The three gods raveled silently abreast the road. Mishakel strode with her hands clasped solemnly around a nondescript brown walking staff, her head bowed so that her hair hid her eyes and face well enough. The chill wind blowing sent her white robes billowing around her ankles. Dreamflight had, upon the start of their march, adopted the half skip kender trail walk, which she now abandoned. The moods of her companions dampened the natural spring in her step, and so now she walked quietly, brooding. Branchala, healed of his vicious wounds, all but stomped forward. His elven and inherent grace saved him, converting the anger into a brisk stride that Dreamflight had trouble keeping up with. His jaw was rigid, and his right hand was clenched in fury. Dreamflight began prattling about some adventure this scenario reminded her of. Neither of the other gods paid her any attention, but she continued simply to hear the sound of her own voice.
"You are restless, Branchala," Mishakel spoke a length. Branchala kept his eyes straight ahead. "I hope you are not planning to throw yourself in a hopeless battle again. I may not be on hand to heal you." This time Branchala did stop, turned and frowned at the two goddesses. Dreamflight stopped short and tried to look innocent, wondering if she was the cause of his ill mood.
Branchala's eyes flared with an inner fire as he spoke. "Do you want them to get her, Mishakel?" He made an emphatic gesture to Dreamflight, who sighed and wished she could disappear. This was, inadvertently, her fault. "There was nothing else that I could have done to ensure her safety, considering the curse!" A thought occurred to him and he addressed Dreamflight in no less of a severe tone. "Why haven't you broken it yet? We can all tell that it was Chaos who cast it. You, if not anyone else, should be able to break it."
"If I were in my realm, in an immortal body, I could flick my hand and make it go away," Dreamflight replied petulantly, closing her wings about herself. "But if I could do that, there would be no problem in the first place." Branchala tossed up his hands and grumbled something inarticulate.
"It was still reckless," sighed Mishakel, drawing Branchala's attention back to his previous point. "No matter. It seems all of our plans, no matter how carefully laid, are falling apart and being blown to the winds. This always happens when we deal with Chaos. Even my son, nephew, and niece-"
"What about them?" Dreamflight asked suddenly. She recalled what Branchala had said in the Inn back at the port town. "They're with my children, right?" Mishakel shook her head, loathe to be the bearer of bad news. Dreamflight made a strangled sound in her throat, thinking the worst had befallen her kin.
"The gods of magic were attacked as well," Mishakel said in nearly apologetic tones. Dreamflight looked away, covered her eyes with her hands. Mishakel understood her grief at last and was quick to rectify her statement. "They were forced to leave your children behind. Have no worry, be thankful even, that your children are safe and blissfully unaware at the moment that they've been laid open without protection."
"Do you know where my babies are?" Dreamflight whimpered, mollified slightly with the knowledge that they were still well. She clutched the goddess of healing's sleeve. "Can you tell me? What about Tas? What do you know?" Mishakel stroked back the topknot of Dreams and pat her cheek soothingly.
"Last I had heard from my son, your children were still scattered. Firespice is in Panthalas, Crentha is in Solace, and Loki is in Wayreth at the tower as an honored guest." This seemed to brighten Dreamflight's spirits, calm her turmoil. She even smiled at the idea of the fun the three kenderkin must be having. Mishakel glanced away and barely muttered the rest of the answer. "Nobody knows of the whereabouts or fate of Tasslehoff, however." Dreamflight released Mishakel's sleeve, the smile faded, and lapsed into a deep and brooding silence.
"She doesn't think he is dead," Mishakel noted, watching the kender's reaction carefully. "She wonders where he is, and what she can do to get there. Ah, Dreams, we've all been wondering…"
Branchala had been watching Dreamflight's reaction as well, and knelt before the silent maid. He reached out with his delicate hands and took her own, squeezing them softly until the tenseness melted from her touch. He waited, patiently, until she looked up and the two locked gazes.
"Tia Paes, thaes byr," Branchala muttered in one of the countless tongues he knew. Dreamflight held his gaze, taking a moment to let his words sink into her mind and transform themselves into Common. This achieved she gave a little nod to indicate he should continue. "Eir shor shi tadi vol eindral" He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, pressing her soft flesh gently. "Ai vystori."
