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Dec. 23rd, 2019 02:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iniquiticitycast on
leylas krynn, essek theylss
prompt:
Maybe that’s even why Essek trusted him with spells so quickly, because he’d already taught his red haired wizard once before. Maybe that’s why the Bright Queen trusts like she does, because she might not remember, but the man who returned the beacon had already done so in another lifetime, in return for tutelage.
(full prompt: https://iniquiticity.tumblr.com/post/189834460739/well-this-ate-my-brain-cast-on-leylas-krynn )
“Shadowhand,” the Bright Queen said, later, in her personal sanctum.
The shadowhand bowed low, and then lifted his head to look at her. Despite - perhaps because of - she mused, Shadowhand Theylss had contributed greatly in his brief time on the council. Not only in his dunamancy skill, almost but not quite unmatched, but as a strategist as well. There had been some doubts to give such a young drow his position. The shadowhand had proven, again and again, those doubters to be mistaken.
“Did you recognize the human who held the beacon?”
Shadowhand Theylss frowned at her. He shook his head. “No, Your Majesty,” he said, “I have not seen him in any scry, nor have I read any notes that I feel accurately reflected his appearance. I would have expected our forces to note such an unusual group had it previously been relevant and they have not. What we know about Theron and Zayreen’s end did not include them.”
“Thank you,” she said, “You are dismissed. I expect you to attend closely to them.”
“Yes, Your Radiance,” the shadowhand said, and left with a bow.
She closed her eyes. Brushed through the long stream of memories, one life to another. And yet she did not see the human. He did not look very old. She had felt the brush of magic in his spirit, in his equipment. Those things were regular, though. A slightly ragged human arcane practitioner, even one of unimaginable skill - and she had some confidence he was no archmage - should not have felt how he did, how he sat just out of familiarity.
She stood from the sanctum and drew symbols in the air. Touched a gem in her raiment and appeared in the room with the newly recovered beacon. Even to see it again made her chest swell and the tears appear in her eyes. To think it had been gone and now returned to them, and all the cycles that could continue...
She put her hands to it and closed her eyes. The warm swell of it’s power enveloped her, familiar, comfortable. The world past the plane. The unravelled power of the universe that the Luxon permitted, displayed, powered, supported. She allowed her consciousness to drift back, to see the threads of the world, of power, of life. They twisted in and out like a group of serpents.
Found the thread of her. She had only learned that this thread was her upon her last cycle. So many twisted within it, her subjects, those of the empire who raged against her, dark forces in incomprehensible ways. Now, a strange link -- the group. They had become linked when they had discovered the beacon. They twisted off in strange and unusual ways. They returned to her.
One thread had another link. Strange, flickering in and out of un-reality. It tried even to escape being known here. This line wished - need - could be - required - nothing else but to be unknown. And yet she, Leylas Krynn, Bright Queen of the Krynn Dynasty, saw it. She had seen so much, learned so much, lived and died and lived again, cycled and cycle. She saw which did not wish to be seen and she traced it far, back and back until Exandria was a speck, the material plane a thought, the whole planar system could fit in the palm of her hand. And yet the thread sought nothing but to be unknown to her and she would not allow it.
She touched the end of the long, long, long strand. Who was this human, to stretch such incomprehensible limits? Even she could not draw herself in such a way. Had he done so intentionally he would be the most powerful wizard since the Age of Arcanum.
But had he done so intentionally he would not have dressed like a fool and permitted Lythir to see past their ruse. He would not required their assistance to recover the prisoner they wanted. He had enemies that he wanted to remove; had he known his own power he would have not have needed their assistance.
She took a breath without breathing and touched the thread with her spirit. Perhaps he would know.
---- a wave of powerful nausea passed through her despite that she had no body in this exploration. It repelled her. With a startled gasp - an actual breath, because she had a body again -- she took a staggered step back. The wizard’s thread had expelled her from the beacon. Extraordinary.
