Romulus' Test of High Sorcery - Day Three

7th Day of Hiddumont, 348 AC

The night passes quietly in peaceful comfort. The next morning in the Tower of Wayerth is quiet and a sense of tension hangs in the air. None of the other Aspirants are anywhere to be found, perhaps having already started their tests. As the long, isolated hours pass, the sun rises and falls. Romulus takes a walk around the empty moonlit courtyard. 

Coming back from his walk, he glances into the grand hall where the leaders of the Conclave gather. The Hall of Mages is an immense obsidian chamber with a 60' ceiling. Twenty chairs sit in shadows, while one central chair gives off a cold, white glow - the hall's only light source. All twenty-one chairs face the north wall.

The longer he looks into the room, the larger it seems. Despite not declaring for any Order, he can sense the history of the place, spells of incredible power woven by the world's greatest mages, and the critical decisions made about the future of the Conclave. 

As he turns away from the chamber, he notices that he is standing at the bottom of a spiraling set of black stairs that were not there a moment before. The door to the Hall of Mages is gone, replaced by a blank stone wall. Above, torches ligh spring to life, glowing with red, black, and white flames, beckoning you upward, "Looks like the next part of the Test is finally starting," he thinks to yourself as he starts up the stairs. The climb seems to take forever but after an untold number of minutes, you reach a landing. Beyond stands simple wooden double doors with silver doir knockers. Along the left wall, large painted portraits hang at regular intervals, portraying various mages of High Sorcery.

There are only 12 paintings on the wall. There are no labels or nameplates identifying the pictured mages, who wear an assortment of white, red, and black robes. Some pictures are centuries old while one looks like it may still be wet with fresh paint. Some of the mages scowl, others vary between whimsical and boredom. Of the final five pictures, the first is a black-robed kender with an enormous, dazzling smile, pointy hat, and monocle. The second is a tall, reb-robed humanoid with light blue skin and proud expression with an amulet dangling on a chain held between his fingers. Third, is a shy-looking black robed woman with dark hair and pupils shaped like hourglass. The fourth is a white-robed, white-haired elven woman with an ornate rapier hanging from her belt. All of the them - mages from every sort of background - had taken their Test and survived.

The final painting has no frame and is entirely black. Looking at it produces a sense of unease, a vague wrongness that tells you someone is watching from the other side of the canvas.

Romulus glances at each painting in passing, stopping for a brief moment before the all-black image. "Hmmmm.... you must have been a bad boy to have your portrait obscured in such a manner." Like his brethren, he feels the watchfulness of the painting. "Well? Are you going to do or say anything? I haven't got all day."

The midnight-colored ink begins to swirl on the canvas, and a man's deep, articulate voice can be heard inside his mind. "More wood for the fire. Another sacrifice to feed the Conclave's ego. You are an interesting one though, aren't you? Not many can perceive me at all, let alone make contact, yet today alone, there have been three of you. With a little help, I suspect that you just might make a mark on this little world. No mage worth their salt is an island."

Romulus fights the urge to roll his eyes and stifles a yawn. "Cut to the chase and make your offer, pal. I've already got a pair of deities making demands on my time and I may be getting an offer from a fey lord after I spoke with some faeries outside. Making deals are part of this game but at this rate, I'm going to find myself holding a political office if I'm not careful."

"Consider me an interested party, a potential benefactor who would be a silent partner as you go forward. Even the most promising of mages master their early tests, only to perish in the last, most vicious test. The corpses of those unlucky acolytes now lie, entombed, beneath this very tower. I alone can and will help you survive your final challenge. All I ask, in exchange, is a small portion of your life force after you complete your tests."

The halfling laughs. "Does that spiel work on anyone? Seriously, do I look like I just fell off of the rhubarb wagon? Peddle your papers elsewhere, ghost voice. I ain't buying." With that, the archmage turned Druid adjusts the scimitar on his belt and saunters up the rest of the stairs, finally reaching the uppermost landing.

Thick, rather plain double doors stand before him. No knob or pull ring adorns the dark wood. He moves closer, taking notice of a pair of silver door knockers taking the image of his face that face him. "Well, aren't we ominous? This place certainly has a taste for theatrics."

