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“Here you are,” Ludinus said, his tone soft and kind, as he set down two cups of steaming tea onto the coffee table. One for himself, one for his guest.
Essek Thelyss made no move to pick up his cup. He just glared.
Essek had been in his home for two days now, restrained by nothing but cotton wraps to bind his hands into useless mittens, and a thin anti-magic collar around his neck. The binds were quite ingenious – the wrappings were smeared with a substance that would burn when coming into contact with air, making unwrapping them a highly dangerous endeavor. The collar was one of Ludinus’s own design – an Antimagic Field had too much potential for misuse, and while a Silence would have done the trick, Ludinus needed Essek to be able to speak. Instead, the collar was laced with a complex array of enchantments that would collapse his throat if he ever tried to breathe so much as a cantrip, choking him to unconsciousness.
To anyone else, keeping an archmage like Essek Thelyss contained would require no less than five layers of arcane wards, a permanent Antimagic Field, perhaps even amputation of the hands and tongue. But Essek was still a snot-nosed child compared to Ludinus, and knew damn well who would win if an escape was attempted.
“I’ve told you many times before I have no intention of drugging you,” Ludinus said casually, picking up his own cup and taking a sip.
“How comforting,” Essek said dryly. He still did not pick up the cup.
“Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated, Essek. We are equals here, now.”
“Then why am I the only one in bondage?”
“A simple precaution. You understand, of course.”
Essek scoffed, a joyless grin spreading across his face. “Of course, Martinet. I understand plenty.”
Ludinus rolled his eyes. “I am no longer Martinet, Essek, just as you are no longer Shadowhand. I’ve shed those illusions of power. I no longer need them. I’m now a mere scholar, wishing to learn from a fellow mage.”
Essek stared at him, slitted pupils narrow as needles in the early morning sun. Then, slowly, he grabbed the cup in his wrapped hands, sniffed it, and took a sip.
“Do you enjoy this tea? It’s a Marquesian blend, I’m quite partial to it myself.”
Essek frowned, as if contemplating the flavor. He then leaned forward, clumsily scooped at least seven sugar cubes into his hand, and dropped them all into the cup. “Deeply unpleasant,” he said, carefully closing his entire bound fist around the teaspoon and stirring the sugar into the tea.
Ludinus hummed. “Right, of course. One of the Mighty Nein produces his own rare tea blends, correct? It stands to reason you’ve been spoiled.”
Essek sipped the tea (which was now more sugar than liquid by volume), wrinkled his nose again, and filled the rest of the cup to the brim with creamer. “I do not enjoy the flavor of arcane residue in my tea.”
“Residue? I promise you, this tea is authentic. I had some left over from my, ah… Excursion to Marquet.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Essek said. He tasted the tea again, made a disgusted face, then set it down. “But you conjured the water and the kettle, heated it using arcane flame, used magic to speed up the steeping, and, judging by the fact that the taste has only increased in strength, have conjured the sugar and creamer as well. Am I wrong?”
“I suppose not. I wasn’t aware that one can taste the difference between conjured water and naturally obtained water…”
“Of course not,” Essek scoffed. “You probably haven’t tasted anything else since you decided you were above drinking well water. That was, what? 700 years ago?”
Ludinus laughed at that. “I am not the one who grew up in the court of the Bright Queen, Essek. You grew up with a silver spoon practically down your throat.”
“And then I lived in hiding for seven years, with nothing but a single trunk of items to my name. We can all humble ourselves, Martinet.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“My own.”
Ludinus blinked. It was the first thing Essek had said that had genuinely caught him off guard, the free, casual admittance of guilt rather than continuing his verbal sniping. “You do not lay the blame with me? Or Master Ikithon?”
“Of course I do,” Essek said, rolling his eyes. “You were just as complicit as I. We are guilty of the same crimes. Though of course, your rap sheet is a bit longer than mine by now.”
“Of course, of course… But, it’s a new age! I believe that we can put these things behind us, and work together towards a mutual goal.”
Essek sneered. “I have a better idea. You undo my bindings, let me teleport away, and I will consider abstaining from summoning a singularity within your chest cavity when the Mighty Nein eventually find this place.”
