Steven Schend - Blackstaff Tower

But this situation held its own message. Vajra fought to remember what she could about Kyriani.

Despite the greenish shades of both Samark and Kyriani, Vajra knew Kyri had purple eyes when she was alive. The half-elf was once one of the tel'teukiira-the Moonstars, as humans called them. Kyriani saw the second Blackstaff-Tsarra Chaadren-and her heir die in battle against a coven of vampire-wizards in the Stump Bog. Kyriani honored her friends by taking up the Blackstaff and risking her own sanity to carry its power back to Waterdeep.

What else? As if Kyri could hear her thoughts, the half-elf's eyebrows rose and the ghost idly scratched one of her pointed ears. Vajra furrowed her brow in concentration. Kyri was a half-elf, and there lay a clue.

Kyriani Agrivar had been the daughter of a human wizard and a drow. Vajra remembered weeping the first time she read of Kyri's constant battles to reconcile and merge her warring natures of darkness and light, and how she'd twice been split into separate bodies.

"That's it!" Vajra exclaimed.

"What is it, dear?" Kyriani asked.

The other Vajra on the platform behind her muttered, "Shush. I must study this."

"I've got to reconcile myself-change my self-image," Vajra said. "For so long, I've seen myself as different things, and they're all here." She pointed at the various platforms and images of herself around the room. "I'm a child and a sorcerer, Tamik al Safahr's youngest girl, and the only one born with magic. I'm the Black-staffs heir, and I must study and learn more and more to be worthy of this honor. I'm a woman desperately in love despite the differences between us."

Kyriani asked, "So why are all those separated?"

"Fot the same reason you warred within yourself-we get so used to compartmentalizing ourselves and our images of self that we splinter what should be whole." Vajra wept as she saw the image of her long-dead father pick up her child-self and toss her high in the air. "I was fourteen when my father died defending Darromar from assassins. My sorcerer's spells weren't enough to save him, and he and my aunt died for my failures. I had just begun my wizard training with her, and I turned my back on sorcery that day, since it was the wizardry she taught me that helped us save Tethyr's Queen Cyriana and King Errilam."

"Ignoring an essential part of you creates holes in you," Kyriani said.

Vajra nodded, then turned her gaze on Kyriani and the image behind the gteen shade. "I see myself there as the wizard, the Black-staff's heir, the capable student. But never a master. I'll never learn enough magic and wizardry to deserve the honor of being the Blackstaffs heir."

"That's a problem, then." Kytiani laughed. "Since you've got to accept being worthy enough to be the heir and to be the Blackstaff. Who filled your head with this nonsense?"

"I did," Varja said, casting an embarrassed eye toward the atdor-fueled meeting of Samark and herself. "I came to Waterdeep to learn foreign magic, as is required of any student of Tethyr's Court Vizera. If we challenge the Tethyr Curse and survive for a winter, we may return and enter her apprenticeship, in hopes of serving the Crown directly. I joined the Watchful Order and expected to return to Tethyr three summers ago, but…"

"Yes?" Kyri pushed her.

"I never thought love could overpower me," Vajra whispered. "It's a more demanding magic than any Art I'd known. It drove me to his side, and he fled, thinking it improper. Samark was like me."

"How so?"

"We were both so afraid at first. We ignored it, and you know how it is when you don't answer love's call."

"Afraid not, deaf." Kyriani giggled. "I never resisted." She winked, and Vajra found herself both blushing and slightly jealous of the woman.

Vajra fell silent, searching her head and heart for the key to reconcile these fragments of herself. Samark's ghost winked out from the divan where he and her other self lay. He reappeared before her, his robes and composure restored. He reached out, and his cold touch ruffled the short hair on the nape of her neck. "Still questioning, my heart?" he asked.

She looked into his green eyes, remembering them as the sea green they were during his life, and she wept.

"I regret what happened to you in our name, love," he said.

Vajra's head snapped up at his words and she gasped. "No, you don't."

Samark and Kyriani suddenly floated free of any platforms, and all of them began to shift around the chamber.

Vajra kept her eyes on Samark and spoke with confidence. "You said it after we finally admitted our love. 'Only regret what is left undone, what is left unsaid. Regretting what has happened that cannot be changed is wasted energy.' Stop questioning and just accept-that was my test." As she spoke, she relaxed. Taking a deep breath and wiping away the tears on her cheeks, Vajra chuckled. "The answer's been so simple and in front of me so long." She concentrated, snapped her fingers, and a Blackstaff shod with silver on both ends appeared in her hands. "Even the heir can summon a simple Blackstaff."

Vajra looked over the room and saw all the sides of herself drifting near and far. She resolved to change that.

"I'm ready now." She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the staff, and whispered. "I am Vajra, daughter of Tamik al Tamik el Safahr, paladin proud, and Parama yr Manshaka, mother beloved. I accept the gifts with which I was born, the Art in my blood as sorcerer. I am Vajra, apprentice to Mynda and the Princess Zandra, the Court Vizeras of my homeland, and I am worthy of their praise and teachings. I am Vajra, heir and lover of the Blackstaff Samark Dhanzscul, and our love and our magic completed me. I am Vajra, I am worthy, and I am unified."

Vajra opened her eyes to find her other images missing and the entry chamber gone. She now stood in the private library of the Blackstaff, though she focused little on the books surrounding her. She looked upon the true Blackstaff, no longer hidden in its smoked-glass cabinet but floating free before the massive fireplace. The true Blackstaff was a massive entity of rune-inscribed dusk-wood, made black by years of use, melded with veins of silvet metal rune-carved. Atop the staff was a large axe head in the shape of a snarling wolf s head, its eyes aglow with green magic.

Drawn on the flagstones beneath the true Blackstaff wete six circles, all aglow with runes and magic. Each circle held the silvery wizard mark or sigil of each Blackstaff before her, and each of them hovered above their marks, staring at her. Vajra had met all but the last and eldest in her three years at Blackstaff Tower, but the first Blackstaff usually only manifested by locking doors or appearing as forbidding eyes whenever she sought to explore more of the tower than he thought wise. Today, she faced every spirit of the tower. She quailed inside, but breathed deep and steadied herself. She would face these spirits-in chronological order, from the most recent at the outer circle to the oldest Blackstaff at the center.

Khelben spoke, his bass voice thundering. "When the Black-staff was forged, it was made by the will of my father, myself, and our goddess. Since that time, the assumption of the true Blackstaff has gained its rituals. Step forward, make your claims, and be the Blackstaff, if you so dare."

"By what right do you claim the Blackstaff?" asked Samark, his kindly smile muted for the seriousness of the iitual.

"I claim it by responsibility, for no one stands as the Black-staff", and Waterdeep needs one to stand for Art, for order, and for good."

With her answer, the shade gestured, and the outermost circle around the staff disappeated, allowing Vajra to step closer to it.

"By what right do you claim the Blackstaff?" asked the shade of Ashemmon.

"I claim it by inheritance, for I am the last heir."