Fable - Ask By Moonlight In the Overbright [Elbion]

[Dahldaera]

South of Elbion - Across the Cairou
Abandoned Farm
Early Evening

"You are certain we cannot use the underground cavern system to enter the city?"

"Most certain, Silver One. None of the underground catacombs or tunnels remain intact after the fall of Drakomir."

It was not in her nature to ask a question twice, but Daera's familiarity with this dryder was about as fresh as the calf suckling from its mother in the field. The farm may have been abandoned by its workers, but somehow the cattle had survived the world-shattering event that tore the city of Elbion from its very foundations not but two years prior.

"Even the surface remains scared and broken," Bast continued from her silent perch in the top of the silo at the far end of the run-down barnyard. She was the youngest daughter of Daera's acquaintance Iyes, but the youth of a dryder was as subjective as anything else as long lived as she. Hundreds of years it took for them to be considered matured creatures in their own right, but Daera knew as little about the lives and societal norms of Dryders as she did about the city of Elbion.

A city known across the entire realm of Arethil's Overbright - yet not at all in the Underdark. Just went to show the separation of realms.

Dahldaera withdrew a token object from the safety of a leather pouch at her hip, holding it flat on her palm and watching as the black gem within the silver base gave a sudden jerk, it's pointed tip fixing north. It directed her to this shattered city, where she had sent her Shadowhound Malus to scout far earlier in the day. Until darkness claimed the landscape and the hound returned, she would await him here.

 

[Malus]

While the Maker and Mistress had established themself in their crimson spire, Malus had done as bade of him aboveground: learn. The customs of these light-treading creatures were starkly different from those of his masters. He had managed well posing as a sword for hire in his travels.

With the moons suspended overhead, the hound arrived at the farmstead. A predator through and through, Malus' mighty footfalls were silent, but the Maker's black armor rattled and announced his arrival. As he caught the Mistress' scent, the wolven bladesman quietly whined and quickened his step. When appearing before Dahldaera, Malus dropped to a knee and lowered his head. His fist, clutching a tattered kerchief, rested over his thumping heart.

"My Lady," Malus' gentle voice, courtesy of the Maker, rolled out past a row of sharp fangs, "There is much to report."

 

[Dahldaera]

"Silver One," Bast's voice drifted from the rafters where she perched, "the Hound approaches."

Daera looked up from the book she presently read - a piece from the Overbright brought to her by Malus some months ago. She was learning to read and decipher the language of the surface elves ... or, at the very least, one of their many tongues. As varied above as they were below, pity they were of lesser stock and spoiled blood. Daera closed the binding and stood from the table, moving toward the farmhouse entrance to peer out into the dusk. Her keen gaze of electric blue could see a great deal in the dark, yet she found she could not gaze at the open horizon for long without a sweeping spell of sickness.

Below, they called it wit'gal. She didn't know what they called it up here.

The appearance of the hound's hulking form spared her the ill, and she stepped from the crumbling home out into the open where the moonlight bathed her figure in liquid silver.

"Speak with haste," Daera commanded of him, gently, "I grow tired of waiting in this wretched hovel."

 

[Malus]

"It is a city of the pink-skinned slava, but many species call it home. I learned that wealth flowed through it like water before a great calamity struck. They say that caravans and fleets from all ends of the Overbright gathered to exchange goods, and though it is a place renowned for its wealth of knowledge, its former prosperity was owed to its commerce. While I surveyed the streets, I came before what they call the College but was barred from entry. It is said to be the most prestigious institute of magical education in all the lands and a trove of ancient knowledge and powerful artifacts."

With careful subservience, Malus raised his head and lowered his fist.

"With mine eyes, I beheld areas of great ruin where we may enter the city unseen. My Lady, if I may venture to speak my mind on the matter, I believe what you seek rests within the College."

 

[Dahldaera]

So Elbion had fallen from grace. A fall that had demolished much, much more than just its underground caverns and catacombs. The city itself still existed in a state of disrepair - providing them an excellent opportunity to gain access. Despite these things, the evidence of disgust at roaming a ruined slava city still made its way into her expression.

Daera resisted the urge to let her gaze wander off into the distant horizon and instead turned her eyes toward the ground in an unspoken plea of nostalgia to be back where she belonged. Ash-colored hands lifted to pull the oversized black cowl of her cape over her head, shielding her eyes from the moonlight and cutting off her peripheral vision to lessen the shock of wit'gal.

