Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn From: bshsiung@quip.eecs.umich.edu (Bernard Hsiung) Subject: [MG] "D" is for lots of things! (Dariel and Delalle) Message-ID: <1993Feb18.075547.19687@zip.eecs.umich.edu> Date: Thu, 18 Feb 1993 07:55:47 GMT It was early evening in Generica. Two figures in plain white robes, one bearded and elderly and the other clean-shaven and young, stood under a typically lavish fountain alongside the Arcade. Wizards, a passerby in a great hurry might conclude. A more perceptive observer might have been puzzled momentarily by the simplicity of their dress, the lack of arrogance or of affected importance in their speech, and their calm attitude of quiet humility; quite unlike the majority of magic-wielders. But even such a one might have been convinced if he had continued to watch them... "There is one thing I need to do first," Dariel said. "Would you so good as to lend me a knife please?" With a flick of his wrist, Delalle plucked one out of the air and handed it to him. Dariel touched it to his palm and nodded, somehow balancing it over his sleeve. He drew a noticeable breath and held it as he started to twist the space before him with his hands. Before long, he had sketched an almost tangible shape in the air. He reached out to seize the knife's blade with his hand and release it, returning it to Delalle. A brightly golden ichor welled up in the wound. He held it over the form. One drop, two drops, three drops... The image strengthened. Dariel's cuts closed as he traced over them with a fingertip. He leaned forward to breathe gently but steadily upon it. The form became transparent, translucent, then solid. There was a flurry of white and a rush of air as a bird about the size of a raven appeared there, beating its wings furiously but silently to land on Dariel's shoulder. Its plumage was pure white, like Dariel's robe, but its eyes were the same color as Dariel's own, Delalle noted as it studied him. "The last time I did this, I never got it back," Dariel told Delalle. Then he turned to the bird and said "See for me; seek for me." Without a sound, it spread its wings and launched itself into the sky. As they watched, it flew far above them, then banked to one side and headed away into the night. "All right, Delalle. Where shall we go?" "Just follow me," Delalle suggested. A silver ring winked into existence around them. It wobbled, spun once on its axis like a revolving door. In half a revolution, they were gone. After a full revolution, it winked out also. Yes, these were wizards, no doubt. * * * Just outside a small cave in an area slightly south of the city and almost as far west as the Great Blue Sea, there stood a gathering of widely diverse grave markers. In particular, there was one of ivory porcelain, not really very much different from the others, except that a bird of a similar color rested upon it, silent and alone. It saw images from yesterplace in another day: giant, dragon, mage, succubus, vampire, freeman, warrior, and traveller, all arrayed against a Vampire Lord holding a world. It felt the death of a man's symbol, the death of an unliving, the death of an undead, and the death of the man living. It stood a time, motionless. Then it shook itself and took wing again, heading back in the direction of the city, leaving behind the marker that read WILLIAM BOLIVAR SMITH Hero of the Dragon Quest Savior of All Known Worlds Mage of Power Yet We Hardly Knew Ye * * * "So, I was right?" Delalle asked. "Yes," Dariel answered. "You have correctly read the situation so far, and in fact, you have read further than I know for certain. My Master, the Keeper of the Beacon of Hope, has been at war, and we are losing ground. In a strong sense, the Beacon that illuminates the many Places _is_ Hope, and the Keeper a manifestation of it -- as am I, His Servant. Our enemy is the Reaver, who opposes all existence. He works steadily for the destruction of the Beacon and the Places, and He has created Servants also. The conflict is older than I am, although it was not as intense in the days when I was first made. "These days, there are no more of my kind constructed: the Power is better spent in the formation of Warriors and Guardians, although I have been recently informed that even this is no longer keeping up with our losses. But right now, what concerns me most of all is that you are the second being to tell me of the presence of a Reaver's Servant in this Place and on this world. "It seems that I have two priorities, then: the first to find the Servant; and the second to prepare myself to deal with him, her, or it." Delalle nodded. "What might we do to assist you?" "If you would allow me the use of your reference materials, that would be most helpful. I am trying to derive efficient interactions with your reality; the process would be quicker if I see as many different styles of magic and science as possible. Also, if you have a list of beings of consequence, I would like to study that. I was warned that I should be wary of becoming ensnared in a morass of details, or I would miss the signs of the Servant's presence." "I see no problem with