Vagaries and Vicissitudes (I)

"Urgency! Urgency!"

Hope was soul with light untarnished so bright as to break through red haze, send maniac of a Vestige reeling flash-blind even as her physical ream-self charged out of the woods and dawn shade.

"Beasts! Fire! Murder!"

Hope was cries of help and danger yelled in accent most ridiculous.

"Oh woe! Oh woe! Woe Us, that We shouldst suffer such grievous a blow to Our temerity!" Hope was pink-haired, pink-cloaked woman running hastily right at them, near-toppling after slipping on a loose road rock, flailing helplessly and gasping in fright and (not) tiredness as she caught herself and proceeded to continue charging in their direction.

"Gods bless you, master mage!" She cried out as she launched herself at Rhialto the Fabulous. "For surely 'twas thine foresight that saved Our life and dignity!" She draped herself all over his arm and whatever other parts of him were within reach. "Dumb beasts of the forest would have surely outraged Our modesty with their smell and slobber!" Lithe arms hugged a knife-wielding arm to her bosom as the river of drama flowed free and unabated. "Useless escorts dared command Our person to flee! Command Us! The scandal! Rather than kneel and offer to carry Us as their place demanded! 'Tis an outrage!"

Hope was soul-light warm and calming to the point where red haze vanished and clenched fingers loosened from the iron grip on a magic stone that had gone sick-green and grown skin-skewering prickles.

"But now We are saved!" Hope declared in relief as she sniffled into the shoulder of the Wild Mage Nutcase. "We were so terrified but now… now…" She whimpered and suddenly swayed, hung nearly entirely on her male reflection in pink fashion who could only blink dumbly and only barely caught himself before collapsing under her sudden weight. It was all he could do to automatically bring his arms around to steady her, completely mind-blown by the sheer severity of what's this I don't even-

Cyrus couldn't exactly blame him. Gorion was in more or less the exact same state.

"Erm… yes," Rhialto the Fabulous (no matter that he called himself Marvelous or whatever else on specific days of the month) automatically agreed. He'd completely failed to register that his new burden had emerged from the part of the forest not on fire. "Terrible business I'm sure, and you are obviously as honoured to meet Rhialto the Marvelous as our smaller friend here, but now-"

"Yes!" she wailed, leaning further into him, if it was possible. Loose hands, that one. "Now! Now is the time…" she trailed off, one sniff at a time.

"Time?" The Wild Mage gasped from the extra added weight, just narrowly avoiding crashing to the ground.

"Yes," she sniffled dully. "Time…" She craned her neck to gaze into the pink-haired mage's eyes. "Time for Our confession," she finished, doe-eyed.

"Oh my!" The human yelped, trying and failing to extricate himself. "A confession?" He yelped shrilly.

"Yes," the woman said, voice suddenly airy as if she was feeling faint. "The most earnest expression of Our feelings!" She allowed the flustered wild mage to disentangle himself, though she immediately leaned in far enough for him to reflexively lean back. "We simply must tell you, you see…" She held up at eye level a small Couch's SpadefootToad. A live Couch's SpadefootToad she had moments before taken out of the man's spell component pouch. "One very important truth, master mage." Then she held up with her other hand a Rod of Dispelling. "We Bards are prone to trickery!"

The Rod of Dispelling she had not pickpocketed off him - stolen from some Candlekeep monk or other, no doubt, there were plenty to go around – activated as soon as she used it to touch the tiny toad right on the head.

The next moment she leapt backwards and threw the toad right at the mage's head. Perfect timing for the polymorphed creature to break out of its unnatural state and transform mid-air into the grey-furred, massive frame of a certain wolf so far beyond incandescently furious that the sheer rage in its howling snarl would have bowled the mage over even if he hadn't literally landed on the man's face.

Rhialto the Marvelous crashed with a yowl, then he no longer voiced any sounds at all as the wolf known as Arawn proceeded to set upon his foe with an almost inspired level of savagery.

…

Well.

…

Seemed that the no-longer-alive-to-interrupt-meaningful-moments Wild Mage Nutcase would never again accidentally guide peoples' fathers to their early deaths.

