OEW

Gem like eyes set inside of a grotesque 'living' cadaver followed Orison's self agonizing pacing.

A much more lively feminine tinted mental voice said to him, "I can only imagine the sacrifice such precious and undoubtedly finite resources symbolize for you. And pouring them down what must seem like a bottomless hole, for a complete stranger, it's far above what anyone could reasonably ask... It's difficult beyond measure for a higher dimensional existence to convalesce in a lower one. If it wasn't for all the- all the horrid things those creatures used to make me a source for that gate, I could recover on my own to some small degree. I-I'm compelled by oath to say that you have done enough to sustain my existence. I..."

Orison glanced over to see his gruesome patient stare at the ceiling as a tear trailed from her eye and thought, "I get it, okay. Tortured for who knows how long by who knows what, you just want to get home or away from here at least... Here's this local ignorant savage that pulled you off the ant hill you were slowly being eaten on, who surprisingly has a first aid kit in a place that barely knows what clean water is, but he's bogarting the bandages and rubbing alcohol. To him it's life saving stuff but to you it's probably just the crap you sometimes remember to replace because if you really needed help, you'd go get 'real' medicine."

Clearing away the indecision, Orison pulled out four potions and administered them one by one, asking her while trying to gauge the effectiveness. It saddened him to find out that the healing potion was about as effective as stamina boosters. The cure poison potion produced mild but considerably less effect than the first one and the cure disease popped out a thin film of black sewage from her withered pores. After a quick check up on her, he bit his lip until it bled as he gave her a second cure disease that had also drastically reduced in effect from the first time.

With luck, he had managed to add a third 'silver bullet' potion to his preexisting two, three that was about to be two again. After taking the very first one he made out, and a compromise with the pragmatist inside not to waste a second one since it would likely only follow the same pattern as cure poison and disease, he administered the final ace in his sleeve. For a moment, nothing happened. Right as he was about to give in to the childish impulse to throw a tantrum, thirteen baby fist sized black orbs with red, angry script on them weakly ejected out of her major orifices.

Orison stared numbly at them before closing the door of his imagination on what she must have endured. He didn't want to know and the last thing she'd ever need or want was useless pity after grimly holding on for so long. The one thing he was sure he could bank on was after this woman recovered, if she recovered, he wouldn't desire to be an abyssal denizen who crossed her path.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Orison checked on her again to find that she had nearly returned to mummy status again after expelling a copious amount of sludge that was so foul he was glad that nothing remained of the alien energy. Because if there had been, he would have abandoned it. Passing his beloved water breathing circlet over to Gan and donning the mask that had initiated this entire scenario, Orison carefully bundled up the corpse woman and carried her off once she had been cleaned multiple times. Unable to destroy the gate directly, Orison summoned a golem out of the rubble around the mostly buried building and had it beat cracks until it collapsed.

Swimming a long coastal route to avoid random encounters, Orison went over all that had happened as daylight filtered through the water. Aside from substantial gains, fairly substantial losses empowering his group then healing the resource pit, he had learned some important things as well. What was likely three separate nodes of alien energy had been drawn to that place and the only reason that made sense was the presence of that gate. Additionally, Orison was fairly certain that the energy was far more potent than it should have been.

He thought, "Is it possible that the miasma sent to those other locations possesses the ability to consume and repurpose certain other types? I mean, it does for me with the soul stuff. Could there maybe be some kind of remnant in it from the source it came from?... Out there somewhere, a node might be sucking up all the rest as it feeds on some other crazy dangerous thing... If I don't claim it, what happens? Maybe gimped Ms. Pacperson can help me understand."

During a swim break, Gan informed Orison of the meeting spot where Morrel would be waiting for them. "I don't know who else will be there but if it's someone you don't want to know more than what Morrel would tell them... In the middle of saving the Fvaris sister, we encountered a mad god artifact. It was destroyed but not before it had hurt you and affected us. I was waiting with you until you were stable enough to be moved.

"We could tell you were coming back but didn't know when they left if you'd be completely back to your old self when it was done. To be honest, until you mumbled something about wanting to be equal and not wanting servants or something, we didn't even know if you were going to be, uh, you."

Orison nodded and said, "Speaking of which, what did I look like transformed? And on a side note, where's that dress?"

