"Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated."
-Alphonse de Lamartine
Azalie's palms were breaking into a cold sweat by the time she settled herself behind one of the main chambers central pillars. She desperately wanted to take off the amulet fueling the spell that held her in a state of constant nausea, but the risk of detection was too high. The Headmaster of the Circle of Sagecraft was not someone she wanted to test, even if the shadows being cast by the aquamarine light of the Communing Pool were deep enough to hide in.
The Headmaster stood hunched over the glowing waters in the midst of spell casting, his rhythmic chants a deep, calming baritone.
It didn't take long for the uniform blue light to become a rainbow of colors as the water of the pool projected images from possibly thousands of leagues away. The silence quickly melted away as a youthful voice filled the room.
"I see you got my message," the voice began with what could have been a hint of a smile.
"I have," the Headmaster's own aged voice answered back, not nearly as cheerful, "There had better be a good reason for sending your little pet into my Academy. You scared Parvil half to death."
The voice gave a thin chuckle before continuing. "Your aid will have to have thicker skin than that if he wants to keep performing his duties. The Circle isn't known for its mundane or boring atmosphere after all. And besides, an apprentice should be practiced in dealing with a familiar by that age."
The old Headmaster huffed indignantly, possibly annoyed that his apprentice's experience was being called into question. "Not many mages would keep such a monster as a familiar in the first place. I'm surprised it hasn't peeled the skin from your bones yet."
"Not for lack of trying..." the voice replied quietly. "Though I didn't call you to discuss my taste in familiars. I've come across some rather disturbing information recently."
Taking the silence from the Headmaster as an urge to continue, the voice went on. "You know of the bloody struggle between my father and I, of course."
"Yes, I was kept appraised of the situation by a local branch of the Circle. Nasty business for a child to be involved in, but I hope you'll get to the point quickly. I have other pressing matters to attend."
Unconsciously, Azalie crept out from behind her hiding place, trying to get a closer vantage point to see the identity of the man on the other end of the spell. A part of her may have warned her that it was dangerous and stupid, but a conversation between one of the most powerful mages alive and his mysterious acquaintance was so cloak-and-dagger she couldn't help being both excited and curious.
"A friend who helped me during those dark days paid me a visit today, and he kept the most unusual company..." the voice continued, drawing a long suffering sigh from the Headmaster.
Leaning more heavily on his oak staff, the elder mage grumbled, "Did you really call me here to discuss a reunion with a long lost acquaintance, your Eminence?" The last part was said with thinly veiled sarcasm.
Azalie drew in a sharp breath as she pieced together who was on the other side of the communing spell. Only one nation she knew of gave their ruler such a title.
The Archduke of Kaldoon sighed heavily. "Your patience is appreciated, Headmaster. My friend's name is Morenth, Paladin of the Most Holy. He brought dire news from the east. Holodum has been sacked by a horde of undead under the control of a dremorath. He suspects the next target will most likely be-"
"-Midrassis!" the Headmaster concluded. "I was recently in attendance of an emergency guildmasters' meeting. The merchant guilds are in an uproar about the lack of contact with the villages in the north. The caravans they sent haven't reported back either." A very audible creaking sound echoed throughout the hall as the wood of the Headmaster's staff strained under his grip. "You don't think-!"
"No." The Archduke's reply held no uncertainty. "The dremorath was slain by Morenth, but that gives raise to an even worse possibility. After all, without direction lesser undead are little more than mindless beasts. If there hasn't been any word whatsoever from your northern border, I suspect the daemon was no more than a servant to a higher power."
"A troubling possibility indeed. Perhaps a coven of necromancers, or even a lich?"
A creeping silence overtook the hall, causing the hair on the back of Azalie's neck to stand on end.
"I... would not presume to give advice on such a serious matter without all the facts..." came the Archduke's uncertain reply, his voice betraying an unease that was not present at the start of the conversation. "But..."
The pause that followed lasted long enough for Azalie to notice, even through the almost debilitating nausea of her spell, that her feet had gone numb. She'd never kept the pendent active for so long before, and it made her worry of any other possible side effects that would come from overuse if she lingered for much longer.
