Part 1: A Dark Night in the City of Whistling Glass

 

It's a dark, moonless night out on the sands of the Komodori, as you approach a familiar, homely sight. You've been traveling some time, alone with your thoughts and memories, but now a shimmering blue light blooms on the horizon. The City of Whistling Glass. You'd visited it often in your years with the Mage Guard, and knew the history of it well.

 

There used to be massive Thri-Keen tunnels there, great insect beasts. Legend had it that once upon a time, a great, blue dragon electrified their lair for offending her. When she dragged out the remains, it looked like limbs of a great glass tree. The town now sits in its "shade" beneath the tinkling branches. You hear a strange sound in the air which only becomes more noticeable as you come closer. As the desert breeze reaches the glass trunk, it makes a dull, magical whistle. Its both melodic and haunting, and makes your soul ache.

 

Townspeople hang strange orb lanterns all over the branches, wherever reflected light from the sun normally shines in. Each lantern seems to be holding the light inside small batteries, and the whole tree glows this evening. People chatter and tinkling instruments play as a gypsy caravan entertains travelers. Gnolls dance in bright, colorful ribbons and costumes, covered with rings on their fingers and bells on their ankles.

 

Alrik sighs and pulls his hood up in an attempt to hide his identity. If he's known anywhere as a hero or near demigod status, it's in this blasted sand pit. Rumors of "The Tempest" have become all but bedtime stories for children.

 

"Steady, boy. No threats here." He mutters to Whyrvoar, his war rhino he sits atop of, whom snorted. More than likely due to sensing Alrik's attitude shift than anything. As he draws to the outskirts of the city, he braces himself for the inevitable of someone recognizing him.

 

Some heads turn to look at Whyrvoar--though his kind is not uncommon to see in and around the cities of the Komodori. War rhinos are used by both sides of the war, after all. You see some people squinting to try to discern any markings of faction or allegiance upon you. It may be one of the new neutral cities, but The City of Whistling Glass brought with it many spies, agents, and recruiters as well. Many people flit in and out of sight, bundled up in scarves, hoods, turbans and capes.

 

It's dark enough under your own hood that, aside from a general curiosity, most people leave you be. Well, except for the gnolls--their gypsy bells and ribbons twirl around you and Whyrvoar as they dance, enjoying using you in part of their act and drawing more coin to their donation trays. Giggles and laughter ring around you in the friendly flash of their teeth and bright, feral eyes.

 

You look around in more detail. A stabling area is monitored at the end of the street by a grisly looking old man, offering to watch horses for a few coin. The city itself is in a festival almost, with citizens and travelers meandering through the wide streets and visiting the glowing mage-light stalls and pitched tents. The earthy floral smell of the creosote and late-blooming wildflowers mingles in the chill air with the warm sizzle of skewered food and perfumed fabrics. 

 

Whyrvoar rumbles beneath you as he grinds his teeth, grumbling. The streets are wide enough for him of course, and he's used to the noises of war--he's still picking up your almost ever-present tension, knowing to not let his guard down. He snorts again as a crowd passes in front of him, one cloaked figure trailing behind the others with quick, lithe steps, moving like their shadow.

 

Alrik slides off the side of the rhino and grabs the reins, leading him toward the stables. "Let's get you somewhere comfortable with some food." He gently pats the beast's neck before walking on towards the man. After a quick exchange of words and coin, Alrik makes his way into the city. His least favorite place in existence. Densely populated areas. It's times like this he missed his little cabin on the outskirts of Dragonshore... "Kid better have not burnt it down." He mutters to himself, thinking of his once-apprentice, now full-fledged member of the Mage Guard.

 

Heading deeper into the city, he notices the crowds gathering as a street performer dances, smelling and seeing the pale green, all-too-familiar magic, of The Scourge... the reason he trekked all this way from the Citadel... Nathbryn T'sossz. Rolling his eyes he watches for a moment as she flits about the stage, dancing with an ethereal serpent coiling around her body and obeying her movements. Spiraling around her outstretched arm before descending down her torso and one leg, then back up the other and repeating the pattern with her other arm. He chuckles. She always did have a way with the masses. Her and the rest of the Elite, with the exception of himself and The Corpse... that is. Content he will meet her at the agreed upon time and location, he decides to find himself a room, and makes his way off the artery roads and into the smaller, almost alleyway side streets.

 

Finally coming across the district he's more comfortable in, he makes his way to a place he's stayed a few times. The reddish-pink hue of the magelight illuminating the entryway gives everything a soft & welcoming glow. The Storm Caller makes note of the name and scoffs to himself. "Those bastards couldn't help but expand..."

 

The Velvet Fang. Seems the prince and the goat have been busy. As he makes his way to the door, his stomach reminds him he hasn't eaten since breakfast, and Alrik decides to find food prior to a bath and bed. Luckily, the little cafe he likes is still here.

 

The Tempest makes his way over to the Saffron Kettle and takes a seat out on the patio. A seat in the corner of the small fenced in courtyard, of course. Pulling his cigarette case from his pocket and lighting one with a small arc between his fingers.

 

You can see through the windows that the Saffron Kettle is cozy and welcoming as ever. Soft-wood planks make up make up most of the building's outer structure, carted in long ago from the Northern shores of the Komodori. The trees there grew fast and paired well with the sandstone and adobe of the inner cities, however from the time and weather the beams have been bleached white and re-stained their signature saffron yellow more times than you can count. The aroma of their signature teas drift through the open windows into the courtyard to you as you take a long, deep pull on your cigarette. It's a rare moment of peace.

 

A tabaxi with golden fur bustles past the door, almost missing you over in the corner and under your signature hood. She quickly doubles back to the patio. After a friendly greeting full of purrs and niceties, she asks you what you would like to order.

 

Alrik feeling slightly at ease here, lowers his hood and gives the tabaxi a smile. "Just tell the chef that The Tempest is here and would like his usual. Jasmine tea also, please." He nods as she does a quick gasp at the reveal of his identity and places a finger to his lips. "I know, it's me. Don't worry, I just like the food here." He says with a smile.

 

The girl giggles and walks briskly back inside. Laughter and chatter filters out past her. You relax into your chair once again with another pull of your cigarette.

 

The street is quieter here, with decidedly fewer patrons from the festivities in the center of town. You people watch as they go by, enjoying the cool air, the smoke, and the smell of tea.

 

Movement catches your eye. At first you think it is the waitress again, but you see it is another patron exiting the main room and finding refuge on the patio. A woman in a cloaked hood, she carries with her a plate of warm biscuits and a notebook, finding a seat with her back against the building and in eyesight of the door. She doesn't seem to take notice of you, really, other than a cursory glance of her copper eyes. She wraps herself up a bit more, carefully closing out the chill as if a bird with its feathers. She looks familiar--the cloak, the form--perhaps she was the one who ran across your war rhino's path earlier.

 

Taking a bite of one of the biscuits, she flips her book open on the table and, producing a quill from almost nowhere up her sleeve, begins writing small, intricate notes.

 

"Here you are, sir! The cook sends her regards, and hopes you enjoy your usual order." The tabaxi returns, careful not to say your infamous name but still school-girl giddy. Upon the table, she places a steaming dish of braised short ribs and sautéed cactus and potatoes, as well as a cup and a full teapot of sweet jasmine tea. The floral smell blends well with the spicy sweetness wafting off the food.

 

Alrik nods his thanks and hands her a few silver coins. "Thank you, smells great." He takes a sip of the tea and smiles slightly. While his food cools down enough he can eat, he leans back and continues sipping his tea, the scar on his face seems to catch the light and glint slightly. To the trained eye, it's actually emitting a low glow as the energy the Mage had muscle-memory built up within himself in case he needed it.

 

He glances around as he absentmindedly fidgets with the ring on his hand, the 5 stones within it glimmering with magic to those who know what to look for. Looking at the newcomer on the patio, he makes a mental note that she could be the same cloaked figure he saw earlier and can't help but wonder if her appearance here is happenstance or if she's following him. His guard raises slightly, but he isn't willing to risk his meal over a possible coincidence.

 

The woman continues to write, but on occasion, you glance up... and your eyes meet. Every time she quickly looks away, or acts as if she was staring beyond you. Something continually draws her attention your way. Your infamy? Your scar, perhaps? You do not feel threatened in any way, although there is a strange, tickling feeling at the edges of your consciousness; as if there are shadows brushing up against you in the night, processing you and studying you and circling you like little minnows. You look up again. She continues to write, tucking a loose curl of coppery hair back within her hood. Were her eyes on you again before that moment? Perhaps. She takes another bite of a biscuit. Tapping the end of her quill against her chin, she seems contemplative as she writes out the next part of whatever discourse this is before her. Your eyes catch her sideways glance again, and you feel a static electricity in the air. Perhaps there are storm clouds building on the mountains.

