Part 2: The meeting of paths

What does it feel like? Thrandimir presses, clearly intrigued now.

Like it's...calling , Ascian responds after a pause. Like I need to find it.

Once inside the washroom, the pair busy themselves with at least looking like they're using the facilities. Listening for the footsteps, Ascian can hear the servant pause briefly outside before continuing down the hall.

The queen mother stares down her nose at Lilliana with cold, examining eyes. "You didn't study?" she asks. "Have you made a pact with some sort of higher power?"  The king interrupts with a laugh. "Mother please, don't treat my guests as if they were one of your projects. I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to ask questions." He turns his gaze to Thezra and Akiran. "Of course, as soon as we're finished with dinner, I'll show you around myself."

Lilliana blinks rapidly, feeling confused and dejected by the sudden dismissal from the woman. “I-“  she started in a small, quiet voice, but thankfully the King’s voice overpowered hers and she need not say anything further. ‘What does she mean? ‘Make a pact with a higher power?’ Does she mean my angel blood? Is that where this comes from?! Did I somehow ask for this? I… don’t understand…’

Katrin watches first Ascian, then Thrandimir stand and exit the room. Her heart beats a little louder in her chest, and she has to remind herself to relax her tightening grip on the delicate stem of the wine glass in front of her. As her grip relaxes, her gaze shifts from her disappearing friends to her cousin, seated towards the end of the table. A conversation with Gernath Blacksmoke of Clan Fireheart would surely prove interesting. And insightful.

The meal continues for a few more minutes. The king laments Ascian and Thrandimir's absence, and orders the mansion staff to escort them to the den when they've finished using the facilities. "Never question how long a man spends in the washroom," the king jokes. "It's his business and his business only." Eventually, he leads the remaining entourage to his study. A wide wooden desk stands centered in front of a massive bay window that overlooks the courtyard behind the house. The outside lanterns cast an warm glow through the window that makes the red-carpeted room feel cozy. A few couches and chairs are set about in a pseudo-conversation circle that surrounds a brick hearth with a crackling fire.  The walls of the study are adorned with a painted portrait of the King's family that includes his wife with no sign of pregnancy, marking it at least two years old, if not older. Additionally, several hunt trophies can be seen. An owlbear, a bear, what looks like an enormous purple tentacle,  a saber-toothed tiger, the head of an enormous reptile with giant, sharp teeth, as well as the head of a green dragon -- one that looks to be a great deal smaller than Krutaelis. Ascian, Ember, and Thrandimir pace through the hallways silently, following the impulse Ascian feels down a level into the cellars. After following the winding white-stone corridors for long enough that both Ascian and Thrandimir are sure that they are no longer under the mansion, but under one of the courtyards, Ascian finds that the impulse is behind the next wall. Following the corridor around the corner, they hope to find a door. But there is nothing. And nothing around the next corner, either. And even after the next. Finally, the trio arrives back to where they started hunting for the door -- but there does not seem to be one at all.

Hefting her own bearskin along with her, Thezra follows the King on his tour of the grounds. The study, with its cultivated coterie of creatures, is suitably regal and cozy at once, and she can't help but take a moment to compare the bear she now held with the one on the wall.  "That's a nice one,"  she nods towards it, "Did you hunt all of these yourself?"  Her eyes pass from the owlbear to the tentacle, stopping on the frighteningly familiar head of the dragon. She shifts uncomfortably, the fear she'd felt just the other day rushing back over her, something she'd thought so fleeting and momentary, but back so quickly. "That. How did you hunt that."

"I had help with some of them," he says. "The dragon? It wandered too close to the Great Divide during my time with the Sojourners. Me and a few others took it down." He gestures to the package that Thezra has been carrying. "Lay that out on the coffee table. I want to see the pelt!"