(Translation: My Dream, fear not. All will be made right again. I promise.)
Dreamflight smiled wanly at him, touched by his kind words. Her eyes remained dulled, worried. Sighing, Branchala kissed her forehead and rose to his feet. "I need to know what's going on. I'll be leaving to scout out a few places. We need to know who's on our side and who is actively plotting against us, and what it is that everyone is after. The more we find out, the better."
"No!" Dreamflight cried out, throwing her arms around his waist and clinging to him. "Don't leave me, Branchala! I need your friendship and guidance… What will I do on my own?" Branchala pat her gently.
"You will seek your children, Dreams. Wayreth is closest, and I am sure that you could find the tower if you really wanted to." Dreamflight nodded, stepped back from him, and fell silent once more.
"We will keep an eye on you," Mishakel added quickly, feeling a need to console the grief struck kender. She made a vague upward motion. "From home." Dreamflight nodded dully. "If you are attacked, someone will come to help you." Again, Dreamflight nodded. She didn't enjoy the idea of having someone to come run to her rescue all the time, but she knew better than to reject such a warm gesture of love and help. She embraced both the gods warmly, watching as they stepped back and faded away. The wind picked up once more, bringing a few stray snowflakes with its currents. Dreamflight hugged her arms against the biting chill, sighed, and continued in the direction of Wayreth alone.
Loki was led into a room farther down the tower, closer to the ground levels. He found the descent quite fun, speculating on what it would be like to slide down the wooden banisters, but was quickly advised against this. Now they stood before a very large iron door. Justarius lifted the huge iron knocker and let it fall with a clang. The doors, despite the appearance of their size and weight, were thrown open. A very short mage, donning grayish white robes, peered at the group as smoke and steam poured into the hallway from the dark and foreboding dormitory.
"Greetings, Oedison," Justarius replied curtly. "Carrying on with your experiments? Good, good." Justarius spoke quickly, not allowing the quick tongued Oedison to get a word in edgewise. "I request a favor of you, Oedison." Justarius reached behind himself, grabbing Loki by the collar as he was just about to walk off, and dragged the kender forward. Oedison gave a snort of surprise.
"What's a kender doing in the tower?" he inquired. He spoke quickly, not so much as his gnome parent, but enough to give the impression he was in a great deal of a hurry and whatever you had to say had better be darn important.
"He is an honored guest here," Justarius answered, his voice slightly taut and his tone turning sour with impatience. "If you have a qualm, speak with Ladonna. This is her insistence. In the meantime, it has been decided unanimously that you and Vansal will entertain our little friend. I will be sending Vansal to join you both shortly." Oedison muttered on his breath quickly, making veiled comments and threats that he was sure Justarius probably heard and cared little of. He felt put upon, worst – insulted, but knew better than to argue with an Order head, even if it wasn't his own Par-Salian. Chances are he would be terribly reprimanded by all three order heads, and Par-Salian to boot. With a cordial bow, Oedison reached forth and snatched Loki's hand, dragging him into his chambers.
Loki caught his balance and looked around; eyes squinted in the darkness of the room. There were all sorts of gadgets laying strewn about on the floor, shelves, tabletops, and any other bare inch of space. The experiments considered 'complete' were displayed in dusty glass cases for display on the higher shelves. All the other incomplete pieces lay in haphazard order. Oedison shut his massive door with a crank, making the solid thud reverberate in the room. Loki jumped at the noise. Oedison wheeled towards Loki, his dislike open and honest.
"Now you listen here," Oedison started, shaking a finger at the kender and speaking in the scolding tones of a parent. "Don't talk to me, don't ask me things, and don't TOUCH anything. If you can do that, we will get along just fine."
"What am I supposed to do then?" Loki asked, slightly offended by an undeserved admonishment from a complete stranger. He was about to make a formal introduction to rectify the stranger part, but Oedison crossed his arms and averted his gaze.
