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Message: <blockquote data-quote="hippocrachus" data-source="post: 2819902" data-attributes="member: 14148">Following the Magic“Get rid of her,” Ali’Shaun snaps at the bowing servant from behind his reading desk. The book held open in front of him covers all of his expression except for his eyes. The servant twitches nervously at the hate radiating from those orbs and waits to see if the Circle Leader would command anything else from him. The dark-haired woman reclining in the plush chair in a corner waves the slave away, which he anxiously obeys.“She may be worth more alive than dead, Master Ali’Shaun…” the beautiful wizard consults behind batting eyelashes.“She will not speak!” he snaps at his student with no less malice. He quickly clears his throat to get a hold on himself. She was an assassin, even if she was his pupil.“You misunderstand me,” she continues with a devious grin. “Resale value?”Ali’Shaun looks over his book at her in surprise. Sometimes Cithara’s cold demeanor sent a chill even through him, and his heart could freeze a white dragon’s egg.“You wanted to speak about your message from the Citadel. So…?” he asks, turning his attention back to the tome on his lap.“Some of the Lords are in an uproar concerning the dissension of Artemis Entreri…” Cithara begins with an expectant look. Ali’Shaun just looks on ineffectually. The Circle Leader doesn’t concern himself with the inner dealings of the Citadel of Assassins. In truth, most of the Red Wizards of Thay only use the Assassin’s Guild as a last resort. A blade of magic in the dark can kill just as effectively as one of steel.“Lord Hans wishes me to return to Anauroch to do some…field studies,” she summarizes curtly.“Absolutely not,” Ali’Shaun says without even considering the prospect. He ignores the narrow-eyed stare she returns him. “I have more important quarry for you.”“Your apostate again?” Her sweet tone could strangle a darkmantle.“No. Someone else.”~ Nae’talis ~A dream. What else could explain the myriad colors and emotions flowing around the cavern walls?A face wrought in pain and agony bubbles out of a stalagmite in front of the dreaming Nae’talis. A familiar face. What was his name? Oh, yes. Belgal. The slave.His lifeless eyes stare at the mage pleadingly, begging for release. For freedom.Freedom didn’t stack up to what he thought it would, apparently.Before the young mage could further relish the thought of the dwarven warrior begging to return to a life of servitude, wispy black tendrils creep around his ankles and slowly wrap his legs in a chilling grasp. The mage smirks and sends a stream of magical energy at the tendrils. He’d never done that before. A new spell?The tendrils aren’t defeated so easily and the mage’s calm look of defiance quickly shifts to one of panic. The black wisps wrap themselves all around the wizard and pull him to the ground forcefully.Nae’talis wakes in a cold sweat, looking around wildly. Hrolf sits by his pallet, deep in meditation. The elf is nowhere to be seen.</blockquote>

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