Ludinus clicked his tongue. “How crude. I thought living in Rexxentrum for seven years may have civilized you.”
The corner of Essek’s lip twitched, but he did not otherwise reply.
“Oh, don’t look so glum. I’m sure you will find this project as fascinating as I do.”
“Alright fine. Tell me. Since you love the sound of your own voice so much.”
Ludinus smiled. “Of course.” He drank the last of his tea, then stood up, his hands folded behind his back.
“In this new world without divinity, the Weave has been… changed. Unleashed from the shackles the gods thought to place on their creations, now ours to wield as we see fit. It’s a whole new world of progress, of arcane innovation.”
“You don’t think that had anything to do with your Bloody Bridge yanking on the leyline network?” Essek said, head propped up on one wrapped-up fist.
“I am talking, thank you,” Ludinus snapped. “As I was saying, the Weave is open for true, unconstrained experimentation. Which has made me think of… immortality. True immortality. To be young forever, never aging or dying, to be invincible to the hands of time and mortals alike.”
He turned to Essek, who was still watching him with those bright violet eyes. His vertical pupils were needle-thin and he was squinting slightly, but Ludinus couldn’t tell if it was because he was deep in thought, or because of the morning sun coming in through the window.
“You and I could study together. I already have some promising leads on the location of a Beacon. Your knowledge of dunamis and the consecution process will be invaluable to this project. And of course we’d share the result. Your friends, your partner… They could be with you for centuries more.”
A small crease had formed above Essek’s nose. He tapped his bound fingers on the armrest of the chair, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he looked at Ludinus, really studied him for a moment.
“Why?”
Ludinus laughed? “Why what? Why do I wish to extend the mortal lifespan? I thought that’d be rather obvious. Death is no longer sacred now that the Matron has joined us on Exandria once more, so we-”
“No,” Essek said, leaning forward in his chair. “Why do you want to extend your lifespan?”
“To continue learning. To live in this new world, this new Exandria without the shackles of divinity, to-”
“You said you didn’t intend to live past the end of your mission. That you would hand this new world over to Exandria’s children. Well, you did it. You won. And yet here you are, wishing to cling to life still.” Essek said, razor-sharp fangs flashing every time his mouth opened.
“I wish to study-”
“That isn’t why you’re doing this.” Essek stated coldly, standing up from his chair, tucking his hands behind his back in a pose mirroring Ludinus’s. “You are the most powerful archmage in existence, you have commanded nations, there are thousands of people out there who would kill and die at your command, you have succeeded in bringing low the gods themselves…” He smiled wryly. “And yet it’s still not enough for you. You still cling to a mission, in the hopes that maybe, maybe, this one will fill the deep, dark pit in your soul.”
Ludinus’s chuckle was mirthless. “I didn’t bring you here for an impromptu psychoanalysis. It’s a new world, Thelyss. We should act like it.”
“You’re right. We should.” Essek approached Ludinus slowly, his steps barely making a noise on the hardwood floor. Drow were the smallest of the elven races, and yet despite the fact that Essek had to look up at Ludinus and was swaddled in oversized, borrowed robes, he commanded the room like he was still standing at the right hand of the Queen. “So stop this. Settle down. Bask in the victory, reckon with the guilt, maybe take some time to actually grieve what you’ve lost. Then move on. You don’t belong here.”
This time, Ludinus’s lip twitched. “You do not know what you speak of. I have nothing left to grieve. My family has been avenged, nothing like what happened to them will ever happen again.”
“Then why do you still hurt?”
“I think that’s enough out of you,” Ludinus hissed, and every muscle in Essek’s body went slack. He collapsed backwards, his head cracking hard into the floor.
Even paralyzed, his violet eyes kept staring at Ludinus. They were filled with pity.
Ludinus left the room. The paralysis would last for the rest of the day. Maybe the crick would be more cooperative once the sunbeam through the window burned his retinae out.
“You are being awfully recalcitrant for someone whose partner will not live to see the end of this century,” Ludinus said. He waved his hand, and the steak on Essek’s plate was cut into perfect, bite-sized pieces.