"Ha!"  she throws the thing down on the table and spreads it out to allow the man to view it better, "it's a tad small compared to that one, but this dinner was on short notice. Went out this morning and tracked him throughout the Dragonvales. Put up an admirable effort, too. Would have a hell of a gash down my throat right now if it'd been a second faster." She points out the slash marks running down the pelt left by her blade. "Not the cleanest kill perhaps but I consider giving a beast a chance at my life fair all things considered." "What's your weapon of choice?" 

Since entering the study, Katrin finds herself looking around the edges of the room, almost distractedly. Thrandimir and Ash had not returned, and it was starting to worry her. And Ash had the scarf. But she couldn't focus on that now. She couldn't give anyone the idea that she had something to hide. She drifts across the room to where her Uncle's cousin, her cousin, was standing. "Business is booming, I hear." She keeps her voice a soft murmur, so as not to disturb the conversation with the King.

Thrandimir's brow crinkles in concentration. There must be more to these passages than meets the eye. Reaching for the weave, he senses that it appears to be reacting properly once more and performs the familiar ritual to analyse the currents of magic around them.

With Thezra distracting the king, Lilli thought perhaps now would be an excellent time to speak with Lady Marabelle about well... whatever that was back in the dining room. She walks over towards the older, imperious woman, giving her a respectful distance. "Milady, could we speak, please?"

"What did you hunt this with, a sword?" the king laughs. "I like your spirit. Let me show you my weapon." The king pulls a gleaming, ornate sword and heater shield from beneath his desk. "Both are ancient Tollanian make. Very strong steel, forged by the dwarves of that time." "Aye, business is good," Gernath says. He glances at her, and visibly deflates. "Look, Katrin, I'm not about to pretend I'm happy about the way things have gone down. Yer family is missed. Without yer da, Ragnerk's been...well...he's startin' to go a wee bit mad." Again, the queen mother seems to stare down her nose at Lilliana, despite being a few inches shorter than her. "So did you make a pact? Is it bloodline magic? How have you come to have these abilities?"

Lilliana frowns a bit as the pretentiousness of Marabelle, feeling both irritated and confused at the same moment. "Well, I don't know how I came to have them. That's why I wanted to speak with someone like you, who seems to know so much. I did not make any pact with something, whatever that means. They just... awoke(?) in my one day and have been a part of me ever since. I wish to know more, but it would seem that such knowledge is restricted in these lands for some reason or another."  

Katrin's carefully crafted expressionless face falters slightly, the corners of her lips twitching downward in a frown. "What do you mean by that? Mad how?"

The king's sword and shield are ornate enough that Thezra's eyes start to widen upon seeing them, tracing a line down the fuller to note an intricate series of unrecognizable carvings inlaid expertly within. Runes . And none that she'd ever seen before, despite all her studies. "These are very impressive," her voice trails a bit as she leans in closer to examine the craftsmanship. "These runes — what do you know of them? Runic carvings are something of a passion of mine, but I've never seen any like this."

As Thrandimir completes his ritual, the wizard's vision floods with pink light that flares brilliantly,  covering everything to the point that he can no longer see the wall in front of them. Pink. Enchantment magic. Thrandimir muses as he squints his eyes against the glare. Whatever the enchantment behind the wall is, it's so powerful that it is overwhelming what the wizard's incantation is capable of revealing. Carefully, he takes a few steps backwards, in the hope that getting some distance from the aura will make it easier to take in. As Thrandimir walks, he just barely glimpses a few specks of brown a short distance along the corridor. Transmutation. That's new. "Ascian, come here,"  the wizard beckons, releasing the divination and fetching a pearl from his spell component pouch. Thrandimir settles down in front of the wall and begins to perform a new ritual. This time one for the identification of magical objects. "Ascian," he continues as he goes through the motions of the incantation, "whatever is on the other side of this wall, it is held in check by enchantment magic stronger than any I have ever seen." The wizard looks up briefly to catch the boy's eye. "Are you sure that we want to open this? I must admit, it is intriguing, and you have my aid come what may, but we are meddling with powers beyond our understanding here." Once the spell completes, five tiny indentations in the wall, otherwise virtually invisible to the naked eye, are illuminated by a pale glow. "Press your fingers here to open the way," Thrandimir explains.

