Chapter Text
Gift of Alacrity
1st level dunamancy (divination)
You touch a willing creature. For the duration, the target can add 1d8 to its initiative rolls
He is seven minutes late.
And as of six minutes ago, Essek Thelyss had decided that he was no longer above pacing. His hands had already begun the somatics for a sending at least a dozen times, but always arrested before completion. What would he say, anyway, that wouldn't sound painfully pathetic?
"Our timetable has shifted. I will notify you when we are to proceed."
Essek pauses his pacing, feet clumsily connecting with the floor. Even through the anxious rush of blood that pounds in his ears, the words of Ludinus Da'leth ring clear in his mind.
"Thank you for the prompt notice," Essek is unable to keep the disdain from bleeding into his tone "I trust you understand the vulnerable position I am in. When can I expect further communication?"
A moment passes. And another. Da'leth does not send again.
Essek grinds his jaw, resisting the urge to press his palms against his eyes. He takes a deep breath. Releases it. He brushes the side of his middle finger against the ring on his index, the familiar tingle of arcana leaving pin-prick impressions on his skin as his form shifts slightly into the illusion of a pale, brunet elf. It takes him a moment to push through the haze of his frustration, but eventually he manages to focus on his destination and speaks the incantation to teleport.
Da'leth's tower in Rexxentrum had been the location of their final meeting discussing the plans for both the extraction of the beacon as well as the experimentation they wished to conduct. Essek didn't necessarily like Da'leth — less so after he had insisted that Essek would not be involved in the experiments on the beacon, but would simply receive updates when they discovered something noteworthy. It should have been an insult to his abilities and knowledge as a prodigy of Den Thelyss, but Da'leth had expressed that he shared Essek's goals, assured him that it was safer for him this way.
He was right. And now he has changed his mind, apparently.
The sun is low in the sky, casting streams of rich orange light through the paned windows on the western wall of the room. Essek scans his surroundings, trying his best to recall how the chamber had looked during his visit a month ago.
Ornately trimmed and deep-hued wooden bookshelves line many of the walls of the office, full to the brim with books in various languages and states of neglect. A large, and in Essek's personal tastes, gaudy rug sits beneath a large mahogany desk with a trio of chairs set around it. The chair behind the desk is more akin to a throne, with a tall back that stretches far taller than is strictly necessary, upholstered in the deep red and purple hues of the assembly. Behind the desk, five elaborately paned windows overlook a large body of water shimmering in the sunset, framed by two drawn curtains. The notes and books spread across Da'leth's desk look a bit more scattered than Essek recalled.
Essek floats towards the desk, carefully reading over many of the open pages without disturbing them. Among various tomes and disparate pages of angrily scribbled-over spells were journals full of Da'leth's rantings in a language Essek couldn't understand, as well as one of his own personal books on dunamantic theory he had lent Da'leth a month ago. It is open to a page with an artistic depiction of what one sees while gazing into a beacon.
He fumbles in his components pouch for a moment with his left hand, using his right to go through the somatics of the spell. He needs to know what these notes say. If, Light forbid, his name is included among this veritable sea of pages, would he be executed for treason? Or would the shame of failing such a lofty goal be an even worse punishment? Essek is not keen to find out.
"—not gonna be there, I'm telling you." Just as his eyes adjusted and the marks on the pages before him morphed from a mess of looping ink into words he could comprehend, a voice spoke from a short way down the hall. In a panic, he snatches up his book of dunamantic theory and tucks it under an arm while darting towards the thick curtains behind him, casting yet another spell to further hide himself.
Essek's heart is pounding in his ears, his invisible chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to breathe quietly. Not two seconds after he tucked himself behind the curtain, the heavy door of Da'leth's study swung open with a loud thunk. Two humans, a man and a woman, step into the room with their hands drawn in defensive positions. Essek freezes.
And then the woman sighs, shoulders sagging dramatically as she drops her raised fists.
"Of course, he fucking dipped." She groans, all but throwing her head back in frustration. "I told Dwendal to keep it quiet, can't fucking stand that guy."
The other human, the man, sighs and begins to look intently about the room, scanning over the walls of books and ignoring the woman's continued grumbled complaints. He digs in his own components pouch, and Essek watches as he casts comprehend languages on himself as well. If only Essek had thought to do that sooner upon his own entry, then maybe he'd know for sure that his connection with the Martinet isn't in the hands of the Empire.