Gan shuddered and said, "You looked like the Marshlander version of an Abyssal warrior. Rithus was beside himself... Not going to lie. When you started breaking the floor with your bare fists I was glad my pants were already wet. Bet you're glad I stuffed some of that food in your face to help you change back."

Not wanting to hurt Gan's feelings but not entirely willing to lie, Orison said, "Hard to say. It might have helped me change back a little faster... The dress, Gan?"

"Oh, right... Now don't get the wrong idea... I have it in my bag. Everything was going see through and disappearing so I picked it up. I thought your mom might like it but I was going to have you look at it first," Gan said, a defensive look on his face.

Orison laughed and said, "If you want to keep it you can but mom will get what I made for you instead."

Gan turned red faced and protested a great deal too much. Orison knew the Northlander was just being too sensitive about being caught with feminine articles but thought it a good time to get a dig back for the nearly completed slur against Highlander adequacy. When Gan looked about ready to have an aneurysm, Orison relented and told him it was fine to give to Droya. It actually surprised Orison that the world laws didn't poof it but when he looked over the enchantments he realized it had been altered to a bunch of small buffs but that was a good thing. It made it helpful without making Droya a mug target.

Since they were waiting for tired legs to recover for a bit more, Orison gave Gan the enchanted ring he made for him and said, "I know a man's supposed to kneel when he does this but would you-"

Obviously not amused, Gan said, "Har har. What's it do, little boss?"

"Well, if it works the way it should, it'll heal you and help you catch your wind back a little faster. In theory, it should keep you from hurting yourself if you fall down too but since the world didn't let me keep the spell, I don't know how good that last enchantment is," Orison said.

The woman's mental voice chimed in, "That will happen when the concept behind a spell conflicts with reality too much. If you were determined, you have a key to the tower. If you climb it, then the only thing of value from such knowledge will be the fundamental theory behind magic itself as the models will have to be reconfigured every new step up... I seem to be getting ahead of myself. The key and tower are usually metaphors. Climbing is both metaphor and truth."

Once there was a moment where Gan was distracted, Orison told the woman that was wrapped in a sheet, "Thanks but focus on recovery. I'm sure both of us will be a lot happier when you're back on your own feet again."

A few minutes from their destination, the woman drew their attention to a cleverly hidden alcove near the shoreline. It had been abandoned for over a decade but the furnishings inside were in decent shape and with a good cleaning it was livable.

Orison said, "I don't want to impede your recovery by getting you to use your strength just to talk but what about this place allowed you to notice it? And there may be some reason for it but I'd like to be able to call you something besides mummy lady."

The woman replied, "A name, even a nickname, is a symbol of a person. It can be used for many things. Those who climb the tower fall out of the habit of such courtesies. Still, I would not want to be so ungrateful... Lily, after my grandmother... There are places where the laws are weaker, small spaces within it's structure. Those who climb and the occasional ascetic are sensitive to them but all others are the opposite, unconsciously avoiding them. You can leave me here so that I won't draw attention."

Seeing the practicality, Orison agreed. Being a person who believed little things matter, even if they weren't that helpful, he took some time to situate her more comfortably. Not feeling comfortable just leaving her there in the dark, he took out a softly glowing lamp and some other mundane creature comforts to situate around her. Eventually Gan became impatient and reminded him that Droya would be growing more anxious the longer she had to wait.

As he was leaving, Lily's mental voice said, "Don't let anyone examine your mask too closely. Treasure it... and thank you, for everything."

When they reached their destination, Orison stored the mask away wondering what about it may have made it so special or different in the woman's eyes. As far as properties went, aside from the fairly strong defensive field it gave him, it contained a preset water breathing and night sight enchantment. Seeing Droya rush up to him, he decided to stow the thought away and revisit it later.

Droya hugged him tightly and said in a soft voice, "It doesn't matter sweetling. I knew it was you as soon as I saw you. That awful thing may have robbed you of your childhood but you take all the time you need."

Orison chuckled and said, "Mom, I never felt like much of a kid anyway. I'm pretty sure that most of the New Fvaris elders think I'm some sort of body snatching necromancer to begin with."

Droya stepped back and took a better look at him then said, "Some cubs can't wait to grow up. Perhaps you won't feel the loss of these precious years until you're older."

Orison smiled wryly. "Perhaps."

