Shadow's 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. Shadow takes a walk around the empty moonlit courtyard. Fittingly enough, as he declared for the Order of Red Robes, the red moon Nuitari is full high above, bathing the world in crimson light.

Coming back from the 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. Having spent his formative years leaving in the vast cavern that houses the drow city of Mennzoberranzan, he stifles a yawn, unimpressed by what, in his estimation, is fairly standard architecture. That is when 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 him upward, "About time," he thinks as he heads up. The climb is long and he counts the steps to pass the time and when he reaches the landing that he eventually appears at the top, he has counted 1,576 steps, a number that indicates illusion magic being in play or that the Tower has some access to an interdimensional space. Beyond stands simple wooden double doors with silver door 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.

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.

“Hello there.  Would you like to speak with me in person instead of watching me?  If so, please come forth.”  Shadow steps back and swings his right arm in a motion in a “this way” motion.

The midnight-colored ink begins to swirl on the canvas, and you hear a man's deep, articulate voice inside your 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."

“Three today alone. You must be giddy with excitement. To whom do I have the pleasure of conversing?”

"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."

“While I find the prospect of dying during the tests a little bit unnerving, I find the thought of having an unknown being leeching my life force even more so. I will succeed or fail on my own merit. Having seen the wizards of this world, I will take my chances with their testing. Good luck with the vampiric game you are playing.  I doubt my group will be interested.  And if I should fail, I am sure you will find a way to taunt me. I would be disappointed if you didn’t. Good day to you.”

The voice grows loud and indignant inside your mind. "How utterly disappointing that you possess so little ambition or even an ounce of self-preservation. So be it! More wood for the fire!"

The mage's presence fades from Shadow's mind. Turning his attention to the doors, he finds that they seem utterly...normal. They appear to have neither handle nor lock - their only feature being a silvered door knocker. With no other obvious way to proceed, he raps three times upon the door. Only as the echoes of the last knock fade away do he notie that the knocker resembles hus face.

A moment later, the door swings open. Beyond lies the familiar, fey-haunted forest he passed through on the way to the Tower. Heavy fog rolls through the Wayerth Forest. The red eyes of otherwise unseen creatures lurk in the mist.

He steps and the door vanishes, the echo of its closing continues on for a few seconds before fading away as well. The misty air is thick with anticipation. The trees' dead branches are still, the weird red-eyed creatures remain steady, almost as if holding their breath as the seconds drag out. The white and red moons shine their light down over the world.

A voice snakes its way into your ear, "So it begins...."

Shadow begin to walk and the fog parts, revealing a path

through the trees. The path leads to a precipice of a windy cliff face. Ocean waves crash on the rocks below, the air is brisk and stings your face. Sitting on the edge, is a woman with feathered wings and a serpent's tail curling from beneath her skirt. She wears a mask in the shape of a hawk's face that covers her eyes and nose, leaving only her frown visible. "Please, can you help me? I've lost a stone given to me by my mother, who was given it by her mother before." Her voice is soft and lyrical but carries to you over the wind and thunder of the waves below. A pile of rocks sits beside her. She picks up a pebble from the pile, inspects it and then sets it aside. "I have spent days searching yet it eludes me. It is warm to the touch, shines purple under certain light, and is more sturdy than any other mountain rock."

“I can try.”

Shadow opens his arcane sight and gazes upon the pile. All of the stones seem vaguely magical. As the dark elf inspects the stones he says, "My name is Shadow. And, you are....?" The snake woman continues to stare off into the distance, seemingly disconnected from her surroundings. Shadow scowls, "Alright, and ... your mother... she was a being like you...?" He directs his gaze over the stones and suddenly one catches his eye. The shimmer of purple amidst the mass of marbled gray and white. He picks the stone from the pile. It glimmers in the pale red moonlight and Shadow finds it hard to look away. A subtle warmth spreads from the stone, quickly permeating his entire body, dispelling a cold he hadn't realized has taken hold.

“What’s this?”  Shadow says as he handles the stone.  His arcane sight reveals an aura of Transmutation magic and he can sense...something moving around inside but cannot tell what it is. He holds up the rock, showing it to the winged serpent woman, “What can you tell me of these stones?”

As soon as she sees the rock, she turns toward the dark elf, her serpentine body coiling beneath her. Her holds out her arms and she reaches out her hands, the fingernails resembling claws, "Give it to me," she pleads. Her eyes widen as she gazes upon the stone, "Give it to meeeee."

