After Vulk and Mariala had met with Master Vetaris, a fairly long and grueling afternoon by their own account, Erol had expected to be called to meet with the man himself. Although he had never had much to do with the T’ara Kul in the earlier parts of his life, and frankly had only half believed in their magics (beyond the day-to-day kinds everyone knew), he understood they were very jealous of their powers and perogitives.

Practicing magic without the stamp of approval of their organizations could be a fatal mistake, if all the old stories were to be believed. Yet here he was, able to cast actual Vularun spells, and his mind was bubbling with ideas for new spells…

“Well, not my mind, exactly,” Erol said aloud.

“Indeed not,” he agreed in a deeper, more cultured voice. “It is I who possesses the knowledge of the T’ara, and I will feed it to you as seems best to me, my young friend. You are not yet ready for all that I can teach you!”

“I suppose not, Asakora” Erol sighed in his usual voice. “But I still wonder what the other mages will do when they find out I can cast spells…”

“When I was Kinen, before I merged my soul with my element to become Asakora, I had some dealing with the Umantari schools of magic… it’s true, they can be quite unreasonable with fellow Umantari practicing the Arts without training and official sanctioning.

“But those rules, and the Strictures of Yana, never applied to my people – the Telnori stand outside, and above, the Umantari Convocations, as well as those sad little schools of Khundari magics. Were we both still in your original body, it might be hard to argue an exemption for you, true. But since we now abide in this Telnori form, they have no standing to say yea or nay to us!”

“You don’t think there’ll be trouble with us… um… possessing Farendol’s body?” Erol asked hesitantly. He was still getting used to this new body, as superior as it was to his old one… it still felt odd, and not quite him… he felt no desire to give it up, however, even if he could.

“Hmmm, that remains to be seen,” Asakora replied, equally hesitantly. “Which is why I want you to practice that spell we’ve been working on. You must have it down perfectly, so that we may project the seeming of your old form around us whenever we need to. At least until some permanent accommodation can be made… probably with his Druidical superiors, but perhaps with his family, if –”

“And speaking of family,” Erol interrupted. “It will be easier to explain all this to my own if I can still look like myself. I had planned to visit soon, to see my mother in particular, before – before –”

His mind stuttered to a halt as a sudden searing vision of that last moment engulfed him… the swirling, malevolent, evil chaos of that alien mind as it touched his… the hideous probing… throwing up his mental shields and feeling them crumble… the rage and fury, his own, the other’s… then being hurled away…

“That’s in the past, Erol,” Asakora said, taking full control of their body and seating them in a comfortable chair in what they planned to make their sanctum. “I saved you then, my friend, and I’ll see that no such harm comes to you ever again,” he soothed.

Slowly the terror and horror faded from Erol’s mind, and he returned to himself. Asakora reluctantly released control back to him, as he reached for a flagon of wine and poured them a glass.

“Yes, you saved me, and yourself, too,” he said after taking a deep drink. “But I guess you couldn’t do the one without doing the other, right? Like you said when we first met, you don’t want your knowledge to die out…”

“True enough, I suppose,” Asakora replied with a sigh. “I said then that I was rolling the dice with you, being out of other options. But to be fair, I came to see your potential during the fight with the Corruptor… it was then that I decided to stay around. Why trust to the dice, when I can train and guide you myself? And a a lucky thing I did, too, as it turned out!”

Erol couldn’t argue with that, and at his internal mentor’s prodding he began once again the mental exercises that would allow him to shape a Form that would hold the Principle that would create the illusion of who he had been…

♦ ♦ ♦

It was a full tenday before any word came from Master Vetaris, and in that time Erol was not idle. He had very quickly mastered the Seeming of Erol, the spell that allowed him to appear as his old self. This had allowed him to ease Jeb into the truth about what had happened… frankly, he had been afraid that he would have to let the lad go, as there was no way to constantly maintain the illusion with someone so close, and he hadn’t been sure that the former farm boy could handle the truth.

But he had surprised Erol, once the initial shock and dismay had passed, by enthusiastically embracing the idea of a dual identity. He quickly became a past master at diverting non-Hand visitors and coming up with explanations as to why his employer and their honored house guest were never seen at the same time. Of course Erol didn’t really do any entertaining, beyond having his friends in the Hand over occasionally, so the deception was easily maintained with the neighbors and local tradesmen.

It was given about generally that Azkor (as they decided to call Farenderol publically) was a friend and mentor to Erol, and had volunteered to spend some time at Ironstone tutoring the former gladiator in maters both scholarly and social, as befitted his new rank as a knight of the realm. And they were known to keep rather a busy schedule.