“I’m aware,” Essek said coldly. He clumsily fumbled his fork into a single, near-useless hand, and began stabbing at his meal. The other hand was tucked close to his chest, the new handcuffs he wore not allowing him to put it down in his lap.
“Caleb is a brilliant man, Essek. I’m sure he’d love to have many more years to dedicate to arcane study.”
“No, he would not.” Essek put a piece of steak into his mouth, chewed, then spat it out onto the floor. “Arcane residue tastes equally as disgusting when it’s on food, by the way.”
Ludinus Prestidigitated the mess away. “Your table manners certainly haven’t improved in your exile…”
Essek shot him a smile that was all teeth. “Only for you, Martinet.”
“I’m sure Caleb will change his mind when you present him with the finished product. Hundreds, thousands more years of paradise with his beloved. Who wouldn’t want that?”
“Caleb wouldn’t want that,” Essek said, leaning backwards in his chair. He shoved his plate to the side. “He’s not interested in living forever.”
“But are you interested?” Ludinus asked. He bit down on another bite of steak, chewing slowly. He couldn’t taste anything off. “You’ll lose him before you even enter your second century. You could have him your whole life and beyond, if you wanted to.”
“I could,” Essek shrugged. “But I know he’d never forgive me.”
“So you have considered it?”
Essek inhaled sharply, bound fingers flexing slowly. “We have talked… extensively, about this very issue. Of course I’d like more time with him, and of course he doesn’t want to harm me with his passing. But neither of us want to mess with immortality, of any kind.”
“And yet you are consecuted.”
It was the first time Essek had genuinely laughed in his presence. “Where’d you hear that?”
“You told me that when we first met.”
“Oh.” Essek shrugged, trying and failing to pick up his napkin. “Well, then I lied.”
“Why lie about that?”
“Because I was young and stupid and wanted to ingratiate myself to you by making it look like I knew more than I did,” Essek sighed. He finally managed to fumble the napkin into his hands, only to immediately drop it on the floor. “Sheisse.”
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I could get insights on the process from someone else. I still would love your input on the issue. An experienced dunamancer such as yourself would be incredibly helpful for setting up a framework with which to achieve my goals.”
Essek bent down to pick up his napkin, failed, and sat upright with a frustrated grunt, leaning back against the backrest of the chair. He stared at Ludinus, taking in his face like the older elf was a puzzle he was trying to figure out.
“What’s your mother’s name?”
Ludinus nearly choked on his steak. “Excuse me?”
“What was your mother’s name?” Essek asked again, clearly scanning Ludinus’s face for a reaction.
“That isn’t relevant to the discussion.”
“I believe it’s extremely relevant.”
“Why?”
“I wonder if you can even recall.”
“Of course I recall.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t relevant to the discussion.”
“Yes it is. What’s her name?”
Ludinus sighed. “Are we going to keep going in circles forever?”
Essek’s face was perfectly dispassionate. “We will not if you tell me what your mother’s name was.”
Ludinus snapped his fingers.
Essek’s eyes flickered to a point above Ludinus’s head. His pupils constricted into needles, his ears pinned back like a terrified animal. His chair clattered to the floor as he scrambled to get away, letting out terrified, high-pitched whines as he tripped over his too-long robes and got tangled up in his handcuffs.
Ludinus held the spell for far longer than necessary, if only to draw some form of satisfaction from the sound of panting and whimpering echoing from the wardrobe.
The star-dappled sky above the Shattered Teeth was always lovely. The air was crisp and bright, there was no smoke pollution to speak of, and a simple spell to clear away clouds meant the view was always perfect.
Essek wasn’t looking at the stars. Instead, he was crouched down in the garden, inspecting the plants that grew there. He reached out with his bound hands, grabbed two fistfuls of flowers, and pulled them out of the ground. He inspected the bottoms of the stems, where roots would have been on plants that weren’t magically conjured.
Ludinus sighed, waved a hand, and new flowers popped up from the spot Essek had just ripped out. “I’d appreciate it if you left the decor alone.”
Throwing his flowers away, Essek stood back up, slowly shuffling after Ludinus.
