Darkness. A voice rasps; âWhere twelve become one twelve can release him, where twelve become one twel-â
Dreaming. Some people believe in the significance of dreams, others donât. Dreams can be memories, or dreams can be predictive, or dreams can be wild and unrelated to the real world. But there is no question that dreams can show you what your conscious mind forgets, or dismisses.
Memories.
It was a dark night that he came for her. There had been rumours that he was coming to the city, but Sylvire had not put any thought into them. She had not thought that it had relevance to her. Aurion, the ancient leader of the Patronus was coming, they said. Nobody but the Patronus themselves really knew anything about the celestial. His race was rare as it was, seldom showing themselves outside of their heavenly homes, but Aurion was distant even for them.It was widely known that a member of the Patronus had recently given up the mantle as they passed out of their prime. A human warrior, nearing his fiftieth year and no longer the fearsome fighter he had once been. Seldom was it that the title of Patronus passed any other way these days â the last violent death of one of the Patronus had been centuries ago. Nobody really wanted the world to end apart from a few crazy cults, and Aurion was well practised in picking out responsible allies that wouldnât get themselves into trouble.But now, as ever when a Patronus handed in the towel, there was musing over who would take up their mantle. And now Aurion was coming here, the city of Amarathia was filled with talk of little else. In a place where reputation and belief meant everything, being chosen by Aurion would be a blessing for anyone, commoner or noble, allied to a house or not.But Sylvire herself was far more interested in her magic, and in the library. And that was where she was, when he found her.âSylvire Nasazura?âThe sorceress lifted her head from where she sat with a tome, glancing up at the figure at the end of the aisle. âYes?â she asked, âOne moment, could you-ââItâs good to meet you. My name is Aurion Caldore. Iâve come to ask you whether you would be interested in becoming one of the Patronus.âThat was not what Sylvire had been expecting. Blinking in the dim light, the sorceress saw that the man was indeed who he said he was. Well. That was certainly a surprise.âI... well... well. This is slightly unexpected, but... are you quite certain you... no, thatâs an obvious question. I suppose that youâre always certain.â Sylvire said, blinking and setting her book down. Rising to her feet, the elf took a breath.âTake however long you want,â Aurion said, smiling. âIt is a very significant decision.âThat was an understatement. To defend the world against the Sealed One was no small matter. Everyone knew the stories these days, with the Patronus still recognised throughout the lands. But there was no greater honour. Nobody, to Sylvireâs knowledge, had ever turned the offer down.Sylvire spent her life studying magic and sorcery, with little interest in the politics that were second nature to her. Now here was a chance to put her powers to good use. âYes,â she said finally nodding, âI would be.âAurionâs smiled widened. âExcellent. Now, would you like me to start at the beginning, or are you familiar with the legend?ââIt would probably be best if you tell the story from your own personal experience. There are a number of versions of the legend, it would do well to have it fresh in mind...âDarkness. A voice rasps; âWhere twelve become one twel-â
âWould you please slow down?âSylvire scowled, robes gathered up about her ankles as she attempted to hurry her way through the forest. âIf you are going to make a point of forging ahead, then there is absolutely no point in us being partnered!âA laugh came from the trees ahead, as the sorceressâ companion slipped back around to fold her arms and give her an amused look. âI apologise,â Merethyl said, âIâm used to running with wood elves. You city elves are so slow!ââSlow I may be,â Sylvire grumbled, âBut if you run into that cultist camp without me you will be slaughtered. You may be skilled, but they are numerous, and without my magic you havenât a hope.âThe wood elf laughed once, âTouchĂ©, Sylvire, touchĂ©. Though Iâm quietly confident that I could eliminate the majority of them before the alarm was sounded, I will pace myself to allow you to keep up.âMerethyl had joined the Patronus a few decades after Sylvire. Sylvire had been the first of a new wave of Patronus, as the generation of human members slipped into old age within a (relative to an elf) short period of time. She was a ranger, one of the elite hunters and warriors of the wood-elf people, a ghost in the forest that you didnât see coming till her arrow was sticking out of your neck. She wore the Natureâs Guardian armour, a fitting artefact for such a fighter.The two were journeying to wipe out a camp of cultists who revered the Sealed One, and had been responsible for an assassination attempt on Sylvire â a thoroughly thwarted assassination attempt, but not something that could be ignored nonetheless. They just had to camp in a forest, though. Travelling through a forest with a wood elf ranger just made you look bad, no matter who you were...Darkness. A voice rasps; âWhere twelve become one twelve can rele-â
