Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round Three: The Sable Masque
05-27-2012, 02:57 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
The purple eagle swept down the corridor, his coat swirling and flapping with a surreal elegance, his hand still wrapped around Cascala's.
"Now, I'm sure you'll see this as familiar, even cheeky, but I think you and I can have quite a time tonight, together. Lord Herrastel, by the way, baron of Irl."
Cascala considered her response for several seconds before opening her mouth: on the one hand, playing along with this effusive man would be just the sort of nonsensical story-following she'd just finished telling herself she was too strong to fall into again; on the other, she didn't know where she was, what the place was like, where her targets were, or even the sort of thing that would get her killed for stepping out of line. Perhaps she'd follow his charade for a bit, but... just as a form of reconnoitering. She certainly wasn't going to be joining his little social circle or whatever he had in mind for him.
It went without saying that he wouldn't outlive his usefulness by much. No more mercy, no more caring too much about whatever disposable world she landed in.
When she finally spoke, it was with the practiced condescension she'd developed over a lifetime of royal upbringing and inherent importance. While her world – or at least her empire, and she had little time for the political systems of mud dwellers – didn't exactly have "barons", the magic of the Battles had supplied her mind with a rough equivalent. This man was barely noteworthy, then, and it seemed obvious he was trying to hitch his wagon to her star. She took a small gamble, and tugged her hand slightly, stopping him in his tracks.
"And where, Lord Herrastel, do you think you're taking me? Don't you know your peerage?"
The man's face didn't even fall slightly, which surprised Cascala.
"Oh, but I do. And that's the thing, isn't it? I recognize everything about you, but I don't recognize you."
"It's a masquerade. You're not supposed to recognize me."
His permanent smile gained just a bit of a laugh at the edges.
"That's a point, that's a point. I mean, it's a totally ridiculous one, but it's there, isn't it? I think maybe you should just keep coming with me."
Cascala finally pulled her hand totally free of his grasp.
"And why," she spat icily, "would I even consider doing that, after all the disrespect I've just seen?"
"Because," he said, visible portions of his face still carefully arranged into the guise of someone enjoying a pleasant chat with a friend, "there are other people who felt your arrival, and they're a lot less interested in what you're trying to accomplish than I am. Might even have a few things to say about it. Nasty, pointy things."
He stretched, hand just happening to gesture towards the frescoes on the ceiling in the process, then put one hand around Cascala's waist and pulled her in close. Her eyes followed his hand automatically, and she noticed a number of things she hadn't bothered to take in about the setting. Aside from the seas of flowing fabric and tapestries that decorated walls and doors, the ceilings were painted with patterns that wavered between the abstract and the representative; on the border between cloth and stone and plaster, a number of ornamental humanoid statues lounged, supporting the ceiling and generally tying the scene together at its edges. For all that they were tastefully arranged and designed to merge seamlessly into the colorfully painted scenes above them, Cascala realized they all seemed to be looking at her.
And for all that the entire area was suffused with an unbelievable amount of free flowing mana, as well as energy bound up in the the subtle enchantments seemingly woven into every objet d'art that festooned the garish palace, the statues themselves were all reinforced with subtle auras and interconnected with communication spells.
Oh.
She reconsidered her decision to lash out against the baron, and instead demurely leaned into his embrace, her cheek brushing against his and her lips barely parting as she exhaled "What do you want from me?"
He gave a carefully conspicuous glance up and down the hallway, then brushed gently against her face and compunctiously took her earlobe in his teeth before muttering "Just keep following me. I've got some friends you should meet. You're obviously powerful, but you're alone and unsubtle. It'd be a shame to see you get yourself caught, and there are people who can help with that."
If she was interpreting what the man had said and shown her correctly, Cascala didn't really feel like she had much of a choice. This still isn't fitting myself into the round. It's just a setback. I'm still resolute, still have my eyes on the goal. She gave an embarrassed smile and looked down, pushing the baron backwards halfheartedly; he smiled more broadly and tried to pull her closer, and she forced a giggle and broke off. She felt... stupid, and dirty, and it probably wasn't a very convincing performance. She hadn't had much practice, certainly. Herrastel seemed to feel it was good enough, at least, and he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and took her hand again, leading her once again through the labyrinthine halls; she watched disinterestedly as color schemes melted gradually into each other, shifting through a rainbow of cloth and gems before eventually the pair stopped in an apparently-secluded wing bedecked in whites and opalescent greys, resplendent in pearls and a roiling cloudy motif.