A small picnic had been set up under the largest tree, plates with simple foods and drinks like sandwiches, squeezed fruit, and tea scattered across a soft blanket. “Here, have some.” Ludinus said, grabbing a sandwich of his own. He quietly knew Essek had to be starving, he’d been refusing meals for days now and he’d caught him on multiple occasions sitting on the stoop, trying to catch rainwater on his tongue.
Essek grabbed the tea pot, poured himself a single sip of tea, and swallowed it down. Then, he took the pot in both hands and hurled it directly at the open window of the house. There was a massive crash from inside.
“Essek, going on hunger strike will not help either of us,” Ludinus said sternly. “You will help me with my project, starting tomorrow.”
“I will not.” Essek said.
“You will, or I will make you.”
Essek’s reply came in Undercommon. Judging by the tone, it was a highly vulgar insult.
“Childish tantrums will not help us either.”
A snarl left Essek’s mouth, his teeth bared and fists clenched in their manacles and wraps. After a moment of Ludinus not offering him a reaction, he took a deep breath, then another, then sat down on the blanket. He didn’t take any of the food on offer, just tucked his knees up to his chin. His robes rode up a little, exposing his bare feet and the new chain between his ankles, hobbling his gait.
It was silent between them for a long while. Ludinus ate, Essek stared out at the stars.
“How long will you keep me here?” he asked eventually.
“Until the project is done, of course. Which it will be soon, with your cooperation.”
Essek laughed mirthlessly. “Well, you do not have my cooperation, so then what? You’ll keep me around as a housepet?”
“If I must.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you will come around eventually,” Ludinus shrugged. “You are a selfish creature, Essek. I know you want to keep your friends around, even if you do not believe so now. When they begin to age and wither, that’s when you’ll wish you’d cooperated.”
Essek stared up at the stars again. He slowly flexed his fingers within the wrappings. There were little punctures and scorch marks on them from the day before, when he’d attempted to chew himself free and received a burned and blistered mouth for his trouble.
“If you wanted my knowledge, Martinet, you could have extracted it from my mind by force,” he said eventually. His voice was soft, almost sad. “If you plan to torture me into cooperation, you could have kept me shackled to a table in an underground lair rather than in your actual home.”
“You are surprised I’m being kind?”
“I think you’re lying to yourself.” Essek smiled, soft and pitying. “I think you’re keeping me here because you are lonely.”
Ludinus scoffed. “You know nothing about me.”
“You remind me… so much of myself. And I know what I was like when I was in your position. Powerful. Capable. Driven. And yet so desperately alone.”
Ludinus glared at Essek, who weathered his gaze without a hint of fear. “You are a child. You could not possibly know what it was like to grow up the way I have. To watch the world around you worship and cheer on the very deities that killed the world and murdered your family.”
Essek took a deep breath, grabbing a sandwich from a plate. Rather than eating it, he began to slowly shred it to pieces.
“My mother’s name was Deirta,” he said, quietly. “She had typhros. It’s a disease of the mind, where the memories of past lives overwhelm the memories of the now.”
Ludinus rolled his eyes. “I’m not interested in sob stories.”
“Nine years ago, I drove a dagger into her heart because the Luxon demanded it,” Essek said, voice flat and steady. “When I cried, she told me that it was unseemly to cry at death. When I couldn’t push the knife deep enough, she took my hands and pushed it in for me. The procession left as soon as the light in her eyes went out, leaving me on that altar with her corpse in my arms.” He tore another piece off the sandwich, dropped it on the ground. “That’s why I’m not consecuted. That’s why I didn’t care for the religious importance of the Beacon when I handed it over. Because I refuse to engage in and commit myself to a faith that demands its most faithful die for the crime of being ill.”
Ludinus stared blankly.
“After her death, I became cold. I stopped caring for anyone around me. All that existed in my mind was my mission. Every day, I’d work myself to exhaustion attempting to track the Beacon, cover up my crimes, keep in contact with you and Trent without anyone noticing, all while steadfastly ignoring the empty tower I’d come home to every night.”
“Are you going somewhere with this?”
Essek smiled wryly. “Doesn’t it sound familiar? We’ve lost family to gods everyone around us slavishly worships. We both devoted ourselves, body and soul, to the mission we’d created for ourselves to keep ourselves sane.”
“You and I are nothing alike.”