He peeks out of the curtain, still invisible, and watches intently as the two humans silently circle the room and come together to catalogue the spread of information on the desk. The woman picks up a few of the journals, skimming through them absently before setting them down. Then, she begins organizing the pages of unfinished spells into some order that Essek cannot parse from this distance. The man is flipping through the journals and books on the table with alarming speed. Essek cannot see his face, but watches as the man hunches further over the tomes, as though the information is completely consuming not only his thoughts but his very being.
It reminds Essek of himself as a young child sitting on the floor of his father's library, curled over a book about dunamancy for the first time. His mother had found him, hours later, when he had nearly finished the entire book, and scolded him for his poor posture. He started trying to levitate objects after that, mostly just to hold his books up high enough to keep his back straight, as his mother required while he read.
"Beauregard, come here." The man has a distinctly Empire accent, more prominent than anyone Essek had met in his admittedly limited dealings with Empire-folk. He holds out the journal, a hand pointing to a crude illustration of the beacon on the left page. "This looks like what we saw in Aeor."
Aeor. Just who are these humans?
"Fuck, it does." They share a look that Essek cannot discern. "That time magic shit, right?"
"Ja." The man's tone is stoic as he turns back towards the journals. "He wanted something important from the Kryn Dynasty, it looks like."
The woman, Beauregard, blows out a breath, turning to lean her back against the desk. Her tan skin shines in the warm sunlight, features drawn into an expression of exasperation and disbelief. "Does he want to start a war?"
"I am not sure. He goes from discussing a 'crick weapon' to raving about the gods; it is hard to follow." The man pulls the journal toward his face and then away from it again, examining. "His handwriting is also quite terrible."
"Does the Dynasty have weapons like this?" The woman gestures towards the drawing of a beacon. The man shrugged.
"I do not know." The man sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and through his auburn hair with an air of frustration. "I would not like to find out. I cannot imagine him giving up so easily just because Ikithon is under investigation."
Essek frowns. He had heard the name Trent Ikithon before, another mage at the Cerberus Assembly. Da'leth had mentioned him as a potential ally in the extraction of the beacon during their second meeting, after his original choice of strike team decided against his offer. Ikithon was powerful and had sway over the king, from what the Martinet had shared; if his station is challenged, it is only natural that Da'leth would fear the same fate for himself.
"Let's take tonight to catalogue all this." The woman begins to gather the documents into piles on the desk, preparing to shove them into her bags. "Once we know more about what his goals are, we can discuss next steps."
"If it concerns an international conflict, I fear this may be more urgent—"
"Nah, fuck that. We do both if we have to. We are so close, Caleb." She pauses, turning to rest a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be a lot, but we've done worse."
The man, Caleb, sighs, shaking his head. "You are right."
They gather up the rest of the books and papers strewn across Da'leth's desk and scan the room once more before they exit. Essek holds his breath as the man's gaze cuts up to the windows, but he turns back to the woman with a nod. Just as quickly as they had arrived, they departed.
Essek lets out a sigh of relief as the door shuts behind them. He teleports back to his tower in the Firmaments without a second thought.
Two days had passed since Essek's failed extraction of the beacons, and the Lucid Bastion had been characteristically quiet. Essek hasn't heard anything about the Cerberus Assembly from his fellow court officials, nor has he heard anything unusual about the beacons. Life continues with a semblance of normalcy that was more than a little unsettling. Surely, any second now, the hammer would fall, and he would be sent to the Dungeon of Penance for conspiracy, or even executed for divulging confidential Dynasty knowledge to the Cerberus Assembly.
Essek is desperate to know something, anything, about how the Empire's investigation was going. More precisely, if they have identified the Martinet's contact within the Dynasty. If they have discovered he even had a contact within the Dynasty. Had Da'leth kept records of their discussions in his multitude of journals? If Essek was implicated somewhere in them, he wants to get as far away from the Dynasty as possible — preferably out of Wildemount if he can manage it — as soon as he can.
That is to say, court carries on as usual until Whelsen, when the two Empire humans that had nearly stumbled upon Essek within the Martinet's study in Rexxentrum appear on the dais before the Bright Queen, arms full of the evidence they had found. Essek focuses all of his attention on maintaining his levitation.