He pushed her gently into an alcove, and his hands drifted to her waist again. She gave an embarrassed smile, struggling not to snarl or lash out with her foot or staff.
"You realize that if you really try anything that I'll pull every ounce of fluid in your body out through the most painful orifice that presents itself."
He leaned in against her, one hand going up her back and the other feeling the wall behind her through the cloth that hid it.
"Mmmhmhmhm," he chuckled in a way that made it even harder for Cascala not to kill him where he stood. "I like a girl with spirit."
Something of the cliched nature of the phrase was lost in translation, but it still managed to sound just insincere enough to calm her hackles. With a click, something yielded beneath Herrastel's inquisitive fingers – on the wall, thankfully, not Cascala's corsetry – and the pair gently merged through fabric and wall, landing in what might have been a very sexy heap under other circumstances in a sea of pale chiffon and pillows and poufs.
Back in the corridor, footsteps that had been echoing quietly behind the pair nearly since Cascala's appearance – which Herrastel had been painfully and intriguedly aware of and Cascala had been too preoccupied to care about or consciously notice – approached the nook the pair had vanished into. A perpetually smiling face stared at the spot they had occupied, a quiet whirring replacing the sound of walking and its internal systems updating several statuses.
---
The room was still dim, but it was being somewhat more illuminated now that more surfaces in it were glowing. Only one of the three men was still at the original table, plotting the course of one of the brightly-glowing patches; the other two were both staring at a wall with luminescent schematics and lists and displays emblazoned on it. The apparent senior was carefully manipulating a cloud of light that clustered around his hands and stuck to his fingers like silk, occasionally flashing various colors or fading to black.
The man at the table cleared his throat and spoke up. "We've lost visual contact with one of the original six."
One of the others, without looking away from whatever was occupying his attention, responded after a few moments. "Which one, and where?"
"The, uh, the blue one. We don't know a lot about her except her apparent rank. Her costume is elaborate enough we don't know for sure who she is, but she's been with a low-ranking noble since she ported in. Baron of Irl, I think."
The man with his hands enveloped by light smiled. "And I assume we lost them in Pearl? One of the private rooms?"
The first checked, then nodded. Realizing nobody was looking at him, he blushed slightly and spoke up. "Yes, actually. He did appear to be attempting to seduce her when we could get a clear view."
"Good for him, then. You can always count on John at these things. Keep a Man on them, but I don't think you'll be seeing any kind of problems out of the two of them. He just likes a challenge."
"You don't think that perhaps–"
The second man, who had been quiet for some time, snapped. "Will you shut up and get over here? We've had more important things going on for half the time you've wasted on that stupid woman and her stupid paramour. Sapphire's on fire, and it's all we can do to keep the surviving moppets on top of it!"
"He's just following protocol," rumbled the third. "No need for all that."
---
Suleiman waved a small jar of potent smelling salts beneath Fatima's nose, but the old seer refused to wake. Gesperi stood above them both, arms crossed and face arranged in an expression that combined the worst aspects of extreme annoyance and smug self-righteousness. The other two Magi stood on either side of the inactive scrying circle, trying to avoid each other's gazes nearly as much as they were trying to avoid Gesperi's.
Eventually, Suleiman stood up, shaking his head. "None of my potions or mundane remedies are working."
"Then use magic. You of all people should have no trouble rousing someone."
Suleiman shook his head. "No, Gesperi. You were part of the circle yourself, you must have felt how crude the transition was. Fatima shielded the rest of us from the brunt of that power by taking it upon herself."
"And?"
Finally, the old Life mage's patience snapped. "Think, you impetuous child! Her body wasn't the target of the feedback, her mind was. If I wake her now, I may wake her as an empty husk. She must recover on her own. No magic."