Or would he? Cyrus narrowed his eyes at a certain object that had flown away after the ties affixing it to the man's belt broke loose. The dwarf tilted his head to avoid collateral blood splatter. Right then. Telekinesis to summon the very dead man's effects away from the… retribution going on. Prestidigitation to remove the gore that did reach his clothes. More prestidigitation to guide any subsequent splatter of blood and fleshy bits everywhere but him and Father.

Imoen could take care of herself.

Thunder rumbled in the background and the air seemed to move, chill and grow moist as if predicting rain. None of the three people still alive or the wolf still taking out his aggression acknowledged it. Not Gorion who was looking blankly at the… man on the ground. Not Imoen who was staring at the post-mortem mutilation in progress with face looking a bit greener around the gills than was normal for her. And not Cyrus whose hands finally held the two most meaningful items that had been carried in life by Rhialto the Fabulous.

The first was a garishly-coloured and decorated Spellbook.

The second was… a Teddy Bear.

"Now I am certain this is not a dream," Father uttered from beside him, eyes moving from the scene of bestial brutality to the children's comfort toy his son held. "My mind would never be able to conjure up something as random as this." Comfort toy that Rhialto the Fabulous had used for a very uncommon purpose.

Still used.

Cyrus narrowed his eyes at the first ever example of a means to circumvent death even after it technically happened. Phylacteries. What a roundabout method, he thought. And such an odd thing, too, trying the functionality to that of the spellbook itself. Not standard practice, the young dwarf was sure.

Unnaturally quick-forming clouds rumbled behind them, where the forest fire continued to rage on.

Cyrus ignored it, choosing instead to open the spellbook – no wards to order still, bizarrely enough, though considering the nature of the tie with the teddy bear perhaps it made sense – and proceeded to record each and every page of the deceptively thin book, storing spell after spell in his mind, many familiar, more still not familiar at all. The latter ones proved quite intriguing actually, given his own precarious history with Mystra's Weave.

Nahal's Reckless Dweomer, Mynoc's Irresistible Appeal (created a lasso of force rather than enchanting the mind, curiously), Random Spell I (exactly what it said in the name, based on the spell matrix) – Rodent Form (self-targeted polymorph, the madman apparently liked spending time as… a Jerboa apparently). There were plenty of other, familiar first-level spells as well but these others seemed to have been specifically designed to take advantage of the volatility of Wild Magic. Whatever else could be said about the man currently in process of exponentially increasing the space his body covered, he'd somehow pulled genius out of that madness.

Northwards and eastwards, the clouds broke into a deluge of rain that finally began to quench the smoking disaster that Gorion had inflicted upon nature. Cyrus didn't pay it any attention.

Chaos Shield, Aura of Power, Rhialto's Random Missiles (random number of up to 10 different magic missiles that traded force damage for random elemental or magical harm, very useful), Tyndal's Spatial Compressor (random short-range teleport? Fit the theme, he supposed) and the last level 2 wild magic spell was… summon wild horde. Of bunnies. Bunnies which were entirely useless, save for the fact that there was a 1 in 4 chance of them exploding in a fireball upon death. Huh.

The clouds had spread and come to the point where it rained all the way up to the nearest trees north of the road. Only that far, though. The three of them were perfectly dry and warm regardless, next to the obelisk as they were. How convenient. Not that it was a surprise, given the familiar soul star burning from within the human flying above the forest.

Random Spell II, Vile Word of Discord (ventriloquism and confusion combined together for the purpose of causing chaos among enemies it seemed).

The familiar form controlling the weather spell from above the forest jolted with shock/relief/joy and made for their direction, leaving the magic to do as it willed for however long it had left to last.

Corporeal Instability (liquefies the target… non-lethally. Somehow.), Glyph of Wild Magic (caused wild surges all over the place, much like he'd done… that one time, though without actually harming the Weave itself apparently). Page after page turned, one or two every second.

The mage in flight finally cleared the treeline and landed just feet away from Father. "Oh, thank Mystra!" Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun gasped, almost. "I feared the worst!"

Berrilium's Brilliant Bouquet. Created a bouquet of shining magical flowers that blinded everyone nearby.

"So did-" Gorion broke off, taken aback at being spontaneously hugged by the other man, however briefly. "So did I, for a time…"

Random Spell III.

"I take it they were not entirely unfounded concerns," the Archmage said with a carefully controlled voice after letting go. But he did not wait for Gorion to say more at that point, instead walking over to where Cyrus stood engrossed in the Spellbook.