It was really rather disconcerting when on a street with about three dozen individuals holding animated conversations, you were the only one with a heartbeat.â... and youâre quite certain that Iâm not going to be attacked?â Sylvire queried her companion, turning towards the dead woman with a frown.Mirana cackled, smirking and folding her arms. âAs long as you donât decide to go on a divine purge, or preach the wrongness of animated corpses, youâll be fine. You werenât planning on that, were you? That would just be a bad idea.âThe warlockâs glowing eyes were disconcerting at the best of times, but in a room full of talking corpses and with an evil grin, framed by a crackling magical aura, she was just offputting. When Mirana had joined the Patronus, there had been something of an uproar. Most people considered the living dead to be abominations, and the sentient ones particularly bad. Mirana herself was even an openly declared enemy of most kingdoms, though she seldom did anything about it.But Aurion knew best, Sylvire had decided, and from experiencing the undead woman Sylvire had to agree. Whilst Mirana suffered from a chronic lack of morals, she was by no means evil. Her ideals were few, and those that existed differed from the vast majority of the worldâs, but amongst them was rather firmly set âstaying undeadâ, something which would be rather impeded by the return of the Sealed One.And once you got past the constantly burning eye sockets and general sense of darkness about her, she was nice enough company. She seldom gave any impression other than that of a particularly darkly-humoured mage, and In Sylvireâs opinion was far less despicable than many politicians and monarchs she knew.âRight.â Sylvire nodded, âThen lead the way.âSylvire and Mirana were currently in the Pits, the affectionate name given to the district of a dark elf city which housed a large number of the sentient dead. They were here to find information on a notorious undead thief who had (or at least who Aurion believed had) been infected by the taint of the Sealed One, after performing a string of murders where before her actions had been entirely non-violent, leaving behind an aura that a city watch mage had picked up on and contacted the council of mages about, who in turn had contacted the Patronus. The problem with dealing with this was that thieves were annoyingly good at not being found, and their friends were even more annoyingly good at not telling anyone about them.Mirana was here for obvious reasons, but Sylvire wasnât entirely sure why sheâd been chosen for this. Apparently it was because of her political and persuasive skills, she might be able to convince people to talk. Apparently.The warlock head forwards down the street, and Sylvire followed, feeling rather like a cat in a dog pound...Darkness. A voice rasps; âWhere twelve become one twelve can release him, where twel-â
âSylvire, to your left!âAt Arranâs shout, Sylvire turned sharply to the left in time to see a robed man charging for her, dagger lifted and eyes crazed. In a swift movement, she swung her staff around and discharged a bolt of lightning straight into his chest. The man was tossed backwards forcefully, and smoking, crashed to the floor several feet away.In the midst of battle, Sylvire turned to check on her allies. Arran, the celestial priest, remained on the back lines, Scepter of Judgement glowing brightly in his grasp and occasionally flashing with a beam of holy light that would seek out a cultist and strike him or her down in a flurry of divine energy.On the front lines, Kaelan clashed with the focus of the cultists, the armoured half-elf, half-fae a whirlwind of metal. Surrounded by a flaming barrier, he was nigh on untouchable, and where he walked cultists fell in droves, either by his blade or by the flames of the Elemental Shield.Kaelan was an odd mix of races, in the sense that it was incredibly rare for any of the fae to show their faces to the other races, let alone partner with them. But Kaelâs mother had fallen in love with a wood elf, and he was the result. Set apart from other elves by his short stature and white irises, Kael wasnât the most sociable person but a skilled fighter he most certainly was.Prior to his selection for the Patronus, Kael had been a royal guard for the queen of the wood elves, a highly esteemed role in itself, and in his new role Kael had been allowed to keep his fitted armour for the simple reason that it wouldnât fit anyone else, because he was so short by comparison to the other elves!It was not long, with the combination of Sylvireâs magic and Kaelâs blade, until the den of cultists lay dead in its entirety, and the half-elf sheathed his weapon. Arran let out a breath and stepped forward, murmuring a prayer as Sylvire approached Kael, arms crossed.