"Hmmm," Marabelle says, adjusting a bracelet on her wrist. Her eyes flash and turn completely grey, from sclera to pupil. Those flat grey eyes study Lilliana for several long moments, then return to distinct sclera, iris, and pupil. "The magic is in your blood. No pact...at least not on your part. As for how it got into your blood, I do not know. Where did you say you were from, girl?" "He's...er...well, the pressures of being the master smith, innovating new designs...it's getting to him. Not to mention that since your da left, there's been power struggle after power struggle. He's managed to fend off most, but he's constantly fighting to maintain his position." "I know very little of them," the king says. "All I know is that the sword hits with an ice cold edge." He sets them atop the desk and then, after a few moments of thought, grabs a stack of blank parchment and a charcoal pencil. "You're welcome to take a rubbing of the runes if you like."

Katrin smothers the desire to laugh. To hear that Ragnerk was struggling with his stolen position was...cathartic, almost. But not completely. She crosses her arms across her chest, her eyes joining her lips in their frown. "I didn't realize things were that bad, back home. You say there are power struggles. With the other clans?"    

Thezra's head pivots sharply to look at the man directly now. "Truly?"  She raises a brow but then pauses, eyes narrowing. What is this human's game?  He'd brought them in — complete strangers — to his own home, provided them with food and showered them with praise. He'd even allowed Thrand and Ash to leave for an increasingly  worrying and suspicious amount of time with little concern, and yet has dodged every attempt to explain why they are here. Now he offers a gift of runes without even being asked?  This was... not what she'd come to expect from outsiders. From anyone, really. In an odd way, the kindness seemed wholly alien to her. "I admit I don't quite understand what this whole evening has been about, King Darius. I appreciate this gift but it feels undeserved."

Lilliana holds Marabelle's gaze while she examines the young woman, looking to see if she detects anything more to this moment that face value. "Timbervale."

We are meddling with powers beyond our understanding here. Ascian stares at the wall and the five glowing points revealed to them, his lips pressed into a thin, pale line. Somewhere, deep inside, he knows the wizard is right – that whatever lies beyond the wall has likely been locked behind it for a reason. But the longer they stand here the stronger the pull becomes; the stronger his need to know  becomes. One look at Ember tells him he at least isn't alone in it – the wolf had been sniffing and whining at the rock for as long as they've been down here. It's comforting, somehow, if not illogical; Ember is as much a part of him as Casimir; of course he feels it too. Briefly, the pendant beneath Ascian's jerkin heats against frigid skin, the glow muffled by the black layered on top of it as he mentally reaches forward. It surprises him when his mind finds nothing on the other side of the wall – no thoughts, no pain, no conscious. Again, in that same deep, faraway corner that knows he will pay for this, he remembers he hadn't been able to feel Krutaelis' either – that some beings are so powerful their thoughts are far out of reach. Krutaelis, who had branded them. Krutaelis, who is owed. He stares hard at the wall for another moment before stepping forward, as resolute as he is sorry. "I need to know." The scarf lies limp against his sternum as he presses cold fingers to the wall, and waits.

Akiran follows the king into the study, his mind slowly whirring as he tries to find the best approach to bring up The Beast. He politely examines the bear pelts, and the sabertooth tiger, his eyes roving over the collection until he sees it. The Dragonborn's body stiffens, his scales flattening as sword hand unconsciously falls to his empty belt. The trophy shared the face of The Beast, smaller but definitely a cursed chromatic mongrel. The conversation passes him by for a moment until he sees the king bring out his rune lined blade. He needs to know how the King brough this monster down. His hand falling to the silk tunic covering Tempus' brand on his chest. He had to convince the King, he has to make him see the threat that the beast poses. Walking over to the pair, he admires the sword for a moment before adding  "An impressive blade your grace."  Gesturing to the chromatic skull  "If you would indulge me, I would be honored to hear more of the tale of your battle against this creature."

