The Benefits of Cosmic Power (II)

They set off as soon as the wizards three all rose from their rest and joined the young dwarf and woman for a quick breakfast, a fairly luxurious fare even so, served by the spectral servants. After Khelben dismissed his conjured abode and checking to see if the Mind Blank was still in place – it was, Bhaal seemed entirely cut off from the waking world for now – they headed north.

They only travelled for a few hours, however, at which point they veered off the road and quite a distance into the forest to look for a spot more out of sight where Khelben could summon his mansion again.

"No more outrage over this not being a proper experience in adventuring?" Imoen quipped at the oldest man there.

"Seeing as the lad won't be sleeping a wink and thou and Gorion will likely take turns resting to keep him company, there be little point to advocating the all too real benefits of sleeping in a proper ditch for the sake of experience." Elminster fiddled with the pipe he was smoking as he said that, barefaced. "We shall have to settle for the sub-par shelter of yon Khelben's Magnificent Mancave."

Said man threw the other achmage a cross look. "What he means is that we need to fortify and ward our position against scrying before we start to meaningfully take steps against a power, even a dead one." The Archmage conjured a new version of the mansion before speaking next. "Ideally we would do this at the spot of the ritual itself, but the Friendly Arm Inn does not exactly lend itself to such personalised infringements on others' property and Bentley Mirrorshade runs a strict community, for all that he used to be an adventurer at one point, and a thief at that."

"I don't think you ever explained why we need to do it there," Imoen said. "Wouldn't it be easier and safer to just do it out here where there's less chance of someone dropping in on us?"

"You mean other than the too real chance of the Bhaal remnant ripping at the Weave tapestry making up the mansion and killing us all or worse?" Gorion asked drily as he moved about, marking points where portable ward stones would go.

Imoen winced. "Yeah, besides that." A pause. "I mean, it's not like we need the mansion, is it?" It must have pained her to say that, given how much she loved the service and comforts that came with it.

"It be thematically appropriate to use the Inn," Elminster said from where he moved in Gorion's wake and magically digging holes for the stones. "Also, ritually significant enough to mayhap give an edge to the final setup. A minor one, but an edge all the same. I believe 'tis clear we canst in good conscience forgo such."

Imoen looked at Cyrus, uncomprehending.

"The Friendly Arm was once a holdfast controlled by one of Bhaal's priests by the name of Mericor," the dwarf supplied helpfully. "Said priest was killed in human form. Then he was killed in his undead form. The latter involved the destruction of most of the keep interior and a fair bit of the surrounding countryside." Hope's light fluttered comically behind her eyes at his bland retelling but Cyrus wasn't quite done yet. "Then, as you know, about 20 years ago the unclaimed fortress was finally cleared of the remaining monsters and turned into an inn with its own walled community by the good gnome Bentley Mirrorshade."

"Huh," Imoen blinked a few times before frowning in thought. "So it's a site where Bhaal, or at least his influence on this plane and region, was defeated for good."

"In a three-step process even, yes," Cyrus nodded, absently scratching Arawn's jaw. "Defeat–destruction–reclaiming."

Imoen hummed but didn't look altogether convinced of the viability of that plan. "Doesn't Bentley have rules against this sort of thing we're planning to do on his property though? Wizards' left thumbs peace-bonded to their belts and all that?"

"A trivial thing to overcome," Elminster waved her off. "As for the rest, we shall simply have to go with asking for forgiveness rather than permission. After all, a soul is on the line."

The three wizards spent that first day warding the area to a ludicrous degree which the two Chosen of Mystra nonetheless only deemed "barely adequate on account of them being mere temporary arrangements."

The young dwarf spent that time using Alter Self to regrow his hair, beard and mustache until he looked like a proper dwarf again. It wasn't strictly permanent but he knew enough of metamagic to make it so he only had to refresh the spell every few days. Good enough until they grew back naturally.

Metamagic. One of the many benefits of having an Arcane Scholar of Candlekeep for a father.

The second day abruptly took a turn for the ludicrous when Elminster revealed what their strategy for "maximising their odds" was, since Cyrus' divinely-inspired soul had been kind enough to offer the full ritual scheme on a silver platter and they did not need to invest more time in that. Specifically, the plan was using Wish over and over to enhance Cyrus' attributes. All the attributes. Five Wishes apiece to be specific.