"Then we make for the college immediately. Bast, you will assist."

Eight beady red eyes blinked out at the pair from a darkened window of the barn silo, "It is my honor to serve you, Silver One." Her figure emerged, eight spindly black legs curling out like fingers from the darkness with the bulk of her body following. Caught in the light of the moon, the dryder's silhouette cast in eerie chiaroscuro of her black and white markings, created an involuntary flinch of distaste in the Soveriegn Heir.

"Lead on, Malus."

 

[Malus]

"Aye, Mistress," Malus reverentially dipped his head before standing. Taller and taller, the hound grew, his frame wild and endless. Then turned and made for the direction he came. "Most slava retire to their beds at night," he said, "Their days begin and end with the sun's rising and setting."

Passing under the silo, Malus turned his snout up to the dryer.

"Ah, Bast. Hullo, friend. Long time."

The wolven swordsman stomped back through the thicket, ensuring a path was cleared for Dahldaera so that not a single thread of her garb would snag on a loose branch or bramble. Soon they emerged from the wood to the bank of the Cairou. Pulled ashore was an old rowboat, an old and well-worn vessel hardly worthy to seat the Silver One.

"Apologies, My Lady, but it's all that was around."

When Bast and Dahldaera boarded, Malus pushed the craft into the river and climbed in himself to see them across.

 

[Dahldaera]

The dilapidated boat was no worse for wear than that which she, Kalavan, and Nasir had taken along the Rift several years prior. Though those memories felt nearly a lifetime away now, so much had happened since the night the three of them first made acquaintances. Instead her heart hardened against the notion of returning home to the Keep and found her seat on the boat in stoic silence.

"Look there, Silver One," Bast's pale humanoid torso leaned toward the shadow of the mountains across the expanse of the Cairou's waters, "the white tower at the base of the peaks. That is the College."

Daera peered out, letting her gaze look past the hulking figure of Malus and tracked upwards into the darkness of the city before them. Dotted by the golden glow of campfires and braziers through windows of the buildings, she caught the gleam of the white citadel and frowned, "It's so small."

How could anything so widely-renowned as this be so incredibly miniscule? It paled in comparison to the university of her home city. Even the Keep's great forge towers could have swallowed it whole.

"The humans are restricted by tradition and the inability to work for the greater whole," replied the dryder, "but there is vast arcane knowledge to be found within its halls."

 

[Malus]

Malus attentively listened to Bast, who had served as an intermediary between the Shadowhound and his master during his travels in the Overbright. He'd come to welcome her company and the wisdom she would share.

"They hoard knowledge and secrets that could be used for good," chimed the hound as he rowed them across the Cairou with great strength and tireless endurance, "While the city lies in ruin and its people suffer."

Thanks to Malus' effort, they crossed the river with no time wasted. Nearing the embankment, Malus climbed out and pulled the boat ashore.

"We can enter the city up ahead," he quietly grunted as he dragged the boat through the dirt, "where there's a hole in the wall." He stood up straight and dusted his gloved hands off. Waiting only for the two to disembark, Malus turned and led them to a crumbling, neglected portion of the city's perimeter where only a pile of rubble kept them from the city.

Beginning to climb up the pile, the wolven swordsman turned to offer a hand to Dahldaera.

 

[Dahldaera]

"They hoard knowledge and secrets that could be used for good. While the city lies in ruin and its people suffer."

A deep shadow of disgust filtered over Daera's face upon hearing those words. Too close and too familiar with the notion of hoarding knowledge... her hatred for the Priesthood that had done the very same to her own people set her blood boiling. The Soveriegn Heir remained silent while she rolled this new knowledge of the Overbright through her mind. She was not one to feel pity toward lesser creatures, especially not slava, but what she felt was more akin to the rising bile of abhorrence that her own people were guilty of the same sins and crimes.

They who were representatives of the Elder Gods, the Thousand Thousands. They who were greater than those above ... marred and sullied by the very same sins.

Glad for the quick ride, Daera allowed their arrival upon the shoreline to pull her from the spiral of her musings. She stepped lightly after the wolfman and dryder, scaling the rubble of the wall with little trouble and looking up at the clawed hand offered to her. The elf frowned but took it anyway. Not because she needed his assistance, but because his assistance was an expected part of the duties he'd been created for. As they made their way inside the wall, the three of them leapt down to hide in the shadows while a guard patrol passed them by.

