Korvosa: 6 Desnus, 4742
From where it sat at the end of Conqueror's Bay, where the river Jeggare met the sea, Korvosa had long stood as the first bastion of civilization on the wild frontier of Varisia. From its earliest days as a Chelaxian outpost, the city had grown to fill the spit of land formed by two sharp turns in the river, covering the holm known as Endrin's Isle that split the Jeggare at its mouth and spread to a few outlying areas on the far shore. As the oldest human settlement in Varisia (a claim disputed by the folk of Kaer Maga), Korvosa had been lauded as the founding seat of civilization in an otherwise lawless region of Avistan, that thanks to it and the spread of its people, Varisia had become a relatively safe place to live.
But in a region under the grip of the Crimson Flame and its fanatical followers, the feeling of what it meant to be safe had taken on an entirely new meaning.
They were six in number and wore hooded robes that were black in hue, like the color of the endless void, adorned with spirals, demonic faces, many-pointed arrows, and broken squares - all signs of chaos. They also bore another symbol, one that was larger and more prominent than the others; a symbol that showed their allegiance to one master above all others.
A tongue of red flame. The sign of Massif.
They had gathered upon the stage of the Old Korvosan theater called Exemplary Excrables. Formerly a temple of Aroden, it had found life as the home of all things foul, gore-slicked, and unnaturally pornographic. Numerous acts rotated through the theater, with any particular performer putting on a show four or five nights a week. The theater's acts included gore-filled plays with faux tortures, false murders, fake rapes, and other fabrications meant to horrify and sicken the audience. But by far the most popular act, though, was the so-called "death play," in which a masked performer gruesomely "murdered" a volunteer from the audience for all the rest to enjoy.
Which made it the perfect place in the entire city for the cultists of Crimson Flame, the children of Massif, to meet with one another.
"Welcome, brothers and sisters of the Flame," one said, with a voice that was dry and faintly metallic. The speaker was tall, towering over his fellows.
"Greetings," the others answered in turn.
"We are here to discuss a threat to our master's goal of Change," the tall speaker continued.
"Lord Draxas Arkona," whispered one of the other cultists.
"The Knights of the Sihedron and their leader have proven to be a thorn in our master's side. But they are not the threat that I would discuss with you all."
This brought forth a round of excited murmurs and rampant speculation from the gathered.
"The threat I speak of is not a person, but rather a thing in human form."
At that, the one who had whispered the name of Draxas spoke yet again. "Malik. You speak of Malik, the so-called 'Sword of Vengeance.' "
The tall one nodded his hooded head. "He is a danger to us all..."
"He is a danger because we have that which he wants. Give it to him and we shall be rid of him."
"We can not do that."
"Can not...or will not?"
The two speakers glared at one another from beneath their hoods, causing the remaining assembled cultists to feel uncomfortable in their presence.
"Can not. We are no longer in possession of it."
This admission caused the remaining cultists to gasp in both fear and alarm. All save one.
Marandici Caravan: 6 Desnus, 4742
Draxas stared at both Reise and the masked man she called Master Guan. "Well, now that the formal introductions have been made, will someone please tell me what is going on?"
The priestess of Desna hesitantly tore her gaze from Guan and fixed it on her friend. "I don't know, Draxas, any more than you. I came because I heard that someone had entered the camp and killed four guards. I figured that the cultists had sent someone to assassinate you and came as quickly as I could."
The masked man knelt down on the floor of the tent, his legs folded beneath his thighs with his buttocks resting on his heels. He then placed tops of his feet so that they were flat on the floor, and finally lowered all the way down, the palms of his hands resting lightly on the top of his thighs and his back straight. Draxas had seen this posture before, seen it performed by Reise countless times when she was about to meditate. When asked, she called it seiza, a traditional and formal way of sitting that was done in Tian Xia. He also noted that, unlike Reise, who usually did it with her knees together, he sat with them slightly apart. What this meant Draxas did not know, but he knew that it was indeed significant.
"I cannot waste any more time than I already have," began Guan. "I am here, not to assassinate, but to talk. What happened with your men was... unfortunate, but I could not afford the luxury of being open with my movements. Surely someone in your position can understand that, Lord Draxas."
The Lord of Fort Rannick said nothing, but the masked man could tell that he did indeed understand. He looked from Draxas to Reise, who was also in seiza across from him, and continued. "I am here because of you, Spherewalker. More to the point, I am here because of your sister Gwyneth. We've finally found her."
Xin-Shalast: 6 Erastus, 4708
Draxas rose, picking himself up from where he had dove onto the stone floor to avoid being hit by one of the four fiery spheres of molten gold that had rained down from smoky sky above. He looked around at his companions, quickly checking to see if they were alright as well before focusing his attention on the threat above them.
Hovering some forty feet in the air was a man dressed in immaculately appointed robes of green with gold trimming. In his right hand he held a glaive, the head of which burned furiously. He leveled the weapon at them and proclaimed loudly, "You came to slay me, to keep me from reclaiming my empire. Well, let it not be said that Karzoug the Claimer is not magnanimous. You shall be richly rewarded for your audacity."
And with that said, the man called Karzoug raised his weapon over head and produced a gold-encrusted rod with his left. He then released the glaive, which promptly darted down to position itself before its owner. Simultaneously, Karzoug began to trace a fine golden line of arcane energy before him with the rod, forming a circle of shimmering energy and dancing runes that hung suspended in the air. Once done, he shouted a single word: "Stop!"