 

Alrik rolls his head side to side, his neck cracking as he does. He continues to eat, savoring the meal and tea but continues to wonder what the reason is that his senses aren't letting him attempt to relax. Throughout his dinner, he cautiously glances around, his eyes always lingering slightly when it comes to the strange woman. Why is she writing in that book and more importantly, what is she writing? Is she writing about him? Does she know who he is? Is she one of those authors that writes the fictional tales, or worse, the lewd stories regarding the Elite that are circulating throughout the cities with a large Mage Guard presence?

 

Finished with his food, he neatly stacks the utensils and glassware, pulling the teapot and cup nearer to him and takes another sip of his tea before producing his silver cigarette case and retrieving one from it. Once again lighting it with a small static charge of the purple-blue lightning arcing between his fingertips as he forms them into a V-shape. Taking a long drag, he exhales out his nose, the smoke almost appearing as a storm cloud before drifting away in the wind...

 

You catch her staring again, almost mesmerized. You're certain it was the spark that caught her attention this time, or at least held it--something about the lightning arching within your hand seems to intrigue her. She carefully closes her book, chewing over the thoughts behind her eyes.

 

Another puff of cigarette smoke settles around you, nestling into the whiskers of your beard.

 

The woman stands, presumably to head out, but as she picks up her book and turns toward the door she stops. She lets out a breath, then turns toward you again. She makes her way over to your table, the notebook carefully held in one of her hands. Her voice is soft and sweet when she speaks.

 

"I apologize for any interruption to your meal, sir, but... you aren't related to a clan by the name of Kenta, are you?"

 

As she approaches, Alrik mentally tenses slightly but keeps his visible composure the same. Upon hearing her inquiry, he shakes his head. "Not to my knowledge. My family is that of peasants, really. Pretty far off land in a region known as The Crags. What makes you ask?"

 

The corner of her mouth twitches in a smile. "You remind me of someone I know. Your... aura, I should say. I could have sworn you were related."

 

Her head tilts slightly as she focuses on your scar, now up close enough for every detail. You sense the static charge tingle across your marred skin, tickling the corner of your brow. She seems to hesitate again, a million other unasked questions on her lips.

 

"This may be somewhat more strange of me to ask, but," the redhead chuckles, "You aren't by chance Reanimated? Or an animated version of a weapon?"

 

Alrik, usually abhorrently against answering questions, cocks his head slightly at the question before pushing a chair back from the table with his foot. "No, can't say that I am." He says with a smirk. "You caught me in a strange mood. Take a seat if you'd like. I'll answer your questions."

 

"You are most kind, sir."

 

She takes the offered seat, placing the book down on the table with her hand over the top of it. You can see it is a light thing, bound in a dark, thin cloth. She lowers her hood as well and you see fair face with gentle but watchful eyes. Overall she is dressed well. Fitting clothes for a traveler, and a distant one at that. You can't help but notice, despite her pretty face, old scars on her hands and, behind the coppery locks cradling her face, a much longer, deep, jagged scar trace from her ear down the entire length of her neck.

 

"I truly did not mean to bother you, and I appreciate your offer of company. I'm gathering research for a friend, and it's been... difficult, to say, finding what I'm looking for. You're one of the few people I've come across that may be able to help." Her eyes glance over your ring for a moment, admiring the stones set there. She glances back up at you with a charming smile. "I'm Delilah, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

 

Alrik shakes his head, smiling slightly. "No bother, Delilah. Pleased to meet you. I am..." he looks around slightly. "Alrik." He gestures to the book. "What sort of research are you doing? Perhaps I could help."

 

Delilah's response feels kindly. There doesn't seem to be any connection between your name and your infamy to her, surprisingly. Perhaps she isn't from around here, after all.

 

"I'm looking into origins of magic--how the threads weave together, how they are pulled, and what they can affect. I heard stories of this city in some old texts, and came to view the "Tree" myself. It is marvelous and alive, in a way, but not exactly what I was looking for. I'm hunting for something specific. My last question is of some clue--inanimate objects gaining an animate form. Have you ever... come across that? You seem well traveled, if I am not mistaken in guessing."

 

Alrik strokes his beard, thinking. "The origins of magic, you say? That's a long story. You'd probably be better off asking The Enigma, but she's not here... to my knowledge." He smirks. "As for inanimate objects gaining an animate form... do you mean sentience? Like, a life form or just animated?"

 

"Oh, complete sentience," Delilah says with a straight face. Pulling a pen from nowhere again, she flips her book open, chewing her lip as she flicks through the pages. "Not just the animating of something in imitation, such as clockwork mimicking movement, or a spell that mimics speech. Nor something necromantic."

 

She pauses on one page for a moment longer, re-reading something, and then flicking to the next. "A sentience of life itself, as if a item has a soul of its own. Or, rather..." She looks pointedly at you, trying to untangle the mystery, "A soul who can change into an item?"

 

Delilah blinks, startled, then laughs with some embarrassment. "I think I came on a little strong with my questioning here, it's quite deep for a chance meeting with a stranger. I appreciate your help."

 

Alrik nods, thoughtfully. "Well, there's the warforged. A soul bound into a construct form... but that's not really what you're referring to I would believe."

 

He reaches into his satchel and retrieves his journal, flipping through a couple pages. "There's cursed items that can have sentience, but that's more the spirit or impressions of the one who cursed the item influencing their will. Hmm..."

 

Alrik taps his ring against the table as he reads, occasionally flicking to a different page. "Hmm? Not to worry. I've learned a bit of patience within the last few years. Training Tucker was definitely a test on that." He chuckles.

 

Delilah smiles. "You do seem like the teacher type." 

 

She glances back at your scar, a bit off topic. "Do you channel any kind of magic, or just... electricity in particular? It seems curiously strong with you. It likes you." She smirks.

 

"I used to have access to all the elements. That was before this." He gestures to the scar on his face. "I cast a spell I probably shouldn't have and it bound me to storm magics. I was fighting a basilisk. It barely missed biting me, but its fang did manage to rip into my face. I lost my temper and poured all my magic into one powerful, wreckless, and careless spell. As the lightning bolt left my hands and into the beast's skull, it arced through the blood and venom and into me. It actually crystallized the venom in my flesh, which probably saved my life... but in doing so, it locked me away from the other elements."

 

Delilah stares wide-eyed at you, entirely mesmerized by your story. She looks again at the scar with a mix of wonderment and awe. Perhaps even a slight bit of terror at the thought of the encounter.

 

"That sounds terrifying and life-altering in the most raw and vicious sense. And from that, I'm guessing that means you are massively more powerful than you let on."

 

She snickers, biting the end of her pen.

 

"Are you sure you're not related to a Kenta?"

 

Alrik shrugs. "I guess it's a possibility. I don't know much about my parent's family. I was orphaned around 8, give or take a year or so." He finishes his tea and sets the cup to the side. He smirks slightly. "And I guess one could say I'm more powerful than I look." He says as the waitress comes over, clearly still enamored that The Tempest is seated at one of her tables.

 

The tabaxi whisks the dishes from the tables away, her golden fur looking more preened and licked down than the last time she was present. Entirely enamored indeed. She hovers for a moment before bustling away, not wanting to leave your presence. Delilah look at the retreating feline and then back to you with a shake of her head.

 

"I appreciate your honesty." Delilah jots a few notes down in her book, chuckling to herself still. "So you mentioned warforged, which is a good comparison. Cursed items is also a unique thought..." You catch the fact that she absentmindedly reaches up to touch something around her neck that is not there, almost subconsciously, though she quickly puts her hand back down. "Is there an antitheist to that? A blessed item that may hold a will of a spirit, if there is a catalyst?"

 

You feel your scar prickle again at that, the long-seated venom tickling your skin. You're not sure if it's responding to the blessing or the curse part of that statement.

 

Alrik nods, flipping a few pages in his journal. "Yes, blessed items are a thing. I'm not sure how many exist, but I've heard of a few. Most are bestowed upon people by a God. Again, The Enigma would have more information..."

 

"I suppose the name gives me a clue, but who is The Enigma?" Delilah chuckles. "Or is that the point? Do I need to solve something to find her?"