Bast peered out into the darkness, eight pitch black legs silently traipsing across the cobble to a nearby structure to scale with all the grace of climbing liquid. "The way is clear," she hushed down to them, "the city is no stranger to foreign visitors, Silver One, and you may walk unhindered by the Guard now that you are within its walls. I will remain near but out of sight."

Daera nodded and stepped out from the shadows, adjusting her hood to sit more openly around her face and turning to look for the gleam of the white citadel. Seemed they had a fair amount of steps to make for the evening.

"You said they would not allow you within the college?" she asked after Malus, voice quiet.

 

[Malus]

Malus craned his neck and watched as Bast skittered up a nearby building, his black lips slightly parted in silent awe.

"That's right," his head whirled to his master's voice, "Apparently, it's not open to the general public."

Looking back up, Bast was gone. Nearby, certainly. Perhaps watching them or scouting ahead, or maybe neither of those things. The half-wolf couldn't say. Malus entered an alley and began to retrace his steps, Dahldaera in tow. Notches in stone walls and wood beams left by his claw while he'd scouted during the day guided Malus to a wide street.

Pointing at the college, he said: "Can see it better now." Lowered his hand.

"Stinks here."

 

[Dahldaera]

A center for learning and study ... not open to the general public? Then what in the thousand hells was it there for? Despite their caste system of society, the el'eth surrah provided education for all for they were only as strong as their weakest minds, and even their weakest minds could read, write, preform arithmetic, and record the words of their Gods as bidden by the Priesthood.

May no mind go unawakened that it sleep through life unchallenged.

The greater view afforded her no greater awe. Still, even so close, Daera marveled only at how little this great college of wonder was. She could not smell what the wolf did and perhaps she would consider that a gift.

"The slava do not live as we do," she said dispassionately, "may their stench and rubble remind you of this always. Did you not see a single mage while within the city? None that came or went from this college?"

 

[Malus]

"Ah, no. Just some cubs passing through the gate. I did ask, though. Folks say ever since the destruction, the maesters, they call them, stay in the college."

From an embroidered pouch tied to his belt, Malus produced a small, dark biscuit and placed it into his mouth. Turned his face away from Dahldaera to loudly crunch it.

"There were many people with the scent of magic to them, but I don't think they were of this city. Travelers. Mercenaries. Those sorts."

After some way of walking, curiosity got the better of the young hound.

"My Lady, do you practice magic?"

 

[Dahldaera]

Which meant the College would be full of mages. Daera was not one to turn away from a challenge, but she was no fool either. If they were not successful tonight, she would need to devise a different plan to gain unfettered access to the stores of knowledge within the citadel.

The crunching shifted her attention back to the hound, something to which she found small amusement in, "I am glad you enjoy those. Everything must serve a purpose, even my failures." Alchemical experiments that hadn't taken. Daera had long since mastered many of the forms of magical arts by her people in her several centuries of life, but what she intended for her abilities now was not something taught or supported by the Priesthood. It was her hope that the tome she sought contained the knowledge required to find success.

"All members of my bloodline practice and master magic, dear shadow," Daera intoned levelly to him, "it is our birthright to rule over our kin with the powers granted us by the Thousand Thousands. The greater our mastery, the closer to the Elder Gods we become."

 

[Malus]

A gloved hand rested over the pouch. Enjoy perhaps put it lightly. Malus learned to treat himself to them sparingly, for he never knew when Bast would return with a new batch. This took a great deal of restraint.

Economical. Wise. Powerful. Malus was filled with a great deal of pride that the master he was created to serve was so commendable.

"What about the Maker?"

The man that had given Malus everything. A strong body trained to be of service to the Mistress, and a sound mind filled with knowledge of the world.

"This is how I serve her," said the Forgemaster, holding his silver hammer for Malus to see, "That is why you are needed. To make up for my shortcomings."

The Maker had been slow and weak, but he possessed a deep understanding of martial texts and manuals and taught the hound much of what he knows.

 

[Dahldaera]

"The Maker..." Daera had to take a moment to think on whom the wolfman referred. He meant Kalavan, of course, and she emoted a dark mirth at this title he'd been given.

"Lord Kalavan is a Forgemaster," she said, "though he is descended of a distant noble bloodline, he is not blessed with powers of magic. His mastery is of forge crafting - one day I believe he will become even greater than the greatest of our Empire, Malus Duun, the King after which you are named."