"It is not often I entertain humans of the Empire in my court." The Bright Queen speaks in an even, deep tone that commands respect. Her phrase is neither question nor invitation, yet the human man speaks with a confidence mirroring the Bright Queen's own.
"We thank you for allowing us a moment of your time." He bows deeply, locks of auburn hair falling in his face. "My name is Caleb Widogast, and this is my friend, Expositor Beauregard Lionett. We've come to share discoveries that may be of concern to you and your people, on behalf of the Cobalt Soul. Recently, we gained access to the personal office and effects of the Martinet Ludinus Da'leth," he pauses briefly to fumble with the books and papers in his hands as a few nobles exchange hushed whispers, "we have reason to believe he may have been plotting to steal an item of great import to your nation."
He holds up one of Da'leth's journals, opened to a two-page spread of a shaded dodecahedron resting on three spires of a stand. Although the drawing is rudimentary at best, it is without a doubt an image of a Luxon beacon.
Essek swallows harshly against the sandpaper of his throat as a clamor erupts in the court. The Dusk Captain barely suppresses her own gasp, hand darting to squeeze the Bright Queen's shoulder. The Skysibil is practically vibrating with shock, mouth agape as she processes the information from the humans. It takes considerable effort to keep his expression in check; surely, this Caleb is about to identify Essek as Da'leth's connection. Even more embarrassing than being revealed as a traitor is to be revealed as such by a human from the Empire.
The Bright Queen raises a hand, commanding silence to fall over the crowd. She regards the humans with something in between wonder and disdain, taking a breath before speaking again.
"What evidence do you have of this?"
Caleb hands the pile of books and papers to one of the nearest Aurora Watch soldiers, who dutifully delivers it to the Bright Queen. She begins to scan the top few pages, brows furrowing further the more she reads.
"We know not of his motivation for seeking your beacon, but it seems he believed it could be used as a sort of weapon."
The Bright Queen considers this a moment, glancing towards the Skysibil on her right, who was still staring at the humans on the dais with an inscrutable look. "Where is Da'leth now?"
"We are hoping to gain your assistance in that regard." Caleb says at the same time that Beauregard says, "The fucking coward ran."
Caleb shoots Beauregard a sharp glare, causing her to press her lips together in a firm line and take a small step backwards. Just who is this Caleb figure that he can make an expositor of the Cobalt Soul stand down? And who is this expositor, using such vulgar language in a formal foreign court?
"I see. And what is it you intend to do if you locate him?"
"Ideally, he would be set to trial and spend the rest of his many days deep within a dungeon."
The Bright Queen lets out a small chuckle at this, lips turning up at the corners ever so slightly. "I suppose I can be amenable to that."
"We seek to better understand his intentions with the beacon. It may provide insight into his next course of action." Caleb holds the queen's gaze. She nods at him, then looks towards Essek.
"Shadowhand," Essek straightens, turning towards the Bright Queen atop the main platform, "you will aid these humans in their investigation. See to it that they bring Da'leth to justice."
"As you wish, my queen." Essek bows towards her.
How ironic, enlisting Essek to protect the beacons when he had been the one poised to steal them right from beneath her nose. The small sliver of twisted satisfaction he felt from deceiving the Bright Queen was quickly overshadowed by worry; these Empire humans will be investigating his crimes. He will have to both send them off his own trail and find or fabricate evidence of Da'leth working with someone else. Thankfully, the Bright Queen has put him in the most advantageous position to ensure his own protection.
Essek descends the staircase to his right, accepting the large collection of evidence from an Aurora Watch soldier, levitating it all a few inches above his fingertips. As he approaches, he adjusts his float so that he is a few centimeters taller than Beauregard before exiting the throne room alongside Caleb and the expositor. The heavy stone doors shut with a resounding thud behind the trio, and Essek leads them down the hallway to his study.
"I am Shadowhand Essek Thelyss." He turns to face them finally, once the door to his study closes behind them, floating into a position behind his desk.
"Beau." The expositor narrows her eyes at him, specifically on the hand maintaining the levitation on Ludinus's journals. "How do you do that floaty shit?"
"Beauregard." Caleb gives her shin a sharp kick — she doesn't flinch. "I am Caleb Widogast, professor at the Soltryce Academy." After a moment, he narrows his eyes slightly towards Essek's hand and adds, "I must admit, I am also rather curious how you do that."