 

Alrik smirks, amused by Delilah's ignorance. "You really aren't from around here, are you? The Enigma, one of the Mage Guard Elite. Her name is Breehani Giantsbane. She's a colleague, I guess you could say." He closes his journal and tucks it into his bag, pulling out a small bottle of bright green liquid and takes a drink. "So, guessing you're not from around here... where are you from?"

 

"From the Dusk," Delilah says rather matter-of-factly. "We don't have a any guard of mages there, magic is more..." She pauses, staring at her hands as if considering her words carefully. "Uncommon."

 

She runs her finger in a slow circle on the cover of her book. A trickle of shadow follows it, billowing around ever so delicately. The center turns into a reflection of the night sky, an inky blackness dotted with cold stars. After a slow, somber moment of observation she dips her finger into the center of the stars, scattering the shadowy illusion like smoke.

 

Delilah glances up with a small smile. "Many people hide it, unlike here."

 

Alrik's eyes grow slightly large at the mention of hiding magic. "Hiding.... magic? That seems utterly impossible, seeing as it's everywhere." He gestures to the Great Tree of Glass. "I've never heard of this.... Dusk. Must be pretty far off. Here, magic is everywhere and in everything. Shopkeeps, taverns, guards, peasants, and kings alike all use it. Whomever the weave deems worthy, or those who devote their life to studying it."

 

He takes off the glove on his left hand and pulls the sleeve up on his shirt, exposing the more scale-like texture and color. "Magic effects everything, here."

 

The woman looks absolutely fascinated at your arm, reaching out but not quite touching the scales. Her fingers hover just above, sensing the magic radiating from each small plate.

 

"It's positively electric," she chuckles. "the fact it resonates everywhere here. That it envelops so much, and is so commonplace. In Dusk, it's..."

 

Delilah, opens her book again, flipping to some of the earlier pages. She turns the book toward you, holding it open. You see a crudely drawn map of... you're not sure. It is no where you've been before.

 

"Perhaps it would be easier to say I am from across the sea." She gives you a pointed look, clearing her throat and speaking softer. "Far... across."

 

It registers to you now--she's from the far lands, those of the Dark Empires who have caused so much trouble through history.  Where ships have difficulty sailing, and even if they were to, they would be shot down into the depths of the sea. Ruthless is a kind word for the Emperor there. There was rumors--old children stories really--of the Dusk and Dawn of Alveratheon. Or at least, they seemed just stories. One land bathed in morning sunlight and fruitfulness from the warmth; one with a quiet, hush of night on the horizon, ever-present. It was rare, if ever, to meet people here from there. The "Dusk" as she called it. It happened, from time to time, but so, so rarely.

 

A look of near shock comes across The Tempest's face. "Oh, that 'Dusk'... I see. I've heard stories. Even the Mage Guard won't go there yet. I can understand hiding magic there."

 

She nods her head, grateful for your understanding. "It's definitely been a journey. Because I have a connection to magic now, it made it easier for me to travel here. I've been curiously studying ever since." She tips her head, a wry smile on her lips. "So this Mage Guard... you sound like you're part of it? I really did luck out then, didn't I?"

 

Alrik nods slightly. "The Mage Guard is a force of magi, all trained in academies or taken as apprentices, sometimes both. They're known for being a near-world power when it comes to dealing with magics being abused or corrupted. Most nations recognize it as a governing force above their own rule during times of conflict or when necessary."

 

Alrik again looks around before untying a piece of fabric from his sleeve and moving it away, revealing a shield-shaped patch. The shield gray in color and emblazoned with a blue storm cloud. "The Elite are masters in a specific school or element type. Each have a title that remains the same and has done since the birth of the Guard."

 

Delilah's brow furrows. "Are there very many of you? I could have sworn I saw a symbol just like that earlier..."

 

She taps the table as she tries to remember. "A woman had it. A very strange... woman. With a snake." Her eyebrows go up again as she looks at you. "Is this festival for you guys?"

 

Alrik nods. "That was Nathbryn T'sossz, The Scourge. Gray shield with a dagger and serpent of green. As for the festival being for us, I'm still not quite sure of that to be honest." He chuckles as he covers his insignia back up. "I'm not much for atten-- oh son of a bitch..." he mutters as a small group of women passing by glance over and recognize him and run up to the wall and start gasping and fawning.

 

Delilah tries to cover up her laughter as the girls gasp and fawn, some glancing at her aghast with jealousy or curiosity. She gives a rather pitying look at you and, chuckling, touches your arm.

 

"Hold on."

 

You hear the voice almost as an overpowering whisper in your ear, blocking out the sounds of the fans asking you questions. Suddenly everything is muffled in silence--a curtain of shadow as if you passed through a sudden storm cloud. Your scar prickles strangely bright, and suddenly you find your feet again beneath you. You're atop the Scarlet Fang of the Komodori, by the strangest happenstance, save on the roof behind the sandstone ledge. You can see the Saffron Kettle in the distance, the gaggle of fans having grown larger and even more excited by your sudden disappearance.

 

Delilah stands next to you as you feel her release your sleeve. She shrugs with a chuckle. "Looks like you didn't mind a little help."

 

Alrik looks around, slightly confused both at the quick travel as well as the sensations. "That..... was not a typical teleportation spell. Not sure it was a spell, in all honesty." He looks at Delilah and nods. "Thanks. I'm not one for crowds and even less for attention."

 

Walking over and leaning against the balcony, he again lights a cigarette in his patented way and takes a long drag before exhaling out his nose, this the the smoke taking on the definite aspect of a storm cloud, complete with flashing lightning within.

 

"I can't say I've seen magic like that. Is it common where you're from?"

 

The women down below on the street, even a few fan boys as well, scatter laughing and jockeying each other at the new "game" of finding The Tempest.

 

"Among what magic is there, it's not." Delilah comes over and admires the view beside you, as well as your stormy, lightning smoke. "Since arriving here, I've noticed a distinct difference: in the Dusk, magic is chaotic, and therefore more feared by the masses. More dangerous. Here it is logical. It follows rules much more easily."

 

She materializes a raven-like feather out of shadow, almost pulled from her own as it forms in her fingers. She holds it out for you to take, a small chuckle on her lips. "Here I can use more freely, without fear of... backfires."

 

"Backlash from magic is extremely dangerous, but I feel I don't need to explain that. Sounds like your world does a good enough job on informing those who use Magic about it."

 

He grumbles something about the citizens spreading that The Tempest is here under his breath before flipping his hood up and tucking his head back further into it. "The Mage Guard is pretty notorious. Even standard members are held in high regard, and the Elite are viewed as celebrities, some even going so far as being seen as near God status. I hate it. I'm just a soldier. The Tempest is a public servant, not someone who needs special treatment."

 

Delilah laughs, "I can see that. You are definitely popular. As was the woman, Nathbryn you called her? She was... extremely... popular. I can see why you prefer avoiding the very handsy crowds."

 

She is quiet for several minutes as you both enjoy the peace of the roof. The silence does not seem to bother her at all, nor does the sweetly smoke from your cigarettes. A whistling cacophony of bells and chimes ring out from the main square as some of the gypsies and druids make their way there, bringing the heated dancing and singing through the city. 

 

"Have you dealt much with the feywilds? The shadowfell? I take it there are still transitionary pockets here, aren't there?"

 

Alrik chuckles. "Yeah, 'Bryn likes the attention. She lives for it. She loves dragging me into it, much to my dismay. I think that's why she does it, honestly."

 

At the sound of the bells and chimes, he shakes his head slightly. "Sounds like someone else has shown up. Gods, they sure do enjoy making a racket."

 

He exhales the final drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling in the breeze as lightning arcs within it. "Not so much. There are interplanar pockets, but I've not used them. I prefer to travel the old way. Ships or by land." He shrugs. "Call me old..." and then he cracks a smile.

 

"That's a fair sentiment to have, Tempest." Delilah laughs again. "I wouldn't call that old fashioned at all--probably just call that intelligent."

 

She glances around the rooftop, walking slowly around the perimeter to check the sides, front and back.  "It looks like there is a way down this way, if you would rather not travel... how we came up, I mean." Lifting her own hood back over her curls, she continues, "I appreciate the time you took to speak with me. I don't want to impose, especially if more of your order is showing up. I would be happy to stay in touch though, should either of us have... more questions, perhaps?"

 

Alrik snickers. "Well, I'm not sure you understand what building we're on the roof of. It's The Velvet Fang. A bathhouse and...." he rocks his head back and forth slightly, looking for the right word. "Brothel..." he says, eventually giving up.