âThey certainly put up something of a fuss...â she murmured, raising her eyebrow. The den of cultists, unlike most, had not snivelled and surrendered as soon as the battle turned against them, but instead had fought to the last man.Kael nodded, âDrugs, I believe.â He stated simply. Kael was very much a statements man, and simple ones at that. Conversation was not his strong point.âDrugs?â Sylvire inquired.Kael nodded a second time, bending down to rummage through the pockets of a fallen cultist. After a few moments, he straightened and held up a vial of liquid. âSome form of psychedelic, probably. Sends them into a rage, no precision but plenty of raw desire to kill, which in some cases is just as dangerous.âThe sorceress raised an eyebrow, examining the vial curiously. It made sense. She often wondered how Kael came to such correct conclusions so quickly, but when asked about it he simply said that he took logical steps.As Sylvire was examining the vial, Arran approached the pair from behind. âWe should go,â the celestial said, âAurion will want to know what happened, and if we leave him for too long heâll start to fret. Heâs like a neurotic mother, you know, so weâd best not delay.âThe priest chuckled and turned for the exit, and after only a momentâs delay Kael followed him. Sylvire took a last glance at the scattered bodies, and discarded the vial with a clink as it hit the floor. That sort of thing ought not to see the light of day...Darkness. A voice rasps; âWhere twelve become one twelve can release him, where twelve become one-â
It wasnât the first palace that Sylvire had visited, but it certainly ranked highly amongst the grandest.As the sorceress was guided through the hallways of King TaeâDorianâs palace, located in the capital of his kingdom of Cordelia, she admired the decorations. Tapestries, vases and jewels all lined the walls. It was reminiscent of the palaces of Amarathia, though it could not quite compete with them on grandeur. So much more focus was placed upon appearance back home, it was almost refreshing to visit less decadent places.Unlike most palace visits she had made, however, Sylvire wasnât here to meet the monarch, but instead his son. Gawyn TaeâDorian, prince of Cordelia and high-profile member of the Patronus. He was in the training yard at the moment, Sylvireâs guide said, and indeed the sound of battle could be heard as she was led closer.Emerging out into a courtyard, Sylvire was greeted by an elegant display of combat. Four knights stood within the ring, wielding wooden practice swords and surrounding the younger man in their midst. With thick dark hair, soft, appealing features and slightly tanned skin, Prince Gawyn was a handsome young man. Now shirtless in training, Sylvire couldnât help but raise an amused eyebrow at a number of small groups of young girls, both noble and servant, watching on from the upper levels.As Sylvire looked on, the prince launched once more into combat. Blocking a strike from the first knight to go on the offensive, he swiftly reversed the blow backwards and knocked the man off balance, allowing him to duck forwards and deliver a forceful blow to the manâs leg, sending him to the ground with a groan of pain as the wood smacked against his limb.As the first man hit the floor, Gawyn was already turning. Flowing from combat form to combat form, the prince slid a second manâs strike off of his wooden shield and cut in to slam his sword across his stomach, before turning to surprise a third man, his shield punched into his forearm. The third man dropped his sword in pain, and was swiftly floor by a blow to his side. The final man, sensibly wary, kept his distance from Gawyn and attempted to lure the prince into striking first.Gawyn didnât disappoint, darting forwards with a thrust. But abruptly, he was no longer where the knight expected him to be, shifting sideways from the feint to spin his sword around into a solid blow to the manâs thigh, followed by a thrust into his stomach, winding him and knocking him to the floor. A brief silence that fell across the training yard was interrupted by giggling applause from the girls. The prince looked up at them slightly awkwardly and half-smiled, not really sure whether he really liked being the focus of their attention.It was then that he noticed Sylvire, and his smile shifted to a full grin. Slotting his training sword into a stand, the prince made his way over with a wave. âSylvire! Itâs good to see you.