"I feel... nervous. Like there's this prickling sensation in the back of my mind I just can't quite grasp at," the Archduke finally said, his every word cold and hollow as the crypts of Ultan Thiag. "Something foul stirs in the Bloodwood... Be vigilant."
'What in the Long Night was that all about?!' Azalie thought frantically as she tore through a throng of initiates, who panicked as they tried to make way for their senior. She hardly paid them any mind as she went over the startling revelation she'd just overheard. 'If this got out there would be panic, riots, looting! Just what have I gotten myself into?!'
Her frustration mounted on top of rising panic as she brought her thoughts back to her original purpose; Stealing from her father.
'And my damned feet are still numb!'
Despite her chaotic thoughts, she made a mental note to go over her research twice before utilizing an experimental magical device that pulled the wearer between planes of existence.
After passing the main hall the crowds began to thin, and the constant bustle became whispers as Azalie made her way through the northern wing. Its halls were not like the others at the Academy in that it was home to the artificers, a quiet lot, who dedicated most of their time to perfecting spell permanence instead of practicing evocation or creating volatile alchemical substances. A part of Azalie loved the silent, steady progress the atmosphere represented. It was the bedrock in her otherwise hectic lifestyle. The other part of her, however, recognized that she would go insane if she became apart of it.
By the time Azalie finished promising herself she would never end up a shut-in professor trying to ascertain the magical composition of rocks, she found herself standing uncertainly outside a familiar door labeled "Magical Artifacts Reliquary - Master Artificer Bestandeel, Journeyor Enchanter Bestandeel". The difference in titles on the plague had been a something of a sore spot between her and her father. He had been quite disappointed she hadn't followed in his footsteps into the field of artificing, and there had been talk that Azalie had chosen her primary education in enchanting as a way of rebelling against him. Honestly, she just liked the close relation enchanting shared to the fundamentals of static spell casting while still giving a fair perspective on the more fluid forms of magic, like evocation. Artificing required more patience than she possessed since the process included crafting an item from scratch through a means not to distantly related to alchemy. While a more reliable method of creating a magical item, it was very involved.
The series of rooms beyond the door, while a repository for magical artifacts as the plaque advertised, also doubled as Azalie's and her father's living quarters. This was do in no small part to her father insisting they live together like a 'real' family. Normally, journeyor ranks and above were given individual living accommodations regardless of familial ties, but her father and the Headmaster were old friends, so a few strings were pulled at his request.
A nervousness settled in her gut as Azalie stared at the door, and she felt childish for it. It was like the feeling of impending punishment for sneaking extra dessert portions in the dining hall. Her father wasn't even inside. He would be giving lectures to the artificer initiates for a few hours still, and he was one to keep a very punctual schedule.
Pulling herself out of her paralysis, Azalie opened the door wide and proclaimed loudly, "Stars and stones, what a day I've had!"
A few moments passed as the mage listened for a response. When none came she felt a little embarrassed at her choice in tactics. Knowing her father, he would have immediately known she was up to something if he'd been there to answer her.
Without anymore delays, she stole into the main chamber, dodging around stacks of books and the larger artifacts littering the floor. The door to her father's quarters was no obstacle as he never locked it, and soon she stood awkwardly in front of his desk, her hand hovering over the cover of his journal; his thoughts and theories, exploits and discoveries, his entire life compressed between two leather bound covers. And as she stood there a sense of wrongness crept over her. It crawled over her until it calcified and settled in the base of her stomach like a block of ice.
But she'd already made the deal.
With great apprehension her hand settled on old leather.
"Stars and stones! What a day!" came her father's voice accompanied with the sound of the front door slamming shut.
Azalie started so abruptly she lost her footing and reached for the chair in front of the desk for stability, but only succeeded in dragging it down with her in a resounding crash. By the time she recovered her senses, her father was standing in the doorway with an wry, but unamused expression. He'd taken to wearing the musty brown robes of his office recently, despite (or maybe in spite of) her insistence that they made him look an old hermit. Then he noticed the journal in her lap and quirked an eyebrow.
