The Blossoming of the Ebon Lotus
Part 2: The Flaming Star of Miracles
“Aught and naught awaken thought.”
~Master Zyvox Mythsong
See Part 1: The Blossoming of the Ebon Lotus, Part 1
Zyvox received a letter from none other than, “Grandmaster Klyvaster Windpyre… I wish to offer my sincerest apologies to the outrage I—.” Zyvox did a double take and picked the letter back up, “Now, why is he playing flattery to my favor with an apology?” he asked himself. The letter revealed itself to be both an apology and an invitation.
It had been a few short months since Klyvaster and, frankly, most of the other members of the Phoenix Lotus had defected to their own little wizard club. An apology was unexpected.
The invitation letter was made from an obscure Pandaren flower mashed into a pulp and soaked in enchanted perfumes made from another even more obscure and pungent secretion from the gland of a creature rumored to very likely be Northrend Tuskarr. The flowers are, of course, cultivated by Pandaren monks over centuries on the peaks of their highest mountains; collected by Grummles and bid upon in exclusive auction rooms. The gland secretions are sourced from a sextuplet of identical Vrykul sisters sworn to some unfathomable vows and unfathomable ways, all of them coiling their long-braided hair around their left arms. Technically the sisters may have obtained the gland secretions from whalers, but the nature of their trade had only the most gossamer veil of plausible deniability. This was all pressed into a delicate floral vellum with intricate layers of embossment pressed in by artisanal Dwarvish machinists. The stationery was then embossed by Sin’dorei enchanters with intricate spellworkings to make it easy to see in any lighting, never keep wrinkles, and have just the right parchment handfeel. The stationery is then sold in Silvermoon’s most exclusive traders to master calligraphers. The calligrapher, being exceptional in his own craft, selected ink from a species of squid that had gone extinct from the northern shore of the Isle of Quel’Danas over 200 years ago. For those who know, and care about that sort of thing.
“Postscript:,” the invitation added, “Zyvox, just please don’t wear those horrendous Gnomish goggles you like so much.”
The letter, being torn up and then tossed in a fire, released an exquisite aroma. “I’d sooner step in a bear trap,” Zyvox huffed, “than be his guest of honor.”
Zyvox began dressing for the occasion. Fine blue robes with golden fur trim. A lion’s paw clasp on each boot. And of course, Gnomish goggles.
The Windpyre estate stood out tall amongst the snow-blanketed landscape. The grounds were being extensively maintained even through the winter’s chill. Manicured trees and hedges were in full bloom. The pathway defied the snow with subtle warmth enchantments. Zyvox’s steed began to relax its shoulders and trotted easily down the path.
Klyvaster Windpyre had a special hall constructed for his new society’s gatherings. It stood tall and was laid out like a small opera house with dining tables scattered throughout for more intimate conversation groups. The whole thing was done up in Sin’Dorei style and built to last millenia.
“Zyvox Mythsong. Glad to see you hear,” Zyvox heard a voice say behind him. One of Windpyre’s sycophants, Zyvox thought. “The Grandmaster asked me to see you to his private balcony. He has a special surprise for you.” Ah yes, it was Boristor Boldspell, scion of the Boldspell family, who also smelled of cheddar. “Just up this way.”
Zyvox followed Boldspell across the floor and up the stairs. Those in attendance were somewhat expanded from the Phoenix Lotus’ numbers. Zyvox recognized several high profile Magisters in attendance, a master of another secret society he knew something of as well.
Boldspell and Zyvox seated themselves in a large balcony holding over the room. It commanded a vantage of absolute oversight while affording a sense of muted privacy. The table had its own private buffet. As the two elves began plating their food, the hall was dimmed while the stage was showered in lights.
An arcane hum began to fill the air with the voice of the elf on stage, “Welcome to the mysteries and gathering of the Eclipsium Arcanorum. We gather tonight with our minds open and a thirst for power – for all the right reasons, of course,” he added, the crowd chuckling. “Please take a few more moments to talk amongst yourselves and fill your cups. There will first be a performance from the Sisters Spelltone Quartet, followed by a presentation from our very own Grandmaster Klyvaster Windpyre.”
The crowd clapped their hands and the sound of singing strings filled the air. Klyvaster stepped onto the viewing balcony. “Ah, Zyvox Mythsong. To see you here, well I can see times are certainly changing,” Klyvaster said, scanning the goggles on Zyvox’s face. “I’m honored. I also wanted to apologize in person. It was not quite exactly my intention to humiliate your Master Thaumastar. You standing up to me prompted me to be the wiser, stronger elf that I am today.”
