02-28-2020, 12:37 AM
Kilnar snapped the tome she was holding shut. Her beloved simulacrum - the culmination of one of her many contingency plans - looked up from the ritual spellbook she had prepared for her curiously. "What is it?" the simulacrum asked, curiously, leaning forward in her chair slightly. The small cote of doves that cleaned themselves in the birdbath near the fount ceased their preening and glanced at the two identical women.
"It seems our guests have arrived," the true archmage said. She stood abruptly. "You have everything you need."
The simulacrum nodded with a smile. "We are quite adept at preparation, after all."
"Destroy the teleportation circle after I depart. It seems my return to this place will have to be mundane in nature, but it is better than the alternative of allowing it to fall into the hands of those vile creatures. The notes will guide you in my absence."
The simulacrum nodded again. "That, I shall not forget."
Kilnar scooped her wine glass from the table and held it aloft towards her body double. She was identical in nearly every way - even her blade was a spare foil of lesser enchantment she kept in case of emergency. She would do well. "Die well, magistrix," she said.
The simulacrum hoisted her own wine glass, clinking it against her mistress's. "Live well, magistrix."
The pair downed their glasses and placed them back on the table. With a swift incantation and a flash of scintillating force, Kilnar Goldensword vanished from her study.
The simulacrum of Kilnar Goldensword glided across the study's pristine stone floors, glancing around the beautiful rows of books. While everything of irreplaceable value had already been moved to the Grand Vault, there was still great knowledge to be found here. She knew the contents of every tome, yet still she found an urge to re-read them. Curious.
She stopped at the fountain full of doves - two of which were currently bound as familiars to her and her mistress. "It seems it will be up to us to entreat our guests, my dearies. What say we give them a welcome they shan't soon forget?"
---
Magistrix Kilnar appeared in the midst of the Servant quarters. On her orders, they were not to stray far from this room in case of emergency. Just like this.
Besides the brave young volunteers that were monitoring and protecting the Prismatic Wall Generator with Ser Talindra and Captain Kaelis, every living being under her employ and care was here.
"My lady?" her chamberlain, Delian, quickly stood as the Seeker of Wisdom manifested before them.
"We've little time, everyone. You have two minutes to gather your things. Come along, now."
They knew the evacuation plans. Kilnar had made sure of that. That would not stop the panic, nor the fear. The next one-hundred and twenty seconds were a scramble as guards strapped on their half-removed plate and their weapons, as servants and their families threw anything they could fit, they would need, into bags and casting the rest aside.
"Follow me, everyone. Swiftly, now," she said.
The Seeker of Wisdom lead her people through the manor halls, past the kitchens, the entry foyer, and the baths. She turned to her chamberlain as she strode forward. "You remember where my private bath is?"
"Yes, my lady."
"I shall be along anon. Pray, get everyone through the portrait and drain my bath, will you?"
The elf, closer in age to her than any of the others, nodded. "Everyone, stick close to me. The Magistrix will be along shortly. Come along," he said, leading the small gathering into her art gallery.
Kilnar spun back for a brief moment and stepped into the vast antechamber that branched off into the rest of the manor. She paused briefly at the edge of the expansive water systems that stretched out across the building. She sighed, forlorn to leave this place. But she would return, one day.
Effortlessly, she lept across the water and landed on a small white stone dais floating in the midst of the synthetic river. She knelt down, her dress spiraling across the mystic runes that appeared upon it at her touch.
Reception Mode, Omega Adaptation, she willed the arcane functions to obey her command. As she stood, she saw the subtle shifts in the manor as its magics adjusted to receive guests - both the ruly and unruly.
Satisfied, she retreated back towards the Gallery and moved to rejoin her people. They did not have much time. The manor had likely already been breached, and they had ten minutes before the generator restored the wall. By her calculations, she had three minutes to exit.
They would need only two.
---
As she entered the warm chamber, her people were already gathered. She glanced around quickly, ensuring she had not left anything important here. A hand tapped the side of her robe, where her thin, light-weight spellbook was securely kept. Wouldn't do to forget this, she thought.
"Come along, please. Double file, if you will." The magistrix descended the stairs down into the empty bath and moved to the far wall, placing her hand on the stone. A glyph appeared upon the stone before both vanished in a long, narrow, perfectly-cut corridor. Beyond it, one of the many sections of the ancient ruins beneath their besieged city.
She lead the servants and guards out after her, swiftly setting the pace for the others.
And just so. It seems they had needed two and a half minutes to clear the barrier. A near-miss on her calculations, but one within acceptable parameters. She sighed in relief as she heard the magic restored some distance behind her. They were out, and nearly safe. Or at least, as safe as they could be.
"Torches, everyone. Weapons at the ready, just in case. I'm going to get us to safety. A moment," she said, her eyes glowing for a moment as she drew a symbol in the air.
Thalodien, dear, she thought to her old friend upon establishing the telepathic link, My employees and I could use your assistance. We find ourselves outside of the manor at present, in the ruins below. You wouldn't happen to be in the city still, would you?
Kilnar? Sweet fucking hell. You know how to pick a good time, don't you? A lot's happened. As he spoke, Kilnar projected everything they saw around them. I've got a lock on your location. I'll... try to find a team to back me up. Things are a little hectic right now, but we can walk and talk. Err, think.
You're a darling, Thalodien. Full glad am I that you've still around.
And abandon the best boss I've had the pleasure of serving? Please. Finnall would never let me hear the end of it, and neither would my pocketbook.