 

"I don't mind. You are a refreshing person to spend company with. You don't treat me like I'm someone other than a man."

 

Delilah's beat red cheeks are apparent even in the night in regards to the bathhouse. But she shakes her head kindly at the statement.

 

"Well, you are a man. Albeit, a very powerfully gifted man, true, but..."

 

She smirks, then stuffs her hands into her pockets. "But I'm sure it's nice to enjoy some anonymity, as much as it is to enjoy polite company. I was raised to see the world that way and I've always tried to."

 

"If I could go through this world the way I did before I cast that spell... back when I was just another soldier, I'd be happy. Or at least less on edge." He chuckles, flicking the cigarette butt over the railing before erupting it into ash with a small jolt from his fingers. "I don't necessarily know if I'd have been happy. There's been a lot of hell in my past."

 

He rolls his shoulders and sighs. "Funnily enough, only Jaundree knew my true potential until this..." he gestures to his scar. "Or at least he claims he did. To be fair, he's the most powerful Magus the Guard has seen in millennia or longer." Alrik smirks slightly under his hood before continuing. "He didn't expect some orphan with no formal training to be able to create a bolt like I did. Knocked him on his ass..."

 

"Tsk. A stiff breeze could knock Jaundree on his ass now."

 

A slithering voice cuts through the air like wet silk. Delilah jumps, her cloak shifting into shadow-like tendrils to hide, pausing half way up. You're suddenly aware you two are not alone.

 

"You're as cocky as ever, I see."

 

The voice comes nearer to you, and from behind a chimney stack steps a dangerously luscious Nathbryn. Wearing her snake scale bodysuit from her dance, she pets the ethereal python draped on her shoulders. A chill smirk flashes at you, Alrik.

 

"Ahh, I see you found me. Nathbryn T'sossz, meet Delilah. Delilah, this is Nathbryn, The Scourge. Master of poison and necrotic magics. Also quite adept at sneaking about, embarrassing people, exploiting their weaknesses, and... well, a few other things." He smirks from underneath his hood as he walks over and gives her a hug. "Nice snake. Betcha mine is cooler." He chuckles and kisses her on the cheek before looking at Delilah and shrugging. "Mage Guard really aren't supposed to have a relationship within ranks, but a loophole excludes the Elite." He smirks.

 

Turning to look at Nathbryn, he gestures to Delilah. "She's from Dusk. And she's got shadow magic. Also looking for information regarding inanimate objects being animated through magic. Similar to blessed or cursed items, from my understanding."

 

Nathbryn cocks one of her perfect eyebrows, looking intrigued. She turns her green eyes to Delilah.

 

"Do people from Dusk often need animated objects?"

 

Delilah relaxes her guard, knowing this person is (although terrifyingly powerful) a friend of Alrik's and therefore relatively safe.

 

"We are quite lonely there." The redhead chuckles, dropping the shadows around her and stepping forward. "Not quite--there are peculiarities with our magic, and I was curious if there was literature here regarding such things."

 

Nathbryn smirks. She rests an elbow on Alrik's shoulder as if giving it some thought. An ethereal emerald snake slithers from her aura and explores around his neck, then down his other arm.

 

"The Enigma may know. Animation is not my field of study. At least, not in that way." The Elite's smile glitters. "But I should say the art is equally as uncommon here. Perhaps..." She clicks her tongue. "Down in Southern Arkoshia, there's an oddity of a city. They have many."

 

Alrik shrugs. "I'm just a soldier. I go where I'm told. Well, I used to. They're trying to get me to have more responsibilities..." he gives Nathbryn a fake glare. "This one especially. Diplomatic mission this and peacekeeping that. Interrogation & Intel gathering one day, infiltration the next. Not my style. Point me at the enemy and get the hell out of my way." He smirks a bit, his eyes sparking slightly at the thought of battle again.

 

"Haven't been to that city myself. I spent a lot of time here in The Komadori as well as in a little costal town a ways across the ocean. They had issues with insane mages and necromancy." Alrik says as he strokes his beard, a guise to try and get the ethereal serpent to fall off his arm.

 

The snake wraps tighter and flicks its tongue at you, tickling your aura.

 

"That sounds like quite the busy life to live," Delilah comments.

 

"Oh it is.... but to travel the world with the best accommodations, the fine food, telling people what to do..." Nathbryn's eyes glitter teasingly as she laughs. "It has perks sometimes. But I jest. It's not always sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes it is dank caves and aboleths..."

 

You feel her shutter in irritation at some irritable memory.

 

The Tempest reaches over and pulls her into a hug again. "You're alright. I got you. Nothing is going to hurt you with me around." He brakes the embrace long enough to take off his cloak and wrap it around her shoulders. "No caves here. Just a bunch of rambunctious people scouring the city like some kind of scavenger hunt trying to find us to gawk at." He smiles as he tries to comfort her.

 

He looks over at Delilah, turning himself and the dark elf so they're standing sideways to her. "It's a long story, but easiest way to describe it is Bryn here does not like being underground... or abhorrent fish."

 

"Gods no." Nathbryn laughs dryly. "Never."

 

She smacks you in the arm with the back of her hand and glares daggers at you, but without much real anger.

 

"That friend of yours!! That fucker dragonborn! Had Thay and I waist-deep in water with him trying to get out of a underdark cave in. Fucking abhorrent fish there too of course... fish and some nasty ass mutant snake he so proudly mounted the fucking head of after."

 

Her face looks like a sour apple. Delilah covers her mouth with her hand. You're not sure if she's hiding a laugh or shock--perhaps a bit of both.

 

"Did what the Elite need us to do, but good gods...  dunno where you found that one but he's a damn handful."

 

Alrik nods slowly, a look of both humor and guilt on his face. "That sounds like Atriox... scaly bastard always was a little big for his britches. Never knew when to keep his mouth shut. Does have a tendency to let his blood get hot and get the better of him." He chuckles, the smirk growing on his face. "And I didn't find him... he found me in that same fishing village you did a while back. Dragonshore? In fact he's co-owner of the building we're standing on... seems he's still thinking of attempting to conquer the world."

 

The Tempest turns and looks at Delilah. "Old traveling companion of mine. Prince to a destroyed kingdom with dreams of restoring it and making it a place where all are welcome. Well, except us. He made it explicitly clear the Mage Guard would not be allowed within the realm. Individuals, yes but not on any official, or unofficial, capacity." His face sours somewhat, remembering the large blowout over the whole ordeal and how that tore a rift between them that never truly healed. "He's a good man, just... guided by his desires a bit too much. He struggles, or used to, to think of others at times. Did what was best for him, his kingdom, or those he currently viewed as friends or potential mates." Alrik shrugs and waves his hand in a passing manner.

 

"All that aside, let's not discuss that prince if we can help it. Somehow I think he'd find out and try to kill me again." Quickly changing the subject of attention, he points at Delilah's feet, or her cloak. You aren't quite sure... "So... when 'Bryn spoke, your cloak... shadow... something... sprang into a readied stance. What is that about? How's this magic of yours work?"

 

Delilah seems to ponder this a moment before answering. "Through some uncontrolable circumstances, I came into the knowledge of the Shadowfell... and it of me."

 

Nathbryn stiffens a little next to Alrik. A slight, subtle reaction, but one you catch.

 

"I grew to trust its presence. It's solace. It's wildness, where I am from especially." The redhead shrugs a little. "I was taught how to weave it and draw myself to and from it at will. There's always a layer of the Shadowfell and the Feywild betwixt this plane. I simply... reach out to it, and can... slip into it?"

 

Nathbryn snorts. "How dangerous."

 

"Didn't say it wasn't." Delilah smiles grimly. "I'm not sure of the specifics of its weaving, though, or how to describe it academically... it comes to me like breathing now."

 

Alrik makes a mental note about being cautious around the mention of the Shadowfell around The Scourge, but decides to not question it... at least not right this moment. He nods thoughtfully. "I guess that makes sense. Lightning seemed to be the magic I always went to when in danger, and now it's all I have. Makes sense that magic found you when you needed it."

 

He looks at Nathbryn, a hundred different questions written across his face. "So... uhh. You..." he grunts under his breath and scrunches his face slightly. "Nevermind. It'll keep." He scratches his beard, trying to commit to memory a few of the forefront questions for when he's finally feeling brave enough to brooch the topic.

 

Looking back to Delilah, The Tempest clears his throat. "So, these uncontrollable circumstances... did you also make a split second decision or were you able to think it through before embracing the magic? You said it isn't common, and even considered evil where you're from... didn't you?"

