In the physical realm, most of Orlem was engrossed in watching the trials through the various scrying portals the mages had put up around the city. Even those who weren’t watching the games via scrying were able to observe as their clotheslines rustled unnaturally and random pieces of buildings and ground grew unusually warm. This was a city-wide event, and generally considered a day for celebration. Even though the competition was occurring in the spirit realm, there was so much mana being thrown around that the physical realm was ever-so-slightly influenced. The tiny bit of mana that leaked over from the spirit realm was enough to cause odd vibrations, the rattling of pans, condensation in odd places, sudden warm spots, and many more stranger effects.

Around the city most work had ground to a halt, except for those entrepreneurial spirits who were taking the festivities as an opportunity to sell liquor or food. Officially merchants were supposed to either own a storefront or rent a booth in order to participate in such festivities, but the city guard was hardly going to chase down every person lugging around a bag to check for untaxed booze.

In some less mage-friendly regions of the city, people were actively looking for unusual happenings. The rustling of a stack of copper bowls, blades of grass bending under no apparent force. Some swung frying pans around, hoping even the tiniest portion of the blow would transfer over to the spirit realm. It’s the closest they’d ever come to being able to smack one of those pretentious mages.

Back at Orlem in the administration buildings all the masters and some of the most powerful mages in Orlem were present to observe and oversee the games. They had kept the scrying portals firmly trained on the most promising candidates. There were three scrying portals dedicated to Verona’s team.

“Sir, it seems one of Volfsdown’s parties was just completely eliminated!” one of the junior mages announced in surprise.

“Really now? I’d have expected a better showing from the best Volfsdown.” A white bearded master commented.

“Oh please.” Headmaster Marik commented with a wave of his hands. “Volfsdown mass produces mages via route memorization. They learn rituals to make spell templates for invocation magic and that’s it. They barely know how to weave spells by hand!”

“Yes, Volfsdown’s teaching practices leave something to be desired, but you can’t deny they’ve been effective pawns in our ongoing fight against the Empire.” The white bearded mage replied.

“Switch a portal to their last location. I want to see the group that took them down. I bet it was my son’s.” Lord Verandon said excitedly. “By the way, where is Ivarn?” or his nephew for that matter? Young Darrik should be with that elf-blooded girl. The Verandon family was one of the big three families in Orlem, on par with the Pyrasterns. As such, lord Verandon was one of the few people who could get away with calling lord Pyrastern by his first name.

“Haven’t seen either of them.” Said white-beard. “Though my detectors picked up some noise coming from his estate, magically speaking. Perhaps they had some sort of issue with their… livestock?” The mage coughed out the last word awkwardly. Everyone knew where mana crystals came from, and they were very much necessary for anything magical that wasn’t being directly operated by a mage. That didn’t mean mages had to like talking about them.

“Oh Hadrian.” Lord Verandon clapped the mage on the back. “Don’t get my hopes up. You know how envious I am that oh-so profitable enterprise Ivern has built a monopoly on. I’ve waited two hundred years to find a crack in the walls so I can finally bring that particular business toppling to the ground.”

Lord Verandon was a pot-bellied man. He wore an oversized hat and clothes that hadn’t been in style in decades. He could often be found holding a pipe that he never lit. Apparently pipes had been fashionable some three hundred years ago, during his rise to power. Despite the man’s foppish appearance and jolly demeanor he was one of the most powerful men in Orlem, and the world. He was also utterly ruthless in maintaining his position. Pretending to be much dumber than he actually was had played a large role in his rise to his current status, and though everyone was aware of the act by now he never quite managed to completely step out of the role. Strangers to Orlem’s circles of power found him non threatening and easy to talk to, but those in the know shivered at his attention. More than one king wore their crown only so long as Lord Verandon willed it.

“Here’s where the Volfsdown group was last spotted. Seems they were killed quite close to where they first transported to.” A junior mage said while gesturing at the scrying portal he was manipulating. He was a journeyman in Orlem, which was a fairly rare position in Orlem these days. Most mages went straight to the family business or the military.

“Well don’t just sit there! Pull back so we can get a grasp of the area! Find out which group did the deed!” The headmaster demanded.

The journeyman mage obliged. “I’m not seeing anything… Wait. There!”

They zoomed in on a blurry figure. It was inky black and vaguely human shaped, but that’s all they could make out.

“Bring the damn scrying into focus!” Lord Verandon demanded.

“It is in focus.” The journeyman frowned. “But I just can’t seem to get a clear look at this competitor.”

“Move aside.” The headmaster pushed the mage out of his while muttering something about the incompetence of modern young mages. He grasped the the spell weave with chords of his own mana to keep the spell from falling apart and allow him to manipulate it.

