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Post by Madame Damara on Dec 5, 2014 12:04:18 GMT
Tzigane had sat quietly since she last spoke, quivering lightly under her robes as she attempted to remain seated upright and not slump back into her chair. She felt so drained, unnaturally so. She couldn't quite understand why a prophecy like this had caused her to become so weak. Normally, when she spoke the warnings of the gods, she felt imbued with holy light and filled with life. This was so different. So unnerving.
She lifted her head slightly as the in-fighting began. The Illusionist was, of course, the first to make a statement to rub the others raw. It was simply his nature,his way. He was a trickster at heart, a lover of jokes and mirth. However, not every situation was best suited for comedy and soon the others would react so poorly. The stern Abjurer who tried so desperately to be a responsible guiding light for the others to follow, he would be the one to set the tension, to take the lighthearted comments of the comedian and unintentionally force the joke to become a serious consideration. Then the actress would heighten the drama by providing an antagonist, an opposing voice against what was once only a silly statement. Now, the duke, mixing his pain into the plot of the scenario to provide an emotional outburst. Three who now stood against one another, from comedy to tragedy the situation had run.
"Lord Aebra has already stated that there shall be no nominations..." Damara spoke at long last when the flow of time had caught up to what she had known would come. She addressed the gnome when he threw his accusation her way, still trying to appear strong despite the weariness overtaking her muscles and bone. "I have offered only what the gods have chosen to have me reveal. I have made no decision in the matter, and therefore I am not to be accused of favoritism nor insurrection. If a vote is forced upon us, I shall nominate myself as I refuse to be the deciding factor in an argument to which I do not belong."
She turned her head slightly toward Lord Rail, who had not yet spoken up. "I have delivered into your hands my concerns, and I have spoken my interpretation of the information the gods have offered. There is a mystery forming here, and each of us holds a clue. Lord Rail... Will you participate in this madness or will you assist me in finding the meaning of that card you hold? Should we call the Fallen here? Now? Should we allow him the role the gods have provided, or do we attempt to defy destiny?"
Turning her attention to the others once more, she finally succumbed and sat back, resting against the cushioned back of her high chair. "That is the only matter which we should focus upon at this moment, I believe. Lady Diva... Maestro Buliri... Duke Brass... Lord Aebra... let us put aside petty differences for the time being, yes?" she whispered softly.
She then shifted her sightless gaze to the empress seated nearby. "Your highness, the only one with power to approve another to join this congregation is yourself. As you are the ultimate authority of the land, so it is to you that the weight of the responsibility must pass... The decision you make now could affect the course of history, so I implore you to make the decision wisely."
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Post by Lord Rail on Dec 5, 2014 14:25:36 GMT
Lord Rail had been very quiet through much of the. Discussion, the card held firmly in his skeletal left hand, a bony finger tracing the "M" that had been marked in blood. The Necromancer's thoughts were mixed, several threads of consciousness hanging back and pondering the eventual fate of Zaestra the Arch Mage, while the rest of him clung to the heavy tension now heating up the room. The man dropped his head, using his other hand to keep it aloft, and just stayed quiet.
Buliri, always the comedian, had given his punchline, but the audience couldn't take--or wouldn't, in the case of Diva--a joke, even if some truth lay beneath the elusive facade. The latter then stood high and mighty, her proclamation booming throughout the room and giving the man a near migraine; what she said terrified him at the core, but knowing it was her...he relaxed slightly. Lady Diva was intense, and her presence just took the energy out of anyone in her vicinity. True, she was the all-powerful Enchantress, but her apparent threats were witnessed by at least a majority of the other Grand Mages.
He was just about to rise in protest of the infighting when the Duke took the stage, and once more Rail just eased back into his chair and sighed heavily. At least the Gnome and he were able to keep that woman flustered. She looked like a puppy, being scolded for piddling on the floor, and if Rail were a laughing man, today would be the day. Instead the Reaper's Servant took pity, as they were no closer to finding a real solution than they were before Madame Damara ever even had her vision.
The Duke's passion ruled his outburst, and even Rail could see it between Maestro's gritting teeth he was also uncomfortable with this sudden explosion; Rail next thought about what he really knew of the Transmuter and Lady Diva, and what he did understand could spell trouble for the rest of them.
If the Brass Duke's claims were true, he was the son of a Dragon. Now commonly Sorcerers were known for telling people grand stories of their heritage, where they inherited their power, and giving a reason as to why they were so special. Most of these stories, when followed, ended up at a dead end, and the Sorcerer was left looking foolish.