They were passing through a great deal of rubble now. Building upon building shattered and crumbled to nothing but dust of stone and wood. There were no people here, but there were signs that rebuilding efforts were underway. Why, if this calamity had struck nearly two years ago, was this not already accomplished she wondered.

With the power of the College sitting like a crown jewel over the city, why was reconstruction not much further along? Surely it behooved the Mages to see the city flourish again?

 

[Malus]

"Forge...master," echoed the shadow.

"I'm named after a king, eh?" he asked, pulling his long cloak tighter around him as a breeze passed down the trail, "A beast like me."

Malus guided Dahldaera through winding streets and narrow alleys, following his trail of claw marks left behind from the day until they arrived under the College's towering gate, the institution's emblem proudly displayed on an ornate crest in the middle of it.

"This was as far as I went during the day," he said, "Sniffed out an old tunnel 'round the back though."

 

[Dahldaera]

"Consider it a great honor," Daera intoned, "it is a name that holds meaning and is one to live up to."

A beast he was - not likely to ever gain recognition even close to the great Forgemaster and King - but he would go to sleep at night knowing that his name commanded the attention and respect of those who knew it. It stood for something far greater than himself.

Just as the sigil of the college stood for much more than just the individual mage. Daera regarded the gate with annoyance and took a moment to peer through the iron rungs to gander inside the darkened grounds within. The college seemed to be much more intact and whole than the rest of the city, which begged the question: had it been spared the devastation or had it simply been prioritized by the mages for repair and reconstruction?

A glance was given to Malus at the mention of the tunnel, "Bast reported that the tunnels were no longer intact or passable. Are you certain that this one is?"

Then her gaze flickered toward movement around the bend of the wall separating the collage district from the rest of the city. A rotation of guards were making their rounds ... or perhaps changing shifts. Daera motioned for the wolf to quickly lead the way to this tunnel opening so that they might take cover and at the very least avoid causing a stir.

 

[Malus]

Dahldaera's Shadowhound nodded once. A thing to remember always—that he should comport himself to honor his namesake.

If only he knew that the name had been suggested by Kalavan to spite the great King. If only Dahldaera knew.

"Ah, so-"

Cut off by her sign, Malus jerked to attention and guided the Mistress along the wall, leading them away from the oncoming patrol. The wolfman's strides were long and powerful and, were it not for his rattling armor, utterly quiet.

"Slava scents clung to the walls," he hushed back to her, "I didn't scout the tunnel, but it has been used recently."

And beyond the campus' wall, where the footing became steep, Malus followed the aforementioned scents to a dark opening in the hillside and ducked into the entrance.

"Couldn't tell you where it goes. I just smell... body odor and parchment."

 

[Dahldaera]

Daera quickly followed behind him, pressing herself against the wall once inside as the guard patrol walked by outside. She had no idea as to the power the Guards may wield, if any, and she wasn't about to foolishly find out. Not when she was so close to her destination. Waiting with bated breath, Daera blinked into the darkness with glowing blue eyes and peered out through the mouth entrance to check that they were once again alone.

She stepped in after the wolf, lightly sniffing the air to find it stale and earthy. A heightened sense of smell was not exactly one of the el'eth's many attributes, but judging by Malus' description ... it was a small blessing in disguise. A hand dipped into the leather pouch on her hip, retrieving the small metallic device and holding it flat on her palm.

"Hm," she noted the projected path as it followed the one before them down into the depths of the earth beneath the college, "seems we will follow your nose, then."

"Silver One-"

"Ha!" Daera hissed at the voice that echoed over the top of her head like a cold breeze, her free hand drawing the dagger from her side.

"Forgive me," Bast's eight beady red eyes alighted in the darkness, "I followed once the Guards passed on. This passage was only recently reopened and it may lead to the lower levels of the tower."

"And the upper levels?"

"I cannot answer that, Lady. The damage to the lower structure from the raising of the college is unknown to me."

"The...raising?" Daera inquired curiously and motioned for Malus to lead the way.

"After the fall of the great dragon, the city broke into countless pieces, many launched into the clouds where the remnants of Drakomir's power held them. They remained floating for some time."

 

[Malus]

Obedient and waiting, Malus nodded with Dahldaera's motion and began down the tunnel. He was hunched forward, one hand pressed against the low ceiling, and took up most of the narrow passage with his large frame.

"How did they manage, I wonder," mused the wolf from ahead, his mellow timbre echoing off the walls.

