Therogeon at the Temple

The temple to Mystra in Waterdeep was not the largest on Toril, but it was one of the most opulant. Golden spires and jeweled sculptures rose among magically altered stained glass windows painting the interior in a multitude of colors. The temprature inside is always kept comfortable, not too warm and not too cold, with very little humidity. Moisture is bad for books and Mystra's temple had plenty of those. Even in the main hallways golden books lined shelves along the route worshippers must take to reach the worship halls. These books, written in every language known and a few that no one knows any longer, proclaim the history on Mystra and magic in all her myriad incarnations. Certain facts are omitted, but in general the history is true and frank. Throughout the temple, away from all except the most fervant of worshippers, lay books on numerous subjects, including spell research, lab creation, and numerous component details. The subjects of these books are less than impressive to the commen man but to those who weave the mysteries, these books hold a trove of treasure greater than the largest dragon hoard.

Given the opulance of the rest of the temple, the main worship hall would take anyone buy suprise. Fairly plain benches and soft feather kneeling pads line the pews where the majority of worshippers converge on Mystra's holy days. The alter rests on a dias of simple white marble with pillars raised up to support candles arranged in Mystra's holy symbol. The flames of the outer candles form the stars surrounding the eyes that see the mysteries of the universe. A small cantrip, the most basic yet the most important of magics, create the affect of the red mist in it's center. There are no jewels, no golden anything. If it was not for the stained glass windows that enhance all light shown into the room, one could honestly believe that they had somehow entered a different building altogether.

The worship hall was empty when a young half elf slowly opened the doors and as quietly as he could, entered the room. His long black hair fell easily to his shoulders, gently covering his slightly pointed ears. His face shown with the anglur features of the elven blood in him on the broad background of his human heritage. Softly the sounds of his steps echoed throughout the hall as he lightly ran his hand along the line of pews as he walked his way towards the main alter. His eyes never left the display of her symbol and though his steps never faltered, should anyone happen to observe this man, they would note he seemed nervous.

He came to stand infront of the alter to the goddess he called his own and in her presence, his eyes flashed with an inner light, as if lit from within by a silver flame. Softly he lowered his head as his hands fell gently to his sides. Softly, his words whispered forth, his tone reverent as he addressed the dias.

"Hello Mother, I have come home."

Slowly Therogeon started to gently pace infront of the alter, never approaching the dias itself but respectfully staying a short distance away.

"Forgive me Mother, I have been away for too long. I have...I have become something I do not recognize, someone who I despise. I have become everything, -everything-, I once stood against."

He stoped pacing and took a deep breath, his silver flecked eyes moist as he looked directly at her symbol.

"Forgive me Mother, let me start at the begining. My last visit to this temple was just before I left for Impresk, all those years ago. Hah, listen to me, I make it sound like a lifetime. And yet, in many ways, it was.

I arrived safely in Impresk and acquired a small house with a small herb garden. Life was simple and I was content. By and by I made some friends, mostly through our shared love of herbs and similar aproximate ages. Ashara and Aretis, then Elric came back to the town, another half elf who had known Ashara in the past and actually used to live in my house. Then one of my strangest companion, a minotaur named Kaber. I spent many a month living peacefully with my friends around me in that small town with barely an adventure at all. Sometimes they would travel with me to the Spirit Soaring, sometimes I would travel with them. I was happy, I was content."

Therogeon sighed softly before he continued, "Then we made what would probably be our best mistake. We went adventuring. The more we adventured, the more my knowledge grew, the more my arrogance grew. It started simple enough, just trying to be usefull to my friends, trying to help them survive the various monsters we pitted ourselves against. Always I promised them, 'Just you wait, one day I'll be very powerfull, very usefull".

A small tear ran gently down his soft cheek, "And I was. More and more I used my power to aid, to defeat, to imprison that which challenged us. My first inkling that I was becoming something else was when we were trapped in a magical maze. Kaber, wise beyond that of his kin, tore a dryad's tree from ground, killing it and her instantly. Turns out it was the way to escape that particular trap, but I was still angry. Not because he had killed a forest creature, but....because I did not think of it first. A minotaur, an abomination with the brains of a muscle, thought of it before I did."