âSylvire nodded her head, returning the smile. âAnd to see you, Gawyn. Iâm impressed â last time I visited it was only three men you were teaching the meaning of swordsmanship.â She joked, laughing lightly.The prince grinned broadly once again, âI can only strive to improve.â He said simply. âWill you be staying long, this time? I would love to pick up the lessons again â youâre a natural swordswoman, you know.âSylvire laughed, âYou arenât my first teacher, remember, though you are doubtless the best. But yes, I would like that. I can help you further your magical abilities too, if you wish.âGawyn nodded enthusiastically, âSounds like a deal. But what is it you wanted to see me about?ââWeâve reason to suspect that someone within your court is an operative for one of the cults weâve been tracking in another kingdom. We donât know who yet, but thatâs what Iâm here to try and find out. I donât doubt that his plan is to try and take your life, and the axe.âGawyn frowned. âThatâs not good. As far as news goes, the prospect of being murdered is generally not good. But I suppose that itâs better to know than to remain ignorant.â The prince murmured, before pausing and looking down at himself, still shirtless and glistening from training, âI should wash, but Iâll meet you in the dining hall for lunch? Iâm sure father will be pleased to see you, too.âSylvire nodded, âIâll see you there.â She agreed, and with a bow the prince was off. As Sylvire walked away, she couldnât help but chuckle. The ire of the group of girls from above was practically tangible, bouncing off of the back of her head, for distracting their charming prince from them ...Darkness. A voice rasps; âWhere twelve become one twelve can release him, where twelve become one twelve can renew-â
âCan you make the shot?âIt was night; pitch black. Sylvire was crouched on the crest of a hill, staff lifted and ready to discharge a spell at a momentâs notice. Ahead, at the bottom of the hill, was a caravan of travellers. These werenât any ordinary nomads, however. This was a caravan of more than slightly insane individuals â six men and women devoutly dedicated to the Sealed One. They were travelling to the site of his imprisonment on pilgrimage, with the intent of slaughtering the nearby villageâs occupants as a sacrifice.Sylvire didnât know how Shaiel had learned of this; how she had chanced to investigate these people with the Beholderâs Spectacle, but the rogue mage was a suspicious person. Perhaps they had just looked at her oddly â which was understandable, really. She was a member of the Patronus, and they were worshippers of the Sealed One. It was a miracle they hadnât attacked her on the spot.But it wasnât Shaiel who Sylvire had asked the question â though the shapeshifter was with them, in the form of an owl perched above on the branch of a tree.Luriel gave the sorceress a dry stare at her question, her face largely obscured beneath her cloak.Sylvire shook her head, âForget I asked.â She murmured. Of course Luriel could make the shot. Making shots was her job.A few moments passed, and the man who was on watch passed by the light of the campfire. The hiss of a bolt leaving a crossbow sounded to Sylvireâs side, followed by the dull thud of said bolt burying itself in the neck of the watchman. He slumped to the floor with a near noiseless gurgle.âMove.â Luriel instructed.As she and the assassin broke cover, Sylvire heard a fluttering of wings as Shaiel took off, swooping down toward the caravan. It took the two elves only a short time longer to reach the wagons, and they arrived as Shaiel was shifting back into human form.Luriel spoke again (positively blathering for her...). âKill them quickly. Donât let them make a sound.âSylvire nodded, and the three split up between the three caravans. Sylvire pulled the door of hers open with a slight creak, the sleeping form of the single woman occupying it curled in the corner. The sorceress stepped inside and held her hand over the chest of the woman. With a flash, she sent a single bolt of electricity straight into her heart. It stopped almost instantly, her eyes darting open and lips moving noiselessly for a second before she lay still.The sorceress emerged back out into the night again to find Luriel already waiting for her, wiping her blades on the clothing of the fallen watchman. A few moments later, Shaiel stepped from her wagon and joined them.âLet us go.â Sylvire said, and the other two nodded.Good grief it was awkward travelling with a pair of silent types... Darkness. A voice rasps; âWhere twelve become one twelve can release him, where twelve become one twelve can renew him, where twel-â
