Cabal wasn't sure what was wrong with him. His powers were not up to their usual efficacy today. Maybe it was the exertion of the battle; he hadn't ever expended that much energy over the course of a day. In any case, he found himself glad for the sharp object-bearing members of his party, who seemed to be at regular effectiveness. It could have been the stinging humiliation; the imposing dragonborn assuming he was being snide and lazy, then humiliating him in front of the entire gathered army. Cabal was a full two feet shorter than the dragonborn and half the weight. It was clear who the men would follow - Cabal was just the wizard; Kernosh was a born leader. Cabal had long since realized his failings in camaraderie and inspiration. The only way to get on that wagon would be to use his magic to pitch the poor soldier out of the seat. As it was the man had been caught between the insistence of a weary wizard and the orders of his de facto commander. Cabal had let it drop for the man's sake.

Walking the day's distance had perhaps been a mistake, but Cabal would be damned if he'd simply bow to Kernosh's puerile, vindictive orders. Cabal's lip curled at Kernosh's lame attempt at a reconciliation. Cabal was tired, not weak. How could a scaly infantryman understand the mental and physical stress of spellcasting - the Art as they called it here. Oh, Kernosh had his power - that he didn't understand. And now Duncan was using it. Whatever the power was, Cabal didn't trust it. It had first appeared juxtaposed with Bane. Not necessarily damning, but it had the look of necrotic energy, even if Cabal couldn't sense any good or evil within it.

Cabal's mind snapped back to the present. Why was he facedown on the ground? Groggily, he picked his head up. The dwarf was standing upon the altar in front of Cabal, clearly struggling to control the magic energy. "Wizard! Take care of this!" Cabal stood and took a halting step towards the altar. Behind it lay the incredibly bloody corpse of the oni he had been fighting for control - Duncan apparently decided oni were entirely too much like trees, and everyone knows how much dwarves hate vertical trees. Cabal remembered what had likely happened to him - the oni had breathed some kind of fog upon him, clouding his mind. Cabal shook his head, he needed to focus. He placed a hand on the altar and reached out with his mind to take the power from Duncan, who was in a half-crouch on the altar, axes clutched in his hands. Axes dancing with purple flame, Cabal noticed.

Bane's left testicle! Cabal wasn't sure if he yelled the curse or thought it, but the distraction of the dwarf's axes meant he'd make an imprecise seizure of power. The energy tore loose from his control and lashed about, tearing at his and the dwarf's minds. Cabal gasped and clutched at his head.

"Take it! I got a too-tall, ugly bastard to cut down!" The dwarf's cry came as he leaped from the altar, over Cabal's head and ran towards the lingering battle, leaving the roiling energy to Cabal. Cabal ignored him, refocused. He seized back upon the energy, gripping it with his mind and holding it under control. The lashing pain behind his eyes ceased; Cabal was holding on, but only just.

Cabal lost his temper.

The events of the last few days, the mental exhaustion, the complete frustration of being useless all boiled to the surface and burst from Cabal's mouth in a long, wordless roar. The slight wizard cast his head back and screamed to the heavens, to the gods. Tiny sparks of lightning danced from between his clenched eyelids, and bolts danced between his teeth. After all his breath was expended, his arms cast wide, his mouth hanging open, Cabal took a deep breath, then curled his lips into a snarl again and attacked the energy. Every ounce of humiliation and frustration from the last few days was forced into a figurative fist that beat and pounded and held the magic energy still. Cabal pulled loose ends together, tied them off and joined them with the whole. The strands of arcana bent to his will and became ordered, controlled under Cabal's quick and agile restructuring. Soon the whipping, snapping maelstrom of magical essence was coiled together into an intricately woven strand. Ordered, complex and beautiful to Cabal's trained eye, the magic was now under his control. Rage expended, Cabal took another deep breath and pulled the energy into himself. Like tying a ship to a pier but far more complex, Cabal wrapped the magical strand into his own mind, and tied it off. Now it was connected to him, and would take the efforts of a strong and trained mind to break Cabal's control. This floating forest was HIS now.