He extends one hand, and knocks three times. A moment later, the double doors open. Beyond lies the familiar fey-haunted woods surrounding the Tower of High Sorcery. Heavy fog swirls along the path. The red and white moons hang overhead, shining wan light through the canopy. A quiet voice whispers in his ear, "So it begins."

Romulus steps forward and enters the forest. The doors disappear leaving him stranded on the trail. The sound of water burbling ahead draws his attention and he makes his way toward the noise. He soon arrives at a sandy riverbank. A gray-robed figure with a blade-shaped metal oar stands beside a narrow boat. The figure beckons Romulus to board.

"I guess we'll see where this goes," the halfling says, mostly to himself as he steps into a rickety wooden craft. The boatman pushes off and begins paddling with a steady rhythm. A fog rolls in, obscuring the far shore. Whispers ebb amd flow in the fog but Romulus ignores these, focusing on shapes that pass indistinctly in the mist. Eventually, he spots a narrow pier and tugs on the ferryman's robe and points toward the dock. The ferryman turns his head slightly, shifting his grip on the oar. One of Romulus' hands drifts to his scimitar while he points at the dock with the other. The ferryman pauses, then nods, turning toward the mooring.

The boat brushes against the dock and Romulus steps ashore. He turns back toward the ferryman, only to discover that both boat and boater have vanished. Grumbling to himself about disappearing spectral boatman, the archmage heads forward along the dock, eventually coming to a dimly lit cave littered with dozens of stone statues. The statues’ realistic features are frozen in various expressions, some looking ahead with complete confidence while others cower and shrink away from an unseen danger.

"Ahhh.... a Medusa lair, then. The decor gives it away." He reaches into one of his many pouches and pulls forth a small jar. He pops open the lid and daubs paste from within onto his eyelids. "That should do the trick..." he thinks to himself as he presses forward. He walks carefully along the uneven path, avoiding broken statue bits as he goes. Ahead, he spots the figure of a woman with a snake's tail dressing one of the statues and chuckling softly to herself. He also spots a door just beyond her.

The Medusa, her forked tongue flicking the air turns and smiles, exposing her fangs.  “Look at thisss. They brought me a new mage for my ssspecial collection."

"Not quite, lady. I am under the impression that I must make it past you to continue this Test. Be a dear and move aside. There is little reason for unpleasantness between us."

Her coils twist and curl as she slides closer. “Yessss, but don’t you ssssee? You would make sssuch a good ssstatue for my collection. Maybe there iss sssomething elsse you could offer me? Perhapss a magic item of sssortss, to round out the accesssoriess for all my dear friendsss here.”

The wizard meets her gaze steadily, a single bead of sweat rolling down from one temple as the magical cream resists her petrifying stare. "No, I don't think I will. Last chance, move aside and no harm will come to you."

She hisses, rears up on her tail, her snake-hair comes to life, hissing and spitting venomous droplets as she towers over the halfling. Romulus makes a quick gesture with his free hand and speaks the work "Держи монстра". The snake woman freezes in place instantly, unable to move. Angry hisses fill the air as she struggles to free herself from the archmage's spell of holding. He walks past, wondering briefly if he should kill her to prevent harm to future Aspirants that may pass this way but decides against it as the Tower's masters would just be able to summon another to take her place. He does, however, take a key that he finds laying on the ground and uses it to open the door just beyond the Medusa.

He steps through the door and finds himself in a small hut. Bundles of herbs and roots hang from exposed rafters. Weak sunlight shines through filmy, soot-stained windows onto shelves laden with jars, crystals, numerous tiny flasks, and more cooking equipment than Romulus has seen in once place since his youth in Cormyr. Before he can take a full inventory of his surroundings, an elderly human woman shuffles into the room.

"Oh goodness, you’re finally here!” Her voice is as warm as sunlight, and her expression is gentle. She takes his hand to guide him to the dining room table.

“Come, come, sit down dear, have some nice herbal tea and cookies. You must have had quite the tumultuous time in your test so far—that Conclave just doesn’t know how to be gentle with youngsters.”

