Loathe as I am to broach this subject, I feel at this point in the chronicle it is necessary to expound at some length on mystic principles, for they played a considerable role in events in the Tasgusun Hills and in subsequent affairs of the expedition. Dragons, after all, are beings of inherent mysticism. Far greater than any distorted creation of wizards, they are a manifestation of divine essence crystallized as it turns from one point in the divine cycle to the next, endlessly channeled across the world. Though perhaps regrettable, it should not come as a surprise that an expedition with the stated goal of locating such a mystic paragon would find its affairs steeped in mysticism. Preparations had been made accordingly from the start, with learned and skilled representatives of all mystic paths save wizardry present and the provision of the Redbone Explorers to counter wizardry and its creations should they interpose themselves in our path. This was considered a thorough measure, though it underestimated the wildness of Shdustu.

All mystic arts are built, as all born in the Sanid Empire or other lands familiar with the Enlightened Revelation should know, upon the utilization of the excess divine essence that leaks forth from the mighty cyclical processes the Divines use to maintain the structure of the world. Those able to bend their minds through the perceptual formulae necessary to perceive and manipulate this energy can embark on the path of mysticism with proper instruction. Those who fail to master the bizarre and esoteric mental exercises necessary to reveal this potential can never do so, being unable to touch such power no matter the extent of their knowledge and therefore able to advance only as scholars such as myself.

In truth, the division of essence manipulation into five distinct arts, as has long been standard imperial practice, is something of an illusion. These are simply different means of grasping, shaping, and channeling the divine essence and anyone capable of touching such power is potentially capable of wielding them in all ways. The shamans of the Bahab, who combine the practices of alchemy and healing together in primitive fashion, serve as evidence of this. Another similar case is that of the prophets of the Sunfire Cult, who meld simplistic healing and heretical blessings into what they call the 'gifts of the sun.' The divisions are therefore ultimately arbitrary, but they are nevertheless quite real in that specialization is necessary to unlock the true capability of mysticism. Without focus on a singular approach, mastery cannot be achieved. The stumbling limitations afflicting shamans, witch doctors, and others who attempt to combine different methods are notable in this way, though I must confess that among illiterate peoples such as the Bahab they are not without sense. Lacking the cross-generational legacy of scholarly achievement that written records provide, the advancement of any individual down a specific path is inevitably constrained and truncated. No one, no matter their genius, can reach the heights unaided.

Healers manipulate essence within the body to staunch injury and excise disease. Apothecaries and alchemists locate places where essence has naturally concentrated in the environment, gather it, purify it, and combine it into formulations that produce an effect tied to the nature of the essence itself. Priests channel essence into alignment with revealed divine will and provide blessings to those who serve greater purpose. These arts are well known and though practitioners are rare, they are commonly observed by the populace. Even the poorest farmer from the most isolated village will have encountered them at least a few times in life. Their wonders and limitations alike are widely witnessed and at least generally hold a place within popular imagination.

Sorcery and wizardry lack this common exposure. Their practitioners are rare and their demonstrations considerably less public. As a result, many who are unaware of the nature of these paths consider them similar. In truth, they lie upon the opposite ends of the mystical spectrum. Lady Indili explained this to me and the other members of the expedition with great care. Sorcery channels divine essence into shaped energy. These are most commonly the familiar forms of fire, frost, and lighting, but the energy of shape and motion, of which wind is a component but apparently far less than the whole, is utilized by essence masters who tie their creations to forms known and held in their mind. The key point of commonality is that the works of sorcery are explicitly temporary. They rely upon active manipulation and can be sustained no longer than the concentration and endurance of the sorcerer allows, with snap effects that take no more than a moment favored. Once manipulation ceases the channeled essence dissipates, returning to natural equilibrium. A rock tossed into a fire will grow hot only so long as the flame remains, after which it will cool slowly, until eventually no feeling of heat can be detected.

Wizardry is the inverse of this. It gathers divine essence and binds it into new forms. I have been cautioned to note at this point that such actions are not inherently heretical. Indeed, the apothecary's art does something similar, though it relies on naturally present variations in essence concentration rather than producing gradients of its own. The danger of wizardry is that it can be pushed far beyond the natural range of variation to create constructs with no place in the divine cycle. The resulting creations are tormented by distortion, instability resulting from the violation of divine will and their lack of place in the natural world. Such crafts will be plagued by decay and dissolution, ultimately reaching a terrible destruction. Violations of this kind are not unique to wizardry. Master and Mistress Adnol related how healers can often channel power to excess, seeking to save a loved one from some injury or affliction beyond the power of even the strongest vessel to endure. In doing so they often destroy themselves, their bodies wrenching apart in horrific accelerated decay. It is simply the nature of wizardry, being slow and permanent in structure, that renders it vulnerable to the creation of sustained distortion compared to the almost instantly fatal consequences common to the overreach of other mystic arts.