She could not pursue it now. The war pressed. She would need time for the rituals to touch the Luxon on how she would be required to, to learn more about the wizard. She would find that time.
Later the shadowhand reported that, even for a talented human arcanist, the wizard was a particularly quick dunamancy student. Of course he was, she thought.
The war took up her mind and the adventurers told her about the attack on the other side of the mountains.
As a celebration for capturing the scourger and repelling the attack at the empire garrison she would try to learn about the human again. She told her advisors that she was not to be disturbed for the day or the following day. She knew the magic she would use and the potential good and the potential harm and the potential madness of it. Perhaps it was nothing, and yet she could not ignore what it could be. Could this wizard be a masquerading god or secret champion from another plane? Every time he had an audience, something about him itched at him. There was more.
She went to the beacon and she prayed and she used powerful magic and then she pressed inside. Found the spirits of gods and destinies and threads of fate and time. Saw old doors with no keyholes and massive chains that bound great monstorisites. Saw the wizard’s star blinking, thread shifting and growing and twisting, a glimmer amon the glimmer of life.
Prepared herself, for what cast as a self. Reached with her soul and --
----
the throne and her and the shadowhand and the shadowsybil and --
---- the human wizard again, but alone and worn and ragged, bearing a scar on his face and his head shaved and his eyes deeper and shadowed and not asking about how to save lives --
--- the human wizard alone and showing the beacon and saying i do not understand teach me to understand i have things to meet to remember to grow to return to change to reverse --
-- long long hours of study, the shadowhand’s familiar genius and the wizard who is brilliant beyond brilliant, growing and turning and evolving and surpassing and surpassing and surpassing
long hours of study long hours of study long hours of study long hours of study ---
The wizard is standing in this very room with a beacon and has drawn sigils on all the walls and upon a table has a wealth of spell items, dragon scales and diamond dust and the blood of great demons and the feathers of impossible angels. He has drown lines upon himself, covering old scars with magic lines. He stands at the table and his fingers flick in complicated motions, and the beacon thrums harder and louder and presses into the fragment of her consciousness, impossible pain blistering through her.
The wizard says, “I was not good enough. I will try again. We will do it all again.”
The force of his spell slams through the shadow of her, wrenching her from the moment and into the space inside the beacon and she watches the thread twist out and pull back and start over and the wizard is ragged and young and foul and in a strange prison with sunlight shining through the bars.
----
--- With a gasp she was back to her body and the beacon and she felt the sweat dripping down her neck. Unfamiliar exhaustion and soreness gripped her. Her whole body ached. She took two, three, four breaths.
She sat in her study and freshened up. Called for the shadowhand. He appeared. She must still be showing the signs of wear from the spell, for he did not completely disguise hs concern for her. She would make no other audiences after this.
“Your Radiance,” he said, too quick, “In what matter can I be of assistance?”
“Shadowhand,” she said, “Presuming you were advanced enough in your study of the dunamis, could you turn back time? Say you had made a mistake in a previous century and wished to not make that mistake again.”
The shadowhand looked very puzzled at the question. When she did not elaborate, he thought for several moments on the matter, and spoke again. “With all due respect, the answer is somewhat complicated, my queen.”
She gestured. He did not comment on her shaking fingers.
“Well,” he said, “in one way the answer to the question is no, as you cannot undo things that have been done on such a grand scale. The threads of the woven universe cannot easily become unwoven. To try such a thing could lead to catastrophic destruction.”
“Say, perhaps, you have little care for anything but this work.”
He watched her, cautious, worry in his white eyes. For all his genius he was still a naive child, worrying about her. “Your Radiance, if I may… to what is the end of this line of questioning?”
“You may not, Shadowhand,” she said, meeting his gaze.
