Prison did not suit Viren.
He had been woken once, told to expect company, and found one of his butterflies had come his way. Aaravos must have found a way to call it, or else knew when to wake him so he could catch it, crush it, and allow his appearance to return to something palpable for humanity to digest, for they were unable to accept the form that dark magic had given him. The visual sacrifices he had made for their sake caused them to revile him.
Claudia and Soren had been his guests, arriving with accusations about what he may or may not have told Soren to do. Naturally, he denied it, although he’d had an instinct to tell them the truth, Aaravos counseled otherwise – that strange elf who Viren remained uncertain about trusting.
Especially then, as he woke to his absence, with dusk settling.
His sleeping schedule had gone to hell, but what else was he supposed to do in prison?
‘So, you did lie to me.’ Aaravos promised to stay with him, but he was nowhere in sight now.
The thought came as he clenched his fists, arms resting on his knees, frustrated with the situation he found himself in. His children were wary of him. Even if Claudia had believed him, he knew, deep down, Soren was hurt. He knew that, too, would impact Claudia. He buried his face in his hands. ‘Damnit.’ How did this go so wrong?
Well, obviously, by Harrow not listening to him.
And then by Soren and Claudia failing their respective missions to kill the princes, and bring back the dragon, of course.
Then the Pentarchy not listening to reason. The only thing good that may have come of this, was Ezran returning. If Opeli had been left in charge, his head would be severed from his neck already, but Ezran had a…soft-touch. He did not despise the boy for it. Harrow, too, had a soft-touch. It was something Viren had loved about him, even when it frustrated him to no end.
Right now, it was all that stood between him and death.
Ezran might just exile him. ‘What then?’
He curled his fingers into his scalp, frustration eating at him. What could he do to better things with Claudia and Soren?
What could he do to avoid exile? How did he convince Ezran the war was necessary, Xadia was a threat, and that dragonling he’d been escorting was a danger to all of them?
‘Patience.’ Everything was supposedly set in motion, if the missing Aaravos could be trusted – which, of course, he couldn’t be. He had admitted as much. Frustration caused him to groan aloud, before he heard the sounds of additional steps.
They were too heavy to be Opeli, or Ezran, not that he expected to see Ezran soon.
Too light to be Soren, as well.
Viren lowered his hands and lifted his head just in time to see coins hit the hands of the guard, and hear the clink of them, suggesting it was not a light sum, before a figure in red strode towards the bars, “High Mage Viren,” he addressed, and Viren squinted through the darkness as torches were brought forward, illuminating the face of the hooded figures, and others behind.
Viren rose without speaking.
“I have brought some people who wish to speak with you,” the man stated, before stepping back, allowing a couple of people to step forward.
The first to lower their hood was not a familiar figure to Viren, but they looked enough like King Ahling with his dark skin and cut of his face for Viren to guess that he immediately had to be Prince Kasef – the poor son who apparently didn’t know words as long as Queen Aanya knew…and who still argued about eating his vegetables.
‘Never mind that.’ This was…a very good sign, actually. They were here to see him, which meant they were here in Katolis, because the threat from Xadia had become very real to them. His assassination plan had worked.
“Prince Kasef,” he greeted, deciding not to second-guess himself on who it was. The glint of approval at being recognized was enough to suggest that was the right answer. As was the touch of shock.
That was genuine, though. He hadn’t been expecting a response so soon, and certainly not like this. If they were here, it meant they weren’t getting answers they liked from Ezran.
His gaze shifted to the other, wondering who else seemed to be struggling with Prince Ezran’s answers about the Xadian threat, holding back any sense of sudden smugness and relief he felt as he did so, his poise remaining – along with some genuine shock that people had come to him, admittedly.
~***~
“Please, King Dieter – trust me.”
The armies of Del Bar waited less than ten miles from the castle of Katolis, because King Dieter decided to trust the woman who had borne witness to the death of King Florian. She was not the sole witness, or perhaps she would have been suspect, but she was the one who now urged caution in approaching Katolis because of that incident, although she would not explain – other than there appeared to be a connection that the Sun showed her.
She had to make sure it was safe.
‘I have to know his intentions.’
That was what the woman could not tell Dieter as she slipped off her stallion, leaving it in Neolandia’s camp. She briefly met with Prince Kasef, who was in a rage over his father’s assassination attempt, and more, in a rage over Viren being imprisoned and Ezran not “having the guts” to go to war.
The change was startling, and not at all what Alette anticipated, but that was going to make her job significantly easier. Viren couldn’t protect his study, and that was exactly where Alette wanted to go.
So, Alette donned her gray robe and made her way to the castle on foot from the Neolandia campsite. The robe blended in with the stones and bricks as she reached the castle, and slipped inside. Of course, the robe was far from ordinary, touched with dark magic as it was to shield the wearer from notice. It also helped that the castle itself was too busy to concern itself with yet another new arrival, given how many kingdoms and their armies had arrived after the attack.
‘The lie.’