Once you’re seated, she pushes forward a plate of freshly baked cookies and a fresh cup of peppermint tea already prepared for you. She wipes her hands on her apron and shuffles over to the fireplace where a black iron pot bubbles, filled with an acrid-smelling liquid. She continues chatting as she stirs the pot.

"Really! The mages are so jaded by wars and conflict they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be new to the world. Even getting through Wayreth Forest is such an ordeal these days, though thankfully, you came across the fairies when you did. Mages like you require all the help you can get.”

She looks back at the halfling, her expression still kind but her eyes knowing.

“However, I should let you know that the bread you took, which I baked myself, doesn’t have any effect until you’re ready to pay the price. I wish things could be free, but that’s just the way of the world, isn’t it?”

"I already rendered a payment. I wiped that stone sigil away," Romulus counters.

"A payment that hasn't been agreed upon is no payment at all." With a hum, she leans over the pot, breathing deeply of the mysterious liquid that boils within. “Now, why don’t you come over here and help me out, dear?”
When she speaks, something inside of Romulus' stomach lurches, and his limbs twitch. He fights the urge to rise and she frowns, "Really, youngsters these days.”

Stirring the pot a few more times, she taps the spoon dry on the side of the pot and lets it sit on a counter.

“If you’re worried, the price for my bread and my help is not unreasonable. I just need some assistance with my potion here, and then I can send you on your merry way with a fresh pep in your step.”

The older woman turns her back to you and bends down, searching through some drawers, muttering under her breath about trying to find bat fingers. She leans over the pot, breathing deeply and smiles, "Almost done. It just needs two more ingredients. Be a dear and stir this for me."

Romulus walks over to the cauldron and peers inside. The woman's concoction burbles steadily, releasing small wisps of blue smoke with each bursting bubble. She sprinkles what looks like white spider legs into the mixture. The potion hisses violently. She nods with satisfaction, "Good. Now it just needs a bit ... of ... you."

"What now?" Romulus reaches for his blade while his mind calls to the fore words to a spell that would reduce the woman and her hut to ash.

The older woman beams at him as she takes his hand in her small, wizened ones. As she looks at him, her face becomes sharper, her ears pointed, her eyes milky white, and the color drains from her apron until it is just a gray robe. Soon her transformation into a hag is complete, but even as her appearance shifts, her expression continues to be warm and gentle.

“I hope my true appearance doesn’t alarm you—you can understand why I have to look a little more harmless at first.” From within the hag’s wispy white hair, you see some of the fairies from Wayreth Forest peek out, giggling and winking at you.

“Now then, dear, I don’t need much help at all. Truly, all I need is a part of your flesh and blood to add to the potion. Only a little bit—a finger or an eye would be ideal—but I’ll let you choose. The process will be quite painless, too, as a bonus.” Her grip on his hand remained firm, her gaze expectant.

Romulus calculated the odds, trying to gauge her true intentions. By all rights, he owes payment for the bread despite his flippant approach throughout that previous exchange. There were a lot of things a hag, or any spellcaster could do with his flesh and blood. Then there were the faeries, they HAD been defacing the symbol of this world's darkest, most evil goddess. Besides all of that, would the Order actually allow a dangerous outside source to have a hold over new acolytes? Apprentice mages beholden to a hag could only lead to doom from within as potential traitors made thier way through the ranks. It was too great of a risk.

Romulus took a quick breath and made his decision. "You may have my left pinkie finger, then." He held out his hand to her and she smiled.

The hag takes her spoon and with a word, a blade forms at the end of the spoon. She swipes it through the air, and a painless moment later, Romulus notices that his finger is gone, held in the hag's hand. Unconsciously, he holds his breath, waiting to see if his gamble was correct.

She drops his finger into the pot, stirring it in. The liquid bubbles and fizzes, turning from a murky brown to a bright green to a sickly yellow before it settles on a deep dark red. As the potion finishes brewing, the hag hums with delight.

“Very good, very good! I am so glad you were willing to help, my dear. It is becoming increasingly rare that young ones such as yourself honor their bargains. Now then, off with you, your next test is about to begin."