The shadowhand cast his eyes to the floor. For all his flaws, and his youth and all the downsides of it, he was a good servant, a loyal servant. A devoted drow in his love for her and for the light and for the dynasty. She had grown more fond of him in his short time than for a number of the generals in all the time she had known them.
“Please accept my apologies,” he said.
“Accepted. Continue.”
He cleared his throat and looked back up at her. “If, I suppose, you had no care for anyone, anything, for the constructed reality of the universe, and all that mattered to do was undoing some past mistake, there is a possibility that you could simply create a new version of the world starting at some place. Consider the world a quilt, and in which you could pull your thread from the quilt and start a new quilt with your thread.”
“The old universe would continue, but it would not seem so to you, or anyone in the new quilt.”
“I do not know how it would… feel, for either group.” The shadowhand frowned at her again, folding his hands behind his back. He was looking away from her thoughtful. “Nor do I know if the spellcaster would recall what you had even done. Such a feat would be impressive for the Age of Arcanum, nonetheless now.”
The human could have. He perhaps would not remember. He did not have the compatriots then, and he had them now. He had begged, this time, for her to do all the terrible things the war required of her.
Perhaps he knew without knowing some future horror. Perhaps she was familiar with him because he had already returned the beacon once before, and only due to her power and clarity and purity of soul could she even sense the smallest hint of it.
He was a quick study in their art because he already was the greatest practitioner to have ever walked Exandria.
“Thank you, Shadowhand,” she said. “That is all.”
There was a beat. He watched her for a second, and then he bowed, and turned.
If the wizard - Caleb Widogast, he was called - had done this, then it was in their best interests to keep him in good spirits. Find new ways to reward him and the compatriots. Keep him an ally of the dynasty and an enemy of the empire. He seemed to have enemies there already, that were perhaps back, as opposed to a previous time when he had destroyed them. He and her people had similar motives and motivations.
So she allowed some delay of the execution of the scourger, and let the shadowhand teleport them halfway across Wildemount twice, and more. Perhaps the thread would grow in useful ways, like it had the first time. Nothing, she knew, was more valuable than the cycle.
leylas krynn, essek theylss
prompt:
Maybe that’s even why Essek trusted him with spells so quickly, because he’d already taught his red haired wizard once before. Maybe that’s why the Bright Queen trusts like she does, because she might not remember, but the man who returned the beacon had already done so in another lifetime, in return for tutelage.
(full prompt: https://iniquiticity.tumblr.com/post/189834460739/well-this-ate-my-brain-cast-on-leylas-krynn )
“Shadowhand,” the Bright Queen said, later, in her personal sanctum.
The shadowhand bowed low, and then lifted his head to look at her. Despite - perhaps because of - she mused, Shadowhand Theylss had contributed greatly in his brief time on the council. Not only in his dunamancy skill, almost but not quite unmatched, but as a strategist as well. There had been some doubts to give such a young drow his position. The shadowhand had proven, again and again, those doubters to be mistaken.
“Did you recognize the human who held the beacon?”
Shadowhand Theylss frowned at her. He shook his head. “No, Your Majesty,” he said, “I have not seen him in any scry, nor have I read any notes that I feel accurately reflected his appearance. I would have expected our forces to note such an unusual group had it previously been relevant and they have not. What we know about Theron and Zayreen’s end did not include them.”
“Thank you,” she said, “You are dismissed. I expect you to attend closely to them.”
“Yes, Your Radiance,” the shadowhand said, and left with a bow.
She closed her eyes. Brushed through the long stream of memories, one life to another. And yet she did not see the human. He did not look very old. She had felt the brush of magic in his spirit, in his equipment. Those things were regular, though. A slightly ragged human arcane practitioner, even one of unimaginable skill - and she had some confidence he was no archmage - should not have felt how he did, how he sat just out of familiarity.
She stood from the sanctum and drew symbols in the air. Touched a gem in her raiment and appeared in the room with the newly recovered beacon. Even to see it again made her chest swell and the tears appear in her eyes. To think it had been gone and now returned to them, and all the cycles that could continue...
