THE ZARRYIOSTROM "PREPARATIONS CONTINUED" CHAPTER ONE BY NENE THOMAS

[putnamwitches]

"Preparations continued"...
In the main chamber of the Grand Cathedral, another elven mage stood contemplating the murals, but for entirely different reasons than her fellow mage or his companion. Enaria Wintersong, Tavian Two-Blade’s younger sister, had always loved this particular image, and the restoration had revealed so much obscured detail that she couldn’t help but stare. It was as if she was rediscovering the image altogether, though she had stood in this very spot countless times over her many decades in Ithram. Out of courtesy for her rank, the priests always left her alone with her thoughts, believing that she was finding inspiration from the iconic imagery. In a way, she supposed she was, though it was very unlikely that any of the priests would approve of her thoughts. The exquisitely detailed painting depicted Zarryiosiad after her Ascension, transformed from mortal flesh into the form of a mighty dragon. The majestic dragon was standing in the very heart of the Valley of Flame, and had just single-handedly destroyed the united armies of the Fae’Rohs with a single white-hot jet of purifying dragonfire. It had been at this battle that the Fae’Rohs had been forever destroyed, and the rise of the humans had begun. Enaria often wondered how different history would have been had Zarryiosiad not been there, or had never been born. Would the Fae’Rohs still be in power, forever dominating the lesser races with their mastery of earth magic? Or would another hero have risen up to challenge the Fae’Rohs’ power? Enaria would have given much for the clairvoyance needed to see the answer.
.......... Most people came to this hallowed spot to honor the memory of Zarryiosiad and to remember the sacrifices her family had made for the good of the world. But Enaria came here for different reasons. While others gained inspiration and comfort from the thought of Zarryiosiad sacrificing herself to rid the world of evil, Enaria desperately wanted to know how she had done it. What power had she touched that had allowed her to destroy all who stood against her in a single instant? Enaria did not believe in a divine being, the way the prattling fools of the priesthood did. The only thing Enaria believed in—the only god she prayed to—was power: and no matter how much power she achieved, she always wanted more. Zarryiosiad had become a symbol to her of what she could accomplish if only she desired it enough, and so she had devoted her life to learning how the Avatar had done it.
.......... Unfortunately, only the most rudimentary of information had survived the estimated 2500 years since Zarryiosiad had existed. Contrary to popular belief, there had actually been a few survivors of the battle—those who were quick enough or had sense enough to flee the carnage before Zarryiosiad had destroyed everything else—and all of their stories agreed on a single point: Zarryiosiad had transformed into a dragon, and had ended the battle with a single impossibly powerful breath of dragonfire, before dying at the hands of the greatest villain of the age, the vile Severius, the Dragonslayer. Enaria was one of the eight members of the Mage High Council, and so had access to all of the secret histories of the mages throughout history. Physical metamorphosis was indeed possible, but it required absolutely precise control. Mages had successfully transformed themselves into all manner of creatures, both mundane and fantastic. But the one thing that was incontrovertibly true—the one rule above all for any transformation—was simple: any attempt transform into the form of a dragon ultimately meant the mage would cease to exist, leaving only a mindless dragon behind.
.......... Every text she had read agreed on the same point: the hardest part of transfiguration wasn’t the actual transformation itself; it was holding on to your identity in the new form. The slightest miscalculation, the slightest distraction, and whatever form you had taken would consume your mind utterly, leaving nothing of you behind. There would be no recovery, no rescue, for there would be nothing of you to retrieve. You would become the creature you had transformed into for the rest of your days. Still, however difficult the task it was still possible to do it and survive…with one exception. Retransformation wasn’t merely difficulty when the creature you attempted to transform into was a dragon—it was flatly impossible. That hadn’t stopped countless mages throughout history from trying, however. There was always some fool who believed that he or she had the key that all those who had come before had missed, and would test their beliefs in the only way they could: they attempted the transformation. There was a room in the Mage Citadel dedicated to containing the results. Dragon skeletons lined the walls and filled the empty spaces, carefully reconstructed after all of the efforts of the other mages to undo the transformation had been exhausted. The skeletons were labeled with the names of the lost mages that had tried and failed, and a brief history of their lives was inscribed on a memorial plaque set beside the remains. The transformation itself wouldn’t kill the mage, but it was impossible for a mage that had become a dragon to reverse the process. A mage that failed to reverse the transformation was far too dangerous to leave alive, for even the least powerful of dragons was an extremely deadly creature, so the Mage Council would ultimately be forced to destroy the beast. The body would then be dissected and studied, and eventually, when there was nothing else to learn from the corpse, the skeleton would be reconstructed and preserved, then hung in the Draconic Hall as a warning to others of the fate that befalls all who try to touch the power of the gods.
