The group gathers together, marching in solemn procession toward the Mage Guild's main building at the far edge of the courtyard. The Prime Magister and Vicar, leaning heavily on young aides, limp and waddle to their destination, dragging their painstakingly crafted robes along the stone floor behind them.
Arienne quietly follows the delegation, her focus transfixed on the large, double wooden doors that open into the Royal Teleportation Chamber.
The view inside of the atrium demands appreciation as living branches of timber, laced with lengthy filaments of glimmering gold weave their way across the room's ceilings, twisting and curling into ornate, organic patterns that cascade down its walls, rooting themselves into the chamber's floor. Painted scenes of nature and delicate carvings of its verdant forms of flora bring the atrium to life with the Northern nation's deep-rooted reverence for nature and magic.
A mage apprentice welcomes the procession into the chamber with a courteous bow.
"Apologies for the modest seating arrangements." He says as he gestures the group toward the rows of chairs that wrap around the dias located in the atrium's center. "The chamber was not meant for such a large audience, I'm afraid."
All eyes in the room fall to the raised platform at its center as the room's whispers eagerly discuss the teleportation glyph array engraved into flawless stone while its arcane markings pulse with a subtle, calming blue-green glow.
"Expadition team, into the circle." calls the Prime Magister. A strong, powerful voice emitting from his frail body.
Arienne rises from her seat, along with Lukal Kosak, her loyal and trusted squire, who stands smiling smugly beside her. Other members of the audience each rise from their seats in turn, until a total of 12 are standing.
"Come, brave warriors, step forward! Destiny awaits."
The group moves through the rows of audience members, each harboring hardened expressions, erect postures and eyes burning with confidence and certainty.
"Behold, the divine delegation that will form our 56th Royal expedition." The Prime Magister announces, his crooked hands raised above him in veneration.
As his speech echoes on, detailing the experience and strengths of the 56th expedition's members, numerous aides load crates and gear onto the magic circle.
Aribelle watches through a small window, high above the ground, where she floats on a small cloud of compressed air. She nibbles at her thumb while silently chanting magic incantations in her mind.
She watches as Arienne's squire, Lukal, kneels to tighten her poleyn and check her boot straps. The rest of the expedition members do final checks on their equipment and provisions, whispering enchantments and sharing potions and buffs.
Arienne's vision meet's her sister's. The twins share a glance, enough to express their overwhelming love and care for each other.. Arienne winks and shoots her sister a sly grin, Aribelle meets it with a nod and worried smile.
Aribelle descends, intent on giving her sister a final embrace before she departs. As her boots touch solid ground, a soft, barely audible, strange hum sneaks into her body through the soles of her feet and rattles up her spine
"Teleportation magic? No, it can't be." she ponders, but a sudden tug at her neck alerts her to the presence of something more nefarious.
"Dark magic!" She yelps out as one of her pendants suddenly springs to life with a deep crimson glow.
It slips from her robe's collar and starts to frantically wave through the air, tugging her toward a dilapidated building a short ways off from the Royal Teleportation Chamber
She leaps into shadows, cautiously slinking between beams of torchlight that leak into the darkness between the courtyard's structures. She sneaks toward a small window near the building entrance, peeking at soldiers hauling in crates from an unmarked, cloaked carriage outside, into an underground area below the decrepit storage house.
Her pendant pulses wildly, digging into her neck as it pulls her toward the cellar entrance.
"Oh, Great Spirits of earth, wind, water and light… Please guide me!" she whispers.
She pulls a small, green-glowing vial of sticky liquid and quickly chugs the concoction, coughing and spluttering as she contends with the bitter, magic-burn of the potion.
"Thank you, Luna!" She whimpers through the disgusting aftertaste.
Her muscles and joints pulse with magical energy as it mutates her physical form. Limbs quickly shrink into tiny appendages, a tail unfurls from her lower back and thick fur explodes from every pore. A moment later, a tiny mouse darts out of Aribelle's empty robes.
She quickly scurries along walls and down the staircase into the cellar, weaving between stomping boots, jumps around strange pipes and conduits and sinks into a deep shadow.
Arienne notices each of the soldiers were the same blank, emotionless expression . Their eyes glazed over, staring forward unblinking as they went about their tasks.
She weaves through the underground chambers, slipping between rows of shelves and stacked crates and boxes. A glimmer of unnatural light, leaking out of a room deep within the cellar, grabs her attention. Squeezing her small frame beneath a solid, metal door, she enters the heavily fortified room.
