Ra'ziir's Test of High Sorcery - Day One

05 Hiddumont 348 AC (05 Elient 1342 DR)

Menathradon of House Magus arrives to take Shadow, Romulus, and Ra'ziir to their respective Tests of High Sorcery.

Menathradon nods to Ra’ziir and motions for him to join Romulus and Shadow. He asks the group to join hands in a ring. A moment later, each individual member of the group finds themselves alone at the edge of a forest. The autumn air is damp and smells of rain. No leaves remain on the skeletal branches of the dead trees as they reach for the sky. A low fog curls around the adventurers' feet and boughs. The smell of decay is thick in the air, leaving a greasy feel inside of your noses and a foul taste in your mouths.

Despite over a decade spent on the road, facing dangers of every sort, a chill runs down your spine and goosebumps rise along your arms. In the far distance, a pair of black towers, illuminated from within by a sickly blue light stands, looming over the treetops. A narrow, rutted road leads into the dark forest.

Moving forward, the formerly dead forest transforms, becoming full of life with vibrant green leaves, ferns, grasses, and colorful blooms. It is nigh impossible to tell if an illusion of decay has been lifted or an illusion of health has taken hold. Small birds flit to and fro, ground squirrels and rabbits scurry through the underbrush, and deer can be seen moving through the boughs at the edges of your vision.

A gentle breeze carries the fragrant aromas of the flowers to you, driving out the rotted scent and leaving you feeling refreshed. A low rumble can be heard behind as the trees move to block the path back out of the woods, leaving only the trail ahead.

Ra’ziir enxounters much the same thing. He considers the path, then the beckoning ghostly hand… recognizing that the Test may be starting prior to actually reaching the Tower, he casts True Seeing in an effort to better determine his next actions.

His spell reveals that the ghostly fingers are exactly what they seem to be. The forest itself also remains unchanged, thereby proving that the illusion was the decayed trees.

“Tests indeed. Testing my curiosity apparently. Ok, let’s see what hides in the weeds…”

Ra’ziir follows the side path toward the overgrowth, his hand resting on the pommel of Grumbar’s Razor as he navigates the trail toward the beckoning apparition.

The bladesinger moves quickly but with care, alert for danger. The hand itself fades from view although what was once a path is more-or-less visible. After traveling a short distance into the trees, Ra’ziir begins to hear a raspy, disembodied voice to go with the now-vanished hand.

"Another Aspirant, brought here by the lure of the Tower. Tell us...as you march toward death, what are you most haunted by?"

🎶🎵 "Four hopeful mages enter the woods, three get scared by the ghosts, two enter the foreboding tower, and one dies with only vain hopes!" 🎵🎶

A moment later, the source of the song comes into view. Tiny faeries, each no more than a few inches tall, leap and dance, their feet digging into a defacing a strange symbol carved into the ground. They all giggle and cackle, until they notice him, all five heads turning to face him simultaneously.

"Ahhh! Here comes a hopeful mage now!" one of the faeries laughs.

"How long do you think he will last?" another asks.

A third chimes in, "Poor thing, going to his death and doesn't even know it."

"If he was smart, he would turn around and go back!" adds a fourth.

The last one stops laughing, his face serious, "No. He could survive, if he eats THIS!" The faerie steps aside, revealing a small white plate with a golden edge. A small piece of fluffy white bread, fresh and sweet-smelling, sits in the center.

Ra’ziir chuckles, “Yes, of course, let me tell the lifeless guardians of a strange wood my deepest fears… seems prudent.”

The Eldritch Knight follows with, “Perhaps the spirits here might indulge me instead. Why is it you linger here instead of passing? What is it you seek… or guard?"

All sense of the disembodied limb fades away. As the voices fades away, Ra’ziir hears these final words, "While the Test may provide great fortune, no person has left those walls untouched by the ghosts of their Trials. You may yet join us here in the shadows."