Almost as soon as he had returned to Shalara Erol had begun working at turning the room next to his bedroom into a proper sanctum for his T’ara Kul studies, designing the plans himself, but with considerable help from Asakora. The day after the coronation of Queen Miralda, which Erol had attended with the others but not, of course, the visiting Azkor, workers arrived at Ironstone to begin the rennovations.

He also hired a young woman to come in twice a tenday to clean the place, and gave long thought to the hiring of a decent cook. But most such expected to live in, and he certainly didn’t need uninformed eyes prying about all day and night. So, he continued to simply send Jeb out to Belos’ Cook Shack for meals. It was right across the street, very tasty, and not terribly expensive.

Not that he was hurting for money, of course, after they’d split the plunder from the ruins of Yalura. Plus, his revenues from his rental properties had begun to come in, and those were not insubstantial. One of those properties turned out to be a brothel, Veruth House, located only a few blocks from Ironstone at the west end of Helkar Avenue. It was an upper-middle class establishment, with a pleasant range of courtesans of both genders, and reasonable prices for persons of reasonable means.

The madame, Alina Veruth, was more than happy to provide a solution to her new landlord’s desire for female company – or more accurately, for his long-term guest’s desires. Ser Erol was not known to ever use any of the girls that were discreetly sent over several times a week, but Scholar Azkor soon gained quite a favorable reputation in certain circles of the city.

While the construction was going on in his sanctum-to-be Erol began searching for a glass maker who could provide him with very specifically designed glass spheres. These were needed for a spell Asakor had been working on for him, one that promised quite a nasty surprise to future enemies of the Hand during combat. In the end he decided on a local artisan, Irkon Vulse, whose shop was not only close by, at the corner of Stonefoot Street and Catspaw Road, but who was both talented and open to challenges.

Azkor and Irkon hit it off so well, and the first order of spheres were so well done, that when Ser Erol came to the shop to pay his “guest’s” bill, Irkon offered to make three large mirrors for the knight, recalling from his conversations with the scholar that his “host” desired such – at cost plus 5%. It was such a good deal that Erol scrapped his plans for highly polished copper sheeted walls in his sanctum at the last minute, much to the annoyance of his contractor.

It was shortly after the disgruntled carpenter and his men had left one afternoon the Jeb came into the half-finished study to announce that “some old dude” was here to see Ser Erol. This turned out to be Master Vetaris, whom the lad had left sitting in the sparsely furnished front parlor. Having already cast the Seeming of Erol to deal with the contractor, he wasted no time in going down to greet his visitor.

On seeing Erol the Gray Mage frowned momentarily, then smiled, somewhat grimly, in sudden understanding.

“I hadn’t heard that you had acquired the ability to restore your old appearance, ser,” he said as Erol seated himself across from him in the only other chair in the room. “An illusion, I sense, but… is it an artifact that produces such a strong seeming?”

“No, Magister, it’s a spell of my own devising,” Erol said, perhaps a bit smugly. He was gratified to see the old man’s eyes widen slightly. Asakora spoke silently, warning him not to get cocky.

“Well, I’m impressed, indeed I am,” Vetaris said, settling back and staring intently at his host. “Ser Vulk and Lady Mariala have filled me in on what happened out there, in the Blasted March, of course… but I had not expected someone so, er, previously untrained, to master so complex a spell so quickly.”

“Well, really I guess I have to give the credit to Asakora, the spirit who shared my mind for a short time, and passed on his powers… he, um, left it behind, the spell that is… along with some others…”

Vetaris leaned forward and waved a hand toward Erol. Suddenly the illusion was gone, leaving Farendol’s form facing the mage, a surprised look on his beautiful Telnori features.

“Really, ser!” Asakora huffed indignantly. “That is most rude, dispelling another mage’s work without so much as a by-your-leave. And in his own home, to boot!”

“My apologies,” the older man shrugged. “But I prefer to deal with things as they are, not as others might prefer I see them. To whom am I speaking?”

For a moment the man across from him seemed paralyzed, his body rigid with tension. But then he shook himself, like a man coming out of a doze, and relaxed. A brief smile flitted across his face.

“I suppose it was foolish of us to think we could deceive a Sur Vendaz of your reputation,” Asakora sighed. “Even an Umantari one. But it seemed politic that we should make the effort. I am Kiren Frostwind of Xaranda, latterly known as Asakora, the Elemental Great Beast of Air. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Magister Vetaris… Erol has told me somewhat of you, of course.”

“Of course,” Vetaris replied slowly, more than a little unsettled. “And is Erol still in there with you, Kiren?”