“I don’t think that would be wise.”  With that Shadow does a show of a quick somatic component and then slips the stone into his sleeve to conceal it. With a cry of "Ταχυδακτυλουργία" a puff of green acrid smoke appears. “It is secured and only my magic can release it from the pocket dimension I have created. Don’t $#%& with DARK ELVES!” He takes breath, “Now tell me why you want it and what it does?  And most importantly, what is in it for me?”

As soon as the stone has vanished and the smoke is carried off by the breeze, the snake-woman shrieks, "This is UNACCEPTABLE!" Her body coils rapidly beneath her and she lunges, claws extended, "GIVE IT TO MEEEEE!"

“First, give me answers," the dark elf replies. Then we can talk. "If you harm me it will remain lost to you and everyone else forever!”

She lunges once again, swiping with her claws before drawing a sword from a sheath between her wings.

“Here now don’t make me destroy you!”  Shadow draws Swiftwind and his Dagger using all of its defensive powers to avoid this one as he studies her movements in the event he has to strike. He strikes the best of her wrist with his rapier hard enough to make her drop the sword. He kicks it away and sends it spinning off the edge of the cliff which then crumbles beneath his feet and he follows the blade down into the darkness.

The darkness fades, replaced with the orange and red fires of an ornate bronze brazier. Shadow finds himself standing on a floating disk, some 50' across. A tall and imposing figure looms, back-lit by the fire and wrapped in a hooded forest green cloak so dark that it nearly appears black that obscures his features. The figure holds a golden staff in one backward-facing hand. With his other, he pulls back the hoods to reveal the face of a tiger, white and black striped fur handsomely groomed, golden eyes glinting with fire and malice. The tiger mage taps the end of his staff on the platform, sending vibrations through the black stone. After taking a moment to appraise the drow, he speaks, his cultured baritone tinged with an accent indicative of the Nine Hells. “Hmmm... this one has some power, not like the groveling worms sent to me earlier. I have a simple test for you," he points the staff to the top of the brazier, and the flames spark in another brilliant display of light and color. “Come. Prove your worthiness and mastery of nuance. Your first challenge is so simple even you could not bungle it—move these flames towards me without directly touching them.”

Shadow gazes upon the creature, well aware of what it is from his studies in Sorcere so many years ago even though it is his first time seeing a being of this type face-to-face.

“Why toy with such trivial things as moving braziers? Why not make the most of our time and energies instead of playing games? Testing for basic competencies instead of trying to determine if I am a good fit into your Tower of Neutrality’s mold of personality. I am not sure if this is what you want but let’s do get on with things.” And with that Shadow casts Mage Hand and moves the container of fire closer to him.

The tiger mage chuckles, amused, "An excellent idea." The tiger takes a step, pivoting on one foot in a militaristic manner to the right, takes two strides and stops before turning to face the rear once again and then takes another two steps back to his original starting point. "You have spirit for one so small, and such spirit is deserving of a sporting chance. I have reached a decision. I shall let you decide your next... game. Choose your next challenge and prove your fortitude. Do you show it through knowledge? Or is your arcane prowess your strength? Perhaps it is your spirit you believe so incredibly precious that none can fault it!”

“Oh my knowledge, arcane prowess and spirit all have faults but it is the binding of the three that is the key. No single challenge of each piece can ever test what can become of the whole. Yet here we are testing faults my friend. My path began with strength of will and spirit. So if we must, start there Ol’Chap.”

The tiger mage scowls. "We be of one blood, thou and I. Or, at least of one mind." He teaches into his cloak and pulls out a handful of bones, twisted and warped. He holds them for Shadow to see before tossing them onto the fire.

The fire’s smoke turns from a mild gray to a deep inky black as the bones come to life, animated with horrific unlife. “Now then, look into my eyes and do not look away. Not even an inch. We will see if your willpower is as great as you believe.”

The shambling creatures of bone and fire make their way to the drow, tugging at his limbs. Their presence inside his mind is so...loud, pleading for mercy—for anyone to look at them and ease their pain.

Shadow grits his teeth, shutting out the mental entreaties of the undead and focuses on his opponent, staring into the amber eyes of the tiger as the reflection of fire dances within. The horrifying screams, the anguished wails of the undead feel like fingernails scratching against the inside of the dark elf's skull but he remains resolute, ignoring the pitiable crying of the burning dead, his eyes never wavering as his gaze remains focused. Just as the noise reaches a crescendo of pain, the tiger raps the butt of his staff on the floor, once, and Shadow is surrounded once again by silence.