“I can’t seem to get it to focus either. This is most unusual.” The headmaster stated in genuine surprise. He brought the scrying spell around to several other competitors, and the spell rendered their images quite clearly.

Master Hadrian leaned in and squinted. “It’s a obfuscation spell, if I’m not mistaken.”

Lord Verandon leaned in towards the reflective pool bearing the image. “Yes. I do believe you are right, runemaster. Quite a strong one I might add.”

“I could no doubt pierce it if I threw my full might into the scrying, but I wouldn’t want to interfere with the trials by sabotaging a competitor.”

“Interfering in the trials? Sabotage a competitor? Why, never in my wildest dreams have I heard of you doing that?” Lord Verandon scoffed. Several people laughed at the headmaster's expense.

The headmaster frowned. “This and that are completely different. Laugh if you want gentlemen, but it’s the future of our city at stake. Imagine what chaos would ensue if Volfsdown managed to fill even a handful of our senator’s positions? Or any of the other city states for that matter? It would be pandemonium! And there’s even more at stake this year with the Realmstone as the prize. I do what I have to for the sake of our country, and the world.”

“Oh, save your high and mighty talk Marik. We all know you just hate the idea of falling off the political landscape, and being able to nudge the trials in for or against individual candidates is your biggest piece in play. But do look up the mark on this mystery student and tell us where he or she is from.”

“Excellent idea Lord Verandon. You there!” The headmaster pointed at the journeyman who was standing off to the side of the scrying portal and looking out of place now that the headmaster was sitting in his seat. “Fetch the records and look up this competitors identification pattern. Bring the full file on them.”

“Yes sir. Right away.” The junior mage hurried off to peruse the records. He nearly ran head first into Lord Ivern Pyraster, who had just opened the door. The junior mage apologized meekly and scurried off.

“Ivern! Glad to see you’ve made it. We haven’t seen hide or hair of your nephew in the scryings. Decide to opt him out did you?” Lord Verandon taunted.

“No, I held him up for a few minutes, but he’s in there now. Had to have a talk with him.” Lord Pyrastern said cryptically.

“Ha! If I were you I’d lock the boy in the darkest room you’ve got under your estate and throw away the key! He’s clearly a menace, and an idiot to boot. One of these days he’ll do irreparable damage to your family's reputation.” Lord Verandon commented.

Lord Pyrastern let out a deep grumble and glared and Lord Veradon. Several of the mages in the room unconsciously backed off, their instincts sensing the growing tension. Both of these men were powerful mages with several centuries of experience under their belts. A fight between the two of them would turn a good portion of the school to dust and debris.

Headmaster Marik stepped in to defuse the situation. “Cousin! It is always a pleasure to see you. You never stop by the school anymore!” The headmaster stepped between the two family heads and embraced Lord Pyrastern.

“The adventuring guilds in Gavica had started exporting their second-rate mana crystals east. I’ve had to dissuade them from stepping into our markets.”

“Ah, is that what the commotion the other day was about?” one of the other mages asked.

“No. That was something else. Darrik pulled a stupid stunt and I had to clean up the consequences.”

“Aha! As I was saying?” Lord Verandon announced with a smirk, tailored by years of experience to imbue just the right about of irritation in his old rival. Lord Pyrastern glared at him again, even though he knew Lord Verandon wheedled him to get just that sort of reaction.

“It would seem our mystery student has encountered the spirit constructs.” The headmaster interrupted the bickering once again before it got out of hand.

“Wonderful! I do love young talent, and if this mage’s combat spells are half as good as his obfuscation spells I will be duly impressed!” Lord Verandon remarked, easily ignoring Lord Pyrasterns glare.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Odds are this mage is a specialist to produce an anti-scrying ward of that caliber. Likely a mono-elemental air mage.”

On one of the bigger scrying portals, a spirit construct stood threateningly before a narrow passage. It loomed above the manifestations of the mage students, which seemed tiny by comparison.

These spirit constructs had been designed long ago by the mages of Orlem to guard the area around the city from the spirit realm, to ensure that no enemy mages could travel into the city in spirit form as a spy, and also to eliminate any independent entities living in the spirit realm that might find their way to Orlem. While no longer cutting-edge spellcraft, they were still formidable weapons and students weren’t expected to be able to defeat them. To reach the next stage in the tournament, competitors merely needed to get past them. Even now the mages circling the three constructs were trying to draw attention away from their comrades, who had equipped crude cloaking spells in an effort to pass between the guardian, though without success.

There were two separate groups trying to get past the constructs, both with their own strategies. An air mage on the left blasted the constructs with a burst of air magic that pushed it forwards, while a fire mage from the other team of mages blasted the construct with a fireball, sending it sprawling back.