Kilnar smiled. "Help is coming, dears. Stick close to me, now, and try not to make any noise." She, and a number of the other elves who held basic, light-producing magics, conjured them to join the torches as they moved forward, deeper into the ruins as they moved to rendezvous with her beloved spymaster.
---
They traveled a short distance in the ruins. According to her link with Thalodien, they would be met with Resistance members soon. He had filled her in on everything she had missed - the Red Mist, the occupation, the Resistance. They had a lot of work to do.
As they moved into another ancient Amani site, a long hallway with a handful of geometric exits, she finally saw the torchlight coming around the corner.
She smiled. I believe I see your torchlights, Thalodien.
There was a pause. We don't have torches, Kilnar.
Her heart sank as she froze in place.
Get out of there!
She quickly glanced around. The other passageways were filling with lights as lumbering figures came into view in every direction. They were surrounded, save the way they came... and there were only a few exits that lead anywhere but directly back into the prismatic wall.
"Get back," she said, holding a hand out. The hallway began to echo with orcish battle-cries as the greenskinned warriors spotted them. Her guards stepped forward, flanking her and drawing weapons as they did, making a wall between themselves and the servants, who cowered back into the hallway behind the wall of steel.
This chamber is too narrow for widespread magics without endangering the others. I cannot teleport all of us out of here, so that is not an option.
They would have to stand their ground and wait for reinforcements.
Her blade flickered from its cloth scabbard as she held out a hand, sending a sea of soft-teal arcane missiles soaring down every hallway, striking into the orcs as they charged forward. Some found themselves with holes blasted through themselves, but not all. The dozen or more marauders fell upon her and her guards. They were significantly larger than she was, but Kilnar found that a boon, especially in such close quarters. The first blade that struck her elegant estoc caused a harmonious ripple as she turned the strike aside, using his size and strength against him. One, two, three. One, two, three. Her strikes came in threefold strikes, a waltz of black blood as she pirouetted through the green tide as the burly brutes attempted to overpower her. She even managed to evade the spray of viscera as her guardsmen rebuffed the initial strike, her robes unmarred by the battle, her defenses imperviously bolstered by her magic. She glanced back. Two of her men were down, but the others were holding their own, and the line had not been breached.
A one-eyed warrior stepped forward, a vicious glaive that threatened to scrape across the ceiling of the low chamber as he brandished it. From his guttural shouts, he seemed to be their commander. He rounded on Kilnar, intent on locking the archmagistrix into combat. He was stronger, faster than the rest. Though she was able to rebuff his assault, she found it more difficult to land a blow on him without overextending.
Perhaps a change of strategy is in-
One of the orcs ran past her, just outside of her reach. In lieu of a weapon, he carried a clear barrel, held aloft over his head. It was filled with a thick, red fog.
No!
She reached her hand out, but it was too late. The orc, now between herself and her people, slammed the glass on the ground, shattering into pieces. The mist spread quickly from the point of impact. Instinctively, she held her hand out, erecting a barrier of shimmering force beyond the orc. The mist collided with the wall, rebounding from it and away from her people.
Her servants and guards were safe. But she was helpless to stop the Red Mist as it washed over her and the orcs that surrounded her like a tide of blood.
Her attempts to hold her breath did nothing to save her. Her lungs began to burn hot as the air was stolen from them. She staggered backwards, coughing breathlessly as she raised her blade, trying desperately to turn aside the attacks of the many orcs that still surrounded her. The eyepatched orc in particular revelled in her weakness and redoubled his efforts, coming at her like a storm of steel and fury. Her muscles strained to even hold her blade aloft as she felt the blade bite into her side.
She collided with a wall, though she knew not how she had reached it. Her vision was blurred as she dropped to her feet, the blade clattering to the ground. She felt as if her skin was simultaneously burning, freezing, and sloughing off. Between her gasping coughs, she felt her senses fail her one at a time. The smell of sulfur and blood filled her dulling nostrils, her vision blurred, her tongue tinged with iron and copper as blood filled her mouth. Her ears were ringing.
Her mind screamed with agony as she saw the blurry forms of orcs closing in on her through the obscuring mist. Her body shutting down, she leaned back against the wall and dug deep into her magical reserves.
And felt a crack.
Something was horribly wrong.
As she tapped into her deepest reserves of magic, it began to flow and did not stop. Like a hull breached by a cannonball, her magic flowed out in every direction, the agony of her mind projected outwards as she screamed, supernatural, unbridled might erupting from her vocalization. The orcs clutched their minds in pain, several of their numbers succumbing to the pain as their ears, their eyes, ruptured before slumping to the ground. Those that stood staggered backwards, sent reeling in pain as their minds struggled to reclaim their own senses.
Kilnar's ears rang as her reserves dried up. Her body bereft of energy, she slumped to the ground fully, her fingers now gripped around her shoulders. She felt weak beyond measure. The stone beneath her was covered in blood, vomit, and thinning, cream-colored hair. As the ringing became too much to bear, she heard nothing but her own labored breathing, and the shouting of more voices. Time faded and spun into space as the room swirled and defied her perceptions.
Kilnar! a voice shouted both within and without her mind. Kilnar, speak to me!
"Dear... dear..." she said, her voice dry and pained.
She felt warm fingers on her skin, abject pain at the sensation. Arms wrapped around her and lifted her, but she could not even begin to resist. Her legs, her arms, her mind all felt like they were thousands of miles away.
Stay with me, Kilnar, the voice said. It was a familiar voice. She knew it from somewhere, but her mind was bereft of anything but pain. Stay with me. I'm going to get you help. I'm going to get you to safety. You're alright. You're gonna be alright. Stay with me.
Stay with me...
The pain struck consciousness from her mind as the pain became too much to bear.