With the help of the strange, electric clicks, The Rectifiers were able to successfully complete the contraption atop Weaver’s tower. The platforms moved together and glowed white hot, eventually revealing a dragon with colorless scales. The group discovered that as each one imbued themselves with the dragon, its scales changed colors. They took to the skies to chase their target.
In the bleak skies in this realm of Doom, The Rectifiers had a battle of magic astride their manufactured dragon. Weaver would conjure magical armors to protect Render, which could be countered by certain imbuements from The Rectifiers. Each set of armor on Render seemed to tie to the story of each person in the battle. At last, the colorless dragon dealt a serious blow to Render, causing him to begin spiraling down. Acting quickly, Weaver conjured a large, enchanted book to swallow the group whole. With a snap, he also disintegrated The Rectifiers’ beast. The book swallowed all the combatants.
Standing on top of an open book covered in glowing purple runes, The Rectifiers readied their weapons. Render clambered over the edge of the book, anchoring himself with his claws. The Rectifiers struck true, withstanding Render’s fire and claws, as well as Weaver’s blasts of Doom runes. The battle was finished by a grievous slice across Render’s claw, slicing it completely off its limb. Render leapt up, flying back to allow Weaver to prepare an ultimate spell.
He spoke in his smooth voice an ominous prediction, “And lo, The Rectifiers sealed their own Doom far below, in the abyss.” The incantation itself hovered in the air in front of them, but the words “sealed”, “Doom”, “below”, and “abyss” all glowed intensely purple. The sentence began to pulsate, hurting The Rectifiers with each pulse. Four sets of jumbled letters cracked through the pages of the book. These glowed intensely gold, a magic The Rectifiers hypothesized counteracted the Doom. It seemed this magic was cracking through the realm as Weaver and Render grew weaker. The Rectifiers thought quickly to unscramble the enchanted words. They then used these words to replace the Doom-laiden ones of Weaver’s spell to create the new spell, “And lo, The Rectifiers made their own fate far above, in the heavens.”
The spell scorched Render and Weaver both in a golden glow of fire. Golden fireballs began to fall through the realm, hitting pages and scrolls that began to materialize into a makeshift bridge. The Rectifiers chased Weaver and Render down this bridge, burning pages falling in all directions.
They reached the end of a burnt scroll. Weaver summoned a wall of Doom-laiden runes to protect himself as he tended to Render. He also conjured a black slate that levitated toward his opponents. The black slate held an enchantment that summoned forth a foe The Rectifiers thought they had dealt with for the final time: Borum. Again, the group had to defeat this conjured spirit of Borum, besting him yet again.
With Borum’s defeat, the black slate slammed to the ground and warped into white with a golden quill next to it. It seemed The Rectifiers could turn this magic against Weaver and summon forth an ally. Knowing virtually no other choice, The Rectifiers wrote upon the slate “Londo Artlatta”. A swirl of white magic funneled upward to materialize into a conjuration of their fallen commander. He brandished his blade and tattoo, lit the blade aflame with a dark red fire, and rushed toward Render and Weaver. He easily cut through the Doom runes and struck cleanly through Render’s neck, severing the beast’s head. Render’s wings spasmed as the body of the creature collapsed atop Weaver. The conjuration of Londo gave The Rectifiers his familiar smile and vanished as quickly as he appeared.
Weaver crawled out from the remains of his companion, his fancy clothing torn, bloody, and scorched by gold flames. He managed to get himself to one knee, telling The Rectifiers that though they will defeat him, they have no chance of winning against Saren and the Doom itself. Gale stepped forward and slammed her boot upon Weaver’s chest, pinning him to the ground. Before she could retort, a shimmering gold light began to flake away from where her boot had planted. It was chipping away at the dark shades of Weaver’s doublet, revealing a lighter color beneath.
“What is this magic?!” Weaver exclaimed, scurrying backwards. Gale persisted, grabbing his hood, for she had her own hypothesis. The hood also cracked away, revealing instead of scholarly hood of white silk. She threw back Weaver’s hood entirely to reveal a familiar face. The man had shorter hair that seemed to once be regularly styled, but no longer. It was warped to a dark hue, the man’s eyes corrupted into the purple shade of Doom. Gale stood face-to-face with the brother she had lost at the Ancient Skies: Devan of Luxen. Overwhelmed by emotion, she grabbed Weaver in an embrace, bathing the entire realm in golden light. The act tore away the corruption Devan had suffered. It returned his hair to his normal brown shade. It corrected his eyes to their original, green shade. Gale helped her now awakened brother to his feet as Scorna quickly grabbed the book bound in dragonwing leather that appeared to be Devan’s Anchor. With no evil remaining in the realm, it collapsed, returning everyone to the manor atop the hill in Navis.
Devan seemed to remember everything he had done. Gale tried to console him and explain it wasn’t truly his fault for Luxen nor Navis, not truly. He explained that he remembered very little of what happened when the Stewardess’s realm began to collapse with Doom Magic, but he did say that Saren was very particular about keeping the Candidates separate. While The Rectifiers thought this made sense, Devan had some instinct telling him there was another reason. He wished to see any of the Candidates the group had told him were “purified”. The Rectifiers and the once-Candidate left the manor to return to Navis proper. The town seemed to be almost fully rebuilt from when Render rained purple flames upon it. A sign that The Rectifiers had been gone longer than they wished. Once in town, they quickly hailed one of Beckett’s knights.
The knight seemed elated by their appearance, and he told the group that it was now early spring, that they had been gone for a couple of months. The knight escorted them to the councilor building, an immense, gated building of white stone. Before he left, he asked The Rectifiers to be careful. He said the people of Matar need them. With these words of encouragement, The Rectifiers stepped inside and up the stairs toward what was currently Beckett’s office.
Beckett met them at the top of the stairwell, offering them a hero’s welcome. He congratulated them on their victory, told them they were considering replacements for Turner, and received Turner’s councilor ring back from Scorna. They all stepped into the open-air office where they were met with a sea breeze and Revelrae, who leaped from her chair to embrace the group. As she methodically moved down the line, she paused at Devan with a look of confusion and shock.
“Gale…” Devan began. “I know why Saren kept us separate,” he said ominously, staring straight into Revelrae’s pink-purple eyes…