Wildstrike caused enemy spellcasters' spells to result in wild surges for predetermined durations, Meece's Wildarmor was a nominal illusion (in actuality a means to interfere with causality and effectively neutralize or reduce all damage or effects from hostile actions of any kind).

Would Tethtoril give him a second unlimited residence pass in Candlekeep if he went and donated this text-?

"Hey now," Khelben said, interrupting him by laying his hands on both shoulders. "I am aware that aloofness is a staple of royalty but I assumed we were past that stage, Little Prince."

That was another thing. It wasn't strange enough that the Watchers had somehow dreamed up some sort of conspiracy aimed against Cyrus back during Khelben's first visit. No, rumours just had to start circulating and visitors could not resist speculating on the oddity of a dwarf living in Alaundo's fortress under the aegis of the strongest, most long-standing and influential of Candlekeep's higher-ups. A little boy who was even using the Watchers and many random members of the Avowed as bodyguards. Which was most definitely not the case – really – but stories tended to take on a life of their own. And then he was twelve and his Father organised for him a semi-public birthday party during which it was all but confirmed that he was personally connected to the Watchers, First Reader Tethtoril, Thearabho and even Khelben Arunsun, of all people, and then Imoen just couldn't help it and called him a prince and, well…

Half or more of Candlekeep basically believed at this point that he was some dwarven prince being raised in seclusion. Never mind that dwarves just did not do that. Never mind that political intrigue simply did not happen among dwarves at all.

It did not help that everyone who knew better simply had to get in on the fun and further propagated that entire story, both within the keep and among the many people who visited and inevitably took that story with them when they left…

Imoen had, naturally, milked her "personal connection to royalty" for all it was worth, especially during those 10 days when that Calishite Pasha was visiting and she decided she would flutter her eyelashes and "make with the noblesse oblige" at him for all relevant information about Calimshan, for she simply had to get all available first-hand information for her book and she would use all the tools and means available to her to do it because she would not be denied, mark her words.

It was things like that, Cyrus mused thoughtfully, that could leave even the Vestige of a mad god reeling in the throes of incredulity to the point where it would forget to keep trying to push his offspring to random homicide.

The feeling returned as soon as he thought about it.

Damn.

"Hello, sir." Not much else to actually say really. "How are you?"

"How am I?" The man asked incredulously. "I find you and your father calmly beholding or alternatively ignoring the most brutal scene of bloodshed that this side of the Lion's Way road has seen in recent decades. And to compound the matter, you both look like a fire elemental rolled all over the both of you." The man bent forward to inspect his half-ruined clothing. Ah right, Cyrus had forgotten to cast any sort of mending cantrip, hadn't he? "Your skin is blistered and outright torn in places! Just how severe were you hurt and how recently?"

It was a pertinent question, Cyrus supposed, since he generally recovered from any wound in a night's rest. He healed quite quickly.

Perhaps quickness of action wasn't the only natural advantage he had over Sarevok Anchev.

"We were not afforded the leisure to see to our post-battle wounds, teacher." He reached into his pocket to withdraw the Staff of Healing, which he enlarged immediately. "But I suppose now would be a good enough time to see to it." He used it to heal his injuries, then peered at Father – surprised, believed the staff had been lost in the forest, immensely proud of him all over again – and used it on him as well before passing it to the Khelben, since he was closest.

The Archmage straightened with a sigh. "One of these days…" He pinched his nosebridge, then seemed to remember something and turned to Gorion. "Why are you even on the road? Did Elminster not send a message ahead?"

Elminster. So that's who it was.

Cyrus resumed reading even as he registered Gorion's soul-light painting with the shade of surprise. "Of course he did. That is why we are heading to the Friendly Arm Inn to begin with."

"Headed for…" The Archmage trailed off, aghast. "Mystra's mercy, what did that man say to you?"

Dweomer Warp (green ball of magic that surrounds casters in a field of ravaging weave-fire that harms proportionally to magical ability), Tyndal's Temporal Compressor (displaces self from normal timeflow, providing various protections) Random Spell IV, Sphere of Chaos, Hornung's Random Dispatcher, Summon Cow.

Summon Cow…

What.

"HE TOLD YOU TO LEAVE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!?" Khelben balked. Yelled loud enough to drown out the closing noises of the Arawn vs. Rhialto "confrontation" even. "He told you to travel by night!?"