.......... And yet, Enaria knew that the belief that a successful retransformation was impossible to achieve was a lie, for she was standing before the proof: Zarryiosiad had transformed, destroyed everything around her, and somehow returned to mortal flesh after the Dragonslayer had struck her down. That had never happened with any of the other attempts mages had made to recreate the power Zarryiosiad had shown. A mage that was killed as a dragon remained a dragon even after death. Had that not been the case, there would be no Draconic Hall at all, for there would be no corpses to study, no bones to preserve and recreate. And yet, the body of Zarryiosiad had been found by her few surviving supporters and had been carried out of the Valley of Fire to be buried with reverence at some secret location, and that location had been forever lost. For the second time that day, Enaria found herself wishing fervently for the clairvoyance necessary to locate that tomb. Without the physical proof that Zarryiosiad had somehow reversed the transformation, all she had to go by was legend, and Enaria wasn’t fool enough to risk her life on a 2500 year old story.
.......... A small sound brought her out of her reverie. So lost was she in thought that she had utterly forgotten her companions, and one of them had cleared his throat to gain her attention. She turned to look at the person who had made the sound, and for a full second her unfocused gaze failed to recognize either of the two men standing next to her. But the moment passed, and Enaria finally noticed both Archimagus Cedric DeVir and the Patriarch of the Zarryiostrom, Samuel Varic. Both of them looked bemused, with Varic openly smiling at her, and DeVir shaking his head in consternation. When they were sure she had mentally rejoined them, Patriarch Varic spoke.
.......... “I thought that you of all people would appreciate the work that has been done to restore the murals. I remember well that when I was a very young boy, just after my family gave me to the church to be raised in the Faith, the Cathedral had a visitor. As an initiate, I was often given the task of sweeping these halls and polishing the benches and railings, and one day we were pulled aside and told that on that day we had a very important visitor. We were ordered by the Archidraconus at the time not to disturb this visitor, and to go about our tasks quietly so as not to distract her. To my great surprise, the visitor turned out to be a beautiful elf mage who stood in that very spot, and stared up at that painting completely lost in thought. I remember sneaking glances at this visitor as I swept—as did many of the other initiates—and I wondered what it was that she saw when she contemplated the painting. As an initiate, I knew better than to go against the orders of an Archidraconus for any reason. As the Patriarch, I find that I am suddenly in a position to ask that very person I watched so very long ago directly, without fear of a lecture or a switching. So I will. Archimagus Wintersong, when you stand in that spot and look up at the painting of Zarryiosiad Ascended—May She guide and protect us forever—what is it that you see?” Enaria, momentarily taken aback by the question, remembered an earlier thought and it made her smile. You would not approve of what I am thinking, old friend. Instead, after a moment’s thought she replied,
.......... “Zarryiosiad has been an inspiration to me my entire life. Any time my burdens threaten to overwhelm me or my responsibilities become too onerous, I have but to stand here and reflect upon the burdens and the responsibilities that Zarryiosiad herself undertook in her life. It gives me great comfort to know that no matter how great my duties may have become, or what obstacles may appear before me, they pale in comparison to those of the Avatar.” As she spoke, Varic beamed.
.......... “Just so. The lessons we have learned from Zarryiosiad’s example are legion. But foremost among them is that as great as our burdens may become, our sacrifices are as nothing when compared to the trials of the Avatar. I thank you for answering my question, and fulfilling a lifelong ambition.” Enaria bowed graciously to the Patriarch, all the while thinking if only my own lifelong ambition were so easily realized.
.......... Archimagus Cedric DeVir let this go on for a few more moments, then said,
.......... “If we could get back to business? Our burdens may not be as great as those of the Avatar, but they also aren’t getting any lighter with us just standing here.” Cedric DeVir had a well-known reputation for being very practical, and for not exactly being an overly enthusiastic patron of the arts. He could appreciate the skill involved in the creation of the mural, but to him it was simply another painting on a slightly grander scale, and paintings had no practical value. Both Enaria and the Patriarch turned their attention to him, and Enaria said,
.......... “I suppose we should. But allow me to compliment you on the restoration, Patriarch Varic. It has been masterfully accomplished.”
“Indeed it has, Your Holiness. I trust you were not charged too much for the effort?” Enaria, Cedric, and Patriarch Varic turned to face the new arrivals. When they recognized Tavian and Ephraim, they offered bows and handshakes amongst them. After the proper greetings had been exchanged, Patriarch Varic responded,
“Not at all, not at all. While I’m sure we might have found someone to do the work for less, sometimes you do get what you pay for. The group responsible for the restoration boasted that the results would be astonishing, but I never expected this.” Varic swept his hand upward to draw attention to the glistening silver dragon, forever poised in triumph over a burning wasteland.
“But as Cedric has reminded us, there is work to be done this day. Will you follow me to my offices? Ephraim, please join us.”