"Perhaps if you were competent–"
"And perhaps if you weren't an idiot!" Nazim burst out. "Are you really going to let your impatience destroy any chance we have of following Cascala?"
"Who's calling who an idiot now?" Gesperi seethed. "I seem to recall a certain Terra specialist in this group ought to have been able to set up wards to prevent exactly this sort of thing from happening. What happened to him, exactly? Did, perhaps, all his hand-wringing precautions amount to nothing?"
"Oh, it's easy to sit back and watch real mages work and laugh when they fail, isn't it? What would you have done, burn the scrying circle until it stopped reeling from magic we don't even understand? Maybe make some kind of illusion so whatever is dragging Cascala all over the planes forgot what it was doing? You've contributed nothing to–"
"Enough!" Suleiman roared. It was perhaps the only time any of the Magi had seen him shout in the entire time they'd held their positions. "Our empire, our magic, and our very way of life is at stake. We all know this. But to devolve into bickering at the first sign of stress is to do emperor and empire a disservice, to say nothing of shaming ourselves."
Most of the assembled mages looked at their feet and shuffled awkwardly, but Gesperi simply sneered. "We've all seen how she's been handling the stress. We could never shame ourselves on the level she already has."
Suleiman's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You... You are not there. You saw, but you did not feel."
"If I were there–"
"I shudder to think what would have happened if you were! Cascala has lived and breathed this destiny for all of her years. Don't let your jealousy convince you that your soft-headedness isn't more salient."
As Gesperi's teeth gritted and heat wavered from his clenched hands, a soft voice spoke up from near the circle, breaking the mounting tension and drawing the attention of all present and conscious.
"I think I have an idea."
---
Cascala quickly disentangled herself from the arms of her apparently-lecherous companion. She then darted back to the floor to retrieve her staff before standing over him threateningly and scanning the lacy walls for more evidence of watching eyes. Instead of enchanted statues, she found the small room rather crowded with serious-faced men and women, all dressed for a party but none acting as though they were attending one.
"What," the weather witch hissed, "is going on here?"
Lord Herrastel stood up, straightening nonexistent creases in his coat, smile finally fading from mania to reasonability.
"These," he said, gesturing at the assembled figures, "are the associates I mentioned. Young lady, meet the Ebitrean Tea Club."
---
"Even with Fatima, ah..."
"Indisposed."
"Sure, indisposed. Even with that, and her unable to guide the spell or anything... It's still set up to find Cascala, right?"
Nazim nodded, and Mozhgan continued. "Now, I know that without Fatima's Sight, being able to track her signal across the planes doesn't do us much good. But I think that with that information I might be able to open a more direct connection to whatever plane she's on. It should have about the same effect as scrying, see, and..."
She shrugged, faltering under the combined gazes of her peers.
"You're suggesting we open a portal? Surely you can't expect to be able to predict what might happen if we interfere needlessly with whatever safeguards the god that took Cascala has in place."
Mozhgan blanched at the suggestion. "No, no! No. Not a portal, just a window. Just enough to let light through. It shouldn't upset anything, and probably wouldn't even be traceable unless you were looking for it. If, uh, it does become necessary to intervene, as we agreed..."
She stopped again, and Nazim put a comforting hand on her shoulder and shot a glare at Gespari and his smirk.
"It'll just make it easier to do something. If it becomes necessary. As we agreed. Somewhere to start from."
Suleiman paced near the couch they'd hauled Fatima onto. "I don't... I don't know that I like it."
Mozhgan wilted, but unexpectedly Gesperi came to her defense. In a way. "Of course you don't. You're too cautious. Would you rather just lose her? Would you rather have no idea she was about to be stabbed in the back or crushed by a monster, have no way of helping? See your precious empire's last hope fail and watch your mana drain away and know you could have done something but didn't?"
Still pacing, Suleiman chewed his cheek. He didn't like to admit it, but Gesperi had something of a point, for all his foolish bravado. Before he could respond, Nazim cut in, giving Mozhgan an apologetic glance.
"Maybe it would be safer to find another Sight mage, maybe one of Fatima's apprentices. They could help wake her, or run the scrying themselves."