For a brief moment, the lazily drifting vapors within the Eye of Avarice seemed to ripple then freeze in place for a fraction of a heartbeat before resuming their movement once more. Draxas seemed confused as he looked to his companions, who were equally at a loss for words. Whatever spell the wizard had cast, it had appeared to fail. Not wanting to question their apparent good luck, the group moved to gather themselves together to make their next move.
And lost sight of each other due to a bank of billowing yellowish green mist and noxious vapors that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Draxas called out, seeking to use his voice as a guide for his companions even as he stayed fixed to his current location. He imagined them lost, stumbling about the poisonous cloud trying to find him, choking and gagging from the fumes. The image roused his anger, which served to focus his mind on the task at hand.
The first to find him was Alster, a dark-haired pale skinned man with deep purple eyes whose fists were encased within bladed gauntlets of black adamant. Worn by anyone else, the gauntlets were merely dangerous. Worn as they were by a Manarkoral-ranked Steel Fury, trained to make them such an extension of himself that he could perform even the most delicate feats of manual dexterity as though they weren't there, the gauntlets were deadly.
Next to him was the green-eyed, red haired Roku, an elan that claimed to be a survivor of fallen Bakrakhan, once the domain of the Thassilonian Runelord Alaznist, which, if true, would have made her over 10,000 years old. Lending credence to her claim, she was skilled and learned in the ways of a lost martial traditon: the way of the swordsage. In addition to this mystical warrior knowledge, Roku's inherent psionic heritage made her a gifted pyrokineticist, a talent that went hand in hand with her chosen swordsage technique, one that she called the Burning Wind. All of this, in combination with her advanced age, also made Roku an exceptionally unstable pyromaniac. She stood quietly by, her tiny hands wielding a pair of weapons that were little more than solid circles of fire-blackened crystal which had one small area wrapped in leather as a handle, with a bladed guard inside the wheel and above the handle to both protect and aid in gripping. The rest of the wheel was keenly sharpened and featured evenly spaced flame-like protrusions for piercing and tearing flesh.
"Where are the others?" Though Draxas could just make out Alster and Roku standing before him, he continued to seek out the rest of his companions. "Ein. Gwyneth. Malik. Reven. Where are they?"
Alster merely shrugged, an annoyed look flashing briefly across his face as he stared intently at the gagging Draxas. The two had never really gotten along with one another, and for a moment it seemed that the Steel Fury was about to lay into Draxas verbally, as was his way. "Cut off from us even as we are cut off from them." Seeing the confused look on his companion's face, Alster strode a short distance past Draxas and ran his open hand before him. Sparks trailed out from the contact with some unseen barrier.
"And that's not all," said Roku as pointed with her left hand, drawing Draxas' gaze to a vertical, opaque plane of force that shimmered with multicolored flashes of light.
"A prismatic wall." Draxas recognized the barrier immediately for what it was. "Placed to keep us all from advancing forward, with both a killing mist and a wall of force used to divide us, keep us apart, so that we'll be easier to take down. But how could he have done all of this in such a short amount of time?"
"No time to figure it out now." Alster's words drew Draxas' attention back to him. "What we need to do is link back up with the others. Since you seem to know about this prismatic wall thing, can you get us past it?"
Roku's liquid green eyes seemed to brighten as she watched Alster and Draxas try to formulate a plan of escape. "Seven colors are seven locks with keys that must be found. Order and patience are what we need to bring the rainbow down."
The two looked back at the elan, who seemed just as confused and surprised as they were by the words she had just uttered. Then all at once, Draxas nodded his head, gagging and coughing violently in the process. "She's right. The key to getting past the prismatic wall is a specific sequence of spells. Otherwise, any attempt to get past it physically will result in much harm being visited to the one so foolish to try and do so."
Alster looked first at Draxas, then the wall, then once again back at Draxas. "Is that all? Well then, why didn't you say so in the first place?"
And before anyone else could say another word, Alster charged the prismatic barrier and plunged into the shimmering light. Draxas watched the wall take on a red color even as flames limned the Steel Fury's form. Then the color changed to an orange hue and Alster's flame were put out by a caustic liquid that now coated his body and ate away at his flesh. Yet, in spite of the pain he obviously was experiencing, Alster would not be stopped as he struggled to press on.
The barrier flashed from orange to yellow, from yellow to green, and then from green to blue. Electricity crackled over him even as a noxious vapor formed around him and there seemed no sign of Alster slowing down in the slightest. Draxas dared to hope that the stubborn Manarkoral would be able to push on through to the other side.
Then suddenly, the Steel Fury ceased all motion. Roku and Draxas looked at one another, confused expressions worn on their faces. They called to him, but there was no response. From overhead, the wizard Karzoug pointed with his index finger at Alster and chanted a quick arcane phrase that Draxas recognized immediately.
"No!" The word hung in the air as Draxas raised both of his hands as though he were aiming at the wizard. The temperature dropped around him as a cone of black flames leapt from his outstretched hands, guided as they were toward his target. But as the eldritch blast struck the prismatic wall, there was a brief flash and the color red disappeared from the shimmering barrier.
A thin emerald beam sprang from Karzoug's extended digit and struck Alster. With horrified helplessness, both Draxas and Roku watched as their companion was reduced to nothing more than a fine dust. Of Alster, the only thing that remained were his gauntlets that clattered noisily to the stone floor of the chamber.