The path of Arcane - Journal of Syndreth Fieryfey

[Cinta]

- A Dream -
II

The next morning, Syndreth walked the streets of Evereska like she was in a trance. The streets, the People, the sun shining through the branches of the trees, all seemed surreal to her. The scenes of the dream kept flashing back to her vividly, as if she was still standing between the ancient marble walls.

"Teu'ivae'ire (silver moonlight dusk). Nevae (dark) karask (demon) sehan (journey) revar (rest). Wylinta (experience to see)."

She caught herself silently mouthing the chanted words again and again. The dream has to be a cryptic message, she felt it, one that holds great significance to her personally, or even others too, like a prophecy...

Without her recognizing the way she walked, Syndreth found herself in the groove of the Seldarine, standing before the Shrine of the Daugther of the Night Skies.

The dream had a connection with Sehanine Moonbow, she concluded, either by foreseeing an event to come, or bestowing a specific task upon her personally. Standing there, Syndreth felt shame creeping slowly into her. She thought about her mission which she may not took seriously enough, and the Seldarine, whom she turned away in the rush of everydays. Feeling unable to ask for anything, she just inclined her head and said her thanks to the Lady of Dreams.

Later she stood before the doors of the office of her Master. If there is one People, she could trust with this dream, that is Master Elandorr.

---

Comfortably sitting in his masterfully grown wood-branch armchair, the older elf wizard listened to her story with a surprisingly calm demeanor. His dark grey eyes, however, held a hint of satisfaction seeing his clever disciple asking for his advice again, after so many days of silent resentment. After the youngster finished, Elandorr looked away from her to fill his pipe and silently thought over what he heard. Though he wasn't a priest to interpret such things, the dream surely seemed like a vision sent by Sehanine Moonbow. What's more, it seemed like a warning to bring a prophecy forward.

"... The scene you described brings to my mind an old legend of the Veiled Choir. Have you ever read or heard about it?

It took only a moment for Syndreth to recollect what she learned long ago.

"The Veiled Choir! Yes... a sisterhood of mystics as I remember, renowned by their prophetic ability... They were rumored to reside in ancient temples of Sehanine Moonbow in the time of Cormanthor." She pondered. "Then this dream is a prophecy, and possibly a warning. A warning about a demon now resting, but on a journey..."

Elandorr then got up and walked around the table, the fuming pipe resting in his folded hands behind his back, and fixated his gray eyes on Syndreth with a serious expression.

"A dark demon or demon of darkness, now resting but on journey... to wake up? And the dusk of moon or moonlight's twilight. The experience to see... might mean that it will wake up and we will have to face - experience it's evil presence."

A chill run up on Syndreth's spine, starting to realize the weight of her role in the story.
All in her life, somewhere deep down, she resented their Gods for not giving a choice to them to turn the tide of events. What is it now, a chance to change?
She looked at her Master like when she was a child, first experiencing the incomprehensible knowledge of the male wizard in the ways of the Art.

"Master, what should I do?"

Elandorr watched the changes of her expression in silence. The smoke he blown out from the pipe formed a pair of deer chasing each other while flying away.

"As I said earlier, you learned everything you need to succeed in your tasks. What remain is hard work and faith."

[Cinta]

- Deviance -

Six tendays went by after her dream, when Syndreth felt her resolve strong enough to take on the road again. The merchant caravan left Evereska towards Waterdeep, then to the south, stopping at most cities and villages for a couple of days. The wizard, hidden behind the dark blue fabric of her traveling cloak, spent her days without a word to anyone while the miles rolled forward under their cart.

Long days went by with her pondering on the prophecy, and when she had enough of speculation, she pulled out the carefully wrapped book of Mystran Meditations. There was a part of the Mystran dogma what always bothered her, but while reading it again on the rattling carriage, the lines suddenly started to show her a different meaning.

The dogma, which she read hundreds of times before, started with the single line that could be used to summarize the whole faith:

„Let us love magic for itself and not just a ready weapon to shape the realms to our own will.”

