E V E N T ☆ 4

Solstrake. The heart of the Southern Isles Rebellion.

Those of you who don't know the island's history are thoroughly educated during your two week-long sea journey. Your peers in the Red Dynasty know the stories well; some of the Sun devouts as well. The story, after all, is legendary.

As you move slowly north, hiding out for days in coves or inside patches of shimmery mist as Red Dynasty ships pass by, thankful for the Gem of Thieves' Passage that cloaks your presence... you learn the tales.

The Southern Isles, though the southernmost Dynasty-controlled territory, is actually north of Port Heritage. And the island of Solstrake is the southernmost tip of the archipelago -- so south, in fact, that bloody wars have been fought over its ownership, arguing whether or not the Southern Isles should even control such a far-flung island.

When the Southern Isles rose up against their Dynasty occupiers, Solstrake was a primary seat of conflict. Its inhabitants were already an armed, warmongering people, with a rich history of pillaging and plundering. The settlements on Solstrake were constantly at war, destroying cities and fighting for dominance -- until they found a common enemy in the Reds.

It did not go well. And as, finally, your ship docks on a sandy shore, you view the aftermath.

Solstrake is in ruins.

This is General LOCHLUN's doing, explain your Red Dynasty peers. This is his legacy.

The island before you is not the thriving shrubland you were told about. It's a desert. Every tree, every building has been razed to the ground, and in 20 years, nothing has regrown. Before you rolls out endless sand and rocks. An orange-rusted steel sword sticks out of a stone pillar nearby, and you know that all of your strength could not pull it back out.

The Sun Temple looms on the horizon.

By now, you know that, according to recorded history, this is the oldest Sun Temple in the Godsea. The original peoples of Solstrake built it in worship to the war goddess. The massive limestone structure is crowned by a giant bronze sun medallion; you squint against its gleam as it reflects onto the demolished cities below.

It's said that when General LOCHLUN fought to retake Solstrike and claim the temple, that bronze Sun glowed until it was blinding. The plains caught fire. The island became a wall of solid flames.

To this day, nobody knows if this was orchestrated by LOCHLUN-- a brutal, genocidal act to put an end to the rebellion of Solstrike once and for all -- or if it was interference by Sun herself.

You stand at the edge of the ruin and rubble, feeling the weight of thousands of deaths clinging like sweat to your neck.

You can almost feel the flames.

Spellster's Lane somehow manages to maintain a silvery spray-haze even at high noon, and as always, it casts the neighborhood with a mysterious aura.

Sprays bob in clustered clouds; you have to bat them away from your face as you navigate past the stalls and stores. Mages of various repute call out in melodious voices, waving shimmering amulets and glittery potions. Young lovers ooh and aah, bending their heads together to admire the wares.

Any actual magicians in your party can't help but roll their eyes.

Things smooth out the further you traverse the neighborhood. It begins a sharp incline, and soon, you're breathing raggedly as the narrow, cobblestone street winds higher and higher -- until at last, you break out into the open.

Before you stands Port Heritage's Magisterium.

Some of you, perhaps, have been here before; there are occasional tours, and of course, any citizen is able to come to the Magisterium when in need of magical help. The golden gates shimmer in front of you, behind which rises a huge building made of smooth, polished purple stone. Academic towers and turrets surround a quad with lush green grass -- and above it all is an enormous orb made of opaque black glass. This, you know, is the Magisterium's famous observatory, where the magic-inclined can scour the stars for hints from the gods.

Archmage ISAK's scroll is tucked safely into your belongings. It was delivered without fanfare to the Dancing Spray, and passed on to the party by one of the bar maids. You got the distinct impression that Admiral HYLAINE was not aware of this contact.

Bound with a simple purple ribbon, the scroll included a gift: a small purple badge inscribed with the Magisterium's feather quill logo.

This will allow you passage, read ISAK's letter. Come see me in my office, please. At once.

On the quad, trainee mages laugh, shoving each other and shouldering their satchels as they hurry off toward classes and extracurriculars. Overall, it's a jovial scene, thrumming with magic and optimism and the excitement of youth.

It doesn't match with the fear just beneath the surface of ISAK's written words.

There's no more reason to stall. You retrieve ISAK's entry badge.

With a deep breath, you push through the gates of the Port Heritage Magisterium.

With the Navy Academy secretary distracted by the fake(?) announcement of WILLIAM and EMIL's engagement, the party quickly rolls the file cart into LUDOVICA and AZZURRA's office.

The austerity of the room is exactly what you'd expect from the carcharus sisters; two identical desks face each other, files line the bookshelves, and there's a truly terrible wallpapering job on the back wall.

"It smells like ass in here," ZELL mutters. "VLAD, did you beef?"

VLAD does a double take. "Ugh! No, I did not --"

"Grab a file, everyone," MARLOW commands.