One foot ahead of the other, the swordsman shuffled forward, huffing and puffing as the passage continued to narrow. He could smell the fresh scent of slava on the rock walls, but who in their right mind would travel through such a space?

"This is bloody ridiculous," Malus voiced a rare complaint, "I'm going to have to crawl at this rate, eh. Like an animal. Wouldn't that be a sight?"

 

[Dahldaera]

"During the great confluence of the Portal Stones, when the one known as Seneschal spoke to the realm, magic became brittle," Bast explained in a voice very much like the story-tone of a mother laying her babes to bed with a tale, "in some places it broke. When that happened, the floating pieces of Elbion returned to the ground and there they have stayed."

"We felt that in the Endless City," Daera remarked to herself with intrigue, "but no one knew what it was. The Priests believed it to be a sign from the Gods - it is what set into motion the mass Roving Out to find the Conduit." It was what set into motion her own actions to leave the city, find allies, and engage herself in this rise to power that seemed to have no tangible end in sight.

For every problem solved or challenge overcome, ten more took their place.

The elf's attention shifted to Malus and a frown formed on her dark lips, "We do what we must," her eyes narrowed, "what we seek is worth a great deal to my plans. Far more than your pride ... or mine."

 

[Malus]

Malus listened and found his curiosity to be sated. At the mention of this Conduit, the wolf recalled a conversation with the Maker.

---

"The Conduit," said the Forgemaster Kalavan, "Is your Lady's sister." ​

​

"Then, I serve her too?" ​

​

"No. Absolutely not. Rather, you should never speak of her, nor should you let her name pass your lips. I say this out of concern for you, hound."​

---

He did not understand, but there was neither need nor desire to. Malus knew his purpose well and was grateful that it was pleasingly simple. Protect the Mistress. Serve her bidding.

"Oh," he softly exclaimed, "My apologies, My Lady. I meant nothing by it. Just trying to lighten the mood. I met a slava during my travels that would speak in jest when faced with difficulties. Must've left an impression on me."

 

[Dahldaera]

"I like you, Malus," a look of disgust peeled across Daera's lips, pressing a scowl into her expression, "but mind your time spent with among slava and see that you deflect such impressions in the future. I will not have the filth of their ideals or cultures corrupting my Kingdom." It was the conversational equivalent of stepping in dog shit and tracking it into the house and it left the el'eth wrinkling her nose at the foul stench it left behind on her good taste.

As Malus made his way through the narrowing passageway, she squeezed after him until they stepped out into a chamber that appeared to have once been part of a cistern. The water no longer remained, having seeped deep down into the crust of the earth through the channels created by Drakomir's devastation. Tunnels had collapsed in upon themselves, and she did not see a way through any that remained.

But there was the remnants of a broken stone stairwell several dozen feet off the ground. Too high for her to jump to, and far too steep of a wall to climb to reach.

 

[Malus]

Malus, of course, had his thoughts on the matter. But the word of his Lady was absolute, and nothing save for foul magics would break his conditioning in obedience towards her.

"Yes, Mistress. It shan't happen again."

Stepping into the room, Malus brushed crumblings of dirt and rock off his well-worn furred cloak. Progressing to the chamber's center, the hound rotated, taking in the abandoned cistern. His attention settled on the stairwell.

"The smell of people is recent. Days old, if not less."

The question was, how did they manage the drop?

"Perhaps there's a ladder or rope stored above," Malus mused aloud and stepped just below the stairwell, then moved a few paces out from under it. He turned to Dahldaera, "Maybe I can toss you up with a running start."

 

[Dahldaera]

"Allow me, Silver One," Bast gently intoned as she squeezed through the passageway to join them, her many legs filing through the tight quarters one after the other after the other. The dryder scaled the sheer rock wall with no trouble and Daera watched her with equal parts fascination and wariness. The capability of these creatures was nothing at all to sniff at - she'd witnessed their hunts and feasts. She'd seen them survive great feats that would have killed most others.

It was no small wonder that the dryders of the underdark had not exerted more influence across the realm. Or, perhaps they did and she was simply as unaware of the web they'd woven as every other citizen of the dark.

"You are correct," Bast remarked as she reached the ledge at the top and reached to procure a rope-and-plank ladder from over the edge. It unfurled with a loud rattle, dropping to the cistern floor. Daera approached, gave it a test tug, then began to climb.