Which is easy to accept, but harder to understand, for what does „love magic for itself” truly mean? Her eyes jumped to the parts where the dogma may provide guidance on that:

„Let us seek always to learn new magic and create new magic...” or „Let us exult more in creation than in hurling spells, and ensure that our creations are shared and thus outlive us.”

Unconsciously, her eyes jumped back to the parts where the text elaborates on the restrictions that all Mystrans are expected to follow:

„Let us strive to use magic less and less as our powers develop, not more and more.” and „Let us remember that often the threat or promise of the Art outstrips its performance.”

The wizard wondered if she was the only one to see the contradiction. How do you truly love the Art when you always have to fear the use of it?

Syndreth remembered how she was rebuked for summoning an elemental within the walls of the temple, only because the Ducal laws of Baldur’s Gate were in effect in there too. A mere human city imposing restrictions on the Church of the Mother of All Magic... To what end?

The clergy always provides decent examples for that: a mage-guild and almost the whole city of Baldur’s Gate was destroyed recently by the doings of one mage, not to mention how the Netheril empire fell from the sky due to Karsus’s Folly...

Even more so! What if the restrictions are only in the dogma because most mortal minds are unable to comprehend the true meaning behind Her teachings?

It is said that Mystra created the Wave so the mortal species could learn to use it, but what could have been Her reason to do so? Based on the writings of the dogma, is it to allow them to bring forth new magic, not to destroy, but to create through it? What else could be the reason than to allow all to experience the beauty of creation?

The heavy fabric of her hood falling deeply over her eyes, the wizard waited through the day in silent contemplation until they stopped to make a camp for the night. When the camp grew silent, she slipped down from her cart and quickly disappeared between the dark woods, to return only when the first rays of the morning sun shone through the clouds.

---

The rest of the journey went by the same way. When the nights came, Syndreth ventured further and further from the caravan to ‘play’. She used her magic, just for the sake of using it, just like when others dance or sing from the heart. She used magic with the intention to create wonders, which would make people stop and stare, just like they do when seeing a fine piece of art.

By doing so, her powers grew night by night. She didn’t need spoken words anymore to freeze the air above her palm, just to form crystal flowers from the falling ice fragments. She bought scrolls and experimented, learning how to change her form with an ease like never before. She learned how to vaporize herself, just to hover aimlessly above the sleeping meadows, in whichever direction the wind blew her. She roamed the night forests as a troll, scaring the dozy birds to frantic flight, then turned into a snake, disappearing swiftly between the dense leaf cover.

Other days, she took a form of a cat, sneaking in small villages, sitting on window sills and high tree branches, listening to whatever conversation happened below her. The firre that fancied to call himself a different name every time, became able to stay with her through all day or even more, and the wizard never felt anymore the delicate thread of tender control slip away from her hands. They devised a way to hide the eladrin’s flaming eyes and fiery hair behind a cloak of magic, enabling him to follow the wizard inside well guarded cities, playing his role either as a bard trying his fortune on the busy streets, or as a weary traveler enjoying a well-acted drama in a local theater.

---

The day slowly came when their caravan neared Baldur’s Gate. Syndreth knew well that the way she planned to use her magic will hardly be smiled upon within the city - she made a last glance on the enchanted mask that she brought back in Waterdeep, before hiding it back in her pack – but there are always ways for those who are privileged by the Lady of Mysteries.

[Cinta]

- A package from Amberline –

A gossamer winged, purple striped cat marched through the library of the Church of Mystra with overly confident steps, yawning at the sight of the elf wizard sitting at her desk. The sight of the cat, in return, immediately reminded the wizard of that rather unpleasant story with the mischievous animal. And that little trickster seemed to enjoy his new form even more than expected…

The sound of leather boots and a familiar humming wake Syndreth from her contemplation, raising her eyes to meet the newcomer. The march of the firm steps was accompanied by the slight swish of a finely cut, dark green robe and cloak, letting clear sight of the metal-reinforced and ornamented hard-leather cover of the spellbook chained to the approaching man’s belt. As many times before, the sight of the elegant lines of the engraved mage-sigil – an open and glowing eye with a capital “H” inside - made Syndreth smile in satisfaction. Halron Amaryun was a human in his middle ages, but with intellect that would bring shame on most bent age sages. Pale complexion with light brown hair and a full beard, what he usually stroked with enthusiasm when he was deeply immersed in his thoughts.