The Duke, however, spoke of this inside a Zone of Truth and was a terrible liar when among his social circle; he was vulnerable, and so they could pierce his lies with a butter knife. But he did refer to his mother as a bright, golden dragon. And the fact Diva was the man's aunt was common knowledge, and she referred to his mother often as a "monster of a sister". He always knew there was something off between that family. He wanted no part in a colossal battle if Draconic blood was going to be involved.
Eventually the Necromancer's head was pounding, and he could feel his face getting warmer. Buliri had come back hard on the Enchantress, and he could almost see her on fire, as her temper could be flared only so much before she exploded. He'd seen it once, and it wasn't pretty. So just as the woman was about to pull out one of her many wands, the Necromancer acted.
He shot up from his chair, startling even himself as his many robes began to bulge and pulse; first it was one, then two, followed by four more. A total of six sharp, pointed hands consisting of nothing but shadow, attached by rather long, trailing arms burst from the folds in his regalia and weaved across the room like a herd of snakes; they stayed clear of the pouring sunlight, either by slithering beneath the table or pressed against the walls. But each hand hit their mark: two hands each, grabbing hold of first the Illusionist, the Enchantress came next, and finally pinned the Brass Duke against his chair, tossing him right back and enveloping him completely.
Whatever eyes now locked onto him went unnoticed, as his own were snapped shut. A bead of sweat fell off his brow and onto the table as he heaved forward, looking as if he might be sick; his skeletal arm lifted in the air and his hand clenched into a fist. The spectral hands tightened around their targets, not so much as to hurt them, but keep them contained.
"All the weight you people are slamming the table with, you're going to break it and destroy the symbol of our unity...
"ENOUGH!" he hollered, slamming his own fist clean through the polished wood. When his eyes opened they were no longer vibrant and colorful; instead they were glazed over with a glistening jet, including the white around his irises. Were this unnatural for him, one might think he were possessed, but this was a side effect of his power.
The bonds loosened as he caught his breath, and he touched a hand to his chest to monitor his relaxing heart before speaking again, this time to Tzigane.
"Please forgive me," he said, addressing everyone, mostly the latter and the frightened Empress. "I will not see the prophecy destroy us only moments after it has been given...and the pursuit of our goals will not outshine our job! We are the Grand Mages, the sole source of Magical power of the Eveliegh Empire, and as Her Majesty said, at the will of the Empire alone. You would all dare to destroy what Zaestra started all that time ago, to crumble the very foundation the Rainbow Tower was based on. Unity! Master Aebra, as a former Initiate you know the Veils well, and you understand without all seven colors a single barrier is almost powerless to a skilled opponent. Do you people not realize we are simply ensuring our demise if we let this vision split us up? Do you even care?"
The man sighed and picked up the card he'd carelessly dropped and held it for all to see. He looked significantly to Tzigane. "Yes...please call the boy upstairs...I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I understand it is your decision, but I must implore you to take immediate action. So please, Madame Damara, call him up. And you, all of you...focus on this. This "M", this prophecy. All of it. We follow our leads and stick together. Someone pulls the strings to our destiny, but it doesn't mean we are bound to that path completely. But do not prove it true with your arrogance again! We have Shadows watching our every move, hoping to catch us in our vulnerable moment. And there will be only one..."
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Post by The Creator on Dec 6, 2014 2:16:09 GMT
Her Majesty had seen very little magic performed before her eyes; a majority of her Court Magician's 'spells' were actually clever tricks, illusions undeserving of the word. Parlor acts made to amuse, something a true Mage could perform with an actual spell, Prestidigitatiion, and do it better.
Today Regina witnessed Oracular power, and even some of the Abjurer's work with the barrier outside the tower. But the Necromancer terrified her just now. In that moment when tendrils, dark as the most hellish night ripped clean of the man's clothes, and presumably his body, to tether and subdue the man's colleagues, she barely suppressed a frightened gasp and jumped a good foot out of her chair; when things quieted down she was still cowering behind her seat, quivering as tall as its back and whimpering. Charles was hovering over her form with both arms cradling her close to his chest, and his eyes were trained menacingly towards Lord Rail.
She only grew worse when the Necromancer turned to address her, and she let a light scream pass between ruby lips. But somehow she managed to peek over the chair and meet his evil gaze, and for a moment she wished she hadn't. He was beautiful before, so radiant and dressed very well. Now, the man held the devil's eyes and looked monstrous with creeping hands made of shadow looming about his form. She could only gulp and shake her head as she tried to stand on buckling legs.
A finger plunged through the air to face the man, and she gave a stern look about the room, somehow given supernatural vigor from such a terrifying few minutes.