The tiger mage’s attention is entirely focused on you, looking you up and down again. His fascination is apparent in his grinning expression. “Perhaps you will become more than a mewling kitten yet. His deep orange eyes blink slowly, and he menacingly flicks his tongue around his lips. “Now, to prove your confidence is not shallow vanity. Two challenges remain. Which will choose I suppose?"

“That was not unlike some of the horrors our Matron Mother would unleash on us or at least on our minds.  The result is the same but some scars are hidden.”  Shadow points at his head and says, "Why break the legs when you can break the mind?"

“Let us go with Knowledge next.  It is what I am here to seek.  Is it not the same for all our Guild?”

The tiger mage tilts your head as if to reassess you, eyes glittering with the pleasure of a predator that has its prey entrapped in its claws. “The challenge is a simple question, then. One so learned as you must certainly already know the answer. What is my true nature?”

“Are all your kind from the Nine?  That is the rumor. It casts a pale shadow on your kind if so. I hope you know that just like me, I don’t cast out the whole lot of you over the rumor mill’s take on you. Like with my race the Drow. We are not all evil or born in the Underdark.”

“You are a lazy predatory fiend. You hide that behind your facade of order and use arcane power snare fools in your games as you destroy first their lives and then their souls. If nothing else you are a worthy poker adversary.”

"I can't be bothered with that, I have no time for that nonsense. Answer or fail," the tiger growls.

“You’re a good kitty aren’t you?  Who do you work for? Nevertheless, your true nature is that of fiend. You want what what is not yours and you relish the pain you cause mortals by your dealings with them and their vices. You are hungry!  Hungry for more. Just like me. That is your nature.”

"I grow weary of your wordplay." The tiger shifts his footing and adjusts his grip in the staff. "Answer! What am i?"

“Rakshasa,” Shadow hisses at the tiger man.

The Rakshasa snarls, "I was beginning to think you were stalling because you knew not the answer. I will grant you passage." With that, he slams the base of his staff against the ground. The earth around Shadow rumbles and shakes and he finds himself in a large banquet hall.

Wood and stone rubble is what remains of dinner tables and elegant benches. The air is thick with dust and smoke. Unconscious people lay sprawled across the marble floor, and many more run past the drow, screaming in terror. He can see countless meteors falling beyond the hall’s large open windows, streaking through the clouds as if the sky is shedding angry tears. Far off in the distance, a fiery mountain falls from the heavens. Amid all the movement and destruction, he sees someone kneeling by a pile of rubble, hands pulling desperately at something beneath the partially collapsed ceiling. As they turn to look at you, your heart skips a beat, and he recognizes her — Aa'diah, the courtesan he freed from slavery in Aghrapur.

As the drow rushes over to her side, she calls his name, tears welling up in their eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here,” her voice cracking, “please, help me save him.” A handsome young man lies beneath the rubble. He wears a fine silken doublet, the white fabric torn and burned. He lays unconscious, a gash on the side of his head bleeding and pooling onto the floor. Aa'diah turns to Shadow, still holding him close. “Please, you have to save my fiancée, my groom. Today was meant to be our wedding day, and then disaster struck, and now...” Aa'diah's voice trails off, choking back helpless sobs. His heart twists, swelling with confusion as his love declares their devotion and desire for another. The remaining ceiling beams creak and groan and he's sure this place won’t hold up much longer.

Shadow reaches down and begins to remove the rubble from the young man. As soon as the first few blocks are pushed aside, it becomes obvious that this young man will need immediate healing if he is to survive. Aa'diah lends a hand, straining to shift the shattered stones as the pair work to free her groom. A loud crack from above sends a shower of dust and pebbles raining down on their heads. Shadow looks up and sees the beam holding up the ceiling sag dangerously. Aa'diah grabs his wrist, "We’ll never make it. You should go, please. Save yourself,” they softly urge. She uses her other hand to pull her unconscious groom to rest on her lap, then continues, “Don’t let your feelings about me hold you back from your dreams.” A gentle smile graces their lips as fiery debris starts to rain down all around.

Shadow snarls, "No," and then hisses, "Pórta Diástasis," while directing the energy of his spell downward. A portal opens beneath the three of them and they fall through, dropping into the dimension door as the ceiling collapses completely.

As the dust settles, Shadow turns and gives Aa'diah a long, lingering look as the room fills with blindingly white light. When the light fades and his vision returns, Shadow finds himself on a hill overlooking a crossroads.