either of your needs," Delalle said. "I'll have Urcohea give you access to our files. What will you be looking for?" "In all honesty, I don't know," Dariel admitted. "There's no way to tell for certain without knowing something about what sort of Servant it is, and it is unlikely that I'll be able to find that out unless I find the Servant itself. However, it must be a minor Servant, or else I would not be here speaking to you; by now, none of us would be here. The only thing I can guess now is that it must be doing much the same as I am: gathering Power and information, and searching for evidence of Keeper's Servants in this Place." "Very well," Delalle said, "we had best get started right away." * * * A little before dawn, the white bird flew over the cliffs just outside Generica. Passing over the grey morning mist, its sharp blue eyes saw a woman carrying a baby, dancing in the sky. No. Dancing with the Fog. The woman and the Fog radiated a wave of warmth, flushed like lovers, happy and secure. The bird circled, drank deeply of the warmth, and flew on. * * * "Delalle, how did you come to suspect?" Dariel asked. "Very few beings within a Place are aware of the nature of the conflict on a conscious level." "Every decade or so since I have been Supreme Archmage of the Guild, I have performed a century casting of future-paths," Delalle explained. "Perhaps about eighty years ago, I began receiving uncertain readings near the extreme range of the casting. To wit, it appeared that the future ceased to be. "Now, the usual interpretation of this result is merely the death of the caster -- hardly much to get upset about in the grand scheme of things, really. However, as you might imagine, I was somewhat curious about the specific circumstances of my demise." Delalle smiled charmingly over his beard. "I don't know if you are familiar with the limitations here, but it is usually very difficult to read the conditions of one's own death -- some sort of protective psychic myopia is usually in place. Well, really, that's an over-simplification but, anyway, over the last century my results have suggested a time ranging from perhaps a few years ago to a number of years from now. I sometimes think that I am living on borrowed time." "A more detailed study over the years showed a rather disproportionate number of entities had abruptly foreshortened future-nets sometime around the time of my death -- my estimates ranged from the whole of Generica to at least the entire plane or more. Unfortunately, there were only disjointed images. I couldn't see what caused it and the impressions did not become clearer with time, as they usually do. The first clear vision I had was that the Great Mother had finally awakened fully. Several decades later, I discarded that hypothesis. It was very, very close, but I became sure that it wasn't it. At least, not yet. I received several other conflicting visions and spent the next decades searching for a piece of evidence that would explain to me what was happening. I found it." Delalle reached into his sleeve and removed a single snow-white feather, half the length of his forearm. "I have been meditating upon this for the past twenty years, to the exclusion of everything else. This is the source of all my insight into your struggle." "May I?" Dariel said, holding out his hand. "Of course," Delalle replied, and it floated from his hand to Dariel's. Dariel curled his fingers around the feather without touching it. It hung suspended there, rotating slowly in the air. "This... is from Kadiel, a Guardian," Dariel said slowly. "I... don't think we knew what had happened to her. Do you need this for anything? May I hold it for you?" "Certainly. I've had it for the last twenty years. I don't think I understand everything about it, but there's not much more I can get from it. I hope you can fill in the rest." "Thank you," Dariel said. He closed his hand on the feather, arched his back and stretched. For a second, Delalle had the impression of huge, almost glowing, white wings spreading from Dariel's back. Then they were gone, as was the feather from his hand. "Thank you very much," Dariel said again, rolling his shoulders slowly, first one and then the other. "This will assist me greatly if what I fear comes to pass." * * * Northwest of the Generican Low City, at the tip of a rocky spur of land overlooking the sea, there stood a somewhat homely structure made of blotchy white and grey granite rock. A beehive-like tower perhaps about ninety feet high squatted next to a boxlike gatehouse that guarded a walled garden. The whole structure was a passable imitation of a long-deserted ruin, despite the recent patchwork repairs that became evident upon a closer examination. A bird about the size of a raven, but pure white in color, came winging out of the dawn sky, heading straight for the ancient edifice. It landed on the top of the tower noiselessly, and paced across it in a stately manner as if measuring, or perhaps sampling, something. A few minutes later, it could be found on the roof of the smaller house-like building, taking a step, pausing for a moment to survey its surroundings, and