"Now hear me," she demanded almost as powerfully as the late Severus had from time to time. "I will rephrase my earlier statements. There will be no infighting here, especially within the city border. Acalendor--no, every territory within my empire is off-limits."
And then, because she could see their eyes shifting,
"It will fall back on the Empire if its Grand Mages are unable to cooperate, and I warn you now, we will be vulnerable to the Dominion at that point. If these blasted Imperial Wizards you cower before on your deluded minds end up being real? What chance will you have when they decide the smartest move is to silently pick you off one by one?"
She gave a motherly glare to Diva, and then the troublemaker Buliri. "I am amending consequences to any act I will declare treason to the Crown: you will be stripped of your noble rank, your Colleges, and your title. If you're captured you will be jailed. Lord Aebra, I will write an order for the Sevenfold Temple, requesting Initiates for honorary status as Inquisitiors. Lady Diva, do not presume I will not use your Enchanters, as well.
"Remember well. You exist and live comfortably because I will it. Do not test my patience with your foolish goals. We work together. Am I clear?"
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Post by The Brass Duke on Dec 6, 2014 2:34:49 GMT
One minute the man was cursing the day she was born, and the next minute Diva seemed to be pulled in the opposite direction, dragged away, far, far away. She was thrown back into a wall, suspended in midair, and writhing against invisible bindings in the shadow; he himself was unaware Rail's ghoulish appendages had even grabbed him until he was forced into his seat and jostled into submission, the barely tangible hands creeping about his form, round and round again until he was fastened to his seat.
The man gawked wide-eyed at his surroundings and witnessed the Necromancer's sudden change from Jeckyl to Hyde, and frankly, that was pretty creepy to him. The man struggled against his captor, but the man strengthened his hold; the Duke quit pretty easily compared to his typical reaction, mostly due to shock, though he also understood his outburst was unwarranted. He would never admit to that last part, however, so he seethed in place until the Queen spoke.
Such high and mighty words, he thought with scrutiny, knowing Regina was a mouse of a woman, while her father had been a tremendous lion. What came out of her mouth was regurgitated from the man, and it was almost like seeing his ghost speaking through her. He was amazed, to say the least, but was unpleased.
"With all due respect to the Council, and by extension the ruling House of Eveliegh, the command of the Arcane College is funded by the Arch Mage. You only control these assets until a new one is named, and your position returns to this being a business relationship. Your father gave many privileges to the Rainbow Tower because of the services we offer, and the new era we've brought you into. You owe the treasury to our accomplishments and have no legal say over our positions or title. You may take our institutions but you will never deny our power."
Incidentally, his image of the prophecy ran through his mind suddenly, and he imagined the Order disbanded and pictured the Council becoming the Imperial Wizardry. He shook this from his head after a moment and eased back into the chair a bit.
"Forgive me. You are right, we should focus. Bring the boy--he should be in the Library.."
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Dec 6, 2014 15:53:12 GMT
The tension in the room was palpable, ready to snap at any given moment. And snap it did. Just when Buliri looked to bring the blame of the soothsayer to everyone's notice, he found himself assaulted by black, shadowy wrappings just like the other two arguing mages in the room. He grunted as he was pulled back and squeezed, squirming in discomfort and surprise. "What-the-displacer-beast-loving-hell-is-this???" he demanded between grunts as he fought to get something resembling breathing room. He even began to gnaw at the shadow hands feebly while the others spoke.
"What he said!" Buliri would add when Brass pointed out that the empress was really in a temp position at the moment. Seeing the futility of his biting, he then moved to a new tactic. With a soft breath, Buliri suddenly popped out of existence and re-appeared with a second, more audible crack of collapsing and expanding air nearby. Cracking his neck and popping his shoulder joints, he started walking to his seat once more, shooing the ghostly appendages with his over sized hands as he attempted to climb back into spot. "But if it's all the same to the lot of you, I'll be keeping my rank, title, college, facilities, and the like. I can't say I like a good handful of you, but no one gets along with everyone, hm?" he said lightly before plopping down once more.
He looked rather annoyed that everyone was calling for the kid to be brought upstairs now, but let a great sigh as he leaned on the table. "Fine. Bring the spook upstairs if you must. Clearly this prophecy wants to make itself work out no matter what we do..." he grumbled. He tended to not like being told what to do by anyone or anything, prophecy included. If he could find a way to tweak it, he might. After all, wouldn't that be a great arcane discovery? To disprove something of that magnitude by simply refusing to let it come to pass? They might even name the phenomenon after him...
