Dread Mage

Vell bought Sonder the finest clothing gold and silver could buy.

It wasn't that she needed new ones; she still had plenty of new ones and only ripped apart a single red one back in Eraf, nor did she need to make an impression at the Othirian banquet, but Vell wanted to reward her.

She had endured valiantly. She was forced to relive the trauma over and over again, for a week straight, until there was some sense of self-awareness.

Her banshee form went from downright hostile to aggressive to passive to what it is now: non-resistant.

She wasn't compliant, and it didn't seem that she could talk, but she showed a sense of introspection, which was good enough.

Sonder was in there, somewhere, when she was full banshee.

And seeing that there wasn't a lot of research that Vell could fall back on, he also treated himself to some fine robes and a cloak for his own accomplishments.

Vell had rented a carriage instead of them walking to the spellslinger's lodge.

It was just a common practice.

Only the very young and the very old magicians walked. Either unable to make ends meet to rent anything or enjoying the landscape.

The surroundings of the lodge were indeed very beautiful, with colorful flowers from all over the world arranged in magical symbols and used as protection because the symbols themselves held power.

Instead of riding past them or teleporting oneself beyond them, pass by, remember the place, and then later cast one's mind back onto it.

It was peaceful until they arrived at the lodge's grounds.

The Othirian Lodge of Spellslingers may have started as an actual lodge sometime in the far past, but today it is a grand fortress suspended in the sky, shackled to the ground with giant chains. It's shadow covered the ground beneath it as their carriage rode past.

Sonder marveled at the sight, but neither Vell nor their driver were.

They had seen similar sights. Vell many times over his lifetime, and the driver every year as he was hired to bring in mages, and over time the sight has lost its magic.

When Vell stepped out of the carriage, the mages around him stared at him, and a few even recognized the Dread Mage.

Whispers came, "What's he doing here?" and "This will be trouble."

He helped Sonder out of the carriage, took a silver cane, and swaggered over to a young man, an apprentice of one of the Othirian mages, whose entire purpose was to teleport people up to the fortress.

Even if one was an expert in their own magical field, teleportation, flight, or any other magical method of transportation didn't have to be in one's repertoire.

Many were hard to learn and dangerous if not practiced often and thoroughly, so many opted out of them.

The young mage looked at Vell and then Sonder and didn't recognize them.

Of course, they looked rich, but one's worth was measured by one's ability.

"And who are you, if I might ask?" He asked.

"Yes, yes. I don't think my arrival was expected by anyone, in fact. My name is Vellichor, and this is Sonder, something like my apprentice." Vell said to him.

And the young mage paled a bit. To Sonder, it almost seemed like his pointy hat deflated like a balloon.

"Of course," he stammered, and beckoned them onto the large rune that was carved into the ground, activating it to bring them up to the fotress.