Essek glances between the two of them. This Caleb must be a very talented arcanist to be a professor at the Soltryce. Essek had held a few lectures at the Marble Tomes in his early adult years prior to becoming a Shadowhand, but Rosohna's school paled in comparison to the expansive, beautiful academy of Rexxentrum. If Essek had enjoyed teaching, perhaps he would be jealous of Caleb's position. At a school that large, there would undoubtedly be at least one student capable of learning more than the basics of Dunamancy. The expositor is interesting as well. She certainly holds herself with the air of an esteemed monk of the Soul, but the minute she opens her mouth, it is as though a teenage boy is speaking instead. They are fascinating, if only in their strange rapport with one another. Surely an expositor of the Cobalt Soul would hold superiority over a professor, even one at such a prestigious institution as the Soltryce. And yet they bickered like siblings, even while presenting a professional case in foreign territory.
"You require information on the Luxon beacons, correct?" Essek works to keep his expression blank, ignoring their comments on his levitation.
"Ja, yes." Caleb's eyes remain transfixed on the documents as Essek lowers them onto the desk. The human steps towards the desk, reaching out to point at one of the journals. "He spoke in his journals often about using whatever power this beacon holds to bring about a kind of divine retribution."
"The guy is fucking nuts, but he's dedicated," Beau says, coming up beside Caleb, "he is definitely gonna try and steal a beacon."
I really wish he were, Beauregard. Essek bites the inside of his cheek to keep from pulling a face. They have no idea that Da'leth had come so very close to doing just that only a few days ago, and he had let it foolishly slip through his fingertips.
"The Soul has limited information on what the beacons actually do, though. They are religious items?"
"Yes, primarily." Unfortunately. "The beacon serves as an anchor for consecuted persons to be reborn anew in aspiration to become an Umavi — a perfect soul," Essek explains, "the Luxon beacons also contain a primordial arcane force known as Dunamis."
Essek levitates one of Da'leth's journals with the raise of a finger and sends it in Caleb's direction. The wizard watches in stunned awe, head cocked slightly to the left. He turns the journal over in his hands.
"Dunamis." Caleb repeats, evidently still processing the new information. "It controls gravity, then?"
"Among other things, yes. Graviturgy is the most practical application of Dunamancy. Chronurgy is more of a theoretical study, though I imagine it is more likely this Da'leth's area of intrigue."
Caleb's eyes widen ever so slightly, brow twitching. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but closes it.
"Chronurgy." Beauregard locks eyes with Caleb. The humans share an intense look before both turning their attentions back to the documents strewn atop Essek's desk.
"Is this all the evidence you've uncovered from the Martinet's effects?" Essek hovers impassively behind his desk, watching their silent exchange.
"Uh, yeah, so far." Beauregard tears her eyes away from the desk to look up to Essek. "Thank you for the information. We're in the weeds of another case right now, but Caleb has a way to keep in touch, you know, in case we have questions."
"I believe I possess similar means." Essek nods towards the wizard. "Travel safely."
"Danke, Herr Thelyss." Caleb meets Essek's gaze as the two humans exit the study, a pensive smile on his lips.
Essek remains watching the door until it clicks shut behind them, then sits in a chair and begins to read every journal and paper carefully, trying his best to remember all the details of the Martinet's ramblings.
Walking was not something Essek did regularly. Within the Dynasty, the levitation he had begun to practice at age twenty was now expected of him, even an entire century later. However, much like how a drow would stand out like a sore thumb deep within the Empire, his levitation would also be akin to a beacon announcing his presence as an outsider, even with a suitable disguise. Thus, he is resigned to walking while disguised within Rexxentrum.
Essek absently fiddles with one of his many rings — pointedly not the one actively granting him a disguise as a pale-skinned brunet elf — as he makes his way through the corridors of the Soltryce Academy. His back aches in protest to the arduous trek he has made around campus today, trying to uncover where and when Professor Widogast's lectures are being held. Not to mention also figuring out which classes might be large enough for him to observe undetected. Many of the more impressive-looking classes in Caleb's curriculum are small seminars of a handful of students. Hopefully, Intermediary Transmutation is interesting enough to have warranted this trip.
