Ethereal Visions
The Mystral Tower
As the group delved into the misty depths of the Ethereal Plane, Elara’s clear and resolute voice broke the silence. “Recall our training,” she declared. “We must align our thoughts, each of us, in harmonious accord.” Without hesitation, she began a solemn prayer to her goddess, her mind firmly focused on their shared goal. Arken invoked his temporal magic, each symbol on his body glowing with a soft light. Meanwhile, Cecil closed his eyes, immersing himself in a meditative trance, his deep and rhythmic breaths steadying him. Together, they concentrated, their collective thoughts converging towards a single objective: the legendary tower of Mystra.
The mists of the Ethereal Plane swirled around them, responding to their unified thoughts and intentions. Slowly, a grand portico began to materialize before them. It was a strange structure, unlike any conventional building. Each of them perceived it differently, shaped by their own thoughts and perceptions.
To Elara, the passage appeared as a grand archway adorned with luminous runes and spiritual symbols, shimmering with divine light. Arken saw it as a complex nexus of intertwined magical energies, each thread vibrating with arcane power. For Cecil, the passage took the form of a massive tree, its branches extending like welcoming arms, glowing with a faint mystical light.
The passage stood before them, a convergence of their combined wills and the magical essence of the plane. United, they advanced, crossing the threshold and entering the mystical tower.
As Cecil crossed the passage, his vision began to blur and distort. He found himself in a shadowy realm, caught between the piercing gaze of two powerful beings. On one side, the dark and enigmatic eyes of the Shadow Lord stared deeply into his soul. On the other, the serene and luminous eyes of the goddess Sehanine Moonbow observed him attentively. Both pairs of eyes scrutinized him, silently demanding something he could not yet discern.
Suddenly, images began to flood his mind. He saw the faces of all the enemies he had ever defeated, their expressions frozen at the moment of their demise. He saw humans, elves, and monsters – goblins, orcs, and other monstrosities. Each face brought with it a wave of doubt: were these beings truly enemies, or had he condemned innocents alongside the guilty? Yet, as the memories unfolded before him, he realized that the identity of his enemies had never really mattered to him. What mattered was the battle itself, and the act of winning.
The sensation following each victory was paramount. The adrenaline rush, the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of defeating a formidable opponent – these were the feelings he lived for. All his years of rigorous training, all his focused discipline, had been directed towards achieving this unique form of triumph. In those moments, he felt a sense of accomplishment, a fullness that nothing else could bring. As these realizations overwhelmed him, he understood that this was both his gift and his curse, a double-edged sword that defined his very existence.
As Elara crossed the passage, her surroundings changed, and she found herself in the temple of her goddess, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon. She wore unique, resplendent ceremonial garments, but there was something more – an aura of ceremony, of sacred union. It almost resembled a wedding dress, delicate and ornate.
A sudden and irresistible attraction to Cecil overwhelmed her, a powerful current pulling her thoughts towards him. Simultaneously, she was gripped by her unwavering sense of duty to her goddess. She questioned herself, torn between these two powerful forces. Was she truly following Cecil to serve her goddess, or was there a deeper, more personal desire driving her actions?
Her hand instinctively moved to her belly, imagining the profound implications of giving herself entirely to Cecil. She was assailed by mixed emotions, a tumultuous sea of desire and duty. As her mind wrestled with these feelings, she opened her eyes to witness Cecil’s vision. She saw the conflict within him, a blend of debt and triumph, and felt his struggles as if they were her own.
Suddenly, the mist around her darkened, and an icy presence enveloped her. The dark moments she had shared with Cecil, the shadows of their past, flooded towards her in an overwhelming tide. Her vision blurred with these dark memories, mingling with her own fears and doubts, leaving her facing the complex and intertwined fates that bound her to Cecil.
As Arken crossed the passage, he found himself enveloped in swirling arcane mists. Before him appeared the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, a radiant human figure with rainbow-colored hair. Her eyes, a burning blue, looked at him with a mix of admiration and curiosity.
“You are an absolute marvel of magical engineering, Arken,” she said, her voice resonating through the mists. “A spectacle to behold, a rarity in the multiverse. I have nothing to give you, nor anything to take from you. You already possess what many seek. You are timeless, knowledgeable, free from the needs of sleep and sustenance, and capable of manipulating both time and the arcane.”
Mystra paused, her gaze intensifying. She extended her hand, and the air around Arken shimmered with temporal energy. “Allow me, if you will, to conduct an experiment,” she said, waiting for Arken to hand her his staff. After a moment of hesitation, Arken complied and placed the staff in her outstretched hand.
With a graceful gesture, Mystra cast a spell, temporal energies swirling around Arken. The mists thickened, enveloping him in a cocoon of time, and he felt himself being pulled through the epochs of his existence. The scene around him blurred and changed, transporting him through his timeline as if it were a singular event.
As the trio regained their senses, Elara, driven by intense curiosity and a sense of urgency, resolved to delve deeper into Cecil’s soul. She chanted softly, her voice barely a whisper of incantation, as she approached him. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she gazed deeply into his eyes, completing her spell. Noticing her act, the sorcerer immediately used his staff to cast a spell, surrounding her in a temporal stasis.
Cecil watched in horror as Elara’s eyes turned black. Tears of blood streamed down her face, and she let out a scream so piercing it seemed a banshee had joined them. To his great astonishment, her body began to transform into stone. Suddenly, Arken intervened, brandishing the staff to create a runic clock shimmering with arcane power. He manipulated the hands, reversing the process and forcing Elara to relive every agonizing moment she had just endured. In a brief instant, Elara’s mind traversed all the worlds and epochs far beyond the known world of gods and mortals. When she returned to her previous physical state, she collapsed to her knees, weeping in shock and despair.
Arken’s deep and metallic voice resonated through the mist. “You went too far. You cannot use such powerful divinatory magic in places so distant from reality and time. It is too dangerous.”
Cecil’s senses were on high alert. His pulse quickened, every instinct screaming. “You brought something back from the beyond,” he warned, looking at Elara. The mists around them thickened, and an eerie silence settled, only interrupted by a faint, menacing rustling that drew closer and closer.
What had they unleashed?