“The difference between us is thinner than a razor,” Essek said. “The main difference is that I ran into some people that were determined to break down the wall I’d built around myself. I lied to them, tried to manipulate them into various favors, and all I was met with was a wave of unending kindness and understanding. Even after they discovered what I had done, they were nothing but good to me. They made me feel again. Brought me down to the ground once more, so to speak.”
Ludinus stood up. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”
“I meant what I said that day in Nicodranas, you know?” Essek said, voice soft as if speaking to a small child. “I think some real friends would do you a lot of good. After all, in all your many years of life, you’ve never cared about anyone except yourself.”
“Be quiet.”
Essek screamed. He collapsed backwards, violently convulsing and screaming like he was being burned alive. Chains rattled as he struggled, the wraps around his hands the only thing keeping him from scratching himself bloody.
Ludinus bent down, grabbing the smaller elf by the collar as he sobbed and wailed in absolute agony. “I have had it with your incessant babbling, crick,” he hissed. “Now, you can either cooperate, or this will be waiting for you every day for the rest of your life.”
Essek, hyperventilating, stared at him through wide, hazy, bloodshot eyes. Then he screamed out the verbal component for Magic Missile, and the collar around his neck clamped his throat shut.
Ludinus watched, dispassionately, as Essek’s face turned a deep, bruised burgundy, his struggles slowing with the lack of oxygen. His eyes rolled back into his head as he was choked into unconsciousness, a brief reprieve from the pain.
Ludinus walked back into the house, and refused to think about what Essek had said.
Essek screamed into the gag, back arching in abject agony as another arcane word left Ludinus’s lips. His robes were soaked through with sweat, and even after he’d managed to shrug off the effects of the spell, he was left shivering and sobbing, muscles twitching as his overtaxed nerves fired at random. His wrists and ankles were chafed from how hard he’d yanked on the chains keeping him bound spread-eagle.
Ludinus gently reached down and pulled the gag out from between Essek’s teeth, allowing him to gasp in a full breath again. “You can make this stop anytime, Essek,” he said, voice honey-sweet. “I’ve already made a start on the project, all I need you to do is give your input.”
Essek let out a high-pitched, mad sounding giggle, eyes wide and pupils blown. “I know why you’re like this now. I know why you can’t ever let go, why you keep me around like a caged animal, why you made this stupid fucking cottage! You’re jealous!”
“I will not dignify that with a response, Essek. Your answer. Yes or no.”
Essek grinned wildly. “You look at me and are green with envy. Friends who forgave my sins, a partner who loves me unconditionally, a home I can always return to, you fucking wish you had what I have!”
Ludinus’s hand crackled with red electricity. He held it dangerously close to Essek’s face, and even in his mad ramble, he shied away from the force of it.
“You believe that what I have can be recreated by magic alone, but it can’t. It will never. You cannot have what I have because you HAVE no roots, you cut them off systematically because you’re too much of a coward to– AAGH!” Essek convulsed violently as Ludinus pressed the electricity into his shoulder, blood staining his teeth as he bit down on his own tongue.
“I can keep this up forever if I want to, sweet Essek” Ludinus cooed, wiping strands of sweat-soaked white hair from his prisoner’s face. “Just say the word and this ends.”
“You destroy everything you touch,” Essek wheezed, breathless. “You ruined Molaesmyr, you sold out Bysaes Tyl, you let Ikithon turn Empire children into assassins. You’ve never built anything. Not even this place, this idyllic haven, was built by your own hand, you think magic and shortcuts will bring you happiness but it will never, ever-”
The next arcane word caused Essek to choke on his own spit. He vomited bile and acid onto his robes, screamed and sobbed and wailed against the agony assaulting him.
It went on for hours. Essek continued to spit venom in-between screaming himself hoarse, but slowly lost coherence. He’d started crying out for people – members of the Mighty Nein (Caleb, Jester, Beau, Veth), and names Ludinus didn’t recognize (Verin, Ilhari).
Eventually, he lost his grip on Common entirely, babbling incoherently in the hissing, clicking language of Xhorhas. Reluctantly, Ludinus cast Tongues on himself. Not that it mattered, because while the words were understandable, the sentences they formed were utter nonsense.