The techniques of the two separate teams were conflicting with one another, and instead of drawing the constructs attention they only succeeded in doing an infinitesimal amount of damage that was repaired in moments.

In frustration, the fire mage turned to the air mage and unleashed a second fireball right in the other mages face. The air mages manifestation dissolved as the Realmstone forced his consciousness back into the physical world.

This unexpected act of aggression shocked both teams, and soon a conflict began between the two groups right in front of the construct. The mages abandoned their attempt to make it past the guardian and turned on each other, deciding that dispatching competitors would secure more points than the effort to get closer to the Realmstone.

Suddenly the main scrying screen went blurry.

“It seems our mystery student has entered the stage!” Lord Verandon clapped his hands in excitement.

Many of the other mages in the room turned towards the large scrying portraying the battle between mage groups. The mysterious student with the cloaking spell didn’t slow his pace at all, despite the battle ensuing around him and spirit construct to the front.

The headmaster harrumphed. “This student is placing quite a bit of faith in his obfuscation barrier. It is powerful, but I if one of the other mages attracts even a glancing blow in his direction… See! Watch!”

Indeed, just as the cloaked figure was passing between the legs of a giant spider shaped construct one of the mages dodged a blast of magic, causing the spider-like spirit construct to rear up on it’s hind legs. The mage himself stepped too close to the cloaked mage and seemed shocked when he bumped into the cloaked figure. That confirmed the general opinion around the room that this mage was equipped with concealment spells beyond those meant to defend against scrying.

The mage who bumped into the figure stumbled and began to turn gray, as if the life had been sucked out of him. His manifestation in the spirit realm withered and died and his consciousness was sucked back into the physical realm.

Meanwhile, the spirit constructs attention had been drawn to the figure whose location had previously been cloaked by it’s obfuscation spell. The spirit-spider slammed a huge and deadly leg right towards the his head head. The mages in the room, all expected the figure to disappear in a burst of wild mana, but instead of the mages’ manifestation being destroyed, the spider construct’s limb disappeared, and the figure shrugged off the blow and continued moving as if nothing had happened.

“Was that… A mana absorption field? Followed by a disruption field?” exclaimed one mage.

“Remarkable, I didn’t learn that until I was nearly forty! I must know who this mage is.” Lord Verandon remarked in surprise. “He or she seems to be completely alone. Either their team was completely wiped out or they didn’t have one to begin with.”

“If our mystery mage were from Orlem surely we would have heard of such talent by now.” Remarked lady Sarja, head of a prominent, although lesser, family.

“I agree. That means we have an unusually talented individual without connections to other mages representing another city state. This is most unusual. Didn’t we set up the ward program to ensure that any great talent coming from new blood would be raised here, in Orlem?”

Headmaster Marik sighed. “If the senate hadn’t reduced my funds for such things perhaps we would be able to do so. The fact remains, we have a mage who is rapidly approaching the Realmstone. While I’d like to wait for the records for a confirmation, this mage is far too skilled to have gone unnoticed were he raised in Orlem. Our divinations didn’t account for another major player on the board. It seems this competitor will have to be removed from the trials one way or another.”

The junior mage walked back into the control room. “Sir, there was some trouble with the records.”

“Just give me the name and city of origin. That’s all that really matters.” The headmaster demanded.

“Well… we don’t have either of those.” The journeyman said cautiously.

“What do you mean you don’t have one?” Lady Saraja asked curiously. “They wouldn’t be in the trial if they didn’t have a mark, and every mark has a unique pattern.”

“Could a student have made the mark themselves? I know you allow the students to undo the mark using their own magic.” Master Hadrian asked. He had grown up outside of Orlem, so he felt rather out of place with all this xenophobic talk about foreign mages.

“Not possible.” The headmaster replied curtly. “While the spellweave for the mark comes apart easily enough, it is quite difficult to weave. While I’m sure there are students who could manage it, they wouldn’t know the specifics of the spell-diagrams we use. They might be able to craft a spell that’s almost identical, but the Realmstone would instantly spot a fake. Otherwise we could have imperial spies sneaking into Orlem and winning senatorial positions!”

“Or the Realmstone itself.” Lord Pyrastern mumbled pensively.

The comment hung in the air for several moments as everyone present shivered at the thought. If the Realmstone was compromised, Orlem’s previously impenetrable defenses would come crashing to the ground. And if Orlem fell it might very well take everything they’d built for themselves with it.

Lord Verandon coughed. “This student does seem unusually skilled…” The pot-bellied mage let his comment linger, instilling a bit of doubt in anyone listening. Of all those present, only lord Pyrastern had known the man long enough to recognize the gleam in Lord Verandon’s eyes. If there was one thing lord Verandon would call his specialty, it would be spotting opportunities.