Admiration – that was a feeling Syndreth rarely felt towards an N’Tel’Quess – held back her sharp tongue every time when she talked with the man. Halron held a power of rarity but nonetheless great strength if used correctly, an impressive knowledge and understanding on the field of divination.

The man carried a package the size of a large plate, and wore a troubled expression, when looking up and noticing her.
“Syndreth! Please come to the laboratory, I most likely need your assistance.”

---

The ancient looking tablet which they recovered from the package was made from greenish stone, and weathered by time to an extent that the curving symbols of the espruar text written on it was nearly unreadable expect for the first few lines. The tablet’s broad sides were four times the size of the elf wizard’s open hand, and nearly two fingers in thickness. Small engraved symbols of the Daughter of the Night Skies could be spotted on the sides of the tablet.

Halron performed his usual process of magical investigation with pleasing precision and ease. The gentle lights of the warding circles slowly pulsed around them and the floating table that held the tablet, while the man cast his spells to detect and analyse any fragment of magic bound to the artefact. His magical quill laid down lines after lines of his findings in the notebook that he placed to his right.

Syndreth, who needed no translation to read the lines written on the tablet, focused more on the meaning of the text. The tablet appeared to be speaking in some sort of cipher or allegories, metaphors upon metaphors.

“In Sea of Green, rustled gently by the winds, the Stars sing. The music of Heart of Darkness is hidden, unheard, yet known. Instruments will be stringed, trees and flowers will decide to die when the music begins to play anew.
Hope lies in gentle breeze, in moonlight’s grace and love’s embrace. In the silver’s shining edge, it can end. It will end…”

Here the graving faded due to the ravages of time, but Syndreth felt more like her eyes blurred under the memory of the vision that haunted her reveries through the last couple of lunar cycles. Only when Halron briefly glanced up at the sound of her unusually heavy breathing, Syndreth managed to confine the uneasiness that started to cloud her mind.

The package wasn’t alone when it arrived, a short note was attached to it from a colleague of Halron, from his times back in Waterdeep. The note was written with careful wording, scarcely giving more information than absolutely needed. Amberline, who Syndreth saw only once when she visited Halron in the church, seemed to be in a most imminent trouble after recovering a few artefacts of elven origin. As it appeared from the letter, her group was targeted by a shady group not many days ago, and they barely managed to escape with their lives. The events seemed to force the Waterdahvian merchant to consider her own safety above her other interests, and send her part of their findings – the tablet – to the esteemed diviner of Baldur’s Gate.

So there they were, the two scholars of the Church of Mystra, stooping over one of the ancient artefacts that may hold more relevance to the present time than anyone would have expected.

---

Both of them agreed on that the artefact had to be locked away in the vault of the church, which was probably the most secure place of all in the city. While Halron continued his investigation through research and magical examinations, the text and the engraved symbols of Sehanine Moonbow prevented the elf wizard to idly spend her days between the walls of the church. The time has come to find a priestess of the Lady of Dreams.

[Cinta]

Hidden: show

/// Again, some parts are pulled directly from the event dialogs. And hereby I send a huge hug to DM Soulcatcher for all his work to build this story for us! ///

- The Seekers of the White Rose -

Candlelight flickers on the surface of the paper as the wizard fills the leather covered book with lines after lines.