She struggles to adjust her vision to the brilliant beams of light shooting in every direction. The clunking of mechanical contraptions and grinding metal ring out, nearly drowning out the soft murmurs of chanting voices.
Her eyes find their focus and her sight falls on the otherworldly contraption spinning in the center of the room.
The sight of a black-tech construct, powered-up and releasing forbidden energies breaks all mental barriers as she slips into unrestrainable shock, undoing the transfiguration potion's effects. Her body creaks and pops back into shape, as she stares, entranced by the black-tech machine's clashing gears, sending out beams of unnatural light and shadow.
Aribelle lays quivering, naked and disoriented, gasping for air as she settles back into her human form.
"B-Blasphemy!" She chokes as years of church indoctrination forces her to instinctively react. "Dark magic! This is forbidden! This is heresy! HERESY! HELP!"
"INTRUDER!"
All eyes in the room flick toward Aribelle, naked and shivering in a dark corner. Her wide eyes, transfixed on the Dark Lord's magic as they flash with reflections of the forbidden machine's emissions of light.
"Quickly! Her mouth. Before she casts. Bind her!"
Two soldiers break from their tasks and lurch towards Aribelle. She tries to utter an incantation, but is only able to release a series of gibberish-filled whimpers.
She is swiftly gagged, blindfolded, tightly bound and barely covered with a ragged coat, the soldiers begin to drag her out of the room as she protests in vain.
"Leave her!" a voice barks out. "The Prime Magister is about to begin his incantation. We cannot allow any distractions! One mistake, one miscalculation can completely throw off the calibrations."
They return to their tasks, checking and maintaining the black-tech device's functions while others chant incantations of dark magic.
Above them, the expedition team finishes their preparations and stands ready.
"Any last words, Knight-Captain Lindbergh?" asks The High Magister, smiling expectantly at Arienne.
She steps forward, unsheaths her sword, bends down to one knee and lifts her weapon above her head as she lowers her gaze.
"For the great kingdom of Northenia, for her people, we pray to the Great Spirits of Nature and Light, guide us on our journey to salvation. Light our path to victory. Bless our swords with your cleansing power and afford us the chance to bring peace, restoration and balance back to Northenia and all forsaken lands ravaged by the Dark Lord's influence. I, Arienne Lindbergh and all the members of the 56th Royal Expedition, pledge our lives and our swords to the glory of Northenia!"
Her voice projects loudly with unbridled confidence and reverence, which the audience greets with thunderous applause.
"Magnificently said, Captain Lindbergh. Now, let us begin the process." The Prime Magister declares. He raises his arms as he begins to zealously chant an extensive, intricate spell.
"Please, remain seated and silent." An adept warns the audience with a whisper. "His Grace cannot afford distraction during the incantation process."
Saturated in stunned silence, the audience watches as the magical circle's blue-green glow ignites into a vibrant kaleidoscope of fluctuating colors. The carved runes and glyphs lift off their carvings and float around the circle as etches of sparking light, twitching in the air.
The chanting grows louder as the incantation reaches its crescendo, while below the expedition team, Aribelle, bound and gagged, tries desperately to loosen her restraints. Her efforts prove fruitless and she is forced to sit in silence, watching the forbidden constructs and the profane magical energies they spew out.
"The incantation is almost complete. Fusion level?" A voice yells out amongst the room.
"All systems stable, Archmage, we are ready."
Aribelle, desperate to protect her sister from the fatal consequences of the Dark Lord's magic, works out a plan of action. She wiggles herself out of the labcoat covering her shivering body and focuses her mind, rapidly chanting incantations in thought. Her magic weaves through her body as it subtly, and feverishly vibrates all of her muscle fibres, quickly covering her body in sweat.
Drawing every bead and droplet of moisture off naked her skin and the air around her, she swirls it, in air just above her lap, into a dense ball of water, sweat and tears. With intense focus, she flings the water orb toward the black-tech construct in the center of the room, sending a spray of fluid all over the device on impact. Smoke and sparks swiftly follow.
"It's working!" Aribelle thinks to herself. Ancient knowledge that had been passed down for generations. Everybody in Northenia knew that the Dark Lord was weakest against water magic and so too were his constructs.
"No! The fusion-coupling… p-p-power… huge power fluctuations! We have to stop!"
"We can't! They are about to teleport…" the Archmage cries. "We must get out. It's overloading!"
Aribelle's face falls to despair, realizing her actions may have doomed her twin to a fate worse than death.
Above her, as the High Magister completes his incantations, a sudden eruption beneath the chamber startles everyone inside, but before the expedition crew can react, they abruptly vanish in a flash of blinding light.