The Crimson Echo Season Four

[Darvin]

Spoiler: Dalen unconscious

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Everything is pitch dark. Well, that's certainly annoying. Dalen reaches about blindly in the inky blackness, finding a lamp and lighting it. He's in his study, his spellbook splayed open on his work desk and surrounded by ink, reagents, and the copious notes he'd been taking these past few days.

He sits down to the table and pores over the diagrams he'd painstakingly drawn, frowning as he notices a minor error that had escaped his attention previously. So obvious now, he quickly scratches in the corrections. Then he notices an inefficency he could improve, so he begins to scribe those corrections. He had to optimize, be more efficient. He didn't have the power of the archmage, so he would have to make better use of every scrap of arcane energy at his disposal.

"What's this that has your attention? Anything you care to mention?" Rhetoric lands on his shoulder.

"I'm trying to figure out how to bypass the limitations of the Sleep spell. I've developed three distinct methods of casting the spell already, but they all share the same limitation. See here, the there's the connection with the nervous system. The body will simply force the mind back awake, as quickly as a lightning bolt, so this connection must be saturated with arcane energy first. The bigger the body, the more power required. Even a weak-willed troll is completely impervious to my existing version of the spell as a result. But that's just half the problem. See here, on this diagram, the stitch between the material plane and the dimension of dreams that pierces the soul. That needs to be frozen, otherwise the soul's resonance with the dimension of dreams will disrupt the fragile and artificial slumber. The brighter the soul, the more energy we'll need to deliver to achieve that," Dalen feels an uncanny buzz as he describes the connection to the dimension of dreams, as if there's something he should be noticing. Odd, but he's too focused on his explanation to stop, "the spell's magical payload is simply not enough to saturate all these points, and will pass over strong individuals with no effect,"


"So stop the glower, and use more power," Rhetoric suggests the obvious.

"Even if I did have that much power - which, to be clear, I don't - the full payload would need to be delivered simultaneously or it would just pass over the victim. To achieve this I'd need to simultaneously cast the spell... three... times," Dalen stops as a realization strikes him, and rapidly flips between the three versions of the spell he'd worked on. They could be superimposed. But he'd need to be efficient, he'd need to remove every unnecessary line of spellwork to fit them together. But it could definitely be done. Dalen sets to work, his mind totally focused on achieving this breakthrou

"While your work is sublime, you're almost out of time," Rhetoric's beak turns towards the inkling of light coming from the window. Dawn was coming.

"I just need to go faster, that's all," Dalen grits his teeth. He could see the spellwork in his mind's eye, his eyes darted across the page as he converted rapidly from diagrams and runes to mental construct and back again.

"Ileosa is waiting for you," Rhetoric drops the rhyming. The comment irritated Dalen; he hardly had enough time for his studies. Not to complain about having such a powerful and generous patron, but he was overworked. He was quickly becoming her full-time court wizard at this rate, what with the matter of the kidnapping, the Asmodeans...

"I can't go faster than this," Dalen grits his teeth, his hand was moving faster and faster but it couldn't keep up with the spellwork in his mind's eye. Just another limitation for him to optimize. At the speed of thought his mind built and unbuilt the spell lines, like he'd practiced thousands of times before. But he needed to do it faster this time. Maybe he could use the lines themselves to speed up the process... that was a novel idea. He constructed new scaffolding in his mind, lines with which to rearrange spell lines that would make and unmake spell lines. Something didn't seem right, the orderly structure of arcane magic in Dalen's mind seemed different than how he left it. Like walking into a dark bedroom and tripping over a bunch of junk strewn about that he hadn't left there. Well, this was the raw material he needed to complete the spell so he may as well use it. He didn't have time to question where it came from.

Light streamed into the window. He snapped the spellbook closed, panting. Not only had he developed a much more potent version of the Sleep spell, but to do it this quickly he'd developed spell work to massively accelerate himself and others for short periods of time. And he could use these principles more generally going forward. He felt exhausted, physically and mentally, but above all else he felt pride. This was what it meant to be a Master Wizard. He quite liked that moniker, who was it again who had used it?

"It's done, I figured it out," Dalen chuckles as he walks to the window, "it would have been quite useful yesterday to have this. During the giant snake attack, the delving into the Thassilonian ruins. The battle against that Haeluna woman... wait, how did that end?" the memory of a claw tearing a hole through Dalen's sternum... Ileosa casting something... as a Sorcerer? That wasn't right, but it was definitely real, Rhetoric grabbing his wand as it slipped from his hand and then...

"Oh. Oooooh. Am I dead?" Dalen wonders aloud. He closes his eyes, and feels the slight tug of his empathic connection to Rhetoric. Not the figment of his mind that had been talking to him a moment ago, but the real one. He could feel his familiar's concern. That connection would have snapped if he were dead, so he was still alive. And he could feel terror being replaced with concern. So Haeluna was not alive. Unfortunate, he would have very much liked to have gloated over her, but in all fairness the last word belonged to Aliani. In any case, he sighed, "no, I'm just unconscious. Strange, though, this feels a little too real. I can definitely feel my own arcane energy, and these are the exact notes I've been working on. Which means..."

Dalen rushes over to his desk. Most of his notes have disappeared, and all that remains is the diagram showing the connection of the mind, soul, and dimension of dreams, "I really need to pay more attention to this kind of thing,"

"Yes, you do," a raspy voice emanates from where the dream Rhetoric was perched. Dalen turns around, but sees only a yawning void. His study disintegrates as he tumbles into it, and his mind fractures into discordant dream.

Dalen gasps as Bellinda's magic courses through him. He coughs and a spattering of blood comes out of his mouth. It was both excruciating painful and tasted awful. His clothing was torn up, and blood soaked. He casts Prestidigitation on himself to at least remove the blood. He'd need to prepare Mending tomorrow to fix the tears and rips left by Haeluna. But looking over his shoulder it was apparent his threads were in better shape than she was.

"Thank you," Dalen says, "if you or anyone else could spare another two or three more, I'd appreciate it,"

He walks over to Ileosa, retrieving and stowing his wand. He kneels and checks to make sure she's okay. When Bellinda mentions the eye, Dalen responds.

"I'm not sure if it's within our power to destroy it," Dalen sighs, "but if anyone does see it cover it immediately lest it cause more havoc,"