"Hmm. I think..." Suleiman shook his head. "No, they'd be in over their heads. Even Fatima struggled with the complexities of this endeavor, and despite her age she's every bit our equal or better. Better to have a Grand Magus do something uncertain than a lesser mage attempt a task we already failed at."
"Well there's only the four of us," Gesperi said, raising his hand sarcastically. "Three to go through with it."
Nazim sighed. "Don't... Don't do this, Gesperi. Everything doesn't have to be a struggle."
He turned to Mozhgan and nodded. "Just get started, alright?"
She nodded and got to her knees, examining Fatima's spellcraft. "Gatework's not my specialty, you know, but... Well, I can't think of another Flux mage I'd ask. I, uh, I'm just trying to say this might be a few moments. Before I feel safe starting it, I mean."
The others nodded back, and she set to work.
---
All three men were at the wall by now, often striding between it and the various tables spread around their room, never devoting too much time to any particular instrument. For a time, it seemed as though they were all working at cross purposes, paying each other no mind and dealing with separate issues, but when one particular ball of light materialized, they all jumped to examine it.
"No," muttered the senior. "This doesn't make sense."
The second hurriedly shoved his hands into it, unraveling and rewinding it into a variety of different shapes that seemed to mean something to those watching. "It's not hostile. Not even any good for being hostile through. But it's astonishingly subtle. We're lucky the automatic aura fields even picked it up."
The first leaned in, twiddling several errant strands of luminance. "Can you tell where it's coming from?"
The second shook his head as the third brought out an arcane-looking eyepiece. "No, I don't think so. Not exactly. It's heavily baffled."
"Definitely extradimensional, though."
The others nodded in agreement.
"Not a lot of Talents can work at this level. Honestly, this seems like something I'd expect more from the Kings than a lesser grade." The man shook his head and remembered his own warnings not to overthink things. "Bring up a registry of everyone we know of capable of spacial distortion like this."
The apparent junior scurried off, the senior calling after him "Even the ones we think we know aren't here!"
The third man thought for a few more moments, then gave a resigned sigh. "Keep an eye on things here. I have to let the Kings know about this, personally."
The purple eagle swept down the corridor, his coat swirling and flapping with a surreal elegance, his hand still wrapped around Cascala's.
"Now, I'm sure you'll see this as familiar, even cheeky, but I think you and I can have quite a time tonight, together. Lord Herrastel, by the way, baron of Irl."
Cascala considered her response for several seconds before opening her mouth: on the one hand, playing along with this effusive man would be just the sort of nonsensical story-following she'd just finished telling herself she was too strong to fall into again; on the other, she didn't know where she was, what the place was like, where her targets were, or even the sort of thing that would get her killed for stepping out of line. Perhaps she'd follow his charade for a bit, but... just as a form of reconnoitering. She certainly wasn't going to be joining his little social circle or whatever he had in mind for him.
It went without saying that he wouldn't outlive his usefulness by much. No more mercy, no more caring too much about whatever disposable world she landed in.
When she finally spoke, it was with the practiced condescension she'd developed over a lifetime of royal upbringing and inherent importance. While her world – or at least her empire, and she had little time for the political systems of mud dwellers – didn't exactly have "barons", the magic of the Battles had supplied her mind with a rough equivalent. This man was barely noteworthy, then, and it seemed obvious he was trying to hitch his wagon to her star. She took a small gamble, and tugged her hand slightly, stopping him in his tracks.
"And where, Lord Herrastel, do you think you're taking me? Don't you know your peerage?"
The man's face didn't even fall slightly, which surprised Cascala.
"Oh, but I do. And that's the thing, isn't it? I recognize everything about you, but I don't recognize you."
"It's a masquerade. You're not supposed to recognize me."
His permanent smile gained just a bit of a laugh at the edges.
"That's a point, that's a point. I mean, it's a totally ridiculous one, but it's there, isn't it? I think maybe you should just keep coming with me."
Cascala finally pulled her hand totally free of his grasp.
"And why," she spat icily, "would I even consider doing that, after all the disrespect I've just seen?"