"With the other clans, within our own, it's a feckin' nightmare, if you'll pardon mah language," he says. "When we started selling weapons to the Heartlands, I jumped at the chance to be the representative. Anything to get oot o' there." The wall seizes before a small section of it begins to shrink. It grows smaller and smaller until it curls itself into a small, white sphere that gently floats down to rest in a tiny well on the floor. The room inside is simple. White walls, a few old, wooden stools, a few empty torch sconces all surrounding a massive pink crystal, floating in the air at the center of the room. "Timbervale...interesting," she says, seeming to ponder that with a finger to her chin. "How did your powers manifest? Did they..." She trails off as her bracelet, the same one she had adjusted earlier, begins to glow. Her gaze turns to find the King and Darian, who both share a glance with each other. Darian excuses himself and begins heading for the door with some amount of urgency. She clears her throat and returns her gaze to Lilliana. "Did it happen suddenly, or gradually over time?" The king, too, returns his attention to Thezra, and now Akiran. "This dinner is purely a way to say thank you," he says. "This famine was set to destroy this land and any place that relies on it for food, like Hol. My advisors were insistent that something must be done, but we didn't know where to start. You have done very well for this kingdom." He looks up at the dragon head. "Now that," he begins, "Is a helluva story. Have you ever faced a dragon? They're terrifying creatures."

The sense of satisfaction that Katrin had felt at the shortcomings of Ragnerk faded into sadness and a sense of despair for her homeland. It would seem the King's comment on in-fighting had larger implications. Implications that she hadn't bothered to consider. "Our family was together through generations," she says softly, running a hand through her intricately braided curls. "And now it's falling apart." She glances at Gernath. "I still haven't forgiven him for what he did to us. I've tried. But I can't." 

The wall shrivels away and Ascian stares in blank surprise at the crystal lying beyond it – he hadn't known what he'd expected, but it certainly hadn't been this. With a hesitant look at Thrandimir, he slowly unravels the scarf from around his neck before handing it to the wizard. "In case,"  he says simply, before walking forward and pressing his palm to pink.

Gernath nods, his face sympathetic and unsure. "It's a bad business," he says after a few moments. Ascian's fingers touch the crystal, and a fog that he hadn't known was there breaks out of his memory. He sees the map in Marianne's library, and he can really see it this time.   Daerheim. It's been there the entire time. A city. The Heartlands Trivard complete. A forgotten city, lost from the memory of all people for nearly a century.  To the west. Towards the snows in the Shadowfell.  The answer has been staring him in the face this whole time. Daerheim. The forgotten city.

Ascian doesn't withdraw his hand, staring at the pink surface in front of him without blinking. It made sense now, in a way he hadn't thought possible. In a way he hadn't needed Marianne, as Faerus had told him it would be. He'd find his answers on his own. "It's...the city,"  he says slowly to Thrandimir as Ember sniffs hesitantly beside him. "The one I said before. That hurt people. I know where it is."

Akiran shakes his head "Not yet your grace." He leans closer to the king, his voice growing serious  "Though the Monster that I wish to hunt is a chromatic Dragon of similar shade to the one you brought down."     looking back at the head of the Dragon he adds an alluring tone to his voice " Though the monster I hunt is larger in comparison"  I hoped to make use of your experience"  His snout forming smile, & his tone losing a bit of the polish he's put on for the king  "An' only thing that makes good drink betta is a helluva good story!" hefting his glass up before taking a hearty drink.     

Thrandimir stares at Ascian for a moment, furtively glancing back over his shoulder, before stepping forwards and also pressing his hand to the pink crystal.

