Orrick the Grey steps through rubble, moving blocks of stone out of his way with a spell of telekinesis. He speaks as he walks, and floating at his side is a spectral hand that scribbles a record of his every word. "Decades of research, years of my life dedicated to the pursuit of lost knowledge, and yet I’ve learned more here in the past months than all of that time combined. Still, the greatest secrets of Elven High Magic have been beyond my grasp, like an itch just out of reach. Until today. I am sure that today I will find the key to… everything. If what Weenog reported is true, I will find it in this part of the Hand of the Seldarine."
The archmage moves another block, revealing crushed machinery of odd design. He crouches to consider it. "The mythal over this ruin is all but gone, though I think it could be rekindled with the proper spells. Spells I hope to learn…" He mentally lifts a hunk of metal, turning it about slowly in the air to examine every inch of it. After a long moment he deposits it onto an arcane disk floating behind him, alongside a dozen other interesting objects he has found in his careful explorations of this place.
He moves on, encouraged by the find, only to stop in frustration as his telekinesis spell wears off. It is a moderately powerful spell, and not one he can cast again any time soon. Thunder rumbles from his fingers, eager to blast the rubble clear in a much easier way. A more dangerous way… He sighs and snaps his fingers instead, summoning a large tome into his waiting hands. He lays it open on the floating disk, flipping to a page near the beginning. A simple divination spell might reveal provide answers to his desperate questions. A few painstaking minutes later his vision changes, revealing the presence of magical objects nearby. There is much residual magic within the stone… the dormant mythal. But it is something on the ground nearby that truly catches Orrick’s attention.
Dust. But not just any dust. Where much of the dust here comes from centuries of dormancy or the rubble of ruin, this is a very different kind of dust. He turns excitedly to his spectral hand, which jiggles in return as it writes his words. "This type of dust only results from one particular effect, and there is only one way I know to make use of it. But the risks… Forget the risks! I have come too far and searched too long! The knowledge is worth it, whatever the cost!"
Orrick throws himself into the mightiest casting of arcane magic he has ever attempted; the greatest conjuration spell known to arcanists of this age. Reaching deeply into the fabric of reality – too deeply! – he rewrites a small piece of existence. Before his eyes the dust on the floor gathers, streaming in from under fallen boulders and toppled walls. Driven by undeniable magic, the dust swirls into a squat humanoid shape, restoring life where it was once ripped away.
Orrick casts Wish
The archmage finishes his spell, gasping at the sheer effort of working such magic. He blinks his eyes, then stares at the being before him: a black-bearded dwarf with an ancient book in his hands and a very confused expression on his face.
"Um… Room service?"
Before Orrick can reply to the odd question, he feels a thrum of energy through the stones all around. More than energy. A rising awareness in response to his powerful conjuration spell. The mythal – with all its corruption – is waking up.
"We must go. Now!" Orrick pushes the dwarf to get him moving, and the two rush back through the passages cleared by the archmage earlier. Orrick’s legs, already frail from his near century of life, are only weaker from his mighty spell, and in moments his chest feels ready to burst. But he has not come so far for his research to be suddenly halted by his own untimely death. He pushes on.
Wizard and dwarf stumble free from the ruined structure just in time, throwing themselves to the ground outside. A violent, vibrating hum sounds just behind them as the Hand’s magical defenses come back to life.
Orrick wearily gets to his feet brushing off his robes. The Hand may be entirely inaccessible to him now, but at least he has the book… His eyes widen, bushy brows shooting upwards in alarm. "Where is the book?" Orrick’s voice climbs several octaves. "Don’t tell me you left it inside!" The dwarf can only shrug in reply, busy catching his own breath.
The archmage reaches out to strangle the miserable creature, but then his exhaustion catches up to him. He falls to the ground, gasping for breath and entirely unable to move for several minutes. When he finally gathers the strength to sit up, he finds two more figures present than were there a moment before - two youths with horned heads, leathery wings, and sinuous tails.