In an eyeblink, she and her hut are gone, replaced by a gladiatorial arena with bloodstained walls. The roar of an unseen crowd fills Romulus' ears and he looks around, searching for the source but finding none. He does spot a pile of weapons near the center of arena. More than a dozen other Aspirants stand at varying spots in the fighting ring, all looking confused and the worse for wear.

"Welcome, one and all, to the Trial of the Terrorwind!” A voice booms through the air from an unseen source, and the crowds cheer loudly in response.

"This is a crowd favorite, but I’ll make sure to repeat the rules for the new blood. In just a moment here, the terrorwind is going to appear. Now, all our hopeful mages have to do is survive. The trial ends when
only one mage is left standing or if someone forever renounces their magic to save the others. Either way, it’s going to be a fun one today!”

In the middle of the arena, a breeze begins to blow, swirling lazily. Soon it picks up speed, forming a ball of twisting and writhing wind. Swords, axes, spears,
arrows, and maces spin up into the growing, living tornado—caught within its whirlwind.

“Let the trial begin!”

The announcer has barely finished their words when the terrorwind flies forward, carving through one of the unsuspecting mages, leaving behind nothing but
gore and scraps of cloth. The crowds howl with the first drawn blood, and the cheering continues as the terrorwind advances its path of destruction. Many
other test takers don’t focus on the terrorwind, instead brutally turning on each other. Spells fly through the air, and blades are drawn against companions.

Romulus turns and spots Shadow's friend, Kyrian. She is busy trying to avoid the attacks of the braggart, Darien Ariantal, and does not see the terrorwind turn toward her. The archmage pulls a pinch of diamond powder from one of his pouches and gestures toward the half-elf girl and calls out "Стена Силы!" An invisible barrier rises from the ground in front of the Elemental monster. Romulus motions with one hand and the wall encircles the creature. Sparks fly as the weapons carried within the terrorwind's body crash uselessly against the wall of force.

The noise attracts Kyrian's attention and she turns to see what is going on. Darien takes that moment to strike, rushing at her with a cudgel seized from the battlefield. He clubs her in the small of her back and she falls, crying out in pain.

Romulus leaps into the fray, ducks the swing of Darien's cudgel and taps him on the leg while chanting, "Изменить форму на мышь." Darien's entire body buckles and he falls to the ground, screaming in agony as his body twists and shrinks. Gray fur sprouts all over his body, except for on his hands and feel. His eyes become small, beady, and black as his ears broaden and move to the top of his head. A hairless pink tail erupts from his hind end as his voice changes from agonized bellows to pained squeaks. Romulus scoops up the mouse and drops him into a wire-reinforced pouch. He then turns to Kyrian and kneels beside her. The terrorwind continues to howl as it tries to find a way out of its enclosure. The archmage pulls some holly berries from a different pouch and calls upon one of his gods while placing a hand on the injured girl's back. Energy flows, mending the wound.

Kyrian's eyes flutter open and she stares into Romulus' eyes, "You better survive the Test of High Sorcery and become the greatest mage ever known. I’ll be cheering for you wherever you are, and maybe you can even come find me and visit!”

Kyrian shifts her grip on his hand, entwining her pinky finger with Romulus' ring finger. “And you better promise that you’ll use your magic to help as many people as you can, just like you helped me. And I’ll help as many people as I can too!”

Taking a deep breath, Kyrian closes her eyes and bows her head. As she does, rays of energy burst from her like multi-colored sunbeams, her magical powers draining from her and into the arena. The terrorwind unravels into a gentle breeze, its weaponry clanging to the sand. Soon the beams of light and magic are all he can see, and the arena fades away. The last thing Romulus sees is Kyrian smiling with pride.

Romulus blinks and finds himself standing beneath a beautiful sunset. He is atop a hill looking down at a crossroad laid out before him. The westward road leads to a small seaside village in the midst of celebration, its people singing lively offkey shanties from the town square. The northern road slopes to a beautiful glade surrounded by cozy trees and a sparkling pond. The eastern road curves around a rocky bend, and beyond lies a home that looks just like the one he grew up in, with a single lantern’s light shining from a window.
The southern road disappears into the thick, choking fog—he senses thatthat way lies his next challenge in the Test of High Sorcery.