At last, he finds the correct classroom — though classroom is not an adequate word. It is more akin to an amphitheater, with the center of the room recessed to allow for a line of sight from all eighty seats in the room. A large wooden desk sits in the center of the room, with a wide berth of empty floor space surrounding it. Behind the desk is a chalkboard with the words "Intermediary Transmutation" written along the top, as well as a small drawing of a cat done in orange paint at the bottom left-hand corner.
"So, what did you fabricate?" A young halfling with corn-yellow hair settles into a desk directly in front of Essek, turning to face the redheaded elf seated next to her.
"I, uh, couldn't do it." The elf sighs, slouching in on herself dejectedly. "Caleb gave me an extension, but I don't know if transmutation is really for me."
Caleb. Essek blinks, taken aback. He had been tutored as a young child of Den Thelyss and spent a decade or so studying higher-level arcanum at the Marble Tomes Conservatory. Never once had he heard of anyone referring to one of their instructors by their first name — and he certainly had never done so himself. Perhaps this is simply a cultural difference between the Dynasty and the Empire. It is not as though Essek is particularly accustomed to expectations within the Empire, especially those of students.
Of his three prior forays into the Empire, he had spent two of them completely within the walls of Da'leth's personal tower. His first visit to Rexxentrum to meet with the Martinet, however, he'd embarrassingly fumbled the teleport spell and ended up a block away from his tower. That five-minute walk was the most exploring Essek had ever done within the Empire, and he had been too distracted by the prospect of his conference with Da'leth to be taken with observing cultural differences.
"Hey, that's okay!" The halfling stands on her tiptoes to put a hand on the elf's slumped shoulder. "If it makes you feel any better, I totally failed Professor Becke's combat magic class last semester, and you were amazing in that."
Essek furrows his brow. It was not an Empire thing, then, but rather a Caleb thing. Somehow, that only raised more questions. A few minutes pass before Caleb enters the classroom along with two other students who are listening intently as he speaks. Once the three of them reach his desk at the bottom of the room, the two students give small bows with their heads and hurry off to their own seats, smiling.
"Good evening, class." Caleb's accented voice carries through the lecture hall. Although his tone holds the same confidence as it had while facing the Bright Queen, his expression is much warmer and more relaxed in this environment. "I truly enjoyed witnessing all of your fabricate assignments, your creativities know no bounds."
Caleb leans against the front of his desk, hands splayed behind him for support. He is wearing the same gray scarf around his neck, even more unseasonable in the Rexxentrum late summer than it had been in Rosohna. His hair is similarly ruffled, as though he had been running his hand through it for the majority of the day. Essek watches as he goes to do just that, pushing the auburn locks out of his face with a smooth gesture.
"Up until now, we have largely focused on the transmutation of inorganic materials, but transmutation can do so much more than that. It is the magic of change and evolution, it is the most living magic there is." Caleb's eyes are alight as they meet with each of the students in attendance. Essek swears that Caleb's gaze lingers ever so slightly longer on his disguised form. "Today, I want to demonstrate one of my personal favorite spells. It may be a bit… unconventional, tactically, for those of you who are focused on such ideas. But in my experience, it has proven invaluable if you can think creatively, which I know you all are quite capable of. Now—"
He reaches into his components pouch at his hip, withdrawing a silky white cocoon. He raises it for his students to observe before crushing it between his palms and speaking an incantation. A buzz of arcana tingles the tips of Essek's ears as energy gathers around Caleb's form, slightly obscuring him before the sensation pops like a bubble, leaving a small orange tabby cat in the place where Caleb had been standing moments before.
All eyes are on cat-Caleb as he wanders about the room, jumping up onto the desks of some students in the front few rows, accepting gentle pets on the head from many of them. After a moment, he meows, jumping back up onto his own desk and releasing the spell. Essek stares in disbelief as the cat form dissipates, leaving Caleb sitting on the edge of his desk once again.
"Of course, this is just the mere beginnings of what this kind of magic can do," a mildly mischievous smile tugs at the corners of his lips, "There are very powerful spells that can permanently alter one's physical appearance. In fact, I have created one myself to aid a friend in returning to her family. Forgive me for not being able to demonstrate it; it is quite complex and taxing, and I fear it would make for a painfully boring lecture. Suffice it to say, she was once a goblin and now she is a halfling."
To say Essek's curiosity is piqued would be an understatement.