"Dragons are smart," the king says. "Smarter than you or I. If you give them time, they'll plan circles around you." He describes the story of how he took down the green dragon. He and his sojourners created illusions of a gold-laden cart covering a massive set of gunpowder barrels and arcane flame traps. Then, when the dragon swooped down, they activated the trap and knocked the dragon for a loop. Thrandimir lays his hand on the crystal and he feels a small part of his mind waver, but it seemingly holds. Other than that small tickle, nothing floods Thrandimir's mind. In Ascian's mind, however, a voice creeps in. Ascian. You felt the pull. You knew I would ask you for something, I'm just surprised it came up this quickly. This is one of the many ways they've trapped me. Your brother, too. Rid us of this one and you'll be that much closer to saving him. Faerus' voice sounds faintly amused and filled with anticipation. Do it.

Thrandimir sadly shakes his head. "I don't see it... perhaps if the crystal were broken, it would end the enchantment? For everyone."

“Clever,”  Thezra looks up from copying the rune onto the paper,  “The one we’re after is unlikely to fall for that, no. It has no interest in gold or any such pointless material wealth. It seeks something far more valuable.”  Finishing the rubbing she stands and locks eyes with the king. “That which you cannot afford to lose.”

Ascian's hand stills against the crystal before it curls. Your brother, too. Nothing in his life has ever seemed so simple. "We have to break it," he agrees with fervent urgency, smashing his fist against the prism with enough force to split the skin spread taut across his knuckles. "We have to help."

RisenZed said: "Timbervale...interesting," she says, seeming to ponder that with a finger to her chin. "How did your powers manifest? Did they..." She trails off as her bracelet, the same one she had adjusted earlier, begins to glow. Her gaze turns to find the King and Darian, who both share a glance with each other. Darian excuses himself and begins heading for the door with some amount of urgency. She clears her throat and returns her gaze to Lilliana. "Did it happen suddenly, or gradually over time?" Lilliana goes still for a moment as the memory erupts to the front of her consciousness; the hand upon her shoulder, the terror, and the screams of agony... the ruined stump of a destroyed arm spurting blood... She smiles politely as Marabelle. "Quite suddenly, but you say the power is in my blood? Like from my family? They never told me we were special." 'That's a lie.'

"Alright..." Thrandimir considers, stepping back and gripping his staff. The wizard's magic isn't usually especially destructive, but he does have one tried and true trick up his sleeve. "Here goes nothing!" He growls as he weaves a spell that Ascian might recognise as Thrandimir's common fallback in combat - magic missile.

As Thrandimir unleashes his missiles at the crystal, Ascian looses a necrotic bolt. As the magical projectiles connect, the crystal splinters, cracks spidering across its surface. For a moment, it seems as though the crystal will hold together. Then green light fills the cracks and pulses brightly, sending the pieces flying in every direction. The wizard is quick to weave an arcane shield for himself, but Ascian catches the full brunt of the blast, pieces ripping into his clothes and flesh.  The pink pieces fall to the ground, their glow fading. Ascian's eyes glaze over. He hear's Faerus' voice in his head, laughing -- almost maniacally. Thank you, my boy. We'll talk soon. Images flash. A city with the sun setting over the ocean. An elf. Faerus. An experiment. A ritual. A wave of darkness washing over the city, pulling power from...somewhere. A dark place. Now an empty place. An army of armored knights and robed casters, fighting with sword and spell and fist. Faerus cut down, stabbed through the eye with an arrow. He rises again, his remaining eye glowing a bright green. A man, a Karnathi. He rides on horseback. His face revealed...Kaed? Not Kaed. Older. He slashes down with a gleaming sword and takes Faerus' hand.  I should never have trusted you, Vance. That is no longer my name, Kastiel. I have a new one now. Pink crystals. In a great, tiered city crossed with rail-like structures. In The Crossroads. In Bresselvik. In a city in the trees. In a city beneath the mountains. Forgetting. Fading. A solitary man, cloaked and hooded. With a single glowing green eye, standing atop a tower. "Very likely from your family, unless you're in the habit of getting recreation transfusions..." "Fascinating...where did you encounter this dragon?" The queen mother and the king both trail off as what feels like a faint gust of air blows through the study. Most everyone looks around strangely at each other, unsure what had happened. General Trask's hand drops to her sword before relaxing, and Gernath looks around, too. The king, queen mother, and Governor Regis lock wide eyes with each other, raised in mutual, horrified understanding. For Katrin though, it's different. She can see, plain as day, the place on the map where the forgotten city lies. Every single map she's seen has it, but nobody seems to acknowledge it. Nobody knows about it. A third branch of the Heartlands Trivard. Until now. The quick thuds of running footsteps can be heard rapidly approaching where Thrandimir and Ascian stand, still wavering from the blast.