"No time like the present, I always say." With that, he takes to the southern pass and heads into the fog.  Gnarled tree limbs hang over the road, taking on the appearance of skeletal arms beckoning hum to leave the path. The way forward is rocky and uneven, but he presses onward, eager to complete the Test and return to Silvanesti.

The twisted, foggy road onward leads you away
from the hill and, eventually, underground. The mist dissipates, and you find yourself standing upon a small, soggy dock within a sea cove. At the end of the dock, a wooden sloop sailing the flag of the crimson moon Lunitari rocks back and forth against the choppy waves. On its side, the name The Night Candle has been painted in red calligraphy that glows slightly with arcane light.
Outside the cove, a thunderous storm approaches, and rainwater causes the water level to climb and spill over the dock. At the back of the cover, away from the ship, you can see a subterranean tunnel lit by green phosphorous fungi. The tunnel seems to slope slightly upward, away from the rising sea.

"Well, I'm a better swimmer than I am a sailor, the tunnel it is." He unstoppers a potion and drinks its contents, conferring the ability to breathe underwater and plunges in. Romulus reaches the tunnel and heads inside, guiding the glowing phosphorescent moss. Gradually, the tunnel begins to climb but it grows increasingly narrow with only his halfling stature allowing him to pass without scraping on the sides. He gets the sense that he is being stalked and starts to look around but something brushes against his leg and the passage goes dark. He is grabbed and pulled along rapidly, banging against the walls for an unknown amd unknowable distance. Finally, he breaks the surface. Brilliant white light flares ahead, revealing dozens of floating, fist-sized white eyeballs with gleaming red pupils. The creatures, whatever they are begin to swim toward him.

He shouts, "Летать!" and rises out of the water, floating several feet above the swarm of ... jellyfish? He shudders, repulsed by the sight. Flying ahead above the surface now, he avoids the ravenous creatures only to be confronted by a giant red tentacle that rises out of the water to swipe at him. A spell of blasting comes to mind but instead of fighting, he pours on the speed and dodges aside, reaching a steep cliff and ascending to its summit.

He floats beneath a domed temple of smooth red stone and clear glass, open to the celestial heavens above. The red moon Lunitari hangs in the sky—an ever-watching eye. Smaller, the waning silver gleam of Solinari shines through the temple’s dome, casting a streak of moonlight across the floor. The scent of lavender fills the air. Four tall stone columns reach to support the dome, carved with sigils denoting the three moons in various conjunctions. The sigils seem to shimmer where moonlight touches them, shifting with a life of their own. Smooth stone chairs lie scattered across the empty temple, their seats tilted back at perfect angles for viewing the moons through the curved glass ceiling.
A slight breeze rustles the back of his neck, but when he turns around, no one is there. A set of stairs leading to an underground chamber are in the center of the temple. Chromatic light spills up from the bottom of the steps, shifting hues between white, green, blue, red, and black.

Romulus takes a slow lap around the perimeter of the temple. He is greeted by more rune-covered pillars but aside from the center stairway leading down, there is no other exit from the room. He turns his gaze upward, he notices a bald woman clad in leather armor lurking in the darkness. She speaks a single word and vanishes from sight. Romulus concentrates for a moment, calling upon his ability to see things hidden by Invisibility and sees her leaping in near-perfect silence from pillar to pillar before sliding down one of the far ones and slipping into the shadows.

Realizing that she must be another Aspirant, Romulus makes for the stairs and descends quickly, planning on cutting her off before she can reach whatever lies below.

The stairs empty into a small circular room. At the center of the room, three metallic statues of robed figures face each other, their faces obscured by cowls. Bleached humanoid skeletons surround the statues on the cold floor. All six of the statues’ hands are extended and cupped, meeting together. A large orb ten inches in diameter rests where their hands meet, made of fragile-looking crystal. Within the orb, strange mist swirls and glows, shifting between five chromatic colors. Partially hidden in the mist, curious runes of pure magical energy drift about aimlessly, beckoning him.

He focuses on the orb, observing it intently. Before long, he becomes convinced that the orb is intelligent and staggeringly powerful. He cautiously reaches out with his mind, trying to establish contact with the artifact. He is quickly entranced by the visions swirling within.