"Sit down and look at things," he muttered, and turned to resume his tinkering. Loki found a spare stool in a corner, dragging it noisily over the stone floor to a more suitable position. Next, he took the nuts and bolts that rested on it, examining them with mild interest. He was reminded of the gnome sleigh bolt that his older brother had from a Yule experience years and years ago. Shrugging, a few of the bolts falling into his pouches, he dropped the most of them on the floor and took a seat. Irritated beyond belief, the half gnome turned slowly and glowered at Loki for the noise created.
"You told me to sit down, but I can't sit on a bunch of bolts in a dirty old corner," Loki said with a reproachful look. The mage lifted a pudgy finger, narrowed his eyes, and was about to launch into a tirade. Lucky for Loki, a knock resonated from the door, which consequently sent many of the half finished experiments off in a cacophony of whistles, screeches, and other interestingly gnomish noises. Here and there lights flared up from a magical reaction as well. Loki clung to the edge of his stool and watched it all with delight, giggling joyfully. Steam and smoke filled the room as Oedison stomped over to his door and pulled it open with the crank.
"Hello, Oedison," a soft, mellow voice rang out in an interesting contrast to the noise of the laboratory. Loki tried to see who had arrived, but was forced to wait patiently for the air to clear. When it did, he was rewarded o see a very tall white-robed elf looking around with a dreamy expression. "Justarius asked I come here to keep company with a guest." His roving gaze fell on Loki, but the kind expression did no change. Loki grinned back until he noticed something about the elf. He held something in his hand that made the kender's gaze lock unwaveringly on it. "Is this him?"
"Aye," Oedison grumped. "Keep him busy and out of my hair!" Without another word, the half gnome mage hurried off to tend to his mechanisms with love and care. Vansal strode over to Loki, pulling up a second stool that was much too small for the elf. The sight was ludicrous to behold, but the effect was lost on Loki, who continued staring at the elf's hand.
"Hello," Vansal said simply, watching Loki carefully. "My name is Vansal."
"I'm Loki Burrfoot," Loki murmured, transfixed. He held out a hand out of habit, which Vansal shook lightly. Vansal followed his gaze to his hand and the thing he held. It was a dark ashen flute, lovingly carved and beautifully designed by his own elven hands. The ebony flue that Nuitari had conjured for Loki had disappeared, and Loki longed to feel his one in his hands. Vansal smiled.
"Do you like it?" he inquired wistfully. Loki nodded. "I don't like parting with it for any length of time. I was a bard before I became a mage, you know, and my heart still aches for music as much as for magic." Loki nodded, distracted, daydreaming. Vansal hesitated – it was obvious that Loki wanted to handle the flute. He appeared to be a dreamer, much like Vansal. Vansal was loathed to simply hand over his favored instrument, for he was not ignorant to the nature of kender. However, unlike most of his brethren, he was tolerant of kender and eager to feed the flames of music lust where it lay dormant or smothered. Giving a quick prayer to Solinari and Branchala that he had not judged wrong, Vansal handed the flute to Loki.
Immediately the kender brought the polished wood to his lips and began to play. Vansal had o shut his eyes, for the notes swelled in his heart and soothed his soul with their beauty and clarity. He became utterly amazed, and even Oedison paused, tools in one hand and a spell scroll in another, to listen.
"You and I will get along very well, kenderkin. I think that I have a few things I can teach you about the ways of bards…"
Firespice walked the streets of Panthalas, tired and hungry. He was beginning to gain a familiarity with the city, which pleased his fantasies of this birth home. However, he was still in miserable spirits. He'd spent the last of what little money he'd had on some food and one night in the Inn a few nights previously. When Solinari never returned on the day of their parting, Firespice took another day to tour on his own. There was much worth seeing and now he had ample time to stroll at his leisure. The kender came to the realization that perhaps Solinari had deserted him here after another night passed without the god returning to the Inn – or any inn. Tired out, he wandered into the temple to Paladine where he was greeted with surprising warmth from two older kender clerics of Mishakel, both in curiously high ranking positions of the temple's hierarchy. They clucked and cooed at seeing him, fawning with care over Firespice and calling themselves his long lost aunts. He found out later the next day that they had been the clerics who had delivered him on the fateful night of the war. They were extremely thankful to his mother, for they'd had nothing but extraordinary luck since then, falling high in Mishakel's favor, and were happy to repay her through charity to the charming son. He'd been given a place to sleep and some food, but Firespice could not keep himself cooped up in the temple all day long. After a few days had exhausted his search of the place, he'd decided to strike out into the city during the days on his own. The problem with this, was that he did not remember the way back to the temple and most of the citizens did not want to help him out with directions. He almost regretted his situation now, and his stomach more so.
