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"This scroll. How much?"
"For that one? I'd put it at, say, 300 gold pieces."
Extremely overpriced, especially for a first-level spell.
"I'll pay it."
~oOo~
It had been ten months since the death of Caleb Widowgast.
His funeral had been everything expected of a hero and a highly regarded professor of the Soltryce Academy. Hundreds came to visit, old friends, grieving students. Important figureheads had spoken highly of him and of the good he had brought to this world.
Cerberus Assembly member Astrid Beck, her hair gray and face wrinkled with age, spoke of his loyalty to the Empire and how he taught his students to excel in the ways of magic and ethics alike. Expositor Beauregard Lionett of the Cobalt Soul told stories of his adventures with the Mighty Nein, tales that bordered on the cusp of fables but were honest truth. Her voice was cracked and ancient but strong, carrying through the air.
Essek had stayed in the crowd, under illusion and watching from afar. There was no place for him among the group of esteemed individuals who crowded around the wizard's coffin. There was no final goodbye, no pressing of his hand against the wood and a final glance to the still face of the man he held so close to his heart.
It was going to happen sooner or later. Death, as much as he tried not to think about it, was an inevitability that had been calling on his friends for some time now. At least Caleb had been fortunate enough to pass away in his sleep. That was a gift that had not been given to many others of his standing.
Essek hadn't cried when he got the news. In a way, he had expected it, ever since his final visit with Caleb, laying in his bed with his spectacles on his face and a cat sleeping on the open book in his lap.
"Ah, Essek," Caleb had said, patting his arm with a bony, frail hand. His eyes were still as bright as the day they'd first met. "You have more important things to do than worrying over an old man like me."
"You're going to work yourself to death," Essek had scolded, and Caleb had only smiled in reply. Maybe that was when he knew.
Spellbook in hand, he approached the Blooming Grove. It had been ten months since the death of Caleb Widowgast.
There was a familiar pink firbolg tending the garden. He didn't seem surprised when Essek approached-he'd probably seen him coming from far off. Very little took the cleric by surprise.
"I figured you'd come by at some point," Caduceus said, gently shearing the withered leaves from some large plant.
If it were anyone else, the drow may have tried to hide his feelings and intents through minor pleasantries. But instead, he hugged the spellbook to his chest and adjusted the wide-brimmed hat he always wore when traveling in the sun. "Where is he?"
"Buried with the rest of them," Caduceus said. "The one with the catmint."
Catmint. Of course. Essek gave a small smile. "Thank you."
Caduceus gave a gravelly noise and a nod. "You'll be staying for tea?"
"Perhaps another time."
"Alright." The firbolg gave a respectful bow of his head. Unlike Veth and Beauregard, his hair wasn't graying with age just yet. It wouldn't be more than a century until he-they-would be all that remained of their group. Both he and Essek had come to accept that long ago.
Essek knew the way. He'd visited this particular area of the Blooming Grove several times before. Fjord Stone, Jester Lavorre, Yasha Lionett, Kingsley Tealeaf-and there, at the end, Caleb Widowgast.
True to what Caduceus had said, there was a beautiful patch of catmint over his grave, purple flowers in bloom and healthy gray-green leaves spread out over the surrounding area like a foliage cat basking in the sun.
The other tombstones were also surrounded by plants of all kinds, wildflowers, fungi and even the occasional water lily emerging from Fjord's grave where it had no business growing on land.
Essek missed them all. That was the plain and simple truth of it.
He missed Fjord's practical way of looking at things, a welcome anchor to talk to when Essek felt like his life was spiraling out of control. Sometimes he'd find himself caught up in what-if's and what-do-I-do's, but a few words from Fjord always seemed to remind him of his goals and make the unknown future seem a little less foreboding.
He missed Jester's light-the light of the Luxon itself was pallid in comparison to her radiance. She was a treasure to talk to and a gift to everyone around her. Essek had always found her unique method of using Sending spells to be equally distracting and endearing, always catching him off guard in the best way. Every time she and Fjord returned to Nicodranas, she made sure to let him know, and Essek took every possible opportunity to make his way to the coast and share some pastries and talk with the excitable blue tiefling. Her death had been one of the heaviest.
He missed Yasha's kindness. She was both parts gentle and intimidating, she loved and fought with a determination that Essek admired. Though she wasn't much of a conversationalist, Essek had found on many occasions that she was good company, and he always looked forward to spending time with her and Beau whenever his travels brought them to their doorstep. Sometimes, when it rained, the drow swore he could detect the faint, soft sound of a harp, barely audible among the deep rumbles of thunder.