She put her hands to it and closed her eyes. The warm swell of it’s power enveloped her, familiar, comfortable. The world past the plane. The unravelled power of the universe that the Luxon permitted, displayed, powered, supported. She allowed her consciousness to drift back, to see the threads of the world, of power, of life. They twisted in and out like a group of serpents.
Found the thread of her. She had only learned that this thread was her upon her last cycle. So many twisted within it, her subjects, those of the empire who raged against her, dark forces in incomprehensible ways. Now, a strange link -- the group. They had become linked when they had discovered the beacon. They twisted off in strange and unusual ways. They returned to her.
One thread had another link. Strange, flickering in and out of un-reality. It tried even to escape being known here. This line wished - need - could be - required - nothing else but to be unknown. And yet she, Leylas Krynn, Bright Queen of the Krynn Dynasty, saw it. She had seen so much, learned so much, lived and died and lived again, cycled and cycle. She saw which did not wish to be seen and she traced it far, back and back until Exandria was a speck, the material plane a thought, the whole planar system could fit in the palm of her hand. And yet the thread sought nothing but to be unknown to her and she would not allow it.
She touched the end of the long, long, long strand. Who was this human, to stretch such incomprehensible limits? Even she could not draw herself in such a way. Had he done so intentionally he would be the most powerful wizard since the Age of Arcanum.
But had he done so intentionally he would not have dressed like a fool and permitted Lythir to see past their ruse. He would not required their assistance to recover the prisoner they wanted. He had enemies that he wanted to remove; had he known his own power he would have not have needed their assistance.
She took a breath without breathing and touched the thread with her spirit. Perhaps he would know.
---- a wave of powerful nausea passed through her despite that she had no body in this exploration. It repelled her. With a startled gasp - an actual breath, because she had a body again -- she took a staggered step back. The wizard’s thread had expelled her from the beacon. Extraordinary.
She could not pursue it now. The war pressed. She would need time for the rituals to touch the Luxon on how she would be required to, to learn more about the wizard. She would find that time.
Later the shadowhand reported that, even for a talented human arcanist, the wizard was a particularly quick dunamancy student. Of course he was, she thought.
The war took up her mind and the adventurers told her about the attack on the other side of the mountains.
As a celebration for capturing the scourger and repelling the attack at the empire garrison she would try to learn about the human again. She told her advisors that she was not to be disturbed for the day or the following day. She knew the magic she would use and the potential good and the potential harm and the potential madness of it. Perhaps it was nothing, and yet she could not ignore what it could be. Could this wizard be a masquerading god or secret champion from another plane? Every time he had an audience, something about him itched at him. There was more.
She went to the beacon and she prayed and she used powerful magic and then she pressed inside. Found the spirits of gods and destinies and threads of fate and time. Saw old doors with no keyholes and massive chains that bound great monstorisites. Saw the wizard’s star blinking, thread shifting and growing and twisting, a glimmer amon the glimmer of life.
Prepared herself, for what cast as a self. Reached with her soul and --
----
the throne and her and the shadowhand and the shadowsybil and --
---- the human wizard again, but alone and worn and ragged, bearing a scar on his face and his head shaved and his eyes deeper and shadowed and not asking about how to save lives --
--- the human wizard alone and showing the beacon and saying i do not understand teach me to understand i have things to meet to remember to grow to return to change to reverse --
-- long long hours of study, the shadowhand’s familiar genius and the wizard who is brilliant beyond brilliant, growing and turning and evolving and surpassing and surpassing and surpassing
long hours of study long hours of study long hours of study long hours of study ---
The wizard is standing in this very room with a beacon and has drawn sigils on all the walls and upon a table has a wealth of spell items, dragon scales and diamond dust and the blood of great demons and the feathers of impossible angels. He has drown lines upon himself, covering old scars with magic lines. He stands at the table and his fingers flick in complicated motions, and the beacon thrums harder and louder and presses into the fragment of her consciousness, impossible pain blistering through her.