~

This journal doesn’t need a title. If we survive, no one will read these lines. If we fail? They will call it a miserable attempt to fight our destiny. But I need to write. Cycle by cycle, I feel my integrity fall apart. At one moment it scares me to death, the other, it amuses me and makes me wonder –

The Dreamer’s voice echo in my head, I remember her every word as if I was reading it from a scroll.

„You can make choices for yourself. You can choose which wind to follow. You always could. The People are free, yet united. This is the will of the Seldarine. And this is your meaning of existence.”

What I experienced so far, others may call miracles. Yet, the more pieces I see, the harder it seems to compose the whole picture. And when the doubts starts to strangle my throat, I hear my own voice laughing in my head – „Who cares? You’re a fool to even bother!” – My composure is falling apart –

~

We walked through the Woods of Sharp Teeth for hours, following the moonlit roses. The forest around us grew ancient, hydras, werewolves, or even dragons slithered and bellowed in the distance, the moon high upon above our heads. Then there she was, the Dreamer, tattoos running down on her face in the manner of shedding sapphire tears. She called out to us and gave us names – „The Seeker. The Blind. The Lost.” – then she talked about the treachery, the Traitor awakening. She was talking in riddles. She talked about the Veiled Choir, seeing their hidden temple, among the Luminous Cloud. Marble walls and four pillars, and a silvery elven blade. Bathed in moonlight, stuck in a stone pedestal. It rings through my ear:

„Hope lies in gentle breeze, moonlight’s grace and love’s embrace.”

The edge of silver unites the three. We must find the Veiled Choir, even if it can be found only if Sehanine wills it. So we departed.

~

"The Traitor once sang the song of life, but his voice was lost and then led astray. He does not know those songs anymore, nor he recognizes the music. He plays his own one now. And the music he brings is the doom."

"The Seldarine teaches us many things about the People’s lives, how to discover ourselves, how to express ourselves. They teach us to ward against the ever present corruption, outside, as well as from within. Those who do not heed the warnings, those who do not believe the Seldarine’s words, they find treachery. They find misery. They give their trust to the hearts of night, thus they are betrayed. Sorrow and loss is a cradle of many strange thoughts and feelings, often unpredictable, like a storm above a great forest. The misery turns into anger, and the rejection pulls the first strings of resentment. Mistakes committed and blamed on others. Hatred blossoms where love and care took hold."

These, I understand. It is all too easy to see the logic behind. My mind understands the formula, but my heart aches – why is that I can’t feel anything?

~

Searching for the Choir, we spent a night in Daggerford and by chance learned about the Tears of Aloevan. The Queen Embrae Aloevan was a Choosen of Mystra and Sehanine Moonbow, and the Queen of Ardeep forest. When Mystra exposed her to the Silver Fire, she was trapped between life and death as a ghost, instead of passing on to Arvandor. The priestesses of Sehanine devised a ritual to keep the Queen from descending to madness, and locked her into a pocket plane, the Court of Silver Fire. The Court is only accessible by a magical pool, that is the one called the Tears of Aloevan.

Since leaving Doron Amar, we were searching blindly in the dark. Thus we set our foot on the road to Ardeep. I will never forget the devout enthusiasm in Helevorn’s eyes when we decided to find the Tears. „Corellon watches over us.”

~

Faelyn’s path finding spell led us to the Tears of Aloevan at last. In a sylvan glade untroubled by the outside world, laid the lake, with white-silvery mist floating above it. Ridiculously strong conjuration magic radiated from the water, but that didn’t delay Helevorn to reach his hands towards us. „Together!” He said, and before I knew it, we were jumping –

The Court of Silver Fire is a strange place. The night sky glittered with countless stars, and flint colored rocks float above our heads. A silvery mist billowed at the ground to the height of our chests, we were unable to see what we were standing on. Not far from us in this silent, holy place, six pillars reached up towards the sky. White marble and ivory, embraced by dancing silver flames and mist. Between the pillars, the priestesses of Sehanine stood in closed-eyed guard around the Queen, who float mid air -

My mind grows heavy, I’m having trouble to remember all what she talked, only:

„You should not have left your home, yet you did. You should not have chased the darkness, yet you did. And now the darkness you followed is soon to turn its chase around.”