âPere... Peregrin, are you frying bacon with the bracers?âSylvire stood in the doorway of Galeronâs senior common room, staring in disbelief at a rather abashed looking Peregrin standing holding a frying pan with sizzling bacon in, one glowing bracer held beneath the metal.â...No..?â the half-celestial ventured, not-so-subtly moving the arm with the bracer on behind his back. âThat is absolutely not what I am doing. Nope. Not at all. You must be seeing things.âAt that point, Sylvire put her hand to her forehead and sighed. Peregrin was an odd addition to the Patronus, in her mind â he was young; very young. Only seventeen years of age, the boy was, admittedly a child prodigy. His skill in fire and spirit magic easily matched her own skill in those fields after almost one thousand years, if not surpassed them. But the problem with him was that he was somewhat immature. He was well meaning, kind and a lovely boy, but frying bacon using his artefact was a rather illustrative example of his tendency toward being a little bit silly.âIâm not going to press the issue.â Sylvire said, rolling her eyes finally and beckoning. âCome on, Iâve had the stable-hands ready you a horse.ââA horse?â Peregrin began, but Sylvire interrupted.âYes, a horse. You canât be flying, as that will draw attention, Which we donât want, seeing as weâre going to a meeting in a secret location.ââAww...â Peregrin sighed, before shrugging. âAlright, alright. Lead on.âAs Sylvire left the room, Peregrin fell in step behind her. It was only after a few short moments that she paused, and turned.â...and now youâre using them to feed yourself? Really? Good grief...ââMmmff!â Peregrin protested through a mouthful of bacon, the rest of the meat hovering on cushions of air beside him, the bracers glowing as ever.The boy was lovely, but most certainly a little bit silly...Darkness. A voice rasps; âWhere twelve become one twelve can release him, where twelve become one twelve can renew him, where twelve become one twelve can-â
âHold your arm still...âSylvire winced, her reflexes wanting her to pull her arm away from where Oron touched it, but her willpower keeping it in place.âHm.â The centaur pondered over the wound in the sorceressâ arm, running his hands along its length and feeling for damage. âAs I thought. The bone is fragmented. Axes are notorious for causing bone damage even with glancing blows like this.âGrimacing, Sylvire looked up at the druid. âI suppose that means that you have to use the orb.âOron nodded. âI would much prefer to let it heal naturally, but you canât be dealing with a broken arm for that long. At least the orb is better than normal magic; it knows what itâs doing, unlike many mages...âSylvire chuckled. Oron was very much a devotee of good-old-fashioned healing methods. Magic was for lesser healers, in his eye. Natural healing was much better for the body, apparently. It made sense, to be honest. Magical healing was highly demanding on it, so it was logical that overuse of it would cause some sort of long term damage.The centaur produced a fist sized orb from his pouch, and held it close to the wounded arm, closing his eyes and focusing. The orb lit up, and a tendril of light shot from it to wrap around the wound. Sylvire gasped as her bone was shifted back and quickly reformed, and the gash in her arm disappeared within seconds. A few moments later and the orb dimmed again.The sorceress shuddered with chill. It always felt unpleasant, magical healing. It was unnatural, and the body didnât like it one bit. She had to agree with Oron that natural healing was better. The centaur was one of the few members of the Patronus that had been a member before she herself had joined. Since then most of the members she had first met had been replaced, apart from Selwyn, Arran and Oron. She respected Oron greatly, and alongside Selwyn he was one of her better friends amongst the Patronus. The druid was wise and knowledgeable, and had a gentle manner that was soothing in even the direst of situations. He had an air of invincibility about him, despite this, or perhaps even because of it.There was perhaps also something of an appreciation for his choice of profession, as well. Healers were always well loved, and Oron was no different. Sylvire was very glad of his presence alongside Arran in the Patronus ranks. Heâd saved her life more than once in the early days, when she had been severely lacking in experience ...Darkness. A voice rasps; âWhere twelve become one twelve can release him, where twelve become one twelve can renew him, where twelve become one twelve can des-â
Sylvire jerked awake with a start, sitting up in her bed and gasping. Such vivid dreams... memories. But all of them were of victories, or of pleasant times.So why was her heart beating so fast? Why did she feel fear gripping her like a vice? Beside her, Seridur slept peacefully. All was well. Nothing was wrong. There was no reason for her to be afraid.She hoped.