To the west, a small seaside village can be seen. Even from here, the people can be heard. The northern road leads to a beautiful glade surrounded by cozy trees and a sparkling pond. The eastern road curves around a rocky bend, and beyond stands Daggerford Keep, the first home Shadow found after leaving the Underdark behind. The southern road disappears into the thick, choking fog and Shadow knows that path will take him to his next challenge in the Test of High Sorcery.

The sun sets as Shadow walks toward what looks like Daggerford. As he approaches, he sees that the copy is nearly identical except for the extra moon shining red light down upon the road. The keep stands open and its interior is dark. 

No one appears to be home, not Trevelyan or Tarlen or Joseph, no one. Shadow's footsteps, despite falling silently still disturb a fine layer that covers the floor. Also, everything is oh, so slightly out place. Objects sit on the wrong shelf, paintings are hung on opposite walls, tapestries are in different rooms. Shadow explores at length, before finally ascending the stairs that lead to his chambers. He swings open the door, sees the bed he slept in, the desk where he wrote, the armoire where he kept his clothes and adventuring gear. He takes some of the things out and lays them on the bed.

That's when he hears the quiet squeaking. He tracks the sound to a heavy blanket placed over a mound on the floor. Using a poker from the fireplace, he pulls away the blanket, revealing three small, blue dragons hatching from their eggs, cracking open their shells with a stretch of their tiny winged limbs. When one of the dragon hatchlings opens its eyes for the first time, it looks up at the dark elf curiously, and a spark of static electricity arcs from its flared nostril. Having battled dragons of nearly every color across multiple worlds, he knows that blue dragons grow to become fearsome threats and can unleash devastation on whole towns. The hatchlings do not look dangerous now, though, as they huddle together for warmth atop their broken eggshells. Shadow knows can’t take them with — and isn’t wholly sure that any of this is real.

He thinks of Spewer and his affection for reptiles. Knowing good and well that Dragons are a whole other level of species. They are kinda cute. Three of them, each one will have a different personality and agenda.

They are most likely going to prey against each other at least one will be the runt.  Maybe eaten by them. This is the way. I’m not going to leave them in my room but is this really my room? Close enough. Best of luck to you. He looks at the first hatched “May your skill prevail.” And with that he walks away to explore Daggerford.

As he exits his room, a mist begins to seep up through the flagstone floor. He walks faster but before he can reach the fro t gate of the Keep, he finds himself in a graveyard.

Dead, twisted trees stand surrounded by uneven rows of headstones. One row grabs and holds his attention. Each grave has a single white rose placed atop each marker. None of the names —Moonshadow, Moonshine, Honoria Solanthus, Karal Baavluurch Chulzurkh, Aiden, Cryx, Losho, and Lily-Ohn mean anything to him. As he watches, the white petals darken and become red before turning black.

A soft moan from somewhere behind cause the dark elf to spin, hand dropping to his rapier and a spell on the tip of his tongue. A tall white obelisk run through with veins of gold stands a dozen or so feet away. A spectre looms, cloaked in darkness. White hair frames the ghost's black face and the tips pointed ears protrude through his long locks. Shadow cannot see the apparition's face clearly but he gets a sense of a lover he had long decades before. She had been a priestess of Lolth and he had been an apprentice at Sorcere. She bore him a son, one who shared his name. One who had also sought adventure. One who had died, betrayed by a companion for the sake of some treasure. Shadow had rarely seen his son, had rarely heard his voice but there he instantly recognized it, even hollowed out and distorted by years in the grave.

“It’s so loud here. Far too loud. But here you are, and I’ve been waiting so long to see you again. There’s so much I never had the chance to tell you. But I can’t. Not now. Not yet. Not unless you solve the mages’ puzzle.”

“There is much to say between us, that is sure my son.  Hold fast a while longer and I shall attempt to solve this mage’s puzzle.  But know if I do not then it was not meant to be and you should go on to your rest.  Don’t wait anymore.”

The ghost of Shadow's son raises his shadowy arms to the sky. He whispers, “We all have something in us that’s eternal. It isn’t magic. It’s not our names. It isn’t our memories, and it isn’t even our starlight dreams. It’s in our bones—that little eternal something. Holding onto yours will depend on what you do next, Father.” The shadowy specter gestures to the obelisk. “Five numbers carved onto dead stone. Three numbers more, inked onto rose blooms. All of the stone is the same as one perfect rose. Hold the perfect rose to the moonlight and walk away. Hold a flawed rose to the moonlight—and I will have to take one of your bones.” Shadow takes a look at the grave marker. He sees five numbers carved onto the headstone:  06, 08, 19, 88, and 99. There is also a shallow scratch just above each number. On the grave dirt, he finds a red rose inked with the number 192, a white rose inked with the number 220, and a black rose inked with the number 385.