„Your path lies not north, but south. In the land where the one that betrayed all was bound. Times of cold nights and deceitful whispers are coming. In darkness they will want to ensnare your minds, defy your reason and turn yourselves against others. There’s only one way to stop his hatred from destroying all he sees, all we hold dear. A blade, made of mithral, moonstones and the power and love of the Three. It lies hidden, in a safe place. The ruins of Askavar.”

We were already too late. The Traitor has awaken. When we surfaced the mystic lake in Ardeep again, the full moon looked down on us from the sky – stark, aggressive, hostile – scarlet red like blood.

~

I look at my companions and wonder. Will there come a time for Helevorn to find his sight again? How will Drezzan find his way? What is that I’m seeking, truly? And Faelyn – dear Faelyn – I believe your interest is sincere, despite the mischievous fey light of your eyes. But what if I won’t be the same when we finish this?

Logic gave it’s place to intuition since we first met in Doron Amar, and my hands tremble when I open my spellbook to prepare for the next day. I can’t plan ahead.

And I wonder, feeling that amused laugh growing stronger every time when my resolve weakens – „You will never understand enough. Why do you care to try?”

Hidden: show

[Cinta]

Motionless, only with her amber eyes stirring, she slid through the dimmed images projected to the ethereal plane. The shadowy vegetation of the Woods of Sharp Teeth harmlessly passed through her, as the wizard led herself back to the scene of that fateful first contact. As she neared the clearing, she unwillingly relived the events of that night in her mind. She remembered the ominous black cloud descending on the forest, a death-mist, killing everything in its wake. Her face contorted remembering how the mist ruptured her elemental in the instant it intruded the killer cloud without the death-warding...

A grim view of charred ground and smoldering tree-trunks greeted the wizard where once a lively forest clearing bloomed, the ground shredded by gaping chasms from which the now solidified lava burst up. The acrid, sulfuric smoke still fumed from the wounded earth, and even if it could not reach the ethereal body of the elf, it tore open the scars on her heart. Her eyes jumped to the hillside where they first saw the Traitor. The demon looked like it was one of the People before, but disfigured with reddish skin, fiendish wings and tail. Before her mind's eyes, she saw again how the earth opened up under their feet for one word of the fiend, dimming the light of the stars under a thick veil of smoke. She lived through again the terror of seeing one of them falling into the chasm, submerging into the lava. She saw herself mouthing the arcane words of Sanctuary as she jumped after, betting her life on the power of their fire immunity wards. She felt again the sour recognition of the absence of air as she embraced her panicked companion at the bottom of the chasm, and remembered her lucky choosing of the silent dimension door for that day...
It's sheer luck that you are still alive.
Shuddering, she remembered how the fiend shrugged off their spells and well aimed weapons, nearing them firmly step by step, laughing at their despair...

She remembered how Calen locked his gaze with hers, before changing into a pillar of fire and met the demon head on, to buy them some time to flee. She felt Faelyn's strong hand on her arm, as he dragged her away from the scene. Then she remembered the moment of utter silence when that precious thread of connection snapped with the firre...

The wizard fell on her knees, loosing all control above her emotions. She cried out loud and long, a thing she didn't allow herself since several decades. There she cried for a long time, hovering in midair, and her tears never reached the ground of the material plane.

A soothing, tender wind woke between the woods, sweeping through the wizard, but lifting the golden hued leaf hanging from her neck. She looked up on the dancing leaf, and raised on her feet to follow the wind, which whistlingly curved and disappeared into a chasm at the hillside. Staring down, she noticed the entrance of the ancient ruins, its entrance now barred by the molten rocks. Then the wind died, setting down the golden leaf gently on her chest.
She talked to the leaf, but her words were aimed elsewhere.
You won't let me rest, right?