The wizard says, “I was not good enough. I will try again. We will do it all again.”
The force of his spell slams through the shadow of her, wrenching her from the moment and into the space inside the beacon and she watches the thread twist out and pull back and start over and the wizard is ragged and young and foul and in a strange prison with sunlight shining through the bars.
----
--- With a gasp she was back to her body and the beacon and she felt the sweat dripping down her neck. Unfamiliar exhaustion and soreness gripped her. Her whole body ached. She took two, three, four breaths.
She sat in her study and freshened up. Called for the shadowhand. He appeared. She must still be showing the signs of wear from the spell, for he did not completely disguise hs concern for her. She would make no other audiences after this.
“Your Radiance,” he said, too quick, “In what matter can I be of assistance?”
“Shadowhand,” she said, “Presuming you were advanced enough in your study of the dunamis, could you turn back time? Say you had made a mistake in a previous century and wished to not make that mistake again.”
The shadowhand looked very puzzled at the question. When she did not elaborate, he thought for several moments on the matter, and spoke again. “With all due respect, the answer is somewhat complicated, my queen.”
She gestured. He did not comment on her shaking fingers.
“Well,” he said, “in one way the answer to the question is no, as you cannot undo things that have been done on such a grand scale. The threads of the woven universe cannot easily become unwoven. To try such a thing could lead to catastrophic destruction.”
“Say, perhaps, you have little care for anything but this work.”
He watched her, cautious, worry in his white eyes. For all his genius he was still a naive child, worrying about her. “Your Radiance, if I may… to what is the end of this line of questioning?”
“You may not, Shadowhand,” she said, meeting his gaze.
The shadowhand cast his eyes to the floor. For all his flaws, and his youth and all the downsides of it, he was a good servant, a loyal servant. A devoted drow in his love for her and for the light and for the dynasty. She had grown more fond of him in his short time than for a number of the generals in all the time she had known them.
“Please accept my apologies,” he said.
“Accepted. Continue.”
He cleared his throat and looked back up at her. “If, I suppose, you had no care for anyone, anything, for the constructed reality of the universe, and all that mattered to do was undoing some past mistake, there is a possibility that you could simply create a new version of the world starting at some place. Consider the world a quilt, and in which you could pull your thread from the quilt and start a new quilt with your thread.”
“The old universe would continue, but it would not seem so to you, or anyone in the new quilt.”
“I do not know how it would… feel, for either group.” The shadowhand frowned at her again, folding his hands behind his back. He was looking away from her thoughtful. “Nor do I know if the spellcaster would recall what you had even done. Such a feat would be impressive for the Age of Arcanum, nonetheless now.”
The human could have. He perhaps would not remember. He did not have the compatriots then, and he had them now. He had begged, this time, for her to do all the terrible things the war required of her.
Perhaps he knew without knowing some future horror. Perhaps she was familiar with him because he had already returned the beacon once before, and only due to her power and clarity and purity of soul could she even sense the smallest hint of it.
He was a quick study in their art because he already was the greatest practitioner to have ever walked Exandria.
“Thank you, Shadowhand,” she said. “That is all.”
There was a beat. He watched her for a second, and then he bowed, and turned.
If the wizard - Caleb Widogast, he was called - had done this, then it was in their best interests to keep him in good spirits. Find new ways to reward him and the compatriots. Keep him an ally of the dynasty and an enemy of the empire. He seemed to have enemies there already, that were perhaps back, as opposed to a previous time when he had destroyed them. He and her people had similar motives and motivations.
So she allowed some delay of the execution of the scourger, and let the shadowhand teleport them halfway across Wildemount twice, and more. Perhaps the thread would grow in useful ways, like it had the first time. Nothing, she knew, was more valuable than the cycle.