"Because," he said, visible portions of his face still carefully arranged into the guise of someone enjoying a pleasant chat with a friend, "there are other people who felt your arrival, and they're a lot less interested in what you're trying to accomplish than I am. Might even have a few things to say about it. Nasty, pointy things."
He stretched, hand just happening to gesture towards the frescoes on the ceiling in the process, then put one hand around Cascala's waist and pulled her in close. Her eyes followed his hand automatically, and she noticed a number of things she hadn't bothered to take in about the setting. Aside from the seas of flowing fabric and tapestries that decorated walls and doors, the ceilings were painted with patterns that wavered between the abstract and the representative; on the border between cloth and stone and plaster, a number of ornamental humanoid statues lounged, supporting the ceiling and generally tying the scene together at its edges. For all that they were tastefully arranged and designed to merge seamlessly into the colorfully painted scenes above them, Cascala realized they all seemed to be looking at her.
And for all that the entire area was suffused with an unbelievable amount of free flowing mana, as well as energy bound up in the the subtle enchantments seemingly woven into every objet d'art that festooned the garish palace, the statues themselves were all reinforced with subtle auras and interconnected with communication spells.
Oh.
She reconsidered her decision to lash out against the baron, and instead demurely leaned into his embrace, her cheek brushing against his and her lips barely parting as she exhaled "What do you want from me?"
He gave a carefully conspicuous glance up and down the hallway, then brushed gently against her face and compunctiously took her earlobe in his teeth before muttering "Just keep following me. I've got some friends you should meet. You're obviously powerful, but you're alone and unsubtle. It'd be a shame to see you get yourself caught, and there are people who can help with that."
If she was interpreting what the man had said and shown her correctly, Cascala didn't really feel like she had much of a choice. This still isn't fitting myself into the round. It's just a setback. I'm still resolute, still have my eyes on the goal. She gave an embarrassed smile and looked down, pushing the baron backwards halfheartedly; he smiled more broadly and tried to pull her closer, and she forced a giggle and broke off. She felt... stupid, and dirty, and it probably wasn't a very convincing performance. She hadn't had much practice, certainly. Herrastel seemed to feel it was good enough, at least, and he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and took her hand again, leading her once again through the labyrinthine halls; she watched disinterestedly as color schemes melted gradually into each other, shifting through a rainbow of cloth and gems before eventually the pair stopped in an apparently-secluded wing bedecked in whites and opalescent greys, resplendent in pearls and a roiling cloudy motif.
He pushed her gently into an alcove, and his hands drifted to her waist again. She gave an embarrassed smile, struggling not to snarl or lash out with her foot or staff.
"You realize that if you really try anything that I'll pull every ounce of fluid in your body out through the most painful orifice that presents itself."
He leaned in against her, one hand going up her back and the other feeling the wall behind her through the cloth that hid it.
"Mmmhmhmhm," he chuckled in a way that made it even harder for Cascala not to kill him where he stood. "I like a girl with spirit."
Something of the cliched nature of the phrase was lost in translation, but it still managed to sound just insincere enough to calm her hackles. With a click, something yielded beneath Herrastel's inquisitive fingers – on the wall, thankfully, not Cascala's corsetry – and the pair gently merged through fabric and wall, landing in what might have been a very sexy heap under other circumstances in a sea of pale chiffon and pillows and poufs.
Back in the corridor, footsteps that had been echoing quietly behind the pair nearly since Cascala's appearance – which Herrastel had been painfully and intriguedly aware of and Cascala had been too preoccupied to care about or consciously notice – approached the nook the pair had vanished into. A perpetually smiling face stared at the spot they had occupied, a quiet whirring replacing the sound of walking and its internal systems updating several statuses.
---
The room was still dim, but it was being somewhat more illuminated now that more surfaces in it were glowing. Only one of the three men was still at the original table, plotting the course of one of the brightly-glowing patches; the other two were both staring at a wall with luminescent schematics and lists and displays emblazoned on it. The apparent senior was carefully manipulating a cloud of light that clustered around his hands and stuck to his fingers like silk, occasionally flashing various colors or fading to black.
The man at the table cleared his throat and spoke up. "We've lost visual contact with one of the original six."