"Much like our inorganic transmutations, though, you need a frame of reference to alter yourself on the cellular level to become another creature." Caleb withdraws a piece of jewelry with a green gem from his components pouch next, placing it on his forehead between his brows. He closes his eyes and speaks another incantation. Once again, arcana buzzes in the air of the classroom, converging around his body before dissipating with a rush.
This time, instead of leaving a small cat in his wake, a young blue dragon is taking up the majority of the large area surrounding his desk, clearly left open for such a display as this. Essek's brow furrows, his lips set into an intrigued frown. Aeor, blue dragons, turning goblins into halflings… The more Essek discovers about Caleb Widogast, the more confounding a figure he becomes. Then, beyond all expectation, dragon-Caleb begins to speak.
"I'm not sure how Headmaster Margolin would feel about me conducting the rest of class in this form," He gestures with a clawed hand at his body, "but I would like to think he would loathe to see such a spell and component go to waste."
Over the course of the remaining lecture time, Caleb transforms into various beasts: an ankheg, a frozen purple worm, and a large frog-like creature with a too-long tongue and eerie yellow eyes. When Caleb returns to a human, Essek finds himself endlessly intrigued by the spell. Perhaps he would return to this moment in a trance one day, after he had finished cataloguing Da'leth's notes and ruminating on them during his rest, and unravel this casting.
Or perhaps not, transmutation was never his strong suit, nor is it normally an area of particular interest to him. Caleb's understanding of the magic is simply impressive. Humans have so little time on Exandria when compared to drow, so much less time to understand the complexities of the weave and learn how to harness it to cast such intense magic. Caleb is young, barely into his third decade, and yet he displayed a mastery that many only hope to obtain in their third century.
A horrible, beautiful idea takes root in Essek's mind. It is far from concrete; a mere concept that will require time, care, and attention to blossom into a fruitful possibility. A smile tugs at Essek's lips nonetheless.
Essek did not get to attend another one of Caleb's lectures, far too preoccupied with his courtly duties and poring over the evidence left by the humans during their visit on Whelsen. He spends his mornings attending meetings with the Bright Queen, Skysibil, and Dusk Captain as the sitting head of Den Thelyss in his mother's leave. During which, he keeps quiet and answers placatingly, repeating verses of doctrine he despised to hear leave his lips.
His afternoons, which once were full of research and spell experimentation, are now used solely for reading and rereading many of the Martinet's journals. They are a mess of nonsensical ramblings on personal beliefs, strongly worded denunciations of people Essek can only assume are his assembly colleagues, and frantically scribbled out calculations for some kind of spell that Essek cannot make heads nor tails of. Four days of spending hours under the effects of comprehend languages, trying to decipher a concrete meaning behind Da'leth's writing, is giving him a headache. Essek presses his manicured fingers against his temples, sighing in frustration. He is getting nowhere, and night is fast approaching despite the eternal dark of Rosohna.
"Apologies for the intrusion, Herr Thelyss. Beauregard and I have been… stumped by Ludinus's work. Can we arrange a meeting soon?" Caleb's accented voice rings in his mind; a far more welcome intrusion than that of the Martinet.
"Ah, I have also had trouble with his writings. If you are available, I am in the midst of deciphering some now." Essek responds. He is going to drive himself mad trying to understand it on his own, whether he continues reading or goes to trance. If he could extract more information out of Caleb during their collaboration, well, that is all the more reason to work together as often as possible.
Excellent. Beauregard and I can arrive at the Lucid Bastion in approximately twenty minutes, if that is alright? I do not have another location available."
"The Lucid Bastion is acceptable. I will meet you there."
And thus, Essek travels back to the Lucid Bastion a mere three hours after having retired to his tower. The Aurora Watch guards give him a puzzled look as they allow him through to the chamber holding the Bastion's teleportation circle. Not a minute later, Caleb and Beauregard appear in the room with a flash and pulse of arcana that made the tips of Essek's ears flick, his silver jewelry delicately clicking together with the movement.
They exchange curt greetings as Essek leads them through the ornately bricked corridors of the Lucid Bastion to his small study. It pales in comparison to the study at his own tower, but it will serve well as a neutral meeting place for him and the Empire humans for their investigation. Essek procures the evidence from within his wristpocket and places it neatly across the desk. Caleb stares at the small rift in existence while it is summoned, and continues to observe the area for a moment after it dissipates as well.