"I fail to see exactly what this is going to accomplish, though..." he muttered, then glanced to Aebra and the empress. "Looks like a majority ruling. How's that for Council business for ya?"
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Post by Madame Damara on Dec 6, 2014 16:06:59 GMT
Impressive, the way the necromancer was able to quell the in-fighting so swiftly. Of all the attendants here, Tzigane was uniquely aware of how each of the council felt about one another and to see their alliance turn out to be so fragile was heartbreaking. She knew the former Archmage as a friend and her passing was a tragedy indeed. Because she had seen it so far in advance, Tzigane was the only one who among the woman's closest friends who did not cry. Today, however, in the presence of the woman's work crumbling at its very foundation, the grand diviner wished nothing more than to weep heavy tears of mourning for it was like watching her friend die twice. She kept strong, however, even as the shadowy tendrils extended from Rail's form and enveloped the three arguing mages.
She had not moved, had not been lashed out against. She, after all, had not been among those who were throwing harsh words at one another. While that was a privilege she had earned, she was not permitted to see the actions taking place around her, so she had no idea how terrifying Rail had become. Frankly, she was rather confused when the empress suddenly became fearful and mouse-like, squeaking her words and running like a frightened fowl. Hardly the actions of one who commanded an entire empire. Tzigane merely turned her head slightly to denote her lack of understanding as she listened to events unfold.
Lord Rail spoke, calling for the boy to be brought upstairs. Clearly, it was the start of a vote by the council since the Brass Duke spoke next his approval and the Gnome begrudgingly followed. Her own vote made four and had the two empty chairs been filled, that would make half the consensus. With them not in attendance, however, that meant majority - as the master illusionist had so succinctly pointed out. Bowing her head in compliance, the bitter fortune moved her hand to rest upon the hairy crown of her undead companion, who had not moved so much as a millimeter in the entire time the meeting had taken place. His eyes glew brighter for only a moment before he suddenly lurched into movement, turning in place and waddling out the door to collect the student in question.
As her one and only friend left the room, Tzigane turned her attention once more to the others, looking quite frail and alone without her other half. She folded her hands lightly in her lap as she sat there, her hood over her eyes while she observed quietly whatever transpired next. Only her ruby lips against that marble-white skin could be seen moving when she at last spoke again. "Your highness, the boy shall arrive soon. Perhaps while we wait, we should discuss exactly what it is we should share with him, as I fear laying the entire contents of the prophecy upon his shoulders may be overwhelming, even for one known as the fallen."
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Post by Lord Aebra Cheval on Dec 7, 2014 0:19:06 GMT
Aebra remained motionless for the Necromancer's performance, keeping an eagle's stern eye on the man as he worked dark magic; it was defensive, something the Master Abjurer was curious of, indeed. An expert with barriers and shield magic, the Mage hadn't seen this use of Necromancy used so benevolently before. It was rather effective, it seemed. But Aebra wondered just how innocent the spectral arms truly were; Lord Brass seemed to glow just about as green as the guard had been earlier--was this magic draining them of energy, or was the man having a crisis?
Shrugging his shoulders, the Abjurer brushed it off without another thought. This was not his concern, nor was it remotely close. Right now they had a frightened Empress spouting threats, some which even he agreed were completely empty, and then the Duke argued in return. But finally things fell back on track and the Council unanimously agreed to summon the apparent boy from prophecy. Diva hadn't said anything, but then again, Aebra didn't quite care what she had to poison them with, anyway.
He turned to Tzigane and raised an arm, just prior to Kizzy waddling from the room, and addressed his colleagues again.
"We tell the boy only what we can follow up with any answer he gives us. That, and of course we inform him and assure that he won't be alone. As sovereign to the Prophetic word he alone was named. Therefore he must amass a troupe worthy of fulfilling this prophecy as far as it can be taken safely."
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Post by Lady Diva on Dec 8, 2014 14:16:18 GMT
About four feet off the ground Diva'd been hoisted by the monstrous tendrils Rail kept neatly hidden beneath his robes, enveloped many times up to and including over her mouth to keep her silent, as all the others would agree this to be best. The Enchantress struggled against her bindings but to no avail; her legs kicked about here and there, and her eyes glazed over with malice as she glared daggers at the Necromancer. She would have real daggers for all those in the room who refused to help her out, eventually.
At last the talk had died down to a low buzz, the Prophecy taking hold of the group's attention once more. Rail's defensive magic had eased up some and Lady Diva was taken gently back to the marble floor and released. Her first thought was to wrap her neatly trimmed fingers about his neck and squeeze until they met her palms, but of course she was outmatched right now. Five on one--seven, if you included Her Majesty and popinjay--was unfair, but not an impossible odd...Diva just didn't have it in her right now.
