The Arch-Shade's Acsent: Shaded Pathway

[jalahon]

His weight seeming to be supported nothing, Jalahon leaned heavily on the hazy staff of shadow. Beams of light were just beginning to lance from the rough-hewn peaks of the Thunderhead, forcing him to avert his gaze from his intended target. The intensity of the dawn sun caused the metronome in his head to increase to a staccato of painful beats. Squinting, Jalahon pushed a hand through his stringy, shoulder length black hair. Well, its not for lack of trying, he thought regretfully to himself.

The last few nights had been spent in an attempt to somehow manipulate his visions. While wearing the shadow artifact, the intensity of the vision was becoming almost uncontrollable, leaving him exhausted to the point of paralysis when he regained consciousness. This fatigue seemed rather counter intuitive to the attribute of the shadow mask that eliminated the need for sleep. He found that as long as he could store the mask in his travel bag and keep it close to him, it would lessen the hold of the vision. The clarity suffered greatly, along with duration of the vision, as it would stop for no reason at random points. He also developed a method of inducing the sequence through a series of structured meditation exercises. What was most frustrating was his inability to alter any of his choices within the dreamscape. He followed the same routine each time, and he had no new interpretations of how he was expected to gain entry to the demi-plane of Shadow. Not wearing the mask was also starting to take its toll, Jalahon thought as his reverie was interrupted by the throbbing reminder of his headache. He couldn’t sleep, but felt as though he desperately needed to.

The extensive Baldur’s Gate library proved to be an exercise in futility. The only reference to the demi-plane at all was the rantings of an obviously insane inter-planar mage. That seems to be a common ailment of those who tread between realities, Jalahon thought with a smirk, his thoughts resting briefly on Halaster. It provided no worthwhile information, unless one counted his repeated warnings that “shadow dragons are not to be trusted” as lucid advice. Jalahon conceded that point, trying hard to remember a dragon who was not only trustworthy, but not trying to maim, eat, or otherwise kill him. He found one phrase particularly interesting: “the eyes in the shadow”. No, he corrected himself, the passage made him feel as though he were on the verge of remembering something. It made no sense without a basis, and try as he might, Jalahon could not figure out why this seemed to be important. Nothing else was uncovered and he was not surprised that this was the case. Most wizards wisely guarded knowledge of this caliber; planar travel was no novice art. He had spent his entire life thus far studying the thousands of nuances of illusion and shadow; planar travel was a school not so far removed from his course of study and it required just as much discipline and dedication to understand and operate the more powerful spells.

Replacing the mask over his face, he turned his gaze skyward. The blazing sunlight dimmed to a faint glow through the shadows, and the highest peak of Thunderhead shown against a mesh of blues and purples. “The clouds surrounding the top will make teleportation impossible”, he muttered. Jalahon had suspicions that the clouds were placed there to prevent just such an occurrence. The inhabitant of that unforgiving place had no use for the company of men. Looking at that peak brought back a flood of memories. While he had called Halaster master, there were others he had served in exchange for knowledge.

The snowy peaks were home to all manner of creature, and the unprepared traveler usually didn’t fare too well. The last time he had come here, he had required a guide to navigate the passes and pitfalls. Bilraex had flawless knowledge of a good portion of the Northlands, and this mountain being particularly close to where he was born and raised. The trek was uneventful, albeit long and tedious. Now, he was here alone, with only his notes of the previous journey to direct him.

Grabbing a handful of shadow from his staff, he began to incant in a slow, sibilant whisper. Molding the shadow around his boots, he finished with a low hiss and watched with satisfaction as the shadows spread outwards to enclose his feet in a thin disk of haze that would prevent anyone from following his trail. A frigid wind tugged at his cloak, tame compared to what Jalahon knew would be the weather conditions near the top. He moved slowly up the base climb, taking the extra time needed to be observant and cautious. At one point, a band of goblinkin passed feet from where he had magically concealed himself, some sort of raiding party from the looks of it. The leader of the ragtag group seemed to be re-enacting his victory in a fight, making wild pitiful swings with his club-like branch. Most of the other goblins ignored him, trudging blindly ahead in the blistering cold. All of them failed to notice that they traveled in parallel to a set of footprints so large that they must have belonged to a yeti or worse. Although Jalahon detested the goblins of Undermountain, he had to give them a grudging respect for their survival-oriented instincts, something these poor dumb beasts sorely lacked.