‘Of course he is, I haven’t possessed him or evicted his soul as that demon attempted, if that is what you’re implying!” The Telnori seemed slightly miffed at the suggestion. “And I prefer to go by my nom de elementium, ser, which as I’m sure you know is Asakora.”

For the next three hours the Gray Mage talked with, listened to and studied intently the man across from him. At one point Jeb brought refreshments, but aside from that they were undisturbed. By the time he rose to take his leave, Vetaris had come to the conclusion that Erol Doritar was almost certainly mad…

And yet it seemed to be a madness that was working for him, one that had kept him from going actually insane in the face of almost unthinkable horrors. He was morally certain that the spirit of Kiren Frostwind had departed this plane, like the others after the Corruptor was again contained, leaving only his mastery of his element and certain memories behind.

Of course there was always a possibility… but no, while Erol spoke differently when “Asakora” was ascendant, it wasn’t really the way a Telnori would speak, but more like how a moderately educated fighter might imagine a Telnori mage would speak…. on the third hand, he certainly seemed to know words and concepts that a former gladiator and soldier shouldn’t… of course the man’s father was a noted scholar, so who knows what he’d picked up as a boy… and there was no doubt Kiren had left specific knowledge buried in that mind… who knew how it might pop up… and Erol was well on his way to deciphering, and understanding, the text of that book the Hand had recovered, Reaping the Whirlwind – Profiles in Vularun Magery… and he had developed, apparently on his own, a very effective illusion spell… the combat spells he had described seemed equally sound…

Vetaris sighed and rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache, and it probably wouldn’t be the last before this matter was settled. But whatever his doubts about what was really going on in the Kildoran’s head, Vetaris had a strong sense that he had it under control, at least for now.

There remained the problem of the body he currently wore, however…

“Your wearing of Druid Farendol’s physical form is… problematic,” he admitted to Erol as they walked towards the front doors. “But I think that it is not insoluable. For now I think your solution of maintaining your appearance as you were is wise, although it would be best if you limited “Azkor’s” public appearances as much as possible, please.”

“I understand,” Erol replied, shrugging. “It can be a bit of a strain maintaining the illusion, anyway. Although it does seem to be getting easier…”

“Yes, it will continue to do so as you get stronger in your mastery of Vularu. And if we find it necessary to permanently keep up the illusion, I’m sure an artifact of some kind can be crafted…”

“And about my continuing mastery of Vularu” Erol asked diffidently. “Will there be complications from the T’ara Kul?”

“That, at least, I can assuredly fix,” Vetaris said with a wry smile. “Yours is far from the first case of psychic transfer of mastery, although we don’t like to advertise it. There have been rules in place for centuries to handle this sort of thing.

“It will require an examination by a panel of Ko Vendari, but I foresee no  problem there, since I will assemble them myself… and your mastery does seem quite strong. But until then, please be discreet in your use of the power, either as Erol or as, um, Asakora.”

Erol nodded gravely, and Master Vetaris took his leave.

♦ ♦ ♦

It was toward the end of the month when Erol again heard from Master Vetaris, and in the interval he had continued to study and advance in his understanding of Vularun priciples. But despite his determination to master this new knowledge under the guidance of Asakora, he was unwilling to let his physical skills atrophy. It took a tenday or better, but after regular bouts in Rekka’s Arena (now back in business after that fight with the Zalik Mal and the giant, hideous worm-thing), with a variety of sparring partners, he was finally getting the hang of this new body.

He was also getting more comfortable going out in public as Erol for more extended periods – the first time he spent an entire day and night out was on Draik’s 27th birthday. And even given how much he drank that night, he’d been surprised that the illusion held. Surprised, but grateful – it was a spectacular party, and the Demon’s Rain meteor shower that night had been even more spectacular.

He’d made real progress with several of the spells Arakora had felt he should learn, and he looked forward to trying them out in the field. He was also looking forward to testing his new armor, the special stuff Toran, Korwin and Draik had come up with using that disgusting worm acid… lighter and stronger they claimed, and it certainly seemed to live up to the promise.

By the time Kiril Vetaris showed up on his doorstep once again, Erol had almost forgotten about the various problems he faced – although Asakora had not. It was with some trepidation that he again faced the old Gray Mage, this time in his new sanctum cum study. But the concern soon gave way to relief when he heard what the Hand’s mentor had to say.

“The Council has informed me that they have decided, with some reservations, that the best thing to do at this point is simply acknowledge Farendol’s death in last month’s events, and let it be assumed his body was destroyed at the same time. To avoid the problem of someone recognizing his face, I have acquired a potion from another – from one of the members of the Council.”