Zyvox paused for a long moment before finally saying, “Apology accepted. So, the Eclipsium Arcanorum, is it?”
“That’s right,” Klyvaster grinned. “We are of course, upholding some of the old traditions while making plenty of room for the new.”
“Plenty of room, indeed,” said Zyvox.
“Plenty,” echoed Klyvaster. “In fact, I even wanted to offer you a seat at the table, so to speak. But I would have you wait to tell me your decision by the end of the night. If the surprises I have lined up for you don’t completely persuade you, I won’t know what to do besides ask again.”
“The apology was quite the surprise.” Zyvox chuckled, “Grandmaster, eh?”
“And I have another,” Klyvaster said, turning to Boldspell. “Would you go collect our remaining guests of honor?”
Boldspell nodded and scurried down below with awkward haste.
“So, what kind of advancements have you been working on,” Zyvox asked. “Surely more than just building and decorating this theater.”
Klyvaster chuckled, “Quite a lot of work has gone into all this all, but our practical efforts have yielded rather impressive results. You’ll see what I mean during tonight’s demonstration.”
Boldspell scampered back up the staircase followed by two others. Klyvaster chimed, “Master Thaumastar, thank you so much for being here.” The other elf was Zyvox’s own son, Pryam Mythsong. “And thank you for being here as well,” Klyvaster greeted.
Zyvox embraced his son with tears welling up in his eyes, “and how do I find myself surprised twice in one night? How have you come to me?”
“The Grandmaster pulled some strings and I’m to be pulled from the campaign in Northrend for a season,” Pryam said to his father.
Klyvaster added, “Your son shows great promise. His efforts were simply being squandered by the Magisters. He is actually going to be helping me with tonight’s demonstration.”
“Indeed?” Zyvox said, finding himself short of words.
“I tried to have Master Thaumastar’s son here with us as well tonight, but he is somehow assigned to an Orcish commanding officer who won’t give him even a moment away,” Klyvaster said.
“I appreciate the sentiment, nevertheless,” Master Thaumastar said, filling his plate with food. “The invitation was much appreciated, Grandmaster Klyvaster.”
“Oh, and what an invitation it was,” Boldspell said. His face broke into a grin. “In fact, the invitation letter was made from an obscure Pandaren flower mashed into a pulp and soaked in enchanted perfumes made from another even more obscure and pungent secretion from the gland of a creature rumored to very likely be Northrend Tuskarr. The flowers are, of course, cultivated by Pandaren monks over centuries on the peaks of their highest mountains; collected by Grummles and bid upon in exclusive auction rooms. The gland secretions are sourced from a sextuplet of identical Vrykul sisters sworn to some unfathomable vows and unfathomable ways, all of them coiling their long-braided hair around their left arms. Technically the sisters may have obtained the gland secretions from whalers, but the nature of their trade had only the most gossamer veil of plausible deniability. This was all pressed into a delicate floral vellum with intricate layers of embossment pressed in by artisanal Dwarvish machinists. The stationery was then embossed by Sin’dorei enchanters with intricate spellworkings to make it easy to see in any lighting, never keep wrinkles, and have just the right parchment handfeel. The stationery is then sold in Silvermoon’s most exclusive traders to master calligraphers. The calligrapher, being exceptional in his own craft, selected ink from a species of squid that had gone extinct from the northern shore of the Isle of Quel’Danas over 200 years ago,” said Boldspell, who knew and cared about that sort of thing.
Klyvaster smiled, “Of course, no expense to be spared. Here, we’ve formed a society where we feel welcome to demonstrate materially what this kind of fellowship means to its members.”
Boldspell began to reply, interrupted by Klyvaster, “Boldspell, would you head to the stage to start the preparations? The quartet has nearly finished their set.” Boldspell did as bidden.
Master Thaumastar turned to Klyvaster, “What kind of demonstration should we be looking forward to?”
Klyvaster said, “Within the Eclipsium Arcanorum, we have been exploring other strains of magic more broadly. We’ve been recruiting some of the true masters of elvish magic to our cause. When you see the demonstration, and you shall soon, you will see the the future that lies before us. All will be revealed soon.”
Pryam Mythsong added, “With the reignition of the Sunwell, the Sin’dorei have the authority and power to command any force to any purpose. The Grandmaster has helped me see that our power has, virtually, become unlimited.”
Zyvox frowned, quickly hiding his face with his cup.