"After being absent from my lecture I was under the impression you weren't in the mood for a old man's ramblings, but now I see you were just bored of hearing me speak," her father lamented, adopting an expression he often wore when he felt the need to be over-dramatic, "Oh, woe is me when mine own daughter doth tire so of her beloved father!" The proclamation came with the appropriate gestures and flourishes that would be more suited to a stage than his study.
Seeing this, Azalie felt a wave of relief rush through her. It seemed her father had recovered from their argument at breakfast, reverting back to his strange but unflappable self. It also provided an opportunity in the form of a perfect excuse to borrow her father's journal.
"Uh, yeah. That's exactly it-" She began, but saw the glimmer of real hurt peek through his actor's facade, "-What I mean is; I just don't have the time today. I've been working out a few... quirks in one of my fetishes, and thought I could get the cliff notes of your lecture from your journal. It was on your expedition to the ruins of Kal Duren, right?"
Her fake smile faltered slightly when her father adopted a pout.
"Val Siegran," he corrected with a sigh, then added sullenly, "It starts at the addendum on page three hundred and forty two."
"Thanks," Azalie replied, pausing when she realized she needed to say something to make him perk up or risk going the entire day feeling like monster, "I'm sure it'll be an exciting read!"
It didn't illicit the response she was hoping for, but the smile that came to his features wasn't forced, and she'd have to settle for that.
"I'd like to think so at least," he joked before noticing her attire. "So, where have you been all day?"
Azalie floundered, trying to come up with an excuse for missing his lecture while not sounding like the excuse she was going to use to go out again. "Uh...! Braziers?"
"Braziers?"
"Braziers," she replied with renewed confidence. "We were -uh- do for some new ones in the reliquary!"
Her father's deadpan stare hammered at her still fake smile as he proceeded to poke holes in her alibi. "Why didn't you just fill out a requisition with the staff?"
"Um..."
"Or tell me before the lecture started."
"Heh, funny you should-"
"You also knew we were supposed to get glowstones for lighting to replace the braziers the next chance we got."
"Well, that was a long time-"
"Is it a boy?"
"What?!"
"You heard me. Is it a boy?"
"No! Of course it's not a boy!"
"I want to meet him before any funny business."
"I- but, I don't- URGH!" Was Azalie's only possible reaction as she stormed out of the reliquary, forgetting to come up with an excuse to leave.
"Remember, no funny business!" Came her father's voice as it echoed down the hall, earning her several looks from her fellow mages that made her face heat up in embarrassment.
Grey was not a man given to complacency. Not only did he live among the dregs of society, he was also a thief, a swindler, and occasionally a con-artist. And while he was shrewd, if not honest, in most of his dealings, his success was monitored and in some cases despised by even his own clientele. This kept the inconspicuous peddler in a constant state of preparedness, and one of those preparations, a magically enchanted crystal cleverly modified to detect break-ins, was glowing a very conspicuous red color.
He had time to finish the frustrating process of filing away his still wet and incomplete ledger when a muffled sound like a dieing cat issued from the first floor.
Rising from his chair, he absently wondered why everyone's first reaction to a bag over the head was to scream at the top of their lungs. He supposed it did succeed in calling for help, but he liked to take a more active approach to self preservation. As such, he grabbed his jeweled encrusted rapier mounted on the wall behind his desk before deciding to test a new item an explorer had sold to him a week prior. The small leather rack of throwing knives seemed mundane enough to the untrained eye, but Grey didn't put a value on anything based on looks. And after all, when one owns a vast collection of magical artifacts, why not keep the best for yourself?
By the time Grey had lashed the rack to his belt the single muffled cry had descended into a cacophony of shouting, cursing, and crashing as his guests came to their companion's aid.
"Gods, what day is it again?" he grumbled to himself, lamenting the cost of repairs and broken magical trinkets and making a mental note to bill Azalie for all the damages to his shop a month from tomorrow.
"Gah! Rainbow, hold on! Just let meh finish with this varmint then Ah'm on meh way!"