 

"Well, yes... and no? Both?" Delilah chuckles. "There are pockets of energy where the Fey and the Shadow bleed over into the Plane. And I was in one at the time..."

 

Delilah pauses. She seems to look past you, far off into the distance for a moment. She clears her throat.

 

"I was terrified. Magic before that was evil to me. It was that night for certain, it almost killed me." Delilah chuckles, placing her fingers beside the jagged scar on her neck. "But then magic also saved me. I was healed by it, and given a choice. It became a part of me whether I wanted it or not. And I chose to embrace it."

 

"The morality of magic is often at the discretion of the user," Nathbryn comments confidently. "And morality changes from person to person."

 

"You don't consider some magic evil?"

 

"My dear, I fear you misunderstand. I deal in magical poison... venom... it has a use. Evil is a term to purely describe the motive."

 

Delilah guffaws. "Poisoning someone would be..." She catches herself, not wanting to be rude--especially to someone as powerful as an Elite.

 

Nathbryn raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

 

"It would be... erm..." Delilah shifts, looking more uncomfortable.

 

"Evil?" Nathbryn smirks. Her green eyes flicker a little. "What if the poison is for a clergyman?" She grins. "One who is a thief and a murderer of the poor? Or perhaps the poison is for a mother...?"

 

The dark elf stretches her neck side to side, pausing for effect. "Who is a psychopath, torturing children and eating them to strengthen her womb?"

 

Delilah swallows, disturbed at the examples. "Are those times you...?"

 

"Yes."

 

"I suppose I'd have to say...  I agree with what you mean then. You made a very good point."

 

Nathbryn smiles a sparkling grin, looking at Alrik and batting her eyes. "Thank you. I'm told I'm very persuasive."

 

Alrik holds his hands up in defeat. "I'm not dumb enough to get into that conversation!" He chuckles. He releases his hug on Nathbryn and walks to the railing, pulling out his cigarette case and fishing one out, lighting it in his signature way.

 

He gestures at Nathbryn. "See? Elegant. Poetic. Has a way with words. Me? I'm just a blunt instrument..." he says, smirking002E

 

Dancing drums roll again in the distance, peppering out a wild tune. A heavy pressure descends in the night air; the wave of moisture coming in before a desert thunderstorm. Nathbryn smiles.

 

"I have an idea..."

 

Delilah looks at her dubiously.

 

"Alriiiik?" Nathbryn singsongs your name. "You remember how greatly basilisks like the rainy season. South of here, if I remember... I need to restock some venom," she saunters over to you taking your cheeks in her hands and cooing in a baby voice, "and you're my big, tough blunt instrument."

 

She grins with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Why don't we show little Delilah here a bit of adventure?"

 

"Basalisks...?"

 

Delilah sounds a bit unsure at that. You can feel her staring at you both, and her gaze lingers on your scar.

 

"Rooms downstairs are on meeee," Nathbryn coos again, trying to sweeten the pot, petting the scar with her fingertips. It crackles a little with blue electricity.

 

"Five-star accommodations for my heroic little lightning rod?"

 

"Why, of all things, would you want venom from one of those vile creatures?" He says prior to her taking his face in her hands. "Stop..." he closes his eyes, the futility visible on his expression. "You know I can't say no when you give me that look." He smirks slightly.

 

When he opens his eyes, you could swear you saw a raging storm in them... he reaches his hand out, fingers curled as if grabbing a sword or some kind of handle... but there isn't anything in his hand.

 

Suddenly, the sky darkens. Storm clouds roll in and the sky dances with bristling energy, the clouds flashing with lightning. "Be honest... you just wanted me to announce The Tempest has officially arrived." He says as a bolt of bright blue energy erupts from the sky and arcs downwards, into his hand... as the flash clears, he's holding a staff. Gnarled wood in appearance, with Lichtenberg patterns running the length of it. His appearance has changed as well. His normal Strom blue eyes are reptilian in appearance and copper with flashes of blue.

 

"Well... I guess they all know I'm here now. He laughs

 

"That they do," Nathbryn laughs gaily, her smile the widest it's been.

 

You can hear the crowds below cheering and the drums and tambourines beating louder into a frenzy. The coming rain and the sound of your battle call has electrified the crowd as much as the sky above.

 

"Alright, I can't turn down a showstopper entrance like that." Delilah laughs loudly and looks across the horizon. "I can take us. Where are we going? Or rather, what are we looking for?"

 

Alrik shrugs again. "Outside the city. To the desert. Anywhere out on the open dunes, really. Those blasted serpents will find anywhere there's rain and food..."

 

"Sounds good," Delilah stretches, shaking her arms to loosen up. "I'll get us out a ways from the city."

 

She approaches and holds out her hands to both of you. Nathbryn glances between you both.

 

"Do you like... want a hug or something?"

 

Delilah snorts. "Whatever floats your boat."

 

She takes your hands, and you immediately slip into the cool blanket of shadow from earlier. Everything spins, twists and rocks for a moment. You try to catch your bearings, and the lightning on your face illuminates Nathbryn beside you. Her eyes are squeezed shut in surprise, and Delilah pulls you forward through the strip stream of glittering ebony. You see beyond, faintly, hills and skies and...buildings?

 

The desert sand sinks beneath your shoes as you land softly beneath the storm clouds.

 

"Alright. This ought to work." Alrik rolls his neck with a few audible cracks. "Damned snakes..." he mutters as he jabs the staff into the soft sand beneath his feet. "Once the rain comes, everything will happen quick. Well, when they figure out we're here that is."

 

He holds both his hands out, palms facing upwards and on either side of the staff as blue energy, almost liquid-like starts running down his arms along the veins beneath his skin and pooling in his hands. A faint fragrance hangs in the air and you aren't sure where it's coming from. It is sweet and smells of exotic fruits along with ozone. The liquid begins to flow between his fingers and sides of his hands, clinging to the backside instead of falling to the sand...

 

"Everyone ready? We're about to get wet." He lifts his head and makes eye contact with Nathbryn first, followed by looking at Delilah. As you lock eyes with him, there is visibly a storm raging within his eyes, the scar glinting and crackling with energy.

 

Delilah gulps as her eyes meet Alrik's, watching the magic flow. She's rarely ever witnessed the weave harnessed so masterfully, so methodically. This power though... it reminded her of a few people. She knew she needed to get ready.

 

A portion of her shadow from beneath her cloak curls out and quickly forms above her head--a makeshift umbrella to shield her from the immediate onslaught of rain. The storm clouds above break with such ferocity, it sounds as if a bomb explodes above you in the sky.

 

Nathbryn cackles excitedly in a very...almost girlish way that doesn't quite match with what one would think of her. The dark elf looks up at the sky, eyes closed and smiling, soaking up every drop of rain as her hair turns sleek and her clothes darken with water. She's drenched in seconds, looking venomously delectable in only a way she seems to be able to do.

 

"Now THIS is a show. Why do you hide under your hood so often Alrik?" Nathbryn croons, continuing and making a play on your words, "You're a talent the world has never seen--I'm sure you've wet every woman within 50 miles."

 

Delilah snorts, but the sound is swallowed up in the torrent. This is life. You feel absolutely electric with power: the magic arching through the sky, through the clouds, through the ions in the air that rope their way down to you from the heavens. Your skin prickles, each scale up your arms crackling. You can see the magic, especially through your scarred eye--tendrils of light and movement, blues and whites and yellows and purples, pure kaleidoscopic excitement waiting to be directed to a point. It sings to you.

 

The ground in the distance begins to tremor.

 

Alrik turns his head in the direction of the tremoring earth. "Come get me, you overgrown worm..." he mutters, his face changing from a smirk to an all-out sneer, the corners of his mouth pulling into a slight grin. He slams his foot into the rain-soaked sand, sending a soundwave through the ground, alerting the basilisk to their presence. "COME GET ME, YOU FUCKER!" he yells, his voice amplified by the raw power of the storm raging above as well as within him... the pure energy pooled on his hands begins to drip, hitting the ground below and small lightning bolts begin dancing across the wet sand, creating small fulgerite crystals as it travels before disappearing as it loses its energy.

 

All around him, everything is soaked. Drenched. Totally water logged, but if you were to glance at The Tempest, he is bone dry. The pure, raw, magical energy of the weave billowing around him like a hurricane vaporizing the rain before it touches him... the sheer amount of mana he is channeling into this preparatory spell is a terrifying display of talent. Or maybe a presentation of insanity. You aren't sure which...