"I must admit, I am relieved to know I am not the only one lost among the Martinet's ravings." Essek says, taking a seat behind the desk. The humans follow suit, drawing their chairs closer to get a better look at the documents on its surface.
"Yeah, same. This dude is fucking crazy." Beauregard blows out a breath, clasping her hands together behind her head and leaning into them.
Essek barely manages to suppress a wince at the language. Beauregard's personality is nothing short of grating, what with her colorful vocabulary and overly blunt wording. But she is also intelligent, which could be either boon or bane in this endeavor; she would be particularly difficult to throw off his scent if she catches wind of his involvement. And if she did uncover evidence of his connection to Da'leth, there is no telling what action she may take. She certainly has no loyalty to the Dynasty, and thus no apparent reason to inform the Bright Queen of his intentions, but Essek has no idea what conclusions she might draw from whatever evidence she may find of his conspiracy with the Martinet. Best to keep on her good side, as well as a step ahead.
"I am inclined to agree." Essek nods to her, running a manicured finger over the cover of the journal he had been working through, which is full of incoherent religious ramblings.
"I am stumped on these calculations." Caleb speaks up, brow furrowing as he hunches over one of the many journals full of scratched-out half-finished spells.
He holds it up towards Essek, who levitates it into his own hands. The journal is open to a page containing a mess of incantations and runes, hastily thrown together with little regard for their interactions. It is frankly an insult to dunamancy itself to be included so haphazardly in this mess of a spell. A cold feeling spreads in Essek's chest as he practically glares at the pages.
"It draws from elements of dunamancy, but it is so muddled that I am also confused on the intent behind it." Essek admits, breaking his gaze at the pages to meet Caleb's blue eyes.
"What do you see?"
"Dunamancy, necromancy, and… ah, it is difficult to tell. Perhaps evocation?" Essek squints at the pages again, flipping through to some of the other scratched-out spells and sigils. They are similarly incomprehensible, as though the spell had been documented while he was half asleep. The Martinet had never been one for meticulous spell-crafting from what little Essek had observed in their times together, but the disorganization of the runes and incantations transcribed on the page is so egregious that it is almost impressive. Essek wonders if the Martinet himself can understand what this means, or if it had been left behind in his tower because it was useless to whatever he is endeavoring to do once he tires of hiding away. "His transcription is…"
"Absolutely abominable." Caleb finishes for him. Essek nods, fiddling absently with his rings. "I don't know half the runes he's drawing, but…"
"Perhaps he is drawing inspiration from divine magics? He discusses the gods in a great many of his entries." Essek suggests, floating the tome back towards Caleb.
"I'm not sure if my religious friends would be able to assist, but it may be worth a try." Caleb narrows his eyes at some point in the distance between the desk and Essek, deep in thought.
"Cad would be your best bet, I don't think Artie counts as divine." Beauregard comments, not raising her gaze from the journal she is flipping through
"Ja, I know. He is very busy this time of year, though." Caleb bites his lip thoughtfully before speaking again. "The dunamancy in these spells, it is closer to chronurgy, correct?"
Essek nods, admittedly a little impressed at how quickly Caleb had internalized the small amount of information he had been offered about the magic. He reckons he shouldn't be, though, after what he had observed last week in the man's lecture. "Yes, though it isn't from any spell I recognize, nor is it particularly legible. I have a feeling if this spell were to succeed, the side effects would be disastrous."
"Disastrous, how?" Beauregard asks, leaning forward on her elbows towards Essek.
"Stretching your physical body over multiple divergent timelines while rearranging your body atom by atom in each timeline simultaneously, disastrous." Essek holds her gaze as he speaks, aiming for an intimidating air.
"Sounds painful." The monk narrows her eyes in his direction, leaning back in her chair once again.
"It would be."
"This sequence here," Caleb reaches out a pale finger to point at a series of runes inscribed onto the page, partially obscured by a scribble of ink redacting a portion of the spell, "it is stating a location or time, I believe. Perhaps he was wanting to jump backwards in time?"
Beauregard perks up at this, brow furrowing.
"I don't believe so, this section," Essek points to a portion of the spell a ways down the page, runes askew in an unnatural manner, as though his hand was giving out partway through each stroke, "appears to be some kind of…" He bites his tongue, searching for the word in common "wunlarmet. An, ah, invitation of a sort?"
