'So tell me, what's the best way for me to kill an entire village's worth of people,' Arin asked into the small, round mirror.
The white-haired tower master raised his eyebrows. 'It seems you've planned quite an interesting night for yourself. How delightful.'
'Right. You know why I'm asking. Would you stop fooling around and tell me how… please?'
The man snickered softly, somehow still managing to make the surface of the contact glass look like a particularly beautiful feature at some art exhibit. Arin had to work very hard to keep himself from groaning in exasperation.
'C'mon, please…' he urged again. 'You know I can't exactly go rampaging through the streets with a flaming torch, or-or sword, or something.'
'Hmm, no. That doesn't quite befit you.' The tower master smiled.
'Yes! So, is there perhaps, some tool I might make use of? Something that deploys an airborne poison, or -'
'Is that usually how massacres are carried out in your world?' the man interrupted curiously.
'No! We don't…' Arin thought about it, then corrected himself, 'Well, no, but yes. Sometimes. In some kinds of wars. But it's not like that's common. Poison - or massacres. Anyway, that isn't what I asked.'
'It isn't,' the man nodded. 'To answer your question, no. Of course there is no such sweeping and convenient killing tool made commonly available.'
…
Yeah, fair enough.
Arin sighed. 'Then I suppose there's just one option left to me,' he said. 'How soon can Tarra get here?'
The reason he'd been able to confidently assure sir Veylor of his success tonight had purely been the existence of Rin's reliable and (probably) friendly shape-shifting familiar.
What, exactly, a familiar was; he still didn't know. Even so, his half-baked, last-minute plan for urgently awakening all the villagers had involved bringing her into the distortion, and having her turn into some giant creature that spews poison, or fire, to…
…well, raze down the village.
And himself, of course. Because who didn't want to experience dying a third time?
He'd figured that would require far less convincing and word-games. He didn't think his braincells could survive having to talk to thousands of people about the 'appropriate ways' of 'leaving the celebration'.
More importantly, it'd be quicker, and hopefully considerably less traumatizing, than having everyone lined up to be pushed off that cliff one-by-one.
'Well?'
The white-haired man pursed his lips delicately. 'I'm afraid Tarra won't be able to reach you for… at least the next few weeks.'
Arin felt his heart sink. 'But it'll be far too late by then! If the officials catch wind of this, they'll destroy the distortion with everyone still in it!' he exclaimed. 'And even if they don't, the healers here can't keep all their bodies alive any longer. If they aren't awakened soon, they'll die anyway!'
'Oh? You seem much more well-versed in the ways of our world already,' the white-haired man praised. Then, before Arin could fully form his curse word of choice, he asked, 'But tell me; why do you need Tarra, or even a real tool?'
Arin blinked at the mirror. 'To… to save the villagers, by removing them from the dream. Have you not been listening to a word- ?'
'I have. But, as you've said, the distortion is a dream.'
'Yes, because Elara's talent is dreamweaving, or walking, or something.'
'So?' The white-haired man raised an eyebrow.
So…
Arin stared down at the round mirror in his hand. After a moment, his gaze slid over to look at the thin, silver bracelet on his wrist.
'The illusion tool…' he mumbled. He glanced at the man reflected on the mirror's surface. The tower master seemed to be looking back expectantly. 'But… how could a mere illusion have the destructive power I'd need? I remember what you'd said about it's limitations.'
'In the real world. The dream belongs to the distortion. At the same time, it also belongs to you.'
Arin's eyes widened.
Of course!
Then, after a moment, he frowned again.
'Uh, if that's the case, why would I require the illusion tool at all? Couldn't I just, I don't know - imagine? Dream? - about a sudden miasma that painlessly kills everyone in their sleep?'
'Is that something you deem achievable through the beast-bonding talent you supposedly possess?' asked the white-haired man.
'…no.'
'Then you'd never be able to see it through. Much less convince the villagers of it.'
'Because, if they… don't realistically believe they've died while within the dream, they… wouldn't awaken?' Arin guessed. He wasn't sure of his own words, and was starting to feel a headache coming on.
The white-haired man shrugged. Then, all of a sudden, his face relaxed back into that infuriating smile he usually wore.
'There is no way for me to know that for certain,' he said in a flippant voice. 'I'm not the one responsible for handling that assignment, after all.'
'In any case, I find it rather amusing that your earliest plans involved having Tarra do the slaughtering. Rin would have your head for expecting such a thing from her.'
Arin huffed, mildly annoyed. He could tell he was being laughed at. 'Then I'm afraid Rin will just have to decapitate himself.'
He didn't bother with asking the man for further clarification. He already knew he wouldn't get it.
'Where is Tarra anyway?' he asked instead.
Before he'd left with Siel, the tower master had pulled Tarra aside for a 'discussion' of some kind. After that, the silvery snake had left the refuge of his trouser cuff, transformed back into a silvery horse, and flown off into the sunset by herself.
And even though Arin had had a sneaking suspicion the matter had something to do with his own situation, he hadn't been told anything else about it.
Of course, he shouldn't have expected that to change.
The white-haired man just smiled pleasantly at him without responding. 'I wish you a pleasant night ahead,' was all he'd said before abruptly disconnecting from the contact glass.