 

Delilah steps back a few paces as the electricity skitters past her feet. There's a palpable pressure vibrating the air as the reverberations in the ground get closer. She ends up beside Nathbryn, and the dark elf grins mischievously.

 

"Oh, just wait," her smile sparkles, "You haven't seen anything yet."

 

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRWUUUUURRRRRR..............

 

A trembling vibrato shutters through the soaked sand, the decibels making dips and ripples. You feel the sound more than hear it as it shakes your bones.

 

"Good gods..." Delilah takes another step back almost subconsciously, her mouth agape in awe. "How--how big is a basilisk?"

 

Nathbryn chuckles, "Tyrannically big."

 

The basilisk erupts from the sand, 30 feet from you. Up and up it climbs, a great serpentine body that groans and gnashes with hardened plates, horns and teeth, a tail flanged and grasping as it surfs through the wet earth. Scars trace its body in great arcs--this is a massive specimen of its species, and likely killed many in its years. Its eyes roll in its great head, terrible and grand and full of hunger.

 

The Storm Caller roars back, the sky heeding his call and erupting with a massive thunderclap as he slams his hands around the staff and leans forward into the spell. The sky flashes so brightly the evening darkness is lit up like noonday for a split second and the wave of raw energy makes the rain vaporize within the vicinity, creating a thick, drifting fog that has the sweet, exotic tinge of Alrik's magic... through the fog, you swear you see a dragon where The Tempest once stood...

 

The wind picks up and moves the fog slightly, allowing you a better look. No, the youngest member of the Elite is still there, but there is in fact a dragon as well... or at least the head portion of one. A spectral dragon protruding from around Alrik's staff, as he leaps into the air and releases another roar, this time amplified by not the sky, but the dragon itself... the mixture of the electricity arcing across the sand and his body, the dragon roar, and Alrik's warcry seem to coalesce into a symphony of pure, utter, wrathful destructive force and suddenly, it happens...

 

An eruption. The dragon's mouth lets loose a torrent of blue and purple lightning, crackling and dancing forward as it wreathes the basilisk in the fury of The Tempest...

 

Nathbryn instinctively grabs ahold of Delilah's arm right before it hits. This just barely steadies them from being blasted off their feet by the sheer electrical force. The shadowy shield of Delilah's flickers, struggling against the massive light and energy flooding around it, utterly devouring it.

 

"Holy shit."

 

Nathbryn grins, all pearly teeth. "I know, right?"

 

The basilisk's momentum forces it straight into the path of blue and purple lightning, carving out a large chunk of it's face and neck. The smell of charcoaled flesh blends with the exotic ozone, the roar of anger, hunger and pain echoing across the sand again.

 

RRRRRRRRRWUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRR....!

 

The spectral dragon's muscular neck slams into the basilisk as Alrik makes contact with the monster. The drake's translucent teeth send shockwaves of electricity through the plated scales of the basilisk, the creature trying in vain to snap back. It targets the dragon, the largest thing it sees, but its own venomous bite only lances through the spiritual aura, teeth closing with a deafening snap. Furious, its eyes roll again, spotting Alrik as the point of power in this massive fight. It rears back, trying to break free and make a second attack. The wet sand sinks beneath it, the weight above making it a variable sinkhole.

 

Alrik leaps back from the edge of the sinkhole, pulling his staff back as the blue liquid again runs down his arm. This time it coils around the staff like a dragon around its hoard and in much larger quantities than before. As he thrusts the staff forward like a spear, he raises his other hand, and a lightning bolt arcs down from the sky and connects with his hand.

 

The man within this cyclone of lightning yells at the surge of energy as you see the blue liquid surge. It is flooding around his entire body, clinging to him as best it can but falling off in torrents of large droplets. "A storm fears nothing, worm..." he roars as the blue liquid energy flows from around him and into the sinkhole before encapsulating the basilisk, forming a net-like structure around it. You aren't sure if this is The Tempest's will or magic itself taking shape and it leaves you with questions.

 

Alrik once again leaps into the air, this time reaching an outstretched hand high above his head and grasping.... nothing...? But as he begins to fall, he sweeps his arm forward and a massive wave of lightning bursts forth from his hand, being led toward the mana-trapped beast... as the lightning connects with the mana threads, they ignite with electricity and become a typhoon of blue-purple. The lightning arcs from the basilisk and to the sand, melting it into stormglass.

 

The basilisk shudders as the lightning flows through it, twitching and writhing in a silent, massive scream. Its flanged tail whips around, grasping at the typhoon of mana caging it and attempting to rip itself free. Stormglass surrounding it sings with the wind and energy flooding the area, a pure symphony of light and sound and raw chaos. Controlled, undeniable chaos.

 

The energy blasts away from the beast at last, leaving it still as a statue. The faint hum continues to ring around you.

 

It sways, crackling, electricity strobing through it from tip to tail. A sheen of venom flows from its fangs, dripping down its body as its eyes stare unseeing, wild and viscous. 

 

The beast lets out a low, smoky hiss from its throat, the exhausting death throes claiming it into eternity. Almost frozen in time from the electrocharge through its musculature, it remains upright, staring, mouth agape. The storm clouds high above let out a low, long billow of thunder.

 

Alrik stands upright, the staff held parallel to his arm in his left hand, his right arm out to his side with the palm open and facing forward. He slowly turns to face Nathbryn and Delilah, the last surges of energy dancing across his body in the form of his signature blue-purple lightning. As he lifts his head, you see the draconic pupils and fangs fade as he relaxes his sheer willpower hold on the weave... "Took everything I had to not completely annihilate the damn thing, 'Bryn. Hopefully the venom you need didn't boil." He has a smile on his face that you can't quite tell if it's pride in his abilities, happiness that it's dead, or just outright insanity.

 

Delilah hangs back a pace, shaken and laughing, her hair frizzled up from all the surrounding static. Nathbryn saunters forward first, a slow clap and a big smile to greet you.

 

"Brilliant as always, Tempest," she says. "You've even changed it up a bit too."

 

Her fingers take your arm and trail up your wrist, observing the draconic scales there with an intense curiosity. "Hmmm," she hums. Nathbryn tilts her head to the side, her eyes studying yours. "Blessed by the bronze. How delightfully fitting."

 

Alrik grins and shrugs. "If Breehani finds out about this, there'll be hell to pay... using the bloodfury gifted to me by Placidusax isn't exactly something she likes me doing, so..." he raises his finger to his lips. 

 

He gestures to the dead beast. "Careful going down there... it seems the sand has completely become glass and is probably pretty slick. Wouldn't want you to fall on that gorgeous ass." He smirks and chuckles at Nathbryn.

 

"Oh, you'd like to see that, wouldn't you?" She laughs as she walks past you toward the monster's corpse, a sashay in her hips. Nathbryn lifts her arms up and out, delicately yet sharp--a dancer's pose. Her ethereal snakes writhe from her spirit, coiling out and up toward her fingertips and beyond. They slither through the air like winged serpents, grasping on to the basilisk and syphoning out its venom. Their green bodies glow toxicly neon as they drink, filling up on the life essence of the massive beast.

 

"That... was very impressive." You hear Delilah speak as she walks up behind you, shaking her head in disbelief. "I'm not sure what I expected to see, but that... completely defied all imagination. It has definitely given me a lot to think about...Tempest."

 

Delilah stares past you at Nathbryn, the dark elf coiling about in a dance as she directs her snakes. "I'm certain all the Elite have an immense deal of power, and often hide it well. How you handled that much... raw mana, its mindboggling."

 

She turns her gaze to you, sincerely and utterly curious. "How do you not suffocate from the shear weight of it pressing in on you?"

 

Alrik turns, spinning his staff as he does, and then holds it out to show her. "A conduit. It acts as a bridge between the weave and the user. The Mage Guard all use them, but they take many forms. Wands, staves, crystals, rings... some even have magic ink imbued into their skin as tattoos." He gestures to Nathbryn. "Although, unless you saw her naked you'd probably never see the extent of the ink work she has." He smirks and then adds in a hushed tone, "pretty sure it wouldn't take much coaxing..."

 

He sighs, looking over his shoulder at The Scourge for a moment before looking back to Delilah. "As for your questions or what you've had come to mind requiring thought, I'm sure we both will do our best to help you out." He gestures to the dark elf with a gesture of his head.

 

Delilah seems absolutely amazed at the revelation.

 

"A conduit... why did I never think of that!"