No longer wasting any time, Grey stormed down the stairs to the first floor, stopping only to take stock to the situation unfolding quite violently in his storefront.
As far as he could tell, his rainbow colored guest had been the first to leap into action seeing as she already sported a nasty looking cut along her shoulder, just under her wing. One of the insolent thugs raiding his shop was either dead or unconscious to her right while she stared down another one armed with dirk and buckler. The orange pony with the peculiar hat was currently engaged in what Grey saw as one of the most awkward fist fights ever witnessed, since the raider was obviously trying to stick to a drilled hand-to-hand combat technique against an opponent half his size and on four legs, while she was attempting to buck a trained brawler who could back-step before her hooves could connect.
He couldn't see any of the others, and the frustration of damages on top of balancing his ledger was bringing him to the boiling point. And to top it off, Azalie was finally bringing him what he sorely needed to continue his research, and he doubted she would part with it when she arrived to discovered several of her precious "ponies" missing.
Instead of yelling or any outward displays of outrage, Grey focused his anger to a razor's edge, concentrating on the ugly task in front of him. With a flick of his wrist he sent a dagger whistling through the air and into the thug facing off against the rainbow colored one, piercing just below the collar bone in the shoulder pocket. The guttersnipe howled in pain giving the rainbow one the opening she needed to clock him over the head with one of Grey's previously unbroken chairs.
"Hah! How's that?!" the winged pony shouted, doing a few victory poses for good measure.
Seeing the last of his accomplices go down, the fist fighter threw a wild punch at the hat wearing pony, who easily ducked under it, and disengaged, making a hasty retreat for Grey's also broken front door.
The peddler's expression was one of carefully schooled neutrality as he almost casually let fly another dagger that sunk hilt deep in the meaty part of the fist-fighter's thigh, forcing him to the ground in a tumble of limbs and cursing agony.
Grey strolled over to the bereaved man and abruptly kicked him in the face with enough force to silence any complaints.
"Seriously though, what is today?" he asked himself, suddenly aware of how quiet his guests had become at his display. "What? Is something amiss?"
The pony with the strange hat looked a little green, but the rainbow colored one seemed to be shaking, and not with terror.
"That! Was! Awesome!" the rainbow colored one exclaimed, doing a few ill-advised loops in the air. Luckily, she didn't cause any more damage with her aerial antics. "We haven't even been here a day and we're already bustin' heads! Now we just gotta find some lost forgotten ruins and it'll be just like a Daring Do book!"
Grey was about to try calming her down when the hat wearing pony spoke up for him.
"Rainbow, stop actin' like a filly! Those varmints took the others, and we're goin' after 'em!"
Alarm bells were ringing in Grey's head as the aptly named pony landed and looked at her companion with cocky determination.
"Whoa-now, let's calm down and think for a second!" he interjected, causing them to stop in the act of pulling their cloaks over themselves. "Just how do you think you're going to find them? Pick a random direction and start running?"
Rainbow just looked at him like he was crazy. "You're joking right? There ain't a thing alive that can outrun me!" She flared her wings for emphasis.
The show of confidence only made him sigh in frustration. "It doesn't matter how fast you are. By now they're probably already using the sewer systems to enter the undercity." This caused even more agitation among the pair.
"So what? We just sit here while our friends are bein' foalnapped!?"
"Of course not," he replied, kicking the unconscious brawler next to him, "But why waste time looking at random when we can just ask where they're going to be? Just follow my lead kids, this isn't my first go around, so to speak."
Where he expected some kind of argument or at least a question or two, all he got was silence. Bringing his eyes to the two mares, he found them staring nervously behind him. At the same time, he became immediately aware of a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.
"Grey...?" The infliction in the voice didn't set him on edge so much as the telltale crackle of gathering magical energies.
With an overwhelming sense of foreboding, Grey forced himself to turn around to face his now hostile customer. He wished he hadn't.
Her eyes glowed with power and anger he had rare exception to see in the otherwise congenial mage. It went well beyond the usual displays of her volatile but ultimately impotent temper.
"You had one job!"