"Invocation." Beauregard translates his undercommon seamlessly. He shoots her a look, and she just shrugs. He would definitely have to be cautious of her. "You think he's calling something in?"
"I am not sure, call it a theory." Essek leaves the spellbook in Caleb's hands, turning his attention instead to the journal he had been progressing slowly through over the last few days.
Essek has yet to find any documentation of his correspondence with the Martinet, and is torn between feeling relieved and unnerved. On one hand, if there is no evidence of his conspiring with the Empire to steal a religious artifact, he would be safe — at least for the time being — in his position within the Lucid Bastion. On the other hand, there is no way of knowing whether there had been evidence of his involvement before the humans handed it over to the Dynasty. They could be withholding any number of documents they uncovered, including anything insinuating Essek's involvement.
It is also equally possible that the evidence they did manage to get their hands on is nothing more than the scraps of Da'leth's work that he deemed unimportant enough to leave behind when he fled Rexxentrum. Essek is well aware that the Martinet is not nearly as organized as his reputation suggests, but he had to believe Da'leth had some sense of self-preservation to take his most important documents with him. Perhaps evidence of Essek's treason is still within the Martinet's hands. Perhaps the Martinet intends to take Essek down with him, should he be discovered. The thought made Essek's stomach turn.
They remain in a solemn silence for several minutes, each intensely focusing on their own documents. Essek finds mention of a group of mercenaries Da'leth was aiming to hire to acquire the beacon for his experimentations, as well as angry ramblings about twenty pages later, when the group seemingly outright refused him and skipped town. Between that, however, are pages of theoretical ramblings about the beacons abilities (much of which appeared wildly inaccurate and misinformed to Essek; he really hadn't given Da'leth much to go off of, thankfully), the nature of the Luxon's divinity (again, another area Essek hadn't provided much context for), and general personal documentation of his daily tasks and menial chores to be completed. Essek finds himself growing more bored and antsy by the minute as the silence stretches on and on.
He stole a glance up at Caleb; the man's features were drawn into a tightly knit, intently focused scowl. A few locks of his auburn hair have fallen into his eyes, but he remains so engrossed in his thoughts and the text before him that he hasn't bothered to brush it back yet, simply letting it hang between his face and the book. While he flips through the pages with his right hand, his left hand is rubbing thoughtfully at his stubbled chin. Caleb had already inferred much correctly about dunamancy, even with such limited information and time dedicated to deciphering its mysteries. Perhaps…
It was ludicrous to consider, of course. Dunamancy was a restricted subject within the Dynasty and completely forbidden to be taught to those outside of it. If he were to be found out to have taught an Empire citizen…
And yet, Essek couldn't help but think of the advantages it could present, both in unraveling the Martinet's plans and in further solidifying himself as an ally to Caleb. With careful steps, Essek is sure he will be able to convince Caleb to work alongside him.
"Ah," Essek begins, summoning his wristpocket and withdrawing his book on dunamantic theory from it, levitating the tome over towards Caleb, "I believe this may be beneficial in deciphering the spell."
"Oh," Caleb blinks at the book suspended before him for a moment before plucking it from the air, "danke."
He quickly begins to pore over this book instead, brows still knit in a focused glare as his crystal blue eyes dart across the pages impossibly fast. The fervor with which he consumes the information on each page is astounding to Essek. It takes Beauregard's critical gaze to force himself to stop staring at Caleb while he reads.
It isn't often that Essek meets someone with the same dedication to arcane mysteries as he did. Many of the mages he had met previously were content with simply transcribing spells from a book and utilizing them as written. Most people with arcane gifts never learn or even aspire to cast impressive spells like Caleb's shapechange, which had always been a rather confounding prospect for Essek to wrap his head around. He had taught a decent number of students at the Marble Tomes Conservatory in his short tenure as a guest lecturer, and although a handful of them displayed a knack for Dunamancy, none were capable of comprehending the true magnitude of the magic.
Dunamancy isn't simply manipulating gravity and time; it is a magic in its infancy. To have a talent for copying dunamantic spells is definitely a foundation, but the ability to innovate and work around complex problems as they arise is critical to mastering it, and often what his students struggled with the most. Caleb Widogast might be the first person Essek has met who has that same insatiable drive to break magic down to its very core to discover how to reconstruct it.
Essek is sure of it now. The two of them, putting their heads together, could do so much more than he could have done with the Martinet.