People tend to find it by wandering into it accidentally and never coming out.”
“We’ve been able to isolate its location temporarily,” the King said. “I don’t think it was just happenstance, either… I think that they knew I needed to speak with them.”
Ashiakin was nervous, but he was trying not to show it. He was able to keep himself steady as Iorlan strode over to a small, wooden door and pulled it open.
Inside there was a forest. A shallow creek cut through the brush in the distance, trees rose impossibly high to blot out most of the sunlight, and a whisper of eerie, orchestral music seemed to slither through to the library. “It’s the Warded Wood,” said Ashiakin breathlessly, feeling as if he were standing on the surface of some distant planet.
“Yes,” said Iorlan, looking at the scene through the door scientifically. “I sent an exploratory team through earlier this morning, four of the smartest scouts I know. Only one of them came back—he was babbling incoherently, looking crazed, talking about burning shadows and winged creatures of metal. He died after a couple of hours. They did an autopsy and found that his lungs had been turned to glass and his brain replaced with a miniature violin, playing the same few notes over and over on its own.
“But he had a few moments of lucidity before he died,” Iorlan continued. “He said that they’d been harmed because they had not been invited. He said that Ashiakin Azzarak had been invited to speak with the Councilor of Enarlin and accept a gift.”
Ashiakin was genuinely shocked and could not longer hide it. “Me?” he asked. “What on earth do they want to speak to me for? What do they want to give me?”
“I don’t know,” said Iorlan. “But Ashiakin… I cannot allow you to refuse an invitation from the School of Enarlin. And I do not think that you really want to. I must ask that you go, and you go now, carrying nothing. I have reason to believe that Enarlin will provide for you… in their own way. You must speak with the Councilor, accept his gift, and ensure that the School of Enarlin still pays tribute to Castle Rathaxea.”
Ashiakin gathered himself, doing his best to keep his hands from shaking. He took a deep bow—something he rarely did with the King in an informal situation. When he rose, he looked Iorlan in the eye. “I will depart now, then,” he said.
The king nodded. “You are my most loyal advisor and friend, Ashiakin. I would not ask you to do this if there was another way. I have no doubt that you will return, and that the knowledge and the power you will bring with you will save this kingdom.”
The king turned away and slowly exited the library. Ashiakin stood for a few moments, looking at the wood through the door, feeling the rapid thump of his heart begin to slow. There was danger, yes. But Iorlan was right—an invitation to view all the knowledge of Enarlin was something that most would never dream of. The things that he would see may very well change the course of his life—and the world—forever.
With his thoughts dominated by such ideas, Ashiakin stepped into another world. The door closed softly behind him like some memory carried away by the wind.
“You’re familiar with the War of the Sixth School?” asked Iorlan Rathaxea, King of Salvar, as he flipped through a dusty tome in a cramped, windowless library situated snugly in the midst of Castle Rathaxea. The room was crowded with rickety desks and haphazard shelves, all piled high with dusty, yellowed books, their titles printed finely in Raiaeran script. The place, the personal library of the kings of Salvar for Raiaeran literature, had the musty smell of knowledge.
“Yes,” said Ashiakin with a slight smile, looking at the elven paintings draped across the walls. The room was lit by overhanging lamps that, combined with the narrowness of the room, gave the place the air of a cave. “There was once a sixth School of Magic in Raiaera, it concentrated on… darker things. They had their own city and army, more or less, and rebelled and were eventually defeated?”
“Correct,” said the King, closing the book and looking Ashiakin in the eye. He was a young king, only in his mid-forties, though his dark hair was already streaked with gray. “But you also know they were not entirely defeated. The remnants fled here. They made a deal with the king—I cannot recall his name, he was obviously not of my line. They reside to this day in the Warded Wood, doing… research, under our protection.”
Ashiakin snorted and then held out his hand as if in apology. “Protection?” he asked. “You aren’t suggesting that the School of Enarlin needs our protection, are you?”
The king’s fingers trailed through his beard. “Perhaps not quite,” he said. “It’s more that they value the anonymity and secrecy we give them. The fact that they live in an enchanted wood with no fixed location seriously prohibits their destruction. Honestly, there are very few people alive that know they still exist.” The king smiled. “It’s been too long since we spoke with them. With all the recent tensions with the Church… I’d like to know that they’re still loyal to Salvar. I want you to go see them.”
Ashiakin’s eyes widened. It was as if Iorlan had asked him to visit the moon. “What?” he asked incredulously. “You said yourself that the Warded Wood has no fixed location. People tend to find it by wandering into it accidentally and never coming out.”
“We’ve been able to isolate its location temporarily,” the King said. “I don’t think it was just happenstance, either… I think that they knew I needed to speak with them.”
Ashiakin was nervous, but he was trying not to show it. He was able to keep himself steady as Iorlan strode over to a small, wooden door and pulled it open.
Inside there was a forest. A shallow creek cut through the brush in the distance, trees rose impossibly high to blot out most of the sunlight, and a whisper of eerie, orchestral music seemed to slither through to the library. “It’s the Warded Wood,” said Ashiakin breathlessly, feeling as if he were standing on the surface of some distant planet.
“Yes,” said Iorlan, looking at the scene through the door scientifically. “I sent an exploratory team through earlier this morning, four of the smartest scouts I know. Only one of them came back—he was babbling incoherently, looking crazed, talking about burning shadows and winged creatures of metal. He died after a couple of hours. They did an autopsy and found that his lungs had been turned to glass and his brain replaced with a miniature violin, playing the same few notes over and over on its own.
“But he had a few moments of lucidity before he died,” Iorlan continued. “He said that they’d been harmed because they had not been invited. He said that Ashiakin Azzarak had been invited to speak with the Councilor of Enarlin and accept a gift.”
Ashiakin was genuinely shocked and could not longer hide it. “Me?” he asked. “What on earth do they want to speak to me for? What do they want to give me?”
“I don’t know,” said Iorlan. “But Ashiakin… I cannot allow you to refuse an invitation from the School of Enarlin. And I do not think that you really want to. I must ask that you go, and you go now, carrying nothing. I have reason to believe that Enarlin will provide for you… in their own way. You must speak with the Councilor, accept his gift, and ensure that the School of Enarlin still pays tribute to Castle Rathaxea.”
Ashiakin gathered himself, doing his best to keep his hands from shaking. He took a deep bow—something he rarely did with the King in an informal situation. When he rose, he looked Iorlan in the eye. “I will depart now, then,” he said.
The king nodded. “You are my most loyal advisor and friend, Ashiakin. I would not ask you to do this if there was another way. I have no doubt that you will return, and that the knowledge and the power you will bring with you will save this kingdom.”
The king turned away and slowly exited the library. Ashiakin stood for a few moments, looking at the wood through the door, feeling the rapid thump of his heart begin to slow. There was danger, yes. But Iorlan was right—an invitation to view all the knowledge of Enarlin was something that most would never dream of. The things that he would see may very well change the course of his life—and the world—forever.
With his thoughts dominated by such ideas, Ashiakin stepped into another world. The door closed softly behind him like some memory carried away by the wind.