 

She taps her hands together in a thinking sort of way, pacing in a small circle. "I just wondered how the weave of mana could be better controlled in a chaotic state. And witnessing that display was the best description of it. That... is brilliant. I'm sure the conduit item in question needs to be strong itself, though?"

 

Delilah glances back at Nathbryn, who's snakes have all returned. She croons at them, petting them with sincere yet scary fondness.

 

The Storm Caller nods. "Yes, typically your conduit will require augmentation to aid in handling that level of mana. The more you tap into, the stronger it needs to be." He gestures to his staff, specifically the crystal in the end that the wood appears to have grown around. "This is crystallized lightning. No idea how it forms, honestly. It was given to me by an old friend." Alrik chuckles and shakes his head slightly at the memory. "He found it in a hoard of treasure and snuck it into his pocket before it was spotted. Sneaky little kobold. Anyways, the augments usually come into effect as you use it. You can add them manually as well, but it gets increasingly difficult when trying to add something incredibly powerful."

 

"Oh gods, are you talking about all the dusty old lore of your staff?"

 

 Nathbryn chuckles as she walks up. She runs her fingers along your shoulder as she passes, one of her neon glowing snakes slithering its way onto you and over your other shoulder. Its tongue flicks in the air, tasting your aura.

 

"I'd asked him, actually..." Delilah smiles sheepishly. "I was curious how one could not be overwhelmed by directing such... force."

 

"Ah, I see," Nathbryn croons. She turns her gaze on you, Alrik. "Yes, The Tempest here is good at... handling force." A smirk twitches her lips.

 

Delilah asks, "He said you have tattoos?"

 

"Oh did he?" The dark elf throws her head back chuckling. "Yes, I'm sure he remembers them well. Everyone does." She gives Delilah a wink.

 

"Not all of us have the inherent ability to absorb magic ink, 'Bryn. Not to mention the physical traits of them?" He chuckles and slaps her ass as she walks past him.

 

He looks at Delilah and nods. "Your conduit has to suit you. Typically they find you, rather than you finding it."

 

He looks sideways at the snake and rolls his eyes slightly. "Mine is still more impressive..." he chuckles

 

Nathbryn laughs as she saunters around you, holding her arm out for the snake to return. "Which one?"

 

Delilah shakes her head. "You guys are definitely impressive. Both of you. I appreciate the information you've provided me tonight."

 

"Same..." Nathbryn croons, looking the small woman over. "When we get back, I'm quite interested in hearing more about Dusk... if you wouldn't mind regaling for my curiosity."

 

"Oh--sure." Delilah looks a bit uneasy, hiding her fidgeting hands in her cloak. It's faint but you catch it. "I can answer whatever you'd like. Is there anything else you need to do here, or...?" She peers behind you at the imposing corpse.

 

"I'm good. Grabbed a souvenir for you," Nathbryn smirks and chucks something at Delilah. As she catches it, it glitters in the starlight. "One of the storm crystals from the field our Tempest made."

 

Alrik rolls his eyes again. "You're as bad as those fangirls, 'Bryn..." he chuckles and walks over to stand next to both women. He looks between them and then at himself and can't help but laugh. "You two are soaked..." he clearly finds it amusing that he's probably the only dry person for miles other than those that were indoors during the sudden downpour.

 

Nathbryn looks almost proud, and its no surprise she still looks fantastic in her outfit being snug-wet against her body. Delilah looks down at herself, dripping wet and laughs.

 

"I did try to prevent that, but I will say," she chuckles looking at you, "My magic couldn't quite hold up against the Tempest."

 

Nathbryn snorts. "Let's get back to The Fang so we could get into a proper hot bath." She raises an eyebrow at Alrik. "And you can rejuvenate after that showstopper of a performance. I'm sure that tired even you out."

 

The Tempest tries to hide the fatigue, but it is very apparent on his face. "Well...... maybe just a bit." He chuckles and leans slightly on Nathbryn.

 

"Hopefully this Fang has a jasmine pool. It's predecessor did, so if not I will be highly pissed off and take it up with the owners." He smirks. "Seeing as how Whyrvoar isn't here, unless you plan on carrying me, I'm thinking we're hoping Delilah can teleport us with her shadow magic again?"

 

"I'd be delighted to," Delilah says.

 

Nathbryn looks uneasy. "Gods that is an unnerving feeling the first time. I was not aware of how..." She pauses, trying to find the right word. "...Of how magic could be manipulated in that way. Its definitely unique? But I'm not walking all the way back, so," the dark elf holds her hand out to Delilah, "Spirit us away, then."

 

Delilah shrugs, taking hold of your hand as well. "Closing your eyes does help with the spinning."

 

The shadows rush in and envelop you, and you're gone.

 

Alrik snorts and grabs Delilah's hand. "Closing your eyes helps... oh, if only I hadn't heard that before." He chuckles, smirking at a memory that could be quite an embarrassing one to share, guessing by the shade of red his cheeks are.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

The aroma of incense and jasmine permeates your senses as you soak in the warm water, enveloped in both the jasmine petals and the heady humidity in the enchanted pools of the Velvet Fang.  A matron sits behind you in a sheer silk, happily and deeply massaging your shoulders. It's a fantastic way to heal after a long, exhausting excursion.

 

Nathbryn croons, settling down further among the bubbles. She's happily undressed and soaking in the pool nearby, enjoying the attention from other patrons. Most people leave you be though, aside from whispers behind hands and the occasional giggle. This has always been a place you could find peace and safety away from the crowds. Delilah relaxes by Nathbryn, wrapped comfortably in a towel in the water.

 

"You're such a prude," Nathbryn snickers.

 

"Just cause you're an exobitionist doesn't mean I am," Delilah says. "Nice tattoos, by the way."

 

"Well, just so you know, the beds are comfier than the towels," the dark elf winks, "especially those who join you in them."

 

Delilah blushes and sinks further into the bubbles. You can instantly feel the glee running through Nathbryn at this interaction.

 

"Oooooh, shall I get you a deluxe package?" She waves and winks at a group of guys near the open bar. "My treat."

 

"I'm good."

 

"Surely?"

 

"Absolutely."

 

Nathbryn picks up her nearby martini glass, swirling with some kind of exotic juice that looks like stars. Her mouth twitches at the corners as she takes a sip, hiding the coy response. "...Virgin."

 

Delilah looks offended. "Excuse me! I am not!"

 

"Not what?"

 

"Not--" She huffs, seeing the goading smile of the dark elf. She folds her arms in front of her, "Not humoring this conversation."

 

"Oh you're fine, you don't have to be embarrassed," Nathbryn snickers, "I'll wear them out first for you if you'd like."

 

"Um, ew. No thanks to sloppy seconds."

 

Nathbryn cackles. "Most people consider it an honor. Or ask to join."

 

Delilah can't help it, and her serious expression cracks into laugher too. "You are something else, you know that?"

 

"Oh, darling, I'm told that so often," Nathbryn laughs again, taking another sip and winking at Alrik, "You have no idea."

 

 

Alrik lifts his own drink in salute to The Scourge and smirks. "Now, now... Don't frighten the poor girl." he chuckles before taking a sip and sliding down a little deeper into the water, now up to his neck.

 

"And don't worry, Delilah. I know the owners of this establishment. If you want discreet company, it can be arranged... and Nathbryn there will never know. Even if you just want someone to sit with you and talk while you fall asleep." He finishes his drink and stands, his torso exposed and showing a myriad of scars, including a particularly ugly set of massive clawmarks across his chest as well as various pierce wounds and a singular, large burn up his left side. As he stretches, it's clear that just because he is a mage doesn't mean he isn't fit. The muscles under his copper-tinged flesh ripple as he flexes them tight. Letting out a deep breath, he pours himself another glass of a strange liquid. Pale green in color and takes a sip before climbing out of the pool and wrapping a towel around himself... you aren't sure if it's him trying to be modest or more to keep prying eyes at bay.

 

The Tempest walks over to the pool Delilah and Nathbryn are in and sits down behind the dark elf, setting his drink down and reaching out his hands to rest on her shoulders. He leans forward, his hands moving down her arms and lifting them up around the back of his neck before kissing her as she looks up at him. "I'm assuming you already booked the usual room for yourself?" He chuckles.

 

"Oh, weeks in advance," she winks coyly, drawing you in for another peck on the lips. Her dark hair smells of sweet almonds and oleander. "Stop by anytime for some, what'd you call it?"

 

Nathbryn snickers, giving a sideways glance at Delilah.

 

"Sitting and talking while you fall asleep."