He didn't know Kingsley very well, but missed him all the same. They'd never talked much, on the very few occasions that they'd met, but the two got along amicably enough. The tiefling had once sent him an elaborate and elegant mantle, with a message saying he'd acquired it and thought of Essek. It was a very nice gift, and Essek saved it for special occasions, though he would always wonder how Kingsley had sent it to him in the first place, especially since he'd been constantly traveling under the radar of any and all authorities for seven months up to that point.
And then there was Caleb Widowgast.
Essek stopped in front of Caleb's tombstone, then, after a moment, sat down on the grass and set his hat aside. The trees in this area were densely woven above his head enough to keep the sunlight at a manageable level.
"Hello, Caleb," he whispered, afraid to break the quiet around them. "Sorry for not coming by sooner."
He could hear a distant bird call, a hum of grass and leaf as the wind gently brushed through it.
"Things in the Empire have been looking up, according to Beauregard," Essek said, crossing his legs into a more comfortable position. "One of your old students was chosen to take your place, and she's learned well from your teachings."
Caleb, if they were talking face-to-face, would have smiled at that, maybe waved a hand and said "you give me too much credit" or "well, leave the world better than we found it, ja?"
Essek continued. "I spent some time with Veth before coming here. She and her family were celebrating the birth of her new great-grandson. Veth said she thought the baby should be named 'Caleb', but they settled for 'Rueben' instead."
Veth had also attempted to rope him into some scheme with a few of her grandkids where they tried to snipe passerby with stink bombs from the roof of Yussa's tower, but he left that part out. Even if the halfling's aim had managed to get a rather impressive shot down the chest piece of an unfortunate Zhelezo and thus led to a very excitable and noteworthy adventure, but that would be Veth's story to tell the next time she visited.
"While I was in Nicodranas, I also happened to come across a certain spell." Essek set his spellbook on the ground, opening it up. "Find Familiar. It would be nice to have some companionship during my travels. Maybe a spider. Or perhaps a snake, or raven. A bat would also be suitable." A few components were pulled from his side pocket and set in the grass, preparing a neat little space to cast his spell. "It's..." he paused. "I will admit, the time spent away from you all is...difficult."
Lonely. He missed them all. He missed the Nein, he missed Caleb, he missed all those moments he could have spent with them if he wasn't always on the run, always ducking away from the ever-prying eyes of the Kryn Dynasty. Putting himself or the Mighty Nein at risk wasn't something he could afford, so he never stayed long.
But he wished-oh, he wished-that he could have spent more time with them. Could have spent more time with him.
They'd spent some time together for a while, a precious few years that Essek held dearly to his heart. He'd learned so much in that short time together, but most importantly, he'd learned just how deeply he loved Caleb, and how wholly Caleb loved him back.
Which had made their closure hurt all the more.
Caleb was never his to keep. It was a selfish desire, and one that Essek knew would be denied to him, but it still hurt when they parted. There was still his friendship, of course, but no more quick kisses over spell inscriptions or wondrous nights where the rest of the world felt insignificant.
When they parted, it was on good terms, but they still parted all the same. Caleb's work in the Empire kept him busy, constantly occupied in one of the riskiest places for Essek to be. So they stayed distant. It was a painful truth to accept. Caleb was his closest friend. He was innovative, humble, wise, and everything Essek didn't know he needed until he was there.
And now he was gone.
Essek could feel the hint of warm tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he wiped them away, busied himself with arranging the charcoal, incense, and herbs.
Caleb would have done this very same ritual hundreds of times, back when he had a familiar of his own. He could visualize the man's calloused hands repeating the same sigils he was drawing, his voice uttering the same incantations in his soft Zemnian accent, hypnotically soothing.
A quick cantrip, and the spell components were set ablaze, starting the ritual. Essek kept a careful eye on the runes written in his spellbook, but stayed attentive to his surroundings, as well. Becoming completely engrossed in a spell was a luxury he couldn't afford when out in the open like this.
Ten minutes passed. The scent of earth and the various blooming plants around the grove mingled with the burning incense, aromatic and soothing. The gentle, well-controlled flame felt natural in front of Caleb's grave, especially when his thoughts were occupied with the human like this. His flame spells tended to leave a residual burning smell on the man's skin where he'd cast-barely detectable, intimately so. It felt like a secret.
It made his chest ache with nostalgia.
Thirty minutes. The sigils he'd drawn on the ground were glowing, hovering above the ground in a beautiful, intricate design. The light filtering through the trees was burning the back of his neck, distracting, but he pushed through the discomfort anyway.
Caleb enjoyed the mornings, and Essek had woken from his trance more than once to find the human sitting outside, cup in hand, basking in the warmth of the rising sun. It reminded him of the many cats they'd housed over the years, stretched lazily in the sunlight, dozing peacefully. He knew that when Caleb had grown old he'd spent hours in his balcony chair or on a bench in the academy grounds, asleep, always with an unfinished book or half-graded assignment in his lap.
