A disquieting calm had fallen over the North Ward and quite possibly- the alchemist mused, the anxiety he felt also had all of Waterdeep in a perpetual grip of terror. The cause of the fear was of course the immensely destructive power of the dragons attacks and the irregular flights that terrorize the city. As was customary a few days before the Realm holidays, times when the heavenly bodies (planets) enter the houses of the celestials (constellations), dragon siege tactics cease; but like as in all holidays since Greengrass before the Time of Troubles with the Noble Murders, dragon mischief has not failed to abide on these days.
Fear was the greatest weapon of the Dragons; used so heavy-handedly that even in its absence it nevertheless generated the feeling of perpetual disquiet Scirkel Wands observed in Waterdeep.
A continual overcast draped Waterdeep and the North over the past several months and thus it was impossible to tell time by the sun; nonetheless the Wands House Alchemist produced a waterclock and noted with alarm his scheduled engagement is late to arrive.
A mild fog had settled on Waterdeep after the rains stopped further burdening the stressed mentality of the citizenry: phantoms playing on the imaginations of the fearful.
Moving to Drendar’s gate, the main entrance to TarisfallAscendency, Scirkel Wands struggled to see into the city streets. Producing some insect wings he blew them into the air before him; the effect caused a gust of wind to grow from his puff of breath to create a corridor of clear air.
From down the street at the very limit of the alchemist’s evocation, sounds of approaching mounts caught Scirkel’s attention. He paused anxiously but nothing came, no riders or mounts emerged from the soupy fog. Quietness threatened to suffocate him; the second stretched long before him.
More sounds of approaching hooves stole his attention. Turning onto the street Scirkel could see three riders on horses. His dread turned to joy as he recognized his aunt Syndra led by Krys Wands and Morgan Eltorchul mounted on his pure-white bonded warhorse.
Scirkel greeted his aunt with a wide smile but just as the curves formed at the edges of her mouth in a return smile a substantive veneer of darkness blanketed the street cutting off his view of her.
Then a violent flutter jolted Scirkel like a sap across the face, he lifted his fingers to the sting to find fresh red blood. A bat possibly - someone’s familiar; but it did not fit any bat classification he was aware of it had only one eye.
The flutter again rocked Scirkel’s head stealing his attention from Syndra to his own immediate dangers. Looking around he could not find his attacker, but herd rapid spell casting coming from Syndra’s entourage about thirty feet away.
Magical incantations were weaved in offense creating a cacophony of sounds while the magical darkness flickered in and out disorienting the alchemist but during the brief flashes of ‘not darkness’ he distinctly saw the assailants- at least three dark-skinned fey with white hair to rival the pristine mane of Morgan’s warhorse.
Darkness was returning, but it was not the shadowy darkness that separated Scirkel from his aunt and the main battle it was the darkness of sleep that blanketed him now.