One of the others, without looking away from whatever was occupying his attention, responded after a few moments. "Which one, and where?"
"The, uh, the blue one. We don't know a lot about her except her apparent rank. Her costume is elaborate enough we don't know for sure who she is, but she's been with a low-ranking noble since she ported in. Baron of Irl, I think."
The man with his hands enveloped by light smiled. "And I assume we lost them in Pearl? One of the private rooms?"
The first checked, then nodded. Realizing nobody was looking at him, he blushed slightly and spoke up. "Yes, actually. He did appear to be attempting to seduce her when we could get a clear view."
"Good for him, then. You can always count on John at these things. Keep a Man on them, but I don't think you'll be seeing any kind of problems out of the two of them. He just likes a challenge."
"You don't think that perhaps–"
The second man, who had been quiet for some time, snapped. "Will you shut up and get over here? We've had more important things going on for half the time you've wasted on that stupid woman and her stupid paramour. Sapphire's on fire, and it's all we can do to keep the surviving moppets on top of it!"
"He's just following protocol," rumbled the third. "No need for all that."
---
Suleiman waved a small jar of potent smelling salts beneath Fatima's nose, but the old seer refused to wake. Gesperi stood above them both, arms crossed and face arranged in an expression that combined the worst aspects of extreme annoyance and smug self-righteousness. The other two Magi stood on either side of the inactive scrying circle, trying to avoid each other's gazes nearly as much as they were trying to avoid Gesperi's.
Eventually, Suleiman stood up, shaking his head. "None of my potions or mundane remedies are working."
"Then use magic. You of all people should have no trouble rousing someone."
Suleiman shook his head. "No, Gesperi. You were part of the circle yourself, you must have felt how crude the transition was. Fatima shielded the rest of us from the brunt of that power by taking it upon herself."
"And?"
Finally, the old Life mage's patience snapped. "Think, you impetuous child! Her body wasn't the target of the feedback, her mind was. If I wake her now, I may wake her as an empty husk. She must recover on her own. No magic."
"Perhaps if you were competent–"
"And perhaps if you weren't an idiot!" Nazim burst out. "Are you really going to let your impatience destroy any chance we have of following Cascala?"
"Who's calling who an idiot now?" Gesperi seethed. "I seem to recall a certain Terra specialist in this group ought to have been able to set up wards to prevent exactly this sort of thing from happening. What happened to him, exactly? Did, perhaps, all his hand-wringing precautions amount to nothing?"
"Oh, it's easy to sit back and watch real mages work and laugh when they fail, isn't it? What would you have done, burn the scrying circle until it stopped reeling from magic we don't even understand? Maybe make some kind of illusion so whatever is dragging Cascala all over the planes forgot what it was doing? You've contributed nothing to–"
"Enough!" Suleiman roared. It was perhaps the only time any of the Magi had seen him shout in the entire time they'd held their positions. "Our empire, our magic, and our very way of life is at stake. We all know this. But to devolve into bickering at the first sign of stress is to do emperor and empire a disservice, to say nothing of shaming ourselves."
Most of the assembled mages looked at their feet and shuffled awkwardly, but Gesperi simply sneered. "We've all seen how she's been handling the stress. We could never shame ourselves on the level she already has."
Suleiman's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You... You are not there. You saw, but you did not feel."
"If I were there–"
"I shudder to think what would have happened if you were! Cascala has lived and breathed this destiny for all of her years. Don't let your jealousy convince you that your soft-headedness isn't more salient."
As Gesperi's teeth gritted and heat wavered from his clenched hands, a soft voice spoke up from near the circle, breaking the mounting tension and drawing the attention of all present and conscious.
"I think I have an idea."
---
Cascala quickly disentangled herself from the arms of her apparently-lecherous companion. She then darted back to the floor to retrieve her staff before standing over him threateningly and scanning the lacy walls for more evidence of watching eyes. Instead of enchanted statues, she found the small room rather crowded with serious-faced men and women, all dressed for a party but none acting as though they were attending one.
"What," the weather witch hissed, "is going on here?"
Lord Herrastel stood up, straightening nonexistent creases in his coat, smile finally fading from mania to reasonability.