"Still, you can take pride that you shouldn't have any trouble finding a woman who won't mind taking care of you. Most women, at one point or another, get the feeling they're catering to a man-child. At least you'll have an excuse," Droya smirked.

Slightly offended, despite knowing Droya was just trying to get his mind off of perceived depressing thoughts, Orison said, "Equally as many men find themselves playing daddy to a baby-girl too but you don't hear them making a deal out of it."

Snorting, Droya said, "I don't know where you'd get such a notion, little cub, but we need to get you presentable if you're recovered. The archmage of Frost Fort is coming to examine you personally."

In a panic, Orison gathered back up the enchanted items and any other potentially suspicious stuff from his people and personal room. Unwilling to wear the luxurious outfit he'd gathered from the miasma node, Orison borrowed an outfit from Corvinus, Claduis' little brother since none of his old clothes had enough leeway for him to mend them into fitting. As if to make fun of his rushed efforts, it was nearly nightfall before the archmage graced the consulate. When the man finally showed up, he dismissed courtesy and any other 'time consuming frivolity' to get straight to the task for which he came.

"Your channels are wide and clear and your reserve is stable without any issues. I'd say the experience you have endured has been more beneficial than harmful overall. Tis a pity to lose some of the most carefree years of a person's life but from what I've gathered of your situation, I'd say you haven't been enjoying them much anyway... If you hear any voices or feel compelled to do things that seem dangerous or destructive, send a message through whatever channel is most convenient at the time. Anything you'd like to ask me young man?" The middle aged Northlander said.

Knowing it would seem suspicious if he had nothing to say, Orison asked, "What do you know of my father's situation? Is it possible he could be saved?"

The archmage said, "I'm not one to forget favors, Orison. If there was anything I could do that I thought could help, I've either already did it or working on it. I consider your father a friend though we did not know each other for long... Once, right before I had become a journeyman, he helped me a great deal. If not for him, I'd not have made master in such a timely manner much less archmage. I'll not forget that...

"No offense but I'm a busy man and I need to comb over the ruin you encountered that cursed thing in. I hope you were as forthcoming as you could be about what I should find there. Thirteen unknown orbs, a corpse and an inactivated Abyss portal was it? I honestly wished you hadn't collapsed the building but if it had taken me longer to get there, unfortunate things might have happened. Well, I'm off."

As he was stepping out the door, the archmage turned around and said, "Due to the sensitive nature of events, I'd appreciate you keeping a low profile for awhile and not go spreading the story of your ordeal around. It would only make things more difficult for both of us. My contemporary in Centerland has assured me that as long as Droya is taking care of the consulate for the next limited amount of time, considering your contribution to the safety of this region, your duties will be discharged in advance for meritorious service.

"The land you have been granted has, for reasons outside of magical concerns, been relegated to the west coast in a mountain valley situated between Highland, Centerland and my own glorious country. It's actually quite nice for a s*** hole with no apparent value... Journeyman Therridel will be meeting you there as your personal tutor. As much as the colleges would like you to attend in person, until time makes your situation less notable, it's best for all you become reclusive. The journeyman's presence is mandatory so try to not make things difficult for him."

As soon as the archmage was gone, Orison said his good nights to everyone and headed to his room. Fighting off the overwhelming desire for sleep, he pulled a stack of velum sheets from his space and began reading. The papers he had found in his nightstand that were left by Nub didn't contain anything of great importance but on a positive note, Portia had shelled out for the commission of an enchanter's workbench.

By the time it was finished, Orison estimated he'd be on the other side of the continent but in retrospect of distance, he'd be much closer to the vampire lord's chapter house. It wasn't as dire a need anymore but there were a lot of things he could accomplish with it. In hind sight, he had let a workbench get away from him but he wasn't surprised that the manifest of inventory for their warehouse of goods taken from the manor did not include it. Considering the way of things, it had likely either misted away as soon as it was abandoned by him or it was converted and noticed by someone who knew of it's value, making it mist away in another fashion.

An eventful night and day had sapped Orison to a level of weariness he'd been enduring for far too long. Stripping down, he climbed into bed and prayed to whatever force that would pity him to just have one night of uninterrupted sleep or he'd turn against the gods themselves. Head hitting pillow, the greatest of all magics granted to the weary settled upon him instantly.