Between Covers
Second Day of the Fourth Month 294 AC
If you had come alone or only besides your closest companions this would have been a different battle, the arrows, the weighing of moments, the death song. You did not come alone. The pair of myrkdreki breathe at once, and they exhale not deadly fumes but sorcery more terrible still, a
cruse to sap the will and cloud the mind, empowered by the bound enchantments of the djinn to pass through any ward. A mortal champion or sorcerer might have perished then, fallen to dust and ashes, but Dusk Dancer in the hour of her death merely buckles under the weight of malignancy,
Close by Zherys and Vee are dueling a luminous figure that seems more woven glamor than fey flesh,
spells of dissolution failing by the merest edge against the short sharp syllables of the girl's magic, while the elder mage flings a ray of poisonous green light from his bejeweled hand yet in a flash of
dizzying color and maddening sound that covers even Dusk Dancer's dirge he is elsewhere and readying a spell. Zherys can still see him, the second spell strikes true only to fail against some last unseen contingency. Aife strikes the final blow, fittingly perhaps in the name of her god, the one almost bound to the binding of the mage in turn, in the reflection of a single shed scale.
All this you see in an instant as you circle the field. You meet Dusk Dancer's gaze one final time as Amrelath and the erinyes still in control of their bodies strike down the fey all around her. Her words come back to you as you speak the final enchantment: 'to fit all our tales between those narrow covers.'
Perhaps it is simple practicality that binds your hand, or perhaps this place that exists beyond all fey lords however mighty whispers in your ear an irony sharper than steel. Among the blood and bodies a book falls bound in violet silk... the death song does not stop, the magic does not fade even as tentacles of shadow and frost called forth by Maelor's magic tentatively pick it up.
Shit... You want that lore, not just of magic, not just of history, but the intrigues and secrets of the other lords, how much you might learn from that single tome. Left with no other options you
part the threads of magic around your new prisoner. The song stoops, but you can still feel its echoes in the air, delayed not prevented. Once the fey lady had chosen her own death it seems your curses are not enough to stop her.
"All clear?" you call to the others, relieved to find that no one had been killed or even wounded, for all you had come uncomfortably close. "Any ideas on what to do with this?"
It does not take Zherys more than a moment to realize what you mean. "I had meant to create a dead magic chamber for the Mysterium to work with, but it gave way to more urgent projects. Perhaps the djinn or the shaitan might be inclined to aid us until such can be set up elsewhere, they will likely wish access to it though."
What do you do about the dying fey book?
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OOC: That was way too many rolls for such a short update, but I did not want this to drag while I described the attack roll of each erinyes and hunter servitor.