The Orb reveals secrets of the River of Time, a unified timeline that cannot be altered through chronomancy, except in rare instances where Chaos creates tributaries in the river.

He sees the birth of the world and dragons, the Cataclysm, and many wars that ravage the world—past, present, and future. The information shared is nearly overwhelming, and before he loses control, he pulls his mind back you find yourself  from the orb.

The orb’s light fades and a silky female voice whispers, filling the chamber, “You risked much for this knowledge. What was only glimpsed will be revealed fully in dreams. May you have the wisdom to understand this is a gift—to know which way the River of Time flows, though you cannot change it.”

Another voice, dark and compelling, offers another perspective. “Ah, but the river’s flow can change under the right circumstances. For the right person. It has happened before and will happen again. Just think, this one could become another Fistand–”

A third voice interrupts, strong and soothing all at once. “Let us not put destructive ideas in this mortal’s head. It is enough that they understand their place in the order of the cosmos.”

The voices fade away, and Romulus begin to melt into the temple’s floor. For a few moments, its stone and his flesh are one, and the sensation is every bit as harrowing as it is invigorating. He finally falls through to the other side and finds himself in a beautiful clearing near a mist-shrouded lake. An expansive forest of towering oaks, elms, and pine stretches off beyond the limits of his vision.

The mist begins to recede from the bank, revealing an enormous golden dragon. It watches him intently, in much the same manner as a cat with a mouse. All around the dragon lies its great treasure hoard, a sparkling collection of gold, pearls, and unusual items.
A beard of drooping whiskers frames the gold dragon’s reptilian face. Its eyes are open, glinting with golden light as they curiously watch you. There is an unmistakably keen cunning in the dragon’s otherworldly gaze. When the magnificent creature shifts upon its hoard, its body undulates with serpentine grace, causing bright moonlight to reflect off its bright scales and dance through the night sky.

“Do not even think about stealing from my hoard, small one. I may be so old that I have forgotten my name, but be sure that I enchant every gift I receive.
Their wards’ magic is far more powerful than even you are ready to contend with.” The dragon booms, shaking the trees and causing leaves to fall like golden rain.
“So, they send me another would-be mage, mm? And what sort of mage will you be, I wonder. Let us find out. I offer you the choice of three treasures. But know this—treasures are not gifts. And so they each come with a price that I will not share with you until you make your decision.

Draconic words rumble from deep within the dragon’s chest, and three small vials float out of the hoard and hover before you. The dragon bellows again, a small burst of fire flaring from its nostrils.

“One potion that allows your spells to heal others. Another that causes your spells to wrack foes with terrible pain. And a third, to let you see the flaws in any foe, no matter how great. One of these is yours to take.”

Romulus replies almost instantly, "No, but thank you. The less time I accepted a 'gift' it cost me a finger and that was just today!"

The dragon chuckles, an ominous sound coming from so large a creature and motions the potions back into his hoard.

“Confidence. Confidence is one of many keys to achieving greatness. Choosing no treasure is, after all, a profound statement to the Mages of High Sorcery.”
The dragon yawns fire, "It is time for me to rest but I will be checking in on you, should you survive your next test. Farewell, small one."

The dragon, its shimmering treasure hoard, and the lake evaporate and Romulus finds himself once again on a well-traveled crossroad beneath the light of the three moons. But this time, all of the roads twist and turn upon each other, each seeming to lead to the same place.

Romulus wipes his face with both hands, "What is this, some sort of metaphor for destiny? How much longer is this trial going to take?" With that, he puts one foot in front of the other and starts down the path.

The road leads up one hill, down another, and then up an even higher one. Far below, the smoldering ruins of the village and forest stand as charred embers with no three stones left stacked upon another. Romulus eventually lets out a sigh and stops walking. He stretches, yawns, and quietly whispers, "Безопасное убежище Леомунда."

A sturdy cottage with smoke rising from its chimney grows out of the ground before him. He opens the door and heads inside. After a dinner of buttered potatoes with cheese and chives and a mug (or three) of mead, he settles in for the night.

In the morning, he rises, eats again, and refreshes his magic for the day before setting out again.