Since they were pressed for time, Elminster said mildly, there simply was no recourse but for him to select an attribute, enhance it to the limit, then use one of the remaining Wishes to restore his entire spellcasting ability and repeat the process over and over and over again until he was done. And yes, there was a limit because five chained castings per attribute was the best arcane magic could handle apparently, before it was no longer a matter of addition/enhancement and more one of changing fundamental parts of the recipient's mind and body. Which was never pleasant for anyone involved and fortunately impossible within the bounds of the wording.

Warding the area to kingdom come made a lot more sense all of a sudden.

So.

30 wishes in sets of five apiece.

Well.

That happened.

Well, almost. Wishes stopped working to improve his intelligence after the second casting and they didn't work to improve his Charisma at all.

"How very odd," Elminster said after the Wish failed to take, looking quite puzzled after checking to make sure no stillness of death was involved. Confused, and not just on the inside.

It would have been the perfect cue for Khelben to say something or other but teacher was busy on the other side of the topiary garden – because yes, the mansion had one on the inside, somehow – doing to Gorion what Elminster was doing to Cyrus. "Seeing as his continued breathing is what's kept you alive and functional all this time" had been his reasoning when Cyrus asked. He was not running into any obstacles, apparently, unlike Elminster.

Of course, that only meant Imoen got to comment on the development instead. "So his intelligence was near the more-than-mortal threshold and his charisma is already beyond ridiculous." She shrugged. "I could have told you that."

"I am sure," the Sagef of Shadowdale said drily. "Because none of the rest of us would have seen… any… signs." The man trailed off, then turned to stare at Cyrus, mouth ajar.

Cyrus did not fidget, but only because he did not feel the natural emotional response to that intense gaze since he didn't feel much of anything.

"Well spank me rosy." Elminster Aumar laughed to himself and stowed his pipe away. "Beyond ridiculous indeed," he muttered, looking at the dwarf again. "I only intended to be in this region for a scant hour the other day and was entirely determined to stay neutral in the matter of Bhaal's children. And yet here I am, abusing cosmic power on your behalf." The ancient man squinted at the dwarf, as if trying to divine some fell trait that he could dub responsible for the utterly total way he'd been swept in another's current.

Cyrus didn't have to make guesses as to that. It was all there, in his soul.

"I don't see it."

Imoen turned around to hide a smirk. And some snickers. And possibly some disrespectful gestures.

"I don't see it," the man repeated. "But I suppose results speak for themselves," the Archmage of Shadowdale sighed, smiling wryly. "Few are those who can claim to have commanded Elminster Aumar. Fewer still are those who can rightly claim to have actually made him obey."

WE'RE GOING! / They Went.

"And he did it all after drop-kicking you in the middle of the road to sit in the dust," Imoen nodded sagely. "And yes, I am well aware of what drop-kicking really means, thank you."

The white-haired and bearded human – Cyrus still liked Gorion's facial hair better – glared sourly at the girl. "If I required commentary from the peanut gallery, lass, I'd have requested it."

"Yes sir, sorry sir."

Blatant lies, naturally.

Elminster knew it as well but switched to glare at Cyrus anyway.

"… I'm not going to apologise for the way our first meeting went," the dwarf said stubbornly. "Everything I said still applies."

"Oh woe," the man despaired, supporting his eyes with his pipe-free hand. "Oh woe is me, that I shouldst be the subject of such ungratefulness! Especially after all I have and further intend to see done for thee."

"I am, in fact, extremely grateful," Cyrus replied with total sincerity. "Which is why I am willing to hold that matter separate from this one, even though the reason we got ambushed and Gorion nearly died and I ended up killing my first person which resulted in me going off the deep end is all because you sent Gorion that letter telling him-"

"Yes yes yes!" The Archmage waved him off and left. "Perhaps the extra wisdom thou just gained will allow thee to reassess thine opinions regarding certain relevant parties. Come, girl! 'Tis your turn to submit yourself to my ministrations."

Imoen pointed at herself. "Wait, really? I get to be-"

"Did I not speak proper common, lass? Come along!"

She went, though she couldn't help herself from one last comment. "There are no words to say how wrong the way you said it sounded, by the way."

"I am sure thou will have many more misgivings to voice by the time I am done messing with thine body and mind."

"I knew it! Old men are perverts!"

"And afterwards thou may stay and watch as I do to the lad's wolf precisely what I am about to do to thee."

"… You're messing with me on purpose, aren't you?"