🎶🎵 "Four hopeful mages enter the woods, three get scared by the ghosts, two enter the foreboding tower, and one dies with only vain hopes!" 🎵🎶

A moment later, the source of the song comes into view. Tiny faeries, each no more than a few inches tall, leap and dance, their feet digging into a defacing a strange symbol carved into the ground. They all giggle and cackle, until they notice him, all five heads turning to face him simultaneously.

"Ahhh! Here comes a hopeful mage now!" one of the faeries laughs.

"How long do you think he will last?" another asks.

A third chimes in, "Poor thing, going to his death and doesn't even know it."

"If he was smart, he would turn around and go back!" adds a fourth.

The last one stops laughing, his face serious, "No. He could survive, if he eats THIS!" The faerie steps aside, revealing a small white plate with a golden edge. A small piece of fluffy white bread, fresh and sweet-smelling, sits in the center.

“And what might the Fey folk of this land be tempting me with.?” The Eldritch Knight says as he reaches for the small plate.

“Will I die a horrible death? Or perhaps hallucinate wildly? Will it give me some sort of advantage over the Test, or ensure my failure?”

The faeries, all save one, continue to sing and dance around the symbol at a frenzied pace. The final one flies to Ra’ziir, wings buzzing so fast as to be nearly invisible. "Eat up, dear one, eat up! Those stuffy mages at the Tower won't allow you to bring our gift with you to your Test, so you must eat it now if you want our help!" She presses the bread into the bladesinger's hand, her eyes bright and smile wide.

The sigil on the ground flickers with eldritch light. Powerful energy, enough to make the hairs on Ra’ziir's arms stand on end radiates from it.

Ra’ziir growls as the Fey press upon him, the pleas from the symbol?? in his ears…

He steps back from the fairie offering the treat, a hand up warning them to stand fast.

“If you wish to parley Fairy, do so plainly. I will suffer none of your foolishness!” He looks around, wary of surprises “What is it you want and what do you offer? Speak now!”

The Elfemental’s hand grips the pommel of Grumbar’s Razor, the words of magic tickling his tongue as he focuses keenly on the outspoken Fey before him.

The fairy that had trying to press her food upon the bladesinger lets out a "Yip" and retreats, dropping the cake. It hits the ground and dissipates into mist. Her retreat startles the remaining faeries who scatter, chittering angrily. The sigil glows with renewed strength, shimmering with red, blue, black, white, and green energy. The whisper returns, louder and stronger.

"Thank you, adventurer. You will be rightly rewarded and sooner than you know...should you accept my gift." The voice is sultry, its tone invoking images of hedonistic pleasure. Energy thrums around the Elf-emental, sinking into his flesh and bones. The symbol melts away, flowing into the stone. The clearing vanishes and is replaced by polished silver and gold arches loom over the trail. The gate's metal is twisted in ornate patterns that reflect and glint in the light. The courtyard is filled with dust and overgrown weeds pushing through gaps in the cobblestones. There is no one in sight but as Ra’ziir reaches out to push the gate, it swings open on its own, allowing entrance. The curtain wall surrounding the towers forms a triangle decorated with depictions of the moons in different phases.

Ra'ziir hears the murmur of voices to one side and turns toward the sound. Standing a short distance away is a young, well, dressed human with a pair of gold rings on his manicured hands. Threads of gold catch the moonlight, glinting in the dim courtyard. "... and that's why only the best families should be allowed to study the Art. Peasants should simply stay in their designated places and serve, as the gods intended."

Noticing the man, Ra’ziir turns to make his way towards the stranger. As he approaches, the wizard offers a hand and says “Greetings. I am Ra’ziir Azagoth. I’ve come, as you may expect, to take the arcane “test” that is administered here at the towers. Might you be able to direct me as to where I should report?”

The men turn toward Ra’ziir. The speaker smiles as he takes in the elf's fine clothing and jewelry but it vanishes quickly as he notes the well-used weapons strapped to the bladesinger's belt. "Darien Ariantal," he says without extending his hand. "We have only just arrived ourselves. I didn't realize that mercenaries were allowed to take the Test."