The Enchantress gazed about the room with a stern eye, meticulously calculating a grand scheme in her head; all these morons would be trying to figure out how to make this vision go off without a hitch, ensure the good portions were seen through, while they manipulated the Oracle into finding a way to circumvent the bad paths. The woman simply scoffed quietly and wrinkled her nose towards Rail, before picking up her seat a final time and plopping herself into it. Her attention fell on the current event but she took it with a grain of salt. Her motivation now was to insult her colleagues.
"You know, if 'The Fallen' is part of our great prophecy, just let him up here and have Ducky hand him his box of Alchemical supplies, hm? Maybe he can blow us up too, while he's at it?" She folded her arms and laughed, shaking her head at the ludicrous idea these idiots came up with. "So we're just going to tell him to rustle up some heroes, go on some gallivanting, heroic adventure, and what--are we going to bathe them, clothe and feed them? It seems like we're just a self-fulfilling bunch, now aren't we? If he is to be a hero, don't you think it should just--I don't know, happen? We're giving him the sword to slay the dragon. That's not very fair to the dragon. But if you're all going to out-vote this stupidity, who am I to argue? We'll just be silenced by your Reaper again, anyway."
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Post by The Brass Duke on Dec 9, 2014 15:08:11 GMT
"If you honestly believe the moment he arrives we will spin him on his heels, tell him what he needs to do, and then give him a hearty push out the door...you are sorely mistaken and I take great pity on you. Your brain works at half capacity of late, Lady Diva..."
The Brass Duke was reclined in his chair so that his one arm favored the rest, while his chin sat snugly atop his balled fist. His legs were crossed--it made him think better, it wasn't as if he was trying to be obvious!--and his eyes were gazing deeply into the pool at the center of the room. His prior knowledge of 'The Fallen' would be paramount to this part of the meeting, and whatever information he provided--or chose to withhold--would make all the difference from this point forward. Almost instinctively, he offered his aunt a side-glance, as her power to read minds was impossibly strong. But when he remembered the Mind Blank ward he relaxed, and took this time to prepare for his next speech.
Eventually the man cleared his throat, sat up straight and folded his hands neatly on the table before him, twiddling his thumbs as he worked the words nicely in his head. When he was at last satisfied, he rose.
"The boy--'The Fallen'--is an enigma," he began, his voice elevated with an air of authority, one that he'd used many times to awe the Royal Court. "Upon meeting this young man, one questions exactly the origin of his existence, as his material body lies on another plane entirely. Do not be distracted with this, or we'll find ourselves spiraling off-topic far too often. I've spent weeks puzzling over how one exists within a custom-fit Handy Haversack for so long...it will just tire you out. Believe me, I make the damn things."
The Duke started circling about the table, slowly at first, and paused behind each chair as he did. It was brief, but long enough to intimidate a reaction of mystery, unrest and severity to which this whole prophecy seemed to exude.
"He was orphaned, abandoned at the doorsteps to my former Master's College...I was a graduate student at that time, traveling back-and-forth here and there when the time finally came..." He trailed off slightly, revisiting that old memory. It was a day like no other, and the carnage proved catastrophic.
"The Tower came crumbling in on its very foundation, before erupting into a colossal expansion--when it finally exploded, it took everyone inside without the means of escape, along with a good portion of the surrounding countryside. The Baleful Canyon is all that is left of where Lucian's College once stood...
"You are probably wondering why I'm taken back to this day. Let me indulge a moment, won't you? The boy is a curious adept. He seeks knowledge for the sake of knowledge alone. With the Prophecy in hand, can you imagine what trouble we could find ourselves in? We're not going to detail any specifics of this to anyone outside of this room. Plain and simple. Of course Madame Damara's colleagues at her residence, I'm sure, are aware of the prophecy and are collecting it right now to preserve as we speak. That must be kept under strict lock and key, Madame. And if I'm correct, the Oracles at the Clocktower should be honing in on this energy, too...so we should be prepared for a visit or two from Inevitables some time soon.
"Back on topic. The boy must be told only what pertains to his personal prophecy. To put it plainly, we test the boy. Gather his strengths, collect and gauge his weaknesses...the works. The people he chooses--and we shall give him that privilege--will determine the outcome of this vision, I guarantee you. If he's overwhelmed at the start, who knows what could happen? I'm all about fatiguing my students, but this one is a ticking bomb. We cannot lose our only chance today, like we nearly did bickering. It will be up to the six of us to do what we can with what we have. Personally, I will have my own questions. You are all free to say what you need, but do not frighten him too much. He probably thinks he's in trouble right now as it is."