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As may be grasped from this discussion, the conduct of wizardry both takes longer and lasts longer than other methods of divine essence manipulation. A sorcerer can invoke an effect almost instantly, channeling divine essence to unleash a blast of fire or lightning with a speed comparable to an archer drawing and firing an arrow. Indeed, I witnessed Lord Udrand perform such works several times. Even the most potent of sorcery spells take at most a few minutes to invoke as great masses of essence are gathered and shaped. Wizardry, by contrast, takes hours to conduct even the simplest of rituals. More complex workings might take days of continual effort, and prolonged, multiple step projects can unfold across the course of months or even years. The advantage is longevity. A sorcerer's spell never lasts more than a few hours at most, but the creations of wizards can endure for millennia, as the tomb puppets did. More than that, wizards can even create true breeding mystic creatures, such as the giant scorpions of the Nikkad, that acquire their own place in the world.

This reality runs very much contrary to rumor and storytelling, which often features tales of wizards who hurl energy blasts as sorcerers do. Such a thing is not possible. Even the longest of great battles fails to sustain fighting of sufficient length to allow a single wizard ritual to be completed. However, that is not to say wizards are not extremely dangerous. They prepare for conflict by modifying the bodies of their servants and even themselves, changing their flesh and blood and bones to acquire unnatural strength, speed, and toughness. The consequential distortion will slowly kill the subject as the body rebels against being twisted in this fashion, but many are willing to sacrifice their futures to transcend the limits of the body. Wizards most often acquire such servants from the desperate and dispossessed. In Shdustu they are known to wander battlefields, seeking out those who have had their bowels pierced by an arrow or spear and who did not receive a healer's attention prior to the putrefaction of the wound. A wizard can prolong the life of such an unfortunate, not through healing but by remaking the body to function without the damaged tissue, which can then be extracted by the surgeon's blade. The distortion imposed by such alterations will still kill, inevitably so, but slowly rather than swiftly. A life measured in days can be extended to months or even years. The greenish pus commonly seen seeping through the skin of those transformed in such a fashion is not the direct impact of the distortion, which is invisible to the eye, but comes from the body consuming itself as the incompatible parts fight each other within.

Many claim that wizardry is a blight, an affront to the world born of the interaction of the Divines. I would never deny that wizardry can be, and often is, a source of terrible horrors. Given the power to make monsters, few humans have managed to restrain themselves from doing so. Yet nothing in the Enlightened Revelation specifically condemns the practice. Many of the greatest creations of wizardry are, like the giant scorpions, unsettling, but ultimately simply represent new forms and processes added to the natural cycles of the world. An arrogant expression of human ingenuity, certainly, but the same can be said of great and towering monuments the size of hills, and such relics are found seeded throughout the Core Provinces and beyond in the name of long forgotten kings and emperors. I have come to believe that wizardry, if it could be wielded with proper restraint, could achieve much to benefit the world.

History makes clear, alas, that this is not to be. Doubtless there are rare wizards who operate with discretion and care. I suspect the Emperor is well-served by the secret assistance of a few members of the breed, restrained by the scrutiny of the Inspectorate. However, most wizards live in a world where their craft is forbidden and match the hostility of others with towering violence in the name of securing their freedom. Certainly, extreme violence is ever a feature of wizardry as practiced in Shdustu.

The wizards of this region form a loose affiliation known as the Obsidian Order. They claim descent from the wizard-kings of old. Such a legacy is highly dubious, but they have certainly recovered certain artifacts of that era. Their hidden fortresses are located deep in the wild and they haunt the fringes of settlements and gatherings plying their lures upon the vulnerable. Desperate, deluded, and deranged lives find their way into the grasping hands of the order, only to discover that while their changed forms may deliver survival or vengeance, they also demand servitude. Regrettably, it seems that the supply of those willing to sacrifice freedom for blood is no less inexhaustible upon the vastness of the steppe than any other human homeland.

Remarkably, the members of the order come from many backgrounds and display no internal divisions among Kharal, Nikkad, or other origins. Even foreigners from distant lands have traveled to Shdustu and joined their ranks, eager to dwell in a place where there are no agents of emperors or kings seeking their extermination. Despite the difficulties of mystic scholarship in the steppe environment, this comparative lack of persecution has allowed them to grow numerous and powerful.

Though the Obsidian Order normally keeps its activities quiet and withdrawn to the margins of societies lest they rouse the ferocity of the khagans, who consider them descendants of ancient foes, these wizards took a distinctive, and greatly tragic, interest in the emergence of the dragon.