Several days later and without incident, Jalahon approached the final ascent into the cloudy maelstrom that was Thunderhead’s crown. He had spent the early hours of the day preparing several utility spells that would be useful if he was to be “tested”. Cloaked in his magic, he carefully navigated through the now swirling fog, his enchanted boots making no noise as they barely sunk into the deep, dry snow. Whispering a few words, Jalahon began to levitate slightly, moving up an ice-covered embankment with ease. The rise leveled off, and, as if cued, the fog ceased its rapid seething motion. The air at the top was very thin, and combined with an extremely dense fog Jalahon wondered again how anyone could live up here as he labored for breath.

A rush of freezing wind blew past his face. “Our bargain is complete and you are no longer welcome in my home.” Snapping into visibility, Jalahon cursed as he lost hold of his concealing magic. Marveling at the hermit’s ability to manipulate the magic of others, he watched as the fog split apart, as if hitting the sharp corner of some invisible shield. A wiry old man, clothed in only a loin cloth sat cross legged on the rough stone floor near the center of the peak. Without opening his eyes or even turning his head to regard Jalahon, the old man began to speak again. “The only reason I allowed you to sit with me before is because you are held in the high regards of one of my few peers. Others who would intrude upon my meditation, I would have killed without thought.” Another blast of wind hit Jalahon squarely in the face, and he had to struggle to keep his eyes upon the hermit. The wind continued its fury, and Jalahon noticed that the old man’s wildly splayed hair did not move at all with the gale. “I am sorry for disturbing your meditation, but…” Jalahon said as the hermit’s eyes snapped open. “I know what you have come for, fool. You were ever hungry for more power, yet you never dwell upon the consequences that such things can bring about.” Blue eyes as frigid as the mountain winds looked disdainfully at the mage. The wind died down to a whisper and the old man rose to his feet with a feline grace. “For all of your haste, you do not even realize that you hold the key, that I myself have already shown you the knowledge you seek. No more advice will I give you than this: you are no match for those you will be dealing with.” With the wave of an emaciated arm, Jalahon was lifted from the ground and slammed forcefully into a snow covered stone wall. “I hold not a fraction of the power of the guardians against whom you conspire, and you are helpless in my grasp.” Fearing that events would soon be completely out of control, Jalahon uttered a command phrase, and a globe of shadow enveloped him, effectively nullifying the old man’s magic. The mage’s feeling of surprise that his magic had overcome the others was mirrored on the hermit’s face.

Shards of midnight scattered outward as Jalahon ended the spell, and the old man eyed him curiously. “Your power has grown, even if your comprehension remains stagnant.” Looking at Jalahon thoughtfully, the old man suddenly smiled broadly, revealing cracked lips and yellow teeth. “It will not be enough”, he declared. “You only dabble in an art that they have created from the bottom up. However, I will give you one last hint. Walk with shadows without destination. That, fool, I will leave to you to interpret. May the knowledge you seek be worth misery you will undoubtedly experience.” Settling to his knees, the hermit closed his eyes and sat down, seemingly oblivious to the world again. Wondering why the old man had recanted his earlier refusal to speak, Jalahon made his way back down the crest of the peak. The discomfort he felt from the warnings of the old man was overset by the excitement of garnering a piece of useful information. What he was told made perfect sense, although Jalahon knew it would be a recipe for disaster if the hermit had purposely deceived him. The credence of the information didn’t bother him half as much as the fact that the potential for failure and subsequent death was an all too clear reality.

Rounding a bend, Jalahon finally broke clear of the fog enshrouded peak. Leaning against a jutting rock formation was a huge balding man with a fur covered pack resting beside him. “It took you long enough”, Bilraex offered in greeting. Smirking, Jalahon replied, “Why didn’t you just come on up?”, knowing full well that Bilraex did not care for the hermit. His people had a deep abiding fear of magic that was not spirit based, and avoided that part of the mountain. Ignoring the mage’s jibe, the barbarian shouldered his pack. “We must talk.”, the priest said as he fell into step with Jalahon.

In a small alcove directly behind the hermit, a faint shadow detached itself from the ground, moving sinuously down the mountain path, trailing after the departing duo.
*************