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Post by Maestro Buliri on Dec 9, 2014 21:39:23 GMT
As the conversation circled back to a more civil place, the Mad Maestro grew more and more quiet. He sat in his chair, arms crossed and listening to everything said regarding their next actions. He watched the squat monster waddle away, thinking on a disguise or two that used it as a blueprint of sorts. He was always thinking up new looks whenever he grew bored. While he did agree that they should be careful what they told the boy when he arrived, the question of exactly this or that was a tiresome one.
Though who would pass up an opportunity to laugh at Diva's face? "Ya can give a knight a sword, but if he doesn't know what to do with it, you're not pampering them, ya hack..." he called across the table to her when she said her piece. He fell quiet again as Brass rose to his feet and began to share his piece.
Honestly, Buliri knew of this boy only through reputation. From what his friend was saying, it would seem the transmuter had a closer connection to the mad bomber student. He seemed to know a lot more than he was letting on. However, that tidbit was less interesting to the master illusionist than the suggestion that the boy be put to the test.
A wide grin spread across the gnomish face of the Mad Maestro.
"Frighten him?" he laughed, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Are we to coddle the boy, Lord Brass?" he said, emphasizing the word coddle to mock and imitate Lady Diva's earlier statements. "If we are to know his limits and his potential... I have a few little tricks I'd like to pass by him myself..."
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Post by Madame Damara on Dec 9, 2014 22:29:56 GMT
Lord Brass raised an excellent point. Surely, back at the observatory, her closest students working the hall where prophecy and fortunes were stored would be cataloging the event even as they spoke. While Brass gave his warning about the boy and Buliri's imagination ignited with potential pranks, Tzigane instead found her mind traveling back to the written schedule of work-study students. There should be only one in the prophecy room today. She would have to have a meeting with this person later. How much she could reveal, that would have to be carefully calculated and decided upon. She knew it would have to be in the evening, since she would require rest after the long journey to and from the Rainbow Tower. The mountain can be tiresome even in a magically enhanced carriage.
Lifting her head slightly, she found herself sinking back into the conversation just as Brass had finished his speech and made his suggestions. Certainly, if the boy thought he was in trouble, then he was having a miserable day. She was already aware he had been strung up like a flag earlier and had to be rescued by a less than eager teacher. The seer of fortunes quietly wondered if this was common for a student who held the unfortunate nom de plume "the fallen".
The question of tests was posed, and Tzigane again found herself in thought. She moved her perception around the room, considering each of the mages in turn and what they might require of the young man. He was only just coming into his own, magically speaking. They couldn't expect a great deal of magic from him. However, there were things which he could be tested on that did not require a huge expenditure of energy.
"I would very much enjoy a cup of tea, please..." she said randomly, catching few off guard. The room had been previously vacated of anyone who was not trusted with private grand mage business, so that left only the collected magic casters as well as the royalty. She seriously doubted many would even entertain her request, considering personal grudges, prejudices, and the entire fiasco not ten minutes prior. Still, she offered a soft smile as she rested against the back of her high-backed chair. There was one, perhaps two, who might be so generous, but that remained to be seen. "Would anyone be so kind as to accommodate a frail, blind woman?"
Not long after the request was made, the doors would fly open and in would waddle Damara's undead servant. Its face never changed, forever frozen in a morbid grin, but from its posture and movement it seemed quite pleased with itself. Behind, it was dragging along what appeared at first to be nothing more than a black rag but closer inspection would reveal that it did indeed hold a person within. A person with glowing eyes and a thirst for the written word. It was only because the boy was so light and without mass that Kizzy was able to drag him, unceremoniously, up the stairs to the Council Room like so much laundry. He deposited the student without a word onto the floor of the council room before quickly making his way to Damara's side once more.
She gently patted his head in appreciation of the creature's assistance. "Good work, Kizzy..." she said softly as she lifted her head once more. She did not look directly at the boy, but she knew he was there. He had a presence that could be felt if one was sensitive. A dark one... but sad as well. She gently pet Kizzy's head as she sat there, listening to what came next...