Knowing that you could be discovered any moment -- discovered not only by the intimidating shark twins, but also potentially violating the will and privacy of your only benefactor so far, ADMIRAL HYLAINE herself -- you hurry.

To your disappointment (and with a sinister shiver), you find instantly that the files for each of the missing navy mages are empty. No test scores, not even admissions papers.

This is no mistake. They've been destroyed.

As WILL, EIRENE, and VLAD poke around the room, the rest of you still hurriedly thumb through the remaining files. One catches your eye immediately: a fat file simply labelled MAGISTERIUM.

Well, that's significant.

Letters spill out from the inside. The first reads:

To Admiral KARENIUS:

Thrice you have inquired us. Thrice we have rejected. Must you make it one more?

How must the Magisterium respond to get through to you? Or do you military officials only heed lessons written in violence? That is not the Magisterium's game.

At risk of wearing our quills down to nubs, I will repeat: the research you propose is obscene. The Magisterium will not abet it; not in word, not in deed, not in money, not in resource, not in a single article lent from our prodigious libraries.

Do not inquire again.

Firmly,

Headmaster FARDAN GENHORN

This is dated four years ago -- and it's not alone. Letter after letter fills the bursting file, some as old as six years, some as recent as three. Whatever HYLAINE asked for, she did repeat her request, or so it should seem.

Each letter is signed by the same person: this FARDEN GENHORN.

All except one.

You jolt a bit when you spy ISAK's handwriting, on a letter dated just three years ago. It reads:

To the Esteemed Dragon, Admiral KARENIUS,

It is an honor to receive a letter from your office for what you must consider an important matter. You respectfully referred to me as Headmaster in your initial correspondence - and while I am flattered, I find I am still growing into the title. Moving offices, going through inventories, preparing for the new academic year; I am adjusting, and am just now getting through the ever growing pile of mail. I read your letter earlier this month, and I hope you can forgive me for just now getting to writing you back in full.

I remember my mentor, Headmaster GENHORN, speaking to me of this research opportunity after one of your missives to him a year or so ago. I also remember he had... reservations about it and rejected it.

I will admit I do not know much about this Seventh you seek. My only introduction to it is through myth and rumor in the far pages of tomes that have not seen the light of day in hundreds of years. However, I have an apprentice of my own that come from a people who worship this power. Seeing how my apprentice holds them in reverence…. I guess you can say that’s the reason I find myself interested. If you, Admiral, see this as beneficial to the people of Port Heritage, I heartily feel compelled to lend myself to your cause.

I believe we have resources in the Magisterium’s libraries that could be of use in your unique line of research. And if not, we could try to have these materials circulated and transferred from other campuses around the Godsea.

As for wizards to help in your experiments -- I believe that there are several in these upcoming graduating classes that could do well in working under you for this purpose. All of our students are trained to demonstrate aptitude and skills and work ethic in the use of magic. But I know several that are already interested in Naval careers that could make for great starts in the Naval Academy and research heads in this investigation.

You are always welcome to send representatives over to our Ring Trials for recruitment. I will be sure to help these prospective wizards on their way to you. I can identify the best of the pack, and if for some reason any express hesitations, I am certain I can smooth their concerns.

I hope that in doing this, the Port Heritage Magisterium and the Naval Academy can foster good relations into the future. This is just a first step towards that. Thank you again for reaching out - and let me know if you have any questions.

I fear embarrassing myself by sounding like a giddy child, but -- I must admit I am breathlessly enthralled with the research you propose. Perhaps one day soon, we can meet in person for a chat.

Your servant,

ISAK ESAU

Fangs in a throat. Rapier to the heart. Rock to the head. Axe to the neck. Knife to the back. Flail to the face.

Bodies fall at your feet at the six points of the circle. The inhuman, otherworldly cheering has risen to a fever pitch; it roars in your ears, deafening. The sun symbol in the middle of the dais begins to glow. As it grows brighter and brighter, the cheers shift to shrieks -- and finally, to desperate screams.

The engraved sun is now white-hot. You close your eyelids; the light sears straight through them. You fall to your knees. With your hands over your eyes, the world is still bright as a supernova.

A blast of heat washes over you.

The screams fade.

You open your eyes.

The sun has fallen below the horizon, but the temple roof is anything but dark. Flames flicker along the dais, crackling gently with heat. Your eyes throb with pain, but they clear as you gaze to the center of the platform.

A towering figure stands before you.

Ten feet tall, rippling with muscle, basking in the red glow of the last few rays of sun as they disappear. The fire flickers in the reflection of her golden armor; it must be oven-hot within, but she seems completely unbothered. She steps through the flames.

Lion-gold eyes flick toward AUDRA's fallen, mangled corpse. She gives a careless flick of the fingers. Fire surges up around AUDRA's body, consuming it -- and when they fade away, AUDRA is alive, lying there with eyes wide, breathing hard, staring up at the stars beginning to prick the sky.

"So," says the goddess SUN. "You've finally decided to show up."