The thick door closed behind the party, and CassaRoc led them all up to a great dining area, where most of CassaRoc's fifty men waited for their leader. As they entered, the group clapped him on the back, while Teldin strayed around the room, secure in his disguise. He found Cwelanas at the bar, and he sidled up to her. "So far, so good," he whispered.
"That's what you think," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"You were spotted out there by someone," Cwelanas said. "Count on it. If you weren't seen by a neogi mage, or a beholder, then someone else with magical abilities found you out."
"Perhaps… an elf?" Teldin asked, instantly suspicious.
Cwelanas glanced up. For a moment, she appeared almost sad. "Perhaps."
"I'll be on my guard."
CassaRoc came over and pulled Teldin an ale from a long line of taps behind the bar. He sipped at it until the larger group finally came in, led by Chaladar. Emil had been kept hidden tightly in the center.
When Emil was revealed, the disbelieving humans stared between him and Teldin. Finally, Teldin imagined himself wearing his own features, his own musculature, and his own clothes. His body seemed to grow warm, tingling with energy, and he heard the warriors gasping and talking among themselves as his features reshaped into his own natural appearance. The plaid cloak metamorphosed into a dark band at his throat, clasped in front by his amulet, which had shrunk to the size of a coin.
There was silence for a moment, until Emil said, "Boy, that sure was something, Mr. Moore, sir. I sure would be honored to help you out even more- hah! more, get it, sir? hah! — you just let me know if I can help you out at all, Mr. Cloakmaster, sir-"
Teldin patted him on the shoulder. "I appreciate the offer, Emil-"
"Emil the Fierce!" Emil said.
Teldin smiled. "Yes, yes. Thanks."
CassaRoc stood up on a table in the center of the room and motioned Teldin to come over. He looked down at all his warriors and nodded appreciatively.
"Fellows of the Pragmatic Order of Thought," CassaRoc began, "we have a very important guest with us- more important than even he knows, I think. This is Teldin Moore. He's come a long way to rendezvous with the Spelljammer. And he's not a mage or anything like that. He's the one we've heard all the rumors about. He's the Cloakmaster."
The crowd turned toward Teldin, who really did not know what to say. He had not expected a reception such as this, nor a formal introduction to the Human Collective by its leader.
"I know, it's hard to believe, but you all saw it here, and the ancient rumors about the cloak are true. And with it, Teldin here saved my life and routed the cursed neogi."
CassaRoc paused for effect. "Now, I think the Spelljammer is at a turning point, and I think things are going to be a lot different now that Teldin is on board. Chaladar and I have talked about this a lot, lately, once we all heard the rumors. And we're pretty much agreed: Teldin here is the Cloakmaster, and it is his destiny to be here with us, whether we like it or not.
"We've all heard the legends of the Dark Times. Now, it seems to me that if the legend of the Cloakmaster is true, then the legend of the Dark Times is probably true as well.
"But we are humans, here, and Teldin is one of us. His cloak has brought him here for a purpose, whatever that purpose may be. I, for one, think we have to stand behind him. Now, I'll let him speak to you, and you can judge for yourselves the truth of his words."
CassaRoc climbed down and placed his hand on Teldin's shoulder. "Go ahead, boy. Don't you worry. They're good people." He left and walked around to the bar.
"CassaRoc is very kind," Teldin stammered. "Honestly, I don't know what all this means. I don't know anything about the Dark Times. I don't even know what they are."
As he spoke, his confidence grew and his voice became stronger. "Please don't think that I've come here to do you harm. I've been trying to reach the Spelljammer for a very long time-it seems like forever. I always thought I'd been called out here for a reason. I thought at first that it was the curse of my cloak, but now I think maybe it's more than that."
The words came easily, and he knew that these thoughts were honest, things he had been considering for a long time.
"I'm here for some great purpose, whatever that is. And so, I think, is the Spelljammer itself. I have been called across the spheres for a reason. I have a lot of enemies who want my cloakneogi, illithids, even elves- " He glanced at Cwelanas, who smiled thinly at him. "And I believe they want this so they can somehow control the Spelljammer and make it a force of evil across the spheres."
This gained Chaladar's full attention. The paladin stood up straight and focused his gaze on Teldin. The zeal for punishing evil was strong in Chaladar, and he would do anything to thwart the plans of those who dared to embrace chaos.
"I won't allow this," Teldin proclaimed.
Chaladar agreed loudly, shouting, "Go on, Cloakmaster."
Teldin looked out into the warriors' eyes and realized they were listening to him. Their trust was incomplete, he knew; he could see that in some of their expressions. He knew he had to prove himself to them, as he had already proved himself to CassaRoc, and now Chaladar. "If I am here for a reason, somehow bound together with this cloak and with the Spelljammer, then it is a purpose for good, not evil. It is a purpose for life, and for honor- not conquest and death."
The warriors began murmuring their agreement. The dark band at his throat began to grow warm, but he did not notice.
"I will need your help. If my enemies- our enemies- want this cloak, then that means they want me. That means that we'll have a fight on our hands, another fight to the death, probably, but a fight for good, a battle for the Spelljammer's destiny. There is a war raging right now, perhaps a second Unhuman War. When this is over on the Spelljammer, maybe we will all be able to live in peace and explore the universe, without fear of dark magic and Unhuman enemies. But I'll need your help."
The crowd was silent, staring at Teldin. Chaladar came up and said quietly, "Teldin, your cloak."
Teldin looked down. On its own, the cloak had unfurled and grown, softly flaring out behind him in the approximate shape of the Spelljammer. Its colors flared brightly, seemingly infused with the energies of the flow, and, as he watched, the inner lining grew dark and the light of stars appeared within, as though the cloak were a vista upon some distant wildspace.
Chaladar said, "I told Teldin that I believed he could unite the collective into a force for good. I now believe that was his destiny all along. Teldin Moore… Cloakmaster… I will be honored to stand with you- and all the warriors of the Chalice tower will stand with you as well."
CassaRoc's warriors shouted agreement with the grand knight. From the bar, CassaRoc shouted, "And we're with you as well, Teldin. Aren't we, lads?"
At that, all the warriors in the room cheered. Teldin looked upon them and smiled, at CassaRoc, at Chaladar, at Emil and Cwelanas. But there was a frown on her face, and before he could question it, hands were reaching for him, clapping his back, shaking his hand. From around the room he heard cries of "To Teldin Cloakmaster!" Toasts were made, and the warriors introduced themselves for so long that, by the end, he could remember only a handful of their names. His doubts slowly drowned in an overwhelming sea of friendship.
Through it all, no one noticed a small, dark shape crawling on the floor, poking its black, furred snout from around the bar. No one noticed its faint sweet smell, the stench of something long dead.
And no one noticed its white, burning eyes.
There was no warmth, no friendship, in the oppressive silence that lay deep within the secret warrens that veined the mighty Spelljammer. The dark world hidden beneath the citadel, the tunnels that stretched mazelike from tip to tip throughout the Spelljammer's body, were cold and reeked with the stench of ancient evil. Only the dead and the undead walked in the warrens. Silence was spoken here, broken only by the shudder of a death rattle, the screams of souls, the whisper of black winds from the worlds beyond the grave.