B3 – Chapter 35: Handing out responsibility

Tristan returned to the Fey Realm and informed The Matriarch of the offer of Highlord Yoriand. She nodded sagely as he spoke, and upon him finishing his recounting of events, she spoke. “I believe that granting our residents who are capable of essence-weaving the ability to all utilize rejuvenation as a spell type, including the fairy dragons, of course, would be the most beneficial in the long run. And all they desire are a few Aegisium trees? A paltry trade in our favor.”

“Then you approve of the idea?” Tristan asked.

“Oh yes,” The Matriarch replied. “We must have a Fey Court vote for items of this magnitude, but remember that you can override the will of the Court. A ruler’s role is to be the ultimate authority.” She dipped her head slightly, “And we submit to your authority readily.”

Tristan nodded, “Then gather the Court for a meeting in thirty minutes.” He looked up to Felicity, who hung just over the top of his head off of his brow, poking her in the side. “Hey, go get Bertram, grandfather, Rory, and that one fairy dragon who can use rejuvenation.”

“I’ll go get them right now!”

“Bring them to the merchant stalls,” Tristan said as Felicity flew off. Moving over that way, he perused the now-prepared marketplace. All manner of jewelry, finely tailored clothing, perfectly forged armor and weapons, bottles upon bottles of elixirs and potions – the place was ready for the first visit.

If it goes well, Tristan thought as he snagged three amulets from the jeweler’s stall, we may have to consider a permanent portal to facilitate trade through the Citadel’s grounds…after we deal with these assassins for good. Taking the few items, he moved toward where the Gnome crafters were gathered. Giving them polite hellos, he went to the work benches and set down the amulets. Additionally, he took off his amulet-holding belt, took out each amulet, setting it off to the side, and put the belt alongside the three identical, silver and gold objects.

The elderly fairy dragon flew over, the same one that had tended Tristan’s wounds, and landed on the branches above, hanging down by his tail. “Lord Winterbloom. How may I assist you?”

“I need you to teach me. Well, I don’t need you to teach me, but I want you to teach me. That third order healing spell you used.”

“Cure Wound,” the fairy dragon replied as they shifted into an Elfanoid form, dropping out of the tree and flipping in the air before landing deftly. Then, standing up with a groan, “Getting too old for that.”

Tristan chuckled slightly as he stepped away so he could see the fairy dragon’s full body view. “Okay, show me.”

“First, you place both hands over the wound, palms above the wound,” the fairy dragon said as he held his hands in front of him for Tristan to see. “Then, you hook the thumbs around each other, making a butterfly of sorts. Keep the index and middle fingers together, but extend the ring and pinky fingers out – like so.” He did the motions, and then smiled, “It should look like a bird with four wings and a tiny body.”

Tristan replicated the gesture, “And the spell phrase?”

“Voima sisälläni, käsken sinua tulemaan esiin ja rauhoittamaan tämän uhrin haavan. Puhdista kaikki kipu ja palauta se oikeaan toimintaan ja muotoon.” (Power within me, I command you to come forth and soothe wound of this victim. Cleanse all pain and return it to a proper function and form). The fairy dragon’s smile widened to a grin, “And the essence should be pushed into your palms.

“Check my pronunciation…” Tristan began drilling the spell, ignoring when Bertram and Rory arrived as he used rote repetition to memorize it. Finally, he nodded. “I have it. Thank you for your time. You are dismissed.”

The fairy dragon shifted back into his dog-sized, winged form and flew away. Bertram cleared his throat, “What did you need, brother?”

Tristan smiled and gestured to the amulets, “I can use rejuvenation spells.”

Bertram chuckled, “So can I thanks to the human side.”

Rory nudged him with her shoulder and said, haughtily, “But you don’t know any.”

Betram shot her a glare, but Tristan spoke. “I am going to put a Cure Wound spell into each of these items. You both and grandfather get an amulet with the spell stored in it.”

“And you get a belt?” Rory asked. “What if I want a belt?”

Tristan gestured to the market behind him, “Go get something that can hold a spell. The Gnomes will be able to tell you if it can or not.”

Rory took off at a fast-paced walk as Tristan turned to the objects on the table, spun his essence crucible, and poured the energy into one of the emerald amulets that held the Pocket Dimension II spell. Reaching into the space, he withdrew his Omnitome and flipped the pages as he pulled up his section on Artifice. Right, Investiture of Artifice III…

Re-reading the spell he had not committed to memory, he spun his crucible and made the appropriate gestures; palms on either side of the first amulet, spreading the index and middle fingers facing the object and pointed inward toward the item, pinky fingers and thumbs extended, and ring finger tucked into the palm. “Que ce recipient soit prepare pour l’infusion d’essence. Qu’il devienne un endroit où le sort peut sancrer, prêt à être invoqué. Renforcez ce récipient pour qu’il puisse contenir le sort.” (Prepare the vessel for the infusion of essence. A place where the spell can sit, ready to be called upon. Reinforce this vessel to hold the spell).

He felt the essence surge through his body; the cooling sensation drifting down his arms before coming out of his fingertips in a slight stream. The amulet glowed a bright silver, and then Tristan quickly switched his hands to the gesture for Cure Wounds he had just practiced, and spoke the spell phrase as he pushed the essence into his palms. The same silver light flowed out and became a bright golden glow before fading into a sparkling cascade of prismatic stars.

Tristan grabbed the amulet and handed it to Bertram, “Try it out.”

Bertram raised a quizzical eyebrow, drew a dagger from his belt, and made a small cut on his forearm. He closed his eyes, gripping the amulet in his other hand, and as Tristan watched, he was transfixed by the skin closing over before a very minor scar was all that remained. Bertram opened his eyes and cackled with delight. “This is a kingly gift, Tristan. You keep giving me all this shit, and I’ve given you nothing in return.”

Tristan shook his head, “You let me take the mind dragon’s essence crucible. That alone is a gift all its own.”

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Bertram sighed and nodded, “I don’t think it equates…but very well.”

Tristan turned back to the workbench and repeated the feat of essence-weaving on the other amulets and his belt. Rory came over holding a very pretty, engraved bracer made of Starmetal. “The Gnomes said this would work,” Rory stated.

Tristan performed the same two spells in rapid succession on her gear before handing her the object. His grandfather arrived a few moments later with Felicity perched on his head, and Tristan handed him the amulet, explaining what it did.

Hurvun chuckled, “This is a lordly gift.”

Felicity frowned and made small paw-claw biscuits on Hurvun’s head. “Tristan…where’s mine?”

Tristan tossed her the amulet that Rory had chosen to replace with the bracer, “Here you go.”

She reached her tail up and caught the amulet’s starmetal chain with the sinuous length. “It’s pretty,” she said as she slipped it over her head.

Tristan quickly socketed his amulets back into the belt, pulled the cloth sleeve over to hide them from view, and then buckled it on once more. Putting the Omnitome back into the Pocket Dimension II, he dismissed the spell. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to attend a Court meeting.”

Rory nodded and took Bertram’s hand, leading him away toward the Summerbalm Springs, whilst his grandfather walked with him for a few moments to the Queen’s Wood. “You’re a good lad, you know that, son?” Hurvun asked as he ruffled Tristan’s hair.

“Hey you old fart!” Felicity flew off of Hurvun’s head and plopped onto Tristan’s, “That’s my territory,” she growled as she made aggressive paw-claw biscuits on Tristan’s head.

Hurvun let out a chuckle that turned into a brief coughing fit before he regained his breath. “Damn these old bastard lungs,” he grumbled.