He pulled a small flask from his vest cloak and handed it to Erol, who was not maintaining his illusion spell, knowing how the old man felt about it, at least in formal meetings such as this.

“Drink this, and within a few hours changes will begin in the body you wear… nothing major, for this is a subtle magic. But within five days your face will have changed enough that no one who knew Farendol will mistake you for him, close up. The vocal chords will also be slightly altered, to change your voice as well.

“It is a slow magic, so it would be advisable that you go out each day, meet the people who know “Azkor,” and interact with them as you normally would. People see what they expect, and if they notice something odd, they’ll simply put if off to imagination, or a bad memory.

“By the time the five days have passed they will have experienced the changes in your appearance incrementally, and will assume what they see now is what they have always seen… as I said, the changes will be subtle. But the process may be mildly uncomfortable for you, so be forewarned.

“On the sixth day, you will face your examination by three Ko Vendari. Do not wear your seeming, the Masters will wish to see you as you are, and they have been informed of the circumstances of your… translation. At least in broad terms – none of your examiners are associated with the Star Council in any way.”

Erol did as Master Vetaris instructed, after a brief internal debate, and the process was considerably more than just “uncomfortable.” He ached constantly for the five days, and half the time he felt as if tiny ants were crawling under his skin. But he was a warrior and a gladiator and stoic by nature, so he showed his discomfort not in the slightest. He went about the city as instructed, and while he did get the occasional double-take, for the most part people seemed not to notice the changes.

On the morning of the sixth day, as he prepared to ride out with Master Vetaris to the Vularun chantry outside of the city, he gazed into one of the mirrors in his sanctum, examining his new new face. He rather hoped that this was the last time he’d have to get used to seeing a stranger’s face staring back at him.

As promised, the changes were subtle… the cheek bones a little broader, not quite so prominent, the brow a little thicker, the lips thiner and the shape of mouth altered… even his eyes were slightly different in cast and color, more gray than blue now… he was slightly shorter, maybe a tad thicker… Taken indivdually, the changes didn’t amount to much, but in the aggregate… he had already carried his body very differently than the real Farendol had, and with this last transformation… Someone who’d known Farendol might think they’d recognized him across a crowded street, but on closer inspection would realize they’d been mistaken.

“Not bad,” Erol said to his reflection, with a sudden grin. He rather thought he caught little glimpses of his own, natural features in the mix….

“Indeed not, my young apprentice,” Asakora replied with a more sardonic smile. “But we should probably have new girls from Madame Veruth for awhile… to avoid any possible… confusion.”

♦ ♦ ♦

The examination at the Skyrim Chantry, located on a bluff overlooking the sea half a days ride south of the city, proved to be as smooth as Master Vetaris had promised. The examiners, two men and a woman, were Ko Vendari, representing all six Convocations between them. Erol had stayed in the background and let Asakora run things, but in his name, of course… Vetaris had agreed they didn’t need to know about his “passenger.”

He’d demonstrated not only his practical grasp of Vularun magics, but his intellectual understanding of the underlaying principles of the Convocation as well. His study of that looted book had been well worth the late nights and occasional headaches, he decided, to Asakora’s dry internal chuckle.

The last thing his examiners had him do was cast his Seeming of Erol, after which they had used their own powers to try and pierce the illusion. They had done so, but not quickly, and not, he rather fancied, easily. Indeed, they seemed slightly taken aback at the mastery of the Art he had displayed that afternoon.

“Well I should hope they’d be impressed,” Asakora had sniffed to Erol in silent affront as they retired to their guest quarters for the night. “I’ve been at this a thousand years longer than they’ve been alive, after all.”

The ride back to Shalara the next morning was pleasant, despite the overcast and the chill wind blowing in from the Sea of Ukal. It was the second day of Turniki, and fall was definitely in the air. The summer had been cooler and cloudier, no doubt due to the spring eruption of Mt. Katai, and the autumn promised to come early this year.

He was now officially a Kolori of the the Vularu Convocation, and had a year and a day, at minimum, to do the things he needed to if he wanted to advance in rank. The Skyrim Chantry had taken him on as a retroactively enrolled apprentice, and the lady Elira Coztormani, one of his examiners, had agreed to be his informal “advisor.”

“But,” Master Vetaris had said when they were well on their way home, “I trust that should you have questions or difficulties that you will seek out my help first, if possible. Should, um, Asakora  be unable to help you, of course…”

Erol grinned as they rode north, a strange new future stretching out before him – not one a war-hungry boy, eager to avenge his countries hurts at the hands of foreigners, could possibly have imagined, to be sure, but wonderful nonetheless…