Ludinus sighed. He grabbed a cup of water off the dresser, sat down on the mattress, and looked at Essek’s face.
His eyes were glassy and unfocused, his skin damp and shiny with sweat, his breathing stuttery and uneven. A dark spot had soaked into his robes near his crotch, the pervasive smell of urine slowly filling the room. The discomfort was half the point though, so Ludinus didn’t Prestidigitate the mess away.
“Would you like some water, Essek?”
“Mmmm… green beans.” Essek mumbled. “We planted… green beans in the yard… it meant… something. Caleb meant something… means… growth. He sees it and thinks… he’s made it.. we made it…” He giggled again. “We made it… We made… a house and– and green beans…”
Ludinus sighed. He summoned an Unseen Servant to prop Essek half-upright, and held the cup to his lips.
Essek sipped eagerly. Then, he pulled away from the cup, and spat the water directly into Ludinus’s face.
“You’ve made nothing,” he hissed, his voice sounding much different in accentless Undercommon. “You’ve built nothing. No connections to people, no home to return to. You couldn’t even be bothered to grow your own damn plants.”
Ludinus didn’t even dignify that with a response. He just spoke his arcane words once again.
Tongues did teach him something interesting. “Ilhari” wasn’t a name. Former Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, one of the most powerful mages in existence, was crying out for his mommy.
The sun had started to set when Essek’s torment finally stopped. Ludinus’s near-endless well of magic was finally starting to run dry, he was hungry, and his ears hurt from the crick’s incessant screaming. He’d screamed himself fully hoarse by this point, but he made up for it by violently, pointlessly thrashing around, causing the chains to rattle loudly.
Ludinus leaned forward, finally Prestidigitating Essek’s skin and clothing clean. He gently brushed the hair out of the man’s face.
“N-nau, nau mzild, qualla, qualla…” Essek whimpered, his voice so wrecked he couldn’t produce anything louder than a whisper. Tongues had run out a while ago, but then all Essek had been doing for the past hour was to beg for mercy, so keeping it up didn’t make much sense.
“Will you help me, Essek?” Ludinus asked, gently, kindly. “Will you help me let all of us live forever?”
Essek blinked heavily, struggling to focus. Blood was trickling out from beneath his cuffs, and he’d lost control of his bladder yet again.
“You could keep Caleb for the rest of your life, Essek. You could be immortal, without the shackles of religion to hold you back. It’s a whole new world out there. You could do anything.”
The pathetic heap of drow laying shackled on the bed of Ludinus’s guest bedroom seemed to consider these words. Then he slowly, deliberately, trembling head to toe with terror, shook his head.
Ludinus sighed. “That is a shame. But if this little discussion wasn’t able to convince you, I suppose it cannot be helped.”
Hope and dread flickered through Essek’s eyes in equal measure.
Ludinus brought his hand to the top of Essek’s head again, gently running his fingers through his hair. It was soft, the thin white strands not nearly as coarse as Ludinus had imagined them being. “And… I believe you’re right. I have been lonely up here in my solitude. It would be good for me to have a companion. Maybe a… What did you call it? A housepet?”
Dread consumed Essek’s face. “Qualla,” he rasped, “qualla, ori'gato ussa alu, ori'gato ussa alu delmah.”
“Shhh, none of that now.” Ludinus said, grabbing a small handful of glass spheres from the pocket of his robes. “Maybe once I’ve made a bit more progress on the project, I’ll give this back to you. I still would really love your input.”
The hand that was stroking Essek’s hair tapped his skull one, two, three times, the glass spheres shattered into dust, and Essek gasped, too exhausted to scream.
It brought Ludinus no joy to watch the Feeblemind set in, shredding the mind of such a powerful creature like a paper kite in a hurricane. He slowly reached over, unlocking the chains as Essek, eyes full of blank, animal panic, began to truly sob like a terrified child.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, bringing the sobbing and struggling drow to his chest, wrapping him in a warm, constricting hug. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”
Slowly, Essek pressed one wrapped hand against Ludinus’s chest, attempting to grab at his robes like a babe seeking comfort. Ludinus, despite himself, smiled.
Essek had been wrong. He had roots once more.