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Post by Atticus Daegal on Dec 9, 2014 23:13:12 GMT
((From Eveleigh Empire > Rainbow Tower > One Day at the Library))
Twenty-nine flights of stairs... thirty if you counted the illusion-hidden 13th floor... He had been dragged in this undignified manner for twenty-nine flights of stairs, each of them approximately twenty steps in length. After having lost his footing mid-way between the gardens and the grand foyer, Atticus included the seven steps that he had endured just outside into his calculations. From the first floor to the thirtieth, he had been dragged by the arm across no less than five-hundred eighty-seven steps and through two sets of doors. If his cloak did not in effect envelope him within another dimension, he would have received, based on a 90% probability of hitting his head, approximately 480 cracks to the cranium, well enough to render a normal student unconscious with a concussion. Clearly, the creepy undead troll dragging him along like a pile of rags had little to no concern (or possibly understanding) of proper care.
Left laying face up upon the floor of the grand Council Room, Atticus found himself blinking in awe of the architecture above him, admiring it for a few moments before he could find his will to sit up. Looking around, he took in the walls and the doorway through which he had just been made to enter. His back was to the assembled mages, so he had yet to come to any conclusion as to where he actually was. His first observance, however, was simply: "This is not the headmaster's office..."
He slowly stood, batting at his cloak to free some of the dirt and dust he had collected along his unusual trip to this room. He re-adjusted his cloak and checked quickly for any serious damage. A gentle sigh escaped his lips as he found that while the coat was indeed worn, it had suffered no serious damage that was not already there to begin with. It was a very old garment by now, but luckily the forces within did a good job of holding it together.
Once that bit of observation was done, he glanced around once more. He took in the ornate design of the walls slowly, appreciating each line and curve and bit of paint as he turned at a measured pace. It wasn't until he had made a full rotation and came face-to-face with the seated council that he realized exactly where he was. He nearly leapt out of his shoes when he did. He quickly righted himself and stood more attentively, trying to show respect as he offered a polite bow to his betters. "I-I'm sorry..." he said softly, apologizing before he knew what he was offering it for. He looked up once more and noticed the noble in the room and froze. He was at an impasse in his mind.
You see, he had read in a book of protocol and etiquette that while in the presence of the grand mages, the polite course of action is to stand still and quietly wait until you are addressed as the grand mages may still be attending to business or have important matters to discuss before they are ready for you. However, it was ALSO courtly behavior to approach the Empress and take a knee, declaring your name and position before offering some manner of tribute. These were the greatest minds in the empire as well as its supreme ruler. There sat the heads of the schools to which the wizard belonged and there too was the ruler of the land. Did one set of rules supercede the other? Was he to stand still but offer his name, or walk to position, bow, and remain quiet? Unable to find the logic in the situation, Atticus found himself frozen in place, glowing eyes so wide they were practically perfect circles against the black of his hood.
He didn't move for speak for a long moment, until he slowly raised his hand to eye level, offering a soft wave.
"Uhm... hello."
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Post by The Creator on Dec 9, 2014 23:42:38 GMT
Regina quietly made peace with the Grand Mages taking everything out of proportion and shutting down the apparent runt in the room. Sure, she was plain, had little knowledge of magic and couldn't even begin to pretend to understand the Prophecy, but damned...she was the Empress, High Queen of the Eveliegh Empire! Though the Brass Duke's points were valid, she wouldn't openly apologize for erupting the way she did. She was humble, but not so much to ensure the Grand Mages saw her as a joke. She was in command here, and that was all that mattered.
Discussion came back to a more pleasant subject, and while they spoke of it with as much uncertainty as they had with Madame Damara's vision, the Empress listened with piqued interest. She'd heard the tales, listened to whispered rumors, and even filled out the approval when the Duke requested he be detained at the Rainbow Tower. She was unsure how he really fit in the prophecy other than sharing a morbid nickname, though.
She was imagining through the entire conversation some dark wizard carrying a sword, leading misfits like himself into battle against a great, shadowy beast when the Oracle piped up between the chatter. Silence reigned for just a moment, but it became far too awkward for the Queen so she thought quickly; reaching to the side she lifted her cup from earlier, saucer and all, and handed it over to where the fatigued woman sat.
"It--is still warm," she said smoothly, as the Duke and Rail were bickering over simething silly. "It is Lap--it is a favorite of Lord Aebra's. I do hope this will do, Lady Damara."
Pleased, she eased back and continued to observe how the Mages cooperated up until the doors burst open a last time, and in came barging the strange creature from before. In its hands it carried a--sack? Or--!
It shifted slightly, and for a moment Regina wondered if the troll had bagged the poor boy as goblins did their slaves; it was morbid, but before she could stand to argue the bag rose off the floor, turned and gave the woman her second real fright of the day. Two bright golden orbs stared back at her, or did they encompass the room's entirety? She shuddered hard, and set her shaking hands in her lap.
