Romulus‘s Test of High Sorcery - Day One

05 Hiddumont 348 AC (05 Elient 1342 DR)

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.

Romulus, astride the leopard Macula, ambles forward at a leisurely pace. He slips the fingers of his right hand through the loop of his sling and drops a stone into its pouch. "It seems the Test has already begun. Let's see what the Wizards from Wayreth Tower have in mind for us."

The breeze gently stirs the tree branches above, causing their leaves to rustle, a sound that is soon joined by groans and whispers. A ghostly hand appears in the underbrush. The halfling nudges his mount toward it while whispering the words of a spell. The hand is surrounded in an aura that indicates necromantic magic. "No surprise there although I would have laid even odds on an illusion," he says aloud, more to Macula than himself.

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

The halfling chuckles, "Sorry, Sir Hand, I'm not one to be shaken by spooky voices in the woods. See, I already died once and literally survived having not one, but two, magical staves blow up in my face. Better luck with the next rube."

He continues on his way and before long, the sound of singing reaches his ears.

🎶🎵 "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.

Romulus accepts the bread. "Thank you, I was hungry, haven't eaten since second breakfast, you know." Before he eats he stops and watches the dancers. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a breath before extending one hand and moving it in a flat circle when whispering words in the tongue of earth elementals. The sigil carved into the ground smooths over and vanishes.

He looks back to the tiny creatures, "Consider that payment for the bread."

The faeries begin chirping and tweeting rapidly, too fast for even the archmage to follow, "Slow down, and only one at a time!" he calls out to them.

"Our master would have use for one such as yourself," the lead faerie declares.

"And who is your master? Speak plainly, I already serve two gods and would avoid spreading myself too thin. Besides, I have an appointment to keep."

The pixies become serious, or at least as serious as they are capable of becoming. "We serve the Father of Forests, the Brother of Emmantiensien, Relmaroun the Treant."

"Carry a message to your master, then. I am willing to deal." That said, the halfling taps his heels into Macula's flanks, urging the cat forward towards the looming gates which have materialized before him.

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. 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.

The towers themselves are crafted from black stone and etched with glowing stained glass and arcane runes.  

He passes through the courtyard and through another door and finds himself in a large reception hall.

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. The halfling nods toward Shadow as he continues to tell whatever story he is in the middle of.

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. "I told Father and his peers that these so-called Dragonarmies would never dare invade Palanthus." The young man catches a glimpse of Romulus and smiles broadly, "or Kendermore for that matter. The little thieves would pick their soldiers clean of everything they own in no time. Isn't that right, tiny scoundrel?"

Romulus meets the man's gaze, "Are you talking to me?"

"I am, and I would think that even a Kender knows better than to look his betters in the eye."

"I am not sure what a 'kender' is but I have been called it several times in the last few days and have already grown weary of it," Romulus replies. "You can go away or I can change you into a mouse for my leopard to hunt."

The young man takes a step forward and Romulus motions swiftly with one hand, freezing him in place. "My presence here is a formality. I have already achieved a mastery of magic that even the leaders of this Brotherhood would envy. Go away lest I make an example of you."

To the man's credit, he holds his ground for about half of a second after Romulus releases him from his holding spell. Laughter follows the man through the hall as he storms off in search of someone else to bully.

Several Aspirants flock to the archmage, asking questions and congratulating him on driving off the arrogant young noble. Romulus does the best he can to answer their queries and shrugs off their praise. "It really was nothing, trust me. A loudmouth is one of the tamest challenges I have faced over the years."

Just then, the large wooden doors of the Tower creak open. More Aspirants enter. Romulus keeps one eye turned toward the arrivals, wondering where Ra’ziir and Shadow are.

His watch is rewarded before long when the bladesinger enters the room. Ra’ziir is confronted by the same bully who tried to Intimidate Romulus amd sends him packing in about the same amount of time.

Shadow walks in shortly afterward with a young girl in tow. The halfling nods toward Shadow, and, catching Ra’ziir's eye, motuons toward the dark elf as he continues to tell a story to a quartet of wide-eyed apprentices. As he reaches the end, he excuses himself and

Romulus joins his companions and the young woman 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.

Romulus makes his way over to the bookshelf and begins scanning the titles on the spines: "A History of the Second Dragonwar", "A Collectors Guide to Snowglobes", "Lost in the River of Time: The Unpredictable Dangers of Chromomancy", "Solamnia on a Budget".

He continues to thumb his way through the shelf until he finds a book entitled "The Foundations of High Sorcery". Intrigued, he takes the book over to the table and sits with it. The book details the origin of the Order as recorded by Highmage Corenthas the White. Corenthas expressed doubts about maintaining a balance between good and evil mages and ends the chapter by presents the rules that all mages must live by:

All wizards must follow the bidding of the Conclave and the Order;

No outsiders may learn the secrets of the Order;

All wizards must report any renegade mages they discover;

Altering the forces of Creation and the fabric of magic is forbidden unless the Conclave grants permission;

and Breaking any of these rules will result in the Conclave passing judgment. The severity of said judgment may vary, ranging from sanitary duties at the Tower, excommunication and stripping the offender of their magic forever, and execution with the possibility of resurrection.

Romulus drops the book on the table and scoffs, "I'd like to see them try." He gets up and begins to pace, annoyed with the restrictions the Order seems to want to impose, the limitations on a wizard's ability to conduct their Art. His gaze falls upon the crystal orb.

He takes a calming breath, "Let’s see what you have to offer, hmmm?" The sphere begins to glow with a dim blue light and rattles on its dragon claw stand. Shapes form within, clouded by mist. A ship appears and Romulus focuses on it. A great storm rages, lightning splits the sky, and the ship pitches and rolls on the waves. Romulus finds himself on the deck, feet scrambling for balance on the rain-and-sea-soaked wood. He grabs the wheel and pulls hard, turning the ship into the wind and throws a glance over his shoulder.

The ship is being chased by a massive green-and-blue scaled dragon with the face of a toad. Yellow acid oozes from the monster's many warts and hisses with each drop that falls into the sea. The dragon closes, drawing ever nearer and it opens its gaping maw. The beast's long, sticky, pink tongue shoots from its open mouth. Romulus shouts a word of magic and ice pours from his hand, blasting the creature, driving it back. It roars in pain and vanishes beneath the waves. The orb goes dark and Romulus finds himself sitting back at the table. "These mages definitely have a talent for illusion magic, I'll give them that much."

Macula looks up, yawns, leaps onto the bed and promptly goes to sleep.

"Not a bad idea if I say so myself. Move over, friend." The halfling crawls into bed, whispers a quick mystic phrase to bar and alarm the doors and windows, pulls the covers up to his chin, and goes to sleep.