Slowly Therogeon started to pace again, "I do not think of him thusly any more Mother, he is a valued compainion and friend. Still, at the time, those were my thoughts. My pride only grew when I first developed my spell. Oh how proud of it I was. A powerfull masterpeice of magics, woven together to create what is probably my most usefull spell. Though at the time, I didn't realize excately how powerfull it was.

I needed the spell to aid Ashara, who had fallen under the curse of powerfull magics, turning her into a violent killer whose need for blood rivaled that of any orc or troll." Therogeon suddenly sat down and as tears silently fell from his silver eyes, he slammed his fist into his leg, "And still, you would think it would be concern for my friends life that drove me, but no. No it was pride, arrogance. I would find the cure for this curse, this epidemic crossing the realms. Who better, after all -I- had created the spell that would allow me to see this magic twisting the minds and hearts of those it afflicted. Me, when no one else could do anything, could see or sense anything. -I- saw the chaos magic, the shadow magic woven into the spell. Of course it would be me. Only I knew anything about this curse, this shadow magic, so only I could defeat it. Oh we captured Ashara, and took her comatose body with us as I researched a way to break it."

A soft smile gently lit the half elf's face through the tears, "By this time we had lost Aretis and gained an elderly druid, Eddick, and an impulsive pixie, Gwilly. It was through Eddick's connection with nature that we were able to safely keep Ashara comatose while I researched her 'condition'. And then, in Waterdeep...Lathander passed his hand over Ashara and purged the sickness from her. I should have been happy, I should have wanted to throw a party, my friend was cured, she was going to be alright."

He closed his eyes as the tears increased, falling like gentle rain to the floor beneath him, "No, I was not happy, I was -angry-. What right did Lathander have, to take away my chance to solve this riddle, to take away -my- test subject. Even that arrogance didn't faze me, -I- was the one who was going to save Faerun, and that thrice cursed lord of the morning took away my best chance. Truely Lathander, if you are listening, I mean no offense. It was just my feelings at the time."

Therogeon took a deep breath and slowly breathed it out between pursed lips. Lightly he wiped his eyes, though in truth it did little to slow or stop the flow of tears. "Now I was going to have to work that much harder to find a way to break the shadow magic curse. There was no team effort, truely in my mind, the entire task was on my shoulders, and mine alone. Only I could see the magic, only I could discern it's existance. My friends, and I call them this because of their feelings for me, for at this time, I could only see them as a means to an end, couldn't help me. In their eyes, blind to magic, I could only see confusion and delay's. The entire fate of the world rested on me and my magics. Oh what pride, oh what arrogance.

And Gwilly, dear sweet Gwilly, " he smiled lightly as if the thought of the pixie was a pleasant reminder of his family, "she in her innocent and eager way did what all pixie's do. They live life to the fullest. Unfortunitely, in my hubris, this was only a distraction. Her natural curiousity, her exuberance for life, I thought, only got in my way. Here -I- was, trying to save Toril, and she was playing her childish games. I snapped at her, I threatened her, I treated her as poorly as one could and still I thought she took it all in stride. Grump, grump, grump indeed. I was so wrapped up in myself, I could not see what I was doing to my friends, my family."

Therogeon couldn't keep a small shudder from escaping, "Then came Dagadar. In truth, I did not want to even go. A task for Lathander's faithfull, given to Ashara. I should have been happy to help her, eager to aid a friend in need. No, I was upset. We were taking time away from my studies, my problems. What a foolish idea that was. No, I know now how important Dagadar was. But my arrogance got another boost, with your blessing. You allowed me to touch, to use your Silver Flame. And why not, I was the one after who was solving the problems of the world. I had discovered the chaos magic, why wouldn't I be blessed with one of your most precious gifts."

Another shudder spasmed through the young mage and his face became pale as a ghost, "And when I used my spell on that cursed axe, the gift of your Flame augmented my spell to the point where I could discern everything about the shadow weave. It's existance, it's powers, it's abilities. At the cost of my life, but even when my friends saved me, still I was upset. Just a little longer and who knows what I may have learned, what insights to solving all the riddles that plauged me I would gain. No, I could not even be happy I was alive, all I wanted was knowledge, was power."