[Cinta]

Lean, delicate fingers held the quill as the wizard wrote the lines in the book, a needful testament written for the one she couldn't name yet.

"Such a small, insignificant part of the material plane that is where we live. Yet, the ever-present troubles constantly threaten to overrun us. Devils roam on the north, orcs hunt our kin, drow mingle among us and demons burn down our forests.

In all this chaos, I see our People scattered on the Coast. They are running into danger heedlessly. They are hiding from the community, pursued by their own demons. They are hugging with fiend-bloods, thinking they won't find love elsewhere. They are tampering with evil powers that should not by touched for the sake of their sanity. They are forgetting our history, they are forgetting our meaning.

The theory is simple, but who's there to put it into practice? They need attention, they need love. They need guidance, they need a home. Hence I will do what they need me to do. I will listen to their stories, I will care for their problems. I will open my arms to embrace them, I will offer my skills to be used by them. I will do what I can to show them what it means to be one of the People.

Corruption comes for us, regardless we close our eyes from the view. But I made a pact with my restless, cynical heart. I will fight the corruption, if not by faith, then by defiance."

[Cinta]

- Moments of silence -

Sulfuric smoke subsided slowly in the dark caverns where the crossroads met, the mysterious net of the geomagical roads disturbed by the bidding of the Fiend who have set a trap for those who would undo his millennia long planning. However, with his prey fled, the Demon left the mystical caverns, and the fey place returned to it’s undisturbed slumber maybe for centuries again.

Water dripped through the loosening stone ceiling of the ruins deep beneath the Woods of Sharp Teeth, only the shy glow of the mage orb lit the ancient chamber after the shimmering doorway closed after the bitter group of elves. Seemingly timeless magic of lost Askavar, still guided it’s People in a time of great need.

In a hidden pocket of the endless waters of Aquallor, deep-ocean algae climbed up on sand-covered cobblestone to reclaim the pedestal that had been holding the gently glowing longsword for centuries.

---

Cold chisel dig into the smooth metal surface of the scabbard on it's wide side. A silhouette of a graceful flying bird formed under the tool, occupying one corner of a triangle standing on its peak.

Dual blades carved into the air as the sun met it's twilight on the horizon, the hardened steel violently spinning in the heat of tireless training.

The tempered edge of the tool steadily smoothed out the round shape of the groove, to depict what would be the symbol of a full moon in the other corner of the triangle.

Somewhere in Evereska, multicolored lights lit the sky above a mournful company of singers, carrying their voice to the skies to accompany the soul of the young ranger on his way to Arvandor. The house found its new heir, but lost one of it's sons in a battle that was never their duty to fight.

Metallic sheen paint finished what was left from the last holy symbol, and a golden heart filled in the last corner of the triangle.

The gentle tone of a lonely lyre flew with the wind, inspiring the soul to dream about a happy future under the starry skies of Doron Amar.

The aged hands of the craftsman surely held the stylus, engraving the lean characters on the curving length of the scabbard.
"Hope lies in gentle breeze, in moonlight's grace and love's embrace."

The wizard folded her fingers around the hilt, and the quiet sentience of the Songblade embraced her mind with calmness and tranquility once again.
"The edge of silver unites the three."

[Cinta]

"I stared in the eyes of the dying demon, a fallen of my kin, and the question bit in me: what is the difference between us? We both had our losses, we both had our doubts. What makes one find that grip on the edge that keeps them on the surface, while others slide into the darkness? Is it the power of the soul, or the presence of others? Or is it as unpredictable as the roll of a dice?

When I saw his soul finally giving in to the urge to leave that fiendish body, I didn't feel triumph, only sadness. I would have reached after him if I could to join him in what comes. Let us find the way back together...

What happened must have been approved by the Gods, for we are the ones who stand alive.

Outside, the waves tirelessly clash into the rare of our little ship, as if encouraging every soul to forgot and release everything they may have left behind. Our goal is the land of final refugee, a place of deserved rest and maybe glory? I'm going home."