He realized the battle was over, and the rest of the group was loosely gathered around the small shrine. Cabal looked at them, catching their breath and wiping the blood from their blades. In Duncan's case, the shining purple flame-shrouded blades. Almost without realizing it, Cabal reached out and pulled at the unknown energy. He held it before him, trying to determine what in the Abyss it was, but he couldn't sense it. He wasn't going to take it from Duncan...but...well, he might...but what WAS it? As Cabal's mind wrestled with the possibilities and also with sensing just what its nature could be. Suddenly, his eyes widened as the energy he was holding in stasis, in mid-air, was sucked into Kernosh.

Jealousy raged through Cabal. Jealousy and fear. How was Kernosh doing this? WAS Kernosh doing this? Cabal didn't think Kernosh had even the slightest idea how he was manifesting this power, and that prospect scared the piss out of Cabal. It was obviously divine, and powerful, but which god was granting this elusive energy? Kernosh had no conscious control over it, of that Cabal was certain. Besides, what did the warrior need with magical energy? How could he hope to control it. Cabal was the wizard; Cabal had the strength of will and sheer intelligence - not to mention the years of study - required to understand and harness power of this nature. An imposing presence and great strength were no match for strength of WILL, and physical strength was roughly useless when manifesting or fighting against the power of an unknown god.

Cabal pulled the energy from Kernosh. Still gripped by remnants of his earlier rage and humiliation, Cabal's added fear and jealousy did not make for a nice transition. He reached within Kernosh, seized the energy with an iron grip and yanked it out. Only peripherally did he notice Kernosh's grunt of pain as the energy was torn from him like a poultice from a half-healed wound. Cabal held the energy before him, both Kernosh's and Duncan's as well, and tried to examine it. Nothing. He couldn't tell anything about it! Not a damn thing! He asked Duncan what the fire from the blades was; the dwarf had no idea beyond the obvious burning of flesh the flames provided. Kernosh was likewise without any concept of what this energy was. It obviously strengthened them, but at what cost? There was always power available, but it always came with a price. In Cabal's case it had been years of sore necks and strained eyes, inkstained fingers and blinding headaches. In recent months Cabal's great advances in power had been at the cost of blood; battered and smashed, it was only his straining in fighting for his and the group's lives that his capacity for power expanded. As painful as that was, at least Cabal knew what the cost was and had decided to pay it consciously. What was the cost of this power? Nothing? Everything? Cabal was afraid the price was the very soul of the person who succumbed to its lure.

He could not give this back. There were too many unknowns. He didn't particularly like the dwarf and the dragonborn - he didn't particularly like pretty much anybody - but he wasn't willing to watch them buckle under this if it turned out to be malevolent. And if Cabal could determine the cost, perhaps that would be something they were willing to pay, and Cabal would have little reason not to give it back. He wasn't about to leave the road anytime soon; the strength of this group was clearly his own strength. But Cabal wasn't even interested in this power for himself if he didn't know what it would cost him to use it. He had to study it; to determine its nature.

Cabal sunk the purple energies into the ground, then pulled them into himself. He could have left it in the node, but again, Cabal did not trust it. He had to be able to study it, control it, carefully examine its very nature. Leaving it at the node would not teach him anything. He buried the power away in a corner of his mind; locked down as best he could. He drove it from the front of his consciousness and willed it to remain dormant until he called on it. Cabal knew Duncan had called on it from Kernosh, but he could only hope his discipline and the bonds of his own magic held it in check instead of what must have been floating loosely in Kernosh, uncontrolled and unguarded. Cabal wasn't sure if he could keep it locked down in his own mind, but had to try.

There was little left to do but study. As the again-weary Cabal sank to the ground, sitting with his back against the altar, the hilt of his magical dagger jabbed uncomfortably into his ribs. Cabal pulled the small blade out and considered it. He twirled it between his fingers effortlessly, and as it spun on its point on his fingernail, Cabal thought about the hours it had taken to develop this dexterity. The thousands of throws into wooden targets. He glanced at the eladrin. Orrin was a bit better at opening locks than him anyway; and even if a lock eluded them, Cabal could open it with magic. Magic. It was really the answer to everything; even though his small body was quick and agile, it still was no match for the power of his mind. That was where Cabal's true strength resided, and until this point he had been unwilling to trust it completely. That time had to end. It was time to put away the knives and pick up more books. If he was going to master this mysterious power, he had to learn more.