"These," he said, gesturing at the assembled figures, "are the associates I mentioned. Young lady, meet the Ebitrean Tea Club."
---
"Even with Fatima, ah..."
"Indisposed."
"Sure, indisposed. Even with that, and her unable to guide the spell or anything... It's still set up to find Cascala, right?"
Nazim nodded, and Mozhgan continued. "Now, I know that without Fatima's Sight, being able to track her signal across the planes doesn't do us much good. But I think that with that information I might be able to open a more direct connection to whatever plane she's on. It should have about the same effect as scrying, see, and..."
She shrugged, faltering under the combined gazes of her peers.
"You're suggesting we open a portal? Surely you can't expect to be able to predict what might happen if we interfere needlessly with whatever safeguards the god that took Cascala has in place."
Mozhgan blanched at the suggestion. "No, no! No. Not a portal, just a window. Just enough to let light through. It shouldn't upset anything, and probably wouldn't even be traceable unless you were looking for it. If, uh, it does become necessary to intervene, as we agreed..."
She stopped again, and Nazim put a comforting hand on her shoulder and shot a glare at Gespari and his smirk.
"It'll just make it easier to do something. If it becomes necessary. As we agreed. Somewhere to start from."
Suleiman paced near the couch they'd hauled Fatima onto. "I don't... I don't know that I like it."
Mozhgan wilted, but unexpectedly Gesperi came to her defense. In a way. "Of course you don't. You're too cautious. Would you rather just lose her? Would you rather have no idea she was about to be stabbed in the back or crushed by a monster, have no way of helping? See your precious empire's last hope fail and watch your mana drain away and know you could have done something but didn't?"
Still pacing, Suleiman chewed his cheek. He didn't like to admit it, but Gesperi had something of a point, for all his foolish bravado. Before he could respond, Nazim cut in, giving Mozhgan an apologetic glance.
"Maybe it would be safer to find another Sight mage, maybe one of Fatima's apprentices. They could help wake her, or run the scrying themselves."
"Hmm. I think..." Suleiman shook his head. "No, they'd be in over their heads. Even Fatima struggled with the complexities of this endeavor, and despite her age she's every bit our equal or better. Better to have a Grand Magus do something uncertain than a lesser mage attempt a task we already failed at."
"Well there's only the four of us," Gesperi said, raising his hand sarcastically. "Three to go through with it."
Nazim sighed. "Don't... Don't do this, Gesperi. Everything doesn't have to be a struggle."
He turned to Mozhgan and nodded. "Just get started, alright?"
She nodded and got to her knees, examining Fatima's spellcraft. "Gatework's not my specialty, you know, but... Well, I can't think of another Flux mage I'd ask. I, uh, I'm just trying to say this might be a few moments. Before I feel safe starting it, I mean."
The others nodded back, and she set to work.
---
All three men were at the wall by now, often striding between it and the various tables spread around their room, never devoting too much time to any particular instrument. For a time, it seemed as though they were all working at cross purposes, paying each other no mind and dealing with separate issues, but when one particular ball of light materialized, they all jumped to examine it.
"No," muttered the senior. "This doesn't make sense."
The second hurriedly shoved his hands into it, unraveling and rewinding it into a variety of different shapes that seemed to mean something to those watching. "It's not hostile. Not even any good for being hostile through. But it's astonishingly subtle. We're lucky the automatic aura fields even picked it up."
The first leaned in, twiddling several errant strands of luminance. "Can you tell where it's coming from?"
The second shook his head as the third brought out an arcane-looking eyepiece. "No, I don't think so. Not exactly. It's heavily baffled."
"Definitely extradimensional, though."
The others nodded in agreement.
"Not a lot of Talents can work at this level. Honestly, this seems like something I'd expect more from the Kings than a lesser grade." The man shook his head and remembered his own warnings not to overthink things. "Bring up a registry of everyone we know of capable of spacial distortion like this."
The apparent junior scurried off, the senior calling after him "Even the ones we think we know aren't here!"
The third man thought for a few more moments, then gave a resigned sigh. "Keep an eye on things here. I have to let the Kings know about this, personally."