The shift in the atmosphere of the room is quick but noticeable, and as Thezra started to respond to the king her voice trails off. “What was that?”  No sooner had the words left her mouth than an answer formed in her mind, her eyes trailing over everyone present in the room. And everyone not.

Ascian staggers back, his flesh stinging and his eyes glassy. Faerus' voice interweaves between the images still replaying behind his eyes; a myriad of green and pink and black and Kaed . Or not Kaed. Someone who looks enough like his friend to reopen the wound of his leaving. A wound eclipsed only by Faerus' gratitude; by the thought that this one, small thing might have made Casimir safe. Tonight, tonight, tonight. "It's not...I don't...did you see that," he asks Thrandimir in a daze, slowly turning to look at the wizard as he tries to comprehend what he'd seen. It feels almost like a beat too late that he processes the footsteps thudding toward them – a sound that momentarily clears his vision, if not his thoughts.  "Disappear. If you can. You can still help her. With the scarf."  He looks down at Ember, who he hasn't been without since the day he'd damned him. Whose fur is cut and littered with pink shards. "Ember too. If you're able."

Rattled by the ghostly wind Akiran's hand falls a swordless belt and shouts "Da fuck was that?" His voice taking on it's usual salty timbre, completely losing the pretentious tone he'd been using throughout the night. Looking to the King "Ya alright...." His voice dipping back into polish "Your grace?"

Katrin takes a slight step, steadying herself on a nearby bookshelf as the name of the forgotten city reappears on the map. On every map. It wasn't that it had appeared out of nowhere, no. It was there the whole time. She just hadn't been able to see it. But why? And why can I see it now?  At a sudden thought, Katrin goes cold. Ash. Thrandimir. Where the fuck are they? Did they do this? Did they...are they...those idiots! 

The same strange sensation washes over Thrandimir's mind and he shakes his head both to dispel it and in answer to his friend. "Of course," the wizard assures Ascian as the boy crouches to embrace his wolf. Immediately, Thrandimir begins to weave a spell of invisibility for both him and Ember, who slowly fades from sight in Ash's arms.

The king sighs and drops his hands to the table. "Hasn't happened for two decades," he says wearily. He looks up at the Fireblades and gives them a sad smile. "General Trask, you're dismissed. Smith Gernath, please return to your quarters if you would. You as well, Lord Regis." He then turns his gaze to the guards at the door to the study. "Guards, please escort the Fireblades to the main hall and hold them there. I'm afraid the tour has concluded." Thrandimir and Ember sneak out and plaster themselves to the wall as a contingent of five guards wearing the colors of the kingdom led by Lord Protector Darian -- all armed with swords and spears -- turn the corner. They rush past the wizard and wolf into the chamber. Ascian is standing where the crystal used to be, having just pocketed one of the crystal shards when the guards round the corner. "Hold it right there," Darian says as he enters the room. His eyes dark around, taking in the shattered crystal on the ground. "What have you done?" he says, aghast. "Seize him." The guards begin to move in on Ascian, spears outstretched. Then, something strange happens. The air between Ascian and the guards twists and shimmers, revealing a black-clad a woman, her hooded face lit only by the purple spell she was weaving in her hands.  Marianne, her face hard, her violet eyes even harder. "Ascian," she hisses. She seizes the young man and they both blink out of existence.  End of part 2.