then taking another step. It continued in this fashion until it had covered the entire roof. Then, it unfolded its wings and took to the air again. * * * "That's Dasham," Delalle said as Dariel studied the three-dimensional image that was part of the data projected by the biopsyche reader. It showed a woman with flaming red hair and green eyes. "Head of Research Department. She's sharp, very sharp. She doesn't care much about others, though." "Something broke inside," Dariel said suddenly. "Why, yes. She wasn't always the way she is now. But that was a long time ago. Actually, she even predates my appointment to Supreme Archmage. These days she's driven, always searching for new ways to maintain her youth. I fear that Urcohea has not been treating her particularly well and she resents it. I understand that while I was secluded, she accidentally woke the ArchLiche, the undying remains of one of my more powerful and less scrupulous predecessors. But do not underestimate her, either -- I also understand that she was the one who re-interred the ArchLiche in its current tomb." Dariel scanned over the information, then flicked the reader to a new file, this one an unremarkable looking man with brownish hair and deep brown eyes. "Leonaco. Archmage of Magical Production," the file header read. "He's a solid fellow. Always wants the best for everyone. Not very talkative, but dependable and pragmatic. Gets the job done," Delalle commented. "It says so in his file," Dariel noted. "Does it? Hm. So it does," Delalle said, stroking his beard thoughtfully as the image was replaced by another Archmage, a pleasant-looking, smiling, middle-aged man with hard blue eyes. "That's Thorn, Head of Politics. He was one of the three appointments during my withdrawal. If I had been active, I don't think he would have gotten the position; he has too much ambition for his own good. Urcohea regrets choosing him for the job. From what he tells me, they argue every time they see each other. I think he wants my position, and he has been gathering support in the Guild to make himself the next Supreme Archmage." "Urcohea, Archmage of Internal Security. Of course, if you believe the records, you'll learn that he's wonderful in every way. Despite that, he's actually not such a bad fellow. I left him in charge of the Guild while I was meditating, and he is my most likely successor. Unless Thorn has his way." "Rivy. Head of Bureaucracy. She's my strongest supporter, and nowhere near as vapid as her file indicates. But she likes to be a backstage player. When she outmanuevers people, she does it in such a way that they're not sure if she was lucky or if they were being stupid. She's good at it, too; I'm pretty certain that Urcohea and I are the only ones who know otherwise." "Nescie. Head of Education. Hm. He's changed his physical appearance. Very talented, excellent potential, but also very new. I picked him myself, from outside the Guild. I believe that he was promoted after the former Archmage of Education was killed during the ArchLiche crisis." "Fauteuil. Extraplanar Contacts. Another recent appointment. He's serious and quite committed to his position. I don't know much else about him." "That's me!" Delalle exclaimed. "I wonder what my file says... `Either going slightly senile with lucid moments, or perfectly lucid, with senile incidents'?! Hmph." He smiled good-naturely. "I suppose I should have given Urcohea a better explanation of what I was doing." "And ...sage. A Drow with no memories of his past, he became an Archmage in order to search for them. He runs the Library across the street, but hardly ever gets involved with the Council. I think he finds the politics boring." "That's all the people with voting privileges on the Council of Archmagi. Which reminds me. I must call the Council to a meeting soon. This will be the first official meeting of the Archmagi in two decades, and I have to spend some time preparing for it. Thorn is likely to take this as an opportunity to express all his pent-up frustration with Urcohea. Possibly, he'll even try to turn it into an impeachment hearing or two. If at all possible, Dariel, I would like you to attend in order to help me answer the questions which are bound to come up concerning my activities. In the meantime, you have free access to any non-private location in the Guild and the Library, and I can have someone assigned to you if you like. You can find me if you need me?" "I can find you, Delalle. I will be honored to be a witness on your behalf," Dariel said. Delalle gave him a wry look. "Try to remember that during the meeting. Things have been boiling for a while, and my return has tipped the pot. Unless I've missed my guess, it's going to be absolutely cataclysmic." -- [The woman dancing with the Fog is Serene, who belongs to Laurie Alden (alden@coos.dartmouth.edu). The lighthouse is 'Raelf and ar'Elya's, who belong to Stephen Hutchison (hutch@ibeam.ht.intel.com). My thanks to both of them for allowing bits of their writing to leak into bits of my writing.] Comments, compliments, and complaints can be conveyed to: Bernie Hsiung (bshsiung@eecs.umich.edu)