 

She's definitely jovial tonight, giggling again as she relaxes in the baths. You can't tell if she's playing to kiss you again or to toss you in the water for fun; it's definitely an unknown with her on nights like this.

 

"Oh gods," Delilah rolls her eyes. "I plan on catching up with someone eventually, once he shows up...." She glances at the far window and into the pitch dark night outside. "But it'll probably be another few days at least. I am appreciative for the room though. A soft bed to sleep on is always preferred."

 

"Ohhhhh, the little girl has a plaything?" Nathbryn giggles. "Did you hear that Alrik? She does have a wild side. Maybe we can talk her into getting a tattoo as well..."

 

"Tempest," Delilah huffs, ignoring the dark elf and her quippy tongue, "I can't help but notice your collection of scars. Hobby, perhaps?"

 

The Tempest smiles and laughs, being careful not to put too much forward weight on The Scourge, as she's just as likely to throw him over her shoulder and into the water as she is to kiss him. "So she does have a plaything, as you put it. As for her getting a tattoo... I'm not going to have any part of that. We both know what happened when I tried to get one. Worst pain in my fucking life."

 

Alrik snorts at Delilah's question. "No, not really. Just a pretty piss poor soldier at times." He chuckles at Nathbryn's smirk regarding Delilah's inquiry. "Easiest way to describe it is I act without thinking sometimes... or my temper gets the better of me and I throw all regard for my own safety out the window."

 

"Oh don't get me started," Nathbryn snickers looking up at you. "How many times I've seen you just charge in head first? That overgrown worm out in the sands was just a fraction of what trouble this guy gets into."

 

"I figured," Delilah grins. "That hardly seemed the effort, though I'm sure it was tiring."

 

"You got me so much venommmmm, thank youuuuuuu," Nathbryn croons at you, trying to rub her nose against you in an overly sickly sweet cutesy manner that does not become her. You're most certain if you entertain it she will throw you in the water.

 

Alrik laughs. "No idea what you're talking about, Darlin... no idea whatsoever..." he says in a very sarcastic, playful tone. He sees the ploy and rolls his eyes, but decides to give in as The Scourge isn't usually very playful in such flirty ways. He leans forward just slightly and inches his face closer to hers, a large grin on his face...

 

Her face cracks into a wide smile and you find yourself flipping through the air, almost effortlessly. You have barely enough time to catch your breath before you splash down into the warm water. You hear a loud squeak as you hit. The other patrons from the bar laugh and clap, with a whistle or two here and there.

 

You see Delilah standing up in surprise as if to help out of instinct--she must have been the squeak. Nathbryn grins mischievously and you know all too well she's got more up her sleeve.

 

"How did youAAH--" Delilah's question cuts off abruptly as she yelps, an ethereal servant twisting its way around her ankles and pulling her back down into the water with a splash.

 

Alrik comes up from the water and flips his long hair out of his face while chuckling. "Ooooh, so it's gonna be like that, is it?" He smirks and spreads his arms into a fighting stance while laughing before dropping his arms and just sitting down next to The Scourge and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "We both know I'd lose, so why try?"

 

He looks around at the other patrons and shakes his head slightly. "Yes, yes... enjoying the show? And to answer the question I'm sure you all have now, yes that is a scar on my ass... "

 

"Hell yeah! Wooooo!"

 

You hear a guy from the bar, happily drunk, cheer to your scarred ass. Nathbryn cracks up laughing.

 

"I like to see you fight back, even if you do lose." She winks, then gasps.

 

"Oh. My. God."

 

Delilah scrambles to right herself in the water, floundering a bit. She's definitely not as comfortable in it. Perhaps she can't swim. She pouts red-cheeked at Nathbryn and sinks under the bubbles, looking for her towel.

 

"You have a tattoo."

 

The readhead looks at her dubiously. "So?"

 

"You have a fucking tattoo," Nathbryn's eyes widen in excitement. "Oh my god. No way. You do have a wild side." 

 

The harrumph from Delilah is cut short as Nathbryn pulls her up out of the water. Delilah squeals, haphazardly covering herself and letting loose a few cusses herself.

 

Nathbryn just cackles in laughter, sitting her down beside her and putting her own arms around both of you. "Did you see it, Alrik? Some kind of crow on her lower back. All black. Damn. That's bitchin'."

 

"Raven..." Delilah grumbles, "Sort of... it's symbolic."

 

"Aren't all of them?" The dark elf grins. "What was yours going to be again, Alrik?"

 

Alrik nods. "I saw it. Art style is unique, to say the least. Mine was going to be a dragon..." he points to his left side, where the massive burn marks are.

 

Delilah looks over the scarred and dimpled skin on your side. "Were you tattooing it before or after the burn? I can imagine without, it'd still be rather painful there... let alone with." She winces, turning her head slightly to observe you easier. She's trying her best to ignore the smiley Nathbryn with her arm around her.

 

"The tattoo caused it. It's actually a lightning burn. The magic ink reacted with my draconic blood and ignited the mana, which arced all across my side..." he looks at Nathbryn, a strange look in his eyes. "That was when I found out she had actual feelings for me and didn't just think of me as a comrade in arms. She heard the artist shriek and the mana explode into a ball of raw, crackling energy and came running in." He chuckles slightly. "Poor artist was mortified. She thought that somehow she was the cause."

 

He smiles gently and takes The Scourge's hand. "This one spent weeks concocting potions and salves and ointments... or so I was told. The Enigma was at a loss. I was alive, but they couldn't wake me up. Apparently even The Corpse tried to get into my mind to see if I was still alive in the 'meat sack' as he calls it... no one knew if I was dead and my body just didn't know it... but apparently 'Brynny here just couldn't let me go." He grabs her gently and pulls her close to him, kissing her cheek. "Ol' Breehani said she didn't rest at all. She was either in her lab trying to make something to help or sitting by my side in knots."

 

You've never seen the color in Nathbryn's cheeks burn so brightly, even on her dark, ashen skin.

 

"Oh my god," she hums, shifting in her seat. There's a mortified look on her face--this knowledge being shared definitely doesn't fit her image--but she doesn't deny it a whit, nor the mingled pride and satisfaction that swirls there behind her eyes. Those green orbs burn intensely into yours as she searches for an appropriate way to respond.

 

"Damn right... screw all the others, and the fucking Corpse's meat sack nonsense." She pulls you close, giving in to a sultry kiss. Her magic radiates off of her in waves, making the heady feeling of the humidity even more perfumed and intoxicating. "My magic kicks ass. Damn right there's no way I would ever fail in finding a solution."

 

She eyes Delilah with a dangerous confidence that would make most men or women buckle at the knees. Delilah just looks between you both for a moment.

 

"That's comradery is a rare gift," She replies quietly, before adding in Nathbryn's native language, "Saph natha ssin'urn belladona wun erthe." (Like a beautiful wintering nightshade).

 

Nathbryn looks a little surprised, but also highly respected at the same time. You know enough drow to understand, having been around the sensual dark elf for so many years. She lifts her chin a little higher and smirks.

 

"Dos ph'retlah d'brornen... Ol lassen uns'aa xuil mzild mizil'ros taga an'yuil bauth dos." (You are full of surprises... It leaves me with more questions than answers about you.)

 

"Intrigue is a mesmerizing gift. You've certainly mastered all the facets, Nathbryn." Delilah extricates herself, rather easily making her way to the warmed tile floors. She bows.

 

"It's been a genuine pleasure. I may take you up on your advice and find some quality talking companion for the evening." The woman chuckles. You can tell she has a knack for reading a room. "I'll be happy to join you again for a cup of tea sometime. Tempest." Delilah nods her head in a secondary bow to you. "Good evening again, and thank you."

 

Delilah disappears almost instantly, sifting her way through the crowd like a shadow. Her tattoo was visible again; a very intricate raven with woven streams flowing through it. It almost moves as she moves. Beautifully designed and ethereal, it covers half of her back... and ode to someone or something in her life, something very, very powerful.

 

Nathbryn pulls Alrik closer. The perfumed water swirls quietly, the enchanted ceiling above twinkling with stars. It feels like being in your own little world, the outside borders of it muffled and distant.

 

"You did scare the shit out of me back then."

 

You can feel her words more than hear them, barely a whisper in the room. Her hand has dropped to your back, brushing delicate fingers across the contours of the scar.

 

Alrik nods. "I know, dear. I know. Not at the time, but I do now." He leans into her slightly, enjoying the softer, hardly-seen side of The Scourge. (Fade to black...)