The headmaster sat down in his chair. “Right then. I’m afraid this competitor has to go. Time to send in the spare constructs. I’ll have to override the detection blinders as well.”

The headmaster touched a mana stone set into the controls before him and frowned in concentration.

“There. That will take care of this foreign welp.”

It was not long before a half dozen constructs not unlike the giant spider started congregating ahead of the path the mysterious mage was traveling. It might seem improbable for so many of the constructs that were previously randomly wandering the cityscape to group together like that, but there was historical precedence during other trials, so nobody would question it too harshly.

The obscured figure did not pause or turn, which meant no maneuvering was necessary on the headmaster's part.

“And now we say goodbye.” The headmaster stated while waving his hand at the screen that now held both the image of the obscured mage and the constructs.

The mages gazed at the scene expectantly. The mysterious mage simply kept moving and the constructs completely ignored him.

“What are you waiting for? Order the constructs to attack him!” Lord Verandon prompted.

The headmaster glanced back up at the scrying portal. “I just did…” the headmaster said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

The headmaster repeated his earlier gesture. Once again nothing happened.

“Well?” Lady Saraja demanded.

“It’s… not working…” the headmaster whispered with a look of confusion on his face. “But that’s impossible. The constructs are controlled directly through the Realmstone…”

“The constructs aren’t responding?” Master Hadrian stated with surprise. He’d played a hand in their design and had poured countless hours into ensuring that they had a stable connection.

“Something has overridden my signal.”

“This is looking more suspicious by the moment.” Commented lady Saraja. “While I have been known to scoff at those of us who see Imperial plots left and right, I think it would be better to be safe than sorry in this case.”

“I agree. This competitor needs to be stopped immediately.”

“Start distorting the space between him and the Realmstone!” Lord Verandon demanded.

“I can’t!” the headmaster replied, matching the lord's anxious tone. “You can’t manipulate territory this close to a dungeon core without the dungeon’s say-so. If we had a Keeper we could, but without one we can only indirectly influence the dungeon.”

“An attack from the spirit realm against the Realmstone could leave it disabled for weeks! That’s more than enough time for the Empire to land an army and destroy our standing with the League!”

There was a moment of growing tension in the air that was only broken by a sudden and harsh rapping on the door.

Without waiting for permission to open the door, the journeyman entered the room. “Masters and senators! I’m here with a guard from the Royal Palace who has a report for you.”

“Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something here?” The headmaster waved at the guardsman to leave.

Without a monarch, the Royal Guard of Orlem only existed as a token force meant to protect state buildings. They had no real power or assets. As such, they were rarely more than a pawn on the political playing board.

“But sir, there’s been an attack on the palace!” the guardsman shouted,completely discarding proper protocol.

“An attack you say? But why the Royal Palace? The only thing there is the Realmstone… Oh dear gods.” Lady Saraja whispered. “This isn’t just an attack from the spirit realm.”

“Tell us what happened!” Lord Verandon demanded of the guardsman.

“A mage of tremendous power attacked and stormed the building. We were caught completely off guard. Never got a look at their face. In fact, I don’t think anyone saw anything except for a billowing shadow of death. It was a terrifying sight. The men who got too close just… disappeared.” The guard shivered.

Lord Verandon nodded along. “I’ll send in my people. They will secure the Royal palace and the Realmstone. Then we will find the culprit and we will—”

“No, lord Verandon. This is a problem for all of Orlem, not just the Verandon family. Imagine the chaos that would ensue if the other senators knew the Realmstone was under the direct guard of your personal men during the trials? There would be collective outrage!” Lord Pyrastern replied.

Lord Verandon frowned. “This is no time to let politics bind our hands. We should take the most likely route to success.”

“Besides that, I think you would find your people outmatched. Mine certainly were. That commotion you were so curious about the other day? It was an attack on my home by nothing less than a warlock.”

Lord Verandon’s eyebrows rose. “A warlock you say? That is interesting indeed. But I have people trained to handle such things. I’m sure it will be no issue.”

“We should send in the Inquisitors.” Lady Saraja suggested. “They work for all of Orlem, rather than one of the great houses. And they’re all mages. Not a mundane amongst them to weigh them down.”

Lord Verandon frowned, his latest scheme having been nipped in the bud. He saw no way to force the issue though, so it would be best for him to agree with the logical choice. He’d hoped to let the panic build a bit more, but it seems everything was starting to calm down already. It wasn’t a total loss though, and a new opportunity had just presented itself.

“You’re right. I concede to your superior wisdom, lady Saraja.” Lord Verandon tilted his head in her direction. “Summon the inquisitors, let them deal with this mess.”

Inwardly he rubbed his hands in glee. There were so many things he could do with a warlock at his disposal.