The tears continued to trace watery trails down his cheeks, his eyes red and puffy still shone brightly with the Silver Flame, "As painfull as it was, that boat ride home was the best thing that ever happened to me. With the Silver Flame, I am not able to sleep much, so I wandered the boat. As I was passing Ashara's room, my elven ears picked up a sound. The sound of the pixie crying. Crying because I hated her, because I would not be her friend." He shut his eyes tightly, "I didn't even know pixies could cry. Gentle creatures, blessed with their love of life, their love of all and I had brought one to tears. What a monster I was, what a foolish, foolish monster."

He opened his eyes and stared directly at the alter, were the flames on the candles lit when he came in. He couldn't remember but they were lit now. "In the grand scheme of things, a small thing like being so callous that I make a pixie cry is nothing, but sometimes it is the little things that change us the most. As a floodgate opening, I could suddenly see everything I had done and was doing to my friends, to people who were closer to me than blood. I saw my arrogance in the way they reacted to me, the way they shunned me without actually pushing me away. I had assumed they were afraid of me, were afraid of my power and knowledge, and I was fine with that. Fine? I was a monster, I was everything my order stands against. A power hungry mage who thinks that the ends justify the means. So long as I solve this problem, does it matter who gets hurt or dies in the process. By all that I hold holy, it does, and it took a pixie crying to show that to me."

Therogeon stood up slowly and for the first time, approached the alter directly. He stood infront of it and gently reached out a hand to touch the pillars of marble holding the candles aloft. Normally this was a gesture of arrogance, of pride, daring to touch the symbol of Mystra. Somehow, when he did it, it conveyed a gesture of yearning, of a small child reaching out for his mother's caress when he is scared and needing solace. "I have apologized to my family, and they have forgiven me, though I know I can never make it up to them. What I was, what I did, hurt them more than I think even they realize, or then again that might be more arrogance. As it stands, I am taking their words for it."

He looked directly into the candles that more and more seemed to be the eyes of Mystra, "Which brings me to another point. Mother, I know about the Shadow Weave, and it's connection to the Weave. Your gift allowed me to discern that much in the short time I saw it's foulness. I know that which we face and I know I am one of the very few who know anything about it. I do not say this to be arrogant Mother, but because it is a simple fact. The foul goddess of the dark, whose name I will not mention in this holy place, has hidden it well and her dark cohorts are using it secretly and powerfully.

I must fight against this threat Mother. This dark magic is probably the greatest danger to the Realms as we know it. It's power is subtle and twisted and when combined with the gifts of the dark gods associated with it, devestating." The tears had stopped though their watery passing still shone on Therogeon's cheeks in the candlelight. "I cannot fight against it alone. In truth, I am not. I have my friends, no, my family standing with me. Their love will support me, will help guide me as we cross this dangerous road. But I am afraid. I am afraid that will not be enough."

Therogeon dropped to his knees, his hands resting lightly, reverently on the marble of the alter, "Please Mother, allow me to be your champion against this darkness. I do not ask to be a Chosen, for that would be hubris, and in truth, I am not sure I could handle the responsibility required. Rather I ask to be at the forefront of the battle with the Shadow Weave. Let me hold aloft your banner, proclaim your glories, as we engage the darkness threatening Toril. Let me champion your cause and defend your honor, your mysteries with my life. Aid me Mother, please. Your wayward child has come home, and begs you forgive him his transgressions and allow him the honor, the privelage of being your champion against this darkness. Please great Mother of Mysteries, please help me." Softly, Therogeon closed his eyes and lowered his head.

He continued to pray silently, inwardly and never noticed as the flames from the candles slowly left their wicks and gently encircled his head. Some flickering light across his eyelids caused him to open those eyes and with open mouthed wonder, beheld the light of the candles, no, the light of small stars, forming the symbol of his goddess around his head. As he gazed in wonder at the sight before him, slowly the stars winked, then gently vanished as if they had never been.

Tears once again streaming down his face, though this time tears of joy, Therogeon silently lowered his head again, meditating throughout the night and well into the next day. He was content, happy even. Mystra had heard his plea and answered. He did not yet know what that answer was, but for now, he was simply pleased she had responded. Her answer was a Mystery for another day.