"You must be young Atticus," she announced at last, once she's collected herself again. "Welcome, son of Avalendor."
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Post by Lord Rail on Dec 10, 2014 0:00:06 GMT
"I don't see how that pertains to...never mind," Rail shrugged, his face completely obscured by his right hand, as even he was now growing tired of being in the presence of so many people. He was relieved when Tzigane spoke and provided enough distraction for the Duke to forget where the discussion had gone. They were having a lively debate over the specific tests they would present the boy, and the Duke's point made was that Necromancy and Transmutation were similar, only with different components and variations.
He went a step further suggesting that maybe Rail shouldn't speak at all, as he might give the boy some foolish idea and take the prophecy in a different direction. Suddenly talk shifted to running from a flying bag that screamed Wails of the Banshee into full cities.
"I doubt very much my test will turn him into a bloodthirsty necromancer, Lord Brass...I think you're also taking things out of context. What makes you think his cloak enables fligh--"
The troll returned carrying moving cargo, and instantly the Necromancer bit his words. He turned like the rest and gently concealed his skeletal left hand among his robes, as well as the rest of his shadowy appendages; instantly when the boy stood and gave the Council an awkward greeting, Regina responded politely and Rail was the first to stand, despite the Duke's silent protest.
"Welcome, indeed. A very warm welcome. Atticus, do you have any idea why you were summoned here today?" Judging by Brass and Diva's looks, they hadn't considered the subject of Prophecy may just have any inclination whatsoever, so he felt proud of himself, speaking over their typical protest.
"Do you fear death, Atticus?"
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Post by Atticus Daegal on Dec 10, 2014 0:47:43 GMT
The black-robed wizard was given pause. It was the empress who spoke first, but she used such an unusual title for him. "Son of Avalendor"... he heard her call him. That was... so strange. His eyes glazed over a moment as he slowly looked to the floor, feigning a bow as he did to hide the fact that his mind was wandering to all the times he'd be accused of being an outsider or a traitor or worse. Kind words though they were, he felt in his heart that they were hollow, just for presentation. He saw the fear in her eyes only a moment ago. She had to have known about... that.
Suddenly, one of the mages stood up. Atticus blinked a bit as he straightened once more in respect. That did not, however, stop him from looking about the room for a clue as to the identity of the man who now spoke. Atticus counted the seats at the table, finding that only 6 spots were occupied out of the usual 8. That alone was odd, if the Council was meeting. He knew Lord Brass personally, though through very unfortunate circumstances. He wondered quietly who the rest could be and where the two absentees were currently.
"Do you have any idea why you were summoned here today?" came the question.
Atticus looked forward again, now catching a sight of the scythe propped against the man's chair behind him. That narrowed things down considerably. That was Lord Rail, high necromancer. Oh... crud, that was Lord Rail, High Necromancer.
Those golden orbs slowly widened once more. The second question, asked before he could even answer the first, put the wizard on edge once again. Coming from the Necromancer, who demanded respect and fear in equal measure, a question such as "Do you fear death" was not to be taken lightly. It required a great deal of thought and caution. The black-robed one would actually do something unusual for a man his age as a result of this...
He would pause and think.
Most people would blurt out either "YES!" to avoid death, and others would boldly declare "NO" without a second's hesitation, in order to appear brave. Regardless the answer, they did so quickly. Atticus did not.
He mulled it over in his mind, considering many answers and angles. His arms crossed as his hand lifted to his chin. He found himself rethinking it over and over until he couldn't contain his own curiosity at the thing and had to ask a question of his own. He lifted his eyes to Rail once more and spoke.
"I'm afraid I do not know why I am here... I had assumed it had something to do with my... er-hem... record... but that would hardly call for the attention of the assembled Grand Mages... nor her eminence..." Atticus began. "As to if I fear Death... I'm afraid I do not understand the question. I can safely say I do not wish to perish so soon... and I cannot say I would invite the pain of death... if that is what you mean? Of course, you could be referring to Death as a figure, yes? I would say not if that were the case, as the entity known as the Grim Reaper is merely a guide to the afterlife and not the cause of life's end. Do you, instead, mean to ask if I fear you, as the Necromancer? As you are the representative mage of Death in my respects, I would have to say I respect you more than fear you. Or... perhaps you meant to ask if I fear Death as a force, as necromancy itself as it were. In that case, I could safely say that I find it more curious than frightful..."
He could easily ramble on further, but he stopped himself and looked up. "My apologies... By which did you mean for me to understand it, my lord?"
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