“The might of the Sunwell preserves us from the corruption of Fel magics. May our people never again try to master it, and support those who would be tempted by its folly,” said Master Thaumastar.
“That being said, your son and I must begin,” Klyvaster said. “And fret not, Master Thaumastar. We wouldn’t dream of repeating past mistakes.”
Pryam patted his father’s shoulder as he began to head out. Zyvox choked down his pride and smiled at his son, giving him a nod. “I can’t wait to be surprised again,” Zyvox said.
The quartet finished their final song. Grandmaster Klyvaster was introduced and took center stage.
“Members of the Eclipsium Arcanorum, honored guests, we gather to explore the greatest mysteries to elevate ourselves, our children, our kingdom. Join me in the salute to the eclipse,” Klyvaster said to the crowd. Him and most others immediately covered their eyes with their palms, holding still for a moment before sliding their hands down and opening their eyes.
“A salute they call it?” Zyvox whispered. Master Thaumastar softly chuckled.
“Prepare yourselves. Our elder council will now gather to show you a display of magic like never before seen on Azeroth,” Klyvaster said.
“So my son is on this elder council too?” Zyvox mused. “Has he grown so much?”
The council placed a number of artifacts in strange configuration on the stage floor. They help up their arms and a swirl of magic began growing.
It grew, and grew, and grew. Swirling into a vortex around the elves at its center. Crackling noises drew gasps and expressions of awe from the crowd. The magical field began slowly converging and contracting its strength into itself.
“Behold!” Klyvaster rang out, “The future of the Sin’dorei!”
The magical field began turning in on itself, warping and snapping. A deep bass note filled the room and the lights flickered out. The room was somehow illuminated in a deep purples and violets from the magical source. It formed a portal pulling itself to a small sphere in the middle of the council. It was like a pure gem made of eternal night.
Klyvaster started, “Drawing from the powers afforded to us by the–” He stopped. “Dr-,” Klyvaster gasped and then began coughing. He grabbed at his throat.
A sound like the thickest ropes snapping beneat the ocean filled the room. A clacking sound captured everyone’s attention. Klyvaster’s choking episode brought most to their feet.
“F– FFfffff”, a voice came from the portal. “Feeeeeeeed. FEEEEEEEEEED.”
Horrific appendages surged from every angle of the portal. Great tentacles with spines leaped out and gripped at the council, bringing them all to their knees in an instant. It held them up by their heads, each of them hanging there without resistance. Their arms began moving unnaturally, conjuring spells of hungering darkness.
Other tentacles surged like vines, reaching out into the crowds. Peeling off robes, skin, and limbs.
“Pryam!” Zyvox would cry out, amongst a cacophony of screaming elves. Even as fear filled his chest, Zyvox began weaving a spell to strike out at the being.
“FEEEEEEEEEED!”
A seasoned battlemage tried crawling away as a thorned claw reached forth from the portal and grabbed at his leg, twisting it with brutish strength. Another arm pierced through his chest just as quickly.
“Zyvox, stand back,” Master Thaumastar pulled Zyvox’s shoulder with iron strength. They locked eyes, “All has been made ruin. I beg of you, bear witness to this and let my son know of this sacred art.”
Master Thaumastar pulled off his cloak and rose slowly off the floor. Facing the entity emerging from the portal, Master Thaumastar shouted “Bear witness! The Sin’dorei are eternal! I present to you the sacred technique of my family!”
A smoldering ball of flame appeared over Master Thaumastar’s head. He flooded mana into it as the ball became smaller and smaller, to the size of a white-hot point. The room went pitch dark for a moment as the spell appeared to disappear, only to burst forth into the most brilliant light Zyvox had ever seen. The spell had become like a star, blazing with unfathomable heat. Its gravity pulled at Zyvox, who took cover.
Master Thaumastar’s hair erupted into bursts of smoke as he continued to press every bit of life force he had into the spell.
“Behold! The Flaming Star of Miracles!” Zyvox heard his master shout, as the star bursted into greater size, filling the room with a surge of heat. The star shot forth directly towards the portal.
In an instant, an explosion grew filling the stage, only to be pulled in by the portal, collapsing in a muted explosion.
The portal was gone, as was the stage. There was nothing left of Master Thaumaster other than the scorched lower half of a skeleton. Moans of pain and horror could be heard filling the hall.
Without the goggles, Zyvox was certain he would have been blinded. His own hair had been burnt away and his body covered in burns. His son was gone. He fell over to his side.