Just then, the large wooden doors of the Tower creak open. Darien and companions enter and are greeted by two red-robed wizards. A group of a dozen or so would-be mages are assembled in the large antechamber, some quietly meditating but most gossiping quietly amongst themselves. He notes Romulus speaking excitedly to a small knot of hopefuls, gesturing with his hand and scimitar while his spotted leopard, Macula lounges indolently at his feet. Romulus gestures to one side with his left hand, directing Ra’ziir's gaze toward Shadow who has entered through a different doorway with a young half-elven girl trailing behind him. Darien sees the girl and snickers to his three companions. The half-elf bows her head, turning away as the man and his cronies swagger in her direction.

 Ra'ziir arrives just as Shadow runs off Darien and his cronies. He hears the girl exclaim, "Oh, thank you! It means a lot that you helped me! And if I can, I will find a way to return the favor!"

Ra’ziir nods in acknowledgement to Romulus and then makes his way toward Shadow and the half-elven woman, greeting the Drow with a wide smile “I’m glad to see you’ve made it Shadow! And you’ve met someone along your journey here it would seem.” Ra’ziir smiles genuinely at the Half-Elven woman, extends a hand, and introduces himself.

Kyrian smiles, introduces herself, and shakes Ra’ziir's hand.

Romulus joins Shadow and Kyrian a moment later. "I threatened to polymorph our friend into a mouse for Macula to hunt a few minutes ago. He kept calling me a 'kender'. I should probably find out what those are before we go too much further.

The dining hall features a blazing hearth. The center of the chamber has a long table surrounded by chairs with enough seats for each Aspirant. Supper is hot and fresh, again with enough for everyone to eat and drink their fill. While the food is wonderful, some of it well-known and familiar, other items are unknown amd exotic, their is an underlying sense of tension. Some Aspirants speak quietly to each other. Several look down at their plates as a condemned man eating his last meal before being executed. Kyrian leans toward being one of the latter while Romulus eats several rounds of dinner before mentioning dessert. The pompous bully, once again in the company of his allies, seems unfazed by his earlier encounters and can heard boasting loudly that by this time tomorrow, he will be getting fitted for his robes.

Before long, pages from the Tower arrive to escort everyone to the private rooms. The suites are small but surprisingly elegant with hardwoods, silks, and fine leathers in their appointments. Pleasing herbal and citrus scents permeate the room, along with old parchment and nutmeg.

Moonlight spills through a stained glass window near a luxurious four-post bed, giving the room an ethereal glow. A small hearth keeps the room warm despite the autumn chill. Near the hearth, a claw-foot bathtub has been drawn with steaming hot water. Soft towels and vials of multicolored bath saltsf fill a rack nearby the bath.

A simple bookshelf rests along the right greystone wall, stuffed with books of every shape and size. Between the bookshelf and the bed sits a round obsidian study table with a single wooden chair. Dozens of names have been carved into the table. The only object on the table is an inert scrying orb held in a platinum base that resembles a dragon’s claw.

The page, a rail thin, bald man in gray robes clears his throat, "Tonight may be your last night and time is short. Use it wisely." He then backs out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Ra’ziir, after taking in the room and all it’s luxury, skimming the titles of the many books, and testing the bed with a brief sit, settles into the chair at the small study table. He then retrieves his grimoires and stacks them all on the table, save one that he opens and begins perusing.

“Probably ought to prepare some various incantations so as to be ready for anything…” the Elfemental mutters under his breath. He then begins studying different spells, making sure to account for all manner of situations that he may be presented with during the trials ahead.

He studies late into the night, stopping only when satisfied that he has done his utmost to provide himself with a diverse allotment of spells.

In the waning ours of darkness, he settles himself in a meditative sitting position on the floor. Legs folded beneath him and hands resting on his knees, he enters Reverie. Resting his body and mind, Ra’ziir remains in this state until the first rays of light break upon a new day.