"Gorion!" Blackstaff cut Father off just as he opened his mouth to reply. "Tell me exactly what the man's message said." Pause. "Please."

Entropy Burst, Eye of the Beholder, Mynoc's Wild Spell Recuperation, Rary's Menmonic Negator. Another piece of evidence for Cyrus' theory that the Weave and/or Mystra was deliberately erasing spell knowledge if someone could invent a spell for it, and the opposite for that matter.

"Is that man completely mad!?" Khelben Blackstaff sputtered over the letter Gorion had handed him. He only got more riled up as he read it. "'We have been a touch too sheltering? I urge you to lave Candlekeep this very night? A moving target is much harder to hit?'" Khelbern was becoming more and more astonished and outraged the more he read. "'We have done what we can for the one in thy care? The time nears when we must step back and let matters take what course they will!?'" Khelben growled. "I did not agree with this and made it clear to the relevant parties." Thundered struck in the background at his angry resolution. An interesting side benefit for a spell of Control Weather.

Wild Sphere, Wildfire to spontaneously cast any known spell of level 8 or lower, Entropy Shield to removes the "Reckless" in Nahal's Reckless Dweomer (useful).

"Watcha reading?" Imoen asked, looking at the book over his left shoulder and frowning. Unfortunately for her curiosity, that was the moment he finished the last page and the Spellbook of Rhialto the Fabulous disappeared into thin air. "No fair!"

The other two men did not notice. "Clearly, his urgings did more harm than good," the Blackstaff said lowly, eyes tightening the slightest bit. "I am honestly perplexed. Elminster should have known well enough that I would be coming, seeing as I said so to his face."

"Perhaps he assumed you would be too busy with Prince Haedrak to come immediately?" Gorion asked falteringly. "His highness is raising an army and arranging for a fleet in Waterdeep as we speak, is he not? In anticipation of the Tethyr campaign to assist Queen Zaranda-"

"Which I am in no way involved with directly at present since my part at this stage is already done." Whatever that meant. "And I would have prioritised this even had that not been the case."

"Truly? Is the Iron Crisis so severe an issue? I thought Jaheira and Khalid were already investigating-"

"By Mystra, the Iron Crisis is not what I meant! And even if it were, I would still have prioritised this because you two live here!"

There was a surprised silence, on both their parts. One because he hadn't expected that to be said and one because he hadn't expected to come out and outright say it.

Arunsun sighed and gripped the Blackstaff in a tight grip. "Gods' sakes, old friend, you could not wait one more day? Curse me for not using a Sending. None of this would have happened then." The Archmage stopped and realized he had no idea what 'what' was. "What did happen out there?"

Gorion begun giving a concise rundown of the past 24 hours but Cyrus didn't much care right now. No, he cared more about the building power in the Teddy Bear.

The phylactery embedded inside the teddy bear.

He preemptively turned to face the direction of the two men still deep in talk.

"Well, seems like your puppy's done using mister fashion victim as a chew toy," Imoen jested next to him.

She was right. Arawn had indeed finished rending the man apart limb from limb, then limb piece from limb piece. The wolf slowly backed away from the… mage all over the place, growling menacingly all the while. Then he – Prestidigitation to clean off all the blood – rubbed himself around Cyrus a few times while his self-light – an odd, sapience-less haze of few varieties – somehow depicted angry embarrassment. He then bared his teeth at the… mage covering the majority of the road three-some meters away and resumed growling even as Cyrus petted him on the head. The head that was as high as his own. "Good boy," it was the proper way to endorse good behaviour, Cyrus had heard. Trial and error seemed to bear that out. "Next time try not to get yourself turned into a spell component to begin with, though."

Arawn produced an insulted half-whine-half-growl but didn't back away.

Which was when the Teddy Bear of protection +2, +3 vs. Demons flew out of Cyrus' hand, disappeared in a colourful display of pyrotechnics and left behind the form of the pink-haired, garishly-dressed human that had just been turned into a literal smear. Perhaps he wasn't really a human anymore. A Lich with attachment to his non-existent physical beauty then?

"So we meet again..." The deranged wild mage proclaimed loudly, not seeming to notice Father and Khelben Arunsun staring in incredulity from mere meters behind him.