The truth was hidden, but nothing is ever really hidden from the sun, even if it happens under moonlight. After all, the moon gets its light from the sun, and passes her secrets on eventually. So it was the mage slipped into familiar quarters, shown to her once upon a time by Viren, and lowered her hood at last, revealing a head of white hair and nearly white skin, with dark markings, mostly around her eyes, but also extending from her fingers, beyond her wrists, and a few other joints.
The people of Del Bar knew her as colorful. She had met Kasef with her pink hair, but had stripped herself of it after leaving. That image was a pretty lie, although High Mage Alette Solana was not bothered by the truth, she only knew how the truth impacted her relationships with others. She also knew it was pointless to wear the lie here; the magic she would likely have to use to get the answers she wanted would strip her of the lie soon enough, anyways.
The room gave up no secrets on its own, save the strange mirror, which Alette did approach, looking over the golden mirror. There were runes upon it, draconic, some familiar to Alette, but others… ‘No, they’re just…reversed and flipped, like a mirror.’ The left side and the right side held the same runes, but the one at the top and bottom were different. None of it told her what the point of the mirror was, though, and she quickly shook her head.
Likely, not important.
“All right, Viren,” she murmured, taking her bag off of her shoulder and crouching down as she began to take out the items she needed, including shadowpaw fur, ink made with plumeria petals, and of course, the primal stone which had been concealed in the bag.
She drew the runes on the ground in the ink, before sprinkling the fur onto them, murmuring the spell, “srellik s’nairolF – thurt eht kees.” Her eyes took the purple glow of dark magic as the ink began to smoke, and then caught on flame with another word of power and the primal stone, that lit it on fire.
The smoke filled the room, the incense clearing her memory, but also touching on the memory of everything in the room, and going through its history, seeking the truth, as she commanded, to Florian’s killer…or killers, as she suspected. The smoke would begin to weave the story as it latched onto it, for Alette knew it was within the month, and play the scene back.
And indeed – it showed Viren gathering the items he needed to make the assassins.
It carried his voice.
He was talking to someone, but their image did not manifest in the smoke, nor did their voice tremble it. ‘Has Viren gone mad?’ That was worrisome, and Alette approached the smoky memory of Viren, seeking an answer as he addressed someone not there, someone who’s voice didn’t carry in the smoke, nor did their presence. ‘No, no, I saw someone else, an elf. Where are they then?’ Moonshadow elves could become invisible, were they invisible when they spoke to Viren? ‘Then how do you explain not hearing them?’
Damnit.
‘Should have known this wouldn’t be easy.’ But at least now she could see Viren grabbing items, and her mind put together what sort of spell he had used, so now she knew for certain he did it. But why? For an elf – their supposed enemy? It made no sense.
He had been woken once, told to expect company, and found one of his butterflies had come his way. Aaravos must have found a way to call it, or else knew when to wake him so he could catch it, crush it, and allow his appearance to return to something palpable for humanity to digest, for they were unable to accept the form that dark magic had given him. The visual sacrifices he had made for their sake caused them to revile him.
Claudia and Soren had been his guests, arriving with accusations about what he may or may not have told Soren to do. Naturally, he denied it, although he’d had an instinct to tell them the truth, Aaravos counseled otherwise – that strange elf who Viren remained uncertain about trusting.
Especially then, as he woke to his absence, with dusk settling.
His sleeping schedule had gone to hell, but what else was he supposed to do in prison?
‘So, you did lie to me.’ Aaravos promised to stay with him, but he was nowhere in sight now.
The thought came as he clenched his fists, arms resting on his knees, frustrated with the situation he found himself in. His children were wary of him. Even if Claudia had believed him, he knew, deep down, Soren was hurt. He knew that, too, would impact Claudia. He buried his face in his hands. ‘Damnit.’ How did this go so wrong?
Well, obviously, by Harrow not listening to him.
And then by Soren and Claudia failing their respective missions to kill the princes, and bring back the dragon, of course.
Then the Pentarchy not listening to reason. The only thing good that may have come of this, was Ezran returning. If Opeli had been left in charge, his head would be severed from his neck already, but Ezran had a…soft-touch. He did not despise the boy for it. Harrow, too, had a soft-touch. It was something Viren had loved about him, even when it frustrated him to no end.
Right now, it was all that stood between him and death.
Ezran might just exile him. ‘What then?’
He curled his fingers into his scalp, frustration eating at him. What could he do to better things with Claudia and Soren?
What could he do to avoid exile? How did he convince Ezran the war was necessary, Xadia was a threat, and that dragonling he’d been escorting was a danger to all of them?
‘Patience.’ Everything was supposedly set in motion, if the missing Aaravos could be trusted – which, of course, he couldn’t be. He had admitted as much. Frustration caused him to groan aloud, before he heard the sounds of additional steps.
They were too heavy to be Opeli, or Ezran, not that he expected to see Ezran soon.
Too light to be Soren, as well.
Viren lowered his hands and lifted his head just in time to see coins hit the hands of the guard, and hear the clink of them, suggesting it was not a light sum, before a figure in red strode towards the bars, “High Mage Viren,” he addressed, and Viren squinted through the darkness as torches were brought forward, illuminating the face of the hooded figures, and others behind.
Viren rose without speaking.