"Choose, Father," the ghost of Shadow's son pleads imloringly, "Choose."

Shadow picks up the white rose with the number 220 on it.  He holds it up to the moonlight and then exhales slowly and then walks away.

Moving faster than than even Shadow can see, the ghost of his son reaches a spectral hand through into the dark elf's body and pulls. "I am sorry, Father." Shadow realizes that he has lost all hearing in his left ear as his spectral son unfolds his hand to reveal a tiny, stirrup-shaped bone in the center of his palm before tucking it into his shadowy cloak. Cold washes over Shadow as the touch of the grave penetrates tonhis very core. The white rose falls to the ground. Shadow's son pats the spot on his chest where his heart used to be. "I can feel it. That piece of you, eternally part of me now." The ghost's expression becomes eager, eyes widening, "Choose again."

“No, give that back!”

The ghost's smile widens. Spectral drool drips from lips as they peel back to reveal sharpened teeth. "You can look all you want, Father. Backwards, forward, you can stand on your head for all I care." The now hideous phantom's diseased tongue slides across jagged teeth, drawing blood. "Choose, and choose wisely, or I will take another bone."

Shadow stops and holds up the black rose with the number 385 written on it up to the moonlight. Black petals turn a vibrant red in the moonlight, then fall from the rose’s thorny stem and blow away with the cold breeze. His son moans—but the drow isn’t sure if the ghostly sound is pain, disappointment, or relief. Nym Jr. whispers, “Farewell, Father." Skeletal arms burst out of the ground to ground Shadow's legs and pull him downward into the earth. 

Within moments, he finds himself in a cave bathed in golden light. The pungent smell of incense fills his nose. His eyes adjust to the brightness a d he finds himself face-to-face with a massive golden dragon. The beast is thrice the length of a sailing ship, its head as large as some cottages Shadow has slept in on his many journeys. Heaping mounds of treasure, gold and silver coins, jewels of all colors, weapons, suits of armor, amd more lie scattered beneath the dragon’s bulk. The creature's giant head is only feet from Shadow. Feline eyes narrow as its gaze falls upon him. "Another one, eh? I had assumed that the Trials had reached their end. This year's crop of candidates must have been large indeed. I have a simple question for you, Aspirant."

"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 choose." Smoke dribbles from its nostrils as its feline eyes narrow. Three flasks float out of the dragon’s hoard and hover in the air before Shadow. “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.”

“Greetings," Shadow replies."This is a bit awkward for me but did you say that there have been others come to see you as part of the trials?  Would you have me believe you do this on the regular?”

Looking around at the treasure “Nice little stash you have here, testing must pay well.”

The dragon smiles, revealing long teeth that are probably meant to be friendly but come across as a little terrifying. Its low, rumbling voice seems amused. "You are different from the others. Well, except for one, short fellow, was quite sure of himself. To answer your question, I offer a token to each Aspirant whose path through the Trials brings them to me. I then judge the wisdom of their choice. And I am well compensated for my time."

“Thank you for indulging me and my curiosity. I think you have a good thing going here. I wish I could have the pleasure of your company but it is always some thing or another we have to vanquish and then off to the next adventure for us. Perhaps one day you will visit Faerun and Daggerford. We can get an ale, my treat. Till then pass me the draught that lets you know your enemies weaknesses. I would prefer to avoid them that want to harm me but sometimes they just have to die. And why waste a lightning bolt on someone who thinks it tickles.”

The gold dragon tilts its reptilian head to one side and considers the dark elf for a long time. Finally, he breaks the silence with a booming laugh that shakes the earth. “A true mage you are, then! Always seeking knowledge above power. Well, I can respect that. A word of wisdom: do not be too stingy with that treasure. You may need it soon enough. Now, now, for the price. It then leans forward, brow furrowing with concentration as it enacts a spell, a geas of some sort. Shadow feels the magic wash over him and though he does not fight it, he also feels that it does not take hold, foiled by his innate resistance to spells. The dragon yawns, "That is enough for today. Begone, Aspirant. And good luck. Know that your trial nears its end."