"Maybe I could pay someone back for some service," Firespice thought, eyeing a basket of apples. During his trips to Kendermore with his parents, he'd found that kender would often take the wares one day and repay the vendor with something later. It was a good system that never failed, for the vendor invariably wound up asking to borrow something anyways. Wondering if Panthalas worked the same, he gave in to hunger and grabbed a few apples, assuring the vendor he would pay him back after he found his way back to the temple.
"Stop! Stop that kender thief!"
Hearing the clank of swords on armor, Firespice decided that, once again, Panthalas wasn't much like Kendermore, and took off fleeing down the streets. He enjoyed the merry chase, making it last for a surprisingly long time. The nimble and lithe kender was able to navigate the streets with agility and cleverness that the guards would later give grudging respect to. However, their seniority and familiarity won out and before long, Firespice was bound and gagged, being marched down the streets at sword point to go sit in their jail.
"At least they'll have food," Firespice thought with a smile.
Tasslehoff had been left alone for some time now. He didn't know for how long and he didn't particularly care. Once he had found the endless grey of the Abyss boring – now he would have happily sat here for all of eternity to let his mind and body heal from the vicious wounds that they had suffered. He only dared to entertain one thought in his head, finding out that Takhisis and Chaos could read his mind like a book, and that was that his wife and family were well and safe. He'd dared not hope for a rescue from them; he did not want his family here anyways.
"Perhaps because they have me they won't harm my family anymore… Maybe they can all live in peace for once."
All too soon he felt Takhisis's presence and that of Chaos as well. Tas didn't even bother to lift his head in acknowledgement to their coming.
"I ask you again to pledge yourself to my service," Takhisis stated flatly. Tas thought of his wife lovingly and said nothing, heart aching. After a long silence, Takhisis spoke again. "Your kender wife is an illusion, you pathetic worm. No goddess would, nor should, devote her life to a mortal. Already, she has returned to her former lover, and has forgotten you completely." As jerked his head up, glaring at the awful form of Takhisis. An insult and denial on his lips, it was then that Takhisis lay her final assault on the battered kender.
Images of Dreamflight and Branchala flashed before Tasslehoff's eyes. Dreamflight being cradled and sung to. The pair watching a sunset from a ship together, standing as close and intimate as lovers. Branchala stroking her face and hair. Tas watched it all with wide, unblinking eyes.
As Takhisis continued his assault, she spoke softly to Chaos, "The last thing left to break, father dear, is the spirit. After that, they are yours." Chaos said nothing, merely watched.
Branchala's voice speaking strange words resonated through the Abyss, ringing loudly in Tas's mind. Tas did not know the language, and so Takhisis simply said, "He is pledging his eternal love for her. 'Since your waking, I myself have been lost in an endless dream.'" It was something the romantic, sappy god would say. The visage of Branchala kissing Dreamflight on the forehead paused, froze, and hovered unendingly before Tas's eyes.
"Do you now oppose to serving me? You are pained. I give you the chance to deliver a blow back to those who have wronged you so deeply."
Takhisis was, in a way, wrong. Tas was not in pain. He was cold, through and through, to the point his body and mind became numb. His heart was so cold that it burned terribly in his chest, and his throat dried and constricted. He never knew a pain so terrible in his whole life. Never knew anything so awful. His mind, senses, everything shut down as the noble spirit wavered and then fell to the might of the goddess. Tas looked at Takhisis and fell to one knee before her. "…My Queen…"
In the background, Chaos smiled. Everything was ready. Their plans were now going to be put into motion.
"The time has come for the dream to turn to a nightmare."