“I have brought some people who wish to speak with you,” the man stated, before stepping back, allowing a couple of people to step forward.
The first to lower their hood was not a familiar figure to Viren, but they looked enough like King Ahling with his dark skin and cut of his face for Viren to guess that he immediately had to be Prince Kasef – the poor son who apparently didn’t know words as long as Queen Aanya knew…and who still argued about eating his vegetables.
‘Never mind that.’ This was…a very good sign, actually. They were here to see him, which meant they were here in Katolis, because the threat from Xadia had become very real to them. His assassination plan had worked.
“Prince Kasef,” he greeted, deciding not to second-guess himself on who it was. The glint of approval at being recognized was enough to suggest that was the right answer. As was the touch of shock.
That was genuine, though. He hadn’t been expecting a response so soon, and certainly not like this. If they were here, it meant they weren’t getting answers they liked from Ezran.
His gaze shifted to the other, wondering who else seemed to be struggling with Prince Ezran’s answers about the Xadian threat, holding back any sense of sudden smugness and relief he felt as he did so, his poise remaining – along with some genuine shock that people had come to him, admittedly.
~***~
“Please, King Dieter – trust me.”
The armies of Del Bar waited less than ten miles from the castle of Katolis, because King Dieter decided to trust the woman who had borne witness to the death of King Florian. She was not the sole witness, or perhaps she would have been suspect, but she was the one who now urged caution in approaching Katolis because of that incident, although she would not explain – other than there appeared to be a connection that the Sun showed her.
She had to make sure it was safe.
‘I have to know his intentions.’
That was what the woman could not tell Dieter as she slipped off her stallion, leaving it in Neolandia’s camp. She briefly met with Prince Kasef, who was in a rage over his father’s assassination attempt, and more, in a rage over Viren being imprisoned and Ezran not “having the guts” to go to war.
The change was startling, and not at all what Alette anticipated, but that was going to make her job significantly easier. Viren couldn’t protect his study, and that was exactly where Alette wanted to go.
So, Alette donned her gray robe and made her way to the castle on foot from the Neolandia campsite. The robe blended in with the stones and bricks as she reached the castle, and slipped inside. Of course, the robe was far from ordinary, touched with dark magic as it was to shield the wearer from notice. It also helped that the castle itself was too busy to concern itself with yet another new arrival, given how many kingdoms and their armies had arrived after the attack.
‘The lie.’
The truth was hidden, but nothing is ever really hidden from the sun, even if it happens under moonlight. After all, the moon gets its light from the sun, and passes her secrets on eventually. So it was the mage slipped into familiar quarters, shown to her once upon a time by Viren, and lowered her hood at last, revealing a head of white hair and nearly white skin, with dark markings, mostly around her eyes, but also extending from her fingers, beyond her wrists, and a few other joints.
The people of Del Bar knew her as colorful. She had met Kasef with her pink hair, but had stripped herself of it after leaving. That image was a pretty lie, although High Mage Alette Solana was not bothered by the truth, she only knew how the truth impacted her relationships with others. She also knew it was pointless to wear the lie here; the magic she would likely have to use to get the answers she wanted would strip her of the lie soon enough, anyways.
The room gave up no secrets on its own, save the strange mirror, which Alette did approach, looking over the golden mirror. There were runes upon it, draconic, some familiar to Alette, but others… ‘No, they’re just…reversed and flipped, like a mirror.’ The left side and the right side held the same runes, but the one at the top and bottom were different. None of it told her what the point of the mirror was, though, and she quickly shook her head.
Likely, not important.
“All right, Viren,” she murmured, taking her bag off of her shoulder and crouching down as she began to take out the items she needed, including shadowpaw fur, ink made with plumeria petals, and of course, the primal stone which had been concealed in the bag.
She drew the runes on the ground in the ink, before sprinkling the fur onto them, murmuring the spell, “srellik s’nairolF – thurt eht kees.” Her eyes took the purple glow of dark magic as the ink began to smoke, and then caught on flame with another word of power and the primal stone, that lit it on fire.
The smoke filled the room, the incense clearing her memory, but also touching on the memory of everything in the room, and going through its history, seeking the truth, as she commanded, to Florian’s killer…or killers, as she suspected. The smoke would begin to weave the story as it latched onto it, for Alette knew it was within the month, and play the scene back.
And indeed – it showed Viren gathering the items he needed to make the assassins.
It carried his voice.
He was talking to someone, but their image did not manifest in the smoke, nor did their voice tremble it. ‘Has Viren gone mad?’ That was worrisome, and Alette approached the smoky memory of Viren, seeking an answer as he addressed someone not there, someone who’s voice didn’t carry in the smoke, nor did their presence. ‘No, no, I saw someone else, an elf. Where are they then?’ Moonshadow elves could become invisible, were they invisible when they spoke to Viren? ‘Then how do you explain not hearing them?’
Damnit.
‘Should have known this wouldn’t be easy.’ But at least now she could see Viren grabbing items, and her mind put together what sort of spell he had used, so now she knew for certain he did it. But why? For an elf – their supposed enemy? It made no sense.