Forty-five minutes.
The sound of footsteps caught his ear behind him, and Essek tensed, incantation halting on his tongue as he prepared to drop the spell and teleport to safety, but a warm, deep voice eased his fears before he could dispel it.
"Easy now," Caduceus said. "It's just me."
Essek turned his focus back to the spell, but kept one eye curiously on the firbolg as he carefully stepped around Essek with a bowl in hand, examining the catmint plant.
"Catmint for tonight's tea," he said, working to pluck a few choice leaves from the plant and put them in the bowl. "I'll even make a special bag for you to take on your travels."
Essek found a breath between his incantations to give a quick "thanks", which the firbolg accepted with a nod.
They worked together in silence after that. Caduceus respectfully kept a wide berth around Essek's workings, and he knew the firbolg was trying to step quietly around the grove, as bad at stealth as he was. Nevertheless, Essek appreciated the sentiment, and the firbolg left soon after with the bowl of catmint leaves.
The hour started to come to an end, and Essek could feel something immaterial pulling at his being like a tether. He wasn't holy enough for a Celestial familiar, nor inclined towards evil as the Fiends. And so the neutral, yet curious pull of a Fey familiar drew to him.
According to what the merchant had told him, the familiar would adopt a physicality that would be reflective of something he wants. But Essek didn't know what he wanted.
Well, in regards to the spell. Outside of that, Essek knew painfully so what he wanted.
He wanted Caleb to be here.
He wanted to talk with him again, to hold his hand, to see the man's rare but genuine smile-anything, really. One moment more. All of his studies focused on time and yet not a single spell to grant him that.
And then the hour was complete.
The spell ended, the runes swirled together and took shape into a glowing, hovering form, so bright that Essek had to shield his eyes as a wind rushed through the grove, the fire extinguished in a hiss, and there was silence.
For a moment Essek wondered if it had failed. He rubbed the spots from his eyes, blinking from the flash.
"Mrrp?"
Essek froze.
Slowly, his eyes adjusted back to the normal light, fixating on the familiar white cat sitting at the edge of Caleb's grave.
"Mrow." Frumpkin stretched, tail lifting high into the air as he looked around the grove, then back up at the drow.
It was like the cat had expected this, had been waiting for him to summon the familiar back to this world. He looked timeless, almost ethereal, a ghost of those distant years.
"It's you," Essek breathed, leaning closer.
Frumpkin stepped closer, stepping up on hind legs to place his paws on Essek's face, bringing his nose to the drow's forehead.
Only then did Essek notice the tears falling down his face and dampening the cat's white paws. He blinked again, but now there was no stopping them, flowing down his face and chin, and the ache in his heart spread into his throat and wrenched a sob free.
Frumpkin climbed into his lap, curling against his stomach, and Essek scooped the cat into a tight hug, burying his face in the Fey cat's fur as he cried, shoulders shaking, all the pain and regret he'd held for the ten months and longer emptying into the Blooming Grove, heart bleeding, lungs and throat grieving in a way Essek didn't know he could grieve; shameless and broken and missing Caleb.
He could feel the rumble against his chest as Frumpkin purred loudly, nestling deeper into Essek's embrace.
"I miss him," Essek choked. "I miss him so much."
Frumpkin didn't squirm, simply continued to purr, rubbing his face against Essek's cheek.
Essek sobbed. It hurt to let everything out. It hurt to come to face with the end of the people he cared about while he was still just Essek, barely in his second century and watching the people he cared for wither and age under the passage of time. It felt like a cruel joke from the gods.
He sat there, holding Frumpkin, until his tears stopped flowing and his heart bled dry. There was some small catharsis in the emptiness of his gut, all of the pain he'd stored now tear-streaked across the ground. Caleb was gone, but a part of the human would never leave. He'd changed the lives of so many people, his students, his friends, Essek, and that bit of him would stay and hurt. It would always hurt, because it was a part of him that he would never forget, a grief that he'd carry with a purpose as he continued to live.
Essek pulled away, letting Frumpkin free, but the cat still rubbed his body across his chest, kept purring, as if he knew Essek still needed comfort.
"Thank you, Frumpkin," Essek said, scratching the familiar behind his ears. He grabbed the hat and got to his feet, while Frumpkin hopped off his lap and wandered towards the tombstone of Caleb Widowgast. Essek didn't know what thoughts were behind the familiar's little cat head, but he watched as Frumpkin sat there for a quiet moment, then turned back to Essek with a chirp.
The drow stood there, looking down at his grave, heart a little less heavy, and let out a long, deep breath. "I'll visit you again soon," he said. With a snap of his fingers, Frumpkin poofed and reappeared on his shoulders, wrapped around his neck like a white scarf.
Essek tucked his spellbook under his arm, turned, and left.